#like sure i was an adult but how are you going to do that to kids no older than ten?

[bickbickbarnes]

I will never never understand Jews like this. Never. What do you MEAN a small group of “European” Jews? We’ll leave the part where no Jews are European- and have been continuously slaughtered by Europeans for not- and focus on the fact that Zionism has always been thing.

Jews in the west didn’t somehow negate Maimonides writing about Zionism. And you know what, it’s something Birnbaum acknowledged in his writing. He sure as hell didn’t think he was the first Zionist.

Plus- what do you MEAN they acknowledged “colonialism”. How the fuck do you think you get to sit at the adult table without acknowledging that colonialism had a fully different sociological meaning prior to the 1960s, and Herzl wasn’t going around using the word the same way you are now. That’s not a fucking admission of something that was redefined later on, my guy.

Also it’s less about “loyalty” to Israel- which is a fucking weird way to put it- and more loyalty to the concept that we GET self determination. That Jews have a right to self determination in our homeland- and that usually expresses itself in SOME form of a state.

Being Jewish and being against that is….fucking odd. It’s wacky. The rest of us are fucking confused (and by that I mean, you know, the 90 percent of us Jews who are Zionist) because that’s fucking OFF.

(Also some fucking idiot in the replies talking about how Zionism is close to “white pride” and how people who identify as Zionist should know the context it’s taken in. And like. Fuck you all the way to hell. Gentiles took a fully Jewish concept and demonized it with very little knowledge about it- and now think they get to redefine it because they have a few token Jewish idiots on their side. That’s not that same thing as pretending you don’t know what white pride is. I hate you all.)

Anyway. Antizionist Jews continue to disappoint on every level.

my local Jewish antizionist group keeps getting emails from very confused Jews trying to square the circle of how we can be Jewish without professing loyalty to Israel so i made some educational memes

i also made one for the Christians so they wouldn't feel left out :)

[munsonsmixtapes]

You'll Fit Right In

shy!eddie x fem!reader

summary: Eddie is super nervous to meet your parents, but it turns out he has nothing to worry about as they have the exact same interests that he does

cw: Eddie has anxiety

this is a request made by @bellasm3lla in a comment on this post

You and Eddie stand on the porch of your childhood home and you can see that he's panicking. This dinner has been planned for weeks now and he's super nervous to meet your parents. Adults aside from Wayne don't seem to like him because he plays DnD and they all seem to think he's some sort of devil incarnate even though that couldn't be further from the truth.

Eddie is nothing but sweet and kind and you really hoped other people were able to see that instead of listening to silly rumors. You've always seen him for who he is and know that your parents will love him.

You've tried to tell him that they're nothing but chill, but you totally understand why he's so anxious. You've tried multiple times to give him an out, but he wouldn't take it. He just told you that he could handle it and that he wanted to at least try before he gave up.

So you're knocking on the door as he's holding onto your other hand for dear life as he rests his chin on your shoulder, inching his face towards your neck to hide as the door opens.

But as soon as it opens, his ears pick on some music playing at a loud volume. He immediately recognizes the song as Gypsy by Dio. And that's when he pulls away from you just in time to see your mom's Metallica t-shirt. Now he suddenly doesn't know why he was so nervous.

Your mom is quick to pull him into a hug and he's quick to respond, squeezing her just as tight before she pulls away, a bright smile on her face.

"Oh, it's so lovely to meet you," she gushes as she pulls him into the house, you and your dad following.

"Sorry we're late, we were cleaning up our DnD session we had earlier," your dad apologizes and Eddie's head whips around to you, silently asking you why you hadn't told him about any of that. All you had said was that they were cool. But you had told him exactly what they were into and he would just tune you out because he had convinced himself that he hadn't wanted to hear it.

"You guys play DnD?" He asks, suddenly feeling all of his nerves melt away as your mom leads him into the living room where everything from their session was still set up.

"Every week. Do you play?" Does he play? Your dad might as well have asked him if he breathed.

"I do," Eddie nods. "I'm actually the DM of my own club."

"I knew I had a good feeling about you," your mom pinches his cheek. "Can I get you a drink, Eddie? We've got some beers in the fridge."

"Sure," Eddie nods and your parents get your drink order before they both disappear into the kitchen, leaving you and Eddie alone.

He leans over to you and you give him a knowing smile as you know exactly what he's going to say.

"You didn't tell me that your parents were so cool," he whispers and you just giggle in response.

"I actually did, but you wouldn't listen to me." Eddie just waves you off as your parents as your parents enter the living room once again with your drinks and all Eddie can think about it just how he's going to fit in there and that he really was nervous for no reason. Because there, he feels right at home.

[no-144444]

hi! i love your blog and i know this is kind of weird but just hear me out. do you remmeber the 'anything but f1' thing they did this year? what if oscar's topic was his girlfriends career and she was like a huge superstar on broadway and on the screen? and he like knew EVERYTHING and answered every question perfectly?

i hope you like this idea, if not, that's totally fine.

thank you ml xxx

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knowing me, knowing you- o.piastri

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a/n: thank you for requesting! sorry it took so long :)

summary: i suggest you look at the ask...

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

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Oscar was too warm and tired for this. He stood in front of a camera, smelling like hairspray and some sort of spray the makeup artist had put on his face, while he was asked all of the ‘Grill the Grid’ questions. 

“That’s it for ‘Grill the Grid’,” she explained. “But this year we have a new segment.”

“Oh yeah?” he questioned, his interest piqued. 

“Yeah, it’s called ‘Anything but F1’,” she smiled. “Your topic is Y/n Y/l/n’s career,” she chuckled. 

Oscar smiled. “This is going to be easy.”

“Will she kill you if you don’t get full marks?” she laughed. 

Oscar pondered. “Probably not?” 

“Alright then. Ready? Pressure is on.”

He nodded. 

“What was Y/l/n’s first role on Broadway?” 

“Matilda,” he nodded. Y/n Y/l/n, his girlfriend, you, also an EGOT winning actor, the youngest there’s ever been. 

“Correct! How old was Y/l/n when she made her Broadway debut?”

“Well, she was 8 in Matilda on the West End and did 2 years of that, so 10?” he answered. 

“Correct! How old was she when she played Sally Bowles, making her the youngest to have ever played her on a Broadway stage?” 

“She was 17.”

“Correct! How old was she when she got her first Tony?” 

“11 years old.”

“Correct!” she smiled. “What Disney princess did she play?” 

“Huh?” he questioned, not knowing that you’d voiced a disney princess. “She’s voiced a Disney princess?” 

She nodded. 

“In a Disney film?”

She nodded again. “Think about it.”

“Does she sing in it?”

“The princess does sing,” she explained. “But Y/l/n did also write a song for it.”

Oscar was stumped. “Can I come back to it?” 

“Sure,” she shrugged, moving on to the next one. “What was her first feature film?”

“Lés Mis,” he answered. “She played Cosette.”

“Correct! What happened at the 2013 oscars?”

Oscar chuckled. “I think Jennifer Lawrence fell over and took Y/n with her?”

“Correct! What is her most streamed song?”

“Does this include recordings she was a part of or just her solo career or the band too?”

“One of those is fine, but if you can give me an answer for all though, we’ll give you an extra point.”

“So,” he started explaining. “Y/n’s most streamed solo single is probably American Teenager, her most streamed band single is probably BABY SAID, and her most streamed cast recording was probably Wicked, or Hadestown.”

“Correct, and it is Wicked.”

As he explained his answers, his trainer and others in the room started to laugh. He knew everything about you. He was so down-bad it was almost embarrassing, but they understood it anyway. You’d been together since you were 14, you were 23 now. You get to know a lot about a person in 9 years, especially from teenage years to being a young adult. 

“What record did she break by winning an Oscar in 2018?” 

Oscar smirked and winked at the camera. “She’s the youngest person ever to gain an EGOT.”

“What school did she teach at in her early years?”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “How old was she?”

“Ages 8-12, she taught here on and off, and not many people know about it since she didn’t go into that field of the arts.”

He groaned, trying desperately to think. “The Royal Ballet in London!” He exclaimed, finally remembering. 

“Correct! Next question, how many Tony awards does she have?”

“Oh shit they’re on the mantel at home…” he muttered to himself, trying to count them in his head. “5?”

“Correct. Who has more trophies?”

Oscar chuckled. “I have more trophies, but she has more awards.”

“Alright, how many Emmys does she have?”

“1, which she won this year for her role in the Bear.” 

“Correct, how many Broadway or West End shows has she been a part of? You get a bonus point for naming them all.”

“Oh alright, so Matilda, Annie, Into the Woods, Hamilton, Heathers, Spring Awakening, Mamma Mia!, Moulin Rouge!, Cabaret, Six, Parade, Hadestown, Chicago, Wicked, and right now she’s doing Lés Miserables for the first time on a stage,” he explained. “So that was… 15?”

“Just one more?” she hinted. 

Oscar’s face fell. “What? What else has she done?” he asked out loud. “I said Wicked?”

She nodded. 

“Did I say Mamma Mia!?” 

She nodded. 

“Did I say Phantom of the Opera?”

“No, you didn't! Congratulations, bonus point awarded. What has she said is her dream role?”

He took a deep breath. “It’s going to be really bad if I get this wrong, isn’t it? Alright, so, she has always wanted to play Ms. Honey in Matilda,” he watched as the interviewer shook her head. “Shit, alright. Any hints?”

“She said it would be the only way to get her back into a specific show,” she hinted. 

“Oh! Emcee!” he cheered. “God, how could I forget that?”

“Well done! Alright, one final question, what song did she sing at the 2023 grammy awards, where she debuted her first single after ‘LISTEN’, her band, went on hiatus?”

He smirked. He was there for that performance. He was sitting in the crowd as you sang. He got to take you home and congratulate you. He got to be the proud boyfriend all night. He loved it. It was one of his most fond memories. “She sang ‘That’s So True’. I was there.”

“The infamous kiss picture,” she winked at him. He nodded, a smug smile on his face. “So, going back to the other question, what Disney princess did Y/l/n play?” 

“Oh shit yeah, it was animated, yeah?”  

“Not necessarily,” she hinted. 

“Ariel!” he exclaimed. “Ariel, of course!”

She chuckled. “Congratulations, you know the most about Y/n Y/l/n’s career out of anyone I’ve ever met.”

“One would hope,” he chuckled.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[unforth]

I keep seeing posts comparing this to 2004 or other past election losses and how this feels the same or similar to those past times.

As another Old who voted in 2004 (and I missed voting in 2000 by a month and was furious about it) I really can't even put into words how vehemently I disagree.

In 2008, I remember very earnestly sitting down with some friends and saying that if somehow McCain beat Obama, I'd have to join the fucking revolution, because I couldn't believe that this country would elect a Republican AGAIN after the previous 8 years of bullshit. I look back now and think how incredibly naive I was, but I also look back now and think, damn, why aren't I 25 NOW? I can't join the revolution now, I'm 41 and I own a house and have two young children and one old parent depending on me.

Because honestly, truly, as someone who has been studying American history since I was 7, as a Civil War buff with expertise on the years before the Civil War, as someone who has at least some memories of every election since 1988... guys, this isn't the same as 2004. I was furious then. Swift Boat bullshit I swear to fucking dog. And I was and still am fairly convinced that the 2000 election was deliberately stolen. But also I still had every reason then to believe in the rule of law.

In 2004, I still believed term limits would be respected.

In 2004, I still believed a person who wasn't elected would demure gracefully to the winner.

In 2004, I still trusted the courts.

In 2004, I still believed that we'd made progress on bigotry.

I could go on, and to be clear, my point isn't "I thought these institutions were ~good~" in literally any objective sense. Y'all are cynical but my generation was raised by, surrounded by, Vietnam vets and trust me, there was no way to be a kid, seeing what the 70s did to this country, and not come out as cynical and furious as the best of um. (My grandfather was a World War 2 vet, as were his close friends. My father and both his brothers are Vietnam vets, tho my dad didn't go overseas.) But I did believe that even corrupt institutions, even broken racist systems, even fucking Republicans, would follow basic norms of democracy. They said they believed in the constitution and I believed them. I believed that, like Nixon, truly getting caught doing something insane would at least force a mea culpa and turn public opinion. I believed...

Well, I guess it doesn't matter.

Because I no longer believe any of that.

