#existential grump

[harmacytechnician]

you don't think an inanimate object can have ill intentions until you have to clean your home and you realize no the apartment is sentient and it HATES me

[game-grumps-captions]

This is not a caption but it is SO FUNNY and I want it on my blog

[blahpanblah]

Here’s my opinion on some of my favorite Sonic ships. I don’t have a controversial ship here, sorry not sorry.

Surgamy: Look, I really like ships about a nice and loving person with a someone who is the opposite. And Surgamy is just that but the goodest. The moment I saw people ship it, I saw the potential immediately, and it just flourish even further. This might be my only Amy ship that I full time ship all times. Sorry Sonamy, Blazamy, Shadamy, Metamy, etc shippers, I like this one more. Sunshine/grumpy Sapphics go hard.

Shadamy: Alright admittedly this isn’t my FAVORITE Shadow and Amy ship, I don’t even fully ship it. But I get it now. I used to think people who shipped this was the cringiest part of the fandom. BUT I SAW THE LIGHT AND THE POTENTIAL AND I AM ON BORED. I mean, kinda… I still see them more as friends. But yo, anytime I see y’all make ship art or something, i’mma be like “Yo dog I get it. Sunshine and grump, that shit go hard!”

Metamy: METAMY SHIPPERS PLEASE CALM DOWN! I haven’t stopped shipping them, it’s just the fire has died down. I just, started to see them less as a couple potential and just more as friend potential. Like, I just think the idea of Amy, being the ultimate friend maker she is being besties with a clone of her crush that has to kill her like 20 times while he’s going through a existential crisis is cute, funny, and full of potential that doesn’t have to be romantic. And I’ve just started to see them in more of that light.

Knuxrouge: According to the shipping wiki this is one of the more popular ones, and this is one of the only BIG ones I actually ship fully. IDK dog, I just think it’s cute and funny when a character’s reaction to be flirted with is “W…W…Women pretty.” They be cute.

Bigfinite: BLAME THIS ON @bbgatile 1000%. For those who don’t know, they made a bunch of crackship art a few years ago, which they now since deleted, which please don’t hate them for its their art, they can do what they want with it, if you want to find it, just google the ship name on google you’ll find some reblogs. But I saw that shit and I’ve loved this pairing to death since. I love dog/cat pairings! I love calm/extreame pairings! I love villains/that one side character pairings! It’s just a good ship and it’s BULLSHIT that there is only like 4 works of it on AO3. Best believe my next STH fic is gonna be about them.

Whispangle: Do I even need to say anything? Pretty sure this shit practically IS canon! Whatever! Lemur and Wolf sapphics goes hard AF.

Shadknux: This like my only Shadow ship. I think this is real good soup. Although, if I had a preference, I prefer the Boom! Iteration of this ship more. IDK Dumb himbo with enough Twink is extremely cute. I really like these two. I admittedly don’t read a lot of Sonic fics, but I wanna know if there’s some good ones with this pairing.

Jetilver: I understand why one wouldn’t ship them together, but I think the idea of Silver learning how to ride extreme gear, even though he can fucking fly, cute. And listen, these two is just a gay middle school couple to me. Jet is a closeted gay teen who is CONVINCED they are straight, and they just wanna be seen as cool but they come off as cringe. And there’s Silver who is just openly himself and can probably blow you up with his mind yet he finds Jet riding on extreme gear and finds it rad as shit. They cool and cute, and they deserve more attention.

[parrythisucasual]

What About Me? Ch. 4

Sorry it took so long guys. Been working on asks and some personal things have been kicking me in the ass. I'm hoping to get most of my asks out today so I can focus on this fic a little more. As always, I love you guys and hope you enjoy!!

Gangle talked with you for hours, making you feel much more comfortable. You had some knowledge as to how this place worked, now. You knew who was who, how they acted, and the parameters of what is considered “inappropriate” and would get you in trouble. 

Eventually, she stood up, stretching. You snorted to yourself, why would ribbons need stretching? She picked up her liners and whatever paper she hadn’t drawn on, “It’s pretty late, though,” she yawned, despite the fact feeling tired wasn’t digitally possible, “I’m going to head to bed.”

“Alright,” you agree, hopping out of bed to walk her to your door. You did this out of habit: every time your friends were leaving in the real world, you would accompany them to the door. She giggled as you walked her to the door.

“Madam,” you fake an accent, bowing as you opened it for her. Gangle only laughed harder, walking from the room, “Why, thank you!” You stand upright again, waving as she trotted up the hall, “See you tomorrow!”

She waved back, “Yeah, definitely!” and slipped into her own bedroom. You pause a moment, just in case she forgot something, but she didn’t pop back out. Almost instinctively, you look down the other side of the hall. A door closed rather suddenly, making you jump. You hadn’t heard or seen anyone coming, and Gangle didn’t say anything if she had.

The fact someone had been watching you didn’t frighten you. No, it was the fact they didn’t want to be seen that made you uneasy. Your eyebrows knit together, but you decide to man up and see who it was. You ignore the little voice in your head screaming at you this is how people die in horror movies!

“Can’t die here,” you mutter under your breath, reassuring yourself a tiny bit. Reaching the door, you stop in surprise; Jax’s door stared you down, his annoying smile present even in the image that adorned it.

You raised your fist, about to knock, but stopped suddenly. There was a shadow under the door, indicating that someone was standing relatively close to it. You chicken out immediately, dropping your arm and speedwalking back towards your room, slipping inside and closing the door as quietly as possible.

You place a hand on your chest, breathing deeply to calm your anxiety. You wander to your bed, falling face-first into it. You grunt, realizing that it was a lot more of a smack than you had thought it would be. People in fanfictions did it all the time, you just copied it.

You shake your head to clear it, wrapping yourself in your sheets and snuggling down. You didn’t feel like getting lost in another existential crisis today. You yawn, surprising yourself. Maybe it was to make everyone feel normal. Your eyes droop, and you soon find yourself drifting into a deep sleep.

You were awoken to a loud banging on your door. You jolt upright, eyes wide, confused and still half asleep. “Wake up, sleeping beauty, everyone else has been up for hours.”

You grumble, trudging to the door, your blanket still wrapped around you. You swing your door open, glaring at the one on the other side.

“Jax. Was waking me like that really worth making me jump out of my skin?” His grin only widened, “Absoluetly, it’s what i was goin’ for.” You roll your eyes and toss your blanket on the ground, “I’m awake now,” you grump, shoving past Jax roughly and heading up the hallway. 

You ignore his blatantly, knowing very well he was following you. He had to rush a bit to catch up with you, but soon was walking beside you, beat for beat. “What was that for? You never been woken up by your parents or something?”

The only response you give is a rather sour expression. You wouldn’t even look at him, let alone speak. You swore you saw his face drop a bit, but he recovered quickly enough. “Didn’t you ever learn manners? You’re supposed to talk back, remember?”

Ignoring him once more, you round the corner to the main hall. You perk up immediately, seeing exactly who you were looking for. “Gangle! Ragartha!” you chirp, running over, leaving Jax in the dust.

“Oh, hey! You’re a lot happier than yesterday!” Ragatha smiles sweetly. “Oh, definitely. Gangle and I hung out all day!” Gangle giggled, “I was just telling her, actually!” 

You noticed Jax hadn’t moved from where you left him. He was just… standing there, looking at the little group you’d formed. He honestly looked disappointed, or maybe sad, or even abandoned. That was it, abandoned. Something about his expression made regret nibble at your chest.

