#moosh speaks

[mooshs-crack-headcanons]

I've tried keep away from shipping spheres in sonic because they tend to be very, very, toxic in this fandom in particular but I've decided: eh, you know what fuck it and say sonic and knuckles' interactions in frontiers were fucking adorable and I like them together. They work off each other very well and with this iteration and new writing direction they have fantastic chemistry together I hope that sticks around for future games.

And just look at them, they're fucking dorks.

[thebumblecee]

Me and @mooshkat are happy to announced:

Our co written assassin enemies to lovers AU, set in the world of John Wick, is ready.

Chapter one Chapter six Chapter eleven

Chapter two Chapter seven Chapter twelve

Chapter three Chapter eight Chapter 13

Chapter four Chapter nine Chapter 14

Chapter five Chapter ten Chapter 15

The Epilogue

[gay-mooshrooms]

ok.

does anyone want to explain.

what the actual

FUCK

that was.

[danidoesathing]

all my tarot knowledge leaving my body the second i start writing about it

[abimee]

[wendeiwisp]

🍃

[sailorspencer]

I'm coping abt not being able to get a signature or a pic from vinny nd the band by going in the tag for the first time in years

[mooshys]

help I can't post any of my drafts....... tumblr is silencing me

[crissiebaby]

Teacher's Pet

…I will not goon inside my diapers. I will not goon inside my diapers. I will not goon inside my diapers…

A faint dusting of cherry red blush burned against Ethan’s cheeks as he wrote the same degrading sentence over and over again while dressed in a skimpy schoolgirl uniform with a bulky diaper poking out underneath. Sadly, this wasn’t the kind of embarrassment born from a place of perversion or arousal. Instead, the rosiness contained within his cheeks was tinged with regret. “H-How long did you say I have to do this, Mistress?” he asked, removing the pencil from his right hand and stretching his sore digits.

“You know…I don’t recall setting a time limit. Guess a little sissy troublemaker like you will just have to keep writing until I say so,” said Ethan’s domineering wife, Madison, soaking in her subby hubby’s pathetically prissy whimpers. Eagerly assuming the role of a sexy teacher at Ethan’s request, she was determined to give him the kind of firm, yet titillating discipline he was sorely in need of. 

Unfortunately, Mistress Maddy’s idea of what constituted “firm, yet titillating discipline” greatly differed from Ethan’s. Back when he first proposed the scene to Madison, he had envisioned himself lying across a desk on his tummy for a steamy spanking session; not sitting at a desk writing the same ridiculous phrase on loop. “Ugh! This is duuuuuuumb!” he said bitterly, his inner brat being dragged out of him as he worked his way down his fifth page of the night, “Also, for the record, goon is a stupid word.”

Narrowing her gaze, Madison coyly raised her eyebrows. “Oh, really…” she said, her tight pencil skirt sizzling as she uncrossed her legs and pressed her stocking-clad foot into Ethan’s padded crotch, “...What word would my slutty sissy baby have preferred? Stickies...cummies…Sissy squirties…oh, and please, do speak up when you’re in my classroom. I won’t tolerate any mumbling,” she said, plucking a 12-inch ruler off her desk and tenderly hooking Ethan’s chin with it.

“I…uh…” muttered Ethan, unable to string a coherent thought together as his blue balls melted beneath his Mistress’s heel. A contentious combination of panic and pleasure soon set in, causing his penmanship to grow increasingly poor as his writing utensil began to wobble in his hand. Remembering the rules he set with Madison before their fun began, jizzing in his diaper would result in his cock receiving a full month of detention locked in his smallest cage. 

Snickering at how flustered Ethan was getting, Madison doubled her efforts as she leaned forward and mooshed her toes against the outline of his swollen cock. “Uh oh, my sissy isn’t going to need remedial lessons, is she?” she teased, the velocity of her stroking steadily increasing.

