#haven't been hurt liked that by a piece of media in a long time

[shiredwarf]

you can tell who's watched tlou ep 3 already by whether they look like they cried for several hours today

[propertyofwicked]

DIAL DRUNK - LN

summary - lando had always been her rock, her best friend whose laughter brightened her darkest days. but when she drifted away after starting a new relationship, lando was left confused and heartbroken, eventually discovering the painful truth of her struggles and the depths of his unwavering loyalty.

warnings - mention of toxic + somewhat abusive boyfriend (not lando), fighting, alcohol - happy ending (cos im not mean)

please stay safe and dont read this if any of these warnings will effect you! i will be back with a new post soon! look after yourselves <3

✧ my inbox is open ✧

masterlist the playlist

lando norris had always been the light in her life, the best friend who made everything better with his infectious laughter and unwavering support. their bond was unbreakable, or so he thought. but when she started dating her new boyfriend, everything changed. she stopped answering his calls, missed their regular meet-ups, and slowly drifted away. everyone was surprised when she stopped showing up to races, or when she no longer appeared on lando’s instagram - both in pictures and the comments.

lando was confused and hurt, but he respected her decision, believing she was simply busy with her new relationship. and even if he only heard from her when she sent a text to congratulate him on a race result, he was just happy she was still supporting him from wherever she was.

the first time she hadn’t attended one of his races, he had texted her afterward, "missed you this weekend, hope everything's okay." her reply came hours later: "sorry, got caught up with something. next time for sure." but there was no next time. race after race, her absence was palpable.

the missed calls were harder to ignore. at first, she would call back with an excuse. "sorry, my phone was on silent," or "i was out with friends, lost track of time." but soon, she stopped calling back altogether. lando's messages grew more worried, but he tried to keep them light. "everything alright? feels like we haven't talked in ages." the responses were always brief, vague, and unsatisfying. "yeah, just busy. talk soon."

then came the day he saw a picture of her and her boyfriend on social media. they looked happy, but something about her smile seemed off. forced. he left a comment, something friendly and supportive, but she didn't reply. she didn't even like the comment. lando felt a knot in his stomach. something was wrong, but he didn't know what, and she wasn't letting him in.

the isolation gnawed at him. he missed their late-night conversations, the way they would laugh until their sides hurt. he missed her being the first person he called with good news, and the one who would cheer him up when things didn't go as planned. it was like a piece of his life had gone missing, and he had no idea how to get it back.

one night, after a particularly tough race, lando found himself dialling her number, despite knowing she probably wouldn't answer. the phone rang and rang, and just as he was about to hang up, she picked up. her voice was a whisper.

"lando, i can't talk right now."

"what's going on?" he asked, his voice breaking. "why are you shutting me out?"

there was a long pause. he could hear her breathing, could almost feel the weight of whatever she was struggling with.

"it's... complicated," she finally said. "i'm sorry."

"complicated how?" he pressed.

"i can't," she whispered. "i'm sorry." and then she hung up.

lando stared at his phone, feeling more lost and helpless than ever. what had happened to her? why was she pushing him away? he couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong, but without her willing to talk, he had no way to help her.

the texts and calls grew less frequent. she stopped liking his posts, stopped commenting on his photos. it was like she had disappeared from his life entirely. the only sign he had that she was still out there were the occasional texts after a race, short messages of congratulations that felt hollow and distant.

each time his phone buzzed with one of those messages, it was a bittersweet moment. he was glad she still cared enough to reach out, but the emptiness of her words was a constant reminder of how far apart they had drifted. he missed her more than he could put into words, and the pain of her absence was a constant ache in his chest.

he truly didn’t expect to see her that night, especially not stood at the bar of a busy club that he and max had gone to, and not stood alone.

“y/n hey!” he called out, approaching her quickly and taking her in a quick embrace as he tried desperately to ignore the way she flinches and stiffened her posture.

“hi!” she replied, smiling at him nonetheless.

“how have you been? i feel like i haven’t seen you in a while.”

“i’m ok - how are you? still reeling from your first win?” she replied again, her posture softening as the bar tender handed her a glass of white wine. again, lando tried to ignore how different this was - he’d never seen her drink anything other than a malibu coke when they went out.

“i guess you could say that,” he responded happily, though not without noticing how different she looked - the was smaller, and her natural smile was gone, replaced with this horrid fake grin he had only seen on a handful of occasions, “who are you here with?”

“oh! i came with mich-”

“michael. and you are..?”

the voice had interrupted her, and her shoulders peaked up in anxiety once more as her boyfriend stood behind her, his frame towering hers slightly. he had his hand stuck out, in attempt to greet lando as if he had no idea who he was. he did. in fact, lando was a sore spot in his and y/n’s relationship.

“lando,” he replied, though neglecting to shake his hand, “i’ll leave you to it. come say hi before you leave,” he added, before turning swiftly on his heel to re-join max and a few others of their friends who had joined.

and as his drinks kept flowing, so did his thoughts. lando’s eyes were drawn to the table she sat on, looking out of place surrounded by michael and his friends. this wasn’t the y/n he knew, but he feared this was the new her, the her who was no longer his friend, no longer the girl that would spend hours with him doing everything and nothing at the same time.

lando wasn’t quite sure how drunk he was, not until he was stumbling to and from the bathroom, his vision clouded but not enough to distract him from the fact that y/n and michael had left their booth, and yet he wasn’t surprised that she hadn’t come to say goodbye. he himself thought it best to call it a night and head back to the comfort of his flat.

but then he saw them. she was arguing with her boyfriend, tears streaming down her face as michael was yelling, his grip on her arm tight and aggressive.

"you've had a face like a slapped arse all night," he snarled, his voice low but seething with anger. "you refuse to enjoy yourself unless it's your idea. you're so selfish."

"i'm not," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "i just... i don't feel comfortable here."

"oh, really? you never feel comfortable anywhere unless you're in control," michael spat, shaking her slightly. "you ruin everything."

"that's not true," she sobbed, trying to pull away. "please, michael, just let me go."

"no, we're going to sort this out right now," he growled, his grip tightening.

lando's heart pounded with a mixture of rage and concern, quickly finding himself pushing the door to the club open, barely allowing the cold night air to engulf him before he was striding over to the couple.

"hey, let her go!" lando demanded, stepping between them.

"this is none of your business," michael sneered, not loosening his grip.

"it is when you're hurting her," lando shot back, his voice steady but eyes blazing with anger. he could see the fear in her eyes, and it broke his heart.

"lando, please," she whispered, her voice trembling. "just go."

"i'm not leaving you with him," lando said firmly. "not like this."

“leave it, lando. i’m fine, i promise,” she continued shakily.

“oh yeah - defend him. as per fucking usual y/n,” michael yelled once more, letting go of his grip on her arm to push her back, the two men watching as she stumbled, almost losing her footing. lando stepped quickly, grabbing her waist softly, but enough to steady her once more.

“you ok?” he whispered to her, waiting for her to nod quickly at him then spinning around to face her boyfriend once more. before he could open his mouth to speak, michael’s fist was swiftly approaching lando’s face, to which he only missed slightly - only briefly making contact with his cheek as lando dodged the hit.

“right. so that’s how we’re playing this? cool,” lando announced, no longer trying to keep his calmness at the forefront of his mind as he raised his own fist, landing a punch square to the man’s face, driven by a protective instinct, months of pent-up frustration, and, quite potentially, the alcohol streaming through him. someone called the police, and before lando knew it, he was being pulled away, handcuffed and led to a police car.

“sir - your emergency contact is still not answering our calls - is there anyone else you’d like us to call?”

lando's heart sank, feeling like he had truly lost her.

“who did michael call as his emergency contact?” lando asked the officer, ignoring his previous question.

“we can’t disclose that information,” the officer responded with a sigh, but looked around the room quickly before adding a hushed, “it wasn’t her. if that helps.”

lando nodded at him quickly, trying to think of anyone who could come and pick him up from the station.

“try my friend max - his number should be in my phone somewhere,” lando told him to which the officer turned to go and retrieve his phone from evidence having not needed it before as he remembered y/n’s number like it was his own name. as the officer handed him his phone, he hesitated.

“listen,” he began softly, “someone who won’t even pick up the phone... are they really worth a potential assault charge?”

lando felt a surge of anger mixed with a deep sadness. “yes, she is. or at least, the version of her that i knew was worth it,” he said firmly. “she’s been through a lot. it’s not her fault.”

any rational person would not be defending someone who had ghosted them for months on end. he was overwhelmed, sad, angry - but rational? he was far from it right now.

the officer nodded, seeing the determination in lando’s eyes. “alright, i hope things work out for you both.”

“mr norris? your ride is here,” a new officer announced an hour later, handing lando a bag of his personal belongings before sending him through the door. stood face to face with max in a police station was not his idea of a nice night out.

“come on, mate. let’s get you home,” max said, smiling sadly at him as he led them to his car, “so, when’s the court date?”

“there isn’t one, luckily,” lando told him, buckling himself in and leaning into the seat in exhaustion, “injuries weren’t severe enough and he didn’t want to press charges.”

“lucky, indeed,” max hummed, “can i ask why?”

“you can ask. do i have to answer?”

“no, i guess not.”

“good.”

the car ride was silent from then on until they arrived at lando’s building, bidding each other goodbye quickly, before parting ways. lando swore the elevator was slower at 3am as he returned to his apartment, exhausted and disheartened.

as he approached his door, he saw her sitting on the door matt, her makeup ruined by tears. she looked up, eyes filled with sorrow and regret.

"lando," she choked out, standing up. lando didn't say anything at first, shocked that she was really here. he just pulled her into a tight hug, holding her as she sobbed against his chest.

"it's okay," he whispered. "i'm just glad you're here now."

they stood there for a long time, wrapped in each other's arms. finally, she pulled back, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes.

"i'm so sorry,” she started again, pushing through her tears, “does it hurt?” she asked him, her fingers running softly over the slight bruising that dusted his cheeks.

“oh this? this is nothing - you should see the other guy,” he joked, trying to ignore his own pain, desperate to see her smile.

“i don’t think i want to see the other guy ever again,” she replied remorsefully.

“why did you do it, y/n? why did you disappear? why did you change?”

“i-i didn’t mean to. i didn’t want to lando, really. i didn’t,” she defended, “but he would just get so jealous, so angry, any time i spoke to you, or about you. he would say things. about me. about you. things that hurt. and i just kept thinking that maybe it would get better. maybe it would stop.”

“but it didn’t,” lando added for her, trailing off slightly. she didn’t respond verbally, rather, she merely nodded at him.

“oh y/n,” he sympathised, “you should’ve said, i could’ve done something. anything.”

“i just- i thought he liked me y’know. i thought maybe after a while he’d come around. and then he would guilt me into missing your races, or delete your messages from my phone. i never meant to ignore you lan, i promise,” she sighed, tears still cascading down her face, “can you ever forgive me?"

"there's nothing to forgive," lando said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, "you were in a tough situation. i'm just sorry i couldn't help you. god knows i would do anything to help you, angel."

she nodded, tears still falling, but there was a small, hopeful smile on her lips. "thank you, lando. for everything."

“come on, you want a cuppa?”

“always.”

“there she is,” he smiled at her widely, “there’s the y/n i know.”

the two shuffled inside, and lando made her a cup of tea just like old times. they talked for hours, about everything and nothing until any awkwardness from their separation dissipated into the night, until the sun began to rise. the start of a new day.

