#it's kind of tense

[inbabylontheywept]

Memories of Grandpa Dale

I was playing in the barn, but I was also hiding from my grandpa. I was aware that this hurt his feelings, but I didn’t know what else to do. Every year I’d ever visited him before, he’d seemed kind of mad at me, but I’d hoped still that year was the year that we’d finally be friends. I even made a list of things to do together. 

Unfortunately, the list did not fix things¹ so I'd been forced to acknowledge that if he couldn't be happy with me there, and he couldn't be happy with me gone, then perhaps he simply could not be happy. At least, not until someone invented The Secret Third Thing.

(But I was only nine. So. That someone would probably not be me.) 

Fortunately, being happy is a task that I've never needed to delegate - I’m actually quite good at it. I’d been sad in the barn for maybe an hour or so, but eventually that got boring, so I invented a new game where I would chase big clouds of shiny blue flies off the sun-warmed horse-poop and try to shoo them towards a corner of the barn that I knew had a large spiderweb in it. 

I was perfectly aware that this is not ideal for the flies, but I had just read Charlotte’s Web, so my empathy function was very biased towards spiders, who I perceived as patient and compassionate and slightly maternal women. Who just happened to have eight legs.  

(I, like most nine year old boys, would have personally been willing to fight a war for every patient, compassionate, slightly maternal woman I had ever met. If you, personally, have ever hugged a little boy who was trying very hard not to cry in front of his friends after skinning his knee, know that there is a child in this world that would kill in your name.)

(Now live with that knowledge.) 

I played my game with the flies for a long time. Long enough to get into a rhythm of running and laughing and then panting outside on my back while wallowing in the long green grass.

It was during one of those walks outside to lay in the grass that I noticed my mom. She was sitting on a hay bale, looking baffled. I don’t know how long she’d been there, but I was too young and confident to even feel odd. She asked me what I was doing, and I just kind of gestured to the ceiling, and said, You know, just. Feeding spiders.²

She nodded. I was feeding spiders. Of course. 

We sat there a few moments. It was an amicable silence, but I was still faintly relieved when she broke it.  

Your grandpa’s been looking for you, she said. He got some grapes earlier. Wanted to take you to feed the ducks.

I've always really liked feeding ducks³. Visiting them had actually been the next thing on my list. 

I was baffled by the effort. 

He’s mad at me, I pointed out. My mom, to her credit, looked genuinely confused. 

He’s not, she said. 

But he was mad when we picked blackberries, I pointed out. And when we went on that walk down to the prairie. And he snapped at me this morning when I asked if I could have some of his dried mangos. 

The mangos had been my last straw. The weirdest part was that he didn’t even say no, he just (angrily) said of course you can, as if it was an insult to his hospitality that I was asking when just the year before he’d yelled at me because I ate a tin of dried apples. Apparently, I was just supposed to know that those apples were exclusively reserved for The Apocalypse. 

(To be fair, my grandpa has always been very worried about the apocalypse, but mostly in the context of not having enough dried apples for it. There was a period of my life where I thought that The Apocalypse referred to some kind of prophesied biblical event where there would be No More Apples. This thought has stuck with me for a very long time⁴.)

Well. Yeah. My mom said. He’s mad. But he’s not mad at you. He’s just… Mad. 

I mulled this over. 

What about the mangos? I asked, and she shrugged at that. 

Alright, so that time he was mad at you, but that’s being mad one time in three days. Cut the man some slack, you’ve been asking him for permission before eating anything. 

I just don’t want to eat the wrong thing, I said. I’ve always been very defensive of my rule-following. Both because rules are important, and also because that #10 can of dried apples ripped through me like a shotgun full of razor blades⁵. That “snack” had 400% the recommended daily fiber for an adult man. And I was very definitely not a grown man when I ate it.  

It was a very painful experience is what I am trying to say. 

I know, my mom said. 

I don’t even like apples, I added. Still defensive. 

I know, my mom said again. She’s very good at saying it. It always feels like she’s agreeing with me, and not just trying to rush me onto The Point. Sometimes, people need to make detours from The Point in order to explain things. Like, hypothetically, why they once ate a very large number of dehydrated apples. My mom is wise, and she has always known this. . 

