#frame story

[fountainpenguin]

I am back on my Kick Buttowski: Suburban Daredevil nonsense and I have to say, no canon ship will ever hit me in the way that Kendall/Ronaldo did.

I am so incredibly in love with the vibe that is "Two absolute NERDS are head over heels for each other and go out of their way to do nice things for each other" - supporting each other in presentations, remembering each other's birthdays, arranging dinner for each other, covering for the other in front of the principal, gasping in horror when the other gets in trouble - "but as time passes, the viewer gets to watch the slow unraveling of one of them secretly falling out of love with the other but not being emotionally ready to admit it yet." That is incredible.

I adore the K/R ship because it lasted so long and it was never considered a big deal. It was just "Yeah, they're dating. They do dating people things. Literally no one is jealous of them and no one ruins their social life. Keep scrolling." It was mainly in the background and they were adorably obsessed with each other up until they weren't. And again, that was that. No explosive break-ups, they were just... sweethearts.

Ronaldo gushing over Kendall's Halloween presentation instead of going trick-or-treating is my everything. He adores her.

Diagnosed with loving his girlfriend disease.

They are a TEAM!! Do not separate them!!

The "show, don't tell" between them with the way they behave is fantastic. Kendall went spelunking for cave sap so her boyfriend would have a nice birthday present AND she took him out to dinner. Ronaldo brings her "educational chocolates." He writes poems for her in binary code. He supports his girl during class elections even when she's frustrated and snippy with him.

He went to her Delaware Awareness Month party. He brought a sign that said "I've been to Dover." He came back for Poster Awareness Month. He's so supportive and she's so silly. Kendall's wild and she seems like she should be the "popular girl" trope but she is actually just a massive nerd who likes algebra and stocks and I love her.

I love Ronaldo hiding in a cabinet and Kendall spinning her wheels to distract the principal so he won't get busted for sneaking into the office. Ronaldo went out of his way to be nice to his rival and learn new skills so he could impress her. They're so good.

They are not even main characters and we still got scenes of them being adorable, as a treat. Kendall literally calls him "the dark one." That's hilarious. They lean together and whisper in the hallway like goofballs. Then they scamper off to hide in the AV closet with papers covered in doodles and poems, being romantic little NERDS!!

This scene's funny because they weren't even holding hands a few seconds ago- they just grabbed for each other when they realized they weren't alone. Apparently the canon is that they were a thing for a while before this episode and I think that's beautiful. Just... out there living their best off-screen lives. Love that for them.

imo we need more media that plays puppy love relationships with all the adorable sweetness of potentially being endgame even if they're NOT intended to be endgame. I'd like to see more kids' cartoons showing that it's okay to have a good time with someone else, and you don't have to grow up to marry the first person you dated... It's okay to consider your options... It's okay to date and have fun and explore your feelings and like people and then go your separate ways and not be endgame. I wish I had more of that.

I've binged Kick Buttowski multiple times- it's a good pick-me-up and it's one of my silly faves. I really like the character relationships in it. It's got a down-to-earth contemporary vibe despite being all about action. It has one of the truest "We really are best friends who support each other through everything" friendships I've ever seen. It's got pathetic noodle rich boy Gordie. It's got Mouth, king of the shopping mall after-hours. It's got Emo Kid who's... Emo Kid. It's got Brad and Brianna... It's got Ronaldo/Kendall... They're all hilarious.

It's got Kick learning to respect his identity as Clarence the caring big brother as much as his identity of Kick the daredevil. It's got Kick protecting Ronaldo for a week because Kick's his understudy who desperately does not want to be Romeo in the school play. It's got the line "Let's go down to Foreshadow Park! Somehow I knew we'd all end up there." It's got the bee of the month club sending free samples in the mail, when will I ever be this funny.

