#let me go out and touch grass real quick

[nico-di-genova]

Clearest photo of his tattoo ever 😵‍💫

[mediumgayitalian]

The slam of his car door is loud enough to make him jump, echoing across the dipping valleys and proud hills. He curses to himself, standing frozen, one, two, three, four, but no one comes running. A light dusting of snow falls in a perfect circle around an invisible border, and Lee shivers as he jogs over to it, worn sneakers squelching over the wet, half-thawed grass.

As soon as he steps onto the bottom of Half-Blood Hill, he feels the difference, the balmy breath of warm summer under the clear December sky. The power of Thalia’s tree sends its usual shiver down his back, and he touches it, briefly, as he speeds past, sending his usual prayer of thanks. He pauses at the crest of the hill, using the bright gibbous moon to survey the camp, marking his path.

“Two, four….twelve,” he mutters to himself, craning his neck to map every one of the patrol harpies. He crouches for a while, watching them, tracking their patrol: paired, hexagonal, staggered circuits around the cabins. Four minute window of opportunity.

He can do four minutes.

As the two harpies walking the Apollo-Artemis circuit begin to cross the common, Lee bolts. He keeps low and close to the shadows, sprinting fast and on the balls of his feet to stay quiet, and ducks behind whatever shadow is closest whenever something looks his way. By the time the harpies turn back towards Cabin Seven, he’s already on the rickety porch, tossing his backpack inside the window Michael left open for him and throwing himself in after it.

He lands palms-first, tucking into a roll to absorb the momentum. He freezes, panting, by the leg of what is usually Amir’s bed, straining to hear past the crickets and cicadas.

One, two, three, four.

Nothing.

He’s good.

“Took your damn sweet time, didn’t you.”

“Hello to you too,” Lee grumbles, pushing himself upright. From across the cabin, lounging on his bed like a goddamn French monarch, is his dick of a brother, grinning like the little shit he is. “Haven’t seen you in weeks, most people say hello, et cetera, et cetera.”

Michael shrugs. “You’re late. I watched you on the hill; you coulda made that run twenty minutes ago.”

“Nobody asked you.”

“I’m always asking me.”

“Get over her, boogerbrain.”

“Real mature,” Michael mocks, but ambles over anyway. He retches like a twelve year old when Lee hugs him, but twists his hands in the back of Lee’s shirt when he lets go too fast. Lee hides his smile in his over-gelled hair.

“You might miss me less if you actually write me letters, you know.”

“I didn’t miss you,” he responds automatically. “And I wouldn’t have to write you letters if you stayed home, already.”

Lee sighs. “…I have school, Michael.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m sure your dumbass bio teachers have loads to teach the guy who can do open heart surgery with his eyes closed.”

“Yeah, yeah. If anyone could do with a good, old-fashioned, public school humbling, it would be you, hothead. You ready to go?”

Michael pulls away with a roll of his eyes. “Only since yesterday. Been waiting for your sorry ass.”

“My sorry — your sorry ass doesn’t have a car!”

Michael snickers, jogging back to his bunk and grabbing the black duffel bag resting under it. Lee makes quick work of packing his own bag, stuffing in a couple squares of ambrosia and and giant roll of bandages, just in case, before creeping over to the only bed left with someone still in it.

“Hey, kiddo.” He folds over the sheet pulled all the way over messy blonde curls, immediately plaguing the cabin with loud snoring. He rests his palm over a sleep-creased cheek, mapping his thumb over the freckles dotting pudgy cheekbones, and brushes back the hair plastered to his baby brother’s forehead. “Will, sweetheart, get up.”

It takes him a couple minutes of gentle prodding — when Will is out he is out — to wake up, squinting blearily in the dim fairy lights strewn across his bunk. He blinks, one, two, three, four, then gasps.

“Lee!”

“Oof,” Lee grunts, shifting his weight as he is abruptly accosted with an armful of child. He smiles, curling around Will’s flailing, chattering form, tightening his hold on his waist and resting his forehead on his shoulder. “Hi, buddy.”

“—missed you so much! Is this why your letter was late? Are you staying? Is this why Diana left yesterday? Is she here now? Is Cass coming? Is everybody coming? Can I —”

“C’mon, Motormouth,” Michael interrupts, cuffing Will’s ear as he walks by. “Go get your sneakers on. We’re going for a drive.”

“‘Kay,” Will days happily, dashing off to find the light-up Star Wars shoes he refuses to throw out, even though there are literal holes in the soles.

“You got his bag?”

“Yep,” Michael affirms, holding up a straining backpack. “Toothbrush. Hairbrush that he won’t use. Three comic books. Change of clothes. And two more changes of clothes for when he inevitably destroys the first one,” he adds when Lee opens his mouth. He shoots him an exasperated look. “Me and Diana have been chasing after the little brat for four months, dude. I got him.”

“Alright, alright,” Lee grumbles. “Heaven forbid I double-check.” He turns over to the door, where Will is tying his shoelaces, tongue peeking out of his mouth. “You ready, Will?”

He tugs on the two loops. The entire knot unravels. Quick as a flash, he stuffs the laces inside his shoes, scrambling to his feet.

“Yes,” he lies. He scratches at his throat.

Lee and Michel sigh in unison.

Luckily, the reaction is hardly more than itchy eyes and a cough. Lee herds him towards the door, sliding the backpack over his shoulders and holding out his arm and —

“Hold on a sec.”

“Why?” Will whispers.

“Shh,” Lee says.

Window cracked open, Michael exhales. The release of his bow hardly makes more than a soft hiss.

The angle is odd, limited space as there is, but Michael never misses — the clunky arrow whistles through the open window, sailing past the sloped roofs of the west wing cabins, and thunks somewhere behind the first layer of trees in the forest. Immediately, it lets loose a burst of sound identical to a dropped bottle and a group of teenagers cursing. In seconds, the curfew harpies are screeching, descending upon the source of the noise with the fury of a thousand sun chariots.

“Go go go go go,” Michael orders, wrenching open the door.

Will, immediately, takes off, gleeful at the opportunity to run away with permission (usually, he’s running from one of them, screeching at him to get back here). (Or Chiron, although Chiron has a much easier time catching up, what with the six limbs and all). (…Is Chiron an insect? Technically?)

“How long do we have?” Lee whispers, once Michael has caught up.

He shrugs. “Seven minutes, give or take? More than enough time.”

Lee worries his bottom lip. “More than…” He glances at the forest. Vaguely, in the low firelight, he can see the odd wing, hear the odd screech. Nothing looks very close. He glances at the rapidly approaching Athena cabin, just a few yards out of their way. Hm.

“Detour!” he decides. “Will, c’mon!”

Ignoring Michael’s hissed complaints, he veers towards to neatly maintained cabin. He slips in the space between Cabins Six and Four, holding tight to Will’s hand. He counts the windows as he passes — one, two, three, four — and stumbles to a stop, crouching down in the dirt.

“Oh, are you — for the love of Zeus.”

Lee ignores his eye-rolling, scanning the ground for pebbles. He selects a handful of them, careful not to choose anything too big, and jogs a few steps back.

“What’re you doing?” Will asks, too loud, but at least he tries to whisper.

Instead of answering, Lee launches the first pebble at the window.

It pings off harmlessly.

Waiting a breath for the harpies to come running, he continues, firing off pebble after pebble with increasing strength. Finally, after pebble #7, a face appears behind the clear glass, bleary eyes widening when they take in the sight in front of them. Quickly, the latches are undone, and the window is yanked open.

“Lee?!”

Lee grins. “Hey, Carter.”

“What’re you — you’re — it’s December! What’s going —”

“I need a favour,” Lee whispers. “Can you — cover for us?”

For the first time, Carter looks away, brows raising as he notices Micheal, who taps his (watchless) wrist obnoxiously, and Will, who waves brightly. Carter waves back, small smile tugging at his lips.

“Cover for you?”

“Just, like, infirmary stuff. I don’t think anything will happen, and if it does we’re an IM away, but —”

“Lee,” Carter says exasperatedly, “cover you guys for what?”

“Oh.” Lee clears his throat. “I, um. I need to do something for my family.”

Smiling, Carter rests his elbows on the windowsill, chin in his hands. “Mysterious.”

“We’ll be back by tomorrow evening,” Lee assures.

“And then you’ll stay for a bit?”

Lee’s mouth goes dry. “You want me to stay?”

Carter ducks his head, fingers tracing a mindless path on the windowsill. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you for a while.”

A thousand gods of prophecy could not predict the sound that comes out of Lee’s throat.

Something between a whimper and an awkward laugh, his voice cracks four seperate times. Carter giggles. Lee prays, genuinely, that a crater opens up beneath him and drops him right at Lord Hades’ feet.

“Everything okay, Lee?”

“Peachy,” he croaks.

Carter giggles again. Lee flushes. Michael gags exaggeratedly behind him, pausing mid-heave to whisper something to Will, and then there’s a giggle, and then two people fake-retching. Carter peeks through his dark eyelashes, pleased expression softening his heart-shaped face, and Lee counts twelve of his own capillaries straight-up explode.

“Well,” he says, too loudly. “I’m — well.”

“I think you have harpies to run from,” Carter suggests gently.

“Indeed.” Lee clears his throat, nodding. “As you have so astutely observed, we do —”

Michael, recognising the strained tone to his voice, groans. “Fucksake, Lee —”

“— and so I bid you adieu —”

“Dude, oh my gods, snap out of it —”

Lee can’t. He barely has control over his own mouth.

“— and vow to see you again in the eve.”

Feeling his soul exit his body, settle in front of him, and then crumple up and die, Lee fucking bows. There is the very distinctive sound of a hand slapping over a mouth, muffling an eruption of giggles, and then the hand of mercy, also known as Michael Yew, clamping on the back of his lava-hot neck.

“Please excuse him,” he says grandly. “He was dropped on his head as a child. He’s normal, usually.”

“Except when you wear your glasses,” Will pipes up. Lee makes a mental note to find Clarisse’s spear and shove it through his own eye. “He gets real weird when you wear your glasses. Once he walked into a wall and broke his nose.”

“…Did he.”

“Yep. And last time he —”

“God, this hurts me to say,” whispers Michael, “but I have to put a stop to this conversation. We’re on a time limit. C’mon, Will. Bye, Carter. Sorry for — well, you know. Apollonian dramatics, not always easy to control.”

He turns, dragging Lee, still hunched over, out of the Cabin Six shadow.

Lee does not un-hunch until they are well over the crest of Half-Blood Hill, harpy screeches beginning to echo behind them.

“I have never been more embarrassed to be related to you in my life,” Michael informs him, the second he’s upright. “Like, genuinely, I’m considering disowning you. That was atrocious, Fletcher. You need to get ahold of yourself. Where is your game? Your dignity?”