"i missed you," she whispered, her head resting on his shoulder as they sat together on the sofa, their skin illuminated by the orange tinge of sun peaking through the large windows.

"i missed you too," lando replied, gently kissing the top of her head. "and i'm never letting anything come between us again."

“tell me about miami,” she asked after a few moments of silence.

“ive already told you 3 times tonight.”

“i know, but i want to hear it again,” she whined, “i’ll never forgive myself for not being there.”

she smiled as he began to talk again, feeling safe and loved for the first time in a long while. they stayed like that, wrapped in each other's presence, knowing that whatever came next, they would face it together.

[nias-nook]

Bill Cipher and The Unicorn in Captivity

Soooo, I haven't been looking at Bill related posts much since the book dropped as I have mixed feelings on what TBOB and the subsequent site have revealed about him, his motives, his backstory etc., but (and maybe someone beat me to this) one thing I haven't seen anyone talk about yet is this,

So maybe I'm stating the obvious here, but this is The Unicorn Rests in a Garden, also known as The Unicorn in Captivity. This piece was a part of The Unicorn Tapestries. Its origins are shrouded in mystery and super interesting but I'm not really gonna touch on that here.

Now there is something to be said about how this one piece, and the rest of the tapestries tie to Bill. I'll briefly go over what the tapestry meant when it was made then dive into what contemporary interpretations of the piece say about Bill and his fundamental inability to redeem himself.

Also just want to establish before we get into this that I am...Not a scholar when it comes to this stuff. I just happened to recognise this tapestry and its symbolism when it dropped on the website and had to put my thoughts somewhere. I might add more later if I've forgotten anything, which I probably have.

Given this was a piece made in Europe in the Middle Ages, it's perhaps unsurprising that a lot of interpretations of it are biblical, but we can (mostly) safely assume Hirsch isn't going for a Christ allegory here. Then again, maybe he's going for nothing and all of this is pointless.

What is a little interesting in the wake of TBOB is its ties to marriage.

These tapestries are heavily theorised to have been made to celebrate a wedding, and their comparisons of love and marriage to a hunt that inevitably leads to the imprisonment and taming of your lover. Of course, Bill quite literally suggests this method in the book with The Love Cage that he uses in Weirdmageddon, but there's a million 'Billford is canon' posts out there so let's table that as it's pretty self-explanatory. Bill and Ford have been hunting each other for decades and Bill imprisons him in a so-called 'Love Cage' to try and convince Ford to be his 'partner' (be it platonic or romantic). This is what a victory in a relationship is to him.

What I'd like to focus on is the modern interpretation of The Unicorn in Captivity as a self-imposed prison.

"Look at that little unicorn! The beatific smile. He's happy now. He gets to live in a beautiful garden."

"Yeah, in a cage."

"A protective barrier. No one's hunting him anymore. Nor can he hurt anyone with that horn of his."

This summary of the piece is taken from the aptly titled Unicorn in Captivity from another animated series, The Venture Bros. (which, by the way, if you're looking for another show that's a whimsical and fun riff on 80s pop culture with a big mystery element, highly recommend), but this of course isn't the first piece of media to portray it this way. the most notable being The Unicorn in Captivity poem by Anne Morrow Lindbergh.

The unicorn is, on the surface, a prisoner. The Theraprism that Bill is now trapped in is a place he longs to escape, but that's the thing, isn't it?

He could escape any time he wanted to.

He could slip his head From the jewelled noose So lightly tied - If he tried, As a maid could loose The belt from her side; He could slip the bond So lightly tied - If he tried.

Bill, like the unicorn, is trapping himself more than the Theraprism is trapping him, but his situation isn't to be pitied, it's karmic justice. What's so satisfying about Bill's eventual comeuppance is that he's the one making himself suffer. The only thing Bill needs to do to escape is to admit he was wrong, to stop revelling in the suffering of others, but...Well, he chooses not to.

For all of his guilt about his parents and his so-called 'dark and troubled past', Bill has never regretted a single person he's hurt since. He didn't regret taking over the world, he regretted being caught. He didn't regret hurting Ford, he regretted losing him. Bill will probably be doomed to wallow in the Theraprism for all eternity, cursing his situation and blaming everyone else for his inevitable downfall. An overgrown child who once had too much power and lost it all throwing a tantrum for the ages.

But now he can't hurt anyone with that horn of his.

[babyhatesreality]

Two Sides of the Coin Part One

Pairing: Daddy!Stucky and Little!F!Reader

Warnings: DDLG (SSC), f! reader, reader is named but name scarcely used, language, pet names, gentle discipline, both Bucky and Steve being secret menaces to each other, fluffity fluff fluff fluff.

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. THIS STORY IS SFW- THE REST OF MY BLOG IS NOT NECESSARILY SO. MINORS DNI. I DO NOT CONSENT FOR MY WORK TO BE STOLEN, COPIED, OR TRANSLATED ONTO ANY OTHER SITE BUT MY OWN. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated.

"I need you to be on your best behavior."

"I will be."

"I mean it."

"I know!"

"You promise you'll follow the rules?"

"Yes, I promise!"

"All the rules?"

"All the rules!"

"No trying to get around it or finding loopholes. Best. Behavior."

"I get it!"

Steve sighed heavily. He still wasn't convinced.

"I mean it, Bucky," Steve said.

"I know, Steve!" Bucky replied, his wide eyes the picture of innocence. Just then, you came tearing out of your playroom, a piece of paper gripped firmly in your hand, beelining it straight for your Papa. Steve reached out and scooped you up like you weighed nothing.

"Lookit, Papa, I finished your drawing for you!" you chimed happily.

Steve smiled tightly. "That's great Katie Cat, but what have you been told about running in the apartment?"

Your eyes darted to the side as you thought, then you remembered the rule. You blushed in embarrassment, having forgotten yet again. "M'sorry, Papa," you murmured abashedly, dropping your head onto his shoulder. "Didn't want you to leave wifout your picture and I forgotted again. I sowwy."

The tension left Steve's smile and he kissed your temple. "I forgive you love, but next time when you're super excited, do you think you can try to remember your rules better? I don't want you getting hurt."

You nodded energetically. "I try, Papa! Getting hurt is a no-no!"

"That's right. Now, no more running today or you're getting a Time Out. Understand?"

"I understand."

"Good. Good girl," Steve said proudly, before giving you a big hug and another kiss, this time on the cheek. You snuggled happily back down onto his shoulder. He then turned and looked meaningfully at Bucky, who rolled his eyes.

"Yes, if she runs again today, she'll get a Time Out," he said back in a bored voice. His nose wrinkled and he cocked an eyebrow at his husband. "Honestly, I'm starting to get a little offended here, Cap. You seem to have the impression that I can't take care of her alone."

Steve tilted his head and smiled gently at his love. "It's not that and you know it. I'm just....I don't like being away from her for this long, where I can't see her and protect her and...." He didn't finish the sentence, but Bucky could see it in his eyes. Steve felt guilty for leaving.

For the next month, all the Avengers were being sent out on goodwill missions and press tours- giving back to the community during peacetime. Fury had split the team into mini groups, and all caregivers had been assigned to separate teams so no little was left alone. They were quick missions, only three days long, but to Steve, the idea of leaving the both of you felt like an eternity. He'd been doing well to hide it, but the mask had slipped now that it truly was go time.

All offense forgotten, Bucky smiled and stepped in closer to the two of you. He put a soothing hand on the small of Steve's back, rubbing gently. "You know that I'll do right by our girl," he said softly. "Nothing's gonna happen- not on my watch. AND I promise that we'll have bedtimes and vegetables and screen time restrictions and Time Outs."

At that, you popped your head up. "How's come Time Outs?" you asked, outraged, only catching part of the discussion. "I didn't do nothing!"

Bucky's lips twisted as he tried to suppress his smile at your ire. "Not yet, you haven't," he said, a twinkle in his eye. "But you think you can honestly be one hundred percent good for three whole days straight?" he asked you, smirking.

"Oh. Prob'ly not," you said matter of factly, before laying your head back down on Steve's shoulder. Bucky turned back to Steve, his grin wrapping around his face.

"See? I got this," he said cheerfully, making Steve chuckle.

"Yeah, I know you do, punk," Steve said, softening, as he leaned in to kiss Bucky lovingly. He set you down, then leaned down so you were eye to eye. "Alright, Katie Cat. Best behaviors, okay?"

"Okay, Papa! I try!"

"Oh, I didn't mean you. I meant for Daddy. You're gonna have to keep him on his best behavior, you know. It's a full time job."

"I do it!" you giggled, twisting around in glee. "If Daddy's bad, does he get a Time Out?" It made you laugh to think of your big, bad Daddy smushed into the Time Out corner.

Steve smiled indulgently at you. "Tell you what. You keep a list of all the bad things Daddy does while I'm gone, and I'll take care of him when I get back. Deal?" he said mischievously. Bucky shot him an unamused look as you laughed uproariously.

"Deal! Oh, I 'most forgot!! Here's your picture to take wif you, okay?" You held up the drawing to your beloved Papa, who took it carefully, examining it. "See, it's you and Daddy and me and Jellybean! And we playin' in the park, an' dat's da fountain and the swings and the sun!"

Steve immediately scooped you back up into the biggest bear hug imaginable. "I love it Baby Girl, thank you," he whispered into your ear. "It's going right on the mirror in the hotel where I'll see it every day." You hugged your Papa fiercely back- you couldn't ask for better than that.

About ten minutes later, you and Bucky waved as the Quinjet took off into the clear blue sky. After a quick touch base with Tony, Natasha, and Sylvie about a playdate over the next three days, Bucky took your hand and let you skip and hop next to him, all the way back down the elevator and to your apartment. You stepped together over the threshold and Bucky shut the door behind you. It was quiet. Very quiet. You two sighed in sync. Then just as Bucky looked down at you, you looked up at him. Identical grins of mischief cracked across both of your faces.

"Let's do it," you both said in agreement.

Five minutes later, you were seated on top of the kitchen island, directing the madness. "We need MORE Oreos, Daddy!"

Bucky crumbled another handful of Oreos on top of the already way-too-big 3 flavored ice cream sundae he was making. "Alright, got it. What else?" he asked you. "Let's see, we got m&ms, hot fudge, cherries, sprinkles-"

"Chocolate AND rainbow!"

"Right, chocolate and rainbow, can't have one without the other. We've also got potato chips, caramel popcorn, Skittles, Twizzlers, gummy bears..."

"Do we got any of the hot Cheetos left??"

"No, Papa made me get rid of them."

"Booooooo."

"Tell me about it. Do we need anything else?"

"Whipped cream!"

"Good call, Trouble. I think that'll do it then!" You cheered loudly as he picked you up off the kitchen counter, tossing you into the air playfully before blowing a raspberry on your cheek. He set you down as you were still laughing. "Get two big spoons, okay?"

"Okay!" you said, charging towards the spoon drawer. "Dis is WAY better dan vegetables."

Bucky stopped and turned to look at you. "That's right- I did promise Papa we'd have vegetables, didn't I?" Your little brow instantly wrinkled, not liking where this was going and having instant regret from bringing it up. "Well, guess we gotta keep our promises." Bucky reached into the fridge and withdrew one carrot stick. He unceremoniously jammed it into the top of the scoop of strawberry. "There we go," he said, nodding in satisfaction. "Shall we?"