It's goofy and fun to watch and that's why it's this week's Recommendation Wednesday <3

[beemotionpicture]

frame story, chapter 7 by beemotionpicture

He twitches, and Batman hones in on that tell with razor sharp focus. Lewis purses his lips but pushes through anyway, with his blatant lies and wicked words; he sighs, pulling out a slip of paper with text in small print, a cheat sheet a child might use to get ahead during an exam. Not Jason, though. Never Jason. His son is intelligent, he has integrity, he works harder than any of these privileged kids even though he's brilliant. "That's not mine!" Jason protests, upset beyond reason. "Come on, Jay, enough with the lying—" "Do not talk to him in that way," Bruce growls, and Lewis flinches backwards. Afraid. Good. "Do not call him that. Do not look at my son like that." "M-Mr. Wayne…" "He said he'd fail me," Jason cuts in, voice cracking; Bruce wraps an arm around his shoulders and feels him shaking, too. "It isn't mine."

masterlist

[wasabi-gumdrop]

local ladies man’s signature move totally useless against autistic monster enthusiast. more on Kabru’s fumble era at 6

[carriejonesbooks]

Fighting, Commerce, and Ten-Cent Beer: Welcome to America and How to Frame Stories

On last week’s podcast and the one a few before that, and in a post, Shaun and I talked a bit about plot structures and narrative structures and how here in the U.S. we think of these usually (not always!) as pretty linear, and pretty much in a three-act framework (think beginning, middle, end) with rising stakes and drama as you go along. This is not the only way to write. I am very much a…

[sixth-light]

Not adding this onto the post that keeps crossing my dash because it's not really relevant to that discussion, but: anytime the phrase 'nobody was living there' comes up as a form of justification for something or other, it is worth keeping in mind that in literally the last ten thousand years or so the only major areas of the world to have been settled by humans for the first time are Greenland, Iceland, Aotearoa New Zealand, and Madagascar. (We shall not count Antarctica on the grounds that nobody lives there permanently or is ever likely to.) Everywhere else has been inhabited by humans for tens of thousands of years. Even when Homo sapiens left Africa our ancestors were encountering (checks notes) our other ancestors, Neanderthals and Denisovans, not to mention other human species now extinct.

The myth of the unpopulated frontier, open for expansion, is just that: a myth, and one that generally serves a specific purpose in terms of justifying settler-colonialism. The question the phrase 'nobody was living there' demands is - who are you calling 'nobody'?

[blackkatdraws2]

[Toon x Mobster] Only he can make him laugh like that...

Jack Desmond is the silly guy. Gavriel Huffman is the scary guy. They come from different worlds that has contrasting genres, one more cartoonishly comedic and the other much dramatically darker.

It's kind of a running gag that Sir Huffman is unable to laugh without looking absolutely wicked. Both in the cartoon world and his own world.

That doesn't stop Jack from being completely smitten with him though, his voice is the most mind-melting thing he's ever had the pleasure to hear

[AUDIO USED:] Men I Trust - show me how

[bloominglegumes]

i love normal guys doomed by the narrative

[shizuart]

[nenoname]

Cute wholesome fics where Stan teaches Soos or Wendy how to drive were always so funny to me because...

And while he insists that everyone in town has ran over McGucket before, we also know he ran over Toby too and absolutely did not give a shit (understandable in that case)

But then again...

Also bless Mr Honeypants

And another detail I love is that his car is casually filled with parking tickets

How many tickets are in Ford's name...

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

None of our hands are clean

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

More of Stanley's sketchbook because he makes me sick /pos

(Just imagine he was looking in a mirror at the subway to draw this anshfhwj. The london bus ticket is unrelated, it's just a random knick knack he had lying around<3)

People weren't the only ones Stan met on the streets.

------

+ this is an absolute fucking batshit WILD oneshot I initially wrote for these drawings that got WAY out of hand, if you feel like reading that.

The oneshot below is a stand-alone now, and in no way is related to the drawings above, but I just wanted to show you guys because Jesus Christ

------

Winter of 1981, at a subway station Stan doesn't remember the name of-

The sorry excuse of a transport system that this hellhole of a city called a functioning subway was hardly anyone's first choice of a warm place to stay the night. And yet, here Stanley was; standing like an idiot in the middle of a small bustling stairwell that led down to the full screeching chaos of a train stop on a Tuesday evening. A rowdy crowd of exhausted office workers streamed out like a tidal wave from the entrance of the station, the bustle of their footsteps all too eager to go home and relax after a long day of work.

The faint, stuffy stench of old piss and sweat followed the crowd to the surface from the deep depths of a less than sanitary and overcrowded train station. The pungent smell intermingled with the crisp stinging winter air in a cocktail of shitty city gloom often associated with this time of the year; when the holidays were too far away and the sun seemed to come and go with practically the same 9 to 5 schedule as the workers had, leaving them going to work in the pitch dark and coming back out in the inky black as well.

