#but otherwise i mostly remember the process... i think.

[ssspringroll]

did i ever tell you guys i 3d printed Waay'los

this picture is ancient (1 or 2 phones ago) i tried to find him to take an updated picture but hes MISSING ;-;

but i plan on re-printing him. maybe even doing another pose. maybe even subdividing his legs a little so they arent so damn polygonal

[chiimeramanticore]

waow

[kleefkruid]

Guys, I had one of the weirdest 15 minutes of my life yesterday, as if some higher power put me in a jar and shook me around for a very short time and then let me out again.

But before I can tell the story I need to quickly make sure everyone has the context: Kotelet, the stray I took in had 2 bigger kittens and was super pregnant. These are the cutlets 1.0 and 2.0, you’ve mostly seen the second gen as they were born with me. But the two initial kittens went to Danny. They were very wild and we tried to socialize them, but in the process unfortunately one of them got out and was lost forever. This was way back in the beginning of August. The other kitten became Dietzel and recently Danny adopted one of the 2.0 gen to keep him company since we sadly never found the other kitten again… Okay keeping that in mind I can tell my story.

Yesterday around 2 I left my house to go to Danny. While waiting for my tram I was texting someone who is coming to adopt the last kitten. This combined with the nose cold I’ve been having made me a bit inattentive, and I got on the wrong tram. Not too big of a problem, bc this tram also travels close by Danny, I just had to walk one kilometer. A 15 minute walk. What could happen in that time right, I’ve done this route so often.

I get of the tram and I cross a bigger intersection. Open sky above me, as is typical for an intersection. Light goes green, I’m on the crosswalk. Suddenly, and with a loud slap, a pigeon drops dead on the ground in front of me.

I look at the pigeon. I look at the clear sky. I look back at the pigeon. I look back up. I notice the cables of the tram that go over the crosswalk, and realize it must have flown into the cables, and was killed by electrocution. At least it died instantly. Not a bad way to go for a pigeon. One moment it was going “weeeh I’m a bird”, next thing the lights went out.

The crosswalk light had turned red. Normally this would be immediately be followed by irritated honking, but as I make eye contact with the driver perpendicular to me, he also points at the cables and we exchange some “crazy right??” looks while I hurry to the side of the road.

“What’s it called again when people tell fortune by looking at birds?” I think, (it’s Ornithomancy) “the ancients Greeks did it, I remember it from the Odyssey… sure hope it’s not a bad omen!” I imagine a Greek augur predicting a war or whatever when a bird drops straight from the sky and someone going “is that bad?” I chuckle to myself, just a tiny bit nervous, and I continue my walk. Not long to go now.

“Pigeon dropped dead in front of me” I triple text Danny “Crazy. Electrocuted by the tram infrastructure. Super dead in an instance.”

A neighborhood cat cheerfully walks by me. I automatically lean down to pet it, can’t cross a friendly cat without saying hi! It’s a teenage tuxedo.

WAIT.

The cat looks at me. It has a little white moustache. It starts sniffing my boots like crazy.

Could it be…

Squatting on the sidewalk, I go in my pictures folder and frantically search for pictures of the cutlets 1.0 The cat leans against me. I find a picture where the kitten has a distinctive black mark on the back of its otherwise white socks. I stare down.

On the back of its legs it has a distinctive black mark.

“You got to be kidding me” I say. “Sniff sniff” says the cat. He headbutts me again.

I am 350 meters from Danny’s door. Obviously I don’t have anything with me. A car drives close by. I gotta do something, so I pick him up. And he lets me. And I just start walking.

After a 100 meters, he wants to go down again, so holding him in a sitting position, I grasp his hind legs with one hand, like they hold wild birds when ringing them, and my other arm goes across him to squeeze him against my chest and I hold his front paws. He meows a little and bites me so very lightly. He just kinda presses his teeth against my skin to communicate he’s not impressed by my action, but that’s all. He’s still pretty tiny after all.

I ring the doorbell, and Danny buzzes me in. “Bring a carrier!” I yell trough the speaker. “What?? Why??” “Just come down!”

He opens te door and looks confused. “Is that Kotelet??” is his first question, as they look alike. “No, try again” I say. Now Danny’s eyes go wide. “No. It’s not possible…”

It’s been more than 3 months. Danny just starts crying out of shock. I start laughing. Both losing it in different ways about the absurdity of the situation.

We’re in Danny’s living room. The little guy is eating all the wet food he can and promptly passes out. We just stare at him. The other cats are peeking in from the bedroom. I look at its white paws, all grey from the street. He purrs. We sit in silence, kind of forgetting to blink.

“Did you see my text about the pigeon that dropped dead in front of me.”

[ccl-c]

i procrastinated on this for months and it didn't even take that long to finish lol things got very bad at work this year and i just didn't have the energy but i'm really happy with how it turned out!

(edit: thank you so much to everyone enjoying this piece! i'm so happy there are more people thinking about his prosthetic leg.)

some of my favourite details and long self-indulgent ramble below the cut.

as much as i love the unicorn leg in the show i really wish they gave izzy an actual post-amputation swordfight scene, which probably would imply a more practical prosthesis because honestly that candle scene looks very painful and pretty difficult to adapt in combat. so basically i wanted him to have a prosthesis that could work.

for the poses i mostly just took basic right-handed cavalry sabre movements that would need lots of force and/or mobility from the left leg (actually all of them do otherwise he'd lose stability which is a big no but well i did not consider the basic steps nor special ones such as the balestra because they're not very clear to draw. i included a flèche though because i just really, really want to see him do flèches (no more modern rules aha!!); i doubt he'd like it since it's very risky but it would be so fucking awesome. imagine him just darting full-speed at the opponent and passing through them sliding the sabre right between their ribs. the sabre isn't a pointy weapon especially since his is quite curved which makes piercing trickier than slashing (it would be a lot easier with a rapier or an épée; i like to imagine that stede prefers the rapier and makes every opponent who believes rapiers aren't fit for combat reconsider it) but hell that would just look amazing. although looking at it again i probably drew the footwork more like a pass forward …). now thinking about it i should have included a salute because he'd absolutely do that and make everyone do it in unison at the start of training sessions and it's just a cool series of gestures (i haven't gone through the historical documents yet but the salute our historical fencing club do consists of two appels (striking the ground with the forward foot which in izzy's case is the right foot), then raising the sword to the sky, then pulling the guard of the sword near the jaw with the tip pointing upwards, then pointing the sword down forward, usually a bit to the exterior for single-handed swords. this is the short version; we did the complete version of that salute precisely once and i seriously cannot remember either the year it was formalised or how it was done exactly. i think it was somewhere near the end of the 18th century and there was half a step forward and maybe a step on the spot at the beginning. if i ever find it or we ever do it again i'll update here we did it again! the complete version from the 1877 regulation under napoleon iii for the french army, as our master remembers, includes a process of going from standing to a tierce stance in the beginning and it's like this: start from a standing position with heels kept together and the sword to the front pointing downwards, then slowly raise the sword with the arm extended until that the point is about at eye level, bend the arm to finish on the tierce or sixte hand position depending on the sword (sabre and rapier typically use the tierce while épée typically uses the sixte although tierce works too; longsword would also use the sixte unless you're doing the more dramatic guards like porta di ferro or posta della donna and then i guess that's a high seconde if you squint hard? but it's not used in the army lol imagine that. and bayonet has a whole different salute), then start folding the legs while keeping the heels together and when you can't go any lower, move the front foot forward to the en garde feet position. and then tap twice on the ground etc.). also i feel like the dagger doesn't really look right ever since i saw the daggers and little swords at the exhibition about knights in nantes … anyway.

the prosthesis is loosely based on those 16th-century moveable leg prostheses by ambroise paré (on a side note, he made hand prostheses too and i think they're good references for spanish jackie's hand), douglas bly's above-knee prosthesis in the 19th century and modern running prosthetic legs (for the need of explosive force typical in lunges) as well as historical fencing and buhurt (full-armour medieval combat) gears. although i'm horrible at physics and have forgotten what little ergonomics i learned at university so it probably won't work in reality lol.

the text is in french simply because i learned fencing in french and didn't want to make mistakes in the vocabulary. the small words from left to right top to bottom are: motion (movement?), knee (front), knee (back), ankle & foot, locked, flèche (as in fencing; the word itself means “arrow”), unlocked (middle french spelling because i like it and it's not completely anachronistic i guess), lunge, en garde position in tierce (i somehow can't find any fixed way to say this in english; it's just the basic stance with the third hand position). the text on the left is probably quite awkward honestly but i can't not put it there because it's fun lol it reads “leg and foot prosthesis designed for first mate hands, by doctor roach with the assistance of frenchie, realised (built? made? constructed? manufactured?) by black pete and wee john feeney and the entirety of the crew of the revenge under co-captains stede bonnet and edward teach, illustrated by lucius spriggs”. so yes any mistake in there is theirs and not mine lmao (no). the font is very loosely based on my memory of jean jannon's regular and italic typefaces. i adore his italics; it's the prettiest, most delicate italics i've ever seen.

i still have other drawing ideas for ofmd but i'm also into a lot of other things now … i'll probably get to them a few months later.