I have watched the guard rails disappear over my lifetime. I have watched the party who once spent 2 years pursuing a guy over a BJ in the oval office elect a convicted rapist. I have watched and at times I've participated and I've voted and I've organized and I've protested and I've read the news more days than not and I've lived and I've grown and I've learned.

I have been an adult, legally, for almost 24 years now.

Guys... there are no norms remaining on the far right. The guard rails are gone. The Fascists control the White House, the senate, the Supreme Court, and things aren't looking promising for the House.

The bus has no brakes anymore. They think they have a mandate - and I can't blame them, as horrifying as this mandate is, because if things had gone the other way and Harris had gotten these results I'd also think it was a mandate.

Please sit with what this means: Trump and the Republican party said, "hand us the reins and we'll make everyone you hate hurt," and more than half the people who bothered to vote said "sure buddy, here goes." We don't have a usurper this time. This is the country that the majority of Americans said they wanted. Whether they come to regret that or not, they saw open Fascism and went "oh yes, count me in." And it wasn't because of the electoral college this time. It was because this country is so bigoted and misogynistic that they'd rather have this than a woman of color in the office.

I'm sick of "well she didn't run a good campaign." (Lie.) I'm sick of, "well we didn't get a primary." (Who cares?) I'm *extremely* sick of "well, Palestine." (Yes! Democrats actions have made the suffering there so much worse! It fucking sucks! You know what's about to suck so much worse?)

15 million people who showed up for Joe Biden couldn't be fussed to place a vote for Kamala Harris. Whatever their reason for not voting, we all knew the outcome if she lost. And seeing open fascism didn't fire them up enough to make the effort, and that's fucking pathetic. The consequences of the worst happening mattered so little to them that they couldn't be fucking bothered to make the minimum effort to stop it, and now millions of people will suffer as a result.

Because here we are: the huge swathe of the country who wanted a strongman now have one.

Look, I don't know what happens next. But I do know, and remember keenly: after 2016, Trump did, or at least tried to do, most of the things he said he'd do. When he was stopped, it was often because of career government employees: judges, bureaucrats, etc. And this time, he's said he's going to purge those people. I don't know if he'll succeed, but I certainly believe he'll try.

This is not 2004 again.

This is 2024. The Republicans have ripped the mask to shreds, shredded apart the book of political norms, and empowered hate, and they've been handed a governmental mandate for stamped "have at with our blessing!" in exchange.

And now they'll use that mandate to make everyone they hate suffer: people of color, queer people, trans people, immigrants, non-Christians.

Don't assume the worst can't happen. I am a Jew, and I have a photo album full of black and white photos of dead people that constantly reminds me: the worst has happened and it can happen again.

Do not despair. Despair is enervating. Be furious. As we should be. These douche bags are repulsive. Be prepared to fight. Be prepared to flee. Be prepared to defend. Don't assume you simply can't do something. There's always something to do, and even the smallest act of defiance can help. There's never any knowing until after which acts of resistance will end up galvanizing the good and just out of their apathy. But that apathy is the enemy.

Because none of this is normal. None of this is "just like when..." Please stop saying it is.

And before anyone screams "privilege" at me, yes, I am in many ways. I'm white. I have access to some generational money even tho my own family lives paycheck to paycheck - we won't be rich but have enough of a support network to be comfortable. I live in a blue area of a blue state. But I'm also a woman (legally speaking, at least) married to another woman - since before Oberkfell, and yes I remember exactly what steps we had planned any time we wanted to leave our state. My wife has physical disabilities. We have two children. Both are biracial (half black). One is trans. We are caring for an elderly parent. I am Jewish and as my kids' birth parent, so are they. I own a publishing company that publishes the exact kinds of queer and kinky lit these people intend to ban. We tick so many boxes of what these people hate.

I know ya'll are scared. Trust me, I'm terrified. But fear is paralyzing. And that won't help. Whatever happens, don't lie down and take this shit.

When Gore lost I was one month shy of my 18th birthday and already in college. I have been fighting my entire adult life, and I'm exhausted. I'm much less able to fight now, much more tied down with responsibilities. But the fight isn't over. I'm checking our passports. I'm packing a go bag. I've convinced one vulnerable friend to move here and I have another who wants to and we're figuring out how to make that happen. I'm protecting who I can, starting with putting on my mask first. I don't know what will happen but if in the end all I can do is uproot my entire life to protect my children then I am preparing to do so. I can at least save them if no one else.

None of this is normal.

And I'm not sure, after Trump's in office, that anything will ever be normal again in the US. At least not the old normal. And there are ways that's a good thing, so many ways that the old normal sucked for so many people, and I'm optimistic that there's a bright future ahead, but man it looks far away right now. I don't want to go back to the old normal, and I want to be part of establishing a kinder, more just, more equal new normal, but we're a long way from there.

Whatever happens, we must endure. We must survive. We must support each other. We must find our allies and be prepared to compromise with them. Don't try to save everyone. You'll fail. Help even one person and you can change the world. Everyone things they can't do everything and so do nothing. That's insane. Do a single thing and it will be better than nothing. One phone call. One letter. One act of defiance. Very few people get the opportunity to grand gestures that matter, and the rest of us will die waiting for that moment. But the secret is that what makes those moments - the time when one person is in the right place at the right time for their action to matter - is built on millions of small moments by millions of people doing what little they can to make things slightly better. Think of every iconic photograph of a Sole Resistor you know of and think about every single tiny thing that had to happen for that moment to occur. Most of us will never me that one person, but that one person is a myth anyway. Countless tiny unseen moments create those myths. Doing literally anything is better than doing nothing.

And tooth and nail, quietly and loudly, in our homes and our towns and cities, during protests or when they come for our neighbors, we must fight.

[dinnerbug]

Tl;dr: I'm awful at mathematics but I'm pretty sure that's like. The same as saying "the average amount of women, children, and men, in the civilian population have been killed. We're just not talking about the men. That's the 30% we're ignoring"

I'm no expert on statistics so I guess do your own research and don't take what I say as anything other than a vague estimate but

I googled 'percentage of the world's population that are children'. It said around 25%

And percentage of female humans is obviously about 50%

Now I can't be bothered to check if that's right but assuming half of children are female I reckon that's at the very least 62% that are considered 'women and children'?

And this is going off world statics, not Palestine statistics, which are probably a bit wonky right now because you know, THEY'RE ALL DEAD, so numbers are probably a bit different

But I'd say that's close enough to 70 to say the BBC fucking sucks and all they're good for is making TV shows

EDIT 5 FUCK I THINK I'M BAD AT MATHS AGAIN I'M HAVING A CRISIS DOWN HERE. THE POINT STILL STANDS. IF YOU PUT ADULT WOMEN AND CHILDREN TOGETHER THEY OUTNUMBER ADULT MEN

Edit 3, most important: remembered the thing I think I forgot. I don't think female children come under the women category because they're children. In which case wouldn't it be like 75%? That's worse

You don't need to read anything under this but continue if you want to see confusion

Second edit but here because it's more important, I am definitely wrong, but in a bad way it think. I am quite sure I forgot something. It's one in the morning for me and my awful sleep schedule has horribly affected my brain's ability to function. If anyone is good at maths or knows someone who is please tag them or correct me

Point still stands BBC is shit just shut up and make doctor who episodes pls BBC

(edited rn but I think I'm wrong??????? I might look like an actual fool here unless I'm just wrong about being wrong. But I think I'm just wrong. I didn't think very hard about this I am so sorry please PLEASE check yourself before believing this is how statistics work. Please. Don't believe Internet randos and somebody please correct me politely if I got this so so wrong)

How casual you treat brown people being murdered. How casual you treat the torture of brown men. May the earth swallow you. One day these decades of oppression will end and Arab boys will sing.

[crushpunky]

rafe gets protective of kook!reader

masterlist | kook!reader masterlist

Y/n sat on the patio of Tanneyhill, the dull bass of the music vibrating through her bones. The yard was littered with a few drunken teenagers and young adults, but much less crowded than the inside. Hoping for a moment of reprise from the constant social overload, she found herself sitting outside on one of the sun loungers. Topper and Kelce were somewhere inside, probably getting drunk with whatever girls graced their presence. Rafe had been talking with somebody he knew from the country club when y/n told him she was going to step outside. He had offered to go with her, not liking her being alone in the chaos of a party, but she insisted he continue his apparently very interesting conversation about golf.

“Do you mind if I join you, princess?” Y/n looked up at JJ Maybank, a wide (likely drunken) grin on his face. She wasn’t surprised to see him here, he was a friend of Sarah’s after all. Sure, JJ wasn’t exactly her friend, but the two of them were acquaintances. She had bought weed from him numerous times (not that Rafe knew that) and had gotten to know him through spending time with Sarah or running into him at parties.

“Knock yourself out.” Y/n gestured to the lounger next to her. JJ stumbled forward, instead opting to sit on the foot of her own lounger. Y/n closed her eyes, rolling her shoulders, and trying her best to drown out the echoing music.

“So… where are your buddies?” JJ asked, gesturing with his red solo cup. Y/n sighed, a bit of annoyance creeping up on her before she quickly pushed it down, biting her tongue as she opened her eyes.

“Inside.” Y/n nodded, swirling her own cup mindlessly. JJ nodded, his fingers beginning to fiddle with the laces of y/n’s shoes. Y/n’s brows furrowed at the action but didn’t question it. Even though she didn’t know JJ that well, she knew he was a very fidgety-touchy guy… him and Rafe were very much alike in that sense.

“They left you out here?” JJ asked, looking up from y/n’s shoes, his hand still resting lightly on her ankle.

“No, no, no.” Y/n shook her head quickly. “I just needed a little break.”

“Ahhh,” JJ said, tapping his cup against his head, “and I’m bothering you during said break.”

Y/n shrugged, a small smile forming on her lips. At least he was self aware.

“Well, maybe I can make it up to you,” JJ reached behind his ear before dramatically presenting her a tightly rolled joint. Y/n felt her mood pick up, straightening in the lounger.

“Perhaps you can.” Y/n smiled, taking the joint from him and sticking it between her lips. JJ pulled a lighter from his back pocket, y/n stretching out her hand to take it. JJ tutted before leaning forward, his hand trailing up to rest on her knee.

“Allow me, princess.” JJ whispered, his face close enough that she could feel his warm breath on her cheeks. He lifted his hand, cupping the side of her face as he flicked the lighter. Y/n watched as he bit his lip in concentration, the precise blue of his eyes flickering with each spark of the lighter; a blue that seemed to similar to—

“What the fuck are you doing?” Y/n’s gaze shot up at Rafe’s voice, the joint nearly falling from her lips. JJ jumped at the sudden intrusion, catching himself just before rolling off the lounger, his body practically on top of y/n’s. Y/n pushed him to sit up instinctually, the joint still dangling between her lips.

“Oh, hey Rafe. Always a pleasure—” JJ scrambled, pushing his hair out of his face haphazardly. Rafe took a harsh step forward before yanking the joint out of y/n’s lips and tossing it into the nearby pool.

“Man, do you know how much that fucking cost—” JJ groaned before Rafe grabbed his shoulder, yanking him to his feet.

“Rafe, quit it!” Y/n quickly jumped up, trying her best to wedge herself between the two hotheads before the fists started to fly.

“I don’t give a fuck how much it cost, pogue,” Rafe spat, his grip still strong on the front of JJ’s shirt. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing touching her like that? Huh?”

“Well, she said it was perfectly fine.” JJ shrugged, a shiteating grin on his face as y/n stared daggers at him. Rafe took a seething step forward, his fists clenched.

“I’ll fucking kill you, you piece of shit—” Rafe roared.

“Oh here he is! Big, bad Rafe fuckin Cameron—” JJ shot back, closing in on Rafe, further sandwiching y/n between them.

“Both of you fucking stop!” Y/n shouted, pushing with all her strength and sending the two of them stumbling apart. Had either of them been sober, or god forbid high, she knew there would be no way in hell she’d have been able to stop the two of them once they started at eachother like this.

“Rafe, he wasn’t fucking doing anything. We were just talking and smoking. That’s it.” Y/n snapped, turning to Rafe with a point. Rafe’s jaw clenched, his gaze still darting between y/n and JJ.

“See, Cameron, I told you—” JJ started before y/n turned to face him, her eyes ablaze.

