#it was miserable and i still didn't get it in on time

[clavica]

I've been experimenting last year to try to unfuck my life. COVID left me unemployed and with depression, which was a battle on its own and in the aftermath of it, I found myself in a place where my hobbies and interests were left untouched and under a thick layer of dust for more than three years, because fighting for survival doesn't leave much room for anything extra. To find a job and to get my mental health to so-so place was more important than drawing, cleaning or exercising. And after I finally had some mental and energy room for "something extra" I found myself not really wanting to do anything, so scrolling and mindless media consumption was taking that extra bit I fought so hard to get back and honestly, it made me miserable.

So I started to experiment around getting myself to do more than just survival. I wanted to draw, to read, to exercise, take care of myself, to learn something new. And frankly, it sucked, especially in the beginning. Getting my space cleaned regularly was a struggle. I couldn't stay on track with eating healthy and returned back to bad habits quickly. Creativity wasn't coming and anything I've made felt horrible and ugly, especially that over the years some of my skills eroded and comparing to my old art, I was doing worse...

I guess the best take away from my struggles was to if I can't get something done, is to downsize and limit.

I couldn't get myself to do one day of general cleaning, so I broke it down to 15-20 minutes of cleaning everyday before going to work. At first I used a schedule written on a fridge, then switched to an app to keep track of this and additional tasks and appointments I have, but at this point I know the roster by heart. Monday is for cleaning the stove and counters in the kitchen. Tuesday is wiping mirrors and sweeping floor. Wednesday is cleaning toilet and taking out trash. Thursday is to wipe sink and shower. Friday is free. I do laundry as needed and dishes as well. Dishwasher saved my life as I absolutely detest washing dishes.

Second thing was starting to draw everyday. I got a cheap notebook-calendar and I spend 10-15 mins drawing in it everyday. Even if it's a stick figure. Nobody will see it, and tomorrow I will have another chance to draw something else.

Exercise was the worst. I'm not w sporty person and it's catching up to me. I don't like walking when I have no aim and the weather is bad. Fitness bores me and feels pointless. During pandemic, I got a stationary bike that I was using on and off. So far I managed to put the bike in front of tv and watch Netflix while I cycle, tapping to the crave to watch something and tricking myself to not thinking that I'm exercising. I started with 20min anime episodes, one every day. Currently doing one hour long Netflix shows episodes everyday. Cliffhangers help a bit, because I want to know what happens next and I can't watch without bicycling, so gotta bicycle to know, sorry...

Diet is a problem too, since I eat everything on sight after coming back from work. So I stopped eating after 18:00 because I can't be trusted after that. Deleted all apps where I could order food and I keep in fridge water and vegetables and frozen food for lunch next day. The biggest issue is when I'm out, no rules can stop me there, but fortunately that doesn't happen often.

The last tips I might give basing on my journey:

- if something stands in the way and you can get rid of it - get rid of it

- don't underestimate doing something for fifteen minutes every day, even if it's half-assed

- fuck ups will happen, you will fuck up and that doesn't mean the times you didn't fuck up stopped counting

- it's better to focus on what you're doing now than on possible goals you have

- be kind to yourself

- be patient and don't overextend

Of course everybody is different and their journey might be different. If is, I hope you could share it, as I'm still looking for inspiration to unfuck the rest of my life.

how do u have it all. how do u workout and stretch daily and play an instrument and stay drawing and creative and inspired and have a job. i rlly believe some ppl r living this kind of beautiful and balanced life. its achievable. i think. but how. how does it all become second nature. how do you make it all habit. it feels silly to think something like my phone could be standing in the way of all of it. but maybe it is. or maybe u rlly have to be a specific type of freak person.

[prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue]

WEEPING WILLOW

summary: alternative universe where die young reader lived and actually met her siblings yet still she meets her end even in another universe.

Time never stops, nor does the world yet, whenever I peer back at your picture name , I feel like time has for you. You still look youthful , still vibrant as if the world's cruelties haven't touched you yet. Haven't gutted you out and left you for nothing.

For the first time in twelve years, I visited that tree you were so insistent on seeing that day . It's an old willow that overlooks a sea - straight out of a picture book like the ones you always read before you sleep.

Home doesn't feel like home anymore name , not without you here anymore . It feels empty and cold without you. Big brother Dick has yet to visit Gotham , his last visit was your own funeral.

Your other older brother Jason started getting violent again every patrol , he beats up criminals so bloody they practically flee. Tim hasn't said much , he's been so quiet, and he just floats around now . Damian took your death the hardest .

He sleeps in your bed every night , wailing to himself about it. Barbra and Stephanie are trying to keep the family afloat, but they know deep down we're cracking. Duke stopped playing hockey - he says it feels so wrong to not when your not there to throw the puck back at him.

Alfred started back drinking and smoking - we hear him in dead of night sobbing and pleading for you to come back home. Bruce stopped living - he barely eats , sleeps , he barely does anything . Every day, he visits your grave , flowers in hand, and just wails about everything.

Again, the willow tree on that hill just sways to the beat of the calm breeze , as if time doesn't affect it. No one would ever understand why on that Sunday you went to that willow tree alone .

No one would understand why you hugged us all so hard before you had set off . No one will ever understand why your body was found laying on the bark of the tree so lifeless and cold .

We will never understand why you choose to go by yourself - why not go with us around you. Uncle Clark told Bruce, " Name was always a kind child , she didn't want you all to have the last memory of her to be sad sad." Your dad punched him in the face - he had argued , " my child didn't have to go through death by herself!" .

We would never know why - it's not like you're here anymore to tell us to comfort us. Long gone with the Friday nights, we all stayed up past 4 A.M. , all ganging up on Bruce and Tim in monopoly, Dick always quick to tackle Tim to the floor because he swears he robbed him of $100.

Gone were the days we'd all make bets if Damian was going to walk in with a new stray to his name and watch him and Bruce go back and forth on it. It feels like yesterday when Barbra , Steph and Cass took you to sephora and convinced you to buy that one overpriced lipstick. It's still sat on your nightstand idly.

Gone were the late nights , Jason and you would have snuck out late to drive around Gotham on his motorbike and stop by Dairy Queen. Gone were the quiet evenings spent with you and Tim building a castle on ya'lls minecraft base.

Gone were the days you and Damian would argue when you would both try to build legoes and would fail miserably . Alfred misses the times where you use to join him in attempting to cook - god knows the evidence of your attempt to fry an egg is still stuck on the ceiling.

Bruce misses your hugs the most - you were the only child he had that actively hugged him, and he missed the way how after patrols you always made him hot chocolate .

Nothing feels right - never will because you're not here . It feels wrong to walk these halls, knowing you would have walked them too . It's weird living knowing you could have been living - breathing along with them.

It feels like no matter what universe we have you in , you always leave, and it always hurts. Why must in every universe you leave us behind ? Why must every other universe does God have to take you away ?

Why must in every universe we always mourn you ? It hurts - it hurts so much to watch your body be covered in soil . No one talks about how you practically hold your breath when you see your loved one go down in that grave as if - by some miracle, they'd open their eyes and jolt out the grave. It sounds so ridiculous, but they'd never get that desperation of wanting that loved one to be alive.

