#melanie is soft butch

[vulgar03]

doodles + music hcs/what i think they’d listen too hehe..

[cryptideye]

you know i never really liked butch daisy (especially with how she has talked about her nickname in relation to herself, she doesnt seem like the kind of person to put forth a masculine *outward* appearance) but relistening to the podcast im just like "hmm yeah why DO people make the murdercop the most butch woman out of their entire lineup"

[ataraxiaspainting]

Sweet Hibiscus Tea.

Yan Shalnark x F Reader.

Synopsis: After a day of finally trying to face your social anxiety, you walk home alone. The roads are empty, quiet, and eerie. But you are almost home now, aren’t you? You are not going to cry anymore. Just when you think life is starting to turn around for you, it goes in the exact opposite direction. 

Warnings: Yandere themes, violence, kidnapping, misogyny, not SFW implications, psychological horror elements, manipulation, panic attacks, Shalnark being an asshole, unhealthy relationships, and stalking.

Word Count: 5k.

Can be considered to be within the Hier Encore universe.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Look Who’s Inside Again by Bo Burnham

Things She Said by Chris Garneau

Baby Bride Rag by Roar

Butch 4 Butch by Rio Romeo

Appetite of a People-Pleaser by Ghost and Pals

Valentine, Texas by Mitski

I’m Yer Dad by GRLwood

Cry Baby by Melanie Martinez

Freaks by Surf Curse

Neighbour by Mother Mother

“You stay soft, you get beaten; only natural to harden up.” — Mitski, Stay Soft

*~*~*~*

Regardless of how much time has passed, this convenience store always remains the same.

There is always the familiar, tired face of the clerk behind the cash register, her gaze never on you or any other customer who walks in and out of the doors, a simple, muted hello being the only proof that she noticed you.

The lights dim and blink without fail, fading from white to a shade of daffodil to dark flaxen before disappearing and resurfacing yet again as alabaster. No matter how black the night sky is, the less-than-bright illumination never changes.

Neither does the rest of the scenery.

Next to the payment area are two vending machines, with one not functioning. It is dead, with the glass broken by a punch that left a large gaping hole in the dead center. Once when you accidentally touched the front wall while bending down to get your can of lemonade from the working one, it left a sticky residue that had you rubbing your palm on your sweater for what felt like an eternity. It somewhat helped, you guessed, but it also stained your clothes. The vending machine to its right was always out of most sweet drinks, often leaving you with the choice of coffee, lemonade, green tea, or water.

You don’t buy any snacks aside from strawberry Pocky and, if you are lucky, a chocolate bar.

But you do buy meals here because it is cheap. Usually fish with miso or a salad, but there have been times when you can find a premade sandwich.

The total cost comes to between 500 to 1000 Jenny. There is always a poster that claims the cashier is the employee of the month, though you are certain that she is the only one who works there.

The only thing that ever changes is the calendar behind her. The past dates are crossed out in red ink that is in the form of thick, scraggly lines. They remind you of the drawings you used to make as a child when your father was too busy screaming outside your door and your mother was too powerless to do anything but cry and yelp as he hit her. One time you drew them fighting, and when one of your maids saw it, it inevitably found its way to his desk.

Needless to say, he was not happy by any means.

*~*~*~*

The calendar behind the worker reads the 17th of April, 1998. On this day in 1985, your first and only ever friend, the head gardener’s apprentice, went missing. When you eventually gathered up the courage after waiting for hours outside, you went to your father’s room to ask where she was.

“She has been removed from the premises for distracting you instead of doing her job.” The answer you got was to the point, because when has he ever been warm to you? “I made sure that she had learned her lesson before she died. She was in pain the whole time. It was a shame to put a bullet between her pretty eyes. But at least she had a bit more use to me beforehand.”

You cried and cried until you threw up.

That is when your mother, the usual bandage over her left cheek this time, came in and sat on your bed gently, sadly.

She patted the area next to her and slowly you stood up from the floor where you kneeled as you sobbed and went over. She asked you if you wanted a hug and you said no. She responded with a simple nod, respecting your answer. But then what she said next turned your tear-stricken face into a glare.

“She’s alive.” She muttered, along with thanks to God and a hold of the cross on her neck. 

“...What?”

Your mother shushed you when she heard footsteps coming to the door. When the sound eventually leaves further into the hallway, she leans into your ear while pointing to your vanity. Your gaze leads you to the dusty cat statue made of garnet.

It got shattered a little while ago when a maid cleaning your room accidentally made it fall to the floor. You felt bad for her as she was a new hire, so you never told anyone aside from your mother. You knew that if your father, the head of this household, ever found out he would punish her severely, even when he did not care for the statue at all. You got to choose, if you were lucky, which part gets whipped or cut off.

“Yes.”

Her short answer leaves you almost jumping up out of your seat. “...Huh?”

“At last week’s banquet, she caught the attention of your father’s wealthiest business partner.” She turns to the curtains covering the lone window in your room, her back now facing you. “She was tricked into boarding a car when the driver claimed you were inside waiting for her. To the partner in question, she is nothing but another pretty face to add to his collection.”

At the slight turn of the doorknob next door, you two go as still as wax people in a museum. “Why did he lie to me?”

“Why? Well, he certainly did not want you rebelling against his decision.”

“But I have never rebelled against him before.”

“I know.” Your mother lets out a sharp laugh, salty and sour. “I know you are always trying to be good, trying to stay under the radar. I know, I know because you are a lot like me. but now I am going to teach you a lesson about your father and the world at large. Remember that a man’s resentful attitude will always result in a woman’s agony, physical or otherwise, always. However, when things go right for a man, a woman is either praised like a dog or ignored until something goes wrong because it is never enough.”

You can’t breathe. “But why? Why, why, why? What did I do wrong? What could I have done right?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing. There is nothing you can do or could have done. No matter what, your faults will always be found. That is how most men are raised, to find, and how most women are raised, to hide.”

“...”

“Men’s hearts are such cruel, small things. Oftentimes they can only fit themselves in them, but there have been times where even they cannot fit.” She is still holding onto the cross charm on her gold necklace, firmer than she has ever held you. “They are cold, are or are almost dead. There is no room for people like you and me. No room at all. All they see us as is something to own, something with no feelings whatsoever, and whose only purpose is to please no matter the cost. Such pigs, all of them.” She murmurs some prayers that you cannot hear. “I want you to be better. I want what is best for you, what I never have been able to accomplish; run and live.”

She opens the drawer beside your bed, and you don’t do anything to stop her. It is not like you can hide anything, from her or anyone else in this house. Whatever is buried eventually resurfaces. She pulls out your rarely used bible, a thick layer of dust on the leather cover. It smells and makes you cough. She doesn’t though.

“At least your father does not force you to read this day and night.”

“Mmhmm.”

“It is one of the few things I appreciate him not doing, I do not want you to grow up hating the church.”

“I know.”

“He has made you hate a lot of things already.”

She turns the pages, dust flying around the cold air.

“He made me hate a lot of things too. Blankets, steaks, cameras. The color white, the color black, the color red. The sounds of belts unbuckling, the sound of laughter, the sounds of doors opening and closing and locking.”

You don’t say anything, only looking at her hands. Only in the dark can you not see her scars, her blooming wrinkles, and the bruises that are always fresh. 

You don’t say anything, because you have learned from a very young age that you are her only listening ear. You are the only one who keeps her head on her shoulders. You don’t say anything, because she is right. He has made you hate plenty of things. But, but, but. But you can’t hate him, and you can’t hate your mother.

You can’t hate her, because who knows what she would do when she finds out that no one cares about her pain in this hell?

“Mother.” You mutter, putting your head on her shoulder as you scan the text on the page that she selected. She does not stop you. 

“Yes, [First]?”

“Do you hate me?” You ask, trying so very hard to not let her see the tears that threaten to come out of your eyes. “Because… because… if I wasn’t conceived, you wouldn’t be here hurting, would you?”

You could swear that you heard her heart skip a beat.

“...I would not be here, yes.”

She is honest, for once. You know at least some of this situation is all your fault.

“Do you hate me?”

“...”

“Mother, please answer me.”

You hear a sniffle as she starts mumbling the words written. “‘A gracious woman gets honor, and violent men get riches.’”

You choose not to press on the subject. You don’t want her to suffer anymore.

*~*~*~*

You buy an orange-flavored Ramune soda, a pack of pork ginger instant ramen, and strawberry Pocky.

The total would come to about 600 Jenny if your quick calculations are right. You could get something extra, like a topping for your ramen or some chips. But would it be wise? You have never been someone who finishes their plate after you had ran away, so what if you just waste your money?

So, you decide not to get anything else.

You walk to the cash register.

You hear an explosion from the back of the building. Small sparks of white and orange. The lights go off before you can place your chosen items down, and you can hear the employee cursing under her breath. The breaker. What happened?

“Damn it, I don’t get paid enough for this shit.” She grumbles, putting her thumb and pointer finger on the bridge of her nose, rubbing. “No raises whatsoever. Only one here. Without me, this place wouldn’t be working, ungrateful pricks.”

Fighting the way your heart rate shoots up, you decide that talking to her would be best. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to someone aside from your boss, right? 

Maybe your anxieties would quell, and you can eventually graduate to talking to your co-workers, that would be a dream come true for you.

You haven’t had a friend, a real friend, ever since Rose was taken from you all those years ago. You still cry whenever you think about her. You miss her. Is she dead, is she alive?

You still blame yourself. If only you hadn’t talked to her, maybe she would still be with you. What kind of adult would she have been? A kind one, a responsible one? You would still be friends at least, wouldn’t you? Or would she grow to hate you, if she didn’t already?

You keep telling yourself that she wouldn’t and didn’t, but that is not what your mind tells you.

Is she dead?

You could picture a rotting corpse six feet under. An unmarked grave. Glassy, dead, amber eyes looking upward to anyone who looks down, helpless, pleading. You always liked them, always complimenting them much to Rose’s shy chuckles. She was so pretty, that much was true. You could only imagine how beautiful she would have been as an adult.

Her looks were a personal gift from God, the heavens, and the angels.

But if she didn’t have them, would she not have been treated like she was in the estate?

“Erm, excuse me,” You mutter, taking a few steps forward. “If you want I can go check it out.”

It is what Rose would do. She always liked helping others. You just wish that people would have appreciated it more and seen past her appearance. It was a double-edged sword. It helped her become the head gardener’s apprentice but also caught the attention of both your father and his business partners. You felt bad for her, and still do.

The employee turns around, her confusion prominent despite the dark. 

“Erm,” You mutter, looking down at your hands and entangling your fingers in one another. You could feel the heat rushing to your cheeks in embarrassment. “Is that okay?”

It takes a few moments to respond. Her surprise was unexpected, as you never spoke to her outside of asking her if she had change or telling her you hoped that she had a good night. Rose would be better at this kind of thing. You once had a dream that at a fast food joint, an adult her would order for you and correct the staff when they put pickles on your burger. It’s what could have been, funny moments like that. She had always been the one to take charge, you following her like a lost puppy.

You miss her so much.

So much.

The worker slowly nods. “...Okay.”

“...It’s in the back, right? The breaker.”

This is so awkward. Rose would be better. You wish she was here. Or your mother. Anyone.

“...Uh. Um… I like your eyeliner.” As soon as you say that, you curse at yourself, not wanting to sound like a creep. The woman’s confusion becomes even more prominent.

“...Thanks, and yeah, it’s in the back.”

“...Okay.” Jesus Christ. You turn away from her, the heat on your cheeks hot enough to be mistaken for a fever. This is not what Rose would have done.

“...You can leave your stuff here.” She says, and you quickly spin your heel and put your items on the counter. “It’s not like they are going to grow legs and run off, so relax.”

“...” You both chuckle, and you feel slightly better. “...Thanks. I’ll go now.”

“...” You start walking. “Wrong way.”

You stop.

It takes you a few seconds for you to move back to first base and go off in the opposite direction. As soon as you open the creaky steel door, strong rain and cold wind greet you, along with a loud clap of thunder and lightning.

Perhaps you could go back and get your umbrella from the stand by the door. But that would be even more awkward.

“Stupid. Stupid.”

“If we are lucky, the wind simply detached it or something. Not the best at this sort of thing, though.”

“I don’t think breakers detach.” You could picture her shrugging and scoffing at your murmur. “Sorry. Sorry. Just… sorry. I’m the best at this sort of thing either.”

