#feel free to try to answer my semi-rhetorical questions

[shiitake-transcendent]

WTNV Analysis 1, Pilot

These will follow a rough pattern of analyzing individual segments, then analyzing the “overarching plot”, even though this particular episode doesn’t have much in the way of that.

A foreword: my first introduction to wtnv was at a friend’s sleepover, scrolling on my phone long after everyone else went to sleep, staring vacantly out a window at the stars. I started up the first episode on my cheap dollar store earbuds, the kind that only ever have one working earbud, and fell in love with the podcast instantly. In my opinion this is probably the best time to be introduced to wtnv, your mind in an exhausted half-sleep, no longer focused on the semantics of things like logic and reason. Hearing the first words of this podcast fills me with such nostalgia for the way thing were back then.

This will be the last personal anecdote, though.

Segments

“A friendly desert community where the sun is bright, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep.” This epigram, as I’m choosing to call it, for lack of a better term, sets the scene quite well. A friendly town, amid a hot desert, but something is… anomalous. You know what you’re in for without really knowing what you’re in for.

The dog park is the first segment of wtnv, it will be a recurring segment in the years to come. It will reveal untold depths.  But for now, I ask, what does the dog park symbolize? There is no correct answer, but I would like for you all to think on it for future appearances.

Old woman josie is meant to evoke the image of a sweet old grandma who is, perhaps, a bit racist. The comment that one of the angels was “black”. This interpretation of her changes with time, but this was the image she was initially meant to invoke. This segment, and this description of one being black, also serves to, perhaps, evoke an image of the angels in your mind. Something, perhaps, of the stereotypically winged human variety. Keep this in mind.

“We have all been scientists at one point in our lives.” Its an interesting quote, what does Cecil refer to here? To the inherent curiosity of childhood? To something more literal perhaps? Of similar nature to future episodes where characters are referenced as being seventeen years old for a long time. It’s impossible to say, really, but I enjoy thinking on it.

The helicopters that are described as having intricate portraits of birds of prey. This is meant to evoke the notion of these helicopters being dangerous, predatory. In this segment about how to let your safely play in the Scrublands, it almost seems to suggest these helicopters are carrying off children as birds of prey carry off small animals. In a segment where the other helicopters mentioned are those of the World Government and the Sherriff’s Secret Police, what makes these helicopters so much more dangerous?

This segment goes on to reference the Sherriff’s Secret Police leaving a carnation on your doorstep to let you know the danger has passed. Knowing flowers tend to always have some symbolic meaning I went combing through resources to try to find carnation symbolism, and while it does broadly vary by color (as many flowers do) I found one page referencing the carnation as “the flower of god”. I don’t know if this means anything or is even related, but I went on a quest and found… something.

The airline disappearance can be likened to reports of the Bermuda triangle, which, in addition to other findings of Carlos’ team of scientists, serves to emphasize the… unusualness of Night Vale. Cecil attributes the plane re-manifesting within a school gym to rival team the Desert Bluffs Cacti. Likely it isn’t their doing. You’ll begin to notice Cecil’s own prejudices in later episodes, but this is notably the first mention of the neighboring town of Desert Bluffs.

“The Indian Tracker” and Cecil’s repeated condemnation of him is… interesting. The Tracker isn’t an antagonistic character precisely, but he is without a doubt a culturally insensitive one. A commentary on the repeated cultural appropriation that has been inflicted upon Native Americans. A Slavic man wearing a headdress that looks tot have come from a Halloween costume, claiming to be able to read tracks on pavement. His appearance here is limited, so I’ll get back to him more in a future analysis.

The blinking lights above the Arby’s represent Cecil and Carlos’ relationship, and will come up again many times in regards to them. Here Cecil claims to understand what the lights are, but claims them to be a threat, similar to his questioning of Carlos’ arrival in Night Vale. Similar to his comment “we have all been scientists at one point in our lives.”

Ghost cars are a popular urban legend. Speeding from parts unknown to parts unknown. Usually when ghost cars are brought up in urban legend the story states that someone died in a car accident, which has happened on just about every major U.S. road, and now haunts that particular road. Is the implication that Night Vale is very haunted, or something else?

The tiered heavens and the hierarchy of angels, which should not be known, relate back to how we perceive old woman Josie. In previous segments about her all we have is her word, that there are angels, that they helped her change a lightbulb, that they took her salt for a divine mission, but now we have an official source saying not only are there angels, but that you shouldn’t openly acknowledge that there are angels. That the tiered heavens and the hierarchy of angels are privileged knowledge. I could, perhaps, draw a link between this and the old days of Christianity, when most of the population was illiterate and church services were held predominantly in Latin. When the contents of the Bible really were privileged information.

Cecil comments the best way to die would be swallowed by a giant snake. He claims this would give life perfect symmetry. Its worth noting that this sort of acceptance of death is a thematic element of Cecil’s character that carries on for a long time.

Overarching Plot

The overarching plot of this episode is about Carlos and his scientists investigating the strange happenings of Night Vale, discovering things like an earthquake no one can feel or the sun setting at the wrong time, or a house that doesn’t exist place precisely between two identical houses.

The sun setting at the wrong time and the earthquake (or lack thereof) serve to somewhat separate Night Vale from the natural order of things. To say that the sun sets at the same time of day everywhere else, perhaps, but this town exists separate from those natural cycles.

There’s an implication that Cecil’s entire office is host to some kind of dangerous “materials”, presumably radioactive, but nothing can truly be presumed about Night Vale. This is where we begin to ask questions about what precisely Cecil is (unless you are satisfied with the answer “radio host” these questions will go unanswered). Carlos’ device gives off the highest reading specifically near the microphone, is Cecil somehow the cause? Who is Cecil as a character, rather than Cecil as a narrator?

 “Look to the north, keep looking, there’s nothing coming from the south” is the first proverb of wtnv, it relates heavily to the prominent themes of misdirection we can already see within the show after just the first episode. Night Vale has a habit of presenting us with something that feels normal and familiar: a waterfront and recreation area, and then introducing something anomalous about it: Night Vale has no waterfront. It’s a hallmark of Night Vale’s particular narrative style, and I think the first proverb illustrates this quite well. “Look to the North.” But what do we see there? Nothing. It’s what we don’t see, coming from the south.

[tetralea]

To play a game

Pairing: dom!Tom Holland x reader

Word Count: 1.8K+

Warning: dom-sub dynamics, dirty talking, cum in panties, exhibitionism, semi-public play, vaginal sex

Summary:  You are attending at an event with Tom and the both of you likes to play dirty, so you ditch your panties for the night.

A/N: So,it was inspired by a conversation veeery long ago with @we--are---not--afraid​ also it kind of clashes with this ask: (P.S please at least say hi, next time because I’m not writing on demand)

The event was loud and as overwhelming as ever no matter how many times you did it. The red carpet walks, the interviews, the photos, it got easier over time but never less draining. The only thing what kept you on the edge was one specific man and the hurried promise he made before you got out of the car.  

‘I bet you are not bold enough do this event without your panties.’ Tom purred into your ear, his eyes and words challenging you.  

This is how it happened, your hands sliding under the dress which reached around your knees to find your panties and push it into Tom’s pocket. ‘And I bet you can’t walk around with my panties in your pocket without someone noticing.’ Your little head tilt and innocent eyes earned a groan and a dangerous glint in those brown eyes, but he didn’t say a thing.  

It has been an hour now at least and you felt yourself growing wet as the cool air brushed against your pussy. You knew your dress was long enough to cover you by any means, but it didn’t help your feeling of being exposed and absolutely aroused by doing all this small talk and posing while not wearing your underwear, let alone having them in Tom’s pocket. It was a dirty little secret for the two of you, which riled you up more and more by every minute.  

The first time you could finally talk to him again was before the dinner when he stepped to you, his fingers lightly touching your shoulder.  

‘Do you have a minute for me, darling?’  

With an apologetic smile you excused yourself from the group and started to follow him through the crowded room to an empty, dark hallway, curtains hanging from each side, giving you just enough cover for now. His fingers were interlocking with yours during the walk, only letting them go when he pushed you to the wall, getting tangled in a curtain a little.  

‘How are you doing lovie?’ His words were hushed, lips finding yours before you could have answered in a hungry kiss.  

‘Better than you, I'd say.’ The devilish smile on your lips and the way he gave himself away so easily earned you another groan before he was back kissing you silly. It was hot and heavy with need, need building from the moment you got out of the car a few hours ago. His hard on was painfully obvious as he stepped a bit closer, his full body pressed to yours now. Sure, it explains why at least one of his hands were in his pocket. Those tight, slim pants didn’t hide his erection very well.  

Between the heated sloppy kisses, Tom’s long fingers slipped under your dress. ‘Do you know how it felt watching you flirting with everyone and knowing you little pussy is bare under your pretty dress?’  

It was a rhetorical question, but he didn't give you time to answer anyway, his lips were on yours, kissing you in a way it made your head spin, your small whimpers lost in his mouth. ‘Lovie, you soaked even your thighs.’ Tom cooed, when his fingers run up on your skin, to find you completely roused and wet. The sound you made then his touch, even if it was light as a feather hit your exposed pussy lips was almost feral. ‘You know, originally I wanted to finger you here and go back to fuck you later, but I don’t think I can wait for so long.’ His mumbles along with his ministrations were too much to let you form any more coherent thoughts. ‘I think there is a storage room across the hall, what do you think?’ His question was sweet as honey in sync with the way he was petting your pussy, coating his fingers in your slick, pressing into you a digit only when he touched your gaping entrance.  

‘Yes.’ As embarrassing as it was this was the first and only word which come to your mind, to Tom’s amusement. He loved it, loved to make you so flustered and worked up you practically forgot how to form words and there were nothing left but those sweet noises only for him.  

It felt like it wasn’t even a minute later when the door of the small room clicked behind you. Tom was immediately all over you, his hands trying to feel as much skin as you could, being desperate to finally have you. ‘Turn around, lovie.’  

You did with a bit of a help, hands pressed to the hard, steel shelves, but you didn’t care. There was a bit of a pause while Tom undid his pants, a bit of a shuffling until he pushed them down till his knees, to pull himself free from his boxers. Lifting your dress with one hand and aligning his hot cock head with your entrance with the other shouldn’t have been this hot in this situation, but you couldn’t help it.  

‘Tom?’ Your voice was weak and impatient, when you didn’t feel the immediate fullness, you were expecting but only the delicious stretch at your entrance. He stopped.  

‘Ask for it, darling. You made me walk around with a hard cock all night, this is the least you could do to make it fair.’ 

The frustrated moan didn’t help, nor the almost inaudible please. ‘You know you can act like a little brat, and I could always just jerk off like this and leave you frustrated, so you better think about your next words carefully.’ With his words a sharp slap cut through the silence of the small space followed with your whimper when he slapped your ass a bit roughly.  

‘Tom, please.’ You tried, but already knew it won’t cut it. He tsked with his tongue, which didn’t mean any good for you, mostly when you felt his hand slowly moving starting to gently stroke his own cock.  

‘Last chance, baby girl.’ He warned and gave you another slap, his hand not speeding up yet.  

The last nick name seemed to wash away all of your remaining resistance, getting the obedient little sub out of you.  

‘Please, fuck me.’ Your words were so fast it was a miracle he heard them correctly.  

‘What is it?’ Tom teased, leaning closer to your seemingly to hear better, pushing his thick cock half-way in during the process.  

‘Please fuck me, please I need your cock!’ The words fumbled over your lips like prayer now, a shudder running down on your spine making you twitch around his cock.  

‘Look at you. You must be so desperate.’ Along with the soft, slow purr he finally pushed into you fully inch by inch. The mewl you made was primal, finally feeling the fullness and weight of his cock inside of you. 

‘Open up!’ It threw you off for a minute, but there was no time to think about it when he tapped on your lip, and something lace like touched them too. Tom stuffed your panties into your mouth without hesitation. 

Your eyes rolled back, any of your previous resistance thrown out of the window, melting into Tom’s touch, as he fucked into you. He didn’t start slow, knowing your body enough by now, to be sure you could take it. He did slow down tho after a few minutes, to pull you closer, to pepper sweet kisses onto your neck, to whisper sweet nothings into your ear. ‘Such a good girl for me.’ Tom cooed and bit your earlobe, before letting you go and starting to thrust hard and fast again.  

With your sounds muffled by your panties, lips and jaw stretching around them, eyes shut as you got lost in your pleasure, until you felt your high approaching. Your fingers left the selves which were warm under your palms now, to tap in his wrist twice.  

‘Oh, baby girl, look how good you can be. Are you there? Are you asking for my permission?’ His words were surprisingly coherent compared to the state he was. You felt his thrust becoming sloppy, his grip on your body tightening, his pants and moans becoming more breathy, he was also close.  

The answer for his question was a frantic nodding and a desperate cry trying to hold it.  

‘Good girl. You can come on my command when I hit zero.’  With that Tom started to count down from ten, making it almost the longest ten seconds of your life because he didn’t slow down, he was taking you with the same strength and speed as before, making it especially hard for you to hold back your orgasm. Now you were grateful for the small ruined piece of fabric in your mouth to hold back your desperate cries, moans and whimpers, because you were on the edge, your whole body shaking during those ten seconds.  

‘One, almost there.’ Tom’s voice was equally breathless and wretched. ‘Zero. Come baby girl, come on my cock. Come on.’  

To the permission and encouragement, you started coming immediately without even fully registering it. It took a few seconds to really reach your peak. Your mouth opened to a silent O while your body shook and convulsed under the force of your orgasm. The small, wet hole tightening around Tom and the unmistakable signs of your orgasm pushed him over too, his cock twitching and oozing his thick, warm cum into you.  

When it was over, he pulled out carefully, being aware of just how sensitive he made you. The small kisses on your shoulders sending shudders down on your arms, your eyes still closed, enjoying his closeness. He took your panties out of your mouth reaching down to use them to clean your thighs a little.  

‘Did you enjoy it?’ He asked, his lips finally finding yours for a soft, loving kiss. ‘This is what you had in mind?’ 

‘Yeah, yeah thank you.’  

‘Good, because otherwise you would be so punished at home for sticking this into my pocket. I was so fucking hard all night, darling.’ Tom softly schooled you while he turned you around trying to re arrange the both of you to a presentable state.  

‘I know and it got me so wet.’ Your tired giggle was an obvious sign of your satisfied state.  

‘Yeah?’ Tom looked at you with amusement. ‘Good, because you will wear a fresh pair now, right? And I know I’ll get hard again eventually, because you are running around with my cum in your pussy eventually dripping out of you and leaving a visible wet patch on your panties with all these very important people around us.’ As he talked you pulled out that fresh pair from your purse, he helped you to put it on, his fingers pressing the material to your entrance firmly. ‘Let’s go and enjoy the party while my hands are out of my pocket.’ 

Tag list: @terrifictomholland @itstaskeen @thegirlintheswivelchair @duskholland @sinisterspidey @tomsrebeleyebrow @annathesillyfriend @hazofmyheart @greenorangevioletgrass @worldoftom @augustholland @m-multifandom-multishipper

If you want to be or not to be tagged please let me know!

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

Hey, did you saw the film theory on Invader Zim on Membrane that Low-key makes sense

NO. IT. DOESN’T!

Okay, maybe this is my personal bias shining through, because I really don’t like Mattpatt sometimes... No. Okay, I have nothing against the guy personally. More frankly, I don’t like his fanbase or the way he structures his videos.

The way Mattpatt words and structures his videos acts like he’s the first person who thought of this idea, it’s the main contributor to why I stopped watching his videos a long time ago.

He speaks in a lot of rhetorics and strawman arguments rather than just saying what he wants to say. Like “If you don’t believe me... look no further then...” and that’s the one thing I ABSOLUTELY HATE on theory videos.

And some of Mattpatts own theories he doesn’t take seriously, but this is what you get when you base your INCOME off of youtube ad revenue and browse the reddit forums for new ideas. A completely monopolized way of theorizing. (and this is why there are several paragraphs in my current chapter of Tech Support of Zim’s Computer complaining about the concept of youtube entertainment in general.)

Sure, I don’t think Mattpatt will run out of theories... but I really hate the structure of his videos follows along strawman arguments, acting like he’s always arguing with an imaginary audience for entertainment value rather than just say what he wants to say.

That, and people will often cling to theories of someone with good editing software and a youtube channel then Their own opinions.