“I-I…” Ethan sputtered, his tongue slipping from his mouth as three days' worth of pent-up semen was unleashed within his plastic nappy. Powerless to prevent the color in his cheeks from darkening, this was the hot-blooded humiliation he was looking for,  “...I gooned in my diapee…”

💜 Artwork By CodiBaby 💜 💕 Story By CrissieBaby 💕

SubscribeStar: subscribestar.adult/crissiebaby pixivFANBOX: crissiebaby.fanbox.cc All CB Links: linktr.ee/crissiebaby

-------------------------------------------------------------

Special Thanks to Our CrissBaby Diaper Company Investors: DD JFN Nike pandadragonbaby Pansy Jason Sissikins PrincessKittenLizzi Rosie Princess SissyDina Strawberry Sweetsamantharebecca Texasgulfdaddy Tony & One Anonymous Investor

[siflshonen]

The Greatest Robot on Earth: Astro Boy and Pluto Part II

Part I is here. This side-by-side continues in part III here, or you can read the whole thing on Ao3.

Side-by-Side Comparisons

“The Greatest Robot on Earth” and Pluto

The best place to start in comparing these series is their summaries. This summary for “The Greatest Robot on Earth” comes from the 2002 Dark Horse release: 

“In the novel-length "The Greatest Robot on Earth," a wealthy sultan creates a giant robot to become the ruler of all other robots on Earth. But in order for that to happen, he must defeat the seven most powerful robots in the world, including Astro Boy, who must have his horsepower raised from 100,000 to 1,000,000 to face the challenge! And his sister, Uran, also flies in to lend a helping hand!”

Well, besides the fact that Uran doesn’t actually fly, I suppose that’s true enough. Gotta love marketing copy.

And here is Viz’s summary for Pluto: Urasawa X Tezuka, vol. 1: 

“In an ideal world where man and robots coexist, someone or something has destroyed the powerful Swiss robot Mont Blanc. Elsewhere a key figure in a robot rights group is murdered. The two incidents appear to be unrelated...except for one very conspicuous clue - the bodies of both victims have been fashioned into some sort of bizarre collage complete with makeshift horns placed by the victims' heads. Interpol assigns robot detective Gesicht to this most strange and complex case - and he eventually discovers that he too, as one of the seven great robots of the world, is one of the targets.”

An ideal world, eh? Well, I’m all about subverting surface appearances, so I like it. Anyway, right off the bat, we can tell that these two series aren’t the same genre, aren’t using the same principal characters, and aren’t concerned with the same stakes. They seem to only have one thing in common: the word “robot”.

The following pages for “The Greatest Robot on Earth” are from the Dark Horse Omnibus. In most cases, I have used pages from Viz’s Pluto: UrasawaXTezuka, but there are a few pages from the fan scans. Why? Because I own the physical manga, didn’t want to pay for all the volumes again in a digital version, and realized that the images in the fan scans were cleaner and bigger than most of the ones I could get from cracking the spine of my books and mooshing them on the scanner.

Pluto at Its Most Faithful

Mont Blanc died first in “The Greatest Robot on Earth”, and in Pluto he fares no differently. Of course, in true dramatic Urasawa fashion, Pluto chooses to begin with the fiery discovery of Mont Blanc’s head tucked within his killer’s calling card to establish the mystery and suspense of this work rather than start with a quaint lumberjacking-scene-turned-robot-fight like the original.

Urasawa and Nagasaki’s choice to include human victims in Pluto also immediately raises the stakes in a way that “The Greatest Robot on Earth” never did or would. It also immediately changes the type of exploration within the world that the series would do, given that the robots of the extended Astro Boy universe are believed to follow Asimov’s Laws.

Greece’s Hercules, spelled Heracles in Pluto’s English translation, is a straightforward warrior-type in “The Greatest Robot on Earth”, and he sasses the crap out of Epsilon when he shows up to speak with him just as he does in Pluto. He then gets trounced by Pluto after a drawn-out fight. 

