#moldy balls could never

[incorrectbatfam]

What tricks do the pets know?

Ace:

Operate the Batcomputer

Alert Bruce to possible threats

Microwave his own kibble

Speak multiple canine languages

Drag Bruce to bed

Do a headcount of the batfam before they go out

Use Bruce's credit card to buy chew toys

Titus:

Greet Damian

Secret handshake with Damian

Pose for Damian's drawings

Hug Damian

Comfort Damian

Retrieve lost batarangs for Damian

Put Robin costume in laundry for Damian

Guard Damian from the people in the TV

Reach tall shelves for Damian

Love Damian unconditionally

Alfred the cat:

Curl up around a tennis ball

Admire his reflection

Gaslight

Walk all over the dinner table

Bat-Cow:

Sit like a French girl

Do her 10-step skincare routine

Order a 4-course meal from Moober Eats

Unlatch the barn door

Book the private jet

Have a hot girl summer at the Running of the Bulls

Get caught in a love triangle between a bison and a buffalo

Spark an international conflict

Retreat to a Himalayan yak sanctuary on a journey of self-discovery

Meet a dashing steer only to realize they could never work out

Return home and put the plane back before anyone notices

Ghostwrite the next Nicholas Sparks novel

Goliath:

Sleep 20 hours a day

Breathe manually

Bite rocks

Jerry:

Be gay

Fall in love with plastic lawn flamingos

Attack the same flamingos

Peck people indiscriminately

Evade baths

Wiggles:

Ignore commands

Arson

Haley:

Shed all over the furniture

Run away from the vacuum

Weaponize puppy dog eyes

Convince Ace and Titus to share their treats

Clean out an entire jar of peanut butter in the time Dick takes to answer a phone call

Isis:

Bring rare birds to Selina

Leave scathing comments on dog videos

Cough up hairballs on demand

Blair Witch it in the corner of the room

Be bisexual

Eat hot chips

Lie

Dog:

Bark at nothing

Eat dirt

Play hide-and-seek with Jason's guns

Run into glass doors

Occasionally poop outside

Refuse to respond to her name

Chew her own tail

Meow for some reason

Moldy:

Help scientists discover new species of fungi

Induce vivid hallucinations

Cultivate an industrial society

BONUS – Krypto:

Chase airplanes

Aim for a fire hydrant from 50 feet up

Mark typos in Clark and Lois's drafts

Babysit Jon

[gh0st-t0wn3]

Lmk ss edits + headcanons, Part 6 (Azure Lion, Peng, Yellowtusk)

(I originally made my own design of Azure and Yellowtusk but wasn't quite happy with how they turned out so I scrapped them, the designs for those two I used in these edits were made by @/erraday_ on twt, with a few minor changes, but Peng's design is my own :) )

- He/Him

- Pansexual

- Snores so loud, it's insane, Yellowtusk once thought there was an earthquake

- Feels bad whenever he's steps on a ladybug, butterfly etc

- Gives everyone and everything giant bear hugs because he thinks if Yellowtusk can take it, so can everyone else (They cannot)

- Mei once gave him catnip as a joke and he went fucking feral, he's not allowed near catnip anymore

- His hair/fur is actually very soft and curly

- Thought he saw an old friend while out in public and hugged them, it was a stranger

- Wakes up Yellowtusk in the middle of the night to ask stupid questions

- The Brotherhood asked to hear his roar but he got really nervous last second and it ended up being really meek, they never let him forget it

- Coughed up a hairball once and Peng refuses to let him live it down

- Has eaten cat food before and would do it again

- Cannot do the splits and is too scared to try

- Gets really confused by modern slang, MK and Mei abuse the hell out of it because it's funny

- Whenever he's rough housing with people he accidentally hits a bit too hard

- Whenever he walks past anyone playing a game that involves a ball (football, basketball, netball, etc) he somehow always ends up getting hit in the head with it

- If he wasn't sealed away and got a chance to babysit Redson as a kid he wouldn't know what the fuck to do and would be really awkward cause he doesn't know how to interact with children, he'd be able to bond with Redson better when he becomes a teenager though

- No one gossips with him because he always ends up unintentionally outing someone about something

- Ate moldy food once by accident and freaked out, he was absolutely disgusted

- Hates horror movies but loves slashers

- Drinks mouthwash

- Smells like catnip (trust me guys)

- Love language is words of affirmation

- Has horrible bed head, his mane gets tangled really easily and he tosses around a lot at night so his mane takes hours to brush out

- Absolutely refuses to wear shoes, they hurt his feet (paws?)

- The type of person to cry over a movie about a dog getting lost and then finding its owner at the end

- Can somehow eat an entire goddamn buffet and not gain a single pound

- His face always scrunches up when he smiles

- Lost his balance on a hill and fell down like a tumbleweed once, Peng still brings it up

- They/He (Canon, Peng uses They/Them in the show but is exclusively referred to w/ He/Him in the sets)

- Nonbinary (Canon)

- Starts squaking when he laughs too much

- If you throw a blanket over their head he'll immediately fall asleep

- "look behind you but don't make it obvious" Looks behind him in the most exaggerated, obvious way known to mankind

- Stole food from Wukong's private stash for several months when the Brotherhood was all still together, Wukong still doesn't know

- Wukong gave them cooked chicken once as a joke but he actually liked it

- Constantly argues with Wukong about Macaque not being able to hold his own, yes it got physical

- Their wings have a bunch of scars from the amount of weapons and shit they block with them. Has to consistently clean their wings in order to keep them from getting too damaged, yes this includes softening and preening his feathers

- If they weren't sealed away and got a chance to babysit Redson as a kid they would tape him to the wall like that one meme and call it a day

- Bit off a person's finger once just to see if they could

- Doesn't shop, just steals

- "I hate you so fucking much" as he's handing the person a gift

-  Tried to draw on Wukong's face once but got wacked with his tail

- Absolutely HATES beetroot, will actually gag if he smells it

- Kicks over kids sand castles at the beach

- Can't stand small buzzing sounds

- "I'm not that competitive" is that competitive

- Claims you can trust them with anything but will snitch the second they know it will benefit them

- Probably threatened to eat someone's baby once

- Goes to playgrounds to trip kids

- Smells like Lavender, it just feels right

- Love language is words of affirmation and acts of service

- Has tried sleeping upside down like a bat multiple times

- Hardcore wine aunt vibes

- Had a bunch of ducklings accidently imprinted to him and they followed Peng for hours

- You'd have to pin this bird down to get them to eat collyflower

- Jokingly pushed Azure off a cliff once then remembered they're the only member of the Camel Ridge Trio that can fly

- They have full on concerts at like 3 am, has woken up Azure on multiple occasions

- He/Him

- AroAce

- Is the calmest one in the Brotherhood

- He uses Peng's head as an armrest sometimes

- He and DBK were actually quite close, he knew and accepted that DBK was in love with a celestial but was very surprised to see they ended up having a child

- Very poor eyesight but doesn't like wearing his glasses because Peng made a joke about them once saying he looked like a grandma

- Uses ":3" and ":D"

- Loves soap opera's

- Hates seafood

- Peng once tricked him into eating fish nuggets once and he still hasn't fully forgiven them

- If he wasn't sealed away and got a chance to babysit Redson as a kid he would definitely be the most responsible one, and probably Redson's favourite uncle

- Eats a snack then forgets he ate it and will bet frustrated when he can't find it

- The therapist of the Camel Ridge Trio, and probably of the whole Brotherhood in the past as well

- Was the only one who felt bad about imprisoning the Demon Bull Family since he and DBK were very close

- He also reprimanded Peng for when they pinned and scratched Redson with their claws after they left the Demon Bull Palace (he's the protective uncle, trust me guys)

- Hates getting hiccups, he despises the feeling and it gives him heartburn

- Wakes up at ungodly hours just to raid the fridge

- Heard a story about a bug crawling in someone's ear while they slept and has worn earplugs to bed ever since

- Loves apples

- Smells like Lilies

- Love language is gift giving

- Is really big on safety, would be the type of person to make sure everyone is wearing their seat belts before the car is even turned on

- Actually really good at cooking

- Makes the best chocolate chip pancakes ever

- Is the kind of person who assumes everyone tells eachother everything and accidently exposes someone because he thought everyone else knew about it already

- Always hears things wrong but doesn't wanna ask anyone to repeat themselves

- Has the most elegant ass handwriting you will ever see, somehow

- The peacemaker of the Brotherhood,  they all would've disbanded way sooner if it wasn't for him

- Uses his trunk as a snorkle when swimming or sleeping underwater (elephants actually do this irl, I just thought it was cute)

[bbrissonn]

𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐨𝐭 - 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐞𝐫

in which after months of crushing on your best friend, you finally decide to admit your feelings to him pairing: nick moldenhauer x fem!reader warnings: swear words, not proofread a/n: im in such a moldy mood tonight, so yeah, enjoy this :DD

You couldn't quite remember when you first realized your feelings for the boy. Maybe it was when he dedicated that goal to you on your birthday. Or maybe when he gave you his jacket after one of his game because you freezing. Or maybe your feelings at just always been there since the beginning, but you had never noticed them.

You didn't know, but what you did know was that there was no way on earth you could ever tell him how felt. No matter how many times the Fantilli brother's, who were the first to catch up on why you'd always turn red whenever Moldy would be near you, told you to just admit to him. You couldn't. Your friendship with the boy was one you held so close to your heart, you truly didn't have any other friendship like this one, and you didn't want to lose it.

"I don't get why you don't just tell him." Luca mumbled, making you roll your eyes as the two of you walked into his bedroom. You had agreed to help the boy with your shared class since he had missed the last one due to having to travel to UMass.

"And ruin one of the best friendship I've ever had? Yeah, right." It was Luca's turn to roll his eyes as he let himself fall onto his mattress. He was about to answer, when his mouth suddenly closed, an idea popping into his head.

"You don't want to tell him because you think he doesn't like you back, which I gotta say you're real fucking stupid for thinking he doesn't, but that's why, right?"

"I don't think he doesn't like me, Lu, I know." You answered with just as much sass as he previously spoke. His eyes rolled to the back of his head at your words.

"How about, I prove to you he does?"

"And how are you planning on doing that?" You asked, sitting down on his bed near his legs, his body now laying fully on his bed.

"Make him jealous, duh." He sassed, making you scoff a little.

"And how am I supposed to do that, Sherlock?"

"Go to the hangout with me tonight." He said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. You looked at him with an 'are you serious' look, making the boy push his body so you were sitting face to face. "Trust me. Just stay by my side the whole night, be my pong partner instead of his, he'll lose his mind."

You hated to admit he was right. You were now standing in front of Luca, one of his arm around your waist as your eyes focused on the ping pong ball in TJ's hand. You could feel Luca's breath on the back of your neck, as well as Nick's eyes staring at the two of you from across the table.