“Are you coming or not?” you call to him, hoping you wouldn’t regret it. But seeing him perk up, before playing it cool as he headed to you, you knew you weren’t going to. You can handle this guy.

“Heh, sure, if you want me that bad,” he stopped beside you, crossing his arms, “what’s up, dollface? Crybaby?” Alright, maybe a bit of regret. “Don’t call Gangle crybaby,” you snap. You didn’t say anything about Ragatha, knowing she could handle herself. Besides, she didn’t seem to care about her own nickname.

“(Y/N) was nice enough to ask for you to be here, are you seriously going to ruin it by being a jerk?” Jax lifts his hands in a gesture of mock surrender, “Alright, alright!” You see him glance at you, it’s quick but you notice it. Ragatha seems to have seen it as well, and backs down a bit, “Thought so,” she adds with a grin.

TAG LIST!!! (You can always ask to be added)

@dai-tsukki-desu

@luujjvi

@sangoqueenkoko

@shebsvers

@mikusboner

@exhonerd

@lunaramune

@oneiratxxia10

@softangxlicss

@c00kie-cat

[johnwickb1tsch]

Vino Veritas - Part III

A Destination Wedding Frank x Fem!Reader Fic

Attending the wedding of your ex-fiancé gets slightly better when you meet someone having just as miserable a time as you... Warnings: Nothing too serious holy shit. Cursing. Broken engagement. Nihilism, existential bullshit, copious amounts of sarcasm. NSFW. Angst. Grump/sunshine trope. Loosely based on the movie but I'm not that smart. Or bitter. 😆 chapter map.

III. Just what the world needs, Another Fucking Sunset Wedding

It’s almost sweet. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Frank had been waiting for you to catch the shuttle to the wedding venue, dallying in the lobby pretending to look at an atrocious modern art print while keeping one eye on the hallway.

“You look nice,” he grumbles, taking in your white A-line sundress printed with big red roses.

“Thanks,” you say, admiring his navy blue suit unabashedly, since he brought it up first. “You look very handsome.”

This makes him stand up a little straighter, clearly not sure how to take the compliment, but you dare to think, he liked it.

When the shuttle drops you off at the base of the vineyard you look up the steep hill planted with curling grape vines in their nice neat rows with a sense of dread.

“Fuck.”

“What?”

“I am not wearing the right shoes for this.”

He looks down at your platform heels. “It said in the itinerary you’d have to walk up a hill.”

“Ok, but what was I supposed to wear? Hiking boots? The unfair standards of women’s dress clothes don’t allow for that.”

He holds out a hand, albeit begrudgingly. “Come on. I’ll help you.”

“I swear, these shoes are actually usually the sensible option.”

“Sure they are. Wearing anything that elevates your feet four inches off the ground is a sensible option.”

You sigh, and take his hand, trying to ignore the thrill running through your bones as you feel the strength in his fingers and his arm, as he helps propel you up the incline.

“I can’t believe they don’t have…stairs, or something? Did the old people have to do this?”

“Presumably not.”

“Then what the fuck?”

“Quite.”

Men’s dress shoes aren’t exactly made for rough terrain either, and at one point you both almost slip, clutching each other in a bid not to tumble back down the hill. It’s…nice, you have to admit, to be held close by this man.

He looks at you with wide eyes, for a moment for all the world appearing as though he’s drowning, before that thunderous frown appears. “Fuck this.”

You yip with surprise as he sweeps you up into his arms, and marches determinedly the rest of the way up the hill. Before you can even think about taking it as a romantic gesture, he practically drops you back to your feet at the top, releasing you as though you’d burned him.

You sit together in the back, as usual, though Frank very pointedly crosses his arms and is careful to keep a respectable amount of distance between you.

That shouldn’t make you feel sad, but it does.

The excruciatingly drawn-out bullshit Reception

“I used to like this song,” you muse, watching the dancers on the floor with an odd mixture of wistfulness and distaste. Keith dips his new bride, and a mean little part of you really wishes he would drop her.

“Do you…want to dance?”

Frank could have knocked you over with a feather, after how he’d behaved earlier. It definitely colors your answer, the knee-jerk impulse to push him away too.

“I said I used to like it.”

“Fine.”

Then, of course, you feel bad. And maybe you feel…a sliver of hope, however stupid.

“Why, do you want to dance?”

“Of course I don’t want to dance. It’s moronic and ridiculous. No one wants to fucking dance.” There is more venom in this statement, than perhaps the situation calls for.

After a moment, a bit softer and with a hint of apology, he qualifies, “I just thought it might take your mind off things.”

If you looked miserable, it’s ironic that for once, Keith was not the cause of it.

Perhaps this should send you running in the opposite direction too.

“Do you want to take a walk?” you ask instead.

He looks pointedly down at your questionable footwear, but you point at the basket behind you bearing what are professed by a whimsically written sign: Walking Shoes. They’re some kind of slide on deal that will do in a pinch. Honestly you’re willing to go bare foot, if it gets you out of that tent.

The meandering and pointless Walk

“You know, I was actually diagnosed with PTSD after the whole Keith thing?”

Frank snorts at that, the farthest reaction from sympathy he can manage. “Rich people’s PTSD.”

“I’m not rich.”

“Fine. Privileged.”

That’s probably true. Goddammit.

“Well…am I not allowed to have problems?”

“Sure, just no one wants to hear about them. Anyone who doesn’t have to worry about food, housing, or getting shot by the police should just keep it to themselves.”

“That’s not very healthy.”

He shrugs. “It’s not just you. No one should care about my problems either.”

“What if I care?”

He snorts. “Then I will feel even sorrier for you than I already do.”

“Ok, fine. Maybe not me specifically. But what if…say, you find someone else you actually like. Isn’t it ok to talk about your problems with friends?”

“Isn’t that a terrible thing to do to someone you like? Making friends or a significant other listen to your problems for free, when you should be paying a shrink for it?”

“It’s just a thing people do who are close to each other. They talk.”

“People who aren’t close too, apparently.” He says all this with a surprising amount of cheer in his tone, either enjoying himself, or the walk, or the view…or maybe even your company.  

He changes the subject as you round a bend. “So, are you glad you came to this thing? You made your show of strength, you’ve got your closure now that the knot is tied and they’re legally bound to be miserable together, and you’ve fled the scene with his half-brother, whom he despises, which the family surely will gossip about. You could almost chalk it as a win, if you squint just right.”

You huff, breathing a little heavy as you walk up a hill on the ridge the path follows. It truly is beautiful in the backcountry of the vineyard, rolling mountains planted with nice neat rows of green vines.

He makes a good point, but strangely…you don’t feel satisfied. “I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I’m not sure how I feel,” you admit, pausing to incline your head up at him. He pauses too, looking down that straight nose at you, and he is standing very close. You fancy you sense him tense, as though about to take some great leap, and he looks at your mouth with something like consternation, when a god-awful yowling roar travels down the path at you.

You both turn to see a very big, very unhappy cat displaying its impressively large and sharp canines at you.

“What the fuck is that?”

“I think it’s a mountain lion.”

“What the fuck do we do?”

“I don’t know. We’re too far away, no one will hear us scream.”

“Is it a bobcat?”

“It’s not a fucking bobcat. Look at the tail.”

“You should run. It’s going to eat me anyway.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m smaller and slower.”

“I wouldn’t presume about the last part.”

It roars again, and you clutch at his arm.

Suddenly Frank charges the thing, making that god-awful hissing sound from earlier with his finger in his ear. They both sound like demons from hell, and with shock you watch as the predator backs away.