The rest of the morning was spent devouring the sugar-loaded monstrosity while sitting in a huge blanket fort the two of you made in the living room and watching Disney movies. You offered a running commentary on all of them, which Bucky found to be absolutely hilarious. After two and a half movies, you finally crashed from the sugar high so the two of you cuddled on the sleeping bags and cushions that made up the base of the blanket fort and took a long nap. You ordered pizza for dinner and it was awesome.

The rest of Steve's time away was just like that- the two of you making an absolute mess of the apartment and doing whatever you wanted. Within reason of course- Bucky wasn't about to put himself in a situation where he'd have to explain to Steve how you'd gotten hurt while running in the apartment on his watch. He helped you burn your energy out in other ways though, like taking you to the giant swimming pool in the Avengers training gym. He made you wear a lifejacket and double floaties on all four limbs. When you complained loudly and passionately, he just responded with his mischievous grin, and launched you high into the air, where you cannonballed into the water spectacularly. You had so many floaties on that you barely dipped below the surface. Your protests disappeared in an instant, changing to calls for "AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN!!!!!" You two stayed in the pool until all your fingers looked like prunes.

You had a fun playdate with Peter, the twins, and Prince Loki, but honestly you preferred making mischief with your Daddy at home. On the last night of just the two of you, he took you up to the roof of the tower, and the two of you star gazed together. He pointed out constellations to you, and you listened in hushed wonder at the stories that Bucky was able to weave from the stars.

The day Steve was due to arrive home, it was Sergeant Daddy and Private Baby Cleaning Time, which you always thoroughly enjoyed. By the time you two were done, there was not a trace of any shenanigans whatsoever. The whole team was on deck to greet the returning Avengers that evening, and soon the air was full of joyful screams of the littles as they were reunited with their caregivers. Steve scooped you up and cuddled you tight while you hugged him as hard around the neck as you could, determined not to let go. He then blew a huge raspberry on your cheek, making you shriek with laughter. He gave Bucky a long kiss, and the three of you made your way back to the apartment.

As you babbled on to Steve with the very carefully crafted version of the truth about your exploits over the past couple days that Bucky had coached you on, you missed the subtle but detailed visual sweep of the apartment that Steve was doing. When you had finally told him everything down to you and Bucky going to the launch pad to greet the Quinjet's return, Steve tossed you in the air before giving you another bear hug.

"That sounds like a very fun time, pup. Did you and Daddy obey all the rules? All the time?"

You nodded vigorously, because technically you HAD. "There were vegetables and naps and I didn't run in the apartment!"

Steve chuckled. "That's my good girl. Hey- guess what?" he asked playfully, setting you back down on the ground.

"What?"

"If you go look in the small blue duffle bag that's on Daddy's and my bed, I think you might find a surprise..." With a shriek, you started to tear off. But before you got two steps, you stopped so fast you nearly knocked yourself over. You then began speed walking as fast as you could without calling it running.

"I am not running Papa, just so you know!" you hollered over your shoulder as you rounded the corner and he couldn't see you anymore. Steve burst out laughing at that, before pulling Bucky in for a much deeper kiss than before. Once the two of the finally broke apart, Steve leaned back, giving Bucky a knowing look.

"So. I'm impressed, Sergeant. Can't tell that the two of you have been wreaking havoc in here for the past three days at all," Steve said, grinning lovingly at his husband.

"I didn't do anything," Bucky said sanctimoniously, with a little shake of his head. When Steve began to laugh, he stopped him with mischievous kiss.

A/N- Okay, so I was going to do this as one big story, but it's already too long and I haven't posted in a while, so here you go. Part two coming in as fast as I can finish it, and I bet you know what's coming.... :D Here's Part Two!

[icyrambles]

the cassettes are a group of characters where if i think about them for too long i start to get physically ill.

because i really like the cassettes. they're really fun and i adore the concept of a guy who happens to have a gaggle of goons to do his dirty work. the combination of making them actual cassettes who live inside of soundwave (and/or blaster but this is gonna be a soundwave cassette focused post) is really interesting.

unfortunately most bits of canon (and fanon to be entirely honest) do not treat the cassettes as actual beings with their own thoughts, feelings, and personalities outside of "soundwave's little guys."

for the sake of clarity i will only be talking about the continuity that i have the most experience with, that being idw1 and my post will mostly be talking about those versions of the characters. i've been told that the cassettes feature more prominently in the g1 marvel comics but i haven't quite gotten around to reading those in depth so i won't be discussing those.

back on topic.

i always feel so disappointed at the actual cassettes as characters. they're often sidelined into being background characters and the majority of the time when they show up in fics they're never majour characters, just background guys to pad out the cast. i'm honestly not gonna judge fan writers and fan artists too harshly because most canon sources don't really feature the cassettes as actual characters worthy of having attention paid to them.

idw1 is specifically the continuity where i feel a bit sick whenever i think about the cassettes because they go through sooooo much shit and it's never brought up. like okay, laserbeak, buzzsaw, and ravage are mostly chill. obviously they probably have the whole beastformers are lesser beings thing going on but they're overall the most well rounded of the cassettes. (ravage especially since he's actually allowed to be a character outside of soundwave)

rumble and frenzy are were my stomach starts to like... explode. because they didn't get a choice in being soundwave's cassettes and it's never brought up, ever. megatron basically tells them that they're gonna be reformatted and neither party ever brings it up. like do rumble and frenzy just tolerate soundwave because it could be so much worse? do they genuinely respect soundwave and fight beside him because they want to see him succeed in a similar manner as the beastformers? like... phase 2 shows them reformatted again into motorcycles and they seem okay with it, like neither of them seem to be hung up on no longer being cassettes.

but also i have issues and problems with rumble and frenzy always being shown as a package duo. like i think they're a fun combo, especially as siblings because i adore platonic relationships but most pieces of canon treat them as interchangeable. like it's an ongoing joke in the fandom that they swap paint colours to fuck with people and in actual canon sources they don't have consistent colours so it's harder to actually treat them as genuine individuals. and that makes me soooooo mad. i don't like it when twins/duos in media get treated as a weird conglomerate individual with two names. it's boring and it's lazy and i wish it would stop happening.

side tangent. i hate what how skybound treats the cassettes. like okay yeah sure it's fun to see soundwave go "you hurt my ravage" but what about his other cassettes. either rumble or frenzy is dead and soundwave just doesn't fucking care? does he play favourites, boy i sure would like to know but daniel warren literally fucking said that he killed off one of the twins because he found the colour debate to be annoying and that grinds my gears a bit. if you don't like them, don't fucking include them or idk, have mike spicer, the colourist, keep their palettes consistent.

and skybound also treats ravage like an object. he's not an actual character with thoughts and feelings and emotions, he's a fucking toy for soundwave to moon over whenever warren needs soundwave to be less of an asshole than shockwave. like yeah sure, soundwave being so desperate to get ravage repaired in skybound is good for his character but that dynamic, where ravage has no actual dialogue and no actual personality outside of "soundwave's cassettte" makes him so much less interesting to me. skybound is getting a small benefit of the doubt because there's only 11 issues so far, but i will critique it to all hell because any emotional tension involving ravage and soundwave falls apart for me because ravage could easily be replaced with literally any other cassette. he's not special and the comic doesn't do anything to make me genuinely care about soundwave and his relationship.

tangent over. i'm going back to talking about idw1.

specifically it's time to talk about the fucking elephant in the room that i'm always thinking about whenever soundwave's cassettes come up; ratbat.

now to preface this little rant of mine. ratbat sucks. he's a terrible person who actively believed and contributed to the oppression of millions of cybertronians. he used soundwave as nothing more than a tool and proved himself to be a slimy scumbag with the few moments that he was on screen.

however, that does not stop me from feeling just a tad bit bad for him considering how soundwave treats him. it's one thing for the decepticons to murder the whole senate, those characters don't really matter in the long run, they're nameless, they never get brought up ever again and the story just doesn't care about them once they're dead.

but ratbat is different because rather than killing him, soundwave shoves his dying spark into a cassette body and for all intensive purposes, turns ratbat into his slave. because ratbat doesn't get a choice, he doesn't get the ability to say no. he just has to be toted along and do whatever soundwave tells him to do and that alone makes my opinions on idw soundwave.... well they're not great. because later stories treat idw soundwave like he's a good guy, he's the dude who wants to make the decepticons what they were originally, he wants to be done with cybertron's bullshit.

and i have to sit there, fist clenched, wanting to grab him by the fucking shoulders and ask "WHAT ABOUT RATBAT? WHAT ABOUT THE GUY WHO YOU LITERALLY MADE INTO A SLAVE FOR AT FOUR MILLION YEARS AND WHOSE DEATH YOU DIDN'T HAVE ANY REACTION TO WHATSOEVER? DOES LIBERATION AND EQUALITY ONLY MATTER WHEN IT COMES TO GUYS WHO DIDN'T PERSONALLY FUCK YOU OVER?"

ehem, anyways, yeah i do not like the fact that idw just brushes over the fact that ratbat is not willingly soundwave's cassette. they do not ever focus on the fact that soundwave stuffed his former employer's spark into a completely different frame and then proceeded to do exactly what ratbat did to him for around four million years. and then didn't react whatsoever to ratbat dying.

like in early idw1, ratbat doesn't have any dialogue. he's a nothing burger character like all the other cassettes. but idw phase 2 specifically makes him a political rival. he's the guy in charge of the cons (along side shockwave to some extent) and then prowl fucking orders arcee to kill ratbat and no one ever talks about him ever again...

i have complicated emotions regarding ratbat because the story really wants you to see his treatment and go, yes, he deserves this treatment, he's evil and he was mean to soundwave and therefore he deserves to be imprisoned by another and used as a weapon for four million years and once he's dead we'll never talk about him ever again.

and i don't think that's fair. ratbat should've been a crucial character to soundwave after he died. soundwave should've had a moment in phase two where he realises that the decepticons have been terrible from the beginning, that he was actively a part of that terribleness, and he should've made the active decision to change the decepticons into something that stands for equality and freedom and peace.

i'm gonna move onto ravage because i feel so bad for ravage. he got shafted hard. oh the one hand, i love mtmte ravage, i adore seeing the cassettes in environments that don't involve soundwave because it means the writers have to actually care about them as more than just little guys that soundwave bosses around.

unfortunately, ravage goes from being soundwave's little guy to being megatron's little guy in mtmte. which like... okay, fine, megatron needs a guy who he can bounce off of and ravage fits that role pretty well (though i'd argue that having megatron potentially bounce off of an autobot whose morals are a bit lax is much better than simply having a decepticon who already likes him.)

but the point is, ravage, rather than being his own character who has thoughts and opinions, only exists to be a buffer for megatron. the devil on his shoulder if you will, trying to see and understand and coax megatron back into being the fearsome leader he was before. and it works to some extent, ravage getting fatally injured is literally what prompts megatron into ripping the djd to shreds. but unfortunately, that's ravage's only real purpose in the story. we don't see him interacting with any other characters means that he's entirely dependent on megatron for any insight to his character development. nautica is an exception but i have my own issues with the fact that she treats him like a pet upon first meeting him and like... to my knowledge she never really gets over that whole cute kitty aspect of their relationship.

and this makes me so mad because ravage is really interesting. he's older than most of the characters on the lost light and should reasonably be a fascinating insight to how beastformers are treated and discriminated against during the pre and post war eras. but instead he's relegated to a side character who gets murdered to further the arc of megatron, a character who sort of forgets about ravage as soon as lost light starts. this isn't helped by megatron's character arc being rushed and happening mostly off screen but ravage's death feels so unnecessary to me. he would've been much better had he been forced to be separated from megatron for most of lost light.

and unfortunately this is much the same for most other continuities. transformers prime my forever detested treats laserbeak like a fucking drone. it doesn't have any voicelines, it's just a little creature hooked up to soundwave's chest. (i haven't read the books because i cannot be bothered with aligned continuity and also if i have to go to external sources of canon beyond the original show to get key character information, it probably wasn't too important to begin with)

earthspark is fun in season 1, i'm happy that frenzy and laserbeak are allowed a few moments of time outside of soundwave but they're very minor characters and unfortunately ravage isn't much of a character considering he can't speak (which is weird because laserbeak can) and only gets a few scenes throughout seasons 1 and two.

cyberverse only has laserbeak and once again she/he (i don't think they state their pronouns) only exists to be soundwave's little guy.

tfa soundwave is so nothing burger that i genuinely forget that he exists 90% of the time. so his cassettes, as to be expected, not characters and just random objects to be played around with.

my point in all this is that the cassettes deserve better. they deserve to be actual genuine characters who are treated as more than just set pieces for soundwave and the other decepticons. i hope that in later transformers series, the writers give the cassettes the opportunity to shine.

