#jesus christ how many explosives did they put in there

[optimisticartistic]

Let's talk about Voices

I'm sure someone's already made a perfect post about Harlan's voice acting ability and the fact that all of his characters are so unique and distinct, that even characters with similar voices can be told apart. It is in fact a plot point that when we do meet a new character with a similar voice to a previous one, that it is a point of in-universe suspicion for Arthur.

This means that, rather than voice, we tell characters apart by cadence: not just what they say but how they say it. What weight their personality brings to their voice.

With that in mind, let's talk about our golden boys: John, the King, and Yellow.

John

A relatively flat affect: his pitch doesn't tend to have many particularly noteworthy or abrupt highs or lows, unlike Arthur. A good, even narrator.

Emotions come in bursts of extremes; John runs hot and cold, and his emotions tend to remain fairly obvious due to his word choice. While he can harbour grudges, for the sake of progress he will usually let them go.

Word choices tend to be blunt or straight-forward, reflecting the urgency with which he often has to say them. This also leans directly into his very dry sense of humour.

When more “poetic” words do come into play, they're treated with something like reverence, beautiful things he doesn't want to shatter.

SWEARS. This bitch swears like it’s fucking punctuation, Jesus Christ. What the fuck Arthur.

The King

Grandiosity. He knows he's hot shit, he is confident in the fact he is hot shit, and has no self doubt whatsoever about his powers or capacity to ruin your life. All of his words come with an edge of condescension, even during intense emotions.

Eloquence. He talks like he's reciting poetry or Shakespeare, and while his cadence remains relatively even, he's a lot more prone to distinct shifts in pitch to make himself sound more lyrical or important.

Put your tentacles in the air and step away from the thesaurus, sir.

Resentful. The King actively looks down on anything lesser than him, and acts like everyone is. Plus, like- Arthur stole his shit*. This god has a grudge the size of Azathoth and will make it your problem, and this underlines all of his dialogue with Arthur.

*Arthur did not steal his shit, the King is just a petty bitch and a sore loser

Yellow

Explosive emotions, that he struggles to engage with. When he is upset or angry those emotions linger, and this makes him come across as capricious and immature.

A constant sense of self-doubt in trying to describe things, that comes up as hesitancy and defensiveness.

Grandiosity but like. In the way where he knows he is not, in fact, hot shit, and is desperate to try and prove it to control his situation.

A genuine sense of curiosity. While he and John both share this, John is much less reserved with it, while Yellow has learned to hesitate first.

Also swears! Not as much as John, but Arthur is teaching so many toddler gods to swear it's so fucking funny.

So, with John and the King in mind specifically, here's a pop quiz courtesy of episode 18:

Who does this sound more like?

[cryingatwindermerepeaks]

Could you write more about Lottie being embarassed to take her baby blanket on the trip and having Natalie convince her that it's better to have it in case she needs it? And possibly someone on the team seeing it/realising its a comfort item but ultimately being ok with it and understanding and reassuring Lottie she doesnt need to be embarassed?

Little!Lottie x Cg!Nat - Comforts pt.1

Part 2 coming soon !! Hopefully tonight if I don’t get any homework today <3

Word count: 737

———————

Lottie’s house was empty. It always was. A part of Nat’s heart ached for the loneliness it insinuated for her girl, but at the same time Nat was glad it meant she could come over as often as she liked. Once the housekeepers filed out at the end of their paid hours, Nat would sneak in through the back door and clamber upstairs to find Lottie - sometimes bent over a stack of homework, sometimes perched on her bed with her pacifier in her mouth and a distant glimmer in her eyes. Today was different though, Lottie’s room was an absolute mess. In the middle of the explosion of clothes, books and toiletries, was Lottie and an empty suitcase. “Jesus Christ, Lot,” Nat breathed - almost laughing at the mess. It was ridiculous that the girl even had so many items of clothing. Lottie turned to face Nat, frustration warring on her features.

“I don’t know what to pack,” she whined, in a manner that made Nat think she was probably heading towards regression.

“Start with your uniform,” Nat instructed, taking it upon herself to begin folding up some of the unnecessary clothes Lottie had pulled out - it was going to be a week, Lottie would not need 3 different winter coats. Despite how put together Lottie seemed to make herself at school, her room was never really clean. It was always so cluttered and chaotic, and Nat felt in the stupidest, sappiest sentiment ever, kind of like the girl’s mind.

They carefully worked their way through Lottie’s clothes, packing what she’d need - a few dresses, a striped top which Nat knew was her favourite when she was little, silk pyjamas. “Why don’t you grab your blankie?” Nat instructed, slipping Lottie’s pacifier into her bag. Lottie’s face snapped towards Nat, her face palling.

“I can’t bring that,” she frowned, reaching across the bed to take her pacifier from Nat’s hand.

Nat sighed, rubbing her thumb over Lottie’s hand where they met. “Lot…”

“No, no,” Lottie shook her head urgently, panicked tears welling up in her eyes. What was her deal? It wasn’t like Nat had suggested she go and take her comfort items out onto the soccer pitch with her. “I can’t. People can’t. They can’t find out.” She pleaded, a striking urgency in her voice.

“Fine. Not the pacifier, but your blanket, please Lot you need it.” Lottie’s face flushed red with shame - it was somewhat undeniable, she did need the stupid thing. No, no, it wasn’t stupid. She’d had the blanket since she was a baby, and as lonely as it sounded, for many years it had been her only companion. She reached under her pillow to pull it out, stroking her fingers back and forth over the soft, faded fabric.

“What if the others see?” She asked, her voice small and shaky.

Nat laughed, an attempt to ease Lottie’s worries. “They aren’t going to see,” She promised. “We’re sharing a room, no one else will need to see.”

“What if someone comes in to say hi?”

“Then you can just hide it.”

“What if it falls out of my bag?”

“Is your zipper broken?”

“No…” Lottie sighed, tracing the fabric against her cheek. She almost felt embarrassed to do it infront of Nat when she wasn’t small, ashamed to admit how reliant she was on such a childish object for stability. But it was Nat… and Nat had seen much worse of her.

“Come on, Lot. You don’t even have to take it out, you can just keep it in the bottom of your bag if you don’t need it. But I don’t want something to happen and you don’t have it.” Lottie could think of a million things that could happen that would make her need her blanket - they lose and it’s her fault, she regresses and Nat rejects her, she has one of her rare episodes when her medication just doesn’t work well enough. They all feel like worst case scenarios, but they prove Nat’s point. She couldn’t handle them without her blanket.

“Fine.” She huffed, holding back the urge to stomp her foot against the floor below her bed as she shoved the blanket right to the bottom of her suitcase.

“I couldn’t convince you to bring the pacifier too, could I?” Nat asked, knowing she was trying her luck. Lottie shook her head, closing the suitcase before Nat could tempt her more.

[nhpregulatory-official]

This is Arthur, we’ve got the after action report. You probably already saw everything but… it was bad. This guy’s a genuine monster, but we’re all alive. I’ll just let the recording play.

- Arthur Whitehorse

{Begin Audio visual playback} :

{Sounds of explosions and battle, Union Liberation squadron 167 “Five Man Band” approaches last known location of Lancer Hoshone Turakkis “Randance” and Terrorist [ALIAS NOT FOUND] “Windvale”}

Come on people, we’re almost there! Sevak! Prism! Lemon! Keep us covered! Ashlyn, we’re going in! Windvale’s right where we want ‘em!

Yes sir!

- Command recieved. 👍

Don’t worry Torchbearer, we’ll keep the ‘chauvs off your back!

Thanks… let’s and this Whitehorse.

Let’s.

{The recording quality dips severely for a moment as the two enter a ruined building, after a quick firefight with two Assault Class mechs, the two find a large hangar. Inside is a Starfarer class personal cruiser, a Goblin Class frame, and Lancer “Raindance”. Raindance is in poor health, his face covered in bruises and dried blood with a bomb collar around his neck. Windvale holds the pilot in a chokehold}

Jesus the Buddha Christ…

Well well well, if it isn’t the CorpsePilot, and who’s this? You wanted to bring a friend? I brought one too!

{Unintelligible groan}

Windvale… where do you think this is going to go? You think I care if this… this backstabber does?! Kill him for all I care! Besides, you’ll be shot down before you even breach atmosphere!

You see, that’s where your wrong-

{Torchbearer steps towards Windvale}

Don’t fucking move! Another step and your cockpit gets painted red! I don’t think you, or your friend here wants to see that, huh?

What are you talking about?

Shut up and listen. You too, I know “Hosh” here was getting chummy with the folks upstairs.

{The Goblin frame stares directly towards the recording device on the mech}

I have a deadman’s switch. It’s set to pop my partner here’s head. Then turn the neural port I gave Ashlyn into something that’ll put a Tokugawa’s reactor to shame, then, it’ll detonate every explosive I’ve set across the city. Yeah she’s mostly rubble but we both know how many civilians are still in here. That’s quite the body count you know, so I recommend you step back. Now.

You son of a bit-

Ashlyn! Step back, it’s not just you at risk here, but everyone in the city. The rest of the team included. Do as they say.

{Both mechs step away from Windvale}

Yeah CorpsePilot. Do what I say. So here’s how this is gonna work. I’m getting on that ship, and I’m leaving the system. If anyone even looks at me funny, everything goes boom. You two don’t move from this spot either, or that’ll make the corpse part of CorpsePilot more literal than usual. As for you, partner? I suppose after all this, it’s only fair to let someone else decide what to do with you. I’ve gotten what I needed from you.

{Windvale throws Raindance to the floor}

Anything you need to tell me CorpsePilot? I get the feeling we won’t be seeing each other for a while.

I’ll find you, you sick freak! This isn’t over!

When is it ever. I’ll catch you on the flipside CorpsePilot, and you, partner? I’ll never forget our time together! It’s been fun Etruscia, but I’ve got better things to do then stay here!

{Windvale bows, and enters the spaceship, as it starts up, and flies out of the hangar, towards the sky.}

I- Command did you get that? What the hell are we supposed to d-

{Torchbearer exits her mech, and unholsters her service pistol, pointing it towards Raindance}

Give me a reason not to.

Ashlyn wait-

Give me a reason! You killed Ashlyn! The real one, you killed her friends, you betrayed everything she stood for! So give me a reason not to avenge her right now!

{A prolonged period of silence}

… I can’t, just get it over with.

{Another long silence, before Torchbearer raises her service piston to the roof and fires three shots, before collapsing to the ground.}

{Torchbearer is heard sobbing as Whitehorse exits his chassis, and approaches Torchbearer}

Command, we need an extraction as soon as possible. It’s… it’s over.

{End audio visual playback.}

GREETINGS. IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT. YOU DID WHAT YOU COULD. GET CALLSIGN TORCHBEARER TO THE MEDICAL WING AND WE WILL ATTEMPT TO DISARM HER IMPLANT. IN THE MEANTIME WE WERE ABLE TO PLANT A TRACKING BUG ON WINDVALE'S SHIP. HE WILL NOT ELUDE US FOREVER. YOU DID WELL, HORSEMEN. TIME TO REST. SIGNED - [MAG-MELL]

[c1trvswurld]

Analyzing the Dethklok boys and their relation to Gods

So I've recently gotten into Metalocalypse and was kinda upset that no one in my vicinity has either not heard or cares about this show enough to yap and analyze it with me but then I remembered that I have a Tumblr just collecting dust and this is a perfect place to just...talk. But anyway going back to the whole purpose of this post I wanted to touch on the boys pretty literal godhood presented in the show and how it reflects on their character and their backstories starting with...

Toki Wartooth

Starting off with one of the easiest to analyze since he arguably has the most lore present to the viewer. Throughout the series, toki is presented as the most childish as well as the most emotional of the group with parallels to the angle of death sprinkled everywhere. It's prophesized that anyone he loves or finds dear kicks the bucket with the boys being an exception (since IMO their prophecy and own godlike powers kinda cancel it out). Whether it is that child fan whom he was unironically doing the favor of declining her until the last second or his own father- everyone he loves either dies or never progresses in life (i.e. Dr.Rockso). By nature he is a bad omen who particularly gets canceled out by another member- I'll get into that shut up- but also has weird relations with the big man upstairs, Jesus Christ. His appearance is even similar to that of him and in scenes of his childhood where he's being heavily abused by his parents, you can see parallels of the lashings on his back. When being tortured by Magnus alongside Abigail they are crucified and put into the position Jesus once was in. [Also, sidenote I find it interesting how he deals with stressful situations either by tweaking or age-regressing by having Pickles be his caretaker. Since you can see him slowly regress through the series (no he did not regress all of a sudden after being saved you can clearly see how he regresses throughout the series, and I stand on that bruh) but regresses hard during the aftermath.]

