#had a big ol crying moment / panic attack also. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

criptidcat · 2 years ago

Text

Everybody Likes You

Alex gets called to comfort Sun when he's having a meltdown.

Sun has a small panic attack but its not very detailed.

Also tried to write a scottish accent while making it legible

Everyone liked Mr. Sunshine, the helpful daycare attendant. Every one liked Sundrop and glitter glue and playing with toys. Thats what Sun had thought, what was wired into his code.

Then a kid, in the midst of a tantrum, said something horrible.

"I hate you!" The young boy had screamed. "I hate you and I hate this place!"

"B-but everyone loves daycare... friend please calm down and maybe we can-"

"No! I don't want to be in this stupid baby place!" The kid ran off to sulk. Sun's fans began to buzz as he tried to process the child's statement.

Alex got the alert that something was wrong with Sun and grabbed his tool bag. So much for his nap, but if Sun needed him he wasn't going to keep him waiting.

He had been expecting a broken ray, a pulled wire, glue where it shouldn't be again, not this. Not Sun curled in a ball making strange noises as he rocked back and forth. There were a few kids watching, unsure what to do. Then ran to Alex and tugged at his shirt as the begged him to help. No one else knew what to do.

He had dealt with Roxy having a panic attack before. It was just after her first big show. She went from happy to sobbing in just a few minutes and Alex had to help calm her down. He let her vent about how she felt and Alex helped show her how her fears were valid but untrue. She was loved and there was a whole gaggle of kiddos waiting to see her when she was ready to come out again.

Unfortunately the red haired man had no clue what happened to set this off.

"Did someone get hurt?" He asked, letting the kids pull him.

"No. A new boy came and yelled and Mr Sun got sad."

"Will you help him?"

"Is Mr.Sun ok?" The questions piled on and Alex knelt down with a soft smile.

"Don't worry little stars, Dr. Alex is gunna make sure Ol Sunny is happy and healthy as always." He asked the kids about the boy, trying to figure out what he said or did that triggered this reaction.

To everyone's surprise it was Sun who spoke up.

"He hates me... they hate me... they-" Alex's heart ached when he heard a crackling sob and wrapped his arm around the animatronic.

"Oh Sun... that really hurt yer feelins di' it?" Alex pulled the bot into his arms, ignoring the sun ray poking his cheek. "Thats a cruel thing to say to such a sweet lad. Some folks might not like ya Sunshine but, I like ya. And these kids 'ere like ya." Sun stopped whining and Alex waited for a response. Long arms wrapped around him and Sun finally spoke.

"You like me?" He sounded as small and shy as one of the kids.

"Of course. You don't cause a ruckus an' I can actually get some rest around ya." Alex laughed. He looked up at the worried stares of the nearby kids and smiled at them. He gestured for them to come over and Sun was swallowed up in a pile of love and hugs. "We all love ya, dont' we children?" The kids erupted with praise and affection.

"You're the bestest ever!"

"That kid is a meanie butt don't listen to him!"

"We luv you misser sun!"

Sun curled into Alex tighter and for a moment the Scotsman was worried Sun would cry again.

"I'm sorry my stars. Iwas so hurt by that one comment I forgot how much the rest of you care." Sun laughed.

Alex stayed through naptime. He talked to Moon about giving Sun some encouragement and some tips for helping calm him if that happened again. In turn Moon made Alex go take a nap. He could tell the man was exhausted. Alex pat Moon on the head as he went to lay down. He was definitely going to wake up with nail polish and glitter in his hair.

#fnaf sun #fnafsb #fnafoc #Scottish man #alex is a robot therapist #put that on a resume #comfort

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writeshite · 3 years ago

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Part 2 of the Mark Sloan piece was amazing! I had an idea which could techincally count as Part 3, but that’s up to you. It would be something a little darker, so just wanted to let you know before going into detail. I’d be well into Mark and Y/n’s relationship, and Y/n loses his first patient. It’d be someone who’d have no chance of making it, but since it’s the first time it’s happened to him, he doesn’t take it well. Y/n breaks down, and the group try calming him down but it doesn’t work, so they page Mark to see if he can help. The group is surprised to see how Mark is super patient and sweet with Y/n while holding him and just making sure he knows it’s not his fault. Just something angsty with a little fluff. Thanks!

One Step A Time

Summary:

“Don’t get attached.” It’s the first thing Christine tells you when you sit down for lunch; she waves her fork at you and repeats her words firmly; the others nod their heads in agreement as well. “What are you talking about?” “The girl on death row, she’ll be dead before the end of the week,” she elaborates, “and if not the, she’ll die in surgery.”

Pairings:

Mark Sloan x Male!Reader

Tags:

Death and Discussions of It | Hurt/Comfort | Crying | Mental Breakdown

Words: 1864

Author's Note:

Did I spend a bit crying because imagining this was sad? Yes. Did I also kind of use my own panic attack experiences? A little. Hey, might as well draw some inspiration from somewhere. If you happened to skip the tags, just note that there is discussion of death and Reader has a panic attack.

The day starts out really glum, cloudy day, a lot of rain, puddles, and cold weather, and you’re cursing out your beeper, sighing sadly when Dr. Bailey’s voice filters through, you’re both needed at the hospital. You change fast, and Mark grabs the keys to drive, the light of the moment being the off-key singing in the car as you go through traffic. You barely have time to shut the door when ambulances drive in; multiple stretchers pass by as you run in to put on your scrubs. By the time you rush back out, Mark is pulled one way, and you've pulled the other way; it’s all hands on deck as Dr. Bailey sends interns off left and right; you’re sent off to one of the patients in need of major surgery, her chances were one in a million, but you weren’t focusing on that, if there was any chance she could survive, then you were going to take it.

The patient in question is gaunt; her hair is all but gone, as the cancer in her system has spread mercilessly. She smiles when you enter, hand lifting to wave, “Good morning, how are you?”

“I should be asking you that, uh,” you take her folder and search for her name.

“Annabeth,” she tells you, “Sorry about the mess; I’d have cleaned up if I knew I had someone visiting today.”

“Oh, do you not have that many visitors?”

“Not really; no one wants to watch their money bank die after they get cut off from the inheritance,” she quips. Your eyebrows shoot up, “Don’t worry, I’m used to it; at least when I die, my money will go off to the hospital that took care of me in my last moments.”

Your hand goes up to your heart, and she laughs as well as she can through her coughs; you hand her some water; after downing it, she smiles at you again. “We’re not going to talk like that, ok? You’re going to go into surgery, get that tumor out, and before you know it, you’ll be spending that money like there’s no tomorrow,” you tell her, “A big ol’ fuck you to the shithead that left, you here.”

The statement brought out another laugh from her, and as you go over her file, you learn a lot about Annabeth - her family, or what was left of it, was heavily reliant on her inheritance, so much so that they were practically giddy at the thought of her death. Though, as she’d mentioned earlier, she’d changed the contents of her will, “I can just imagine their faces, especially my ex, bloody cunt that one. He tried to take over as my primary caretaker, just so he could leave me in some home while he enjoyed my money.”

“Fuck him, punch him for me when you get out,” you respond. Again she smiles sadly, “I’m serious; punch him, alright?”

“Alright, Doc, enough about me; what about you? Any family or cute guys hanging around you?”

You rub the back of your head, “I mean, I got together with, well, technically, he’s kind of my boss, but not really; he’s like a station above me, I guess….”

She perked up, leaning on her arm, “Ooh, sleeping with the boss then are we?”

“I mean sort of, but it’s not for promotional shit, it’s…I mean…he comes off as a cocky bastard sometimes, but you know….he’s actually pretty nice.”

Annabeth scratched her chin, eyes squinting as she looked at the people passing by, she started pointing at each one of them, asking if they were the one, but you just shook your head. She groans after the seventeenth person turns out to be a no; after your laughter dies down, she pulls out a deck of cards from under her pillow. You raise your eyebrow, “Don’t look at me like that; some of the nurses think I’m too fragile for a game of cards.”

She teaches you a few games, shuffling the cards with a wink, she switched the rules around to add more fun, and when you call her out for it, she plays dumb, and you both burst into laughter. She flings cards at you whenever you call her out, and soon enough, cards are lying everywhere; you pick them up as she sticks her tongue out. The sound of your beeper disrupts the moment as you’re needed elsewhere, bidding Annabeth goodbye.

“What are you talking about?”

“The girl on death row, she’ll be dead before the end of the week,” she elaborates, “and if not the, she’ll die in surgery.”

You shake your head, “No, she won’t, Annabeth—”

“Oh, so you’re on a first-name basis now?”

“Christine,” Meredith interjects, “don’t start anything.”

“I’m just saying, getting attached to a patient is a dumb move; they die, you fall apart, then you’re out of commission for a couple of weeks until you’re over it.” She gestures her hands around, “Look, not many people make it out of the surgery.”

“Yeah, well, the few that do are proof that it might work, and it will work; Annabeth has a lot to live for; she’s got an asshole ex to punch and a shitty family to take care of.”

Christine shakes her head, “Karev, back me up here.”

“Yang’s got a point; I mean, you’ve seen her, dude,” Alex voices.

You don’t say anything else and leave them at the table; you storm out of the canteen, bumping into Mark on your way. He reaches out to stabilize you before you can fall back, “Woah, sweetheart, what’s all the rush?”

“I’m so sorry, Mark, I didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly,” he quips, “Now, where are you heading off to that fast?”

“I just had a shitty lunchtime, so I thought I’d get back to my patient; she’s in room 413—oh god, not you too,” you change the topic when you note the doubtful and pitying look on his face, the same kind that had been on Meredith’s face when talking about Annabeth. “Why does everyone think she’ll die?”

“Because she will, I mean, have you seen the statistics?” Mark asks.

“Well, Dr. Shepherd thinks she’ll be fine, and he’s the surgeon in charge of her operation,” you defend, but Mark sighs.

“Yeah, but Derek’s a dreamer, you give him a patient with an incurable disease, and he thinks it's curable. He’ll go all the way, even if it crushes him when they die on the table.” Mark places his hands on your shoulders and rubs down your arms, “Look, sweetheart, just don’t put all your hope on her—”

You smack his hands away, leaving him behind. You rush up to Annabeth’s room and find her gazing outside the window, “You know I used to hate the outdoors,” she says when you open the door, “everyone else loved to go camping or hiking, but me, I’d bundle up in the house and lock myself away just so I didn’t have to go. Now I wish I did; at least then I’d have some nice last memories.”

“Come on now, Annabeth, none of that,” you fluff up her pillow, “You’ve got surgery in an hour—”

She grabs your hand, holding onto it with what little strength she has left, “I’m scared, Doc,” she admits; you sit by her, “I don’t….I know you said I’ll be skipping down the halls…but I….”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay to be scared,” you comforted her, but she brushed you off, both her hands gripping yours tight. The nurses came by to take her, but she clung tighter until Dr. Shepherd arrived. You both walked alongside her bed as they wheeled her through; she’d begun sobbing and had gone through her fear by the time the anesthesia was prepped. “Don’t worry, Annabeth, I’ll be here the whole time.”

“Ok, Doc, just, I’m happy I get to see your face before I go,” she remarks; the anesthesia mask gets fitted on, and as her grip on you weakens, she smiles as best as she can before her eyes close. The surgery starts well, but it doesn’t stay that way; complications start up, and they rise until soon enough, you're doing chest compressions as the heart monitor’s flatline resounds throughout the room. You’re huffing fast and begging for it to pick up again; you move back when you’ve had enough, nearly falling; you move to cover your mouth but stop as you note the splashes of blood on your gloves and scrubs.

Your hands shake, and your breathing picks up; you slide down the wall, huddling into yourself as the panic attack hits you. Dr. Shepherd tries reaching out to you with his voice, but it doesn’t work; he disappears from your view and then returns with Meredith, but when she reaches out, you cringe, drawing closer to yourself and panicking more. The rest of the staff around you slowly thin out, the doors shut closed as you begin to sob out loud; Meredith remains in front of you, hands held up as she attempts to comfort you. Their voices are muffled around you, and they’re joined by two other voices, but you can’t concentrate on anything and throw your gloves aside. Then the over garments, when you’re just in your uniform, you begin to furiously pick at your skin, scratching your arms and then your scalp as you yank at your hair. Someone pulls your hands away from you, and you flinch back, hitting yourself on the wall, causing you to try and scramble even further away.

“Karev, you shouldn’t have—”

“—well, what should I have done then? I don’t see anyone else—”

“Everyone quiet down; the noise isn’t helping,” you hear Dr. Shepherd say. There’s some arguing, and the doors open and shut; when they do so again, it's followed by rushing footsteps and the loud yell of ‘everyone back away!’ The voices all quiet down.

“Breath, sweetheart, can you do that for me? Just breathe.” Mark’s voice filters through as he sits beside you; you try your best to follow the instructions, “That’s it, breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out.”

“I should’ve listened,” you say.

“What?”

“I should’ve listened…I should’ve known…y–you and, and Christine…I should’ve…” you break out into tears again. Mark drapes his arm around you, and you hide. You hug him tight, face hiding in his neck, as he soothes you.

“No, don’t do that, sweetheart, don’t blame yourself.”

When your tears are gone again, you’re left clinging to Mark, small sniffles coming from you as he rubs your back. “Feelin’ better?” he asks, drawing back to wipe the remnants of your tears. You shake your head, “That’s alright.” He kisses your forehead, “take all the time you need.”

“How is he doing that?” Alex whispers.

Meredith shrugs, “I have no idea.”

“I didn’t think Mark had a comforting bone in his body,” Derek buts in, and Meredith elbows him for it.

End Note:

Hope you didn't cry too much. Stay Hydrated.

#mark sloan x male reader #mark sloan x reader #grey's anatomy imagine

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harrypoppinss · 3 years ago

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A well needed reunion

Arthur Morgan x reader

Summary: After a job went sour you had to hold out and wait.

Warnings: Gun Violence, Mild Angst, Cursing, implied smut

This job, according to Dutch, was supposed to be easy. You were supposed to rob a stage coach coming down through Van Horn late at night, sounds easy enough, right? Wrong

What he failed to mention was that the Murphy gang was also looking at the Stage, it was supposed to be packed with money and gold. It was, in truth, a Leviticus Cornwall coach, one of the many reasons Dutch wanted to rob it blind. So thats how you got to where you are now; your back pressed against the side of the tipped wagon, bullets flying in every direction towards you. It was like all hell broke lose.

It all started when you approached the coach, asking it to stop. “C’mon get moving,” the driver complained, but pulled back on the reins to keep from trampling over you and your steed. “Theres a big ol’ bear up the road, the biggest and meanest I’ve ever seen,” you said, your voice laced with false pre-caution. The driver simply scoffed, ordered you with a harsh tongue to get a move on and when he went to slap the reins down onto the horse, a bullet flew straight threw his head. This sent the horse into a panic and you barely had time to get outta the way before getting trampled to death.

In that moment, you kicked your horse into a flee towards the running coach, all while clasping your thighs tight around her body, turning to shoot at the attackers. You picked off a decent amount of them, but now you had yourself corned against the now broke wagon. You quickly and blindly moved the barrel of your gun to stick out, firing at the direction the bullets were spraying in. Luck must’ve been on your side because there was cry of pain, and then a sweet silence.

Acting fast, you whistled for your horse (who had fled almost immediately after you dismounted her), before grabbing the lock box from an awkward angle in the back of the wagon. You let the heavy metal box fall onto the ground as you used the tip of your knife to pry it open. And oh boy was Dutch right about this one. Greedily, you plucked every last sent from that box and did a quick scan of the tree lines. You mounted up on your mare, deciding it was better to hideout then immediately start your way back to horseshoe overlook. Plus, it was a hell of a ride and you were already sore, tired, and pissed off that those bastards had to make it ten times harder for you.