In Pluto, Hercules still fits the original warrior archetype, but with the addition of his very own character arc! His rivalry and friendship with Brando is new and refreshing, and his blooming respect for Epsilon pairs nicely with his own discovery of his humanity and personal beliefs as it relates to combat, war, and victory.

They called him the god of victory, after all, not necessarily bloodshed. He may have lost his fight with Pluto, but he went down believing he won and with a newfound appreciation for life and the bravery it requires to not fight. His manager Al Haft(a) is an easter egg character.

In real life, Greece participated in the Gulf War, but disagreed with the 2003 Iraq War and did not participate. Meanwhile, Australia participated with the goal of growing closer to the USA. In Pluto, these stances were swapped in their representative robots.

Personally, I think Epsilon (sometimes called Photar in the Astro Boy anime adaptation dubs) is the most surprising figure in these page comparisons if only because he didn’t actually change that much between works. Instead, it is Wassily who exploded onto the Pluto scene with his very own expanded story and Bora trauma. Yes, the disembodied hands scene is in both.

Pluto’s Epsilon looks just like Monster’s Johan, which is funny—Urasawa seems to use Tezuka’s Star System method across his works. In English, Johan and Epsilon are voiced by the same guy, too.

Speaking of, Bora is native to “The Greatest Robot on Earth”, and he is still a bomb. In “The Greatest Robot on Earth”, his creator takes the time to tell the sultan that he created him just to beat Pluto and, by extension, the sultan. In Pluto, Bora’s existence and purpose is to exact vengeance on a broader scale.

Uran’s changes between series are actually really straightforward. In the postscript of the physical Pluto manga’s volume 6, essayist and critic Gorot Yamada laments the fact that Urasawa avoided the “ero-kawaii” of Uran confronting Pluto in nothing but Atom’s briefs and calls it a “minor weakness” since it is representative of Urasawa’s relatively gentler hand in showing “cruelty or eroticism” when compared to Tezuka.

I can’t begin to tell you how funny I think this criticism is, although I do believe that Urasawa does have, overall, gentler sensibilities than Tezuka. But still. I don’t think we’re missing much by keeping Uran in her clothes. She’s still a snot, she’s still a braggart, she’s still good-hearted, and she still makes her big brother look like a square and a stick-in-the-mud. Writing precocious little girls and sweet stories of unlikely bonding moments are a few of Urasawa’s specialties, so I don’t find it surprising that he took the Uran by the hair-horns and maximized her existing character traits.

Spiritually, she feels consistent to me, though her basic actions are decidedly different: Pluto’s Uran doesn’t fight or try to fight Pluto, doesn’t want Atom to fight Pluto at any point, doesn’t ever hate Pluto, and has empathy-based powers (separate from that, she may just be smarter and more emotionally intelligent than the original Uran). 

However, the sequences in the park and the underpasses where she befriends Pluto strongly resemble Uran’s near-naked adventures in the streets of “The Greatest Robot on Earth”, and that’s fun.

Abullah is where things get spicy, and that’s mostly because the only real change to his character was the addition of his human backstory and discovery of hatred. In Pluto, he is Tenma and Abullah’s science project who believes he is a human scientist (which he isn’t), but he’s actually also got a split personality! That’s a lot. There’s just so much going on with that. But still, where Pluto’s twist falls on the scale of wild twist bullshittery lessens considerably once you know how this character is portrayed in the original, I feel.

In “The Greatest Robot on Earth”, Abullah is a robot butler disguised as a scientist disguised as another scientist. Not to pooh-pooh the original’s Scooby-Doo antics, but, by comparison, Pluto’s reveal is actually quite nice, logical, and thematically consistent. It also gives Tenma a chance to look cool and not just pathetic.

Professor Ochanomizu is the best character. Don’t argue with me. In Astro Boy, he has a big heart and a big temper to match, and he gets knocked around more than Wile E. Coyote in a Looney Tunes segment. He spends most of “The Greatest Robot on Earth” being kidnapped and hanging out with the sultan, but Pluto spreads the wealth by letting the other roboticists be the damsel in distress throughout the plot.