“JJ, I don’t need you encouraging him and I definitely don’t need you fucking helping me.” Y/n said pointedly, JJ’s eyes widening by her intensity. The three of them stood in a shocked silence, y/n putting her hands on her hips.

“I’m sorry, JJ, but I think you should go.” Y/n sighed. JJ scoffed, shaking his head as he picked up his drink.

“Sure thing, princess.” JJ said with a small salute. “I had a good time tonight. We should do it again.”

“You motherfu—” Rafe seethed, moving towards JJ until y/n pushed him back once more.

“Get out of here, JJ. Now.” Y/n said, her tone serious as she held onto a fistful of Rafe’s shirt. With a roll of his eyes, JJ finally walked away, leaving just the two of them on the patio. Y/n let go of Rafe, wiping her hands on her shorts as she shook her head.

“So you’re just taking weed from anyone now, huh?” Rafe said, lowering himself to meet y/n’s eyes. Y/n scoffed, turning to sink back into her lounger with a sip of her drink.

“Do you have any idea how fucking dangerous that is? Who knows what kind of shit that pogue put in there? Huh? W- what if he fuckin drugged you?” Rafe followed her, sitting on the foot of the lounger.

“I saw what he was doing,” Rafe scoffed. “Touching you like that, trying to get you high out here by yourself so he could take advantage of you—-”

“Jesus, Rafe!” Y/n shouted, throwing her hands up exasperatedly. “We were just fucking talking! Not every guy is trying to ‘take advantage’ of me! Do you hear yourself right now?”

“He’s a fucking pogue, y/n. I think I sound perfectly rational.” Rafe said shortly, causing y/n to roll her eyes.

“Why do you always do this shit?” Y/n snapped. “Everytime a guy so much as looks at me, you freak the fuck out and make a huge scene.”

Rafe scoffed, laughing to himself as he shook his head.

“Yes, you do, Cameron.” Y/n pointed a finger against Rafe’s chest. “You know I’m right.”

“Sorry that I fuckin care about you, a’ight? Me. Fuckin me. I care about you.” Rafe snapped, grabbing her hand and pushing it further against his chest. Y/n eyes refused to leave his, her gaze firm.

“It’s not fair, Rafe, and you know it.” Y/n’s said, her voice barely a whisper. She could see Rafe’s body soften slightly, his grip allowing their hands to fall into his lap.

“I– I…” Rafe stuttered, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he ran a hand through his hair. Y/n swallowed harshly, Rafe’s hand still firm in her own as he searched for the words.

“Look, I’m sorry, I just…” Rafe sighed, “when I see them… looking at you like that it just does something to me and I can’t fucking stop it. I wish I could just let it go and pretend that it doesn’t bother me but… it does.”

Y/n felt her stomach drop, the weight of Rafe’s words heavy in the air.

“Y/n, I care about you a lot… maybe even more than a friend should and I can’t lie and say it doesn’t hurt to see you with someone else like...” Rafe said quietly, his eyes locked on their entwined hands in his lap.

“Like what, Rafe?” Y/n whispered, Rafe finally lifting his gaze to meet her own.

“Like the way I want to be with you. The way I’ve always wanted to be with you.” Rafe said lowly, the words lifting the weight of years and years of hiding off his shoulders.

“Rafe…” Y/n started, but was cut off as Rafe shook his head harshly.

“No, you don’t… you don’t have to say anything.” Rafe sighed, rubbing a hand along the curve of his jaw.

“But I want to, Rafe.” Y/n whispered, squeezing Rafe’s hand gently, her thumb trailing along his knuckles lightly.

“I… I hate seeing you with anyone like that too, Rafe.” Y/n swallowed harshly. “Everytime I had to just… stand there and act like I didn’t care I was dying inside.”

Rafe’s face softened, his hand moving to cup her jaw. Y/n felt her heart skip a beat as she gazed deeply into the deep, stormy blue of his eyes. He was so close she could feel the warmth radiating off his skin and smell the soft smokiness of his cologne.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Rafe whispered, his lips only centimeters away from her own.

“I didn’t want you to think I was just a stupid girl who had fallen for her best friend.” Y/n said. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was just a stupid boy who had fallen for his best friend.” Rafe said, his lips ghosting her own.

“Well I guess that just makes us two idiots.” Y/n whispered as their lips finally met in an explosive culmination of years and years of longing.

[yasmindifference]

12!

Tim is only halfway through his explanation of the case he's been working when Bruce sighs and says, "I'll bring Hood in."

He's so astonished by this idiocy that it genuinely takes him a few seconds to recover; he has to run to catch up. Then, since he's running anyway, he uses his momentum to slide into place a few steps ahead, blocking Batman's path.

In the Cave, that's more symbolic than anything--there's plenty of room to go around him--and B respects that much, at least. He stops in his tracks.

"No, you won't," Tim says very clearly.

Batman frowns. "Red Robin."

"Batman," he returns, and Batman's frown deepens.

He's wearing the cowl now, having pulled it on as he walked--steeling himself for what he's decided he has to do. Shutting Bruce away so his paternal affection doesn't slow him down.

As usual, he's being a complete moron. World's Greatest Detective, Tim's ass.

"Red Robin," Batman says again, "your attachment to Red Hood--"

"--has nothing to do with this," Tim interrupts. "Jason didn't do it."

His pointed use of Jason's actual name goes unacknowledged; Batman sets his shoulders to loom and doubles down.

"The victim profile is clearly in line with Hood's usual targets," he says. "The victim's own victims were children, specifically children from Crime Alley, and his crimes against them were exactly the kind that Hood punishes the most severely. You can't deny that."

He's using the Batman growl and still looming over Tim...why, Tim's not exactly sure. It's not like he ever backed down from this kind of display even when he was a literal child facing down a Batman half-mad with grief. As an adult and a vigilante in his own right, who's been facing down the city's, world's, and occasionally galaxy's worst for nearly a decade...Batman is barely going to make him blink.

So he meets the eerie white lenses of the cowl straight on when he says, "No, I can't deny any of that. But Jason still didn't do it."

"You're being unrealistic," Batman says sharply. "Basing your conclusion on emotion instead of fact."

"No, that would be you," Tim corrects, just as sharp. "You're blinded by your issues with Jason's way of doing things. If you were actually thinking straight--"

"Hood makes a habit of targeting rapists, pedophiles, and anyone who breaks his so-called 'rules' in the territory he claims as his." Batman looms harder. "All three apply to the victim. What evidence do you have to support his innocence?"

"The fact that this isn't how Jason works."

Batman's face blanks out, scowl wiped away as he forcefully suppresses his reaction to Tim's words.

"Hood has never agreed with the no-kill rule," he says, "and despite our truce, he never committed to not using lethal force. It was only a matter of time before he crossed the line again, and this is precisely how he likes to 'punish' those he deems guilty."

Tim has to take a second to deliberately calm himself before he can trust his voice. His hands ache for how tightly he's fisted them.

"No," he says, once he's sure his voice won't shake with the anger trembling in his fists. "No, it isn't."

"Tim--"

"It's true that Jason isn't opposed to lethal force," he says over Batman. "It's also true that he particularly targets people who break his rules and/or prey on children. But not like this!"

If he were anyone but Batman, Tim would say Bruce falters.

"Explain."

Tim doesn't hesitate.

"Yes, Jason is willing to kill," he says. "Yes, he'll even make it hurt if the crime is bad enough. But his goal isn't to punish anyone--it's to protect people."

Batman's flat expression--what little Tim can see of it beyond the cowl, at least--says he doesn't appreciate the difference.

Tim tries again. "Jason doesn't kill because he enjoys it, he kills because he thinks it's the only way to stop the worst of the worst. That's why he goes after the people the system can't or won't contain."

Still, Batman is unmoved. Tim gets to the point.

"Our victim was tortured over the course of several hours," he says again. It was one of the first lines in his little presentation on the case, and should have immediately disqualified Jason as a potential perpetrator. "I estimate at least twelve hours passed between the infliction of the first wound and his death, which was the result of a combination of shock and blood loss."

"You said that already," Batman says, unamused.

"Yes, and you should've known that it ruled out Jason!" Tim snaps. "If Jason had done this, he might have, have kneecapped the guy first, or shot him in the gut, or something, because yes, he'd have wanted to make him hurt. But the death still would have been measured in minutes, because at the end of the day, Jason's main priority is to end suffering, not cause it."

For a long, tense moment, Batman stares at him. Tim's trembling with emotion--not just anger that Batman is doubting him, but fear at what Batman might do to Jason if Tim can't stop him.

For all of Bruce's talk about Jason crossing lines...when it comes to Jason, Bruce tends to cross plenty himself.

Finally, Batman (and he is still so very Batman) says, "I wish I could believe that, but I can't."

"Then believe in me," Tim says, seizing the opening at once. "Just give me a day or two, okay? I'll find the real killer and prove that Jason didn't do this."

After either a few seconds or a lifetime, Batman finally--finally--backs down.

"You have a week," he says, and turns away. "And if you're wrong..."

Tim isn't about to humor that ominous trailing off. "I'm not. You'll see."

"I hope so," Bruce says quietly.

Prompt #12 was one character standing up for the other! Good choice! ♡♡

[sashaisready]

Since You've Been Gone: Chapter 1

Bucky Barnes x Reader

After a regrettable first meeting in the cemetery, you discover that you have something in common with a certain member of the Avengers. Unfortunately, you can't choose your neighbours, even in death.

(Setting is approx. post TFATWS)

Hi, I'm back! I have no idea where this came from, or where it's going! So apologies as updates may not be consistent while I figure it out. Warnings for death of parents, grief, mentions of cemetery/graves - please tread carefully if these are triggers for you.

🍂

It was a chilly Autumn day, but not unbearable. Your coat could more than handle the frigid breeze. You squinted at the headstone as you crouched on your knees, angling your head to make sure you hadn’t left any streaks or marks from the polish. Satisfied with your performance, you trimmed a few of the roses that were leaning against it before standing and taking a step back to admire your handiwork.

Immaculate as always, so neat you could almost be fooled into thinking you weren’t even outside. You could hear your parents’ voices in your head now, joking about being able to keep their graves far cleaner that you ever managed your bedroom to be, their frequent nags falling on deaf adolescent ears.

You smiled sadly as you looked at the intricately engraved text below their names on the shared stone:

Beloved parents taken too soon,

Waiting in heaven to be reunited with their only daughter

You’d never really like that phrasing; it was a little too whimsical for your tastes – especially all these years later. But a recently orphaned teenager wasn’t exactly an expert in choosing the best headstone wording. You’d been more than happy to let your aunt and the funeral home lead the way, too paralysed by grief to make even the smallest decisions in the hellscape that was death admin.

Still, you’d never want to upset your aunt by getting it changed, there’s a lot of strange emotion tied up in grief even when time has passed, and that mourning teen has become an adult. And it wasn’t like new headstones were cheap anyway…

As you packed up your cleaning kit your attention was drawn to the two graves next to your parents’ - George and Winnifred Barnes. They had both passed several decades earlier, long before your parents were buried next to them. They had died only a few months apart according to the text…maybe they’d couldn’t survive without each other.

It was easy to infer that they no longer had anyone left earthside. The graves had been long untouched, unkempt, and overgrown, the inscriptions getting harder to read – and you’d never seen any evidence of a visitor in all your time coming here. Except of course when the cemetery staff did one of their occasional mass clean-ups of the neglected graves.

About a year ago, you’d started tending to them alongside your parents. You weren’t sure why, it just seemed like the right thing to do. They were neighbours after all. And you’d want someone to do the same for your mum and dad if you weren’t around.

You’d cleaned their stones, wiped away the grime and given them a decent polish. You’d trimmed back the weeds and laid fresh flowers. The first time took a while, but after you’d got them to a reasonable standard it was all pretty easy to maintain.

You’d often wondered who they were. What they were like. The dates suggested they’d died of old age, a luxury your parents didn’t have. Were they kind? Funny? What hobbies did they have? They were around during the war, that must���ve been tough. You knew from the inscriptions that they had children who would’ve been over hundred by now. Maybe no grandchildren which is why nobody came by to see them anymore. It made you feel sad, how we could all be just a few generations away from being forgotten entirely. At least you could try to remember them.

You gave their graves a quick once over, took away the dead flowers and added some fresh roses in their place.