“I think he lost it when he was born,” Will says thoughtfully. “Or maybe when Carter smiled at him the first time.”

“I hate both of you,” Lee croaks.

Neither of them seem too incredibly bothered, snickering to each other as they duck into the car.

Willing his flush to go down, Lee herds them into his car. He takes a moment in the cool air to chill the hell out, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, then slips behind the wheel. He checks that Will is belted in properly, slips the car into neutral, and coasts down the road, waiting until Thalia’s tree slips out of sight before turning it on and hitting the gas.

“Where’re we goin’?

“You,” Michael says, flipping down the vanity mirror to glare sternly at Will, “are going to dreamland. It’s three in the morning. Time for bratty children to sleep.”

“What? No! I’m not tired!”

“Fine, fine,” Lee says, exchanging a grin with Michael. “Stay awake, then. As long as you like.”

Will narrows his eyes. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“No trick?”

Lee crosses his fingers. “‘Course not.”

“Fine,” he relents. He settles into the booster seat Lee dragged out of the trunk for him (which he hates), arms crossed over his chest, and stares out the window.

Counting off on his fingers — one, two, three, four — Lee and Michael begin to hum.

At first, nothing happens. Will taps absentmindedly on his knees, humming along to the parts he knows, but soon his fingers slow. Lee and Michael keep it low and quiet, cycling through quiet folk songs Michael’s dad taught him, matching with the rumbling of the car, the slight breeze of Lee’s cracked open window. Michael kicks softly at the base of his seat, one, two, three, four; and matches the rhythm of the radio static, the click of the blinkers on every turn.

Will’s out in twenty minutes.

———

The drive is long.

Michael curls up sometime around four, fogging up the windows with every snore. Lee keeps the radio on a low hum, letting the background noise keep him focused as he navigates. The Atlantic Ocean is ink-black in the early morning, and the waves crash loud enough that he can hear them over the sounds of the engine, and for a while they’re still far enough from the city that the air smells fresh. Even when it starts to sour, and the noise gets a lot more urban, it’s early enough and he’s east enough that the traffic is minimal. Never non-existent — he actually cannot imagine what a traffic-less New York would look like; he doubts he’ll ever live to see it — but enough that he keeps at a steady 35.

The drive through Jersey is uneventful. Farmland and suburbs, nothing he hasn’t seen every day of his life, nothing he didn’t see the last time he made the drive. He entertains himself by counting every brown car he sees, randomly wagering the number by the time he gets there. He’s relieved when he finally crosses the memorial bridge, driving down the exit ramp and pulling into the first big parking lot he sees. Michael wakes up as he puts the car in gear, killing the engine.

“We here?” he asks, popping the joints along his spine.

Lee yawns. “Pretty much, yeah. Pulled off the highway.”

“‘Kay.” He glances in the backseat, where Will is starting to stir. “You nap. I’m gonna find a place for him to change and brush his teeth, maybe get breakfast for all of us.”

“Sounds good”

He crawls in the backseat as Michael guides Will out of it, accepting the blanket tossed his way. He slides his hoodie over his face, lies back, and conks out in minutes.

———

“Yo, Lee. Get up. I got food.”

“Timizzit?” he asks, shaking the grogginess from his limbs.

“Eleven. You slept for four hours. We gotta be at the theatre in an hour.”

“When’s she on?”

“Fuck if I know, man. Diana said noon, I’m gonna be there at noon. You wanna piss off Diana?”

“No.” He rubs the heel of his palm into his eyes, reaching blindly in the direction of Michael’s voice. “Food, please.”

A bag of grease is deposited into his waiting hand. He is pleased to find three cheeseburgers within it, and immediately tears into them with a fervour that can only be described as ‘ravenous’, or perhaps ‘revolting’. Esurient, perhaps, if one was feeling poetic.

Finally awake enough to function, Lee looks critically at the scene in front of him. Michael is dressed in the same button-up and slacks he wears to his dad’s performances, on the years he’s in the U.S., and Will is in jeans without grass stains, real shoes, hair mostly brushed. Michael has even managed to find a shirt that’s not half-unraveled from Will picking at the seams.

“Nice,” he says, nodding in approval.

Michael picks at his nails, visibly preening. “Oh, it was no big deal.”

“Yeah, yeah. Dweeb.”

He polishes off his last burger, then ducks inside the nearest store to find somewhere to get changed. Diana told them it didn’t matter, really, what they wore, but Lee knows better. He knows what this means for Cass, and while yeah, sure, it wouldn’t really matter if he showed up in sweatpants, he wants to show her that he put in the effort. That even if her mother couldn’t, or wouldn’t, they will. All of them. He wants her to see them and know that they did this for her. He wants her to see them and know that they tried, that they care.

Hair perfectly placed and clothes as unwrinkled as he can get them, he hurries back to the car. The theatre isn’t far, and they have a little under an hour, but he doesn’t want to push it. Finding parking will be hard enough.

“Are we on a quest?” Will asks, five minutes out on the road.

“Eight year olds don’t go on quests.”

“Diomedes was ten when he fought the Trojan war.”

“Are you Diomedes?”

“No.”

“Are you ten?”

“No.”

“Then no quests for you.”

“Aw.”

“Your quest can be being quiet for twenty minutes,” Michael grumbles, making a face when Will sticks his tongue out at him.

———

part two

[libbys-braincell-loss]

Im bored as hell so heres a short SMG4 x SMG3 oneshot (idk what to name it)

(Kinda angst? Not exactly, it also mostly includes some wholesome fluff too; takes place after the events of the Puzzlevision movie and references IGBP, so spoilers for that ig lol)

(Also its really short)

---

SMG4 was out for a walk, late in the evening outside of the castle. He was lost in thought - a lot of things were eating him up inside his mind since the day Mr. Puzzles took him and his friends and forced them to perform in his dumbass shows.

Just one thing was going through his mind.

When Mr. Puzzles showed him his corrupted behavior when he was going through the phase where he absolutely had to make the perfect video ever.

"Who knew that you could make such a great villain?" Mr. Puzzles had said.

He really did become a villain, didn't he..?

That was an entire year ago, and he still regretted his choices and still beats himself up over moments like that.

SMG4 stands in places and observes the pebbles on the ground.

"SMG4?"

The familiar voice surprised him. He turned around, and not too far away from where he stood was SMG3, holding his beloved Eggdog.

"What are you doing out and about at this hour?" SMG3 asked.

"I could ask the same to you?" SMG4 said in return.

"I always let Eggdog roam around at this hour," SMG3 said, putting Eggdog on the ground, as he hops off. "It's quiet out. No one, specifically Mario, is up at this hour to disturb our peace. It's real nice. ...Why are you out here? You're rarely out and about this late."

SMG4 sighs. "I've had things on my mind, and I thought touching grass would clear my head, y'know?" He chuckles.

SMG3 begins expressing concern, but is very quick to hide it. "What's up?"

SMG4 observes the ground. "Do you realize that I went through that... 'absolute perfection' phase over a year ago? Can you believe it's been that long?"

"Oh, shit," SMG3's eyes widen. "Time really flew by, huh?"

"...Yeah."

SMG4 stares sadly at his castle, not too far away.

"To think that something so impressive and monumental... wouldn't be here if I didn't do something so dumb."

SMG3 worriedly steps closer to him, realizing what's up.

"Is Mr. Puzzles' comment bothering you?"

SMG4 looks at 3. He nods.

"I just... hate the fact I was so selfish that I ended up hurting the people I cared for most," SMG4 says, blinking back tears creeping through his tearducts. "I didn't want to be a villain, I never wanted to..."

SMG4 buries his face in his hands. SMG3 inches closer, holding out his arms, but ultimately deciding against putting hands on the person considered his rival, so he lowered his arms.

"I never considered you a villain, SMG4."

4 looks up at 3.

"You were blindsighted, but the stupid keyboard corrupting you up was out of your control," says SMG3. "You are a dumbass, not a villain. You never had malicious intent. Mr. Puzzles is wrong and we are all thankful he's dead. He was such a sicko-"

SMG3 gets cut off, as SMG4 hugs him. SMG3 feels 4 silently sobbing into his shoulder. He is in a stun lock for a second, before coming to terms that 4 was hugging him. He wraps his own arms around his crying "nemesis". He gently rubs his back reassuringly.

"4, I promise you, you are no villain. You could never be a villain like me." SMG3 says, chuckling.

He feels SMG4 chuckle a teensy bit while buried in his shoulder, reassuring 3 that he would be okay, thus bringing him back at ease.

"Says the person who saved my life and called me a friend," SMG4 says, face still up against SMG3.

"Not like you said anything different when you saved my life," SMG3 chuckled.

SMG4 slowly lifts his face away from SMG3's shoulder.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you cared about me," SMG4 said half jokingly.

SMG3 smiles sadly.

"I'll be honest, I'm tired of pretending I don't."

SMG4 and SMG3 look into each others eyes. 4 smiles slyly.

"I knew it. I knew you were a tsundere."

SMG3 gently pushes SMG4 away from him, smiling and pretending to be mad. "Don't make me actually hate you."

4 chuckles.

SMG3 looks at him again. "Are you sure you're okay now?"

SMG4 smiles.

"Much better, thanks to you."

SMG3 smiles, looking to the ground.

"Don't mention it. ..Seriously, don't mention it. If Meggy hears about this, I will not hear the end of it."

SMG4 grins, and begins walking back toward his castle, as Eggdog walks up to his owner, ready to head inside.

"I heart you too, SMG3," SMG4 says before walking to the castle entrance.

SMG3 rolls his eyes, smiling, as he picks up Eggdog and the two head back into the cafe.

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Galadriel x fem!Elf!reader

-> in which you find Galadriel in the waters of the Glanduin, acting strange in a terrifying way

Warnings: angst, being threatened with a knife

When you went looking for Galadriel, you hadn’t expected to find her lying motionless in the river. The sight was frightening enough on its own. Now that you have rushed to her side, your concern turns to terror as her eyes shoot open and she surges forward, aiming her brother’s knife at your throat with a murderous glare.

“How dare you take her form?” she hisses. “Deceiver!”

“Galadriel, it’s me!” you cry out, barely managing to catch her arm before her blade touches your skin. “Please—”

“Prove it!” she growls. “Tell me something only you would know.”

You blink at her, striving to understand. In the end, you cannot. All you can do is tell her what she wants to know, however irrational it may seem to you.

“You and me, in this river,” you say shakily, trying to gather your thoughts enough to speak. “It’s happened before, years ago. We were training with swords, aiming to improve my skills. Here, on this very grass. I lost my footing, and fell into these waters, clumsy as I had never been before. You asked me what had me so distracted, and so in a moment of boldness, I confessed—the way the sun caught in your hair had blinded me to the movements of your blade. You scolded me terribly for risking such injury at your hand. And then... Then, you kissed me.”