"It's working." The Fantilli boy whispered into your ears. You smiled slightly, turning your head to look at him. Ever since you had walked into the senior household earlier that night, one of Luca's arm around your waist, Nick's eyes had been focused on the two of you. The forward quickly downed his drink when he saw you sit on his best friend's lap, the two of choosing to sit on the very crowded couch instead of the empty one. When it was pong time, Luca was quick to announce the two of you would be teaming up, which mean Nick had to find a new partner.

Luca pressed a kiss right next to your lips, something you had agreed to before walking into the house. But from Nick's point of you, it looked like the two of had just shared a very intimate kiss. The boy decided he had enough and just walked away from the game, leaving everyone confused.

"Go after him." Luca mumbled, pushing towards where the boy had just left. Everyone's confused eyes watched as you made your way out of the house, joining Moldy on the front porch.

"The game wasn't done, you know." You immediately cursed yourself mentally for saying that. Nick scoff as he leaned down on the rail with his forearms, rolling his eyes slightly.

"Go away." He whispered, scoffing once again when you instead joined him, leaning on the rail next to him.

"What's wrong?"

"You."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. How long have you been fucking my best friend behind my back?" He asked harshly, pushing himself up and turning his body to be facing you.

"Me and Luca aren't fucking. He's my friend."

"Then why the fuck were his hands all over you? And why'd he kiss you, huh?" The boy asked, taking a step closer to you.

"Can you stop? God, Nick, you're acting like your five, getting made 'cause I have other friends that aren't you!" You yelled, taking a step back and creating more space between the two of you. "Why do you even care so much about me and Luca?"

"So, you admit there's something going on between you two?"

"I didn't fucking say that, Nick. Can you just get your head out of your ass for one minute and fucking listen to what I am saying!" You spoke, your voice still has loud as before. the boy didn't speak after that, a sign that he was finally going to listen to what you had to say.

"There's nothing going on between me and Luca, okay? We're friends, always have and always will be. I was feeling down and he was just trying to cheer me up, nothing more." You explained, technically you didn't lie. You were in fact feeling upset, but making Nick jealous was the main reason why Luca had been all over you tonight, but that's not something Nick needed to know.

"Why didn't you come see me? Y/N/N I am always here for you, always." He whispered. You could hear a small hint of hurt in his voice by the fact that you choose to go see his instead of him to cheer you up.

"It's not something I can just talk to you about, Nicky." You sighed, getting slightly nervous.

"Why not? You can talk to me about anything, Y/N/N, I won't judge you, you know that." He stated, sounding even more hurt than before.

"It's... it's complicated." You answered, your eyes looking at the ground. Well, that was until Nick stepped closer to you, cupping your face in his hands and forcing you to look at him. You leaned into his touch, letting out a small breath of relief at the contact between your skins.

"Talk to me, munch." He whispered, using the nickname he had chosen for you, shorting munchkin because he was too lazy to pronounce the last syllable.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"You. I can't talk to you... about you." You admitted, trying to look down at the ground again, but Nick was quick to keep your focus on him.

"Me? What about me?"

"Promise me... promise me nothing's gonna change."

"I promise, Y/N/N." The boy whispered. You nodded slightly in response before finally admitting how you felt.

"When... when I am with you, I get like this weird feeling in my stomach, a good feeling. I just always wanna be around you; you make me happy, so happy. I want you in my life until forever, and just the thought of losing you to someone else makes me sick." You confessed, your eyes avoiding his, but glancing every now and then to him.

"Y/N, I don't understand..." He trailed off. You suddenly felt embarrassed, this was a horrible idea. You should've never listened to Luca.

"Forget it." You mumbled, trying to walk away from him, but his grip was too strong.

"Hey, hey, don't walk away. You know I am not the brightest kid out there." He quickly said, pulling you into his chest as his arms wrapped around your shoulders. Your own went around his waist as your head rested on his chest, his chin on the top of your head. "Talk to me, munch."

"I love you, idiot. In more than a best friend way." You finally told him. After a couple of seconds, Nick pulled you away from his chest, and before you even had a chance to react, his lips were on yours.

"You could've just said so instead of cozying up with Fantilli all night. Y/N/N, I've had like the biggest crush on you since we've met, I thought I made it pretty obvious." He chuckled. You felt your cheeks burn as a shy smile appeared on your face.

"Wanna be my boyfriend?" You ask shyly, giggling lightly. The boy in front of you nodded eagerly before connecting your lips again. The two of you eventually got a little carried away, now standing on the porch deep into a make-out session.

"Okay, as much as I am loving the two of finally growing up, you are not making babies on this porch." Luca spoke out after a couple of minutes, literally pulling the two of you apart. "Keep that shit to your bedrooms. And wear protection!"

"Luca!"

[sanguineterrain]

get a little action in | miguel o'hara

Summary: Spider-Man doesn't like you. And for the record? You're not crazy about him either. But you kind of wish you could see his eyes when he swings you across the city. For curiosity's sake.

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x gn!reader (some Spanish language is female-gendered, but other than that, no gendered descriptions.)

Word count: 2.2k

Content desc: rivals, superhero!reader (kinda - they're trying their best). miguel's a bit of a jerk ngl but he's a SEXY jerk <3 very enemies to lovers coded. swapped insults, injuries, and a whole lot of charged flirting. (lyla thinks they're adorable.)

A/N: i actually think this fic is the closest i've gotten to miguel's canon personality compared to my previous (delusional) characterizations of him lol. hope you guys like this one! as always, i appreciate corrections to the Spanish if needed, but it's no one's responsibility to do so!

Translations: 

¡Chingada madre! - Motherfucker!

¡Pinche pendeja! - Fucking asshole!

¡No mames! Eres una idiota. - I don't believe this! You're an idiot.

¡Cállate, por Dios! - Shut up, oh my God!

¡Ay, coño! ¿Qué demonios haces? - Oh, fuck! What the hell are you doing?

¿Qué? ¿Qué quieres? - What? What do you want?

¿Estás loca? ¿De dónde sacas esas ideas? - Are you crazy? Where do you get these ideas?

No seas estúpida. - Don't be stupid.

Porque tu haces un desmadre. Eres un dolor en el culo. - Because you make a mess. You're a pain in the ass.

Ve. - Go.

follow @sanguine-marvel for all future miguel fic notifications!

“All units be advised: 10-33 on 10th and Palisade. Suspect is known as “Captain Darkness.” Approach with caution.”

You shove the police scanner into your bag and stash it in the alley by your apartment. You’re close to 10th and Palisade, and the cops have lost Nueva York’s newest supervillain, Captain Darkness, three times already. For all the mocking headlines the press write about him, he sure seems to be the one laughing every time.

You pull your mask over your face as you make your way to the abandoned factory on 10th and Palisade. It looks normal from the outside, but the code means there’s been an explosion. 

Probably best to enter through the back. 

It’s dark, because supervillains like to nail the atmosphere, and that means there’s no budget for lighting. The factory smells damp, moldy. You hope you don’t get sick. Vigilantism doesn’t come with health insurance.

You stay close to the wall, ears tuned for any sounds. Usually, a good villain would have clocked your entrance by now. The fact that Captain Darkness (a stupid-ass name for a stupid-ass villain) hasn’t—

BRIIIING! BRIIIING!

Alarms blare throughout the factory. Your ears ring from the volume. 

Okay. Maybe you’ve underestimated him.

You run; stealth doesn’t matter now, only speed. Captain Darkness is, predictably, at the center of the factory. He has all the typical workings of a mad scientist: electric ball thingy, giant lie detector-looking thingy, et cetera. You go up the stairs of his platform to get closer.

Except there’s something you’ve never seen before. It sort of resembles a portal. Fuck.

Captain Darkness spots you immediately. He has giant crab legs fused to the lower half of his body, which you’d think were sick if he wasn’t such a jagoff. 

“Well, hello,” he says, sneering down at you. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Are you one of the Spiderlings?”

“I’m offended by the suggestion,” you say, darting towards the electric ball first. 

It looks easy enough to shut off, except the Captain blocks your path immediately. He knocks you across the platform. You cough at the impact. The concrete bruises your right temple.

“Alright, that’s it.” You grunt, pushing yourself up. “Now I’m gonna kick your ass for real.”

The Captain laughs. “By all means, hit me with your best shot.”

So you do. You manage to knock him backwards, his clunky crab legs sliding on the platform. You take the opening and shut off one machine, which causes a crackle of electricity in the air. The hair on your arms rises.

But being a mad crab scientist apparently means you have a lot of time on your hands, and Captain Darkness whips out what looks like a ray gun. He blasts you and knocks you off the platform. You hit your ribs hard, and your vision blurs for a second.

The portal begins to whir, warming up. Captain Darkness towers over you, grinning maniacally.

“Your efforts are adorable, but I suggest you find another line of work. No one will stop me from opening a portal. Once I venture to other worlds, I’ll be unstoppable. This world will be mine! Finally, everyone who ever—”

“Oh my God,” you groan, clutching your ribs. “Please don’t start monologuing. Do you know how cliche you sound right now? Blah blah blah, your parents didn’t give you enough attention so you’re insecure and power-hungry. Do I look like Dr. Phil to you?”

His eyes flash and one crab leg grabs a nearby tool cart. 

“You’re no longer amusing me,” he says. "Goodbye." 

The tool cart is flung in your direction, and you roll, covering your head and bracing for the worst. But the crash never comes. You look to see several orange webs wrapped around the cart. The cart flies backwards and hits Captain Darkness right in his face.

Miguel O’Hara lands on the railing of the platform, perched gracefully. He doesn’t waste a second in going after the Captain.

“Oh, where did you even come from?” you shout, pushing yourself to stand. “I have it handled!”

“I’m not dignifying that with a response,” Miguel growls as he easily dodges the Captain’s grasp. 

He swings to the other side, aiming for the portal which has now fired up. 

Perfect. Damn it, it should be you that J. Jonah Jameson will scream about on the news tomorrow morning, not Spider-Dorito. 

You force yourself to get up so you can try to apprehend the Captain. But he has other plans; one of the machines sparks, and suddenly, hundreds of flying crab-shaped robots pour out of the mouth of the portal. Miguel shouts orders to Lyla. 

You’re only interested in one thing: taking down Captain frickin’ Darkness. So you go after him, leaving the factory. Unfortunately, the crab-bots take that as an invitation to leave too, zeroed in on your destruction. Your ribs are killing you, and whatever the Captain blasted you with left a nasty gash on your hip. 

Still, you limp and pant through the pain. You’re not letting this guy get away a fourth time. No way. Captain Darkness has been a thorn in Nueva York’s side for several weeks now and you’ve been tracking him for just as long. You need to get him.

“¡Chingada madre!”

You glance over your shoulder and see a flash of blue and red. Miguel is right behind you, fighting through the cluster of crab-bots. The sight makes your blood boil.

“Fuck off!” you wheeze out. “He’s mine, O’Hara!”

