#can I get sad trombone noises please

[e-adlirez]

An Independent Callout Update

Hi everybody, this is uh, this is exactly what it says on the tin, and I figured I'd make one.

Last you saw me I was offering some appreciation for some funni Tumblr art, and sharing a project long-ish in the making (it was like two months it's not that long). I figured y'know, maybe we can let sleeping dogs lie, maybe I can work on other things and maybe take a br--

NOPE JUST KIDDING someone's still up and about and still trying to prove himself somewhere in the blameless route. I've genuinely never seen someone make this many backflips to make them look innocent since Grace Chastity, which is an accomplishment, by the way! Not a good one by any means, but an accomplishment nonetheless!

Let's dive into it, shall we?

Here we have a Cadillac trying to claim that he was hacked. As you can see, he's failed miserably at trying to ping @2deadkat, @ratonahat and @bloombirdreads, in an attempt to call for help. He's failing to ping them because they blocked his ass a whiiiillleeeee ago. And of course, the "it wasn't his fault, it was someone else acting in my name!" excuse! This is peak "I can't be having impure thoughts! This is the other guy's fault for making me horny!" Cadillac is there something you wish to confess in front of the class?

Two holes in his excuse:

One, you didn't seem to have any issues when you were trying to convince me into thinking that you were trying even the tiniest modicum of owning up to your mistakes (which I have screenshotted here in case you think you can delete them and say I can't prove anything). It was really more of a "I'm changed in literally 2 days, I'm not like that anymore!", which is about as believable as falling into a black hole and coming out alive. In other words, not at all. Even less believable since your writing style doesn't seem to have changed from your older posts to your newer posts, hm....

Two, Cadillac, even if you were telling the truth and got hacked, how did you not notice? Getting your account hacked is a very big deal! You could lose personal information, get doxxed, have your account become a mouthpiece for scams, and that's only the half of it! How did you only notice this just now, on December 22nd of 2023? This is a big affront to your internet safety! It would be impossible!

And if you want to say this is a recent development, then uh, buddy, I have some news for you.

Here I have a screenshot from one of my personal Discords, and so far it's the earliest secondary record I have of Cadillac's shenaniganery.

And you can tell it's really early because a reply to the mini-rant around the same day mentions this funny little detail:

This was back when Cadillac had only made two shirtless G posts on his blog. From July 26th, 2023 to December 22nd, 2023-- that's a five-month time period! Almost half a year of not realizing that you've been hacked! And the strangest thing is you haven't changed a bit before or after! This hacker must've done a very good job making your posts sound like your own by extrapolating your internet personality from-- and I counted-- eight bare-bones posts, hm? /sarcastic

Well okay, remember how I said Cadillac's been very consistent this whole time? Well, I lied. There's Cadillac's most recent post as well:

Dear me, you're sounding awfully mature and respectful here! Is this a miracle? Could you possibly have actually been hacked and the person behind the screen is actually a decent person all alo--

OOP I GUESS NOT!

Buddy, I didn't even need to pull up GPTZero for this, you were sounding so corporate and so fake it wasn't even a contest. You ain't slick, Cadillac, not slick at all.

And for the record, I plugged my entries in the callout post in there too because why not

Yep, a lotta hooman to go around with me, Cadillac. This one in I'm writing right now took about an hour :D Whether or not it's because of having to find sources or just to find a good way to say what I want to, I'll leave that for everyone else to decide.

Anyway, this is your Cadillac callout update, goodnight tristate area.

Yes Cadillac you can bet your ass that the only reason anyone would ever be unblocking you would be for no other reason but this: making callouts that aren't going any time soon. I will admit, one flaw in my original post was the fact that I hyperlinked more than I screenshotted, giving you an opportunity to wipe the evidence. Well, you've got nowhere to hide now, Cadillac. I've caught you in 4K, and these posts aren't going anywhere.

[krakenbait]

bragging rights bracket update #3

greetings, bracketeers! commissioner lara here to regale you with hockey news and roast your follies. we’ve had an eventful weekend! the bruins fell victim to a curse and the leafs broke theirs. the kings didn’t manage to out-oilers the edmonton connor mcdavids. and the kraken moved on from their game 7! (the devils and rangers face off in theirs tonight). all the hockey chaos busted over half the brag-cket, with 10 out of 19 bracketeers losing their pick for stanley cup winner! something about bad luck in quippy bracket pools, the same thing happened in my march madness tournament. without further ado, let the poking fun commence :)

56 points

Jack i will pay u to get a mullet (@puck--off​) - as long as he scores a goal tonight, jack hughes can do whatever he wants with his hair

Hughes line is it anyway? ( @natashastarkk ) - @ the rangers pushing it to game 7: “i resent that!”

more hairy men (abby) 

our first sufferer of BBS. picking the stars, oilers, and leafs may help you for now, but don’t expect to stay here for long.

49 points

Chaos mode (Emily) 

if only you could have predicted last night’s chaos

46 points

raise hell or whatever (@dawson-mercer​) - wear your lucky socks, burn some incense, do what you gotta do. the devils need to pull this one off tonight.

43 points

you know :) (@nastybastian​) - rip to the longest running meme in hockey. 

GOOD vibrations (ki)

losing both your finalists in one night? you’re toast!

ready 2b dissapointed but not surprised (@morganfrost​)

you are holding onto the oilers for dear life. do you really trust connor mcdavid that much?

Hold me like a grudge - that leafs pick seems quite useful now that they’re no longer living out the chorus from “sugar we’re going down”

40 points

the bringer of chaos (Brett)

“the number winner you are looking for is not in service. please dial again.”

36 points

battle of the matty b’s (@shea-theodore​) - “is the nhl rigged to get the kraken to win their first playoff series? more at 5.”

33 points

Djoker’s actual bracket 

*sad trombone noises*

come on and raise up (@andreisvechnikov​)

which is worse, a boring grand prix or a busted bracket?

last season 69 points (@arsonandhockey​) - maybe you had it right to betray the bruins

the head, the heart, and the himbos (@circle--of--confusion​)

i’m getting really tired of inserting this gif

hopelessly optimistic bruins fan (@patron-saint-of-boston-hockey​) - alex said “lara just kill me dead when you post the next round of the bracket” so in lieu of the BBS graphic  

the commissioner is not supposed to win (me) - *ducks tomatoes*

20 points

big advocate for naps (@turbolainen​) - you ain’t doing so hot now, but you’ve got a significantly better chance than all the bruins fans!

13 points

if the bruins don’t win don’t talk to m (AJ) - ....

[shikonstar]

So.

A couple of weeks ago, my husband walked off and left the back door open because he didn’t want to expend the effort to close it then open it again.

We have three cats.

He didn’t bother telling me, and it wasn’t until the next afternoon that I discovered that one of them got loose. Needless to say, I was devastated and beyond pissed.

I set out food for a few days; something was eating it, but I could never catch it in time. Obviously, I was going to have to step up my game.

After some research, I found that one of the best ways to lure a cat back is to sprinkle used litter around your yard. Disgusting, but okay. For my cat, I will 100% do.

This led to me going out, bag of used litter in hand, and sprinkling it around as if I performing some arcane, sacred ritual. (Please include loud chirping noises, just in case she is nearby.)

I finish, and look up to find my neighbors staring at me with morbid fascination. I could only imagine what they were thinking.

“Best get the cats in, Agnes. Looks like the neighbor is tryin’ to lure ‘em over fer some type of blood sacrifice.”

Still no cat.

Did you know that the best time to find cats is between 10:30 at night and 2:30 in the morning? It’s true. I had no idea there were so many cats in the area, but at night, the population explodes. A cat for every garbage can. We spotted what we thought was my cat, but another cat ran her off before we could get close.

Cue sad trombone noises.

We go out another night, and, lo and behold, we find her—just up the street from my house! Overjoyed, I slide into the yard (hoping I don’t get shot, but again, anything for the cat) and she looks happy to see me.

But not happy enough to rush into my arms.

Oh, no.

She is a cat.

Cats tease.

Every time I get close, she dances away. I’m terrified I’m going to lose her. I crouch on the ground, waiting for the perfect moment. She’s close…..so close….I spring!

Just as a car backfires and she bolts.

So I end up grabbing her by the tail instead.

She has feeling about this.

Feelings she is determined to share.

My sister, by this point, comes close enough to see me and the cat going at it WWF style; at this point she would do anything to be getting this on video, so she can add Dancing in the Moonlight for effect.

It’s a brief struggle that ends with the cat fleeing as I wail her name. Now, I had been worried about her, but friends, I now know for a fact that she is a fighter. She has bitten me so hard by this point that I have a goose shaped lump on the back of one hand, and she’s completely bitten through the thumbnail and deep into the pad on the other hand.