You close the door behind you and start looking amongst the pitter-patter of the raindrops and gusts that nearly make you fall over. 

Stupid. Why do you make everything so weird? Rose would have been so much more charismatic. It was one of her strongest traits after all.

Stupid.

It’s hard to see. Trying not to trip over stones and cracked cement, you grip onto the wall and walk forward. Soon, you feel something.

“Ew, ew, ew!” You cry out, quickly moving your hand away from the slimy slug. “Ew!”

“You okay?”

“Uh, nothing. Just a bug. Yeah, just a bug.”

You hear a chuckle. Stupid.

“Sorry!” You exclaim, almost bowing your head. “Sorry! Really!”

Making sure you don’t touch the slug again, you keep moving.

Eventually, you find the breaker. But it wasn’t what you were expecting by any means. The damage almost looks like it was done on purpose, the way it was open and covered in soot. Did something get to it?

The breaker that exploded was a mass of melted metal that had been blown apart from the intense amount of heat and pressure. It was now barely recognizable as a single unit–parts of it scattered across the cement path and others having been fused and becoming something else entirely. The metal had been melted and blown upwards in the sheer force of the explosion, coating parts of the wall, wet grass, and roof with small, solidified droplets of metal. The ground around the remains of the breaker is burnt and scarred with traces of the immense fire that had consumed it.

It seems the rain put it out.

“No hope for this, huh?”

“Hey,” The employee calls out. “How bad is it? If there is nothing you can do, come back inside.”

So, you do.

The way she turns at you is robotic almost. A smile is on her face that was not there before. She nods when she sees you. Something tells you to not approach.

“It exploded into molten metal.”

“Oh well.”

Under the stormy skies, her gaze turns pale. Her eyes, seemingly captivating, lack any hint of vitality, while her lips curve in a disarming and saccharine manner. A shiver runs down your spine as you meet her gaze, every fiber of your being urging you to flee. Deep within your primal instincts, an innate awareness stirs, recognizing the smile as a charade, a mask of humanity that ventures into the realm of unease: akin to an artificial being adorned with synthetic flesh or a wax figure encased in glass. Those lifeless, white eyes, coupled with a forked tongue and an unsettlingly beautiful countenance, leave you with an undeniable sense of mistrust.

“You’re not mad? Really? Um…”

Something is off. What happened? She looks more like an imposter than anything else. But if she is, where did the real cashier go?

“Don’t worry.” She says, her voice oddly chipper and no longer confused by your awkwardness. “It’s fine. I’m quitting anyway, so it’ll be my boss’ problem.”

You turn your head. “Really?”

She nods. Something is off.

“Like really?”

You blink multiple times and you don’t think she does. She just stands there. Slowly, she nods. Something tells you to run yet again.

“Um… um… okay. Okay. I’ll just pay and leave. How much does it come up to?”

She shakes her head.

“Um. I have to pay. It’s thievery if I don’t.” You get closer. “It’s the law.”

“It’s fine.”

“I can’t just not pay.” You say, taking out your wallet from your sweater pocket. “That’s stealing. It’s wrong.”

Every action she takes is measured and precise, and she seems to move like a machine rather than a person. It’s as if she’s been programmed to act and talk in a certain way, and she doesn’t seem to have the ability to break out of that. She simply stares at you, not speaking.

Run.

You undo the metallic button, hearing the shuffling of paper Jenny within your wallet. “Um. Let me pay. Please.”

She simply shakes her head again.

“It’s fine.” The employee says, the smile still plastered on her face. There is quite more than a hint of blankness and detachment in her expression. She speaks in a mechanical and emotionless manner, her words delivered as though repeated from a script of carefully chosen sentences. Her movements are quick and precise, putting your chosen items in a plastic bag. There is no life or energy in her actions, instead, she moves like a mindless machine, performing her tasks before her without showing any personality of her own. Is it better to just accept it?

What should you do? What shouldn’t you do? Is she joking? Should you leave?

What would Rose do?

One of her hands grasps onto the plastic handles and she holds it out before you. There is no authenticity or warmth. Her eyes are blank. What happened? Should you ask? Should you just take the bag without saying anything further?

“Okay,” You murmur, obeying her silent command. “I hope you don’t get into any trouble though.”

*~*~*~*

Boss (9th May 1996 17:45)

Did you find anything?

Boss (9th May 1996 17:45)

Feitan found her heels nearby along with some blood, so she couldn’t have gotten very far.

You (9th May 1996 17:45)

Nothing yet

Boss (9th May 1996 17:47)

Try checking the stores nearby.

Boss (9th May 1996 17:47)

From the blood trail, she is most likely injured from running and trying to fix herself up in some sort of shelter.

Boss (9th May 1996 17:48)

She may have also discarded the rest of her clothes, not just the heels, and is currently wearing something else.

You (9th May 1996 18:15)

I found a dress and jewelry at the bottom of a lake

You (9th May 1996 18:18)

(image sent)

Boss (9th May 1996 18:20)

That’s it.

Boss (9th May 1996 18:20)

Disappointing. I’ll send over Pakunoda to ask people nearby.

You (9th May 1996 18:20)

K

You (9th May 1996 18:21)

Don’t cry, I’m sure we’ll find her soon :) 

Boss (9th May 1996 18:22)

I wasn’t crying.

Boss (9th May 1996 18:22)

I just thought she came around already.

Boss (9th May 1996 18:23)

This will set our heists back weeks.

Boss (9th May 1996 18:24)

She has planned this out for more than a year, it seems.

*~*~*~*

Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm. You can’t hear anything else. The sounds sting your ears like an aggravated hornet. 

The darkness around you is solid, more so than the cracked, aged concrete path beneath your shoes. There is a tiny light in the distance; a streetlamp.

Silence.

“...”

“Have a good day!”

“...Thank you.”

Let there be light.

“Um…” You can’t see anything. The sounds… stopped. “...Time to go home.”

But the pain stays. 

It feels like a drill. 

It hurts.

“...” You feel deaf and blind. No, maybe something even worse. “...”

You turn around, to the dark convenience store, and you see the cashier still staring at you. “Have a good day!”

“...”

“[First]?”

…How does she know your name? Did you say it to her in the past?

When you look into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you.

“[First], dear.” She starts waving as you look at her. “[First]. [First]. [First]. [First]. [First]!”

There is nothing but emptiness. Is your name all she can say? What happened to her? It is like she has regressed. Like a storm cloud in summer, you do not wish for this pain. Now you feel deaf and blind and mute now. 

You almost wish that you were dead. All there is is pain. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm. 

Interruption. The sounds returned. Is this good? Is this bad? Does it matter at all? 

You walk. You don’t speak. Only walk. You can’t breathe. You can only move. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. 

Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm. 

A hand clamps over your mouth.

You drop the plastic bag from shock, and then you finally hear something other than those sounds; glass shattering.

“Sh…” A voice, calm, along with the smell of oranges. “It’s okay.”

“...!”

“Don’t scream.”

The touch of lips, a man’s lips, on your ear, thin and hard. 

“Breathe. Just breathe for me, okay?”

But you can’t. The wind goes down your throat. It is suffocating. You can’t breathe. You smell oranges and something rotting, blood.

It stinks. It fucking stinks.

Christ. Get away. That stink. That fucking stink. Your body rejects it by continuing to not breathe.

“Sh… Breathe. Just breathe, for me, for you, for us.”

“...St… Sto-”

“Sh…” The voice is sweet, not at all sour, like candy. “Calm down. Nothing bad is going to happen. Just breathe. You’re going to pass out.” The lips and the scent of his breath are like salted leather in a butcher’s shop, stinky and rotting. “Calm down. Don’t worry.”

“...Sto… Si-”

“Breathe. Sh… It’s okay. Breathe.”

“...Ge… Sti…”

“Sh… Breathe. Breathe, [First]. Breathe. [First]. Breathe. Breathe. It’s okay. Don’t worry about all this. Breathe.”

When you finally do, you gasp, desperate. “...Huff… Huff… Huff…”

Get off of me, I can smell you. 

“There we go!”

Your vision clears up a bit. “...Huff… Huff… Huff…”

“Just keep breathing.”

“...Huff…”

You can smell him. You can practically taste him, with his mouth so close to you.

“Whew! That was a close one!” The man exclaimed, wrapping his other arm around your waist.

Pain. Get off of me. I can smell you, I can hear you, I can taste you. Get off of me. Please.

The pain still stays, in your chest and your ears, and your head. Oranges. Blood.

Get off of me.

Please–

A pain in the back of your neck and you go limp.

Darkness. Then pain again. You can’t move. You can only breathe. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm. 

*~*~*~*

SAINTSHORE SPACE THEATRE

UNDER THE DIRECTION OF RANDOLF URASLEF, GRETEL JAMES, AND QUINCEY J. ORATICE

PAUL DONSHEL CELESTE BAKER   ANNE CROAKS

AND

THE GREAT COMET THEATRE COMPANY

SWAN LAKE

ADAPTED BY MUSIC WRITTEN BY PYOTR ILLYICH TCHAIKOVSKY

INSPIRED BY THE CHOREOGRAPHY OF JULIUS REISINGER

WITH THE WONDERFUL CAST OF

(IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE)

Odette, the White Swan………………………………………………………….JEAN YVETTE

Odile, the Black Swan……………………………………………………………...JUNO LILOU

Prince Siegfried……………………………………………………………(the name is illegible.)

The rest of the list’s names cannot be read just like Prince Siegfried.

“She is simply beautiful. Just so beautiful. Simply wonderful, perfect.”

As the spotlights ignite, their scorching beams engulf you, causing you to shield your eyes with futile resistance. The sheer force of the light overwhelms your feeble defense. An ethereal audience erupts with exuberant cheers, applause, and whistles, resonating from vacant seats. Champagne flutes collide, men erupt with hearty laughter from their very core, and women unleash piercing screams akin to banshees.

The temperature rises and the noise intensifies, repeatedly, enveloping you in a symphony of overwhelming sensations.

Onlookers casually share their thoughts.

“Get off the stage, we want to see the play, not some stagehand!”

“Boo!”

“Fuck off!”

You run off crying.

“Where is that Odile girl?”

You run into a dressing room. One used by a woman wearing a black dress. She is so pretty. Her long strawberry blonde hair falls off her bare shoulders, clearly just done with a flat iron. There is a burning smell in the air. Smoke. When her gold eyes meet yours, she marches towards you and slams the door shut.

You can almost hear sobbing coming from the other side. Cries.

“So lonely…” The woman mutters. “When will it ever be enough?”

The voice sounds familiar. Her eyes. Her hair.

Nostalgia. Memories you would much rather forget. The basement. The imaginary ripping of clothes and tears and men’s laughter.

“I can’t do this much longer…”

Someone else knocks on her door. You want to scream.

“Come out, dearest.”

The devil. Tall with curved horns and a forked tongue. You want to warn her. 

You want to save her. “I’m not going to harm you, I am going to make you happy.”

You are so focused on whether the woman opens the door or not that you do not notice what happens next until it is too late. A clawed hand on your mouth. A tongue licking your ear. Tasting your sweat. Your tears. Laughter. The rest of the world disappears, and the only one there aside from you is the one behind you.

Sh… Sh… Sh… Sh… Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun. Whunnnnnn, wooooooo, ummmmmmm. 

Get off of me. Please.

“Breathe. It makes things more fun for me.” The voice echoed like you two are in a cave.

You gasp for air, and the smell of blood and oranges fills your nostrils.

“...Huff…”

“That’s better.”

You turn around. There is a body of a man. 

But the scaled, furred, horrifying face of a demon.

“Good.” He says, smiling his sharp teeth. “Deep breaths, in and out, come on.”

You do what he says. He praises you again, you think. But you can’t hear it. Either that or you simply do not pay attention to it. What happened to the woman? 

“...”

“We should go.”

The woman. The devil, this other… thing.

“...Rose…”

The demon laughs.

“Wake up.”

*~*~*~*

The first things you hear come from a happy man’s voice. “My boss’ girlfriend ran away more than a year ago you see, and he’s been heartbroken ever since. I want to prevent that kind of loss from happening to me. Real pretty one, too! He didn’t expect it, but I don’t blame her. After all, she’s been held captive for more than a year, she had to try to escape eventually.”

…The first thing you feel is lace on your neck. A collar.

It does not tickle or hurt. It itches. 

A cold hand plays with it, and it almost chokes you. At your discomfort, the man laughs.

“You are so cute.”