“If you hadn’t stumbled in and screwed everything up, we wouldn’t even be in this situation right now!” he snarls. “¡Pinche pendeja!”

Fucking Spider-Man. It’s because of him that Nueva York doesn’t even know who you are. Every time you get remotely close to taking down a criminal, Miguel swoops in and saves the day. Not without giving you grief, of course. You’re too weak, too disorganized, too slow—you’re too wrong, according to him. He’s told you multiple times to stay away, but hey, he should know by now you’re also too stubborn to listen.

You pull your hand away from your rib. It’s tacky with blood. You’re slowing down, too; you aren’t enhanced like a hero is supposed to be, and after going two rounds with Captain Crabcake, it seems you’re about to meet your untimely fate with killer crustacean robots. 

You really should’ve become a lawyer like your mother wanted.

“¡No mames! Eres una idiota.”

You feel Miguel’s breath on your neck before his arm curls around your waist. You cry indignantly but he doesn’t let go, heaving you into his grip and continuing to run.

“Let go of me!” you demand, wiggling in his grip.

“Shut up.”

“I don’t need you to save me,” you snap.

He looks down at you, red masked eyes burning into you.

“No? ‘Cause every time you screw up, I’m the one fixing your mess. How many times have I told you to go home?”

“I had it under control,” you say. 

Miguel doesn’t even look at you. Your injuries are jostled with every step and you have to fight to not whine in pain. But you don’t try to squirm away again. You’re no match for his strength, and, unfortunately, he’s a lot faster than you. If you want to live, Miguel’s your ride. 

“Lyla, find me a route.”

Lyla pops up on Miguel’s other shoulder. She leers at you, raising her eyebrows.

“Am I interrupting something?” she asks. 

“Lyla. Route, now.” 

“Alright, alright,” she says, sounding far too smug. “Might I suggest going airborne?”

Your fingers dig into Miguel’s giant shoulder as he flings a web string at a nearby fire escape. He shifts you to one arm. Your eyes pop out of your head.

“No, wait, I have a terrible fear of—”

He doesn’t wait, the asshole, and you scream as he pulls both of you up. Now you’re bleeding, clinging to the worst person in the world, and at least two hundred feet off the ground. Somehow, killer crab-bots would’ve been better. 

“¡Cállate, por Dios!” he shouts, jerking his head away from you. “Unless you want me to drop you.”

“I’m gonna kill you, O’Hara,” you say, closing your eyes. “I’m gonna—oh, God.” You swallow hard, feeling dizzy. “I think I’m gonna hurl.”

“Do not throw up on me.”

You peek over his shoulder, trying not to watch the buildings blur by. That’s when you spot the army of robots behind you. And they look mad.

“Shit, shit!” you hiss, jolted out of your nausea. 

You reach down Miguel’s broad back, feeling for the nifty little gadgets you know he keeps on him.

“¡Ay, coño! ¿Qué demonios haces?”

He swats at your wandering hands. You smack him back.

“I’m trying to save us, if you don’t mind!”

“Do not touch anything—” he starts.

A bot whizzes by, firing at you both. Miguel wobbles on the next swing, trying to fight off the bot. 

“Lyla, three o’clock!” you yell.

Tiny rockets fire from Miguel’s suit, taking out several bots. There’s too many, though; you need another plan.

“Lyla, run diagnostics on the bots,” you say, grunting as Miguel swings sharply around a corner.

“Lyla, don’t do anything I don’t tell you to,” Miguel says. “She’s not yours to—”

“Water,” Lyla interrupts, understanding where your brain is. “They malfunction in water.”

“Huh. That’s ironic.”

Ahead, the waterfront is quickly coming into view. You pinch Miguel’s shoulder. He hisses, his suit’s eyes narrowing at you. 

“¿Qué? ¿Qué quieres?”

“The Hudson,” you say. 

“I can’t just dive into the river, we’ll both—”

“Use me as bait,” you say. 

“¿Estás loca? ¿De dónde sacas esas ideas?”

“I pull them out of my butt,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“You couldn’t even destroy the portal,” he says scathingly. “I’m not throwing you into the river, tempting as that is.”

“You don’t have a better idea, smartass. And unless you want them tearing up Manhattan, you’ll do it.”

“No seas estúpida,” he says. 

“Can’t help it. It’s one of my superpowers.”

Miguel lands on a rooftop. He drops you none too carefully, and you land hard on your butt. You grunt, the movement squishing your injury. 

“Lyla,” Miguel says.

“Yup,” she says, popping up on your shoulder and scanning your body. “Bruised ribs, and a gash right on top. If you wrap it, they’ll be fine.”

Miguel takes out a bandage and tears the top off. You’ve seen them before; they’re of his own creation, and used widely by his Spider Society. Never on civilians, which is what you are, according to him.

He crouches and shoves your suit up, then wraps the bandage around your stomach. The wrapping begins to expand and you feel the sting of cold gel. He yanks your suit back down without a word.

“I’m sure my ribs are broken,” you say through a wheezy exhale.

“Nope! Just bruised. You really shouldn’t fall from those kinds of heights,” Lyla says cheerily.

“Yeah, you were definitely programmed by him,” you mutter.

You start to get up. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Miguel says. 

“Screw you.”

“You living here screws me enough.”

“I don’t need your help! Why can’t you stay in your own damn lane, O’Hara?”

“Porque tu haces un desmadre. Eres un dolor en el culo.”

“The feeling is mutual,” you say through gritted teeth. “And you can’t stop me from going after him.”

His suit’s eyes narrow. Quick as anything, he flings two webs over your wrists. You squawk, now glued to the pavement.

“This is illegal!” you screech, twisting your wrists. “Let me go!”

“Stay out of my way,” Miguel says. “I won’t save your ass next time.”

You glare up at him, still breathing hard. It only makes you angrier that Miguel hasn’t broken a sweat.

“I hope those bots tear up the Spider Society!” you say. “I hope—I hope your suit malfunctions and the whole city sees your ass.”

Miguel pauses, and turns around. 

“Uh, Miguel?” Lyla asks. “The murder robots? Kinda urgent.”

“Tell Jess to go downtown and cut them off there.”

“But—” 

“Ve.”

He stands over you. You fling your legs up, trying to get a kick in, but he quickly puts a stop to that, resting a heavy foot on both of your ankles. 

Miguel bends down. You burn with curiosity about how he looks under the mask. It’s twisted of you to wonder, considering what an arrogant jerk he is. You could fill several encyclopedias with Miguel O’Hara’s worst traits. 

Still, you wonder. You wonder what color his eyes are. If his hair is short or long. If he smiles at all. His expression when you get under his skin.

You’d learned his real name by accident. Whether he knows your identity or not, you don’t know. You wonder if he has to stop himself from saying your name.

“You’re lucky I don’t web that dirty mouth of yours,” Miguel says, his face inches from yours. “I’ve been considering it.”

You lift your chin.

“You think about my mouth a lot, O’Hara?”

He jerks back, like you’ve startled him. He stands, turning around.

“Don’t let me see you out here again,” he says.

“Wait!” you cry. “What about the webs?!”

Miguel shoots a web towards the street.

“What about them? You don’t need my help, remember?”

Then he’s gone. 

Fucking Spider-Man.

[connectionterminated13]

May I request headcanons for your scooped Mike so that our village may survive the winter?

-@drinkinboilingcoffee

Yeah finally someone asks me!!!

- Well he was being used as a skin suit Michael was stuck in some horrible nightmare realm that looks and has the same vibes as shark boy and Lava girl, Where he was stuck in a horrible pile of screaming melting souls clawing for some way out but never reaching anything. This along with the incredible amount of physical agony he felt from his body being broken end actively rotting made him go a little bit crazy....

- When he woke up on the sidewalk and ran home to henry's house he attempted to end it all When Henry wasn't there and there was literally no one to help him and then he realized he couldn't die and just curled up on a ball and cried for like 3 hours.

- Lucky for him Charlie found him and like calmed him down and the 2 of them decided on the arson quest where they'd go and light fazbear establishments on fire until the company no longer exists (they have an eternity after all!!)

- Despite being zombie Michael still has a good relationship with his cat foxy. Foxy doesn't see anything different about him and loves cuddling up to Mikey and he's always very cute even when foxy decides to sit on Mike's stomach and accidentally falls into the stomach hole

- My Mikey never stitched himself up there was no need really. His body kind pulls itself together due to the remnant and his ghost and all that garbage.

- He is terrible with people who aren't Charlie. Like he just stares and sometimes says cryptic lines about them going to hell or doom is coming and so he can't interact with like anyone

- He loves scaring people he never hurts them but he does like stalking down Dark streets to spook people with his spooky little face.

- Michael Has to deal with hallucinations of his dead family postscoop. This happened like twice a month and usually Mikey just smokes a cigarette and talks to Charlie or pets his cat in order to calm down but sometimes they can overwhelm him and he just like completely shuts down.

- Michael liked smoking before the scoop but now he absolutely loves it! He only has one moldy gross lung but it's enough to Wease out a cigarette. In his head smoking and cigarettes are one of the few things that the world can't take from him. It makes him feel human...

- He doesn't really try to cover himself up ever when he goes outside, Most people are too absorbed in their own lives to notice him for that long but when they do He just ignores them.

- He's got no meat on his feet :(. His legs are completely bone And bits of scrappy muscle he has no idea how he walks normally at all.

- He has like a giant fear of technology made after the 1990s due to sister location. Charlie has to handle all the computer stuff or else Mikey will have a panic attack

- Michael doesn't think anyone other than Charlie could ever care about him. He is an ugly stinky monster, a brother killer And all around horrible person.

- The plans that Mikey and Charlie have post burning down every remnant of fazbears is to go up and flame together and finally move on

[theboywithburninghands]

This is something I didn’t expect to write, but it sort of just… Came out of my head. It’s a horror whump (I think that’s the word kids these days are using) piece about Jax’s unusual phobia with a little bit of Funnybunny thrown in because yes. It’s definitely less conventionally cute than the other ones I’ve done so far, but I hope you enjoy it regardless. It’s also heavily inspired by Stephen King

T/W: blood, horror, discussed gore

He Who Walks Behind The Rows

*Jax is by himself in a cornfield. It’s hot out. Uncomfortably so. The sky is cement gray. He’s been here before, and he knows that if he’s here…

then It was here too.*

Jax: …Oh no.

*The husks of corn rustle, from the wind? Please just let it be the wind. The sound, like the rasp of a giant, angry rattlesnake, chills him to his core despite the oppressive heat. …He shouldn’t have said anything, now It could track him*

Jax: I’m leaving. I’ll go now.

*Jax turns tail and runs. It never does any good, but running bought him a few seconds when he wasn’t in It’s grasp. The cornfield seems to laugh at him as it rustles. “Just where do you think you’re going, little rabbit? Don’t you want to stay? Why not rest a while? It’s soooo hot out…”*

Jax: Just stay away from me!