“Now, we run,” says Frank, grabbing your hand and booking it down the hill.

You run what feels like a long way. Your legs are burning, and the stupid little slide-ons are not made for athletic activity. And the thing about running downhill is…sometimes gravity gets the best of you. Like now, when you trip over a rock, and take Frank with you. Suddenly you are both tumbling down a steep grassy incline, locked together in a death roll.

“Fuck!”

“Fuck!”

“Fuck!”

“Fuck!”

When at last you come to a stop you are utterly stunned. “Y/n?”

You just lie there, unable to move.

“Y/n?”

Are you even alive?

Suddenly, Frank grabs your arm, hauling you around. “Ah!”

He looks…so worried, that if he hadn’t wrenched your back, you would have been touched.

“I’m fine! Jesus!”

“Ok. Sorry.”

You lie there for another moment looking up at him. He has grass in his hair; it’s endearing somehow, seeing this put-together grouch of a man just a little undone.

“You saved me,” you tease, sitting up beside him.

“I saved us.”

“Yeah right. It would have eaten me anyway. Why’d you save me?”

“Because I’m an idiot.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Just trying to spare myself the guilt.”

He reaches up to pluck grass out of your hair. His light touch gives you a thrill down your spine. Again, you are aware that you are very close, and his dark eyes have gone wide again, that slightly panicked look he gets. His gaze flicks to your mouth, then back to your eyes, and you are completely taken by surprise when he grabs the back of your head and pulls you swiftly into a hard kiss.

He retreats from it just as quickly, and now he does look like he’s seen a ghost. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“I—”

Before you can say anything he’s grabbed you again, and this kiss is less forceful, though maybe no less desperate. You’re able to reach up to cup his cheeks before he shoves you away again, this time hard enough that you topple back in the grass.

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” he pants again, looking for all the world like a horse that would like to bolt. “I don’t—it’s been a long time. Heat of the moment. Near death experience. Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“How long?” you ask, incredulous. Because, this man is so…so. Fucking. Good looking. How has he not been with anyone?

He scowls at the grass. “I don’t think I’ve felt real pleasure since 2006.”

This admission makes your eyes go wide. You sincerely hope he’s exaggerating, but then again, the way he behaves towards people…maybe he’s not.

“It’s just…” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “If it all sucks, then fuck it, but if it doesn’t? Then there’s so much pressure.”

A part of you wants to snark at him. Well well well, welcome to the human race at last. But another part of you…another part of you just wants to kiss him senseless and fuck him silly, and make him feel all the things you’ve both been missing out on because he’s been such a goddamned coward this whole time and you’re not much better.

 Maybe he reads the pity on your face, because he feels the need to defend, “Not that I haven’t been with anyone. Just…”

“You weren’t that into it?”

He looks away, glaring at the world again. “Yeah.”

“It’s been a while for me too,” you admit.

“Please don’t say it was Keith,” he snarks. “I’ll kill myself.”

You laugh. “No, your brother was incredibly, monumentally selfish in bed. I literally could have had better sex with a lamppost.”

He looks at you sideways. “That really shouldn’t make me as happy as it does.”

Your lips twist as you try not to smile. Frank, however, is back to frowning at the vineyards again. “We can’t have sex right now. I don’t have any protection. It would be irresponsible.”

You’re a little amused, that his brain has leapt immediately to sex, while you are sitting in the dry grass together. Apparently just kissing was not enough—or maybe he’s been thinking about it for a while. You’d be a liar, if you said you haven’t.

“What if I said you’re in luck?”

“I would say that’s highly improbable.”

You feel bold enough to cup his cheek, bringing his attention back to you. It doesn’t take much persuading this time, when you press your lips to his. He kisses you back, his fingers digging into your ribcage, and you’re not really sure who’s more desperate to feel alive after defying death at the claws of a tiger or whatever the fuck that thing had been.

“That’s not helping,” he pants when you part.

“Why? Are you actually into it?”

He pulls you closer with hands on your waist. “Pretty into it,” he admits begrudgingly. You smile against his mouth, suddenly feeling electrified from head to toe. The colors of the world around you seem brighter, somehow. You take him by surprise when suddenly you straddle his waist, perching on his legs and pushing him back down into the grass, your pretty skirts spread around you.

“What—”

You unbuckle his belt and undo his pants, freeing him to the desert air. “Oh…” When you bend over to lick his tip and take him into your mouth you get an even more emphatic, “Oh…”

“What about now?” you ask him as you withdraw with a pop.

He blinks, for the first time since you’ve met, speechless. At least, for a few long moments.

“I think I’d like to be inside you.”

“How’s your health?”

“Fair to middling, for a man my age.” You give him a look, and damn if he doesn’t soften for you, even if just for a fleeting second. “Clean,” he answers quietly. “You?”

“Clean. And fully armed with IUD.”

He blinks. “Like they use to blow up humvees in the Middle East?”

You laugh, throwing your head back, your curls bouncing around your shoulders. You haven’t had this much fun in a long time. “Like, an intrauterine-device?”

“That definitely makes more sense.”

“Well?”

You watch as he licks his fingers, reaching under your dress to push your panties aside and find your center. The saliva is appreciated but not necessary. You are drenched, and his big fingers rubbing your clit feel like magic. “Is all that for me?” He sounds genuinely surprised, like this was a gift from the universe he did not expect to receive. Usually it’s more inclined to deliver a kick to the balls.

“Who else would it be for? The lynx?” He snorts, and in a softer tone you confess, “I have been a wet little mess for you since…the moment we started arguing in the airport.” He blinks at this, dumbstruck for a moment, before kissing you with an edge of desperation you both feel keenly in your bones.

He guides you onto him with his big hands on your buttocks. That feels like magic too, his thick tip at your entrance sinking in. It’s your turn to say, “Oh,” with your head thrown back, his big cock sliding deeper and deeper inside you, until he’s filled you to the hilt. For a moment you just sit like that together, joined, wrapped up in each other’s arms. It’s wonderful.

You imagine how ridiculous you must look, to an outsider looking in. Two people tangled in the dirt, grass in your hair, dust all over your nice clothes. You giggle a little to yourself.

“Something funny?”

“Just…do you ever think about how silly humans look, doing the things we do?”

“All the time.”

You laugh joyously, but you feel him withdrawing from you, that subtle tension returned in his limbs. You realize he thinks you’re making fun of him. It’s like this man expects he’ll have to defend himself from the world at any given moment. Then, from what he’s told you about his life, you guess he has. You don’t let him get too far, pulling him closer. “But fuck it feels glorious. I don’t care. Fuck me, Frank. I need you.”

 You feel him relax, and maybe even surrender. He moves for you, and you with him, his thumb on your button and his mouth on your neck as you ride him out…it’s the fastest you’ve ever orgasmed, with another person involved, that shining pleasure ambushing you in the cradle of your hips and spreading outwards. It’s almost embarrassing, except he’s right behind you, holding you almost desperately with arms locked around your waist, his face buried in the bend of your neck. Neither of you are quiet about it, your yells echoing across the empty hills.

“Oh my god…” you pant, resting your forehead against his.

“Can’t say…I believe much in god,” he informs you, out of breath.

“Me neither,” you admit. “But that was fucking fantastic.”

“Yeah. That was pretty damn good.” He sounds so surprised about it.

He kisses you, more softly this time. There is a long moment of eye contact between you; it is vulnerable, and electric, and raw. He is the first to look away, almost flinchingly. Then he focuses on the business of disentangling yourselves.

