#just a thing i wrote

[chobit92]

Ghosts: About Last Night

So my sister has been watching this yet again and I kinda wrote a thing. Damn. Now I have a whole fic going on in my head.

Warnings: None that I can think of just Julian being a massive perv and drunken madness.

(Mara stumbles down the hallway drunk. She swigs whiskey from a bottle. Her shirt is hanging open exposing her lacy bra. She stumbles into one of the bedrooms and puts the whiskey on the side table. She then takes her shoes and leggings off before lying down on the bed. The Captain walks in and stops dead.).

Captain: Er excuse me. These aren’t your quarters.

Mara: Um. Evening officer.

Captain: I demand that you leave at once.

Mara: Um. You coming to bed?

Captain: Excuse me?

(She pulls her shirt open further exposing a black lacy bra which her large breasts are squashed into.).

Captain: No. No. I will not abide by this drunken debauchery. I suggest you get back to your own room.

Mara: Um.

(Her eyes have drifted closed and she remains lying where she is.).

Captain: Did you hear me? I said leave now. This is my room. You have your own room upstairs.

(She doesn’t move. The Captain sighs.).

Captain: Alison!

(He marches from the room and goes to Alison’s bedroom. She is curled up asleep next to Mike who is snoring loudly.).

Captain: Alison! Alison! Wake up now! There is an insurgent in my bedroom! You must get her out.

(Alison doesn’t wake up.).

Captain: Alison!

(The Captain sighs again and marches from the room. He returns to his room. Mara is still lying in his bed.).

Captain: Still here. Now this is really taking the biscuit. I have asked you to leave.

(He walks over to the side of the bed.).

Captain: Wake up!

(He starts to sing in her ear.).

Captain: I am the very definition of a model major general.

(Mara giggles.).

Mara: You’re cute.

Captain: I am not cute. I am a commanding officer and I have given you a direct order. Now get out!

Mara: Just come to bed handsome. It’s late.

Captain: I will not-

(Thomas walks in.).

Thomas: What’s all the shouting?

Captain: She won’t leave.

Thomas: Why is she in here?

Captain: I don’t know. But she is highly intoxicated and she has seen fit to rob me of my bed.

Thomas: Oh.

Captain: Get her out of here would you?

Thomas: How am I supposed to do that?

Captain: I don’t know.

Thomas: Mara? Mara?

Mara: Um?

(Her eyes open slightly.).

Thomas: You need to go back to your own bed.

Mara: I’m in bed. Are you sleeping here too?

Thomas: What? No. You need to go back to your own room now.

Mara: Um.

(Her eyes drift closed again. The Captain sighs in frustration. Pat walks in.).

Pat: There you are. Everything alright?

(He sees Mara lying there and frowns.).

Pat: What’s she doing in here?

Thomas: I don’t know.

Captain: She won’t leave.

Pat: Oh right. Mara this isn’t your room.

Captain: No it’s no good.

Pat: Well she’s very drunk mate. Why don’t you just go up to her room and sleep there tonight?

Captain: No. This is my room and I want to sleep here.

Pat: Well...

(Julian walks in.).

Julian: Hello. What’s going on in here then?

Captain: Oh yes that’s it. Just come on in all of you. It isn’t like I want to sleep or anything.

(Julian is eyeing Mara up. He moves around to the other side of the bed and peers down at her breasts.).

Julian: Look at those for size. Lovely pair she’s got.

Thomas: Contain yourself man! What is wrong with you?

Julian: Oh come on. Like you lot aren’t stood there gawping at her yourselves.

Pat: We weren’t actually.

Thomas: How dare you.

(Mara rolls over and the shirt lifts up revealing black lacy panties.).

Julian: Hello. Matching undies. Someone thought they were gonna get some.

(Julian chuckles. Thomas tuts.).

Thomas: I’m off to bed. I can no longer partake in this spectacle.

(Thomas leaves the room.).

Pat: Yes I should be going too. Come on Julian.

(Julian is reaching out trying to prod one of Mara’s breasts.).

Pat: Leave her alone. Come on.

Julian: Oh. Why can’t I have any fun with you?

Pat: She’s passed out drunk. It’s not right mate. Come on.

(Pat leaves the room. Julian looks at The Captain.).

Julian: You lucky sod. Wish she’d come and got into my bed.

(Julian chuckles again and leaves the room. The Captain shakes his head.).

Captain: Now I am not going to tell you again. Get out now. Go back to your own room.

(Mara fidgets and slides her arm across the bed.).

Mara: Hold me handsome.

Captain: This is ridiculous. One I can’t do that and two I really just want to go to bed. Now away with you. Come on. Enough of all this funny business.