*It was like trying to tell a shark not to eat a bleeding dolphin. There was no slaking It’s thirst. Jax made the mistake of glancing to his right, and he locked eyes with It. Two hateful red eyes as large as beach balls leer back at him from several cornrows away. It didn’t matter how fast he was or how agile he moved, It would catch him. It was like liquid, could easily catch him at any time, but It always liked to watch him run.*

Jax: I don’t see you! You hear me, I don’t see-

*His right foot catches a husk on a nearby stalk and it trips him. The serrated edge of the leaf rips the skin and fur of his foot open, and he tumbles onto the ground with a yelp of pain and fright*

*He grabs for his foot, which now oozed hot blood onto the tightly packed dirt. The pain is muted but somehow unbearable. He feels blood stain his glove, but soon forgets everything about the pain… It appeared in front of him. Jax’s ears pin back against his head*

Rowstalker: …Ghhhhhhh…

*It opens Its leathery mouth to reveal a maw that could fit a bus, filthy brown and reeking of moldy corncobs. Jagged, shattered-glass teeth protrude from random spots, cracked with blight and oozing bacteria-ridden drool.*

Rowstalker: Chhhrrrrr….

Jax: Get away! GET AWAY FROM ME!

*A whiplike tongue snags Jax’s right ankle, dragging him towards It’s mouth. Jax pitifully claws at the dirt, wildly grasping around for purchase and finding none. He lets out a whimper and looks down at his ankle, his red blood staining It’s rotten green tongue-*

*…Red?*

*He didn’t bleed red anymore! This wasn’t real! He was-!*

Jax: AGGH!

*Jax shoots awake in bed, throwing the blanket off his chest. He feels the wash of relief that comes with waking from a nightmare. He takes several deep and gasping breaths, taking the blanket off his right foot. It’s unharmed. He collapses onto his pillow*

Jax: Gimme a break… I just got hot under the blanket again…

Pomni: J-Jax..?

Jax: POMNI! *he shoots back up in bed. Pomni is standing not too far away in his room, clutching her left arm with her right hand. She jolts when he jolts* You- How’d you get in my room?!

Pomni: You… left the door unlocked. I wanted to say goodnight… *steps a little bit closer* Are you okay..?

Jax: Huh? Yeah, I’m fine! Fit as a fiddle!

Pomni: Your hands are shaking… *it takes her a second to work herself up, but she takes one of his hands. It is indeed trembling*

Jax: *sigh, eyeroll* I had a nightmare, okay? Happens sometimes when I get too hot.

Pomni: Do you want to talk about it..?

Jax: Nope. G’night. *he lets go of her hand and rolls over, pulling the covers up to just his waist this time.*

Pomni: *she hovers her hand out for a second before putting it back down at her side* Y-Yeah. Goodnight, Jax. *she puts her hand down and heads for the door* Don’t forget the lock.

Jax: …Do you get them too?

Pomni: Huh? Get what?

Jax: Nothing. Forget it.

Pomni: …Nightmares? Sure. I mean, who doesn’t..? I still get dreams that I haven’t turned in a big assignment or I’m driving with no steering wheel-

Jax: That’s not what I’m talkin’ about. *he rolls over* Those are just stress dreams. Baby stuff. I’m talkin’ about nightmares that make you never want to sleep again. Things so horrible you wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy.

Pomni: Yeah, maybe once or twice. Technically we’re living in one. *tiny, nervous smile*

Jax: *smirk* Heh. Yeah. I don’t know if I had them back in… you know, the real world. But they got bad here. If I’m not dreaming about… *he looks at Pomni* …I prolly shouldn’t tell you, actually. It’s… no fun.

Pomni: *Although she’s a bit surprised by her own confidence, she climbs up onto Jax’s bed and sits on the end, looking at him with a delicate smile* Try me.

Jax: …You’re sitting on my bed.

Pomni: *talking over a laugh* Do-Don’t change the subject! Tell me about your nightmares.

Jax: Why do you care..?

Pomni: Because… Because I care about you… *blushes*

Jax: *also blushes a faint pink-purple* Uh… *swallows* Okay, fine, but if you get creeped out, it’s on you. …Usually I’m in a cornfield. Sometimes a house or a barn. And something is after me. I don’t really have a good name for It… so I just call It The Rowstalker. Since it… stalks. The rows. Of corn.

Pomni: What does it look like?

Jax: It’s hard to explain. It’s taken a bunch of different shapes… usually it’s got big red eyes and giant, messed up teeth. But I’ve seen it fly, or swim, or dig…

Pomni: Does it hurt you?

Jax: Yeah. Bad. Sometimes it gnaws my head off then drinks the blood out of my neck… sometimes it eats me from the feet up, slowly. Sometimes it starts with just one arm, and…

*Jax feels his entire body shiver, and his ears pin back. Pomni holds one of his hands and he squeezes it in return. It’s humiliating, sure… but it does feel good to actually tell somebody about this.*

Pomni: …I’m sorry. That sounds horrible. I uh… I wish I had advice…

Jax: Nah. You don’t need to give any… Can you do one thing for me, though..?

Pomni: Yeah.

Jax: Don’t tell anyone, okay? If this ever gets around to Caine… he could make it real.

Pomni: Why would Caine…-

Jax: Maybe for Halloween, or a haunted house or something… if he ever made it real, I think I’d…

*Pomni hugs him. It’s… a gradual and awkward affair, given Pomni’s discomfort with touch, but she gets there eventually. Jax sighs, but he hugs her back. The bells on her coxcomb hat jingle softly.*

Pomni: Is this okay?

Jax: Yeah. Yeah, this is okay…

[shadow-the-crow]

why i would be an avatar of these fear entities:

got this idea from the lovely @totheidiot (who got it from @cult-of-the-eye) - basically experiences that could have marked me and stuff that connects me to the entities. (Disclaimer: I'm only in the middle of season 2 and only know the basic lore, so i don't exactly know what makes you become an avatar)

the Lonely: This is the one i feel most connected to. Loneliness has always found me at different points in my life - mostly because of my social anxiety. I often didn't have many friends, had difficulties connecting with new people, and mostly i even feel disconnected from my friends because i'm scared of opening up and being myself. At this point i feel like it's a part of me. Like it's continuously eating me up but by now i'm embracing it. Also, a close friend of mine says she's had a constant feeling of loneliness ever since she lived with me for a few months. (She says it wasn't my fault, that it's probably just because she was far fom her family and other friends, but still.) So i might already be an irl avatar of the Lonely lol

the Extinction (and maybe this is also a bit of the Vast?): This happened last summer during a holiday in Italy with my family. One night, the whole sky was suddenly lit up by lightnings every few seconds, they formed crazy patterns but stayed in the sky. Then there was also thunder, getting louder and louder, and at one point it just didn't stop anymore. At this point, i actually thought the world was ending. Then the hail started. The hailstones were bigger than tennis balls, and we were in a mobile home, so we were legitimately scared the roof would collapse. I stayed weirdly calm though. It kept going for maybe half an hour, thankfully nobody got hurt.

the Eye: I used to be pretty paranoid as a kid, i often felt like i was being watched when i was alone. I'm also a very curious person who loves learning new stuff, and i can't stand not knowing something, so i often immediately look up things i'm wondering about. Also people on here have told me i'm of the Eye because i can't stop listening to tma although it scares me, like i somehow feel compelled to continue, but idk if that means anything.

the Spiral: I'm not sure if this one counts, but i feel really drawn to the Distortion's weird existence and the whole "it is not what it is" thing. Also "there's no such thing as a real name" is a quote that deeply resonates with me, idk, i just think it's true - and i'm convinced i'll never find a name that feels like it's mine. Also i'm really good at lying, sometimes i lie about little things just for fun.

the Corruption: Corruption to a certain degree gives me comfort because my family's home has always been... idk, "dirty" is the closest word i can think of, but that doesn't really describe it. We regularly clean and all, the rooms look clean at first sight - but there's old, forgotten, sometimes moldy stuff in the cracks and under the furniture and on the kitchen sink, and a lot of walls are moldy in the corners. So it just feels like there's something rotting underneath, and that feeling is comforting to be by now. Unrelated to that, i also still remember that one time i climbed on a tree and suddenly there were ants all over my body and i just jumped and shaked my limbs for like a minute.

[ahsoka-in-a-hood]

There was some post about the enraging purposelessness of mowing lawns and someone commented about using a scythe instead and somehow this got me thinking. What if someone decided to make hay by themselves on their lawn?

Hay is food for herbivores, with different animals having different preferences. It's also good as bedding or mulch for a garden even if the food quality isn't great. So there's a reason for hay.

While I would assume that american prairie is traditionally maintained just by grazing? I know that in europe hay meadows have become part of a specific flower and insect ecosystem that has suffered by evolutions in maintenance. Traditionally you would cut that grass just once, maybe twice, in a year. exactly when depends on where you are and what the weather is like- it could even be as early as may, it could be june, it could be july. (a second haying might be in septemberish.) What you need is a hot week without rain. The quality of the hay as food tends to be better the earlier you catch it, but it's better for the flowers and insects to wait. (and you can still use that hay as bedding or mulch, but even then, there's usually still some good food in there.) There can be ecological benefits to removing the sheer bulk of the spring grass, depending on where you are I guess.

It being an annual task makes it feel less sisyphean, to me, but the trade off is that it's a lot all at once and you do it when it's hot. One must make hay while the sun shines, to quote a historical porn fic that was definitely using that metaphor to talk about taking advantage of a boner.

Anyway, I would not underestimate the humble scythe. I have an old one I use sometimes for places I can't get with a tractor and while it depends on your technique and how sharp you've made the blade, it can be very satisfying the way it sweeps a large swathe. If you're dealing with just a little lawn, you'd probably cut it quite quickly- though probably not very tidily.

The next step is usually turning or tedding the hay- basically it just needs to be turned over. .... a hay fork might do it? I'm sorry, I have a really good mechanical tedder and have never needed to do it by hand.

How long you dry hay for varies on conditions. I sometimes bale hay at 48(ish) hours, sometimes 4 or even 5 days. Occasionally I get lightly rained on and have to wait for it to dry again. It's better if it's fresh, but if it's not dry it will just go moldy.

Hay rakes are a great design. It's a simple thing made of wood, but the angle is just right and it can move a lot of hay. Obviously you don't want to be raking a whole field by hand, but a lawn? You'd be done in like half an hour.

I can't really help you with the manual alternative to baling. I have no idea how people used to make haystacks, but I would guess it involved rolling it kind of like you do a snow ball. (that's... sort of how round balers work, anyway). I imagine that hand rolled hay would not keep as long as hay compressed by a machine, but it probably doesn't need to. You don't need hay that will still be good in two years time. You can give it to a rabbit or something. And put it around your tomatoes.

You would need to store it somewhere dry though.