Your voice had softened as you spoke, and so did her gaze. Gradually, she lowers her knife until it is returned to her hip, a great breath of relief leaving her.

“Oh, my love,” she murmurs, her tear-filled eyes falling shut as she leans her forehead against yours. Your heart aches at the sight of her so weakened, moreso than you have ever seen her before.

“Galadriel,” you breathe out, your hand cupping her cheek with the most gentle touch. “My love, what has happened to you?”

She shakes her head, pulling away to meet your gaze with her pained one. “I have put you in such danger!” she says, voice quiet but filled with despair. You frown, still unable to grasp her meaning.

“There is no danger here,” you reassure her. “All is well.”

“If only that were true,” she’s quick to counter. Her face darkens, hands firmly on your shoulders as she looks you in the eye with the gravest of expressions. “Listen to me. For your sake, you must never speak with Halbrand again. You must never so much as stand near him!”

“Halbrand? But... why? He is but a man. Our friend—”

“No!” she all but shrieks, frightening you once again. She takes your hand from her face, cradling it to her heart in a grip so desperately tight it hurts. “I beg you, do not ask me why. But please, do as I say. Trust me, as you always have.” Tears slip down her cheeks, her voice trembling. “I cannot lose you as well. I will not.”

“Galadriel,” you say softly, as soothingly as you can muster through your own fearful confusion. “My love, breathe.”

To your relief, she does—in and out, and then again, her gaze linked with yours as her grip on your hand finally loosens. You shift it gently so that your palm is over her rampant heart, willing it to slow to a peaceful beat once more. “All right,” you agree, though you don’t know the reason. All that matters is that she is well. “All right, I will do as you say. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your promise seems to bring her some relief, but it is plain to see that she is still far from calm. She takes your face in her hands then, and presses her lips to yours with a deep, scorching need, as if to convince herself beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are solid and real. You let her, fingers tangling in her damp tresses as you return her kiss.

Later, you will seek the answers to your questions. For now, you can only offer her the comfort of your embrace and the promise she begs of you to make, trusting blindly in the one you love.

[hello-nichya-here]

one quick glance at your profile tells me that you are, like most zutara antis, a pickme woman with internalized misogyny. praying you finally wake up and see the light one day sis.

"You don't agree with my basic bitch opinion, about something completely personal and insignificant to society as a whole, that I've deluded myself into thinking is revolutionary and world-changing stuff, therefore you're a bad woman who is womaning wrong!" Let me guess: RadFem?

Go outside, touch some grass, get a real problem and a real personality too. Maybe you'll meet a real feminist on the way. Who knows, maybe you'll even meet an actual misogynist and find out what real hate towards women looks like, instead of just "I don't like this boring ship between the two characters that spent 90% of the show not giving a damn about each other."

Also there's no need to hide behind "pickme woman", we all know you mean "slut who doesn't know her place" like every misogynistic incel ever because zutarians are infamous for being incredibly sexist behind their fake-ass "feminism" that begins and ends with "Everyone needs to agree with me at all times, because I'm a woman."

[jaskierx]

Every time I see some Taika slander on this app, I block. And I don’t even care about him because I have no clue how he is in real life, but I have enough of the bullshit. Taika is a Zionist? Block. Taika’s fault for whatever-pick-anything? Block. Taika is an evil man? Block. Taika doesn’t do enough to promote ofmd? Block. Taika did this and that in his private life? One, how the fuck would you know, random person who lives in Germany? Keep your nose out of his goddamn business. Second. BLOCK. Let’s celebrate Taika’s shows ending one after the other? You guessed it. Block. Someone literally said Taika’s ancestors are rolling in their grave in shame. Bloooocccckkkkk.

I have no words, this is vile. And this public character assassination has gone on for way too long, from medias and randos on the internet alike.

Those people who gloat and say the most horrendous things need to get off their moral high horse, clean in front of their doorstep and go outside to touch some grass. I don’t know why they’re so spiteful but they need to heal their soul. They’re keyboard activists that are looking for trends to be mad about so they can pretend to care and be morally superior. And then they can harass others. They don’t care and they can’t fool me and they can fuck off. Blockity block block block.

God… I got heated real quick. Sorry about that. But for real, I hope he stays the hell away from social media.

yeah i've blocked literally dozens of people in the last 30ish hours and the vast majority are people who have never watched ofmd who decided to go into the tag and post about how happy they are that the 'racist tv show' that's 'run by zionists' is cancelled and 'the zionists' are now 'unemployed'. or people who are casual fans of ofmd who were like 'meh s2 was bad and you could tell taika was bored of it'

it's just so fucking stupid. i hate this whole mentality that people are either 100% perfect and morally pure or they're evil and every bad thing that happens to them should be celebrated. i hate that people are so desperate to blame taika when the show wouldn't fucking exist without him. i hate that people are so confidently stating shit like 'david should've known taika couldn't commit for 3 seasons' like fuck that parasocial ass shit you don't know any of these people! imagine if it was the other way around and the cast started posting shit on twitter like 'lol lyse jaskierx should lose her job bc i can tell she's bored of spreadsheets'. it's ridiculous

[the-s1lly-corner]

Heyy me again so about the creepypasta thing, I just wondered if you can do Ben drowned with a gen z reader platonically? It's okay if your uncomfortable doing it ><

Ben drowned x gen z!reader (platonic!)

not uncomfortable at all! love that im getting ben drowned requests since i enjoy him a lot and kind of want to write for him more; just strictly platonic ..which reminds me, i need to draw him again soon! gonna answer this then take a break and get back to requests yipe!

admin is still sold on the idea of ben being confined to electronics most of the time so i can easily see him gaining access to your devices so he can pester you whenever he wants; though this may get a little annoying since youre... well still alive! you have a life

whether or not the reader is a creepypasta themselves or is a normal person is up to you! i think both can work, though i must say the idea of the reader being just some random person is really funny. like can you imagine? you get some haunted virus but the ghost is chill an you guys become friends

i do think ben can only mess with devices, i dont think he can mess with like. any internet browser stuff.... which segways me to my next idea; the og creepypasta came out in 2010, majoras mask came out in 2000, so putting it in the middle lets say ben died in 2005.. bro has missed a lot. youre going to have to fill him in on a lot of stuff, and boy let me tell you hes going to be going nuts

tell him about the new legend of zelda games. i think he would be hyped. throwing admins hc of ben being sick and tired of LOZ due to being trapped in the game out the window, admin needs this boy to get joyous!

he probably pesters you and asks you about the dumbest shit, does it on purpose because he thinks its funny

sometimes you guys play video games together, bro is absolutely astounded by how far games have come since he passed away. i think he would go insane over five nights at freddys. fill him in on the lore

going back on the video game stuff and playing together, just know that hes going to break the game and cheat + hes a sore loser, soooooooo...

do you think sometimes he comes and tries to spend time with you more and more over time because hes been stuck for years and hasnt really had many people to talk to? like yeah hes an angry spirit, but even angry spirits deserve friends!!!

ponders

probably messes with you by messing with your recordings if youre trying to make a video/tiktok/reel/what have you

probably interjects his own texts into your posts, never really says anything harmful, just messes with spelling or adds dumb messages

honestly its not your SM account/blog, its yalls shared account/blog now/j

stuck with old 2000s humor but i think he would absolutely love present day humor and how unhinged its gotten, though quick warning hes going to start quoting stuff

definitely quotes the sticking out your gyatt thing, hes going to drive you insane with it and hes going to laugh at you

do not play roblox tycoons with him hes going to bully small children

you guys play a horror game together on roblox and you can hear him freaking out through the speakers (likely using an old device for him so youre not fighting for control over one device)

absolutely DEVASTED when you tell him club penguin shut down

just know hes punching the metaphorical wall

on the rare chance ben is able to pull himself into the real world for a brief period of time, you guys probably do the same stuff hes just physically there for a short time!

make him touch grass while hes out, bro hasnt touched grass in nearly 20 years. this isnt even a haha "hes chronically online" joke, he hasnt actually touched grass in years due to circumstances

closing this with a hit of angst that made me go :( but imagine that it starts out as you guys being around the same age (well... close enough, since ben doesnt age anymore due to being a ghost) but overtime, you obviously grow up and have less and less time for him and :(

like owie

"what happened to us? we used to be best friends?" audio but its you two SOBS AND CRIES

[tintinwrites]

almost in your arms | Din Djarin x Reader

A/N: I’ve been in such a Din mood!!

Rating: T, it only gets implied spicy

Warning: Reader is gender neutral, no pronouns or specific body parts mentioned! Canon-typical action. Suggestive material. Helmetless!Mando. A bit of angst ok

Word Count: 1,599, apparently!!

Summary: Din enjoys a summer day with you.

GIF Credit: ^^^^

The grass was yellow from its time in the glaring sun with a lack of water, but it was still soft and pliable enough that the light breeze that ran across it could easily bend it out of its way. Trees dotted around the wide, open field were a stark green in contrast, but they, too, had to oblige and let the wind rustle their leaves.

A tiny chorus of birds chirped from a branch nearby, met by a louder, more songlike chirp; a mother, quieting her inexperienced young with mouthfuls of food. Aside from birdsong and rustled plantlife, there wasn’t a sound to be heard.

Din had no reason to be alert, but he was. The nearly wheat like-grass — its resemblance in color and seed could not forgive its, at best, ankle height — was all that could be pictured as far as the eye could see, with a tree here or a resilient smattering of wildflowers there. No one could possibly sneak up on him here. No creature could hide, nor could a human step lightly enough to go unheard.

Yet still, he listened closely and let his gaze roam every inch of the expansive field.

Suddenly he heard the sound of grass being crunched beneath someone’s boot, but he couldn’t fully turn around before there was a grip around his neck and a weight slamming against his back that had him falling forward.

He grunted as he hit the ground, but he was quick enough to fling off his assailant before they could pin him fully, turning onto his back. He grabbed onto an ankle and started to drag the body towards him, but the other foot came to kick him in the crook of his arm and his reflexes demanded that his fingers release their grip.

He made another swipe, but strong legs wrapped around his upper arm and yanked, sending him face first into grass and dirt again. He felt weight crawling over his shoulders and onto his back, hands under his ribs trying to flip him over. He struggled a bit onto his hands and knees and heard a yelp as the weight went tumbling off him.

This time, despite finding himself a bit worn out, he pinned a wrist to the ground to keep his attacker from gathering their bearings and getting up. He used said wrist to flip the person onto their front, twisting an arm behind a back and straddling their hips.