[kxsagi]

Rin, with a nice and cute girlfriend would be so funny tho

Rin usually wears monotonous clothes right? Like he never wears anything colorful, and they're mostly black, grey, white or a little bit of turquoise but tHAT'S BESIDES THE POINT

Then all of a sudden he comes to practice with cute keychains on his bag, a matching one with his girlfriend or even finds him with bow hair clips on his hair that pushes his bangs off his face since she said “it covers his handsome face."

And they meet her and they're so surprised that she's the total opposite of Rin, she's nice and cheerful, always smiling unlike her boyfriend who looks at everyone like they had committed a crime against him (that being them breathing in the same air as him)

Asking her why she's dating Rin then she just simply answered, "Oh, he's nice and sweet to me. He's such a good boyfriend honestly!" then they'd be like nICE, WHICH PART? WHEN AND HOW?

i should be reviewing for my upcoming exam this week and here i am thinking about blue lock boys, i have problems.

— 🪻

“𝐠𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐲 𝐱 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞”

a/n: you're so real for thinking about blue lock boys instead of your studies bc that's also me i fear

but good luck on your exam! for working so hard in school, i hope i can make your day better and life a little less stressful! ❣️

rin was never one for color.

if his clothes had a soul, they'd be a monochrome masterpiece: black shirts, grey pants, white sneakers, maybe a touch of turquoise if he was feeling wild. but that was beside the point. everyone knew him for his quiet demeanor, his "resting bitch face," as his teammates liked to call it, and his constant air of "everyone is suspicious until proven otherwise." 

then one fateful day, rin showed up to practice different. his usual bag was still there, of course, but now it had little keychains hanging from it – three, to be exact. one was a tiny panda, another a glittery star, and the third was a matching keychain, his rocket keychain, paired with one you, his girlfriend, gave him. and wait, was that a hair clip in his hair? a bow clip? what the heck was going on? 

his teammates blinked at him, and some even choked on their water. "rin?" chigiri asked, eyes squinting. "what's... what's happening with your bag? and your hair?" 

rin tugged at the clip awkwardly, looking a bit out of his depth. "uh, it's nothing." but you had told him he needed to wear it. "it covers your handsome face," you'd said. so of course he did. for you. 

a couple of minutes later, everyone was gathered around in the locker room, and there you were – his girlfriend. if rin was the human embodiment of a cloud on a bad day, you were a sunshine explosion. bright, cheerful, always smiling, like you'd just woken up and realized it was your birthday every day. they stared at you, completely stunned. 

“wait, this is your girlfriend?” reo asked, unable to hide the shock. 

rin rolled his eyes. “yeah, yeah, stop staring.” 

you just giggled. “he's always so serious, huh? but i love him! he's the best, nicest boyfriend ever!" 

they all exchanged confused looks. "nice? nice?" bachira gasped. "which part? when? how??" 

"oh, you know," you waved them off like it was no big deal. "he’s sweet, he buys me flowers. and he listens when i talk about my day. he’s a total softie." 

his teammates froze, trying to process this. rin? a softie? the same rin who scowled at the vending machine for taking his last dollar? 

“he’s nice when he wants to be,” you added, smiling at him. 

rin was already blushing, awkwardly fiddling with his shirt as if it could swallow him whole. "okay, enough," he muttered, crossing his arms. 

“come on, rin! you can’t fool them,” you teased, giving him a light nudge. “you always pick the perfect movie for our movie nights. remember the time you watched that cheesy rom-com just to make me laugh?" 

rin groaned. "it was for you." 

they all stared at him like he’d just announced he was secretly a superhero. a superhero. 

“okay, okay,” isagi said slowly, “we get it. you’re, like, a secret softie. the world is full of surprises.” 

rin sighed and adjusted his bow clip, silently questioning all his life choices. he swore if anyone took a picture, he was going to have a meltdown. but deep down, he couldn’t help the tiny smile tugging at his lips. 

you had a way of making the world seem a little less grey. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[viperify]

𝗔𝗨 | ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ᴛᴏᴍ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Moonlight Cravings.

Short summary: Vampire!Tom has known he’d make you his ever since he first met you. When his need for your blood grows unbearably strong, he knows it’s time to finally make a move.

A/N: As I plan on writing more than just one full-length fic for my Vampire AU anyway and haven’t had the time to work on it yet, I thought I’d get started with a how-vampire!Tom-would-slowly-declare-his-presence-in-your-life drabble/fic.

wordcount: 1,0k

Tom’s presence looms over your life like a shadow. He seems to be wherever you go, and though he never pays you much attention, he still is there. Either casually leaning against the wall near the class you are attending next or accompanying his friends to the Three Broomsticks when you are there as well. Which is quite ironic, considering most people know Tom doesn’t even like butterbeer.

In fact, you are not quite sure if he likes anything really. Each time you share a class, Tom is mostly quiet, except for his witty remarks whenever professors ask questions. Even outside the classroom he doesn’t talk much, mostly found in the library with his head buried in books. Well, as long as you are in the library as well, that is.

You don’t think too much of it. It’s Tom Riddle, after all—naturally one of the most handsome men you have ever laid eyes on, but oh so unreachable. You vividly remember a girl back in your third year asking him to attend the Yule Ball with her. It was a decision she made against the advice of practically everyone she asked, and it ended exactly the same way you had told her it would. Things like these never end well with him, so you don’t even attempt questioning his behaviour—instead, you think you are utterly delusional for even assuming there could be anything between the two of you.

Tom, on the other hand, is entirely consumed by you. From the moment he first caught your unmistakably sweet scent, he knew he had to have you, his mind going blank every time you simply passed him in the corridors. It’s as if there is a force pulling him towards you, one that he can’t control, one that clouds his mind and strips him of any sane thoughts he had left. Taming his needs as a vampire has never been difficult. Not until he met you, that is.

And as soon as bouquets of your favourite flowers show up in your dorm every other week, accompanied with small gifts like your pralines of choice, you can’t help but wonder whether there was a chance Tom’s strange behaviour did have something to do with this. It’s these thoughts that keep you up at night and make you zone out in class. There is not much you can do except wonder who it is that admires you, but you sure have a guess.

During yet another restless night, you decide to get up and take a walk through the castle to calm your mind. The hallways are faintly illuminated by the moon’s glow, shining brightly as it completes yet another full circle around the earth. Although your steps are as quiet as they can possibly be, you soon feel the air shift around you, as though someone is watching you. But when you turn around, no one is there.

“You shouldn’t be wandering around the castle this late at night.” A voice coming from your right remarks, and you almost drop your wand, heart hammering wildly in your chest in response to the unexpected interruption. A tall figure emerges from behind a pillar then, and it takes you less than one second to figure out who it is. You had forgotten that Tom Riddle also happened to be a prefect.

It’s too dark to make out much of his face, but there is an undeniable red glow that flickers in his otherwise dark brown eyes. Before you can even process the thought, he blinks, and it’s gone. Instead, the corner of his mouth lifts just slightly as he takes in your startled expression, raising his eyebrow expectantly.

 “I suppose I- I couldn’t sleep. You must know, walking helps to clear my mind.” You manage to get out, and although it isn’t a lie, your hesitation sure made it sound like one.

Tom huffs. “A selfish action that just cost your house ten points. Now, you surely wouldn’t mind me escorting you to your respective dormitories?”

You don’t try to argue—it is still Tom Riddle you’re dealing with after all. Instead, you respond with a small nod and retrace your steps with him by your side.

“What might your mind be troubled with?” he asks then, his voice cutting through the silence of the night. The question makes you tense slightly, your fingers curling tighter around your wand. It’s the first time he actively looks for a conversation, the first time his presence feels intended and real.

You take a breath, not exactly knowing what to respond. “Your seemingly seventh sense for my whereabouts“ doesn’t seem like an appropriate answer after all.

The upcoming exam season saves you from the awkwardness. Although he doesn’t seem to fully believe you, he lets it go, not speaking another word until you disappear behind your dormitory door.

But even then, you can’t seem to sleep, the image of the red glow in his eyes lingering in your mind. You know there is something you can connect it to, and soon, a memory of a Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson in your second year resurfaces.

Full moon. Pale skin. Red eyes. They all match, and yet you find it hard to believe. Vampires have been extinct for nearly 400 years in Great Britain, there was no real reason for you to think he could be one.