IDK. I personally find making hay once a year way more satisfying than mowing a lawn every few weeks. But I have also never actually tried to do it all by hand. I just have shitty old machinery and have occasionally had to pick up the slack. (I want a new rake)

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

Some Sentences Sunday/WIP Whenever

Tagged by @theresaruggedroad @jillvalentinesday @inafieldofdaisies and @simplegenius042 for 6 sentences/wip last line/etc. Thank you all!!

Tagging: @madparadoxum @confidentandgood @trench-rot @nightbloodbix @roofgeese @voidika @kyber-infinitygems @clicheantagonist @adelaidedrubman @strafethesesinners @statichvm @neverthesameneveranother @josephslittledeputy @marivenah @theelderhazelnut @josephseedismyfather @v0idbuggy @direwombat @florbelles @ladyofedens-blog @eclecticwildflowers @shallow-gravy @cassietrn @strangefable @stacispratt

Have a snippet from several chapters into the future and meet Kit and Jacob's future adopted kiddos!! (first time writing kids and my fingers and toes are crossed their speech comes across naturally, it shouldn't be this hard to write kids when you have one of your own lol)

Carter dragged the kitchen table chair across the wood floor towards the cupboard. Climbing up onto the wobbly piece of furniture, he crawled up onto the counter, lifting one scuffed knee up onto the cold, flat surface at a time. While kneeling, he pulled open the cupboard door and on the bottom shelf, closest to the front, sat the half empty jar of JIF peanut butter – creamy (his sister’s favorite), he preferred crunchy, but they ran out of that days ago along with the milk. Grabbing it with two small, chubby hands, he put it down on the counter and climbed back down.

He was getting so tired of eating this, and he knew if he was then his sister was all the same. He was older, had a bit more patience. She wasn’t even three yet, still practically a baby. Heaving out a sigh, he looked over at the fridge. He’d never learned how to use the microwave and mom wouldn’t let him near the oven, so any leftovers they had in the fridge had been eaten cold if they were able to be eaten at all. They had gotten down to the last bits of food left in stock – white bread and peanut butter – and they were drinking only water now. 

There was a sink full of dirty dishes, glasses stained with rings of soured milk, plates streaked with dried food and crumbs of bread, and spilling to the brim with used cutlery. He’d never learned how to use the dishwasher and it was getting to the point that he was thinking about adding them to the bath after Quinn was done with the bubbles. 

His sister climbed up into the kitchen chair at the table with labored grunts, and watched him grab several pieces of bread from the bag. Her big brown eyes were like magnifying glasses, she might not have said a lot but it’s like she could see everything, soaking it all up like a sponge, his mom used to say. 

As he stood at the counter preparing the sandwiches, Carter turned his body to hide as he tore the moldy corners off the bread so that she’d still eat. “You hungry?” he asked, trying to keep his face hidden. His parents always knew when he was up to something, he worried Quinn would too. 

She kicked her little legs, oblivious to what he was up to as she held her Cookie Monster stuffy against her chest, swallowing him in a tight hug. “No.”

“Are you just sayin’ that?” 

He was only seven but he’d already perfected that look his mom and dad gave him when they thought he was telling a fib. Their eyebrows raised, eyes staring at him like if they looked hard enough they could see the truth. 

“No.”

“Quinn?”

“No,” she said emphatically, shoving Cookie down onto the tabletop in her fist, forcing the doll into a squashed sitting position. 

“You sure? Ya gotta eat something before bed.”

“Don’t wanna,” she grumbled while taking part in a staring contest with her doll. 

“Quinn!” Carter slammed the butter knife against the counter and bits of the brown nutty spread shot out in all directions. 

Her lower lip trembled, and she tried to curl up into a ball as her head pressed to her chest, squeezing her eyes shut as she quickly brought Cookie back into her embrace and held him tightly to her. 

He didn’t like yelling at her, he didn’t like seeing the tears well up in her eyes. It made him feel horrible, it made him feel guilty. But his stomach ached so badly, it was a different sort of pain from when he wanted a snack after school, it was deeper and it didn’t go away when ignored, and he was sure if he felt it then she had to as well. He was just trying to be a good big brother. He was just trying to look after her as best he could. The way his mom and dad would have expected him to. 

“”M sorry.”

Quinn opened one eye and looked at him while sniffling into the blue fur of her stuffed friend. “‘S okay,” she mumbled.

“You gotta eat.”

She sighed heavily and watched as he started to cut the sandwich. “Triangle.”

“I know.” He gave her a small smile and brought the four pieces of sandwich over to her, placing it on the table top in front of her. 

She looked down at the meal and then back up at him, her eyes seeming to beg for anything else to eat instead. “Nutty again?”

He shrugged his shoulders, wishing he could offer her anything else. “It’s all we got.”

She pouted and picked the sandwich up, bringing the torn corner to her mouth and biting down only to quickly drop the sandwich back onto the table, her face pulled into a disgusted grimace. “Yucky.”

He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream. He just wanted to fill her stomach. He didn’t know how to make anything else. He was only seven.  

He wanted mommy and daddy back.

“Bread’s getting old, that’s all.” He headed over to the counter once more to make his own sandwich and looked over at her. With her head bent forward, her chin length brown hair covered her face and he could tell she was starting to cry again with the way her shoulders started to shake. “Eat, Quinny,” Carter begged.

Holding out her stuffy, her eyes red and her chubby cheeks stained with streaks from tears, she pleaded with him. “Cookie eat?”

“No! We don’t have enough. He’s just a doll, he doesn’t need food.” Carter was quick to snap out the words, he wanted to stay calm, to be reasonable like his parents would have told him to be, but he just couldn’t. Not anymore. 

Quinn pouted again, giant sobbing tears spilled from her eyes and down her cheeks, her chest heaving with every new bout of tears that fell out of her – and Carter felt like a monster for it. She was too little, she didn’t understand. He barely did. She was still in training pants. She couldn’t even brush her own teeth. She was a baby, and he was stuck looking after her while trying to keep them alive. 

[jomiddlemarch]

We are never ever getting back together

“Listen, ‘Mione, I’m just going to say it. We don’t work, love,” Ron announced, sitting on the armchair he’d dragged over to face the sofa in what was generally referred to as Hermione’s reading room at Grimmauld Place, in that it was the old library which she’d spent roughly a week scouring, sorting, and reshelving the books that hadn’t tried to bite or burn her Muggle-born hands. She’d Transfigured some of the uglier pieces of furniture from other rooms and made an approximated mash-up of her favorite parts of the Hogwarts Library and the Bodleian. She’d reached a détente with the only portrait that remained, some wizard ancestor of Sirius’s who could at least tolerate a witch with an appreciation for old runes who hadn’t tried to chuck the moldy lot of Hagalaz into the fireplace and who arranged a reading pedestal with an open book to alleviate the boredom of the past two hundred years. She had a bedroom on the third floor, down the hall from the bath, but she was most often found tucked up in a corner of the reading room, so it hadn’t taken any genius on Ron’s part to beard her in her den, so to speak.

The rest of the house was empty, which was either a wise precaution or the stupidest decision he’d ever made in his life.

“What do you mean?” Hermione said, trying to keep her voice even. “I don’t understand—”

“Yes, you do,” he said, looking up at her. He’d picked the chair with the low, squashy seat, that hadn’t taken the Transfiguration especially well, so that she’d focused on the nap of the dark velvet and let the springs go hang. It made him a supplicant, now, which she supposed was a canny decision, one she might expect from someone who was a grandmaster at Wizard chess. “You know and you and I both know you’d never say a word if it was left to you. We’d be married seventy years with a dozen curly-haired ginger grandchildren, and you’d sacrifice everything rather than say it.”

“You don’t want me,” Hermione said. He’d taken Padma to the Yule Ball and he’d left her with Harry when they were hunting Horcruxes—why was she surprised? It still felt like a Bludger to the chest or what she imagined one would be, having had no interest in playing Quidditch for the duration of her Hogwarts education and then having been forbidden (ha!) by Madame Pomfrey after Dolohov’s near-fatal curse in the Department of Mysteries. She tried to focus on Ron’s blue eyes, the furrow in his broad forehead. 

“You don’t want me, love,” Ron said. “I don’t want you to start calling me Ronald in that carefully not-exasperated-yet-totally-exasperated tone, bossing me about like you’re Molly Weasley Junior. I don’t want to squabble and fight and then be those people who are contemptuous or bored with each other. You’ll never walk away, you’re too loyal, not just to me but to the idea of us, and you can’t bear that it was a mistake. Your ideas got us through the War, saved everyone’s bloody lives, but this one’s wrong.”

“A mistake,” Hermione repeated. 

“Well, not a mistake. It made sense to try but it was only meant to be a date or two for us, don’t you think?” Ron said, giving her a wry smile. He needed a shave and a haircut and he’d put on a stone of pure muscle once they’d won the final battle. He was a man looking up at her and she was bedraggled and thin, a streak of white in her chestnut curls like a virgin priestess’s filet. The sleeves of her jersey flopped over her wrists to her knuckles. “Don’t take it so hard, it’s not your fault.”

“Seems like it is,” she muttered. “If you’re breaking up with me.”

“You know better than that,” Ron said. “Think about it—if we hadn’t been dealing with the possible end of the Wizarding world as we know if and the annihilation of the entire Muggle-born and Muggle population—”

“It’s called genocide, Ron,” she put in. He rolled his eyes.

“Fine, if we hadn’t been dealing with all that and the genocide and you having to hide your parents, et cetera, if it had been normal, we would have gone out a few times. A Hogsmeade weekend, a dance, a walk around the lake. We would have snogged without having to break it off to face down a melagomaniac—”

“Megalomaniac,” she corrected.

“Bloody Riddle. Anyway, we could have tried it out and seen that all there was was a flicker of attraction but mostly friendship,” Ron said. “I like you, ‘Mione, and I think you like me. That’s enough. We don’t have to be this perfect love story and you know we won’t be.”

“You have to work at relationships,” Hermione said.

“Not this bloody hard, love,” Ron said. The kindness in his voice was too close to pity and it hurt. 

“There’s no need to be rude,” she snapped.

“I don’t mean you’re difficult and I’m a saint, far from it,” Ron laughed. “I mean, we’re alike in all the ways that make it hard and not alike in the ways we need. You don’t have to work this bloody hard, ‘Mione, to be happy with someone and I truly think that if you weren’t with me, you’d be able to find the person you want.”

“I suppose you have someone you want to be with instead of me,” she said.

“Nope,” he said. “I just want to a chance to figure it out. To play, to not have everything be so bloody serious. Everyone pairing off and repopulating the entire Wizarding world before we turn twenty-one, for sweet Circe’s sake.”

“Your mother won’t like that,” Hermione said.

“She can stuff it,” Ron declared. “Besides, Fleur’s up the duff again and this time it’s twins, so that’s her sorted for a bit. Bill has his work cut out arguing that Shell Cottage can hold all of them and they don’t need to move closer to the Burrow. Plus, I think Ginny’s going to sign with the Harpies and Mum is up in arms about the first Weasley witch not to sit her NEWTs in like a thousand years, which is bosh because there weren’t NEWTs a thousand years ago.”