Something that I learned was incredibly dangerous to do. I learned my lesson with “That Guy with the Glasses dot com” and I don’t plan to act like I know something or am better than someone else cause I agree with someone who said something on youtube once.

I do watch Internet reviews and theory videos for entertainment, but that’s all they are to me. I don’t like to watch youtube videos to give me opinions on how I feel about things. And I seriously think a wide margin of his subscribers lack critical thinking skills at times, as well as a majority of the youtube audience, or from what I’ve seen in the comment section.

However, remember... These are just my thoughts on the matter... My thoughts are not law and I never claim them to be.

Like when I first joined the fandom and posed my GIR analysis questions... I even said:

“I don’t know if the fandom has talked about this in depth or not... I just got here... or if someone put it into this many words before but...”  

Also... the thing that bothers me about his Invader Zim theory...

A lot of Mattpatt’s sources are just..... Wrong...

(for the next few minutes I will be talking about this video, feel free to watch or don’t)

Okay.. “Membrane is an Irken” this has been a popular fan theory since before I even entered the fandom and there are old fics about this. I have read Irken Membrane stories before.

It’s not personally my cup of tea, but it’s fun to think about.

But the straws Mattpatt grasps in his video.... Really upset me because there is some thought to the theory back in the day.. ... Like back in 2002??? but like.... NOW?!

Okay, I’ll pick apart this a little... bit by bit...

He says that Membrane takes a hard stance against anything paranormal.

Kinda... but no.. Membrane never outright denies the existence of aliens. (except in ETF... which he mainly says out of frustration...) This is what Membrane says about “there are no aliens” in the show:

Membrane just says that there are no “intelligent” aliens...None that are able to travel the massive distance to Earth, anyways... If aliens existed at all, (like the cryptoids Dib talks of) they would have traveled the distance to the planet and communicated with them by now.

However, this is a nitpick of a minor issue. One that a majority of the fandom tends to overlook when viewing Professor Membrane and Dib’s relationship in general. 

And I do find it weird that he used this for evidence when he cut out the most important snippet from the full lecture he gives Dib here.... JUST to support his claim... as if he’s intentionally leaving that part out.... hmmmm

However, I can let this slide, because it’s a nitpick and really doesn’t change anything that Membrane is very dissuasive of Dib’s alien-hunting hobbies. (I have a theory as to why and I explain it here in my own way)

The point is, Membrane is dismissive of anything alien... maybe because he’s an Irken...okay, good, yes. fair. 

A lot of Mattpatts claims from then on are pretty solid, and I won’t bunk them with “But in my headcanon/Fanfic verse...”  Because what he is saying is all true.

Membrane denying the existence of aliens even after being taken to space jail doesn’t have much of an explanation and is played for comedy and there are many ways you can go with this, and I am not going to bring up my fanfics or my own headcanons to argue with him here.

Because there is no explanation, and he is going with the “Membrane is Irken” theory... So that’s very solid when he’s talking about Membrane denying the Hallucinations. 

Mattpatt claimed that Membrane wore his face covering at all times and had been dressed this way since he was a child.

I will not deny this. This is true.

However, isn’t bringing up Membrane’s childhood kinda put a hole in your own argument?

MEMBRANE WAS A CHILD.

He had been shown to have childhood memories in the comics and the show.

Irkens don’t really have a “Childhood” per say, at least not in the way that humans do. They are a smeet, then elite, then Invader..

If he’s claiming that Membrane came to earth as an Irken SMEET....How, why, and when? 

That kinda raises more questions than it answers.... What are you proving by bringing up Membrane’s baby pictures on Earth exactly? It kind of works against your own argument? 

Saying that they’re Irken because they all have the same hair.... that’s just stupid... and he’s citing the Invader Zim wiki on this .... oh boy.

Yeah, Like before I watched the show I thought Dib and Disguised Zim were the same character or brothers...

But I don’t think character design here is a solid enough reason in this case... At least not when it comes to the hairstyles... That’s a stretch.

“Hmmm Membrane’s hair forms an M shape... What could the M stand for? Mirken?! SUSPICIOUS!” (this is just a joke)

Also... the lack of ears thing... He did say it would be hard for Membrane to hear if his headpiece was covering his ears, but not necessarily... The entire thing is a headset and he is the man of science, he can really do whatever the fuck he wants cause Science is like magic in a show like this. So if Membrane wears a headset that doesn’t obstruct his hearing at all, I can buy it... Also.. it’s equally possible his ears got blown off in a chem lab accident or he’s legally deaf and that headset acts as a hearing aide and HELPS him hear... 

Actually, I always noticed how in Membrane’s original design from the show, the headset looked a lot like a hearing aid. Specifically one with a head clip, It’s one of the things I first noticed about his design in the show.

And it’s just something I always assumed because he’s a scientist who deals with explosions in his face on a daily basis... (in fact he experiences one in episode 2B) So on first viewing, I thought that his headset served as a hearing aid as well as prescription glasses and a communication device. 

I’m just throwing out possibilities because the “lack of ears” is also kinda a stretch.

Mattpatt complaining about “lack of nose” however... Okay, yeah I’ll give him that one. It’s a character design choice that is a little odd for Professor Membrane, but it does fit with the Irken theory, since a majority of human characters, in fact, all have noses. So, Yes the “lack of nose” does fit more into the Irken theory. 

However.... Florpus anime Membrane DOES have a nose...

Meant to be drawn in a more semi-realistic artsyle, you can clearly see the bridge of his nose here.

And he looks very similar to anime Dib... Sooooo... Shrug-city... 

It’s likely that Membrane not having a nose in the show is simply a stylistic choice than anything else. Basically, the bridge of the nose is there... we just don’t see it.

Especially since Nightmare Membrane has a nose as well..

Membrane is like Home Improvement’s Wilson. We will never see his face, and that’s part of the gag. The man probably sleeps in his labcoat honestly...

I also find the voice pattern thing a bit of a stretch. Membrane and Zim are just eccentric characters who yell to emote or emphasize a point or emote stronger. And Membrane’s inflections are never the same as Zim’s.

Remember, no other Irken TALKS like Zim. Professor Membrane doesn’t really go around screaming: “I AM PROFESSOR MEMBRANE” either..... 

If anything... it just kinda proves both characters have auditory processing issues or hearing problems more then anything.

And there is a lot of screaming on this show.... Screaming from Dib, screaming from Membrane, Screaming from GIR, screaming from Zim... Screaming is funny... and characters scream so much that the characters with their mouths wide open is somewhat a staple of the show.

This is more because of Johnen Vasquez’s voice direction...

Especially since no other Irken really talks like Zim..

Zim’s manor of Speach is strictly a Zim thing and not an Irken thing.

Professor Membrane’s manner of speech is simply a Membrane thing and not a human thing.

I will give Mattpatt that. That a lot of tech in the show looks similar to Membrane’s. I feel this is mostly a stylistic choice, but it really does fit in with the Irken theory. 

Like that Zim just so happens to use the same operating system as Dib is played off as a joke. But it does add some small credence to the theory here... I need to point out when he does get it right... some pats on the back.

These are very good points and does follow through with what he’s trying to prove by the end of the day.

(even if Membrane was lying about the destruction of all mankind with the beans thing, but that’s a minor nitpick here) 

But his entire paragraph comparing Membrane’s tech to Irken tech is a really good one. Props there.

This whole paragraph about there being only Tall or short irkens cause their society is height based and there are no “medium-sized” irkens....cause they were “dealt with”

Okay.

....

Sure Mattpatt. Let’s just entirely ignore the existence of the Frylord and this entire character even though you mentioned it in the synopsis at the start of your video... Showing that Taller irkens are in positions of power against the shorter, also... Zim is a tiny irken... there are many Irkens that stand taller then Zim.

Being tall in Irken society is a rarity, and Almighty Tallest Purple said that he and Red “became” the Tallest. How? We don’t know, but we do know at one point the current Tallest looked like this:

How do Irkens get that Tall? Body modifications? Maybe... it’s never explained, but considering the Frylord is super big and probably eats a lot of snacks might have something to do with it. We don’t know.

It’s safe to say that being Tall in their society is a rarity and Tallests are either born or made special from the cloning chamber from the get go.

Not to mention, Membrane is Taller than the current Tallest are already...

 and you said earlier in the video that Membrane would have gone to Earth as a child...

When he was no taller than a wrapped Christmas box of socks...

So why would Membrane take refuge on Earth at this point? Mattpatt says that Membrane was sent on a mission to Earth because the Tallest felt threatened by his rule...

BY MEMBRANE’S RULE?!?

HE’S THE SIZE OF A CHRISTMAS BOX OF SOCKS!

What do they have to be threatened by? 

Because... Mattpatt DID bring up Membrane as a child earlier in the video... meaning Membrane came to earth when he was about the same size as Zim.

SO THEY HAD NOTHING TO BE WORRIED ABOUT AND HAD NO EVIDENCE TO BELIEVE MEMBRANE WOULD GROW TO BE TALL ORE EVEN VIEW HIM AS A THREAT

You bunked your own argument. Congradulations.

Membrane conquered the world through his inventions. In a way, sure. Membrane Labs does own a lot of stuff. But he doesn’t own everything. A majority of the Corporations that keep the population stupid usually don’t have anything to do with Membrane Labs and aren’t affiliated at all. 

But this does fit into the “Membrane is an Irken” theory so I will give him that one.

However, Membrane being an evil corporate dictator is a hot take I never really appreciate at all and I can never get behind it.

It hits too close to home in the real world, and I always like to view Membrane as a self-made man and a World loving hippie at his core who just wants to make the world a better place, much like his son, but he actively does something about it. (which can also be why he encourages Dib with real science so much cause he knows Dib wants to save the Earth as much as he does)

Just calling Membrane a capitalist billionaire that doesn’t care about the little guy kinda seems disingenuous towards his character for me. 

Especially when Membrane in “Ten Minutes to Doom” created a machine (foodio) that completely end world hunger... which was in BETA in the unreleased episode...

 but by the time the movie rolls around... Foodio exists... past his BETA, meaning that he’s probably no expensive than a common household microwave and can materialize food from nothing:

Yeah. Membrane completely ended world hunger off-screen. thanks. (something no capitalist would ever do...)

Membrane also does appearances for charity (in the comics), and often takes funding for sponsorships when he is low on funds and he had to find a cure for pig mouth. 

Sure “Membrane conquered the world” fits the Irken theory...

But I never appreciate that take on his character and that is admittedly, very personal bais. 

I just wanted to say my peace a little bit here about how I 100% don’t vibe with the “Membrane capitalist/billionaire scum” especially since he ended world hunger...and invented a cure for the un-common cold.

Works for the theory, so good on Mattpatt for that one, but I personally don’t vibe with it.

Mattpatt compared Zim and Dib’s head shape as something to argue... Like because Dib has a similar head shape to Zim... that Dib has to be an alien... Okay... But If you look at the Invader Zim artbook (which I own)

The show has a very distinct look on how they draw characters’ heads. It’s a very distinct stylistic choice and there are pages upon pages in the artbook describing the style and how it looks in motion, and many revision notes to the Korean animators.

There are lots of pages on the artbook describing in detail the differences between the main characters’ heads, what to do, and what not to do.

It’s a difficult style to replicate, and Dib having a big head was mostly a joke from the showrunners to the showrunners, cause they kept drawing Dib’s head slightly bigger to make him look more appealing.

A majority of the audience doesn’t really notice because all the children in the show have big heads. All the kids are like 3-4 feet tall and have huge heads. 

Also... Dib’s head is far more rounder then Zim’s in the comics and the Movie... comparing their head shape as an arguing point, when Dib’s head shape changed midway season 1 when the designs got slightly more streamlined is just... bad form..

Dib and Zim’s heads never really look the same from the early episodes as they do later on.

Comparing this character design similarity just because of the artstyle is really stupid.

This is the most infuriating thing about the video... because Mattpatt disproves his own argument with his own footage not a few seconds earlier. 

He claims that Gaz sarcastically mentioning she has a squeedly spooch is a canon fact...... but ... hmm.. Mattpatt... can I rewind the footage of your video, please?

Where’s her squeedly spooch?

IS IT BEHIND HER CLEARLY HUMAN ORGANS?! I DON’T SEE IT?

And this isn’t just a stylistic choice... here’s a picture of another human’s organs for comparison.

Mattpatt literally disproved his own argument and ignored the fact that we saw an X-ray of Gaz’s organs in the very same episode...

Gaz doesn’t have a squeedly spooch and she literally was being sarcastic.

and the whole thing is disproved very easily.

Everything Mattpatt says in between those two points, about Dib being taken aboard an alien ship as a baby, and that there is no mother, and the Clone theory... That is all good stuff and this is what the theory video should have speculated and focused on, because there is some digging to be had here... I feel he focused a lot on the wrong points in his video...

And this is the most outrageous point he makes in his video. It’s the thing that pissed me off the most... and lead me to write this essay in the first place.

He claimed Eric Trueheart himself confirmed the clone theory and had story plans where Dib would discover his clone origins.

HE DID NOT!

IN FACT, Eric Trueheart himself published Volume One of the Invader Zim script book AND THIS IS WHAT HE SAID:

Eric neither confirmed nor denied the rumor.

But for Mattpatt to blatantly say that Eric said that Clone Dib was a planned thing by the screenwriters?!

He is BLATANTLY putting words into a Screenwriter’s mouth! Something that you should NEVER do.

Because it is 100% a lie.

He had no source for this claim. He probably just read the same rumor on the wiki and has no source.

This is the reason why I don’t trust videos like Mattpatt. The truth is often stretched for entertainment value, or information is just made up to prove “they were right” about whatever the topic of the day was. He doesn’t even bother to cite the source he got “Eric Trueheart’s word of mouth” from... because it was wrong.

Sorry if this whole thing is more hostile than it intended to be... But Mattpatt was looking at the ENTIRELY wrong evidence for this show....

Irken Membrane is a fun theory... but Mattpatt picked the entirely wrong topics and points of discussion, even to the point of hiding the truth and straight-up lying to his audience about his sources.

It’s kinda like saying “Birds eat ghost peppers because they’re part dragon and dragons can handle spicy food”

While, yeah, Birds are descended from dinos, it’s kinda missing the full story there and it’s not the reason why birds can eat spicy food.

Irken Membrane is a fun fan theory... do what you want with it. I am not here to dissuade Irken Membrane headcanons...

I’m just here to encourage critical thinking, and perhaps NOT put words into content creators' mouths when there is no credible source for it just because it benefits your argument.

[thedevillionaire]

Invasive Species

~3,000 words of my supernatural soap opera, Demonics Office edition. If you’ve read my fics before, you’ve met Cerberus and Kia already. Other Underworldians briefly appearing or mentioned here: Therion, Demonics Understudy - sort of the same thing as vice president, Crisis (Therion’s BFF, another Demon), Winter (Crisis’s bonded, Sorceress), and Belladonna (Therion’s bonded, Vampire). And of course, any questions, about anything, please do ask.

 ---

Heading home from the evening’s soiree more than a little later than intended, they’d only decided to take the detour to the Demonics Office last minute, Cerberus reasoning that collecting the necessary documents and notes for the introductory expedition he was directing in two nights’ time might as well be done now rather than waiting until tomorrow. It should be late enough that they wouldn’t be interrupting anything, anyway. They should, in fact, have pretty much the entire department to themselves at this hour – although it was a general truism that if any department was likely to have activity occurring at unorthodox hours, Demonics would be the one. He hoped for the best nonetheless, casually willing a few of the firebrands lining the walls aflame as he and Kia passed by.

Kia nodded towards the Office door upon their arrival. “It’s definitely unoccupied?” she checked again. “I mean, since you’re not expected in tonight at all and… Well, you know. Cat’s away, mice will play, all that.”

“Are you suggesting my Office could be the site of something…in flagrante?” Cerberus chuckled darkly.

“Oh, absolutely, babe. I’m just intending for it to be us.” She gave him a playful smile. “You know. Rather than walking in on it.”

“I’m not sure Therion’s a particularly likely candidate for that sort of thing,” said Cerberus, though he knocked lightly twice before opening the door anyway. “Or at least, if he is, he’s been careful enough to have never been caught.”

He stood aside for Kia to enter before him, and she paused, smirking. “Is that out of chivalry, hon, or are you just hoping that if someone is fucking on your furniture that I’m the one who gets to be the main witness so you won’t have to try to unsee it every time you come in here afterwards for the rest of eternity?”