Right?

[teojira]

Really enjoyed your headcanons on Caeser and Proximus, do you mind doing the same with Noa?? 😊🙏

[Noa and day to day life with him!] [Headcanons!]

Summary: Noa takes you back with him to his home, and the clan accepts you as one of them. Even if you're concerned otherwise.

Word count: 1k (Jesus christ)

Warnings: None that I can think of! Can be read as Platonic or Romantic! You and Noa are attached to one another. (Yes, this is me projecting.)

A/N: Noa is so near and dear to me, I literally did not mean for this to be so long, and I STILL cut myself off. This is 1k words worth of headcanons for him, and it is not enough. I'm Noa's #1 fan, I am sorry to all my friends and family who have to hear me talk about him constantly.. Ask me for Noa anything, and I will give you the world.

Do me a favor and strap the fuck in for this it's alot.

I am so glad someone asked about Noa bc I got ALOT to say.

Noa has had it with humans, Mae put him, his clan, and countless others at risk, he should not trust humans, really he shouldn't, but he can't help it. She also betrayed you in the process, and now you're alone.

You agreed to help him and Mae against Proximus, you're the only one who actively goes up against Proximus as well.

Swinging and trying your best to try and get Proximus off of Noa, yelling and crying while the other apes just stare in fear. (Later on they apologize, but you don't hold it against them.)

It's a huge risk to invite a human with them again, but then he remembers Rakas words, Caesars words, and decides he can't told another's decisions over you.

So when he gently grabs your hand in his, looking down at you with a strained smile, blood seeping from his lips, you follow, back to his clans land.

Now on to the good stuff, it's kinda awkward finding your place among the eagle clan, the elders are gone, his father Koro is gone, there really is no guidance as to where to place you.

You drift mostly, either helping Dar or helping with the young ones, teaching them how to read and write, helping fish, farm, the basic tasks.

Dar loves you by the way, doting on you and making sure no one messes with you in a harmful way. She teaches you their customs and traditions, all the while playfully teasing you about Noa. She's a mom, she knows.

You're happy with your work, happy with your place among the clan. It's genuinely shocking how much they were willing to forgive and to not hold any grudges against humans after one ruined everything.

It helps that Noa takes accountability for you, somehow so trusting that you will not cause harm. His faith in you speaks volumes and you remind him everyday that it won't go to waste.

All he does is send you a sweet smile and ruffles your hair.

You find yourself helping Noa alot with crafting new tools and contraptions, being a second pair of eyes that can catch onto things he can't.

"Very smart." "Thank yo-" "For an Echo." and he does that stupid cute little sniff afterwards and it makes it tremendously hard to hit him.

He's such a little shit I fucking hate him.

You're his shadow when his duties permit, he's taken on a higher role of the clan, sometimes going out for days at a time but you're always at the edge of the Village waiting for his return, anxiously working your bottom lip until you see him in view.

You're both extremely attached to one another, Soona and Anaya become attached to you too, dragging you along in everyone's free time to go climbing, to eat, to hunt, just about any group outing has you as their fourth member.

Noa was worried about them accepting you, but they love you just as much as he does.

It makes his heart swell when he sees you and Soona together, giggling about something surely only you both understand while Anaya groans and complains about being left out.

It's like you've always been meant to be with them, to round out their group.

Soona and Anaya will offer to be the one to carry you this time, they do want to, genuinely, but Noa won't let them 99.9% of the time, He's used to your weight, he trusts that he can keep you safe the best. (Says the ape that literally almost died multiple times doing stupid shit)

"Noa worries too much, they will be fine." "Anaya is clumsy. Can't trust you to carry yourself, much less echo."

He tries not to carry you everywhere, but it is so much more convenient than waiting for you, so he scoops you up often enough that the stares don't bother you anymore.

Remember how in the movie, all the apes sleep together communally? Well you're at first extremely nervous about that, not wanting to ask what exactly are your accommodations because surely they don't want you there with them.

Actually, Noa does, so jot that down.

When you shyly move away, he raises his palm up at you, nodding to the space besides him.

When you don't move, he gently tugs you down, laying on his back and shutting his eyes. The clan hasn't really fully rebuilt and started to gather things needed for shawls and coverings, so it's not strange to him that you cuddle up to him to steal his warmth, peeking an eye open to see your face squished into his side, knocked out.

He wraps an arm around you, incasing you in more warmth.

This is a nightly routine until you finally take it upon yourself to throw yourself on him, he chokes out a breath as you make yourself comfortable.

Soona and Anaya usually join in, he cannot fucking breathe but he's so happy that it outweighs it.

When Mae inevitably shows back up, she sees you out in the distance, you look so genuine happy, so at peace with where you are. You even have some eagle feathers in your hair, integrated into their life that it shocks her.

It's enough to make her put the gun away, grasping at Rakas necklace like a lifeline, sucking in a deep breath to stop her from crying.

Maybe apes and humans can live at peace with one another after all. She hopes you prove her wrong.

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʀ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏᴏɴ!

[eunoia-writes]

The babysitter • bodyguard!Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Victor Dimitri has had enough of his daughter and her wild streak. When she crosses a boundary even she knows she shouldn’t have, he hires her a personal bodyguard or in her words, A babysitter. When he comes into her life she’s defiant won’t listen to a word he says but Rafe is used to a challenge

Warnings: Mention of violence, Dark themes, murder, Kidnapping, drug trafficking and Abuse, Neglectful parents, sexual themes, eventual Smut- MDI

Previous

———

Y/n was dying.

Okay, maybe not literally, but she sure as hell felt like it.

Her head was pounding, her stomach churning violently as she clung to the toilet bowl for dear life. The room spun every time she so much as breathed, and every time she thought she was done throwing up, her stomach cruelly reminded her otherwise.

This was, without a doubt, the worst hangover she’d ever had.

She barely registered the sound of the door opening until a familiar, deep voice cut through the haze of her misery.

“Jesus Christ.”

Y/N groaned, slumping against the cool porcelain. “Go away.”

Rafe ignored her, stepping inside and crouching down beside her. He was back in his usual fitted slacks and black button-down, but he’d rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, and the sight of his forearms shouldn’t have been as distracting as it was.

He brushed her hair back from her sweaty forehead. “You look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks,” she muttered weakly.

His lips twitched, but his expression remained mostly unreadable. “Here.” He held out a bottle of water. “Drink.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t wanna.”

Rafe sighed, clearly so over her dramatics. “Y/N.” With a heavy sigh, she took the bottle and sipped hesitantly. The water was cold, refreshing—at least until her stomach lurched again, and she barely made it back over the toilet in time.

Rafe didn’t flinch, just rubbed soothing circles into her back. “You’re a fucking mess, you know that?”

She groaned, resting her forehead against her arm. “I know.”

A pause. Then—shockingly—his voice softened. “You should take a nap.”

She scoffed, though it lacked any real energy. “I can’t even stand, Rafe. How the hell am I supposed to get to my bed?”

Before she could protest, strong arms slid under her legs and back, and suddenly, she was being lifted effortlessly into the air.

“Rafe—”

“Shut up,” he muttered, carrying her like she weighed nothing.

She should’ve been embarrassed. Or maybe annoyed. Instead, she just… melted into him, too weak to care.

He laid her down gently, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “I’ll be back in half an hour.”

Y/N blinked up at him. “What for?”

“You’ll see.” He smirked, then—holy shit—he pressed a quick kiss to her temple before disappearing out the door.

She barely had time to process that before exhaustion finally dragged her under.

When she woke up, Rafe walked in with a tray ln hand . Soup, crackers, a bottle of ginger ale. And next to it—

Lilies.

Her heart stuttered in her chest.

Did Rafe—?

Her eyes widened as she stared at the

flowers. “You... bought me flowers?”

He shrugged, looking almost embarrassed. “I remembered you said they were your favorite. Figured it might make you feel better.”

She was speechless. It was... sweet.

Thoughtful, even.

Rafe was never like this.

But before she could say anything, her bedroom door flew open, slamming against the wall.

It was her father.

And he did not look happy.

Her father stormed in, his face red with anger. “Do you have any idea how humiliating it was to get that call last night?”

Y/N froze, her body tensing. “Dad, I—”

“No, you don’t get to explain,” he snapped, his voice cold. “You were drunk off your ass, making a scene. What the hell were you thinking?”

Her initial guilt quickly morphed into defensiveness. “I was just having fun—”

“Fun?” He scoffed. “You’re reckless. Selfish. Do you have any idea how this reflects on me? On our family?”

She clenched her jaw, her shoulders squaring. “Of course that’s all you care about. How it makes you look.”

“Watch your tone,” he warned, his eyes narrowing. “You’re already on thin ice.”