Skwisgaar Skwigelf

Being the adonis he is, I think Skwisgaar represents life to counter Toki's roots in death. His appearance replicating common ideals of angels paired with his height and canonical attractiveness, Skwisgaar is truly a seductress of all sorts. To the point, I get huge Zeus feelings from him (hell it was kinda pushed into our faces during the episode showing how many children he's fathered). His learned skill contrasts itself with Toki's raw talent and has a constant clash- going back to the fact that they represent death and life respectively. I think their constant fighting kinda represents the back and forth between life and death, and those small tidbits where they do show compassion towards each other are a display of how one couldn't exist without the other. It's the fear of Toki possibly getting better than him that pushes Skwisgaar to be on top of shit and it's Skwisgaar's superiority complex and constant snubbing of Toki that pushes the other to battle for the same position. It's another interesting thing how they both deal with their traumas differently. as I truly believe Skwisgaar is prolly hypersexual due to being constantly exposed to well.. sex. And when he's not pondering on that aspect of his life then he's parading around his guitar skills as another coping method. I mean his guitar is LITERALLY part of him 24/7.

Nathan Explosion

Saw a bunch of discussions/debates on what Nathan could be, ranging from power, love, and rage (tbh that's more William than anything). And I think it's a mixture. Nathan is the only member of Dethklok to actually seem to have a stable background out of all of the band, also being the only member consistently in non-one note relationships. And while he does divulge himself groupies he seems to be genuinely interested in having long-term relationships as seen with him getting ready to propose to Abigail (which I honestly think he didn't really want to, he just felt something was missing and hoped a woman he had something with could fulfill that purpose). All of this makes me think he has some domain/relation to love as well as power seeing his influence of thousands being the head of Dethklok. His power is so insanely strong that whenever he doesn't deliver or even when he does via performances the area goes to shit and he strikes up chaos. A little part of me wonders if that's because all of the boys performing is like some Leviathan event but I digress. And in this role, it is Nathan who counters...

William

William arguably has the least info bout his background other than how his two parents died and how he was treated harshly in school, there's not jack about him. However, I do feel like he has domain over hate, pride, and chaos. I mean this man's hatred is so intense that it extends to every part of himself and is an essential part of Dethklok's sound. Without him, they are positive, which funny enough is pretty reflective of the role of bass in a band. It's the link between the drums and everything else. So no matter what the rest of the instruments are doing at that moment the bass sets a tone and is fundamentally dictated by him. He's a mean, vulgar, and brash force that in a weird way counters everyone a tad bit. (love lil bro for that tho).

Pickles

Quite literally being dubbed the mother of the group by fandom and cannon I think Pickles represents the maternal figure of the group kinda. But at the same time he neither counters nor has a specific role in the group that isn't being the drummer. (though drummers act like the temporal glue i.e. wrangling his stupid bandmates to the right path) He takes on this id personality yet also acts brash. The closest thing I could compare him to being a Dionysus figure. Specifically how he represents overindulgence which can be seen in his multitude of addictions but his insanely high tolerance, other than the relation to alcohol Dionysus also has 2 sides just like pickles. One minute he is the most stable and mature of the group and the next he is thrown into a jealous or petty rage. (which can be seen in fatherklok of with Abigail and Nathan)Most often being spurred on by his family history of being the scapegoat for all their problems. And if you subscribe to the pickles is trans propaganda (which I fully am fucking down for) then the weird parallels between Dionysus's split presentation between femininity and masculinity interacting with each other is interesting to see. Especially when he becomes a maternal figure for toki, Skwisgaar, and William- but a pseudo partner for Nathan who also kind of represents the patriarchal power in the home. Paired with Dionysus having domain over theatre and entertainment is interesting with his roots in glam metal being the frontman for Snakes and Barrels.

anyways little shitty rant is OVER! I love this series so very much and I'm sad I just got into this fandom.

[mikamikapodcast]

GG ALLIN !!!!!!!

GG Allin – Punk’s Last Caricature When it comes to extreme figures in music history, GG Allin easily takes the top spot. This self-proclaimed “Animal” punk singer didn’t just break taboos – he trampled on them, urinated on them and threw them back in the audience’s faces. His shows were more like a chaotic ritual than a musical performance: blood, feces, naked violence and a bewildering nihilism. But who was this man who wanted to die on stage – and why did he become a cult figure?

Born a Savior – Grown a Monster

Kevin Michael "GG" Allin was born on August 29, 1956, in a small New Hampshire town. His father, Merle Allin Sr., who had serious mental health problems, named the newborn Jesus Christ Allin – after he had a dream about an angel who told him that his son would be a great savior. The family lived in fear; the father was violent and threatened his children with a gun. The mother changed the name to Kevin when the boy started school.

GG and his older brother Merle Jr. were avid music listeners as children, enchanted by the harmonies of The Beatles. But GG's path quickly took him in a different direction.

"Live Fast, Die Fast" – a life without limits

GG Allin didn't believe in rules. He wore a leather jacket, boots, and a thong, tattooed slogans like "Life Sucks" on his body, and traveled the United States, often without a clear goal. His philosophy on life was simple and brutal: "Drink, fight, and fuck"—and die young.

On stage, Allin didn't play a role—he was chaos. He cut himself, defecated on stage, attacked the audience, and used his performances to vent his rage at the world. He said that without music, he would be a serial killer—and many believed him.

Media, Moral Panic, and Crime

GG Allin had a criminal record: more than 50 arrests, prison sentences for assault, vandalism, and even rape. One conviction came for violence at a concert, in which Allin burned and slashed a woman in the audience. He claimed the act was consensual and part of a "ritual" in which the woman voluntarily participated. He defended his actions by stating that those who came to the concerts knew what they were getting into - and that the experiences "empowered" the victims.

GG's appearances on TV shows like The Jerry Springer Show were as chaotic as his live shows. He threatened the audience, defended his actions, and provoked heated arguments that even Springer lost his temper. GG made it clear that he didn't make his music for money or fame—but because his body was the temple of rock'n'roll, and his excrement was the communion of his fans.

Philosopher or provocateur?

Allin's discography is a mixed bag, filled with experimental, explosive punk records, spoken word albums, and outright provocation. In some songs, he crossed all boundaries of good taste—including urging listeners to have sexual intercourse with children. This was partly intentional, morbidly dark humor, but it was also a testament to how far GG Allin was willing to go—or perhaps how little he had left.

He also called for the legalization of murder, the killing of police officers, and the dismantling of society. He didn't want to change the world—he wanted to drag it down with him.

Death and "partying" at the graveside

GG Allin died as he had lived – mutilated and spectacular. On June 28, 1993, after a failed gig in New York, he wandered the streets naked, covered in blood and feces. Later that night, he overdosed on heroin at a party and passed out. He was found dead in the morning.

The funeral was not an ordinary one. Friends celebrated, took pictures of his body, fed it drugs and whiskey. GG was buried in his "punk uniform" – a leather jacket, boots and undergarments, a bottle of Jim Beam and his music were also put in the coffin. His brother put headphones in his ears and played Allin's "The Suicide Sessions" album one last time.

GG Allin – Punkin viimeinen irvikuva

Kun puhutaan musiikin historian äärimmäisistä hahmoista, GG Allin vie helposti kärkisijan. Tämä itseään "eläimeksi" kutsunut punklaulaja ei vain rikkonut tabuja – hän tallasi niiden yli, virtsasi niiden päälle ja heitti ne takaisin yleisön kasvoille. Hänen keikkansa muistuttivat enemmän kaaoksessa rypevää rituaalia kuin musiikkiesitystä: verta, ulostetta, paljasta väkivaltaa ja hämmentävää nihilismiä. Mutta kuka oli tämä mies, joka halusi kuolla lavalla – ja miksi hänestä tuli kulttihahmo?

Syntynyt vapahtajaksi – kasvoi hirviöksi

Kevin Michael "GG" Allin syntyi 29. elokuuta 1956 pienessä New Hampshiren kylässä. Hänen isänsä, vakavasti mielenterveysongelmainen Merle Allin Sr., nimesi vastasyntyneen Jesus Christ Alliniksi – koska näki unessa enkelin, joka kertoi pojan olevan suuri vapahtaja. Perhe eli pelon varjossa; isä oli väkivaltainen ja uhkaili lapsiaan aseella. Äiti vaihtoi nimen Keviniksi pojan aloittaessa koulun.

GG ja hänen isoveljensä Merle Jr. olivat lapsina innokkaita musiikin kuuntelijoita, lumoutuneita The Beatlesin harmonioista. Mutta GG:n tie vei nopeasti toiseen suuntaan.

"Live Fast, Die Fast" – elämä ilman rajoja

GG Allin ei uskonut sääntöihin. Hän pukeutui nahkatakkiin, saappaisiin ja alasuojaan, tatuoi kehoonsa iskulauseita kuten "Life Sucks", ja matkusti ympäri Yhdysvaltoja, usein ilman selkeää päämäärää. Hänen elämänfilosofiansa oli yksinkertainen ja julma: "Juo, tappele ja nussi" – ja kuole nuorena.

Lavalla Allin ei pelannut roolia – hän oli kaaos. Hän viilteli itseään, ulosti lavalle, hyökkäsi yleisöön ja käytti esityksiään purkaakseen raivoaan maailmaa kohtaan. Hän sanoi, että ilman musiikkia hän olisi sarjamurhaaja – ja moni uskoi sen.

Media, moraalipaniikki ja rikokset

GG Allinin elämä oli rikoshistoriaa: yli 50 pidätystä, vankilatuomioita pahoinpitelyistä, ilkivallasta ja jopa raiskauksesta. Yksi tuomio tuli keikalla tapahtuneesta väkivallasta, jossa Allin poltti ja viilteli naista yleisöstä. Hän väitti teon olleen suostumuksellinen ja osa "rituaalia", johon nainen osallistui vapaaehtoisesti. Hän puolusti tekojaan toteamalla, että keikoille tulleet tiesivät mihin olivat tulossa – ja että kokemukset "vahvistivat" uhreja.

GG:n esiintymiset tv-ohjelmissa, kuten Jerry Springer Show'ssa, olivat yhtä kaoottisia kuin hänen keikkansa. Hän uhkaili yleisöä, puolusteli tekojaan ja sai aikaan raivoisia väittelyitä, joissa jopa Springer menetti malttinsa. GG sanoi suoraan, ettei tee musiikkiaan rahasta tai kuuluisuudesta – vaan siksi, että hänen kehonsa on rock’n’rollin temppeli, ja hänen eritteensä fanien ehtoollinen.

Filosofi vai provokaattori?

Allinin diskografia on sekava, täynnä kokeellisia, rääkyviä punk-levyjä, spoken word -albumeita ja suoranaista provokaatiota. Joissain kappaleissa hän ylitti kaikki hyvän maun rajat – muun muassa kehottaessaan kuulijoita seksuaaliseen kanssakäymiseen lasten kanssa. Nämä olivat osin tahallista, sairaan mustaa huumoria, mutta osoitus siitä, kuinka pitkälle GG Allin oli valmis menemään – tai ehkä, kuinka vähän hänellä oli jäljellä.

Hän myös vaati murhan laillistamista, poliisien tappamista ja yhteiskunnan romuttamista.

Kuolema ja "juhlat" haudan äärellä

GG Allin kuoli kuten eli – rujosti ja näyttävästi. 28. kesäkuuta 1993, epäonnistuneen keikan jälkeen New Yorkissa, hän vaelsi alastomana kadulla, veressä ja ulosteissa. Myöhemmin sinä iltana hän veti yliannostuksen heroiinia juhlissa ja sammui. Aamulla hänet löydettiin kuolleena.

Hautajaiset eivät olleet tavalliset. Ystävät juhlivat, ottivat kuvia hänen ruumiistaan, syöttivät sille huumeita ja viskiä. GG haudattiin "punk-univormussaan" – nahkatakissa, saappaissa ja alasuojassa, arkkuun mukaan laitettiin myös Jim Beam -pullo ja hänen musiikkiaan. Hänen veljensä pani kuulokkeet hänen korvilleen ja soitti Allinin "The Suicide Sessions" -albumia viimeisen kerran.