[massivechestplate]

Is anyone else tired over recent events? Not in a sleepy way, but in that bone-deep depression way?

Bit of a long post about the general Gacha game-sphere. Needed to get this off of my chest, might as well scream into the void.

I ask this as someone who flirts between these gacha games out of boredom mostly. They're free, they're phone, they got Story, and I'm not spending a cent on them personally, so that's why I play them.

But every fucking day it seems we got another controversy. Bad VA this, fired an artist that, White_Pharaoh.png being handed out like fucking candy on Halloween lately.

And then we discuss on how Its Bad, and we all know Its Bad, people discuss on what to do, Boycott, torch the franchise and run, stay and try to fix it, ignore it because it's been your Comfort Media for the past 3 years, all that stuff. And it's hard. And a lot of those choices always feel half-assed.

I've been around a bit, I've seen it. I was around when Fate Grand Order had LB7, Wandjina, and all the other shit on 2023 JP hit, and there was talk, some talked but stayed, others left but chose to still engage with Type-Moon works, some might've left completely but I never heard of them.

I was around when Project Moon fired Vellmori, and there was betrayal, some deciding to leave, others staying because Project Moon wormed into their hearts and they decided to stay even knowing what was happening. Knowing what it was now built on and where the lines were drawn.

And I'm here now in the midst of the Hoyoverse shittery round 2, I don't think I need to speak at length on that. We've all seen it.

And all the time every potential choice to take feels half-assed?

Do you leave, abandoning the franchise as if leaving without fighting to improve something makes you good, preserving your own morality at the cost of never making anything better? The lack of evil substituting for substantial good?

Do you boycott? If so is it purely not spending money or not even logging in? Does it even make a difference? After all, when do these oversea companies really listen to anyone outside their country of origin? Is it enough to stop on that one specific game and still buy other works, or do you condemn the whole?

Do you continue on as normal, to indulge in the media? To continue what brings you joy and comfort? Is criticizing and acknowledging the faults enough or just lipservice?

Are we arrogant to impose our values on others, hating foreign companies not conforming to our beliefs? Or is this completely reasonable, every scathing speech and point completely justified and never bordering on some level of sinophobia?

And just... it's hard. Hard enough trying to be a Good Person normally but here? In this space? Part of it feels natural and some action is necessary for the Good of Everything, the other part feels like a big fuss over something ultimately small and meaningless.

And it hurts. You give out pieces of yourself to these stories, let it become a part of you, then become forced to tear it out of your heart just to be Good. And when I say that I don't mean in that internet point "I'm a good person way" but the way of being Good with yourself, proving only to yourself.

And it doesn't help that plenty of us have devolved into humanity's good old passtime of tribalism, mockery, and a lack of empathy for The Other. Everyone's been taking the piss out of the other gacha players for the stuff their games pull as if their own games haven't done the same. Some of it might be in good nature, over exaggerated and self-deprecating, a joke or criticism, but its honestly become indistinguishable from genuine malice and contempt.

And...

I'm tired.

Tired of seeing this. Tired of dealing with it. Tired of wondering what to do, what's the best choice, what choice even is there.

Part of me is honestly tempted to just not care. To accept that I'm a bad person by playing these games and going through with it anyways because I'm so tired and cynical that hedonistic indulgence just becomes more worth it than trying to be good. At most accept a Gacha-game that's a 'Lesser Evil' compared to another, if that even counts.

Because it hurts. Because you let these stories change you, touch you, let them into your heart, and then have to tear it out with your own two hands and pretend it doesn't hurt. And you can't feel like you can mourn what you lost, because someone will come in and start raving about how it's dumb you even cared to begin with.

I've seen arguments for every option, from people I don't respect and people I do, strangers and prominent community figures. I've warred with the argument of "Morally Pure Media doesn't exist, don't beat yourself up over it" and wonder just how absolute that statement should be.

And I don't know.

And all I want is to go to sleep, and wake up and have it magically be better.

[dummie-writes]

the party walkers

self insert .✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* school bus graveyard

words: 2.21k

next part: a rescue mission

note: hot minute, hey guys, this is my first time writing for school bus graveyard! currently, it's probably my favorite webtoon (that being said, all my other favorites are on hiatus, so, yk. that's that.) if you followed me for genshin one shots, I just wanna let you know I'm NOT gonna stop writing them, permanently at least. I haven't been able to fixate on genshin for a bit because the app is too big for my phone and trying to play on my computer kills me inside. hope you enjoy, also things prooobably aren't gonna be perfect, lol, I'm going off memory of the first chapter/s

content: self insert for sbc, uh, go read that first, I don't think I'll end up including anything (at least, not here) that needs extra trigger warnings. long term, it's a tyler x reader, maybe, idk, but regardless I don't plan on starting that for a bit.

i. a demon inside of my skin

you hadn't been in "the room where it happened", so to speak. actually, you didn't know what everyone else was dealing with for about a week after savannah, because you thought you were having batshit crazy nightmares! your hotel room was a good bit further away from everyone else's that first night, and after making a run for it into a room and barricading yourself in, you thought that would be the end of it. everyone did, didn't they?

and then, you went home. warm bed, soft blanket, box fan running in the background while you scrolled through various social media apps. it was nearing midnight, but that wasn't new for you. the early morning hours were your friend, the moon a sibling by your teenage years. not unique, sure, but that was the reality of that situation. a small shiver tickles your spine as you remember the night mare last night brought you, your fingertips ghosting the spot on your knuckle where you had banged it and broken your finger in that dream. it was even sore when you woke up. sometimes, nightmares were like that though. sometimes people woke up gasping for air after drowning in their sleep, or craving cigars after being a smoker in their dreams. sore knuckles weren't that far off.

it was like a flash; one moment, you were watching a college aged blonde talk about the type of oils she used for her long, silky, soft hair, and the next, the sky from out your window was a bleeding carmine. there was a loud silence, no wind, no rain, no box fan or phone.

then, again, you heard it. click, click, click. chatter, chatter, chatter. okay. cool. another nightmare. fun and fantastic.

shooting out of your sheets, your index finger throbbed, sparing a second and glancing at it revealed purple spots upon green bruises splotched along your hand. curling your finger inward hurt, but was possible. making a fist around your blanket, you threw it as hard as possible off of you, hoping to distract whatever was making the noise. it did not have the desired affect, and flew a couple feet before expanding and landing softly on the floor. that didn't matter, you were already on your feet and they were thudding to your door before you were aware of what was going on, scrambling on the carpet of your bedroom as you heard skitter like movements from where your eyes couldn't catch the gray, uncanny human-like figure making its way toward you on all fours. it was fast. way, way too fast. the undignified squeal you released as you yanked open your door turned into a gravelly scream of both terror and agony when you slid through, slamming the door shut before you, a blackened finger along with it. it didn't fall to the floor, but instead was hanging painfully out of your back, right under your shoulder blade. like a when a plank of wood splinters, but has enough fibers to hang off and out of the main piece and bobs back and forth. except you're not a piece of wood, and you have to not scream right now.

you feel nausea drinking its way into your chest, but adrenaline pushes it to a back burner as a need to survive pulses in your brain. grabbing a random shoe, a picture frame from off the wall, and a small ball which were left on the floor earlier, you throw them in another direction and hope it sounds enough like footsteps that when you get into the bathroom, whatever that thing is doesn't try to follow you in there.

the balls of your feet aren't much quieter than your whole foot, but they'll have to do as you nearly slam the bathroom door, stop yourself in the knick of time to edge it closed instead, and lock it. for the first time in your entire life, you internally thank your parents that you didn't get that house with the skylight in the bathroom.

now, you hold your breath. the creaking of the floors beneath your cheap carpet tells you that that thing, that monster, that whatever-it-is, is passing by. your fingers shake as you cover your mouth with one hand, the other cupping your nose as you try desperately to slow and quiet your breathing. unfortunately, the racing of your heart isn't helping, and neither is the recognition of that wound that craved up your back so nicely. again, your stomach turns. you don't have time to deal with that right now, even if you can feel blood dripping down your back and throbbing which matches your heartbeat.

click, click, thump, thump. the shadow from the light outside darkens, two fuzzy shadows before the door. silence. praying.

click, click. click. it slowly, slowly, drags its hideous feet away from the door.

you can't breathe for another minute, and the instant you do, it comes out as a heave. your eyes go wide as you scramble toward the bathtub, making it just in time to spill your guts. after emptying your stomach, you pull away with watery eyes and a raw throat, coughing a couple times. you feel a little bit better, as you usually do after throwing up, but that won't last. also, you need water, and that means looking in the mirror if you don't wanna be loud. but for right now, you just need to lay down for a moment. just breathe. you're so, so light headed. you had only just woken up, and this all felt so real. the pain in your hand and in your back. the scratchy stinging you feel up your esophagus. the exhaustion pawing under your eyes as you start to lean backward;

except, you can't, and when you try that, you only shoot straight up and nearly puke all over again. thankfully, this time, the finger actually falls out of your back.

"𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯."

you can reach the majority of the wound if you really reach. it won't be perfect, but you should be able to get it properly clean and bandaged with the first aid kit your family keeps in the bathroom. you don't really know how to clean a wound this big, though. will you need stitches? the only real way to know is to look at it, even if you aren't really ready to do so.

"𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘮 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴? 𝘪𝘧 𝘐'𝘮 𝘢𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘭."

the thought came to you before you even moved from your spot on the floor. oh, yeah. that's right. you're asleep.

...

huh. most dreams feel a little more, don't know. dreamy?? if this is a dream, candy is going to start raining from the sky right now.

right now. here.