Mara: Um.

(She doesn’t move and he sighs angrily before marching from the room. He goes downstairs and walks outside. He starts to walk across the grounds. He doesn’t get very far before he stops. He sighs and turns looking back at the house.).

Captain: Oh this is ridiculous.

(He walks back to the house and goes back up to his room. Mara is still lying there. He sighs and walks over to the other side of the bed. He lies down on his back next to her and closes his eyes. A few minutes later Mara moves and her arm goes right through him. He springs upright.).

Captain: Right that’s it.

(He gets up and leaves the room. He goes up to Mara’s attic bedroom. He sighs and looks around before lying down on the bed. He closes his eyes.).

Captain: Hm.

[vortship]

Ones and Zeros

So this is where she was holed up, a clearing in a field at the end of the world.

All simulated, as far as he knew. He followed her passed the glitched, pink cliffs, integrity crumbling with bits of exposed code. He followed her passed the colorful confetti and empty Irken uniforms that littered the empty fake streets. Only the two of them remained, but she was stalling. It seemed now she wanted to be caught.

Why? What was she getting at?

“Sorry, Dib, you really gotta understand. I wanted you to learn something.” 

Each word she spoke rippled through a field of tall grass. A damaged moon hung low in the sky, chipped away at; still a friendly shade of pink. Her silhouette looked somehow sinister in the dim light. The horns perched atop her head gave way to a foreboding shadow in the clipping grass. She was bringing the entire place down, the two of them with it.

“You’re angry! At them! I get it! So am I! But-” 

“What? No!”

The ripples grew, circles extending outward from where she stood, facing forward, purple eyes cast up at the false moon before she turned and offered only a passing glance at her opponent. Had he ever seen her angry? To be honest, he couldn’t recall. She wasn’t Zim, at the very least, she didn’t fight like him. Her suspicious behavior had managed to pass under his radar until now.

“This is your plan? You’re just trapping us all in here?” he accentuated his question with an accusatory point, and the sigh that erupted from her echoed throughout the simulated landscape.

“They’re code. Ones and zeros for me to play with. Like this-” she spread her arms out at her sides, “I wanted you to see; they’re just directives stuffed in a backpack. Some rearranging here and there and-” she giggled, “-they all fall apart!” she smiled, razor sharp teeth over thin lips,

“Yeah? I know that. I never thought of it that way maybe. If that’s how you feel, why work for Zim?” he shook his head, tone taking a turn for the curious rather than accusatory. Her grin was replaced with a pensive frown, she turned to look at him finally face only slightly illuminated by the dim, pink lighting,

“He’s not like them. I don’t mean that in a good way either.” hands clasped behind her back, she managed a bitter laugh, “Maybe I wanna see how it ends? Maybe I just like when cool, new things happen. But you know what I don’t like?”

Dib didn’t answer,

“People who aren’t any fun.”

[inkskinned]

okay is she being actually immature or is it just a woman over 30 expressing a human experience you find to be immature.

like yeah. at certain ages... let shit go. im not defending the real immature shit. im not defending the karen you're picturing. i worked in retail i hate those people too. (once somebody got mad at me because she didn't like how our winter window decor was a snowman smoking a pipe. i wish i was joking).

but men at 57 will write books about how 17 year old girls are soooo sexy. they will invent worlds where women have to be naked for "armor reasons." they will write songs that treat women as objects. people rush to defend them. meanwhile a woman at 35 will be like "heartbreak is hard, actually" or "i feel betrayed by a friend" or "i am struggling with something emotionally." immediately people will say stuff like this woman is 35 by the way. by the way this woman is SO OLD to be experiencing this. BY THE WAY.

im 31, almost 32. the other day a poet was blasted online because at her "big age", she had written a poem about feeling unloved. top comment was "this woman is 29 by the way." this woman is too old to still be useful, by the way. she has to behave better . maybe if she was a good wife and mother she could stop existing loudly, and the story could continue on without her. this woman has served her purpose, by the way. she's so cringe, by the way. at 29 - so old! - she still hasn't figured out that her existence should be one of shame.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

the fact that shakespeare was a playwright is sometimes so funny to me. just the concept of the "greatest writer of the English language" being a random 450-year-old entertainer, a 16th cent pop cultural sensation (thanks in large part to puns & dirty jokes & verbiage & a long-running appeal to commoners). and his work was made to be watched not read, but in the classroom teachers just hand us his scripts and say "that's literature"

just...imagine it's 2450 A.D. and English Lit students are regularly going into 100k debt writing postdoc theses on The Simpsons screenplays. the original animation hasn't even been preserved, it's literally just scripts and the occasional SDH subtitles.txt. they've been republished more times than the Bible

[cyndilou314]

today, I am doing what I want to do. today, I am doing nothing at all.

today, I appreciate all that is around me. today, I create more beauty to surround me.

today, I feel no guilt about anything I have done. today, I feel no guilt about the things I've yet to do.

today, I breathe in and absorb all the sunshine. today, I exhale negativities and release shadows.

today, I accept love from all sources. today, I put my love into all energies.

and tomorrow, I'll do it all again.