I walk back to the car, feeling like a failure. Just as I’m passing close to the house, a man pops out with the trash. Shakily, I try to explain why I’m in his yard at midnight, wailing like a banshee. He waves it off, backing away with a frozen smile. He practically runs back inside and you can hear the door locking. Weird.

When I get to the car, it hits me.

My hands are drenched in blood.

I mean, it looks like I’ve dipped them in a bucket.

So now there’s another neighbor that may or may not suspect me of being a serial killer.

Broken hearted, I returned home, cleaned my wounds (which would require a tetanus shot and result in swelling so severe that I couldn’t use my hands for three days) and went to bed.

My husband wakes me at 6:00

Normally, this would result in swift execution.

However, he came with good news! Our cat had been outside when he took the dog out, and he managed to catch her!

……without injury, further proving that we live in a harsh, unjust world.

She spent the next two days sleeping and cuddling me like she didn’t try to gut me like a rat.

The neighbors, unsurprisingly, are still avoiding me.

[kitzenvoncatzen]

Four years later...

"And that's how I met Jerry! My arm is probably not really an arm anymore under there, but I think it's worth it. Sure, it may look scary, but it's just a big pulsating lump of flesh clung to my arm. Sometimes it likes to mimic skin, which is a bit convenient sometimes when I'm talking to people, cause it looks more normal, but a lot of times it'll turn into like a hard wooden thing. Maybe not wood, more like stone...? It gets quite heavy and I can swing it around with a lot of forc-"

"OH MY GOD WHY AREN'T YOU FIGHTING? YOU'RE JUST TALKING ABOUT YOUR ARM PLEASE HELP!"

"No, no, keep talking about your arm, I'm all ears." We're fighting a quite powerful sorcerer here, and my arm turns into a lump just absolutely covered in ears. The sorcerer is using his hands to cast some kind of spell. Might as well stop him. I swing at him with my ear-arm.

"YOU ARE BANNED FROM FREE HAM-SANDWICH DAY!" Our bard must have used vicious mockery at the same time, because as I hit the sorcerer, he stumbled backwards again, probably from the bard. I instinctively kick him over and pin him down so that the rest of the party can actually restrain him, and they do, quite quickly, but the sorcerer, whispering softly, utters one, simple word before they manage to gag him.

"Unbind..." As he says this, I feel my arm, my mimic-arm start to stiffen, then relax, and the seamless connection between me and Jerry slowly releases it's grip on my arm and slides off.

"NO!! JERRY!!!"

[ *Sad Trombone Noise* ]

Oh no, its a mimic! And its just took over your arm! It makes for a good weapon though.

[meetbag]

HashiMito for the ship ask?

Ty for the ask! Here goes:

who cries when someone dies in a movie?

- Hsrm. He's a big softie and Mito loves it. "Oh no, please. Cry on my shoulder for as long as you'd like my dear, I'm here for you" 😏.

who wears the ugly holiday garb?

- Hsrm, but he always drags Mito into it. She just can't say no to those sad (manipulative) puppy eyes. *cut to Mito wearing one half of an "I've been naughty/nice" matching sweater combo, staring into the camera like she's in the office.*

who pays for the meals?

- They take turns. They're both pretty high up the chain of command in their respective clans so I'd imagine money isn't much of an object to either of them.

Who slams the oven door and who plays the trombone?

- Mito plays the trombone because Hsrm, poor thing, is utterly tone deaf. He can keep tempo though!

Who brings home stray animals?

- who else but mother nature himself. Mito's a clean freak and it drives her up the WALL. She comes home to squirrels with the zoomies destroying her seal paper and... well. Nobody talks about what happened that day.

Who leaves the bathroom door open?

Hsrm, I suppose? Dude has no shame, lol.

Who tells the 'dad jokes'

Dadrama Senjudad. His moniker should've been "dad of shinobi." He came out of the womb, looked Butsuma straight in the eye and said, "hello father, I'm dad." That's how strong his dad energy is.

Who wants kids more?

- Mito, surprisingly. I think Hsrm wants kids a lot, deep down, but if we're talking canon universe I think Hsrm is deathly afraid of being a bad father. And, especially pre-Konoha, doesn't want to potentially lose his child like he lost his brothers.

Who travels more?

-Mito. She's a very good diplomat and gets sent on missions all over.

Who spends more cash?

Mito has an appreciation for the finer things in life, but Hsrm has a literal gambling addiction. So Hsrm i think, lol.

Who buys the things in infomercials?

- Hsrm: *puppy eyes* "what do you MEAN we don't need a tiddy bear?!?" (Look it up y'all, its a real thing and it's hilarious).

Who draws in the dust on their cars?

Let's pretend there are cars in the narutoverse- Mito probably. She doodles seal formulas on every surface within reach, 24/7.

Who starts the snowball fights?

Hashirama, every time.

And he regrets it, every time. *cut to hsrm screaming whilst getting snow shoved down the front of his pants*

Who throws away the directions to things?

"It's about the journey, Mito-chan!" Hsrm rasps through Mito's chokehold, as they aimlessly wander Sand country after he threw out the map to Sunagakure.

Who puts up holiday decor?

- Both of them. Mito sneaks in mistletoes everywhere and Hsrm is #notcomplaining.

Who is more likely to forget to bathe?

- I think hygiene is pretty important to both of them so this is unlikely, but maybe Hsrm as he's often busy being ninja president (i.e. falling asleep at his desk and drooling all over the paperwork).

Who gets more obsessed about things?

- Mito. She's a bit of a perfectionist and hyperfixates a lot, and this bleeds into almost everything she does. It's a seal master thing.

Who sings in the shower more often?

- Hsrm, to everyone's deep misfortune. As mentioned before.... baby's totally tone deaf. He is scaring the birds (and Mito) away with his noise pollution.

Thanks again for the ask! Hope you enjoy. :)

[occasionalrpmemes]

LA By Night: Mortal Stakes sentence starters

sentences taken from s1ep1 of the VtM chronicle LA by Night.  edit as desired.  the transcript these lines were copied from, including credits to transcribers, will be linked in the replies of this post.

“Oh, don't worry about it.  I have a ton of things that I do.”

“Focus.”

“I'll keep an eye on you from elsewhere.”

“You're beautiful, darling.”

“Ugh.  As if!”

“I was hungry.  I lost control.  I'm sorry.”

“I can be quite enthralling.”

“I'm sorry, I'd love to help you but I just can't.”

“I'm so disappointed.”

[sad trombone noises]

“Call me if you need anything?”

“My shoes got ruined last time because of you.”

“Knowledge is power.  Well, money is power, but second to money, knowledge is power.”

“I believe in you.  I believe in you, [name].”

“Hi, that hurt my heart.” 

“You're gorgeous and all, but I don't want to talk about this.”

“Make it happen.”

“Let’s talk about this imitation suit you’re wearing.”

“Would you get your shit together, please?”

“Let's kind of be discreet about it, right?“

“I'm up for anything.”

“No, it's okay, don't be nervous!”

“First of all, we can both be beautiful.  You don't have to put me down to lift yourself up, okay?  We can both shine.”

“I’m totally into it.”

“What is WRONG with you?”

“I tried to fight what I am.”

[snarling]

“You just want to stay out of the line of the arterial spray.”

“Okay, you're making jokes.  That's a good sign, just breathe in.  Just stay conscious, okay?  Just stay conscious.”

“Contrary to present events, we're not immediately here to hurt you.”

“You had better start talking.  Right now.”

“Are you going to hit me with that lacrosse stick?”

“Come on!  I'm not going to hurt you.  Do you think I can actually hurt you?”

“You've got blood on your suit... your shirt... your tie...”

“This is really stupid.  It's really, really stupid!  Is there a name for what is happening? ”

“This is good.  We can do this.  This is good.”

“One of the very first things you need to know is we don't talk to people about this.”

“No, you can't tell me what to do.”

“Everything that you've ever known is gone.”

“Oh!  Great, okay. Good talk.  Good talk.  Good talk.”

“What is the point of living if you don't have somebody to share it with?”

“What's going on?  Are you okay?  You sound awful.”

“Sweetheart, as a grown-ass woman, you need to cry us a river, build a bridge, and get over it— now.”

“This is not a safe place.”

“Let me ask you something.  Do you- Do you kill people?”

“Um, hmm, what could possibly go wrong?”

“You understand the need for self-preservation that flows through all of us, so if you want to preserve yourself... get it together.”

“Yeah.  Calm and smooth.  Calm and smooth.”

“Okay, I'm not feeling generous anymore, so— good luck.”

“It is not at all like Harry Potter.”

“It's not very pleasant, but it's necessary.”

“I'll do what needs to be done.”

“Oh man, this is not good. Not good at all.”

“Thank you, [name].  I won't forget it.”

[gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights]

I keep forgetting to post my fics here. have some ladynoir angst, desperada + gamer 2.0 flavor. inspired by @marinetteplztakeabreak

Rating: T

Summary: Chat Noir refuses to let anyone else play as Desperada. Ladybug doesn't know why. But she /does/ know that if he sacrifices himself one more time, her heart won't be able to take it. He doesn't know how it feels to watch her vanish in front of him... right? (Ladynoir, Set during/after Gamer 2.0)

Word Count: 5771

XXX

“No!”

Marinette’s hand paused, leaving her red cursor highlighting the triangular icon for Desperada.  

“Chat?”  Her eyes darted around the cramped pyramid, wishing she could see him, but her field of vision was eclipsed with the akuma selection screen until she chose a fighter.  And even then, she’d enter the body of the akumatized victim; she still wouldn’t be able to reach her Kitty.  

Had Gamer 2.0 broken the rules?  Chat had seemed to be enjoying this game, but his voice just then— 

“Don’t pick Desperada,” his voice crackled through her earpiece.  Something was off for sure.

“Why not?”  She asked. “She’s got an easy power to win with.  I know you’re having fun, but we do still need to win.”

“I know, I know, but… please.  You can win with anyone, my Lady.  I’ll take Desperada.”

It was a strange request, but Marinette wasn’t picky.  He was right; her strategy didn’t require any overpowered finishing moves.

“Are we going to play or not?”  Gamer 2.0’s voice whined.

Marinette scrolled her cursor up and over to Gigantitan.  Chat was always willing to listen to her plans. Of course she would respect the one thing he asked of her.

Though she easily won the match, she couldn’t shake the echo of Chat Noir’s panicked voice.

XXX

Stupid, stupid.  Adrien’s hands still shook where they were trapped inside of the control console.

He should’ve just let Ladybug play as Desperada.  What safer place could there be for her than inside the villain—no, victim, he could usually remember that—who haunted his nightmares?  She couldn’t go up in golden smoke if she was the one wielding Desperada’s shapeshifting instrument.

But still, he wasn’t sure he could watch Desperada in action without clawing at his wrist, even if he knew his Lady was the one beneath her skin.  And he knew he couldn’t let Ladybug face her—and he couldn’t face her—so there was only one solution his suddenly-whirling mind provided him.

He selected Desperada and slammed the button.

His body flickered, leaving him weightless for a brief second before he was thrust into the akuma victim’s body.  He kept his eyes shut for as long as he could afford—not long, since Gamer 2.0 had chosen Pixelator.  Another villain with a one-hit k.o.

Just don’t think about it.  It’s just a game.  It’s not her, you’re not Aspik, you’re not going to be trapped here again, you’re Chat Noir and you LOVE video games it’s just a game it’s just a game it’s just— 

Pixelator’s blast nearly hit his feet.  Only a quick skid across the slick arena floor saved him.  Not that he’d be gone gone if he lost this match—but it would mean that Gamer 2.0 ended up with Desperada’s weapon.

Adrien grit his teeth.  He couldn’t risk that.  Her would win.

“Chat?  Are you okay?”  Ladybug’s voice came through his earpiece, but he couldn’t afford to be distracted by her.  Not like he had been 25,913 times before.

“Fine!”  He managed to choke out before gripping the trombone in his hands.

Pixelator fired off a few more shots, but apparently Gamer 2.0’s practice hadn’t improved his hand-eye coordination.  The glitchy-looking projectiles flew wide enough for Adrien to scramble away, roll, take aim.

One shot.  He just needed one shot.  It would be easy.

But squeezing the modified trombone’s trigger?  Not so much.  

Panic gripped him, months upon months of memories slamming back into him as his gaze skirted the brass weapon.  Five thousand separate instances where his Lady had disintegrated at its hand.

“Chat!  Get your head in the game!”

Ladybug’s voice startled him enough that his hands clenched—squeezing the trigger and blasting that horrible, horrible noise.

Pixelator vanished in a spray of golden smoke.

Pixelator.  Not his Lady.

His hand squeezed the blood from his left wrist anyway.

“Desperada wins!”

The announcer’s voice hit like a punch to the gut, and his body reacted by leaking bile into his throat.

But he won. 

He won.

His body rematerialized in the control pyramid, and Ladybug wasted no time in picking her next fighter.  She was laughing, using Prime Queen to hurl Princess Fragrance against the ground. She was having fun.

She was here, with him, even if he couldn’t squeeze her hand to physically reassure himself.  She was here.

...And, he realized when it was his turn at the selection screen again, she still needed him.

If his time fighting Desperada had taught him anything, it was that he would never let down his Lady.

XXX

“The times when I have the most fun—my favorite moments— are when I'm with you, my Lady. And I would give up everything for just that.”

Chat Noir’s words echoed in Marinette’s mind hours after the fight with Gamer 2.0.  Hours after Max had left her house, cheered by the time spent with her and her parents.  Hours after she lady in bed, trying to convince herself to sleep.

He did give up everything for her.  All the time.  Including today.

Did he know how much it hurt to watch him fall out of the arena?  And he’d had the nerve to wink at her while he did it!  While she couldn’t doubt his logic—and while warmth pooled in her at his trust—what if she’d failed?  She’d been pushed to the brink today; she’d snapped and directed her frustrations from her civilian life at him.  And the whole time, he’d taken it, talked her down, taken the hit.

Just like he always did.

He always did.

She buried her face in her pillow, wishing she’d at least taken the time to thank him today.  He knew she couldn’t do this without him, didn’t he?  So much of their partnership went without saying… 

But then again, she hadn’t realized how much she meant to him until he’d said it, either.

“Marinette?”  Tikki whispered from her spot next to her pillow.  “I thought you’d be asleep by now.  You were exhausted today.”

“I am exhausted,” she groaned, squeezing the pillow against the sides of her head.  “But I can’t stop thinking about…”

“About who?”

Marinette peeked out enough to glare at her kwami.  She knew, of course—she’d said who, not what—but she was going to make Marinette say it.

“Chat Noir,” she huffed into the pillowcase.  “He sacrificed himself again today.”

Tikki nodded, even though she probably already knew that too.  Her kwami had a good sense of what happened while Marinette was in the suit, though she was unable to explain how it worked in a way that a human mind could understand.

“But you saved him,” Tikki said.  “Just like he knew you would.”

“I know I can, but… it still hurts, you know?”  Her voice came out as little more than a whimper.  “I know I’m Ladybug, and I have to purify the akuma, but still… I couldn’t do it without him.  And it’s like he didn’t even think before jumping today!”

“Because he trusts you, Marinette.”

“I know!  But—”

But what?  There really wasn’t anything else to it.  She’d tried talking Chat out of taking hits before.  She could never get him to promise to stop, not when Paris needed the Miraculous Cure more than it needed his Cataclysm.

But.

But.

She just wanted him to be okay.  He’d said he was fine—that his favorite moments were with her.

How could they be, when he was always in so much danger?

How would he feel if he knew how much she worried about him?  Not all the time, of course—just times like this, when she remembered him falling like a ragdoll, disappearing, fading from existence.  It hadn’t been as bad as Timebreaker for sure, or even the Puppeteer when he’d been briefly turned against her—but those had been so long ago.  Maybe it was just the recentness of it, reminding her again just how much she cherished her partner.

Not that she could tell him that so directly.  He’d never stop riding the high of it.

Tikki smiled knowingly.  “If you’re worried about Chat Noir, you should tell him.  He’s your partner. And I… don’t think he gets to hear how much he means to people very often.”

Of course, Tikki had managed to follow her train of thought.  Being literally merged as Ladybug tended to make that easier for her.

“You really think his ego isn’t big enough?”  Marinette grumbled.

Tikki’s eyes turned sad.  “This isn’t Chloe we’re talking about.  He’s your friend.”

Marinette’s brows drew together.  He was her friend, and her partner, and… and he couldn’t be more than that.  Today had reminded her why.

If it already hurt so much to watch Chat throw his life away, how could she handle it if she were in love with him?

“Right,” she mumbled, hating the way her exhaustion twisted her thoughts.  She couldn’t be in love with Chat anyway—because she was in love with Adrien.  She’d taken down some of his pictures since becoming better friends with him, but a few still peeked out from the top of her cork board.

She’d never displayed a picture of Chat Noir, even if she could easily pass herself off as a casual fan.  She wasn’t sure her heart would be able to take both blond-haired boys staring down at her.

This was useless.  She’d been worried about Chat’s safety, not whether or not she was in love with him!

“Tikki?  You think I could get out for a bit to clear my head?”  Lying here in the dark certainly wasn’t cutting it.

“Of course.  Just don’t stay out too long; you still need your rest.”

That much was obvious, especially if she was entertaining romantic thoughts of Chat Noir.

After a whispered “spots on,” she swung out into the night.

XXX

Adrien wound the red string around his left wrist.  Breathed in.

Unwound.  Breathed out.

Wound.  Breathed in.

Unwound.

