#just the already canonical ones

[try-set-me-on-fire]

The Parable of the Drunken Man

A short tale about Robert Nash and the devil himself, part of a longer tale that has not yet been written

The drunken man is already drunk when he stumbles up to the liquor store, which he probably should have figured out meant trouble, big trouble, should have been able to see the walls of the hole he’d dug for himself. But it's a sunny day — five o’clock nowhere, oh how deep, oh how deep — and he’s not thinking about much besides getting through the glass push door with the little jingle bell on the top. He makes it up all the steps and only stumbles once, bangs his hip on the railing fucking ow. He makes it through the door too, jingle jingle, hey, just like Christmas, that’s coming up, it’s getting cold. Ice box inside is cold, the big fridges are cold, he could grab some Fitgers like his daddy drank but they shuttered their doors in ‘72 and his dad was in the ground pretty soon after — the hole, the hole — and anyway what’s beer gonna do. The drunken man needs something from one of the shelves up behind the counter, warm in its bottle, strong as paint stripper. And the clerk knows him — can’t you hear the shovel — and he doesn’t even really have to ask, just points and the bottle comes to him, presto magic. And then the drunken man pats his pockets and there’s nothing in this one, nothing in that one, not in his coat, not in his jeans, empty empty empty.

“I’m good for it,” he says, “You know I am, come on.”

“Sorry, Bobby,” the clerk says, and to his credit his eyes are sad.

When the stranger says “I can cover for you,” only a step from his side the drunken man is surprised. He didn’t think anyone else was in the store. He didn’t hear the bell jingle jingle. And this guy, this stranger, he’s in a suit, a real nice suit, nothing like piss poor piss drunk pissed off clientele that usually graces these fluorescent lit halls. But the drunken man wants his drink so he shrugs.

“Sure. Mighty kind of you. I owe you one.��

The stranger has a smile that’s real wide. His teeth are all straight. “Do you now? And what might that be?”

The drunken man glances at the shelf behind the counter. “$17.95.”

That stranger makes a sound that must be a laugh because the drunken man doesn’t know what else it would be. “That’s not a very interesting deal, Bobby.”

If he stays out too long there’s people who’re gonna be mad at him, can’t he fucking wrap this up? The drunken man glances at the clerk. The bottle is there in his hand. “What do you have in mind?” He wonders for a moment what the stranger will ask, what he might be willing to give. He’s not that desperate. He has some Johnny Walker at home, he’s pretty sure. It’ll be harder to get to it around Marcy, but he could manage. If this is a sex thing, he can just say no.

The stranger shrugs. “What would you give for a drink, right now?”

The drunken man’s shoulders shiver a bit, he’s not sure why. It’s what he’d just been thinking, but, whatever, coincidence. “I- I don’t know.”

“Would you give up your apartment? Your whole floor?”

The drunken man laughs. “I don’t own my whole floor, man, I don’t even own my fucking apartment.” They’d owned the house but the medical bills had stacked up and up and up and the drunken man had dug down and down and down until the difference had been too great to ever balance out again.

All those teeth. “But would you give it? All the people in it? Trade them, right here and now?”

The drunken man is just kind of annoyed. This guy, this out of towner, fucking with him. “Sure. Yeah, and the whole rest of the building, too.”

“Now there’s a deal,” the stranger laughs again, slaps the drunken man hard enough on the back it hurts, it bruises, it’s yellow on his shoulder when he goes to work on Monday and no one even bats an eyelash that’s he’s fucked himself up in some new little way. He hands the clerk a handful of cash — more than $17.95 it seems to the drunken man’s eyes — and the clerk hands over the bottle with uneasy eye contact and then the drunken man leaves, goes home, swigs once twice in the parking lot before heading up to the roof and stashing the bottle and heading back downstairs and in to his wife and his daughter and his son, cheeks red from the cold and other things, and he wasn’t too late — too late, oh he’s too late — and they all eat dinner together.

Exactly one month later, the building goes up in flames. He’s drunk on the roof. He was high in an empty room, with a space heater plugged into the wall. The hole is deep and he doesn’t even have the grace to die at the bottom of it, next to the tiny bodies of his children, next to burnt living corpse of his wife. And now he’s sleeping in a motel his brother paid for but he’s not sleeping there, he’s trying to drink himself to death in the parking lot out back when he sees the stranger again, in the nice suit, still all his straight teeth showing.