The wriggling in an attempt at freedom nearly made him laugh, but he pressed his lips tightly together.

After a moment the body under him went still and he heard panting of exhaustion.

“You give up?”

No response, too prideful and dignified, but the free hand came up to blindly pat the side of his thigh.

He grinned to himself and released your arm, swinging his leg up to move off of you. He just sat in the grass, supported by his hands behind him, watching as you sat up with a pout and rubbed your arm.

“It’s definitely broken.” You stretched it out and winced.

“It’s just stiff, I barely bent it.” He would never twist your arm far enough to injure you; he’d stop before he even felt any resistance, not wanting to push its mobility. “I go easy on you. A real attacker wouldn’t care if they broke your arm.”

“I’m starting to think you don’t care either.” You didn’t mean it, he knew you were just sad that you still couldn’t best him. He’d been training you here and there for a while and you were obviously a skilled fighter, but he had years of experience.

He relented with a sigh. “Would it help if I told you that you nearly got me a couple times?”

“Yes!” You immediately smiled at him, then your face softened and you moved closer to him, brushing some dirt off his nose.

He leaned into your touch like he always did, like it was the first time he’d felt it as if he hadn’t married you all those months ago where he first felt the gentleness of your fingertips. He couldn’t help it; being touched could never get old when one lived without it for as long as he did.

But you touched him every day because you loved it too. With you, he was safe. He could feel hands on his skin, the sun warming his cheeks, the breeze messing with his hair.

And lips, there on his temple, soft and loving, with your voice murmuring against it teasingly, “I was too rough with you, old man.”

“Only because I let you,” he teased back in that nearly serious tone he’d long perfected.

You sighed dramatically and started to pull away with a fake pout, but he quickly grabbed you back and kissed you fully on the lips. It didn’t take long for you to melt into his chest, it never did.

You shared a few kisses there with nothing between you but clothes. No helmet, no armor, just scraps of cloth because it was just the two of you and no one would come to bother you.

Each kiss became gentler than the last until you both needed to really breathe, and you just sat there halfway in his lap with your arms around his neck, smiling at each other.

“You look cute after I fight you.” A blush would still spread across his cheeks when you complimented his appearance, he was so unused to it.

“I never look cute.” He scowled to save face like you didn’t know him so well now.

“No, really! When you’re all sweaty and your hair’s a mess and you remind me how big and strong you are…” Your gaze had a darkness to it that he’d become familiar with. “It really gets me going.”

“Here?” That blush could be seen from his neck to his ears, and probably lower beneath his clothes.

You shrugged, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “We could go back to the house, but doesn’t it seem so far away?”

He was on you in an instant, pinning you beneath a tree, and he delighted in the laugh that escaped you as you hit the ground. He matched your grin with his own before he met your eyes, slowly leaning in for a kiss.

But something green distracted him and he looked up to see Grogu peeking from behind the tree, letting out a happy coo when he saw his father. “Come on, kid…”

You furrowed your brow before craning your neck to see the little guy and you laughed, sitting up as Din begrudgingly slid off you. “Oh, you little devil! You were napping!” You moved onto your knees and pulled the baby into your lap once he toddled over to you.

The house was hidden perfectly behind one of the trees, so you weren’t too far should he have needed you.

He was too curious about what the two of you were doing to stay put when he woke up from his nap, evidently.

While Din was a little disappointed that you were interrupted, he watched fondly as the little guy that became his son cooed at you, trying to hold a conversation with his unintelligible babbles while you listened intently as if you understood every word.

“Mando?” He lifted his gaze to find you were now staring at him.

“You know you can call me Din now.” He smiled a bit at your strangeness, but it faltered when you just kept staring.

“Mando, wake up.” Your voice sounded close, like you were speaking into his ear. But you were still sitting across from him.

“What?” The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck prickled as everything started to blur around the edges, turning black. He called your name, scrambling to his feet, trying to grab onto you and Grogu as you faded. “Wait!”

“Mando!”

He woke up with a start and found you stumbling with a gasp into the control panel of the ship, staring at him with wide eyes. You were muted through the visor of his helmet, there was no sun or hands on his face…just the pressure of his helmet.

No birds. Just the hum of the ship, where he’d fallen asleep in the cockpit like usual.

“That must have been some nightmare…you almost took me out with your helmet.” You moved back to him now that you weren’t in danger of a concussion, smiling.

“Yeah…nightmare…” he said distantly, realizing that he’d been dreaming and he was still in all his armor and you were just his companion.

“I was just coming to ask how long it’ll be until we get there.”

It took him a moment to fully come back to himself. “Where?”

“To get the quarry…?”

“...right.” He leaned forward to look at the coordinates for a moment. “We’re less than an hour out. We’ll…we’ll find something to eat too.”

“Oh, good. You know, Grogu found some bolt that fell off something and tried to eat it? Part of me thinks he took it off something himself.” You were leaving the cockpit as you told him this with amusement, and he turned to just watch as you disappeared.

The dream felt so real, like he really did allow himself to get closer to you, to let his feelings grow, to marry someone like you, to settle down somewhere quiet and peaceful…but he knew the truth. He knew his fate.

A life like that would only ever be a dream for him.

[thevegandarkelf]

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Eleven

Masterlist

AO3 link

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, panic attacks, mention of scars, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family & bestie (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

Sleeping Beauty (c) Disney, Wednesday Addams (c) Charles Addams

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing, mention of scars, canonical violence (walker killings), a sex toy is used as a weapon

Word count: 2.7k

It was bright and early the following morning when Daryl came knocking on my bedroom door, insisting that we get moving early to make sure we got back before his afternoon watch. “Ok, gimme five minutes,” I croaked, my throat dry from mouth-breathing in my sleep. I grabbed some clothes out of one of my drawers and tossed them on my bed. There was a fitted jacket, one that would likely be used as workout attire, that I decided to wear as a shirt, another pair of black workout shorts, and my leg holsters for my weapons. I grabbed my backpack and packed my remaining weapons, my notebook, my water bottle, and some medical supplies.

I fluffed my hair a little and tied it up into a high ponytail. Even tied up, my hair still reached down to my mid-back. Having long hair gave me more confidence and made me feel more feminine, but since the world fell, it was more of a nuisance than anything. And it was cumbersome when it was wet. I often debated on just chopping it off, but I liked it far too much to do that.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” I said as I came down the stairs. Daryl was putting his boots on by the front door, his crossbow slung over his shoulder and a tumbler on the floor next to him. I went over and joined him, and he picked the tumbler up off the floor and handed it to me.

“This yours,” he said, holding the tumbler of what I presumed to be coffee out to me. I reached out and grabbed it, our fingers lightly touching as I placed my hand below his on the cup. I let my fingers linger there for just a moment and made sure to brush his as I pulled away. I felt electricity shoot through my body as my fingers graced his.

“You’re sweet. Thank you.” This time, I know I saw a very faint shade of pink appear on his cheeks. I set the cup down long enough to put my boots on and follow him outside.

The air was crisp, cool, and I was thankful I had worn long sleeves. The path was damp, like it had rained the night before or this morning. And one of my favorite things—the dew that clung to the grass nearby—sparkled in the sun like glitter. Rosita was walking up the dirt path, carrying a basket of food from the garden in her arms.

“Good morning guys,” she said as Daryl walked past her. He just gave her a nod and a small “hey” and kept making his way to the front gate. She reached her arm out and grabbed mine to stop me. “Vector, can I talk to you for a second?”

“Uh, yeah, real quick 'cause I gotta skedaddle. What’s up?” She looked over my shoulder to make sure Daryl was far enough away and dropped her voice to a whisper.

“What’s going on here?” she asked, beaming. I rolled my eyes and huffed at her.

“I guess Rick wants us to go out on a run. At least that’s what Daryl told me. Also gonna try to find a prosthetic foot for Aaron for when he needs it,” I explained, also dropping my voice to a whisper.

“Sounds like you two have a long day ahead of you,” she replied, “are you excited?”

I looked down at my feet and smiled, a faint blush of pink gracing my cheeks. “I am. I just hope being stuck with me all day won’t annoy him, y’know?”

“Well if it does, you’ll know. So if it’s not obvious, you’re fine. Now go, you have a handsome archer waiting for you.” She started to turn away, then turned back. “Be sure to tell me all about it once you’re back.” I nodded and jogged off to catch up with Daryl, who was already at the front waiting on me.

“So what did Rick want us to go out for?” I asked as I buckled myself into the car.

“Said there’s some big ass grocery store nearby. Wants us to get what we can,” Daryl explained as he drove us out the front gates, “stock up ‘fore winter sets in and we can’t grow nothin’.”

“Ah, groshrees and a prosthetic foot. How exciting.” I could see him make a face in my peripheral.

“The hell’s “groshrees?” Ya don’t sound like no east coaster.” I stifled a chuckle and pulled down the sun visor in front of me, shifting it to the side window to keep the rising sun out of my eyes.

“That would be my Midwestern accent. I grew up in Ohio, close to the Michigan border. I say groceries like “groshrees” and wintertime like “winnertime.” Med school took me to the east coast.” I thought this would be a good segway into trying to get to know Daryl a little better. “What about you, Daryl? You sound like you’re from deeper south than Virginia.”

“Georgia,” he said, then quickly changing the subject back to me, like he already had his next question lined up, “what’s Doctors Without Borders?”

“Hmm?”

“When ya got here, ya told Rick somethin’ ‘bout wantin’ to join Doctors Without Borders, an’ he seemed impressed.” Of course, I was happy to answer just about any question he had, and I liked that he seemed to take a genuine interest in me and my life. But damn, he couldn’t even keep the subject on himself for two seconds, and it was starting to get a little frustrating.

“Oh, yeah, it was a non-profit that sent doctors around the world to provide medical care in areas where people needed it. Places with rampant diseases they couldn’t keep under control, war-torn countries, places where people had experienced natural disasters and such.”

I looked over at him and studied his features as I kept talking. He had his eyes focused ahead of him on the road, but I could picture them perfectly, those gorgeous pools of cerulean blue. Even though he was paying attention to the road, as he should, I could tell he was actively listening, genuinely curious and taking in every single word I said. He always did. “I wanted to get a few years of practice in after residency before joining. But instead, the world fell. Guess I was destined to end up in a war zone regardless.”

“Selfless as hell. Not somethin’ most people’d do,” Daryl replied, this time turning to me for just a second, gracing my face with his beautiful eyes, followed by a very, very tiny smile that tugged at one of the corners of his mouth. Our eyes locked for just a moment, and in just that one moment, my knees became weak and my heart rate increased. He truly was beautiful.

“Thank you.” This time, I was determined to get something out of him. “Alright, enough about me. You gotta give me some more info about you,” I said, propping my right foot up on my seat and wrapping my arms around my leg.