Something metal is on the collar, and it blinks a small red light.

[dystopyx-blog]

their unwilling mistress (3/4)

~Gals~

DANIELA 

Delusional

believes Rip is meant to be with her and is extremely confident in that fact. 

girl that makes you beg "TAKE ME NOW" 

Like that tall vampire everyone simps for Dimetrescu mixed with Grace from Umbrella academy

She fucking k n o w s she's simpable 

Likes to get Mistress in seemingly innocent but extremely not innocent situations 

Can reach top shelf

Will reach over Ripley to get things from top shelf 

Makes big old biddies obvious to Ripley as she reaches over the poor girl

Puts the power in power top

Loves being flattered 

Also loves flattering her mistress 

"I don't like it when you guys call me "mistress", it's beyond wack." "Oh? Then why don't you call me mistress instead?~" *outraged demons in the background* 

Mom friend but make it uncomfortably sexy, yknow?

Sexy mom friend -

Milf friend

Everything she does is sexy

It is incredibly frustrating for the demon girl just trying to be a human girl with her human girlfriend

Also frustrating for the other demons 

REINA 

Manipulative

Sweet girl tryna act all tough but she's such a softie 

Tsundere. Thinks being uninterested will make her mistress interested.

It does not. 

Casual clothes, skirt, zip up hoodie sweater, v neck t shirt 

Hair that flows in nonexistent wind

Said wind seems to reflect her emotions 

Unlike typical tsunderes, who act up out of self defense or whatever, Raina uses it as a strategy.

Her crush doesn't seem interested in devoted loyal followers???

Fine, she isn't a loyal devoted follower at all. 

In fact she doesn't care! 

But she does care. 

She cares so much.

Loves music n singing 

It's how she bonds 

 ELAINE

Manipulative possessive. 

Femme of your dreams

Specifically Jane the Killer, Momo Yaoyarozu (idk how to spell it ajsfhgdg)

pale girl with dark hair 

F U C K take me now 

u know the type  

Mmmmm

Flirty but gentle, u know?

BEAUTIFUL fucking laugh 

Ripley can't stay around her too long, she's definitely the biggest risk and Ripley really really loves her gf

Manipulative? What no of course not

Picture of innocence 

Definitely not Monika, you do not have to worry about her ha ha—

No she is 100% like Monika she would not hesitate to destroy her fellow demons if it meant getting what she wants, but she needs them so she can't 

She was also one of the main minds who came up with the scheme that led to this basement harem

Voice claim: Taylor Louderman  

XOCHI

Possessive slight delusional

Firmly believes Rip doesn't need anyone else. 

Butch of your dreams. 

Specifically vintage lesbian. 

Tan skin. Dark hair n eyes. 

Power woman. 

Def a top oml. 

H i p s 

They do not lie 

"Hey, could you help me tie my corset?~ 

Bad habit of referring to Mistress as Babe. 

"Thanks, Babe."/"no problem Babe" 

The only one who hates it more than Ripley is August. 

Will steal your heart, your girl, and your ID 

Voice claim: Marina or Barrett Wilbert Weed

SAOIRSE 

Obsessive. Completely and utterly. 

Soft pretty girl 

Long flowing P A L E pastel hair, multicolored eyes, soft tone of voice

softest damn soft girl you'll ever meet 

Soft flowy pastel clothing

Girl looks like a ghost, soft colors only

Unless Ripley gives her something. 

If gifted something by her mistress, she will turn it into a charm and wear it always.

Don't make her angry - she's half banshee 

Ripley fucking dreads the days she gets angry. 

Clingy 

Slightly masochistic???

Wants to be useful

Wants to be used 

Voice: probably Melanie Martinez

[xberylliumoxide]

LIGHTNING ROUND: OC Summary!

Gonna do a quick summary for all my ocs other than the two ive already done!

Robin

Full Name: Robin Feline Fursyth (Feline is pronounce Fuh-leen) Pronouns: she/her Sexuality: Asexual Gender: Nonbinary Height: 5'5" She's Brutus' childhood best friend, right hand man, and adoptive sister. She doesn't speak; she was born with a severe stutter. As a child she was never allowed to learn sign language and her father tied her hands as a punishment when she chose not to speak. She was kicked out at 12 when she met Brutus, who was also living on the streets at the time. She essentially functions as Brutus' personal first aid giver. Relationships: Brutus (brother), Alex (friend), Murray (friend), Noah (friend) Interests: First Aid, Stargazing, Knitting Fear(s): Handcuffs

Noah

(sorry this is the dumbest possible image to use lmao) Full Name: Noah Andeerson Pronouns: he/him Sexuality: Gay Gender: Cis Man Height: 6'2" Brutus' boyfriend and later husband. He was born and raised in Buckstone, a deep south-type town, a few miles away from Toontown and came to Toontown to get away from his homophobic family. He met Brutus—who had a massive crush since the moment he saw him—his first day there and he showed him around. He's very repressed because of his roots. Shortly after showing up in Toontown, he had to go back home to take care of his mother because his father died. He had finally been able to be himself and it was ripped away from him, and he got very depressed. He finally came back to Toontown after a suicide attempt Brutus managed to stop that gave him asthma. He idolizes his brother Zeke and is close with Gabe because they shared a room growing up. He eventually comes out to both of them and they accept him. His mom comes around eventually too. Luke always bullied him growing up and never accepts him. He also has a slight lisp which is irrelevant but cute. Relationships: Brutus (husband), Robin (close friend), Alex (friend), Luke, Zeke, and Gabe (brothers) Interests: Stargazing, Exploring his Sexuality, soft pop emo Fear(s): Losing his family

Noah's Brothers (aside)

the crossed out names are their old names before i decided to change them to be more biblical :}

Murray

Full Name: Murray (i dont have a last name for him), later Rose Pronouns: formerly he/him, later any Sexuality: Straight-ish (later pansexual) Gender: Genderfluid (identifies as cis for a large portion of life) Height: 5'9" Murray was in an accident as a teenager with a faulty cog that caused him to lose most of his ear, some of his hearing, and causing damage to his left leg. His knee randomly gives out and he sometimes falls down, so he walks with a cane most of the time and occasionally uses a wheelchair. Later on the damage progresses and he has to have his leg amputated, hence the prosthesis in the drawing. He is a very affectionate, high-energy optimist with mom-friend energy. They are very good at gentle parenting techniques and helps Alex keep their temper under control. In return, Alex helps him with his chronic pain and mobility issues. He believes himself to be straight, but stays with Alex after they come out to him as trans and later comes out as nonbinary themself (they use both Murray and Rose interchangeably) They grew up with two moms who support him and Alex both emotionally and financially which is why the two most disabled of my ocs have the best house Interest(s): Flower Crown Weaving

Maura

Full Name: Maura Mullins Pronouns: she/her Sexuality: Bisexual Gender: Butch woman Height: 5'11" She originally started as a Sim, but I liked her and her wife so I wanted to make them into Toons. She was involved in the mob with Brutus, which is where they met. That's kinda it. Relationships: Brutus (ex), Melanie (wife)

Melanie

Full Name: Melanie Mullins Pronouns: she/her Sexuality: Lesbian Gender: Cis Woman Height: idk i havent bothered to give her one She was in a band with Alex a while back and they briefly dated. that's it basically

Here's the video where Maura and Melanie were designed btw :)

I'm gonna do one more I think with Fite&co and Lil Oldman

[heelturndeux]

i explicitly do not do drama on this blog anymore (which is why this won’t be tagged) but like. what’s the deal with tma artists only drawing daisy - violent, canon Committer Of Police Brutality - as butch and none of the other gals. i mean i Know what the deal is but :/ 

[subcorax]

various hugs as rated by jonathan sims, head archivist of the magnus institute, london

OG Archives Crew:

tim stoker pros: very large and buff, but also soft. will squeeze jon as tight and as long as he wants. is six foot whatever and jacked so he's way bigger than jon and can entirely envelop him, which is the closest thing jon's getting to a weighted blanket these days. cons: tim is an oldest and favourite cousin, which means that when he hugs people smaller than him, they're usually children. as a result, there is a roughly 30% chance that if jon goes in for a hug he'll get a hair ruffle and lifted slightly off the ground to go with it. overall rating: 9/10. tim gives truly excellent hugs.

martin blackwood pros: will literally give jon a hug whenever he asks for one without making it feel awkward, which is nice because jon almost always feels awkward talking to people. will also sometimes ask jon if he wants a hug if he's looking a bit pathetic lately. is made of 60% soft wooly jumpers and 30% stuffing, the most warm and comfortable hug. also usually strokes jon's back while he's at it, which is extremely nice. cons: sometimes if jon's leaning into the hug a bit too much martin will physically make him stop working and take a nap, which is not doing great things for jon's work ethic overall rating: 9.5/10. i may be in love with you, martin, but i do actually need to do work sometimes?

sasha james pros: casual hugger, doesn't make jon feel weird about it, just goes in for a quick hug and a peck on the cheek when she's heading out for the day, or if she feels like it. she smells very nice. he kind of wonders what shampoo she uses. cons: despite being sturdier than she looks, she is not quite large enough to apply the force that jon perhaps wants in a hug. overall rating: 8.5/10. delightful, but without the capacity for a proper bear hug a la martin or tim.

not!sasha pros: no. cons: you know when you're at a family gathering and a relative that you only distantly recognize the face and name of comes up and hugs you like, way too familiarly, and it's kinda cloyingly creepy? it's exactly like that overall rating: stranger/10. please never do that again.

Latter Days Crew

melanie king pros: has never in her life half-assed a hug. seems to be trying to break jon's ribcage, which he appreciates. cons: she is often very angry at him, and so does not hug him very often. overall rating: 6/10. good when he got it but he does not often get it.

basira hussain pros: she doesn't really do Full Hugs with jon, she's more likely to toss an arm around his shoulder and pull him against her side, kind of a Bro Side Hug situation, which actually goes a long ways towards making him feel Human and Included and Not Hated. good friend bro hug. cons: kinda lacking in creature comforts. basira is not very soft or demonstrative. not exactly a shoulder he would be comfortable crying on. overall rating: 7/10. he appreciates the sentiment.

daisy tonner pros: daisy WILL go in for a Full Hug with jon, especially after the buried. she is also Strong and will squeeze him, and often seems to need a hug as much as he does. sometimes smells like basira's perfume and sometimes like her own deoderant, both of which are nice. cons: she will make fun of him for leaving tear stains on her shirt. jon has never had a big sister but he thinks that this is what cain and abel were on about. overall rating: 9/10. fantastic except for the schoolyard bullying

Miscellaneous Archives Staff

elias bouchard pros: gives a surprisingly firm, steady hug. like, there's something almost paternal about it, jon just feels proud that elias is proud of him. also he's in a fancy suit and wears very expensive cologne, it just feels like hugging something kind of luxurious and expensive. cons: literally everything else about elias overall rating: latent parental issues/10. it was weird. he tries not to think about it.

gertrude robinson pros: jon never actually met gertrude, but all of the photos he's seen and her voice on the tapes reminds him of his grandmother, so he kind of imagines it'd be like hugging her. a balance between firm and frail, smelling vaguely like all old ladies start to smell like. cons: outside of the nostalgia factor for him, grandma hugs aren't actually that great overall rating: hypothetically, 3/10. he feels like he's got perfume stuck up his nose.

gerard kaey pros: seemed like a cool dude. taller than jon, and exceedingly kind. seemed like he would be really open to a hug. cons: he was a ghost when they met, so they could not hug. overall rating: hypothetically 9/10. jon's adding extra points out of guilt.

michael shelley pros: seemed pretty nice from what he's heard? cons: seemed pretty boring from what he's heard? overall rating: hypothetically 5/10. he seemed fine.