“I’m afraid we’re about to make a huge mess.”

“You don’t have a handkerchief?”

“What am I, a nineteenth century dandy?”

“Okay, relax, Romeo. I’ve got it.”

You rather cleverly, if you don’t say so yourself, use the petticoat of your dress to avoid staining his trousers as you uncouple, in a way that won’t leave you an embarrassing mess when you return to the tent either.

“I like that dress even more now,” he quips, looking at you with something almost akin to tenderness as you right yourselves. He reaches up to pull another sprig of straw out of your hair with a smirk.

“Frank…” You’re not really sure what you want to say. There’s a pent up ball of something in your chest, and it kind of actually hurts, and you’re not sure you like it at all.

“No,” he answers resolutely, but he cranes his neck down to kiss you anyway. “Want to go back to my room?”

“Yes.”

TBC...

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

ahhhhh I didn't have the courage to make it as awkward as the movie 🤣🤣🤣 but I feel like I need to make a note here bc i'm always writing wildly irresponsible sex practices: always use protection with a new partner. It's just a good idea. And ALWAYS use some kind of birth control, or you WILL get pregnant. mother nature is a bitch.

[letters-to-rosie]

Arcane 2 in november. Hype???

I feel like I'm so scared of November in general that it's overtaking any excitement I have lol

but so I'm not being a total grump, here are some hopes I have

an exploration of Vi's time in Stillwater and all the trauma that comes with it

fun Warwick fights lol

MORE EKKO (but that's not a surprise to anyone lol)

magic Mel????

and speaking of Mel, Ambessa is such a wildcard so that'll be fun to watch play out

I feel like Jinx should get to blow up another building in Piltover, as a treat

I am not a Piltover fan can you tell lol

and CaitVi, because if not we will be robbed

so yeah, I can't help but feel existential dread when I think about November, but maybe having a fun show will help us get up and continue to fight the horrors

[slow-burn-sally]

How to successfully hide the fact that you’re a mess over your coworker, while simultaneously being a stuffy loser with no game.

When she asks you “do you have any plans for tonight?” in her soft, sensual voice, while she leans flirtatiously against the door frame of your domicile, tell her you have a date with your telescope. Then introduce her to your telescope. Make sure she knows you named it, and that you had a pathetic childhood. 

When you ask her what she’s doing tonight, and she says “nothing much” and gazes at you with eyes like this:

It might seem like the perfect opportunity to ask her out. Her eyes are all soft and glowy. The beach is beautiful at sunset. She’s looking at you like you invented romance, but DO NOT ask her out. Instead, wax philosophical about the nature of having nothing to do, ask her some stupid question about what the word ‘nothing’ might mean on a existential level, and then give her this face:

 She’ll say “I’m not sure I understand the question.” But she’s still standing there, still giving you ‘I want to know what’s going on under that tie’ eyes, so you have to shut that shit down IMMEDIATELY.

Make absolutely sure you break the simmering eye contact and bring the focus of the convo back around to your telescope in order to kill the romantic mood entirely. 

proceed to be incredibly awkward and wish her a good night. Watch as she loses her lady-boner and remembers that you’re a socially inept grump with nothing in your life but crime solving, a telescope named Lucy, and a small, green lizard named Harry. Watch her walk away, probably to bang some rippling-ab island guy, whilst you and your girlfriend Lucy the telescope have a romantic evening alone, without her.

eh voila!! Congratulations on being a stuffy loser with no game! You’ve won a night completely devoid of sex and another 3/4 a season worth of pining! 

[certified-court-jester]

I present to thee: The Finest Arin Hanson Quotes I Could Find:

Amin enaild in burg. But you dont even, because that's the one, and you know what you need to do?

Did you point?

Get bigger hands

We got pokemon to keep us alive and and and and and and and and and and and and sharp

She can make tea with her friends- NOT ME OBVIOUSLY

NO DONT DAN FUCKING GODDAMNIT

it's fine

It's not a big deal

My dicks falling off!

UNAVOIDABLE CHIN MOVE

Look at me!

DONT BELIEVE ME LOOK AT MY RESUME 30 YEARS EXPERIENCE OF JACKING OFF

CONSUME PRILOSEC

I'm an XL a lot of fans keep sending me a small because they think that I'm a petite little boy but I am in fact a large fat man

I spent it all on gambling

Give us some blood and we'll give you some dates

413 413 413 413

Stay in school

Don't do drugs

Eat your teeth

What is Sally trail mix

When I go to sniff a butthole, I'll climb over anything, breeze, sleet, snow, or shine. I'll be there to sniff your butthole anytime. Come on!!!!

Don't get all existential on me

You damn well this is fish

BECAUSE HES A GREAT KISSER

...is what I've been told....

IVE GOT 30 NIPPLES AND ONLY FIVE OF THEM LACTATE. LOOKS LIKE YOULL HAVE TO FIND OUT WHICH ONE

IM NOT PLAYING THIS ON AN EMULATOR

FUCK MY ASSHOLE DUDE! FUCK IT RAW WITH 30 DICKS! FILL ME UP WITH YOUR SEED BAAAABBBYYYYY

THE BANANAS HAS GONE BAD

The carbuncle ate itself

YOU GOTTA TRY THIS DUDE IT SUCKS

I'm a Neuro net processor I'm a learning computer SHIT

Come on down to Burbank California where you're never too far from a taco bell 

Tammled!!

Wow did I shit my pants no it's game grumps live

I've been waking up everyday gradually more and more um eger to jump into traffic BUT THERES NOBODY DRIVING AROUND ANYMORE

[marythegizka]

Mass Effect Trilogy Tag

Was tagged by @illusivesoul

Thank you! 😊

Tagging (if you feel like it, of course): @mxanigel, @lady-carys, @wolfmilk-and-polenta

Answers under the cut! (Quite a bit of rambling there, I'm afraid...)

I have been a fan since:

Favourite game of the series?:

MShep or FShep?:

Earthborn, Colonist or Spacer?:

Biotics or Tech:

Paragon or Renegade:

Favourite Class:

Favourite Companion:

Least favourite Companion:

My squad selection:

Favourite In-game romance:

Other pairings I like:

Favourite NPC:

Favourite Antagonist:

Favourite Mission:

Favourite Loyalty Mission:

Favourite DLC:

Control, Synthesis or Destroy:

Favourite Weapon:

Favourite Place:

A quote I like:

I have been a fan since: 2021. I had been meaning to try the first game since 2017. I played for one evening, then life happened and I forgot about it. Fast forward to the 2021, when having less work and no longer having a commute made me go 'well, why not use this time to mitigate my existential dread and deaden my emotions with... oh. Okay. Nevermind that'. And then I sank... I don't know, a little under 200 hours into it? Yeah.

Favourite game of the series?: ME2. I think I like the stakes and storytelling of ME3 better (also, I think it was the first game to ever make me cry? Several times?), but ME2 is very character-focused and I just live for that.

MShep or FShep?: Well, I usually play as female characters (the one recent exception I can think of being a M!Cousland because that was the only way marry Anora. I have no regrets.) so I'm not really in a position to compare.

Earthborn, Colonist or Spacer?: Earthborn on my Paragon playthrough, colonist on the Renegon one. (I also started a spacer one but did not finish it).

Biotics or Tech: Both, but for different reasons. I like the visuals of biotics (yes, I really am that shallow), and having an enemy NPC floating helplessly in the air while you take aim is really, really convenient. That said, the 'overload' ability is extremely helpful, and I really like Tali's little drone, so tech is pretty cool too. I just usually make sure I have both in the squad (except for specific missions like the moon base in ME1).