“Why?”

“Because you have asked me a million questions about myself in the last few days, and I’m gettin’ real sick and tired of hearing my own voice,” I explained, offering him a soft smile, “you are one mysterious human being, and I want to get to know you. We’re friends, right?” I scratched at the side of my thumb with my index finger. “I hope. Plus, I don’t wanna be a nuisance by just going on and on and on.”

“If I thought ya’s annoyin’, I wouldn’ta kept talkin’ to ya or brought ya along,” he said in an attempt to offer some reassurance.

“But still, I would like to know more about you. So let me do the asking, and you do the talking. Please.” To my surprise, the car slowly rolled to a stop, and he turned once again to meet my gaze, this time for longer. New butterflies in my stomach were starting to break out of their chrysalids. “I won’t get too personal I promise. Unless you want me to.” I gave him a flirtatious smirk, and I saw that small smile pull at the corner of his mouth again.

“Fine,” Daryl said, breaking eye contact and starting down the road again, “only cause ya asked so nicely.”

I had to take a second before I started speaking again. What had just happened? Was there tension in the air there? Did I imagine it? Was he being flirtatious back? Or was I imagining that as well? My head was spinning, and I had to take a couple of deep, but quiet, breaths to slow my heart rate down.

“What did you do before all of this?” I asked, then remembering that I had asked that question on our first run and he didn’t seem very receptive to it, “oh shit, I asked you that before. If it’s a touchy subject, you don’t have to answer it.” My rough-and-tumble redneck companion was quiet for a moment, and I was trying to come up with my next question when he answered.

“Nah, you’re good.” He pondered for a moment, choosing his words carefully to perfectly craft his answer. “I was just existin’. Floatin’ through life. Wake up every mornin’, and whatever Merle said we was doin's what we did.”

He mentioned someone’s name. Progress.

“Who’s Merle?” I asked. I continued scratching at the side of my thumb with my index finger in an attempt to quell my anxiety. It was never painful, never enough to break skin, but it was enough to be a distraction from my feelings of unease.

“He’s mah brother.” I didn’t know whether the “he’s” was supposed to be he is or he was, but I decided not to prod further on that.

“Is he like you?”

“Whadaya mean?” I hadn’t quite thought this far ahead.

“Y’know, like…easy to talk to, pleasant to be around, things like that,” I said. He scoffed at my remark.

“Guy was a jackass. Righteous prick. Bit of a creep. You wouldn’ta liked ‘im.” The “was” clarified for me that he was either dead, or Daryl didn’t know where he was.

“Do you think he would've liked me?" I bit the inside of my bottom lip. Jesus Vec, why’d you ask that? What does it matter?

"Merle? Yeah, he'da liked ya. Probably a lil' too much,” Daryl replied. I felt my body fight to physically recoil at the thought of what that could’ve meant, but I kept still.

"I could've taken him,” I said rather confidently. Daryl scoffed at me again.

"That's a lotta big talk comin' from someone so tiny,” he teased. I stuck my tongue out at him.

"Oh please. I've taken on people bigger than me before,” I elaborated, digging through the recesses of my brain for one of the stories where a man tried to fuck around with me and found out. I stretched my legs out and put my feet up on the dash, crossing one ankle over the other. “I once caught a man spiking my drink at a bar."

"What'dya do to ‘im?"

"I broke his nose...and his jaw...and his collarbone. Poor bastard didn't know whose drink he was messing with. Mama didn’t raise no bitch,” I said. Even though I could only see his side profile, I saw Daryl’s eyes widen just a little, and he had the tiniest smile on his face, like a proud parent.

"Nice. Didn't get arrested or nothin'?"

“Well, if he went to the cops to press charges on me, they’d eventually see the bar footage of him trying to drug me. Guess he didn’t want any smoke.” He took a turn down a random road, and I could see a building off in the distance with a tall sign in front of it, like the ones you see for gas stations on the side of highway exits. "Plus, he had like half a foot on me. I don’t think he wanted to admit that he got his ass beat by a woman much smaller than him.”

“Jackass had it comin’. Glad nothin’ happened to ya,” he said. I pulled the sleeves of my jacket up just a little and subtly rubbed at the scars on my right wrist.

“Me too,” I said, biting the inside of my lip. Nothing happened that time, sure, but what would he think if he found out about the time that something did? “But we’re going back to talking about you now. Your crossbow’s really cool. How did that become your weapon of choice?”

“Learned it when I was young. 's quiet, deadly, bolts easy ‘nough to come by."

“Did Merle teach you? Or your parents?” I saw his arms flex slightly, like he squeezed harder on the steering wheel for just a second, then stopped. Ok, no more bringing up Merle or his family. Got it, I said to myself, making a mental note of it.

“Taught m’self,” Daryl said, pulling into the tiny parking lot of the abandoned store that we’d be scavenging, “had to learn to hunt, quietest weapon I could find. Saved my ass more than once.”

“Well, it’s sick. Makes you look like a bonafide badass,” I complimented, swinging the car door open and letting myself out, “my brothers taught me how to fight, but that was it. Guess they figured it’d be the only skill I needed when the world was…normal.”

“I could teach ya,” Daryl responded, rather quickly, “I mean, if ya wanted. Should know how, just in case.” I folded my arms on the car's roof and rested my chin on them.

“Yeah, that…that would be cool. Thanks.” He was hunched over in the car, reaching for what I presumed to be his crossbow. I slung my bag over my shoulders. “Don’t think we’re finished here. I have more questions for you.” I shut my door, and he lifted his head back up and rolled his eyes at me. I gave him a smirk in response.

“Whatever,” he said, shutting his door and locking the car, shoving the keys in his back pocket. I swung my backpack around to my side, rummaging in it for a second. I could finally put my most unique weapon to use.

“Here we go,” I said, pulling the black vibrator out of my bag, “I can finally show you how I kill walkers with this thing.” He scoffed and pried the sliding glass doors open, stepping in first in front of me, crossbow ready to fire.

We tiptoed in slowly, waiting for the shuffling sounds of any walkers or people. At first, there was nothing, but after some more tiptoes from us, there were some walker moans and groans echoing from somewhere inside the store. We carefully scanned each aisle, rounding each corner with extreme caution. Daryl got one walker as we came around a corner towards the far end of the store, hitting it right between the eyes.

Even when he was doing something as grisly as killing walkers, he was still the most beautiful human I’d ever laid my eyes on.

We hit the opposite end of the store after cutting through the back area to check for people and make sure we were completely alone. There was one more walker, stumbling around in the back corner of the store, chomping its teeth at us as it sauntered closer. It was wearing a priest's collar.

“Well go on,” Daryl said, stepping out from in front of me to my side, “go get the Father.” I let out a small chuckle and approached the creature, vibrator in hand, the top piece fixated to smack it in the temple.

“‘Sup Daddy?” I joked, swinging the vibrator like a bat and smacking the thing upside the head before it could even try to reach for me. The side of its head was caved in. I leaned over next to it and gave it a few more good whacks in the skull until the moaning and groaning stopped. I wiped my weapon off on its pants and slipped it into the holster on my leg for my knife before looking back up at Daryl, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Told you it’s a good weapon.”

[cryinginthefkncorner]

Look, i know I’m about to kick a wasps nest, but I need to say it.

I don’t really care for fandom shipping discourse, I don’t take Sides religiously as both have good points, and ultimately I’m just anti-censorship…

…but that doesn’t mean I think the pro side is all right and the anti side is all wrong

Both sides harass the shit out of each other, both sides extremists are bad and need to go touch grass

But y’all also need nuance in these discussions your having

Because let me tell you, as someone who was groomed by multiple predators (one would go on to abuse me Irl for 7 years of my life btw, starting when I was a tween) because of fandom, the pro side of the debate has made it quite clear that they don’t actually care to understand the ramifications of the type of abuse I went through, or to actually listen to survivors of CSA who’s abuse occurred through fandom.

The pro side will be quick to point fingers at adults of kids in fandom, but the adults in charge of me were told by therapists I was seeing at the time that I was “being a normal tween” for believing I wanted to be in a relationship with an adult at 13/14. That I was “over dramatic and should be responsible for what happened” at the hands of this adult when I disclosed the first time about the abuse. I also got in trouble for the evidence of the grooming that was found by my parents, instead of them realizing I was being targeted by a creep.

Part of this was because I was a lonely, bullied, and ostracized kid.

It’s almost like sexual predators bank on adults failing to act and blaming young girls for the abuse. It’s almost like they’re right when they tell young girls that no one will believe them when they disclose. The pro side proves this too by how they justify their romanticization by pointing fingers at parents “not parenting kids” as if they can never do anything wrong, or miss the signs.

My parents missed the signs because they assumed a teenager (who was 17-18 when he started abusing 13 year old me) could not be a pedophile. They were happy their daughter “had finally found someone to talk to” because my own peers hated me and bullied me every chance they got at that age. To the point where I was actively suicidal for years.

All of this grooming happened because I dared to interact with the MLP fandom at 13. And trust me that fandom was filled with pedos at the peak of its popularity. Like I said multiple full grown men groomed and RPG’d in a sexual way with me, even after I disclosed my age. Because I dared to like pastel colored pony’s and I wrote some (PG-13) fanfic, and drew some fanart.

And trust me, I saw the romanticization of my own abuse in that fandom, and seeing it being defended still is disconcerting.

Like, an actual survivor saying “hey, please don’t portray the abuse that ruined my fucking life as a good thing please” shouldn’t make y’all so fucking mad. But it does. And it’s fucking weird.

I’m not going to name call or anything, won’t even tell you what you can or can’t post but just know I’m one of those people where if you are posting that crap and I stumble upon it, or are vocally defending your right to romanticize it, that I’m silently judging you.

And I’m just going to block you if you try to defend it on this post.

I’d say that if you want to avoid drama maybe just get a fucking sensitivity reader if your discussing CSA, and aren’t trying to romanticize it. But apparently sensitivity readers are just “enforcing censorship” or whatever so I know I’m just talking to the equivalent of a brick wall.

Before you bring up not reading this stuff- I don’t, I’m just kinda sick of a real problem in fandom being dismissed and victims being blamed for their abuse

Before you bring up Lolita as a “gotcha” defense- I have reading comprehension abilities, evidenced by how I have a minor in creative writing (which btw involves a metric fuck-ton of reading and discerning meaning and intentions of the author from those readings) Lolita was not defending predators, it’s meaning was twisted by people who want to defend grooming and csa, and since I can tell the difference between condemnation and romanticization, I’m sure a lot of people who share my opinions also can as well. Not everyone with “anti” opinions is uneducated like you think they are, some of us are just expressing why we have limits and why we find certain portrayal distasteful. If you think I’m still wrong i reccomend going back and reading the prologue in Lolita that you obviously skipped.