After a little searching, you stumbled across an abandoned cabin. You hoped to god that no crazy lunatic called this place home as you dismounted off your mare, grabbing her reins and leading her into the wooded area around back. You hitched her up to a fairly big oak tree, patting her heartily on the neck. You then, slowly made your way to the cabins back door, your revolver drawn. As you reached it, you clasped the handle, tugging and twisting and of course, it was locked.

You weren’t really feeling the whole ‘trying to pick the lock’ so you took a couple steps back and reared up your foot, kicking it strongly into the door, and sending it flying open, the back of it smacking against the cabin. You waited a moment, hearing nothing but your own heartbeat as you peaked in. It surely was abandoned, and very, very dirty. But, this was better then potentially leading a rival gang back to your own. So you settled in on the dusty couch, your revolver on your lap as your eyes fluttered closed.

That was a week ago. And now you were fairly certain they’d given up on trying to track you down or hunt you. So you pushed the cabins back door back open, and mounted up. It had been a long week filled with constant anxiety and worry, you were more than happy to start the long journey home. When you entered the Heartlands, the sun was high in the sky, beating down on you as if it was saying ‘thank you for finally seeing me’. The herds of wandering deer would perk their heads up at the sound of your mares’ hooves digging into the dirt roads. The wild horses along side the road would rear up and scurry in the opposite direction as you passed.

Rabbits would run wildly across the road, sometimes getting unintentionally trampled by your horse, the squirrels were no better. And after what felt like forever, you finally started on a steady trot up the off-road path of horseshoe overlook. “Who’s there?” Javiers’ voice snapped, and this made you grin widely, “missed me?” You shot back. His eyes widened a bit at your presence before relief filled them, “welcome back.. finally.” As you entered the main hitching post area, and dismounted you were met by a half worried-half agitated Hosea. As a way of making up for it, you assured him that Dutch was right about the money involvement, but failed to mention the gang that lurked up there.

After your long conversation with him, he gave you a pat on the back along with a soft nudge in the direction of Arthurs wagon. You thanked him, and he simply dismissed you, saying he would tell Dutch of your findings. You decided the ledger and donation box could wait until after you saw your cowboy. That whole week you spent hiding, all you could think about was his strong arms wrapping themselves around your waist, his chapped lips skimming the skin of your neck and shoulders before wandering to your lips. How his hands would feel against your breasts, or how his fingers would feel pressed longingly inside of your wet cunt.

When you stepped into his tent, his eyes met yours and the look on his face was almost alarming. His face paled at the sight of you, his hand freezing the pencil that was doodling against a page of a his journal. “Hey there cowboy,” you said with a droopy grin against your lips. Arthur threw his journal closed, tossing it to the side as he stood up to meet you halfway. He immediately brought you into his embrace, one of his hands cupping your face as his lips found yours in a instant. His other hand however, was venturing dangerously low on your hip. You missed Arthur dearly through that absence, and judging by the excitement of his cock pressing against you through his jeans, he had missed you just as much.

Your hands made your way into his brown locks, tugging on them as his hand finally made its way to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze as he groaned into the kiss. He pulled away for a second, before pressing his forehead against your own. “Thank god you’re alright,” he said, his blue eyes pouring into your own. You grinned at that, “Oh Arthur, you know its gonna take more then some crazy inbreds to stop me from comin’ back here,”. He snorted out a small chuckle at this, before he dragged you to the cot with him. This night was gonna be fun.

#arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x you #reader insert #fanfic #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 arthur #arthur morgan fluff #implications #implied smut #writing #ao3 #roleplay #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic

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makeste · 4 years ago

Note

Are there any headcanons that you would like to share? About anything you want.

anon in the absence of specific guidelines I have managed to make this post pretty much entirely about Bakugou. I apologize if you really wanted to know all of my headcanons about Kouda or something lol. but all joking aside he really is the character I think about the most and so probably like 80% of my headcanons are about him, including close to 100% of the headcanons I actually have a solid enough grip on to put into words. anyway here goes.

he does not know how to tie a tie. he was a rowdy little free range knee-scraping grass-staining run-don’t-walk child whose parents only ever managed to wrestle him into formal attire a handful of times for special occasions when he was younger, and then he went to a middle school that used gakuran-style uniforms so he never learned then, either. his dad offered to teach him when U.A. rolled around, but he was all, “fuck off dad, I know how to tie a stupid tie,” because by that time he had grown into a cocky little brat confident in his own skill and naive as to the reality checks of the world, and he genuinely believed with the conviction that only a fifteen-year-old can muster that when the time came he would just magically know how to do it. on the first day of school he got as far as draping the loose tie over his neck and holding one end in each hand before staring at the mirror and abruptly realizing the hole he’d dug himself into. and so rather than admit defeat, he just straight up decided not to wear it. which became a permanent life choice once he got to school and saw how badly Deku’s tie was tied and realized there was no way he could ever risk that kind of humiliation.

in a similar vein, I know there’s a popular fanon that because of his parents’ influence Katsuki has a good sense of fashion, but my own personal headcanon is that this could not be further from the truth lol. it’s not that he has a terrible sense of style, mind you; it’s just that he doesn’t care about it at all. he’s a nerdy jock who spends all his free time studying and lifting weights. this kid literally only wears one color, and that color just so happens to be the easiest possible color to coordinate. he owns like three pairs of shoes max. he wears his pants three sizes up and they drag so much that the hems are all frayed from him constantly stepping on them (literally canon, and one of my favorite details from chapter 218). he just doesn’t give a fuck, so long as the clothes are comfortable and don’t look stupid. he has about a million things he’s more concerned about than what he or anyone else is wearing. in fact I’m 90% sure that his mom still buys most of his clothes, and about 70% convinced he does not even know what size he is.

he’s good at household chores (because he’s good at everything), but hates doing them. aside from cooking, which he enjoys, he will bitch and whine nonstop if forced to do tedious-yet-necessary things like washing dishes and folding laundry. that said, he is a perfectionist, and he also has a lot of experience because his mom made him do chores all the time during the seven trillion times he was grounded while growing up (that’s his estimate, btw, so it may be slightly exaggerated. he was not an easy kid to raise. when your kid’s fuse is about a millimeter long and he has a tendency to literally blow up whenever he throws a fit, you end up with a lot of objects in your house that have been replaced at some point), so if you do actually manage to get him to do the chore, rest assured that chore is getting fucking DONE.

when he was very little he watched an Avengers Endgame-style All Might film where a bunch of bad guys attacked earth and various assorted heroes tried and failed to stop them. then at the climax of the film, All Might showed up and said “I am here”, and everyone got super pumped up and excited because they knew the heroes were going to win with All Might on their side. this scene remains Katsuki’s favorite scene in anything. not the fight -- just the moment where All Might shows up and grins and the audience knows right there and then that he’s going to win. this is the feeling that inspired his dream. he wants to be the one who shows up and everyone is like, “we’re good now; Katsuki is here.”

when he was six or seven he got into a big fight with an older boy over that scene because he said it was fake and that there was no way All Might could have beaten those guys in real life. Katsuki insisted he definitely would have because All Might never loses. the other boy replied that everyone loses sometimes. Katsuki kicked his ass and got suspended for a week.

ten years later, Katsuki watched All Might battle All for One at Kamino and realized two things. one, that the other boy was right and that anyone can lose. and two, that he, the one who had so proudly defended All Might back then, was going to end up being the reason why he finally lost.

for a long time afterwards, he couldn’t bring himself to watch that movie again.

when he and Izuku were three years old their moms sent them out on a first errand (google Hajimete no Otsukai if you’re unfamiliar with this tradition, I promise you it is the cutest fucking thing you’ll ever see) to buy ingredients for katsudon. Izuku was full of bouncy childish enthusiasm and could rattle off the full shopping list of ingredients front to back, but when the moment finally came his confidence wilted as soon as their parents were out of sight. Katsuki also had a moment of panic when they first rounded the corner and he couldn’t see his house anymore, but rallied once Izuku burst into tears and he realized that he had to be the one to take charge. he proceeded to morph into an absurdly over-the-top caricature of his own mother for the duration of the errand, to the point where in addition to telling Izuku to stop crying he also ordered him to stand up straight and tuck in his shirt. the two of them went on to complete the errand flawlessly and their moms were PROUD AS FUCK and took a billion pictures. Izuku and Katsuki have only a few scattered memories of this milestone in the present day but it’s enough to send both of them absolutely reeling with embarrassment whenever they’re reminded of it.

he and his mom don’t often get along but sometimes they’ll bond over roasting a mutual target. they have watched many a trashy reality TV show together for this purpose. Masaru lives for these moments but never comments on them lest he spoil the rare moments of peace.

Katsuki is perfectly capable of using keigo (i.e. normal polite Japanese with no rude language/cursing), otherwise he would not be one of the top students in his ivy-league high school. code-switching is a thing guys! anyways his teachers are aware of this, because all of his essays and homework assignments are written normally. he merely chooses to go about his daily business acting like a wannabe yakuza stereotype because that’s just his personality, and he’s not about to start censoring himself and acting like some weird little goody two shoes robot person just to please people he mostly doesn’t give two shits about. but if you put a gun to his head and told him you’d pull the trigger if he said “fuck”, he would probably be all right; he’d just have to concentrate.

when he was little he went through a phase of collecting cicada shells and leaving them EVERYWHERE -- in the bathroom sink, on his mom’s pillow, you name it. Mitsuki often tells people this is when she started getting gray hairs. one time she opened a box of cereal and there was one in there and a little bit of her soul died that day.

he generally doesn’t care who calls him Kacchan. it doesn’t particularly bother him and it never occurred to him to pretend like it did just for appearance’s sake. also secretly for some reason the thought of Deku ever calling him anything else really bothers him. he’s not sure what it would mean if that ever happened, or what he would do.

all of his workouts are designed to strengthen his arms and back and shoulders because those are the parts of his body that take the most abuse from his quirk. other than that he avoids building up excess muscle anywhere else because the more weight he puts on the harder it is to fly around. for this reason he is never going to end up being a big bulky guy like All Might. one day Deku is going to surpass him in muscle, but he doesn’t care because he’ll still be a match for him in firepower and speed.

he’s one of those kids who will not so much as take a sip of alcohol until he’s twenty-five. partly because he’s experienced enough concussions that he doesn’t particularly want to give hangovers a try, and partly because he’s a control freak and honestly afraid of getting drunk and making an idiot of himself somehow. the rowdier members of class A try virtually every trick in their wheelhouse and then some to try and persuade him over the years, but not even the reverse psychology “aw, don’t worry, it’s okay if you’re... scared :)” thing works, because that’s only actually effective when he secretly wants to do the thing.

then one day he just wakes up and is all “you know what, I’m gonna try it”, and for the next few days his google history is basically just “how many drinks does it take to get drunk” and “how to avoid getting drunk” and “how to prevent hangovers.” somehow word gets out through the grapevine (he probably told Todoroki, who is the one person in class A you’d think wouldn’t be a big ol’ gossip but in fact IS) that Bakugou is finally going to get his drink on that weekend, and pretty much EVERYONE shows up at the izakaya that Friday night excited as FUCK.

Katsuki proceeds to drink a grand total of two beers over the span of several hours, and drinks like five glasses of water in between, and literally nothing happens to him at all except that Kaminari almost fights him out of frustration. the rest of class A never fully gets over their disappointment.

he actually knows like 90% of class 1-A’s names by this point. there are still a few people he doesn’t and will never know, though. twenty years from now Aoyama will still be “that weird fucking french kid” in his mind.

he had no idea who Eri was until the Christmas party. sometimes he’d hear the other kids talking about someone named Eri, and from context clues he somehow ended up thinking it was one of Aizawa’s cats. when Eri came to the party he had a brief moment of curiosity wondering if she was Sensei’s niece or something, and then he heard someone say her name and he was all “THAT’S ERI?!” and his entire worldview was briefly shaken up.

he pulled Kirishima aside to ask him and Kirishima basically gave him Eri’s whole entire life story which was way more than he actually wanted to know. he’s now kind of terrified of ever being in the same room as her for fear of having to interact with her because he’s pretty sure he’d do or say the wrong thing. most of the time being intimidating is something he strives for and puts a lot of effort into, including when he’s around kids (who are basically just smaller, sloppier adults in his mind), but he doesn’t want to be the guy who scared an abused kid, so he basically just hopes the others will have enough common sense not to ever go “oh hey you know who should totally interact with each other?? Eri and Bakugou!”

that being said, if circumstances ever arose which forced Katsuki to protect Eri, the two of them would totally bond and they would have a really sweet relationship in which Eri looked up to him just like she looks up to Deku and Mirio and the rest, and where Katsuki was constantly trying to be on his best behavior around her, like genuinely, sincerely trying, and kind of failing at it a lot but still being sweet in a gruff sort of restrained-disaster way.

...and after sitting there for a while trying to think of more I couldn’t come up with any so I guess that’s it! basically most of my headcanons are about how secretly boring Katsuki is. honestly if it weren’t for him having the vocabulary of a 52-year-old sailor whose foot was caught in a bear trap, he and Iida would probably be best friends.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #bakugou katsuki #bnha meta #bakugou meta #bnha headcanons #don't think there're any spoilers here except for the detail about his pants in 219 lol #sorry if I have spoiled anyone for that #makeste reads bnha #asks #anon asks #long post #oh whoops it was actually 218 my bad just edited #wait a second the christmas party is spoilers isn't it lol whoops #bnha spoilers #there we go

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a-pretty-nerd · 4 years ago

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Run (Jasper Jordan x Reader College!Au)

Request: “Hoi I wanna request a story sadly I don’t have Patreon though so u prob won’t make it hehe. It’s a Jasper Jordan x reader fan fic also I would love if it a High school/college Au and the readers parents don’t approve Jasper so she has to sneak out every time she wants to meet him but soon she finds out she’s pregnant so she runs away with him? Also your work is amazing!” ~ @deadqueeen

A/N: I was just about to say, “I’ve never done a college au before, uwu!” but I forgot about that entire self indulgent smut I wrote…big Oof. Anyways, love this idea, I love some good ol’ fashioned angst. Just a warning though, I did end up leaning heavily into the relationship reader has with their parents so just be prepared for some upsetting interactions.

If you like my work, don’t be afraid to interact! Gimme a like, comment, message, send a request my way if you like! And if you’d like to support me further, go ahead and check out my Patreon! I’d love to see you there!

Trigger Warnings: Mild Smut, Parental abuse, petting crime, and Pregnancy.

College was stressful as it is, but as the months passed, things were getting harder and harder to manage. Come your freshman year, a little thing called Covid-19 hit the world, sending it into a whirlwind of stress and unease.You sat in the shower, letting the warm water fall over your aching body as you stared blankly at your knees. After your panic attack you were left void of emotion and thought, sitting there wondering what to do and how to move. The water was a calming reminder that you were still present and very much alive.

Things had changed very quickly and yet it felt like that change took forever to get to you. Covid hit right before the end of your freshman year, forcing you to move back in with your parents until it “passed.” But it wasn’t passing and now you were starting your sophomore year at home.As stressful as it was, you missed school. You missed your friends, your dorm room, even your part-time job. But most of all, your freedom. You missed the carefree way in which you lived in the dorms. You had a taste or real life and you craved more.

You were trapped, for lack of a better word, imprisoned in your childhood home. You spent days without leaving the confines of it’s walls in a failed attempt to keep you safe and focused on school. Your parents weren’t always so strict, but they made it clear that school should be your top priority and anything else was an unwelcome distraction. Things like your boyfriend, were merely a hindrance to your education.You met Jasper your first day in the dorms. He was bright and smiling like an excited puppy, eager and willing to make new friends and new experiences. You quickly became friends, and then a little more. Before you knew it, the two of you were inseparable. He made you feel so wild and free. He nurtured the fun, carefree side of you that you didn’t even know existed. He cared for you in ways no one ever had before. He was so funny and kind and genuine. He gave you the tools to grow, and with his, you bloomed.