“Well, I’m done,” you said aloud, “see you soon, mum and dad. And you too, George and Winnifred. Sleep well”.

You sighed, walking back to your car and back to your life. You knew all too well that the dead may be still, but the world continues around them.

🍂

A week later you were back at the cemetery with your cleaning kit slung over your back, your arms full of fresh flowers.

“Afternoon, mum and dad,” you said as you placed your kit and flowers down and pulled out the foam pad that you used to kneel on, “and you, George and Winnifred”.

“Work has been kicking my ass this week,” you sighed as you got to work on your parents’ stone. “There’s only so much I can take of Brock’s moaning about the numbers…it’s getting harder not to smash my keyboard over his head – yeah I know, violence isn’t the answer, blah-blah-blah…”

You worked diligently, chatting away as you went through your maintenance tasks. It was nice, talking to them like this. You could say anything, really. No judgements, no admonishment, just silent acceptance of everything you told them. It was a bit like therapy for you. You often imagined your parents were sitting behind you as you spoke, just out of sight.

You liked to use old newspaper to buff up the marble. As you gathered your things together, you glanced at some of the headlines from the copy you’d brought with you. Lots of dreary grimness unfortunately. There was also a longread feature on the Avengers and where they were now, their photographs lined up across the top of the page. It was sad that a few of them were dead now, or at least no longer here. You felt a pang of sadness for their loved ones – you knew what that was like.

You didn’t know all the details of The Avengers and their associates, but like everyone else you knew the basics. It was a strange time, just a decade or so ago nobody had ever thought superheroes really existed…but then all of these ‘enhanced’ people started crawling out of the woodwork, revealing weapons and technology that previously had only existed in sci-fi movies. It was hard to believe, really.

You scanned the newspaper page, looking at the pictures for a few moments. You took your time studying their faces before sighing and placing it back down.

“All done…now let’s help out George and Winnie over here, looks like you guys need some new flowers…and all that heavy rain we’ve been having has really done a number on your stones…let me just-”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the gruff voice behind you demanded, causing you such a shock that you nearly joined your parents.

You spun your body away from the graves, horrified to see a man looming over you as you stared at him open-mouthed in surprise. You hadn’t heard him approach, not quite understanding how you hadn’t noticed him coming at all…

“I said what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he repeated to you, his blue eyes alight with anger.

He was big. Bigger than you. Even under his coat you could see his broad shoulders. A mop of dark hair framed his face, most likely quite an attractive face when it wasn’t pulled into a furious sneer like it was now. He wore black gloves as he pointed at you accusingly. The fact that you were kneeling on the ground while he stood towering at his full height had not gone unnoticed by you.

There was something strangely familiar about him, but you couldn’t place it. Did he shop at the same market as you? You couldn’t quite…

“I’m…I’m just-” you spluttered as you fumbled for the words, still caught in your surprise and the fact that this normally serene time had been interrupted by a stranger yelling at you…

“Get away from there!” he snarled.

You quickly realised he was talking about the Barnes’ graves. You bounced backwards, landing painfully on your ass in your desperation to do what he said. He had a chilling air of authority that you didn’t want to screw with. You weren’t trying to piss off an angry man while you were out here all alone…

“I was just tidying them up,” you managed weakly as you sat up and clutched at the flowers.

“Nobody asked you to,” he scoffed in response as he leaned over and ran a gloved finger over Winnifred’s inscription, “you shouldn’t be clambering all over graves of people you don’t know”.

You frowned as the initial shock of the encounter wore off, now annoyed now at his abrupt rudeness towards you when you only had good intentions.

“Oh, and you know them, do you?” you snapped back sharply as your felt your emotions surge and your eyes water, your cheeks hot with mortification, “well, nobody has been to visit those graves in years so-”

“Yeah, actually I do know them - I’m their son,” he spat furiously.

Your head bounced back in surprise and confusion. You curled your lip and frowned at his strange claim, he appeared to be his mid-to-late 30s at most – many years away from the very elderly man he’d need to be for that to be true.

What was his goal here, exactly?

Was this guy just looking to start an argument and decided you’d be his target? Spouting off nonsense about random graves just to mess with you?

And where did you know him from?

Despite your survival instincts, you couldn’t help but fight back. You didn’t appreciate being messed with at the best of times, let alone when you were only here to visit your deceased loved ones. Who came to a graveyard to fuck with people? And yell at them?!

“Huh? Son?” you scoffed with derision and jabbed a finger towards the inscriptions about their children, “well, that can’t be true as that would mean their kids would have to be over a hundred…and how many one-hundred-year-olds look like you…?”

“I’m 107 years old, actually,” he said venomously. He sounded utterly sincere despite the ludicrousness of his claim. His face was sullen, his eyes piercing.

You ignored the shudder that threatened to roll through you in response. It was a strangely familiar expression on his face.

Where had you seen that look?

“Oh, yeah! You’re 107…Sure!” you laughed sarcastically. “You just have the greatest plastic surgeon of all time, in fact there’s a bunch of centenarians wandering around looking thirt-”

You trailed off as a wave of recognition suddenly hit you and the penny dropped. Oh. Oh.

He wasn’t from the market…

It was him.

Your eyes panned down to the crumpled newspaper lying next to you. The same man’s face scrutinised you from the page, an exact mirror image of the brooding 3D version in front of you. A little older now, but still unmistakably the same man.

Oh!

Now you remembered that same picture on the news. Read about the terrible things he’d done before when he was under hypnosis. For the Nazis? The Soviets? Both? Flashes of recollection hit you at once, disjointed and scattered.

It wasn’t really him doing all of it, it was a mind control thing, they’d said. He was like the Captain…the first one from the 40s. Kept young…somehow. He had a robot arm. Then there was the big government pardon after he’d helped to save the world. The deep dive the New York Times had done on his assassin past. What had they said he was called? Iceman? Winter? Winter hitman?

The Winter Soldier.

Barton? Baines? No, Barnes.

Barnes.

As in…son of Winnifred and George?

Ah.

He must’ve seen your train of thought written all over your face as he nodded solemnly at you.

“Yeah. It’s me. And I only found their resting place a few weeks ago,” he said with disdain.

You got to your feet, taking a few cautious steps backwards. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. You didn’t need to be a jerk - I’ve just been coming here for years, and I’d never seen…”

You trailed off, he didn’t care. His focus was on the graves, one gloved hand gripping the top of his father’s stone as he peered down at the grass below.

You turned to leave, giving him his privacy, “I’m sorry for your loss,” you mumbled quietly as you picked up your kit.

You started to head back to your car, then turned to face him again after a couple of steps. You warily moved back towards him and leaned over, placing a single flower between the feet of his parents’ graves. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t pick it up and throw it back in your face, either.

As you walked away, you thought you felt the weight of his gaze on your back.

🍂

Another week passed and you were back at the cemetery once more, working the usual routine and doing your best to forget what had happened the last time you were here. Upsetting a war veteran slash Avengers superhero by accusing him of not being his parents’ child was impressively incompetent, even by your standards. But in your defence, he did just start yelling at you out of nowhere. And you were only trying to help. And he was a literal defiance of nature, time, and aging…

But then again, people weren’t always their best selves in a cemetery. It wasn’t exactly Happy Hour over here. And you’d probably freak out too if you caught a stranger tinkering around with the resting place of your parents. The parents who died of old age while you were cryogenically frozen and a prisoner in your own body…

You’d done a little more reading up on him, James Buchanan Barnes. ‘Bucky’. The man behind the scary winter soldier mask. The older images of him in his combat gear were chilling, as were the alleged stats of his kills, but mainly you just felt immense empathy for a man out of time. A man who had lost his youth, a limb, his autonomy, and everybody he once knew from his old life.

You tried to put it out of your mind, catching your parents up on what they’d missed and pretty-ing things up a little around their plot. You didn’t touch the Barnes’ this time, just gave them a little wave and concentrated on your own flesh and blood.

You were a million miles away, lost in the quiet fog that often seemed to overtake you when you were working in the cemetery. It was peaceful, really. This was the one place you could switch your brain off and quiet the chatter of your head, just concentrate on the tasks you knew so well by now that your hands did them on muscle memory alone.

You were just adjusting the newest flowers when a voice interrupted you.

“Hey,” it said.

It startled you as you were still in your own world and hadn’t heard anyone else approach. You whirled around slightly panicked as a pair of eyes the colour of sapphires met yours.

It was him again.

“Oh, hello,” you replied quietly.

He stared over at you, wrapped up in his coat as he was last time. His stare was still intense despite appearing much calmer than when you first met him. He wore black pants and boots, his hands tucked away into his pockets, a dark backpack slung over his shoulder. His face was more relaxed than it was during your first encounter. His blue eyes were just as arresting, but the absence of anger made them sparkle rather than burn. He had a soft dusting of stubble across his taut jawline, his dark hair was pulled back behind his head as he absent-mindedly ran a hand over it. He was…

…hot?

Fuck.

He nodded at you in acknowledgement and moved to George and Winnifred’s plot, kneeling in front of their stones. He pulled a candle out from his backpack and lit it with a lighter, placing it between where his parents lay.

You turned away sharply, not wanting to look like you were intruding during what was clearly a private moment of mourning. You focused on your own parents’ graves, clipping back the flowers as quietly as possible.

The two of you continued doing your own thing, the awkwardness thick in the air. You remembered how furious he’d been with you last time. You considered saying something, trying to explain that you were only trying to maintain the graves, but you didn’t want to provide any more ammunition for potential anger. Instead, you continued your routine in silence, keeping your eyes down.

After you finished you packed up your stuff and cleared your throat, ‘uh, bye,” you said quietly to him as you hurried down the path and back towards your car. He didn’t respond, but looked up at you as you passed, studying you intently.

[katiekatdragon27]

Hello Dandy's World fans.

I've recently been playing the game on Roblox with my friends and sibling, and it's been a ton of fun! Sure, I'm horrible at it, but it's the thought that counts ig.

And don't worry, I draw normal things too.

Like these things.

But it's mostly angst and unhinged things lol.

Below is a silly goofy Shiny Shrimp (that's the ship name I made up for Glisten x Shrimpo lol) AU that's just angst and tragedy and bullying Shrimpo emotionally lol:

OKAY SO CONTEXT: I thought it would be funny if Shrimpo had to keep Glisten company while exploring the floors but was also the one to witness his change into his full twisted form and almost die lol.

SO, I'd imagine it going down like this.

Basically, during one of the missions below, Glisten doesn't make it to the elevator in time. Shrimpo gets wind of this and gets very pissed. Despite everyone's protests, Shrimpo decides to join on of their runs to gain iquor, but mostly to fine Glisten.

And boy does he find him and all his shattered face glory.

Glisten: "Shrimpo!?" Shrimpo: "G-Glisten?" Glisten: "I knew you'd come back for me!"

Shrimpo attempts to leave the situation, seeing that Glisten is indeed twisted, despite Glisten's insistence that he is not. As Shrimpo tries to leave, Glisten gets more attached, constantly asking Shrimpo to not leave and to stay with him. Another person in the party (haven't decided who yet), tells Shrimpo to stay with Glisten and keep him company until all the machines are done. Shrimpo reluctantly agrees (and says "I HATE YOU" a couple times) and spends the rest of the round with Glisten.

However, the whole time Shrimpo's trying not to get attached because deep down, he knows it's too late for Glisten.

At the end of the round, everyone is called to go to the elevator. Shrimpo goes to leave. Glisten tries to block him off. Shimpo forces his way through. Glisten gets pissed and rips off his ribbons in anger, letting the infection take over his whole body. As Glisten's shifting, Shrimpo grabs one of his discarded ribbon pieces and beelines it to the elevator (as fast as Shrimpo can run). However, it is not fast enough, and Glisten easily catches up. He knocked over Shrimpo and lunges at him, ready take him out.

That's when Goob comes in. While everyone is trying to get the elevator to close faster, Goob grabs Shrimpo from below Glisten and pulls him into the elevator. Glisten hits the floor and breaks his face even more. As he gets up, he shouts at Shrimpo, who is shaking in Goob's arms watch Glisten break down.

Glisten: "YOU PROMISED YOU'D STAY WITH ME-- YOU PROMISED!"

Then, the doors close. Glisten is gone, and Shrimpo is angry and traumatized. How fun.