Paragon or Renegade: Hmm, so... I'm going to say Renegon, because Renegade is very entertaining at times, and absolutely awful at other times (particularly in ME3). But my first Shepard was a bleeding heart Paragon. She was just so nice.

Favourite Class: Anything that lets me experience the story without dying too many times (and I play on casual so that's really all of them). That said, I find myself rather partial to the Vanguard's charge ability. It's not necessarily the *most* useful, but it's just too satisfying not to use.

Favourite Companion: Hmm. Well, I love EDI's dry humour and the fact that she becomes more human over time, so I'll just go with EDI...But honestly, it is a tough choice, especially when old grump Javik is right there, and Tali melts my heart, and Liara's arc is so good, and Wrex is too funny but also pretty tragic, and... see what I mean?

Least favourite Companion: Jacob. The thing with Jacob is, I don't even dislike him, I just think his writing is... how do I put it? Not bad, per se, but it doesn't quite pull me me in. He's pretty much the only companion who remained 'a coworker' on all my playthroughs. Other were either 'best pals' (Tali, Garrus, Wrex), great romances (Liara, Garrus, Thane), or downright antagonistic at times but in a way that felt natural and brought something to the story (Miranda and Jack come to mind).

My squad selection: I don't have a fixed one.

Favourite In-game romance: Garrus

Other pairings I like: Miranda/Jack, Javik/Liara, Tali/Garrus, Nyreen/Aria

Favourite NPC: Matriarch Aethyta

Favourite Antagonist: Saren

Favourite Mission: Virmire

Favourite Loyalty Mission: Tali/'Treason'

Favourite DLC: I haven't played them all (I haven't bought the Legendary Edition so they were separate purchases. This means I have never recruited Kasumi or played Lair of the Shadow Broker, any knowledge I have of them comes from the fandom + a couple of videos), but I really enjoyed the Omega DLC.

Control, Synthesis or Destroy: Oh man... I mean... I feel like Control comes with fewer moral downsides in the short term? Organics remain organics, so no consent issues there, and the Geth and EDI get to survive... the only real downside is that Shepard is gone. But in the long term? Who's to say they're not the new big bad? It's the one I went with on my 'Renegade' playthrough and her monologue was pretty chilling. Also, there's a degree of sadness in her being 'still there but gone'. What does the grieving process look like for Liara (or whoever else was romanced)? For Shepard themself? Isn't it lonely up there? I don't know, there are just so many questions. That said I went with 'Destroy' (and high EMS) on my first run because I looked up a wiki as I played and I wanted Shepard to survive. Let her and Garrus adopt baby Krogans.

Favourite Weapon: Ermm. I'm not good with names (or details in general for that matter 😂) but that big Prothean rifle you find in ME2? Yeah. That one.

Favourite Place: Ilium. Again, I am shallow. Though I initially mistyped that as Ilos (again, I am bad with names) and you know what? I love Ilos too, but more for the feels than its aesthetic. Also Liara's reactions. And the music when you get to Vigil.

A quote I like: "You did good, child. You did good. I'm proud of you." Man, the delivery got me right in the feels.

[harmacytechnician]

I think it's really easy for trans people to get really hung up on certain features or traits we have, feeling like they're dead giveaways to our agab- like, something that I've found isn't unique to me (though might not be a universal constant for trans people, of course, the experience is different for everyone) is that I'm always paranoid that everyone can tell that I'm trans.

But the thing is that, at least when going about my day in the real world, most other people aren't actually analyzing my gender trying to deduce what I am. Something that I've kind of realized over time is that, generally speaking, cis people assume most people are cis. Aside from the terminally online and a select (but vocal) few, the average person is just going to look at me, see the facial hair and more or less masculine features, and figure "oh, that's a guy" and move on with their life because sure, that math tracks.

Earlier this year at work, someone transferred to my pharmacy and after working with them for over a month I offhandedly mentioned something about taking testosterone (I think I was helping a patient get the correct needles to inject or something) and she just kind of paused and looked at me and was like "wait- and sorry if this is overstepping any boundaries, but are you... transitioning?"- she hadn't even realized I was trans in all the time I'd been working with her. This caught me off guard entirely because I was so sure that I was obviously trans at a glance, but then another coworker sheepishly chimed in saying he had no idea I was trans for several months of us working together.

Not long after that, I was lamenting how high-pitched I think my voice is to one of the pharmacists (a cis woman in her forties), and she looked at me with confusion. She told me that she didn't think my voice was high-pitched at all, and that I just sounded like a regular guy to her. Again, I was taken aback because all this time I was thinking that certain traits or features were broadcasting to the world that I'm afab.

As it turns out, most reasonable and well-adjusted people won't think much of those little things we assume are outing us to everyone we meet. Even though I've been on T for over five years, I think I'd been mentally stuck in my pre-transition days where I would get misgendered frequently and thought that would simply always be the case.

Of course, I'll still be self-conscious about things like my voice or my height, but it is reassuring to know that for the most part, I am readily perceived as a man, and that I am, in fact, the only one overthinking it in most situations.

[spacecadet-ticklesinspace]

Incoming prompt idea!

Peter 1 being in an aggravated mood for no reason! Peter 2 and 3 come in and decide to cheer Peter 1 up! But...they brought some back up! Harry(raimi)!

Lee!Peter1 Ler!peter2 ler!peter3 and ler!harry

Grump Bucket

Summary: See prompt above :)

(Awww! This idea was so cute ❤️ I love the idea of the older two Peters working together with Harry to get Peter 1 in a better mood! They're all such goofy tickle monsters ❤️ I hope you enjoy this Anon! Have a great day or night :))

The youngest Peter curled under his blanket. He had woken up in a bad mood and was determined to make sure everyone around him realized it. He had grumbled when Two wished him good morning, pouted when Peter 3 suggested a fun activity, and stomped off as soon as one of his brothers wanted to cuddle. All the youngest wanted to do was sulk for no other reason then he could.

While One brooded under his blanket, he heard a knock at the door which he refused to answer. When the knock went unanswered, another louder knock came followed by an even louder knock.

The youngest Peter whined. "Go away."

"Well someone's in a grouchy mood."

Peter 1 turned to see a tall figure standing in the doorway.

Harry waved. "Hiya."

Of course, One turned back around and returned to his blanket.

"How long has he been like this?" One heard Harry asked.

"All day, but he won't tell us what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong Two."

Another figure moved into room. "Then why are you sulking Pete?"

"Not sulking."

"Could of fooled me," Harry muttered.

Peter 1 lifted one hand out if the blanket and lifted his middle finger.

"Woow." Three exclaimed as he plopped beside his baby brother. "You really are in a grouchy mood."

"Not grouchy!" The youngest turned so he could glare at the taller Spiderman. "Why are you here?"

"Can we save the existential questions until after the weekend?" Two added as sat on the other side of One's bed.

The youngest's immediately returned to his hiding spot with a huff.

A third figure settled near his feet. "This is a stubborn mood."

"Not a mood mom!"

Meanwhile, Harry rolled his eyes at the snarky comment. "What do you do when he's like this?"

The older two Peters shared a smirk before turning back to Harry.

Harry grinned. "I like the sound of this."

"There's only one thing you can do when you've got a case like this." The tallest Spiderman moved back along with Peter 2. "Dr. Harry, the blanket."