Hermione smiled. He was right, she did like him an awful lot, when the other parts weren’t clamoring for her attention or generally getting in the way.

“I’m right about that last bit, aren’t I?” Ron said. “The NEWTs bit?”

“Yes, they’re more recent than a thousand years,” Hermione said. She squared her shoulders and pressed her lips together. She had to like it or lump it and it seemed like lump it was the easier option at the moment.

“I don’t want you thinking it’s because I don’t find you attractive,” Ron said. He laid one big hand on her denim covered knee where her robes had fallen apart and she felt how warm he was. “Thinking about shagging you and then getting to do it were quite honestly the only things getting me through the worst of it these past few years. It’s why I left, innit, when the Horcrux was messing with me, being jealous, thinking you were with Harry when I wanted you all for myself. But that’s not going to be enough for us, for you or for me—”

“I’m to believe you’re being sincere?” Hermione asked. Ron grinned, squeezed her knee and the bit of her thigh that was right above it.

“I got there on my own about not being enough for you. George caught me moping, gave me some older brother advice and general whatfor, telling me I was a twit for thinking getting to shag the brightest witch of our time would be enough for me, that I wasn’t as shallow as that and to buck up,” Ron admitted.

“I would have thought Bill,” Hermione said.

“Nah, I wouldn’t have taken him seriously,” Ron said. “He married a half-Veela, what does he know about being with a regular witch? For the record and before you get your knickers in a twist, I’d say the same about Hagrid, it’s not anti-creature bias.”

“Seems to me you shouldn’t be mentioning my knickers,” Hermione retorted.

“That’s my girl,” Ron replied. “Though, my entire point was that I am quite enticed by your knickers and what’s in them. It’s just not enough for a long-term relationship and you and I, we aren’t made for a fling.”

“If we were, I think we must have flung it by now anyway,” Hermione said.

“We do have the house to ourselves if you’re interested in a last hurrah, love,” Ron said, waggling his eyebrows and smiling. It was the look in his eyes, an appreciative lust, that told her he wasn’t joking.

“And what would you do if I called your bluff and took you up on the offer?” Hermione asked.

“This,” he said, both hands suddenly at her waist, lifting her off the couch and onto his lap. “I’d have my way with you and give you something to remember me by while that git Draco works through a whatchamacallit redemption arc and gets up the gumption to make a move—”

“Draco Malfoy?” Hermione exclaimed. She ended up wrapping her arms around Ron’s neck to keep her balance. His were steady at her hips.

“He fancies you, that’s obvious,” Ron said. “But it is a two-way street. Maybe you’d prefer our snakeslayer Neville? He’s got a whole striding the windswept moors thing these days that’s rather dashing, like that Heath Ledger bloke you told me about in the Muggle book, but without the creepy parts. Or Zabini? Never took the Mark and he’s nearly as clever as you and mad fit.”

“You mean Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights, who’s frankly not much like Neville in a good way. This is a very odd conversation to be having with my ex-boyfriend-and-undeclared-fiancé,” Hermione said. She left out how it was even odder than they appeared to be on the verge of shagging, as if that was something one could be on the verge of. 

“That’s why it’s best we’re about to be best friends,” Ron said, though the word friends was lost a little as he nuzzled the side of her neck. “I’ll have to cede all the filthy details to Ginny though. You can just give me the broad strokes, hm-mm, like that…”

It was all rather a blur after that, hands and lips and Ron muttering about how her skin felt like silk and a grand tussle over denims being pulled off and not Vanished, not this pair which he agreed made her arse look amazing, and she probably would have blushed to recall it afterward anyway, but Harry walking in, stopping dead in his tracks like he’d been hit with Petrificus Totalus, then choking out “You were breaking up—” before he fled the room made her almost wish she had not taken an iron-clad vow against ever using an Obliviate again. 

“He’ll get over it,” Ron said calmly enough after they’d finished, laughing madly like they were drunk on Firewhisky and not multiple orgasms. 

“And if he doesn’t?” Hermione said.

“You leave that to me, love. That’s what friends are for,” Ron said.

[mable-stitchpunk]

Going Home in a Box: Chapter 78- Teaser

The Sun dove into the ball pit before exiting it into the entrance slide. Shortly after he clamored up and into the tunnel in front of them.

“Hellloooo~!” Sunny greeted. “Now there’s a familiar-…”

Sunny trailed off as he caught sight of the unfamiliar rabbit standing alongside Ennard. He stared blankly at him. His gaze piercing, and only partially blocked when Ennard bent over in front of the jester, his arms behind his back.

“Well, well. Hello, hello! A little birdie told me you had a run-in with Pinocchioh-heck-no,” Ennard joked.

This seemed to snap Sunny out of it, but his once welcoming- and slightly suspicious- tone became quickly filled with nervousness.

“Heh, yes. He was a little terror. H-He’s banned from the daycare, by the way. S-So, don’t get any ideas! Heh, heh,” he fumbled.

Thankfully, Ennard wasn’t nearly as oblivious as he pretended to be. “This is my best buddy, Michael!” he introduced.

“Hiiiiii,” Sunny greeted with a slow wave.

Springtrap was a little more blunt. “Hello, Sun. It is good to finally put a face to the name… I take it from your reaction that you recognize this suit?” He gestured at himself.

“Uh, sorta! I’ve heard some spooky bedtime stories about it. Heh heh, uh, y’know the golden bunny suit. Not looking so golden though, oh no. Never saw it myself.” Sunny’s voice faltered to something more hollow. “But I do know the guy who wore it is the one who put me in a trunk.”

Springtrap’s eyes widened at that. “…That’s horrifying. I am so sorry.”

“Wait, no, IT’S NOT HIM!” Ennard insistently denied. Seeing as his earlier introduction flew past Sun. He gestured his own arm at the rabbit. “This isn’t that guy! That Purple Guy! This is Michael! Mari’s brother!”

“O-OH! I recognize that name! That’s GREAT! I mean, I guess I shoulda figured you weren’t him. Marionette said he’s gone, sooo…”

It seemed like what Sunny was baiting was that he was still uncertain about the rabbit, so he spoke in his own defense.

“He is gone, but his suit remains, and here I am stuck in it,” Springtrap explained.

“How’d that happen?”

“Sheer stupidity.”

“Oh, come on! That’s not what happened,” Ennard defended.

“I cornered myself in a back room and thinking it would save me, I hid in a dry rotten, moldy and wet suit filled with sensitive springlocks,” Springtrap recounted dryly.

“…You’re not making a good case for yourself there.”

Springtrap gave him a look.

“…Ooookay, I stand corrected. But hey- we all do stupid stuff!” Ennard assured.

“Oh! Like that little prank on Chica! Mm-hm, that wasn’t too smart,” Sunny chimed in. Purposefully feigning innocence to guise the edge of smugness.

“Ha ha, oh Sunny boy.” The clown grinned down at him. “Don’t you make me follow you down that slide. I’ll do it!”

Of course, Ennard was only playfully threatening him- he knew what he was doing, Springtrap decided- but Sunny’s points retracted like he expected the clown to tackle him. The worst case scenario being him getting tangled up and stuck to this menace, and after he was tethered to a walking problem child mere days ago.

“Well, I know you two must be awfully busy. Speaking of which, whatcha doin’ here? I’m hoping- I’m guessing not to hang out in the daycare,” Sunny said.

“We’re looking for spare parts for Charlie. We gotta get her some feet before she wears her points down,” Ennard explained. “As a matter of fact, we’re looking for your spare parts!” He pointed at Sunny.

“Mine? Why- Why on earth would you want MY spare parts?”

“I thought they may be the closest we can get to Charlie’s body type.” Springtrap sized up Sunny’s form. He currently had one of his legs bent and the foot resting on the roof of the tunnel, giving him a slight look at his ankle and heel. He could at least see the sizing and guesstimate the rest. “And it looks like it may work with some adjustments.”

“Pffft, what? No! There’s a huge difference between Jingle Bell’s legs and my- Hey, wait a minute! Are you saying you two are gonna STEAL from the warehouse?”

“I consider it a severance package.”

“That’s right! Neither of us got our last checks. Heh, or a proper burial,” Ennard whispered the end behind his hand.

“Wellllll, I guess that's a reason. Between you and me, IIIII haven’t exactly NOT borrowed things that I can’t return,” Sunny admitted. Tapping his fingers and rolling his points. He then put his hands on his hips, an odd gesture when he was still in the tube. “But borrowing paint’s a lot different than going into the warehouse and snatching parts. It’s pretty dangerous down there! And the whole thing’s a maze, you’ll get lost!”

“Listen here, Mister Sun. The scariest thing in this place is me without my clothes on, and the most dangerous is me without my clothes on. All we gotta do is find a map and we’re home free!”

“…Please keep your clothes on in the daycare,” Sunny requested with uncharacteristic seriousness.

[starrieslove]

Peace Offerings and Satchels

Abraham Portman x fem reader Im sorry if its short, im low on ideas and i only have a half grip on his character (plus its been some months since I’ve written a fanfic) but I really really wanted to write for him so enjoy what’s there😞

this is also not proofread and probably not that good but whatevs!! <-<-<-<-<-<-<-<-<-<-<-<-<-<-<-<-<-<-<-<-<-<-<-<-<-<-<-

Love is a beautiful thing, soft, gentle, and sweet. Not for you.

Love is arduous, agitating, evading. Abraham.

As far above him as you thought you were, you couldn’t deny the grip he had on you. Abraham. A name that seemed to seep through every crack in the house, a name most often said with tangible anger. He was something you couldn’t ignore, even if you wanted to. Grave curiosity was served to you on a platter by the world. Being able to create hallucinations at the blink of an eye you’d always had an interest in the unknown. What things could really be, never fooled by what was presented. Each bump in the night was yours to dream of. Every odd shadow was yours to envision, but you couldn’t put a pin in him.

Abraham. A remarkable actor. He was always trouble, always seemed to be wrong.

seemed.

He was this way on purpose. You knew it. You could see it in his eyes. There was a mischief, a darkness, a mystery hidden under a thick brown. He had crafted this moldy reputation piece by piece and somehow that mold got to your head, made you want to figure him out, made you want to get to the bottom of his hostility. Especially toward you.

Suddenly your thoughts on him were forced to take a backseat as a knock rang out from your door. Pushing yourself off the chair you were resting on and dusting your dress meant that you were already across the small room and reaching for the doorknob. As the hinges creaked a figure was revealed to you. A set stature, short, dark, curly hair, and striking features. Of course. You spoke of the devil, you got him.

“We speak?” A familiar voice clothed in a thick polish anccent addressed you, and you responded in spite of yourself with a small hum.

“It’s late.” You say, almost countering him.

“I know” He almost reassured.