[kristalllkula]

I’ve been yapping about this on other platforms for a few days now but I’m sick to death of rancid takes coming out of izzy canyon about how ed is DESTINED to murder stede when they’re alone in the inn because of ed’s propensity for explosive, uncontrolled and unprovoked violence.

I’m literally begging y’all to shut the fuck up and stop using examples of REAL abuse dynamics in order to justify your sanctimonious moral grandstanding and racism. stop pretending to advocate for victims of abuse while pissing all over the lived experiences of real human beings. this is MY fuckin lived experience!! I was in an abusive relationship for 18 months where I heard all the stories about his crazy exes and I thought I was special. you’re not advocating for people like me who have been harmed in relationships by trotting out pop psychology PSAs about FICTIONAL CHARACTERS IN A TV SHOW.

here’s a true thing about me: when I was in a relationship with my abuser I put my fist through the drywall in my bedroom multiple times because I was being abused and headfucked. before I met him I had only lashed out like that one other time in my early 20s and after I left him I never did it again. I have never laid hands on someone out of anger as an adult (I did once, as a child, hit my much older brother with a wooden meat tenderizer but he also treated me like shit all the time and I got put in time out!!!).

does that mean that I, too, have a propensity for being unstable? am I capable of explosive violent outbursts? is whatever partner I have going forward at risk of intimate partner violence from me? I guess they must be because i punched a wall so many times!

(fwiw it was self-harm more than anything else.)

god I’m so fucking tired of y’all. it’s so fucking obvious to me that y’all refuse to engage with canon objectively because you cannot reckon with your own capacity for abuse/harm. go to fuckin therapy or do some volunteer work jesus fuckin christ. dont fuckin @ me.

[that-weird-skeleton-bastard]

i put Psychonauts characters into the hunger games simulator

and this is how it went

Bloodbath

Franke Athens sets Chloe Barge on fire with a molotov.

dr caligosto loboto and Vernon Tripe fight for a bag. dr caligosto loboto gives up and retreats. (bro bored him so much he just.gave up)

milla vodello falls into a frozen lake and drowns. (c'mon girl, YOURE BETTER THAN THIS-)

Benny Fideleo, Phoebe Love, and Dogen Boole work together to get as many supplies as possible.

Clem Foote is unable to convince Kitty Bubai to not kill him.

morceau oleader grabs a jar of fishing bait while Elton Fir gets fishing gear. (elton's gonna need some earplugs to not hear the poor fishes's thoughts)

lili zanotto stabs hollis forsythe in the back with a trident.

Nils Lutefisk and Milka Phage work together to drown ford crueller.

Quentin Hedgemouse shoots an arrow at Chops Sweetwind, but misses and kills J.T Hoofburger instead. (oh shit 0_0)

Elka Doom severely injures Crystal Flowers, but puts her out of her misery. (i guess she got what she asked for???)

Mikhail Bulgakov overpowers Maloof Canola, killing him. (ironic)

sasha nein finds a canteen full of water.

bobby zilch cannot handle the circumstances and commits suicide. (good riddance lmaooo)

augustus aquato falls into a pit and dies.

raz aquato grabs a backpack, not realizing it is empty.

Day 1

lili zanotto constructs a shack.

morceau oleader, Nils Lutefisk, and Kitty Bubai track down and kill Quentin Hedgemouse. (poor lil dude stood no chance TwT)

Milka Phage, Chops Sweetwind, Elka Doom, and Franke Athens form a suicide pact, killing themselves. (DAMN)

sasha nein severely injures Mikhail Bulgakov and leaves him to die. (COLD, SASHA. COLD)

Vernon Tripe injures himself. (of course he did)

Benny Fideleo overhears raz aquato and Dogen Boole talking in the distance.

Elton Fir kills Phoebe Love with a sickle.

dr caligosto loboto searches for firewood. (SOMEHOW HE'S BEING THE MOST NORMAL-)

Night 1

Nils Lutefisk tries to sing himself to sleep.

Elton Fir fends Vernon Tripe, dr caligosto loboto, and Benny Fideleo away from his fire. (cal didn't find firewood so he tried to take elton's lol)

Dogen Boole, morceau oleader, and sasha nein get into a fight. sasha nein triumphantly kills them both. (not a surprise)

Kitty Bubai throws a knife into lili zanotto's chest. (NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-)

raz aquato attempts to start a fire, but is unsuccessful. (HE'S COMPLETELY OBLIVIOUS TT0TT)

Day 2

Vernon Tripe diverts dr caligosto loboto's attention and runs away.

Elton Fir severely injures Kitty Bubai and leaves her to die.

raz aquato is pricked by thorns while picking berries.

Nils Lutefisk sees smoke rising in the distance, but decides not to investigate.

Benny Fideleo shoots a poisonous blow dart into sasha nein's neck, slowly killing him.

Night 2

Elton Fir throws a knife into Vernon Tripe's chest.

raz aquato sets an explosive off, killing dr caligosto loboto, Benny Fideleo, and Nils Lutefisk. (DAMN BOI HE FINALLY FOUND OUT ABOUT LILI AND HE'S PISSED-)

Day 3

raz aquato tries to spear fish with a trident.

Elton Fir camouflages himself in the bushes. (sNeAkY BoI~)

Night 3

Elton Fir sees a fire, but stays hidden. (sNeEeAaKy bOiIi~)

raz aquato attempts to start a fire, but is unsuccessful. (dang he sucks at starting fires other that squirrels-)

Feast

raz aquato bashes Elton Fir's head against a rock several times. (JESUS CHRIST-)

The Games have ended

❤️The winner is raz aquato!❤️

well that was fucking violent :D tell me if you want another one!

[jamtamart]

i wanted to add my thought process on this piece as i had such a blast painting it. i want to explore lawrence and vincents dynamic even more now that i've dipped my toes in

thoughts under the cut- its quite long so!

Theres not many individual elements actually in the piece to go over, but i wanted to talk about how i actually ended up painting the subjects as i did, as i was quite purposeful with the small amount of details i did end up using

So my very first point of inspiration was the fact that vincent discovers hes intersex through appendix surgery in the film. This detail always stuck out to me in multiple ways- its a very mundane way to discover something that, for vincent, could disrupt his very being- especially in comparison to the way he discovers it in the book, being injured in an explosion in Baghdad. When rewatching i kinda immediately made the connection between the placement of appendix surgery scars and the five holy wounds, specifically the one christ receives on the side of his chest from the holy lance.

From there i thought about the wound itself- what do i actually want to say by showing vincent like this? Theres the obvious generic connections of christ and sacrifice but i wanted to say something more, which is when i thought about thomas’ point of view in the room of tears.

Thomas has an interesting perspective. Thomas’ view of women and sexuality has always intrigued me, especially in the shadow of the institutional power dynamics that surround him and others in the church. Theres a lot i could say, but in the context of vincent, i always think about how he would see vincent after the room of tears. A man that was his brother, his equal, now his technical superior, is… something else? Thomas obviously has a very rudimentary an biased understanding of gender and sex, and its obvious in the room of tears scene he is grappling with this in real time. His ignorance towards women and his own desire almost manifests into denial of the new holy father. 

With this, i thought of doubting thomas. Kind of an obvious place to go when doing a depiction of christs side wound and you literally have a character called thomas whos whole thing is doubting his faith, but i wanted to do more with that!!!!!!!  i wanted to push the typical depiction of doubting thomas thrusting his hand into the side wound into something more sensual, intimate. lawrence’s denial of sexuality, especially how prevalent it is in the book, is so interesting to me.

I had recently read an article, which i’ll link at the end of this, that discussed the medieval depictions of these wounds and the uses behind them. What stood out to me was the discussion of sacred/secular imagery and how they were used as one in the same, both points in prayer. That love, romantic and sexual, could also be used in a sacrificial sense, forming union with christ. What got me even more was the imagery of jesus’ wounds given to women specifically. Prayer books that invited women to lick and touch his wounds, presumably having the books in their laps and they bent forward to engage with prayer. Images that put the women in jesus’ place, to experience the sin with the sacred. 

I highly recommend reading the article to get the full grasp of the details, but i felt as though this paired with a figure representing a doubting thomas spoke well to what i wanted. Lawrence is a man who is not sure he holds faith anymore, and yet still is ultimately defined by his faith, its everything he is. He goes to bed in the same pose he did as a boy to not give in to temptation, however over time its transformed into something else, something regretful. He holds so much desire, not necessarily in a lustful context, but desire manifests nevertheless. 

This is why i decided to depict lawrence not just touching vincents wound, but pulling it apart, consuming what it leaks. I wanted to place lawrence in a similar position to the aforementioned women (and men, though there is a focus on women having these personal pocket prayer books) and their personal prayers, subjecting himself to the wound, to vincent.

There is also evidence that historically the imagery of the side wound was purposefully made to resemble that of a vulva in places. This and the direction to directly interact with the wounds made me want to push the sacred/secular even more. I purposefully painted the innards of vincents wound to mimic this imagery, just so slightly. I didnt want it to be obviously in your face, more just so a subtle nod to the theming as a whole, as well as the fact that in the book its said vincent’s surgery was a clitoroplexy and labia fusion correction, different to the hysterectomy we’re told of in the film.  A quote in the mentioned article caught my eye, “looking down at the wound places the viewer in a similar position to christ on the cross… the female devotee is a hybrid herself; part christ, part grotesque; part male, part female.”.

I wanted to leave vincent’s gaze looking unimpressed, slightly uncomfortable. I think of how he’d feel in the papacy, unable to go home and resume his aid, surrounded by people that look up to him in a way he hadn’t experienced before. What he’d think of the man he believed should have been in his position kneeling in reverence, consuming whatever would come from him. 

Lawrences perspective in the piece is one of submitting to faith and attempting to connect to the unknown, his doubts pushing his desire. Vincent must bare himself open, prove his being and become an object of admiration. Though he is the holy father, he must also submit to the people. part christ, part grotesque; part male, part female.

the article here

doubting thomas

[thequietmanno1]

TheLreads, Vigilantes ch 109, Replies Part 1

1) “Last time McBee turned out to be a fucking beast, quite literally in fact, and even so, that was not enough to catch up to Koichi. The Crawler sprints through the depths he’s just tiptoeing around.”- Koichi’s so good at out-speeding Nomura, he has to forgo using pure speed to beat him, and instead try age-old tactical warfare – superior numbers and Gun. 2) “I mean, is he? He turned into a monster not that long ago, I find it hard to see him sticking to the same style with that body type.”- He’s still using a semi-humanoid body shape to fight, which is what AFO’clock was referring to. By discarding that, he gains powers and tactics that start to out-strip what Koichi’s powers can achieve, little by little. 3) “jesus fucking christ McBee

You really didn’t got what your imaginary friend there tried to tell you”- Well, he does try to use them In a different way – and a good thing to, because not only will the extra limbs slow him down now, but they might get in each other’s way when he’s trying to unleash a rapid-fire flurry of attacks. 4) “Oh okay now that one could work instead. Atta boy, you at least is trying something new, rather than just make a fuckton of arms to try to punch him”- In a battle of speedsters, introducing a minefield or environmental hazard is actually a far more devastating tactic than merely trying to out-do the other guy in pure speed. How many times did you get wiped out in Mario cart by the environment over another player?

5) “Okay, now tell me, are you using that to distract him and make him worry about saving people in need, or are you waiting for them to drop on top of him?”- The good thing about flexible tactics is that they can work in multiple way. Nomura could wait for them to fall down on Koichi whilst he distracts him…or he can just force Koichi to jump upwards into their range, either option works and puts pressure on him. 6) “yeah Koichi, that’s nothing new, you’ve seen him blowing up stuff before, it shouldn’t be surprising that he can also yeet it at you”- Nomura’s been a very “hands-on” guy in fighting Koichi so far, it’s not surprising that Mr “No Thoughts, Fight Mode” lacks the imagination to properly react when he starts literally throwing his explosive matter at him instead. 7) “No I don’t think it was. I think that will still come down eventually, he just needs to get you focused enough that you forget about it for a while.”- Come down, or….Koichi goes up instead.

8) “Oh I see, it wasn’t even waiting for it to reach Koichi, it was counting on Koichi getting to them by accident first.