It hurts when we hear about the rumors - the rumors that you killed yourself ? That you went to the willow tree to end your life ? Bruce had practically went raging mad that evening when he got word - that same night, the entire PR team got to work into suing those persons.

Some suspected you got possessed because you had sold your sold your soul off - that's why you hugged us all before you left - you didn't want the demon to follow the family back home. It was a stupid rumor going around in school, and Damian had practically beat the shit out of the senior who started it.

Some said we abused you - that had Alfred cursing them out because how dare they - you were loved in this family and still very much loved even though you are long gone.

No one would know , not even we will - all we know was one Sunday evening . Dinner was being set up when Bruce got a call from Comissioner Gordon , " Two passerbys reported seeing your daughter laid unresponsive atop Willow Hills" .

Bruce dropped everything in that moment and immediately bolted to that willow tree , the others running behind him . He didn't wanna believe it - wants to believe you're just asleep - had just accidentally dozed off and lost track of time because there was no way in hell his 15 year old daughter is dead.

When the others reached him , they just saw him embracing you and crying his heart out . You were long gone , had long passed away without them, and none of them knew how to handle that reality .

We miss you name , please come home , we need you back .

▬▬ Wayne Family

Taglist ▬▬

@itsmossy @sugarrush-blush @shirp-collector-of-fixations @anteroz @cxcilla @shynerdtriumph @amber-content @azulesworld @1abi @crazycaoticsimp

ty for reading <3

[noellehdl]

misery business - paramore

pairing: Spencer Reid x lawyer!Reader

warnings: dark themes, angsty/fluffy, Cat's mind games

summary: 'i watched his wildest dreams come true not one of them involving you' and it's true, you watched Spencer's wildest dream come true and not a single one involves the ghost that haunted his dreams for the longest time.. Cat Adams.

a/n: this is completely based on my personal beef with Cat and the fact that i absolutely love her character and how she is the red line in Spencer's life, reader pov, post prison reid, obviously

the song

w/c: 1137

'she got an body like an hourglass it's ticking like a clock'

When Emily first called you to get her colleague and good friend Spencer out of prison because he was wrongfully arrested and accused of murder and drug dealing you thought it was a twisted joke. At that point you never imagined that the chaotic cause of all of this was a pretty girl with a miserable background. All of you, the whole team, every single one and also you believed that Scratch was behind all of this, until it weas up to you to find the proofs that it was Cat and her girlfriend all along.

'i waited eight long months, she finally set him free'

She loved Spencer, in her twisted, sick way i had trouble understanding. She loved him in ways i couldn't even imagine if i really tried. Still the second he got out of prison and interrogated her, he snaped, and that was the second i started to understand what she saw when she looked at him, the darkness around him like an unsolveable riddle.

'i told him I couldn't lie, he was the only one for me two weeks and we had caught on fire'

While everyone told me how cold Spencer got after prison, he thanked me for getting him out of jail, with flower bouqets, a dinner, and that led us right here, i'm curled up in a self crochet blanket, the one that Garcia made us as a wedding gift. My upper body hugged by one of Spencer's washed out CalTech shirts, our adopted shelter cat Newton demanding attention with soft meows. Spencer sits on the other end of our couch, his large fingers drawing soft patterns on my calve while my feet rest in his lap. His other hand is tracing the printed words of the worn out book he's reading.

'but God, does it feel so good cause I got him where I want him now'

The weather outside is grey and it's the perfect day for cozy couch days. It smells a bit like fresh autumn rain and the green tea Spencer is making in the kitchen when my phone rings in my office. I place Newton next to me, and get in my office, it's chaotic, papers and files laying around, notes everywhere, it smells llike cold coffee and stress whenever i come in here. I answer the call. 'Hello, here's Mrs. Reid, how can i help you?'

'second chances they don't ever matter, people never change'

The voice on the other line is clinical and strictly professional, telling me Cat wants to see me again, she has information regarding Doctor Reid that are interesting for me, according to her.

'well, there's a million other girls who do it just like you Looking as innocent as possible to get to who'

The temperature of the already cold interrogation room drops lower than zero when my eyes met Cat's. 'Hello Kitty Cat, what's the matter?' i say dryly, i played her games for longer than i ever imagined playing anything, not even a good chess party with Spencer.

'But God, does it feel so good 'Cause I got him where I want him right now'

'A ring i see..' her voice is warm but still so calculated i can feel the faint hairs in my neck react to her tone, '.. i take it as a personal offense that i didn't get an invitation.' i almost laugh out loud at her words. 'I'm not here for your twisted games or belated wedding congratulations, tell me what you want.'

'And if you could, then you know you would 'Cause God, it just feels so'

'do you really think he loves you?' she barks in my direction. 'No princess, he's just thankful you got him out of prison, there is no love, he thinks he owes you something.' I swallow the bitter taste on my tongue down. 'You're just jealous he wanted me and not you and if you have no neccessary informations for me, i'll leave you and your demons alone in isolation again.' I get up and grab my things again ignoring the way she calls me replacable and irrelevant in his life, as if she knows anything about me or Spencer. I turn aound on my heels on the cold grey floor. 'And Cat? i watched his wildest dreams come true, not one of them involving you.'

It still leads me back on my couch, looking for Spencer's eyes halfway across the room. His sweet warm brown eyes look up at me, 'Baby what's going on in your pretty mind?' he asks sweet like his tongue is covered in honey. My mind wrestles back and forth with telling him that i saw Cat and not putting more trouble on his comfortable shoulders. I still breath out a bit shaky but steady enough to not worry him further. 'Cat got in my head again for nothing.'

His beautiful face immediatly darkens, his smile falls and the softness in his eyes vanished like it never even existed in the first place, like every time Cat gets mentioned in whatever context it takes.

His sweet voice from seconds ago suddenly feels like a well kept memory and nothing like the presence. 'Cat? You've seen her again? Without asking me first?' with every question his voice raisesand i shrink more and more. 'Don't you think i have a right to know where my fucking wife is?' That's my undoing, i tear up, my cheeks heat up and Spencer immediatly drops on his knees infront of me on he couch. His cold hands brush softly over my slightly red cheeks. 'Baby, hey baby, i'm sorry, i didn't mean to yell at you, shhh'

We end up breathing in sync while i explain my poor baffled husband what the modern personification of a Siren told me when i was in prison. Spencer takes a deep breath and by the way his hands occasionally flex on my knees i can tell he's trying not to snap, even if i know his anger isn't directed towards me.

'Princess, she's wrong. i didn't marry you because i thought i owe you anything. I married you because you were my light in the darkest times of my life.' I felt silent tears run down my cheeks again, this time not because he yelled, but because his words trigger a warm cozy feeling in my chest, little butterflies terrorizing my stomach.

I cup his now softned face in my hands and press my lips against his. A known feeling which still makes me sometimes really flustred, like now. This time will be one of many times that remind me why i married Spencer Reid. He is my safe haven and we can realize all dreams together.