And with a sigh, you let the door creak further open. Something about his demeanor had changed. His eyebrows, though still striking thick and dark, rested softer on his face. The eyes that usually followed the same narrative as his eyes fell outside of their usual scrunch and landed softly on your face.

“I am sorry.” He stated, hesitating as if he’d done it blindly. “I don’t often say… I know, but I.. have been wrong to you.”

You hum, watching the boy sway on the balls of his feet. It was astonishing, even to you, how the years in the loop hadn’t gotten to him. His hair still fell in messy dark curls, his ever present smirk hadn’t left a trace of any fine lines on his face, and it even felt like you could still see the same look in his eyes as the day he came to the loop.

Wide eyed, a bit hopeful, and looking before him at something unfamiliar. A satchel, he held out a satchel to you.

“what’s this?” You ask, looking down at the small speckled brown bag held out in his calloused hand.

“Is bag, you keep trinkets” He states, vaguely gesturing to the small mismatched charms, figures, and obviously homemade crafts spotted all around your room before continuing. “If you find you can put in this” He adds with a small shake of the bag, urging you to take it. And you do, a bit carefully albeit but you do.

“I just thought you should know I felt sorry.” He rambled on. “You like small.. things… so I give you bag for-“

“Thank you Abraham.” You smile, letting the hand holding the bag fall to your side and watching the boy nod. “Is this some peace offering?”

“..It can be.” He stumbles out. Though it was doubtful you’d ever see it again, it was a bit refreshing to see him this bashful. After too many moments of looking at his own tapping feet he turns and with a nod, bids you a goodnight, leaving you alone with the familiar navy blue sky outside your window.

Now you had one pin in this map of his, and so many more to go.

[chocolix76]

I dunno if this post is still relevant but if it is, I’m kinda interested in seeing some (non canon ofc) interactions of lord eclipse and lunar in your au? I’m very curious in their dynamic and I enjoy seeing the bean suffer. If not that’s cool too

Your wish is my command. I'll admit I had a great time writing this. Also, sorry it took so long-

Word count: 1,393

The distant sound of the sharp clicking of heels against the marble floors sent Lunar sprinting down the seemingly never ending hallway to his room, throwing himself through the open door and closing it behind him. That particular pattern in the footsteps didn’t match those of Sun who normally took very slow and cautious steps as if placing his foot in the wrong spot would cause him to be punished. These footsteps were quick and purposeful and held the air of arrogance that belong to the person behind them. That was not a person Lunar wanted to run into if he could help it.

Lunar pressed his body against the rotting wooden door to his room, surprised that his weight didn’t make it cave in. His room smelled moldy and vaguely of something rotting, spiders climbing up the walls and building elaborate webs that Lunar’s face often got caught in, but anything was better than being stuck out in the hallway with Eclipse. Tilting his gaze up towards the omnipresent floating eye that always followed directly behind him, Lunar darted across the room and grabbed a chair from his desk, wedging it underneath the doorknob. The eye had gone from its usual menacing orange to a malevolent black, the white pupil widening to a size of a dinner plate. Eclipse was watching.

The door creaked dangerously on its hinges, the chair struggling to hold itself in place as Eclipse rattled the doorknob. He could have easily broken the door down, but Lunar knew he wouldn’t do that so soon. A few terrifying moments passed where Eclipse kept jostling the door as Lunar curled into a ball in the corner of the room knowing that he wouldn’t be safe no matter where he hid. The sounds of Eclipse’s malevolent laughter cut through the thin wooden door like butter, seeming to echo through the room and chill Lunar all the way to his endoskeleton.

“Why don’t you make this easier on yourself and open the door, Lunar?” Eclipse said coolly, giving one last twist of the doorknob. “I think we both know that you’re long overdue for giving me some…entertainment, considering the little stunt you pulled last week. Wouldn’t want to make this harder on yourself now, would you?”

Trembling at Eclipse’s words, the chilling tone of his voice seeming to bring down the temperature of the room by a few degrees, Lunar reluctantly removed the chair from beneath the doorknob and opened the door, forcing himself to look up into Eclipse’s eyes. The piercing orange eyes narrowed at him, a wide toothy grin stretching across Eclipse’s face as he stared down at his victim, mentally going over what he could possibly have Lunar do that day. 

Wordlessly, Eclipse looped his arm around Lunar’s and led him down the hallway. Such a gesture could have been considered almost sweet if it weren’t Eclipse who was performing the action. Eclipse’s claw-like fingers dug into the plating on Lunar’s forearms which had begun to indent in that area after repeated warning scratches when Lunar tried to wiggle away. As they made their way down the hall to the dreaded spiral staircase, Eclipse hummed to himself, the melody rolling off his voicebox like honey. So many actions that would have been considered brotherly love if they were performed by anyone else but Lord Eclipse.

As much as Lunar wanted to pull away and sprint down the staircase and into the relative safety of the library where Sun resided, Lunar kept marching forward knowing from experience that any deviation in what Eclipse wanted only made things worse later on. When they reached the top of the staircase, Eclipse’s humming paused only for a moment when they passed a closed door that had Lunar’s face painted on it with light blue paint that appeared as if it had been drawn by a claw rather than a finger. Lunar turned his head away, not wanting to remember the existence of that room as long as he could avoid it. However, with what was bound to happen in the next few minutes, Lunar would be going in there soon enough.

“What do you have in mind for today, Lord Eclipse?” Lunar squeaked as Eclipse roughly shoved him into an almost dungeon-like room. The room was built in a precarious arch shape, the stones above their heads holding together by nothing but the power of the star. There wasn’t a single window in that room, nor a light to go by besides the singular torch that hung at the far end of the wall. 

Eclipse paused at the question, the grin on his face only growing larger and exposing more razor sharp teeth. “I’m not feeling quite so bored today, so I think some simple entertainment will do. You know, it pains me that you don’t like to come up here. I always think we have so much fun together.”

Knowing what would happen next and yet having no clue what Eclipse would choose to do, Lunar backed up against the dungeon wall, holding his hands over his face to protect himself from the slap that almost always came first. He held himself in that pose for what felt like hours, expecting pain that never arrived. Hesitantly moving his hands away from his face and risking a glance up at Eclipse, Lunar was seized by the neck and lifted into the air, his feet dangling nearly a foot off the stone floor below. 

“L-Lord Eclipse, please let me go!” Lunar begged, kicking his legs back and forth but failing to make contact with any part of Eclipse’s body. He could feel the mechanical parts in his neck shifting over each other and hear dull cracks and pops beneath Eclipse’s fingers as his grip tightened, causing a white hot agony to wash over Lunar. “I-It won’t happen again, I-I promise!”

“Sure it won’t,” Eclipse said with a sickly sweet tone, moving his clawed fingers so that more mechanic parts scrapped over each other, causing an agonized scream from Lunar. “Regardless of whether you’ll behave from here on out, I think you’ve had enough fun. I believe it’s my turn to have some entertainment.”

Just as Lunar was about to let out another plea for his life, Eclipse tossed him across the room, Lunar’s back slamming into the stone wall behind him with an echoing crack and crumpling to the floor with only a small whimper of pain. Oil oozed out of the cracked and shattered parts of Lunar’s plating as he slowly brought himself to his knees, pressing his hands together in an almost prayerful motion as he glanced up at Eclipse. He desperately tried to ignore how pure agony ran through his systems and made it nearly impossible to think clearly or how Eclipse smiled in a way that confirmed Lunar’s current fear. He wouldn’t make it out alive, but Eclipse still wanted him to believe that there was hope even for a moment.

Lunar opened his mouth and closed it a few times, gaping for words that refused to come to him. Oily tears ran down his faceplate and dripped onto the floor where they mingled with the oil that was still streaming freely from his wounds. With a smile that bordered on sympathetic, Eclipse knelt down next to Lunar and gently placed a hand underneath his chin, tilting his head up the slightest bit to meet his eyes. As much as Lunar wanted to believe that Eclipse had changed his mind, it was all tricks. A ploy to make him feel a sliver of hope in his final moments. However, death wasn’t final for Lunar, even though he often felt like staying dead would be a mercy.

“Goodnight my sweet Lunar,” Eclipse taunted before removing his hand from underneath Lunar’s chin and kicking him in the face with as much force as he could muster. 

Lunar’s faceplate exploded outward on impact, oil, wiring, and mechanical parts spraying across the room as his body slumped forward lifelessly onto the cool stone floor. With a sharp tutting sound, Eclipse wiped some of the oil off his robe and faceplate before ringing a bell to summon Sun into the room. Within a few minutes, the mess would be cleaned and Lunar would be wandering around the palace again as if nothing had ever happened. 

[twothpaste]

(kumatora fick snippet below the cut feat. duster)

Duster n' OJ have a sleeper sofa. It's probably, by a rough landslide, the most luxurious thing they own. 'Sides the instruments, of course. Like the Corolla, it hails from a Craigslist ad. Like the rest of their shit, it's got about a dozen things wrong with it. Pain in the ass to unfold. Creaks when ya roll over. Smells a little funny. Not that ya really notice, given it muddles with the apartment's general funk. Cigarettes they don't smoke, dogs they don't own, and moldy cheese linger like ghosts ya just can't bust. Er. Well. The latter pungence might be on account of the resident bassist himself, come to think of it.

The twins are a snoozy pile of ratty old blankets. Claus' residual arm, an unwitting pillow. Lucas huddles close in his sleep. Soon as he's zonked out, his gangly, awkward, half-grown limbs inevitably give way to the unconscious cling. There's this one Pokemon. It's called Komala. Kuma's got it on a phone charm. Souvenir gift from Mixolydia's Japan trip, last summer.

It dangles from her sweatpants pocket, now, casting a faint shadow onto grungy off-white tiles. The kitchen's built like the world's shittiest limousine. A bullet train long, and a Subway sandwich wide. Lack of insulation beckons drafty chills from the window - which the architects had no right to cram into such a miserable sliver of wall in the first place. A fine layer of grease coats most inches of most surfaces. OJ's tried to tame it. Sweaty tank top. Dollar store scrub brush. Old Dutch Cleanser. All to no avail. It's the grime's abode. They're just livin' in it. 'Til their lease is up, that is.

Little does Kumatora know, a standard is being set. Couple years from now, she'll be sharing a pretty little duplex with four unruly roommates. By the end of their lease, they'll be at each others' throats like cats n' dogs. After the bloodbath, she and Lucas, broke n' broker, will claim a sardine can not unlike this one. The place is out there, right now. Accumulating wear and tear, as we speak. Stovetop burner that don't work. Crack in the bathroom wall. Present tenants bitchin' to the landlord about the faulty A/C, as if Mr. Phil T. Apartments has any intention of havin' it fixed within the next decade. These things'll be waiting for them. And, somehow, despite every pipe leak and mouse squeak? Kuma's gonna find it all quaintly comforting.