I just really wanted to eat something sweet, I continued. They don’t keep anything sweet in the whole house. The day before I ate those apples, I licked all the salt off a saltine just so I could eat the cracker plain. And then the cracker tasted just like a cookie. To me. That’s how crazy I was going. 

My mom nodded her head sympathetically. 

My first month of college, she said conspiratorially, I ate about a box of poptarts a day. 

There was another longish pause as both of us considered what led us to this point. 

My parents are crazy, my mom said at long last. It’s a very peaceful statement to her. I'm sure it was stressful when she first realized it, but she's had a long time to make her peace, and she's made it well.  

Will you go with me? I asked. To feed the ducks?  

He’s not mad at you, she said again. Reemphasizing her point. He’s just mad. It’s just how he is. 

But she went with me anyway.

I watched Grandpa Dale closely the whole way to the pond to see if my mom was right. She was. She almost always is.  He was angry while he drove, and he was angry while he parked and he was even angry while he strode purposefully towards the park. When we got there, he took several grapes, and he angrily put them in his hand, and angrily extended the hand towards the ducks, and he looked at me, and for maybe a tenth of a second he looked okay. Not exactly happy, but a little less mad. Then a duck bit the webbing between his pointer finger and his thumb.

He immediately, without hesitation, without even a second thought, hit the duck with a haymaker⁶. For a human, the punch would have been devastating, but the duck had the benefit of having essentially no inertia, so it just kind of moved sideways and looked perplexed. 

You son of a bitch, my grandpa said. This is a funny thing for anyone to say to a duck, but it was especially funny to hear coming from a former Mormon Bishop. 

Quack,⁷ said the duck. 

My mom started laughing. I'd felt a sort of holy terror at the anger my grandpa was exuding in that moment, but the moment she laughed I realized how absurd it was. I was watching a grown man beef with a duck. I was watching a grown man beef with the world. 

I started laughing too. In a better world, maybe my grandpa would've joined. Maybe he would've taken a good hard look in the mirror and questioned why exactly he was so angry. But he didn't. Instead he swore at the duck some more, and he threw his remaining handful of grapes at it overhand, like a baseball, and then the duck ate the grapes out of the water, and my mom actually laughed so hard she started dry heaving a little, and my grandpa had to go sit in the car for a few minutes by himself to regain his composure. 

¹ He managed to pick blackberries angrily

² Unfortunately, I do this kind of response quite a bit.

³ I got my first kiss from my wife because I managed to capture a duck. They're like, a motif for my life. Very lucky to have that.

⁴ I reference it again in this very weird short story.

⁵ I eat a lot of strange things.

⁶ My wife is concerned people will not know what a haymaker is. It is simply the most redneck kind of punch.

⁷ ...What did you expect it to say?

[septemberlikestea]

song of the dead.

[welcometogrouchland]

[ID in ALT] I've made posts before about Talia/Dick co-parenting Damian moments (will never happen but let me dream) and this came to me in a vision. Took me ages to finish for some reason 😭 and then even longer to post

[abyssal-ilk]

no more romance. romance is canceled. tell me about your warden/hawke/inquisitor's best friend and any info you want to add about their dynamic 🖐

[itsriotmotherfuckers]

Sirius caused the longest hat stall in Hogwarts history when he was sorted, by the way

[bisclavret]

and people say season 5 is bad

[likesdoodling]

I have finished The Angst Version™~ (of chapter 50 of The Harrowing by @chthonion >:D) The bonus chapter added some stuff/re-inspired me, which is all to the good imo~ gotta get that Maximum Angst Factor AMMIRIGHT?? >:D (also. Mostly paraphrasing stuff just so you're aware~)

Then we got some of the conversation~ (without dialogue, 'cause a picture tells a thousand words~ >:D)

Then a sketch that was completely inspired by the bonus chapter-

It's not as 'polished' as the other ones, I just had thoughts about that tidbit and decided I absolutely had to mention it- so it got a drawing to match. :D

And finally, because I don't want to end this on too depressing a note-

:')

I'm not crying, you are.