Various Other Avatars

peter lukas pros: very broad. soft belly. big coat. beard. definitely is capable of giving a Good Bear Hug. cons: literally everything else about peter lukas. also he'd probably be cold overall rating: MORE latent parental issues/10. this will never happen. jon's just kind of touch-starved at this point.

michael pros: very friendly about it. exceedingly friendly about it. seems truly delighted by the concept of hugging jon. cons: is equally truly delighted by the concept of stabbing jon. overall rating: ooo ow ouch pointy/10. mistakes were made.

helen pros: actually seems to like jon every now and again. smells like real estate agent perfume. no, he doesn't know how to explain it. it's like a professional scent. cons: stabbed jon again, but accidentally this time overall rating: ooooo ouch pointy but in a pantsuit/10. god he's getting desperate

jared hopworth pros: many arms to hug with cons: none of those arms are his. several of them are bulging with meat and bones the way arms are not supposed to. smells like raw steak. overall rating: 2/10. jon does not have standards anymore.

jude perry pros: very butch, which jon has learned to trust, in a hug partner cons: Literally Made Of Boiling Wax overall rating: hot/10. considerably more mistakes have been made.

georgina barker pros: it's georgie. jon knows georgie. jon fucking adores georgie. she is very smart and comfortable and soft and knows how much he likes having his hair scratched like that. cons: she has absolutely no compunctions about telling jon that he's a fucking idiot, and like sure, he deserves it, but can it wait until after the hug? overall rating: 8.5/10. can i have a cup of tea please georgie. no i will not be releasing you from the hug to let you go and make the tea.

the admiral pros: admiral cons: none overall rating: 10/10. the perfect hug.

[daughter-of-prospero]

A handy guide to recognizing characters from The Magnus Archives

Ever wonder how to spot who’s who in fanart when there aren’t many physical descriptors given in cannon? Well no worries, here’s a handy-dandy guide to spot your fave archival staff members (and friends!) at a glance, across the multitudes of gorgeous art out there:

Jonathan Sims: If Cecil from Night Vale didn’t sleep for a month and then got run over by a bus. Twice. Thinner than tracing paper. Feral, but fragile. Associated item: Tape recorder. Or twenty.

Martin Blackwood: Sweaters Jumpers and circles! Is he wearing a sweater jumper? Is he drawn entirely using round shapes and soft edges? Do you want to hug him on sight? It’s Martin. The definition of “shaped like a friend”.  Associated item: Mug of tea. (It’s for John. Even when it’s not, it is.)

Tim Stoker: Hot. He has finger guns and he’s not afraid to use them. Associated item: An axe, or the aforementioned guns.

Melanie King: Blindfolded. Usually short, usually angry (mood). May be wearing her own merch.  Associated item: There’s a knife on her somewhere. In hand, as a tattoo, at her hip - sometimes all three.

Georgie Barker: She’s got style. The rest of these motherfuckers wear clothes to function but Georgie’s put to-fucking-gether. I don’t know who decided it, but they’re right. May be wearing her own merch. Associated item: She’s usually got really dope earrings.  

Basira Hussein: Stoic as a sphinx and probably twice as knowledgeable. Often in a police uniform, generally in a hijab. Merely glancing at her image will convey her ruthless competence.  Associated item: A book

Alice ‘Daisy’ Tonner: Lean, mean, hunting machine. Many scars. Often in a police uniform. She will beat you up. Alternately: some sort of terrifying wolf monster Basira is comforting. Associated item: Raw butch energy. 

“Elias Bouchard”: Smug DILF.  Associated item: Length of pipe. Or sex toys (you know who you are)

Peter Lukas: Classic sea captain aesthetic. Healthy beard, cheap whistle around the neck. Seen most often in monochrome. Associated item: Elias’ ass (you know who you are).

Jane Prentiss: O, worm? Associated item: See above.

Nikola Orsinov: Uncanny valley...but make it sexy.  Associated item: Circus regalia

Michael: Lots o’ colours. Flowing blond hair from a L’Oreal commercial plus Freddy Kruger hands.  Associated item: Doors

Helen: Lots o’ colours. Powerful 80′s business woman vibes plus Freddy Kruger hands. Associated item: Also doors.

Gerard Keay: The gothest goth to ever goth. Lives at Goth street in Goth city, and takes the goth train every morning to work at Goth Ltd. And honestly? Good for him. He deserves to be able to pursue his interests. Associated item: A Leitner

Gertrude Robinson: The world’s most intimidating grandmother. Associated item: Your corpse, underfoot. She dealt with you before you even realized what was happening. While you were reading this very post, in fact. Now you’re going in the skin book. 

[sparky-is-spiders]

WAIT FUCK I KNEW I WAS FORGETTING SOMETHING!

Anyway have Melanie also:

Melanie: Trans woman. Didn't figure it out until she was well into her teenage years. It felt like a huge weight was lifted off her chest when she realized. Likes to present futch, sometimes soft butch, sometimes soft femme. Considers her gender to be "none of your fucking business." She and Jon have pretty similar feelings in that regard, and might be able to find common ground there if it wasn't for the fact that neither of them ever mention it to each other.

There's something trans about being eye-aligned I think. The desire to be perceived. The desire NOT to be perceived. The feeling of being an outside observer. The fear of being Seen. Of wanting to know and understand so desperately but maybe also fearing what you'll find. Knowledge that changes you.

[bigowlenergy]

📂 i love your headcanons, btw, for some reason i always go "that makes SO MUCH SENSE"

thank u i feel incredibly valid rn good to know we vibe bro.

how about some melanie king content on this day? i think we need it

i saw a single hc about cantonese melanie and i lost my mind. during the early episodes i was seeing her as the white woman in the cast, and there is value in her defensive anger and unquiet rage in that space, but i was never invested in that for her. but then my mind was enhanced and now i see the light and i love melanie king even more.

under the cut bc its long:

i think the post was talking about ‘king’ being a possible romanization of ‘qing’ and thats cool, but i heard the words cantonese melanie and i fixated on her first name. i know that this is a british setting, but in america, many - and all that ive met at least - asian-americans or visa students or longterm visitors with a culturally chinese/korean name often choose an ‘american name’ to be called by instead. the sounds in those language do not exist in english, and the sheer amount of labor that would be expected on the part of the asian person to teach every single non-asian how to pronounce their name would be ridiculous. not worth it.

melanie king as a name has very much the same feeling about it. and the way she’s protective of her name? its not mel. its not melly. her name is melanie only bc thats the name she chose and u better damn well respect it.

and this puts her anger and her defensiveness and her solo fight to get to the top in a much more understandable light. the stereotype of asian woman in a white mans world gets kicked to the curb by her personally on a daily basis. shes in a disadvantaged position from the get-go and shes had nothing but time to get angry about it, to learn to be untrusting and defensive, and to not want to take even an ounce of shit from anyone.

theres also the fact that shes wlw that compounds on this. whether shes butch or femme or not on the social presentation spectrum that way, there are stereotypes waiting in the wings for her to contend with. femme? well yeah of course she is, shes a cute little asian woman, she HAS to be cute and wear pink and look socially soft and submissive, as femme is perceived by outsiders. butch? wow, an angry tomboy asian woman associated with knives, she MUST know self defense and enjoy violence and hate men. that shit sucks, and sometimes it feels like u cant possibly win.

whatever she chooses for herself, she is going into it with the expectations of needing to defend her own existence and individuality. of course she’s angry. of course she loves that anger that surprises people, that lets her get her tiny advantages where she can. of course she feels like shes on her own and only has her own strength of will to rely on - she does. the system of the world made it that way and melanie is going to fight it with her own two hands

and the way her second meeting with jon went? the immediate rage upon thinking that he might be trying to gaslight her? sure, shes got the bullet at that time, but that is the reaction of someone used to having her attempts to get her own show, her own respect, her own experiences, met with racist gaslighting minimizing her own abilities and hard work and interests in not simply being the ‘asian expert’ on chinese ghost myths or something. she was PISSED and did not listen to another word he tried to say.

and then elias hired her. not for the songling center, not to specifically handle the asian section, he hired her to the archive of the entire building bc he knew about her show and was impressed by her own dedicated researching at the library. an older white academic male authority recognized melanie king as worthy of respect. that must have been SO validating. and then, of course, came THAT reveal.

i also hc her as having lasting knee issues from the bullet - more like a brace situation with a cane side deal.

anyway, i love femme wlw cantonese melanie king i will stan her forever

[all-chickens-are-trans]

uhhhh some director's cut about Benefits & Costs? Haven't gotten around to reading it yet but by god I will one day, and maybe give me some fun facts about the making-off in the meantime?

Oooohhh es gibt so viel bts Material für diese Fic!! Weil sie so lang ist, hat sie echt verschiedene Phasen und Drafts durchlaufen, hier sind ein paar Fun Facts:

Tulpen: Torte erinnert sich am Anfang vage, dass Willi mal erwähnt hat, dass er Blumen mag. Und dann ist Willi ja irgendwie so gar nicht glücklich über die Gerbera, und Torte checkt nicht so richtig, wieso. In einem früheren Draft gab es eine Szene, wo er es nochmal versucht, dieses Mal mit Tulpen. Da telefoniert er nämlich nochmal mit Melanie, die ihn fragt, was zur Hölle das eigentlich sollte, und Torte verteidigt sich, Willi hätte doch mal so geschwärmt vom Tulpenfest in Amsterdam - worauf Melanie erklärt, das sei doch nicht das gleiche. Daraus schließt Torte, dass die Art der Blumen das Problem war, und kauft Willi beim nächsten Mal Tulpen. Hab ich leider gestrichen, weil's zu repetitiv war, aber der Headcanon besteht, dass Willi mal beim Tulpenfest in Amsterdam war und seither Tulpen sehr gerne mag.

Babs: Kapitel 7 war das mit den drastischsten Rewrites. In der ersten Fassung gab es extrem viel inneren Monolog von Willi auf der Baustelle, um Zeit totzuschlagen, bis er mit Melanie telefonieren kann. Das war aber nicht so interessant und hat die Geschichte sehr ins Stocken gebracht, deshalb hab ich einen Charakter namens Babs erfunden. Babs ist eine Butch, die mit Willi auf der Baustelle arbeitet - frei nach meinem persönlichen Schreibmotto, "when in doubt, add a butch!" Sie hatte ein Gespräch mit Willi vor seinem Telefonat mit Melanie. Ging so dahin, dass sie eine sonst ziemlich raue Persönlichkeit hat, aber immer, wenn sie von ihrer Frau redet, wird sie super soft, und sie ist die einzige bei der Arbeit, die weiß, dass Willi bi ist, und sie ertappt ihn an dem Tag dabei, wie er die ganze Zeit verträumt/gedankenversunken Löcher in die Luft starrt und fragt ihn, ob er verliebt ist. Erst hatte ich es so geschrieben, dass Willi ihr nix erzählt, aber ihm durch das Gespräch klar wird, dass er das mit Torte beenden muss. Dann hatte ich es so geschrieben, dass Willi ihr sein Herz ausschüttet und ihr alles erzählt, aber das hat sich sehr gezogen und hatte kaum neue Informationen. Und letztlich hab ich das alles radikal rausgeschmissen und stattdessen das Telefonat mit Fred geschrieben. Ich trauere immer noch sehr um Babs, aber ich glaube, letztlich hat es so mit Fred am besten funktioniert und hat mir auch in einer späteren Szene sehr geholfen.

Das 'letzte' Kapitel: Uff, was hab ich für schlaflose Nächte gehabt mit dem Schluss dieser Fic. Eigentlich war für das letzte Kapitel eine Sex-Szene geplant. Nicht nur so um der Sex-Szene willen (wobei ich schon zugeben muss, dass mich einfach auch interessiert hätte, ob ich sowas schreiben kann). Die ursprüngliche Idee war, dass Torte einmal zuviel von jemandem gefragt wird, ob er eigentlich in Willi verliebt ist, und dann so einen Glühbirnen-Moment hat, aber noch nicht so ganz - und alles, was ihm klar ist, ist, dass er Willi so sehr will, dass es vielleicht was bedeuten muss. Also, dass er sexuelle und romantische Anziehung vielleicht doch einfach nicht wirklich unterscheiden kann und dass er jetzt sofort mit Willi Sex haben muss, um rauszufinden, was er fühlt. Und es sollte eine super romantische Sexszene sein, die super viel über Tortes Charakterdevelopment aussagt, und ich hatte mir super viele Gedanken drüber gemacht... und dann hab ich wochenlang mein Word-Dokument angestarrt und es einfach nicht auf die Reihe gekriegt 😅 War irgendwie zu viel pressure nach dem ganzen build-up, die Fanfic war mir schon zu wichtig, ich wusste, dass 'zu viele' Leute das lesen und idk, ich hab mich etwas zu sehr unter Druck gesetzt damit, außerhalb von meiner Comfort Zone zu schreiben. Im Nachhinein bin ich super glücklich damit, dass ich mir selbst die Erlaubnis gegeben hab, das anders zu schreiben. Letztlich hat das nach meinem ganzen Selbstquälen und verzweifelt ins sich-nicht-füllende Word-Dokument starren dann doch noch einen guten Abschluss gefunden. Jetzt bin ich sehr zufrieden mit dem letzten Kapitel, was ja dann doch das vorletzte wurde, damit ich noch einen runden Abschluss mit einem Willi-Kapitel machen konnte.

okay, genug Fun Facts für heute 😅❤ anyway, viiiiielen Dank für die Fragen!! Ich liebe es, über b&c zu reden - falls wer noch zu irgendwelchen konkreten Szenen oder Charakteren oder so meinen wertvollen Kommentar will, sagt bescheid 😂

[unexpected-readings-of-poetry]

How to identify TMA characters from fan art

Jon: Eyes. Usually at least one extra one on his forehead, sometimes floating around him or elsewhere on his skin. Also, they are usually green. Long hair, glasses, scars (if it's from S2 onwards). Tiny, angry man.