In Pluto, he’s mostly characterized by doing kindly old man shit (do you recognize that robot dog and how it definitely influenced Ochanomizu’s design for Bobby?), but it is absolutely the kind of stuff the original Hiroshi Ochanomizu would do. He gets treated with more on-screen respect in Pluto than in Astro Boy, but only because he isn’t as cartoony. The animation team made damn sure to have the physics of his stomach work not like those of an innocent-at-heart anime girl’s titties when he’s enthusiastically running to the next big important thing, and that’s exactly the right spirit for a creator to have towards this character. A+ job, M2.

Also, in the manga only, Ochanomizu is the facilitator for the single most entertaining referential gag in all of Urasawa’s works: the police dog car diagram. This was cut in the anime.

In the postscript of Pluto: UrasawaXTezuka volume 5, manga critic and lecturer Tomohiko Murakami observes that “Urasawa’s depictions of Professor Tenma and Professor Ochanomizu almost appear to be [his] perspective on two different aspects of Osamu Tezuka’s character.” I don’t necessarily disagree, especially given the commentary Tezuka gave regarding Atom’s status as a “monster”, but I think that Ochanomizu and Tenma also more generally represent the “dark” and “light” side of progress and science. This is likely what Tezuka intended for them, too, back when he was writing the series.

But Tenma is just a hot mess. For the duration of “The Greatest Robot on Earth”, he was more or less emotionally stable up until the “death” of Atom (and guess what? He totally enabled Atom’s increase in strength to 1,000,000, despite Ochanomizu constantly advising Atom not to do), though his general moodiness and instability is a defining character trait for much of the series. He gets better over time, but make no mistake: he is an eccentric, reclusive, and vain disaster man.

In Pluto, Urasawa lets Tenma’s disaster qualities shine alongside his signature ego, moodiness, cynicism, and destructive tendencies. This man self-sabotages like it’s his job. He also flings his creations around willy-nilly and never thinks about the consequences, and that’s why he has a hand in a significant number of the most harmful and destructive events in the extended Astro Boy universe somehow, including in Pluto.

Tenma’s rejection of Atom at the dinner table in Pluto is way classier than his breakdowns in the original Astro Boy manga, but I liked the gravitas of the scene and the over-the-top vibe of the fancy dinner in the sunset. Tenma’s portrayals throughout different series run the gamut from “frenetic cartoon maniac” to “vanilla un-stellar dad” to “Phantom of the Opera”, and this is a nice lean towards the latter end of the scale.

His constant contest over ownership of Atom/influence over Atom with the Ministry of Science (and specifically one Hiroshi Ochanomizu) extends beyond “The Greatest Robot on Earth”, though, and I think elements of their more direct conflicts are very present throughout Pluto. I love an old man fight, and it seems Urasawa does, too.

But goddamn is it satisfying to see Ochanomizu tell Tenma to shove it where the sun don’t shine.

Apparently, their dynamic is so popular that it inspired a completely new series set in the alternate universe where they not only go to college together, but are best friends. If you want something fluffier than Pluto where the old men aren’t old, go read Atom: The Beginning, I guess.

And, like, sure. This is all great. But sans the extended old man drama, many of these side-by-sides have been pretty faithful to “The Greatest Robot on Earth”, and that is NOT what Makoto Tezka asked for.

Pluto as a Remix of Astro Boy

North No. 2, called Monar in “The Greatest Robot on Earth”, is generally the same robot as in his original portrayal, but instead of just going to fight Pluto, he stars alongside new character Paul Duncan in a brand new story about pianos and music and being blind and growing past trauma to accept others into the heart. Tezuka’s Kuroo Hazama (Black Jack) was even there in Paul Duncan’s memories. It had everything: crying old people and kids, medical drama, orphan trauma, mama trauma, prostitution implications, castles, the emptiness of fame and fortune, singing, an android dreaming of more than just electric sheep, long monologues, and an emotional goodbye where one character stares longingly (even if he can’t actually see anything) at the other knowing they shall never return.