He might have looked like he belonged there, depending on how one would want to look at it. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the sea of prim, pressed suits and neart uniforms. His ratty old jacket and generally unwashed appearance certainly didn’t help his case, but he also knew that stations like these also tended to shelter quite a number of homeless wanderers like him, especially during the winter. So, it wasn't exactly uncommon to see other sore thumbs seeking reprieve from the biting cold and the dangerous likelihood of frostbite from within the enclosed walls of the subway station.

Heck, if most of these underground kingdoms didn't also happen to be a breeding ground for several illicit activities, he might even have followed their lead. But, believe it or not, Stanley's already had enough experience with illegal activities to last him a last time, and he isn't looking for a new fill. He was satisfied with what meager shelter his trusty car offered him, as little a difference it might make in terms of safety.

Stanley's obstruction of the already narrow stairs with his loitering went unappreciated, as shoulders roughly shoved past him and swinging briefcases repeatedly bumped into his sides, usually coupled with a nasty glare and a snide comment or two. He paid them no mind, however. He wasn't here to start a fight with some random bum with a dead end job, as much as he thought it would probably do them both some good to duke their stresses out on one another.

The hours ticked by with wave after wave of new crowds being dropped off by a train and left to pour out of the station into the streets. By the time the streetlights turned on and the pale pink in the sky slowly faded to make way for the stark glittery black of the night sky, the tide of people had slowed to a trickle and rush hour was long since over. He was now the stairs’ sole occupier, with a few occasional stragglers stumbling up the steps and hurrying past him without a second glance.

Stanley did not move from his spot, however. He stood resolutely in the middle of the stairway, fervently rubbing his arms and stamping his feet in a futile attempt to try and regain feeling in his extremities as he waited. Rocking on his heels, he titled his head backwards to let his eyes roam the constellations that carpeted the endless expanse of the sky stretched out above his head, almost losing himself in the scintillating canvas of stars.

It reminded him of old times; of the sparkling beach sand twinkling in the dim moonlight, and the soft sound of lilting waves hovering in the background as he lay back on the cold wooden deck of his ship and watched the stars dance.

He still remembered every name his brother had once recited to him time and time again as he pointed out each star and galaxy from the night sky.

Then, like clockwork, he was broken out of his reveries by a telltale meow coming from below. The sound was a familiar blanket that immediately melted away the tension that had begun to build in his chest as he practically sagged with relief.

His body moved almost automatically as he leaned down to detach the frail tabby cat that was attempting to literally fuse with his legs, purring up a storm and rubbing her head against his pants as though her life depended on it. The cat gave a soft chirrup of dissatisfaction at being manhandled, which Stanley absentmindedly replied with a chiding click of his tongue as he lifted her up his chest and gently tucked her into his jacket in a practiced motion.

She thankfully remained blissfully limp in his grasp as he shifted around some more so that she was nestled comfortably inside the dark pocket of warmth inside his ratty jacket. The tiny warm lump that rumbled contently against his front radiated with heat, and his fingers finally began to feel like actual fingers rather than useless stiff frigid lumps of meat and bone attached to his palms.

A pointed cough startled him from his clumsy wriggling to get the cat to settle down. An oddly familiar security guard stood at the entrance of the station at the bottom of the stairs, leveling Stanley an unimpressed look with the metal gate in his grip already halfway closed, ready to seal the subway for the night. He must have been a comical sight; caught awkwardly bent over while trying to get his newly acquired cat to stop kneading biscuits on his stomach, with said cat peeking out from the gap between his collars.

Stanley faintly recognized the guard. He was a much older man, with a shock of thinning white hair neatly tucked underneath a dark blue cap and a strange depth in his eyes that reminded Stanley of the sea; with countless unspoken truths lurking far beneath the surface, but no less grand and knowing of all that the universe had to offer, as though he had already lived a thousand lives before this one.

He had seen the man around before, at another station, doing the opposite of his job by ushering stray buskers and homeless stragglers from the streets and into the (relatively) safe walls of the subway, instead of doing what any other law-abiding security guard would do and kick them out into the elements. He wasn't sure what the older man was doing here, of all places, since all the previous stations he'd seen the man at had been several states over, practically on the other side of the country.