The rooftop’s shingles still dug into Adrien’s back, but some of the tension uncoiled from his shoulders as he methodically twisted Marinette’s lucky charm.  Maybe it was silly, but more than anything else he’d tried, it worked.  Having something to replace the weight of the miraculous bracelet he’d worn for so long… maybe it should’ve been a reminder of all the times he’d failed, but instead it gave him hope.

How could anything bad happen to him while he held his friend’s lucky charm?

A gentle breeze kissed his masked face as he held his wrist up to the moon.  The green and pink beads glinted brightly against the inky black of his gloves.

He was glad the moon was the only one who could see him from his hiding spot on the abandoned roof.  What would Ladybug think if she knew he had such a weird way of clearing his head? Maybe she’d joke that she was being replaced, that he didn’t need her luck anymore if he had Marinette’s.  But no, that thought wouldn’t even occur to her.  Unlike Adrien, she knew she couldn’t be replaced.

“Chat Noir!  You know you’re irreplaceable.”

He tried to remember her reassuring words every time those doubts crept in.  She had needed him today.  Something had been off with her, a vulnerability he rarely got to see.

“Aren't you scared you'll eventually have to sacrifice everything you love for all of this?”

It would be hard to sacrifice everything he loved when everything he loved was her.  He’d toned down that sentiment out loud, but he still wished he could pull her into his arms, promise her that everything was going to be okay, that they’d beat Hawkmoth and steal his miraculous and reveal their identities to each other and fall and love and move to a private island with a hamster— 

He chuckled at his own fantasy.  He could dream, right?  He had to have something to get through the days when all he could remember was her vanishing over and over, golden smoke and shocked blue eyes— 

The charm bracelet was too tight on his wrist.  He quickly unwound it before the red string could snap.  

Breathed out.  Wound. Breathed in— 

And nearly choked when his staff started ringing.

He rolled over and whipped it out from behind his back, too shocked to even pretend he was busy before picking up.  “LB?  You okay?”

“Oh, um… I didn’t think you’d be up, honestly.”  Her awkward laugh echoed over the pounding of his heart.  “Are you okay?”

“I’m absolutely purrrrfect now, my Lady.”  He grinned.  Marinette’s lucky charm has paid off again.  “How about yourself?  Just wanted to have a chat on this feline evening?”

“Nope, nope, that’s it, I’m hanging up.”

“No no no don’t go,” he said in one breath, both hands tightening around his staff-phone.  “I mean. You didn’t even tell me why you called yet.”

“I can’t just want to chat with my kitty?”

Oh, that put fluttery feelings in his stomach.  It was probably for the best that she wasn’t there in person to see his absolutely smitten look.  “You made a pun.”

“Completely accidental!”

“Suuuure it was, bugaboo.”  He was pushing it, he knew, but she’d called her his kitty.  Either something was finally going right for him… or something was very, very wrong.  “Seriously, though.  You never make house calls.  What’s up?”

“I… nevermind, this was stupid,” she muttered.  

“No excuse to talk to you is stupid.”

She paused, and for a moment he was sure she’d hung up.  But then she said, “Meet me at the Eiffel Tower in ten minutes.”

“As you wish, my Lady.”

He tucked Marinette’s lucky charm away in his pocket, making sure to zip it shut.  Then he vaulted off into the night, leaving memories of other bracelets and vanishing Ladybugs behind.

XXX

“We need to talk.”  Marinette crossed her arms to keep them from shaking.

Chat Noir dropped onto the crossbeam in front of her, a grin wide on his face.  “What, you’re not even going to take me out to dinner first?”  

She found herself wishing she’d brought some croissants, if only to have one to throw at him.  “Can you—can you be serious for once?”

Her voice cracked pitifully.  She was doing it again—taking out her fear and anger on him, and he didn’t deserve it, and she just…

She covered her eyes and crouched down on the cold crossbar.  “I’m sorry, Chat.  I—I shouldn’t have asked you to come out this late.”

“Hey.”

She felt more than saw Chat sit down beside her.  His arms came gently around her, slow enough that she could’ve chosen to pull away.

“You know I’ll always come when you call, little Bug.”

She tried to snort at the nickname, but it felt all too accurate.  She felt so, so small.

“I know you will,” she murmured, twisting to better return his undeserved embrace.  “I’m still sorry. I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciated you today.  I’ve been… having a rough time in my civilian life.  It wasn’t fair to take it out on you.”

“We all have off days, LB.  Don’t worry about it.”

Of course, it hadn’t even fazed him.  How many times had she taken that for granted?

“I know you don’t want to reveal too much about our identities, but if you want to talk about anything that’s bothering you, I’m all ears.”  He pulled back just a little, enough for her to see him twitch his leather cat ears.

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide a smile.  “I just took on too many obligations at the same time, that’s all.  It’s a problem I have.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”  He smiled sadly.  “You’re always sacrificing so much for others.  I can’t imagine your civilian self is any different.”

Her face warmed at his praise.  She did do a lot, but she doubted he’d find her exploits as Marinette half as impressive as Ladybug.  Besides—

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you, the most self-sacrificing person I know.”  

Her gaze peeled away from him as his most recent sacrifice again flashed through her mind.  Would it be worth bringing up again?  He’d never stop choosing her safety over his own.  And she really didn’t want to argue after just apologizing to him.

“Sorry.”

His soft, sad voice surprised her.  Of course it hadn’t been hard for him to guess what she was thinking—he did that all the time when they fought side by side—but he’d never sounded so much like… like he understood.

“I should’ve thought a little harder before jumping today.  That was probably hard to watch.”

“Probably?”  She couldn’t help gaping.  “Chat, it hurts every time I see you throw yourself into danger.  We could’ve found a way to trick Gamer 2.0, or at least come up with a plan.  But you just…”

Left me.

That was it, wasn’t it?  It was supposed to be her and him against the world.  Even if the fight could technically be handled alone sometimes, she needed him.

Her partner’s claws scratched at his wrist, just below the leather brace.  His gaze wouldn’t focus on her.

“I’m sorry, Ladybug, I really am.  I wasn’t... having the best day either, I guess.”

“Hey,” she said, taking his hand—had his claws been digging into his suit?—and giving it a gentle squeeze.  “I’m sorry.  I know we’ve talked about this, and I don’t want to fight about it again.”  There had been too many tears last time, from both of them.  (Mostly her.)  “I’m sorry today was hard for you too.”

“Don’t worry about it.”  He shook his head, but his grip tightened on her hand, like she was anchoring him.  “It was nothing, really.  Just not at the top of my game.”

The pun was forced, and she knew it.  She frowned up at him.

“I’m not going to stop worrying about you just because you tell me to, Chat.  Do you want to talk about it?”

“Can’t.  Civilian stuff,” he said quickly.

“Really?  I guess I just thought… nevermind.”

“What?”

Maybe she’d misread the situation earlier—after all, she hadn’t been able to see his face while they were in the Gamer’s domain.  Could the strange panic she’d thought she heard in his voice just been her imagination?

“You didn’t want me to play as Desperada.  And you seemed a little off afterwards…” 

He shuddered at the akuma’s name.  “You noticed?”

“Of course I did.  You sounded scared, but I didn’t want to ask and give Gamer 2.0 anything he could use against you.”

“Smart,” he said under his breath.  “I should know I can’t hide anything from you.”

“I don’t know about that.  It’s not like I know your identity.”

He gave a shallow laugh at that.  “Right…”

There was an awkward silence, where nothing passed between them but Chat’s rapid pulse against her palm.  She still hadn’t let go of his hand.  He hadn’t teased her about it—which was more of a sign that something was wrong than anything.

“You know,” she said under her breath, tracing her thumb along the back of his hand, “keeping you safe is my number one priority, right?”

“No it’s not.”  He shook his head, but he didn’t sound bitter about it.  “Keeping Paris safe is your priority.  Keeping you safe is mine.”

She bit her lip.  Unfortunately, no matter how her heart felt, he was right.  

“I just mean… the rules we have, about identities and everything—it’s to protect us.”  She swallowed, wondering if she’d regret what she was about to say, if she was only considering it because she’d been worn down by the emotionally exhausting day.  “But if you need to talk about something related to your civilian identity that’s affecting you in battle, well… I can’t protect you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

His eyes snapped up to hers.  “Don’t say that.”

“W-what?”  His intensity caught her off guard.  She was always one to shut down conversations that danced too close to their civilian life, not him.

“If you give me permission to talk about this… I don’t know that I’ll be able to stop.”

His shoulders hunched; his knees pulled up to his chest.  For all that he’d called her Little Bug earlier, she’d never seen him look so small.  Not when she’d told him she was in love with someone else.  Not when they’d fought a horde of akumas turned by Scarlett Moth.  

But she’d rather face a hundred akumas then see her partner look so defeated.