I’ll just say it: Turkey’s Brando is a total red shirt in “The Greatest Robot on Earth”. Meanwhile, Urasawa gave him a family, a love of Turkish drinking culture, a friendship and rivalry with Hercules, and a penchant to dabble in illogical forces like luck, and a classic tearjerker death. Urasawa gave him the world. 

In the anime, Brando is among my favorites. Y’all can swoon over your twink Epsilon or whatever, but it’s Brando over randos for me!

Chochi Chochi Ababa transformed into Saddam Hussein—er, Pluto’s King Darius XIV. One is a cartoon villain who provides an opportunity to learn a basic moral lesson, and the other is a motherfucking war criminal. I think that's a sufficiently mature new twist on an old concept.

Of all the characters present in Pluto, Atom himself is likely the one that gave Urasawa and Nagasaki the most grief, if only because he is the one and only Astro Boy, hero of justice, and if his portrayal wasn’t popular, they’d probably be sent to manga hell forever.

For me personally, one of the most gratifying details regarding his portrayal is how quickly he will lie while maintaining the lie that robots can’t and don’t lie. This line of thinking, as well as the implication that Atom follows Asimov’s Laws more because he wants to, not because he has to follow his programming, is something that became more and more apparent the longer the original Astro Boy ran even if none of the other characters directly said anything about it. Speaking as a fan, I also think it’s nice that Urasawa makes the most of upholding Atom’s observed personality traits throughout adaptations. That he made Atom a deeply curative flavor of an insect kid is a grounded, but nice touch.

(It may also be worth noting that Osamu Tezuka had a known fascination with insects. The “Mushi” in Mushi Productions means “insect”. I don’t know how intentional that was, but it seems Pluto’s Atom may have been intended as a chip off the ol’ Tezuka block whether he was his “monster” or not.)

But as lovely and detailed as Urasawa’s embellishments on these characters is, this is still not what Makoto Tezka asked of him. So far, these characters are strikingly similar to the existing “The Greatest Robot on Earth”, and apparently, if Tezka’s interview in the postscript of Pluto: UrasawaXTezuka volume 2 is to be believed, he told Urasawa multiple times to keep revising until he made it his own! It seems Atom really became Urasawa’s monster, too!

[royculkins]

the universal curse of sensitivity — igby slocumb (Final Part)

part five: let the light in

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Igby Slocumb x reader

Warnings: Drug use, underage nicotine use, neglectful parents, explicit language, adults messing around with kids when they shouldn't, and anything else that can be found in the movie Igby Goes Down

Summary: Troublesome kids will always reach to find love and acceptance, even if it means making a mess where it's unintended. They’re just kids, but the older they get, the worse their inner conflicts haunt them. They want to please, but long to be pleased. They’re dramatic and self-sabotaging, they can’t help it⸺its the universal curse of their sensitivity.

Tag List: @gaysludge @wsrizz @confusedoatmeal @b1mb0slvt @slvttyclementine @he4vens-ang3l @alexiagx @moosh-i

Authors Note: It's crazy to think this is the end, but I'm so happy with how it turned out! My inspiration for this chapter was, of course, Let the Light In by Lana Del Rey and Work Song by Hozier. I hope you enjoy it! I love y'all so much!

4.6k words

The stars that hung in the sky on the night you spent with Igby would tell the tale of true warmth and delicate feelings for the rest of their burning lives. Echoing the comforting words the two of you shared. Encapsulating every touch, hug, and graze of fingertips against skin. They’d speak of the screaming color that wrapped itself around the two of your colorless lives while trying to recount the secret language of your understanding of one another.

And even if they could remember every intricate detail of that night⸺it still wouldn’t serve justice to how powerful the night truly was for you both.