Laughing, Cerberus kissed her lightly on the top of her head. “I’d not considered it to that degree, but now that you mention it, I hope you’ll forgive me for thinking that’s actually rather a good idea.” He smiled, half-bowed and waved her through.

Kia looked back at him in light-hearted reproach as she entered. “One day I’ll learn to shut up, you know.”

Cerberus closed the door behind them. “Oh, darkling, I very much hope that you don’t.” He paused for a moment, frowning slightly at a subtle, unusual scent that he couldn’t quite place, before disregarding it and following his bonded inside.

Kia semi-leapt with melodramatic abandon onto the couch, lay back and threw her arms wide. “Look! Completely fuck-free!” She grinned wickedly as Cerberus laughed again, and sat up, crossing her legs in a deliberate parody of primness. “Okay, okay, so remind me – what are you actually doing tomorrow or whenever?”

“First year Take direction. Standard introductory procedure. More necessary than interesting, unfortunately,” replied Cerberus, walking over to his desk and searching for the related papers he could have sworn he’d left here specifically, noting also that that wasn’t the only thing that seemed to be out of position or incorrectly placed or…flat out missing. Hmm. The carafe of cognac he kept there was also a significant degree emptier than it ought to be, too. “Something has definitely gone on here tonight,” he said, rubbing his nose absently against a faint but obstinate itch. “There’s been some…sort…” He broke off as the itch became abruptly definite, sneezing. “Hm. Pardon me.”

“Bless you!”

“Thank you, love,” Cerberus said vaguely, distracted by both the absence of the documents he needed and the disturbingly insistent tickle which seemed to have grown in intensity rather than to be at all relieved. He rubbed his nose again. “Why is nothing where it’s supposed to be?” he asked rhetorically, annoyed. “It’s not like it needed to…” he began, but soon lost his thoughts to other concerns. “Oh, excuse m… hh…” Breaking off again, he took a tissue from the box on the table, sneezing into it. “HuhTSCHuu!” He apologised and wiped his nose.

“Mmm, bless, babe.” Kia wandered across the room to meet him, pushing a few books aside to create enough space for her to sit on the desk, facing Cerberus and giving him a soft, suggestive smile as she curled an arm around his waist, the other behind his neck, through his hair. “You know…you could put off the document search for a little while, if you like,” she murmured, kissing him deeply and Mindsending a teasing, sultry :and do someone else instead.:

The rush of desire racing through Cerberus momentarily eclipsing all else, he returned her kiss with a promise Kia could feel, and she purred with pleasure as he drew her closer to him, wrapping one leg around his, feeling him covet her, and all she wanted was more. But it seemed like the fates had other ideas, as Cerberus found himself suddenly, unavoidably torn from the moment. His breath caught and he turned from her in haste, not able to do otherwise.

”HhTSSCHUU! Ah…ahTSCHUU! What the h…hh-AHTSSCHU!” He glanced back at Kia briefly, his brow creased in confusion and his eyes watering, before he had no choice but to surrender again as the need to sneeze again overtook him. “Hhh-hh-TSCHUU! Gods! Pardon me.” Sniffling wetly, he claimed several more tissues, the relentless irritation burning sinus-deep. “W-what…what the hell is…” Another hitch in his breath and he looked at the ceiling, attempting to settle the rapid, shaky inhalations but to no avail and he sneezed again, powerful and demanding. “Huh-ahhHEHTSSCHuu!”

“Oh, bless you! Are you alright?” Kia looked at her bonded in a mixture of concern and captivation, even as she thought to herself that he was clearly not alright and that it was fairly pointless to ask. “I mean, you’re not coming down with something, right? You seemed fine earlier…”

Cerberus, genuinely confounded, gave a brief shake of his head in answer and tried, not successfully, to steady his breathing against the compulsive, overwhelming prickle that simply refused to back down. “No, I…” He sniffled sharply and pressed the back of his hand firmly against his nose. “I…I’m not sick,” he said. “I have no…no idea wh… hhh-TSSCHUU! tshHUU! S-sorry, lov… ah-hh-MMPchh! Ugh.” He winced from the discomfort of stifling, a desperate measure he rarely resorted to, and wiped watering eyes. “Oh, my gods.” Taking yet more tissues, vaporising the used ones in a flash of Combust, he blew his nose and murmured another apology.

Kia leapt neatly down from the desk and half motioned, half physically directed Cerberus to take a seat, which he did, and she moved to stand behind him. “Okay. So, then, in that case…” She smoothed some disordered hair back from his face and kissed the top of his head. “What are you allergic to, hon?”

Cerberus shook his head once more. “Nothi…ii-AHHtchuu! hhtCHUU!” He had no chance of preventing the two rapid sneezes which took him completely without warning, and he blinked rapidly, wiping his eyes again, then his nose, both of which seemed to have no intention of stopping their near constant streaming now. “Nothing th…that I-I… Ah-TSSCH-uu!” He groaned, sniffling uselessly. “Ah, gods, excuse me. Nothing that I can think of, nothing that would…hh-HH…” Focus dissolving unstoppable, he sniffled several times more, uselessly, no respite or relief afforded, hurriedly claimed another few tissues, and sneezed again. “AHH-TSCHUU! Fuck!”

“Bless you, sweetheart.” Kia cast her gaze around the room, considering potential options and not recognising any viable ones. She gently neatened her bonded’s hair and rubbed his shoulders as he caught another convulsive sneeze in the tissues, and another immediately after that. “But maybe you need to think a little harder, okay?”

Other than the occasional reaction to dust, though – something he never let get out of hand in his immaculately kept Office – and of course unexpectedly or unsuitably cold temperatures and the like, again in this instance definitely not the case, Cerberus honestly couldn’t think of anything that could possibly be the cause of this.

“Gods, I-I don’t…” His breathing shaky, untrustworthy, he did his best to concentrate on something other than needing to sneeze and the fierce, unending, crawling itch that just. would. not. subside. “I have no idea. Nothing that should be in…in my Office, damn it,” he managed before an urgent, violent sneeze bent him double, leaving him gasping for breath. “AHHTSSCHHUU! Ugh. Honestly!” Scrubbing a rough hand under his nose, he sniffled strongly, looking back over his shoulder at Kia. He offered her a self-deprecating half smile, raising an eyebrow and giving a quick shake of his head. “I think I can see through time.”

Kia laughed. “Oh, hon. Well, I’m certainly not going to question your…many talents.” She stroked his hair and kissed him again, when her eye was caught by a salt-sketched pentacle on the floor of the ritual workings space in the furthest corner of the room, a small, lightly smouldering ceramic bowl at the pentacle’s apex northern tip, several unfamiliar symbols encircling it.

“Um…I’m no expert or anything, but isn’t that upside down for here?” She gently turned Cerberus’ attention towards it, pointing. “I mean, it’s not upside down but it should be, right? For Demonics.”

Cerberus followed Kia’s direction, finding focus difficult through reddened and watery eyes, but he nevertheless recognised a Sorcery cleansing set-up when he saw one. “What the…”

Before he could explore that thought further, though, the door opened suddenly.

Therion stopped dead in his tracks. Shit. He hadn’t planned on having to explain anything - just tidy up Crisis and Winter’s mess and leave again. “Uh…hey. I didn’t think you were coming in tonight,” he said, more than a little awkwardly. “I, um…” He indicated the pentacle. “That wasn’t me, man. But I am here to sort it…” A powerful sneeze from Cerberus interrupted him, and another following almost immediately.

Sniffling again, Cerberus cursed under his breath and tried to will himself to at least perhaps manage just a modicum of control, just for a moment, damn it, because he was fairly sure that any aura of authority and command, something that usually came so effortlessly to him and something he would very much like to have at least a semblance of right now, was going to be thoroughly undermined by this…ridiculous, unrelenting…sensation that he just...couldn’t… Gods, fuck… “Huh-TSCHHUU!”

Kia blessed him quietly, gave him a reassuring pat on his shoulder and another quick kiss, and left his side to head over to the ritual space, something having occurred to her. :Just a sec, babe: she Mindsent. :I’ll be right back.:

“Gesundheit,” said Therion. “You got a cold?”

Before Cerberus could offer any sort of denial – not that he was in any real state to do so anyway, his concentration primarily on trying not to sneeze again – Kia held up the ceramic bowl, thin tendrils of faintly scented smoke still curling from it. “Therion!” she called, displaying it. “What’s in this?”

“Um…well, it’s Winter’s work, so I’m not really sure. It won’t be anything too fancy, though – it’s just a basic cleansing Sorcery herbal concoction thing, so, um…probably mostly birchbark and…” Therion broke off abruptly, eyes widening in realisation. “Oh… Shit.” He didn’t bother to check anything further and instantly Sent the bowl to Winter’s house, Mindsending her a hurried :Sorry, sorry, I’ll explain later, can’t talk now, tell Crisis we’re probably in deep shit, sorry.:

“It’s… HMPTch!” Appalled, Cerberus stifled another sneeze and winced, sniffling sharply. “It’s what?!” He grabbed a fresh handful of tissues, wiped his eyes and blew his nose, and rounded on Therion in no uncertain terms. “Explain this. Quickly. Now.” His words, though congested, carried enough vehemence in their undertone that Kia, having crossed the room to stand with him again, put a calming hand on his arm to try and call him back from doing anything perhaps more extreme than was necessary.

Therion tried to think of a reasonable starting point. Fuck. “Um…”

“Quickly,” repeated Cerberus tersely, rubbing his nose firmly to try and suppress the irritation still bothering him despite the source having been removed. Damn stuff will have permeated practically everything in here. He sniffled again, emphatically, repeatedly, and pressed the back of his hand against his nose but couldn’t stop two more sneezes, rapid and forceful, and he swore in frustration. Kia softly blessed him again, and he Mindsent her an apology, thanked her between a series of sniffles, stroked her hair.

Exhaling heavily, Therion sent a silent entreaty to the fates to please let Cerberus remember that for the vast majority of the time, he hadn’t made any monumental fuck-ups and they actually worked together really well usually, and hoped against hope for the best. “Okay, um, well, me and Bel and Crisis and Winter were just having some after-shift drinks, and Winter has an advancement thing coming up that she wanted to do a practice invocation for and so me and Bel left her and Crisis here because it…seemed okay at the time, I don’t know, man, we’d been drinking, and I didn’t ask her what she was gonna be doing but how bad could it be, I mean, fuck, she’s only level 7, I told them to clean up before they left but they only did the desk or some shit because they were still drinking after we left and… I fuckin’ don’t know, man. And then I found out they hadn’t sorted the Sorcery ritual space shit and so I came back here to deal with that and…well, you know the rest of it.” He looked at Cerberus in trepidation. “I’m really fucking sorry, man.”

Cerberus cleared his throat, sniffled and blew his nose again, excusing himself with annoyance evident, and tried to steady his breathing, still somewhat erratic. “You will impress upon Crisis without question that the only reason he’s lived through this night is because it’s you telling him the following rather than me. If he or anyone else ever either performs or allows a Sorcery ritual to take place in the Demonics Office again, there will be no…no further warnings such as this one, and I…” He inhaled shakily, another rising itch threatening to derail him, but he pressed a firm hand against his nose in ironhard determination and managed to see it off, at least for the time being. “And I guarantee that repercussions will not be delivered with mercy.”

Therion nodded, chastened but relieved, given what other…significantly worse outcomes could have transpired, and agreed to do as tasked.

Cerberus paused a moment, considering. “And also, Therion? You will do whatever it takes to fumigate this place by tomorrow, and if you ever allow anything like this to occur again, your Understudy position is forfeit. Clear?”

Therion nodded again. “Crystal.”

With a short, sharp sniff, Cerberus pushed several wayward strands of ebony hair from his face and rubbed still-itchy eyes. “I have had entirely enough of tonight,” he said. “By tomorrow, Therion. Oh, and find out where the hell Crisis thought he should file my papers for the Take introduction two nights from now. Because it’s nowhere that makes a-any… Huh-TSCHH-uu! Goddamnit! *SNF!*” He pushed his hair back again, more roughly this time, his tolerance for this nonsense absolutely done. “Any fucking sense.”

He sighed, recentering himself somewhat as he shifted his attention from Therion to Kia, and wrapped an arm around his bonded’s waist, kissing her on the top of her head. “Shall we?” he asked, indicating the door. :I can’t believe I actually would have preferred to walk in on couch sex.:

Kia burst out laughing, shaking her head and reining in her laughter to a degree as Therion looked at her in curiosity. “Nothing,” she said, “nothing.”

Cerberus gave her a wry, knowing smile, claimed a few more tissues, and they left the Office without further ado, Kia stopping him as soon as they were out the door.

“Okay, so, why didn’t you mention birchbark when I asked you about allergies?” She raised her eyebrows at him archly. “Because Therion obviously knew about it.”

“Well, I’m hardly ever in contact with it.” Cerberus wasn’t even sure he’d remembered its existence at the time he’d been asked, anyway. “It’s not used in Demonics, and I’m never involved in cleansing invocations. Ridiculous things, really. I have encountered it in the Sorcery department before, some time ago – though that is probably why Therion recognised it, I suppose.” He looked at Kia in vaguely perplexed apology. “It’s just…I’ve never really thought of it as an allergy. Yes, sometimes it makes me sneeze, but…”

“Sometimes?!” Kia gave him a look of incredulity. “Babe.”

Cerberus chuckled, low and dark, sniffling again. “Alright, I do realise how that sounds, love, but I’ve never—” A catch of breath, brow creased anew, and a momentary pause. “—never had that level of exposure before and… ah-HH…” He inhaled deeply as the burning tickle returned with fresh, demanding insistence. “HAHTSCHH-uu! *SNF!* Gods! Honestly.” He sniffled again, sighed and wiped his nose. “Sorry, love. Pardon me.”

“Bless you, sweetheart. Nice timing.” With a gentle laugh and softvisceral thrill, Kia embraced him. “Tell you what,” she said seductively, trailing a manicured fingernail down his arm and giving him a warm, inviting grin. “If you Teleport us home, I’ll get you out of these clothes and into a hot shower.”

She stood on tiptoe, curled a hand through his hair, kissed him with unmissable promise. :And some hot company.:

 ----

[psychosistr]

Green-Eyed Monsters- Chapter 1

Summary: Domino and Steelbeak’s relationship has been going well so far, but will a high-class heist involving some lovely ladies drive a wedge between the deadly duo?

Notes: I rise from the grave after months of fatigue and inability to write to bring you more from my “Falling Like SteelDominos” series. First time in a while doing a longer story for the series, so I hope you all enjoy it :3 As usual, Domino belongs to the amazing @thefriendlyfour​ , but there will also be OC’s from myself and @starlightmoth​ making an appearance soon, so look forward to that ;3

*knock**knock**knock*

Black feathered knuckles rapped against the door to a certain metal-mouthed fowl’s apartment. While the owner of said knuckles had been given a key to the apartment a couple months ago, Dominic still preferred to knock before barging in.

Within less than a minute, the loon standing at the door was greeted by quite the sight: Steelbeak- chief officer of FOWL, as well as Dominic’s partner- in his full six and half foot tall glory, clad in nothing but a pair of black runner’s shorts and holding a water bottle in one hand.

“Mornin’, Dom.” The chief officer greeted, sounding as calm and casual as ever. “Not runnin’ late, am I?”

“Not at all.” Dominic reassured his partner, sneaking a few glances at the taller bird’s physique when he glanced over his shoulder to confirm the time. “I thought I’d drop by and help with breakfast. Hopefully I didn’t interrupt anything..”

Steelbeak shrugged and stepped aside to let his partner in, closing the door behind him. “Food’s already in the oven, I was just finishin’ up a set.”

Ah, so that explained the lighter fowl’s current state.. “Well, seeing as I’m already here, mind if I keep you company while you finish?”

Another calm shrug. “Suit yourself, all I’ve got left are the free-weights.” The duo made their way through Steelbeak’s home side by side, past his living room and kitchen, and entered the room to the right of the chief officer’s bedroom.

Dominic knew the room to the left of the master bedroom was a guest room that Steelbeak claimed was for close friends (though he gave no names for said friends) who needed a place to stay while in town for work. The one to the right was a spare that had been converted into a home-gym, complete with a treadmill, weight stand, barbell set, rowing machine, and a few other pieces of workout equipment the loon had yet to fully familiarize himself with but were all quite impressive to see worked so effectively into such a limited space. Dominic had a similarly sized spare room in his own apartment, but had opted for turning it into a small private study/library with a few comfortable chairs and ambient lighting.