Martin: soft boi. chonky but tall. floofy hair. knitted jumpers, tea.

Elias: There are actually two main ways to draw Elias, either as a tall blond twink or a salt and pepper daddy. Always with a smirk. Also, often with the eyes like Jon, but frequently yellow instead of green.

Tim: There's not really a standard way to draw Tim, but he's usually the hot one

Sasha: ???? who dat? Again, no standard way of drawing her, but in most of the episodes with her in she's the only girl in the main cast, so potentially easier to spot because of this

Basira: wears a hijab, probably scowling (unless it's at Daisy)

Daisy: short hair, butch af, wolf shadow

Gertrude: Old lady, probably wearing a skirt and blouse, with her grey hair in a bun and glasses.

Gerry: goth, emo, sadboi, tattoos, long black coat

Melanie: a n g e r y, also in late S4 and S5: no eyes/blind

Georgie: Has a cat, also probably wearing a t-shirt for her podcast (what the ghost) or Melanie's podcast (ghost hunt uk)

Michael: long hair, long fingers, long teeth, long coat, long boi. spirals. colours. difficult to look at.

Helen: long har, long fingers, long teeth, long coat, long gorl. spirals. colours. difficult to look at.

Peter Lukas: grumpy old sea captain. probably wearing a hat or a macintosh, definitely has a grey beard.

Agnes Montague: literally on fire

[gerrydelano]

*clacks cowbell* it’s time to talk about butch georgie barker!

this post starts off with some discussion about butch/femme identities on a whole, but it does come back around to georgie and is ultimately a POSITIVE POST so i am asking very nicely right off the bat, please do not comment with negativity! i am just trying to connect harmlessly with a woman who i believe deserves to be seen as handsome and strong the same way i want to be seen like that. i’m writing this in celebration of something beautiful.

i understand that a lot of people think it’s not applicable to hc her as butch because she’s bisexual/has a history of dating men. to that, i want to say that i refuse to entertain this discourse at length because i see no reason for it. 

a lot of that discussion comes down to racism and ahistorical recounts of what was going on as these identities emerged. they blossomed in ball culture and were used for both men and women, and in the bars there were undoubtedly countless women there who would probably have identified as bisexual were the term actually in use at that point, but it wasn’t yet. what they had was butch and femme, and they used it, too.

i’m not going to argue with the WOC who are begging for people to understand that these words reached a lot further than some of us like to acknowledge. separatism and racism and biphobia and erasure are not things that i am about to play with, and i highly urge anyone who may not have considered that to promptly reconsider.

here i’ll provide some links from others who have tackled this issue, and that’s the last i’ll say about it. i’m not going to talk about this here.

[X] [edit: was told two previous links were broken, sorry!]

in the end, i and many others i’ve spent ample time discussing this with are of the basic belief that as long as these terms are being used respectfully and steeped with deep love for the people who came before us — not at all limited to lesbians — then there is no good reason to deny someone access to them if they truly identify with what they really, truly mean. 

it means respect, support, protection, tenderness. it means being a good friend and a compassionate lover and a safehouse for those who need you.

at the heart of the butch identity is tenderness. strength in standing tall and protecting your own, standing together in solidarity with your fellow worker, standing up for what you believe in, damn the consequences. sometimes i consider my own butchness to be moreso related to my interactions with the entire world around me, how it responds to me, how i persevere through it, and the way that i support others going through the same shit.

butches faced and still face severe consequences for simply daring to exist and the amount of guts it takes to get back up again after a constant stream of kicking down is indescribable. butch is soft and attentive and caring and butch struggles and fights to be soft when (historically) we have been made to rely on that outer toughness to survive. we’re like really sexy M&Ms. tough on the outside, softer once it’s got a crack in it.  

onto georgie! 

here’s some very basic evidence for why i really love this headcanon for her:

she fucking goes by “georgie” are you kidding me

her instinct to take care of people doesn’t override her boundaries, which emphasizes the strength in her convictions and the balance she has found to honor not only what she believes in but the comfort of others

she models her boundaries to martin even when he’s rude to her, displaying a really telling priority 

she immediately goes soft for melanie like her entire voice changes it’s actually so hilariously relatable like yeah that’s a butch behavior

she asserts boundaries and opinions with no trepidation, but they’re always in the best interest of the people around her

she’s extremely protective and caring and she literally does not waver. that’s not just a personality trait but a way of living that can be chosen, worked for, and nurtured. that’s the very core of butchness!

she literally feels no fear!!!! “it’s not brave if you’re not scared” is a big mood for the most part, sure, but g-d damn if butches don’t at least project the aura of fearlessness until they can come undone with someone they trust lol. it’s just a Mood because i Say so.

plus, check out this GORGEOUS GNC GEORGIE by @beeelderly​! definitely the reason i cracked and made this post. give this some LOVE. 

i’m also reminded of my butch daisy post, like. if i had to choose which one of them embodies the butch spirit more, it’d be georgie. not only does daisy actively state that she does prefer to present/be taken as more feminine and whatnot (her nickname’s origin) but she actually has a backstory that actively contradicts the origins of butch/femme culture a lot more directly and scarily than georgie ever could by having dated men in the past?

daisy actually perpetuates bad stereotypes about butches that make me really wary when i see people (specifically people who aren’t butch themselves) portraying her that way. i also made the grave mistake of HCing her as femme, and despite post-buried justifications, it wasn’t okay; she just shouldn’t touch this community at all.

jude perry is another example of Terrible Butch Representation. i’m going to write a full thing about that someday, but you can’t be butch/femme as a capitalist and also she takes the protectiveness of butch to a toxic, fucked up degree with agnes that just sort of perverts the meaning of it. she may be masc and sexy but that does not mean she is a butch - the desolation is not a place that a butch would thrive anyway, and she’s pretty keen on it.

georgie on the other hand has absolutely NONE of that baggage to unpack and in fact OPENLY displays a lot of the more visible staple traits of butchness right off the bat. if being butch/femme is about your interactions with women, why would also liking guys cancel that out? also, i personally don’t headcanon her as white so i’m not even remotely going to assume she’d follow ANY of the rules set out by predominantly white radfems like please. that’s nonsense.

she just! has so many POSITIVE traits that are VERY closely associated with the butch identity and as a butch myself i really love the idea of her finding home in a way of life that has made me and so many others feel so welcome, understood, and safe. that’s what it should be.

long story short: more than one butch. don’t forget georgie! we can have as many beautiful, diverse butches as we want! i think honestly daisy and basira, as police officers, are the only ones who seriously shouldn’t be put in this position, and just for a Bunch Of Reasons. but we can still have butches!

let’s just come at it from a place of love and admiration and growth and healing, as it was always intended to be.

EDIT: WE HAVE A FIC, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN.

[renaerys]

PPG One-Shot: Back At You (Butch/Buttercup)

A T-rated Greens one shot I did for our resident gothic heroine @avesthetea over on AO3! 💚

A heartfelt shoutout to the Instagram clown cult. Y’all know who you are and how much you inspire me to chronicle Brick’s eternal suffering in new and creative ways. It’s what we do.

Summary: When Buttercup's birthday planning falls apart at the last minute, the last person she would ever expect offers his help (or horror, depending on your perspective).

xxx

Buttercup’s phone buzzed on the nightstand by her head, and she jerked awake. Swallowing the bitter sleep taste, she wiped her mouth and fumbled for the phone. Head still buried in the pillow, she answered: “What time is it?”

“Time to get your ass to the precinct,” said Ty, her partner at the Citiesville Police Department. “Chief Foolery’s all hands meeting starts in twenty minutes. Tell me you’re not still asleep.”

Buttercup sprang up on her elbows and checked the time on her phone. Shit, she was going to be late. “Shit, I’m going to be late!”

“Girl, that’s what I’m tellin’ you—”

“Gotta go, bye!” Buttercup hung up the phone and would have launched out of bed if not for the arm that slipped around her waist and pulled her back down.

“Five more minutes,” Butch grumbled.

Buttercup lost her balance and ended up with her bare back flush against his equally bare chest. His breath was hot on the back of her neck where he pushed his nose among her loose black hair. “Butch, I have to go,” she said in a warning tone.

He chuckled, and it sent a thrill of heat down her spine and under the covers, where he pushed a knee between her thighs. “Why go when you could come?” The arm he’d looped around her waist traveled low beneath the sheets.

Buttercup groaned at his crass joke and caught his wrist before he could carry out the threat. “Because if I’m not at CPD headquarters in twenty minutes, Foolery’s going to pop a hemorrhoid—”

Butch flipped them over with his Super speed, and her back hit the mattress beneath him. He loomed over her, those green eyes acid-bright in the early morning sunlight streaming through his bedroom window. Her traitorous gaze raked up his chest, over the shadow of stubble on his jaw, and settled on those fast darkening eyes as he admired her in turn. But the moment he bent down to kiss her, she slipped out from under him in a flash of green and darted across the room. In a matter of seconds, she’d pulled out a spare change of clothes from the lone dresser drawer he’d cleared out for her use.

“Leaving me hangin’? For real?” Butch complained as he flopped back down among the sheets with a yawn.

“You’ll live. But I won’t if I’m late for this fuckery.” She dressed quickly in dark jeans and a button-up blouse before heading to the connecting bathroom Butch shared with his daughter, Brisa.

“Missin’ out!” Butch called from the bedroom.

Yeah, Buttercup thought as she combed through the tangles in her hair with her fingers and ran the water to brush her teeth. A knock on the door interrupted her morning ablutions, and Brisa entered through her bedroom door.

“G’morning,” she said. Her brown hair was a frizzy mess, and she clutched a stuffed purple Pretty Puff Pony under one arm.

Despite her haste to get out of there and jet to work, Buttercup spared the little girl a soft smile. “Morning, kid. You’re up early.”

Brisa grinned wide. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Buttercup’s smile fell immediately. “Did Butch sneak you that second chocolate bar after dinner last night? Goddamnit—Butch!”

“What, change your mind?” he called. “I knew you couldn’t leave before climbing my morning wood.”

Brisa made a face like she was going to ask, and Buttercup slammed Butch’s bedroom door shut. “Never mind. Let me guess, you were too excited to sleep because today’s your birthday, right?”

Brisa blinked up at her and smiled, her questions forgotten. “Yeah! Oh my gosh, we’re gonna have so much fun!”

Buttercup chuckled and ruffled her messy hair. “For sure. But first, I have to go to work.”

“You’ll be back for my party, right?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Pinky promise?” Brisa held out her little finger.

Buttercup hooked her pinky around Brisa’s. “I promise. Now go get dressed and brush your teeth. I’ll check on your dad.”

“Okay!”

Buttercup breezed through the bedroom, chucked Butch his sweat pants with a cautionary “Hide your dick,” and flew out of her paramour’s two-bedroom apartment in downtown Townsville just as Brisa came bursting in excited to start the day.

xxx

The morning was a complete waste of time, and a bitter part of Buttercup lamented not skipping out in favor of staying in bed with Butch.  

“Well, at least nobody died today,” Ty said as he and munched on his doner kebab lunch to go. “Yet.”

Buttercup sucked down half of a water bottle after scarfing down her own lunch. They had stopped at the food truck parked a couple blocks from the precinct, opting for a quick fix as they watched oblivious pedestrians lost to their Air Pods. “Welcome back to active duty, Mr. Brightside.”

Ty chuckled, low and deep. After a few months of healing and rigorous physical therapy, his legs were completely healed and he’d finally been cleared for work that didn’t involve pushing papers at his desk. Once more standing tall with the sun shining off his bald head, Buttercup could not have been happier to have her partner back to his old self by her side.