My personal favourites include Extra Angry Maedhros + hands over the face Annatar, - then- actually. y'know what? I can't pick favourites. I like them all too much to do that. But that was the 'segment' that I experimented on - to try and convey the emotions through how chaotic/forceful the lines were, and it worked exactly how I wanted it to. Which is very satisfying.

>:D

(also, I don't think Maedhros was quite that visibly angry in the actual chapter, but it's supposed to be a mix of that plus Annatar's perception of him/what made Annatar panic. Make of that what you will. Eheh. Eheh. Eheh. >:D)

[amberastra]

Random idea snippet that doesn't really fit into my current time travel fic:

S5 jmart travel back to their S1 bodies and are still trying to keep both the time travel and their relationship secret from everyone as they figure out what they actually want to do. Somehow (Tim) the idea of doing an escape room as a team bonding activity gets suggested, and while s1 Jon would have just scoffed at the idea, S5 Jon is surprisingly okay with it (he missed Tim and Sasha too much to really consider saying no). They decide to split into teams and see which pair can beat their room faster, Tim and Sasha vs Jon and Martin (From Tim and Sasha's perspective it's all really to help the other two start getting along, they've been more polite at work recently and Jon hasn't said anything excessively mean in a couple of weeks so they probably won't kill each other when locked in a room together).

If they'd actually been their S1 selves they likely wouldn't succeed, Jon would think it's too cheesy and stupid and Martin would be too nervous to actually offer any suggestions. It's still cheesy and stupid, but s5 Martin finds it charming, and s5 Jon finds it charming that Martin finds it charming (not that that stops him from making fun of everything even as he himself gets way too into it). They're both very clever in their own ways and would pick up on clues the other might not notice, and they genuinely work well together, especially when the stakes are as low as "our coworkers will tease us if we don't solve this stupid puzzle"

They bicker the whole time and it's the most fun either of them have had in ages

Tim and Sasha are utterly dismayed to find that Jon and Martin solved their room a good minute before they did

[ask2ps]

in the 2P takeover, alfred struggling to retain some level of consciousness while allen puppeteers him backfires in the end, as it only really allows him to be personally present for matthew's (permanent!) death at his own hands.

anyway i'm representing this through a discord meme redraw.

[bluerosefox]

Masks and Moonlit Night

-Crashes through DPxDC window and sticks a new AU sticky note down on everyones foreheads-

ANGER MANAGEMENT MASQUERADE BALL AU!

Jazz is forced by her parents to go to all Masquerade ball at Vlad's, whose using Jazz as both a way to keep Danny in line (as well as Jazz, basically Danny can't fight back or he'll hurt Jazz and Jazz can't fight back because he'll also hurt Danny who he has locked up at the moment) and to 'impress' the elites (As much as Vlad wants to use Danny for the party he knows the boy would do something to embarrass him in front of them, he at least knows Jazz will keep her manners in check) with how intelligent his goddaughter is.

During the ball, Jazz (in a stunning dress and mask, think like manhwa worthy outfit tbh if you want) meets Jason (who lost the Bats/Birds most recent 'Not it' game and was made to go with Tim to Vlad's party) and both hit it off when they meet in the garden, under moonlight, both wanting some fresh air.

Jazz wants to enjoy her time with Jason but worries about Danny and thus tries to leave and figure a way to help him without tipping Vlad off she was trying to save her brother. However she notices she's being watched by some ghosts Vlad employed and no doubt would report her should she even try. So she kinda uses Jason as way to keep them being unaware of her planning... or at least that was the case until she noticed another Team Phantom member sneaking into Vlad's place and knows its only a matter of time before her brother is freed.

Within the hour she gets a text from Danny who tells her, he's out and gonna fight Vlad for locking him up, that Dani is with him too so it'll be double beat down and that he'll come get her soon.

She is pulled away from the text when Jason asks what books she likes to read and now with the weight of her brother needing to be safe, or as safe as he could be, is lifted off her shoulder she answers.