As Steelbeak picked up a pair of dumb-bells (both sides of each being larger than his fists with shockingly high numbers written on them), set his water bottle down behind his soon-to-be-seat, and sat down on the edge of his barbell set’s bench as he began to do some concentration curls- alternating between arms every few curls- Dominic made himself comfortable on the seat of a resistance-based machine and enjoyed the view. “Do you do this before breakfast every morning?”

“Nah.” The well-built rooster huffed between curls. “Try t’ alternate an’ do it every other day- ‘least three days a week, if I get the chance…but, yeah, I usually try gettin’ it done before breakfast.”

“Every other day, hm? I’ll keep that in mind.” Dominic would have to start coming over before breakfast more often…

Stopping mid-rep, dark grey eyes blinked in surprise and looked up from their previous downward position to stare in shock at the other man’s appreciative red-eyed gaze and the borderline lascivious smirk on his long, dark beak. “Wait a minute…are..are you checkin’ me out??”

One dark brow quirked upward, but the loon’s expression remained otherwise the same. “We’ve been dating for more than half a year- I believe I’m fully within my rights to ‘check you out’.”

Ah, there was the dusting of red under those lighter cheek feathers that never failed to please the shorter fowl. “Thought ya weren’t interested in that sorta thing…”

“I never said that.” Pushing himself back to his feet, Dominic gave a brief roll of his eyes before making his way closer to the still-seated rooster. “Besides, I’m ace, not blind- I can appreciate the beauty of a Greek statue without wanting to sleep with it.”

A smirk slipped easily onto the metal-mouthed fowl’s namesake as he looked up at the approaching loon. “Ya tryin’ t’ say this body’s a work of art?”

A low chuckle rumbled in the aquatic avian’s chest once he was close enough to tip the other’s beak upwards with one finger. “Hmh..well..the phrase ‘well-sculpted’ certainly comes to mind.”

“Well, I….I..y…” Steelbeak’s efforts to flirt back were severely hampered by the black-feathered fingertip sliding back and forth along his beak. He put up a token resistance, but soon enough gave in and leaned into the touch with half-lidded eyes and a blissful smile on his face as he always did.

Within seconds, the now-familiar trilling started and Dominic couldn’t help smiling at how adorable it was to see his partner lose himself so completely every time he gave the larger bird the smallest of touches. Even after so many months had passed since their first date, he could still turn the larger man into putty in his hands within seconds.

Chuckling quietly to himself, Dominic took the chance to fully look over his partner’s body now that he had a better vantage point (making sure his feet were clear of the dumbbells, just in case the other’s grip became too relaxed).

It was a rare sight indeed, getting to see the rooster’s buff physique on full-display. Steelbeak wasn’t shy by ANY means- he’d gladly brag about his looks, his strength, and any other aspect of his vanity given the chance- but it wasn’t often that he went around so exposed. Dominic had seen him in everything from suits (both in-tact and semi-destroyed depending on their work day), to tee shirts, and even sleeveless tops. This, however, was the loon’s first time seeing his partner completely topless and, he had to admit, it was a shame he didn’t get to take in the sight more often.

Steelbeak’s vanity was well deserved, it seemed: The man was attractive.

Dominic’s earlier comment of the lighter fowl being “well-sculpted” was almost an understatement- he’d clearly spent many years training and conditioning his body, and the well-defined muscle mass he’d acquired was the well-deserved result. Add to that his handsome face, that extremely dangerous yet enticingly unique prosthesis, and the confident smirk he wore most of the time, and it was easy to see how he’d been able to keep so many “girlfriends” for so long with so little effort.

The loon’s mood soured slightly at the thought of the so-called “ladies’ man” and his plethora of female companions. How many of them had gotten to see his partner like this? Had any of them ever been invited over for a meal? What kind of gifts had he given them? Were there any of them that he actually lov-

A light cooing sound followed by a quiet trill and a nudging at his palm brought the aquatic avian’s attention back down to the still pleasantly-dazed smiling face of the metal-mouthed fowl in front of him. It seemed his internal musings had distracted him from the oh-so-important task of moving his fingers over the other man’s deadly prosthesis and he’d started nudging the black feathered palm in front of him in search of more.

A soft smile found its way to the darker bird’s long beak. “Sorry, am I not giving you enough attention?” The question was rhetorical and the quiet laugh that accompanied it was proof- Steelbeak never answered him verbally once he reached this state. The content trills and quiet cooing would have to suffice for an answer as Dominic resumed stroking and petting the rooster’s gleaming beak once more.

Steelbeak’s own blissful smile grew as the dark fingers on his beak moved back and forth over the metallic surface. Dark grey eyes closed as he all but melted into the smaller fowl’s touch, looking completely open and unguarded as he happily accepted more of his partner’s touch.

That expression was all the loon needed to dismiss his previous train of thought. Steelbeak had to feel superior to everyone else around him constantly. He had to feel like he was smarter, sharper, and stronger than anyone he interacted with. He had to be cool, tough, and confident at all times. He had to keep everyone else at arm’s length until he was ready to reel them in and toss them aside. He would never let anyone see him look so soft and unguarded- it would ruin the rest of the cool-tough-guy image he’d worked so hard to create.

Anyone that is, except for Dominic, it seemed.

He seemed to be an exception for many of the arrogant rooster’s previous mindsets and practices: While Steelbeak hated being told what to do by anyone outside of High Command (and even then it seemed he only listened out of fear), he’d listen to his partner and do what he said if the shorter bird had a plan. While Steelbeak would keep his “girlfriends” strung along for months without contact, he’d always look forward to spending more time with his partner whenever the loon gave him the chance. While Steelbeak would often toss his dates aside on a whim (sometimes literally- the two had had quite the interesting conversation when Dominic stumbled on that hidden disposal chute in the chief officer’s living room), he seemed genuinely invested in making sure his partner felt valued through the little acts of consideration and gifts he’d leave for the loon to find at his convenience.

Yes, Dominic thought, he was the only one who got to be close enough to FOWL’s cocky chief officer to see such a perfectly relaxed and uncharacteristically genuine expression on the larger man’s normally smug face.

And the only one who gets to see him so casually underdressed anymore, a slightly cocky voice in the back of his head reminded him.

That thought certainly brought a grin to his long beak as he unabashedly resumed his earlier inspection of his partner’s body. As red eyes wandered over the vast expanse of hard muscles and soft off-white feathers, however, something else red- other than the rooster’s proudly styled comb- caught his attention. “Hm..?” Releasing the metal beak from his barely-held grasp, Dominic walked around the bench to get a better look at the rooster’s back. “I didn’t know you were painted..”

Getting “painted” was essentially the closest thing most birds could get to a tattoo. Since their plumage tended to cover up any marks on their skin, shops that catered to avian clientele used special airbrushes full of dye and affixed different sized nozzles onto them. The results were colorful and detailed “paintings” that, if done by the right artist, looked just as good as what many other animals could have done by a needle. The only downside to the process was that the dye was done on the bird’s feathers rather than their skin, so once the feathers fell out and new ones grew in, the “painting” would be gone. Still, to lose the whole image would usually take at least a year- give or take, depending on the rate at which the individual shed their feathers (or if there were any incidents that tore out a large patch all at once).

“Huh..?” Gray eyes blinked themselves open as Steelbeak’s mind tried to comprehend what had just been said to him. “Oh..yeah…usually get it done on my back- easier t’ hide, y’know? That one’s kinda old, though, been thinkin’ ‘bout gettin’ a new one soon.”

Dominic could certainly see what his partner meant when he said the paint was old, but the image was still quite lovely- it was a rose with petals in varying shades of red and pink done in a gradient with the darkest petals on the inside and the lightest ones in the center, all set atop a blood red stem with two twisting red vines woven around the stem. The flower had several of Steelbeak’s own off-white feathers mixed in with the various darker shades of red by this point, distorting the uniformity of the image.

“Why a rose?” The design seemed far too specific to just be a spur-of-the-moment decision.

“Went out drinkin’ with an old pal for my birthday a couple years back an’ we decided t’ get painted t’ celebrate.” Dark gray eyes peered back over Steelbeak’s shoulder to look at the loon as he talked, apparently trying to gage his reaction to the brightly colored ink. “We thought it’d be funny if we got t’ pick each other’s ink…had t’ draw the line at words an’ tramp-stamps, otherwise I could’ve gotten stuck with WAY worse.”

A light quirking of the corner of the shorter fowl’s long, dark beak was accompanied by a teasing look in his amused red eyes. “What a shame, I think a tramp stamp would suit you perfectly- something gaudy in gold and silver with one of your cheesy pickup lines written in some overly-curly cursive.”

And there was that loud, nasally, very-particular laugh that Dominic had grown to relish over the past months. “Hey, I may like havin’ a good time, but I ain’t no tramp!” Once Steelbeak’s laughter had subsided to a more manageable series of quiet snickers, he winked back at his partner with a playful grin. “An’ my pickup lines ain’t cheesy- they’re grade-A babe-wooin’ material.”

Dominic returned the grin in kind and picked up the nearly forgotten bottle of water on the bench nearby. “If that’s your A-game, then women must be easier to woo than I imagined.”

Despite pretending to look shocked and offended by the darker bird’s criticism, Steelbeak still took the bottle of water when it was offered to him. “Geez, ya really know how t’ hit a man where it hurts, don’t ya, wise guy?”

“Maybe if your ego wasn’t so large, it would be a much harder target to hit.” Taking a seat beside his partner on the now empty portion of the bench, Dominic took the liberty of leaning his head against one broad, uncovered shoulder. He enjoyed times like these- little moments where the two of them could flirt and tease each other in equal measure and just relax in one another’s company.

And, if the content sigh he felt more than heard was any indication, Steelbeak enjoyed them just as much. “Aw, c’mon, Dee- we both know that if I was anythin’ less than what I am, ya wouldn’t be interested.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” There was a tinge of amusement to the loon’s words, but no sarcasm this time- he was a bit too content for it at the moment, he’d save it for later.

Unfortunately, nothing good could last forever, and the pair groaned when they heard a very familiar alert down the hall.

“Think if we ignore it, they’ll leave us alone?” Steelbeak muttered under his breath; the smaller fowl didn’t need to see his gleaming beak to know there was a dissatisfied scowl on it.

“Only long enough to send an eggman up to fetch us.” Dominic sighed and, with no small amount of reluctance, got back up to his feet.

Steelbeak followed his partner’s lead and stretched out his legs before rising up on them and depositing the weights in his hands back on their designated spot on the stand full of dumbbells. “Much fun as it’d be t’ give those guys a reminder not t’ call whenever they feel like it, I don’t think I want High Command seein’ me one step away from my birthday suit. Mind takin’ this one so I can get changed?”

While that was a scene that Dominic would personally love to see play out sometime, he gave his partner a quick nod and made his way back towards the living room. “Fine, but next time you’re answering it- whether you’re properly dressed or not.”

As he entered the room, the aquatic avian wasn’t the least bit surprised to find the screen in Steelbeak’s living room had already turned itself on and had the less than pleased silhouettes (how did a silhouette obscure physical features so well while still allowing such clear scowls to show?) of High Command staring at him. “Agent Domino.” The usual member of the trio spared him nothing more for a greeting. “Where exactly is Chief Officer Steelbeak?”

“On his way, sirs.” Dominic stopped in front of the screen, looking at his leaders with a calm but respectful expression to show he was paying attention. “I take it you have an assignment for us?”

“Yes.” The silhouetted leaders’ eyes narrowed in warning. “And failure will NOT be tolerated.”

Next Chapter->

End Notes: A short, sweet, domestic bit of fluff and bonding to start off with :3

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Pantomime

Author: BeansidheBaby

Year: 2008

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Howince

It was easy to forget that Vince had been raised in the forest these days. He never stopped to speak to animals any more, or told stories about Bryan Ferry and his childhood adventures. He had lost the slightly naïve wonder he used to regard the whole world with. Now he smirked and swaggered (well, minced really) with an arrogant grace, that was completely divorced from the awkwardly gangly teenager Howard had lured away from the vacuum that was state education with promises of adventure and millet rotas. Howard was shocked then, to discover that Vince had never heard of Cinderella. Later he realised that there was no logical way that he would have known. Leopards are not known for their knowledge of the collected works of the Grimm's Brothers and Bryan was more the lullaby than the bed time story type. “Howard,” Vince bounded up excitedly “What?” Howard muttered barely looking up from his copy of Global Explorer “Can we see this?” he held up a poster, “It looks well trendy. It's about a girl who gets made a princess because she had great shoes. Imagine that!” Howard looked more carefully at the poster. “Vince, this is for the panto. It's for kids,” he said flatly, “Besides you already know what happens in the end, so what's the point paying twenty quid to see some sad collection out of work soap actors and and has-been pop stars torture us with two hours of double entendres and dodgy slapstick?” “Why, what happens? Does she win X-factor?” Vince asked with sincerity shining from his eyes. Howard eyed him suspiciously. “Are you trying to say that you never heard the story of Cinderella?” he asked incredulously, “You know the words to every Gary Numan song ever written and you don't know what happens at the end of Cinderella?” “Yeah,” said Vince churlishly, “So are we going or what?” “I'll book the tickets,” Howard sighed. He had forgotten how loud it was. Even as a child he had found it all very unnecessary and tedious. It was worth it though, to see Vince staring at the play wide-eyed, whooping for the good guys and hissing at the bad guys. Howard had been ready to tackle any and all questions about girls playing boys and middle aged men playing old women, with historical background notes on the theatre prepared in bullet points, but Vince had taken it all in his stride. Typical. At the moment he was admiring the actress who played Button's tight knee length trousers. “Those are genius! Do you think that the Victorian butler look could be coming back?” he asked in Howard's general direction. Howard chose to see this as a rhetorical question, as Vince would hardly ask him his opinion on fashion trends in dead earnest. During the interval, Vince bought a bag of liquorish all sorts “to share” (translation: he ate them and picked out the plain black ones for Howard) “Thanks for taking me Howard,” he said with his cheeks full of sweets, looking more childlike than he had in years. His free hand rested on Howard's armrest, his long fingers plucking at the worn nap of the velvet. The lights dimmed and the curtains reopened. The second act was beginning. Vince impulsively grabbed Howard's hand and rested his head on his friend's shoulder. Ooh that's low, thought Howard, wait until I can't make a fuss. It didn't actually bother him very much really. But it did worry him that it didn't. He nervously reached out an arm and placed it self consciously around Vince.