When the pandemic hit, it devastated the two of you. Being isolated and kept from one another proved too much to bare. You remember the first night you snuck out with him, terrified of alerting your parents. They hated Jasper, they forbade you from seeing him. Told you he’d do nothing but keep you down and stifle your potential. If only they could see how happy he made you. If only, they cared.Jasper would creep around to your backyard and gently tap at your bedroom window. 12 am, they’d always be asleep, the perfect time to make a quick get away and then 6am, you’d sneak back through your window.

The adrenaline of misbehaving always drove you crazy. Sneaking around in the dark of the night, stealing chased kisses from one another until it was too much to handle. You fell into each other’s arms almost every night, desperate kisses and moans in between the sound of skin slapping against skin. He made your hair curl.You were his first. He was awkward and silly at times but you whipped him into shape real quick. And now, he was a well trained boy toy ready and willing at any moment you desired. He was always so desperate for you, so needy and greedy for your body. But his kisses, no matter how passionate and crazed, were always so loving. He adored you in every way.

These secret rendezvous went on for months, all summer, it was routine, you couldn’t stay away from him. But, maybe you should have. With more classes fast approaching, you began to think about your future. If only you had the money to move out, you and Jasper could finally have a sense of normalcy. You could move in together, start a life together. But the pandemic and school sucked your savings dry and without the conditioned help from your parents, you were penniless. You finally stood on your shaky legs and lifted yourself out of the show. You dried yourself off, shuffled over to your room, dressing yourself, and waiting till the coast was clear. When all was quiet, you texted Jasper and soon he was at your window. Lucky for you, he wasn’t a far drive away. He gently tapped on the glass and leaned down to flash a big goofy grin from behind your curtains. You opened the window and let him in, shushing him as he fell into the room.

“Hey sweetness.” He whispered, loudly. He planted a soft kiss on your cheek as he held you by your hips.“Please be quiet, you’re making me nervous.” You hushed. His smile disappeared slowly as he examined your face. Your red eyes and puffy cheeks gave away your emotions. He was never good at reading a room, but there was little you could hide from him. He made you transparent.

“Have you been crying?” Worry washed over him as he placed his hands to hold your head and slide his thumbs over the soft skin on your cheeks. You tried to avoid his gaze but failed miserably.“Yeah…” You admitted, wiggling out of his grasp so you could sit on the edge of your bed. Your heart started to race, the anxiety and fear wrenching its was through your body. Even the thoughts made you want to cry again.

“Whats wrong? Did something happen with your parents?” You’d been having fights with them for some time now, and he knew it was taking a tole on you. Jasper offered to being you home to his folks, but his relationship with them was on the rocks as it was. Your small group of close friends were your only support. All things considered, the two of you were left on your own. “No…” You muttered, unable to bring yourself to say it out loud. The tears quickly came back up and started falling again. Your emotions, your fears, your pain took over you. You couldn’t get out a single word before your body jerked uncontrollably as you sobbed. It left a slew of incomplete words spewing from your mouth. “I-I….I-I I’m ….. Mmmm …. I’m …..” gasp, sob “Mmmmmha….” and the sobbing continued.

“Hey…Hey…It’s okay.” He cooed softly to you as he rubbed soft, slow circles on your back. It helped, but not much.“N-No…” you shook as you cried, “I’m-m-m-”

“It’s alright, take deep breaths, you don’t have to say anything until you’re ready.” He whispered to you. You clung to him desperately. It took time, but soon you felt good enough to speak again.“Jasper…”

“What sweetness?” He flashed you his kind and loving smile.“I’m pregnant.” You uttered softly. You watched the color drain from his face. His sweet smile faded away to a scowl and the fear rushed back to you. The sobbing started again as you chanted apology after apology, begging for him to stay with you. He didn’t move, he only held you where you were. Finally spoke.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s okay. This isn’t your fault. We tried, we were safe, it’s not your fault. Shhhhh. It’s okay.” Suddenly a bright light interrupted him. Your bedroom door swing open to reveal the large, looming figure of your mother. “What the hell is going on here!” She screamed. You watched in horror as your mother wrenched Jasper from your arms and threw him out into the living room. You followed her, pleading and begging her to stop as she hurled whatever was in reach at him. Shoes, pillows, plates, before your father reached around his collar to throw him out of the house.

The yelling and screaming continued through the night until the sun came up. Your father nailed your bedroom window shut. Your mother locked your door by pushing furniture in front of it to keep you inside. Your phone, your computer, every form of communication was taken from you. Every mistreatment and punishment being underlined by some iteration of, “this is for your own good” or “this is because we love you.”

You felt stuck in an emotional limbo for days on end as they kept you prisoner. You didn’t have the energy to cry or argue, there was nothing you could do or say. You had sit and stay, like a good girl.

One night you were woken by a soft tapping at your bedroom window. You jolted out of bed to see a pair of familiar eyes pear back. Monty stood on the other outside, a face mask and baseball cap hiding his features. He held up a notebook with writing on it and pressed it against the glass.

“Are you okay?” It read. You rushed to find paper and write back.

“I’m fine. Wheres Jasper?”

“Your Dad threatened to shoot him if he saw him again. So he sent me.” He wrote back.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. We’re busting you out of here.”

“How? They’re getting security cameras installed tomorrow.” Monty looked visibly concerned and thought for a moment before responding.

“Then we’ll have to do it tonight. Pack what you can. We’ll be back to get you in an hour.”

“How are you going to get me out? The window is nailed shut, I can’t get out.”

“Don’t worry. Just be prepare to run.” And with that, he left. You packed what you could. A few items of clothing, necessities, and water. You thought about leaving a note. Maybe telling your parents about your pregnancy, they had missed that part of your conversation, thank god. You decided against it, you still didn’t know what to do. Regardless, it was safe to say you could kiss your funding for school goodbye. You’d be on your own from now on. Well, not entirely.

You heard shuffling outside your bedroom window and looked outside to see two dark figures racing past. You watched as Bellamy peered in, face also obscured by a mask, and waved at you. Jasper’s mask covered face popped into view and planted his palm on the window before holding up a notebook.

“Get away from the window, and be prepared to run.” It read. As soon as you nodded in agreement, Jasper disappeared from view. You watched Bellamy swing his arms back with a crow bar in hand. The window shattered with a loud crash, glass flying all over your bedroom. He reached a hand out to you, his grasp firm as you clung to his forearm. You were pulled through to the outside and fell to the ground below.

“Go, go, go, run!” Bellamy whispered, loudly. You looked up at your parent’s house as the sound of dogs barking rang in your ears. Lights flew on from the house as well as neighbor’s lights. You felt so stiff and ridged. The urge to run suppressed by your fear. Jasper reached down and took your hand in his. You looked up at him, his eyes wide with urgency. He tugged at your arm, begging you to get up and run with him.

Suddenly, you felt free. You felt the strength to get up and push forward. Running with him to a car parked outside the house. The three of you bolted, tripping over yourselves as you raced against the clock. As soon as you were in the car, Octavia greeted you with a big toothy grin.

“Drive! Drive!Drive!” Jasper shouted at her. Her smile disappeared as she looked back at Jasper with you before her attention went back to the car. The engined roared as she adjusted the gears and soon you were off. Still panting, you looked back at your childhood home and saw your parents tumble out of the front door to try and chase after the car. Your dad tried to chase after the car, but stopped when he realized it was no use. Their figures soon disappeared.

Octavia cheered triumphantly as you turned back to catch your breath. A great big smile stretched across your face. You’d never felt so free before. You looked over to see Jasper still panting but sporting a bright smile as he looked at you. He reached a hand around the back of your head and pulled you in for a passionate kiss. You laughed and basked in the blissful feeling the adrenaline gave you.

Soon the moment passed and you were left holding one another’s hand as Octavia drove you to Bellamy’s apartment. You stayed the night, planned your escape. Apparently Jasper’s parents didn’t know he was leaving either, meaning the two of you were officially on the run. You had to leave town, like, now.

You pooled what money the two of you had, quick to take cash out of your account before your parents could freeze your debit card. Enough to get you out of town and settled in a hotel for a few nights, maybe even a few meals. But you couldn’t afford much without work after that. Lucky for the two of you, a friend from the dorms lived just a town over. You could stay with her a few days while you looked for work.

“What are you going to do?” Bellamy asked with a dark expression as he stared at you.

“What?” You were confused, hadn’t you just laid out your plan?

“Jasper told me you were...you have another problem.” His eyes flashed between the two of you before resting on you again, he was careful to not say anything too pointed.

“Oh...I...I don’t know.” You said under a whisper. Jasper rested a firm hand on your knee.

“How long have you known?” Octavia asked.

“Like a few days. Theres still time to think about it, I just...I just wanna get out right now.” Bellamy nodded his head.

“If you guys need anything, don’t be afraid to call okay?” He handed you a prepaid phone. You thanked them for your help, packed up, and left the next night. You hid under masks and baseball hats as you sat at the bus station. The cool night air brushed against you skin as you admired the bright lights of the street lamps above. Jasper squeezed your hand in his to get your attention. You looked at one another and smiled under your mask.

You’d never tell him this, but during the coarse of your relationship you had always worried about Jasper. Worried that maybe you weren’t as serious as you felt. Maybe you were just a little fun to him, the rush of a forbidden romance being what drove him to you. But now, with him so willing run. So willing to leave his comfortable life just for you. Regardless of the responsibilities that came with it. He chose you, without a second thought, he chose you.

The dark street road was empty and serene. You watched as bats flew down to catch bugs that swarmed the lights above you. Despite your situation, you felt safe and warm there beside him. For the first time, you felt confident that everything is going to be okay.

#jasper jordan #jasper jordan imagine #jasper jordan smut #jasper x reader #jasper jordan x reader #The 100 #the 100 au #The 100 college au #the 100 imagine #jasper jordan x pregnant reader #jasper

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highfunctioningflailgirl · 4 years ago

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My Lethal White episode 1 recap

After having had a lot of fun recapping episode 2, I went back and did episode 1 as well. It got a bit out of hand and is a loooong post...

Under the cut, because, evidently, there will be ALL THE SPOILERS! 🚨

*SQUEEEEE!!!* THEY’RE BACK!!! 🤗💃🏻🙌🏼 (Yes, I’m still squeeing, although this is a rewatch)

Let’s look at the title sequence, shall we? They’ve added a few new details: There’s the wooden cross from the dell, the White Horse of Uffington and Robin’s Houses of Parliament guest pass. The child from Billy’s memories and the pink blanket. Someone’s already mentioned the ‘whore’ swirling in the coffee cup, and then later we have a fencing icon in the pint. Cool hints. 😎

Cut to tired, head-achy Cormoran at the wedding. Strike has a slightly different haircut, and I wonder: they dye Tom’s hair darker for the role, but he has a glint of natural first grey at the temples that I’ve seen on Tom pre-Strike. How did they keep that? (Sorry about the hair kink digression…☺️)

Pet peeve of mine they carried over from Career of Evil: in the book, Donald Laing slashes Strike’s palm, but it didn’t happen in the series. There was no blood on his hand when he called Robin, and his glove was intact. And yet, Strike has his hand bandaged. I know it’s a silly pet peeve of mine, but stuff like that pulls me out of the moment. And Strike wouldn’t slap on a bandage just for a little bruising. *steps off soap box*

“You look beautiful.” - “And you look terrible.” - “It’s this jacket, needs taking in.” 😂

“I want you back.” - “What?” Augh, the double meaning of it all, Strike’s softness and Robin’s initial uncertainty of what he means. 🥺

When she realizes that Matt deleted Strike’s messages, there’s a tear spilling from her eye, and she quickly wipes it away. 😢 Such good acting. Such a brave girl.

A few of us have already addressed this in the chat: did Matt BLOCK Strike, or delete his calls and messages? Or both? They’re frustratingly unclear about this detail, and it makes a difference in terms of Strike being able to reach her or not. (I’m a continuity nerd, sorry)

Sarah standing next to Matthew. *gags*

Robin looks so beautiful! And so very sad. (Holliday is acting her heart out of this season, can’t say it enough). This is award material, hands-down. 🏆

Her look across the room at Cormoran while they’re eating! And he’s… just been staring at her all through the meal? Good god. These two.

If Cormoran falls asleep before dessert he’s got to be really, REALLY tired.☺️ Poor baby.

We’ve got to work on your fine dining skills, Cormoran darling! It’s very cowboy and rugged, handling cutlery like that, but you would SINK during an aristocracy under-cover op. Maybe the Comte de la Fère is available for a lesson?

The first chords of The Calling’s “Wherever you will go”. Ack. They really went for the original, and as someone who’s always been ridiculously in love with that cheesy song, I AM HERE FOR IT.

Cormoran walking slow-mo past the bridesmaids, looking at Robin dancing with Matt The Twat. My heart…💔

When I’m gone you’ll need love to light the shadows on your face… *sniff*

Cormoran’s FACE during the dance. I can’t. He looks like a puppy about to get shot. 🥺

(and what a juxtaposition to the little lady with the funny hat bobbing happily next to him, to everyone looking awww and being completely ignorant of the drama that’s playing out. Ugh. I’m dead.)

Matthew moves like someone who’s (painstakingly) learned exactly one (1) dance, and for their wedding only, and why is he even smiling so proudly? They must’ve just had the biggest row in history? Is he really so full of himself?

Even Robin is smiling, although staring longingly at Strike. I bet they did that so Strike would be a little mad at her and want to walk away.

AND HE DOES! 😟 You can just see the “Fuck this” from the book crossing his face as he turns around and leaves. Ack. I’m dead again.

If I could then I would, I’ll go wherever you will go

(Perfectly placed, kudos) 👏🏼

And she runs after him, looking like a fairy-tale princess. Did you see how frigging COLD it must’ve been, judging by her breath?! Poor Holliday must have been freezing to death during the shoot. And then to pull off such a heartbreaking scene…

(Also, the lawn in the park? A shitload of rolled sods. No grass looks this lusciously green in winter, and you can see the edges everywhere. Some landscaper had a field day there!)

“Are you sure?” - “Yeah. I am.” About WHAT, you idiots?! *wrings hands* To her coming back to work, of course, but there’s so much more to their statements. And I’m sure that non-book-readers thought they were about to kiss and elope, but - alas! - we know that’s not going to happen.😔

But at least we get The Hug™️, and it’s everything we hoped for: Robin crying, digging her fingers into his jacket; Cormoran closing his eyes… God help us, we are all DOOMED sailing this ship! 🙈💔

I was a little miffed upon first watching that they faded out of that hug so quickly. That was it? No, it wasn’t, as we now know, and I love, love, love that we’re getting all these extended flashbacks that reveal more and more of what happened to us!

ONE BLOODY YEAR LATER (I still can’t get over that time jump)

Lol at the subcontractor crashing his moped into the cab! It was only briefly mentioned in the book, and turning it into an actual dialogue was a fun idea.😂

And there’s Denise (that IS her, right?), completely uninterested in doing her job. Good grief - Strike and Robin are BAD a picking employees! 🙈

Robin looking not-jealous-at-all at Strike walking off with Lorelei. Ouch.

I like Lorelei, btw. They chose the actress well, and she’s nice and mature. Which doesn’t mean that I’m not secretly flinching every time she kisses Cormoran. It’s just not right.

Billy. Joseph Quinn does an incredible job playing him. 👏🏼 As dangerous as he appears at first, his despair and his efforts at holding himself together are heartbreaking. That battle he wages against his mental illness is on full display, and his scared big eyes are killing me. 🥺

Cormoran is admirably unfazed by Billy’s appearance - is that his Army training kicking in? Robin, though, is shaking but braving it out, recording with her phone although her hands are trembling. Good acting by Holliday.

Good riddance, Denise.

The good ole’ pencil trick. “I didn’t know people still did this.” 😌

I was surprised that Cormoran chose to simply break into the house on Charlemont road. It’s breaking and entering for no good reason. Could’ve been anybody’s home.