She opened her mouth to retaliate, but Rafe stepped in, his voice firm. “She’s hungover and exhausted. Maybe this conversation can wait.”

Her father turned his icy glare on him. “This is none of your concern, Cameron.”

Rafe didn’t flinch. “I’m just saying she needs rest. That’s all.”

Her father looked like he wanted to argue but finally turned away, his shoulders stiff. “This isn’t over, Dinner with Don is at 7 be ready.” He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Y/N sank back into her pillows, anger and embarrassment swirling in her chest.

Rafe watched her carefully. “You okay?”

She shot him a glare. “Why do you care?”

He blinked, clearly taken aback. “I was just—”

“Just what?” Her voice was sharp, biting. “You think I need your pity? Or maybe you just enjoy seeing me get yelled at.”

His jaw tightened. “That’s not—”

“Oh, save it, Rafe,” she snapped. “I’m not in the mood for your condescending bullshit. Just... leave me alone.”

For a moment, he looked genuinely hurt. But it was gone in a flash, his expression hardening as he turned on his heel and walked out.

—

Y/N hated these dinners.

Sitting in a room full of criminals, listening to them talk business like they were at a corporate board meeting.

And tonight was no different.

Y/N sat stiffly at the dining table, her fingers wrapped around her wine glass, her head still pounding from her hangover.

The Castello family was seated around the table, their voices low as they discussed business.

“About that shipment last month,” her father began, voice calm but firm. “We heard there were complications.”

Don’s smirk didn’t waver. “A minor inconvenience. The feds have been getting bolder. But our people took care of it.”

“I hope your people were thorough,” her father said. “We can’t afford any loose ends.”

“You worry too much, old man.”

Her father’s lips curled. “When you’ve been in this business as long as I have, there’s always something to worry about.” He leaned forward. “Which is why we need to talk about the Moretti family.”

The conversation spiraled deeper into discussions of betrayal, blood, and backstabbing. Y/N forced herself to zone out, pushing the food around on her plate.

Rafe stood behind her, his posture casual, but his gaze was sharp, always surveying, always watching.

She could feel his eyes on her, a weight that made her skin prickle with irritation.

She took a sip of her wine, her fingers tightening around the delicate stem of the glass as she forced herself to swallow the bitterness swirling inside her. It wasn’t just the hangover that had her on edge. It was him.

The way he was hovering. The way he was watching her like she was some fragile thing that might shatter at any moment. The way he’d been sweet and attentive earlier, only to turn back into his usual condescending self the second she’d snapped at him.

She hated it. She hated him.

Rafe leaned down, his voice a low murmur just for her. “You’re tapping your foot. It’s annoying.”

She stilled, her jaw tightening. “Then don’t listen.”

He gave a small, humorless chuckle. “Kinda hard when you’re vibrating the whole damn floor.”

She turned her head, just enough to meet his eyes. “Maybe you should stand somewhere else, then.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a faint, infuriating smirk. “Not my choice, Princess. You’re stuck with me.”

Her fingers dug into her thigh. “Lucky me.”

Don Castellano’s voice boomed across the table, pulling her attention back to the conversation. “The Moretti family’s been getting bold. Too bold. Makes you wonder who’s been whispering in their ears.”

Her father’s expression was cold, calculating. “They’ve always been slippery. But we’re not worried. They’ll get what’s coming to them.”

Y/N’s stomach turned, her appetite vanishing. She hated these dinners. Hated the thinly veiled threats, the power plays hidden behind polite smiles. She reached for her wine again, taking another long sip, hoping the alcohol would numb the unease coiling in her gut.

Rafe’s voice was low and close again. “Careful. Don’t need you making a scene... again.”

Her fingers tightened around the glass, a surge of heat rushing to her cheeks. “I’m not drunk.”

He tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Yet.”

She grit her teeth. “I’m not going to embarrass myself. Or you.”

His smirk faltered, his gaze softening for just a moment before his usual guarded expression returned. “This isn’t about me.”

She looked away, her shoulders rigid. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He let out a slow exhale. “You’re impossible.”

She took another sip of her wine, her lips curving into a bitter smile. “And you’re insufferable.”

Before he could respond, Luca Castellano’s voice cut through the room. “If they’re snitching, we can’t just cut them out. We need to make an example of them. Something public. Something loud.”

Y/n’s father nodded in agreement. “We can’t let the other families think we’re weak.”

A chill ran down her spine. She set her wine glass down carefully, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. She hated this world. Hated the violence that was always lurking beneath the surface, the ruthless decisions made without a second thought.

Rafe’s eyes were on her again, his gaze sharper, more attentive. “You okay?” he murmured.

She didn’t look at him. “I’m not a fucking baby,” she hissed under her breath.

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t push it.

As Luca leaned back in his chair, a sly smile on his lips, he turned his attention to her. “You’ve grown up, Y/N. Last time I saw you, you were still clinging to your father’s leg.”

She forced a polite smile. “People grow up, Luca. Even me.”

His dark eyes gleamed. “I suppose so. And here I thought you’d be married off by now. Surprised your old man hasn’t found you a nice husband to... keep you in line.”

Her smile turned icy. “I don’t need a man to keep me in line.”

Rafe’s fingers twitched at his side, his posture stiffening ever so slightly.

Luca’s smile widened, clearly enjoying himself. “Feisty. Just like your mother.”

Y/N’s pulse quickened, her heart thudding painfully against her ribs. She reached for her wine, needing something to steady herself. As she did, Rafe’s arm moved, reaching for a dish in front of her.

She thought he was about to knock her glass over, so she moved to grab it herself—

Her fingers slipped, and the glass tipped, spilling dark red wine all down the front of her dress.

The room went silent.

Her cheeks burned with humiliation, her hands shaking as she tried to dab at the stain with her napkin. But it was useless. The deep red liquid was already soaking into the fabric, spreading like blood.

She looked up at Rafe, anger blazing in her eyes. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she whispered furiously.

His eyes were wide, his mouth opening to protest. But her father’s sharp voice cut through the tension. “Y/N, enough.”

She snapped her mouth shut, the humiliation and anger twisting together, making it hard to breathe.

Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, then looked at Rafe, her eyes narrowing.

Rafe: Stop fucking glaring at me.


Y/N: Don’t tell me what to do.


Rafe: You’re being so pathetic.


Y/N: Oh I’m pathetic? Good one, Rafe.

She shoved her phone back into her purse, her whole body buzzing with anger. She wanted to scream. To throw her glass against the wall. To do something to release the pressure building inside her.

Instead, she forced herself to sit there, her hands trembling in her lap, her dress soaked and ruined.

And Rafe stood behind her, his jaw tight, his shoulders tense, his presence like a shadow she could never escape.

—

The car door slammed behind her, rattling the glass. Y/N crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Her dress was ruined, stained with red wine that was already drying into an ugly, sticky mess. She could still feel the weight of everyone’s stares, the mocking glint in Luca’s eyes, the tight disapproval in her father’s voice.

And it was all his fault.

Rafe got into the driver’s seat, his movements rigid and controlled, his face a mask of cold indifference. He didn’t even look at her as he started the engine.

The silence was suffocating. Tension crackled between them, thick and heavy. She watched the lights of the city blur past the window, her fingers digging into her arms as she tried to hold herself together.

But the embarrassment, the anger, the humiliation—it was all boiling over.

She couldn’t keep it in any longer. “You are such an asshole.”

His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel, but his eyes stayed on the road. “What the hell are you talking about now?”

Her laugh was cold, sharp. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You just had to reach across me right then, didn’t you?”

“I was reaching for the plate. It’s not my fault you’re so jumpy.”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit. You did it on purpose.” She turned to glare at him, her eyes blazing. “You just love seeing me humiliated, don’t you?”

He scoffed, his jaw tightening. “Believe it or not, Princess, not everything’s about you.”

Princess.

She fucking hated that.

She felt her hands shaking, her anger spilling over. “I wouldn’t have spilled the wine if you weren’t hovering over me like a fucking shadow all the time!”

“Yeah? Well, maybe if you weren’t acting like a spoiled little brat all night, you wouldn’t have drawn so much attention to yourself.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, his words hitting her like a slap. “A brat? I was sitting there minding my own damn business.”

“Oh, give me a break. You were sulking the whole time, shooting daggers at me like a petulant child. God, you’re so dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” She was practically shaking now, her nails digging into her arms. “You are unbelievable. You’ve been on my back all day, treating me like I’m some stupid little girl who can’t even take care of herself!”

He shot her a cold, sideways glance. “Maybe if you stopped acting like one, I wouldn’t have to.

Her mouth dropped open, shock and fury colliding inside her. “I hate you,” she hissed, her voice low and venomous.

He laughed, the sound bitter and cruel. “Good. It makes my job a hell of a lot easier when I don’t have to pretend to like you either.”