Vince was quieter during the second act, not heckling the dumber heckers any more or throwing all-sorts at the people in the stacks. He just sat slumped against Howard's shoulder and fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve. Howard sat as stiff as a board with his arm mechanically around his friend's waist, trying so hard to be nonchalant. Vince shifted and his cheek came into contact with Howard's neck. Howard flinched slightly, but tightened his grip on Vince. He spent the rest of the performance focusing solely on Vince's hot breath against his throat. When the curtain finally fell after three curtain calls (three too many, thought Howard) they rose to their feet awkwardly. Howard shifted away from Vince and looked steadfastly at the ground but, made no move to take his arm away. They walked towards the exit holding on to each other loosely but closely, bumping hips and legs together occasionally. I missed this, Howard realised abruptly. Doing stupid things with Vince that neither of them would ever normally do. Vince touching him. He told Vince not to touch him so man times that apparently he'd stopped trying. “What I don't understand is,” Vince said tiredly, “why did Cinderella marry the prince?” “Fitted the shoe. If the shoe fits, wear it,” Howard replied “No, I mean why did she want to marry him not how did she manage it. And I'm not even going to go into how unlikely it is that one person would have a different shoe size to everyone else in the country and still be able to find fab shoes” “Why wouldn't she marry him? He's the prince. That's how stories go” “But what about Buttons?” Vince insisted. How did bloody chocolate come into it? “Buttons loved her and she liked him better than anyone else she knew. Why does she drop him?” Oh that Buttons. “Button's being in love with Cinderella is supposed to be a joke. She didn't see him like that even as a possibility,” Honestly a footman who was a very ineffectively disguised girl over the heir to the thrown? “That's bullshit,” said Vince vehemently, “No one falls in love with people they hook up with at parties. You wake up, you find your clothes, you go home and never call them and they never call you. Those are the rules!” “You're absolutely right Vince. We should write a letter to Disney immediately and tell them that they're perpetuating a falsehood about the 'rules' as regards classic fairy tales,” Howard said with a sarcastic wave of his hand “Don't get shirty with me. I'd rather marry my best mate who loved me rather than some pouf that fancied me for my shoes!” Vince snapped back “Stories aren't supposed to be realistic, Vince. It's supposed to be an escape,” Howard said quietly “Haven't they seen 'When Harry Met Sally'?” Vince was patently sulking now. Howard sighed and pulled him closer and ruffled his hair. “Here don't get upset, little man. It's only a story, yeah?” “Yeah,” Vince muttered against Howard's coat. It was only forty five minutes later, when they were home and Howard was folding his clothes for the next day onto the end of his bed, that he remembered exactly what Vince had said. I'd marry my best mate who loved me rather than some pouf who fancied me for my shoes He put his shirt down carefully and sat down on the bed. Had Vince meant that literally or was he talking about some hypothetical best mate that he'd marry. Who he'd marry?! Howard decided suddenly that he didn't care if he looked like a fool and Vince teased him about this for a year. He walked towards the door quickly, gaining speed as he made his way to Vince's room. He burst into the room and just as suddenly realised exactly how embarrassing this would be if he'd gotten it wrong. And how stupid it looks to burst into a room sheepishly. Vince was semi undressed and sitting on his bed. “Took you long enough. I thought you were supposed to be the clever one?” he said casually but with a delicate tremor in his voice that was only just noticeable. “So what now?” he asked plucking at his shirt in a way that was equal parts sultry and nervous fiddling. “Vince I-” Howard coughed and blushed before looking up, “I think traditionally I would produce a white charger from somewhere and we'd ride off into the sunset” “Nah, that's princes you're thinking of,” smiled Vince, “you're my narky little butler who adores me from afar and then gives me up the second a jazzy village wench walks by” “So what now?” Howard echoed Vince's earlier question, feeling slightly hurt by the reference to his birthday party. Vince sashayed across the room until he was a foot away from Howard. He then shuffled closer until they were nose to nose (nose to chin to be completely accurate). He stood up onto his tippy toes and looked into his friend's eyes before pressing a gentle kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Vince-” Vince shushed him and laced their fingers together before resting their foreheads together. “Do you know what friends with benefits are Howard?” Oh shit, thought Howard. Vince continued without asking for an answer. “We've been sort of married without benefits for ten years now.” Hang on, what? “I want to be with you. Just you. And really with you. You know?” Was Vince actually nervous? Howard wrapped his arms around Vince and kissed him firmly. “Why me?” he asked incredulously. “Because you love me and I love you. That's usually a good reason,” Vince smirked cheekily. “I'm not. I've never,” Howard stammered, becoming increasingly aware of his friends erection pressing into his thigh. “Don't worry, I'll fix that.”

Howard shuffled anxiously while Vince's cocky grin flickered. “We don't have to do anything you don't like,” he said quietly, all traces of his earlier confidence gone. “I do want to have done it. It's just doing it makes me feel a bit funny,” Howard admitted. How did it work anyway? He knew only the theoretical aspects of how to do it with a girl, was it different with men? Obviously it was different but, how different? Did Vince want to bum him? He had somewhat mixed feelings about that and he had been sure that his feelings on being bummed had been clear and to the point yesterday. Not that he thought of it much. Hardly ever. It was scarcely his fault that Vince insisted on wearing those tight trousers that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Which unfortunately only made his imagination competitive. It was impossible to look at him and not wonder what being fucked by him would be like. It would be like going to a race track and ignoring the cars. Vince's face froze slightly. Howard realised his mistake. “Just take it slow. I'm new to all this,” he said sheepishly. This made Vince smile again, though more affectionately condescending than arrogantly this time. “Nice and slow,” he agreed and pulled Howard into a gut wrenchingly slow, sensuous kiss. Their lips slid across each other in a lazy fight for dominance. Howard captured Vince's tongue in his mouth and gave it an experimental suck. Vince groaned and muttered, “Oh Howard” into his mouth. Not with the intonation that those words usually received either, like he was a puppy that had shamed itself in the middle of the kitchen floor. No, this “Oh Howard” was a creature far removed from the “Oh Howard” of old. This “Oh Howard” was doing something very, very right. Emboldened by this success he nipped at his friend's lower lip and teased it between his teeth. That went down quite well, with Vince making a small noise in the back of his throat and pressing himself closer to Howard's body and pulling their hips together suddenly. They were both hard and straining against their flies. Howard yelped girlishly and jumped at the pressure causing Vince to break away and look up worriedly, “Too fast?” he asked nervously “No, no just right,” Howard said breathlessly. Vince flashed an impish grin before cupping the bulge in the taller man's trousers and squeezing. “Too much!” Howard squeaked. “Seriously?” Vince asked, “Sorry. Maybe we should lie down for a bit” “Ho ho, Vince. I'm not that bad,” snapped Howard. Vince waved his hands hurriedly “No, no. Look like this,” he said, grabbing Howard's hands and lay back on the bed, pulling Howard on top of him. He spread his legs and settled Howard between them before grinding upwards with his hips. He guided Howard's hand above their heads before wrapping his arms around his neck. “That good?” he asked sounding a bit winded. “Aren't I too heavy?” Howard asked concerned “Naw, I'm not made of glass. If Naboo can support a fully grown primate, I think you n' me'll manage.” Howard looked as though he was going to ask for an elaboration on what Vince had just said but, he soon forgot everything about tiny shamen and what they got up to on business trips with their familiars, when he felt Vince's sharp incisors against his jugular vein. It felt very nice and then very painful. For about ten seconds he was sure Vince actually was the vampire of Shoreditch and had seduced him so he could drink of his virgin's blood. Or something like that. And then he got used to the pain and wet suction and it was very, very nice again. Vince might be mistaken for a women with startling frequency, but from this position there was no denying that he was a man. His stubbly cheek was scraping the delicate skin on Howard's neck, there was a taut if spare manly musculature writhing underneath his body and if any doubt could still remain on the topic, the hard cock digging into his groin put it firmly to rest. Abandoning the neck, the thinner man kissed up the whiskery jaw and nibbled at a fleshy ear lobe. “We're going to have to lose the clothes, Howard. That bloody corduroy monstrosity is a mood killer if I ever saw one,” Vince muttered a wet explosion into the shell of Howard's ear. Without asking permission he instantly got to work on the practical belt buckle that was responsible for the restraint of said corduroys. “And the less said about the shirt the better,” he went on, his voice was shaking slightly from the effort of unfastening the buckle. Rather than throw a strop, Howard decided to concede this sartorial victory to Vince and started to unbutton his shirt, blunt fingers fumbling with the tiny buttons. Two warm little white hands batted his away impatiently and wrenched the garment off, sending the buttons flying in every direction. “I've wanted to do that for years,” Vince said with a voice husky with lust. Howard toyed with the idea of asking him if he meant destroy his shirt or ravage him but decided neither answer would be totally satisfying. It was better to retain some degree of mystery in a relationship. Vince wiggled out from underneath him and started undressing. There was no question of helping him. True love or not, no one manhandled Vince's wardrobe. Suddenly Vince was completely naked and Howard was down to his socks and underpants. Vince smiled at him ironically and went down on one knee taking one of Howard's feet in his hands. He hooked his fingers around the elastic and eased the sock down the foot , pausing to kiss the Achilles heel, the instep, the ankle. When the sock fell to the ground he gently sucked each of Howard's toes in turn like tiny fat phalluses. Howard was thinking in a small part of his mind that he was glad that he'd washed and cut his toenails recently. The rest of him was not thinking much at all. When Vince released the big toe with an audible pop, he kissed his way back up Howard's leg, rubbing his cheek against his inner thighs like a pet cat and licking and nipping gently upwards. Howard held onto his shoulders, more to ground himself than to try to control Vince, and whimpered. Vince's face was in the hallow where his thighs met and his breath was coming in warm gusts that Howard felt through his pants. There was a slim hand on his stomach with a dexterous thumb stroking above the top of his undergarments. No matter how he tried to angle hips, that thumb stayed where it was. “Please, Vince,” Howard begged pitifully “Please what?” asked Vince with faux innocence, “Tell me what you want” “Want you,” Howard gasped “I'm right here. Tell me what to do,” Vince stroked, stroked, stroked. Please there! “I don't know but do it soon, please!” Please, please, please. “Howard-” “Please touch me!” Oh god, that was embarrassing. Howard tried to look away, but couldn't escape Vince's smiling eyes. “As you wish,” he said and pulled off the underpants in one smooth motion, pausing only for Howard to raise his hips. He moved fluidly, taking the head of Howard's purpling cock in his mouth, pumping the shaft with one hand and cupping his testicles with the other. Howard watched the dark head bob between his legs with astonished fascination. Then, Vince looked up and the sight of his engorged penis slipping in and out of that familiar mouth was almost too much. “Stop, too much,” he gasped. Vince stopped and looked up. “Are you freaking out up there?” he asked, “Do you need to stop, stop?” “No, not that. I just don't want to, you know, not yet,” he looked away blushing. You would think that it would get easier to say these things to someone who had been moments ago sucking you off. Apparently not. “Alright,” said Vince hoisting himself up and slithering up Howard's torso like a snake or a professional slitherer. “Can I still kiss you, or is that weird after what I just did,” he asked two inches from Howard's face. Howard grabbed him by the back of his neck and tasted his own precome on those sweet lips. Salty, but not as bad as he thought it would taste. Vince smiled against his lips and opened his mouth hungrily. He began to rock and grind against Howard, who tentatively bucked back. They found a rhythm and ground against each other, erections digging into hips, lips on necks, ears, noses. Howard reached between their heaving bodies and grabbed their cocks together in his large hand. “Wank me off, Howard,” Vince whispered in his ear urgently. Cock against cock, they both fucked Howard's tight fist desperately. Howard felt a tell tale tingle in his lower belly spreading downwards rapidly. He let go of the cocks and gripped his friend's shoulders. “Vince, I'm going to- I'm, I'm,” overcome with sensation and modesty he hid his face in the crook of Vince's shoulder and bit down on the tendon. “I'm going to too,” Vince said and screwed up his face before they came moments apart. The electro boy collapsed bonelessly on top of his jazz maverick. “That was really good,” he said into the pillow. “Really? I mean I thought it was but you've had more-” Howard spluttered slightly hysterically “Howard,” Vince turned his face off of the pillow, “You were the best” “Don't mock me,” Howard scowled. “I mean it. And now I know you've been holding out on me, I'm never ever letting you go,” Vince snuggled closer limpet-like, hooking his legs around Howard's. “Do you really mean that? You're not toying with me?” “Well it was a bit of a lie,” Vince said thoughtfully, “I'd still never let you go even if you were rubbish and I had to teach you everything. Go to sleep.” “I would but I've got a disenfranchised princess on me,” Howard said and tickled Vince playfully. “Gerroff you northern idiot.” Vince squealed and rolled off and to the side of Howard, where he latched onto him again and hummed contentedly. They lay twined together sticky and naked until the next morning when a surprisingly nonchalant Naboo casually informed them that shops didn't open themselves and would they mind terribly to take a moment out of their busy schedule to do their bloody job before they were out on their ears. “Yes stepmother,” groaned Vince reluctantly detaching himself from his new lover.

[dyingunknown-blog]

BEGINNINGS + GENDER

As said in the introduction: this is a selfish blog where I rant about myself and my feelings. Here goes my first ramble. Within this ramble contains bits of: gender, femininity,  sexuality and eating disorders. Y’know, the usual mix of edgy Tumblr content. I am posting this in celebration of Pride Month (!!! YAY!!! I HONESTLY LOVE PRIDE MONTH) but also because I’ve had this build up in my heart for too long. 

A NOTE BEFORE I BEGIN...

I know you (reader) cannot hear me doing this, so imagine me (author) taking a deep breath, filling my semi spacious lungs, and releasing all that pent up air with a heavy sigh. 

Here we fucking go. Here’s to tip of the iceberg, from 4 years of pent up gay shit to recent moments of gentle gender dysmorphia. Do not expect my writing to be fully coherent, nor written in the best grammar. I am writing for my own therapeutic needs, because I gotta get some of this energy released and I have nowhere else to dump this. This piece is a full on rant, as in I literally wrote this angrily tapping away at 2-4 am. However, I’d like to mention that I mean no offence to any parties, and simply want to vent out some of the deep thoughts I’ve been pacing around for the past few years. Feel free to send me a message regarding your personal feelings, or to just chat. I’m always here as a friend and listener <3 

WHERE IT ALL BEGAN...

I think I owe myself and you (reader) an explanation on where things began to really start. The main “spark” that got me going and prompted me to start this blog was when I found myself unable to stop playing songs by Dorian Electra. Actually-- to be honest-- it was the music videos that really got me going. The glorious explosion of just “QUEER” screaming and banging its head at my 13 inch Mac Book Pro got me extremely inspired to actually do something about the gross reactions of confusion that were occurring in my brain and body. As Dorian Electra put it, “You know I’m not straight, but I’m gonna give it straight to you.” So here’s my best shot at “giving it straight.” 

By the way... I’m from a fairly traditional family with high hopes for me, so the most freedom I can really grasp onto is starting an anonymous Tumblr blog at 2 am laying naked with just my underwear on. 

PERSONAL TOPIC 1: GENDER...

So here’s the thing, I stick to my biological birth gender like it’s my lifeline-- my comfort zone-- I guess, if anything. I personally feel like gender and sexuality have their own little symbiotic (or perhaps parasitic???) relationship, where one’s gender impacts their sexuality-- but I can also accept that my understanding is probably not politically correct. I can say, however, with a heavy heart: 

I am utterly fucked when I think about my gender and sexuality. 

I’ll take it easy first and rope down my feelings towards my gender and its definition. I jokingly scream in the halls that gender is a social construct, but let’s be honest-- is it not?  Other than our dongle-longs and hoochie-has, what makes a woman different from a man? I mean maybe it is just the sausage and the grapefruit, but I’d like to argue that... Just kidding, the more I think about it the more I fall into a rabbit hole where I can’t figure out what a male is and what a female is. I mean what are they? Is it based off of the definition I provide for myself, or what society conveniently slams into my face? Is the LGBTQ+ community the people who get to decide or is it the Westboro Baptist Church??? 

Note: these are not a rhetorical question, please answer this to your opinion because I’m in desperate need of some kind of direction beyond biology. I accept all ideologies and concepts. I’m just hella confused. 

Ehem.

Anyways, my own battle with gender goes beyond not knowing where the “line” is, or if it even exists (again, I’m still not sure if this is a personal question or something based on society...) It also goes into where I stand on this polarised scale. See-- I have a bean, a hole, and melons. Alas, in slightly more proper terms, I have a clitoris, vagina and breasts. So what does that mean for me? Am I automatically a woman? For the first 17 years of my life, I would respond to that question with a VERY confident nod. Pink was once my favourite colour, I like boys, dresses, cute animals and romcoms. My physical body only went to assure what I already knew. Now? I’m not so sure. As it is more acceptable nowadays to be “queer,” I’ve slid into the an identity crisis where I realise I’ve never revelled in the fact that I had tiddies, nor felt comfortable about having a coochie. I used to blame my confusion regarding my comfort in my biological gender on the growing queer influences in my life-- after all, everyone wants to be special and sometimes being apart of the LGBTQ+ community is the best way to stand out, especially when it’s being shoved in your face with media. Everyone who comes out of the closet is faced with incredible amounts of love and attention, and my younger self thought “maybe I should get on the boat” hence, labelling myself as bisexual for the longest time without truly feeling like I am (until in recent years.)  I blamed my confusion in identity and sexuality on the attention whore who lived inside of my heart. My feelings were only justified as true this year, when I found myself staring at myself in the mirror and couldn’t help but to feel unhappy with what I presented myself with. Undies clad with a slightly cropped black muscle tank, I could see the linings of a “V” line on my lower abdomen and felt kinda hot about it. I did the annoying fuckboy pose (you know, the one where the guy is biting his shirt to reveal his oh-so-humble six pack) and found it... kinda fun? I did have a 36D underboob flail around, but my focus was more on my bottom half, with my Victoria Secret blue lace underwear and masculine illusion.  It wasn’t like a grand glorious moment, nor was it like I was the tomboy of the house and everyone just “knew” and I only had to convince myself. Instead, it was an anti-climatic moment where I realised “fuck, I have another problem on my hands that I can’t ignore anymore.” 