A brief spark of panic shot through his spine at the thought that this man could be following him, but he quickly discarded the ridiculous notion as soon as it entered his mind. He had never even seen him before, and hardly ever even interacted with him; there was no reason for there to be any sort of bad blood between them. Unless he happened to be related to one of Stanley's many, many enemies, then perhaps his fear was a little warranted.

However, the old guard made no move to attack or do anything other than stare judgmentally, almost expectantly. For the first time in a long time, Stanley felt like a child being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. He tried his best to keep his uncomfortable squirming to a minimum under the unrelenting gaze, stubbornly returning the man's gaze with his own wary glare. His cat’s muffled whining came from inside his jacket. The traitor, she was leaving him to deal with the old man on his own.

With an exasperated jerk of his head, the security guard gestured towards the inside of the station. For a moment, Stanley stared dumbly, uncomprehending of what the old man could possibly want from him. Rolling his eyes, this time the man gestured more insistently at the small gap that still remained between the metal gate and the entrance, his arm sweeping the air in a low arc as he dramatically urged Stanley inside. Suddenly, it clicked, and Stanley shook his head.

“I have a car,” he said plainly, his voice echoing loudly in the desolate silence of the winter night that surrounded the unlikely pair.

He wasn't sure why he was so nervous, it wasn't as though he was lying. He did have a car, his trusty Stanley-mobile was parked safely away in the corner of an unassuming alley that wasn't often frequented by anyone. There was no way he was reaching it tonight, though; it was practically on the other side of the city, much too far away for him to arrive at a reasonable time. His nightly excursions to meet his small friend unfortunately left him with no other choice than to leave his car behind, the hunk of metal far too unwieldy and noticeable to drive around openly on the streets. He never knew who could be watching, after all.

He had simply been hoping to find himself a dark corner to tuck himself into with his cat, just for the night, but it seemed as though the universe had other plans. Or rather, this strange old man had other plans.

Although, if Stanley thought about it, the subway wasn't such a bad suggestion. This was one of the safer stations in the city; and with the rich neighborhoods being so close by, no rogue criminal or dealers dared to come near this area unless they wanted to be slapped with a hefty fine or face a higher potential to be arrested. And of course, there was the obvious shelter from the unrelenting cold that now seemed to permeate his bones, even with the purring warmth that was nestled inside his jacket.

So, that was how he found himself hunkering down for the night inside a shabby old subway station, with a satisfied cat still rumbling away against his chest and a strange old security guard locking down the gates behind him. The man said nothing as he hooked his keys back onto his belt and gave a firm pat on Stanley's shoulders as he walked past him, pausing to scratch his cat behind her ears before moving away. His footsteps bounced off of the grimy tiled walls with an odd reverb as he turned a corner.

“You'll be safe in here,” the man said, voice sage and gravelly. The words had a weight to them, and seemed to hang in the air with such a presence it was as though the old man had never even left his side.

The subway was empty, quiet. It was such a stark contrast to the loud rowdiness of the rush hour crowd these halls once held. Stanley hadn't yet registered the utter silence of the station as he aimlessly made his way down the winding, deserted halls of the ancient station. He mindlessly walked past the aged and peeling advertising posters plastered on the walls, his nose becoming accustomed to the stinging stench of the subway. The quiet seemed to swallow the sound of his steps as he explored the branching paths and endless tunnels. They were almost kaleidoscopic, dizzying, nonsensical. There were doors where there shouldn't be, and deadends where it didn't make sense.

The silence only began to truly settle in his bones the more he walked. He suddenly wished that he would head the telltale footsteps of the old security guard again, just to hear another sign of life in this underground hellscape other than himself. The ghostly memories of screeching trains and bustling crowds haunted the halls; now, only nothingness reigned supreme. He glanced down at his small feline companion, who slumbered away against his chest, blissfully unaware of his jackrabbiting heartbeat threatening to burst out of his ribs. The silence seemed to permeate every inch of space and crush the air out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

Stanley’s steps grew faster, more frantic as the walls and ceilings seemed to close in on him. They grew smaller, tighter; squeezing, trapping. He hardly even registered his cat's complaints as she was jostled around in his grasp, breaking into a full out run. His breathing sounded loud, too loud, and the world was collapsing around him.