Before Peter 1 could process that statement, Harry grabbed his cover and yanked it away in one fell swoop.

Peter 1 glared up at the older three. "Hey!"

Suddenly, Peter 3 jumped on top of Peter 1. The youngest Peter squirmed as Three pinned him into place.

"No fair! You guys are being buttheads!" The youngest whined as Two moved to sit by his legs and Harry sat by his feet.

"We're being the buttheads?" Harry teased. "You've been nothing but nasty since we got here beanie boo."

Peter 2's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "He does look lihike a beanie boo!"

"No I don't!" One argued.

Three smirked. "Ihi think he lohooks more like Grumpy Behear from the cahare bears."

"Just much smaller and more adorable!" Harry added.

The youngest growled. "I'm not Grumpy!"

"Alright Grumpy Boo, enough chit chat." The tallest Spiderman crossed his arms as he looked down at the youngest. "Yohove been a grump bucket all day and it's starting to get old."

"Like you?" One snapped.

"We age like fine wine Grumpy butt," Harry teased. "Unlike whatever trends have the young people's eye nowadays."

"I'm gonna put a foot in your eye if you don't quit it!"

"Might want to speed up whatever you've got planned Three," Two whispered. "He's moving from mildly annoyed to outright furious pretty quickly."

"Sorry for the delay in build up. Now onto the main event." The tallest Spiderman ignored the youngest's eye roll and instead held his hands open as if he were reading from a manual. "As stated in the big brother and honorary big brother handbook, if the younger brother shows any Grump Bucket symptoms, such as but not limited too odd mood swings, snappy behavior, etc, it is the job of the big brother and honorary big brother---that's us---to chase away the grump."

Peter 2 grinned. "Oh! That procedure!"

"Not this game!" The youngest pouted.

Harry leaned closer to Two to whisper. "What's chasing away the grump?"

"Three is looking for wherever Grumpy pants here is hiding all his attitude and is going to try to 'remove' it. However, if it 'gets away,' we have to help 'catch' it."

"How do you catch it?"

The oldest Peter held up his hands and wiggled his fingers.

Harry grinned. "Ohhh, that's how!"

"It's a standard procedure that we've done several times on ole Grumpy McGrumpster before." Three settled himself into place. "You'll catch on quick."

"Nooo! Don't chase awahay the grump!" The youngest Peter whined.

Three pointed his finger at Peter 1. "Ah! There was one giggle. We must be close!"

Peter 1 smirked. "Good luck getting anymore!"

Three's same finger wiggled under One's chin. "Hmm, this one seems to be buried pretty deep."

As Three wiggled his finger, Peter 1 tried any alternative necessary to hide his smiles and giggles. He refused to give in so easily.

"Thihis is a stubborn one fohor sure. Your poor giggles are trapped by all the grumps!"

"Sh-shut uhup!"

Peter 2 leaned closer. "Almost there! I heard one of them get out."

Peter 3 moved his fingers down to One's neck. "Let's explore our options."

This elicited a squeak as One turtled into his shoulders. The corners of his mouth betraying the smile hiding just below the surface.

"Ihive almost got it." One of Three's fingers poked the youngest's cheek while another poked his tummy. "Ihif these are anything to go off ohof."

Another squeak slipped out as One tried even harder to hide any smiles or giggles. He finally broke when two fingers started wiggling behind each ear.

A grin appeared on his face and a stream of giggles started to pour out.

"Awww, that mean Mistewr Gwump was hiding behind youwr eaws," Three cooed.

One opened his mouth to retaliate but then Peter 3 jumped to his ribs. "Oh no! He's gettihing away!"

As One squeaked and giggled adorably, Three kept jumping to random tickle spots in order to "catch" the grump.

"Look out you two!" He called to Two and Harry. "The grump is headed your way."

"I see it!" The oldest Peter replied as he squeezed one of One's knees. "Help me catch it Harry!"

As Two worked on that knee, Harry snagged his opposite foot and began to scurry his fingers across there. "Ihi see it! My oho my he ihis a slippery fellow!"

By this point, Peter 1 was a red faced cackling mess who certainly did not look like a Grump any more. "NAHAHA! JEHERKS!"

"Jerks? Theheyre miracle wohorkers Pete," the tallest Spiderman retorted.

The youngest Peter melted a little. "NOHO! THEHEHRE MEANIHIES!"

The middle Peter grinned. The grump was almost gone.

Three turned to look over his shoulder at the other two. "How's it coming doctors?"

"Watch out Three! Thehere's some headed your way!" Two exclaimed.

The middle brother dug into One's sides. "I see it!"

Then Peter 1 snorted.

"Wohow, that muhust of helped gehet ohout a lot ohof gruhump," Three teased.

That was when One fully melted into the tickles and laughed freely. The biggest happy grin appeared on his face and his eyes shined brightly.

Peter 3 paused his tickles. "Look ahat that, I think we officially chased ahaway the grump."

Shortly after Peter 3 stopped, Peter 2 and Harry slowed their tickles too.

"Thahat was faster thehen I thought it was going toho be," the oldest Peter teased as he moved back to his original position beside Peter 1.

"Yohou gohot hihim," One replied.

"Doho you concur doctors?" Peter 3 asked both Two and Harry.

The oldest Peter nodded. "Ihi concuhur. Do you concur doctors?"

Both older Peters turned to Harry.

"Oh! I concur too." Harry exclaimed. "Do---do yohou concur doctors?"

"We concur."

Peter 1 was giggling at the interaction. "Thehen cahan I behe done?"

The tallest Peter leaned forward. "Not until we finish the operation."

"Wha-EEE!"

The youngest kicked and squealed as Peter 3 blew a raspberry into his neck followed by Peter 2 then Harry. Once they were done, Peter 3 climbed off the youngest so he could curl into a giggly ball.

Harry gently squeezed his calf. "How are you feeling now Pete?"

"Ihim better." The youngest glanced away from the older three. "Ihim sorry I was suhuch a jerk."

The eldest Peter squeezed his bicep. "It's okay Pete. We just want to know what's going on."

One's shoulders shrugged. "Nothing reheally. I just woke uhup in a bad mood and I . . . took it ohout on you three----I---I'm sorry."

There was a moment of silence from the group. The next instant, Peter 1 was wrapped in a giant group hug. He curled as close as he could into the warm hug.

"We all have days like that Bug." The oldest Peter kissed the youngest's temple. "Just remember we're here for you."

"Ihi know. And I lohove you guys for that."

Peter 3 nuzzled into One's cheek. "We love you Grumpy Gus!"

The youngest Peter giggled adorably at the ticklish affection.

"Hey, yohou know what grumpy dahays call for?" Two asked.

"Movies?" Harry asked.

The oldest nodded. "Movies."

Peter 3 cheered and scooped Peter 1 over his shoulder. "Let's go!"

Peter 1 squeaked. "Hehey!"

"Hey! Ihi want a turn!" Two teased.

The middle Peter tightened his hold around Peter 1. "Nuh-uh! It's myhy tuhurn!"

Suddenly, Harry yanked One out Three's arms before bolting out of the room. "Later losers!"

Two followed after Peter 3. "Hey! Get back here!"

"Yeheah! We want toho hohold him!" Three exclaimed while he was hot on Two's heels.

While they played, the small group left Peter 1's sour mood far behind.