Her throat tightened, the back of her eyes burning. She wouldn’t cry. She refused to cry in front of him. Not after everything. Not after the way he’d made her feel.

“You are such a prick,” she spat, her voice shaking. “You act like you’re better than me, but you’re just as trapped as I am. You’re nothing but my father’s loyal little lapdog.”

His shoulders went rigid, his grip on the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. “Watch it.” His voice was low, dangerous.

“Or what? You’ll tell Daddy on me?” She laughed, the sound hollow. “Go ahead. That’s all you’re good for anyway. Following orders like a mindless robot.”

He slammed on the brakes, jerking the car to a violent stop at a red light. He turned to her then, his eyes blazing, his face tight with anger. “You think I like this?” he snarled. “You think I enjoy babysitting some spoiled, entitled princess who can’t even go one night without throwing a tantrum?”

Her eyes widened, the venom in his voice catching her off guard. But she refused to back down. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “If I’m so insufferable, then why don’t you just quit?”

His eyes darkened, his jaw clenching. “Believe me, I’ve thought about it. But then who’d be around to save your ass every time you decided to do something stupid?”

She flinched, the truth in his words stinging more than she wanted to admit. But she wouldn’t let him see how much he was getting to her. “I never asked you to save me.”

“No,” he shot back, his voice low and cold. “But you keep needing it.”

She looked away, her chest heaving, anger and shame swirling inside her. “Screw you.”

He let out a harsh laugh. “Trust me, Princess. That’s the last thing I’d ever want.”

Her head snapped back to him, her eyes blazing. “I hate you.”

“Dito,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on the road as the light turned green. He slammed his foot on the gas, the car lurching forward.

The rest of the drive was silent, the air thick with tension and resentment. She stared out the window, her vision blurred with unshed tears, her throat burning.

She hated him. She hated him more than anyone she’d ever met.

So why did it hurt so much to hear him say he hated her too?

[starxanemone]

Hi, I really liked your blue lock love language headcanons. Could you please write about Bachira and Noel Noa? Thank you, and have a lovely day/night🌷

꩜ⴰ ࣪˖ BLLK LOVE LANGUAGE HEADCANONS

bachira meguru & noel noa

⸻ in which i'll be rating their love language on a scale of 1-10 based on my understanding of their personality + include the type of person they'd be compatible with.

⸻ thank you for the request : ] i hope you like this one too.

⸻ [ part i. itoshi sae & nagi seishirou ] [ part ii. isagi yoichi & itoshi rin ]

BACHIRA MEGURU

ACTS OF SERVICE: 10/10. Considering how lonely he was during his childhood, I feel like he's the type of person who likes to please someone to get them to stay, romance-wise. He seems like someone who'd be very eager to help with anything either prompted or unprompted. This guy has no complaints unless it's something that he's unfamiliar with. Otherwise, whatever you need; he's on it.

WORDS OF AFFIRMATION: 9/10. I think that he has no trouble expressing his thoughts and feelings no matter how perplexing they sound. He's also not slow when it comes to emotional cues, so he can definitely tell when someone is feeling a down or happy. I feel like he'd be really good at hyping someone up considering how energetic he is, but if you're feeling down, he'd probably attempt to be silly to get you to feel better. He may not be the best at giving advice, but he's good at making people feel better, for sure.

PHYSICAL TOUCH: 10/10. This guy is the touchy type. We can already see that based on how he interacts with Isagi and the other characters in Blue Lock. I think that the problem doesn't lie with the fact that he doesn't like it unlike most of the other characters in Blue Lock, but rather, he likes it so much that he's probably so clingy (though that depends on your preference). He's probably the type to want to hold hands all the time, or hug, or feed you. Basically, he's always latched onto you or giving you playful jabs, for sure.

Exhibit A: him feeding Isagi after they won the match against Team V (if I remember correctly).

QUALITY TIME: 10/10. Although he can be independent, he still tends to be very clingy. I feel like if he had a significant other, his thought process would be something like "why would I need to feel lonely or isolate myself when I have an s/o?" So, he's definitely not leaving you alone so long as he's around. You can't be in separate rooms when you're under one house or one building because he doesn't understand the point of it. If you're the type to want space every now and then, then that's something you'd have to articulate to him because that idea doesn't come naturally into his brain.

GIFT GIVING: 8/10. He likes to give gifts every now and then, but they're always so unique and kind of strange. He might give you a pretty and shiny acorn, or bring home a stray puppy, or even give you a random rock, saying that it "reminded him of you." He's not the best at giving practical gifts, but it's the thought that counts with him and his gifts.

COMPATIBLE WITH: someone who is a little on the calmer side to balance out his high energy. Also, I think he has a slight problem with unintentionally crossing boundaries, so someone who would nicely emphasize the importance of respecting it would suit him. It doesn't really matter whether the person is introverted or extroverted; what matters is their ability to handle his high energy and letting it not get out of hand.

NOEL NOA

ACTS OF SERVICE: 9/10. I feel like he naturally comes off as a gentleman even if he doesn't mean to. He seems like the type of person to hold the door open for you, let you walk in first, carry your bag if you find them to be heavy, and help you clean up. Although, he does all that mostly to be efficient. His logic is probably something like "if you are having trouble with something, then isn't the obvious solution for me to help you/do it for you so it's done faster?" He doesn't like to waste time especially on pointless stuff like debating on who should be opening the door for who because he's already doing it.

WORDS OF AFFIRMATION: 5/10. Not the best with comforting. I feel like he wouldn't know what to say when faced with a situation wherein you were feeling emotional, so he either stays quiet or attempts to give you a solution even if you didn't ask for it. I feel like the issue with this one is because of his obsession with logic, he would seem like the type to accidentally invalidate your emotions by pushing for the solutions he thought of. Still, I think he's a great person to approach when it comes to objective advice.

PHYSICAL TOUCH: 2/10. He will not initiate physical intimacy and he might feel a little uncomfortable if you initiate it especially in the beginning of a relationship. He's a pretty closed-off person and he seems like someone who doesn't see the point in doing things like hugging or holding hands—they don't seem practical. You'd just have to get him warmed up to the idea by slowly initiating them.

QUALITY TIME: 6/10. He spends time with a significant other because he might see it as an obligation to do so and not more-so because he actively seeks for it. He thinks that it's a natural thing to do for couples and might think that there is a general standard for how this relationship thing works and spending time with them is among one of those in the list. Whether you perceive this to be a good thing or bad thing would be up to you though.

GIFT GIVING: 8/10. Again, general standards for couples—I think he subconsciously follows that, so, I think he'd be good at gifting you both practical things and romantic things such as flowers. You might not receive a heart-felt letter because he wouldn't know what to say, but he seems like the type to give you roses on valentine's day. He also seems like someone who would get you practical gifts when he feels like you need them.

COMPATIBLE WITH: someone who is mature and is able to argue against his rigid logic, but still be able to appreciate this characteristic of his. I feel like he tends to be extremely rigid with his thought process to the point that it's sometimes hard to convince him of different ideas, so a significant other who is mature and able to articulate their thoughts properly would be suitable for him. It would also help if they're pretty good at persuading and using his own logic against him (not in an argumentative way) as it might make him feel challenged, but in a good way.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hello! How are you?

Basically, I have seen this in many spaces where people are anti hp (the series and the mc), they bring up the fact that harry isn't a great mc because by the end of the series he made/brought no changes in the wizarding world. He didn't change the system, didn't do anything about the house elf slavery, (they mention the fact that after the war harry contemplates asking kreacher to bring him a sandwich!! and that he wasn't as passionate about freeing them as Hermione was), and so on, I don't remember everything.

Mostly, they mention that he becomes a ministry lapdog and ended up joining the same system which oppressed him (like you, i hate that he becomes an auror btw) and by the end of the series everything is the same and he didn't bring any monumental change like he doesn't have the power or interest to do so.

So, my questions to you are - what are your thoughts on these opinions?? Do you think it's poor writing by jkr?? Or it wasn't relevant to the core plot?

I don't really like speculating what JKR was thinking when she wrote something, because I have no way of actually knowing, but book 7, in certain parts, always felt to me like she was ready to move on and wanted to be done with it.

I think by the time she got to writing book 7, she just kinda wanted the writing process to be over already. So, book 7 has always been a mixed bag for me — when it's good, it's really good, but it also has moments that drag and are utter stupidity.

I think the epilogue is a bit of that race to be done with it already.

Like, there is a fan theory she wrote the epilogue before the book, and honestly, I can belive that.

But, I think the Harry becoming an auror isn't bad writing in the books — it's bad writing post-books. Sure, the epilogue implies the system didn't change as much as it should have (Albus worrying about being sorted into Slytherin, Ron confounding muggles with no consequences, Percy's treatment, etc.), but I think it wouldn't have been as egregious and offensive as it is to most fans who dislike it if it wasn’t for a lot of JKR's periphery canon she wrote that added a lot of details about the characters' futures that just made everything worse (plus the CC play).