“Chat Noir.”  She squeezed his hand tighter, afraid he would slip away.  “I trust you.  I know you wouldn’t reveal yourself to me on purpose.  I’m not trying to tempt you or anything, I just… I hate seeing you like this.”

Maybe it was selfish of her, but could he really blame her for wanting to help him?

“Let me protect you for once,” she whispered.

“You already have.”  He looked up, and to her surprise, tears welled in the corners of his green eyes.  “So many times.”

“Then let me do it again.  Maybe I can’t keep you from getting hurt, but at least let me be here for you.  You don’t have to pretend to be okay all the time, you know that, right?”

“I do, actually.”  He snorted, wiping at one eye with his free hand.  “Can’t get akumatized.”

Marinette could’ve punched Hawkmoth in the face right then.  Well, she wanted to punch Hawkmoth all the time, but especially now.

“Forget about that.  I’ll watch out for any butterflies, if you just want to… you know.”

Sometimes you just needed a good cry.  Marinette hadn’t had that luxury since becoming Ladybug two years ago—except for a few rare times where Tikki had kept watch for her—but she had no idea how much Chat might have been bottling up.

From the sound of his shaking sobs, it was a lot.

“It’s okay, kitty, I’ve got you.”

She released his hand, but only so she could better wrap her arms around him, curling into his side.  He collapsed into her embrace.

“It’s okay.  I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”  She ran her hands through his hair, scratched gently behind his cat ears, until a low rumble sounded in his chest.  She didn’t let that fool her though; she’d read that cats sometimes purred when they were in pain.

And her kitty was in more pain than she’d ever realized.

“I can’t lose you again,” he finally said against her collarbone.  “I can’t.  I know you won’t leave me on purpose, but—even just remembering it—”

“I’ll never leave you, Chaton.  It’s you and me against the world.”  She kept up her soothing touches, steadfastly ignoring just how nice it felt to her too.  She was here to comfort her partner, not get lost in the scent of his strawberry shampoo and leather suit.

“But what if I can’t save you?”  He finally burst, looking up at her with tearstained eyes.  “I… we don’t always get second chances…”

It wasn’t the first time she’d had that fear—though usually hers was the fear of failing as a whole, of watching Chat disappear forever, of watching Paris crumble around her.

“I know,” she murmured.  She wouldn’t lie and pretend there was nothing to be afraid of.  “But I also know that no matter what we’ve faced, you’ve always been here to save me.  You saved me today.”  

As much as it pained her to admit, his self-sacrificing stunt had allowed her to win.  While she understood his fear, why was it catching up to him now, of all times?  Maybe it was just remembering all the akumas they’d faced, all their close calls…

“Don’t pick Desperada.”

That one… hadn’t been worse than usual, had it?

“We don’t always get second chances…”

“I don’t always save you,” he said.  “I don’t, and—and I can’t tell you, and that’s what hurts more than anything.”  He squeezed his eyes shut before dropping his head back onto her shoulder.

“I don’t understand.  I’m still here.  Safe,” she reassured him while rubbing his back.  “That should be proof enough that you didn’t fail.”

“Only because you don’t remember.”

Didn’t… remember?  Had there been an akuma attack like Oblivio that she had no memory of?  But surely she would’ve remembered casting the Cure at least, and noticed that there was a gap in time that she’d missed…

And she still didn’t understand how any of this could relate to worries about Chat’s civilian identity, unless that had just been a bluff to keep her from asking.  But she doubted that—Chat Noir didn’t lie to her.

“25,913 times…”

She wasn’t supposed to hear that.  She knew that from the way it was mumbled despondently into the crook of her neck.  She knew it from the way his whole body froze at the admission.

She knew it from the way she had that number memorized.  If it had been anything else, any other number, she would’ve thought he was exaggerating, but— 

“It was the 25,913th time.  I don’t know what to do anymore!”

“No,” she gasped.  He was—and he had— “Adrien?”

Slowly, as if every degree he lifted his head caused him pain, he met her eyes.  His lips tried to twitch into a hopeful smile, but they wavered before letting out another sob.  

“I told you I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said quickly, even though it did matter, because the boy she loved was the other boy she loved, and—now was not the time to be coming out of denial!  “I mean, it does matter, of course I care who you are, but I’m not—we’ll get through it, okay?”

“You’re mad, aren’t you?”  He sniffed.

She squeezed him before he could pull out of her hug—even though he had every right to pull away.  She had been the one to give him the snake miraculous.  

Everything snapped into place.  Why Desperada had freaked him out.  His fear of failing her.  Why he would jump into danger so rashly.  

And she’d thought it was bad to watch Chat sacrifice himself.  He he’d been in love with her all along, and she’d made him watch her vanish 25,913 times.

She’d tried to check on Adrien as Ladybug shortly after the Desperada fight.  She’d known there was a chance that he’d be struggling, he said he’d been in the time loop for months, but every time she tried to visit he was gone or asleep (she knew she should’ve kept his schedule!) and then he’d come to school and he’d seemed fine, but all along…

“Talk to me, Bug, please,” he choked out.

“Sorry!”  She released him from her hug, but only so she could grab his hands instead.

(She was holding Adrien’s hands, the useless part of her brain screamed.)

(She told it to shut up.)

“I’m not mad, I promise.  I’m just so—so stupid,” she finally said, traitorous tears already welling in her own eyes, spilling over, clinging to the edge of her mask.  Blurring her view of the one person who meant more to her than anyone.  “I’m so sorry, chaton— if anyone should be mad it’s you.  I was the one who chose you to use the snake miraculous; I was so selfish—” 

“Ladybug, no.”  He shook his head, blond hair flaring out around his human ears.  “You couldn’t know I was Chat Noir.  I was… I was thrilled that you picked my civilian self.”

“But I shouldn’t have.  I should have used my head instead of my heart.”  She bit her lip.  How could he still look at her with such warmth when he’d been trapped trying to protect her for so long?

“You always use your head.  I’m the one who was stupid enough to keep trying.”

“Because you trusted me—”

“Because I love you.”

Her head snapped up, wet blue eyes locking on shimmering green ones.  Those were the words she’d wanted to hear ever since he’d caught her in the rain two years ago.  She’d never expected to hear them here, now, when she felt she least deserved them.

“You—still?”  Her breath caught.

He chuckled.  “I thought it was obvious, Bugaboo.”

“How do you stand it?”  She blurted.  Wrong time, wrong words, but she couldn’t stop.  “I mean… if you don’t want to talk about it, I get it, I really do, but—how did you watch me… get hit all those times, when you love me, and not—”

She wasn’t going to cry again.  She wasn’t.

“Go crazy?”  He smiled sadly.  “I think it’s too late for that.”

“Adrien…”

“But it means I know how you feel now.  I’m sorry I made you watch me disappear again today.  That wasn’t cool of me.”

“Stop it—stop apologizing, Chat, I mean—you—agh!”  She threw her arms around his neck, and from the brief look of panic on his face, he must have thought she was going to strangle him.  But she just pulled him into another crushing hug.  “You’re so much braver than I am.”

“Pawsitively untrue.”

“True!  I always knew I wouldn’t be able to stand it if I watched you take the hits you do, and I was… and I was… in love with you,” she mumbled.

This time his chuckle was hollow, echoing in the pit of her stomach.

“I guess it’s a good thing you’re not in love with me, then.”

“I am.”

Cold clarity washed over her.  Did—did she really just say that?  No!  She wasn’t supposed to say it like that, when they’d both been crying and…

And it didn’t matter.

Because he was looking at her like she’d just cast the Miracle Cure over his whole world.

“You… you’re…”

“In love with you,” she said, because she could, oh she could and it felt like someone had finally breathed the air back into her lungs.  “I’m in love with you, Chat Noir. Adrien.  Both of you—just you, wow, that’s still going to take some getting used to…”

But it felt right.  ...Maybe just because she was relieved she didn’t have to choose between her all-consuming crush and her partner who she wouldn’t give up for the world.  But still.

“You’re in love with me,” he breathed.  The grin that spread across his face could’ve powered the whole Eiffel Tower—no, all of Paris.  She could still hardly believe he’d grace her with it, after everything that had happened— 

But they were partners.  They were friends.  Even if they weren’t in love—which they were, she thought with a giddy shiver—nothing could tear apart Ladybug and Chat Noir.

To her surprise, his hand detangled from hers to unzip his pocket.  But the even bigger surprise was what he fished out.

“I’m going to have to to thank Marinette again.”  He held up her old beaded bracelet by one end of the red string.  “I think her lucky charm works almost as well as yours.”

A laugh bubbled out of her.  Even when he’d been in love with Ladybug, he’d carried Marinette’s charm with him?  

The urge to yank his bell and kiss him punched her in the gut.  But she had to hold out for at least a little longer—just long enough to blow his mind, she hoped.

“You’re welcome, chaton,” she said with a smirk.  “I’m glad you’re making good use of it.  Seems like you needed it more than I did.”