“You bring it outta me.” Ty winked.

“You ready to head out?” she asked, tossing her wrapper in a corner trashcan. Traffic was shit as usual midday on a Saturday, but they had time before Brisa’s party was slated to start.

“Sure. Lemme just text Melanie.”

Buttercup figured she better catch up with Butch while she waited for Ty and make sure he was on the ball.

[Buttercup: Did you pick up the cake?]

After a few seconds, he replied.

[Butch: Omw with B. You still on clown duty?]

Buttercup groaned at the reminder.

[Buttercup: Can I just say he died and couldn’t make it?]

[Butch: Sure, if you want to crush B’s hopes and dreams 💔😈]

“Kill me.”

“What’s wrong now?” Ty asked.

Buttercup pocketed her phone and led the way to the precinct parking lot where Ty’s car was parked. “Just grappling with some casual childhood trauma coming back to bite me in the ass.”

Ty side-eyed her. “Which one?”

“Ha ha.”

They made it to his red hatchback, and Buttercup slipped into the passenger seat.

“This about Brisa’s birthday party?” Ty asked.

Buttercup groaned again and tugged at her loose hair. “Of all the things, a clown? I thought they were universally considered nightmare fodder for kids these days.”

“Speakin’ of which, I think I remember a psychotic clown attacking Townsville back in the day.”

“You remember correctly.” Buttercup glowered out the window as Ty eased them into traffic toward the Golden Bay Bridge. “But it was the one thing she said she just had to have because some other dumb kid in her class got one for her party.”

“Ah. Six years old and already the social food chain’s tuggin’ on her.”

“Whatever. I never cared about that shit when I was a kid.”

Ty smiled to himself. “Uh-huh.”

Buttercup resigned herself to her unfortunate fate and dialed the company she’d previously contracted to rent a clown for the afternoon. After about five minutes on the phone, she hung up.

“What was that all about?” Ty asked. “Problem?”

Buttercup stared straight ahead as the Golden Bay Bridge’s suspender cables passed her by. “The clown died.”

Ty laughed.

“Ty.” Buttercup looked directly at him. “The guy got hit by a bus on his way to work today and he died.”

Ty shut up. “Oh, uh… Shit.”

A pause.

“I mean, is there another clown, or…?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Buttercup snapped. All she could think of was how Brisa was going to be so upset that the one goddamned thing she had asked for wasn’t going to happen because there was no time to book a new party clown on such short notice on a Saturday.

When Ty shifted in his seat, the leather squeaked loudly in the fuming silence he wisely chose not to break, until he did. “So, should I—”

“Just drive. I’ll think of something…” Buttercup said as she pulled out her phone and tried not to completely lose her shit as she dialed the one person who always seemed to know what to do in a crisis.

“Hey, Blossom,” Buttercup said gravely after her sister picked up. “I think I need some help.”

xxx

When Buttercup and Ty parked in front of her childhood home, guests had already begun arriving. Bubbles was outside greeting people and directing them to the backyard for the festivities. When she spotted Buttercup and Ty, she waved. “Hey, there you are!”

“Have you seen Blossom?” Buttercup asked.

Bubbles pushed up the sleeves of her chunky lavender sweater and looked around. “I think she and Princess were setting up the piñata. Is everything okay—”

Buttercup dashed to the backyard in a blaze of green, leaving Ty to make his way inside at a more sedate pace. The backyard was already teeming with people. Brisa was playing tag with her best friend Richie and a few other kids, while Boomer stacked presents on a table by the back door. Mike and Robin led the day drinking charge by pouring out sangria for the adults and juice for the kids. Buttercup nearly crashed through the green tissue streamers criss-crossing the enclosed backyard in her haste to locate her sister, who was in fact stringing up a red monster-shaped piñata with Princess Morbucks. Or rather, Blossom was doing all the work while Princess held two glasses of bloody sangria and provided live commentary.

“Whoever invented piñatas had the right idea is all I’m saying,” Princess said as she sipped her drink. She was annoyingly chic as usual in designer jeans, dark boots, and a purple silk blouse that probably cost more than the pittance Buttercup’s government paycheck brought in every month.

“You think so?” Blossom said, floating near a high branch so she could toss the suspension rope over it.

“Of course. You’re rewarded with candy for smashing the shit out of your mortal enemy. What could be better than that?”

Blossom grinned. “Mortal enemy in effigy.” She patted the red monster’s snout. “But you’re not wrong.”

“Obviously.” Princess handed her back her sangria, and they shared a knowing laugh.

“Blossom,” Buttercup said.

Blossom smoothed the front of her navy skirt as she turned toward Buttercup. “You’re here. Everything all right?”

Buttercup eyed Princess watching them. “I was going to ask you the same thing. Any progress on the clown front?”

“I’m sorry, the what?” Princess asked.

Blossom’s pink eyes softened, and she put a hand on Buttercup’s shoulder. “I took care of it, don’t worry.”

“Wait, really? How? I called five other rental companies, but everything’s booked solid.”

Blossom’s smile turned devious. “Trust me. Brisa’s going to be very pleased.” Buttercup wanted to argue, but her sister squeezed her shoulder in a silent entreaty. “Just enjoy the party. Boomer, Bubbles, and I have everything under control.”

“Speaking of control,” Princess had her phone out when Blossom turned back to her, “where is that prima donna? He’s not answering any of my texts.”

“Brick’s running a little late,” Blossom said as she led Princess away. “Wardrobe malfunction…”

Their voices faded to the background as Buttercup watched them. Two peas in a fucking pod, and she still didn’t really get what Blossom saw in Princess. If Princess hadn’t played such an integral part in things a couple months back, she would never have given the woman a second thought beyond “Hard pass.”

People, however, had a tendency to surprise when it was down to the wire.

“Heads up, Buttercup!”

Buttercup automatically caught the child hurtling through the air like a tossed water balloon before he could crack his head open.

“O-Oh! Hi, Buttercup,” said Richie, meek and curled in on himself like he’d forgotten he was no longer fragile.

Brisa came dashing over. “Nice catch!”

Buttercup peeled Richie off her and dropped him flat on his ass in the grass. “Brisa, don’t yeet your friends. Bubbles will have an aneurism if she catches you.”

Brisa blushed, abashed. “Sorry…”

Buttercup cracked a smile and winked, and Brisa lit up.

“I’m okay!” Richie, Super resilient, hopped onto his feet and shook out his fluffy blond hair. “Um, does this mean I’m ‘it’ now?”

“No, I wanna play with the clown!” Brisa announced.

Buttercup’s face fell. “Uh, about that…”

Brisa blinked up at her. “He’s coming to my party, right?”

The flicker of doubt that passed through Brisa’s big brown eyes cracked Buttercup’s cold stone heart. She struggled for the words to let her down gently, because whatever Blossom had managed to put together so last minute wasn’t going to be the colorful surprise Buttercup had gone out of her way to book and customize a month in advance.

A round of squeals from the other kids across the yard drew her attention, where they had gathered around Mike at the garden door. “Okay, settle down, kiddos! He’s a little shy. Now, where’s the birthday girl at? Hey, Brisa!”

“C’mon, Brisa, let’s go,” Richie said, tugging on her hand.

But she held her ground and didn’t budge. Buttercup wanted to die.

“Brisa, look,” she began.

The door behind Mike slid open, and out stepped what Buttercup could only describe as her personal revenge fantasy gone morbidly wrong. Brick had never looked so sour in his life.

“Oh! Uh, ta-da!” Mike said hastily as he stepped aside for the person formerly known as Brick until his murder by dishonor.

His steps squeaked in his oversized red shoes, and the striped red and yellow overalls he wore over a polkadot shirt ballooned out at his legs. He looked like a tropical bowling pin. He looked fucking absurd.

“It’s Flameo Hotman! Say hello, kids,” Mike said.

Brick shot Mike a scathing glare that may have incinerated him where he stood if the tiny party hat and enormous red clown nose didn’t ruin the effect. “The hell it is.”

Buttercup had no problem averting her eyes from the literal clownery to focus on Brisa, who was still staring and petrified. Oh shit, oh fuck, she was upset and it was Buttercup’s entire fault—

“Uncle Brick?” Brisa blurted out.

Brick’s lurid eyes passed over Buttercup and landed on Brisa. If Buttercup hadn’t been looking right at him, she would never have believed the way they softened just a little. He pursed his lips and lifted his elastic-tied party hat off his short red hair. It snapped back in place when he let go. “Happy birthday, Brisa.”

Brisa immediately dashed out of Richie’s grip in a sprint too fast to be human and body slammed Brick where he stood. With a grunt, he managed to catch her and keep his balance as she hugged him tight around his inflated waist and laughed. “You look so funny!”

Brick coughed. “Yeah, that’s sort of the point…”

The other kids took that as their cue to also mob Brick, and soon he was adrift in a sea of grubby hands and demands for balloon animals and magic tricks. Buttercup could not believe her eyes. She could hardly remember the last time she saw Brick dressed anything other than to the nines, and now…

“Fuck me,” she wheezed, too stunned even to laugh, it was that heinous.

“Pretty good, huh?” Bubbles sidled up to her with a wrapped present for Brisa under her arm.

Buttercup swallowed hard. She didn’t trust her voice as she watched Brick—Brick—snap at Brisa’s friends to line up in an orderly fashion if they wanted their faces painted, and no cutting the line or there would be consequences.

“The costume’s a little janky, but I didn’t have a lot of notice when Blossom told me we needed something colorful for him to wear,” Bubbles went on.

“Why?” Buttercup croaked. She turned to her baby sister, who seemed totally nonchalant existing in a universe where the selfish clown Blossom had chosen to keep for reasons Buttercup could not sympathize with deigned to dress as a literal fucking clown.

Bubbles slipped her hand in Buttercup’s and squeezed affectionately as they watched Brick paint the requested unicorn on Richie’s face as seriously as if it were a goddamned Monet. “I think this is his way of trying,” she said.

Buttercup would never forget that day two months ago when Butch asked her to come over after Brick had broken down and apologized to Boomer and him and all he wanted to do was break something, to feel it shatter in his hands, so why not her, who couldn’t break? That fight had been one of their most brutal, even compared to their rows in high school in the throes of raging hormones exacerbated by Chemical X.

They hadn’t spoken as they rinsed the dirt and sweat from each other after—Buttercup had been worried about setting him off again after he had settled into some sort of quiet serenity with his fingers in her hair, pulling the tangles out under the warm water like an artist honing his craft. Those hands were always working, always looking for something to crush.

“You ever love someone, but you don’t like them?” he’d asked her as she wrung the water from her hair and he stared at his hollow-eyed reflection in the mirror.

Buttercup was pulled from the memory when Blossom came out of the house to snap pictures on her phone of the kids with their painted faces, a bright smile on her face as Brick continued to ignore the entire world and focus on his task with surprisingly minimal complaint. Buttercup supposed that if anyone could dress like an ass-backwards buffoon and maintain some pretense of dignity, it was Brick.

“Yeah, I guess,” she said at length. She squeezed Bubbles’ hand back.

He’s trying something, all right.

xxx

“I want a dog, please!” asked a snot-nosed kid inexplicably dressed in a full dinosaur suit.

Butch watched Brick from the picnic table he’d plopped down on with a cold beer and three entire pizza boxes set aside entirely for Boomer and himself.

Brick frowned so deeply he looked like he was trying to pass a hardened turd. Wordless, he blew up a long red balloon, tied it off at the end, and handed it to the little boy. “Here.”

The kid accepted the unfolded balloon with quizzical look. “Huh? This isn't a dog.”

“Yeah, it is,” Brick said. “It’s a hot dog.”

“But that’s not what I asked—hey!” The kid squealed when Brick squirted him with water from the rubber flower on his overall strap.

“Next,” Brick said in a tone that promised medieval torture.

Cowed, the dinosaur kid slumped away with his shitty balloon, and the next little girl in line made her request.

“It had to be a bet,” Butch said grimly as he watched his brother pawn a “magic wand” on the little girl who asked for a monkey. She trudged off with the unfolded purple balloon and look in her eyes like she’d seen the hidden darkness of this world.

Boomer shrugged and swallowed a bite of pizza. He had his back to Brick, but he spared a glance over his shoulder. “I don’t know.”

“I mean, he’s gotta know the pictures will live on forever. This is unlimited blackmail.”