That night replayed in your heads for days later, you didn’t speak about the looming presence of his family or your secret that could destroy the last lingering connection you had to your own. Instead, you held onto each other, words of comfort falling past lips and promising potential future harmony to each other. You had fallen asleep tangled in each other's presence and promises, letting reality slip away from your grasp as you soaked in the golden moment between the two of you.

However, reality would make itself apparent again. It had to⸺Igby, and you had known that from the moment he arrived at your apartment that night. But it didn’t make this day any easier.

The cold chill that had once been present in New York had allowed the graces of a warmer day to make itself known, the sun dancing across the sky with a watchful gaze. Igby glanced at it as he walked the familiar path to your apartment; his movements were more dreadful and slow than they had previously been. A part of him cursed this day away; he once wished for a warm day in this cold city, and he hated the irony that was a warm evening in this damnest of times.

He paused when your building came into his view, his eyes trained on the very window he first saw you. The memory of your body being haloed by the sun and your teasing voice irking his soul as you purposely called him the wrong name. He found you annoying and never imagined a world where your voice would become his beacon of light and liveliness.

Letting his hazel eyes rise up to where you two had shared countless joints and stared down at the passing people below, his eyes met your figure, and he had half a mind to turn around and forget what he had to do. Or he could join you and refuse to let reality capture him and swallow him whole. He wasn’t sure⸺he just knew he didn’t want to do this.

Any thought of running was banished from his mind as you leaned against the brick railing of your roof, looking down at his body that stood across the street. You tilt your head, watching the boy stand frozen in the middle of a frenzy of moving bodies. Even at a distance, even with many people standing between you, it somehow felt like it was just the two of you as your eyes locked on one another. Sucking in a breath, Igby drifted across the street toward your apartment as if he was a moth to a flame, unable to think of anything but getting to you and enjoying the burn of your light.

Pushing open the door to the roof, his eyes take only seconds to find you. Your body is in the exact place it was the first time you had invited him up to the roof. Your legs dangling on each side of the building as you turn to look at him, a small smile growing on your face. Igby takes this moment to let this image of you burn into his memory forever, the sun grazing against your features and your smile directed only toward him. Even though he dreads his future words, your smile feels so welcoming that he begins to form one of his own. Your impact on him showing clearly as he allows the warmth of the day to finally touch his own skin without cursing it away.

Approaching you slowly, he leans his body against the space just beside you⸺just as he had the first time and every time after. You watch as he stares at the people passing below, his eyes conflicted as his mouth twitches. You knew the day would come and that he’d dread it, but you couldn’t help but feel honored that he had come to see you one last time. There was a tiny amount of fear in you that he’d just leave⸺take off, running away from his family or returning to them without saying goodbye. Yet here he stood, needing you more than anything before he made his final decision.

Igby once believed that poverty was the only thing keeping him in New York, in that ratty apartment and this cold city. Yet as he stood there, he realized that now the only reason he’d ever want to stay⸺was for you.

He realized that every moment with you was warm; every time you looked at him, he could see the golden light he had always craved. Maybe he didn’t need to go somewhere new, maybe you were enough to save and free him from the icy curse of his family. He wasn’t sure how he was going to say goodbye to you⸺or if he’d even be able to.

“You decided to go home?”

Igby’s face screwed up at the term. He hadn’t called the house where his family lived home in a long time. He couldn’t even be able to recall the last time he even referred to it as such. Tearing his gaze away from the people on the sidewalk, Igby glanced at you before picking at the scarf he still had wrapped around his neck, “Got to make sure my mother actually croaks this time around.”

You don’t respond to his crude statement, you just continue to watch him struggle internally with the war in his head. Leaning forward, you catch his eyes and place your hand over the one that pulled relentlessly at a string on his clothing, “Are you going to be okay?”