He blinked, his jaw dropping open.  “Wh—no way, Marinette?”

Her face heated.  She was used to teasing and flirting with Chat, but hearing him say her name while she was suited up—there was something about it that shot lightning from her toes to the tips of her fingers.

“Er—surprise?”

“I love you,” he said before slapping his hands over his mouth.  Which was too bad, because she was really close to just pressing her own mouth over his.  Her lucky charm dangled teasingly between his fingers, probably touching his lips, not fair—

“Yep, you’ve said that.”  She giggled.

“Agh, I know, but—it was you!  Marinette!”

She wasn’t really sure what was playing out in his head right now.  His eyes shifted through so many expressions before settling on one that just about melted her insides.

“I know you said not to apologize—”

“Don’t you dare.”  She jabbed his chest.  “I’m just going to forgive you anyway.”

“Because you love me.”  He grinned dopily, clutching her lucky charm to the spot she’d poked.

“No.”  It was really hard to keep glaring when he just stared at her like she was the only star in the sky.

“Yes.”

“Yes, I love you, no, it’s because you’re my partner and I think we’ve both sacrificed ourselves enough for each other.  We’re both superheroes.  We’re going to have to take hard hits, it’s our job.”  She took a deep breath.  Even though it might hurt even more now… “I trust you, Chat.  You’re not going to jump in front of an akuma unless you really have to, right?”

“Of course.  Right.” He nodded.  “But that wasn’t what I was apologizing for this time.”

“Oh.”  She blinked.  She’d still forgive him anyway, but she had to admit she was curious now.

“I’m sorry I never noticed that the love of my life was in front of me this whole time.”

He twined their fingers, the red string of her charm tangling in between them.

She let out a half-laugh.  That was it?  

“I could apologize for the same thing, you know.”

“Or,” he said with a mischievous smirk pulling at his lips, “we could skip to the part where we kiss and make—mmpf!”

Her mouth was clumsy against his, but she was so high on the exhilaration of kissing him that it didn’t matter.  He followed her lips with equal fervor, no longer shaking, his claws digging wonderfully into the divot just to the side of her spine.

For that moment, they didn’t have to be superheroes.  They didn’t have to think about failing, about consequences—they were just two teenagers, in love, chasing each others breaths on the side of the Eiffel Tower.  

Kissing her partner wouldn’t fix everything. But for now it was a reprieve, and a promise.  

She would always, always be here for her kitty.

[vanilla-bean-buttercream]

For those of you who are unaware of what The Hays Code was, it was basically a restriction on United States produced films that made films "safe" for the audience, kids and adults alike. They weren't allowed to be controversial, change someone's morality, or put certain themes and actions in a positive or negative light.

Some of the things included:

No sexually explicit content (horizontal kissing was part of this)

No villain could ever win or be seen as the good guy

No swearing or offensive language

Only good Christian values could be shown

No queer characters (yes there were movies with queer leads back then, not just queer coded)

No making fun of the law in general

This was in effect from the 1930s all the way to the 1960s when we got the movie rating system going (yes, twice as long as Prohibition [you weren't allowed to drink alcohol at all] which also aimed to stop people from doing things deemed immoral by the church).

See, back in the day, cartoons weren't made with kids in mind. Heck, movies weren't made with kids in mind either. They showed queer characters, hot and steamy makeout sessions, and did kind of whatever they darn well pleased.

But so many people got their panties in a twist over this provocative stuff, they went to the government and demanded that they do something.

Thus, 36 rules of "Don'ts and Be Carefuls" were created.

The biggest victim of these laws in my opinion was the character Betty Boop, who was a jazz singer flapper. Her gold hoop earrings and bracelets were removed, her curls were reduced, and her winking and hip-shaking were taken away because it was too "suggestive of immorality." If you haven't watched a Betty Boop cartoon, which I highly suggest you do because Max Fleischer, a Jewish man who invented the rotoscope technique, deserves more credit for shaping cartoon cinema than he gets (like, I'm pretty sure Bendy and the Ink Machine wouldn't exist without his influence), I'd recommend checking out "Minnie the Moocher" because it's a favorite of mine (fair warning, it's bizarre and has arguing parents).

This is also why in "The Three Musketeers" (1948), Cardinal Richelieu (the villain) became a Prime Minister instead of a clergyman, and the "Pride and Prejudice" (1940) Mr. Collins (also a clergyman and a villain) became a librarian.

Not only that, but they cut a lot from the movie "The Maltese Falcon" (1941) because the character Joel Cario was too gay, which if you read the original novel, he is canonically gay (*sad trombone noise*). They also had a lot of alcoholism cut and any actions even hinting about sex (not even showing it but hinting at it) were taken away.

And the famous phrase from Gone with the Wind, spoken by Rhett Buttler, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn" was nearly cut because it was too profane. Never mind that it was actually a quote in the book. This one surprisingly passed the censors, but it was on thin fucking ice.

Thankfully, these restrictions were peeled away over time, because Europe was having a field day doing whatever they gosh darn pleased and filmmakers were pushing the envelope on what "morally appropriate" really meant. However, the scar they left behind is still evident in public morality. That's why old people say "you would've never seen this stuff in the movies of my day" because they literally weren't allowed.

That's also why I think I'm so adamant about content warnings instead of censors. We've been down this path before, and it not only failed but failed miserably.

It also means that anything can be censored just because someone says it's morally wrong and get a group of people to agree with them.

Sound familiar?

You know, I would write a post about how purity culture is a new thing when it comes to media, but then I remembered The Hays Code existed, and I really do believe that history repeats itself.

[kosmicdream]

So does the reproduction focus for Hekatons lead to, um, homophobia?

There’s quite a lot of homophobia, yeah. Sad trombone noise. :( Simon sure came from a community that was largely homophobic which took him a lonnnnnnng time to unpack. He didn’t even realize how much of it he had internalized!!! I think that is why it took him so long to realize he was into knife lmfao. (and that he was also interested in nail, he just rly didnt get it. i dont think he ever realized that he had a huge crush on nail even to this day. oops.) Homophobia in hekaton communities def clashes with worm ones tho. Worms obviously are very fluid with their genders since they do not generally apply to binary constructs. they dont even think of those much rly. they’re dumb and worms are BEYOND such things. And even when they sorta appear that they do apply to the rules, they generally are also attracted to the same things they themselves look like, so they generally appear very gay.  they are gay. are straight worms even possible?? i dont know....... that feels almost too difficult to pinpoint what a worm is besides being a worm. and anyway the more a worm tries to be ‘human’ the more they’ll prob adopt the bad opinions on gender and sexuality, lets gesture over to dylan as a wonderful example of Worm With The Anxiety™. so like worms and hekatons will usually get in debates and dislike eachothers opinions on things. Worms also just dislike hekatons b/c they smell bad to them and they cannot eat hekatons. But they will obvs work together w/ them on the war against humans. its a business thing. and when humans are dead they’re ttly gonna fight eachother next, probably. weeds and robots roll their eyes in the corner of the room as everyone forgets they exist. Hekatons generally see worms as freaky sexual deviants and if ur a hekaton that sleeps w/ a worm ur probably gay or desperate or WORSE..a DESPERATE gay. Its generally more socially acceptable to sleep w/ humans b/c thats like, dominating and TTLY WINNING the war. high five my dudes. heh!! pwned!! Pirate hekatons are prob the most vile in this regard. Please do not be a human and come across a pirate ship of hekatons. u do not want that. for real. pirate hekatons are nasty and are the reason hekatons get a bad rep lol. Ofc all above is more in reference to hekaton communities outside of the ghost kingdom. In the ghost kingdom, hekatons r socially more accepted to be bisexual and women especially are generally encouraged to have more than one partner. (however communication and healthy relationships is very important n ppl do not tolerate cheating at all. that is super horrible.) So while homophobia isn’t really as much of a thing there. However, There’s still pretty deep issues w/ transphobia and pushing heks to fulfill + conform certain gender roles. :/ Which is a huge reason why locket actually found it..ummm... refreshing to leave??? even though he got exposed to another culture of intense fucked up issues, he does feel a bit more hope b/c worms sorta seem to get it a little better..? (altho honestly, worms kind of just dont think about these things the same way so it can be just as difficult to talk to them abt it. they dont have patience to understand!!!!! who cares about labels!!!!!!! words r stupid!!! UGH im HUNGRY) Locket’s just......optimistically hopeful ok??????? he rly wants to meet another trans hekaton or trans human or trans ANYTHING for real. besides his evil murder dad, which he doesnt want to relate to but can’t help it cuz who the fuck else is there. hello??? he needs more positive/healthy #lgbtrepresentation in his life. he did not expect homophobia to be a thing, btw, that was a pretty upsetting aspect of leaving home. that kinda rattled him for a bit b/c now he feels very insecure over openly expressing his interest in dudes lol. (he’s pansexual/bisexual for the record.)