[topthreedetectives]

been thinking about what instruments ace attorney characters would've played as band kids, and i've reached a few conclusions:

original trilogy characters:

miles edgeworth: we already know he used to play the flute so obviously that, i think he would also have learned how to play piano and violin at home. maybe he'd even be in color guard at some point!! then later on, maybe junior year and onwards, he'd be the drum major

phoenix wright: this one was tricky at first but then it hit me - he wanted to sit next to edgeworth in class so he based his decision entirely on miles' (sound familiar?) however, they never actually end up sitting next to each other because phoenix usually gets close to last chair and miles always gets first chair. maybe he joins edgeworth in color guard and ends up really good at it, becoming the captain after a year or two! the idea of him being a drum major with edgeworth is frickin adorable, i'm still unsure about it though. maybe he could help out color guard in his free time? very conflicted about this as i think he would really love being in color guard but also. they would be AMAZING drum majors together. so i'm leaning towards yes on drum major in senior year

larry butz: despite wanting to sit with edgeworth and phoenix, he thought flutes were too "girly" so he tried to learn the saxophone because he thought it would be cool and he'd have girls falling for him (i've witnessed this phenomenon many times). he could NOT make a sound on one without squeaking horrendously, though, so he ended up playing trombone instead after playing trumpet for a bit and being forced to switch because he was WAY. TOO. LOUD. (he was miserable for awhile after being switched each time, he thought he was doing amazing.....) let's be honest, he's a band drop out and switches to art once it becomes an alternative for an art credit. he still watches the band play for nick and edgey at games, though!

maya fey: this was another hard one, but i think she would play saxophone. it just fits!!! some other contenders were percussion (in the pit for marching season) and trombone or baritone

pearl fey: my initial gut reaction was flute, and while i didn't wanna choose something so blatantly obvious, i also can't ignore WHY it's so blatantly obvious. so, flute player it is (occasionally playing the piccolo for concert season)

mia fey: this one was TOUGH my goodness. i landed on bari sax but im still not completely sold, so feel free to suggest something better lol

godot: now THIS is a saxophone player if i've ever seen one. i think he knows tenor and bari, but only plays tenor for band stuff. he's usually the one who gets the solos because of course he does. he and mia play killer sax duets together for solo and ensemble :3

franziska von karma: at first i was thinking flute because she would wanna have that rivalry with edgeworth, but i think she'd actually play french horn!! she'd know piano and violin along with him anyway, so that's where the rivalry can be. maybe color guard for marching season? i think she'd like "accidentally" dropping rifles on miles during practice, hehe

dick gumshoe: TUBA. omg tuba. it's perfect. at first he wouldn't be sure what to play, so it's recommended to him because he'd be able to carry it easily and have the lungs for it. he'd fall in love with it pretty fast!

apollo justice characters:

apollo justice: trumpet. need i even say more.

trucy wright: clarinet OBVIOUSLY like this isn't even up for discussion. you could make an argument for french horn, but it's not even close. she also ends up in color guard, they basically make magic happen on the field so she'd love it! i could see her being captain of the color guard, too. when phoenix finds out, he gets all emotional and trucy gets stoked that she's following in her father's footsteps. i think she would become drum major at some point, and miles upon learning this would also become an emotional mess

kristoph gavin: this is the french horniest french horn that's ever french horned. i'm sorry i don't make the rules.

klavier gavin: he might play guitar, but not in band. he'd be a percussionist HANDS DOWN. i think he'd wanna be in drumline during marching season so he could be on the field or he'd be in color guard. in fact, scratch that first part- he's DEFINITELY doing color guard. i was also considering him being a trumpet player since he's kind of the trumpet to kristoph's french horn (god i hope that makes sense that's just so them to me), so maybe he'd play both! he's very musically inclined, after all, so him playing multiple instruments just makes sense!

investigations characters:

shi-long lang: another saxophone! i REALLY wanted to give him trumpet because he's one of my favs and i'm biased, but. c'mon. i mean, have you HEARD his theme.

raymond shields/eddie fender: don't give him saxophone don't give him saxophone don't give him saxophone WAIT. trombone. it was so obvious!!! i'm sure he learns sax at some point, but his main instrument is trombone. i could also see him playing percussion (pit for marching season) or trumpet

if you're here, ty for listening to me nerd out about this!!! more characters may be band-geek-ified in the future :>

if anyone has any ideas of their own, i'd love to hear them!!!

[madhatterbri]

Terms and Conditions | M.J.

Summary: Your landlord suggests an alternative way to get you bumped up on the waiting list for apartment repairs.

Happy Wednesday Night Dynamite, babes. ❤️

Matt Jackson Masterlist

AEW Masterlist

Taglist: @smallestsnarkestgirl @magicalbuttertarts @bullet-clubs-bitch @cowboywritersworld @letsgivethisonemoreshot

Life sometimes throws a curveball at you. One second, you are living the high life, and the next, you are in an apartment that would be the perfect backdrop for the First 48. Paint chipped from the walls, trash all over the grounds, and enough stray cats to star in a musical. The inside wasn't much better.

Cracked tiles, a leaking ceiling, and a symphony of the sound of rats crawling around on your ceiling was your home sweet home. You tried your best to ignore these things, just happy to be able to afford a place to live. The final straw came when the water heater broke.

"Still no water heater?" You asked loudly while walking out the door. Arms crossed over your chest as you tried to control yourself. Blowing up on him would not do any good. You leaned against your door frame to stand your ground.

You immediately sent an email to your landlord, Matt. The email was probably deleted immediately. Next, you sent him a text. The message was seen, and he didn't reply. Any time you tried to see him in his office, his brother, Nick, stopped you.

After a few days of cold, miserable showers, you had enough. You heard him walking down your hallway one Friday night. The arrogant man was bragging about his building like it wasn't an example to have you will and testament set in order.

"I have no water heater. My uncle is a lawyer with this kind of stuff. There are laws to protect us and -"

Matt rolled his eyes and his neck. His arm rested against the wall with his feet crossed. "Oh, where you trying to reach me?"

"You know I was. I have emailed you, texted you, and left messages to your brother."

"I apologize for Nick. He was a premie," Matt apologized. You were starting to lose more of your cool.

"Call him," he told you, calling your bluff. Your mouth dropped slightly. Matt pushed himself from the wall and walked towards you. The smell of his cologne danced under your nose. "Or you can spend that time thinking of a reason for me to bump you up the waiting list."

Matt wore dark sunglasses despite being inside, but you could feel his brown eyes look you up and down. You knew exactly what he wanted. Your teeth grazed your bottom lip. Sleeping with your landlord to get working appliances. Is this really what your life has come to? There had to be another way.

"Wh- what reason?" You asked.

Matt grinned. "Something that'll make me think of you long after I go back to my office."

With little options and against your better judgment, you took a step back to let him in.

[strange-anni]

What Jonathan truly wants and needs

... and how his heart-to-heart with Argyle in the desert reveals why his relationship with Nancy is doomed

Part 1: Jonathan wants to feel loved and wanted

When Nancy talks to Robin in the woods she reveals how it was Jonathan who was supposed to visit her in Hawkins for the break. Yet he backed out for some vague mumbly Jonathan reason. This means he canceled the plans and but he still tells Argyle that there was part of him that expected Nancy to be on that plane and come to him to California.

That doesn't make much sense, does it? If he gives of the signals of not wanting to be approached why would he want her to come to him anyway?