She ain't thinkin' 'bout that, though. Ain't got a crystal ball. Never could read those fuckin' tea leaves. She's staring outside, lookin' for stars she can't see. Peering through that frosty little window, watchin' the snow flurries pour down over a pothole-littered lot. Perched like an alleycat. Fat ass on the countertop. Kitten-print socks hovering, with sickly gray smudged along the bottoms. Rollerblade vertigo swirls the meat around in her skull.

In her left hand, she wields a 50ml shot bottle of Captain Morgan.

Duster, who's sharper than he looks by quite a steep margin, had spotted her pilfering it, a few hours prior. Chipped nailpolish breaching the stark red lining of a Target shelf. Didn't mention it, then. And won't, now. Even as he watches the yellowish swill descend down her gullet. She's four winters short of liquor-legal. Three, next month. Conversely - he's thirty-nine Septembers sober.

A wisened insomniac, he treads lightly. Still, she catches the floorboards creaking from a mile away. White spots, on the perked backs of a tiger's ears. The corner of her eye is a threat. He heeds it. Saint's patience. Keeps a full limousine's distance, between their dark silhouettes.

"Y'can keep runnin', if y'want."

If you can imagine the quiet crinkle of a brown paper bag, you can hear him, too. Ain't nothin' inside but off-brand groceries and humble intentions. The soles of his shoes, sittin' by the front door, are worn awful thin.

"But. It won't do ya any good. I learnt the hard way, y'know."

"The hell do you know about it?"

Her growl snaps at his heels. A curious rumble, as low as it is sharp. Resides somewhere liminal, between cub and beast. The adolescent must now set out on its own, to stake its claim on a territory, David Attenborough would say. Peering through jungle fronds, all Duster can dare to offer is a piece of meat. Pint of blood. Some bones to gnaw on.

"I jus' don't want ya to hurt yerself, is all."

Slitted eyes regard her friend with wary vengeance. Stiff frame. Capran scruff. The old goat's hooves, clattering bravely upon her lonesome dominion. His gnarled hands, perfectly still. Once upon a time, he'd been the one to gently pry scavenged hazards from her toddling paws. Shaving razor. Pair of scissors. Wess' cigars - remember? Now, there's no nip at her sleeve. No use tryin' to tug anything outta her claws' grip. She's grown now. She knows the score. She calls the shots! Y'hear..!?

So be it.

"Fuck off, Duster."

He hangs still and silent for a fleeting moment. As if to a sheer cliffside. Careful consideration given to each minute, faintly-creaking motion. He bleats back nary a protest. Only a humbly nodding "Mmh." Teeters back toward the hallway's pitch black. Hand on the wall, to steady himself.

He'll do just that. If she demands.

White flakes of solitude pour down yet heavier, just beyond the window.

'Bout an hour later, he finds her squeezed along the edge beside Lucas, snoring away. Huddled tight to herself, with the sheets unpilfered. Yanked not even an inch to cover her goosebump-riddled arms.

Before he returns to OJ, Duster ventures, silent as the night, into the living room closet. Calloused hands reach high, to the topmost shelf. Fetch an extra blanket, and ferry it down. He drapes it so gently over her shoulders, she doesn't even stir.

[upsadaisy]

Nothing we ever do really matters...

I once read that nothing we do ever really matters.

At first, reading those words was like taking a bite of a dinner roll only to find moldy dry decay hidden inside. Something built in the back of my throat and coated my tongue, thick and putrid.

I could feel the surprise and outrage as this simple statement took hold and dragged me to an immediate place of anger.

How dare they say peoples’ lives didn’t matter? It all mattered!

Whatever their spiritual beliefs, their family system, their history or age – everyone I had ever met knew it all mattered somehow.

Then I suddenly expanded and collapsed at the same time. My sense of self and life, my own belief system and personal history converging right there in a tangled knot of the world as I saw it.

Instead of following the interwoven but separate threads along their paths, I saw the knot itself.

It wasn’t a knot anymore, it was an ever-flowing and twining thread. The thread had no beginning or end, but continued to mix and separate, all constantly flowing and somehow miraculously never actually tying together.

Did it matter?

Yes… and no.

I am a ball of energy that has been here since the beginning of the universe, and will continue to be here until the end of it.

Whether Christians are correct about the afterlife and my soul ends up in eternal Heaven or Hell. Whether my electrical impulses disperse into the world at large when my body ceases to sustain them any longer. Whether I just fall one day, and I am buried in the ground to decompose and feed mother nature in her ever rotating environmental life cycle.

One day the ancestors or my ancestors will not know me by name, or by face, or my history here.

Even the most accomplished in our human race can claim immortality in the history of mankind.

Sooner or later, each one of us will crumble from the pages of humanity.

Then I read again the line ‘Nothing we do ever really matters’, and I am no longer rage and hostility.

I am appreciation and acceptance.

My time here is finite and does not matter. My time here is infinite and it matters.

[buggie-hagen]

Sermon for Fourth Sunday of Easter (4/21/24) aka, Good Shepherd Sunday

Primary Text | Psalm 23

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Alleluia! Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia!

          Where, O where, is our Lord? Where on earth is our God? Certainly, God is everywhere. He is in the tree. He is in the sun. God is in the pear that you eat. He is in your loved ones. When moments are going well we might also think that God is around. Like, when you see a beautiful sunrise. When you get a clean bill of health from the doctor. When you get a raise at work. When you get a new grandchild. Notice I have raised positive and beautiful things so far. God is not only in the positive and in the beautiful. This much is also true: God is in the crumbles of the old ****** Mall. He is in the dump truck. The flies. He is in the sewage tank. God is in the dull, grey mornings. The boom of thunder. God is in the moldy food left in your fridge. He’s there in your sleepless nights. He is around when you lose your job. He is around when you get the unpleasant diagnosis. When you are tossed in jail, there he is too. He is in your enemy, or that person you don’t like. God is in the hard moments as much as he is in the good moments. The point is, God is everywhere.

One thing should be noted. God is everywhere. But he is not available everywhere. He is at the golf course, but that doesn’t mean that he is making himself known to you there. In fact, he is hiding from you there. He does not want to be found in your golf ball. Or up on the mountains, or on the coast. He is there, but he doesn’t want to be found there. When God hides himself, as he does, it is impossible for us to find him. Which leaves the question. How do we know when God is there and available to us? This is where Easter comes in. God is everywhere, but he only wants to be found in one place. He only wills to be found in one place. Namely, he is to be found in his crucified and risen Son, Jesus Christ. In him alone, and not another. And its really not we who do the finding anyway. It is God who finds you. So its not up to you or me to find God. It’s the other way around. God finds us. His hands will be the ones at work. When it comes to the divine things, we can scream and holler and roll around all we want. But this will not bring us closer to God. Instead, quite apart from our own will and effort, it is God who comes to us. Our own efforts to come to God actually work against us. On this Good Shepherd Sunday, we confess and acknowledge that God himself in Jesus Christ is the shepherd, and we are the sheep of his pasture. He’s the one who carries us on his shoulders. And brings us besides still waters. Peaceful waters.

In Psalm 23 we read the verse, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. They give me courage” (vs. 4). Have you thought about this verse much? “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.” People who despise God think faith should be an easy thing. That if we believe in God we will never have any troubles. No problems. Nothing is further from the truth. When God makes you a Christian, you actually get more problems than you had before. For one, you’ve gained a new enemy, the devil. And he will seek to shoot his poison arrow that will upset your life whenever he gets the chance. Faith is no easy matter, dear people. None of us could obtain it on our own. Faith is a great power. It is not our power. We don’t flip the switch to get it to work. Faith is a power that must come from above. The gift of God. Faith, in you and me, is the greatest and rarest of God’s works. But it is faith that enables you and me to live in this valley of the shadow of death and not to fear any evil. For it is true, the earth at this present time is no paradise, it is a valley of the shadow of death. Death casts its shadow in every corner. We cannot escape from death. Yet. Yet. We need not fear death. Or any harm that will come. We can draw great strength from this Psalm, it says, “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil; for you are with me. For you are with me. That is our comfort in life and in death, Christ, our Good Shepherd, the one who has been raised from the dead—he is with you. Verse 4 of Psalm 23 continues: “Your rod and your staff—they comfort me.” We could say, “Your rod and your staff—they give me courage.” The staff of the shepherd we’ve probably heard talked about many times, how it pulls a sheep out of danger and back to the shepherd. And that is a good image to think over. The staff is the audible word of God that the Holy Spirit uses to pull you into the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. The rod though. Have you thought about the rod that gives comfort and courage? The rod the shepherd uses has a very particular function. To beat away. The Good Shepherd not only draws us close to him for safety and protection with the staff. He also uses his rod to beat away those things that threaten us. He uses the rod to beat up death. He uses the rod to beat the devil so that he flees.

The rod and the staff of Jesus our Good Shepherd is nothing other than the word of God. As Lutherans, we emphasize this, “that we are justified as a gift on account of Christ when we believe that Christ has suffered for us and that for his sake our sin is forgiven and righteousness and eternal life are given to us….To obtain such faith God instituted the office of preaching, giving the gospel and the sacraments. Through these…he gives the Holy Spirit who produces faith, where and when he wills, in those who hear the gospel. It teaches that we have a gracious God, not through our merit but through Christ’s merit, when we so believe” (CA 4:2-5:3). It is the word that will be our strength and our comfort. So when death comes knocking on your door and threatens you, saying you will die, you can speak back to death. And say, “Well, guess what. I have a Savior who has already died. And He was raised. And I am raised with him.” And when the devil comes knocking on your door, saying you are not good enough. You can speak back to the devil, and say, “Well, guess what. I have a Savior who died for my sins and has been raised. And in him I am forgiven.” This is the staff and the rod.

God is present in all things. But he doesn’t want us to seek him in those things apart from his Word. He does not wish that we crawl around and find him just anywhere. The way to take hold of God, where we will finally have God and all his blessings, is his Word. This word I say to you now: In Christ, your sins are forgiven. This is God’s promise. With it comes the impossible freedom of our Good Shepherd. Freedom from sin. Freedom from guilt. Freedom from death. Freedom from fear. Freedom from the devil. So though you continue to live in the valley of the shadow of death you are free. You are not like others. For you have the Good Shepherd watching over, taking care of you. Forgiving your sins. Raising you to new life. The rod and the staff of God will be your comfort. Is your comfort. The rod that beats away all evil, the word of God that defends you against all that attacks you. And the staff that pulls you into the risen Christ, the word of God, that gives you life in the middle of death. So with your mouth you can boldly say to God, “You are with me.” Whether on the hospital bed, “You are with me” in the throws of depression, “You are with me.”  In the muck of the gutter without a home “You are with me.” You are with me. Your good shepherd Jesus Christ will be with you through thick and thin. He is the one who has laid down his life for the sheep. Which means he has laid down his life for you. The resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead means no one, and I mean nothing and no one—can take this life, his life, this joy, his joy, away from you. Finally, that last day, when the trumpet sounds, you will be raised up in joy to everlasting life.