Shrimpo does not do well after the whole incident. He is much more reserved, but still just as angry. Except to Goob. Goob saving him gave Shrimpo a soft spot for the guy. Also, Goob let's Shrimpo vent to him like the supportive icon he is.

Shrimpo: I think I miss my partner, Goob.

But he's not the only toon Shrimpo talks to.

Vee: "Geez. This crying is ruining your "tough guy" persona."

My sibling gave me the silly idea to have Shrimpo and Vee be "friends" in this bc Shrimp hates Dandy waaaaaaaaaay more after the Glisten incident. And Vee hates Dandy in general, so boom, situation friendship. However, Vee sucks at being a supportive friend.

And some silly stuff my friends requested. Shrimpo chucking Dandy into the stratosphere and Goob being Goob. Healing the world one crappy doodle at a time.

Thank you for looking at the dooles and mindless rant of a grown adult about a Roblox horror game for 9-year-olds. You're a real one. Have a good day broksies.

[kanagenwrites]

So. Tuesday sucked.

We've all had a chance to come down from the "what the fuck" of it all, and we're starting to see the usual circular firing squad. Lots of lib centrists are doing everything they can to throw trans people, minorities, and basically anyone who isn't a finance bro under the bus, as is (very tiresome) tradition after both victories and defeats in the Democratic Party. I will be 42 years old in a few months, so this is far from the first time I've seen it, and sadly, I'm sure it won't be the last. To the lib centrists and those carrying water for them: This never works. Please stop trying it. Trans issues were not a major motivator; I'll get into that below. Sit down, kids, it's time for Auntie Kana's Fireside Dialectics.

One thing I've noticed is that a lot of my followers are significantly younger than me. (Imagine that, an audience that skews young on Tumblr.) A lot of you folks probably haven't been following politics for very long, and you've been able to participate in them for even less time than that. For some of you this is probably your first election as an adult, and it kinda feels like everything blew up in your face, doesn't it? I was about your age for 2000, when the election was nakedly stolen by George W. Bush, and not much older for 2004, when despite his disastrous presidency Bush the Younger rode a wave of 9/11-brained racism to the last popular vote victory the GOP had prior to (likely) this year. So I get it. I really do.

If you're living in the USA you have probably had a subpar education in politics and civics. This is largely by design - education is horrendously underfunded and there is a sustained attack on the ability of teachers to even discuss things like the Civil Rights Movement, the legacy of slavery in the United States, the genocide this country was founded on, and so on and so forth. Economic education isn't much better; you very likely got a short lecture on basic supply and demand and an argument-from-authority that "socialism doesn't work." All this combines to leave a lot of folks totally baffled as to how something like this election happens.

But it's pretty simple. It's just material conditions. That's it. What the media isn't telling you (because there's no profit in it, and the media is nothing but a clickbait engine when they aren't open propagandists) is that there has been a massive anti-incumbent wave of elections across the world. How massive? Japan's LDP, which has held power almost uninterrupted since the establishment of Japan's postwar democracy, managed to lose their recent election.

And why are material conditions so shitty? That's a complicated question, but a lot of it is the fact that we had a lengthy period of low inflation followed by a period of extremely high inflation due to the absolutely botched response to the Covid-19 pandemic. A bag of Doritos used to be 2.50, and now it's like 6 bucks. That's worse than all the inflation (and naked price-gouging, because there's a lot of that going on too) I experienced in my life prior to 2020, squeezed into the space of a year or two. This smacks everyone in the face every time they buy groceries, and while the government and the Federal Reserve were doing everything they could to manage inflation (and understand what a big deal it is for me, the anarcho-communist, to say that the US actually did an extremely fucking good job of doing it, because every other country on Earth had it worse than we did), they did fuck all to actually improve the material conditions people were experiencing. Wages were not keeping up with the cost of living, and price-gouging wasn't being dealt with.

Remember the 600 bucks Joe Biden still owes you? The American electorate sure the fuck does. Invisible backrooms liberal wonkery does not connect, regardless of whether it works or not, but going back on a promise? People remember that shit.

It's a rare incumbent that could win in an environment like this, especially when tied to a track record of doing exactly fucking nothing to actually help people from the perspective of the vast majority of the population. Kamala Harris was not that incumbent. She was a singularly uninspiring candidate who failed to connect with voters so thoroughly that she was on track to lose her home state in the 2020 Democratic primary. Nobody liked her (except a few very eager and very loud fans in the K-Hive), and speaking as someone who lives in California, I am not surprised she ate shit. She was a terrible choice for VP and a terrible choice of successor for Biden, but because Biden('s handlers) insisted on pretending he wasn't obviously declining before our very eyes, Harris, a singularly uninspiring candidate, had three months to build and run a campaign.

And it was still weirdly close.

Now, there's two possibilities: Either she actually ran an amazing campaign and it's incredible that it was even this close, or Trump is just so loathsome that even in a massively anti-incumbent environment he didn't bring anyone new to the table. Given that Trump is on-track to receive less votes this time than he did in 2020, and how many of those votes seem to have been cast for Trump and no one else down-ballot, I think it's more of the latter than the former. Trump brought the usual suspects, while Kamala successfully drove away voters that even Joe fucking Biden and Hillary fucking Clinton were able to bring home. Not on the left, not in minority demographics, but across the board. After all, if things are horrible and you're being promised that "nothing will fundamentally change," (literally an early-presidency quote from Joe Biden, whose agenda Kamala Harris 100% aligned herself with) and keeping in mind that the average American voter is not nearly so plugged into the minutiae and the day to day of politics (as evinced by the sudden peak in google searched for "Did Joe Biden drop out?" on Tuesday), why the fuck would you bother to vote?

Hopefully you have a better idea how we got here now. The question, of course, is where do we go from here? I will probably continue posting about this from time to time, especially if there's interest, but my advice is this:

We are still here. We will be here tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that, and so on. Plan accordingly.

Things will get fucked up. Things will always get fucked up. That is the nature of things no matter who is running the government. Plan accordingly.

Organize. Develop parallel structures of power and assistance, because the government is likely going to be even more useless to directly assist you than it already was. Our greatest strength is each other, and our ability to care for and help one another.

I have been here before. You will be here again. It always feels like it's the worst thing ever to happen. That never really goes away, but your ability to deal with it, to plan around it, to endure it, and to rise up again on the other side of it and say "No, fuck you" is entirely under your control and within your capabilities. And you will get better at it as you do it. And you are not doing it alone. None of us are.

Do not give up. Do not surrender. This isn't the end, or the beginning of the end, or even the end of the beginning: it just is.

Now go watch a video of a cat doing something cute, or read some smut, or whatever gives you joy. You can't take care of others unless you take care of yourself. That's General Order #1: Take care of yourself.

Solidarity, y'all.

[bringbackmaes14]

I don't think it's ever reasonable to stop interacting with minors. Sociologically, it's really important for people in different age groups (or generations) to interact with each other. That means people who are 17 and 36 or 45 and 84 or 3 and 52, whatever the age difference. It helps us build language and uphold a sense of community, and it's also important to interact with people of all ages to learn new and different things about the world. A Baby Boomer might be able to tell a Gen Z person about things they remember from the Civil Rights Movement in the United States that aren't commonly taught in the school system, and vice versa, maybe the Gen Z person learned something about the Civil Rights Movement in their high school history class from a document that was found discovered in the 80s that the Baby Boomer had never heard of. And you can learn all kinds of things at any age from any person! For instance, statistically, how many adults do you think are learn facts about dinosaurs or bugs from people their own age? Probably most of the dinosaur or bug facts that they hear/learn are from children who in turn learned it from adults on TV or online. It's all a cycle of learning!!!

That's not to say that kids/minors and adults don't need their own separate spaces to exist with their peers, but I think if you turn 18 and you say "okay I'm never going to willingly interact with minors again unless I become a parent or choose a job that requires me to interact with them" then you're losing out on a lot of learning and a lot of community. And you don't even have to like kids/teens! I personally don't particularly like children, but I don't necessarily go out of my way to avoid interacting with them if the opportunity arises either (there are a lot of little kids in my neighborhood who like to ring my doorbell and ask if they can pet my cats and sometimes I have to tell them I'm busy but there have been occasions where I'll let one or two hang out for a minute to pet the cats with their parents' permission, and while hanging out I've found that each of the kids is very endearing in their own way)!

As far as online spaces go, I think the "minors dni" label is silly. For the above stated reasons but also because it doesn't truly work. I believe that (if we're just talking about Tumblr) blogs that are going to post a lot of NSFW things should advertise their blog as such, but it should be kind of the same as the warning on AO3, y'know the one that's like "hey you've clicked on a work that includes mature topics and we just wanna make sure you know that before you proceed, just go ahead and hit yes or no". I'm not saying we should just give minors free access to all things NSFW but like, what teen in the age of computers didn't look up videos or pictures that they weren't supposed to? We've all heard the "yes of course I'm over 18 years of age but just to be safe I'm going to set my birth year as 1934" bullshit. I definitely did stuff like that as a kid when I wanted to access an age restricted website.

Overall, it's probably not gonna stop minors if you have a "minor dni" tag on your blog. And it's up to us non-minor folks to teach those minors Internet safety and decorum. Teach them to check their sources. Teach them how to keep their information private. Teach them reading comprehension. Teach them to look out for warning signs like "NSFW" or "18+" and how to filter tags or posts that might trigger them. Teach them that if a post is properly tagged with all the appropriate trigger warnings and they looked at it and it triggered them, that's not the creator's fault; it is everyone's own job to curate their social media experience and social media works the same way as fanfiction: if you don't like it you don't have to interact with it. It's literally as simple as backing out of the page. Most of all, teach them that they do not have to be afraid of adults or minors on the Internet. Yes, of course there are always going to be scary people on the Internet and a lot of them are adults, but what I mean by the previous statement, especially in a fandom heavy space like Tumblr, is interact with people outside your age range! Get different perspectives on your blorbos! Learn that the Internet, fandom, and the world, are not just for young people, because no matter what age we are, we're all people. Senior citizens are people. Preteens are people. Newborns are people. And ultimately, I highly doubt you will ever run into a single person, online or face to face, that you will learn nothing from. You could learn something from them as huge as astrophysics. You could learn something as small (but just as important) as the name someone chose for their pet fish and what it means to them.

Always keep learning, as long as you are able.

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[ninjagirlstar5]

So, uh, I know recent news have been...not great. Particularly in the US. And I think it's important to acknowledge that.

However, I also think it's important to take care of our mental health and do something fun since we'd only be hurting ourselves with constant doom scrolling and fixating on the bad stuff 24/7.

So, I decided to officially open up simple Art Requests! And what I mean by that is I'm going to be drawing characters in the style of AVA/M stick figures! Both regular and in chibi style.

Examples:

(If you follow @/a-student-out-of-time, you probably already seen this little chibi drawing of Umeko Hayase, who belongs to the mod himself, I made for fun since I sent this in an ask yesterday. I'm using this drawing since it best represents what I will do for the chibi sticks.)

All art requests for this will be digital and fully colored, but won't be fully rendered. I want to keep the drawings simple and easy to make for myself for as long as I keep requests open.

With that out of the way, here are some rules for what to send in:

Requests for AVA/M characters are obviously welcome and I will be using my own designs & headcanons for them when completing your requests.

For those who followed me for my DRA & SDRA2 stuff (mostly SDRA2), I will also do art for characters from the duology! They will just be turned into stick figures, hehe. (I may even do canon characters from the Danganronpa series in general if anyone sends requests for them.)

(Also, if you want either AIkado or IRLkado in your request, please specify which one you want. Same goes for other characters in SDRA2 if you want their teenager or adult versions.)

OCs (and sonas) are also allowed, whether Danganronpa, AVA/M, or not! A reference is required, though. And if your OC isn't a stick for AVA/M, I suggest giving me a specific color you want me to use for the OC that you feel fits them best since these will be done in the stick figure style.

No NSFW! I do not make that kind of stuff in my art, and anyone that requests that will be ignored or blocked if repeatedly asked.

Shipping is allowed, but anything that involves incest, child/minor x adult, and abusers x victims will be ignored and blocked. And yes, that includes adopted siblings/children, so no Mikako X Yamato and Mango X Purple nonsense. I will smite you on sight.