Its magical, its wonderful, and for a moment Jazz is able to actually enjoy this party, ignoring the pained hits Vlad was no doubt receiving from what she can hear with her liminal enchanced hearing, because talking to Jason, or J as he introduced himself as, was very fun and wonderful and wow he was very handsome even with his mask and-

Jazz is startled out of her wondering thoughts when she could hear someone in the party scream, no doubt Danny, Dani, and Vlad's fight probably bleed into the main hall and she could see people starting to run out.

Jazz sits on the bench as Jason goes running in, no doubt curious as to what is happening and going to get his 'brother' Tim who he came to the party with out. Jazz takes off her mask and sits it down the bench and waits before Dani appears and says they should get going, Danny is keeping an angry Vlad busy and that she can take Jazz home.

By the time Jason comes back, with a researching on his phone Tim, all he finds of the charming woman he met at the dumb ball he got dragged to was her mask on the bench.

[inbabylontheywept]

Memories of Grandpa Hank

I'm eating a bag of mormon gorp that tastes like gasoline while watching the rain run down the mountain. The taste doesn't even bother me anymore - all homemade gorp tastes like this. It's just a natural consequence of everyone keeping their prepper shit in their garages. 

My dad's out in the clearing, wandering around with his GPS. He's got some pieces of wire out on top of it to try and make the effective antennae bigger, but it just makes it look like he's dowsing. Another mormon tradition. I ask him if he's close to find water yet, and he looks up at me, little rivers flowing off him, and says yeah - he can feel it. 

I'm sure he can. I settle under my tree and watch the droplets roll down the needles. Awaiting the final judgement of Judge GPS. 

A few minutes later, it provides: 

Turns out my dad forgot to record the location of the car this morning. The GPS remembers where we parked yesterday, but by luck my dad knows how to get from there to our car. Downside is that it's a nine mile walk just to get to yesterday's position, then another five miles to backtrack. That's fourteen miles total. 

I'm only thirteen. 

Think you can make it? my dad asks. And it's a kindness that he's worried, but it's not like there's an alternative. What else would I do, sit down in the murk and cross my fingers he finds me again? Ask him to carry me 14 miles? 

I'll be pretty jelly legged, I say. But yeah. I'll make it. 

Attaboy, he says. He fishes a bag of poptarts out and offers me one as - I think - a peace offering. A, sorry you're gonna have to walk 14 miles in the rain because I goofed kind of gift. 

I take a bite and, despite being individually wrapped, it still manages to taste like diesel fumes. We start hiking our incredibly long distance in terrible weather for foolish reasons, and I joke to my dad that the only way to make this day any more mormon would be by pushing handcarts. 

He laughs. Neither of us laugh again until 11 pm, when we stumble like drunkards into camp. My grandpa has stayed up late to make sure we weren’t lost, but he only stays up long enough to see us arrive. We try to eat a dinner of sweet potato stew, but after falling asleep in the middle twice, we agree to just go to bed. 

I sleep in well past nine and wake up to nobody in camp but my grandpa. My dad left with my sister to keep hunting around 5 am. I know that everyone assumes that their dad is invincible when they're 13, but I'm 28 now and part of me still thinks he's gonna live forever. That God made exactly one perpetual motion machine, and it raised me in the desert. 

---

Around noon my grandpa suggests hunting again. If it was my dad, I'd probably tune him out, but I like my grandpa's style of hunting. My dad hikes and hikes and hikes until the elk get tired and just let him shoot them. My grandpa finds the sleepiest, sunniest, coziest field and takes a nap there, figuring if the elk have any decent taste they'll come there at some point.

Man's got a knack for knowing what elk like - he's right more often than not. I think he might've been an elk in a previous life. 

I go with him, and much as I hate to admit it, the hike is good for me. I start off walking like a pirate on two peg legs, so stiff I might as well not have knees, but by the end of the mile and a half walk I'm almost normal. We make it to the edge of the clearing, and my grandpa finds a patch of grass taller and softer than the beds inside the trailer, and he curls up to sleep there. I look across the grass and I watch the comings and goings of critters through the field. Sometimes I use the scope to get a magnified view, but I never do so with my hand on the trigger. The thought of accidentally looking a person through that glass is something that sends a chill up my spine. 