“Was it you?” The drunken man hollers. “Was it you? Did you do this? Did you make this happen?” He’s throwing the bottle, he’s grabbing the front of that too nice suit and the guy is just smiling, just fucking grinning, big and pleased as a cat with all the cream.

“You were always gonna burn that building, Bobby,” he says, and his tone of voice, there’s something about it that’s true, there’s something about it that’s impossible not to believe. “That’s how that night was always going to go.”

“Then what- then why-”

“You just gave me permission to collect.” The drunken man hadn’t thought the stranger was taller than him, but he leers down at him now.

Like Bobby knows he was telling the truth, he knows he’s not talking about, whatever, an insurance payout. “What did I- what did I give you?”

“Souls, Bobby. You traded all their souls. And for such a grand prize.” And the stranger held up his hand, and in it was a bottle of Devil’s Springs, 151 proof.

The motel day shift front desk girl finds him there in the morning, half frozen, laying in a mess of broken glass.

[stemmmm]

more people gotta try this shit where bill has not improved and will not change but he's just chilling so its fine probably. its great

[puppyeared]

who is your favorite AA character? 👁️👁️

ziska… I hope capcom brings her back someday

[wasabi-gumdrop]

Kabru has a secret admirer in the castle!

[aalghul]

once again thinking about jason as duke’s robin. he’s ~4 years younger than jason, and that puts him at 8-12 during Jason’s time as robin. that’s prime time to get attached to your local kid vigilante before your own life goes downhill.

and if we try to keep duke’s meeting with bruce in zero year + duke’s age (so he can remember the meeting and hold that conversation with bruce), he has to be around 8. if he starts following batman through the news at that time because of the mess that just happened, the robin he sees is probably jason. I’ve literally connected the dots

[hinamie]

realizing how much i like drawing him a million years too late :<

[lotus-pear]

saw the labru trend and IMMEDIATELY thought of them

[riickgrimes]

Man of his word. It only took a couple of lifetimes. I was in love with my son's best friend. I didn't know what to do. Then you asked for that toothpaste. I was damned if I wasn't gonna find something.

[soupmanspeaks]

Yk if Steelwool could make an easy Hundred thousand Mikemillion dollars if they put him in Secrets of the Mimic trust

[andstuffsketches]

bring the girlies back

[fuupan]

drew these for heart pirates day and uhhhh ep1115

[loveaetingkids]

After seeing this post I decided to insert my little blorbos in here:

(Like or reblog if you wanna use)

[egophiliac]

Where can you play ride kamens? It looks fun looking at your blog but idk where to play

it'll doesn't start until the 30th, but there's some pre-release episodes/character bits that are scattered around the website and twitter! (the links to pre-reg/download are also on the website :D)

honestly I'm really enjoying it just based off of the pre-release stuff, these characters look like they're going to be exactly that blend of ridiculous and emotionally constipated that hits me so right.

[novelconcepts]

One of the most fundamentally interesting things to me about YJ and writing fic, specifically, is how the blame changes hands depending on the story. On whose perspective you're writing from. On whose story it is at a given moment. The very thing I dislike about viewers missing the point becomes so fascinating to me from within the narrative. Who are these characters when seen through the eyes of their peers?

Who does Jackie become? If you're Shauna, she's the love of your life, and your greatest rival, and the other half of your soul, and the person you blame for your dead dreams. If you're Van, she's the respected captain who earns none of your respect in the woods, the one who left you to die without blinking, the easiest target for teenage malice. If you're Natalie, she's competition for affection, the blabbermouth who can't leave well enough alone, the hands putting themselves to no good use. If you're Jackie? You're just a girl. You're so tired. You're so scared. You're losing face a little more every day, and you're made of despair, and you can't even trust your best friend. It's not your fault. It's not your fault. It's not your fault.