He’s not going to- EWW! He’s sitting down on that filthy couch. And plucking hairs from it. EWW!🤢

Robin: “...and some porn.” 😂 Says it as if it’s what they always find. The usual. Men… 🙄

Who’s the guy taking pictures of Cormoran? I seriously don’t remember this from the b- Oh, WAIT! Reporter guy. Patterson. Yeah. Him.

The CORE members are as cliché in their looks as are Chiswell’s upper class folks. It’s all a bit on the nose for my taste, but then clichés are clichés for a reason.

Cormoran needs to work on his disguises. Not fitting in at all with the CORE crowd, age-wise or in his look. No wonder they don’t trust him. He does it better in the books.

Oh Robin. I actually think you need a lot more therapy to work through your shit.

Ah, here we go. Seaborn bacteria. But first, Matt’s got to be a prick again. 🙄

Chiswell with his arrogance and his rudeness and his finger-snapping. *shakes head* I think if Cormoran hadn’t known he could make some serious money with this case, he may have walked out on him.

Btw, the “large” jacket is making Strike look slimmer instead of bigger. 😄 They’re so desperately mentioning Strike’s largeness, as if beating it over our heads could actually make us not see barely-6-foot and slender Tom Burke.

“Couple more potatoes wouldn’t hurt.” And his FACE! 🥰

Glenister is a really good actor. I always listen to the Strike audiobooks that he narrates, and I was worried hearing his voice in the show would be confusing, but it’s not because he sounds so different. Can’t wait for him reading “Troubled Blood” to me! 🎧

Is it a coincidence that Drummond’s art gallery has a painting of a horse in its front window? I think not.

I love that soft blue shirt they put Cormoran in. Makes him look very huggable. *blushes*

“Not sure I would make a convincing goddaughter either.”😂

So in England you can just walk up to a minister’s house and ring the doorbell without any security people stopping you? Interesting.

Chiswell just shutting the door in Cormoran’s face. RUDE.😠

The brown contact lenses. 👀 Okay, they make her look different, but not THAT different. It’s her sudden posh accent that’s the real stunner.

The panic attacks. Holliday plays them so well, I almost feel like I can’t breathe myself. 😧

I was expecting the Houses of Parliament to look a little less like a stuffy basement full of old junk. *ducks*

Barclay! Definitely looking more attractive than his description in the book. And I thought I’d gotten food at understanding Scottish. I haven’t. *turns subtitles on*

Izzy is the only Chiswell offspring who doesn’t make me want to immediately vomit.

“Venetia. Like the blinds.” Oh God. 🙈

Winn is such a creep. 🤮 Poor Robin. GET AWAY FROM HER YOU LEECH!

Of course Matt doesn’t want Robin to wear the Green Dress. Twat.🙄

The house warming party. I always wonder why Robin doesn’t have friends of her own. I have a feeling Matt has something to do with that.

The earrings. So we will see Robin finding out Matt’s cheating on her! I can’t wait for her to rip him a new one! 😈

Robin calls Cormoran - and it’s not Coco but Lorelei who picks up. That’s a smart change from the book. And it makes her the rebound girl. Which she doesn’t deserve, but it is what it is.

“And she bakes.” 🥴 Is it just me wondering how Lorelei got that cake into the tin without ruining the icing?!

Flashback to The Hug™️. God, their faces are so close. Cormoran is so soft. Nnnnhhhggggg.

Enter the plaid shirt. Lumber!Cormoran is a good look on him! 😍

The Armchair of Sadness™️. Of course that’s where the devastating phone call to Robin’s house happens! The disbelief and disappointment on Cormoran’s face is heart rending. 😢💔

@lulacat3 and I have already established the continuity error with Cormoran’s facial injuries suddenly missing when he’s reached the pub. (And they should still be there; he’s still wearing the plaid shirt from that same evening.) If I were the makeup person I would have been deeply regretful of having missed dabbing fake injuries on Tom’s face again.

The Uffington Horse. Robin’s in appropriate Wellingtons, weather jacket and a beanie for their outing. Cormoran is wearing what he always wears, and Tom clearly wishes he had a beanie. At least he gets to wear a t-shirt under his eternally blue shirts this season. REVOLUTION! 😄

Sure. Let’s just go and dig for a corpse with a shovel so conveniently available! Just the two of them - one delicate Robin and one invalid. And then Robin finds the bones after ten seconds of digging. No further comment. 🙄

But I like the change with Cormoran’s leg. As stupidly heroic as he acted in the book, I like it better in the show where he has to acknowledge his handicap and Robin takes charge.

The bones. Dun-dun-DUN!

(Good first episode, although all in all the pacing wasn’t quite right yet, and compared to the book it all felt a bit rushed. I liked episode two better.)

#lethal white #cormoran strike #lw #lethal white episode 1 #cb strike #bbc strike #spoiler alert 🚨

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c-c-cherry · 4 years ago

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I saw this hc on insta from kerbabbles, and it's abt Zeppeli being Jonababy's father figure (bc George might've messed him up bad bc he was rly strict with jona) so I was wondering if you have any hcs for this hc. Do ya?

Hello!! I’d never seen this artist before when this popped up in my ask box so I checked them out and HHHHGGGNNNN OH MY GOD I’ve gotten a taste of glory that I’m probably never going to get again because part one is horrendously underwritten but Jesus it was an idea that I’d never even thought of but now I can never live without itjjfhgjkghf

I am now a firm believer now that the reason Jonathan punched toxic masculinity down like a sack of potatoes is because of William Anthonio Zeppeli. This man builty his confidence up so much compared to living with Dio for years AND SHOWED HIM THE LOVE HE DESERVES

So you know what I WILL do? Make some wholesome headcanons because I need to dump my thoughts on this matter somewhere. And because Jonathan Joestar needs a gentle parental figure, too :)

(Go check out Kerbabbles on Instagram! They’ve got that good wholesome shit and inspired this ask and this post!)

Alright without further ado:

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Zeppeli learns by the second training day that raising his voice is a big no-no

-He hasn’t known Jojo for long, but training for the first time is rough

-There’s a lot of methods to Hamon training, especially when you’re first training someone, and he learns pretty quickly that the calm and collected route is the way to go with our boy Jojo

-The moment he starts to raise his voice, even if its out of praise, he can see Jonathan completely stiffen and lose all focus that he initially had

-Jojo just keeps vigorously apologizing each time he’s done it and almost braces himself to get yelled at again

-He refuses to talk about why he reacts this way and Will ain’t gonna lie,,,that shit’s kinda concerning ;-;

-But he makes due with it and makes sure to be chill with praise and criticism alike :)

Jonathan’s perfectionism is surprisingly extremely high

-A bit of a flaw with Jonathan is that he’s not only very wary of things he isn’t perfect at, but he also gets impossibly frustrated when he can’t do them perfectly from the beginning >:(

-He’s like one of those sweet, soft people that could never raise their voice to people they love but get so angry with themselves that they just end up glaring really hard at the ground until they start crying out of pure frustration

-George Joestar fucked him up in that sense

-He was always raised to be perfect at everything he did, and when he wasn’t he would be forced to keep on going until he could or deprive him of things when he couldn’t

-Because of Dio humiliating him at every mistake he made as they were growing up, he’s just fucking terrified of failing in front of other people

-He’ll screw something up and get ready for a barrage of insults only for Will to be like “its okay, just try again”

-It gets to the point where he starts thinking that if he hasn’t disappointed Zeppeli yet, he’s bound to at some point and starts being the one who’s actually the hardest on himself

-When he messes something up, he’ll go without dinner because his logic is ‘if I don’t punish myself then he will and that’s even more shameful’

-It starts to get noticeable and in the end Will is practically shoving a soup bowl into his hand like “son you need to eat” and Jojo is so fucking confused because he didn’t do anything right so how could he possibly earn it?

-It ends up with the two of them arguing over it while Speedwagon and Poco are just sitting there like ;_;

“I don’t need this. I haven’t earned it.”

“You’ve been training all day! Of course, you’ve earned it!”

“I haven’t done a single thing right today! I shouldn’t—”

“You need to eat to keep your strength up.”

“But I don’t—”

“You don’t what?”

“I don’t—deserve it!”

“Who said you didn’t deserve it?”

-And the moment he says that, Jojo gets this look on his face and Zeppeli’s internally like shit fuck and Jonathan absolutely crumbles

-His mind goes back to all those nights growing up that he didn’t earn or deserve dinner that night because he couldn’t master whatever skill George wanted and Dio could do

-Because of course he needs to be punished for being bad and messing up, its the only way he can learn

-Because what other way was there?

“...”

“...you always deserve it.”

-There. Are. Tears.

-Jonathan slurps up his soup like a good boy and THERE ARE TEARS

-And he eats his dinner that night knowing he does deserve it (because Will and Speedwagon won’t stop reminding him <3 )

Speedwagon is asthmatic (and Zeppeli figures this out the hard way)

-He’s always wondered why Speedwagon is basically incapable of learning Hamon because the man seems to have a lot of skill in combat and even more in resilience

-Speedy doesn’t really seem to know either but he said he’s just awful at controlling stuff like his breathing so that must be why

-Will just thinks he’s over-exaggerating for the most part

-Until one really chilly night he wakes up to someone gasping for air

-He creeps over and realizes its Speedwagon and tries to get him to regulate but he just keeps gasping that he can’t

-He thinks its a panic attack of some sort and tries to reassure him that he can and it's alright but it doesn’t help and he comes to the realization that Speedwagon literally cannot breathe

-He props our boy Speedy up and and rubs his back to help him actually fuckin’ breathe and does some cool Hamon ripple shit and JONATHAN AND POCO SOMEHOW ARE JUST ABLE TO SLEEP THROUGH THIS

-After coughing a significant amount, he’s finally stabilized and Will’s like “bro what the fuck was that” because Speedy just seems absolutely cool with it

-”Oh, I told you I couldn’t breathe sometimes, didn’t I?”

-Hggnnn he didn’t think the man meant it literally

-He can’t really teach him Hamon, but he does the next best thing: use his Hamon to protect his homie :)

The king of keeping calm >:)

-Yes he is the calm dad friend. Yes he will use this to his advantage

-Sometimes Jojo gets too worked up about everything and focuses so hard on breathing that he forgets how to breathe entirely and our man is there to help

-Breathing exercises? Yeah. Meditating? Hell yeah. Sometimes just being the one to hug you and say that everything is going to be okay? MEGA HELL YEAH.

-Between:

Speedwagon: a known freak-outer

Jonathan: who’s been living in the Joestar mansion his entire life and doesn’t have a shred of street smarts

And a literal CHILD

he needs to be doing damage control all the damn time

The dad energy is impeccable

-He was a father, after all. He’s good at what he does

-BEST HUGS HANDS DOWN. Just looking at this man gives off good hug vibes :)

-Is the oldest and most experienced in the group and is always down to drop some sick wisdom

-The dad ‘stache

-Jonathan laments about the looming Dio confrontation a lot and doesn’t sleep as much as he should, but Will is always there to stay up with him

-George never had time to talk about things like feelings, but Jonathan notices that Zeppeli actually...wants to?

-Will claims it’s good for your lungs to get stuff off your chest, but Jonathan is really taken aback when the man starts asking him about how he’s feeling and why

-Before he knows it he’s spilling over and telling him EVERYTHING

-Good cry. Good hugs. Good, cathartic time

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

As if I thought I couldn’t get anymore feral with my headcanons. This takes the fucking cake, I think. I’m so feral for phantom blood found family now you don’t even KNOW

Thanks for bearing with me. My ask box is open if you have some good ol’ headcanon questions (or if you just wanna come say hi hehe <3)

#jjba #jjba headcanons #ask-c-c-cherry #jonathan joestar #jojos's bizarre adventure #speedwagon #will zeppeli #phantom blood

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neerasrealm · 4 years ago

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Distrust

A story about Toby waking up after the events of his origin story. Trigger warning for some talk about trauma, blood, murder, self harm, panic attacks and some cursing.

Word count: 1941

The world seemed blurry as he opened his eyes. His body felt tired. He blinked in the dim light. The ceiling looked unfamiliar. It wasn’t his cramped, dusty attic room, nor was it his mom’s room or his sister’s. He shifted on the bed. It felt soft- too soft for it to be something they could afford. His first thought, as he rolled over and looked at the drawn curtains, was that he was in a hotel. The room had orange walls, and the curtains were a light grey. Light poured in through them, meaning it was still day, or maybe evening.

Rolling onto his back again he groaned softly. His throat felt dry. Sitting up, he looked around. The room was empty, and way bigger than any room in his own house. He looked to the side, brushing messy brown hair out of his eyes. There was a table next to the bed with a glass of water on it. He reached over quickly and grabbed the glass, taking a couple long sips. He looked around some more. There wasn’t much of anything in the room. A wardrobe, two bedside tables and a mirror. That was all. He frowned. How had he even gotten here?

He- didn’t remember much. He hadn’t been able to remember much of anything since...the crash...involuntarily, he shuddered. He curled up, remembering flashes of the past few weeks. Voices in his head, the faceless monster that had been terrorising him, his- his own dead sister, wailing and walking towards him- her voice still echoed in his head even now. Calling his name, coughing on her own blood, her breathing raspy from her chest being crushed in on itself-

He buried his head in his hands, shaking. His shoulders jerked wildly, his panicked tics kicking in quickly. His nails dug into his scalp. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. He pulled his hands down, his bloody fingers going to his mouth. He chewed on them with little care for how badly he hurt them. Why should he? He couldn’t feel pain. None at all. He laughed horsley. He couldn’t feel pain but he could still feel the weight of his traumas, the weight of his grief, the weight of-

His crimes.

He’d- oh- oh god- he remembered now. His father. Below him, dead. The horrified look on his mom’s face. The fire-

He bit down on his fingers, hard, and whimpered. Tears rolled down his face and he sobbed. Loud, ugly sobs full of agony. He coughed and wheezed. This happened every time he cried. He’d find it difficult to breathe and he’d be reduced to wheezing and coughing. His sobs only got louder and his breathing got worse. Mixed with tears blurring his vision and the taste of blood filling his mouth, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything. He stayed there. Shaking. Sobbing.

When he finally finished crying he pulled his fingers out of his mouth. He took deep, wheezy breaths. He looked down at the blood trickling down his hands and sniffled. He hugged his knees and buried his face in them. He could only whimper softly to himself and twitch as he waited to calm down.

‘’Toby?’’

The very last thing he needed right now was a deep, unfamiliar voice calling out his name. His head shot up and he stared at the door, shaking in fear and twitching from his tourettes. He sniffled.

‘’H-’’ his body shivered involuntarily. ‘’Hello…?’’

The door creaked open. Toby froze. His blood ran cold and his breathing quickened. He crawled back on the bed, frozen against the wall. Staring back at him was the white, faceless creature that had been tormenting him. It stepped into the room and approached him slowly.

‘’Calm down, Toby, I’m not going to hurt you.’’ It said in the same deep, unfamiliar voice from before. He was panicking too much to look at the second person entering the room after the creature. His body was shaking, his heart pounding as adrenalin filled him. The creature reached out to him, and Toby darted off the bed. He stumbled across the room to the window. He whirled around, staring at the creature as it watched his movements. ‘’Don’t worry I-’’

‘’How the fuck does it speak without a mouth?!’’ was all Toby could think. He looked behind him at the window. As fast as he could with shaking hands, he shoved it open and put his foot up on the sill. He heard two voices yell behind him but he didn’t care. He took a deep breath then leapt out the window. He screwed his eyes shut, bracing for the fall that would no doubt injure him badly.

But it never came. Instead, something gripped his waist and slowly pulled him up. He stared down at the ground that was getting further and further away. He stared at the forest in front of him as he was lifted up and away from freedom. He was ever so gently placed back on his bed and he realised, to his horror, that the thing lifting him had been a-a tendril- that had somehow appeared from behind the faceless creature. It disappeared again and Toby could only stare at the faceless thing and whimper to himself. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and crawled back to the edge of the bed.