Without the epilogue, the ending of DH doesn't say anything about what Harry would do. Yes, he isn't passionate about freeing house elves, but this isn't new and is true to his character. He isn't perfect, and that's not bad writing, it's staying consistent with his characterization up to this point. The ending without the epilogue leaves the reader off with plenty of potential to work with for their imagination and write fic about Harry's future. I actually like the end note of the series pre-epilogue because it fits. It works with Harry as a character who just wants something simple to eat and go to bed. He isn't concerned with instating new policies and shit, because it would be out of character for him to concern himself over these things in that moment. Harry is not a politician and he never wanted to be one. I feel like the fandom expects a lot from Harry that would be out of character for him to do without external factors pushing him into a political role. (Don't get me wrong, he'd be a decent politician, but that would be because he won't play the same game as everyone else. And he'd never choose to be a politician without being forced/pressured/otherwise convinced into the position).

The epilogue itself, while, closing off some options and proving the wizarding world still has many many issues, doesn't actually mention the Golden Trio's (or Ginny's) professions and still leaves us with a lot of open room for interpretation. Harry isn't stated to be an auror in the epilogue — it's JKR's writings after the books that made him an auror and Hermione a minister and kinda butchered Ron altogether (book 7 started the job of butchering Ron's character, though...). Even if the epilogue doesn't paint the best picture of the future of the WW, it's still open enough to work with if you really want to. It's the stuff she published after the books that made everything about the wizarding world's (and Harry's) future so much worse for me.

I do think, the epilogue is bad writing in that it doesn't add to the story and I think makes book 7 (and the whole series) worse overall, but I would've hated it less if it wasn't for all the information she added in after the fact (that didn't actually add anything, just ruin and destroy).

And a lot of her periphery canon writing show how much she doesn't remember from her books. I talked about it when it comes to fahion and the term "warlock", but she tends to, not really know her own world building and she contradicts herself a lot. This tendency is at it's worst with book 7 Wandlore, a lot of her Pottermore articles, and, of course, the Fantastic Beasts films and CC (some of her commentary in the Hogwarts Library books collection as well). So, I take any periphery canon stuff as additional to the books and optional depending on if they make sense with the books' canon or not.

So, I'd say, the problems for me are more with post-books stuff, and not the content of the books themselves. Becouse yeah, Harry mentioned wanting to be an auror in years 5 and 6, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't change his mind once he realizes what it entails

15-16 year old Harry talking about wanting to be an auror actually fits his character. Not because I think the job would be great for him, but because of his low self-worth. Moody/Barty told him he has the talent to be an auror and Harry is ridiculously insecure in himself. When one of the first adults to tell him he is talented and good at things to his face told him he'd make a good auror — of course that's what Harry would focus on!

Even if Moody/Barty was discovered to be a Death Eater later, he was still someone Harry looked up to. Harry who thinks he isn't particularly good at anything:

“Well, I’m not going to tell you,” said Moody gruffly. “I don’t show favoritism, me. I’m just going to give you some good, general advice. And the first bit is — play to your strengths.” “I haven’t got any,” said Harry, before he could stop himself. “Excuse me,” growled Moody, “you’ve got strengths if I say you’ve got them. Think now. What are you best at?”

(GoF, Ch20)

Was told he'd be good at something (being an auror) — so it makes sense he'd want to pursue it initially. I think Harry is likely to not want to stay as an auror though. I love to headcanon him as an auror program dropout, honestly. That he starts and then leaves. Which is possible with book 7 canon (including the epilogue).

The books actually don't contradict some changes or changes-in-progress in the WW (including the epilogue). It's just been 19 years, not even a whole generation, big systematic changes rarely happen this quickly, so while some of the patterns are worrying, you can work with it, I think the epilogue is bad, but it's not the worst that happened to HP books.

The worse problem is that JKR kept writing contradictory things instead of leaving the books be once they were done.

(Not that the books don't have their moments of contradicting themselves, they do. There are plot contrivances, stuff that makes zero sense, and plenty of plot holes, but when it comes to Harry's future and the WW's future as a whole, the books are not the main culprit here, the epilogue was a witness that did nothing to help at the scene of the crime at best).

[galactic-glamour-girl-posts]

Do the Warners have Memory Problems?

Even a scrapped exchange between Yakko and Dot hints at this (occurs at 0:59):

Yakko: "Are you sure this is a good idea?" Dot: "Don't worry, I've done this before!" Yakko: "Really?" Dot: "No wait... I've made beef jerky before."

Please ignore the likely possibility that this is just an out of context pun I wanna connect dots that aren't there.

I can excuse the first example, by the time of the reboot the Warners would've been drawn over 90 years ago in-universe, they're not gonna remember everything they've ever worked on. But the other instances were presumably relatively recent events. I get it, that's the joke, but it's fun to try and think of an explanation anyway.

Could they be developing memory problems because of their age? Their literal age, that is. Physically (and kind of mentally, they mostly act like kids but they're clearly beyond their age in terms of wit and book smarts) they're young, but they've still been alive for over 90 years. People tend to suffer from memory loss as they get older, and the Warners are technically older than most people currently alive. They may be toons, but could their brains really have not changed in all that time? The reboot suggests otherwise, since there's a segment where Dot finds a pimple (A.K.A a "zit") on her face, after which Yakko tries to comfort her by saying "we all get zits sooner or later", heavily implying that all three Warners went through puberty (it just took a longer amount of time than as it would for the average human), and hence that their bodies can in fact change. And if their bodies can change, and the brain is a part of the body, couldn't their brains eventually change too?

Alternatively...maybe this could be a side effect of them being reanimated?

We know this isn't just a bit, the Warners really were reanimated before the events of the reboot, that's why at the beginning of the first segment after the cold open they're returning to the water tower for the first time in years, rather than already inside of it.

Animaniacs has repeatedly shown it's not that interested in delving into toon lore (which is good since people don't watch comedy shows for lore infodumps), so we don't know much about how the process of reanimation works in a world where a considerable amount of the population are toons. All we know is that it's an in-universe explanation for their new designs. Since their designs were altered, and their designs are their bodies, could this process have altered their brains?

Another thing I'd like to point out is that the name of the first segment is "Suspended Animation Part One". This implies that the Warners were put into a state of, well, suspended animation before being reanimated, which explains why they don't know about modern technology or current events in the first episode of the reboot. Being in this state for so long might have badly affected their brains, hence affecting their memory.

...

Man we're really starved for content if I'm analysing random jokes 😭

[paper-mario-wiki]

Hey how do you cook chicken so often. It's always a huge fucking hassle to me to prep and cook chicken and it's so expensive I usually don't bother. Is there some trick you know for making it easy?

the answer's a lot more simple than ya think. i just have a huge bag of chicken breasts in the freezer. dont remember PRECISELY how much it was, pretty sure under $25 for 10 pounds at costco, and it'll last you several weeks when cooking for one.

the only real "prep" for making it easier is, when i don't have any chicken thawed in the fridge, i take some out of the freezer and put it into a plastic bag in the fridge. then, by the next day, ive got chicken that can be cooked and eaten up in 10 minutes. while still raw, it'll stay good for 2 days refrigerated, and up to 4 if you're stupid.

the breasts are actually a little bigger than i'd like when cooking just for myself, so while they're still frozen i find their middle and split them in half on the hard corner of my kitchen counter.

before seasoning, pat down the breast with a paper towel to get excess moisture off. it'll cook more evenly and make seasoning stick easier. i only use salt and pepper before cooking because im lazy and spiceless (poor), but you can definitely use herbs and whatnot when cooking. also smash down some of the thicker bits of the meat with the bottom of a cup or a mallet if you've got one. as long as the breast isn't thicker than, say, the width of your index finger, it'll cook through very easily, mostly in its own juices. otherwise you'll have a harder time cooking it evenly, though it can still be done. it just takes longer and might not look as nice.

pan-frying is as easy as putting in a splash of olive oil (not a ton, just enough for the breast to rest in), and cooking for 5 to 7 minutes on both sides, depending on how brown you want it. this is on medium-high heat, so i set my stove's little heat dial to 6 or 7.

for reference, the meal i made today (chicken breast, hashbrown, fried kale) was prepared in about 15ish minutes, including prepping the chicken and getting it on the pan, which was done first cuz it takes the longest to cook. the hashbrowns cooked on the far side of the pan away from the chicken, and the kale in my air fryer for 3 minutes. the chicken came off the pan first, and i let it rest for a few minutes while i let the hashbrowns finish cooking.

it sounds like a lotta work, but sincerely the most tedious thing about cooking with chicken is thawing it out, so having a few single-person servings of chicken in the fridge makes the whole process much simpler.

make sure that you're wiping down surfaces and utensils that the chicken touches while still raw, and try not to let any of the other foods at all. salmonella is easily avoidable, but still no joke.