[nulfaga]

deeply weird period of my life last december when i was kind of cloistered in my apartment w/ med-induced existential anxiety and i just watched hours and hours of game grumps (which i had never done in my life). terrible choice really because the register they speak in is so like...mean and fatalistic sometimes so every 5 minutes i'd be like 'why'd he say that that's so fucking scary' and spiral out.

anyways during this episode there was a video where dan (offhandedly) said that someone (an acquaintance? an npc from the game they were playing?) had "saved himself, as we all must do" and that, embarrassingly enough, pressed like a fundamental button in my brain </3

[parrythisucasual]

What About Me? Ch. 3

FINALLY HERE SORRY I TOOK TWO DAYS HAHHHH

PAIRING: Jax x Reader (Romantic) / Gangle x Reader (Platonic)

TW: Name-calling, slight existential dread

CONTENT: You stand up to Jax on behalf of Gangle.

“RABBIT!” came your bellow of anger, stomping up the hallway. Your sights were set on the periwinkle bunny boy, fingers curled into fists. He turned, arms crossed. From even here, you could see the smug grin. He held Gangle’s mask in one hand.

“Oh? What’s wrong, sweetie?” he mocked a motherly concern, “someone hurt your crybaby friend’s feelings?” You snarl, eyes full of fiery fury, “Give it back, you tool!” you snap. You were momentarily surprised this word was allowed, but it wore off quickly. 

You stormed right up to him, jamming a finger in his chest, “You had better give me that mask, you spiteful, conniving, sorry excuse of a man!” you snap. He’s stunned for a moment, unable to say anything, then glares at you, “Who do you think you’re talking to like that?!”

“I would have thought it was obvious, but I guess I overestimated your intelligence!” you sneer, hands on your hips. Jax snarles, “Take it!” and tosses it over your head. You leaped backward, trying to catch it, and somehow you managed to. You’re impressed with yourself, and it boosts your confidence greatly.

“That’s the best throw you’ve got?” you chuckle, “yeah, you were the last picked in high school PE.” You omit the fact that you, as well, were picked last due to your clumsy nature. You spin around, wiggling your fingers like a hoity-toity rich lady, “Ta-ta~” your tone is mocking. You giggle up the hallway, slipping into your room, “Gangle, I got it,”

She looks up, delightfully surprised, “You did? How?” she takes the mask, slipping it over her tragedy mask, a smile finally gracing her face. You shrug casually, but can't stop smiling. “Eh, just what he least expected. I had a comeback.”

She snorts, “I kind of regret not following you… It would be funny…” You flap your hands, stimming slightly, “Oh, no need. He looked like this,” you give an exaggerated expression of surprise. This makes Gangle snicker harder, “I really regret missing it now!”

You enjoy a good laugh together before she turns to the desk, “Hehe… here, I have a rough sketch…” she wiped away a tear from laughing too hard, “What do you think?” She held up the sketch; Naruto in his sage form, the lines smooth and expertly lain. 

“That's amazing… I was gone for less than two minutes how did you do that?” She squeaked, embarrassed, and pulled the paper close to her chest. “I used to draw caricatures, I guess I never lost the speed, even in this style.

“Well it's impressive, that's for sure,” you hop into your bed, stretching out, humming to yourself. Gangle glances at you, grinning, “thank you!” You roll onto your side, propping your head up with your hand, “What’s Jax’s problem anyway?” you ask suddenly.

Gangle shrugs, pulling out the liners, “He just sort of showed up like that. I don’t think he’s got a problem, I think he’s just mean naturally.” You sigh, rolling your eyes, “Of course, in a weird world where you can’t escape there's gotta be a bully,” you grump sarcastically, “because what else would you have?” Gangle shrugs, “I don’t know if there is a rhyme or reason to who gets brought here. There doesn’t seem to be a pattern.” You flop onto your back, staring at the ceiling, the existentialism of this place far beyond your reasoning. This place was nothing like you’ve ever thought, and yet you were experiencing it. “...Weird.”

__________________________________________

TAG LIST

@lostsoullover (bestie!!!!)

@dai-tsukki-desu

@Luujjvi

@Sangoqueenkoko

@Shebsvers

@Mikusboner

@Exhonerd

@lunaramune

@oneiratxxia10

[johnwickb1tsch]

Vino Veritas

A Destination Wedding Frank x Fem!Reader Fic

Attending the wedding of your ex-fiancé gets slightly better when you meet someone having just as miserable a time as you... Warnings: Nothing too serious holy shit. Cursing. Broken engagement. Nihilism, existential bullshit, copious amounts of sarcasm. Eventual nsfw, not this chapter. Angst. Grump/sunshine trope. Loosely based on the movie but I'm not that smart. Or bitter. chapter map.

The Gate to Hell

You’re not sure what it is about airports, that somehow makes them feel like a special little extension of the circles of Hell. Or maybe purgatory, is more the like. All you do there is wait, and wait and wait, praying that soon it will be time to move on.

It probably doesn’t help that you’re absolutely fucking dreading your destination ahead.

Frankly, it will be a miracle if you survive this weekend with your sanity intact.

And then, there’s this dude behind you. You keep seeing him out of the corner of your eye. He just keeps pacing back and forth, rolling his stupid bag with him, and you just want to whirl and tell him to be still or sit the fuck down.

Instead, he comes to stand next to you.

You give him a glance. And then, you’ll admit, a double take, because he is stupidly handsome, even while frowning, staring churlishly at the flight monitor as though it had personally insulted him. And, to add insult to injury, he is tall. And well dressed in jeans and a button down and a nice sports jacket. And you inwardly sigh for some indefinable reason that has to do with longing and your acceptance that the universe does not bestow such gifts upon you for free.

“Nice dress.”

You blink, not having expected him to speak to you.

“Thanks.” It’s a 50’s style robin’s egg blue halter swing dress, your favorite color. You needed some bright color therapy, to face the hell you’re about to be stepping into.

“Is there a sock hop in San Luis Obispo I’m missing?”

You guess with your cat-eye Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses, you do look rather on brand.

From his sardonic tone you’re not sure if he’s making fun of you. “All the cool kids are going.”

You kind of deliver it like a dig, and you see the corners of his mouth twitch. “Ah. That explains everything.”

You look him over. He…really is ridiculously handsome, if you’re being honest. High cheekbones. Trimmed beard. Piercing eyes. Casually well dressed. A bit older than you, not that that’s ever stopped you.

“I hope our flight’s on time.”

You check your phone app for the airline. “Supposed to be.”

“Let me guess. You’ve got an app for that?” The way he says it, just this side of snide, like you fucking millennials—it kind of pisses you off. And maybe you’re overly sensitive to patronizing comments from older men, but with your history you have a right to be.

“Do you have a problem with me?”

He stands up a little straighter. “What?”

“Like what’s your deal? I was just standing here minding my own business, while you’re creeping around behind me—”

“I was not creeping. I was trying to see the board.” He gestures at the display screen by the gate.

You look him up and down. That’s a tall drink of water, if you’re being honest. “Because Mr. six foot six over here can’t see over my head—”

“I’m only 6’1”—”

“Okay, 6’2” in your shoes, and then you come up here, give me a backhanded compliment, and make fun of me for having the means to keep track of what’s going on with our plane?” You glare at him. “Holy shit, are you trying to neg me?”

“I don’t…even know what that means.”

“Ok, boomer.”

“I am not a boomer.”

“Whatever.”

Then he has the gall to step away—in front of you.

“Seriously?”

“What?”

“You’re going to butt ahead in line too?”

“On a flight that holds eight people?”