[adriles]

when we’re done with our overwhelming grief we’ll eat i guess

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

from the start !

so. . what are we ??

you’ve been katsuki’s for as long as you can remember.

sure, he had never outwardly called you his girlfriend, but when you were both seven years old, he came up to you. chest heaving slightly from running up and down the hill where he had gotten you a freshly plucked out bouquet of flowers. the roots were still clinging to them and he got dirt all over your hands from forcibly grabbing them and shoving the bouquet in them before you could even form a sentence.

“since you accepted the flowers, you’re mine now.” he mumbled, his little hands tightened into fists at his sides and chubby cheeks a cute shade of pink, staring at you as confidently as he could.

a grin grows on his face when you respond with a simple “okay !” and a bright smile. the grin on his face never disappears even as his mom scolds him for getting you both all dirty.

you were katsuki’s in middle school too, when the boys in class decided to play kiss, marry, kill and he had somehow gotten dragged into it. the girls in your class tried their best to seem uninterested, claiming the boys were being childish, but you noticed how hard some of them were straining their ears trying to hear what the guys were talking about in their own little corner of the room. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little curious as well.

katsuki was as ruthless as you’d known him to be, choosing to kill any girl that wasn’t to his liking, which ended up being all of them. much to the other boys’ chagrin, claiming he had no taste.

then your name was brought up.

at that, his eyes widened and he turned in his seat to see if you were watching. you had never turned your head away so fast in your life and you were pretty sure you heard something go “crack”.

he clicked his tongue. mumbling something about how stupid the game was before muttering out a “kiss yn, marry yn and kill that other bitch.” before getting up and stomping away, claiming he had to go to the bathroom followed closely by the whoops and hollers of his two friends behind him.

you both made eye contact when he walked out and you think you’ll never forget how red his cheeks were.

you were katsuki’s when he was the one to walk you to and from school everyday, claiming you would somehow get lost without him. you were katsuki’s when he had begrudgingly shoved homemade valentines day chocolates into your arms, mumbling something about how you had been upset nobody had gotten you anything last year, conveniently leaving out the fact he had scared off all the other guys trying to offer you anything.

you were katsuki’s when he grabbed your hand during the winter because he said you’d “end up dying of hypothermia with the way you’re chittering over there.” and you were his when you were the only person he laughed around. loud, genuine laughter that you and only you could squeeze out of him. you were katsuki’s when he randomly kissed you goodnight at your door one night and he’s been doing it ever since, and gets all pouty when you turn away from his kisses to tease him.

“are we dating ?” you had asked him. you’re both in high school now and you’re in his dorm room. your legs are on his lap and he’s got a comfortable grip on your leg, which tightens after he registers your questions “hah?” he looks utterly confused and a little insulted as he looks back at you, his entire face scrunched up in confusion. you pinch his nose and he swats at your hand.

“are we dating ? like—am i your girlfriend.” you say again and katsuki’s face scrunches up even harder. he huffs and looks back at his phone, landing a little smack on your leg still placed in his lap. “ ‘course yer my fuckin’ girlfriend.” he spits out, obviously irritated. then he looks back at you “I haven’t made it obvious ?” he says sarcastically. one of his eyebrows lifted as he pokes at your leg still very much in his lap.

you simply shrug “s’not that. it’s just because you’ve never actually asked me out before, so i was a little confused on where we stood.” you mumble. he stares at you while you speak and he stares a little longer before sighing. then he leans towards you and flicks your forehead.

“ow !”

“dumbass.” he murmurs. there’s a slight pout on his face and his cheeks are light shade of pink when he looks you in the eyes again. he grabs both your cheeks with one hand and smushes them together to push your lips out and presses multiple wet kisses onto them that have you squealing and squirming. his wet lips are pulled into a smirk when he pulls back and you try your best to at least look a little angry, you really do. but it’s useless when he looks at you like that.