[transmutationisms]

i admittedly don't know much about lynch or his work; would love to hear more of your thoughts irt your last post

i've written more on lynch (mostly twin peaks) in my twin peaks tag but to be very general, i think that many people who talk about his work, and i'm very much including a lot of professional writers and critics here, fundamentally misunderstand the way he uses symbolic visual language and write him off as basically making beautiful nonsense when in truth, his work generally does have very overt and deliberate meanings and arguments to it, only you do have to actually parse the role that his signs & symbols play structurally in the formation of a narrative. again being reductive and simplistic, but: most people would have a great deal more confidence interpreting lynch if they thought of him as working in a german expressionist tradition, rather than what i usually hear described as 'surrealism'—by which they really mean to denote a kind of vulgar nihilist / absurdist stance that reduces all symbols to nonsense and thus obviates the need to actually read them.

to take an example that really annoys me, i don't know if you've seen inland empire (would recommend!) but i can't tell you how many times i've seen people dismiss the giant rabbit-headed sitcom bits as "surreal", "absurdist", or just "lynchian" (this means nothing in this context). if the visual symbols of the film are supposed to tell us what environment laura dern's character is in, and are supposed to correspond 1:1 to that environment, then the sitcom bits make no sense. on the other hand, what i would propose is that lynch typically projects his characters' psychological needs, wants, and anguishes outward onto the environments they occupy, rather than configuring the environment as a thing-in-itself that impresses upon the characters. inland empire is a film about the creative (including but not limited to artistic) process. what, then, can we surmise about laura dern (im sorry i saw this film thrice & don't remember the characters' names) from the intrusion of a sitcom into her increasingly dizzying, borderline dissociative work as an apparently precariously respectable actor? analogously to the way lynch brings the formal elements of a soap opera to his idyllic PNW small town in twin peaks, the sitcom format in inland empire introduces an altered logic into a story form that we might otherwise expect to read and follow in very different ways. the rabbits that laura dern sees are not random imagery denoting generic insanity; they are deliberately chosen pieces that tell us what she fears in taking on this artistic project, and how her vision of herself and her work must articulate along the sort of formal demarcation that differentiates a hollywood production from a children's television show from a verite documentary and so forth. the rabbit sitcom is supposed to be destabilising, but not because it's random or nonsensical.

i of course wouldn't reduce lynch's entire artistic outlook to only one mode of engagement or symbology, but broadly i do think that failing to parse his expressionistic use of symbolism is at the root of a lot of responses to his work (both positive & negative) that fail to actually say anything or derive any meaning. this is how people miss the extremely glaring reaganisms of twin peaks or blue velvet, for example. these symbols are not hidden, nor are they random. the association of the demon bob with the us bombing of hiroshima and nagasaki is a visually asserted statement about evil as lynch understands it. the factory landscapes in eraserhead (here the german-expressionist influence is quite overt) don't just represent the encroachment of a modernist (derogatory) environment into the dad's family life; they are also framed & shot & dressed to be a reflection of how he perceives his work, his social reproduction via his son, and the broader social context in which he lives. again i don't mean to reduce lynch's filmmaking ethos to one single aesthetic method lol—but, this is certainly a huge constitutive element of a lot of what he did, and it matters to me both because (again there is more on this in the link above) his work is profoundly, obviously conservative in ways that a shocking number of people miss or deny—and because, despite that, i get a lot of enjoyment from his technical skill and craft as a filmmaker, specifically including the way that he uses visual language & symbols as richly articulated projections of his characters and their various trials & tribulations.

[deathofacupid]

i'll always take care of you | clay jensen

a/n: this post saved me! posting another clay fic fully aware it's going to flop...

summary: clay hates parties, but if you're going, he's going too. someone's gotta watch out for you, right?

warnings: underage drinking, mention of drugs, cursing

pairing: fem!reader x clay jensen

word count: 1.2k+ words

he swears, he swears, he took his eyes off you for less than five minutes to pee. in his defense, clay didn't think you'd go missing in that short amount of time. (okay, he tells himself, maybe "missing" isn't the right word choice if he wants to stay calm.)

now, he thinks - knows - otherwise. clay regrets not asking one his sober friends to watch you, because who knows what might've happened to you?

and now that he's acknowledged the fact something might've happned to you, he's spiraling. hey, at least he's self aware of the fact he's spiraling, right?

yeah, okay, so that doesn't make things better.

he asks around, but the music is too loud, so most people don't even hear him. and if they do hear him, they're "busy". whether it's dancing, grinding, or drinking, he's reached the conclusion that no one gives shits.

he's frantically going back and forth, room to room. clay tries your phone a number of times, though he isn't suprised when it goes straight to voicemail.

as he shoves past more people, heading to the kitchen where the drinks are at (you might be there), his mind is racing with every possibility.

what if someone took advantage of you? and it was all his fault? be, god, did he not learn all the previous times?

he shoulders a drunk couple, and scans the area. empty bottles, alcohol and not, trash on the counters, and a number of cabinets are left open. clay takes a few steps forward, accidentally kicking a can. he pick it up, and in the process, sees a girl... just lying there.

he makes a face, before realizing it's not just any girl. it's his girlfriend. it's... you.

"y/n? what the hell? where's your phone at? i've been looking for you everywhere!" he exclaims, trying to pull you up.

"shh. sh. look at those stars. god, i just love the ursa major."

"we're inside. those are the ceiling lights," clay says. he doesn't think he's ever met someone who gets drunk like you.

"oh. well, it's still magical."

"yeah, lord praise the electrican," with a slight struggle, he pulls you up to your feet, and you don't resist.

"how much did you have to drink?" he mutters, and it's mostly rhetorical.

"yes, i am."

"no, that's not- never mind. we're leaving."

"nooo. why? we just got here!"

"oh, yeah," he rolls his eyes, "we just got here 3 hours ago."

you whine again, but he just sighs. you aren't normally a heavy drinker, but when you do decide to get out of that comfort zone, you go all out.

currently, it felt like he was dragging around a hormonal toddler. 0/10 experience, he does not recommend. of course, he'll happily do it anyways.

ask anybody really, clay's completely whipped for you. he hasn't felt this was since hannah, and even then, it doesn't feel the same.

it feels deeper.

part of him is afraid he's gonna mess this up, and that his love for you has peaked. but he looks right at you, and realizes that it never will.

"come on, angel," he says, almost pleadingly. the way your eyes gleam at the nickname he's just dropped has him all giddy.

"okie," you make grabby-hands at them.

"is this- are you asking me to carry you?" clay knows very well it wouldn't work out well. he's so greatful you look past his physical strength.

you shrug. "well," clay presses his lips together, "it looks like you can in fact walk, so... let's get to it."

he takes a step to you, and you stumble straight into his arms. clay darts a hand to your lower back to steady you, "whoa."

"i'm good!" you slur.

"and off we go, drunkie."

"'m... i'm not a," you pause, hiccupping, trying to remember the word he used.

"uh, at this moment, you are." he leads you to the front door, and he's so focused on helping you take steps forward, he completely slams into someone.

clay falters back as you fall out of your grip. but as he realizes what's happened, he sees that justin's caught you, and you're pressed up against him. "oh," you murmur, "well, hello there, handsome."

"yeah, okay, no," clay loops your arm back around him, stealing you back from his brother.

"alas, i'm taken," justin sighs. "and you are too. forbidden love, huh?"

clay rolls his eyes, for what feels like the millionth time tonight. "y/n's, like, shit-faced."

"i can see that. you taking her home?"

"your parents are out of town, right?" he asks, turning back to you.

"my... my parents?" you ask, "i have-?"

clay makes eye contact with justin. "she'll stay the night. i don't want her home alone. i assume you'll..." he grimaces, "stay the night with jess?"

"oh, you know it, bro."

clay makes a face, picturing his brother having sex isn't great. he knows he doesn't have to tell justin to do the right thing.

"cool. then you won't need a ride back."

"nope. you aren't drunk, right?"

"i'm the designated driver," clay replies.

"cool. night, by the way," he says, giving the two of you a quick hug.

"goodnight!" you sing-song, individually sounding out ever syllable.

he opens the car door for you, and you squint off into the distance. "look at the moon. it's so pretty. you're almost as pretty."

clay follows your eye line. "that... that is a street-lamp."

you shrug, "you're almost as pretty."

"gee, thanks."

"don't be jealous?"

"it's hard to not envy a street-lamp."

you giggle drunkenly, and a small smile flits over his face, "you're adorable," he tells you.