“Wow. Ok, be my guest.” You wave him on, and he rolls his eyes. Then you have to stand there, and look at his stupidly broad shoulders in that nice sports jacket, and his dark softy waving hair that just brushes his collar…you’re not going to look at his butt.

You’re not.

Your eyes slide down.

Fuck, but that’s a nice caboose.

The Fight Or Flight Response

As you sit in your backseat of the plane, there is one seat left beside you, and when you see who boards last you want to throw yourself down the stairs before they close the door.

“Anyone want to trade seats?” he asks, bent over practically in half, he’s so tall and the plane is so small.

Crickets.

With a resigned grumble he settles into the seat next to you, as though the world might end if he has to spend a handful of minutes in your general proximity.

Then, of course, the universe further conspires to embarrass you by sending you a defective peanuts bag, which you cannot for love or money get to tear open.

“Dear god, tear it at the notch,” grouses the rude man beside you, driven insane by you fighting with it.

“There is no notch.”

He’s there with his big hand extended, making an annoyed give it here gesture. It’s distracting, truly, how long and elegant his fingers are.

“Give it here.”

“I’m fine.”

“Give. It. Here.”

You’re so disgusted with this whole day, you hand it over. Then watch with smug delight as he can’t get it open either. Finally, he uses his teeth in his frustration, undoubtedly spitting all over it. When he tries to hand it back to you, you raise an eyebrow at him. “Really?”

With a sigh, he offers you his less molested bag.

You take it like accepting his sword on the battlefield.

You both make faces as you quickly find that the seasoning on the nuts tastes like hot trash, and you reckon it’s probably a metaphor for how the next few days are going to go.

This is going to be the weekend from hell.

“So what brings you to San Luis Obispo?” the man asks resignedly, almost like he can’t quite stop himself from talking to you. There is an exhaustion in his tone that would have pulled at your heartstrings, if you weren’t so generally pissed off.

“You don’t have to try to talk to me.”

He shrugs, throwing up those big, beautiful hands in a gesture of annoyance. You can’t help but stare at them—they really are a menace.

“Just trying to be pleasant.”

You can’t stop the bark of laughter that escapes you at hearing that. He frowns over at you, and you cover your mouth, hiding your smile. You know you must look like a crazy person—but it’s just too ridiculous.

“Was it that funny?”

You sigh, and for some reason you feel better after the involuntary outburst. Okay. Maybe you can make an effort. No one is ever in a good mood at the airport, after all. “I’m actually going to Paso Robles.”

“Row-bulls.”

“It’s pronounces ro-blays.”

“Everyone says Row-bulls.” 

“Well, not the fucking Spanish who named it.”

He looks away again with that thunderhead of a frown. Why does he have to look extra handsome, when he’s pissed off?

You sigh again. “Look, I’m sorry. I swear, I’m not always such a bitch. It’s just…this fucking wedding I’m going to.”

This catches his attention; he turns to look at you like a hawk zeroing in on a mouse. “Not…Keith and Anne’s wedding?”

“How do you fucking know Keith and Anne?”

“Keith and I share a mother.”

“Holy shit, you’re Frank?”

“Who are you?”

“I was engaged to Keith, years ago.”

“Oh my god, you’re y/n.”

You can sense by the way he says it that you’re infamous in the family’s lore. It’s been a long time, but still, it fills your heart with a familiar leaden despair.

You close your eyes, and look away.

“You’re just as horrible as Keith always said,” you say to the window.

“I find you equally disagreeable, I assure you.”

waiting for death the car

“There was supposed to be a car,” Frank grouses the second you exit the airport. Patience is clearly not his strong suit.

“The flight was early.”

“But it seemed so long.”

It’s a good dig, truth be told, and the corners of your mouth twitch despite yourself. You sit down on a bench, and to your surprise he sits on the other, though on the side closest to you. “So what the hell are you doing here?” he asks. “Didn’t Keith break your heart?”

“Shattered it into bits.”

“Well?”

“I was invited.”

“And…you’re a masochist?”

“Look, I’m not…whatever Keith must have said I am. I was practically a fucking child when he started dating me. It was not…” It was perfectly legal, of course, but the imbalance of worldly experience, looking back, had not been kosher.

You feel the tide of all the pain and insecurity that man caused you raise up in your heart. Usually you’re pretty good at shoving that shit down down in the deepest dungeon you can, like a healthy person, but the wound is feeling a little fucking raw at the moment, considering.

“Keith is an asshole who only cares about himself. I am aware.”

You sigh, and the tide miraculously recedes. Goddamn. It almost feels like he’s on your side.  “Okay, yeah. There you go.”

“Why do this to yourself?”

“You know, before he broke it off, we had a fight the night before because I told him I would never get breast implants, of all fucking things, and Keith told me I would never amount to anything without him.”

“Sounds like something asinine he would say.”

“I wanted to go back to school, and he didn’t like it. He wanted a Stepford wife, and I was becoming alarmingly aware of the world outside his own making of it, the way children do when they grow up. If you’re wondering why he dumped me.”

“That tracks perfectly.”

“He invited me to be a shit and rub my nose in it, so…I’m here as a fuck you. I wanted to show him I’m doing fine.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, actually.”

“You do seem rather well adjusted.”

“Yeah, fuck you too.”

This, surprisingly, makes him smile a little.

A few moments of slightly less awkward silence pass before he asks, “So what did Keith tell you about me?”

“Oh, he told me plenty.”

“Such as?”

“What does it matter?”

“Don’t do that,” he snipes. “Don’t dangle the tidbit then refuse to deliver it.”

“Fine. He said you’re a grouch who hates everyone.”

“Oh. I was afraid he might have said something untrue.”

You glance over at his ridiculously well-sculpted profile. He glares ahead, his brows furrowed, and you strangely get the sense that maybe…he’s a little sad for it.

At fucking last, the shuttle car from the hotel arrives.

Tbc...

[ann-without-the-e]

For my neurodivergent people out there, question for you, how do you shut your brain up?? I drove home from a friend’s house tonight and my thoughts just wouldn’t stop racing and it was just random shit too! Like my brain feels like a goddamn hurricane of random song lyrics, TikTok sounds, and existential thoughts about my future.

I guess I answered my own question by watching Game Grumps, wrapping myself around my Blåhaj, and drawing cringe vent shit…

[alphaflyer]

Story time

So, when I was freshly married we lived in the house next to my father-in-law (he owned two and we bought one from him on favourable terms, hence the unusual in-law proximity).

He was a circus buff and into model railroads, so of course he spent a decade or so building the Ringling Bros Circus Train. He laid a track for it in the backyard, complete with a tunnel under the steps leading up to the deck and a space where the Big Top could be set up, with three rings and seating. Eighty-plus cars, painted animal figurines made from clay, special cars to carry the Big Top masts, the works - to scale and following carefully researched specs.

Fast-forward to one warm summer's night. I came home from a late D&D game on my bike at 4 am; the streets were empty and the sky was turning pink. I was coasting down our shared driveway when I saw movement on Dad's porch. There he was, glass of Scotch in hand, smoking a cigarette, glowering in the dark.

I got off my bike and asked him what his problem was, expecting the usual long rant about The Divorce, to which he was prone.

But no.

"The giraffe," he grumped. "When I put it into the giraffe car, it won't fit though the tunnel."

Clearly, this was an existential problem; the ashtray was full and I wondered the how-manieth Scotch that was in his hand.

"Saw off the neck and put in a hinge in it, so it flips back when the car goes through," I said.

He humphed, drained his Scotch and butted out his cig.

"Yeah, guess that'd work," he said, and went inside.