When he finally broke out into a large, open platform, he could finally breathe again. He had arrived at the tracks, the empty tunnel where the trains would pass an empty, gaping maw in the wall that seemed to swallow all light around it and beckon him closer. He felt his cat wriggle out from within his jacket and hop out with a displeasured yowl, scampering away and disappearing behind a corner much like the old man had. True silence pierced his ears and thrummed like a deafening pressure in his temples. He was alone.

Stanley was stuck in that subway station for years.

[idolomantises]

Does it like, annoy anyone else when a story presents itself as "feminist" and "progressive", but also punches down on women who are sex workers or sexually active.

[beemotionpicture]

frame story, chapter 8 by beemotionpicture

Dick asks, "You know why I'm here?" Like before, it's not particularly gentle, not exactly. It just sounds normal. Like this conversation is normal and one that they'd have everyday, over breakfast or in the den, like Dick is just telling him to pass the remote. "Bruce called you over," Jason mumbles. He's rubbing his thumb over his inner elbow, a self soothing habit Bruce sometimes sees him do but has never been able to place. "Yeah. You know why?" "Because you're his partner," Jason says simply. That gives them both pause.

masterlist

[goryhorroor]

horror sub-genres: paranormal

[reds-skull]

Needed to see this man beaten and bruised, but in pink this time

(Also hey I actually have free time again)

[foldingfittedsheets]

You wouldn’t blame a crowbar for an act of destruction, you would blame the wielder. For this reason I can’t be held responsible for what happened to my friend Charlie’s bed. I was merely a tool that force was applied through.

It happened like this: Brendan, Charlie, and I decided to have a late night movie viewing at Charlie’s house. We watched The Hogfather and Groundhogs day and we stayed up until 4am. Then we were all too tired to drive home and crashed. I got the bed and the boys took the floor.

Four hours later, Charlie’s parents woke up. They learned that Charlie had people over. They. Were. Furious. Because unbeknownst to us it turned out they had swine flu. Charlie should had been quarantining not bringing people to his plague house. They ordered Charlie to kick us out that very moment.

Charlie came to rouse us. I am… not at my best in the morning hours. Four hours of sleep did not leave my disposition gruntled. Charlie began trying to rouse me to pretty much no avail. He pulled the covers off, shook me, tried to take my pillow, but I was a tiny ball of sleepy vicious rage. When he shook me I’m pretty sure I bit him.

I should be clear, I wasn’t really awake. A baseline function was taking place but no real actual thought. I was piloting on pure instinct and the instinct was: need more sleep. Charlie tried everything while Brendan watched in bemusement.

Finally Charlie got the idea that if he physically lifted me out of bed I’d go. He managed to get his hands under my arms and start dragging me off the bed.

Two things happened very quickly. My toes wrapped around the top of the railing to his bed frame, and I went limp everywhere else. Charlie staggered and almost dropped me, because holding a floppy corpse body is much harder than a tensed one, a fact I had learned from many roughhousing attacks by my brother.

He swore and then gamely started trying to drag me backward, thinking it would be easy to dislodge my toes from the bed frame. It was not. I’ve mentioned before that my toes are strong, but Charlie was flabbergasted that their grip on the bed was so strong that he couldn’t drag me away.

I was going on pure stubborn instinct. I did not want to leave the bed. Charlie was fully committed that a 90lb gremlin wasn’t going to beat him in a contest of strength with only her toes. So he pulled. And I held on.

Both of us were shocked when there was a tortured shriek of wood and something in the bed frame cracked. It was loud enough that I actually woke up. The rest of my brain surfaced in confusion to join the lizard brain whose only goal had been not to leave the bed.

I released my toes and took my own weight and Charlie and I stared at the bed.

“You ripped the railing off!”

“Well, no, you ripped the railing off, I was just the tool. If you hadn’t been pulling on me-“

“If you had just let go! What is up with your feet?!”

We griped as I readied myself to leave his plague house, joining his parents in being mad that Charlie hadn’t told us they were sick. I drove home to sleep more.

Over the years of our friendship Charlie still maintained that I broke the bed. I disagreed and think I was only the tool by which he broke the bed. Only you can decide who bears the most sin, the dragger or the dragee.