It's because Jonathan is waiting for some kind of proof that Nancy still loves him and cares about his needs. That is why he expected her to be on that plane. To show him that despite what he said this relationship means something to her. That she is willing to go the extra mile to be with him. (Note: This does not come out of nowhere as the early scenes in S3 clearly show us how ready Jonathan was to follow her but not the other way around)

But clearly that did not happen.

Yet at the same time Jonathan was also relieved that she wasn't there. It's because that also means he doesn't have to confront his lie about his college application letter just yet as he doesn't want her to lose sight of her goals in life in order to be with him.

Here is the real kicker though: Nancy did not fulfill his expectation as she didn't visit him for spring break, so who is to say she will fulfill his expectation and offer to be with him in California?

While it is true that Jonathan doesn't want to tie her down and lose sight of her goals in life, he still wants her to consider it and to offer it to him which he would then vehemently decline and try to convince her to go to college on her own which she would do but this also would not solve his problem as then they still won't be able to be together.

So he's relieved that Nancy is not there, is relieved that he doesn't have to confront his lie about the letter just yet and it's also the reason why he is still lying about it at the end in S4 because as long as Nancy doesn't know the truth and outright declines Jonathan can still delude himself into thinking that she would.

Part 2: The nuclear family

So what gets me here is how Jonathans mind works. If we were to assume for one second that Nancy would indeed compromise and go to California to be with him (She would not but that's besides the point) Jonathans mind knows only one outcome for this scenario: getting married -> having kids (PLURAL) -> resent each other -> divorce -> kids hate him and everyone is miserable.

And while I get his fears and where he comes from this is by no means the only outcome this could have. Who is to say that they would marry? Why would they have children at all? Birth control exists and is readily available and to get married is also not like getting the flu or something. It's a decision they need to make and if they truly do not want to to then they don't have to do it.

Imho if Nancy were to come to him she'd most likely find another college to attend and focus on that. Maybe she won't even live with him in Lenora but in a bigger city in California. She'd just not be that far away as if she were in Boston and they would then proceed to see each other on the weekends.

But Jonathan doesn't even consider any of this. His mind goes straight to marriage and kids which in turn makes me question one thing:

What is he really afraid of?

Starting a nuclear family?

Or ending a nuclear family?

That'd be quite a surprising turn of events, wouldn't it? Cause I think it's the latter.

According to Jonathan his parents must have loved each other at one point and I believe this is what drives him into despair. It's love and he needs that love in his life. In his imagination love is always at the beginning of it and then everything just falls apart. He wants to get married and have kids but he has no idea at all how this won't turn out badly.

Compare all of this with Nancy who has no thoughts like that at all. Why? Because she doesn't worry about it. It's just not a part of her future plans and that's it.

Part 3: Compatibility and loving each other for who they truly are

Both of their visions of each other are pretty accurate. That's who they are and that's also why they love each other. It's 100% true and I do believe them.

It's also exactly what's driving them apart and the reason they should find the courage to end their romantic relationship while they still care about each other.

Nancy can't be in the environment Jonathan envisions without hating and resenting him in the end just as Jonathan can't go to college with Nancy because no matter what in the end her job would always come first.

Plus there is the matter of Will and Joyce too. He is neither willing nor ready to leave them to chase Nancys dream just as Nancy would never be ready to leave her dream behind just to be with Jonathan.

So in order to continue loving each other for who they really are Nancy and Jonathan must stop loving each other romantically and start loving each other platonically. It's an imperative.

[ludolka]

Tumblr's bugging out with this one ask in particular, it’s not letting me interact with it at all 😭 so you’re getting a response like this, hope it’s alright :’)

I love this !! I think he does, it'd make sense. I could see him trying and miserably failing to make a keychain out of a feather, then asking someone who is more artsy to help him with it. Maybe Gem or Lizzie

I can imagine him having a keychain with his car keys on a belt loop of his pants. And then the feather joins the car keys there <3

He'd reason with himself it's only because it's become part of his routine to talk to the feathers before falling asleep, it helps him sleep after all and as time went on, the series progressed, he didn't spend that much time in his bed or base as in the beginning. He'd massively ignore how it's rather because he misses Grian and keeping at least one of his feathers on him at all times makes him feel closer to him. He also ignores how he could just as easily talk to whatever teammate he currently has or any object really before falling asleep, as that'd serve the same purpose as his reasoning :)

Also, I find the image so cute that Joel just ran away from danger, his health is low, he's bleeding and his first instinct still is to check if the feather's alright and still intact on his side. Like the man will turn around and run straight back into danger just to find that damned black feather if it fell off in the fight, don't test him

And people see him with the feather keychain, that is undeniably Grian's, and he'll still deny missing the avian with his entire being. Like no, don't get it twisted, this is just a random feather he found on the ground that he liked, he's not overly attached to it in the slightest and he most definitely wouldn't risk his life in a desperate panic to get it back if it went missing. Nope

[fedoraspooky]

I Only Have E̢̡y͓͜e̞͖̦ for You

Wrote a story starring these two dingdongs! (my Felix and Steamboat Willie ttrpg expies for the folks just tuning in XD)

Summary: While trying to get some shuteye, Frank's sleep is interrupted by a mysterious dripping noise...

Contains cosmic horror, mentions of smoking and drinking (these guys are 1920's-era toons and this is a noir 1940s Roger Rabbit kinda setting so, yeah comes with the territory), and two guys that may smooch eventually in the future but at this point in time are kinda woefully oblivious. Enjoy!

***

Sheesh... 

What a day. 

Didn't start off too bad for ol' Frank, all things considered; he and Ollie had just wrapped up solving one of their biggest capers they'd had in a while, in which the Mad Mechanic had stolen important mechanical parts from various labs to build an army of... "vampire robots". 

To be honest, Frank still couldn't quite wrap his head around how that was supposed to work- did they drink oil or blood? Were they supposed to only attack other robots? Who knows! They certainly didn't take well to quaffin' ink, that's for sure. They took even WORSE to the garlic crust pizzas Ollie had brought them under the guise of a pizza delivery guy. One bite, and they exploded on the spot. All the two had to do after that was scoop up the stolen parts from the floor, dump 'em off back where they belonged, and bam- Problem solved! 

Despite Frank being a little woozy at the time from getting bit to hell and back, the Mad Mechanic himself wasn't much of a fighter on his own, so Frank was still able to make short work of him. Tied that fella up in a nice little bow of his own body for the police to swing by and pick up, and the two were on their way, ignoring the angry villainous monologue about revenge and whatnot being hurled at them. To be honest, Frank wasn't really paying attention... Because at that point, he discovered he'd had seven whole dollars in his coat pocket the whole time! Hot dog! 

Needless to say, he ended up doing what he usually did when he discovered the writers of the current episode were kind enough to give him any amount of cash: blew it right away on a celebratory night of booze and good eats! Ollie couldn’t come with, but… eh, whatever, more for him! After all, what's the point of saving what you probably weren't going to have in the next episode anyways? 