"i know," you say, matter-of-factly.

"aww, what an adorable narcissist."

"very."

clay chuckles and closes the door, getting in from the other side.

“where are we going?” you ask, squinting at the rear-view mirror in awe. “oh my, that’s me,” you whisper.

"a; my place, b; that's your reflection. wild, right?"

"whoa," is all you respond with. you pull on your seatbelt, adjusting it so you can turn to face him in your seat. "i really, really love you."

"well, you're in luck," he smiles, "the feeling's mutual."

he tries to keep up with your nonsensical blabber, but he doesn't know if he's done a good job. either way, clay's just pulled into the parking lot, turning the ignition off.

"all right," he turns to look at you, exiting from his side, and over to yours. unbuckling your belt for you, clay helps you out.

"to the shed we go!" you cheer, not very quietly. clay clamps a hand over your mouth, "you could quite literally not be any louder."

you bite his hand, and he yelps, pulling it away. "yes, i could!" you argue.

"trust me, i don't wanna test that theory out."

"your loss."

"not really."

the first thing he does is help you change into comfier clothes, an old shirt of his and basketball shorts that don't fit him anymore. clay doesn't have a reason to keep makeup wipes around, but he adds them to his mental shopping list for next time. he grabs a clean rag and wets it with warm water, gently wiping off the makeup.

then it's just you and his in the outhouse, pressed against each other under covers.

"tired?" he asks. you nod simply in reply.

"yeah, me too. now i have a good idea of being a dad is like." he chuckles at his own stupid joke, thinking that if you were sober, you'd say something silly like "okay, daddy".

"thanks for..." you trail off, yawning. clay kisses your forehead.

"i'll always take care of you."

[gam3-b01]

winter

pairing(s): jeon wonwoo x reader

genre(s): angst

wc: ~1.3k

warnings: suggestive content (hankypanky related activities), just sad hours in general, minors dni just to be safe

(a/n: my first post on this blog, this was one of my earliest drafts and i needed to get it out of my system ahahsjdnd. the way some people might know who i am because i used the term hanky panky is concerning but also hilarious, if you see this i love you bro sorry for angst hours i stayed up too late to make sane decisions sorry i had to. song inspo for this fic is winter by two feet)

It's not a thing, right? This hasn't happened before.

But the familiarity with which you look up at him from under the covers slaps Wonwoo in the face before he has the time to process the content haziness clouding your eyes. His tense frame relaxes involuntarily, and he slips in beside you but not before checking your bare skin for any bruises he might have accidently left after almost soldering you to the mattress barely ten minutes ago. As he slips an arm around your middle and you tell him without any kindness whatsoever that his hands are way too cold for you (and that he should probably get checked for anaemia because, and he quotes, "even hell freezing over generates more fucking warmth than you do"), he realises he has to stop lying to himself and acknowledge the fact that realistically, this has actually definitely happened before.

This exact night, every single frame of it, happened last year. And the year before that. And the year before that one? No, the both of you were still together back then. Probably. What year was three years ago? Time was always a muddy, comically abstract concept when it came to each other for the both of you.

Maybe it would be easier for him to count the years winter to winter. Because when Wonwoo visits his hometown at the beginning of every December, a series of events occur. He sets his bags down at his place and spends the first week in radio silence recuperating with his family, ignoring the 20 odd messages he gets from Mingyu about his dog and updates (read: gossip) from their shared workplace. The next week usually is spent catching up with old friends mostly out of obligation, and the third week is occupied by Christmas. The fourth-ish week is when all of his friends asking about you begins to get to his head. By around the 28th of December, he's sick of lying awake in his childhood bed, staring at the ceiling as he tries to forget things that should never have happened in the first place. Eventually he sits up, runs a hand through his hair, puts on his glasses, and spritzes on something that you liked to call "sandalwood crack" before shrugging on his jacket and heading out.

Where to though? He pretends to think for a while before giving up. And when he steps into the bar after paying for his cab, he is never, ever surprised or secretly relieved when he spots you sitting in the stool furthest away from the air conditioning. You look wasted, but the soda cans strewn about you indicate otherwise. You've stopped drinking after the breakup. You're doing well with sobriety. He opens with that like the asshole he is, and you have the decency to cuss at him like a sailor and pass him a stool as you say something vaguely self-depreciating as a joke about the near-alcoholism you contracted back then. He opts for silence. And you ask him to take it easy despite him having opened the fire. Ever tolerant. Like the gentle undercurrents of a river (not like you didn't have a temper on you, you just tended to be nice when you saw him after long periods of time. Was it because you missed him? The mere thought had him shrivelling up a little inside). Wasn't he supposed to be the water sign between you both? He remembers the natal chart phase you had when you were nineteen, which reminds him you were his best friend of nine years before the both of you stopped talking. He expertly shoves that piece of information away before it tries to hurt him one more time.

(...What kind of best friend asks, no, begs him to leave and never contact them again? Maybe the kind whose best friend actually proceeded to do exactly that without ever putting up a fight? Fuck.)

Things somehow, without fail, end up leading you both to the nearest motel when one of you ends up saying something incredibly reckless and all the other person can do is gape hopelessly, words murdered in cold blood right when they were about to be bailed out from their throat. The rest of a night is a senseless, irresponsible blur, and then?

The rough part begins.

One of you is going to leave in the next thirty minutes if Wonwoo's doing his gut arithmetic right. He wished he sucked at math sometimes, he really did.

However, he blinks a bit. Something feels off, something feels different. You're not leaving (is it his turn this time..?). Instead, you're turning around, eyes vulnerable and still blown a little wide as you touch his hair with a flavour of fondness he could not imitate even if he tried his damndest to.

He freezes for only a second before his lips seek yours out of habit. He truly loathes the way he groans at how much it affects him, but what else is he supposed to do when he knows you're trying to hold back that little sound you make when you get desperate for him? He's almost willing to let you take the lead because he feels like his system is going into overdrive, willing to let you finally ruin whatever's left of him, but sanity prevails by a hanging thread as he takes back control from you with a firm hand on your jaw. His grip is gentle unlike earlier, and despite knowing you like it when he's mean to you, his eyes shine with something completely different when he breaks the kiss for a moment to take in everything he can about you right now and burn this anomaly into his memory.

(Because what else will he be ever be able to think of on every single cold, miserable night for many years to come after that look you gave him before he kissed you? That look that made it look like you still loved him, why did you have to do that?)

You're staring at him like you've been burned, and he's trying his absolute best not to flinch away when he sees raw, unabashed hurt begin to filter through your soft irises.

"Don't look at me like that." You start.

"Like what?"

"Like you-", you gulp nervously, eyes quickly losing the content sheen radiating off of you earlier.

"-like you actually want me or something."

Externally, the tenderness in his eyes is instantly replaced by whatever the fuck he usually looks like, but internally, he's trying his best not to scream. Your words are unfair, cruel even. How can the one person who knows him like the back of their hand not grasp the one fundamental truth that makes up his very core?

The alarm system inside his head built just for you tells him you feel sick, just like he does. He knows you've gleaned that much as well, and makes no effort to stop you as you slip out of the bed with the sheets hugging your chest in one fluid motion.

"I feel so sick, Wonwoo."

"I know."

Your heart is as tangled up as his is, and no matter how many times the both of you manage to land into each other's arms, neither of you seem to be capable of unravelling the other without tearing everything apart.

He watches you collect yourself before turning to him, face stone cold, with eyes that now look foreign to him as you deliver the parthian shot.

"I think that I should go."

[neunnnnnnn]

do you have recs on stuff to script for a kpop dr?

These are recs after I've shifted otherwise the ones I haven't mentioned are the basic ones you know.

1. If you are shifting to a group based

. Script that the manager favours you ( learnt from experience)

. You are favoured when it comes to your salary because.. it's sad but if the company doesn't like you trust that your gonna get less than your members😭

. Your stylist doesn't mess up your outfits ( I once performed with a torn dress and I didn't notice it)

. Bodyguards!!!!!! Alot of them.

. Photogenic and videogenic ( you know.. the usual)

. Please for the love of god don't involve yourself in politics ( trust me) this is mostly an advice 😂

. World tours aren't tiring for you.

. You and your members get along.

. You get to be part of process of your comeback like producing etc....

2. If you are a soloist.

. You have enough staff

. You and your company are in good terms financially.

. They literally won't you know squeeze you financially after every comeback.

. Airport arrivals are safe with enough protection.

. Your accounts can't be hacked.

. You can't be stalked.

. Again your company likes you!!!!!!

. All events that you do ends in success ( unless you like some drama (; )

. If yare just starting a career they'll give you a nice place to stay same as if you're in a group based.

That's all I could think of atm if I remember more I'll add them!!