Before you say I’m advocating for censorship- I’m not, I’m just saying you don’t get to shout at abuse victims who were affected through fandom to shut up. Write insensitive portrayals of traumatizing shit, and then get upset when someone tells you your portrayal is making the traumatizing shit look like it’s a-okay. If you post something on this vein be prepared for someone to say that what you wrote is portraying harmful stereotypes (ie that CSA isn’t harmful if an often repeated myth, it’s akin to saying rape victims were “asking for it” because they were drunk).

Also I’ve never harassed anyone about this in my life, in fact the people who defend romanticization of my abuse are usually just blocked on site, because I just don’t want to deal with the shit-stirring that occurs.

And finally for those who think this is me being against harm reduction- I’m not against harm reduction, maybe these thing are harm reduction for awhile, but eventually, just like alcohol or painkillers, these little fanfic stories aren’t going to be enough for would-be predators forever. They will build up a tolerance where imagination and text isn’t enough anymore, and that’s when they start to actually do the real illegal shit.

If you have reading comprehension you’ll realize I’m am not saying fiction=reality, but to spell it out more clearly, the fiction isn’t making them offend, the inability for the fiction to be enough to get them off is what leads them to offend. It’s like someone who can’t get oxy turning to heroin out of desperation.

When the harm reduction doesn’t work anymore, is it really reducing harm, especially when the stuff they now turn to is the illegal stuff they were supposedly trying to “avoid” in the first place.

Anyway, that’s my thoughts on this shit, I’m tired of seeing it debated or people with the same trauma being told to shut up because the truth is inconvenient. I needed to just get it out.

Anyone who openly defends this crap in the notes or reblogs will be blocked.

[cinnamonest]

for the interaction requests (hope I'm doing this right!) Xiao + "Xiao, will you please take me outside? Please, please, please? I want to feel grass and see wildflowers and dip my feet in a stream. I miss the world."

Bless you anon my sweet boy

Also sorry if it's not quite right but I took it to be in like a whiny tone bc I love whiny darlings

---------

You didn't like the silence that followed. It told you, if nothing else, that your request was not going to be met with an immediate agreement. Not that you were expecting immediate agreement, but it was frustrating nonetheless.

You couldn't see his face, your back was pressed to his chest where you lay in bed, and even so, it was far too dark in this tiny, dreary room to see much anyway.

But he sat up nonetheless, looking down at you. You couldn't make out any displeasure, more of a neutral expression, which was a good start, you supposed. It wasn't that slight frown and narrowed eyes that usually indicated your request was outright upsetting. He looked downward, to the side, eyes avoiding contact with yours.

"I can make you a stream. In here."

You clenched your jaw. It was more or less the answer you were anticipating, and you certainly weren't expecting to have your wish granted, but you still had some hope there would be some consideration, that it wouldn't be met with immediate refusal or attempt to negotiate into something less.

You inhaled. Exhaled. Long and deep.

"I mean outside. The real world. Not the yard out there."

The abode had a brief grassy patch that surrounded this concrete slab of a room, but it was largely devoid of anything but dull grass that felt artificial to the touch, lacked moisture and sleekness. That was, on the very rare occasion you were even allowed to venture there. From what you understood, landforms of various kinds could be added and modified at will with the assistance of some spirit or another, so a stream was likely well within the realm of possibility. Still, you imagined it would have the same feeling of inauthenticity, and really, part of it was a matter of principle. You wanted to go outside, and seeing as you felt there was no reason why you shouldn't be able to, a familiar irritated persistence took hold.

"That wouldn't be any different from one I can have created in here," he replied. "I can get all of those things. You don't need to leave."

You huffed, letting your arm drape over your face, forearm covering your eyes. "It's different."

Your voice was a whine. You knew better than to do this, really. There was no need to start an inevitable conflict. Reasonably, you should just let it go, drop the matter entirely. But the frustration was simply too unbearable. It followed a pattern, frustration would build up over multiple incidents, until you finally caved to it, usually at inopportune moments.

The initial question created a tension in the tranquility, but the raise in volume and the change in your tone began to escalate that tension. It always did. Likewise, you could hear a rising frustration in his own voice, a shift in tone, beginning to get irritated and defensive.

"How?"

"The air is different," you grumbled. "Fresh air is..." You made a circular gesture with your other wrist, "special. Nothing feels the same. I can tell the difference."

"That's all in your head." He was quick to respond. "It is no different from the water and air in here."

Your fingers curled, you raised your arm just enough to show your eyes to look directly at him. "Would it really be that hard to just take me out? For five minutes? You can watch me. You could literally stand right there the whole time."

He folded his arms, eyes narrowing. His voice was a bit quieter as he responded. "We have been over this before. You already proved yourself untrustworthy with such an opportunity." His voice carried a tone of irritation and resentment, no doubt from thinking of the incident in question.

You exhaled another long, frustrated breath. It was true that you had had one prior opportunity, and essentially ruined it. It was early on, and looking back, you felt incredibly stupid for trying such a weak plan.

You'd reached a compromise and gone out into the wilderness, far away from any other humans, but conveniently an area where you thought you might be able to hide yourself within the nearby trees. You'd tried the only strategy you could think of. You had pulled, and he had actually fallen for, the 'what's that thing over there?' trick. He had turned to the direction you pointed in, taking a moment, responding with a 'what thing?' only to turn back and realize you had taken the momentary opportunity to run off. Not that you got very far, soon tackled to the ground in less than a minute, and immediately dragged back.

Predictably, the incident had been a sore subject ever since its occurrence (no doubt largely due to it being your default target for teasing and mocking when you felt like it), and it had been the first and last time you were ever allowed back into the real world.

You opened your mouth, but hesitated. You could feel an increasing tension. It was obvious you would not get what you wanted, and you knew that persisting beyond this point would do nothing but make both of you more upset.

You clamped your jaw shut, swallowed your frustration, and rolled over onto your stomach. Your voice was muffled as you spoke.

"Fine. Forget I asked."

A few more seconds passed in silence. There was a heavy weight to the quiet.

He sighed. "You can have what you want. You've merely convinced yourself to be discontent with anything less than your terms because you are stubborn."

But that alone broke your resolution to end the matter peacefully. The sentence made a burst of anger flare up in your chest. You bolted upright.

"Oh, I'm stubborn?" You couldn't help the raised volume to your voice, the way your eyes narrowed and your features contorted with annoyance. "You're calling me stubborn?"

His eyes widened, shifting slightly away from your outburst. His expression almost seemed surprised, as if genuinely caught off-guard by the statement. His eyebrows furrowed. "In what way am I stubborn?"

You glared, nose scrunching up. Your eyes narrowed. "Are you serious? Even trying to get you to consider anything I say is like arguing with a brick wall."

But rather than an immediate reply, he paused, looking back at you with a blank stare. "...What?"

You huffed, raising your hand up to rub at the bridge of your nose. "It's a saying. A colloquialism."

"It doesn't make sense. That's not possible."

"I— I know. That's the point."

"That's not animate. Nor sentient."

"I know! It—ugh!" You squeezed your eyes shut in frustration. "It means that arguing with you is pointless because you won't even budge. You don't compromise on anything."

He nodded. "Yes. I can't afford to be compromising with you. Your wants are careless and foolish. You would be harmed." After a pause, he added, "if you know it's pointless, why do you still try to argue so often?"

You clenched your jaw, buried your face in your hands, taking a moment to collect yourself. He had a way of infuriating you with that combination of bluntness and transparency, without saying much at all.

After a moment, you shuffled back, pulling the sheets away from your body, and raised one of your calves. The chain made a soft jingling noise as the movement caused it to swing. You gestured with your hand to the spot where the cusp was bound to your ankle, eyes half-lidded in an unamused, exasperated expression.

"And this?"

He paused. Looking at the binding, blinking. Eyes flickering back to your face, to the binding, them back to you again.

"I don't see what you mean."

You let out a deep exhale through your nostrils. Your fingers curled, grasping at the sheets. "You think," you let your leg fall back onto the mattress, shuffling to reposition yourself upright, speaking through clenched teeth, "that keeping someone locked in a tiny room for years and refusing to let them leave for five minutes," you leaned forward, "isn't stubborn?"

But he did not miss a beat. "That is different." He held out a hand in an explanatory gesture. "It's a matter of ensuring your well-being. Whereas you insist on making frivolous and unnecessary demands."

You opened your mouth to retort again, but fell silent. Your shoulders went slack, and you put a hand up to your forehead, rubbing at your temples.

This wasn't worth it. It never was. You let yourself fall back onto the mattress, and once again rolled over face-down, burying your face into the pillow.

"Just... forget it. Fine. Make it in here, I guess."

You waited for a reply, but were met with silence. Either he didn't know how to respond, or trying to provoke you into saying something more. Likely the former — if he just wanted you to continue, he would say so, always very direct, so much so you weren't certain he would even think to do otherwise.

"...Only if you apologize."

You turned your head to the side, just enough to look at him, but didn't sit up. "For what?"

"You have been hostile and unnecessarily aggressive."

You immediately turned your face back downward. "You're out of your mind."

He was quiet for a moment, but finally responded once more, voice a quiet, bitter grumble. "Then you will have to accept staying in here."

You didn't respond, but you supposed that, combined with your heavy exhale, was an answer in and of itself. You let your body go limp against the mattress. Getting into these spats was always so tiring.

He did have a point. You had almost never successfully persuaded him to do anything, so much so that trying often felt pointless. Maybe that was stubborn, but if so, you would gladly accept being stubborn.

You didn't make any move to do something petulant like squirm away or swat at him when he laid back down by your side, though. That would just lead to a whole new session of bickering, and you had had enough of that for one day. Or whatever unit of time could be used in a dark, windowless room.

[montywithchildhoodtrauma]

More SAMS & MAFS incorrect quotes becuse LUNAR!

Sun: Why would you give a knife to Puppet?! KC, shrugging: Puppet felt unsafe. Sun: Now I feel unsafe! KC: I’m sorry… KC: Would you like a knife?

Puppet: Hey, quick question. How petty am I allowed to be?

Monty: Yo! I heard you like reptiles, got any fun facts? Puppet: If a alligator eats your dad, they become your new dad. Monty: I... don't know how to respond to that...

Moon, probably: It's not ugly, just aesthetically challenged.

Monty: Can you be serious for five minutes? Lunar: My record is four, but I think I can do it.

Monty: Hey. Foxy: Hey? Monty: I can't sleep. :/ Foxy: I can. Goodnight.

Rays: Try not to roll your eyes at me. Moon: I don't have pupils.