While I do enjoy toxic yaoi/yuri (*gestures to my Sannotori stuff*), the point of these art requests is to make fun and fluffy stuff, so if you request a ship like Sannotori, I will make sweet and kind art for them.

I have the right to NOT do a ship if I'm uncomfortable with it or just don't like it. (ex. Mango X Navy, Alan X Anyone, Chosen X Second/Orange, Mikado X Sora or Yuki, Mitch X Anyone, etc.)

(This includes shipping in SDRA2 in general due to a certain twist that makes it...a little strange. While I'm pretty sure all the characters are adults, I decided that it's best to treat it as more of a case by case basis and how big the age gaps are.)

I will draw a max of three characters per request.

If the request is a ship, please specify it to be romantic, otherwise I will assume it's just a friendly interaction between two (or more) characters. Or use their ship name (with the characters' names as well just to make sure I know which ones I'm doing).

If you have a specific scene for a request, tell me in your ask. Otherwise I will just do whatever comes to mind first. Edit: I forgot to mention this but this applies to which style you want me to do between regular stick or chibi. My bad. ^^;

Requests will be fluff and kind only! As mentioned before, the point of this is to do something nice and relaxing for everyone involved. And personally, I am not in the mood to make angst. Please respect that.

(Funny shitpost requests are also allowed, of course.)

I will only take requests through my asks, no where else.

And I believe that's it. This list of rules may get updated if anything else is brought to my attention, but yeah! I think I'm gonna leave these requests open for about a month so this will last until December 7th, 2024, at midnight! Any requests I haven't gotten around to by the deadline will still be completed if they're ones I want to do but anything sent after the date will be ignored.

Feel free to send in requests!

[oozebrain]

Slow burn Art the clown x Reader. Reader is ND, has anxiety, and low self esteem.

Chapter 2 of How Close Your Soul

General warnings: descriptions of food insecurity and poverty, adult themes, drug use (weed), and thoughts associated with low self esteem. Minors DNI.

Chapter summary: With unlimited free time on your hands now, you go on an adventure in the city with your new friend. (Alt summary: you smoke a blunt with Art then go to McDonalds)

Your mind races as you walk. You rose early because you couldn’t fight off the feeling of anxiety. No, it wasn’t necessarily anxiety, you were restless. Art lingered on your mind and you were excited to see him again. You knew this was reckless to meet up with a stranger in an isolated alley, but your curiosity had often gotten the better of you.

You had a ways to go still and couldn’t help but be consumed with worry. What if he wasn’t there? What if something happened to him? What if you approached to find him injured or dead? You barely knew him, but the thought of him succumbing to the harsh elements hurt your heart and made you feel guilty for enjoying your own comfort during the cold fall night. As you noticed the frost on the grass your worries grew.

Winding through the alley, you navigate through discarded boxes and trash cans, overflowing with litter. There are syringes on the ground, indicating a spot for partying. They weren’t there yesterday and you hoped no one had given Art any trouble. You pace slowly back and forth as you survey the area.

You looked around, scanning the dumpsters and rows of cans for a sign of black and white. He stuck out in this landscape, yet he was nowhere to be seen. With a small voice you call out, “Art?”

You waited for a response but none came. Turning in place, you continue to soak in your surroundings for any trace of him. Your worries grew the longer you stood there. The spot he had cleared out to sit was still visible, a nest of sorts, but where was Art?

Behind you, you hear glass being ground into the pavement and look. It was Art, stone still with his hands in the air and an overly large smile on his face, showing off his rows and rows of teeth. His smile seemed endless and the gleam in his eye was disconcerting. You felt your worry and excitement change over into something else, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Whatever it was, you didn’t like it.

He’s wielding a hammer, and he looks thrilled as hell to see you. His mouth manages to stretch even further and his eyes are wide with anticipation. His grip on the hammer tightened as he took a step towards you, to which you responded by taking a step back. This dance continued for a few steps before you stopped. 

Was he going to hurt you? But why would he? Your hands began shaking as he maintained his static pose of intimidating stature. He was merely steps away and loomed over you. He was so tall that he blocked out the sun above and it shrouded his face in surreal shadows. It was as though his face twisted and contorted into a nightmarish entity. 

“Art?” You ask nervously and he gives no response. He doesn’t even blink, and you aren’t sure if he’s breathing. Surely you were not making another poor judge of character. You wring your hands together, “Um... I wanted to thank you for yesterday so I brought you something.”

His eyebrows twitched in response and some sort of fire was lit in his eyes. He was curious. He arm relaxed slightly as it lowered a little. Maybe this was some sort of game? Art was so hard to read, maybe he just had an intense sense of humor. Still, it’s frightening. You swallow hard and continue, “Do... you wanna smoke a blunt?”

He pauses and his smile turns into a grimace. Art is visibly thinking about your proposal. He looks away, deep in thought, eyebrows furrowed and forehead wrinkled. The man looked back to you, then back to the hammer for an uncomfortable period of time, then finally back to you. He made an inquisitive face and you revealed what you were talking about.

It was one your friend had given you. It was half smoked and hard as a rock, but still did just fine. You wave it a little like a tempting treat and his eyes follow its rapid movement. He finally drops the hammer, grabs his trash bag to drag behind, and closes the small gap between you.

Art stares at what is contained in your hand and you hold it out a little more so he can inspect it. He touches it lightly and his face only became more of a confused scowl. He looked at you then waved his hand in front of his face in a grimace, portraying he thought it would stink. You nod some, “Yeah it’s skunky but it doesn’t taste bad. There’s wax in it. Not like, candle wax... it’s hard to explain...”

You think a moment then look up at him, “Sometimes we just need to catch a good buzz, you know? I thought we could smoke and talk, maybe learn some more ASL.”

He perked up at that and signed his name with curious eyes to which you responded with a smile, “Yeah! Soon you’ll be a total chatterbox.”

You look around for a comfortable pace to sit and scope out a spot atop a dumpster. It looks like it was recently dumped and smelled the least offensive, so you hoist yourself up and hold your hand out for Art to follow. He has a much easier time clambering up the side than you did, but he struggles to heave his garbage bag beside him.

You didn’t ask about it. It was likely his only way to transport his possessions, but it still made you worry for him. It could easily become stolen or mistaken for actual trash. Perhaps you would get Art a proper means to carry his things, but that was getting ahead of yourself. Today your rent was due and you were seven hundred dollars short. There was no way you were going to get that much money in time, so you were doing the next best thing- running away from your problems. This was the present, and the present meant you were about to get high with a complete stranger.

“Are you okay with this?” You ask as you show him the blunt. He mouths ‘oh yeah’ a little too assertively and puffs his chest out. Though he seemed confident you wondered if he’d ever smoked weed before. You were become more and more curious about your friend, “Are you sure?”

He nodded enthusiastically with a smile but his eyes were transfixed on the mysteriously wrapped cigarette. Wherever it went his eyes followed. You patted your pocket and realized you forgot your lighter at home, “Damn. Art, you wouldn’t happen to have a lighter by any chance would you?”

Art holds his finger up in a ‘one moment’ gesture and starts looking through the same black trash bag as yesterday. From this angle you could see inside a little. It was a hodgepodge of metal, trinkets, saws...

Saws?

Your eyes widen when he pulls out a blow torch, his mouth stretched in a wide tooth filled grin of glee and accomplishment. He looked so proud to hold it in his hands and his lights lit up when he playfully blew at you with the fire. It should scare you on a deeper level than it did, but you really wanted to smoke.

“Awesome. Do you care if I see it? “ You ask, but he seems incredibly reluctant to hand it over as he hugs it to his chest and furrows his brows in response. His theatrics made it hard to take him seriously or view him as any sort of threat. 

So to the stranger with a blow torch you say, “Art, no offense man but I’m not gonna come outta here looking like creme brûlée.”

He laughs uproariously in silence and slaps his knee. That seemed to have tickled him and you relax a little. Another similarity. Humor. Finally, someone with a sense of humor. Art wipes a faux tear from his eye and obliges, shoulders still heaving sporadically in a fit of voiceless giggles.

You test it experimentally, a small lick of fire coming out the end. You look at art with raised brows and mirror his previous actions by blowing fire at him. He laughs again and offers you one, hardy clap on your back. It makes you feel warm and secure inside. You didn’t know how much you needed that, but you were silently grateful. 

He watched you with visible curiosity as you lit the end and took a deep inhale. You held it for as long as your lungs could stand before exhaling. Unconsciously you hold it out to Art to pass the blunt. Hesitantly, he takes it from you and holds it between the nails of his thumb and index finger.

You snort in a laugh. Who needs clips when you have him? You mime a smoking motion and nod to him, “Draw it into your mouth then hold it in your lungs, but don't—”

Before you could finish he was chiefing it. He took a hit as big as his lungs could expand, held it for half a second, then exploded in a coughing fit. It wracked his body and he held his chest, all of his motions dramatic and theatrical as he figuratively withered and died right in front of you. It was definitely his first time.

You reach out and, after careful consideration, rest your hand on his back and pat as you finish your sentence, “...don’t take a big hit.”

He stills instantly at your touch and you withdraw your hand like you’ve touched a hot stove. Had you crossed a boundary? Were you a nuisance? Did you hurt him? Were you what your boss thought: a predatory creep who preyed on older men? Was that possible?

“I’m... I’m sorry Art.” You offer awkwardly and rub your hands together, fidgeting and picking at your nails. An audible gulp leaves you as you stare down at the ground, too ashamed to look at him. You didn’t know what you did wrong, but you’d certainly done something. 

Silence falls between the two of you for a while. It feels like hours as the absence of noise makes your ears ring and only amplifies your transgression. You finally look to him and see him in the same position, still as a stone and just as silent. After a moment you find your voice, “Art... are you okay?”

His eyes visibly shift when he breaks out of his trance and he finally looks to you. Art stares at you, barely half lidded and the scelra bloodshot and red. He offers you a lazy grin and you mirror it, relief flooding you. He wasn’t upset, he was just stoned!

“You scared me there for a minute buddy!” You sigh as your anxiety leaves you and begin to swing your feet idly back and forth. He sleepily watches your feet a moment before mirroring you, keeping your same pace. Art trails his eyes up your body then meets your eyes, the same lazy, blissful smile spread over his face. He takes another, much smaller, hit off of the blunt, holds it, then exhales through his nose. 

The smoke snakes upwards and plumes around him. He caught on quick. Art hands you back the blunt and you accept it gratefully then taking a greedy hit off it. This time, you enjoy it. You savor it and hold it until your lungs feel as though they are smoldering and flaking away. You exhale slowly, watching the swirls and twirls of the white plumes that flow like water in the sun’s rays.

“So, Art...” You begin, passing the blunt back to him, “what are you into? Like what are your hobbies?”

He visibly ponders a moment, looks you dead in the eye and offers you the scariest, widest smile you’ve ever seen. It reminded you of something you’ve seen browsing the depths of horror forums. You heart palpitates as he stares at you, eyes wild and teeth prominent. You had no idea what kind of emotion he was displaying and nervously averted your eyes.

Art tapped on your shoulder and motions upward for you to meet his gaze again. Nervously, you oblige and find his expression has changed dramatically. He’s back to sleepy eyes and a closed mouth, crooked smile. Art hands you the blunt back so he can use both hands to speak.

He makes a single handed digging motion, adding little details like running into rocks and patting the soil down. You smile at him in kind, “You like to garden?”

Art pauses and makes a ‘kind of’ motion with his hand then waves you off. That isn’t what he was trying to say. He taps his chin in thought, this time creating the illusion of digging with a two handed shovel.  But still you do not understand and offer him a sheepish apology and urge him to continue. 

He makes an arch shape near the head of where he was digging, but that only confused you further. You point at the imaginary object, “What is that?”

Art huffed and pointed aggressively to a pebble on the ground. You ponder a moment then offer, “Rock? Close? Uhh... stone?”

He points to you with joy and nods fervently, rolling his hand and looking at you in giddy apprehension to finally guess the correct answer. But nothing comes. You purse your lips, afraid to say the wrong thing. Art repeats the motion, never taking his eyes off you as he dug in the imaginary hole then made a pulling motion at the air and loading up his pockets. 