— 

…‘Probably shoulda saved at least SOME of it to call a cab’, Frank thought miserably as he trudged along the drenched sidewalk later that night. It was raining like nobody's business out here, and the occasional gust of cold wind kept threatening to turn his umbrella inside-out. On the bright side, at least he hadn't drank himself completely silly to the point of fist-fighting lamp posts, thinking they were sea serpents... He did NOT want Ollie to find him like that, not ever again. As things stood now, he was a little buzzed, but to his credit he still had most of his wits about him. Enough to still be able to walk home, anyway. He only stumbled a coupla times! No big deal. 

Frank stopped in his tracks, grimacing as a car blew past and sent a tidal wave of cold, filthy puddle over him. With an annoyed growl, he grabbed his whole torso up in his hands and twisted, wringing the excess water from himself, before letting go and spinning back into place. He then smacked the side of his head a few times to get any remaining water out of his ears, until a live, wriggling tuna fish fell out of one, landing with a wet slap on the concrete. He paused, eyebrows raised as he watched it flop around. He then glanced to the side.

...Would it be weird if he ate that?

Making sure no one was looking, he whistled nonchalantly as he picked it up and slipped it into his hammerspace for later.

It took a fair bit more walking before Frank stopped, something in his gut telling him this was where he was supposed to be right now. Well... 'supposed to' was probably a strong way to put it. In all truthfulness, his continuity was a hot mess, but by this point in his life he was very well used to just rolling with it. Seemed like the only thing directly involving himself that ever stayed consistent throughout the years was, well... himself. The real him, anyway. 

Yes sir, just him and his baggage. Match made in heaven... 

Turning to face the building, he looked up at the mismatched brick walls, the dingy windows, and crooked rain spout that just seemed to be hanging on by a thread. Real charmin' place. And of course, as he resignedly reached into his pocket and felt his fingers wrap around a room key, he knew with a sinking feeling that this dump was where he lived... for this episode, anyway. Not permanently. 

Never permanently. 

"Guess this's good a place as any to park my carcass," he grumbled.

Not wanting to stand out here in the dark and the on-again, off-again rain any longer, he made his way inside, closing his umbrella and shaking off the excess rainwater before it turned back into his tail. It slithered over his arm like a snake on a tree branch, returning to its rightful place on his rear as he ascended the stairs and made his way to... whichever room felt right to him. The key fit.

Turning on the light, he half expected to see a sea of roaches scattering, but thankfully there were no bugs to be found. Actually, looking at it... It wasn't too bad! Despite this technically being the first time he ever walked in here, it appeared pretty lived in, and it did indeed contain several belongings that he recognized as his own. The place had its issues too, but thankfully on inspection, he could conclude that bed bugs were NOT one of them. Damn good thing, too, because he was exhausted. 

And going through the whole rigamarole of getting ready for bed would be even MORE exhausting! If only he had some kind of handy magical artifact of sorts that could do it all for him…

…But he didn't!

So instead, he just turned the lights off, unzipped the front of his outfit and stepped out of it like it was a costume, before crashing unceremoniously into bed in just his undershirt and a pair of boxers. He could deal with whatever he needed to in the morning, if it didn't fix itself already while he was out. 

... 

Drip. 

...As a toon, sleeping went one of two ways. Most likely, one would sleep like a brick through the night with little fuss, if any... However, there was also the possibility that it could end up being a night where everything in the world would seemingly conspire to keep a poor sap awake for the sake of comedy. 

Drip. 

... 

Drip. 

As Frank was roused from his sleep by what sounded like the drip of a faucet, his tired mind knew right away that it would be the latter. Groaning, he shoved his head under the pillow, but it was no use. He then tried shoving the pillow into one ear until it popped out the other, but…

Drip.

Nope. He could still hear it, and probably would until he actually DID something about it. Tossing the pillow down in frustration, he scowled in the direction of the sound and rolled out of bed to go look. 

In his tired stupor he'd grabbed up a sock off the ground on the way out of the bedroom, fully prepared to plug up the faucet with it if need be. Sure, it would probably explode the plumbing and cause a flood from too much water buildup or what have you, but he didn't care as long as he could get a few more minutes of shuteye before it did... 

However, when he got to the kitchen, he found the sink was bone dry. No leaks here. 

... 

Drip. 

Frank bolted upright from inspecting the kitchen faucet, his tail bristling into an exclamation point before tapping him on the shoulder and pointing towards the hallway like it was a hand motioning with a thumb. Oh duh, right! 

The bathroom! 

He hurried over and almost tore the door off its hinges from how quickly he flung it open, only to find the sink here... wasn't... leaking, either. 

Huh... 

Somethin' smelled off about all this. 

No, literally, there was a strange smell in the air, kinda... Ozone-y? Criminy, where was that coming from? Did an old television set crawl in here and die? Only thing he could tell with any certainty was that it wasn't a gas leak. No, those smelled different…

"This is really startin' ta give me a headache," he growled under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to fend off the growing sense of pressure in his temples that he knew would develop into an ache soon. No @#$!in' way he was starting to veer into hangover territory this soon, he didn't even have that much to drink! ...Or did he...? He had been a little bummed out that he was celebrating alone… But there’s no way he’d let himself go overboard because he was feelin’ a little blue, right? He struggled to recall exactly how much he had through the forming headache, but swiftly shrugged it off. Bah! Doesn't matter, he could still think just fine! He's fine.

Nothin’ a good night’s sleep couldn’t fix!

Drip.

Just as he was about to turn around and look elsewhere, he remembered that the sink wasn't the only faucet in a bathroom. Turning to the shower curtain, he reached out to pull it back, but... Then he hesitated, his hand stopping just inches from the plastic. 

It was faint, but he could hear what sounded like rushing water, and a genre-savvy part of him half expected for just a moment that if he yanked the curtain back, someone would inexplicably be showering behind it, only to scream and whack him with a scrub brush for peepin'.

However, as soon as he had that thought, he shook his head and let out a half-chuckle, feeling ridiculous about the whole thing. Sheesh, he really MUST be sleep-deprived if that sounded reasonable. Something like that might’ve happened in one of his older cartoons, but this current setting he was in was at least a little more down to earth than his earlier outings. Really hard to shake those old instincts sometimes, heh… Shower's not even running, stupid! That shhhh sound was probably just water goin' through the plumbing. 

Sure enough, he pulled back the curtain and no one was showering in his tub. In fact, the... faucet here wasn't... dripping, either. None of 'em were. 

…

Drip. 

-SO WHERE IN THE HECK WAS THAT SOUND COMING FROM?? 

Frustrated, Frank whirled on the spot, but just as he was about to storm out of the room, he felt it. 

A small drop of something cold and wet hit his back, and... Maybe it was something about the viscosity of it, or the way it sent an odd shock down his spine that gave him the heebie-jeebies, but something told him this wasn't water. 

And of course, his luck being what it was, in an effort to get out of the way of further drips, he stepped in a damn puddle of the stuff. Naturally. 

"YEEOWCH!" 

Not only was it searingly cold enough to send a shock of pain up his leg, but it immediately made his foot go numb, followed by a godawful sensation of pins and needles.

Frank reflexively pulled away and backed up so fast that he very nearly tripped over the toilet, but caught himself on the sink before he could hit the ground. He had to get whatever the hell this stuff was off his foot pronto, so in an act of desperation he jammed it into the toilet bowl and flushed.