𝘯𝘰𝘸, you think, looking up at the ceiling half heartedly. alright, if this was a nightmare, it was a really weird horrible one. and also, you'd rather not push your luck at this point. so, mirror it is. ignoring the pit of panic welling in your chest, you push yourself to your feet, and tip toe to the kitchen sink. you stare at the faucet, and then force your eyes upward. your hair is frazzled, and there are white specks along the corners of your mouth. and then, you turn around. your jaw tightens when you see the open wound, your nightshirt torn open and revealing tattered, aggressive flesh beneath it. that thing probably cut you to the bone. hopefully, because there is in fact a bone there, it didn't hit any organs. you can breathe fine, so your lung didn't seem all too punctured. it's just ugly. ugly and painful.

cleaning it is the first step, and you're just thankful that despite the fact that you stupidly, stupidly, stupidly dumped isopropyl alcohol onto it in hopes of doing so (for a second, before the burning, you felt a little uncomfortable. and then it hit, you nearly cracked your tooth from biting down so hard), it's over with.

a week later, you find yourself in class, rubbing sleepiness from your eyes. so, long story short, that wasn't a dream, and something is horribly wrong. you waking up to a long scab running down your shoulder blade told you that much. and things were about to get a lot worse. in the real world, that is.

"sir, please. they do literally nothing. they just sit there all spaced out, rubbing their eyes. it's like they aren't even trying for this project!" brandy, your classmate begs in a hushed tone. as annoying as the brunette could be at times, she wasn't wrong. a pang in your chest as you think of possibly making it so that the other members of your group protect fail because you are too tired to do your part. god, sorry brenda, you're too busy trying to huddle up in a bathroom all night and take care of a wound that isn't healing for some reason, all while praying that the thing that chased you in there and will probably kill you, doesn't murder you. but she's still not wrong. and it isn't like she knows that, because you have something seriously wrong with you. it's not her fault, and she shouldn't have to pay for you being crazy.

"mr. thomas," you quietly call, rubbing your elbow uncomfortably as you stare at the floor. you can see brandy pause from the corner of your eye, and you think there's even a sorry expression on her face. even if she was annoying, she clearly hadn't thought you heard that. and she had a right to be upset.

"I would like to change groups, if, um, possible."

there's a pause, and from your peripheral view, you can see your teacher and classmate motioning at each other, her probably trying to convince him to let you do so. a small thump, and then a sigh. "alright. I'm going to put you with ashlyn's group. "

as a redhead from across the room pops up and looks around, mr. thomas looks through a few pieces of paper, crossing something off with his pen. he didn't say it out loud, and frankly, he didn't have to. that was the group in the class that was also failing, so, you being in it wouldn't have much of an impact anyway. at least you wouldn't sink the whole ship all by yourself. was it smart, as a teacher? no. he probably should have put you with a tutor or something. looking up at mr. thomas as you nod and collect your things from your desk reveals an, in fact, apologetic eyed brandy. she mouths a "thank you", and you nod in return. you would drag your chair to their little group later, first, you should go introduce yourself, and hope they don't kick you out.

the bright blonde of the group catches you with his eyes before anyone else. you can hear him say something, and the rest of them stop talking and turn to look at you as you awkwardly walk over. their eyes are so piercing, it's making you uncomfortable.

"can we help you?" a brunette asks, tilting her head up to look at you. her tone carries no malice, just curiosity. makes you feel a little bit better.

"I'm so sorry to ask this, if you guys don't want me in your project I'll go ask if I can be alone or join another group or something, it's not a big deal. I'm having issues with my part of the project, and it's affecting everyone else's work in my group. so they were wondering if I could join in with you guys."

they all share a really weird look with each other, like they're talking telepathically or something. a tense moment passes, and two members speak up at the same time.

"yeah sure lol."

"fuck no."

"tyler! be nice! besides, we probably need someone who actually knows what's going on in this class!"

"didn't she just say she was having issues with her work? it's not like she's going to add much."

"to be fair, I don't think any of us are doing all too great on the work anyway."

you feel the need to clarify, mainly to get this over with. "I'm not really having trouble with the work. I'm just not doing it. I'm having sleeping issues, again, not a big deal if you don't want me to join."

they all stop, and look at you again. the redheaded one narrows her eyes, letting the braid she was messing with fall to her lap. her and the boy next to the brunette girl who asked you a question - actually, now that you're up close and looking at him, that looks like one of the boys on the baseball team. didn't she call him tyler? like tyler hernandez? huh. you didn't even realize you guys shared this class.

"what kind of nightmares have you been having?" the blonde asks, looking at who you're starting to assume is ashlyn. they have a staring contest of sorts while you start to answer. "oh, just weird ones. like, ones with monsters... and stuff..."

you didn't say anything about nightmares.

he looks at you again, a cat like grin on his face. "I think you should sit down. "

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

next part: a rescue mission

[fun-k-board]

Got a cool idea for you my friend.

The insomniac spider-men, both Peter and miles. And how they’d go when y/n offers to do a horror movie night with the likes of classics like Halloween or modern stuff like talk to me

The Insomniac Spider-Men with a horror movie night

Note(s) : I did Headcanons for how the Spider-Men are with horror movies and then a scenario at the end where the reader does the horror movie night.

I don't know anything about Talk To Me so I chose M3GAN instead, and I haven't seen Halloween in years so I'm sorry if I got something wrong.

Peter Parker / Spider-Man

I don't think Peter would really watch movies or shows all that often, he probably hasn't even finished any piece of media since before the spider bite. Even then, he was probably that kid who watched those really bad ones to make fun of with Harry and MJ.

I imagine his tolerance is most likely high, because of his real life experiences, he can handle fake blood, he can handle the fake injuries, most of them can't compare to what he's gone through.

But what he really can't handle? Psychological thrillers, and really good kid actors.

That scene in the shining where the two twins are standing there? He had to hold MJ's hand, Harry made fun of him for an entire month.

He tends to humanise fictional characters, especially the victims in horror movies. Maybe for some slashers he can understand their motives, but most of them hurt people who can't defend themselves and it makes him a little sick.

To see movies where this is used so effectively is honestly a little uncomfortable, he appreciates the mastery of how it's crafted and how realistic the pain is, but he can never watch it all the way through.

Peter's always been terrified of Carrie because he was also bullied, she, in a way, reflected on him. Of course, she also experienced abuse from her mother, unlike Peter, but the scene of everybody screaming in that hall will probably haunt him forever.

In a way, it keeps him grounded, it makes him remember Uncle Ben's words, it makes him remember to use his powers for good, and not for evil.

Miles Morales / Spider-Man

Miles and Ganke most likely sit down and watch some shows or movies every once and a while, he's never been a huge horror fan, and he's never watched any that really stuck with him.

He's mostly impressed with the art direction most of the time, the way they shot that scene in Carrie where it goes all around the prom in one, long, continuous shot?

It's beautiful, it gets him so engrossed he forgets it's supposed to be a scary movie.

Miles can't handle any that tackle and treat the loss of a parent as a main plot point, he could maybe handle it as a side plot, but it reminds him so much of how his dad's death affected him, his hands clam up, he feels sweaty, he just can't handle it.

It never really makes him connect with the story, it just makes me remember it as the 'oh God don't watch that' movie

The ones that get him truly terrified are honestly any that involve children and the elderly as the villains, that's not to say he'll be completely fine if he watches an adult brutally murder people.

Both

Peter and Miles haven't had a day off in months, they've been so focused on saving the city, helping their friends and family, they just don't have time for themselves.

Until today.

You had finally convinced the two, after hours of subtle and not so subtle convincing, they relented, under the promise that if any serious crimes were reported, they would get Ganke to check if the police have it handled or not, if they don't? They're abandoning the movie night.

Which you agreed with, because one night having fun is better than no time to yourself at all.

Peter and Miles sit down on the couch, while you make the popcorn and drinks, carrying the bowls of food and bottles of coke to the table, the microwave hums, drowned out by the two men chatting.

"Can you believe that Electro got out again." Miles sounds exasperated, and he looks it too, he and Electro had fought for what felt like hours, in reality it was only a few minutes, shocking each other until they couldn't fight any more.

"You get used to it, he'll probably stay a month in prison at most." Peter shrugs, leaning back on the couch and wincing slightly, an aching pain in his back started up again, but he was honestly too tired to ask for someone to crack it.

"This job is crazy." Miles laughs, shaking his head with an amused smile. "I can't believe it, each day, fighting bad guys, swinging for hours and hours, it's just... I love it." You cut the conversation short by bringing in the last bowl of popcorn.

"Whooo! Movie time!" You happily say, placing the bowl on the table with the other snacks and drinks, making sure it's perfectly placed before sitting on the couch. You grab the remote next to you and smile at Miles and Peter.

"What should we watch?" Before either can respond, you suddenly gasp, your eyes snapping back to the TV. "Oh! Actually, there's this new horror movie called M3GAN, I bought it a few weeks back and forgot to watch it." You ramble, turning the television on and searching for the movie.

"I guess we go with that one then." Peter mumbles, raising an eyebrow in amusement, you all haven't hung out in a while, even then, you do wish that Harry and MJ could've made it. So, it's clear you're just excited to spend time with them for once.

"It's about this robot that this lady makes after her niece loses her parents in a car accident." You cheerfully say, pressing play on the movie and taking a swig of coke. "After this, we're so watching Halloween."

The movie was something different to the two, when they think horror, both Peter and Miles would typically think 'man with knife stabs people', so it was a refreshing change.

Both men went through a flurry of emotions, the movie was sad, then funny, than horrifying, then funny, then scary, and then funny, it was a constant switch.

The fact that the girl lost her parents and she's clinging to the first thing that shows her respect, the lady stepped up at the end and proved she's a capable mother figure, it broke their hearts, but the jokes made them forget that temporarily.

They laughed, they went quiet in shock, and most of all? Peter cried, he couldn't help it, he isn't ashamed about it either, the girl losing her parents at such a young age reminds him of himself. Miles feels a similar way, he cried like a baby, he sobbed so much at that scene where the girl and the robot have that test and she breaks down.

Now it's time for the next movie.

"Halloween! You can't go wrong with the classics." You click on the movie. "Well, that's a lie, actually, plenty of classics suck." You mutter under your breath, pressing pause and turning to the two Spider-Men.

"Okay, first, bathroom breaks and refill time, you two ate all the popcorn so I'm making double." You get up from the couch and walk to the kitchen, both Peter and Miles go to the bathroom in that time, refilling their drinks with the bottle of coke on the floor, you return a few moments later with the multiple bowls of popcorn.

You all sit down, grab your bowls and drinks, and press play.

Overall, both men did enjoy the experience, they liked the costume of Micheal Myers, the mask and coveralls are iconic, they also both enjoyed the acting, if a bit subpar at times.

The plot was something they found to be interesting, the characters as well, they thought the therapist was a strange and weird character, who seemed a bit more unstable than Micheal.

Laurie Strode is a really inspiring character to the two, a survivor, someone who managed to take down one of the biggest threats her towns ever faced.

Just as the movie ends, you turn to the two men to see if they have any movie recommendations, but to your surprise, they've both fallen asleep.

Peter's mouth hangs open, his body pressed flat against the couch, his arms crossed and occasional light snores escapes his mouth. Miles is leaning his head on his arms, his body bent in an awkward position so he's sitting and leaning on the armrest.

For a few moments, you debate on whether or not you should wake them up, but decide against it. They need the rest. You gently move them into slightly more comfortable positions, placing blankets over the two, you stand up and reach for your phone.

You text MJ and Rio Morales, letting them know that the two would be staying at yours for the night.

[whiteredrose13]

So, I haven't written fanfic in a long time, and it's been even longer since I've posted it. But, oh my god, this fucking AU--

Do you know how long it's been since a piece of media has captivated my ADHD brain into doing more than drawing or just thinking about it really hard?? And then for an offshoot of that media to rot my brain just as badly??

Anyway, all this to say, @somerandomdudelmao I love your AU and I literally cannot stop thinking about it, it's consumed my waking thoughts. Donnie and Leo's reunion has me in a death grip.