‘’Please calm down- I-I mean you no harm I promise-’’ The faceless monster said again in a tone too concerned and caring to belong to- well, a faceless monster. Toby whined feebly. God he sounded pathetic and he felt it. Escape was impossible and he was probably going to die here. Eaten or torn apart or driven insane until he couldn’t take it anymo-

‘’E’s scared ‘ve ya, Slen.’’

Toby was pulled out of his horrified thoughts by the thickest fucking cockney accent he had ever heard. Definitely the second scariest thing he’d experienced today. He looked to the voice’s owner for the first time and looked them over. They were incredibly tall, with messy black hair, feathers on their shoulders, suspenders, striped socks that matched their cone-shaped nose and- oh yes, they were incredibly skinny and had pure white skin. The bandages around their- his? Hands and torso didn’t help either. It implied this...clown? Mime? Had been injured at some point. And that allowed Toby’s brain to suggest it was the faceless creature’s doing. Which made him more freaked out.

The faceless creature- Slen, apparently, looked at the mime-clown man. ‘’I mean- I’ve told him I don’t mean any harm,’’ somehow this monster sounded genuinely upset and worried. He looked at Toby. ‘’I just want to-’’

‘’Slen,’’ the mime- clown? Clown, he’s guessing clown, interrupted. ‘’Le’ me ‘andle i’. Ye’ll only freak th’ bin lid ou’ more.’’

Slen looked away from Toby and at his- companion? For a few moments, fiddling with his hands. ‘’Fine.’’ he finally said defeatedly. He looked at Toby as he grabbed the door handle. ‘’I’m sorry little one, I-’’

‘’Ye don’ call teens li’le un, Slen.’’ The clown interrupted. ‘’Now go. ‘Ll make sure e’s awrigh’.’’

Slen sighed and left the room, leaving Toby and the slightly less horrifying monster alone. Toby looked over at the clown. Was he supposed to be scared? Relaxed? Intimidated? He didn’t know, and he wanted to go home.

"Calm down, kiddo. I ain' g'nna 'urt ya." The clown said calmly. "Take deep brea'hs fer me, alrigh'?"

Toby closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. He counted to seven then exhaled, counting to eleven as he did so. He repeated the process until he felt calm enough to not want to try the window escape again. He opened his eyes and looked at the clown, still very much afraid. His neck twitched wildly, making his head jerk awkwardly.

"Y'okay?" The clown asked. Toby nodded. "Good." The clown approached the bed slowly and sat on the edge, still looking at him. "Ye prob'bly 'ave a lo' 'f questions, yeh?" He asked. Toby gave a nod. "Go ahead then. I'll answer 'em fer ya."

Toby fiddled with his bloody hands. Occasionally his fingers would curl up wildly, making him accidentally scratch himself. "Wh- where am I…?" He asked softly.

"Ye're in our gaf, big 'ol mansion in th' woods. Ye live in one a th' 'ouses on th' edge 'f th' fores', dontcha?"

Toby was quiet for a few moments, trying to translate the cockney into English. "Uh- yeah, yeah I do."

"Ah. We live in th' fores', away from ye 'umans fer ah- obvious reas'ns."

"So you're not human?" Toby blurted. The clown laughed, a noise that was hearty but rough and raspy, like his speaking voice.

"Nah, 'm no'. Ta pu' i' simply, I'm a livin' toy. Full a stuffin' an all tha' barry whi'e."

A- a living...toy? Barry White? Who- what-

"What's um- what's your name then?" Toby asked cautiously. Every answer the clown gave seemed to bring up even more questions. The poor boy was getting more confused and unnerved by the second.

"Jack." The clown replied. "Ye're Toby, yeh?"

"T-Toby Rogers." He mumbled. "Why- why am I here?" He asked softly.

"Well Slen found ya when 'e was comin' back wiv th' shoppin'. 'E saw th' fores' burnin' an' you in th' middle of i' all, so 'e pulled ya from th' fire an' brough' ya 'ere ta patch ye up." Jack pointed at the boy's arm. Toby hadn't even noticed it, but there were some bandages on his arms. "Ye didn' ge' burned too much bu' ye still looked pre'y bashed. 'E also found a lo' a- bruises an' scars- did wha' 'e could fer em." Jack looked at him, like he was hoping Toby would explain his other injuries.

"He-" Toby gulped. "That thing took me here?"

"Yeh. Slen- 'e's always been one fer 'elpin' others…" Jack smiled a bit. "E'll bring ya 'ome, don' worry."

"No he won't!" Toby yelped. Jack jumped, seemingly caught off guard by the yelling. "He- that thing has been terrorising me for weeks! Standing outside my window and shit!" Toby's fear began to turn to anger. He'd been kidnapped, forced to kill his own flesh and blood, driven to the brink of his very sanity and this toy was telling him the creature meant him no harm?! "He's been in my head for weeks! I couldn't sleep because of the voices he put in my head and he- it made me kill my own fucking dad!" There were tears in his eyes again. He shook from all the pent up anger he'd been shutting out for weeks- no, months, maybe even years by now!

"Kiddo, I know Slen, 'e wouldn' do tha'." Jack looked concerned.

Toby glared at the clown. "Well how the fuck am I supposed to trust you? You're on its side." He spat. Jack sighed.

"Ye don' 'ave any reasons ta trus' me, bu' neither me or Slen wanna 'urt ya." He said softly. "Wha' ye saw, wha'ever's been tormen'in' ya, i' wasn' Slen. I've known 'im fer over a century now. 'E doesn' do tha', 'specially no' ta kids."

Toby didn't say a word. He just glared at Jack. Eventually the clown sighed. "Alrigh'. I'll leave ya be." He stood up and looked over at Toby. "Ye wan' lunch?"

Toby hugged his knees and shook his head. He definitely wasn't going to eat anything that came from the monster or the clown. Jack sighed and left the room without a word, leaving Toby alone with just his anger, fear and bloody fingers.

#creepypasta #creepypasta fanfic #creepypasta fanfiction #ticci toby #toby rogers #laughing jack #slenderman #slender mansion #writing

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heathtrash · 4 years ago

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a little one year anniversary

one year ago today i started writing A Clock With No Hands, my first ever published fanfic in the history of my life, which then i managed to publish on the 7th august once ao3 let me in :’) a big ole happy birthday to what has been affectionately renamed “No Hams” by my f,fans :’) (yes, chapter 12 is still in the works and i’m sorry i got super side-tracked and fell into that 80s hicsqueak hole)

i didn’t really expect it to be seen or found or even liked?? i was just in this “heck, i’m feeling reckless and i guess fanfic might be fun?” mood while staying with my friends in northern ireland. i wrote the entire first two chapters on my mOBILE TELEPHONE and managed to work out how to publish it on ao3 while on holiday. the response was astonishing and i pretty quickly got embraced into the fandom after i unearthed this tumblr account from a million years ago. i’m so lucky to have had the warmth and friendship of so many people and i honestly don’t know if i would still be here without you all. your comments and kudos are the only positive thing i really have in my life and that’s not super healthy but it’s genuinely where i’m at,,

so anyway, a couple of weeks ago i noticed that i was pretty near a big milestone with my ao3 account - over the course of almost one year i was 8080 words off publishing 300k. is that a lot? is it worth celebrating or acknowledging? i don’t really know. but since numbers motivate me, apparently, i knew i had to meet this artificial target somehow, and planned to spread it across two short one-shots. i ended up exceeding that target with my latest hackle fic, A Rather Distinguished Guest, to my surprise (and delight, bc i needed a break after somehow producing a historical 1900s fic with a fair amount of research packed into 13k in the space of 6 days). on the last day i wrote 5k. i wasn’t rushing to finish,, i was just too involved in it to stop myself!

so now at present, i have 305203 words published on ao3 (quite a few more in unpublished works (bc they are wips, not bc i am holding them back)). essentially i wrote 833.9 words a day. so i would like to humbly take a moment to cry/reflect about how far i’ve come

while i think i have definitely, through a process of attrition, done Something there, i am also aware that i managed that and come out not being any more confident in my work than the first time i published. in fact, i feel mostly even less confident. putting oneself out there *and* keeping going is hard, especially in a small fandom, but for me it’s been kind of a herculean effort. i have many, many demons in the form of some good old cptsd from what my brain thinks of as catastrophic failure in academia, so the process of writing, and people looking at my writing specifically gives me flashbacks and other unpleasant kinds of feelings i won’t go into. i recently spoke to my phd supervisor (bc guess what, i’m still on that Fun Train) and she said of my fanfiction that i’d “developed a kind of exposure therapy”. it’s definitely not directly comparable to academic writing, but now at least i can look at a blank document of any kind without getting Too Much of a panic attack. but i still have a big problem accepting comments and i have a huge backlog from literally the past six months that i haven’t answered bc sometimes saying “thank you” makes me feel like i’m a terrible and arrogant person, even if it’s really lovely reading the comment and makes me want to hide for a million years and become a blush-monster forever. and there are times when i realise that yep, the next fic/chapter will be the one where you all realise i’ve been fooling you the whole time and i’m really just a rubbish writer who belongs in the bin (that’s why my name is heathtrash) and you are all going to be disappointed in me. i’m just waiting for the next negative comment to confirm what i believe about myself.

not ALL of the 305k-odd words i wrote have been for tww (7618 exactly for other fandoms) and that is definitely something i am a little disappointed about. but look, numbers don’t super matter. in the interest of supporting all writers of all lengths and types of works - however much you have contributed to a fandom, that is amazing! you have produced free content that people can experience together with you, and that in itself is beautiful! milestones aren’t important especially and no one should hold themselves to unrealistic standards to try to meet them (,,, except you know i will)

so uh,, happy 300,000 words/one year of being a fanfic writer to me?

if you have ever written a comment or left kudos, thank you, you are a STAR :’)

if you are one of the people who comments on all of my fics and every chapter, aaaaaaaaaaAAAAA you have done more for me than you could ever know, and i owe you so much :’’)

#heathtrash writes #i should have written an actual fic for this day instead of some silly post #i'm sorry #well anyway #300k #one year a fanfic writer #queue'd better believe it

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jaybug-jabbers · 4 years ago

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All-Glitch Pokemon Blue Run Pt12: The Ol’ Razzle ZZAZZLE

June,

What you were standing in was essentially a phantom town. You are correct-- they seem to be parallel universes we can sometimes gain access to. However, in our research we have yet to determine why they are seemingly void of life . . . or human life, in the very least.

As promised, I am sending you directions now on how to make contact with glitchy people. Perhaps that will make these Glitch Cities and phantom towns seem a little less lonely. You must be very careful, though, June. Interacting with glitched people can be incredibly dangerous. Some of them are trainers, just like you or I, but they seem to often use glitched pokemon.

That in and of itself is hazardous enough, but some glitched trainers can also trigger something called ‘ZZAZZ.’ The ZZAZZ phenomenon is one of the single most devastating things known to exist. It affects not only the trainer, but the trainer’s pokemon and the world around them. Even when glitch trainers do not trigger ZZAZZ, there are plenty of other strange effects to look out for.

Exercise extreme caution, and be sure to report back to me any of your findings.

-Professor Gingko

---

Professor,

The glitch trainers are a strange bunch. I was eager to try and talk to them, but every one of them remained silent when I approached and greeted them. They held a blank expression, their eyes glazed over. Some of them looked like normal people, while others were recognizably human but highly distorted. Still others were simply a glitchy, twitching mess.

I never could communicate with any of them, but I did succeed in engaging some of them in pokemon battles. I figured that was a type of communication, in a way. At least it helped me learn a little more about some of them. I kept careful notes of my encounters. I will list them here, organized by the number I’ve assigned them.

TRAINER #248:

This trainer was very thin and glitchy looking. My GlitchDex told me their name was “PK.” They began battle by sending out a Charizard‘M at level 26.

This is the first time I experienced the ZZAZZ phenomenon. As you predicted, it had a powerful influence, transforming most of my own pokemon into Bulbasaurs-- all at the extremely high level of 153. Furthermore, they had forgotten most of their moves and instead only knew how to Explode. Some were also poisoned, possibly from toxic radiation caused by the glitch or the mutations. At the same time they were poisoned, they also seemed to have radiation burns, or they inexplicably fell asleep. The whole thing was incredibly disconcerting.

It was frightening, but we fainted the Charizard’M on the first move. Next was a Farfetch’d, and after that was a Doduo. Things were going all right, considering the circumstances. After Charizard’M, these others seemed fairly normal pokemon, other than some odd sounds they made. But as the Doduo was counter-attacking, I suddenly passed out.

Passing out would be a very big trend for encountering glitch trainers, as it turned out.

TRAINER #249:

This trainer seemed to be named 1◣ゥ' and sent out a glitch pokemon my dex identified as C9. It was level 32. As I switched pokemon, I passed out.

TRAINER #250

This one was named “48 :” and, like #248, sent out a level 26 Charizard’M. My pokemon did not seem afflicted with ZZAZZ, in the very least, but after the first move I made in battle, I passed out.

TRAINER #251

I cannot even confirm that there was a trainer in this encounter. I thought I saw one out of the corner of my eye, but I blacked out before meeting them. My GlitchDex, oddly, displayed some sort of error, its screen saying “Too bad! The trade was cancelled!” Was this glitch trainer attempting to trade with me, perhaps?

TRAINER #252

This one seemed to be named “Trainer 4.” Like the others, they sent out a level 26 Charizard’M. Something interesting happened this time, though. As I was fumbling through my item bag, a pokeball accidentally fell out and rolled away. The glitch trainer was offended and thought I was possibly trying to steal their pokemon, and kicked the ball away. I tried to explain it was a misunderstanding, but then they immedialy just . . . left. In the middle of battle.

Normally this would not be much of a problem, but we were under the influence of ZZAZZ. Most of my pokemon were massively overlevelled exploding Bulbasaurs. I wandered around in that state for a bit, unsure what to do, trying to relocate the glitch trainer. As I wandered, I accidentally encountered another, regular trainer.

Or at least, I had thought they were.

DEATH TRAINER

The trainer looked just like me. It was like looking into a mirror, except my reflection had blank, glazed eyes. They didn’t speak, didn’t hold any sort of expression. Just sent out a Charizard’M. It was an often frustrating battle, as my pokemon were ornery and often disobeyed me, but we battled our way through the trainer’s team, first the Charizard’M, then Farfetch’d, then Doduo, and next Pidgey. All of them were level 26.

And we did it. We defeated their four pokemon. I was feeling pretty dang good about myself. But then . . . that trainer, still blankly staring at me, took another ball out-- one of the pokeballs my GlitchDex had identified as containing a fainted pokemon-- and released it.

It appeared to be glitchmon #00. But my Dex detected its HP was at insane levels that simply went off the scale. It also had unusual moves for a #00, apparently; not just Water Guns and Sky Attacks. I did my best to battle it, but its bulk was ridiculous. I threw pokemon after pokemon at it, and even their Explosions at phenomenally high levels hardly left a scratch on it. Meanwhile, it was attacking with Waterfall, Sludge and Petal Dance. Sometimes Petal Dance meant it hit itself in confusion, which was nice, but it just wasn’t enough. Nothing seemed to be.

We dragged that fight on for maybe a half an hour long, as I had a Snorlax I wanted to stall out PP on so I could get him down to Struggle. But even that didn’t do much. The foe seemed to have infinite PP and infinite HP. When my last pokemon fainted, its HP bar was still going stronger then ever.

Then I blacked out myself.

TRAINER #253

This next trainer I tried seemed to just be named ‘ゥ.’ They sent out glitchmon #C9, at level 32, just like trainer 249 did. After a couple Ice Beams, it went down. There was something odd about this trainer, though. I mean, even ODDER than what was already a pretty messed up day. Instead of commanding their pokemon to fight, they used an item on them-- Guard Spec. They did it every single turn, though. They never gave the command to fight, they just kept dumping more of that medicine on their pokes.