[autisticandroids]

Siskarak, of course.

-who cries when someone dies in a movie

okay look. i love ben sisko very much. he is cool and collected in a lot of serious situations, and in situations where he can’t keep his cool, he redirects his emotions mainly into righteous anger. but watching a movie is not a serious situation. it is a very much not serious situation and honestly? ben sisko is a sentimental person in a lot of ways. i think he would get attached to characters enough to be sad when the Bad Thing happens, whatever that is. and imo ben believes in healthy expression of emotions. i doubt he would prevent himself from crying if he wanted to and was in a safe place to do so. and like, watching a movie is a safe place.

also, since having a teenage son he can no longer watch horror movies where the teenagers die.

-who wears the ugly holiday garb

both but in different ways. ben’s holiday garb is.......... what you would expect from benjamin sisko’s holday garb. remember, we are preeeeeeetty sure this man is the one responsible for jake’s bus seat era fashion statements. 

elim, on the other hand, doesn’t celebrate many holidays as i doubt cardassia has many, and while he would participate in ben’s federation traditions, i doubt he would go particularly all out. BUT come Cardassian Patriotism Day, which arrives once per cardassian year, elim is Ready. he has an outfit, that he only wears on that one day. it’s a long robe, metallic silver, representing the cardassian military, and embroidered carefully (by elim) around all the hems with whatever the cardassian pledge of allegiance is. it’s knee length, and he wears matching silver pants under it, with a ton of gaudy rings too.

it looks like he’s wearing tinfoil.

-who pays for the meals

nobody, because the federation is a communist utopia. although actually when they go out to latinum restaurants, probably elim, because while ben has a job that WOULD be higher paying than elim’s if they were on the same standard, ben doesn’t get paid for his job except in prestige. all he gets is the same small latinum stipend that every federation citizen gets in case they encounter a place with a mostly latinum economy (like ds9). elim, although he is but an artisan, actually has more money than ben in general because he’s not a federation citizen and is therefore subject to capitalism. although once they get married and elim IS a federation citizen, elim stops working so much. he still does fancy commissions, especially for people he likes, but he can afford to be choosy about the work he takes on, so he is.

-who slams the oven door and who plays the trombone

decisions, decisions..................... symbolically? elim plays the trombone and ben slams the oven door, because elim is, as a person, more likely to start dumb shit.

realistically? i actually never wondered whether either of them could play a musical instrument, so i’m not sure. elim i’m pretty sure definitely can’t play anything, unless they forced him to learn something *classy* at Cardassian Upper Class Finishing School For Boys which he was definitely sent to. when would he have had the time?

ben........ hmmmmm. ben could’ve been a band kid but like, seriously. have you heard avery brooks’ voice? he was clearly choir. clearly. and never the twain shall meet. he might’ve even gotten singing coaching. 

i don’t know if i can see ben like... seeking out music lessons outside a school context. he’s too focused on his career and family, i feel like he’d sink all his time into his career, his family, and things he can share with his family like baseball. so i imagine if he does know an instrument, it’s self-taught, and probably the kind of instrument that’s good for a family singalong. but i mean, the trumpet can be good for that.

anyway, realistically, ben plays the trumpet and elim slams the door.

-who brings home stray animals

okay look the thing is, ben is a dad, but he’s not a Deeply Impulsive Person. he’ll put out milk for local stray cats and give them pets, but he wouldn’t like... bring them home unless he went through like... an exhaustive level of Am I Kidnapping Someone’s Pet checks.

elim grabs sad looking stray cats off the side of the road and runs off with them. the number of cats in the sisko-garak household is getting out of hand. that’s the other reason ben doesn’t bring home strays.

-who leaves the bathroom door open

honestly gross? but elim does this. i really am attached to the idea that cardassians have somewhat looser nudity taboos because of basking, and also, they would probably have buried their feces and uric acid (cardassians, as desert lizards, are probably uricotelic. in simple terms, you know how birds don’t pee and instead excrete that white stuff? the white stuff is called uric acid and cardassians excrete that because it conserves water. follow for more piss headcanons). so i doubt that they would use similar bathroom facilities as humans or have the same bathroom etiquette.

-who tells the 'dad jokes'

benjamin “i know it says ‘Lafayette’ on my I.D. but my real middle name is actually Dad” sisko

-who wants kids more

please consult answer to previous question, and also on a more serious note remind yourself of the fact that elim garak was abused as a child and probably does not have a great view of childhood in general.

-who travels more

like, once they’re together, i feel like they would stick together. ben might occasionally go on business trips but like. elim is a clingy lizard and would probably get separation anxiety. no fun at all.

-who spends more cash

elim, again. even after they’re married, he still has more money than ben, because he still maintains a bit of business on the side, whereas like i said, benjamin sisko does exactly zero paid work, everything he does is for the federation. they merge their finances, of course, but elim is simply more used to having and using money. ben carefully supports as many businesses as he can on the promenade, but it’s still weird to him. elim has been buying things all his life.

-who buys the things in infomercials

the federation doesn’t have infomercials, because of space communism. ben has almost never encountered them in his life and is honestly..... kind of intrigued. he kinda wants to buy that never-needs-to-be-sharpened kitchen knife.........

-who draws in the dust on their cars

ben, absentmindedly. elim is still too trained in the habit of leaving no tangible trace behind. 

-who starts the snowball fights

okay, look, elim is a Nasty Boy, but he would not do this because snow is cold and he would rather not touch it. also, ben is a dad. it is the universal rule of dadness that dads start snowball fights.

once the first snowball is thrown, though, elim will fight to defend his pride. he is a master of the “handful of snow down the back of the neck” dirty trick.

-who throws away the directions to things

okay they would both do it, but ben would do it because he didn’t realize they were important, and elim would do it because clearly, he can figure this out on his own, thank you,,,

-who puts up holiday decor

elim, i think. ben decides what holidays they celebrate mostly but elim has more free time and an eye for design.

-who is more likely to forget to bathe

elim, since “bathing” isn’t really an essential part of cardassian culture since they come from a desert world. they do sand baths instead. and besides, cardassians don’t sweat. the only time their skin gets gross on its own is when they’re shedding.

-who gets more obsessed about things

BEN!!!!!! okay i’ve made noises about ben being autistic before but like..... he is specifically Special Interest Focused autistic. he gets really into stuff.

-who sings in the shower more often

benjamin. once in a choir, always in a choir.

[davidastbury]

October 2017

St Ann’s Square, Manchester

I am behind a mother and child – she is moving very quickly and the small boy is trotting after her. Easy to see that he is in the dog-house, having been told off for something or other, and now his mother is ignoring him - her head turned away.

He is making gestures with his hands – perhaps explaining something but she, evidently still angry, will not look at him. But something he says causes her to tilt her head – just a quick movement; her head sort of leaning to one side.

The boy immediately spots this and trots in front of her, looking up like a sad dog, making circular gestures with his hands and chattering all the time.

That movement of her head gave everything away – he’s half-way there, she’ll give in very soon now.

The Strand

There was a woman who, at around 5.00pm every afternoon, made her way along The Strand in London. She called in every shop, store, and café, and would clap her hands and call out - ‘We are closing now, please leave the premises, thank you!’

She was a nuisance and sometimes the police were called, but after a week or so, she would be back. I remember her clearly (I used to help in a shop) – she had the neglected appearance of many who are subservient to strong obsessions. She was impressive - like an inspired artist or actress, breathing the pure air of truth – and then ejected onto the pavement – like an unwanted pest - confused and inhaling the petrol fumes of the slow traffic.

Errand

The boy was told by his mother to go to a certain house to collect something. He asked what it was and she replied – ‘Don’t ask what it is, just knock on the door and say who you are - say you are my son and it will be given to you.’

‘Is it valuable?’ – he asked.

His mother replied – ‘It is very valuable and you must be careful with it.’

‘Do I have to go now?’ – he asked.

‘Yes…now’

He set off running through the streets and across the fields. He grew to love the sunsets and the noises of night creatures.

Sometimes, in the dark, he would think of his mother - waiting.

Insecurity on the 09.17 (stopping) Train

The last time I saw this man he was using his phone and telling someone he was about to get married; that was about two months ago. I didn’t get the full story of course, but it was clear what was happening, and he was telling a friend all about it. He looked very happy, but happy in the way that unhappy people often do, something tells you that this is not their normal mood. His face is eloquent in expressing sadness.

Anyway, that was a while back, and now he is presumably a settled, married man, but I am trying to catch his thoughts as he looks, unseeingly, at the passing fields and warehouses.

‘She likes good-looking men with Jags. She likes men who can dominate the table at dinner-parties. She likes men who can read a balance sheet at a glance, understanding financial statements and the stock movements. Men who like to stand with other men, glasses in hand – in fact they look odd without glasses in their hands – men who don’t look quite right in suits - men who have thick wrists and thick legs, like rugby players – men who never read a book from one year to the next and who know nothing about art, and don’t wish to.’