I don’t know if I truly identify as female or male. Honestly, I don’t really think I need to identify myself, but that’s the 30% of my consciousness who is super queer, chill and cool. See, the other 70% of my mind is going in a frenzy screaming, because I just lost one of my key defining attributes. Think that episode of Spongebob, where Spongebob’s brain cells are screaming and throwing papers around the office setting of his brain.

Another question has also become increasingly relevant in my journey of finding my “true inner zen self.” 

Who am I choosing my gender for?

In 2018, and most of the years before, I adored being loved by boys and having guys waggle their dicks like dog tails for my tits and ass, but in 2019, I randomly figured out that I never liked my boobs for anything but that. I mean having an hourglass figure was always (and still is) a goal of mine, but I question for what reason. I’d like to say it’s for personal aesthetic appeal, but it wouldn’t be surprising to me if I just do it so people will like me more. In fact, I battled with bulimia for the very reason of: I don’t know what the fuck I want or like, but  the crowd likes “skinny thick” girls so lets do that by purging. Am I currently wearing a waist trainer and corset on top of each other because I like the outcome, or because the people around me like me more for it? I’m trying really hard not to segue into the alluring topic of toxic femininity, because I can rant for HOURS AND PAGES about that, so I’ll just say: I don’t know if I’m being a girl for myself or because I’ll be more liked for it. 

In all honesty, the truth regarding my gender became clearer the more I self conscious I became. In 2018, I fell into the trap of sending boys nudes (apologies for the TMI and sorry family if you somehow came across my blog and are currently reading this.)  I liked it for a millisecond. Why? Because it felt good to have someone desperate for me. That millisecond died off real fast. My own thoughts pooped my nude Alpha Female party with insecurity and fear of how my body compares to other girls my age. Three days after the first nude I sent I realised I hate my body. I felt empowered in the moment (honestly I do love the feeling of tease. I still do send ohohoho raunchy pics for the pure euphoria of just having someone crave me) but overall just left the experience with lingering guilt and self hatred. I wasn’t sure if I was doing this to please myself or others. I also abhor taking nudes, because I do not think I embody femininity and dislike my body for that very reason. Identifying as male makes me far more comfortable than as identifying as a female. I might have tits, I might have soft facial features, but I just don’t like how I mentally feel like I can’t compare to the unrealistic standard of femininity that women uphold. I spent my whole life trying to  tick the boxes under “female,” but always felt like I was just doing the bare minimum... Hence my past is full of desperation, the need to show skin for the sake of proving I’m “sexy” and being perfectly fine with getting mislabeled as a slut at school. Nowadays, I show skin because I’m comfortable and am learning to love my body. I am not okay with slut shaming in general, but I am most definitely not okay with being called a slut either because I’m still a fucking virgin. So hun, I really do wish I could call myself a slut and have that much game, but I’m very far from that.

Anyways, uh more on my gender crisis:  I’ve also always adored mens fashion and absolutely revel the aura of being the “alpha.” Ever since my middle school days, I’d secretly snoop around and envy the men’s section of Barney’s and Saks, because it just looks so damn cool. Excuse my lack of “high quality language,” I can hear my English teacher sighing about my lack of “professional” or “appropriate” language, but I really can’t express my feelings regarding mens fashion other than it’s fucking cool. I must say though, my style of clothing and expression of self doesn’t stop itself at mens fashion. In fact, I enjoy dressing to exhort a more dominant presence, whether it’s with a short denim skirt and tight crop top or a loose fitting silk blouse and skinny jeans with a belt. So I guess in a way, my fashion and what I feel comfortable in explains my gender for me. A little bit of both and a little bit of neither. Although the next step would definitely be playing around with my hair and piercing, but I think my traditional family would whoop my ass to the moon if I do it now, and I can’t say I’m not scared of regrets. I just want to discover myself a little more this year...

Regardless, I just wanna further clarify that I don’t feel comfortable being put as female, male or hell-- even androgynous.

And I gotta say, after holding this in and denying it for 4 years, it feels damn good to type it out and admit it.

 In deciding to be a “gender”, there are standards. Deciding to be anything comes with the price of standards. I just can’t personally handle not being able to fit into the standards there are for them... Especially now since people are so bothered on being politically correct, so if I’m “not being properly androgynous” or “not properly female,” I’ll get shit on, and if I’m not accepted by the mass majority, I’ll feel societal hate mixed with self hatred. 

I also want to say that sometimes I don’t feel like I have the right to be confused or declare a gender because I’ve been on the judgemental side before. 

In middle school one of my close friends moved away, and soon later began to label themselves as gender fluid. It was such a new concept that I initially thought that they were doing it as a publicity stunt, but slowly realised that it is indeed who they are. I wasn’t hateful, but I can’t say I’m innocent, even if it was when I was far younger and less understanding. I remember when they first started using their current pronouns, I was confused on how to utilise them and initially disregarded them. Today, I regret my ignorance. Misgendering can always be a mistake, but it can also be extremely spoiled, belittling and condescending. So even though I know someone that probably went through a similar journey as I am today, I feel guilty asking them about it because of the shit I gave them when I was 14.

 Additionally, I’m scared of being wrong about myself. I can’t describe it too well, but I’m just scared that I’ll slip up a wrong opinion and then be automatically thrown into the can of “special snowflake wannabe LGBTQ+” when in reality: I truly feel like I’m not of “cisgender” or anything normal. I don’t want to dip too deep into my history with crippling anxiety and experiences with depression, but I will say that I can’t help but to hate myself for being queer too.. Alas, I’ll have to learn how to get over that and continue loving myself, but what the hell am I going to do now? 2k words later and things aren’t exactly clearer, but I can (somewhat) confidently say that I know what I’ll do (for now.) 

As of today, June 17, 2019, I have decided to not give a fuck and to simply just identify with the LGBTQ+ community. I don’t feel comfortable identifying as male, female, neither, both, gender fluid, or anything else. I will simply put off gender and let people call me by whatever pronoun they want.

I just wanna be me. 

Until I find out something else, or become more comfortable with myself, or gather the confidence to “come out of the closet” and stop being so selfish and finally decide what the hell I am, it’ll probably just be like this for awhile.

And honestly? I think I’m okay with that.

[deathtouch]

💛 femfeb day 12 | my femfeb masterpost 🧡 xposted → ao3 | dw | pf.io 💖 Ashe/Widowmaker | 1.9k | Mature 🧡 Branding, Torture, Kidnapping, Tied-up, Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sexual Slavery, Non-Consensual Touching 💛 Ashe finds Widowmaker trespassing on her land and punishes her accordingly

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Ashe asked, though the question was rhetorical. She had her semi-automatic propped up over one shoulder, hand on the grip and fingers clear of the trigger. She came sauntering up to the hog-tied beauty face down in the dirt. Her underlings had done a fine job capturing the intruder, roping her up, and bringing her in for their boss to see. Ashe nudged the woman at her feet with the toe of her boot, pushing her over to get a better look at just who it was. The high-tech sniper rifle and blue hued skin were dead giveaways, but it could be someone playing dress-up sent to mislead her. The murderous glare that greeted her told Ashe otherwise. This here was the real deal, the Widowmaker herself. Ashe tsk’d gently and moved to crouch down. “So, this is how Talon does business?” She asked, unimpressed. “I extend an olive branch and they send a sniper to take me out?” She reached for Widowmaker’s pretty face. Widowmaker, of course, tried to jerk away but she was all roped up. She wasn’t going anywhere. She could spit and curse though, so that’s exactly what she did. Well, Ashe assumed she was being cursed at. She didn’t know what ‘si tu me touche je te couperai les doigts’ meant, but it probably wasn’t anything nice. Ashe ignored that to cup Widowmaker’s jaw and run a thumb along the blood leaking from a cut on her bottom lip. It was a shame, really. Ashe had been getting on so well with all the other rival gangs here in the states. Business was booming, so to speak. Sometimes literally where her dynamite was involved. She was even making friends south of the boarder in Mexico. She thought branching out internationally would be a good idea. Who better to get in bed with than the nefarious Talon organization themselves? So far as she could tell they did business just about everywhere in the world, and it would be nice to have friends in high places. Apparently, they weren’t too keen on being friends with her, though. That was just fine. She would have taken no for an answer, they didn’t have to send someone to kill her. “Well, you’re new around here so you don’t know it, but we got a few rules around these parts,” Ashe said, letting Widowmaker twist away from her touch. “Keep your word, don’t work with the law, respect each other’s territory and always punish betrayal.” Widowmaker stared hatefully up at her from her position on the ground. She was damn pretty. Too pretty to kill. They couldn’t cut her loose, though. Even without her weapons she was still dangerous. Ashe would just have to keep her around. She could think of a few uses for her. “So far as I know, you ain’t with the law so we’re good there. That’s lucky for you, because otherwise I would have had to shoot you dead.” Ashe stood up from where she had been crouching down in the dirt. A few steps away there was a cast aluminum chiminea sitting near the wood and wire fence that circled parts of the Deadlock Gang’s property. Ashe stepped up to it and pulled back the lattice cage cover to reveal a fire box full of half charred wooden logs. “As for keeping your word, well.” Ashe shrugged, “I guess technically you haven’t made any promises to me that need keeping, so your word is intact.” She made quick work of adding paper for kindling. When she was done, she lit an entire book of matches and tossed it inside. A fire roared to life, flames licking upwards and smoke rising from the top of the chiminea’s stack. Ashe glanced back to see Widowmaker watching warily. She wasn’t moving now but must have been a moment ago because her wrists had gone red from trying to twist free of the rope she was bound up in. “Concerning betrayal, Talon and Deadlock ain’t friendly enough that I’ve been betrayed here. Although, my feelings are a little hurt that I been nothing but nice to you and you been nothing but murderous in return.” Ashe moseyed on over to the fence nearby where a handful of branding irons sat leaning against the wooden post. She traded her gun for an iron, resting her weapon against the fence as she took up the long cast iron rod. When she lifted it, she took note of the symbol on the end. It was a simplified version of a skull with wings, just similar enough to evoke Deadlock imagery but without all the details that would get lost when being seared into someone’s skin. That one wasn’t right. “Now, as for respecting my territory, we’ve got a bit of a problem.” Ashe set the first brand down and went for another. T for thief. That wasn’t the one she wanted either. She set it back. “I can’t let just anybody walk around my land and among my people like they own the place. Least of all someone sent to kill me.” Apparently unconcerned with whether her getaway attempts were witnessed or not, Widowmaker began to struggle in earnest. She twisted, jerking her shoulders back and forth, writhing in the dusty New Mexico dirt. She was back to cursing viciously in French, impressively managing to make such a romantic language sound so dangerous. Ashe just smirked and plucked up another brand. Ah, this was the one she wanted. Two diamonds intersecting and laid one on top of one the other to create a third diamond in the middle. The symbol was meant to abstractly represent handcuffs or chain links and it evoked the message of law and justice. Anyone marked with double diamonds earned the affectionate nickname of *diamond dog*, though dogs were usually treated much nicer. Diamond dogs were offenders who had broken gang rules, untrustworthy and despicable. Ashe thrust the business end of the branding iron into the fire, burying it deep in the depths of the orange flame. It would take a few minutes to get good and hot. She turned her attention back to Widowmaker, walking back over to crouch down in front of her again. “Harm me and I’ll-“ “Yeah,” Ashe interrupted. “Save the threats sweetheart. This is happening whether you want it to or not. I can’t let disrespect like this slide. Not from Talon, not from you, not from anybody. So you can keep your mouth shut and I’ll mark you good and quick or you can keep running it and get two marks for the price of one.” Widowmaker’s hateful stare returned. She glared hard at Ashe but kept her mouth shut. “Good choice,” Ashe flashed her a winning smile. She dug around in her waistcoat pockets until she found her knife. It was a pretty little thing, with an Italian wood handle and shiny brass bolsters. Windowmaker flinched back when it was unfolded, the clean blade shining in the sunlight. “Let’s just get some of this fabric out the way,” Ashe mused. “Best hold still now, you don’t want me to slip.” She brought the sharp edge of the blade to the purple and black clothing stretched tight over Widowmaker’s hip. She trailed the tip of the knife down, following the black lines. When she made a quick nick in the cloth, it was like a dam broke open. The fabric was so taut it went ripping of its own accord, tearing up the length of Widowmaker’s thigh. Ashe got a good view of pale blue skin, smooth and light like plumbagoes in spring. She couldn’t resist touching. She switched her knife to her other hand and smoothed her fingers up and down Widowmaker’s lush thigh. “Just about here should do it,” Ashe said. She stopped to rub her thumb at the curve of her hip. She felt the muscles under her hand tense. The iron was probably good and hot by now, but for luck Ashe thought it ought to stay in a little longer. She slid her hand towards the swell of Widowmaker’s ass, fingers disappearing under the torn fabric. Widowmaker was either too dignified to squirm or still heeding Ashe’s warning that she ‘best hold still.’ She said and did nothing as Ashe discovered her distinct lack of undergarments. Her wandering fingers slid towards the split in Widowmaker’s soft ass cheeks and then down, deep between her legs. This earned her a low, vicious noise in warning like a growl from an angry animal. “Easy, sweetheart,” Ashe laughed, easing back. “After you’re marked, sex’ll be just about the only thing you’re good for so you might as well get used to wandering hands.” Diamond dogs couldn’t be trusted to do much of anything, but they were fun to touch and tease and play with. A warm body was a warm body, and a wet tongue was a wet tongue. Ashe didn’t mind taking a diamond dog to bed. Widowmaker was good with a sniper rifle and all but what did that mouth do? Before the end of the day, she would find out. Before all that, there was business to attend to. The brand was definitely ready now. Loathe as she was to pull away, Ashe stood up straight and headed on over to the chiminea. She pulled the iron from the fire and the end was glowing red, hot as hell. When she turned to Widowmaker, she was pleasantly surprised to see that there was no fear just simmering anger. Good. Squealing, crying, and begging for mercy was just so pathetic and undignified. If Ashe was being honest, she was somewhat charmed by Widowmaker’s disdain. Teasing would just be tacky, and there was no point in letting the iron rod get cold, so Ashe wasted no time. She walked the short few steps back over to where Widowmaker was laying down in the dirt. She took hold of the Iron rod with both hands and held it with purpose, bringing it to heel less than a foot from the unclothed expanse of blue skin. “Take a breath, honey,” Ashe suggested. “Do it if you’re going to,” Widowmaker snarled. Ashe reacted on instinct to the antagonization. She shoved the red-hot brand forward, pushing it hard against Widowmaker’s upper thigh. She anticipated the startled response, the instinct to pull away from pain. She kept the brand pressed tight against the soft blue skin, in the same exact spot, and watched as wisps or grey smoke rose from place where flesh met iron. Widowmaker managed not to scream, but just barely. The strangled noise she made gave away how much pain she was in. The sizzling sound was sickening and the smell of burnt flesh overwhelming. Ashe pulled back after a few seconds, pleased to see a clean mark there. It looked a little odd, violent red and charred brown on a canvas of blue, but the diamonds were there. “Oh, good dog,” Ashe said, pleased. Widowmaker writhed, breathing gone awry. She would get Widowmaker all cleaned up, find her a nice collar, and keep her around awhile. If for no other reason than to let Talon know that entering into Deadlock territory meant they weren’t coming back.

i’m taking femslash february suggestions year round send requests or prompts ➝ here follow me on twitter ➝ here thanks for reading ✩°｡⋆

[themodernsouthernpolytheist]

Hi I have a question that's really bugging me lately. I feel a strong tie to my mixed heritage and want to practice a more "ancestral" faith. By doing this I also feel I'm avoiding appropriation of non-european cultures and traditions. However, part of be really worries this is a whit supremacist mindset too. Do you have any thoughts or advice?

Well, my first thought is a question: what is it you’re worried about with white supremacy? Guilt by association? Havin to deal with it? Readin materials that may have been tainted by their disgustingness? Unfortunately these are all facts of our reality right now. 

BUT! That doesn’t mean you can’t pursue an ancestral path. If you’re interested, GO FOR IT! Fuck the Nazis, racists, and white supremacists. Be prepared to see their crap and keep your block hand strong. If you’re able and safe to, confront that trash. Tell them to fuck off. Tell them they’re an embarrassment. But more than anything, work to make your path safe for marginalized people. Not everyone practicing a European-based path is of European descent and that is FINE, but the assholes out there say otherwise. They’ll try to color it with semi-logical rhetoric, for instance often sayin stuff like, “well, if it’s cultural appropriation for us to practice x tradition, why doesn’t it work the other way around??!!!1?!” Of course the simple answer is history and structures of power, but they’ll never understand that because they’ve actively chosen not to. That’s one of the most important things to remember, imo, is that these racists aren’t the stereotypical inbred asshats we’ve been trained to think they are. They’re often very intelligent and well-educated, so much so that they can use these things to blend in and twist facts and history in a way that seems convincing if you aren’t prepared for it. They don’t always act like the obvious tumblr trolls and that’s their tactic. 