You look at him, desperately trying to understand but the concept continues to not only elude you but become more confusing with each additional gesture. You want to know, but if it isn’t gardening what else could it be? What other activities involve digging holes near large stone objects at the head and rummaging through their contents? The only thing that kept coming to mind was digging up buried treasure and you knew that isn’t what it was.

He shares your frustration and sighs in silence. Art throws his hands up and draws a distressed question mark in the air over and over again. You didn’t understand what he didn’t understand. And your confusion made his confusion grow. Your eyes widen and to ease the pressure you say, “I think we’re too high man.”

Art’s eyes widen and he seems briefly alarmed before relaxing all at once and nodding along with your remark. He smiles at you and wipes imaginary sweat off his forehead and lifts his hat to you in a polite gesture. You weren't going to stop trying to learn about your new friend and decided to do a rewind.

“Let’s get to the spelling. So, Art, what does the letter of your hobby start with?” You never thought your limited knowledge of ASL would come in handy when smoking a blunt with a clown, but this life was truly full of surprises.

He drew a G in the air and you repeat the sign for the corresponding letter. He mirrors you then draws several more letters in the air. R... A... V... E...

“Grave?” You ask, tilting your head slightly. Suddenly, it dawned on you, “Oh! Do you work at a cemetery? You tend to the graves?”

This simply cracked him the hell up. He laughed and laughed, holding his hands over his mouth in a wordless giggle as though he were bottling up some big juicy secret. After a moment he nodded with a smile, mouthing 'sure'. That explained some of his strange behaviors. Dead people didn’t talk and neither did he, so they already had more in common than the living. You, yourself, had felt more of a relation to the dead than the living, as well, and found his profession interesting. 

Before you could ask him any more questions he gripped his stomach, brow knitted in confusion. He looked to you questioningly, lips parted as though to speak. He was mumbling something voicelessly but you couldn’t hear nor read his lips. You try to placate him.

“It’s called the munchies, it’s normal.”

But he wouldn’t stop staring at you. His stomach audibly grumbled and he swallowed hard. He was looking at you in a way no one ever had before. He was looking at you like YOU were food. You’re high; you’re feeling bold and joke, “Bro if you’re gonna cannibalize me go ahead, with the week I’ve had I’m ready.”

He stops and laughs, his eyes crinkling into slits as he gets lost in a fit of giggles. His hand didn’t leave his stomach as he rubbed it absent mindedly, still staring at you with wolfish hunger. His stomach gurgled again and he winced some. He hunger was clearly a step above regular munchies.

“I’ve heard people taste like pork...” Your stomach growls at the thought of slow roasted meat, so tender it fell off the bone. You’d always had a fascination with human meat, and one of your current friends had dabbled in cannibalism in their childhood so it wasn’t too far fetched of a concept. Art did not strike you as a cannibal, but if he was that strangely wouldn’t bother you, at least not right now. Maybe you really were too high. 

Without warning, Art slides off the dumpster. His trash bag lands on the ground with a loud, metallic thud, and then he extends his hand out to you. His hand is filthy, his gloves stiff and stained with dirt and some sort of bodily fluid. You weren’t sure what it was, but logic escaped you right now.

You took his hand in yours and allowed him to help you off the dumpster. With effort, you awkwardly slide down and begin following after him like a puppy. At first you struggled to keep up with his long gait but he slowed down so the two of you could walk side by side.

“Where are we going, Art?” You look up at him and ask curiously. He smiles down at you and makes an M in the air in the same shape as the iconic golden arches. The idea of a hot, greasy, barely edible hamburger made you so hungry you nearly dry heaved right there. But then it hit you, “I don’t have any money.”

He waved you off and rubbed his fingers together then pointed at himself smugly, showing that he had money and was paying. But could you really allow him to do something like that? You open your mouth to protest and he holds his finger to his lips to shush you. You relent. Art is going to do what he wants, and if he wants to buy you a cheeseburger then so be it. Perhaps the pair of you could have a symbiotic relationship. You were interested in compiling resources, so this was just part of it.

The walk there was short but simulaneously felt as though it dragged on forever. From the parking lot, you could smell the grilled beef and frying grease and it made your mouth water. It seemed to have a similar effect on Art as his stomach produced a low rumble of its own. With a flamboyant display, he holds the door open for you and makes a sweeping motion with his arm for you to enter. You titter in playful bashfulness and enter. The restaurant is warm and the delicious smell of food envelops you like cartoon smoke.

But people are looking at you, whispering and giving you ugly stares. They’re all pointing at Art and hurried murmurs emerging: ‘is that him?’, ‘what horrible taste’, ‘appalling.

Appalling? 

You realize they aren’t talking about you, they’re talking about Art. You look up to him. He pays them no mind. His mouth is agape as he strums his chin in thought, voicelessly mouthing to himself as he read the menu. You already know what you’re going to get and stand beside him patiently. You give him a few moments then tug on his sleeve to get his attention, of which he obliges.

“Which number do you want, Art?”

He ponders again before holding two fingers up, indicating he wanted the same thing you were getting. You smile, “Great minds, yeah?”

Art offers a small chuckle and nods, lingering behind as you approach the counter. The cashier seems off, uncomfortable, and scared. You were familiar with stares of the ignorant, but this seemed different. She seemed petrified.

“Are you okay?” The cashier whispers. 

You look around and everyone is staring at you. You eye her nervously and offer a wary, “Yeah...?”

“Are you sure? He’s just... he’s just a guy in a costume, right?”

You look back at Art, who is enamored with the toy display, his face merely inches from the bright and colorful beanie babies contained within. You’re too high to deal with this kind of dumb shit right now. Why was everyone looking at him like that? And why was everyone being so mean about him? He was just a guy in a clown costume... wasn’t he?

Art looks back at you and gives a friendly little wave before resuming fawning over the toys. There’s no way this guy was some kind of depraved murderer or demon, he was just a guy in a suit. He was weird, like you. You both had a similar sense of humor and people just didn’t get you. So what if he liked to dress like a clown? You thought he was brave to be who he was and admired how easily he brushed off other people's abrasive attitude.

You look back at the cashier, “Yeah it’s just a costume. We’d like two number twos and we’ll be getting that to go, please.”

With shaking hands, she types in the order. Art is by your side, digging through his trash bag before withdrawing a wallet. He flips through the row of credit cards then hands one out to the cashier. You lived off credit cards for a while too so you thought little of it.

She takes it, trying her best not to make contact with his hand and swipes it. It was approved and she slid it back across the counter, “Thanks we’ll uh, we’ll call your number as soon as its ready.”

She can’t take her eyes off Art as she backs away and retreats to the kitchen. She is talking to what you assume is her manager, pointing and motioning to the pair of you. Seriously? What was her problem. Part of you wants to confront her and tell her to mind her own fucking business, but your anxiety roots you firmly in place.

This display is not lost to Art. His lip curls into a smirk as he returns to the beanie babies. You join him and admire them. You loved stuffed animals and your eyes glitter with wonder. You’ve never seen any of these before, all small little animals. There’s a turtle, a red panda, a giraffe, a hedgehog... so many wonderful little creatures.

“Wow...” You breathe out, “I wish I’d gotten a happy meal instead. I’d love to have these.”

“Number six forty three!” Comes a voice behind you. That’s your number. You happily scamper over to the counter to retrieve your bag and drinks.

“You ready, Art?” You call back to him but he says nothing. He looks at you, then back to the toy display. Without warning, he strikes it again, and again, and again. The hard plastic cracks and crumbles from his blows and it is not long before he is loading up his trash bag with every beanie baby in the display.

You were so dumbfounded by Art’s actions you weren’t sure what to say, or do, so you did nothing but watch and stare. This is something you had fantasized about many times as a child, eyeing the coveted toys in the case your parents could not afford, but you never had the strength to execute it. One by one, each beanie baby was snatched up.

“Sir! Sir you can’t--” The cashier is cut off. He looks back at her with a wide, toothy grin and sizes her up. Even a hardened veteran of customer service isn’t immune to his intimidating stare. He holds his threatening stance a moment before looking back to you and grabbing your hand. He practically drags you out of there, an entire audiences’ eyes on you as you make your dramatic exit.

The further you get away the more the situation sinks into you, and so does the ferocious anxiety. What was going to happen? How was he being so casual about this? Did he regularly steal from their toy display, is that why they were looking at him like that?

As you both tuck behind an old gas station your anxiety finally breaks. Oh no...

“Art what if we get in trouble? What was that back there man? What...”

He shushes you and rests his hand on your shoulder. This time, you still and look back at him. Though stoic, he seems weirdly reassuring. You had just knocked off a McDonald’s and stolen twelve beanie babies. TWELVE. 

“What if we get banned from every McDonald’s? What if we go to jail.” Fear washes over you and it multiplies with the influence of weed, “Art I don’t wanna go to jail. We have to take them back and apologize... no we can’t do that, we’ll be arrested... What if they’re looking for us... Art! What if they’re--”

Art shushes you again and rubs your shoulder gently. He gives the ‘ok’ sigh with his hand and pats you. He begins to walk away but stops as he realizes you aren’t following him. You’re too anxious and a prisoner in your own mind. This is too scary, it’s too intense. Your rush of adrenaline had quickly turned over into a full blown anxiety attack.

Your heart pounded so hard it made you see spots and you struggled to stand still. You began pacing, wringing your hands as thousands of thoughts burst into your mind all at once. What if this is it? You’ve lost your job, you’re going to lose your apartment, and now you were going to jail for stealing stuffed animals... at least this way you’d still have shelter and three meals a day...

There was a warmth against your back. You start and look up at the source: Art. His hand is between your shoulder blades. He makes no motion to move but stays there, silent and strong as his large hand offers you a tether to the moment. You say nothing and just focus on the feeling. His touch felt so deliberate and affirming, it felt meaningful and stilled your trembling. 

You wanted to lean into him, but you weren’t sure if he’d appreciate that. You look at him questioningly and, is if he read your mind, moves his hand to your shoulder and draws you near to him. You remain this way for a while. He holds you in silence, hand gingerly rubbing up and down on your arm and occasionally patting as he tried to comfort you.

It was working. You hadn’t felt this secure since you’d been in His arms: the former object of your affection who now made your heart ache and your stomach sick. You are touch starved and his affection makes something inside you melt. You nuzzle into his chest and he allows this, moving his hand to rest on your head and gently smooth your hair. 

Your hands are too full to reciprocate the hug, but you do your best to return the affection by leaning further into him and he obliges  by holding you closer. The pair of you remain this way for some time. There are no police sirens, no angry mob, and no cashier chasing after you. All of your worries were limited to your mind and, gradually, you relax. Slowly, you pull away from him and offer him a kind, but slightly strained, smile.

“Art... I mean this in the nicest way possible but... You gotta take a shower man. Do you wanna come over to my place? I have body wash and stuff you can use.”

His eyebrows fly to the sky and his mouth forms into a large O. This expression is brief as a wide smile takes its place. He nods happily, his little hat bobbling, and you mirror his smile. You felt good that you were able to help someone out and reciprocate his aid. As the pair of you made your way home with McDonald’s loot, you begin to wonder if this will be the start of a beautiful and peculiar friendship.

[jimblejamblewritings]

starlight moonlight sunlight — blurb nine

Title: Old Friends

Pairing: ex!Remus x reader, Remus x Sirius, eventual poly!Wolfstar x reader

Warnings: catching a partner cheating, angst, hurt no comfort, friendship breakup

blurb series navigation here | previous blurb here

“I’m heading out,” you said to your boss. 

The old man gave you a wave before you stepped into the fireplace and grabbed some Floo Powder, yelling out for Hogsmeade. You still weren’t getting a paycheck, the store was failing miserably. But your boss, on account of you and only one other person being employed there, promised a percentage of every book sold. So far only three books had been sold but he did make good on his promise. 

You rolled your eyes as you stepped into the Great Hall for dinner. The cowering from other students was starting to piss you off. You were a nymph not a fucking dementor. Vines slowly crept around all the tables, including the teachers’ table, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care enough. Just as you sat down, others moved away. You just shrugged. It’s exactly how it used to be at Ilvermorny. For months, everyone was afraid before becoming friendly. Sometimes overly friendly. But that was also when you were eleven. You expected this from first years, not your fellow seventh years who were very much adults and clearly knew better. 

Remus winced as he watched the other students move closer to them. He and Sirius felt miserable and everyone could see it. He kept looking over where you sat alone. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt her.” 