…

So, what if Koichi had dodged back rather than up?”- Nomura would have arced his further shots upwards whilst advancing on him to ensure Koichi would eventually have to Jump Good to get out of the blast radius. Extra limbs means he can keep mobile whilst simultaneously launching an assault on Koichi. 9) “Alright that did rough him up a bit. Nothing serious, but it was something at least. There we go, now we’re making progress, soon we’ll finally be able to draw some blood.”- Whilst individually minimal, the force of each blast does rattle Koichi’s body, and as long as Nomura has enough resources to out-last Koichi’s vitality, eventually, one will get through and land a lethal him 10) “And that’s a whole wave of bombs McBee wasted I’m afraid. Hey, maybe he did got something up his sleeve- scales? Maybe he has a move ready”- The move is “use the backup bombs” – though in fairness, I don’t think he was counting on them being so effective because of their humanoid shape against Koichi’s crippling Guilt issues, he just lucked out on that one. 11) “Oh right, there’s still that thing. I’m still wondering about this limitation, or rather, I’m wondering how long until furuhashi removes it as well.”- Pretty sure that Koichi only needs a little bit more pressure before he realises that he’s able to fire the shots and shields off beyond his breathing limit – he’s on the threshold, but not quite there.

12) “My dude, that’s not a new strategy, that’s the same strategy with a new coat of paint”- Well, these bombs are more the mobile tracking sort- and their humanoid forms actually makes them harder to deal with for Koichi than any of Nomura’s regular attacks. 13) “…

OH WAIT

IS THE OTHER NOMUS? HE’S GONNA USE THEM NOW?

McBEE, THEY DON’T EVEN HAVE A SPEED QUIRK, HOW ARE YOU EXPECTING TO CATCH UP TO kOICHI?”-They don’t have to. With Nomura’s speed pressuring Koichi and his mental control over them, all Nomura’s got to do is position the Bomus wherever he’s herding Koichi towards with his attacks, and they can pincer him between them both.

14) “And there we go, time to chase dat crawly boio”- So, these guys are restrained right beside the duo, and with Nomura losing all rationality and detonating explosives all over the place, there’s a chance they may yet blow up the peanut gallery by accident 15) “Yeah because AfO didn’t had better shit to do rather than make a small army of nomu and give them to another Nomu that wanted to get done with a petty revenge

also, now that I think about it, those Nomus are black, which was supposed to be the strongest, most powerful, and also most difficult to produce Nomu.And they are here as cannon fodder.”- I think these Bomus are black merely to help obscure their features and blend into the shadows better, rather than an indicator of their power level. Their current usage aside, they’re not supposed to be attack drones, but massive and disposable distractions to support Nomura in his “missions”. @thelreads

[the-single-element]

Good morning. Just a short thought for today.

Hot on the heels of Jesus's first sermon, and first public miracle, we hear today about his ministry continuing its explosive debut. And today's account is, on some level, archetypical of how Jesus's ministry tends to go - all four Gospels, at some level of detail, portray a mix of Jesus teaching, healing, and then moving on as soon as he can.

Why was this the right format for Jesus's all-too-short time on Earth? Given the choice of all the possible plans for the life of a religious teacher at the time, why did he choose for his ministry to follow this one?

Consider this: the aforementioned "first public miracle" was designed to decelerate Jesus's rise to fame. He was trying to keep the man - in that altered state - from blurting out to the whole world who Jesus Christ truly was.

He's trying to slow down the rollercoaster acceleration of his ministry, the "immediately" that Mark uses again and again.

And yet... when he gets out of the synagogue and comes to stay with one of the families of his newly forged inner circle... what does he do?

He performs another miracle. A miraculous healing, one that, despite his efforts, gets talked about so quickly that the whole town is at his door by nightfall. He has to sneak out of town the next morning.

If he's trying to keep a low profile, why do this? Why not stick to his preaching, which is apparently distinctive enough, even without the miracles?

The answer, I think, is that - as we've discussed a few times - you can't really separate the message from the ministry here.

Jesus taught, so that he could rescue as many people as possible before his time ran out.

Jesus healed the sick and drove out unclean spirits, so that he could rescue as many people as possible before his time ran out.

He can't do one and neglect the other. It wouldn't make sense, because it's all one thing, even if it doesn't look like it at first.

And (again, as we've discussed before) having the sort of love that drives you to action - which Jesus showed when he healed and fed the crowds, and when he taught them - is the proof that you're already living in the Kingdom that Jesus was trying to get us to understand.

And this is a proper approach to the praxis of our faith and the building up of the Kingdom - to answer, where and when we can, the unjustness of the logic of the world in which we live today. To answer the cry of Job, who was a righteous man who didn't deserve his afflictions. And to answer it for the sake of answering it - not for money, not for clout, not for some ulterior motive, but by letting our hearts be moved and recognizing (like Paul in his letter to Corinth when he explained why he doesn't take money for his preaching) that this is the role we've been sent to play. That "for this purpose we have come", as Jesus puts it today. And this will sometimes be an answer in words, and sometimes will be an answer of actions.

This is the template of Jesus's ministry because he practiced what he preached, and what he preached was the Kingdom of God.

[from-a-reckless-writer]

RE: the tags about being tempted to post a half finished fic and guess the ending, well you are a reckless writer for a reason

this is long overdue, so here have a fic.

It has come to the point that nothing fazes her anymore.

A kidnapping? Been there, done that. It means calling Sam Arias to intimidate the board of members into temporary submission.

An explosion at the office? Just a typical Tuesday. It means relocating to the 23rd floor and sharing the desk with two other interns for 2 months tops.

An assassination attempt? It means bracing herself for at least 3 deliveries of donuts and coffee for the two following weeks that Kara Danvers would be protectively hovering over L-Corp, until her boss snaps and shoos her away back to CatCo.

She’s seen it all, endured it all and she sure as hell is prepared for it all. She’s got three different ironclad statements ready to publish for whatever PR disaster will most likely turn up that week. She’s got contacts from the FBI, DEO, CatCo, Daily Planet, Gotham Gazette-- hell she even has Lillian’s personal cell (just in case the Luthor matriarch ever tries anything y’know? ) and yes, even the number of that 'Mexican place at 5th and Spring, you know the one Kara likes, Jess?'

She’s got two pairs of heels, a raincoat and four sets of outfits neatly folded in a duffel bag, at the back of the office, reserved for any emergency that requires a change of clothes.

The point is, she is an independent Asian-American woman who has worked her ass off for the better part of the decade and has long learned to take no shit from anybody.

Not even stupid superpowered Kryptonians.

See, it takes a lot to be her. It takes unlimited patience to put up with a woman like Lena Luthor, not because she’s a terrible person. Oh no, no, the complete opposite, actually. She is so overwhelmingly kind to a fault, and she doesn’t want nor let anybody see it. It’s infuriating to see sometimes. Okay, fine, she sides with the Krytonian on that one matter. But oh, ho, ho, not today. Today, she’s mad.

She’s livid, actually and it’s all Supergirl’s fault. (and Lena Luthor's too.)

Jess has had her fair share of ‘I-Should-Not-Have-Been-Here’ moments, like that one time she forgot to knock and stumbled unto Lex mid-yell with Lena whose eyes were shimmering but was still keeping a rigid posture.

Or that one time when she thought her boss had long left the office, only to be greeted with quiet sobs and an empty bottle of scotch rolling on the floor. Or that time she happened upon Lena, skirt and sleeves on fire with fumes rising from a green solution.

Apparently, her staff from the lab refused to let her in after three days of their CEO holding herself in isolation with the experiment. Lena had gotten the great idea of smuggling the chemicals to her office instead. Luthors are nothing but determined. Jess still remembers the adrenaline rush of holding a fire extinguisher—as if she were the chosen 5th grader for a school fire drill—and shoving her boss out of the way.

Like she said, nothing fazes her anymore she’s seen it all, except maybe, this one. Yep, definitely this one. This one just made a hot ball of fury unfurl at her very core. This one might just take the cake.

Jess was just going about her day, returned from a hearty lunch and feeling reinvigorated from that dose of sunlight and fresh air. It was a quiet day today, she noticed, which should’ve been a foretelling.

Nothing really is ever quiet. Well, when it comes to L-Corp, at least.

She’s been sitting on her desk for about a good fifteen minutes and finished with screening a few papers from their new contractors, when it occurs to her that the latest blueprints from R&D are still on her desk instead of already being reviewed by her boss.

She grabs the drawing tube and quickly makes for her boss’s private office. They’ve spent enough time with each other that Jess could just come and go as she pleases, instead of having to knock each time. Saves both of their time, that way.

Although, usually, she buzzes through the intercom first to double check, but it was 1:20 P.M and she knows Lena doesn’t have anything scheduled after lunch. So, she pushes the door, confidently strolls in and promptly stops in her tracks.

Jess stops breathing for a moment, blinks once, twice, stares at the scene before her.

Lena Luthor sat atop her work desk; blouse open, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, neck currently being ravaged by Supergirl with legs wrapped around the waist.

She probably should’ve just turned and left while they haven’t seen her yet. That would’ve been the smart decision, right? Yes. Yes, it was so very clearly The Right Decision.

Of course, she doubts she could look Lena in the eye for the next few weeks after that, but at least she wouldn’t know that Jess walked in on them during an er- make-out session? Office tryst? Oh God, she shudders internally. It sounds even worse.

Incident? Yep. Yeah. She’s sticking with incident. Indecent incident sounds more apt really.

She should’ve left. Would have left, if her eyes didn’t just land on the desk—well, more like Miss Luthor’s as- backside—and felt the stirrings of rage make itself known. Because there, underneath Lena’s ass (Backside!! Jess, that’s your boss!) is the squished—probably crumpled—pages of a contract.

A contract they’ve spent 5 months securing!!

Jess decides to do what everyone else would have done in a situation such as this; she clears her throat. Loudly.

Classic move.

Supergirl’s head immediately shoots up and Lena’s eyes snap open.

“Jess!” Supergirl squeaks and she sees the exact moment the realization hits Lena. Her eyes widening at her girlfriend’s exclamation, whips her head to the side, spots Jess, hands scrambling to a panic to close all the buttons of her blouse.

She hears Lena hiss, “Fuck, shit. Oh my God. Shit. How did she even- You have superhearing!!!” as she pushes Supergirl—who lets herself be pushed, stunned by the intrusion, face redder than a tomato.

Lena gets off the desk, fixes herself all the while to futile results. Her hair is tugged down from her usual ponytail, her neck and chest is marked, her lips swollen.

Supergirl's hands twitch at the sides and Jess sees her gulp as blue eyes frantically dart to Lena and her, and then Lena, and then back to her.

Lena finally turns around after those few awkward beats.

"Jess," she begins, clearly trying hard to put on her business bitch persona, but come on, there's a hickey under her jaw for fuck's sake.

"It's not what you-"

Jess doesn’t let her finish, she stomps her way across the office and forcefully puts the drawing tube on the desk. It makes a hollow thump.

“Jess I-”

“Supergirl, do you know how long it takes to finalize a business proposal, pitch it to the board, persuade the board and finally have a contract drawn?”

Supergirl gulps again. Lena’s eyes are wild next to her, she doesn’t like not knowing what the next best move is, Jess knows this all too well.

“Uhhh- no?”

Jesus Christ, you’d think after years of shadowing Cat Grant, she'd had at least learned a thing or two. Then again, if somebody is full on glaring at her after getting caught red-handed, Jess doubts she could answer coherently too.

“That’s right,” Jess says, “You don’t.”

“Jess,” Lena repeats pointedly. She knows that tone. It’s a warning.

“Ms. Luthor.”

A period not a question mark. It’s a challenge.

"I've spent all my evenings working late on that, do you know how many dates I've had to cancel? Just so I can secure a meeting with Qatar and simultaneously sync it with Beijing's time? My boyfriend hasn't seen me in two weeks!” Jess bursts out.

“Two weeks, Supergirl!” She gets close enough to jab a finger to the Girl of Steel’s chest. A feat she will gladly tell all her coworkers later when she’s calmed down enough.

“Not to mention, the 10 other people who worked their ass off trying to make sure that Miss Luthor's presentation is airtight, bulletproof and waterproof!” Lena has the decency to look a little guilty at this point, nothing big though, just a slight tug at her lips, but it was enough for Jess.

“IT TOOK ME 3 FUCKING MINUTES TO PRINT THAT GODDAMN CONTRACT WHICH MIGHT NOT SOUND LONG—” Jess raises a finger in emphasis, “BUT BELIEVE ME WORKING IN L-CORP? A 3 MINUTE DIFFERENCE CAN MEAN AN ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT OR PSYCHOPATH PRESS!”

Supegirl of all people should already know this! For fuck’s sake!