(Apologies for any spelling/grammar errors, wrote this on my phone with very little sleep.)

Donnie is going to kill him all over again when this is over.

Mumbling, cursing, Donatello walks the surface of the spiritual lake, stray drops of glowing blue falling up around him. It's been hours. At least, it feels like it's been hours. Donnie knows time dilation is one hell of a drug, that what feels like hours to him may only be minutes–seconds, even–to anyone on the outside. He also knows that he's never had an ounce of patience for pointless tedium in his life, which is really not helping. That does not, however, negate the fact that his feet hurt, and it's fucking cold, and no matter how far he walks there's no sign of Leo–

Stubborn, selfless, reckless, candle-in-the-wind, dum-dum Leonardo!

Of course he'd be the hardest to resurrect! Donatello isn't sure why he had expected otherwise. His twin has always been the most grating individual he's ever met; Leo lived to spite him. It only makes sense that he'd make Donnie jump through hoop after hoop to save him. First his soul being barely more than an ember, weak against even the barest breath and aggravatingly flighty, and now this.

Growling, Donnie hunches slightly, staring ahead into the endless distance.

“Leo!” He screams, the sound echoing far and forever in the void. “Leo, you moron, where the hell are you?!”

Leo doesn't answer. Donnie pretends this doesn't scare him. He leans into the anger, letting the heat of it push him forward, urge him on. He can't be afraid. He's done this before, he's pulled their brothers from death's icy grip, given them a second chance. It's worked perfectly, up til now, and it's going to keep working despite Leonardo's attempts at driving Donnie insane.

Donnie's feet hit the lake harder as he stomps on, and on, and on, eyes darting frantically around for a shadow, a flicker, a sign, something. He calls for Leo until his voice is hoarse. Until his feet are so far past numb he's circled around to feeling them again.

Until Donatello realizes he can feel something under his feet.

He thinks it's the numbness creeping back in again, turning his nerves fuzzy and oversensitive (it wouldn't be the first time). But, no, he realizes, as something pushes up from underneath. Donnie stops dead. So does the thing below.

No. Not a thing.

Sparks flare to life at the back of his brain, familiar yet faint. It's a ghost of that feeling, the connecting thread between him and his other half, that twin sense Leo never shut up about and Donnie always maintained had no scientific evidence to prove. Donatello hasn't felt it since the day he died. Yet, tremulous though it may be, it's here now, bidding him to stop.

The breath vanishes from his lungs as he looks down.

There, amidst the quicksilver finish of the lake, is–

“Leo!”

His brother looks up at him. Or rather, looks up through him. Leo doesn't seem to recognize him. He stares, still as stone. Their twin sense fills with static. Donnie feels sick to his stomach. Clenching his hands, Donnie takes a steadying breath. Pressure begins to build behind his eyes. He's there, he's right there, but he still feels so far away. Donnie wonders for a moment if it's really Leo he's seeing down there.

“I miss you, Leo,”he says, though he's not sure why.

Leo copies him, mouth moving but no sound coming out. Curious. When Donnie moves, so does he, a perfect reflection, right down to the tilt of his head. Donatello kneels. So does Leo. He presses his hands against the glassy surface of the lake. So does Leo. He blocks Donnie, no matter how he moves, keeping himself on his side and Donnie on his. Just like all those games they'd play when they were hatchlings. Donnie hated those games then. He hates them even more in this moment, because on top of being annoying, now he's actively preventing Donnie from doing anything to save him.

“You are not making it easier, you know,”Donatello hisses, irritation replacing fascination.

Gritting his teeth, Donnie presses harder against the water, feeling the tension begin to give way under his right hand. The hand, he notes, Leonardo is missing.

There's nothing to block him there.

Reeling back, Donatello's fist hits the surface with enough force to send shards of glassy cerulean flying. It sinks further down, but not enough to get through. Leo's interference again, he knows. After staving off the sweet oblivion of death for so many years, fighting a decade-and-a-half in a losing battle, he's tired. Leo doesn't want to leave. He's supposed to be here, resting. This is home. That's what the twin sense tells him.

“It's not home,”Donnie grunts, punching the ice again. “Home-” Punch. “Is waiting-” Punch. “For you-” Punch. “Right here!”

Blessedly, Donatello's hand breaks through the icy surface. It's fucking freezing. Painful cold jolts up Donnie's arm into his shoulder, the shock nearly shutting down his nerves. He pushes through. He forces his arm deeper in, willing his fingers to move and close around Leonardo's scarf. Donnie's knuckles turn a startlingly light mint with the strength of his grip.

And he pulls.

He drags Leo, his twin, his brother, the other half of his soul, up and up from the depths of the water. The current shifts beneath his feet, waves lashing against his legs as it threatens to pull both him and Leonardo back under. Still, he keeps pulling. Donnie grimaces at the sharp sting of frost. Leo mimics him.

“Come here, you dumbass!”

Leo sneers up at Donnie. Rain pelts his skin, icy droplets pouring up in a deluge strong enough to nearly knock Donatello off his feet.

“You're coming with me and that's not up for discussion!"

The lake wants to take them both. It didn't want to let go of Leo, and now it thinks it can bring Donatello down with him if it tries. What it doesn't know is that the only thing that can stop Donatello is Donatello. He didn't come this far to give up now.

He didn't fight and claw and rage against all known laws of the universe to come back without his brother.

Both hands close around Leo's scarf. Then his shoulders, his sides, until Donnie's arms are under his, gripping tight around his shell. Donatello slams his foot against the lake for leverage, hauling Leo free of the water's frigid embrace.

“FUCK YOU, DEATH! I'M TAKING HIM!”

The water ripples in reply, and suddenly, it lets go. Gravity shifts. Everything tilts, sending the brothers spinning, dizzy, up–down?–into the dark.

Through it all, Donatello keeps hold of Leonardo's hand.

He made the mistake of letting go once. He's not about to make it again.

[stiffyck]

Hello Stiff,

I have been a long time fan of your art. I followed you a while back when I first saw your art pop up on my dashboard. Your art was always wonderful to me, and you had such interesting and new ideas for your Scar designs. I mean, four ears? That was so cool! And who doesn't love a good trans Scar?

Recently, there's been a change in your art that I (along with several others) have noticed. It's something you often point out as a "good" thing, but frankly, it's quite hurtful. You've been drawing Scar with a very large nose, and good on you! You're very right in saying that the hermit and traffic communities have a tendency to not draw more marginalized or "uncommon" body types. We love seeing more diverse bodies and features in art! I myself have a bigger nose and have longed for people with my features to be shown in media.

I say this with the utmost kindness and respect for your art, as a longtime fan: The way you draw Scar's nose is like a caricature. I don't understand, whenever I see your art pop up onto my dashboard, how you cannot see it. As an artist, I assume you know more about correct proportions and such than I, but this just feels (and I hate to use such strong language here) absurd. Drawing large noses is a great thing, but this feels like something I would see in an old, racist cartoon.

And it's just Scar, as well! You draw everyone else wonderfully, but you give Scar such a disproportionately large nose! At this point, it feels like you're patting yourself on the back for drawing racist caricatures. I have never seen people be drawn like this otherwise. Please, look at images of people with larger noses. Look at their proportions. Compare this to your art. You will see the difference!

I say this not as someone who wants to bring you down, but as a fan who is concerned about the way your art has been going. I'm a little surprised you haven't had people point this out to you before, frankly. I hope you take this not as something meant to insult you, but as something meant to educate and bring to light something that you may have overlooked in the name of doing something good.

Please take time to think on this and reflect. While I'd appreciate a response, one isn't necessary, as long as you do something to change. Apologies for sending this on anonymous, but I don't wish to possibly put myself under attack for saying something I truly believe in.

I hope you have a wonderful day.

I feel like some of the art I drew could come off as a caricature but the most recent one with pizza genuinely just looks like a cartoony drawing to me? Like this just looks like a character I'd see in a cartoon? I can see why some of my other pieces may have come off as a caricature even tho that was not my intention.

Obviously I don't want to make something hurtful or racist in nature so I'm genuinely sorry if anything I drew came off that way.

I'm not gonna be drawing his nose this way anymore and I'll probably lay off from posting art for now

[casuallyferal]

It's been announced that Elon is reflecting on making X membership exclusive, ie where you pay to have an X membership.

With the upcoming death of X, I find myself having meta thoughts about my fandoms, the art community, and where they intersect; and, how much those things radically-and-completely changed after the death of Tumblr -- and still haven't recovered.

(this does relate to Cross!Sans' recent win I prommy just give me a minute)

...

To start off with an example:

Some folks still remember the mass death of Tumblr.

It's hard to describe it to people who didn't see it.

There were actual casualties. Y'all remember that, too? The deaths?

Most of them were because for many people, their ~5-10 years of portfolio disappeared overnight with no recovery. Even for folks who had backups, the little things that mattered most, like reblog-chains, had been compromised. I remember reading a vent post that stuck w/ me of a college applicant sobbing because their blog was going to be their portfolio to apply, and the needed morning, it was gone. They lived through an abusive home and lost their out. They stopped posting after that.

There are keystone works that now only exist in our minds.

Cornerstones of both fandom and people's real lives were erased by a mega corp afraid of organic Human sensuality, the artist's familiar muse. A kiss, a shirtless photo, a man lounging in the sun, didn't matter. Gone with no explanatory messages. Everything was very unstable about the rules for a disturbingly long time with ghost-edits to the sitewide rules, and vague lettering. If you posted a single dangly bit, you're out. If you posted male or female nypples at any point, you're out. The rules now aren't the rules that were for a little while, long enough to carve up careers and sink fandoms.

As a case study:

Try to understand that if you're a new arrival into an old fandom from the Before Times, like say Undertale,

... you arrived into a fandom carved into quarters.

Everything we cared about and definitive blogs & art pieces vanished. I was temporarily surprised that Cross!Sans won the AU contest instead of the longtime fandom favorites like G!Sans.

For years, he was our fandom mascot.

I had a harrowing realization and began doomscrolling to confirm that nobody can find 👌the showstopping sensuality 👌😩 of G!Sans. It's gone.

G-o-n-e gone, can't find it anywhere, like that mfker into his smoke.

Our fandom values and cultural pillars that we built ourselves were deleted off-site by some Suits.

Everything the young people inherited was bleached-out and fucking sanitized by a corporation. We had no choice but to tolerate that, even as self aware as we were about it.

...this cultural-drift was not because of natural evolution, but because we weren't sterile enough to "make the cut;" and now, it's definitive with a clear before/after gap.

...

I'm of the opinion that the online art community has never really recovered from these repeat events.

It's never been the same:

I see a lot less WIPs unless it's teasing a piece.

I see less reckless abbandon in artwork. There's less scribbles.

There's less breath on the canvas.

People tightened their shit up into hyper polished presentation-pieces.

There's less shitposting in general. People used to post doodles and silly faces and polished pieces were in between.

I think this new media relationship comes from a place of collective hurt. I think many of us realized all society gives a fuck about is money money money money for something that for many of us is a necessary biproduct of being alive. The people who couldn't handle that never came back. They Told Us So when they left, and coincidentally, never came back -- or came back different.

❕ (brief cw cp)

As necessary aside, I'm not lumping in the CP -- it's that every platform has CP, and addressing CP head-on on a platform like Tumblr also meant having regulations that corporate with legal, consensual sensuality, and that's not feasible without endorsing that exists... AND, is deeply influential to many artists. Tumblr wasn't willing to do that.