I can’t begin to imagine why. How could I know what went on in the mind of a glitch trainer? I could hardly even make out their face, let alone guess what they were thinking. But the battle continued like this, first with C9, then with Mr. Mime, Rhyhorn, Lapras, and Lickitung. Finally, the trainer ended with a Missingno. All of them had been at level 32, and none got a single shot off. I was starting to feel a little bad about fainting them like this.

Then the trainer put away their pokeballs and looked at me. Slowly, so slowly, they opened their jaw.

In a very small, scratchy voice, I heard them speak.

“ 5 6 E R R O R”

I backed up a little, nervous. I didn’t understand what they meant. They thrust their arm forward, pushing some money at me. It took forever for their fingers to uncurl around the wad of cash and drop it in front of me.

Then, the entire world turned on its head.

I . . . . I don’t know what happened. I was suddenly inside some bizarre building. It felt familiar, but also completly alien. A man was staring at me from across the room for a moment, and then he vanished.

I realized I felt very, very strange then. I tried to look down at myself. I . . . I swear to you, Professor, I didn’t have hands anymore, or legs, or even a body. I . . . I was . . . a ball. A pokeball. And I was rolling across the floor.

In my panic, I desperaly tried to move. I found I was able to adjust the direction of my roll, moving to the left or right, but I couldn’t completely stop my momentum. I tried to cry out, but I couldn’t speak. Then, I felt myself bump against something familiar. After a moment, I realized what it was: my GlitchDex. Despite the way my body was, I tried using it.

The world melted into pure chaos, twisting and writhing all around me, shapes, sounds, sensations, lights . . . like some sort of entirely disjointed, illogical nightmare. Yet, despite everything, despite the world falling apart all around me, I was still scrolling through the screen on my GlitchDex. I clicked on my Trainer Card to display.

I wondered how I could see without any eyes or a body. Was I . . . inside a pokeball? Was this how pokemon felt when they were inside one? Could they have vague senses of what was going on outside the ball? I could see my Trainer Card, distorted though it was. I tried something else, to access my pokemon menu. Maybe they could help me?

I reached out . . . but, then, only blankness followed.

TRAINER #254

Somehow, after that nightmare, I woke up in front of the Pokemon Center, and everything was normal again. A little shaken up, but otherwise, everything seemed to be in one piece-- and in the right order.

I wasn’t too terribly eager to continue my work after that, but I knew I had 2 glitch trainers left to try. If I wanted to finish the collection, I had to press on.

So I met with trainer #254. They seemed to be terribly similar with trainer #248. ZZAZZ was in full effect. I had learned during my experiences that if I threw a pokeball, these trainers would get upset and just leave me alone, so I ended up doing that again. After the trainer stomped off, though, I felt very dizzy and unwell. I checked my pokemon party to see if they were OK, but the GlitchDex didn’t display them. I took a few steps along the Nugget Bridge, thinking I would head back to the Poke Center, but then I passed out.

TRAINER #255

At long last, the final glitch trainer. This one (named 14S, apparently) was terribly shy. I attempted many, many times to battle them, but they kept running away. Usually when I approached them, sounds around me became distorted and very odd sounding. Finally, after around 20 attempts, the trainer stayed still and was about to let out one of their pokemon.

And then I fainted.

CONCLUSION

I realize now how long this e-mail has become. Sorry about that. Hope you don’t mind. But I felt it was appropriate to give you a very detailed record of all my experiments. Especially considering how many times I fainted in order to accomplish all of this. Now that I’m done, I plan on visiting Saffron City for a little R&R. I figure I deserve some rest after today.

I’ll write you after my little break.

-June

---

End Notes

Glitches mentioned/used in this post

* Glitch Trainers

* ZZAZZ

Click for the next part of the series!

This is a repost on a new blog. The original post was on Dec 11, 2019.

#pokemon #pokemon glitching #glitch pokemon #glitch run #mycontent #pokemon playthroughs

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artgurusauce · 5 years ago

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Oh hey what’s this an AU without Haudion in it? What sorcery is this, Saucy?

Yes yes, another AU spreadsheet. Twist this time: The prompt ain’t for shipping. I’ve been playing with this specific idea in my head for a while now and after rewatching an old playthrough of God of War 4, I got a tad inspired.

Without further ado, let us begin.

Context: As you can probably already tell, the prompt here was “What if Gladion was much younger when he joined Team Skull?” The question of how young I’m afraid I can’t put into precise numbers buuut, about the age he was in the anime when Lillie was attacked by that Nihilego. I’m assuming he was around 7 at that time but that’s just an estimate. Anyways, he runs away from home after stealing a Pokeball containing a Type:Null from his mother. Unfortunately, he grabbed a rather aggressive Type:Null that is poorly trained. It doesn’t kill him, but it often lashed out at Gladion and attacks him, scratching and headbutting him. One day, in the pouring rain, Guzma finds this crying boy sniveling and covered in all manner of bruises and cuts. Taking pity upon him, he decides to take him in.

1.) New Clothes

Since Gladion’s old clothes while expensive and cozy were absolutely ruined, they had to be replaced. Not only were they soaked, but they were terribly scratched up and beyond repair thanks to Null. Luckily, one of the grunts happens to be an expert in sewing clothes and makes up just the cutest little getup for him. However, she makes the sleeves just a tad too long. Guzma also gives Gladion an old pair of sneakers he used to wear when he was about his age.

2.) Roughhousing

Gladion, even as an older more mature boy is quite the emotional one. Often times he’ll lash out quite easily and it’s not hard to get under his skin. Imagine if you were to upset an even younger Gladion with far less experience, poise and who’s freshly emotionally damaged by his mother’s neglectful behavior, not to mention his frustration with trying to train Type:Null. So it’s not hard to imagine that Gladion still wouldn’t get along with the grunts. In fact, they pick on him even more since he’s so tiny and pathetic and gets far more attention from Guzma seeing as he’s the youngest one and needs more care. Usually it would lead to a grunt stepping out of line, saying something like, “Why don’t you go back home cryin’ to your daddy?” or “I’ll bet your ugly little pet would make a better jacket than a Pokemon.” This would obviously lead little Glad to attempt to beat up the older kids, biting and scratching and kicking them. And of course, Guzma would have to break it up and drag Gladion off to give him a stern talking-to, man to boy. Just what on Earth was Guzma going to do about all this pent up aggression he had?

3.) The Little Moments

Of course eventually after a while it should come as no surprise: The little brat is startin’ to grow on big ol’ bad Guzma. Even for the spoiled rotten, picky, ungrateful rugmuncher he can be sometimes, he’s not quite that bad of a kid. After all, Guzma actually somewhat admires his spunk. It’s not hard for him to see himself in this kid. He knew how scary it was being away from home at such a young age, and especially with such a goliath under his belt with no experience what-so-ever. This illustration is one of a few wholesome little instances you could probably imagine. Poor little Glad got tired from training and fell asleep while listening to one of Guzma’s post-battle lectures. It’s almost kind of cute.

4.) Motherly Advice

Oh but of course, Guzma isn’t the boy’s only parental figure. Plumeria, more docile and passive aggressive in nature is sure to give little Glad any advice he needs. While it is important he learns to toughen up, he’s not a brick wall. She’s there to talk to him whenever he needs it. While at first he’s not privy to talking to her as putting up with Guzma is enough of a challenge in and of itself, eventually, he warms up to her offers to listen when the grunts’ verbal jabs begin to wear down his self-confidence. She also is prone to helping Gladion understand Guzma’s rules and why he’s so hard on the poor little fella. They weren’t so different, even if it didn’t seem that way. “Might be tough for you to believe it, but everybody here has had it rough, even me.” Gladion definitely takes all her advice to heart, frankly just appreciating that someone would just talk to him like...a mother would.

5.) Tough Love

And now we get right back to Gladion’s biggest conundrum: Type:Null. I headcanon pretty much in any AU that there are 3 Type:Nulls in existence: A docile one, an aggressive one, and a pack leader. Gladion this time around ends up taking the aggressive one, not knowing the difference between the Beast Killers. While under Guzma’s wing, Type:Null and Gladion both endure intense and rough training that while unconventional is actually quite necessary. Guzma knows how to handle a bulky mass of rage after all. So first thing’s first, he uses his Golisopod to battle Type:Null in order to help it get out all that pent up aggression and channel it in a productive manner. The more it associated it’s power and ability with Pokemon battle rather than throwing temper tantrums, the better. Golisopod is more than happy to help, which creates a tense rivalry between the two. Often times they will even spar without either of their Trainer’s request. In a similar fashion that Guzma is a mentor to Gladion, Golisopod becomes somewhat of a mentor to Type:Null. Then of course, there’s the trust-building lessons to help Gladion and Type:Null establish a Trainer-Pokemon relationship rather than a Master-Prisoner mentality. It doesn’t quite understand that Gladion is it’s ally, it only knows that it is free from the tazing devices and cold, claustrophobic cages that prevented it from ripping anyone that crossed it to shreds. It had to understand that the boy was it’s friend, not it’s foe. Leading that, Gladion himself would learn how to battle using his Pokemon. A process that requires surprisingly a lot more paper than hands-on studying. After all, he has to memorize all the moves and rules if he’s to become a proper Trainer for that powerhouse.

6.) Am I Supposed To Apologize?

After a long, long, looonnnggg time of building trust and coming to see Guzma like a second father, Gladion finally spills the beans about his mother’s cruelty and his father’s tragic death. Surprisingly, rather than Plumeria, it is Guzma he confides in. He breaks down, confessing every little horrific detail. How his father died in a horrible research accident. How his mother shut them out emotionally after the funeral. How she forced him and his sister to dress perfectly proper in almost all white. How she ridiculed and belittled and shamed them just to make them complicit. How she locked him and Lillie in their rooms for hours on end for simply wearing the wrong shoes. How she took away their Pokemon, saying they weren’t worthy enough children to be Trainers. How she began to pretend as if Gladion didn’t even exist anymore and gave all the attention to his sister just to spite him. All they were to her were ugly, useless children. She didn’t love them anymore, and they didn’t understand. He didn’t understand. He didn’t know what to do. All he wanted to do was run away. But he also wanted to piss her off, give her something to really be upset about. At least then she would give him attention. At least then she would acknowledge him, wouldn’t she? She had to! But she hadn’t even bothered to look for him, she didn’t care about him. She never would. Why did she act like this? Did he do something wrong? Was he supposed to apologize? Why did she hate him so much? Guzma is obviously taken aback by all this and takes pity on the poor boy again, letting him cry out all of his frustrations and woes. Nothing is more painful for Guzma than hearing the things some of these kids he takes in have gone through, but coming from the mouth of someone so young, it also boils his blood. Lusamine will surely regret what she has wrought upon this boy...

7.) Po Town Raid

So I came up with an interesting plot idea, perhaps a sort of climax to this story. Team Skull is still very much a group of criminals. They steal, vandalize, and sometimes even shake down young Trial-Goers who were unfortunate enough to run into one of Guzma’s lackeys. Up to now, nobody really knew where they were hiding out. However, the police somehow found a lead, and raid the entirety of Po Town to arrest and detain everyone. Guzma knows there’s not enough time to save everyone, and decides to make a split second decision as the police come dangerously close to knocking down the door to the mansion. He calls out his Golisopod, ordering Gladion to hide under him and not to come out no matter what he hears. Of course, Gladion is terrified and objects to this, but Guzma manages to convince him that he can handle himself. Begrudgingly, Gladion hides in Golisopod’s grip as it curls up into a ball, shuffling itself under some floor boards beneath a rug on the floor. With bated breath and tears trickling down his face, Gladion is forced to listen quietly as his father figure is arrested and escorted out of the building, insisting there’s no one else left to detain. Golisopod is just as saddened as the boy, hesitant to sit back while it’s Trainer is being hauled off, but obedient enough to keep the boy safe as ordered. After a few hours of complete silence, Gladion and Golisopod finally emerge from their hiding spot, wrought with grief and panic to find Po Town was completely empty and devoid of any other humans or even Pokemon. Everyone was gone.

Sooo another plot twist, I may consider actually writing a fic for this one but obviously not right now. Or I could just keep posting about it here, lol. Honestly I really like this one so I’m definitely gonna continue it regardless. But lemme know what y’all think.

#pokemon #pokemon sun and moon #team skull #guzma #plumeria #gladion #golisopod #type: null #alternate universe #doodle dump #fan art #baby Glad #he a rambunctious boyo #pouty boyo #fussy boyo #yo why is drawing golisopod so hard tho

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beabaseball · 5 years ago

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this is a delirious 11pm post for Adults Only guys

Leave this space, child!

...

...y’all teenagers are going to be tweaked out of their goddamn minds.

Like, not necessarily in the drugged way, though some maybe yes in the drugged way, but like. Specifically in the non-drug way, they’re going to be snippy, and inattentive, and self centered. And that’s probably fine.

Like. Of course teens are self-centered, their bodies are doing weird shit for the first time and people keep making jokes they don’t understand yet, and some of these fuckers haven’t been given sex ed so they don’t even know what’s coming.

The younger teens have just emerged from the child form that has only just started being able to comprehend a larger world. In elementary school, sure I was reading time magazine for kids and we prayed for people who were being reported (religious school; recent tsunami, it happens) and when I was in 1st or 2nd grade we heard rumors that once upon a time women weren’t allowed to do the same stuff as men, but like— you can feel those things, but it’s not really something that you comprehend unless it’s right then a part of your life. I remember the first time I really ‘got’ sexism was in ninth grade in a gym class of 24 boys to 3 + me girls, and I wrote bad poetry about it in my phone for like three months trying to process it.

When I was like 16 our car broke down midway to school and we had to call my dorm parent to come drive me the next 5 mins, and so he’s in a bad mood bc he has to pick me up, and mom is in a bad mood bc car she gets a feeling dorm parent didn’t believe her when she said the car broke down, and it’s like 80 out but more importantly the humidity is a swamp, and I just remember being in his car driving the rest of the way to school and he’s complaining about sunburns bc he’s super pale and Irish, but he’s trying to talk so I kind of say “huh well i’ve never gotten a sunburn. I tan real fast and then go inside and I’m white again.”

and even in the moment I remember being like “that’s not really what he wanted to hear” and I think he even made a face, but I was too out of it and hot and tired to really do anything passed that. And I do feel kind of bad about it? Like, I did not mean to demean his pain of sunburns and I know also that at the time he was having A Rough Time with his marriage, to the point where he had us doing religious plays about parenthood for three seasons straight.

But also, I was a teenager. And looking back I can’t exactly blame my past self for just kinda... saying some words and feeling bad the rest of the car ride but also too tired to care. Theater teacher man wasn’t a bad guy; we were definitely not good at reading each other and he thought musicals sucked, but he also was the one who comforted me out of a panic attack when we had a tornado warning and I ended up convinced my daystudent friend was going to die.

Because that’s what I cared about at the time. Me-related things. Yes, tornado, but I am worried about one (1) person, and that mattered to me. I stayed behind when we got an actual sex-ed person in 7th grade because I was scared that reading yaoi would send me to hell. I had a breakdown in front of my history professor because one of my friends was discovering her gender identity and I was scared I was ‘losing her’ (you know the words!)

Now, someone comes out to me or someone doesn’t understand a term and I’m over here like “yea which definition u wanna use” but back then I was a kid and I had never experienced anything like this before, my hormones were wild—which didn’t mean I was horny and wanted boyfriend, it meant I was in constant fear of bleeding through things and every now and then I would wake up and my body would be in surprise unknowable pain (aka I was finally big enough to cut off my own circulation in my sleep and also growing pains)

Now, I’ve got a lot of that under control. When I wake up with a body in pain I usually know why and probably it is my fault actually. I know a bit better how to get through days when I’m too hot, or too groggy, or just dissociation or mad. (The trick is: say aloud, “sorry if I’m not responding much, I’m just really hot/groggy/out of it/still upset about that.” )

That’s not something a lot of teens have down yet. I saw a kid with a naruto shirt on at work once and I said “hey naruto” and he looked at me like he’d seen the face of god, he was so surprised someone knew what naruto was. To someone even MILDLY in my age range, the idea of not knowing who Naruto is is preposterous. But this was like, 12-15 year old at the most. Not hit his growth spurt yet. Just absolutely blindsided that there was an outside world which recognized something he liked, which I’m gonna wildly guess his parents probably aren’t into or don’t talk about it with him, because the thought of talking Naruto with your kid is horrifying.