Jess’s chest is heaving. She takes a deep breath, kneads her knuckles to her eyelids, “So, please if you're gonna have sex in the office, please, pleaseeeee clear the desk first. And at least, lock the door.”

She stares them both down, till Lena gives her a solemn nod; cheeks and ears still red. Supergirl squeaks out an, “U-understood, Ma’am.”

“Good. Glad we’ve come to an agreement.” Jess gives them one final nod before finally fulfilling what she came in here to do, “Miss Luthor,” She turns to Lena, “here are the R&D blueprints. Good day, to you Supergirl. I'll be going now. "

When she finally goes home, tells her boyfriend, and wonders aloud if she’ll still have a job the next morning, he tells her she’s such a badass.

And well, Jess can’t disagree with that.

*****

"Did I just- Did I just get yelled at by your secretary?? D-did she just chew us out?"

"She did, and she deserves a raise."

[celestialholz]

Celestial Live-Reacts: STP 2.2, 'Penance'

Well I've already seen at least twenty very interesting gifs of this episode, let's fucking goooo

The red grid's everywhere?

"How 'Yesterday's Enterprise' of you." This man's been on the screen for three seconds and he's already breaking the fourth wall, I fucking adore him 😍

"You're the very board upon which this game is played." Q into roleplaying confirmed? Entities You Don't Want As Your DM include 😂

"Old, yes! How unfair time is... so many wrinkles. So many disappointments." Ah well, good to see that three decades hasn't harmed de Lancie's ability to sell the absolute shit out of a scene, my god. The bitterness is almost tangible 😭

That almost face-touch was him stopping himself because he doesn't want to actually confirm his own words and touch the wrinkles, I'm fucking done

"The chase is cut, Picard; the chase is bleeding, the chase is dying in your arms, and I am but a suture in the wound." Jesus H. Christ John, your acting sir? Honestly, you don't just come along and be a perfect foil to the brilliance that is Patrick Stewart, and this man's always managed it effortlessly ❤❤

This whole scene is so gay, I adore it to tiny pieces 😍😍

Today on 'Celestial Hazards a Guess': this situation is putting Q under considerable mental strain to amend because it's so widespread. I don't actually think it's a physical health issue? I'm going with PTSD. 🤔

... He didn't want to tell him that did he, oh dear

He's saving his fucking life and entire timeline because he loves him and Picard still won't look twice at him, I am dead my dudes 😣😭

We're in an AU fanfic boys, get hype

"You see, I thought to myself, I thought - I really must see Jean-Luc." This whole exchange is ice-cold, but this? Yeah no, this is the only honest thing here

"So I simply sought out the nearest explosion." 😂😂 Valid

"Oh I could tell you, but you're far too clever to listen." Very Tapestry...

"We're never too old to be students of our own behaviour, Jean-Luc..."

... And then he hits him? Actually fucking PHYSICALLY?! Brooo, there is DEFINITELY something wrong with this entity's psyche, as if he would ever 👀

"And I've had enough of your obstinance, your stubbornness, your insistence in changing in all ways but the one that matters!" You, erm... way to show a guy your heart there, good lords above ❤

'Penance'... a punishment laid upon oneself for their transgressions. This man has not done his homework and Mr Q is angry 😶

I'm kinda loving these clicks where nothing much seems to happen until it does - I'd say it was lazy, but I'm thinking it's indicative of the mental state now. No flashiness, all substance - his usual opposite 🤔

Mirrorverse? Are we really mirrorversing right now

"Through a mirror, darkly - and here, the man who holds the glass is darker still." I get that this is Picard's horror story, but the 'man who holds the glass' here is Q in showing him all this, and I love that dichotomy

... That's Gul Dukat? Oh shi -

Martok and Sarek? Mirror!Picard is pantomime levels of evil, damn sir

A girl needs to write a Qcard mirror fic, clearly

"This is the only life you understand"????? What

"But don't worry - I won't let you do this alone." My heart. 😍😍

"Do you wish for me to respond to the designation 'Q', sir?" Look what your nonsense has wrought Picard 😒

This really do be Tapestry 2 my dudes, fuck

This is still a James Bond intro sequence

The roses, though, murder me personally - rose-tinting, Tapestry roses, symbol of general love, and courage...

... Hang on, all of that was just the cold open? Fucking damn son, this series goes hard lmao

Picard is space Hitler now. Okey-doke 🙃

"Colombian roast, black." "... This really is the circle that Dante overlooked." 😂😂

... I mean this timeline's garbage, buuuut Picard also doesn't suddenly have a random romantic interest from nowhere, so...

'Eradication Day'. Oh fuck

Oh hello Seven, you beautiful lady you 😍😍

Is she married?

Where do I get me an electronic candle that realistic

If they had to give Seven a husband, it should have been Robert Beltrane for full and complete levels of sitcom nonsense

General Sisko, god fucking help us all 👀

Love this bloody friendship between Rios and Seven, it's so wholesome ❤

What did you do to my son's girlfriend

The matriarchal love 😍😍

"I want this one kept alive - for questioning!" "I don't know anything!" 😂 Precious child, bless him ❤

Even in the mirrorverse, Agnes is operating on -100% and I feel that spiritually

Spot-73 is an icon. He's giving me absolutely nothing and I love him 😍

... Are they about to finish exterminating the Borg? Oh, very good - I await Picard's split opinion with great interest 👀

Even the Queen thinks Agnes is too quirky, damn 🤣

'The Borg Queen has a kind of trans-temporal awareness' - ahhhhhh, intriguing

That is a spectacular villain HQ

These little interlinks to how they reconnect are wondrous

"Say what now?" Oh Raffi ❤

Ohhh, so she has 'commitment issues'? Well, that explains something in this show, for once

... It's not an AU?

'Mr Alphabet' 😂😂

"This morning, even for Q, he seemed... unstable. Not quite sane." Is that concern I detect Jean-Luc, good lord - a writer might think you care... 👁👄👁

Elnor completely missing sarcasm gives me life

"A friend, a foe, and now..." Now what exactly

Spirk mention, hurrah!

Jeri is on fire here, this Queen chemistry's glorious

Annika 'Seven Shots'? Up your game sweetie, you'd never have survived my university 😂

Noooo Elnor 😣

So many relationship issues in this show, so little build-up

YES ELNOR 😘

"Time travel is not a way to make me feel better, about anything" - me during 95% of Trek time travel storylines

I'm with Rios here, fuck connecting that to my ship

NOOO ELNOR 😭😭

"Killed whilst rescuing a Borg." I, Borg Picard would never

... Wow, guys.

Celestial Rating: 8/10.

Whatever the fuck the space husband's up to, it's hugely compelling - and this new, dystopian alternative future's beautifully realised. Even Agnes didn't irritate me this week. Very promising.

[whythinktoomuch]

ii. apocalypse now & again

(pt. i)

Kara woke up and realized that she was going to die.

Too many of the drones had survived the explosions and were still closing in on her. What little strength she had left after quite literally digging her own grave was presently and painstakingly strained just from her efforts to climb onto her knees. And on top of all that—of everything that possibly could have gone wrong for her in this moment—her helmet was cracked.

The abstract red numbers warning Kara of the kryptonite levels in the area seemed redundant now, what with that unmistakable chill already flooding her bloodstream.

“… Alex,” Kara gasped out, barely able to hear herself over the ringing in her ears. “Hey, Alex… Are you there?”

Her words were met with not one whisper or even a crackle of static, and for once, Kara was inconsolably disappointed to hear no one yelling back at her. With her teeth gritted, she shoved herself off the ground as hard as she could, drifting barely a foot into the air before the first drone crashed into the back of her head.

Kara toppled back onto the ground, knees skidding across the rubble in a shower of hot sparks. The impact had her head reeling, her mouth filling with a taste that she was now idly recognizing as blood. But there was no time to consider any of that as the drone doubled back. Kara scrambled out of the way, narrowly avoiding another collision, only to be struck by a second drone smashing right against her ear.

Out of breath but swearing, Kara whirled around and snagged the fast approaching drone into a bear hug, squeezing and squeezing until it crunched in her arms with a frantic whir. Then with a burst of heat vision, she shattered the other as it came straight for her face.

Kara used her heat vision to pick off several more drones from a distance, but of course, more and more just showed up to take their place, never wavering, never slowing… and eventually, Kara just had to laugh. Because her exhaustion was catching up to her. And Alex was hundreds of miles away. And to get out of here alive, Kara would have to somehow defeat the entire horde of drones, while all they had to do was wreck her suit a little more.

Though admittedly, it’d be overkill at this point, given the crack now spiderwebbing across the glass visor of Kara’s helmet.

Either way, it was over.

--

So, Kara laughed, grabbed at her chest in a reflexive gesture only to meet the unforgiving metal of her suit, then dropped to her knees. “Alex!” she shouted herself hoarse, because maybe if said loudly enough, the words would still be lingering in the air by the time her sister arrived. “Alex, I’m sorry, okay? You were right, and I’m sorry!”

Then she just waited—chest heaving, eyes narrowed but never blinking despite the heat pricking at the corners—because she definitely had to see this through to the bitter fucking end. That much, she owed everyone, including herself.

Except the end didn’t come.

Not this time anyway.

No, instead came a silver sphere, emerging seemingly out of thin air to hover right before Kara’s face. It flashed a blinding white just once, and everything fell absolutely silent and still. Kara’s suit powered down completely, the drones collectively dropped from the air like marionettes with cut strings, and all the lights in the immediate vicinity blinked out.

Laughter welling up all over again, Kara could only collapse onto her side in something akin to sheer relief.

The first person to occur to her, of course, was Alex, who had already saved her ass from similar scrapes on many occasions. But that couldn’t be it. Alex was too far away. It’s why Kara had to take on this mission on her own in the first place.

Then she considered maybe Winn or James, which made even less sense, given how the deceased hardly ever came back to do things like save people’s lives. Not even hers. Not even in the most dire of situations. That’s, unfortunately, just not how life worked these days.

Then she considered Alex again because the kryptonite was clearly bleeding into her brain now, and it was getting rather difficult to remember why it couldn’t have been Alex who’d just saved her. Maybe Kara did shout loud enough after all…

But then, a set of footfalls drew near, metal scraping against metal at a steady pace until a heavy boot struck Kara firmly in the chest, flipping her onto her back where she settled with a grunt.

“So glad I got to you first,” came a self-assured drawl, and Kara promptly found herself face to face with a handheld cannon of sorts. “Would be a pity to come all this way and not get to kill you myself.”

And… Kara’s jaw just dropped.

Not because of the words, nor the intentions behind them—though perhaps they both merited some attention as well—but that voice.

Kara gaped up at her supposed knight in shining, lead-lined armor because her voice—that low, husky tone paired with that very specific lilting cadence—was making her reconsider some very fundamental things about how the world might work.

Namely, that people wouldn’t come back from the dead just to save her life.

Mind still reeling away, Kara tried to sit up, only to be slammed back into the ground, hard.

“Down, girl,” Lena said, grinding her boot into Kara’s chest, the weight of her entire body behind the gesture. But that was fine.

It was fine because Kara could still draw some breath into her lungs, could still use some of that breath to talk, and she could certainly still say some things that she hadn’t uttered aloud in many a year. Like her late wife’s name, for instance.

The cannon in Kara’s face wavered, but didn’t lower. “Shut up,” Lena hissed down at her. “Don’t talk. Don’t even think.”

“So… it is you…” Kara said, and she gently wrapped her fingers around Lena’s ankle—the only part of her that she could still reach from her position—and just cried.

With a startled gasp, Lena stumbled away, wrenching herself out of Kara’s grip. “What the fuck…? What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Kara sobbed out, trying not to choke on her own tears and snot and the slight taste of blood still lingering on her tongue. She suddenly, irrationally, wished that she could just take off her clunky suit. Just to eliminate some of that distance between her and Lena. Just so she could touch the chain hanging around her neck without any hindrance. “Just… just wanted to say, hi.”

Lena kept her distance, studying Kara in a stony silence, and Kara started to see things that she should probably would have noticed sooner if her body weren’t actively shutting down on her. Like the green glow of Lena’s weapon and the kryptonite cartridges strapped to her belt. Or that she was clearly wearing a lexo-suit. Or how the swirly edges of her own vision were starting to darken, and how the chill of kryptonite was currently all she could feel.

“Hey,” Kara called out, sniffling only slightly now. “Am I dreaming?”

“… No.”

Kara nodded thoughtfully to herself. “Okay, cool, cool… So, I think I might be dying then.”

“Yeah,” Lena said, after a brief pause. “Probably.”