Tumblr wasn't willing to accept ads from orgs that are okay with that, either.

❕ (cw over)

I feel like this keeps happening... Facebook, Tumblr, Twitter/X... because it comes from a cultural climate of fear towards the veritable Human qualities, some raw, beastial, or even vestigial, of which is the Creative's foundational wellspring. What inspires is often transgressive, and there's no room for such things on a corporate level due to the sterile inhumanity of present day economics. If it's not palettable enough that it can be sold to stockholders with polished floors and dry-cleaned suits, we're a weed between the concrete.

Get too tall and we're seen as a disordered presentation of society instead of just... just, Human. Raw, beastial, vestigially Human.

...

At the end of the day,

our inherently-self-expressive Human potential keeps getting butchered alive by fear of sex & sensuality and love, and the bitter taste of culturally dominant hatespeech; to really spit on the situation, the biggest driver behind both of those is economic. There's a desire knit into the social fabric to squeeeeeeze every fkn penny possible out of an inherently involuntary part of the Creative's experience.

For many, creating freely is a necessary part of a Creative's self-regulation, regardless of whether it's just a hobby or a career path. Creatives create things. We have to or we wilt. It is counter-intuitive to the nature of Wall Street, as it stands, and so it will never favor us -- let alone begin to understand that, without overhaul.

For me, painting is like breathing, I have to do it or I become ill.

...

...It's like... they bottled our air.

Dammed our wellsprings and sell our own work back to us in plastic jugs. Elusive, ominous "they," vague because it's a lottery for whoever plays "them" next; executioner with hanging-rope in hand to strange the creative experience.

There's nothing sacred left when it's all about making money.

...so, where's next?

(: Might as well grit our teeth about it and stay organized. Mastodon, I think? Dreamwidth also? Misskey? Where have you heard? Where do I go, now?

I miss the reblog-artfights and having Tumblr friends before it was deleted by a suit, and I don't want to lose that.

[channnel]

Okay, so- My drawing of Jules is nearly done BUT my hand hurts from drawing the flowers and my eyes hurt cause I've been staring at my tab for a week and my back's a banana now.

So, since I haven't posted some actual art in this blog- Here are my random headcanons of the brothers in My Dear hatchet man. This is purely fan-made, alright? I'm bored and this headcanons have been in my mind for months.

Claude

Claude fully knows that he looks good in dark colors and will not wear any other hues even if you paid him. Even if it's summer, he will still wear dark clothes.

The type of man that will glare down a kid in public if the kid is being a little shit (Same goes to the parent).

Claude would stare at wall for long minutes before answering a call from Jules.

Will judge Jules' healthy eating diet despite having the same exact diet.

The type of guy that hates being treated differently because he's handsome but also often uses the same treatment to get what he wants.

Nobody in his workplace know who he is. Nobody knows where he lives, nobody knows if he has any family- pretty sure that most of his ex-partners doesn't even know that he got younger brothers, and so on, and so forth. They just knew that Claude is a rich, good-looking photographer with a French accent.

Believes that Alan is probably working in an organized crime, he watches the news just in case Alan's name come out... Same goes to James.

Jules

Use filters, stickers and quotes in all of his social media post.

90% of what he says are all passive-aggressive and he genuinely thinks that he helps people.

Probably has a bit of a hoarding problem.

Would judge James' DIY hobby despite also doing it.

The type that would watch a kid being a little piece of shit and would promptly tell the nearest person where their parents at and judge their parenting style. same thing goes with noisy pets in public.

Would give Claude fruit bouquet everytime they meet cause Jules know damn well that Claude can't throw it out and will be force to appreciate and eat Jules' gift so it will not rot.

Would say to others that Alan simply move away and that they haven't talked for a long time. His neighbors and friends probably believed that Jules' younger brother is simply living in a cottage with a bunch of dogs and cats. Would also say made-up stories of Alan if his neighbors asked more before promptly shutting it down.

Alan (Honestly, I don't have much headcanons on the two younger bros)

Will recite the full script of any classic horror movie in rapid succession, filled with actions and diy sound effects. If it's night time, then get ready for him to shout out every words.

Still uses Canadian terms rather than the American one.

Sometimes wonder if he looks cool using other types of weapons instead of a hatchet. Knows a lot of trickshots with his hatchet.

Doesnt like statues.

knows every domestic dogs and cats in Doomsbury, he even has his own names for them and he probably knows the pets even more in a spiritual level.

is also the type that would glare down a kid if they're being an annoying piece of shit, and immediately disappear if the kid starts crying.

In college au, I like to headcanon that not only did the boss in that AU gave him a scholarship- but also hide an unfortunate event between Alan, a hatchet, and some guy.

James

⬆️That's him everytime he argued with someone, lost a friend, or had another break up.

Believes that Alan is now living in a forest away from society, which is somewhat accurate. Often thinks about Alan a lot, and wonder if he's doing okay after the incident- doesn't hide away the fact that Alan ran away and will tell what actually happened to very, very close friends of his.

The type of guy that would deliberately trip a kid in public without the parents noticing- especially if the kid is being a little shit.

"Shit, I accidentally have way too much fun solving those problems in my exam and now my brothers are gonna expect better from me" Got immediately accused of cheating.

Saw his two older brothers years after the incident but was disappointed to see that they haven't changed, so he doesn't talk to them nor accept Jules' multiple invites. Ended up changing his number after some time, did not regret about it.

Always give himself a pep talk everytime he woke up.

Can efficiently argue with someone in fluent sign language without pause, Style all of his clothes on his own, has wrote numerous songs in his guitar, very good at Parkour, and he can juggle three crowbars.

Dixon Dallas, Good lookin.

And that's all folks.

[kairithemang0]

A silly little SK appreciation post (may or may not be silly and or little)

Wow, 15 years. One long time, isn't it? I feel like starkid has sorta become a personality trait of mine. I'm the "starkid obsessed" one in my friend group. I make it very very obvious that I adore this group, everything they've done. From the fandom least favorites, to their most adored shows, I love it all. I don't think I'd really be the same person without these shows. I feel like that's a really big thing to say about something I'm not a part of nor have I been in the fandom for too long (i mean 2 and a half years is kinda long?) but I do think I can say I wouldn't be the same. It's gotten me into musicals that aren't Hamilton, that's already a great thing they've done! I've met some of the most amazing people through this fandom, talking about the shows themselves, they've made me laugh, cry, and throw things at my wall more than most pieces of media ever could. I'm rewatching avpm and just finding myself feeling really nostalgia for that old starkid feel. I mean I'm SO excited for Cinderella's Castle, I think from a technical standpoint it'll be their best show yet, but that put together college vibe just hits something for me, I can't describe it. The poorly made sets, the cheap costumes, the fact it's so low quality just makes it a better experience. And the music from these shows is just spectacular! Starkid has some of the best composers ever, I don't know how they find such talent.

I feel that since Hatchetfield released, npmd especially, those older shows aren't as talked about. Which is fair, we may be running out of things to talk about, but I think just rewatching them is an experience. If you haven't gone back and seen starkids older shows, there's truly no better time to start than now. You won't regret it. The fact some of yall don't know the amazing talent of their older actors hurts my soul to think about, we need more appreciation for just all the actors that aren't in the Hatchetfield shows.

Anyways, long story short, starkid is amazing, it's changed my life for the better, I love you all members of SK (doubt any of them will see this but I'll say it anyways), something something fuck clivesdale, something something this is all jafar's fault, and it's been totally awesome :)

[itskindachilly-right]

Stupid idea (n.s.)

Slightly aged up!neteyam (18) x Navi!reader

Summary: the reader had the dumbest idea in the history of the universe

Angst without comfort (cuz I live for emotional pain). Two parts. (Part 2 will have comfort)

Warnings: neteyams feelings get hurt by the reader (bozo). No physical descriptions of y/n but she/her pronouns are used. Let me know if I missed anything

A/n: thank you for over 100 notes on my first story!! I hope this does just as good! Enjoy🧍🏻‍♀️💖

Background: Y/n spends a little too much time with spider. She ends up being introduced to social media and it’s old trends. Pranks especially. Specifically the “silent treatment” done between humans who are romantically involved. Her and spider thought it’d be a good idea to try it on Neteyam. Her and neteyam have been together for two years but are not mated yet. Who would’ve thought this “prank” would be such a stupid idea?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Neteyam enters the tent, closing the makeshift door softly, and tosses his bow from training onto the floor, brimming with excitement. Although fatigued and weary, he's relieved to finally be home, ready to recharge and rediscover a sense of serenity. Eagerly, he anticipates the forthcoming moments. However, he finds a silent, vacant, and impeccably neat space. Puzzled, he scratches the back of his neck, hoping that some motion will help him grasp the underlying issue that is clearly amiss.

Eventually, he locates you on your shared mat, sitting slightly hunched over, engrossed in your bracelet making. A smile creeps across Neteyams lips as he approaches you, shedding his gear carelessly onto the floor. Longing for your warm embrace.

With caution, he lowers himself onto the mat, mindful not to disturb you excessively. Curious as to why you haven't stopped your work or acknowledged him, he gently taps your shoulder. However, there is still no reaction from you, leaving him flustered.

"Y/n?" he whispers, drawing closer, settling beside you. He places his arm around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder. He gazes at you hopefully, studying your profile and slightly pouted lips. Internally, he pleads for you to turn towards him even slightly, just enough to grant him the opportunity to kiss you—an eagerly awaited moment he has anticipated throughout the entire day. However, doubts start to creep in.

In an attempt to prod you, he moves aside the strands of hair veiling your neck and leans in, finally making contact with your skin. He senses a reaction, as goosebumps rise on your skin, filling him with joy. He continues to kiss you, yearning to hear your laughter, your voice, to feel that he is truly home, safe, and cared for.

Yet, you remain indifferent, absorbed in your craft. This realization leaves him feeling melancholic, irritated, and vexed. His voice sounds hollow and devoid of emotion as he asks, "really?" Your gaze remains fixed on the piece of jewelry, mindlessly grabbing more beads. You understand the need to play along, realizing it's not the right time to smile.

He notices your efforts to suppress a smile, and it angers him. He abruptly rises from the mat, hissing with frustration. Without uttering a word, he stands there, silently staring at you. "Are you serious, y/n?" he scoffs. “What are you doing?"

He spits out the words with intensity, watching them fall heavily to the floor. His eyes glare at you with so much anger that your ears grow warm. He makes a deliberate attempt to express his disappointment, and he succeeds.

"You know what?" he seethes through clenched teeth. "I don't care if I did something wrong or if this is just another one of your new human things you’ve learned. I truly don't care!" He raises his voice, shouting the last sentence. "We're getting older, y/n, but you're behaving like Tuk!"

You refuse to meet his gaze, blinking wearily at the object before you. You’re getting him angry and you know you should stop but you kept going. Deep down, you know he will eventually forgive you, just as he has countless times before, and that thought provides you with a sense of security.

"You know what? I'm tired. I'm exhausted," he continues, his voice heavy with fatigue. "Training didn't go well today, and I made a lot of mistakes. Dad didn't say a lot, but I could sense his stress and disappointment, and I know it was all because of me," he confesses with a heavy sigh, running a hand through his braids. "I understand that it may not be your fault, and it's not your responsibility to carry my guilt, but I had hoped you would offer some comfort and support, as we've always done in our relationship."