Monty: You think that’s cringe? Moms around the world wait 9 months just to end up naming their kid Puppet. Puppet: Hey, fuck you.

Moon: Is… he meant to be on fire? Monty, staring at Pops on fire: No… not really. Moon: Are you going to do something about it? Monty: Hm… nah.

Monty: Yesterday, I watched Lunar try to eat a decorative rock from Earth's potted plant. Sun caught them, and told them they can't eat rocks. Lunar started whining something about no food being in the house before walking away.

Rays: slams down an absolute doorstopper of a tome I checked this out weeks ago for a bit of light reading. Monty: This is light?!

Foxy: Remember what I told you. Monty: Don’t be a cunt?

Monty, trying to flirt: So, you come around here often? Earth, confused: I mean, this is my house, so yeah.

Sun: If this plan goes down the drain, where should we regroup? Monty: The afterlife, I guess.

Moon: Earth, gather the others. We need to have another Sun-is-doing-something-stupid-again-and-we-have-to-stop-them-before-they-hurt-someone convention.

Monty: You bought a taco? Puppet: Yes. Monty: From the same truck that hit Lunar?! Puppet, with a mouthful of taco: Well, me starving ain't gonna help them.

Moon: So what do you have planned for the future? Lunar: Lunch. Moon: No, like long term. Lunar: Oh…um, dinner?

Eclipse, done with everything: I don’t think my death ray is working. I’m standing right in it, and I’m not dead yet.

Kidnapper: I have one of your friends. Puppet: Which one? I have three. Kidnapper: The loud, annoying, rowdy one who never shuts up. Puppet: Which one? I have three. Monty, distantly: HEY!!!

Monty: seductively takes off glasses Wow, you're… blurry. (I like to think their sunglasses are prescription)

Earth: Not gonna lie, I'm kind of afraid of Puppet… Monty: As you should be. Earth: No, for real, they're kind of- Monty: As. You. Should. Be.

The squad's reaction to being told they're the chosen one Monty: I'm going to let you down. Earth: Sounds fun? Puppet: K. Moon: No, I'm fucking not. Foxy: Do I have to be? Sun: Please god, I am so tired.

Rays: I don’t need to touch grass, I need the fall of capitalism.

Monty: You’ve got to learn to love yourself. Sun: But don't you hate yourself. Monty: Yeah, but this is about you. Stay focused.

Sun, on like 5% seeing a banana on the car seat: What the FUCK?? Sun, buckling the banana up: Fucking buckle UP, it’s the LAW!

Puppet: I’ve never smoked marijuana. I ate a brownie once at a party. It was intense. It was kind of indescribable. I felt like I was floating. Turns out there was no pot in the brownie. It was just an insanely good brownie.

Lunar: Puppet, what if there are monsters? Puppet: Don’t worry, we’re top of the food chain. Much later… Lunar, lying awake at night: I am the monster.

The squad is playing a team sport Earth: Are you upset you don’t get to be on the same team as Lunar? Rays: Have you ever played a game with Lunar? Earth: No… Rays: Have you ever been trapped in a cage with a wolverine? Meanwhile, on the other side of the field Lunar, chasing Sun: I SAID STOP FUCKING TALKING!! SHUT YOUR TRAP! COME HERE I'M GONNA PUNCH YOU!

Everyone is playing a board game together Foxy: I will put 'A' down to make 'A'. Earth: I will add onto your 'A' to make 'AT'. Monty: I will add onto your 'AT' to make 'RAT'. Moon: I will add onto your 'RAT' to make 'BIOSTRATAGRAPHIC'. Monty:... Earth: Oh dear Monty: flips the board

Foxy, at Monty's funeral: I need a moment with them. Pops: Of course. He leaves Foxy, leaning over Monty′s coffin: Okay, listen here you little shit. I know you’re not dead. Monty: Yeah, no shit.

Puppet: Are you listening to me? Monty, who's been zoned out since before the conversation started: nods Puppet: What did I just say? Monty: nods Puppet: …

KC: WHY DID YOU KILL HIM?! HE COULD HAVE HAD HOPES AND DREAMS, HE COULD HAVE HAD A FAMILY!!! Rays: KC- Rays: It- it was just an ant-

Foxy, to Puppet and Monty: holding knife out in front of them Are you or are you not an enemy of the people?! Puppet: … Monty: … Puppet: That is such an open-ended question. Monty: Yeah, it really depends on a lot of different factors-

Foxy: What’s it like being tall? Foxy: Is it nice? Foxy: Can you reach comfortably for the cupboards? Monty: We live in constant fear of the short ones who, in my experience, will climb 4 chairs, 2 boxes, a small coffee table and 6 oddly placed stools to get what they want. Lunar: It was one time!

The Squad is at Home Depot Lunar: Fell in the cacti display while wandering around the garden section Monty, Puppet, & Sun: Tokyo Drifting one of those flatbed carts down the aisles while Sun is screaming his head off, he wanted no part in this! Moon: Stealing paint chips for aesthetic purposes Rays: Just wanted some goddamn light bulbs and everyone ruined it Earth: In the car sleeping

Monty, to themself: I hate taking off my glasses, because without them, my vision goes from Full HD all the way down to buffering at 240p and I just can't handle that.

Monty: I just heard Lunar call the dog a “fucking liar” because he barked like someone was at the door and no one was there.

Monty: Just be careful, Lunar! Lunar: heading out the door I'm always careful, Monty! Lunar: It's everything around me that's careless.

Earth: I don't want to fight you! Moon: I wouldn't want you to fight me either!

Puppet: What’s something you guys are better than Monty at? Foxy: Mario Kart. Lunar: Yeah, video games. Earth: Emotional vulnerability.

Moon: I wasn’t that drunk. Sun: You colored my face with a highlighter because you said I was important. Moon: BECAUSE YOU ARE!

Lunaar: If I stay in bed I'll be warm. If I get in the shower, I'll also be warm. But the distance between the bed and shower? No. That is not warm.

Rays: That sounds like a terrible plan. Sun: Oh, we've had worse.

Monty: You know, studies show that keeping a ladder in the house is more dangerous than a loaded gun. Monty: That's why I own TEN guns. Monty: Just in case some maniac tries to sneak in with a ladder.

Foxy dies in a game with ships Puppet: This ship is no longer a ship of love, it's a ship of vengeance, a gavel of justice against all that is wrong in the world, showing no mercy, as no mercy was shown to us. Puppet: The spark of love will now fuel the fires of destructive glory as I wage my war across the world with righteous fury. Moon: Legend has it that Foxy still haunts the ship, stealing my fucking drinks. Foxy: Of course I do.

Puppet: It's locked. You got a lock pick? Monty: Yeah- Moon: kicks in the door

Monty: shatters a window and climbs through it Monty: turns around and helps Lunar through it Breaking and entering is wrong Lunar. Lunar: Okay.

Lunar: You gave me up, you let me down, you turned around, and deserted me. Eclipse: But did I make you cry? Lunar: cries on the spot Eclipse: …Shit.

Monty: Tired of just deserving better. Gonna start taking it by force.

[russkiy-mir]

Ashfur needs to get a life...

The Imposter: Squirrelflight, it's me, Brambestar! Squirrelflight: No, you are not Bramblestar. The Imposter: YES I AM! Squirrelflight: The real Bramblestar actually LOVES me. The Imposter: But you KNOW I love you, I got you that Smietana Sour Cream last month for our anniversary! Squirrelflight: One, Bramblestar knows I hate Polish Sour Cream, Two, our anniversary is in a week. The Imposter: Of course I know that! Because I love you very much! Squirrelflight: Why don't you go and get a life? The Imposter: But you are my life! Squirrelflight: GET RICK ROLLED. The Imposter: No, because that is less time with you! Squirrelflight: Well, let me just call the FBI real quick. The Imposter: There is nothing to arrest me for though. Squirrelflight: Yes there is... OMNICIDE. The Imposter: No...there is no reason to arrest me. The FBI wouldn't even arrest me, why would you want me to get arrested my love? Squirrelflight: If the FBI won't arrest you the KGB would... The Imposter: Squirrelflight, do you want to go and watch the stars tonight? Maybe we could talk this out? Squirrelflight: Ugh, you are not my mate, go get a life and touch grass.

[ritens]

[wf] Nothing Is As It Was 2. The New Blank Page

[previous | next]

“Is this real?” He asks the only question that comes to mind.

There’s something wet and slightly sharp scraping his cheek. Leander pushes it away instinctively, thinking he’d been asleep for so long that the doppelgangers are already having a go at his flesh. However, the curious “murrp!” causes him to drop the idea on the spot.

He opens his eyes and sees the sun rays lean through the branches of tall trees above him. He feels the grass on which he is laying and even hears tree leaves rattle in the wind. There also seems to be a trickling stream of water nearby. The scene seems surreal. It pushes him to sit up and have a better look around. But then the kavat plants itself down right in front of him, purposefully blocking the view.

“As real as it gets.” The feline replies. “Listen, the threads of time are thin and there is much you should know.”

The kavat waits for a pained exhale then continues. “This is the Earth of a parallel time. You are mortal here, and a war has recently concluded in the Origin System. I suggest you lay low while you figure out how things work.”

Leander nods. The kavat then stands up and circles around the man thoughtfully. It’s difficult to condense all the important information in a few sentences but an attempt has to be made.

“So the ship as you know it is gone. Your cousin Ria is also long gone.”

“A war?” the man mouths in disbelief, then lets out a nervous chuckle. “You’ve brought me here to die permanently?”

“Would remaining in the timeloop be better? Anyway, we are even now.” The feline stops circling the man to boop him on the cheek with its nose. Leander dares to touch the animal and strokes its surprisingly silky fur. He notices existential particles shift within the kavat like a water current, and this is when the realization hits him, that his mysterious savior might indeed have maybe a few minutes of life left.

“Who are you?” he finally asks.

“My name is Goere. We were friends in this timeline.” Goere introduces herself.

“Thank you, Goere.” Leander whispers as he gently pats the kavat between the ears. His hand goes through her.

Goere steps away from Leander. Both of them make note of Goere’s now rapidly disappearing form. And neither of them know what to do about it.

“Don’t be a hero, Leander. Stay in your Lane.” she says.

They stare at one another in uncomfortable silence, and in less than a minute the kavat fades into a sea green mass of energy before she ceases to exist entirely.

Just a moment later Leander shoots up to his feet and begins pacing back and forth. He is on Earth, a war has just ended but there are remnants of it, whatever they may be. He has free will, he can do whatever he wants now, but he has no idea what he wants, doesn’t know what he should be doing.

Before the man has the chance to really overthink it, the sound of running water manages to grasp his attention. It’s the stream nearby. He could try getting rid of the grime as a start. In the colosseum all he could do was get filthy. He is foul in every sense of the word. But he could fix it now that it’s an option.