And wouldn't ya know it, by some stupid miracle, it worked! The tingling dissipated, and as feeling returned to his limb, he could see faint trails of something washing down the drain... 

Couldn't get a good look at it before it was gone, but that didn't matter, because just a quick glance to the side was the puddle, and it- No. 

No way, it couldn't- 

He grimaced and slapped a hand over his eyes, not wanting to look.

Swallowing the lump of fear in his throat (or perhaps his heart trying for a clever escape route?), his fingers slowly parted and his good eye poked its way out between them to see if... If it was what he thought it was. 

Oh boy. 

Yeah. It was. 

He’d seen this before, but only once. It... hurt to look at. Clinging to the ceiling like some kind of incomprehensible octopus with far too many constantly-shifting limbs was a mass of rapidly cycling textures and patterns, colors blurring in and out of each other- some that he recognized from traveling outside of his cartoons, and others he could not even begin to describe- but ALL of which should not have been able to display themselves at all in this monochrome setting. Between that and the rapidly flashing patterns and shapes, trying to figure out even the silhouette of what he was looking at, or if it was even moving or not, was like trying to make out images in television static. 

And it wasn't just loud visually, oh no- being in the presence of this thing was a bombardment of ALL the senses! That smell of ozone was downright pungent now, that sound he originally thought was rushing water had turned into a roaring electrical hiss, and the air was abuzz with a distinctly uncomfortable energy that made his skin itch. 

...Oh, and he had a pounding headache too, but he wasn't sure if that one was due to witnessing this mess of a thing above him, or the drinks he had earlier. His vision was swimming a bit around the edges too, so really, could be either one.

He stood there transfixed for a good few seconds before a coherent thought finally broke through the cacophony: He had to get the $%@! outta here! 

Which was now kinda difficult, considering he had pressed himself up against the back of the bathroom, and this drippy nightmare being was now situated firmly on the ceiling (and increasingly on the floor with each drip) between him and the only way out, but... Ugh, here goes nothin'. Maybe if he was lucky, he could slip out without being attacked if he moved slowly enough... Maybe if he was REALLY lucky, this was just another bad dream about this thing and before too much longer he’d wake up having rolled face-down onto the floor or something. Still, better to work with what he knew for right now, so… He pressed himself against the wall as flat as he could get, which... wasn't very, thanks to his gut. Frowning, he sucked it in as best he could and held his breath as he began to sidle along the wall. 

…

Okay… 

…

So far, so good... 

He was about halfway there when the visual snow that his brain sometimes created to substitute for the complete lack of vision in his bad eye started... Changing. Forming vague, but noticeable shapes. He closed his remaining eye since the conflicting images were messing with him, and he kept inching along, the feeling of solid wall against his back a cold comfort. Unfortunately, without his normal vision distracting him, he realized something. It was hazy and difficult to make out at first, but... 

It- ... 

It was himself he was looking at. 

From above. In the half of his vision he shouldn't even be seeing out of. 

Startled, his eye shot open and he looked up. There, from the middle of the flashing patterns and colors, his own eye stared right back down at him.

He watched, partially through vision that used to be his, as the black ink and gray paint drained from his fur and clothes, leaving him a stark white on trembling lineart. 

It blinked.

He wanted to scream. In fact, he started to, but he slapped a hand over his mouth, forcing himself to stop. He did his best to collect himself, squeezing his eye shut again to try and fight off the disorientation that came with seeing two different things at once. Holding his head in his hand, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. As he steeled himself, the fear and nausea slowly started to subside, increasingly replaced by another feeling… 

Anger. 

This $&@! thing took his eye, and now it’s mocking him with it!

The ink and paint that had sloughed off of him moments ago popped back up into his shape before diving back into him. He growled, opening his eye to glare up at this %*#@in’ eye thief, and in what was probably one of the most bizarre moments of his life, he pointed and wagged his finger towards his own stolen eye.

"Ohhh, no. Nuh-uh. Nope! Dat's bait," he said, starting to sidle along the wall again. "Whaddya think I'm gonna do, huh? Reach inta all dat mess? And for what, so you can take my hand too? My whole arm? Pssh! I don't think so, pal!" 

The eye followed him as he moved, but aside from continuing to be painful and confusing to look at, the thing on his ceiling did nothing else. Feeling perhaps a bit stupidly emboldened by its lack of action, his scolding turned into taunting as he got closer to the door, escape finally within his reach…

"Yeah, dat's right, buddy... Stay put. And ya know what? You're probably not even real! How about DAT? How do I know ya ain't just some kinda stress nightmare? Or some kinda drunk halluci… uh, lucin… -Or I’m just seein’ things, huh?! Why, I bet ya couldn't even hurt me if ya wanted to. Go on! Try, it'll be funny-!" 

It had been watching him relatively calmly (or so it seemed anyway, it was REALLY hard to get a read on this thing), riiiight up until he said that last word- at which the mass almost seemed to grow... Excited? Agitated? Either way, the thing’s colors shifted more rapidly than before, its patterns now rapidly swapping between X’s and O’s as it burbled and bubbled, the air practically crackling with a strange energy. It then dropped down from the ceiling startlingly fast, taking on a different, less amorphous shape as it rose from the gooey puddle it made. His stolen eye was now positioned on a head-like lump and two arms burst forward, reaching and grasping wildly like it didn’t quite know how to work them yet as the whole thing made a lunge for him.

In a panic, Frank reached into his hammerspace for anything, and-

SLAP!

He’d whacked it with the tuna. 

Bits of color and noise flew from the impact and splattered the bathroom wall, sizzling with static. It seemed he’d actually managed to stun the thing, since it had stopped dead in its tracks, the flailing fish now embedded in its head where the rest of its face should have been- just beneath the eye. The goopy arms lowered a little in apparent confusion, and the eye swiveled unnaturally to look down at the fish. Then, four triangular shapes started forming- two above, and two below- like fangs closing over it. As the struggling fish started to sink away into the newly-formed mouth, the eye swiveled back towards Frank with a renewed intensity, just in time to see a bottlebrushed tail disappearing through the door.

Frank was NOT sticking around to see what happened next. Taking the opportunity for escape, he darted out of the bathroom and fled on all fours from the apartment, his fur standing on end in fright. He didn’t know if it was chasing him, and didn’t even dare a look over his shoulder to see. A blur of ink, he flew down the street fast as a rocket into the dark of the night.

—

Ollie was a morning person.

Maybe not a particularly bouncy and cheerful one like he used to be, but years of sailing had accustomed him to waking up at the crack of dawn. There was just something nice about it. Nowhere he had to be right away, no phones ringing off the hook, no one to entertain… no pressure at all. For a few hours, he could pretend he didn’t have a massive studio empire hanging over him like a sword of Damocles... Just some coffee, a cigarette, and a beautiful sunrise to watch. There was peace in being the only one awake while everyone else around slept.

Couldn’t help but wonder if Frank had similar reasons for being such a night owl… They were both animals that were typically nocturnal, but Frank definitely lived up to it the most. The big guy’d often come plodding into their office sometime around 10 AM, tousled fur and rumpled clothes, yawning and blinking like he’d just surfaced from a coal mine. Then, without fail, he’d make a beeline for the coffee maker and wouldn't say a single non-grumbly word until he’d had a few sips. Sometimes after a big enough yawn, his tongue would still poke out a little between his fangs in a way that was actually kind of endearing… -Just an observation, though.