As he speaks those words aloud, a twinge of sadness washes over you. However, you swiftly attempt to suppress those feelings, convincing yourself that it's merely a joke, just a prank. After all, he will eventually comprehend it. You reassure yourself that you will provide him with the warmth and love he needs, but at a later time-like an idiot.

"If I did something wrong," Neteyam utters wearily, taking a small step closer to the mat. "Eywa, just tell me directly. I promise I won't repeat it again. I'm willing to learn from my mistakes for the sake of our relationship. But if this is a bad joke—Eywa, I don't know."

He gazes at you, hopeful that you will respond. He waits, hoping you'll give in, look at him, and reveal what's troubling you. However, you remain silent, distant, motionless. It becomes too much for him to bear.

"You know what? Grow up, y/n. I can't tolerate this attitude towards me," Neteyam exclaims and running a hand through his braids. "I'm going to rest with my parents." he declares finally, casting one last glance at the scene before him—your vacant expression and empty face. He wonders if you doubt him because he has been overly kind too many times before. With a weary sigh, he reluctantly gives you a final chance to break free from it all. "We'll discuss this tomorrow, but believe me when I say this," he adds reluctantly, spurred on by your actions. "My patience is wearing thin."

He leaves quickly and retreats to his parents tent as fast as possible. He knows he must separate himself as this suffocating guilt gnaws at him from within. He believes he is justified in his anger, his frustration with you. Yet, he still questions if he might have done something wrong. The guilt continues to weigh heavily upon him.

A/n: y/n is a dummy buttttt did y’all like it????? Comment some feed back plsss and I love u guys<3

[good-vs-evo]

fenglian coded songs!

because i'm actually so ill about them </3 plus this gives flashbacks to those english assignments in high school where you'd choose songs based on a piece of literature and explain ur choices... wait u didnt. u didnt do that. uh. moving along.

time to expose my mildly terrible music taste HSDGFH

boy by isaac dunbar!

"if only we were right, seasoned with time" god. they were right person, wrong time vibes genuinely it makes me so insane to think about. i love hualian dearly, ofc, but fenglian has such a special place in my heart because just think about everything they shared and everything they did and everything feng xin sacrificed for xie lian that xl was too young and too hurt to see

"if i were homesick, you're remedy-wired / picking up herbs in the morning time / i'd wait for something more" hello? already heavy on the pining vibes, plus i love the fenglian "you are my home" vibes... sobs... fx would take care of xl to the end

tell her by bruno major!

just like. listen to it as a love letter from xl to fx...

"still she will come back around / nothing could shake her / repeat or replace her / i've finally figured that out", xl realizing how much he always needed fx, xl realizing that he was perfectly loyal but xl was too scared

"tell her she's more than i dreamed i would find / she's always there in the back of my mind / if you should see her, ask her if we'll work it out" fx was literally so perfect you don't understand dies loudly... and he definitely left a lasting impact on xl forever

leaving the last two lines for of the song as a surprise if you haven't heard it yet and you decided to give it a listen, i promise it'll be great :]

lover's rock by tv girl!

"because love can burn like a cigarette / and leave you with nothing" i have. no more to say. just. that's everything i have to say about this i could talk sm more but that's what i want to leave it at

dear my all by mingginyu!

this one's in korean, so allow me to be your terrible translator (genuinely my korean skills are so bad nobody ever taught me so let's see if i can cook) (alternatively, use google translate)

"you can tell me everything, all your secrets / i'll never hurt you again" xl to fx, telling him that he can lean on him and promising o be better this time <3

"you're allowed to rest, you've been running for so long / it's okay to blame the things that have hurt you" fx to xl, telling him that's entitled to peace and happiness after everything he's been through

i tried google translating some of this because i didn't know if mine made sense but aughhh i can't explain it but the translations on google are all... awkward? i can't tell if it's just the context of the way my family speaks korean and the way i've come to understand the use of certain words but either way i'll leave it at that SDHFGJSD

late again by peter manos!

"yesterday came and went / you are my closest friend / i'll never understand / don't want you to see me cry / even though i've seen you cry" they truly were. pretty good friends despite the way their relationship formed. they would've had a much better relationship if they weren't prince and servant but whatever that's still a trope HSDGF so we take that W. they both seem like they'd struggle a bit to be vulnerable with each other but slowly grow more comfortable and that makes me so soft

"i wanna tell you everything is alright / begging you to tell me everything is alright" this one makes me lose it. the first one gives xl vibes (wanting to tell fx that he's okay and he's sorry and things worked out okay) and the second is fx vibes (wanting to know that xl is okay, regretting leaving even though xl told him to leave, wanting to know he's safe)

untitled v.2 by cavetown!

i'm literally never gonna be free from cavetown getting associated with media i'm into am i

"i know my hands aren't warm enough to hold your cold, cold heart" fx feeling like a failure when it came to being able to save xl from The Horrors

"and i know my bones aren't strong enough to keep me from falling apart" both of them fr, they were going through it like crazy. they were constantly on the brink of collapse. someone send some help

"and did you know that every night i play your favourite songs on repeat? it helps me sleep" i think. when they were separated for so many years, they kept reminders of the other around with them. for a little bit of bittersweet comfort

back to you by flower face!

"don't fight back / don't look at me like that / don't forget I'll never quite forgive you / but i'll pretend to" okay but xl realistically thinks nobody will ever forgive him. he would eternally believe that fx holds things against him aughguhaguuhguh angst has me in a chokeholdd

"how will I release you now? / how can I forgive myself when I'm still in love with you?" yeah. pining and separted fenglian keeps me up at night can u tell lmao

"and it's always back to you again / always back to you, my friend" because it really is always back to them! time and time again it's back to them, the two of them together again in differently painful situations and it makes me die inside

i am a world class yapper, please forgive me </3 i also went hard on the angst i just i love my ships a lil angsty (<- writes fluff 80% of the time)

also i didn't forget abt the role jian lan played in fx's life during the time when xl was banished and struggling! this is just focused on only xl and fx's relationship during those times. besides, a lot of signs indicate that fx loved them both dearly, and it hurt a lot to lose them both.

[avelera]

My head's kind of brimming with a bunch of writing advice thoughts so IDK instead of trying to make a nice formal post thought I'd just word vomit for a bit:

Hurt/Comfort: As a subgenre is attractive because it has a plot arc built into it. We start with hurt (inciting incident) and move to comfort (resolution). Many fic writers who don't think of themselves as being "good at plot" should realize that hurt/comfort describes a plot. A plot doesn't need to be saving the world. It can simply be "what problem (the hurt) is solved by the end of the story (with comfort)?"

On Emotional Character Beats: Some character introductions are more emotional on the re-watch. The one I'm thinking of is Dream's reunion with Lucienne in 1.01 of The Sandman. When they embrace, it's Dream's first physical contact with someone who cares about him in 106 years. It's powerful, but at this point, if one isn't already a Sandman fan, the moment doesn't land as heavily as it will on the re-watch because we haven't been given much reason to care about Dream yet. In part, because he's kind of an asshole for much of the beginning of the story. In part because he spends most of the first episode before that reunion either not speaking or speaking in a very cold, reserved way.

This speaks to a larger question (one I lack a solution to but which haunts me daily) of how to make characters likable as quickly as possible. The movie "Up" has an incredible intro where we learn to love Carl and know his entire tragic backstory in about 3-5 minutes. It's a feat of efficient storytelling. Yet with Sandman, I didn't feel that I very much liked Dream until episode 6, when we're introduced to people who like him, people like Death and Hob who were sad when he was missing and worry about his health, and we see Dream unbend enough to show he likes them in return. That is... quite a long time to ask an audience to engage with a piece of media before we're shown a reason to like the person who is, ostensibly, the main character. But after 1.06, 1.01 hits a lot harder.

Sometimes, there's no way around this. If the inciting incident for your story is something bad happened in the past and we open with the after-effects of it and then the plot is about unwinding what happened then, yeah, that opening of the character stumbling away from some horrible situation, bloody and in pain, isn't really going to land until the creator has earned the emotional connection of the audience to the character, and that might take a while.

But I can't help but feel that while liking the character from the start isn't always required (for example, Dream is meant to be an emotionally distant character who is hard to like, and it adds texture to the story that we take a while to like him, even if that might also lose some audience members before we reach that point) I can't help but think it is possible to earn the initial affection of the audience efficiently enough that we do feel bad, or are at least emotionally intrigued by learning how the hurt happened and eager to see the comfort happen for a character we just met.

One way to make an instant connection with a character is to make the character love something or someone. Not just love like dutifully love certain family members, but I mean adore another person, or a cause, or an idea. We love characters who love things/people. Having a character who loves the plot-relevant thing or the plot-central person, makes the audience see that thing or person through the eyes of someone who loves them. We learn to love Dream when we see people like Death and Hob love him. We learn to care about the plot-relevant cause (Enjolras and his obsession with the Revolution in Les Mis) or the plot-relevant thing (Newt Geiszler and Kaiju in Pacific Rim) when characters are obsessed with those things.

This is why, in theory, were I the one rebuilding Sandman from scratch (disclaimer: I am dirty shipper trash for Dream/Hob) I would want to see either before the fishbowl or immediately after it the people who missed Dream while he was gone. The people who saw him as a person and were worried about his absence. The people who love him and the people he loves such that 106 years of confinement was not just an inciting incident for the plot (ie, everything Dream needs to fix now that he's back) but an actual tragedy because of the amount of time that was stolen from him and the people in his life who were hurt and scared and worried while he was gone, so we can learn to like him.

(Edit: It should be noted, though, the reunion with Lucienne is the first moment we get of someone who loves Dream and missed him and suffered without him reacting to his return, which is an effective tool at making us like a character. We love Dream more through Lucienne's eyes and vice versa. I personally think we needed more moments like that before we, say, saw him dissolve Gregory in what was effectively our main character sacrificing someone's beloved pet in Ep. 2, but your mileage may vary. Different stories are making different points and Sandman doesn't require us to like Dream. That said, it's a risky move to have an unlikable main character and not one I'd suggest for anyone other than an expert at the craft of writing.)

And finally, last craft point that's in my head, this sort of relates to:

Don't open a scene with dialogue. Now, this is one I'm skeptical of, my teacher instructed me in this and I think it's not always correct. However, it was tied to a larger point, which was that dialogue unmoored from setup, character, setting, etc doesn't really earn the emotions that we're asking of the audience. It mostly confuses them. Setting the scene with even a single paragraph before the dialogue tells us who/what/where/why/when/how so that the dialogue actually lands as needed.

Similarly, to tie it to the above, we the author are often emotionally engaged in our characters, especially our OCs. By the time we finally introduce them, stumbling away covered in blood from the inciting incident that kicks off our plot, we are emotionally connected to them. The hardest thing sometimes can be to step back and realize the audience doesn't give a fuck yet about our super duper special OC. We have to earn that love, otherwise who cares about the fact this character has suffered? This requires setup, breathing space, time and an inherent arc of some sort (think: the intro to Up). It doesn't have to be before the character stumbles away covered in blood and kicks off our story, because that can mess up pacing, but it should be placed at such a time that when we think back to that moment, our hearts clench because we now have context to feel what the author wanted us to feel about the suffering of their special blorbo OC. And if you can manage to make our hearts clench at that opening scene of their suffering while it's happening, so that we don't need to backtrack and see the scene with new eyes, then you are IMO effectively a storytelling god. It's not easy. But it is possible!