As for your heritage, explore as much of it as you want to! While my path and a portion of my ancestry are Irish, and that’s what drew me to Gaelic Polytheism, I also have German, Dutch, Norman, English, and Swedish ancestry. I’ve looked into traditions from all these cultures, but feel most at home with the Irish. Simple as that. If you’re in the US, chances are there are some stories of a “Cherokee princess” somewhere in the family, too. My own family has a variant of that and I’ve researched those religious practices to some extent. That said, I was not raised in communion with any Native nation and have no claim there. A big part of North American Indigenous practice, as best I know, is direct connection to the community, not necessarily generics. For me, that means researching the Nation that I may or may not have some distant, and I mean DIISSSTTTANNNNTTT, connection to as well as the Nations indigenous to where I live. But it stops there. Learning is one thing, especially if there’s a place you can do it in person from Indigenous people (without forcing yourself on them), but those practices aren’t mine.

So, like I said, take the plunge! Enjoy it! Don’t let the bigots steal your joy, your traditions, and your history! They’ve already done enough damage and need to be stopped. So educate yourself, learn from PoC and other marginalized folks (white supremacists rarely only hate PoC), ask questions of people you trust, google any phrases you see repetitively or you’re unfamiliar with, and don’t feel like you have to tackle everything at once. No one can save the world in a moment or by themselves, so don’t be intimidated. And ask your gods for strength and discernment, as that can be a big help. 

And always feel free to ask me anything! I’m a little sleepy after a long day, so I hope that all made sense, haha. If not, please lemme know! 

[baesketballers]

iv-b. i knew i loved you then

but you’d never know

ft. midorima shintarou

This is the thing that made me want to rip my hair off my head because of my PC randomly blue-screening me. To those who responded to the rant, thank you for your understanding!

@ourneverendingpossibilities​ it’s nice that you have such a positive outlook in life!! I was so mad when it happened, but since it’s complete now I guess everything’s okay ヽ(＊>∇<)ﾉ 

@squirrelsass13​ thanks for the encouragement! I rarely ever write on Word (it transfers weirdly when I copy and paste the text on tumblr) so I was typing straightaway on my Drafts... I click on “Save Draft” every paragraph now lol

Faint connections to the previous installation of Cantabile

Fem!Reader. Semi-NSFW. Long (2728 words).

I’m sorry if this sucks but... yeah.

Why do you play?

Isn’t being a doctor busy enough for you?

I’d ask you to tutor my son if you weren’t so busy!

Wow, you’re very ambitious. 

Those are words spoken by housewives, small medium enterprise owners, and white-collar workers. Midorima doesn’t think that they’re somehow lower than him in any aspect—sure, they earnings are technically lesser than his, but how does that define someone as a person? He meets these people everywhere, the people that make up his community, his society: at the clinic, in parties, at the grocery store... It’s no secret that he’s seen as an outstanding person by these people. 

Twenty-seven, has the letters “M.D.” behind his name, helps people get over all sorts of sicknesses from light ones like a common cold to not-so-light ones like diabetes, plays piano as a hobby.

It’s not really surprising to the people who ask him “what do you do in your free time?” because, you know, doctors. They’re classy and smart and all. Sure they can play the piano—he can probably play the violin, too.

But you can see their eyes significantly widen when they know he has a diploma in piano, certified by the Associated Board of Royal Schools of Music. Where is that name from? The United Kingdom. Why did you take it?

He always tells them it was just for fun, but a small voice inside him knows the truth: somewhere deep in his heart, he wanted to be a pianist.

His first words to you are: “It’s a common cold.”

“That much I can see, Doctor,” you deadpan, holding a tissue against your runny nose. He sighs. 

Midorima is used to handling all sorts of patients: naggy, rude, stubborn people... he’s seen them all in the past four years of his practice. Today, however, it’s only after lunchtime and he already wants to go home already. Maybe attending Akashi’s party last night isn’t really a great idea. Sure, it’s not a DJ-inviting or dance floor grinding kind of party, so he’s not physically tired—he’s tired from all the socializing with fake people. “Meet new people,” was Akashi’s reasoning for inviting the doctor, and of course Midorima did, but none of them were enjoyable.

To be precise, he can’t tell if they’re really enjoyable or not through layers of faux talk. Akashi texted him earlier, expressing his regrets that it was somewhat an unpleasant experience for Midorima. He also wrote “but I won’t stop inviting you to these social events—I understand how you think they’re superficial, but I can guarantee you that they genuinely enjoyed your piano very much.”

Well, if there’s one thing Midorima likes about those parties, it’s that he’s presented the opportunity to play.

“As a doctor, I have to announce the diagnosis to you, don’t I?” He replies, scribbling a pen on his prescription pad. “I’m prescribing you to these basic medications, but since your cold isn’t a serious one—yet—I highly recommend that you consume home remedies before resorting to these medicines.”

“M-hmm.”

“Turmeric tea, ginger tea, a mixture of lemon, cinnamon, and honey.”

“Got it.”

“Control your diet; you don’t want to eat food that’s going to worsen your cough.”

A sound of ripping paper. He hands the slip to you.

“You don’t remember me do you?”

That takes Midorima by surprise.

“Have we met before?” He asks warily as you take the prescription paper from his hand and fold it, putting it inside your handbag. Your lips form a small smile, and Midorima eyebrows furrows.

“You sang last night, didn’t you.” It sounds like a question, but his tone makes it clear that it’s rhetorical. He knows for sure that it was you who was dragged by one of your acquaintances that claimed you to be the best singer in a ten-mile radius—the expression itself is a horrible exaggeration, but when Midorima hears you sing, he has to admit that you do have an exceptionally lovely voice.

His first words to you turns out to be “what key?” instead of an illness announcement because he was the pianist accompanying you.

“You look different, Ms. Fly Me To The Moon,” he says aloofly, writing something on a document. You chuckle at the nickname, not knowing that the stoic doctor-slash pianist has the capacity to be somewhat playful, and towards the opposite sex, nonetheless. Midorima can only admire how melodious your laugh is, even when your voice is nasally from the cold. 

“At least you remember what I sang.”

“Like I said, you look different,” he repeats. You were clad in an elegant evening gown for the party last night, and although Midorima doesn’t have the eye to identify expensive clothing brands and such, he is able to appreciate how attractive you looked in the attire. Your hair was done simply in a style that matches your dress, and among the slight make-up you applied, he notices the suppleness of your colored lips first. 

The person sitting in front of him doesn’t carry the glamour of the party—you’re slightly pale, dressed humbly in a sweater and jeans—but the lack of make-up, fancy hairdo and dress doesn’t affect how beautiful you look, in his opinion. Your eyes still glows the same captivating way as he witnessed last night.

“Yes, well,” you sigh with a smile as you stand up, “you better engrave how I look last night deep in your memory, doctor, because I’m never going to attend one of those high-end social events ever again.” The first part was sarcastically said, but Midorima finds himself doing as you told, picturing the details of your gown and hearing your singing voice echo in his mind. Being a quite introvert doesn’t mean he’s immune to any of your charms.

“Shame,” he finds himself saying. You smirk, pausing right before you walk out the door.

“What, not being able to see me all dressed up again?” Ten years ago, Midorima would’ve easily flushed red at the teasing remark. He’s way past that now, and instead of reacting like the teenage boy he was, he looks straight into your eyes when he says:

“I was talking about how it’s a shame that I won’t hear you sing again, but that too.”

Two months later what you said proves to be a blatant lie. You’re standing beside Midorima, arms hooked with his, a casual sign that the two of you are attending together, presumably as a romantic couple. This time it isn’t Akashi’s, but a business partner of his—he nevertheless invited Midorima along to provide him the audience for his piano, and regarding yourself... well, you’re accompanying the pianist. It’s not like you’re crashing this party or anything.

It’s only your third “date” with the man, so to have the opportunity to see him up-close in a formal setting that requires guests to dress up is exhilarating, to say the least. Midorima’s handsome enough in his casual attire—having to stand next to him wearing a nicely tailored, dark-colored suit while having to keep your hands to yourself is almost some sort of punishment. And the collar button of his shirt! He always buttons his shirt all the way up and wears a tie to complement the outfit, but for some unknown reason he’s left it open this time and disregarded the tie.

If you didn’t know any better, he’s trying to tease you. 

“It’s rare to find you with someone by your arm, Midorima-kun.”

“Akashi,” Midorima acknowledges the voice. You turn to meet the redhead face to face, smiling softly.

“Good evening, Akashi-san.”

“Hello, _________. Good to see you,” he replies smoothly, as you reply in a similar manner. “Even more surprising finding out that you’re with him tonight. Are you two...?”

The two of you exchange looks as if telepathically deciding who should answer, and turns out you are. 

“Sort of,” you say, and the hint of mischief in your smile cannot be missed by even the most oblivious person in the room. Akashi surely isn’t one, but thankfully he doesn’t push you further.

“It’s a long story,” Midorima chips in, as if his relationship with you bloomed out of a blackmail kind of situation of some sorts. You chuckle, and so does Akashi —the latter is gracious enough to show the two of you to where the piano is.

“What are we?”

You are in his arms, as naked as he is, leaning your face against his chest and feeling the beat of his heart when you ask the question. It’s a summer night, and the sheets are loosely resting on your waist, the two of you too hot and sweaty from your previous activity to pull it all the way up to your neck. One of his hands is drawing soft circles with his thumb on your bare skin, while the other one that is untaped (very uncharacteristic of him, but it’s a sign of a good night) brush your hair in long, loving strokes.

He doesn’t respond. You snuggle closer into his chest, relishing the sensation of his nakedness against yours while you think of all the times you’ve spent with him. That one time you had lunch together, those meaningless parties you go to just so you can watch him play and he can hear you sing, the nights you stay together at his place. You’ve spent at least a hundred hours with him, though it doesn’t feel long or dragged—those hours are cherished and enjoyed to the fullest, arguments (petty or not) included.

But it’s his reserved nature that makes you feel insecure sometimes. Tonight is one of those nights.

You move up so that your face is right in front of his because you want to look at him in the eyes. He’s beautiful, the viridian undisturbed by the lenses of his glasses—the eyewear is carefully situated on the nightstand before all this began. You’re sure he can see you clearly from this proximity, your nose against his, your hand caressing his cheek. His hands drift down from the crown of your head to your chest, cupping your breast and playing with a nipple as his eyes grow half-lidded.

Midorima is the one to lean in first, engaging you in a chaste kiss, a perfect juxtaposition what with his hand groping your chest and the other slowly travelling down to your ass, stroking every inch of skin possible. You are the one to pull away, arms around his neck and eyes clouded with lust, thanks to the things he’s doing to your body.

“Do you love me?” The question comes out as a whisper.

“I’ll show you how much,” he answers in a heartbeat before he kisses you again, bringing your body under his. 

He never fails to convince you.

The afternoon sunrays shining through the high glass windows of the music hall are almost blinding, considering how dark it was just a few moments ago in the auditorium. You’re by Midorima’s side as per usual, looking around nervously with a bouquet of daisies and orchids in your arms. Your husband seems to be scanning the area like you are, and when you hear a shrill yell of a young child you know it’s who you’re looking for.

“Mama! Papa!”

The little girl, currently nine years old, runs towards the two of you with two or three large bouquets in her arms, the majority of her face covered by flowers. You laugh at the sight, crouching to hug her tightly once she reaches. Noises of plastic being scrunched can bother you less, as you feel your daughter burying her face against your chest. She pulls away to immediately look up at his father with bright eyes.

“Papa, how did I do?!”

“You did good, nanodayo,” he answers, a faint smile on his face as he fixes his glasses, “although there’s room for improvement in terms of arpeggiation—”

You gasp exaggeratedly, drowning the remaining of Midorima’s sentence. 

“Shiina! Papa says you did a good job! Do you know what that means??”

“No!” She replies, confused but ecstatic.

“I promised you we can go have dinner wherever you want if Papa praises you,” you reply, and the confused expression on her face melts into real unabashed excitement.

“Mama, are you serious!?” Shiina’s voice has become high-pitched from the bubbling enthusiasm that seems to have taken over her whole small body. “We can go anywhere I want!?”

“Yep,” you nod for further affirmation. “Papa has agreed on this, too,” this time you look over at Midorima, only to be amused to find the deadpan expression on his face. You give him a wink, and Midorima, witnessing his own daughter having such a great time just because you told her she can eat whatever she wants for dinner, can’t help but melt a little.

“Maji! I want Maji!”

“Sure, we’ll go to Maji tonight,” you say accommodatingly. Midorima can only smile down at the girl when she looks up at him, a face-splitting grin on her face. Even though her physical attributes are definitely inherited from him, she obviously takes after you in terms personality.

“And then I want to have ice cream after dinner! Can I, Papa? Let’s go home so I can prepare for dinner!!”

“You may, Shiina,” he sighs amusedly—what does a nine-year old kid want to do to ‘prepare for dinner’? “But before we go home you must meet Uncle Akashi first. He came to see you perform, you know.”

“Uncle Akashi is here!?” 

You chuckle. It’s a wonder how said man is viewed as intimidating and merciless among most adults dabbling in business, but is the opposite in the eyes of children. Shiina is almost obsessed with Akashi, what with his gentlemanly behavior that reminds her of Prince Charming. Shiina once even told you that since she can’t marry Papa, maybe she’ll marry Uncle Akashi instead—you have yet to tell Akashi this, but you have a feeling he already knows.

Speak of the devil, the redhead can be seen from twenty feet away thanks to his hair color, maneuvering amongst the crowd to approach your family. Shiina’s acting very much like an excited puppy, and you wonder if it’s immoral to compare the behavior of your human child to an animal (despite said animal being unbelievably cute as well), but that doesn’t matter anymore because Shiina is already in Akashi’s arms as he lifts her up in the air, chuckling amusedly.

Midorima looks at the scene with mild jealousy in his eyes—not that his eyes aren’t green in the first place.

“Mama?”

The usually animated voice of your daughter is now tired and soft as you tuck her in. She must’ve been exhausted after the performance.

“Yes, honey?”

“Can you tell me a bedtime story?” This piques your interest a little, because she’s stopped asking for stories before bed for almost a year now.

“Sure. What would you like to hear?” 

“The other day... Mai-chan and Reika-chan were talking about how their parents met and fell in love,” she says shyly, hiding her face behind a beloved doll. “Can you please tell me how you and Papa met, Mama? You’ve never told me that story before.”

You chuckle.

“You’re gonna have to ask Papa for that, honey. It’s a long story anyways, and you’re tired. Best go to sleep soon.”

“Okay...” Shiina says, and it’s not hard to pick up the disappointment in her voice.

“Goodnight honey,” you kiss her cheek before turning off the lights.

“’Night, Mama.”

Truth be told, there is no ‘long story’. Midorima just called you one day to ask you out for coffee with a tinge of nervousness in his voice that you can spot even from the other side of the line. You ended up scheduling a lunch instead, and if Shiina asks him to tell her how you fell in love with each other, he’ll have no explanation except of how breathtakingly beautiful you look with sunshine on your skin and a smile on your face as you talk about music and food and the stars. 

He will ask Shiina to keep it a secret from you, of course, because if you know he’s been in love with you for that long, he knows you’re never going to let it go.

[piddle-puddle]

Some Old Tikal Drabbles

SO SOMETIME A GOOD 4000 YEARS AGO IN THE RP VERSE, EVERYONE WAS DOING THIS ONE DRABBLE ASK GAME AND I TOOK FOREVER TO DO ANY OF THEM. of course ol Tikal mun sent a few and I did these a while ago but just to have them somewhere I figure i’d post em just cuz. so yeh.

Enjoy some old writing of the two. here yall go.

Leave a “Quiet Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character trying to calm yours down [be it from crying, from lashing out, feel free to specify.]

Leave a “Unbind Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about your character freeing mine, or the other way around, or something among the lines [be it freeing them from jail, from handcuffs, from a trap, from a curse, feel free to specify.]