“Cool.” Kara tried to flash a thumbs up, but no part of her body wanted to cooperate anymore. Her exhaustion had eaten up all her drive. “Hey, can you tell Alex something for me?”

Lena sighed, but she finally stepped closer, practically in reach. “Okay, sure.”

Kara fumbled for some words and the correct order that one might put them in, but then Lena took off her helmet, and nothing else mattered anymore. Because Kara was perfectly content to just watch that ripple of dark hair, streaked with a light gray that was just… nice to look at.

She never got to see her Lena’s hair do that.

//

Kara’s shoulder was being shaken so violently that she had no choice but to open her eyes and see Alex’s worry-creased face peering down at her.

“Dumbass…” Alex grumbled, releasing Kara’s shoulder with a dirty scowl. “That’s the last time I let you go anywhere without me.”

“Whatever you say, director.” Kara laughed, but it hurt. She then tried to do a salute, but her everything was still too weak to move apparently. But at least she was still alive.

… Wait.

Kara repeatedly tried to sit up on her bed, and Alex repeatedly shoved her right back down until she gave up. But still, she had to check, had to know that it wasn’t all just a dream.

“Where’s Lena?” she demanded, and the look that Alex gave her in response was so deeply pained that Kara almost felt pathetic for asking.

“… Kara.”

“No, I saw her, Alex,” Kara said, shaking her head, then immediately stopping when her entire body somehow got dizzy from it. “Shit. Ow, ow… But wait, no—But seriously, I saw her, okay?”

“I’m not surprised that you did. You almost died, Kara. Actually, I’m pretty sure that you were dead for a few minutes back there. Again, I say, you fucking dumbass.”

“But I didn’t die. Because she saved me,” Kara insisted. “No, seriously! She took out all the drones with some sort of EMP device, and, and… we talked! And she had gray hair, and I think maybe laugh lines? And yeah, I almost died because my helmet got cracked and stuff. But now, I’m here and I’m fine, so… everything’s fine, right?”

Alex frowned, then somehow settled on the least important part of Kara’s briefing, “You cracked your helmet?”

“Ugh, yeah. The glass visor part. When I fell,” Kara said, waving her hand dismissively. “So sorry about that, by the way.”

“Suit looked fine when we got to you,” Alex said with a shrug, before irritably exclaiming, “Jesus christ, Kara, enough! I’ll just have a guy get the helmet for you, okay? So, just stop trying to get up already.”

Huffing, Kara fell back onto her bed with her arms folded and waited. But when someone eventually showed up with her helmet in tow, she was surprised to see that it was somewhat worse for the wear but perfectly intact. Even up close, with the helmet out the tech’s hands and in her own, Kara couldn’t detect even the slightest blemish in the glass.

Pouting ever so slightly, Kara shoved the helmet back into the tech’s arms.

“… Satisfied?” Alex asked, rolling her eyes when Kara just shrugged one shoulder. “Great. Listen… You just need to get some rest, okay? Once you’re back to full strength, we can work through your… you know, memories together. And hopefully, it’ll make more sense by then. Sound good?”

Kara just nodded, suddenly all too willing to be left to her own devices in the relative quiet and darkness. She accepted a gentle shoulder squeeze and the promise of another session with the sun lamps within the hour, and just curled up under the sheets.

It’s not like she hadn’t conjured up images of Lena before. Kara had been close to death enough times that it was only inevitable that she’d fall back onto memories of her dead wife at some point or another. But this was different. Whenever her brain was just playing tricks on her, Lena appeared to her the way Kara remembered her: warm and loving, bright green eyes, long dark hair smelling of lavender, and alive and young.

Never before had Kara encountered an appropriately aged version of Lena, with creases gathered around her eyes and forehead, hair gloriously faded into the most lovely blend of light grays and white amongst all that black… The Lena that could have been if only she had lived out all these past years alongside Kara.

And she was never in a lexo-suit, of all things. Lena was always wearing one of her classic pencil skirts or Kara’s NCU sweatshirt, or something. Oh, and of course, her wedding band.

Instinctively, the same way she always did when it occurred to her, Kara reached for the chain around her neck, seeking out the familiar weight of the rings that hung from there… only to jolt upright with a gasp that dried up her entire throat.

She ripped the necklace off her head, almost snapping the chain, which in and of itself was telling. Because her chain had been forged out of an extraterrestrial metal amalgamation that not even the Girl of Steel would have been able to break. The one now clutched in her hand, however, was just plain white gold.

Heart pounding in her ears, Kara stared down at an engagement ring fitted with a modest cut of diamond, somehow occupying the very spot where two simple wedding bands—hers and her Lena’s—should have been. Then something drove her to check for an inscription, and sure enough, engraved on the inside of the ring was a series of kryptonian characters, denoting a term of endearment that Kara had never used, but apparently could have in another world altogether: my dearest heart.

[sideofmango]

Okay, I know I already sent you another request, but this one...I just had to drop this one on ya. Can I request Bakugo, Hawks, Shinsou, and Dabi’s reaction to seeing their black s/o getting hit on in the most cringiest, fetishizing way while they’re standing next to them? Since the s/o is dating them, they know the things that should and shouldn’t be said to a black person, but the weirdo goes to them and says things along the lines of:

“Do you taste as chocolatey as you look?”

“Lemme conquer you in the bedroom”

“Twerk on me like Megan Thee Stallion”

And “Our kids are going to be great athletes”

Like the she is just stunned into mortified silence since she couldn’t process the audacity for someone to say something so disgusting. She’ll let her man’s handle it cuz the last thing she needs is to be charged with homicide.

(Trust me, writing those lines hurt me but not as much as it hurt when I was told these things 🤢)

“Why Don’t You Just Do Us All a Favor and Shut Up?”

You don’t understand how many times a trashy guy has said something like this to me thinking I would find it cute or attractive. So gross! As a society we need to do better and stop sexualizing and fetishizing black women and girls.

also the gif has nothing to do with this, I just thought it was cute.

Anyways...starts below the cut!

Warnings: swearing, fetishization of black women and girls, sleazy trashy guys, protective boyfriends, sexual implications

“Katsu, can we get ramen at that new place that just opened up the street?” (y/n) questioned, her (eye color) eyes wide with anticipation.

“Ok.” The usually explosive blonde agreed, snaking his larger hand into her slightly smaller one. (y/n) had finished training earlier and since it was a light day, Bakugou had suggested they walk around the downtown area. “It’s over this way, right?” (y/n) nodded simply, looking around at the different shops they passed on their way to the new ramen restaurant.

Ever since Katsuki had begun dating the black girl, he had calmed down significantly, though only around her...with everyone else he was just as explosive as he always was. The black girl was fiercely protective over her friends and especially Katsuki, though he didn’t really need it; probably a part of her tiger quirk, though it came off as more endearing than annoying.

“What are you gonna order?” She wondered, making small conversation as they waited to cross the street.

“What I always order.” He answered simply.

“The spiciest thing on the menu.” (y/n) and Katsuki said at the same time, (y/n) rolling her eyes with a smile.

“You won’t have any taste buds left if you burn them all off.” She teased as Katsuki rolled his crimson eyes at her, holding her close to him as they continued to wait.

A whistle caught the couple’s attention, Bakugou’s eyes narrowing as they fell on two boys standing at a shop located behind where they were standing. The two boys looked the same age if not a little older than (y/n) and Katsuki, the taller one had lime green hair and matching lime colored eyes. His pale face had a smirk plastered on it. The slightly shorter of the two had pink hair the color of bubble gum, lavender eyes focusing on the black girl, a smirk on his face also.

Despite (y/n) usually being confident, there was something highly uncomfortable about the way they were eyeing her that made her uneasy.

“Hey Riku, you think she’d go for someone like me? You know I have a thing for exotics.” (y/n) turned around, deciding to ignore them, they weren’t worth the time. She gripped Bakugou’s hand, turning him around, trying to think of something to say to distract them both from the annoying boys.

The ash blonde sent her a bewildered look, confused as to why she wasn’t going to say something to them. “They aren’t worth it. They’re extras, right?” She joked, flashing a half smile at her boyfriend.

Bakugou tched, but decided not to say anything since (y/n) didn’t seem to want him to.

“You know why exotics are the best?” The lime green haired boy questioned, loud enough to make sure Bakugou and (y/n) had heard it.

“Why Riku?” The bubble gum haired boy said, a creepy glint in his eyes.

“Because of that fat ass.” He snickered. “You think she’d let me get a taste of that chocolate?”

(Jesus Christ, I cringed writing that. 🤢)

Bakugou’s head whipped around to glare at the two boys, (y/n) turning around to look at them, holding herself back, but too shocked by what she had heard to catch Bakugou before he did something that would attract the attention of police.

“You two fucking clowns better shut the fuck up before you get a taste of my foot shoved so far up your asses it’ll be coming out of your fat fucking mouths.” Bakugou growled, punching them each in the face, making sure to heat up his hand so that it would definitely leave a mark.

(y/n) looked around to see a few people watching, as she let Bakugou beat up the boys before she finally decided it was enough. She placed a hand on his shoulder, as he looked up, the feral look in his crimson orbs dissipating to a gentle one.

“I just wanna go. Can we please, before the police get here?” She questioned as he punched them and kicked them a few more times before standing up and nodding.

“You won’t be fucking needing these either.” Bakugou said, going through their wallets, taking the money out before snapping the cards in half and tossing them on the street next to the boys who remained on the ground. “Let’s go.” He held out his hand, as she grabbed it and they walked across the street. “I hate these fucking extras.” He grumbled as they got to the ramen restaurant. Bakugou Katsuki had every intention of using the money he had just taken to pay for everything, it was the least they could do.

The woman was on her way to her apartment, getting off early from her patrol because not only was it a Friday, but the day after was her 23rd birthday and her pro-hero boyfriend seemed to have planned something, despite her telling him he didn’t have to.

Her phone rang, taking (y/n) out of her thoughts as she slid the answer button seeing her boyfriend’s picture pop up. “Hey Kei.” She answered happily, stopping at the corner, waiting to cross the street.

“Hey, Kid.” Came his response, causing the black woman to smile. “You got off early right? You wanna get (your favorite food/ drink)?”

“Really?!” (y/n) grew excited, her voice raising an octave as a laugh bubbled from her full lips. The couple was usually very busy and that meant they didn’t have a lot of time to just go to restaurants and walk around the downtown area, but since they had managed to get the afternoon and weekend off, Hawks was going to take full advantage of it.

“Yeah.” He laughed back. “I’ll meet you there?”

“Ok! Love you.” She told him.

“Love you too, Kid.” He said back before hanging up. (y/n) crossed the street, walking towards their favorite restaurant, her hero costume folded in the black backpack she wore on her back. She too was a pro-hero, though she wasn’t as popular as her boyfriend, she had recently gone pro in Japan, already a famous pro in her native country. She slid her phone into one of the pockets of her black jeans, her simple white t-shirt half tucked into her pants.

She increased her stride, her smile widening as she saw the crimson wings of her boyfriend up ahead. He turned around his own smile growing as she got closer. “How was patrol?” She asked him as he hugged her, the pair pulling away and intertwining hands.

“It was fine...kinda boring.” Hawks answered as they walked inside the establishment.

“Woah.” The cashier said softly, after ringing up your orders. Hawks paid, even though she protested though he responded by saying it was her birthday weekend and she wasn’t allowed to pay. The cashier, who seemed a little older than the two of the pros, named Ukyo, handed her her drink practically ignoring Hawks.

Keigo frowned, growing slightly annoyed, though he wouldn’t really peg himself as the jealous type, Ukyo just made everything very uncomfortable and Hawks was growing irritated that (y/n) was uneasy. It was the protective nature in him, which he would admit could get a little intense at times.

“Um, thanks.” (y/n) replied with a slightly awkward laugh before looking at Hawks to say she was ready to go. They had planned to walk through the park nearby. As they were stepping away, Ukyo called out.

“Hey wait, pretty girl!” He called out, catching the dark skinned woman off guard. “You forgot something.” She turned, raising an eyebrow before going back towards where Ukyo stood behind the counter. He held out a napkin to her, his messy chicken scratch handwriting on the piece of paper. “It’s my number. You should call me sometime, I’d love to get to know you more.”

“I already have a great boyfriend.” (y/n) replied, giving him a smile as he still pushed the napkin to her, managing to stuff it into her bag. At this, Hawks stepped closer, still remaining silent, wanting to let her handle it because he didn’t want to come off as overbearing or suffocating. “Really, I’m not interested. I love my boyfriend.”