Some deer wander through the glen, but it'd take a fool to mistake one of them for an elk. A few hours later, my grandpa wakes up and asks if I want to wander around a little. It's a lovely day. Rain comes in bursts in Arizona, and the day after is almost always clear as can be. And for a short while, all the desert browns turn green and lush. Hard mosses turn squishy and cacti swell up like fresh baked muffins and for a while you can get why people settled in these god forsaken wastes. 

So I go with him, and we walk on, me with my gun, him just taking in the forest. He looks so peaceful that I get a little jealous, but it's not until my grandpa stops and looks at me that I even notice it myself. Takes a mirror, sometimes, to know yourself.

Being near my grandpa is always a strange thing for me. He's quiet, and he doesn't talk much, and I don't ever get the feeling that he's particularly emotionally intelligent - but it's like he's interacting with a reality more raw and real than mine. Like I'm watching symbols on a screen and he's counting atoms. And sometimes, just being near him gives me access to that raw matter. Just something about how he is breaks the illusions of the world.

He looks at the gun like a foreign object, like he doesn't recognize it, then he looks at me. He speaks and he doesn't mince words. 

What would you do if an elk came across the path and you shot it right now? he asks. 

Well, I'd start cleaning it, I say, and he waves the words away like cobwebs in his face. 

But would you celebrate? he presses.

And I look at him, and I don't actually see any judgement staring back. He knows the answer, and he's at peace with it. He’s asking so I can see it too. He’s being a mirror so I can see my own face.

I think I might actually cry, I admit. And he nods along in agreement before reaching forward to take the gun off my shoulder. 

Lets just walk today, he says. No chance of killing anything. No worrying about that. 

Right, I say. 

He pops the chamber open and tosses me back my bullet. I catch it, and the relief I feel is palpable. 

Can I change my mind? I ask, and he shrugs.

Whenever you want. Hunt or don’t. It’s not the hunting that I’m worried about. It’s seeing you ignore your conscience.

And for a moment, I'm there in the real world with him, and my gloves are off, and reality is a metal cube in my hand: Sharp and cold and heavy.

Or maybe that’s just the bullet.

---

We make it back to camp a bit later than my dad. We get there and he’s waiting for us. If he's tired, he doesn't show it. 

How'd it go? he asks. My grandpa looks at me, and I don't know how to respond. I don't know how to explain it, and I am scared. 

Great, he replies. It's a shame Babs only has a doe tag. We saw a five-point out there. Close enough to hit with a football. 

No, my dad says. If his grin was a half inch wider, both ends of his mouth would meet in the back of his head and everything above his tongue would slide off.

Tell him Babs, grandpa says. And, not for the first time, and especially not the last, I try my hand at spinning a yarn. 

It's pretty good. But at 13, I still have a lot to learn.

[sugarskies]

spooning

summary: john sneaks into bob's room for cuddles. word count: 1,068 notes: another one for what i've dubbed the diversionverse but can be read alone and in any order. mild sexual references.

Bob liked it best when they didn’t fuck.

Of course, he enjoyed it when they did. That was what started the whole thing—a raw, needy kiss that somehow evolved into more. It was one thing for them to use their hands and mouths to distract each other from their sins; it was another when they started to develop feelings and continued to deny day after day that they did.

But, once in a while, late at night, they let their guards down. It was surprising, at least to Bob, that John was the one who did it first. That John was the one who climbed into bed with him to cuddle without a word, who clung to Bob like he needed him more than life. Bob was hesitant to return the gesture, to sneak into John’s arms once everyone else was in bed, but his fear of rejection was squandered by the gentlest reception of his life.

It didn’t happen every night; just often enough for Bob to feel used to it when John slipped into his room, dropped his pants at the side of the bed, and crawled under the covers in his boxers. When he slid his arms beneath Bob’s sweatshirt, pulled him close, and twisted their bare legs together. When he pressed small kisses to the nape of Bob’s neck and behind his ear because he thought Bob was asleep and would never know.

Normally, Bob would have stayed still. Maybe shifted back into John’s chest or lowered his hands to squeeze his fingers—subtle movements that John wouldn’t have clocked as conscious or awake. That night, something came over him. He wanted to see John’s face, wanted to know how he looked perfectly fitted against Bob’s back. Bob shifted just enough to look over his shoulder, to meet John’s tired gaze.