I see these thoughts, or similar thoughts travel across his eyes, and then he fumbles in a side pocket and takes out a purse. He squeezes two fingers inside, presumable looking for a ticket, or money, and even though his face is turned away the final reading comes across loud and clear.

‘And what the hell is she doing with me?'

My Town…(Russell’s sister and the knife-thrower)

Russell’s sister was the first person to inspire me with ambition. She was fourteen, two years older than me, but I dreamed of the two of us going away together and living lives of bliss; this was despite her never having spoken to me, or even looked at me with anything other than indifference – but my success would change all that.

My path to wealth and happiness was perfecting my skill as a knife-thrower. I used to practice in my back garden, setting up an old door as the target and using kitchen knives. Having no one to tutor me in this art, I had to learn from mistakes. When you hold a knife by the tip of the blade and throw it, it rotates as it heads for the target. Only about 10% of the final rotation will achieve a satisfactory hit, in the other 90%, the knife clatters against the target and falls to the ground. The skill is being able to calculate the distance from the target where the 10% is certain – and you do this by working from the shortest, say 3 metres, and then increase the distance by multiples. You quickly become good at assessing distances in multiples of 3 metres.

The other technique is ‘under-arm’ throwing. You cup the handle and launch it with a sharp upward swing, as if you were in a bowling alley. The knife does not rotate, so it is easier to correctly contact the target but it is difficult to develop an effective force – the throws tend to be weak and sloppy.

My plan for wealth and fame consisted of joining a travelling circus. She would be my assistant. The audience would gasp at her beauty as she flounced and posed in her sequined costume, tossing back her long hair and showing off her legs. They would also gasp as my cluster of knives formed her outline – each one nearer to her body – and then a drumroll when the final ones thudded into the board.

There would be deafening applause, flowers were showering down on us – show-biz managers in bow-ties thrust contracts at me to sign – my parents were weepy-eyed on the front row – my pals from school (including the geography teacher) were on their feet cheering – lights were flashing – bottles of champagne popped - the clowns came on throwing buckets of water over each other – the circus manager in scarlet coat and top hat – the band giving it all they had – balloons banging but all I could see was Russell’s sister smiling at me in adoration.

My Town……Russell’s Sister

Russell viewed his elder sister in the same stoical way that twelve-year-old boys face up to the various miseries that buffet their lives. She was in the category of a double geography lesson on a Friday afternoon, or the misfortune of a broken wrist – ruling out swimming for several weeks. She was a trial to be endured – something that the scoutmaster might call ‘character developing’ - rather like a ‘testing from heaven’, as described in the book of saints, presented to him for faultless punctuality at Sunday School.

But I was very alert to the floating charms of his sister – although she never gave me a second glance. She would pass through the living room with speed and style, like a film-star fretting her appearance. She was always cross about something, or it seemed so to me. Her life seemed one long vexation. I remember the odd stillness in the room after she had gone – the room itself seemed to sigh. Russell would be silent as if a migraine had lifted. Somewhere at the back of the house I could hear the chime of her voice and then a door slammed.

Nonchalantly, as if the view of the garden actually interested me, I sauntered across to the window…no-one on the path… no one moving at the sides of the house…there was no other way to leave, not if you wanted to go down to the main road. And then there was a noise of wheels on loose chippings and she came past on her bicycle, frowning and peddling hard…

I watched her all the way down the path and she did a skid-stop at the junction - she swung the bike round sending up a cloud of pebbles. It was the best skid-stop i had ever seen.

Russell and the Trombone

Russell’s parents spent a lot of money on his musical education. By the age of thirteen he played the piano, all the recorders, clarinet, cornet and from what I could see, all the other brass instruments. He won prizes and went through the grades, so presumably, his parents were pleased.

But it didn’t seem to matter to Russell himself. He hardly ever talked about his lessons and found requests to play, mostly from school, a bit of a bore. One day, when I was at his house he showed me a trombone – all highly polished and snug in a velvet lined case.

He blew a few notes and then said - ‘This is PC Dicks-on’. ‘PC Dicks – on’ was our name for a retired pervy policeman who lived nearby. He had tried it on with both of us; and no doubt with every boy in a two-mile radius.

So Russell played an impression of the pervy policeman. A humpty-dumpty walk and a long drawn out ‘hello!’. And then a really creepy sliding note catching the awful pressure of his baleful gaze.

And there I was, in Russell’s front room, falling about with laughter and understanding music for the very first time.

Stella

Our birthdays were in the same week, so there was a little celebration in the classroom for both of us together. We were seven years old.

Stella was different from the other (bossy) girls - she was quiet, withdrawn, shying away from any sort of attention - as if the only thing she hoped from life was to be left alone. If I search through files I’m sure I have a photograph of her – a class photo – and she’s at the front with her waxy hair and ugly National Health glasses ��� squinting in the sunshine. She lived in a very poor part of town, just a few streets from where I lived, but the houses had no bathrooms, no lavatories (there was a row of sheds in the yard which were emptied by council workers). She seemed to have no friends, and she had no dad.

It was summer and Stella had been away from school for a few days. I found out that she was ill after having dental treatment at the ‘school clinic’. This was a building of great terror to all of us. It was right next to the parish church and sometimes, in summer when the windows were open, you could hear the screams of children inside – all dentistry was carried out without any form of anaesthetic.

And then I saw her in the street. I invited her to come to my house and she nodded. All the way she walked behind me and I had to keep turning to see if she was still there. As we got to the house I went to her and held her hand.

My mother, no doubt surprised, was very gracious to Stella - she made small talk but was okay at not getting any response and she brought some drinks and cakes into the front room for us. We watched TV, not speaking and not needing to.

My Town

Stanley came home from the war with an twisted right foot and a scrambled mind. The local authority gave him a stiff-bristled brush and instructed him to sweep the pavements. His allotted area was a two mile stretch of Ainsworth Road (both sides).

One of the effects of his war experiences was that he would have fits of violent convulsions. His eyes would bulge and he would swing his brush over his head, as if fighting off a swarm of birds. People would cross the road - sometimes he would fall down, and for a few minutes be furiously punching an invisible opponent.

Of course, as children, on our way to and from school, this was very amusing. I must have felt a twinge of conscience when, a few years later, I saw Stanley in the street. He was wearing a suit and no longer carrying his brush. I asked him about his fits and he said that he now ‘took pills’. I also asked him did he know what the convulsions were all about. He replied that when the attacks came he was fighting the Germans - he was defending the town from invasion.

He was defending my town and we had laughed at him and no one had helped him.

Unsolicited advice!

I was quite young and I was staring at a very beautiful woman – I couldn’t stop looking. Occasionally she would move her head sideways and look back at me; she could feel the heat of my eyes – but each time she did so, I quickly looked away. And then, to my shock, she came over and spoke to me.

‘Don’t ever stop staring – you must never stop staring – because if you do you will lose the force of your life.’

On the Train

She has a bad cough. A girl, Asian, Pakistani probably, and she has a loud racking cough. It is a ‘keep-everyone-in-the-house-awake-all-night’ type of cough. She looks very tired and probably spent the night biting onto paper tissues with tears of frustration running across her face. The cough will not be placated.

Worst of all is the lack of sympathy on the faces of the people in the carriage. With each spasm they all look up in disapproving surprise, as if the coughing was unreasonable, an insult, an intrusion into their lives. The girl, who is about seventeen, is upset.

But a young man sitting next to her (the carriage is full) is different. They aren’t together, I can tell that, but he seems to have a concerned interest, like the best kind of doctor. Perhaps he is a doctor and wants to help her, or perhaps he would like to lean slightly to his left and kiss the top of her head.

Applicant

He said: - ‘Please accept me into your community.’

The Voice said: - ‘Why do you wish to be part of our community?’.

He said: - ‘Because I am sick of the world and all its troubles.’

The Voice said: - ‘But we in the community love the world.’

He said: - ‘So there is no escape for me?'

The Voice said: - ‘No, and there never will be.’

The Night Train

The story cries out to be told...how they had met - how he had loved her sad eyes and white skin; every inch of her white skin! Their love was important; it cannot be discarded.

It was a lifetime ago, and the last train has gone. His mood changes, he looks away and decides to keep the past to himself.

Leftovers

We all keep things that once belonged to someone special. Something that they used, perhaps something that they were fond of. It might be our way of holding onto them – after all, a physical object brings the past into the present. It might be something that a child made in class, a simple item of needlework – or a boy’s doorlatch. They give us a feeling of continuity – the link hasn’t been broken – we are still ‘in touch’.

But what about a book – his words – his laughter – his anxiety! Or his paintings? He may have gone, but his way of enquiring, his way of looking – is hanging on the wall, or on the shelf, and it breaks your heart.