Who does Lottie become? If you're Natalie, she's your direct foil, the splinter under the edge of your thumbnail, the smart mouth to match your own, the confusing amalgamation of normal friend and mad ritual. If you're Misty, she's the first shred of obvious power in months, a leader who might need to be nudged back into line, a fascinating exercise in hitching your wagon to the right star early on. If you're Taissa, she's flat-nuts and endlessly frustrating, she's got your girlfriend's full attention, she's incredibly dangerous. If you're Lottie? You're just a girl. You're so tired. You're so scared. You've built a pedestal you can't keep your balance on, and you're not sure if you're right or going crazy, and you didn't want this. It's not your fault. It's not your fault. It's not your fault.

From outside the narrative, there is no bad guy. There is no blame. It is no one's fault. It is Man v. Nature, they are doing the best they can with an impossible situation. They're all trying to contribute what they can to the story, for better or worse.

From inside the narrative, you are a teenager trapped in a society constructed entirely of bare-bones-survival with the wildest assortment of girls. From inside the narrative, to stay human, you have to love and fight, respect and judge. Every story changes the game. Every story shifts the blame. A hero in one has the bloodiest hands in the next. And that, to me, is such a thrilling sandbox to play in.

[ganondoodle]

did a little sketch yesterday that i really liked and tried to get it done today just so i got literally anything to post- but i fell into the trap of 'making sketches to elaborate and thus really stiff and non fun' (for me), ... soooooo .. im redoing the whole thing

but the idea was a mummy ganondorf for my (yes still existing) totk rewrite; i wanted to make him more scary looking and also emphasize just how horrid it must be to be kept in between life and death by having your heart grabbed by a cold and vengeful magical hand for thousands of years (in this case the ancient queen .. which i also tried to sketch despite not showing up aside from her dissolving hand)

the spell starting to fail and his body being more damaged in some parts (jaw being only the bones left for example) and his chest open from being slowly eaten up by the queens magic, the ribs contorting around it like its a gravitational pull- sounds cooler than it looks bc this sketch did not work out, so im saving the details for the .. hopefully, better version

[s0fter-sin]

soap's whole deal being sniper and demolitions gets me going bc on the surface they sound so different but when you get into it, you realise it's bc soap's smart

sniping is all math; calculating distances and wind interference and bullet drop. something i think people overlook is he was listed as a sniper first so it can be implied that he's better at it than demolitions. he does more sniping in both campaigns than demolitions work; in capture or kill, ghost specifically calls on him to take down the aq snipers

and demolitions is math with a hit of chemistry; knowing what mixes with what, knowing how much to use, recognising environmental factors and adjusting accordingly. it's not just about the boom; so much work goes into contained/ planned explosions. especially when having enough power for a breacher charge and not bringing down the whole building is the difference between mission success and failure

the chemical bombs he makes in alone can't just be any old cleaners, they have to have the correct reaction to each other; he just knew off the top of his head what would mix with what to create what reaction. he would also potentially have to recognise them by sight/smell bc they would’ve been written in spanish

soap would also have to know architecture; recognising structural integrity and weak points so he knows exactly where to plant a charge to bring it down and how it'll come down

he has an incredible soldier's mind people just forget that bc he's sociable which itself is a skill

we know he tends to buck against orders he doesn't agree with like when he pushes back against ghost in capture or kill and shepherd when he tells them to release hassan

he gets closer to people and sees if he can trust them and that's when he follows them without question. really think about how he talks to alejandro and rudy; he asks about their home and alejandro's family and rudy's relationship with him. those aren't questions you ask a stranger after a few hours of knowing them. that's not even touching on his relationship with ghost

he also deliberately brings people of higher ranks down to his level; talking informally with ghost and giving him a shoulder punch, addressing alejandro (a colonel!!) by his first name and rudy by his nickname despite literally just meeting them. he personalises all of them and it’s in direct opposition to the reason most characters do that; it’s not due to insubordination or lack of respect, the more he respects and trusts someone, the more casual he is with them

he digs into people; he wants to know what makes them tick and that determines if he can one, trust them and two, follow their orders. once he decides that, he's the ultimate soldier; he bleeds loyalty which makes him vicious when that loyalty is taken for granted

he isn't naive or bubbly or insecure; he's an incredibly smart and aware soldier. he's aggressive and bloodthirsty and loyal and intuitive and i love him so much