He blinks fast at the question, still unfamiliar with the affection and genuinity of your voice. Suddenly, his decision to return to his mother's side doesn’t make any sense. Why would he ever return to such a horrid situation when someone as gentle as you existed? How was he supposed to leave you behind? Maybe he didn’t have to, “We should leave.”

Your eyebrows raise at his quickened words, his eyes turning to yours pleadingly as he continued almost frantically, “You and me. We can pack our bags and leave New York. It can just be us; we won’t have to worry about anything else.”

“Igby-.” You whisper, but the boy can’t stop as the words push past his lips. His fear of being in the same room as his mother and brother only increased his reasons for fleeing⸺except now he couldn’t do it unless you joined him. Shaking his head, the brunette stumbles over his words, “My family doesn’t care about me, and yours—yours keeps you locked away in this apartment! We could just leave and go and be happy without their constant weight! We could—We could–.”

The boy worked himself up so much that he resorted to pacing before you, causing you to remove yourself from the roof's edge to grab the boy's hands and keep him in place. He stops his rambling to look at your calm eyes.

“You know I can’t do that, Igby,” You whisper softly, searching his eyes to ensure that your words don’t come off as a rejection and instead a retelling of your familial situation. Truthfully, you would love to join the boy on his adventures, yet the pull of being the perfect child for your parents was too haunting and embedded for you to leave behind.

Scoffing, the boy shakes his head, not accepting the reasoning for your words. Your name falls from his lips in an exasperated tone as he speaks again, “Can’t you see that your parents are never going to let you out of here? They’re going to keep you locked away in this prison for the rest of your life, and you’re just letting them!”

“Igby-.”

“No! They have you! They already have you here! What makes you think they won’t have you locked away for the rest of your life? You need to get out of here, even if it’s not with me! Either way, I just–I just need you to get away from here, away from them,” The boy rants with frustration rising over your current issue, the truth of his feelings about it coming to light.

Sighing lightly, you can’t help but understand his words and his fears about your parent's future plans for you. You had thought about it many times before, yet you had already decided on these thoughts long before you met Igby. Now, your only concern was making sure the boy before you would be okay and escape in ways you’ve never been able to. Bringing a hand up to hold his jaw, his hazel eyes burn as they meet yours, listening carefully to every word that leaves your mouth, “With what money, Igby? How could either one of us live a life without money? Would we just share a couch and sell drugs around the city for Russel? Is that really what you want?”

Igby shook his head and looked down at his feet. He didn’t know how he’d get the money, he just knew he wanted to be with you. Closing his eyes, the boy knew that he had to return home if he wanted to escape life as a couch-surfing drug delivery boy. Taking a deep breath, he grabs your wrist gently and looks back up at you, “I can go back to my family, get the money, and come back for you. I can come back, and we can go anywhere we want. Just the two of us.”

A part of you wants to accept his offer, but you remember every story he told about this very moment. The moment that he had enough money to be happy and alone, you knew that it would be selfish to piggyback off his escape and claim it as your own. You just can’t do it to him, so you decline his offer again, “You’re going to go to your family, see your mom away, get your money, and then you’re going to be free. Without me.”

Igby shakes his head, his eyes closing in pain as his head drops, but you’re quick to pick it back up. His eyes are misty as he looks to you again, “Please.”

Your heart aches at his pleas, but you know he needed this. He needed to find himself without looking over his shoulder for his family or carrying you, “You have to get out of this city, away from your family. You have to be free and live without anything holding you back or causing any distractions. I need you to do that. I need you to let the light in, Igby. Please, if you do anything for me, I need it to be that.”

The Slocumb boy searches your eyes for any cracks in your words, but you mean every word. It hits Igby that you’re the only person who ever wanted him to do something for himself instead of moving in a way to please someone else. Letting his fingers rub up and down your arms, he stares deeply into your eyes as he admits in a whisper, “I think you’re the only real friend I’ve ever had.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you smile at the boy, “I think you’re mine as well.”