He reached his left hand up, dragged his fingers through John’s beard. Bob let his thumb linger on his chin, held his eyes long enough for John to once again surprise him by moving first. John tugged back a little, giving himself space to lean forward and press their lips together. It was the softest kiss they’d ever had, by a long shot. They barely touched but it was somehow perfect, John’s breath warm on Bob’s face as he pressed their foreheads together.

Bob wrapped his hand around John’s head and pulled him back down. It would have been easier if John crawled into Bob’s bed the way Bob crawled into his—turned the other way, his face pressed into John’s chest—but he liked the way John held him so protectively. The way he had to shift one hand over Bob to position himself, the way his other hand slid up Bob’s belly to his chest. It was weird, how John had two fingers on either side of his nipple and instead of feeling sexy he felt safe.

He often wondered what the others would think if they caught him and John fucking. Wondered whether they would laugh or be disgusted or somehow understand. But Bob never thought about what they would think if they saw them like that; wrapped in each other’s arms not because they were filled with lust but because they felt comfortable together, because they slept better together.

Maybe it would have been funny if they caught Bob when he was on his knees, trying to suck off John in the common area because he needed the weight on his tongue. Maybe they would have been disgusted if they caught John in the training room, squeezing the life out of Bob’s bare ass because he needed a distraction and the bag wasn’t enough. But how could they see them there and not understand? Not see that there was more to it than just sex?

“I thought you were asleep,” John whispered, lips still hovering over Bob’s. Bob shook his head, his eyes locked on John’s. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” said Bob, and he left it vague intentionally because he was afraid that if he admitted he was always awake, John might lose the nerve to share his little kisses. “Did you have a nightmare again?”

There was usually a reason they sneaked into each other’s rooms, even if they rarely admitted to it. John hesitated, his voice uncharacteristically soft and honest. “Just missed you.”

Bob kissed him again without thinking. John tasted like spearmint toothpaste, smelled like that terrible three-in-one shampoo. He felt like the bed was his own, like Bob was his own, and looked at Bob like he was the only other person in the world. Bob let their lips stay together for another moment, let his tongue rest against John’s and sweep the back of his teeth. Then he grabbed the front of John’s shirt and tugged him down with him as he settled back into the sheets.

John’s arms wrapped back in their original position and held Bob close. Bob could feel every bit of his torso against his back, even through his sweatshirt. John’s broad shoulders, his heartbeat behind his pecs, the slight curve of a belly relieved of daily planks. He wondered what John thought of him, of how easily his arms wrapped around Bob’s tiny waist. Given how relaxed his breaths were against the back of Bob’s neck, he thought he must have liked it.

“I like it when you come in here,” Bob mumbled. John smiled against the back of his neck and Bob gave his hand a playful squeeze. “Don’t let it go to your head. You’re just a good blanket.”

“Right, that’s all.” John pressed a kiss behind his ear, tugged gently on his lobe. “Nothing else you like about me, right?”

“I guess I like your belly.” The way that John tensed just slightly made him feel like he said something wrong. He shifted his head deeper into the pillow, laced his fingers around John’s. “It’s soft.”

A long silence passed before John said quietly, “I think you’re perfect.”

Bob didn’t say another word. He didn’t know what he could say without risking the moment they’d created, without going too far and making them feel things they’d regret in the morning. Bob lifted John’s arm and kissed the back of his hand before he closed his eyes.

He didn’t know if he was really perfect, but wrapped in John’s arms, he felt like he was.

[orphic-gaze]

I think it's interesting that people tend to just show the two middle panels of this segment, without the follow up of Bruce putting his money where his mouth is. I get why, but it's still interesting (and some might argue that it's the bare minimum, which is also an interesting take)

[weirdloverwilde]

its interesting that belinda got annoyed at her flatmate for calling her by a nickname, linda, but the doctor has essentially done the same thing, calling her bel constantly. like hes already disrespecting her in a way she explictly doesn't like

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Master manipulator vs Master manipulator

 [First] Prev <–-> Next