That got a little chuckle out of Boomer. Butch ruffled his bangs too roughly to be entirely affectionate, and Boomer swatted him away. “Dude, my hair.”

“Want me to get you a balloon dick?”

Boomer’s gaze flickered to him, and for a moment Butch was transported back twenty years to Mojo’s Observatory. He and Boomer were sometimes left by themselves while Mojo and Brick tinkered in the old man’s lab well into the night with nothing to do and no one to talk to but each other. On nights like that, Butch didn’t really mind it when Boomer crawled into his bunk and fell asleep there. The room always felt a little colder and darker without Brick there.

“I’m fine,” Boomer said.

Butch searched his eyes, blue and expressive and always shining like he might cry or laugh. He had always envied Boomer that ability to project, to offer a connection, even if it was only pain. He’d always been good at that.

“Really,” Boomer added, hardening his gaze like a fucking mind reader. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah.” Butch wondered how long it would take for that to be true. “You know, it’s been a couple months—”

“Butch,” Boomer said, cold like he never was.

Butch hopped off the table and put a hand on Boomer’s shoulder. “It’s been a couple months, but it’s not a race. There’s no finish line to cross.”

Boomer chuckled, but it sounded kind of like a wheeze. His hand was cool on Butch’s where he squeezed him. “Thanks, Butch.”

Butch patted his back. As he was leaving, heard Boomer call, “Make mine blue.”

Butch chuckled. “Sure.”

Fucking sap.

At least Butch wasn’t the only one.

He made his way to the terrace, where Brick was set up with balloons and the face painting station. When Brick noticed his brother waiting in line, the balloon he was inflating went up in flames and disintegrated to ashes, leaving him looking as flushed as his stupid clown nose.

“I’m out of balloons, kids. Go dig a hole or something,” he said to the remaining two children.

“Huh? But there’s a whole bag—” one little boy with enormous glasses started to say.

Brick fired his laser eye beams at the bag of balloons and blew it up. “What bag?”

The kids stalked off in a sulk, and Butch sauntered up to the chair Bubbles had brought out from the kitchen table.

“Bitch move,” he said, plopping down. “I promised Boomer I’d bring him a blue cock, made special with love.”

“Uh-huh,” Brick said. He watched Butch with those shifty red eyes like he might lash out and attack him.

Amused and a little nervous, Butch sank into the chair with much bravado and man-spreading. “Paint me like one of your French girls.”

Brick narrowed his eyes, but he picked up the paints and sat down in the opposite chair without a word, until: “What do you want?”

“I dunno, something cool. A rocket ship.”

Silence. Brick leaned in close to apply the paint with a thin brush, meticulous and anal like he was with everything he did. Butch didn’t have to see his face to know he was concentrating way too hard.

“I can feel the vibrations of you clenching your asshole from here,” Butch said. “Relax.”

“I’m relaxed.”

“Fuck off.”

Brick put down the brush. “If you keep talking, this is going to turn out shitty.”

Butch shut up. Brick resumed painting.

After a moment, Butch closed his eyes. There was something soothing about the soft scrape of the brush against his cheek. Behind his eyelids, he saw a much younger version of Brick covered in paint and grinning fiercely, king of the world, until Butch hit him with his paintball gun right in the kisser. Green paint exploded everywhere, and Boomer fell on his ass laughing. Brick angrily wiped the paint from his eyes in a goopy mess and lobbed it back at Butch, who was too far gone to care. Rolling on the grass and covered in paint, he couldn’t remember a happier afternoon spent with his brothers and Mojo. At least, not until Brisa came along.

Butch sucked in a breath as he opened his eyes and dispelled that trance-like memory. Brick didn’t even snap at him when he turned his head to look right at him. His face was pinched: his mouth too thin and his eyes too wide as he waited for another pot shot to the face.

“You look stupid,” Butch said.

“I know,” Brick said.

“Really fucking stupid.”

Brick’s eye twitched. “I know.”

“Thanks.”

Brick swallowed. “It’s her birthday.”

“Yeah, but I’m your brother. So thanks.”

It was not often that Brick was flabbergasted, but the dude looked like someone had just grabbed him by his oversized red nose. Butch burst into a sly smirk and did just that. To his sadistic satisfaction, it squeaked when he squeezed it.

“Honk honk, motherfucker,” Butch said.

It took Brick all of two seconds to ditch his bewilderment and swat Butch’s hand away. “Shit head.”

“Clown.”

To Butch’s immense surprise, Brick let him have the last word. Well, damn. He chuckled and leaned back in the chair so Brick could finish painting his cheek. Two months and he barely saw the guy on purpose, and now this.

“I’m burning every picture Blossom took today,” Brick said at length.

Butch chuckled. “You forgot about the cloud.”

“I’m burning that too.”

“Now you’re just being a whiny bitch.”

“Wipe Bubbles’ phone and I’ll pay you.”

“Eh, maybe just grab a beer sometime.” It came out so naturally that he didn’t even think about it. Brick, too, was taken aback. The more he saw it today, the less Butch liked that surprised look in his older brother’s eyes. It was fucking weird. “Seriously. It’s been a minute.”

Brick didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe. “Yeah, cool.”

“Cool.”

Cool.

“Hold on, almost done,” Brick said, and grabbed Butch’s chin to turn his face.

Butch’s eyes found Brisa running around with a large, green balloon crown on her head and her cheeks painted with rainbows, and his gaze softened. It was almost time for cake.

“Done,” Brick announced.

Before Butch could reply to that, there was a small commotion at the backyard gate with Bubbles, who followed a very short, very hairy monkey inside.

“Grandpa Mojo?” Brisa stopped playing with her friends to greet the old monkey. He had a box with a green bow on top so perfectly wrapped a department store may have done it. His arms were rigid as they held it out and Bubbles hovered just behind him, watchful.

“Good afternoon, Brisa. I have procured you a gift to celebrate, rejoice, and otherwise partake in various forms of merriment on this day of your birth, which is to say, your birthday, thus, the day you were born.”

Nearby, Blossom paused picking up trash with Robin to eye Mojo askance, nonchalant in that low key frightening I-will-blow-your-dick-off way she had. Buttercup was chatting away with Mitch Mitchelson and Clara Clearly, but she too had eyes only for Mojo.

Brisa blushed cutely, suddenly shy. “Thank you.” She accepted the gift and looked between Mojo and Bubbles. “Um, will you stay for cake?”

Mojo’s green skin turned a ghastly shade of pink. It took a Butch a moment to realize he was blushing. He was sure he had never seen Mojo blush before.

Mojo cleared his throat. “I do not eat cake,” he said with finality.

“Oh…” Brisa clutched her new gift to her chest.

“But, I suppose… I could sample a beverage while I am here. A guest ought not turn away hospitality when it is offered.”

Brisa just smiled brightly and reached for Mojo’s crusty old paw. “I have juice. Oh! And you have to stay for the piñata. Have you met Richie? He’s my best friend in the whole world!”

“I do not think—” Mojo lost his words as he was pulled along by his Super granddaughter whether he liked it or not.

“Hey.”

Brick’s hand on Butch’s shoulder exerting Super pressure made him looked down at his hands, which sparked with green power. He clenched his fists and fizzled it out.

“You good?” Brick asked, low and grave.

Butch sniffled. “Yeah, I’m good. Habit.” He paused, then: “I invited him. Boomer said it was fine.”

Brick nodded. “Okay.”

Butch’s stupid heart clenched. “I meant to text you—”

“Blossom told me. It’s fine, drop it.”

He should have dropped it. Two months ago he would have, happily. What the fuck did it matter now when it never had growing up? But that was two months ago. “Don’t fucking do that.”

Brick frosted over and got up. “Do what.”

“Hey.” Butch grabbed him by his ridiculous overalls. “You and me. No girls. Battle and beers, like the old days.”

Brick was a cold hard bastard, but even he had his cracks, and right now he broke like an egg, slack-jawed and lame.

“Tomorrow,” Butch said.

Brick nodded numbly. “Tomorrow.”

Butch smirked and got up to leave, but Brick’s voice stopped him one last time.

“Thanks, Butch.”

“Sure.”

“Tell Boomer it’s a consolation.”

“Huh?”

But he got nothing more out of Brick once Blossom and Princess showed up.

“Oh. My. God. Wait, let’s take a selfie.” Princess managed to get her arm around Brick’s neck, but he snatched her phone before she could take a picture.

“No fucking way, Princess,” he said.

Blossom grabbed his chin and kissed him right there, shameless. It was enough to distract him so Princess could reclaim her phone. “You know, I kind of like you as a clown.”

“I don’t.” Princess managed to snap a picture of Brick and Blossom. “But you’re pulling off the striped overalls, I have to say.”

“Burn that.” Brick advanced, but Blossom pulled him back with a laugh.

“Why so serious, Brick?” she teased.

Princess stuck her tongue out at him.

Butch left them to their childish shit; it was time for cake, and he had a brand new six-year-old to impress.

xxx

Buttercup was having a surprisingly good time. Between pizza with Butch and Boomer, hanging out with her sisters, and the everlasting memories that were clown Brick saved to her iCloud where he would never find them, today was turning out surprisingly well. Butch caught her eye across the yard and gestured inside, so she excused herself from the conversation with Ty and his sister to followed him.

He was in the kitchen when she found him.

“Hey, doll. Cornering me for dirty kitchen sex?” he teased.

Buttercup laughed at the sight of him, two percent bravado and ninety-eight percent imbecile. “Let me grab you a glass of water for that thirst.”

The cake he’d bought sat in a box in the fridge with Brisa’s name scribbled on the lid. Buttercup brought it out and set it on the counter. Then, she hunted for the colorful party platter Bubbles kept for special occasions.

Butch’s arms slipped around her waist from behind, and he pressed his nose to her loose hair. “Mm, you smell like pepperoni.”

“Eat my dick,” Buttercup said.

“I like it.”

“I bet you do, you horny carnivore.”

“Nooo, not the dirty talk,” he whined, pressing a kiss to her neck and pulling her back against him.

Buttercup fought against her growing smile as she opened the cake box and transferred the treat to the platter. “You need rehab.”

“If that’s your kink.”

Buttercup snorted. “Shut up and help me with this.”

They loaded up the chocolate cake on the platter, and Buttercup found the candles in a drawer.

“Got some shit on your nose,” Butch said.

“What?” He dabbed his chocolate frosted finger on the tip of her nose the moment she turned toward him, and she swatted his hand away. “Oh, come on. What are you, five?” She wiped the frosting from her nose and licked her finger clean.

No sooner had she finished than he grabbed her chin and kissed her deeply. In the quiet of the kitchen with no one around to see them, Buttercup gave into feeling and curled her fingers in his flannel shirt. When he smiled against her like the swooning buffoon he’d always been at heart, she laughed and pulled him closer.

His hands found their way over the curve of her ass, as they always did, and pulled her against him with a squeeze. “Fuck, I want you.”

“You always want me.”

“Have you seen your ass? You’d want you too.” He gave her another squeeze, and she had to bite her lip to stifle a moan.

Buttercup slipped her fingers through his hair, full and soft on top and shorn short behind the ears. For a moment, they simply stared at each other as Buttercup marveled at how much she wanted this, wanted him. She had never wanted anyone as much as she wanted him, so badly she could feel it threatening to tear her in two.

“You have all this power,” he murmured, soft like it was a precious secret he clung to.

Buttercup could have laughed at how much he underestimated his own power of her. “Back at you.”

“No.” He touched his forehead to hers and breathed like they finally had time. “Not like you. Not like this.” His hand moved to her waist as if to lead her in a dance. “You have me, Buttercup.”

Buttercup’s eyes burned with a foreign heat, unwelcome. Butch used to scare her when he spoke to her like this; now, she could only bite her lip and wait for the threat of tears to pass. “Back at you,” she said again, shaky and so fucking grateful.

They stayed that way a moment, in the kitchen of her childhood home with the warm smell of chocolate and the low din of the party outside, and for the first time that day, Buttercup felt the tension ease from her shoulders.

“By the way,” Butch said, his eyes still closed and his forehead still pressed against her, “I’m fucking the shit out of you when we get back to my place.”

Buttercup smirked. “Great example you’re setting for your daughter.”

“I got her new headphones with noise canceling.”

“She’s going to notice if we break the tub again.”

“There’s a hose. She can bathe with that.”

“Just pressure wash her like a truck.”

“Fast, efficient, and it’ll save on the water bill.”

“You don’t even pay for water, the landlord does.”