“of course you’re my girlfriend” he reiterates. his smirk’s been replaced for something softer, something more sincere as he gazes at you with so much unadulterated affection it makes your head spin a little. “you’ve always been mine.” he says it in a teasing tone and his hand is still smushing your cheeks out and it hurts a little but his eyes are still the same. they’re warm and soft and so, so enamored with you and only you.

when he finally let’s go of your face and pulls you fully into his lap, you realize katsuki’s been yours for as long as you’ve been his.

you smile brightly at him but turn your nose up when he leans in to kiss you again. “i still haven’t heard what i wanna hear though, mr. bakugou.”

he rolls his eyes and pinches at your thigh as he mumbles out a “don’t call me that.” sighing, he looks at you intensely and you suddenly feel very shy.

“will you be my girlfriend, ya shitty girl ?” and he says it as a joke, you both know it is cus his lips are already forming into a smirk the second he finishes his sentence. and you’re pulling at his nose the moment you register it, but you’re both smiling hard. he laughs and you’re sure you’ll never get tired of the sound. “what’s your answer, pretty ?” he asks playfully and you pretend to really think it over just to mess with him, and giggling out a “yes!” when he suddenly pounces on you. flipping you both over and tickling you mercilessly, calling it revenge for you “taking too damn long to answer.”

you’d been katsuki’s for as long as you can remember, and you hope you can be forever.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Bruce: I see you're in love with my son. I can't say I approve yet. What are your plans for the future?

Jason: B! You can't just ask her that right off the bat! At least offer a drink or something!

Jazz: It's alright honey, I've come prepared. Mr. Wayne, here is a physical copy of my ten year plan, my five year plan, and my three year plan that has room for adjustments such as dating.

Bruce: *flipping though binder* These are impressive. Clean. Calculated. Fail safes. Well done, Miss Fenton.

Jazz: Thank you, sir. I also included tactics for possible failure or issues.

Bruce: You write Contingency Plans?

Jazz: Of course. Only a madman wouldn't.

Bruce: *whispering* Yes. She's perfect. I'll pay for the wedding.

Jason: Whats happening?

Dick: I think you found the girl version of Bruce to be your girlfriend.

Jason: *Slaps him*

Dick: OW! what the hell Jay!?

Jason: Don't you EVER say something so foul to me again.

[neptunezo]

The idea of the batkids scaring Bruce with “a new grandchild” to only show an animal is so funny to me, because imagine Bruce is so used to it that when Jason wants to introduce him to his new grandchild Bruce almost falls out of his chair when there’s an ACTUAL KID!

Dick: You’re a granddaddy now Brucie!!!

Bruce: WHAT?!? Who?? When??? How??? Actually don’t tell me how. Who is she??? When did she give birth???

Dick: What? No, meet my kid *holds up a cat* her name is biscuit and shes the love of my life!

—

Steph: Cass and I are adopting…

Bruce: Holy shit, actually???

Cass: Yes, it was a tough choice, but we want to adopt

Bruce: Do you need any help with paperwork and stuff? It’s kinda my thing. Also consider the fact that you might be too young.

Steph: Too young…?

Bruce: Yes, I mean you’re only in your 20’s, are you sure you can handle a kid?

Cass: Too young for an iguana?

—

Damian: It happened again, I have a kid.

Bruce: What do you mean AGAIN?!?

Damian: This is my second kid, duh

Bruce: Are you talking about goats?

Damian: Of course I am father

—

Tim: BRUCE YOU’RE GOING TO BE A GRANDFATHER!!!

Bruce: Tim I didn’t think I was going to have to tell you this again after the whole thing with Stephanie, but just kissing someone doesn’t get them pregnant

Tim:

Bruce: Is it a dog?

Tim: No it’s a tiger

—

Jason: I have something to tell you

Bruce(not looking up from his paperwork): Okay, what’s up?

Jason: I have a kid, I want you to meet your granddaughter

Bruce: I can’t possibly imagine what type of animal you’ve gotten, but I’d love to meet her

Jason: What the hell are you talking about?

Bruce (looking up to see an actual child): You actually have a kid????

Jason: Yeah, Roy and I thought it was time I adopted Lian

Lian: Hi Grandpa!!!

Bruce: I’m going to faint, grab me some ice will you?

[aslyran]

Visions

[potatobugz]

objects loving objects baby!!!!

[wanderingcas]

[on growing old.]

Dean wakes up the morning of his 46th birthday and doesn't feel much different.

His left knee aches a little; but it's been doing that for years, ever since he twisted it weird going down the stairs, the years of abusing it finally catching up with him. His head hurts a little, since he's dehydrated from all the drinking he and Cas did last night. (Celebratory birthday whiskeys. Plural. He knows that he’s getting too old to do that at midnight.)

But other than that—he feels the same.

Rolling over onto his back, he stares up at the whirling ceiling fan.