Leave a “Remember Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character trying to get yours to remember them [be it from an accident, meeting them after years apart, feel free to specify.]

Unbind me:

It was almost nightfall, Tikal didn’t usually take this long to come home. Chaos was getting a little worried, but she’d been gone much longer then this before and been okay. He was originally waiting for the little orange mammal to return to the shrine as his indication feed the Chao dinner. Perhaps this would be one of her more lengthy walks. 

Considering the possibly she might not arrive until much later, the aquatic form decided now would be as good a time as ever to go check on that weird area over yonder on the opposing side of the island. He picked up a faint energy signal while experimenting with exactly how much energy he could drain from the Master Emerald without causing any change in the island’s altitude (his results were rather depressing). It didn’t appear to be a threat and leaving the Chao after just messing with the Master Emerald didn’t seem like a good idea, So he’d put investigation off until someone else was available to watch the Chao while he was away. 

It’d been a while since then, and he finally convinced himself they’d be fine for the few minutes he was out. Proceeding to the nearest chao-fruit-tree to him, knocking down some of its produce, and instructing the three eldest Chao to distribute them to the others; Chaos warped himself near the source of the signal.

aaaaaand found himself in a mess of jungle, vines, and vegetation all around. This was a pretty dense forest, the person emitting the energy must have gotten lost in the middle of it. The poor fool… 

Not much time had passed before the deity found himself within range to sense the origin point himself, though at this point he didnt really need to sense it to determine the location. Whatever it was was doing a huge amount of moving. Enough to the point he could hear it over the rest of the jungle. That is, until the noise suddenly stopped.

Chaos followed suit, did the target sense his presense? He thought he was being pretty quiet, much more then they were anyway. His question was answered as a burst of chaos energy shot into the air. Chaos stood still shocked for but a mere moment before beating feet toward its origin.

What he found though, left him speechless 

A small, orange young girl hung tangled in numerous tree vines and was clearly frustrated. Chaos, holding in a laugh, surveyed the mess the poor echidna had got herself into. How that even happened was not something he planned to ask, as he himself would have been far too embarrased to answer that question. Not that the question he finally did end up asking was any better. No not by a long shot

“Are you in need of assistance?”

Tikal stopped her squirming for a while, letting a dead silence set in. 

“No of course not! Just thought spending an entire day struggling to get out of these vines would be a great way to spend my time~!” Her voice was delightfully snide. For a moment Chaos considered returning the favor, but she already looked miffed enough for one day.

“A-apologies, Tikal. Here, cease movement while I cut you out.” With that, Chaos dissolved into a puddle and began to encircle the floor right below the girl. In one simple, swift movement, a wave shot up from the very edge, slicing straight through the vines. Traveling the circumference of the circle, Chaos cut each cord in such a sudden fashion that Tikal didn’t have time to angle herself, and she fell right to the ground with a little peep. the deity just sort of giggled, reforming a bit off to the side. “Shall we be off toward home?”

“Thanks..” The echidna remarked, not quite appreciating the sudden drop, but very thankful to be free. She attempted to get to her feet, struggling slightly. She’d been stuck there for quite a while. The girl nodded to her friend though, “I wouldn’t guess you already have food prepared there?”

“It shouldn’t take long to fix up something. Wouldst you I carry you back until your feet regain their fullness?” He smiled. Or at least attempted to.

“I’ll be fine… Thank you again. That was really unpleasant.”

“Not to worry dear. I only wish I arrived sooner.”

Quiet me:

Had this sort of circumstance happened to anyone else, she might have managed to chuckle a bit at it. However, Tikal knew how much the deity loved gardening; she knew that next to caring for Chao, that was the thing that brought him the most joy.

The sheer scale of the issue also took a large hit on the humor value. Gigantic, towering fungi loomed over the whole zone, it was a wonder none of them were harmful to anything but the vegetation. This whole place was somewhat of a natural miracle.

Chaos had another word for it however. Several in fact, “Disaster”.. “monstrosity”.. “abomination”… Those seemed to sum up pretty fairly the sort of feelings Chaos was emitting through the energy he naturally produced. Often times, he took great care to keep his energy from reflecting his emotions, as this would allow those able to sense Chaos energy, like Tikal, from knowing how he felt. However, this time he was far to focused on being demoralized to bother with that.

“Knuckles said they call this place Mushroom Hill Zone now..” The girl remarked, recalling how he had just a mere few moments ago been so enthusiastic about taking her to his private garden. many times when she was younger seeing her friend appear at the shrine from this direction every now and then. He couldn’t speak clearly during that time, but he had seemed to have a sense of pride about him when returning home. At this moment, she could tell even without his aura actively communicating it, that he was filled mostly with despair at the sight of what had happened. That prooooooooobably meant the gargantuan mushrooms weren’t supposed to be here. “I’m sorry Chaos.” She said, attempting to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Aaaand it went right through him. He apparently wasn’t even mentally present enough to focus his body into a semi-solid state. The comfort hugs would have to wait a while then.

In the meantime, Chaos continued his whimpering. There had been outbreaks of the spores before, but he was always there to cut them down before they had the chance. He’d been tending to that garden for what felt like ever sense he adopted the Chao. In fact they actually used to live there until the shrine was built for him and the emerald. It’s beauty was awe-inspiring; lush, green, glimmering and filled to the brim with life, blooming flowers and fruit the hundreds. It was his pride and joy, second to only the children he cared for. But… this was all that work had resulted too..

After what seemed like half an hour, he managed to whimper out a “h-h-…how..??” That was almost rhetorical though. His energy had a bizarre strengthening effect of living things, which was mostly how he managed to get so much verity in his garden all in one place. The area was always plagued by some kind of fungus infestation, an issue he realized a little too late. But as long as he kept them under control it was fine. The problem, was that they were allowed about 4,000 or so years to grow without his constant maintenance. That was something both he and Tikal managed to piece together a little while after the fact. Of course, unaware he had been able to guess at that, Tikal explained the whole theory to him outloud, and being rewarded with a severely upset groan. Chaos then proceeded to flop on the ground and continue his moping until the poor girl couldn’t take it anymore. 

She stayed there until sundown, trying to think and say and do things that would cheer him up, although it appeared to accomplish nothing. She eventually gave up and had to drag him back to the shrine using a water basket; where he continued to sit and mope and the foot of the stairs with all the Chao sitting with him, trying to be of some comfort.

Needless to say, Chaos never went to that half of the island ever again.

Remember me:

Dust clouds filled the air, pile upon pile of rocks falling to the ground after each earth-shattering blow struck the ground. She’d arrived late, and had missed whatever was causing the creature to begin his rampage once again, but it hardly mattered. Chaos’ mood was easily effect by surrounding forces, and it certainly seemed someone around here had been putting out a lot of negative chaos energy. Even without the concentrated pool radiating off the elemental himself, Tikal could sense someone else had been here before, most likely driving the poor being over the edge.

Perhaps Chaos’ sluggishness was a blessing in disguise, because he was having one heck of a time landing a hit on the girl. This was a new experience for the both of them, never before had Chaos ever attempted to harm Tikal throughout all the time he’d been acquainted with her. It was… frightening.. to see him like this. Not just because he himself was quite dangerous, but because of how caring she knew he was underneath. She’d only been able to witness his drastic shift of personalities from a far, but up close and directed at her was a whole nother story..

And to think, it was yet another blessing he only took one emerald with him, she could only imagine how her family felt facing him at the shrine was all those years ago. On his face was a cold, dead expression. His aura radiated hate and rage, being near him was sickening.

Another three jabs struck the ground with no contact. Chaos had never been exceptional at one on one combat. His aim was atrocious. Easily dashing backward, the echidnan girl called out to her friend once again in hopes of reaching his conscience, but to no avail. Just once she’d like for that to work. To not have to put herself and her friends at potential risk of being hurt by getting up close and personal. One blow to his brain ought to keep him still enough to try and transfer some positive energy to him, but that meant hurting him. And while hurting him was a much better option then wait for him to get lucky and land a hit, not only did that mean she’d have to fight him, but he had a horribly bad guilt-inducing cry. It was like kicking a puppy to her, you just can’t do it and remain happy afterwards.

She spent too much time in thought this round, Chaos was already right above her with his next attack, charged and ready to break more earth. She acted quick, leaping of the ground at the enraged deity. If Chaos was rearing to punch, he’d have to solidize his fist in order for it to have much an impact. She’d seen this technique of his a number of times, Nicknaming it Chaos Impact, after the large shock-wave it produced. Mid-way through Chaos’ strike, Tikal reached her arm out, placing her palm on what equated to his wrist. She pushed off right when his punch struck ground, the impact aiding the girl in her flip over her friend. This would have provided the perfect opportunity to return fire, but still feeling conflicted over the situation, Tikal failed to take advantage of this. 

This proved to be a bad decision, as Chaos had anticipated this. Hearing a loud smack, the orange girl found herself spinning uncontrollably through the air, a sharp pain in her side. Her vision blurred, unable to identify anything she caught a glimpse of. Chaos however, having just swatted his opponent upward with his tail, aimed to make the most of his upper hand. 

Not that he had any specific idea what he was doing. Thinking was exactly something he was capable of at the moment. He was fighting something before and it… did something and now there’s this other something and everything just kind of meshed into one indistinguishable mess. All that was functioning properly in him was pure instinct, and that was telling him very clearly that whatever was making him feel so horrid would go away if he kept fighting. That was usually the only thing his instinct ever told him and it was usually a load of bull. Chaos often wondered why he ever listened to bit, but again, thinking was a bit out of the question at the moment. Anger dulled his senses, and he behaved according to any impulse he had.

Liquid planted itself firmly in the ground, the rest of the tail trailing back to its origin on the deity’s body. In one simple, swift movement, Chaos flicked himself up into the air. The arm that had once held the charge for his first attack now swung out, and the liquid form flipped himself upward. Tikal, who had finally begun slowing down enough to see what was going on, found herself being caught rather comfortably by the god. The spinning finally stopped, and it was strangely reassuring Chaos didn’t punch her when he could have. Although she knew it wouldn’t last long.

Chaos flipped their positions on the decent, pushing his friend to the ground and landing on his feat. The arm he used to catch her was now pressed down on her stomach, pinning her to the ground. He realized he couldn’t keep up with her, so he knew he had to stop her movement completely. Succeeding in doing so, Chaos raised the one arm he hadn’t used, containing yet another charged chaos impact, shooting a cold, cruel glare at his opponent.

This situation was extremely bleak; breathing was getting increasingly harder, and Tikal knew what was going to happen next. Yet.. somehow she didn’t feel scared. She stared Chaos straight back; and not with a face of anger but one with compassion. She didn’t feel mad, just sorry. All at once, every action in the aquatic being’s body halted. Instinct told him to attack, but he could not force himself to drop his fist. Neither moved a muscle, and silence fell over the battle field.

Seeing the confusion in the others eyes, Tikal spoke. “…Chaos.. c-can you see me now?”

There was no response. The beast just continued to stare, eyes big and bright with bewilderment. His ability to think seemed to have returned, but nothing he was seeing was being understood.

“You tend.. to forget yourself at times..” Her voice was calm and quiet. “That’s.. that’s okay Chaos, really.. you j-.. just need a reminder sometimes..!”

The hand raised only a little from her abdomen, allowing her to breath easy again. Silence fell once again while the echidna gathered her breath. Chaos had frozen completely still, paralyzed in shock and fear. Thoughts were now running wild through his head and he was unable to grasp a one.

“You’re.. you’re a kind and gentle guardian. A-and you protect those who cannot defend themselves.” She rested her hands on his, softly patting it in a reassuring manner. Gone was the anger that pulsed from his being, replaced by fright, regret, and panic. Tikal slowly began concentrating her own positive energy into her palms, hoping to channel them to him.

“You’re not a monster Chaos, no matter what you or anyone else say… Don’t ever think that, because it’s wrong.” It seemed that Chaos finally regained most of his consciousness. Tikal smiled at him in her friendly way, although she was beginning to feel faint. Reaching up, she shut her eyes, hugged his arm and said the last bit she wanted to add.

“You’re my friend Chaos, and I can’t think of anything that will change that.”

…

 When the little orange girl next opened her eyes, she found herself in a familiar location. Chirping was heard a moment later from a Chao sitting next to her, apparently waiting for her to wake up. She soon realized that she was back at the shrine, resting on an incredibly shoddily made bed composed of leafs. Chaos lay curled up on top of the master emerald, obviously attempting to take up as little space as possible. 

She’d have to smooth things over with him later, but for now, she was just happy to be back home.

[thecrapshoot]

THE CRAP SHOOT

I want to start a travel blog where I share my opinions and experiences while on the road.  I am not going to just describe the places I go to or have gone to, but I am going to try and pick something about them that is compelling in some way.  Since I have relatively recently begun teaching English as a foreign language, I have been doing a lot of traveling.  I have found myself in Europe three times in the last year and half for various amounts of time.  The first trip lasted two months; the second trip lasted eleven months; and, the most recent trip lasted three months.  I have traveled to five different countries during this time.

The more experience that I get teaching other people English, the more and more I am interested in learning their languages.  My current jobs allow me contact with students from all over the world and I feel an increasing obligation and calling to learn their languages so I can help them learn mine.  

My family raised me to realize that words have power and I am also interested in how and why Linguistics is classified as a science.  I don't know why but something strikes a discord inside when I hear Linguistics mentioned along with other physical and earth sciences.  I do understand how it can be mentioned among the various social and behavioral sciences because without language, how would humans communicate with one another? Among the several languages I have learned there is a definitely a pattern of grammar they share, as all languages have grammar.  But what makes language so scientific?  Why is Linguistics such a science?  Because it has a history and a morphology?  It has changed over time and the men and women who speak language clearly and effectively are the men and women who are typically successful in life.  

The masses respond to correctly executed mechanics of grammar, intentional semantics, and rhetoric and rhetorical device.  But, I want to know what makes it so scientific as in is it, in fact, the social sciences loaning language and linguistics a spot among them?  Do sociology and psychology loan other disciplines that have a symbiosis with linguistics, like political science and marketing, credibility?  How can linguistics be a science on its own?  It seems to be standing alone as a science and scientific, but is it really?  I figure that trying to qualify linguistics as a science must include attempting to quantify the effects of charisma in world history.  You either have charisma or you don’t, sort of like the presence of carbon in organic compounds.  What would life be on Earth without carbon?  The application of linguistics by a charismatic person unleashes it, but is there any real and sophisticated way to measure a unit of linguistics?  What would a linguistic unit really be?  What is its common denominator?  Charisma?  Terror?  Sex?  

Language morphs and evolves over time because of wars and conquering that have forced people to co-exist in some form or another.  Some leaders have refused or been actively against the use of other languages in their own. Language is so accessible yet patrolled by censorship and "powers that be" and I think that language and political charisma is generally fascinating.  Public speaking has always been something I have wanted to be better at and there is such a long list of men and women who have been such eloquent speakers and rhetoricians that have changed the tide of democracy all over the world.

When I think linguistics, I think about speech, grammar, rhetoric, foreign languages, and semantics.  I also think war and occupation, and diffusion and morphology due to war and occupation.  Apart from the structure of language, I still do not see linguistics as a science.  Is an instant of cognition achieved if I can convince you to get up and vote for someone I endorse?  Is that instant of cognition the equivalent of the necessary flash or aperture for a photograph?  The only thing remotely scientific is the volatility and docility that some charismatic-in-design political rhetoric has caused.  But is that the fault of the rhetorician?  Or a dynamic of the masses?  Is the real science behind linguistics the capability to negotiate things about the human spirit?  To rally the masses?  To interrogate?  To document?  To calculate an exposition that will captivate a certain literate demographic?  That will fool a less certain semi-literate demographic in somewhat of a free fall amid misinformation?  Certain mobility for the literate, yet certain demise for the semi-literate?

I believe today's world boils down to, "What can I say to make you believe me?"  Linguistics has its role in that.  Tourism also has its role in that.  Wow, some of the things I have heard since I have been a tourist from vendors, consulate offices, people on the street, etc. have been absolutely unbelievable! Sometimes the things have been funny, sometimes disturbing, sometimes profoundly true.  At any rate, I hope to investigate things a little further and maybe come up with some answers and find things I have in common with other people who have been to some of these places or have ideas about traveling and experiencing different cultures around the world.  So pardon any split infinitives or sentence fragments, and maybe send me a note on something you like, something I should maybe do differently, or any other questions about something you might want to know about my modest travel experiences.