Obviously, thinking other people don’t know about naruto is a similar kind of self-centered thought along the lines of “I bet thigh chick isn’t a REAL fan of x” or “EVERYONE has an opinion on me and there is no in between” where like the world... sort of revolves around you.

And like, once that person grows up if they keep that sort of self-focus, that’s usually the time you start trying to ditch them, but even older teens are still just coming out of that larval childhood state. They know a lot more about the world than we probably did at their age—I know a lot of them aren’t having the same existential crisis over their friends’ gender like I did, which is a big ol step— but there are still days that it’s going to be too much new shit to deal with, plus whatever else is happening inside them personally. And it’ll take a while to learn how to handle that.

In the meantime, they might be snappish, or out of it, or just kind of give up and have a ‘fuck it’ attitude sometimes, and it drives a lot of adults just goddamn insane it seems, according to all the mildly aggressive parents at work, trying to get kids who don’t want to be there to give the right reactions. It’s probably not even anything personal to the event that’s making them unhappy. One time I talked to a kid who was crying, and when I got her to tell me what was bothering her, it turned out that some people on her family reunion were mean to her. Nothing about the immediate ‘now’, just a lot of emotion that needed to go somewhere, and that somewhere ended up being crying, and it was not at all about respect or disrespect or anything related to us. Probably most of what was needed was to talk about it (success) and take a long nap.

The first time I remember having a meltdown with a ‘trigger’ like that, I was in 5th grade and my first assignment was something like “what did you do over summer” so I lost my entire shit and cried on the couch for an hour. Passed out, slept til 7, woke up and was fed soup, and have no idea if I finished that paper but presumably I did because I remember a nap and food working.

I would keep having these homework meltdowns periodically, and I don’t know when they stopped, but I had at least one, maybe two, in my first year of college.

And eventually I’ve just kinda.... stopped having them. Stress about a big project wasn’t something that bothered me anymore. You just did it one step at a time, and when you started thinking “maybe I’ll do it in the morning”, you immediately go to bed because you’ve already lost the fight and even if you don’t do it in the morning at least you won’t face it sleep deprived.

It takes time and living to get these experiences, and while one kid might not have the same issues with school work I had, maybe something else just knocks them on their ass every time (same) and it is just. Literally something you need to live through a couple times before you know how to deal with it. You can provide Blank Slate Alien Person with all the mental health tips and anecdotal advice and chamomile tea as you want, but the first couple times they face stress, none of those tips help if they don’t know how to implement them.

If you’ve ever assembled something by instructions and ended up building it upside down—it’s easier to build it again once you’ve gotten mad and undone it and started again. Because you’ve practiced. You already had the instructions, but now you have the experience of building it already, even if the result wasn’t the one you wanted.

Teens are learning a) how to read instructions, and b) that their assembly is probably upside down. and in the meantime, the world is also bonkers wild right now.

When they have that moment of rage, or giving up, or aloofness upon finding shit got built upside down— just. Let them.

You don’t have to ‘fix’ it or ‘fix’ them for having these emotions, or lack of them.

These are normal reactions. They make sense. All I’m asking is that we understand it’s going to happen. These emotions are going to happen.

Don’t let yourself justify being mean to kids and teens by telling yourself they’re being disrespectful. The world and their lives and emotions also don’t revolve around you. It’s not always a rebellion or reason to fight when things get too high strung to hold total control of.

That doesn’t mean ignore them. I was maybe 12 or 13, and it was 90 on a metal ship, and i was wearing an under shirt because i didn’t have a bra, so two layers of clothes on a hot metal ship, on my period— and all I remember is asking my dad to let us sit down and eat some lunch, because i was dizzy and dehydrated, and all he just kept saying we would do it once he saw the tour. I have no idea how long it was but I probably could’ve cried and been called moody or uncooperative.

Life is difficult. Especially for people who aren’t yet in control of their situations. Who are still bursting out with emotions they can’t otherwise articulate.

Be kind to that.

#long post #ramble #teenagers #kids #teens #puberty #puberty Sucks #especially when the world continues to exist around you #beatext #memories

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metalchick19-blog · 5 years ago

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The Bowers Gang: Ship #9 - Victor Criss

Request: Alrighty I’ll have you ship me with whoever you think personally~ my hair is blonde and I’m short asl, but I also have a tattoo of a black rose on the side of my wrist. A lot of my friends tell me that I can always make them laugh with what I say or do and a lot of them will often come to me for advice or if they need to rant about something, which honestly just makes me feel even better as a person. I’m someone who will always stand by you if you’ve never done me dirty and need help. I do have a goofy side that only my closest friends see everyday, which is honestly sometimes just me as person. I think of myself as a fairly outgoing person and I’m never one to just stand in the corner of a party. Some things I need to work on are opening up to other people when talking about feelings and problems I have instead of just bottling them up. If there’s someone that I don’t like, I make it very clear and can be totally heartless towards them. I can also stress myself out easily and get overwhelmed by everything that’s going on. I’ve been through some shit, so I have a better understanding of other people’s hardships than most people. Being friends with me means that you always have someone to go to for laughs, but also someone who won’t sugar coat anything for you. Being in a relationship with me means you’ll actually have someone devoted to you and fun times, but you also gotta break down any walls built up. To put it into simpler terms, I’m a pretty chill person who goes with the flow but can get serious when it comes to something that’s important to me and I need to do. A couple of facts about me is that I want to be an elementary school teacher (I love kids so much, more than people my age tbh), I smoke the devils lettuce damn near hourly on a daily (fuck getting drunk, getting high is better), I love going to the beach, driving around downtown with friends, or just taking time to myself in my room to listen to music!

Always traces your rose tattoo absentmindedly when you cuddle/sit next to each other

Finds your transparency hot as hell, because he sees it as an indication of how honest you are

So appreciates the shit out of it, even when you’re being a total icy bitch to someone he doesn’t even know (and learns to assume you have your reasons when he doesn’t understand why)

The guys gave you a designated seat in the Trans-Am because you drive around with them after school so often (like the trooper you are)

You’re on the far left, behind Belch, with Victor in the middle between you and Patrick (very much on purpose)

Victor sometimes comes over to people’s houses to keep you company while you babysit (the ol’ “sneak in the boyfriend routine”)...

... and actually helps with the sitting of the baby, rather than expecting to fuck and/or sit and watch movies like some other teen delinquents we know

But seriously - Victor is straight-up the daddy to your mommy whenever you guys watch kids together, and it’s truly one of the loveliest things ever

Tends to start off awkward at first (he’s very friendly with kids, but has a hard time talking to them in ways they understand since he can’t “dumb down” his language), but always ends up being their literal favorite person by the time the night is over (apart from you, of course)

Entirely because Criss makes funny faces like a pro, keeps the small ones entertained while you warm up dinner, and ties shoes singing the bunny ears song and everything

I.e. He’s “the fun guy”

Also demonstrates an inside voice like nobody’s business, and slides a coaster under every drink (house rules = respected)

Also steps up to do some of the disciplinary things when you can’t get a specific smol one to listen to you

... and is low-key a toddler whisperer about it too

When he has to be the disciplinarian, Victor always just kneels down to the tiny kid’s eye-level (regardless of whether they’re screaming, crying, or otherwise), and casually starts talking to them as if they understand every adult word that’s coming out of his mouth

Which most of them couldn’t possibly do, because toddlers

... But, from the moment they make eye contact with him, the majority of kids go completely serene and just stare at Victor like they do understand what he’s saying, and clean up their act right after he “discusses it” with them

The guy seriously somehow stops all tears/whining/unacceptable behavior just by being like “hey, that’s not cool dude, and here’s why”

It’s legitimately random to the point of being annoying, because there’s no reason getting children in line should be that easy for him (considering it’s insanely difficult for some people that actually have kids)

You insist that the lil’ buns are just reflecting Victor’s calm nature, but his smug smile will always indicate he low-key thinks he’s better at child-care than you

... Which you know isn’t true, but we’ll let him think what he wants to think

He finds it really endearing how well you get along with kids though, and thinks it’s adorable that you’re able to connect with them so easily

You’re the first person he’s ever been with who’s made him think, “She’ll be a really great Mom someday,” and that’s beautiful

You make Victor smile in the moments when he truly gets down on himself

This is a pretty big deal, because he tends to feel the fuck out of things regardless of the emotion

It’s impossible for the majority of people to sway Victor’s mood at all when he’s upset, because it always settles over him so heavily...

... but you somehow do the trick.

Your goofy nature usually bounces off of him at first (he stays in his head, and doesn’t give much response to most of your humor for a while), but you always eventually say something that strikes a cord with him, and elicits a small smirk

... which eventually leads to a smile, which leads to a laugh, which ultimately leads to you talking out his issues with him and lifting his spirits

You’re seriously one of Criss’ main emotional outlets, and I wish I could shake your hand, cause’ that’s an honor

This isn’t a one-way street, though - Victor does the same for you

He noticed early on (before you were even together) that you only tended to talk about positive things/ “surface level” information even after you had been hanging out with the guys for a long time

And to him (i.e. the group psychologist), that made it clear you were trying to keep your distance by not sharing your problems or talking about things that were really important to you

So he made a point of being there for you x1,000,000 when you officially got together

Example: He knows you won’t bring up any of your issues unprompted, so Victor asks how your day is going at every given opportunity

Aka: he provides a chance for you to tell him something’s bugging you

He also jumps on it whenever you show any visible signs of being sad, and straight-up asks you to tell him what you’re feeling because real men aren’t afraid to talk about that jazz

Even though it took time for you to get used to it (i.e. sharing your emotions), it’s now something that’s become a reflex for you

You’ve cried on Victor’s shoulder, shared your previous traumas, let him see you at the peak of rage, and he’s done the same with you; there’s nothing left to hide

The two of you have seriously reached a point where you could tell one another anything on the spot

You’re each other’s permanent comfort and support - simple as that.

When one of you is feeling especially down though, or when you both just feel you’ve earned a break from life (i.e. after exams, or during spring/winter break), you and Victor have “intensive care” smoke sessions at his house

...Tastefully named “intensive care” smoke sessions by the both of you

This basically means hot-boxing Victor’s room all day long (fucking glorious), watching movies in his bed, and playing whatever tapes you want on full blast at random intervals throughout the day

The two of you cycle between just sitting and listening to the music (typically at the peak of your high, when you’re both brain-dead), to talking about incredibly philosophical/incredibly stupid things (”who closes the bus door after the bus driver gets off?”), to raiding Victor’s fridge for munchies until you eventually empty it and have to walk into town for more

Side-note: Victor is smooth as fuck when it comes to being high and acting normal in public

Whenever you guys order food anywhere after you’ve already smoked, he’s always the one who speaks because he never stutters, breaks eye contact, or forgets what he’s saying in the middle

You’ve even seen him get into full, logically sound conversations with people just minutes after taking a bong rip in the Trans-Am (group smoke sessions are a thing too)

The guy legit held it together even when his parents came home in the middle of your smoke session once, and introduced you normally even though you were having a level 10 panic attack, and were not subtle about it (those darting high person eyes were all over the place)

In short, he can basically just revert back to being sober again whenever he wants to, and it’s a major turn-on for stoners everywhere.

*Pointless side-note ended*

You try to get Victor to socialize at the 2-3 house parties Henry forces you all to each month, but he won’t do it

Just stands next to you, quietly sipping his beer and letting his attention drift around the room

Fields small-talk when he has to (he’s not shy or unapproachable - just introverted), but usually just prefers to be the handsome guy standing next to you while you own the spotlight

You’ll forever be the majestic, sociable party dom with a dry-humored wallflower for a boyfriend - enjoy

... he looks at you a lot while you talk to people though, and it’s so obvious he’s thinking about how beautiful you are, because his eyes make it clear he’s focusing on your face rather than your words

So many girls in Derry High hate you because of adorable crap like this - there’s a lot of salt over Victor Criss being so thoroughly taken by someone

Patrick often tries to break you away from Victor at parties, because, like you, he talks easily and likes to try to get into shit (and because he thinks you’re hot/would love to take a girl away from Victor using only the power of his penis)

He’ll randomly show up next you when you’re getting another drink, going to the bathroom... or, really, doing anything other than talking to Victor

...At which point he propositions the shit out of you, and tries to convince you to come upstairs

This has never worked out well for him.

You did play a legitimately sick game of beer-pong together once after you got him to stop coming onto you (for a second), but that was just because you were already buzzed, and felt unusually tolerant towards him

So even though you usually reject him wholeheartedly (and somewhat loudly/angrily), you two will always be remembered as the life of post-homecoming blowout, 1987 (where you made every single shot, and didn’t have to take even one drink between the two of you)

... Still doesn’t change the fact that he’s trying to do you though, and that you’re too loyal to Victor to be feeling it

Even though he won’t participate in other ways when it comes to parties, Victor always dances with you, because he has a specific thing for watching you move to house music

You asked him about it once, and he just said he thinks it’s beautiful because it “accentuates your purity”

If you don’t get what he means, you’re in good company - the guy has an artsy soul.

Interesting side-note: Like Patrick, Henry has low-key wanted to sleep with you from the moment he first saw you, but keeps it heavily under wraps in the interest of not screwing up you and Victor’s relationship

He doesn’t talk to you much, and has a hard time maintaining eye contact even when he does (because guilt and attraction)

Essentially decided that abstinence is key where you’re concerned, and tries not to form much of a connection with you so it’s easier to control himself

Avoids being left alone with you at all costs, and doesn’t acknowledge you much in general

... He eyes you a lot when he gets drunk though (most often, at the parties you go to)

No words, but enough wasted leering to make it clear where his head is at

It’s never escalated into anything, but it’s something you notice.

... And you’ve never told Victor in the interest of preserving their friendship.

* Interesting side-note ended *

Victor tried to take you on a private date to the quarry once (because you’d always told him about how badly you wished there was a beach in Derry), but the guys found out and showed up unexpectedly as soon as the two of you hit the water

... And it was actually your first date.

Meaning Criss was not at all entertained by that bandwagony bullshit.

They literally just came to see you in a bathing suit (hence why they came out of hiding only after you’d gotten in the water), and you’re such a bad bitch that you called them out on it rather than let it be

... But that just earned a predictably creepy affirmation from Patrick (”What, you thought we were gonna’ let Criss keep a body like that all to himself?” *Disgusting Hockstetter cackle as Victor death-stares him into oblivion*), and didn’t amount to anything more than obnoxious laughter on Henry and Belch’s part

Long story short, the guys all stampeded into the water with you, and swimming for 2 became swimming for 5

So, yeah. First date was a group date, and no one was thrilled.

Because of what you’ve been through in life, you understand some of the fucked up situations Victor has experienced better than most other people; as a result of that, you have a unique understanding of his hot/cold feelings about the gang

I.e. You get why it isn’t just black and white for him - other people may see the guys as straight-up evil, but it’s different for Victor, and you get that

Essentially you understand that he’s a ride or die (because genuine loyalty), but that he’s also ready to jump ship in the interest of not becoming something he isn’t; he’s never been able to express that to anyone else

Because you get why Victor feels moved to leave the gang sometimes (and partly because of your own experiences with them), you support him in that direction whenever he mentions it

Being that you don’t sugarcoat things, you confirm for him that the guys aren’t people that would be good for his adult life - he’s always thought that in his head, but has never had another person around who knew the guys personally to corroborate the opinion

Meaning, now that the opinion has been corroborated, it’s kind of huge for him

You may ultimately be the thing that gives Victor the strength he needed to leave the guys, because you help cement his view that it would be the right thing to do

Plus, his relationship with you would fulfill him to an extent where he wouldn’t feel as attached to the gang as before, and he would see himself as being much happier in a future with you than in a future with them

In short, you might change the course of Victor Criss’s entire life - have fun being the best thing that’s ever happened to him

#henry bowers #patrick hockstetter #belch huggins #victor criss #The Bowers Gang #the bowers gang headcanons #it

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imnotcameraready · 6 years ago

Text

chivalry is dead (3)

A/N: MEET THE ROMANS !!!! i actually drew All the romans, but you only meet the first one in this chapter! gonna upload his pic in a Hot Sec but, anyway, i love him and i love you! <3 this entire story turned real big

WARNINGS: Sympathetic Deceit, arguing, yelling, panic (no panic attacks but Virgil is incredibly on edge, as is everyone), heights/possibly falling two floors off a tall ladder — if i missed anything, please please let me know!! also, OCs? ? gonna talk more about that in the Tags but let me know!