“Who? Him? But our kids would be so cute! They’d be great athletes, you know?” He smiled widely at her, grabbing onto her wrist to stop her from leaving. Hawks had heard enough, at (y/n)’s silence and the way her eyes seemed to bore into his own, he dislodged some feathers, sending them at the cashier, stopping them a few centimeters away from him.

“Let her go, before you make me really mad.” Hawks said, glaring at the male, sharpening the feathers into blade-like devices, his golden eyes shining with anger.

“Chill out, Man! She’s hot! She was practically asking for it!” Ukyo put his hands up, Hawks’ eyes narrowing as a growl almost sounded from deep in his chest.

“You’re lucky my girlfriend’s here.” Hawks chuckled darkly, as (y/n) placed her hand in his own. “I would’ve cut your disrespectful racist ass.” Hawks walked away with (y/n), sending the feathers at the wall behind the cashier, just narrowly missing him.

Hawks smirked as he stepped outside, hearing the high pitched scream that came out of Ukyo at the feathers going near him, fearing he was about to be sent to the hospital. Hawks glared at him through the shop window, his wings flapping behind him as if he was about to send more feathers causing Ukyo to scream again, though this time a wet spot began to grow in his khaki colored pants.

Hawks’ eyes lit up as a loud laugh fell from his mouth causing (y/n) to laugh lightly. “Fucking bitch.” Hawks muttered as they walked towards the park. “I should’ve sent the feathers into him.”

“No, you did enough Kei.” (y/n) giggled, Hawks growing happy that he had gotten her to laugh after that rude cashier incident.

Every week after that Hawks would purposely walk past the shop, launching a feather through the window and into the wall, an adult sized diaper held to the wall by the sharp crimson feather, a note usually attached saying:

‘just thought you might need to start wearing these.

I hate you,

Hawks.

Ps: Show this to anyone, tell anyone about this, or do something like that to another person again and I’ll send the next feather so far up your ass, you’ll need surgery to remove it. xoxo’

(i decided to insert another character, like Mineta but 100x worse and not jokingly either. His name is Shintani Narisuke.)

(y/n) was sitting in the common room where everyone from the general studies class usually hung out during their down time. Although, surprisingly it was empty except for the purple haired Shinsou and his lavender haired girlfriend, (y/n). It honestly was just a coincidence that the pair both had purple hair, though the girls from their class thought it was the cutest. (y/n) placed her head on one of Shinsou’s shoulders as they watched a random movie on his laptop, pushing her goddess braids so that she could be more comfortable.

The common room was empty only because one of (y/n)’s friends and classmates had told everyone that they couldn’t go into the common room because Shinsou and (y/n) were on a date. Everyone obeyed her...she was kind of scary when she was determined about something.

“How can he just get away with that?” (y/n) questioned, placing some popcorn into her mouth, pausing to place some in Shinsou mouth as they continued to stare at the screen. The pair alternated, the next time Shinsou threw some into his mouth and then fed some to (y/n).

“I hate that guy...he reminds me of that annoying little grape kid in 1-A.” Shinsou mumbled, causing her to laugh.

“Mineta?”

“We don’t speak his name.” Shinsou joked as the pair broke out into laughs again.

“Hey (your nickname)!” The pair turned, Shinsou pausing the movie, to see Shintari Narisuke enter the room. (y/n) raised an eyebrow at the use of her nickname, that ONLY Shinsou used for her.

“It’s (your full name).” She corrected him.

“Aw, don’t be like that.” The average height boy pouted, sitting down next to her, causing Shinsou to sit up more, a frown on his face.

“What do you want, Shintari? We’re busy here.” Shinsou chimed in, slightly annoyed as he rolled his tired purple eyes.

“Not that busy.” The aqua blue haired boy responded, flashing a fake smile at Shinsou. His eyes narrowed as the frown on his face deepened.

“What do you want?” Shinsou repeated.

“Hey (y/n)...” Shintari dragged out, looking at the black girl with big eyes.

“Yes?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you kind of look like Megan Thee Stallion?”

“No…” The girl answered, confused as to where this was going. To her they looked nothing alike, though she was one of her favorite female rappers. “We don’t even look alike.”

“Your ass does though.” He answered smugly. “You think you could split on me like she does?” (y/n)’s eyes widened as she tried to process what he had just said. She was at a loss for words, completely surprised that he would go that far.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Shinsou grew angry, standing up and getting in the blue haired fool’s face. He had noticed that she was still slightly shocked, which is why he decided to handle it, because normally she was the one that would jump to put someone who needed it in their place.

“She heard me. Right, (your nickname)?” He said teasingly, his eyes not even looking at Shinsou. The usually disinterested male grew increasingly more angry, at being ignored and at the boy for using his nickname for his girlfriend.

“Do you think you could answer something for me?” Shinsou questioned catching the boy’s attention as Shinsou’s grip on his shirt tightened.

“Yeah, what do you want, Villain?” Shintari asked, falling for the trap. Shinsou’s purple eyes glowed softly as he activated his quirk.

“Shut the fuck up and…” Shinsou paused, really wanting to tell the kid to go take a long walk off of a short pier, but he knew he would probably be in trouble if he did that, so he took a deep breath. “Lock yourself in your room for the rest of the week and don’t come out.” Shinsou ultimately decided, letting the boy go with a smug smirk watching him walk down the hall.

The purple haired male turned, his focus going to his girlfriend who had a sick look on her face. “You okay, kitty?” He asked softly, sitting beside her. She simply wrapped her arms around him, listening to his steady heartbeat.

“I hate that asshole.” She mumbled.

“I do too.” Shinsou agreed. “I’m sorry he said something like that to you. That was fucking gross.”

“Thanks for handling it.” She half smiled at him. “I think I would’ve killed him...then he really would’ve called me a villain.”

“Who gives a fuck, let’s finish the movie.” Shinsou laughed lightly, causing her to laugh too. “Besides, he already calls me a villain.”

(For this one (y/n) works in a bakery)

The black girl came from the back of the shop, a tray of fresh cookies in her hands, the sweet smell filling the store. She opened the glass cabinet, carefully transferring the cookies inside before going to return the tray to the back of the bakery.

Customers sat throughout the store, reading books from the bookshelves in the corner, drinking their coffees and teas while working, or simply just enjoying the warm atmosphere with their friends. (y/n) came back to the front, taking her place behind the register after washing her hands.

She looked up from where she had been adjusting a machine to the door, the sound of the ringing bell meaning someone new had entered. “Hi Baby.” The deep gravely voice said. She could hear the smile in his voice as she looked up, her own smile growing as she immediately recognized the voice.

“Hi Staples.” She teasingly replied. “What are you doing over here? I thought you were busy today.”

“I needed more.” He replied, holding up the bag at his side with the black hair dye inside.

“You want my help when I get off?” She clarified as he nodded, his blue eyes looking over her appearance. “What? You don’t like my uniform?” A soft smile on her face as she wiped down the counter.

“No, you look good.” His signature smirk appearing on his burned face. (y/n)’s heart fluttered slightly, the fiery boy never failed to make her heart skip a beat even after two years of dating.

“I get off in 50 minutes. You wanna hang around? I just made a fresh batch of cookies.”

“The ones I like?” His eyes seemed to sparkle like a kid in a candy store. Dabi loved to act big and bad, and that side of him was definitely...hot, but you loved to see the goofy childish side of him as well.

“Yeah, your favorite.” She replied, a large smile on her face as he nodded quickly, the dark hood of the sweatshirt pulled up on his head. “Alright. Here. I’ll be done soon.” She handed him a few cookies, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he slinked off to the seat he usually took in the corner of the shop when he waited for you.

(y/n) watched as he stood, picking up a book he had already started last time he came, sitting back down and flipping to the page he had left off on. Dabi...Touya wasn’t a bad guy, no matter what anyone told her, otherwise.

She was pulled out of her thoughts at the chime of the bell, a blonde man walking into the store. He must’ve been a traveler because he looked lost, especially with the way he had pulled up directions onto his phone. (y/n) gave him a friendly smile, “Hi, what can I get you?”

“I’ll take a...hot chocolate.” He said weirdly, giving her a smirk as his light eyes trailed up and down her body, at least the part that wasn’t hidden behind a counter. She nodded uneasily.

“Anything else?” Her mood had dropped, already tired of the male customer.

“How about your number?”

“No, sorry. I’m working and I-” He cut the girl off as she handed him his drink, ringing it up after she had made it.

“Come on, if it’s because I’m white...I’m hung like a black guy, if you know what I mean.” He said to the girl, Dabi’s eyes narrowing as he practically glared a hole through the blonde man.

“E-excuse me?” (y/n) repeated, blinking as she ran her hands over her apron, stepping back from him. She wasn’t even sure that had just happened, nothing that bad had ever happened at work before, just the occasional Wow, so pretty or Your hair is so fluffy, like a cloud from a few children when she wore it in an afro, that made her smile though, the kids were cute and everyone was generally respectful.

“If that’s why you won’t give me your number, you don’t have to worry about that.” He repeated.

“Yeah, I’m gonna need you to shut the fuck up.” Dabi chimed in, catching his girlfriend completely off guard. She hadn’t even noticed he had come up behind him or moved from his seat.

“What’s your problem man? I don’t think this involves you at all.” The blonde guy shot him a glare before turning back to the black girl behind the counter and stepping closer. Dabi’s blue eyes seemed to hold small flames in them as his anger grew. A dark chuckle left his lips as he harshly brought his hand down onto the blonde shoulder, heating it up until the man’s jacket was practically smoking.

“That’s my girlfriend, man.” Dabi told the man mockingly, his voice low and his eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t mind you calling her pretty, because she’s gorgeous but if you disrespect her, then you’re gonna deal with me.”

“Ew you fucking creep. I’ll call the police.” He threatened after turning and seeing Dabi’s face. Dabi tilted his head to the side slightly, a slow smile growing on his face, though it seemed more eerie than anything.

“I’ll give you something to call them about.” Dabi threatened. “Now, why don’t you leave and if I see you around here again, I’ll burn your ass so bad you’ll be virtually unrecognizable.”

“Fuck all of you. This place is shit anyway and the bitch behind the counter looks like a fucking monkey.” The guy announced going to walk out of the bakery.

“Not acceptable. Apologize.” Dabi demanded, his hand going around the blonde’s neck as he heated his hand up, making sure it would leave a burn.

“Sorry.” The guy cried out, Dabi rolling his eyes before shoving him towards the door, a scoff leaving his lips as the guy tripped on the way out.

“You know you’re gorgeous right?” Dabi questioned as (y/n)’s best friend and coworker told her to go home after that incident. Dabi grabbed (y/n)’s hand, waving back at her coworker before the couple walked towards their apartment, (y/n) excited to dye Dabi’s hair.

Tags:

[justjuiceyboy]

bruised

in which Juice’s best friend goes to him for help after an abusive relationship

word count: 1,397

warnings: blood, swearing, abuse, toxic relationship

——————————— 

Wincing, you grazed two fingers along your forehead, each collecting some blood that had stained the side of your face. You huffed, knowing what was about to go down as soon as your best friend saw this. Juice was always getting himself into trouble and almost bleeding out like the mad man he is but as soon as anything happens to you - its the end of the world as we all know it.

You and Juice had been best friends for as long as you can remember. When your parents passed, he was there for you and became your rock. You had upped and left Queens with him, which was a good decision, but on your first day here you had met someone. That someone turned out to be Matthew, your future boyfriend. He was lovely in the beginning, everything anyone could want: sweet, funny, helpful. But now, three years later he was mean-spirited, angry and explosive. Anything that you did incorrectly in his eyes was seen as an issue. An issue that violence was the answer to. You hadn’t told Juice about it and made up stories, “Oh I tripped and took a tumble on the stairs” you laughed, or, “I was trying to put a book back on the shelf but instead it came back down and hit me in the eye!” Juice never really bought the excuses.

But now you had nowhere else to go so you found yourself speed walking towards the clubhouse. Matthew had made it awfully clear that he didn’t want you in the house and the open wounds on your face could back up that statement. You didn’t want to leave him, when he had good days he was great, often bringing home flowers with some sort of cheesy note attached. However you knew in your heart that the bad days were now outnumbering the good and no matter how clean the house was, how much laundry you did or how little noise you made, it was never enough. You were always afraid of what Juice would do if he found out. You knew he would be hurt by you lying to him swell as what you were lying about.