Imagine where you want to be in twenty years was always the plucky, feel-good advice fed to him by older, well-meaning folks. When he was a kid, he had some pretty good guesses as to what that would be: in a grave. In a motel room with his brother and dad snoring next to him. On the road to a hunt that he’ll be smarting from for days after.

And all that happened at some point in his life, one way or another. But now--

He's not in a grave; he's alive. He's not in a motel; he's in his own bed, in his own house that he fixed up with his two hands. He's in bed with his husband, listening to his soft snoring just a few inches away.

No more hunts, except for the ones he helps other hunters with when they call. No more clear and present danger, except for going down the stairs the wrong way and tweaking his left knee.

The ceiling fan suddenly blurs. Dean scrubs the tears out of his eyes. He rolls over to tuck himself up against Cas's warm, naked back and buries his nose into his skin, breathing him in.

He smells like the detergent Dean carefully picked out a few months ago that’s good for Cas’s sensitive skin. He smells like shampoo from his shower last night. 

He smells like home.

Cas stirs. He grumbles and groans at the sun streaming in through the shades because, for all of his amazing, admirable qualities, being a pleasant morning person is not one of them.

"Mornin', sunshine," Dean whispers, nipping at his earlobe just to be a little shit. Cas mumbles something and bats him away. Dean huffs out a soft laugh and kisses his neck in an apology.

Cas snuggles closer into Dean (along with not being a morning person, he’s also a spider monkey that likes to cuddle; man holds multitudes). He turns his head enough to brush his lips against Dean's. "Happy Birthday, Dean,” he rasps.

Dean smiles. Really, honest-to-goodness smiles. Because this is exactly where he wants to be twenty years from now; for every birthday and all the rest of it.

"Yeah," he whispers, pressing his temple to Cas’s. "It is happy."

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

[crimsonspring]

Zayne, whose fingers tremble while he holds your face tenderly in his hands, lets out a shaky exhale as his green-hazel eyes stare at your face. He notices the sun spots, the blemishes and scars and he loves each and every one of them. They’re spectacular and unique features that make them you, his obsession runs deep - his heart beats in sincerity and adoration for your ‘imperfections’ — they add to your beauty.

He’s almost overwhelmed by your presence, positively bewildered that he gets to call the beauty of venus and saturn, the magnificent miracles of the sun and the moon, his lover. And just how spoiled is he in this life to be given the privilege of holding this eighth wonder of the world in his two hands.

His two hands that are a map of different scars and countless stories of pain and anguish. And with you in his hands, Zayne marvels at this paradox.

“You… are everything,” he sighs, his head shaking subtly. “Not just to me. You are everything.” It was important to Zayne that you understood that — you could very well be a stranger to him — you would still be everything. The world would continue to turn, showered with the bliss of your kindness and courage. “I understand the world may be unkind yet it knows that it’ll be in penury if it were to be without you. Do you understand that, my Jasmine?” As attentive as he is while conducting surgery, he stares just as intently into your tear glazed ones, as if there are books written in the swirls of your orbs and he’s determined to learn and dissect every line. He wants to absorb it all, understand how such negative self-perception could ever dip its toes into your mind — you are so beautiful and wonderful (inside and out)!

But until he figures this impossible puzzle out, he’ll settle on bringing the cheer back into your eyes. Zayne is a healer in essence, evident in his occupation as well as this current moment.

His gentle caress is a medicine of its own, his loving words the sweetest treat to make up for the pain. “But if the world chooses to be ungrateful to you today, allow me to remind you that you are my anchor and rock. You have brought so much ease and grounding to my life. I simply wish to be the same for you.” His voice is barely over a whisper, he is determined to protect the fragile bubble you are in now. You are a strong and fearless person, no doubt about that, but tonight you are vulnerable, anxious and fragile — and that is okay. Zayne is here.

“Cry if you have to,” he nods reassuringly, delicately pulling your face to face his when you pull away, tightness bubbling in your chest at his shower of intense affection. “You cannot scare me away.” He repeats his actions and sentiment through words directly this time.

Your bottom lip quivers, and it doesn’t take long for the water works to begin. Zayne is your favourite place to be, and not just because of the last bite of dessert that he saves for you, the back massages he spoils you with after a long day of work (despite his own of hours-long surgeries) or the bills that he pays. But because he allows you to be craven once in awhile, to be imperfect, to tire… and love you all the same.

[corpsentry]

pick your battles

[airaly]

Soooo was having a little chat with @martiverse9 regarding Starscream and Soundwave dinamic and uhm, things escalated quickly? Probably there will be more?? I'm so sorry???