“Hey, I’m a good Samaritan lookin’ out for my neighbors.”

“Screw the neighbors.” Buttercup ran her fingers over his lips, down his chin to his chest, where his heart thundered under her touch. “I want you to fuck the shit out of me.”

Butch laughed hoarsely. “Maybe I should ask Boomer to take Brisa tonight.”

They parted, and Buttercup was about to tell him to grab the cake while she hunted for a knife when she finally noticed his cheek. “Did Brick do that?”

“The rocket ship? Yeah, good excuse to talk to him.”

“A rocket ship, huh?” Buttercup smiled so brightly her cheeks began to hurt. “That was nice of him.”

Butch gave her a weird look. “Whatever, we’re hanging out tomorrow. After today, I figure he can use it.”

Buttercup’s throat wrenched as she tried her best not to burst out laughing. “Don’t quote me, but he sort of saved my ass today. The other clown died.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious, he literally died.”

“Wow, party almost ruined.”

“I mean, also a man is dead.”

“Oh, shit, yeah you’re right. Sorry. I guess don’t tell Brisa.”

Buttercup rolled her eyes. “Jesus Christ. Grab that cake and don’t drop it.”

xxx

Brisa grinned to the point of bursting as everyone sang Happy Birthday to her and she blew out her candles. Cake went by in a breeze as the kids screamed about presents next. Like some hot, pink angel, Blossom took charge of the activities with Robin’s and Buttercup’s assistance and made sure the kids were thoroughly entertained so that Butch could eat his cake and watch his little girl enjoy her special day.

Now, seated on the picnic table again with Boomer and Bubbles, he dug into the slice Bubbles said she couldn’t finish.

“Hey, Butch,” Boomer said, chill.

“Yeah?” Butch asked.

“Why’s there a huge dick on your face?”

“Huh?”

On Butch’s other side, Bubbles poked his painted cheek. “It’s a very proportionate dick. Good dimensions.”

Boomer wheezed into his beer. Butch choked on his cake. At the next table over, Brick, that soggy ballsack, stood chatting with Princess Morbucks and Mike Believe still in his full clown regalia sipping sangria through a bendy straw. The moment he felt Butch’s eyes on him, he grinned maliciously around his straw.

“Motherfucker—” Butch tried to get up, but Bubbles grabbed his wrist.

“Language, Butch. There are children around,” she sang, cheerful as a fucking bell.

Butch pointed at Brick. “You—you clown!”

“Hey, that’s Flameo Hotman to you,” said Mike, with all the confidence of someone who didn’t know he was about to be drop-kicked in the face.

Princess squinted at Butch. “Is that a cock on your face?”

“It sure is,” Boomer said, mid-heart attack.

“Daddy, come hit the piñata with me!” Brisa came bounding over with a stick and a blindfold.

“Great timing, Brisa!” Bubbles shoved Butch way too hard toward his overeager daughter, and he had no choice but to accept the stick and blindfold.

“Uh, right,” he stammered, trying to reign it in. It was her birthday; Brick and his dick pic clownery could wait.

A hand on Butch’s shoulder squeezed too hard to be entirely friendly, and he turned to get a face full of said clown.

“Honk honk, motherfucker,” Brick said under his breath.

Butch raised his hand to decapitate his brother right there, but Brisa yanked him with her Super strength, and he had no choice but to let it lie.

The sight of Buttercup nearby watching him take his place at the piñata should have mollified him, but she had let him walk out of that kitchen dick pic’d, a betrayal of the highest order…and a quality prank, if he was honest.

He’d let his guard down around her.

It was his own mistake, underestimating her.

The heat of a challenge in her eyes as she watched him lift the blindfold to his eyes set fire to his blood. After all was said and done today and Butch left Brisa with Brick because fuck his fancy Saturday plans, Butch would take Buttercup’s advice and screw the neighbors. Tonight they were putting on a show.

With a self-satisfied grin, Butch lowered the blindfold, readied the stick, and imagined the red piñata was Brick in his ridiculous clown nose.

xxx

Hm, seeding the future Buttercup and Brick friendship I’ve been waiting so long to dive into for this universe? It’s more likely than you think. 👀

Thank you so much for reading! Long live the clown cult (Blossom ghostwrote this). 🤡

[bisexualkramer]

Everyone in TMA is trans

Martin: trans guy. Came out when he was a kid. Always liked the name martin, likes it when jon says “mahtin” all soft

Sasha: trans woman, is on the “idk i just work here” side of gendery feelings

Tim: only cis person on this list that i respect. His parents and brother were all trans, all his friends are trans, everyone he’s ever dated has either been trans or has transitioned after they dated. Is the world’s biggest Trans Ally

Basira: trans lady!

Daisy: is a butch lesbian. If asked, she’d say her gender is butch. Might also say she’s agender depending on the day

Melanie: agender

Georgie and Jon: ok so heres the deal. Georgie and Jon start dating in college. A few months in, georgie’s like “hey jon i think i’m a girl.” Jon’s like “cool im gonna research this so that i’m as respectful as possible.” Two months later he’s like “so i might be a boy????”

(Jon talks to daisy a lot and starts to realize he might be nonbinary, but then he gets distracted with saving Martin and stopping the apocalypse. As soon as everything’s safe, though, he has Gender Crisis 2: Electric Boogaloo)

Gerry is genderfluid

Michael is genderfluid

Helen defies the very concept of gender

Elias and Peter are both cis and i hate them

[killerserials-blog1]

Season 1-Chapter 1-Part 1

There is a leaden something that hangs heavy in the air during the fading days of the Phoenix summer, threatening rain, and violence. A sort of wild magic that a body can feel crackling against the skin.

Lydia Thomas sat in her worn office chair, swirling ice around an empty glass. The room was filled with the rhythmic scratches of a record needle that had run its course and not much else. The office had been empty for two weeks, and it had begun to feel more like her second living room than a work space.

According to the holy phonebook, Thomas investigations was open until 8:30pm, but lately she had taken to locking up around 6:00.

Not tonite though. Tonite, something was going to jump off.

She fixed herself another 7&7, and settled in, slipping out of her patent leather pumps, and letting the b side of In a Silent Way meld with the sounds of rush hour slowly fading on 7th Avenue, and the rising wind.

Two drinks later, it happened.

It was 8:35 when a sharp rap interrupted the flow of the music. Lydia was considering just ignoring the knock until she heard a voice that hadn’t graced her ears in nearly a decade.

“Ray, are you in? It’s Jack Morris, from central high.” Lydia tensed up. Jack-fucking-Morris. “I know you’re probably closing up, but Rikki is missing and I don’t know where else to go.”

Lydia let out a sigh, checked that the seams of her boat neck dress were straight, and strode across the room. She had always had a soft spot Rikki Morris, and if she was honest, for Rikki’s older brother as well. So she gripped the handle of the door tight, balling her left hand into a fist. She drew a deep breath, and swung the door wide to her past.

“Howdy Jack, it’s been a while.”

His mouth dropped open for a second before he drew himself up, apparently searching for words.

“You...you look...you look so...”

Lydia interrupted his stammering fit,

“Different.”

“I was gonna say beautiful, but different works.” His mouth split in a smile that Lydia had never forgotten. he was always smooth. She smiled back and extended her hand.

“Lydia Thomas, nice to meet you again Mr. Morris. Why don’t you come in and tell me a little about what’s going on with your sister.”

Jack stepped into the office, and looked around for a tick before Lydia lead the way to her desk and repositioned her chair. Jack dropped into one of the chairs that sat across Lydia’s desk from her, and fished a crinkled Christmas card out from the pocket of his blue suit jacket. Lydia studied it in silence for a second. Suddenly she felt unfriendly eyes on her neck, she shook her head and tried to put it out of her mind.

A pretty, dark skinned butch with the same close cropped hair cut that her brother wore was holding a rumpled red head in paint stained overalls, with a very grumpy looking orange cat in a blue bonnet supported by the pair of them. The girls were smiling up at her from the card. The reverse had no return address and only a short message. ‘Happy Christmas to our favorite boys! Love from Rikki, Miranda, and Pickles”. Jack had remained silent while Lydia had studied the photo.

“Rikki cut her hair really short. It’s a good look on her. Catch me up on her, will you? I can’t get the image of her in that awful sequined dress she wore to homecoming the year we graduated out of my head.”

Jack chuckled in his low, rumbling way.

“She graduated at the top of her class, and decided to go to NAU after that. Rikki brought Mel, short for Melanie, home for thanksgiving her sophomore year, and announced that she was changing her major from political science to theatre. Dad didn’t say a word about it, but mom wouldn’t stop. And then she did, and they haven’t spoken since. Dad really liked Mel because she was a great horn player. she even sat in on a few sessions with him while she was still with Rikki.”

“So, Mel and Rikki didn’t last, judging by the card.” Lydia lit a cigarette and offered one to Jack, who seemed thankful for the pause.

“No, she broke Mel’s heart, and took off for LA after she graduated. I thought she would have gone into stage acting, but she wanted to do tv. I saw her do this far out comedy piece while she was in school. It was half in Spanish, and she has a killer timing in either language. She played this young Puerto Rican street guy, opposite this chick who was like 7’ in heel. She was in this killer suit that was all trimmed in peacock feathers, and her beard looked better than mine. It was absolutely brilliant man, it blew my mind! She did a few pilots after she moved, and a few commercials but nothing panned out. Rikki came back last February, and told us she was moving in with Miranda. Mom flew off the handle, and Dad couldn’t get her to calm down for days. They called Dad every week, mom ignored it every time. I think Miranda was a contractor, and Rikki was teaching an acting class for retirees or something like that.”

“So it seems like you guys aren’t as close as you used to be.” Lydia put a point on that.

“Well no, but not for lack of trying...we both grew up, got jobs, and bills. I haven’t heard from her in 2 months, and Dad says she hasn’t called him in 3 weeks.” Jack sounded desperate as he finished.

“Do you have her address?”

“No, she didn’t want mom to cause any trouble with it. They did just buy a new place though, that’s what we talked about last time she called. She said it was old, and she and Miranda were renovating it, so I figured that she was probably somewhere downtown.”

Lydia saw where this conversation was headed, and prepared for the worst.

“And you don’t know where either of them worked, do you?” Lydia’s tone could have frozen salt water.

“Well no, it never came up. Your mom told me you were working down here as a pi, and since you guys were in the same kind of circles, I thought you might be able to help me find Rikki.”

“Because I’m gay.” Jack had been smiling until Lydia said it.

“No, I just thought...you know, you’re in the Neighborhood, you might go to the same bars or something...” Jack was chuckling nervously now.

“Because I’m gay.”

“No...I just...” He sputtered, looking for another explanation. When he couldn’t find one he grinned an apologetic grin, and said, “Because you’re gay, and I’m an ass. I’m sorry.”

Lydia had already decided that she would forgive him, and softened, but she certainly wouldn’t forget it.

“You were. I hear that kind of shit from asshole parents looking for their runaway sons twice a week, and I tell them to shove off.” Lydia gave Jack a look that made him stare at his shoes, “but you’re not here to drag an 18 year old kid back to the sanitarium, you’re here to make sure your sister and her girlfriend are okay. So, you hungry?”

“Wait, what’s up?” Jack looked up, flummoxed, “why are we making dinner plans?”

Lydia was already slipping her shoes back on and throwing her things in her evening bag as she explained,

“Well I haven’t ever run into her, but we do bat for different teams, to put it bluntly. I’m also three drinks deep, and need a taco, so We’re gonna go see a friend of mine.”

“I’m still not entirely clear on why were getting dinner.”

“Trust me, I know a good place.” She winked and smirk cracked her lips, “Papa Joe knows a little bit of everything that goes on down here, and he makes a mean tamale.”

“Well then, that sounds good to me. My ride or yours?” Jack still looked a bit confused.

“Do you still have that moldering old Buick?” Lydia laughed a little louder than she meant to. The feeling of eyes on her that she had felt since Jack handed her the Christmas card had grown stronger and she was still trying her best to shrug it off. She usually felt like people from her past were staring at her, but this was different, stronger almost.

“Hey now, be nice to the old girl, Sylvia is older than either of us by about half a decade. I just finished repainting her actually.” Jack’s ever present smile helped ease a little of her paranoia. “It looks like rain, you should grab yourself an umbrella.”

“Mine is in my car, I’ll just grab it and we’ll be off?”

“Sounds good, I’m parked around back.”