“We know, Rem.” 

“I should have just broken up with her.” 

Lily shook her head. “We all should have told her the truth. All of us messed up.” 

They watched you get up after finishing your soup. It wasn’t right but the marauders did check the map every now and then. They knew you were in the Room of Requirement although they weren’t sure what you were doing in there exactly. You didn’t come back till late into the night, annoyed to see the marauders were still with your roommates. They were all sitting on the floor with parchments in their hands. You said nothing as you went into the bathroom for a quick shower, still not speaking as you climbed into bed. 

You turned your head when someone called for you. Marlene picked at her top lip for a moment. 

“So for the room assignments next year since we still have to be on campus for uni, we were considering the two suites across from each other for the girls. Maybe you’d li—” 

“I already applied for an individual studio,” you cut her off. “McGonagall granted it because of certain circumstances.”  

“Oh.” 

Everyone looked at each other. Meeting Remus and Sirius’ eyes, you could feel yourself starting to tear up again. You turned up the radio and then fell back onto the mattress, turning into a pile of daisy petals. The marauders and friends tried to finish up housing placements as quickly as possible to give you some space. You didn’t talk to your roommates all night. Come the morning, you still didn’t. It was pretty to avoid them and everyone else really for a few weeks. Your after classes job really aided in that plan. Yesterday night you even offered to take the late shift, meaning you didn’t get back to the dorms until well after the other girls were asleep. The only downside was you showed up to breakfast a bit later than everyone else. 

You were barely cognizant for the announcements, more falling asleep into your porridge rather than eating it. McGonagall droned on about things you didn’t care about. 

“We have three new students.” 

You, along with everyone else, turned your head to the Great Hall doors. You wondered if they were going to be refugees like you or simply some transfer students. Filch began to pull open the doors. 

“GUYS!” You ran to three people coming through the doors. 

“Y/N!” 

Jace lifted you into the air, spinning you around before setting you down in front of Max, Matilda and Pamola. Max did the same thing as him. 

“You’re here? But wh— how?” 

“My family,” Jace admitted. “We asked to leave before they were found. These three tagged along.” 

Tilda rolled her eyes. “Well, I can’t let my new boyfriend flee the country without me.” 

“I wasn’t letting my sister go alone.” 

“And I tagged along cause I figured better safe than sorry for my mom,” Pamola said.

“Boyfriend?! Wait, I’m so happy for y’all.” 

“Miss Y/N. If you would be so kind as to let your friends get sorted first. They can catch up in a moment.” 

“Sorry, Professor McGonagall.” 

You sat back down at Gryffindor table, closer to your former friends. Both of your knees bounced up and down as you waited. The loudest cheers probably came from you, shocking the marauders. Even when you were in the band, you were never this lively. Despite the fact that only Max made it into Gryffindor, all of them sat down at the table. It was like no one else existed for a moment. For once, no cacti or vines greeted students. The occasional rose did spring up on a table but nothing more. 

“I can’t believe you’re here, too. How long?” Pamola asked. 

“Start of the school year.” 

“Wow.” 

You stabbed at your porridge. “I’m so bummed. We already did house assignments for college and I opted for a studio. I take it y’all will be with each other.” 

“Hey, year after, all five of us together.” 

“You bet.” 

“So, how’s life here?” Jace scarfed down some bacon. “What the fuck do you do around here for fun?” 

“Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley.” 

“No clue what that is.” 

“I’ll show you,” you said with a chuckle. 

Matilda nodded her head as she let her eyes wander to the marauders. She tilted her head before her eyes went wide at the recognition of all the pictures you used to show them. “So this is the famous Remus?” 

“No.” You threw down your napkin. “Let’s just go.” 

Successfully, you stayed with your American friends the entire day. Pamola even offered to let you stay in the Hufflepuff dorm with her, an offer you were considering taking. You showed Max how to get into the Gryffindor common room, giving him a hug before you both went to the separate girls and boys dorm. 

Max groaned as he opened the door. “I’m being tested today. Hi, I’m Max. Y/N’s best friend. Hate you all, dickheads. Especially you, tall one. And slightly less but still especially you, long haired one. And just fuck you two. Glad we established this relationship. Do me a favor, don’t talk to me.” 

He plopped down on his new bed, opening the carrier his cat was still chilling in. Unlike you, Jace, and Pamola, Max and Tilda had all of their things. It actually helped the group move. No one was looking at them with two purebloods amongst them. With a flick of his wand, all the trunks began unpacking for him. He pulled his cat — Cromwell — closer to his chest, scratching behind his ears. He looked over with a wicked side eye as his name was called. 

“I thought I said don’t talk to me.” He looked over anyway. 

“Is she okay?” Sirius asked. 

“And why do you care?” 

“We didn’t mean to hurt her.”

Max sneered. “Does that line work a lot for you?”

“N-no, we ju—” 

“Look, if you’re really sorry then you’d leave her alone. You’ve already caused enough heartbreak, okay. If she wants to speak to you, Merlin I wouldn’t know why but she’s nicer than I’ve ever been, then she’ll find you.” 

All four of them nodded at his words. Remus kept looking over, wanting to ask more but taking Max’s words to heart. Silently, he and Sirius cuddled up and fell asleep.

| next blurb coming soon |

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[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 6

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here

First - Prev - Next

CH.6

“Good evening, Stanley.”

“...”

“I can see in lieu of speaking, you have instead chosen to communicate with an obscene hand gesture- two obscene hand gestures. I'll excuse your immaturity because I understand you might be feeling… upset.”

“Upset? Me? What could I possibly be upset about?”

“I understand your current state of… lodging is making you apprehensive. On account of being involuntarily committed.”

“You not picking up sarcasm doesn’t surprise me. And this isn’t an involuntary commitment; this is an unlawful abduction and confinement. I have enough experience with both to know the difference.”

“You what?”

“Ask me whatever stupid questions you’re about to ask, but I refuse to stand up. This is literally the first bed I’ve had since prison; and in that bed I had to worry about bed bugs, dirty needles, poisonous snakes… and Jorge.”

“What was that last thing that you just whispered to yourself?”

“Don’t worry about it. Now, what do you want, Doc? You here to scan me again? Get me to take more drugs? Ask me weirdly personal questions like your hot friend?”

“I want to talk. I may have come on a little strong when we crossed paths in town, in order for you to truly understand where I’m coming from, I’m going to have to give you some context in place of your lost memory.”

“Please tell me you’re not about to give me the tragic backstory of you and your missing twin.”

“Listen, Stanley, you don’t remember this; but we had a falling out ten years ago.”

“Aaand you’re doing it. Yeah, that’s pretty much what I was expecting. Fine, I’ll play along.”

“We were in our senior year of high school. You ruined a project of mine, and it cost me my dream college. We had a fight, and you got- you left home after that.”

“Man, dunno why I’d do something like that.”

“You were scared of me leaving you.”

“Did a shitty thing, and ended up alone anyways. That's something I'd expect from me.”

“And then you tried to justify it and say there was a silver lining-.”

“I’m sorry.”

“...What?”

“I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

“... Where’s your excuse?”

“Hm?”

“Your excuses- your reasons? You cannot just apologize- so casually.”

“Sure I can. I just did. You don't accept it, that’s your right."

“...You don’t mean that.”

“Naw, I’m pretty sure no one deserves to be betrayed. I’m sorry you were.”

“Saying sorry doesn’t make it okay.”

“Didn’t say it did. Nothing can- it’s already happened, and there’s no changing it. You don’t wanna forgive and forget? I won’t make you.”

“And you’re going to simply… move on?”

“Look, PhD, I can’t tell you why your real twin did what he did, or what was going through his head when he did it. But he did the wrong thing to the wrong person, and paid for it. It’s too bad you had to pay for it too.”

“You are-.”

“Can see why you’d get us mixed up though. All I do is ruin things, too. Maybe if that thing with your project hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t be a wackjob who carries a tranq gun with him everywhere and abducts people off of the street.”

“I’m not mixing anything up. You are exactly who I keep trying to tell you that you are. You’re just not you right now.”

“I’m never anybody but me. You feel better now? Get all of that out of your system?”

“Now that I have told you what separated us-.”

“I’m gonna take that as a no.”

“Can you fill me in on the years that followed?”

“Doc, a lot of what I remember is like smoke - it’s hazy, and it’s hard to hold onto, can you be specific?”

“How about we start with something tangible?”

“Like what?”

“I am going to slip a paper and a pen through the slot in the door. Write down a list of the people who’ve tried to kill you.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. You told my associate a number of alarming things during his interview with you, and he reported that a not insignificant number of those things revolved around people trying to kill you.”

“A lot of them still want me dead, you know. If they figured out where I was, they might raid this place. It’s not too late to just… let me go, and we can pretend none of this happened. I’m not gonna hold a grudge against you, it's clear to me you've got issues because your real twin is either dead or hiding in Cuba.”

“They can try. They’ll fail.”

"Gutsy. We coulda been friends if you weren't insane."

"...We were."

"If you say so."

To be continued...

[supercalime]

A goodbye post I guess?

Hey yall, i wanted to write something about all of this as this may be the last time I talk about this show. Apologies in advance, this will be long and all over the place cause im using this little essay to get it off my chest and help me calm down my anxiety. Strap in, this will be a doozy.

First off, no matter how sad and disappointed we are, let’s please not stoop down to the level of those fans when it comes to voicing our issues with this situation. Please, let’s not harass, call people names, send them threats, etc. we can voice our opinions in an adult way, and although it fucking hurts and it makes us want to shout from the rooftops and call Murphy, Minear and Stark every name in the sun, we need to be grown ups and come out on top of it.

That being said, I want to first acknowledge how fun and cool yall are. We endured A LOT of shit since april and all that bullshit didn’t stop you from keeping the positivity going. I applaud you all for that. It has been hard. I came in contact and became friends with some really nice people here and I wouldn’t change it for the world. I loved being a part of this fandom and it physically hurts me that this feels like it was all for nothing.

Even though I feel like a fool as well, I hate to see how you are all so sad with this. This wasn’t our fault. We were not naive for believing that this storyline could’ve been great. Don’t blame yourself for being taken advantage of. Because that’s what they did. They saw the opportunity to profit from a community and took it. They are the ones in the wrong. They used us for brownie points and then tossed us away like trash the second they got what they wanted. It’s on them.

What I’m about to say now will sound hypocritical as I’m writing this at 2am while trying to cope with an anxiety attack caused by this very show, but what we can take away from this is that unfortunately, we can’t rely on tv shows for happiness. Yes, that’s a bitter pill to swallow, specially in this political climate as we were hoping for some sort of escape from the horrors of the elections. What i took away from this is that I need to (for lack of a better word) touch grass. I need hobbies, I need friends. All things that I’ve been lacking because fandom stuff is easier. I need to find stuff that makes me happy that doesn’t depend on outside factors. But also I want to make sure that if a show is all you have, that’s okay and is even more okay to feel betrayed. I was an absolute mess a few years ago when a show I adored stabbed their fans in the back, but it gets better. You still get angry remembering you were done dirty but I promise that the memories that stick are the positive ones.

I don’t wanna go on a deleting spree but I also don’t want to be reminded of this hurtful moment as the wound is still fresh, so I’m deciding to reevaluate some things offline, like I did with previous fandoms, and come back when I’m ready. I don’t think I’ll leave tumblr or never watch/talk about 911 again but I need some time and space from it so I can feel better. I don’t want to doom scroll through the tags like I did tonight. What Ryan Murphy, Tim Minear and Oliver Stark did to us was awful, but the best thing I can do is not let these three men influence my mental health. I won’t let a tv show ruin me because it’s not my fault. It’s not our fault to believe that there were half decent people in the entertainment industry that cares about the portrayal of queer individuals. They will have to sleep at night with that knowledge and deal with the consequences from the BoBs. And if these guys decide to humor the BoBs that’s their funeral. It would further show they never cared about representation and just wanted to save face after making so many people miserable for simply enjoying a canon ship. I hope they can see the consequences because I’m not even the target here. I’m hurt for all the queer men that saw themselves in buck and tommy, that even messaged the actors thanking them for their honest portrayal.

In conclusion, here’s my goodbye (for now).

Thank you so much bucktommy nation!

Yall are the best,

Love, Lety 🖤