Leander traipses through the forest in the direction of the source of water. He makes sure to touch every tree he passes by as though there’s a chance that everything might be fake after all. Instead the trunks of the trees are solid, the bark textured. Earth is magnificent. What a wonderful second first impression.

The body of water turns out to be bigger than he had expected. It’s not a quick little stream running through the rocks, rather a calm and steady river path. 

The man walks down to the bank of the river. Once within reach of water, he pulls off his well worn gloves, and squats down to touch the surface of the water. Chilly but not unpleasant. Good enough. He proceeds to peel off the layers of armor and clothing on him, and thinks about giving those a rinse as well.

The next hour he spends by sitting in the water with all of his ragged belongings. Occasionally he attempts to touch one of the small amphibian creatures surrounding him. Peculiar!

Once sufficiently clean, the man finally gets out of the river. Not without wrinkled fingers and blue lips, of course. He is feeling uncomfortable but refreshed at the same time. And somehow that is still one of the best things he has experienced so far.

The skies above are turning gray with clouds, and the mood shifts. A not so distant snap of twigs makes the ambience of the woods quite unfriendly. Leander then realizes that maybe satiating his need for some kind of hygiene wasn’t the smartest idea. He pays extra attention to the sounds of the area as he wrings out his soaking wet pieces of clothing. Then he throws on the bare minimum of the still insufficiently dry clothes, and runs toward a bunch of fallen trees to hide. One of the tree trunks turns out to be hollow and that’s where he crawls in to take cover.

There are footsteps and the occasional verbal exchange of incoherent words nearing Leander’s location. He listens to how the feet sink into the moss. Slow and heavy. They’re definitely bigger beings than him.

When they’re a good distance away, Leander peeks out of the hollow trunk of the tree to take a look at these beings. They turn out to be brute men dressed in dusty rags similar to that of his own. There’s odd golden bowls stuck to their faces, likely a design of the Orokin. Maybe it’s now possible to comfortably eat without using one's hands. Levitating telepathy bowls? But how could anyone see anything with a bowl in their face like that. Is it really a viable multitasking method?

Before he could continue pondering the meaning of the golden food bowls, one of the burly men turns around to glance in his direction and Leander ducks back into his hiding spot. They don’t look friendly and he’s not about to test that theory by being in their line of sight.

He continues to sit in the trunk near motionlessly if not for the shivers caused by the cold stick of the still wet clothes wrapping his person.

There’s something falling from the sky by now. Water. Rain. He sighs and furrows his brows. The rain acts as a layer of noise reduction and Leander is certain it's likely safe enough for him to get back out in the fray to collect the remainder of his belongings.

The man makes his way back to the riverbank. He puts on his thick chest armor and boots, then straps everything in place with a number of belts. He can’t remember how he obtained any of these things. It feels as though he was born wearing melee combat gear. But it doesn’t make sense. Suddenly he shakes his head again.

“Stop. Stop circling. We need to focus on the situation at hand. Which is… uh.“ Leander attempts to talk some sense into himself but quickly comes to the conclusion that there is no basis for this so-called ‘sense’. All thoughts then cease and he stares blankly ahead.

After standing still for a minute, he lifts a hand to his chin and thinks out loud “I should probably find a safe enough location to sleep in.”

“Somewhere with a roof.” He glances up at the gray sky. Rain immediately hits him in the eyes and he turns his face back down. It’s probably afternoon now. He’s not entirely sure what the current season could be, nor when the sun sets. The sooner he starts looking for a potential camping spot the better.

Walking along the river seems like an idea. Whether it’s a good or a bad one remains to be seen, but for now it’s an idea that Leander is going with. He treks in the same direction where the men with the golden bowls had gone, against the river’s flow.

The skies become increasingly darker with each hour, the clouds hiding any indication of a sunset but Leander continues walking. Now and then the man stops to stare at any animal that happens to cross his path. And starts sprinting when a vasca kavat comes at him hissing with bared fangs. Goere may have been snappy but at least she had good intentions. This one, however, has Leander return to being the prey.

He dashes through the rain deeper into the darkness of the forest, away from the river. He jumps over fallen trees, dodges low hanging branches, and ignores the sting of prickly bushes and oversized nettles which he may have brushed against in his rush. The feral kavat is relentless still, and evades all obstacles with relative ease.

At one point he runs through something like a makeshift fence, past a familiar golden sheen. He glances back to have a better look. It’s the burly men from earlier, now lying dead in the forest moss, wisps of red energy flowing out of their bodies. Moreso, he appears to be moving on a well worn and recently used path.

Leander stops.

He witnesses the kavat let out a harsh, piercing cry right as it reaches the dead bodies. Then it keels over seemingly from nothing.

The man continues walking backwards as he reaches for the swords holstered on his back, only to remember not packing them there in the first place. His blades remain at the river bed where he had gone for a swim.

“Horrible.” He mutters, turns around, and is knocked out cold by an unexpected fist to his temple. The last thing he sees are two red eyes staring down at him.

[previous | next]

[eurydicees]

things haikyuu in-canon sports fans would be insane about, an incomplete list in no particular order, compiled by me, a certified Real Life Sports Fan

*part two of this post

hinata and kageyama being on the same team in high school, being rivals in the v.league, and then joining each other on the national team ("i am foaming at the MOUTH it is literally DESTINY")

when they found out kenma sponsored hinata's time in brazil ("it's like if dan and phil sponsored messi to go to brazil for two years to train. yeah. that's fucking insane i cannot deal with this i'm quitting the kodzuken fandom")

when sakuatsu got together and became the worst kept secret in the v.league ("guys they're literally at each other's family holiday gatherings and sharing an apartment i'm connecting the dots i'm CONNECTING THEM" "you're so full of shit" "they're wearing MATCHING RINGS")

follow up: when sakuatsu actually for real for real hard launch their relationship ("DID YOU SEE THAT" "oh my god they're holding hands at the olympic opening ceremony i am so alone" "it was just the camera angle--oh my god no they're literally holding hands" "i hate them so much" "we knew this guys why are you freaking out did you not notice the matching gold rings from two years ago" "just let us have some fun" "and they were TEAMMATES!!!")

the all-star game. that's it. enough said. ("i'm hyperventilating rn i don't think i'm going to survive this" "who thought this was a good idea oh my god")

when hinata debuted in the v.league division 1, scoring an insane point on the adlers, after being completely unknown for the last several years ("i was worried about not starting barnes for this game but,,,, who the fuck IS this kid")

trying to figure out what has to happen for japan and argentina to play against each other in the fivb world championships ("guys they better play each other it would literally be SUCH a good game i NEED this to happen" "hakjdfhk i wouldn't know who to root for don't give me a crisis like that")

finding out about oikawa and kageyama middle/high school rivalry and then the ensuing discourse about the healthiness of a rivalry between a third year and a first year ("he's literally so problematic how can you stan" "oh my god touch some grass he was fifteen")

kageyama's olympic debut & his service aces against france ("how the fuck--" "that's my MAN" "get fucked france!")

atsumu vs kageyama discourse during tournaments ("if atsumu doesn't get the start i'm gonna riot" "kageyama is so much better though tf are you on do you want us to lose" "oh shut up you just think he's hot")

*after argentina's streak of wins against japan and before the olympic game* "ok ok ok but here's how japan can still win--" "i swear if your only plan is to make hinata do some miracle you're gonna lose to us real quick" "...um"

kenma helping promote the all star game ("i spend all my time playing persona 5 and i have never watched volleyball in my life but holy shit i think i've forgotten how to breathe i am WAY too invested in this" "i told you that you would like it!" "i hate it when you're right")

[oddygaul]

Quick Hits #1 - The Land Before Time, I Used to be Funny, Godzilla vs. Biollante

Okay, if I’m going to keep doing this with regularity, and use it as the journal it was intended to be and not a half-assed review blog, I really have to let myself do incredibly short writeups now and then, and not get hung up on trying to have Real Takes on everything. Quick hits! Here we go!

The Land Before Time

This was like, weaponized nostalgia for me. There’s the parts I expected to hit me like a truck, like Littlefoot’s mom dying and the scene where the T-Rex is battering down the walls of the big spiky tree. But then there were bits that fully activated every neuron in my brain that I didn’t even remember beforehand, like the way the sand is animated as Ducky’s egg rolls down the hill, Spike eating grass, or the iconic sequence of Littlefoot’s egg rolling away.

As is common with older children’s entertainment, I was pretty shocked how dark The Land Before Time was willing to get. It’s a weirdly common staple of kid’s movies to feature the death of a parent, but the sheer length of time Littlefoot is given to wallow in depression afterwards was pretty striking - this cute little dude is ready to give up and die for damn near half the movie’s runtime.

Also, the backgrounds are fucking lit - it looks like the Phyrexians brought the glistening oil through this place, god damn. I love it, though - it makes the environment really feel like a place out of time.

Now, I do love the approach contemporary dinosaur media takes to provide a more realistic view of the world dinosaurs would have inhabited. Seeing the creatures of Prehistoric Planet roam through an Earth not so different from our own puts things into perspective, and helps us understand how dinosaurs actually lived. But there’s a certain charm to the old-school approach of Land Before Time or Fantasia, with their blasted rockscapes and murky horizons. It makes the setting feel otherworldly, like the dinosaurs exist in a totally different, impenetrable reality, which is pretty intoxicating for the imagination of a child.

Stand By Me is an entire movie based around how seeing a corpse changed a group of kids. Meanwhile these mfs walk by corpses ten times a day and don’t give a fuck

I Used to be Funny

Loved all the acting and all the writing.

10/10 no notes

Godzilla vs. Biollante

This is probably my favorite of the old-school Zillas I’ve watched so far - a pretty perfect blend of camp and dope shit.

The human story is a bit of a mess - they touch on a lot of interesting themes, but never quite succeed in making them matter. It is also, however, absolutely chock-full of wild, memorable moments. The Saradian assassin dramatically showing up from off-screen nearly half a dozen times, the weirdly gormless, shades-wearing Colonel Gondo and his Big Damn Hero Moment with the bazooka, Demon Kogure’s baffling cameo, the kids in the Seasoning City Awakening Lab drawing their visions of Godzilla, hell, the totally unexplained psychic girl herself - a lot of weird shit happens in this movie.

Then the monster side is choice, too. I haven’t seen a better-looking suited Godzilla than this one - the movement is spot-on, and the catlike, double-fanged Godzilla manages to be menacing even in close-ups. Biollante is really great, too. I was sold already when she was just an imposing, eldritch rosebush, and then we get a whole crocodilian puppet, replete with dozens of swaying vines? Very cool.

Also, the soundtrack slaps.