The cold air hit your flushed skin, which provided a sense of relief on one hand but pain on the other as blood was still oozing from the cut above your eyebrow. The walk was short and you were glad that you didn’t run into anyone on the way, not feeling the urge to discuss your war wounds with anyone other than your best friend, and even then discuss was a loose term. You just wanted somewhere to stay that you wouldn’t be thrown out of the bed and be in fear of a man towering over your frame.

It looked worse than it felt. You had one gash above your eyebrow that no matter how much pressure you applied, wouldn’t stop bleeding. Your eye socket was in immense pain, definitely going to bruise up in a nice purple colour tomorrow. Your other cheek was bright red, probably having the imprint of a man’s hand on it, except you really didn’t have time to check in the mirror before you left your own home. The dried blood made it look like you were in some sort of street fight, which probably would’ve been a nicer explanation than the one you’d have to give now.

The gate was open, not many bikes parked outside the clubhouse. You recognised Juice’s, along with Jax and Chibs. You pushed on the door and were met with a warm gust of inviting air. You shuffled into the room, keeping your eyes at a low level. You barely had a chance to even look around the room until Juice spoke first, “what the fuck?” He got up quickly, coming over to you and placing his hands on either side of your face, “who did this to you?” Suddenly your eyes filled with tears as he examined your bloody form. The other two boys rose from their seats with concern, fearing this was some sort of club retaliation.

“It doesn’t matter. Can y’fix me up?” You hiccuped as you talked, now the tears freely flowing down your face, expecting him to lose the plot and start going mental. But he didn’t. He looked into your eyes, his soft brown eyes making you melt and cry harder as you could see that he was hurt. He led you over to a bar stool and sat you up on it to examine you further.

He reached around and rustled under the bar, pulling out a mini first aid kit. He kneeled down in front of you, grabbed an antiseptic wipe and warning you, “will sting a little”, he held it onto your gash, finally stopping the blood but still making you jump slightly. He wiped all the dried blood off your face and he applied a white plaster to the area. You all let silence fill the air, him wanting answers but you not being willing to give them to him. 

He finally spoke, “was it him?” The last word was almost spat with venom. The two boys in your life had no problem with each other in person, but Matthew often taunted you about Juice, saying he was “good for nothing, will never amount to anything”. What you didn’t know is that behind closed doors, Juice wasn’t overly fond of Matthew either, hating that he got the chance with you when it should be him. But he could admit it before now, being too afraid of both rejection from you but also due to his line of work, being close to someone never really worked out well. It still didn't stop him from loving you.

You nodded, not being able to keep up with the lie anymore. Your tears were still falling down your face. He put his arms around you without saying anything and leaned your head into his shoulder. You choked out an “I’m sorry” to which he shushed you. He picked you up and brought you back to his dorm, careful not to bump into anything or make your injuries worse. Once he lay you on the bed, he took off your boots and helped you change into a pair of his sweatpants and a shirt, discarding yours that were stained. 

He lay down next to you, slowly reaching for your hand to hold it with his own. “You can’t go back, not after this” he stated, as more of a fact rather than a suggestion. You knew he was right so you gave his hand a squeeze. He let out a sigh before posing the question, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“He told me no one would ever want me, that I was lucky to have him” you breathed softly, letting out a quiet yawn along with a few more tears. Juice was furious with rage but wasn’t about to take it out on you. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of your hair, making sure not to go near any hurt areas. “Get some sleep” he advised, but he could tell you had already drifted off, tired from the events of the day, “I’ll be back soon.”

Juice left the room, now in the presence of the two boys once again. “What d’ye want t’do about this Juicey?” Chibs asked, trying to figure out what the plan of action was without putting any ideas in his head. But he already knew what Juice was thinking purely by the look on his face.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him” Juice seethed, “scumbag”.

The three boys grabbed their kuttes and made their way out of the clubhouse, locking the door so you’d be safe when they were gone.

“It’s her isn’t it?” Jax smiled slightly as he threw his leg over his Harley.

Juice looked at him confused, not knowing what his question meant. 

“She’s the girl you’re in love with. It’s so fucking obvious Jesus Christ, how did we not realise that!“

Juice paused, finally ready to let go of the secret he held tightly for so many years, but he wanted the first person he told it to to be you so he simply stated “Nobody hurts my girl” as he kicked started his bike, ready to serve justice.

[paperpocalypse]

crackers and jam.

50 Cliché Tropes and Prompts: 41. Overhearing they have feelings for you.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 1,703 words

Warnings: Swearing

Some time back, not long after he got stranded in the post-apocalyptic world and perhaps a year and a half before running into you, Five’s only companion was Delores.

It had been a meeting of chance (as everything is) in the middle of a destroyed department store. She had been looking at him. And maybe that’s why he was so drawn in – that stare; it was a lifeless stare, yeah, but it was not by any means a dead stare like the ones he had met too many times before. No life had been lost to create that stare. She was smiling, too.

Five had lifted her carefully out of the chunks of concrete, greeting her because there was no one else. For the first few weeks, he just placed her at the corner of her store and visited every once in a while, then took to occasionally toting her around the City when he needed to talk. He liked to pretend that she answered back – sometimes. After a few months, he named her Delores.

Then he met you.

Unlike Delores, you were human. Breathing. Alive, somehow. And you had thoughts and feelings that weren’t always connected to his and – and it was weird. It was home.

You didn’t question his friendship with Delores. Five had seen the half-burned stuffed frog in your wagon, so you wouldn’t have had anything to hold over him anyway. He knew that you knew that he still went to the department store in the middle of the night. And, shit, deep down Five also knew that Delores was, in the end, just a hunk of plastic with eyes. But after a year and a half of having nobody else, she had become something of a comfort. And a confidant. Burdening you with his issues was not an option, so when things became a little shittier than usual, he would slip out from underneath his blanket, make sure you weren’t having a nightmare, and head downtown to voice his thoughts aloud.

Over time, though, he learned that you were willing to listen. You listened, and you were always kind about it even if you didn’t always understand. His nightly visits decreased. And it was okay for a while.

But then Five began to struggle with a new issue – one that was a little different than the usual mess of stress and anxiety – and one night, he finds himself looking down at Delores again because talking to you about it is definitely off the table.

Unfortunately, Delores’s kindness is different from yours.

Well, here we are. Again.

“I’m just here to think,” he snaps, combing a grubby hand through his tangled mess of hair. The lantern beside him glows weakly as he plops down onto a slab of concrete. “Mind your business.”

Your business is everyone’s business here, Five. And to put my own two cents in, I think that you’re scared of your own feelings.

Blood travels to Five’s cheeks, unwarranted, as he narrows his eyes at Delores. “For the last time, that’s not what this is about. It’s – Jesus Christ, I’m gonna get over it. This isn’t a life-or-death issue.”

Then why have you been ranting about it like it is?

“I’m not.”

Ha! Rich.

He grits his teeth. She stares back at him, unperturbed. Bastard.

You know, maybe you’ll feel better if you say it out loud. Air it out. Test to see if it’s real.

“I’m not doing that.”

Do it.

No.

Say it.

No.

For god’s sake, Number Five, take a goddamn look at yourself –

“Fine!” Five hisses, though it feels more like an explosion. He throws his hands up. “I like [Y/n], alright? We’re the last people on this goddamn planet and I like them, and I shouldn’t care this much but I do. Happy?”

Delores pauses. Five looks away.

Very.

Ugh.

Did it feel real?

He clicks his tongue, crossing his arms, and doesn’t answer. The smile on Delores’s face seems a little smug, and it makes him want to hurl. He shouldn’t have said it out loud. Relieve some of the pressure and everything starts to boil over …

Breathing in deeply, Five forces his shoulders to relax. He bids a soft goodbye to Delores, then heads back to camp.

—

A week later, Five’s visit comes back to bite him in the worst way possible.

You’ve been having a hard time starting the fire for tonight, so he finishes splitting the evening rations to help you out with the bow drill. As he does so, you watch in silence, both of you waiting patiently for the smoke and dust.

“Do you think we have enough wood?” you eventually ask.  

“It’s enough,” he murmurs, only half paying attention. After a while, a few chalky wisps of smoke begin to rise from the charring wood. He leans in to blow the ember carefully once it forms, then puts it into the tinder and coaxes out a flame. “Get the kindling?”

You oblige, and within a few minutes, a healthy fire starts to dance atop the wood, scorching his face and fingers with heat. Five stares intently at the oranges and yellows for a moment, lips pressed together, intrigued in a tired sort of way. Warmth. Then he backs off and grabs a portion of crumbled up crackers, handing it to you.

You spread the cloth over your knees. “Now all we need is some jam.”

“What kind?”

A soft hum escapes your throat. You contemplate unhurriedly, dabbing up some stray crumbs with a finger. “Blackberry,” you reply after a few moments. “Or strawberry. The kind that’s sort of chunky.”

It’s been a long time since he’s tasted either of those things. The simple thought of whole crackers spread with fresh jam, sweet and dark and sticky, is a luxury in and of itself. Five tries not to think about it too much, munching on his third fragment of stale cracker. It makes his mouth dry. “Hm,” he says, picking up the canteen for a few drops of water.

The fire pops. A few sparks fly out into the air and die just as quickly. You finish your supper and wipe your mouth, stretching your legs out in front of you as you sigh.

Five tilts his head at you. “What?”

“What?” you parrot back, though he sees the way your fingers fidget.

“You have something to say.”

Your facial expression shifts just the smallest bit. “How can you tell?”

(Simple – because he knows you. He knows your ticks; knows how you tick. He knows your smiles and all the subtle ways that your voice rises and falls. He’s memorized you because he fears forgetting, and it’s a problem.)

“Kind of hard not to,” Five replies.

“Oh.” You chew the inside of your cheek, still seeming unsure. “Well, um … I just wanted to talk to you about something. And please don’t be mad.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Um. A couple nights ago, I had a bad dream.”

“I know.”

“Not the one you woke me up from. A different one,” you mutter. “The night after we found the pillows.”

“Oh,” Five says.

“Yeah.” You look down at your hands. They’re dusty and rough, littered with small scars from climbing and falling and holding. “I … um, that night, I woke up and you weren’t there. And I sort of panicked, and went looking –”

The blood drains from Five’s face.

“I went looking for you, and I found you. Talking to her.” You glance at him for a split second. “About me.”

Oh, fuck.

Five stares at you as you fiddle with the scrap of cloth on your lap. You know. You weren’t supposed to know. You weren’t supposed to ever know, and now you do.

“Five?” Your voice is curious and small.

His voice is raspy. “How much did you hear?”

“Almost everything.” You grab the cuff of his coat sleeve as he attempts to stand up. “I’m sorry for eavesdropping. I really didn’t mean to, but –”

“It’s not your fault. Look, I don’t want to talk about it,” he replies tersely. “We need more firewood, anyway.”

“We have enough,” you say, though you relinquish your hold when he tugs a little harder away from you. You sound hurt. “Five, it’s okay to feel like that.”

“It’s not. It makes things more complicated.”

“How?” Standing up, your brow furrows. “I like you too, Five. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

His chest tightens. “That just makes it worse.”

“I like you,” you repeat. Your hand moves down to take his gently. “A lot. And it’s okay.”

(Did it feel real?)

Five meets your gaze solidly despite not quite wishing to, a familiar sense of guilt washing over him when you squeeze his hand.

Sometimes, he wishes he hadn’t met you. Then he would’ve gotten what he deserved for his recklessness – nothing – with nothing to concern himself with other than equations and survival and time. That, he’s fairly sure, would have been easier to manage. He hadn’t been taught to care for someone else. Not like this, at least.

But you. You. Five swallows the lump in his throat.

“I might have to leave you behind,” he murmurs, more hoarsely than he’d like to admit. The words burn like ice on the roof of his mouth. “One day.”

You don’t reply for a few seconds.

Then, for some inexplicable reason, you step a little closer. “But not tonight," you say. "Right?”

For shit’s sake, you’re so optimistic. Five chuckles dryly, hand still engulfed in yours, blinking away the vague stinging in his eyes. “Of course not.”

“Then I forgive you. If you feel like you need it.” With a mild exhale, you smile at him. Your eyes are glossy. “So can we sit back down? I like doing that.”

He quietly agrees.

So you bring him back down to sit before the fire, closer to him than before. No more words are left to be said. A heavy silence settles in their place, neither good nor bad, and almost comfortable. For the first time in a long time, Five tries not to think.

You lean against his shoulder. He welcomes it.