Some mornings, however, Frank would actually be there first… His continuity being what it was, sometimes it left the guy without a place to stay, so he’d sleep on the old, lumpy couch they had in there. It never seemed to bother Frank all that much, but… then he’d get up and carry himself in a way that indicated a sore back. Maybe it was time to see if a new couch could fit in the budget…? Maybe one that pulled out into a bed… 

Ollie got somewhat lost in his thoughts as he made his way up to their rented office space, the morning newspaper tucked under his arm. He whistled a little tune to himself as he ascended the stairs, but he slowed a bit when he got to their floor and saw the potted plants in the hallway were knocked over on their sides, all pointing the same direction as if they'd been toppled by a strong gust of some kind…

Towards their door.

“Huh,” he said quietly, brow furrowed and mouth drawn in a straight line. “Okay…” He started whistling again, albeit more slowly and quietly, as he stepped over a toppled pot that had rolled over into the middle of the hall. Nudging it back upright with his foot, he continued to the door and pulled out a comically large ring of keys from his pocket. 

“Really oughtta organize these,” he muttered to himself as he went through them one by one. The irony wasn’t lost on him that it’d probably be faster to use a lockpick. Finally he got the door open, but only an inch or so before it was halted by a door chain. Okay yeah, Frank was here already.

“Frank?” He called in, “Hey, it’s me, open the door! And I swear ta god I hope you’re decent.” Instead of being greeted with the usual snore, however, he heard the rattling of window blinds, the sound of grawlix being uttered in a hushed, yet urgent tone, and then a few moments later- a loud crash.

Okay, something was definitely up. Not waiting for Frank to get the door, Ollie threaded his tail through the inch of space and, with a bit of trial and error, managed to unlatch the door chain with it. “Hang on pal, I’m comin’!”

“No, wait-!”

Ollie opened the door to find Frank on the floor in just his boxers and undershirt, leg successfully down one pant leg but the other tangled up. He’d apparently tripped over himself in a hurry to put on some pants. The cat froze, save for an anxiously twitching tail, and stared wide-eyed back at him for a few moments. Then, with a surprising burst of speed for a toon his size, he leapt up onto the couch, landing perfectly in what the author could only describe as the ‘Alone On A Friday Night?’ pose. On his side, propping himself up on one arm, the other on his hip, he grinned with a hint of nervousness despite his attempt to play it casual. 

“Oh heyyy, buddy! Didn't see ya come in!” He said with a small chuckle, now trying to slide his other leg into the pants as discreetly as possible. 

Ollie did feel a little relieved that his partner seemed to be okay, but at the same time… This was weird. Not Frank sleeping in his undies, that was normal- but something else… He sighed and shook his head.

“Coulda told me you were just gettin’ dressed,” Ollie said, looking away to give the guy some privacy. He went over to the desk and had a seat, unfurling the newspaper and busying himself with a quick skim of the headlines.

“Well hey, could be worse,” Frank said, now fully dressed when Ollie lowered the paper to look at him, but still in the same pose. “I used ta only wear a bow.”

“Things were a little different then,” Ollie started, but then he paused in thought, looking vaguely up towards the ceiling. “-Actually, no, pretty much everyone else I knew still wore some kinda clothes…”

Frank sat up, looking absolutely wounded as he held his hands out defensively. “C’mooon, it’s how I was designed! Besides, I came first,” he said, puffing out his chest with a big grin and proudly jabbing his thumb towards it, “so if anyone set the bar for what’s normal for cartoon animals, it’s me!”

Ollie put the newspaper down. “...Frank. Buddy. Ya can't possibly be implyin’ I’m the weird one for wearin’ pants,” he said in a flat tone.

…That got him. Frank couldn't keep a straight face. He managed for maybe a good two seconds before he busted up laughing, which devolved into a smoky wheeze.

Ollie smiled. A genuine smile from him was kind of a rare sight these days, but something about the way this big lug laughed himself silly just tickled him. The morning was almost starting to feel normal again, but… he still wanted to get to the bottom of this.

“No, but seriously, what’re ya even doin’ up this early? Also… didn't ya say ya had somewhere ta stay last night?” He said, hiding his smile and giving Frank a bit of a side-eye. 

“Oh, heh… guess I was wrong! It happens,” Frank replied with a small shrug, looking back towards the window as he slid his hand over the nape of his neck. “...And I couldn't sleep. What else is there ta say?” 

Ollie looked skeptical. “...I’m askin’ because usually when ya drink enough ta smell like you got trampled by a circus fulla pink elephants, it’d take the world endin’ ta wake you up.”

Frank just shrugged again, though he could feel himself starting to sweat. “Oh please, it wasn't dat much…” he muttered, before plastering a smile back on. “Anywho, I’m fine! So I’m up early, big whoop!”

“Ya ain't in any kinda trouble?”

“Nope!”

“Nothin’ that’d, say, cause you ta knock over everything in a mad dash ta get here?”

Frank paused. “...No?”

“...You absolutely certain?”

“Cross my heart!”

They stared each other down, Ollie stone-faced and Frank trying (and failing) to maintain an air of nonchalance. He usually kept his shirt collar pretty open, not liking the feeling of anything around his neck, but a finger slipped under to tug at it a little regardless. 

“...Okay, okay! If ya really wanna know, I had a bad dream. Spooked me real good. Dat’s all,” Frank said, crossing his arms.

Ollie let up a little. If Frank was in some kind of real danger, he wanted to know about it, but if not… It probably wasn't his place to pry. “Okay,” he said simply. “Ya wanna talk about it?”

“Eh, it's nothin’ I can't handle.”

“I wasn't askin’ if you could handle it or not.”

“...It’s nothin’ important.”

“Wasn’t askin’ that either.”

“-Nor urgent.” 

“Do I gotta repeat the question?”

“...” Frank breathed out a heavy sigh and his mouth dropped into a frown, the look in his eye briefly betraying just how tired he really felt. “No, I do not want to talk about it.”

“Alright, then. Offer still stands if ya change your mind.” Ollie’s words were punctuated by a flutter of newspaper as he picked it back up. 

“Mhm.”

Frank fished a cigar out of his shirt pocket, using the end of his tail like a Zippo to light it. Truth be told, a part of him really did wanna talk about it... It wasn’t for some macho meathead reason that he couldn’t, either… He wasn’t afraid to admit he was scared! Certainly not to his best pal. That… wasn’t the problem. 

“Thinkin’ of gettin’ a new couch,” Ollie said, helpfully changing the subject.

“Mm? What’s wrong with dis one?” 

“The fact it makes your spine sound like breakin’ celery… Also I dunno if our clients fully appreciate the big perfectly Frank-shaped indent in the cushion.”

“Pssh… Gives it character!”

“...Ya really don’t have to keep sleepin’ on that old thing, ya know that right? I have a guest room.”

“I know.”