Words: 2916

Pairings: why do i keep adding this? idk. nothing yet! I guess you can read patton being Platonically Flirtatious™ to Logan but? DLAMP endgame, but i guess you can call this a slow burn because i forgot how much i write on the regular

Part 1 (chivalry is dead) — Part 2 (i’m wishing) — Part 3 (the bells of notre dame) — Part 4 (honor to us all)

AO3 link!

@starlightvirgil @forrestwyrm @daflangstlairde @marshmallow-the-panda @askthesnake @k9cat

enjoy!!

The room had changed, yes, but it hadn’t gone back to being Roman’s bedroom.

In fact, the room appeared more like a long walk-in closet. Deceit closed the door a little and looked at the front again — yep, the sign was still there, this was still Roman’s room. He let the door swing all the way open in a silent invitation to the other Sides to peek in. Logan was the first to join him in the doorway, standing right besides Deceit, only a few inches away from the threshold.

From the doorway, they couldn’t see the end of the narrow hall. Both walls were packed with clothes pressed against each other, like some sort of unreasonably long walk-in closet. There was a second shelf of clothes above that, just as packed. In the hallway’s center were some benches, of varying aesthetics. The one closest to the door was plush, with seating on both sides and red cushions, but the one next to it and farther in looked like a football stadium bleacher. Strewn about, too, were many, many shoes. Not all in pairs.

Deceit leaned his head into the room and, with one hand on his hat, looked up. The ceiling continued forever as well, with even more shelves of clothing stretching up as far as the eye could see.

“This is certainly a change,” Logan commented, a slight tremor in his voice, “Though it’s a far cry from the black abyss you’d claimed to see.”

“What’s it look like?” Virgil shuffled behind them both, the tensions of earlier now replaced with a stifling dread.

Deceit glanced back at him, just to check. Old habits die hard. He was holding Patton’s arm tight, breathing nearly nonexistent, off-hand twitching every so often. Virgil’s hair was matted down, too, as he and Patton examined the room. The concern was leaking into Patton, as his hand seemed just as tight on Virgil’s. He pushed up his glasses without taking his eyes off of the room, and Deceit could see some tears sparkling behind the lenses. Virgil’s mounting panic plus Patton’s deep concern was creating an intoxicating brew of ‘we should get on with this.’

Deceit turned to Logan and nodded to the room. They’d have to go in to find Roman.

There was nothing else to be done. Logan lifted a foot.

“Don’t go in there,” Virgil said, nearly shouted.

“Well, we must, if we’re—”

“Hang on, hang on, first,” Patton leaned forward, nudging his face between Logan and Deceit while keeping his feet firmly planted behind them as Virgil tugged him closer. He cupped his other hand around his mouth. “ROMAN? HELLO?”

Silence was his answer. Not even an echo. Patton’s nose scrunched up. He pulled back, wrapping an arm subconsciously around Virgil. “That usually works,” his words laced together quietly.

Logan shot him a quick confused glance. Internally, he was considering the possibilities at a breakneck pace. Roman’s room was the most volatile, susceptible to constant change depending on how the creative side felt and what his most recent project was. It made sense that the room wouldn’t look exactly how it did the last time they’d seen it, especially given how long it’d been since the door had last been opened.

Something was still unusual, however. Even though its theming was impermanent, there were certain constants: a bed, a wardrobe or closet, a desk, often a window or two, Roman’s fairy lights, some posters. Even when period themed, Roman kept a laptop on his desk and a speaker besides his bed. Now there wasn’t even a bed. There were just rows and rows of clothes, some unwearable for daily use. Logan could definitely see a hoop skirt over there on the left. And….was that a full military uniform? Why would Roman need outfits such as those?

“A costume room!” Patton exclaimed, causing everyone else to jump.

Virgil calmed himself down first. “Can’t you give a guy a warning before your lightbulb moments, Pat?” he stuffed his hands into his hoodie pockets, glowering at Patton.

“Sorry, kiddo,” Patton rubbed the back of his neck and smiled thinly back, “I just thought, this whole set up….it looks a lot like a big ole’ dressing room, doesn’t it? With the costumes and the benches?”

The other three glanced back around the room. “I suppose you’re right,” Logan said, drawing out his words.

Before another silence overtook, though, he cleared his throat and straightened his tie. “I don’t think we’ll learn any more about Roman’s sudden room change without going in,” his voice was stiff, trying to hide whatever nervousness he felt.

“I don’t know. I don’t like this,” Virgil grumbled, eyes locked on the darkness at the end of the hallway.

It was dimly lit but not difficult to see in. They could definitely search around in here, but there wasn’t a boundary between the Imagination and Roman’s room. For all they knew, they could be walking straight through the Imagination, which would be chaotic. They couldn’t control it like Roman could. Sure, Virgil’d made a fair nightmare or dark daydream, but it always got out of hand or was overseen by Roman himself, usually inspirational fodder for some bigger project he was cooking.

Actually, now that he thought about it, Virgil didn’t think he’d ever been in the Imagination without Roman. He hadn’t heard of any of the others entering Roman’s “kingdom” without him and, honestly, he wasn’t keen on finding out what’d happen if they didn’t have a guide.

Oof.

“Are you going to stop glaring at the hallway any time soon?” Deceit’s voice pulled Virgil from his thoughts and another spiral.

Before he could retort, Logan stepped back from the room to face him. “I hate to admit it, but he’s right. We should enter and find Roman ourselves,” he crossed his arms as he explained. “This room doesn’t bear resemblance to any sort of bedroom and, if Patton’s assumption that this is a costume room is correct, then we must ask why Roman’s chosen to, er. Switch things up. There are different interpretations we could derive but it’s better to hear it from him, as well as pull him out of his room for a meal and check-in.”

“And if he gets mad that we barged in on his personal space and doesn’t want to see us again?” Virgil asked, crossing his arms to mirror Logan’s stance.

“Then we acknowledge that Deceit lied, and we ask why he hasn’t left his room in a week. I find the second part of your statement highly improbable as well. Considering our concern and confusion over Roman’s absence, I think we are well-warranted in entering without permission.”

“Wow, check out Logan, finally coming to his senses about the constructive nature of personal space,” Deceit followed Logan away from the doorway, a sneer on his lips.

Logan and Virgil now both glared at Deceit. “Me agreeing that I’m confused by Roman’s sudden departure doesn’t mean I agree with your explanation that he fell into a hole — a hole that is no longer there, mind you.”

“And we can probably find Roman without you stinking up the place,” Virgil waved his hands at Deceit, gesturing for him back up, “How about you drag yourself back to whatever hole you crawled out of, and—”

“Guys! I found my old cardigan in here!”

All three of them looked up, noticing that Patton was a fair way into the room, and all of them tensed. As much as Deceit and Logan were talking a big game about entering the room, it seemed they were just as nervous as Virgil was.

Patton didn’t react to their concern, perusing the costumes lining the left side of the wall. In his defense, Patton already knew they were gonna have to search for Roman in here. He didn’t distrust Deceit more than he was worried about Roman isolating himself, and the collection of costumes was a lot more interesting to him than debating the morality — he snorted to himself — of the situation. Besides, Virgil’d get the hint that the morals of going in were fine if Patton and Deceit were agreeing.

Now, the cardigan was the same as his. Patton would have thought Roman’d just taken it if he hadn’t felt assured that his cardigan was in his closet, in his room. Plus, THIS cardigan didn’t have a dollar in the pocket! Or, wait, he’d given that dollar back to Roman, since he owed him. Okay, well, he was still pretty certain that HIS cardigan was back in HIS room!

“You shouldn’t be touching Roman’s clothes, Patton,” Logan had entered the room.

Patton didn’t look up, though he could tell by Logan’s voice that he was standing just behind him. “Awh, but there’re so many outfits! Who knew Roman had so many!”

Something blue caught his eye. Patton reached for a hanger just a few spaces down from the cardigan and pulled out Logan’s old outfit, with the black polo shirt and periwinkle tie. “Hey, look! It’s you!” He grinned at Logan, laughing at Logan’s cute little surprised expression, “Talk about a blast from the past!”

Logan took the hanger, lifting it up to inspect. It was just the shirt and tie, but….well. He felt a twinge of nostalgia. “I do prefer my current tie,” he said.

“An’ I think you look great in anything,” Patton nudged him with his elbow, “Just thought you’d wanna see! Looks like Roman’s stocked up on all our old outfits.”

“C’mon, guys, we shouldn’t be in here,” Patton and Logan turned and saw Virgil slowly follow Deceit past the threshold, steps slow and careful, as if the ground were going to fall into the pit Deceit’d described.

Once Virgil was two steps in, though, the door slammed shut behind him. He whipped around, screaming in surprise and launching himself backwards into Deceit, who then shouted and fell forward onto the red couch.

Patton screamed, too, and flung himself into Logan, who actually caught him. His arms wrapped around Patton’s shoulders as he hoisted him up.

They all watched as the door sank beneath the deep red carpet, standing still as statues as it slid down and left a blank white-wallpapered wall.

Trapped.

Logan let go of Patton slowly, arms dropping to his sides. He could feel a headache coming on. Patton unraveled himself from Logan, too, stepping more towards Deceit and Virgil as the shock wore off. Deceit nearly flung Virgil off of himself, probably would have succeeded if Virgil hadn’t jumped off of him first.

The shock of what had happened was definitely wearing down on Virgil, hands shaking at his sides. Patton placed a hand on his shoulder — an offer — and Virgil took it, hugging Patton tight, burying his face into his chest. Patton wrapped his arms around Virgil too, just as tight. “Sorry,” Patton looked up, mouthing to Deceit.

Deceit seemed nonplussed, though, as he stared down the hallway. Logan’s body was turned towards them, seemingly halfway through approaching, though he too faced down the hall.

“Do you hear….” Logan’s voice, a hushed whisper, “Singing.”

Patton frowned, but carded his hand through Virgil’s hair and listened harder.

“You can lie to yourself and your minions,” that voice was unmistakable, verse echoing faintly from down the impossibly long hall.

Virgil gripped the back of Patton’s shirt and perked his head up as the voice grew slightly louder.

“Roman,” Deceit’s shoulders relaxed, “That must be Roman.”

In a non-spoken group decision, the four began to slowly walk down the hall. Deceit led the way past the hanging costumes, each closet packed with outfits, and didn’t stop. Virgil was at the back, still holding onto Patton’s shirt, checking behind them every so often.

Things were even more disorganized as they continued down the hall. Costumes were on the ground, as though fallen from their hangers. Patton’d stopped to fix the first few, but as they saw more and more dishevelment, he gave up. The shoes were strewn about still, some on benches now, some with full costumes sitting on the bench besides them.

“You can claim that you haven’t a qualm!”

There were some outfits that they recognized. Thomas’ Dr. Emile Picani costume was sitting on a bench, laid out neatly, as though they’d be shooting Cartoon Therapy the next day. His trenchcoat from playing JD was crumpled in a lump with a single thick boot next to it, from the same outfit. Deceit pointed out a balled up copy of Virgil’s current hoodie, sat in the middle of their walkway.

“He must be in a block. Making all these costumes must’a been a real good creative exercise,” Patton tried to keep his voice light and airy.

Virgil shook his head. “I don’t think it’s a block. It reeks of manic panic in here,” he scowled around, “We gotta figure out what’s wrong with him.”

“But you never can run from,” Roman’s singing continued, growing louder, closer.

“Of course. Before he disappeared, would you consider that Roman was acting odd? I thought his demeanor was fairly typical for a creative block, hence it wasn’t incredibly worrying,” Logan hummed in thought, then added, “He had been a little more subdued. But, that too could be attributed to the lull in productive creative content plus the incoming tax season.”

“I mean, locking himself in his room was pretty in character,” Virgil said, “But….”

“Was leaving him in his room in character for you all?” Deceit looked back just long enough to catch the glare Virgil shot him, “It’s a fair question, after all this.”

“....How do we know you’re not just leading us into a trap here?” Virgil hissed, without the bite he’d had earlier.

“For the last time, I’m not tricking you. Even you can feel how scared Roman is, you said it yourself,” Deceit stopped, letting Logan walk past him as he argued with Virgil.

“Yeah, but—”

“Nor hide what you’ve done from the eyes~!”

Logan held up a hand, stopping all of them. “I can see the end of the hall,” he said.

“And there’s Roman!” Patton let go of Virgil, letting the anxious side finally unravel himself from Patton’s chest while he moved besides Logan.

Instead of a bench, there was a large table in the center of the hallway, papers strewn over it in piles and disorganized stacks. On the opposite walkway side from the other four sides was a ladder and, up two levels of closet, was Roman. He had a stack of costumes in his arms, hanging them up one by one, voice echoing downwards.

“The very eyes of Notre Dame!” he leaned backwards on the ladder, spurring Virgil to swear loudly, jump towards it, and hold it steadier.

Roman didn’t notice them, though, continuing to sing and hang clothes. Patton, Logan, and Deceit all shared a look while Virgil just looked up at Roman and held the ladder. At least they’d get some answers now.

Logan cleared his throat first. “Roman!”

No response. Roman just continued to sing. “And for one time in his life of power and control,” he waved one of the costumes — a black cloak with blue trims — and spun on the top of the ladder.

“Stop spinning,” Virgil barked, holding the ladder with white knuckles.

The others crowded around the bottom, Patton now holding the other two legs. “Let’s try a little kindness — Roman, kiddo, can you come down here?” his voice was soft, inviting and loving, gazing up the ladder.

“Frollo felt a twinge of fear!”

“Well,” Patton looked back down at the other Sides, “I’m shattered.”

Deceit rolled his eyes as Logan sighed, “He’s ignoring us.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

“For his immortal sou~l!”

“Roman—Roman, stop,” Deceit shook the ladder, trying to not throw Roman’s balance off, “What’s happening?”

“Yeah,” Virgil shouted, shooting Deceit a deadly glare quickly, “Get down here and stop singing! You’ve got a lotta explaining to do!”

Roman didn’t turn around, but he stopped dancing, singing, and shifting the ladder. “You’re all interrupting the audition,” he snapped as he hung the last costume and began to descend.

As he came closer, the other four could see the differences in his outfit. Gone was the white uniform and red sash, replaced with a white shirt and a tight red vest. Though they could only see his back, the others could see a scroll decal across his shoulders, similar to the one on Roman’s crest. This was certainly a change.

“Roman,” Virgil started, voice quiet, leading to more, but Roman cut him off.

“Stop calling me that. Haven’t won the callback yet,” and he laughed to himself, landing and pivoting at the bottom of the ladder.

The vest buttoned double-breasted in the front, and a bright red tie was tucked into the vest, which had golden lapels. The others watched him push his own pair of black-rimmed Warby Parker glasses up his nose, hair pinned back from its normal waves with one glittering gold pin. A golden pen was tucked behind the ear his hair was, too. On the bottom, he wore black pants and a black dress shoes with whitened Oxfords.

He took notice of their confused looks and bowed with a flourish and a large, proud smile. “As you can all see, I’m definitely not the Prince, and am not Roman YET. For the time being, you may call me the Playwright.”

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