Frank had never told Ollie what happened to his eye. Nor anyone else. Whenever pressed about it, he just simply shrugged and said he ‘lost it’, and that was that. @#$!, he wasn’t entirely sure what happened himself… He had no words for it. It’d happened so quick… All it took was one unlucky night. Stumbling home drunk off his gourd, winding up in the wrong place, at the wrong time… And encountering… that. Now he was left with chronic pain, one less eye, and the distinct feeling he’d seen something he shouldn’t have. 

And he’d do whatever it takes to make sure Ollie never has to see it either.

[fish-in-the-aquarium]

Shitty english time!

1. John/Sam becouse I'm the professional clown (you live on the green lock of my clown wig). Look, I'm obsessed with making things more "complicated" and a romance between these two would make Sam and John's lines even stronger. And truly terrible for Sam.

3. First place goes to two birdies because I'm against the system

2. Hansry is too good for this world but mentally I'm 11y/o and it's a little hard for me cos… well, me and Hans are the same person. This is an EXAGGERATION but I feel a boy who has been infantilized for a terribly long time and who is looking for a quick dopamine hit so that the impostor syndrome will scream a little quieter (but it only gets louder and all self-fulfilling prophecies will come true). My bb, of course you see that your kiss of true love was broken and you ignore Henry's hand and the fact that your beloved is just late for the finale of Mass Effect 2. You can't be loved, can you?..

As a result it makes me a little offended by his feminization which is, of course, very childish of me, and I'm sorry. I'll try to overcome a kid inside me and draw some arts with them.

So-. Well-. Y e a h . . . I thought I was too old and too settled to have my wig blown off by a villain but here we are. Istvan is... he is... mmmMmMmmmm. There's not much of him but the character shows so much in evry second of screen time? And yet it's all so subtle? Idk, brother/father came back from Afghanistan but he didn't drown in vodka and became the best "I'm an evil villain but I won't kill my potential killer" in the media.

Istvan, your depression is legendary.

Johanka. No comment. There must always be a mystery in a afab.

Second place! ✨Samuel✨

On a personal level all my subpersonalities are HUGE fans of compensatory destructive behavior in smart and responsible characters who are still romantics deep down but life tries to crush this quality with a asphalt paver (new comparisons are made up by those who have bad old ones).

On a character level, he's simply the hottest thing in the game, I'm drooling. He's mostly reasonable but pritty impulsive; smart, can be a cold-blooded liar but also sooo naive. I'm trying to think in English and I just have no rihgt words. He has a fragile beautiful heart and a steel core blah blah everything is realistic and balanced. Too good.

And it's true, "too goos". Sam is so complex, even over the top for the character of his role. The writers who prepared the boy for the end of the game overdid it a bit for my taste. But it's probably even better this way. As a basic person I'm 100% satisfied with everything about Sam.

Third place. John of Liechtenstein.

John is my first oc pure speculation (is he really that... idk silly? Where is he lying, where is he sincere? Does he drink with Henry because he is genuinely interested? Is it a professional interest? Or does he just need an excuse to drink?) but I turn into a tasmanian devil when art gives a character with a closet that won't close from corpses but they take responsibility for their own failure. Fuuuuck, he looks into the eyes of those whose relatives were killed because of him and escorts the survivors to safety (I could not think of a single practical explanation for his actions, wtf)??? He is too sexy for my miserable mind. Humbles from Pathologic, you'll always be famous.

4. Since when you love this game?

The murder of Runt and the particularly horrific line "a good Christian shouldn't remember such things". At that moment I realized that the writers live, have friends, love and I can have a beer with them (they won't want to drink with me).

I learned about the second part from the scandal. I didn't give a shit for two weeks and then I decided to find out what all the fuss was about. "Well, THAT game can't surprise me, I'm not that fujoshi anymore".

5. How you discovered it?

Back in 2018, I fought with alt-rights cos they liked the game only because it was their ideal fantasy, and not because kcd was historical (women's shaved armpits and smoky eyes, pff). I didn't even play thq game, I was just young and angry.

And I turned on The Scene(tm). And I was stunned. And I shuffled in my clown shoes to the computer.

Hey, KCD2 fans! I made a small "passport" for y'all!

1. What's your OTP?

2. If you want, you can list here some more favorite ships ;)

3. Your favorite characters (top-3)!

4. Since when you love this game?

5. How you discovered it?

[jusiri]

Gotta say, i think the peak of my school performance is gonna be that on our last project of the semester, on the project that all of the upperclassmen said they hated, that people said made them cry

when my teacher was having individual discussions with each of us to go over any mistakes we made and explain it, when i went to talk to him, he said that there's about 15-20 mistakes that students will typically make

and i didn't make any of them

And frankly i dont think im gonna do that well in something ever for the rest of my whole academic career lmao

[star-spirit-mayhem]

Hc that Eddie had an ed before Venom came along and Venom eating anything in reach isn't a symbiote thing its just bc Eddie was already borderline starved and Venom could not cope. Scorse? Idk it just feels right

[lightningidle]

Fig's line "I don't think I'm an artist, I think I'm just a good friend" has not left my head at all. Just...

You're Fig Faeth and your horns came in over the summer and you pick up the bard class as a form of adolescent rock 'n' roll rebellion, and it works! It's exactly the outlet you need! You give a guy you just met drumsticks and you start a band and it's good enough that within a year and a half you're touring. You are, in every sense, good at being a bard.

And then, finally, your junior year, you start to take it seriously. Your art goes from an outlet and a form of rebellion to a practice. A discipline. (Can rebellion exist within a discipline?) Your classmates know what they want to do with their work. They all have a thesis statement. And yeah, there's cohesion in the music you make, but you've never had to think about why you make it. You've never sat down and dissected what it is about bass that speaks to you. You've never poured over your lyrics to pick at any deeper meaning. Why should you? You don't play music for a grand design, you do it to... huh, why do you do it?

(Your art is the one form of self-expression that feels as safe as Disguise Self does, because even if you're pouring your heart onto the page and then screaming it in front of thousands of people, it's not like you're really making yourself known. You can sing I'm lonely, I'm scared, I'm furious, and your fans will sing it right back, and there will still be the distance between performer and audience to keep your heart safe.)

Now you're being asked to look inward to explain the artistic choices you're making, and you can't help but recoil at that, because you'd rather do anything than look inward. Meanwhile, your classmates have no problem with it, so you start to wonder if you're a real artist at all. Can your art be authentic if it only exists to bolster a thesis statement? Has your art been unauthentic this whole time because you've never really thought about a thesis statement before? Is that what makes it art, and not just the next track on somebody's teen angst playlist?

You can't think about yourself— acknowledging your own existence makes you want to puke. So if your music is an extension of yourself, (and it is, even if it's just because the spotlight reveals only what you want it to,) you can't think about your music. You can't. You have to. Your grade depends on it.

You're Fig Faeth, and you keep multiclassing because you'd rather be a good friend than a great artist. If introspection is what great art demands, then fuck it. You must not be a bard at all.

[caterjunes]

i know my body is doing its best but christ alive.

[zooblesbutchpuppygirl]

Cool so at 4 almost 5 am my brain decides What if you had a dream about how you don't fit in at all with your family, a panic attack the minute you wake up and started thinking about if Zooble would Acrually love you or leave you for someone else given the chance lol and I'm once again forced to just sit there. Cool thanks brain that Really helps 👍 /Heavy sarcasm wtf this sucks :[