The two of you sit silently at your confession, knowing that what the two of you felt was something much deeper than friendship, yet it didn’t mean that the hushed words weren’t true. However, Igby can’t refrain himself as his hands cup your face and his lips connect to yours softly. Warmth and comfort wash over the two of you as your bodies press against each other in a gentle action of intimacy. Pulling away slowly, your foreheads lean against one another, and the boy raises his thumbs slightly to caress your cheek. You offer him a smile, which he returns before you whisper, “I’ll be expecting a postcard.”

Laughing lightly and shaking his head at your callback to his previous words, he breathes out, “I’ll send you a whole damn plane.”

You don’t respond; you can only lift your head to place a gentle kiss on the boy's mole that sits perfectly on his cheek. His eyes close at the action, his body filling with gratitude and solace at your small yet impactful action. The two of you know that this won’t be the last time you see each other, not when the longing feeling to return home to one another was deep in your marrow. Maybe that was why Igby was able to pull his body away from yours and return to his own haunted house a few cities away, but not before leaving his scarf wrapped around the door handle of your apartment door on his way out. Something to remember him by, something to remember that escape was possible and that he’d always come back if you so much as thought of it.

It would be almost a week until you’d hear from the boy again. You’d be in your apartment, trying to return to how life was before Igby. It was proven to be a much harder task than anticipated. You had resorted to pacing the floor, chewing on your nails as you wondered and worried about the boy who ignited a fire within your soul. You could only hope that he had made it there, followed through with his plan, and escaped his life of running and hiding.

Your windows were cracked open, letting the warm breeze whisk away the smoke of your cigarette as you sat on your window seal. Flicking the ashes out the window, your eyes look curiously at the outside world. You had fallen back into the habit of people-watching as boredom filled your life at the lack of visits from a certain delivery boy.

It was the sound of ringing that pulled you from your thoughts. Stabbing your cigarette into the ashtray, you glide toward the noise and place the phone to your ear, “Hello?”

It’s silent on the other side of the phone for just a moment before a familiar voice rings out, “Hi, this is Jason Slocumb Junior.”

You can’t ignore the jump of your heart at the boy's voice that you could admit you were already missing. Furrowing your eyebrows, you smile humorously at the boy before speaking, “Your name is Jason?”

Igby hummed on the other side of the phone, glancing toward Oliver, who was watching him make his half of the calls. Smiling sarcastically to ensure that his brother didn’t know he was calling you, the boy continued without answering your question, “I just called to inform you that Mimi Slocumb won’t be answering any further invitations because she’s dead.”

The Slocumb boy waited for your response, hoping that you’d be selfish and ask for him to return to get you before fleeing. All you had to do was say the words, even just suggest it, and he’d come to you. No questions asked. No hesitation. However, you smiled to yourself and spoke warmly, “Go ahead and let the light in, Igby. I’ll be seeing you.”

The two of you sit silently for a prolonged moment, the boy relishing in your voice and promise, feeling comfort for the first time in days. Closing his eyes briefly, the boy pretends you are beside him with your beautiful smile and encouraging nods. A ghosting smile crosses his features before he hangs up the phone, not wanting his brother to know he still has you to keep promises with.

From your kitchen, you’d listen to the static sound of the dial tone before placing the phone back down with a small smile. Even though so much of you wanted him to return, you felt joyous over the fact that the boy was finally free from everything he had spent so long running from. You knew that your words were true. You would be seeing him, just not as soon as you’d hoped.

The next time you heard from Igby, it came in the form of mail.

Your tutor had entered your apartment, books and notes in hand, along with the mail the doorman had handed her when she passed. Setting up your workspace, she gives you the pile of envelopes, magazines, and newspapers, allowing you a moment to sift through them boredly. However, your attention perks as your fingertips graze the side of a single piece of thin cardboard.

GREETINGS FROM CALIFORNIA! THE GOLDEN STATE.

Looking over your shoulder, you excuse yourself from the dining room to the comfort and isolation of your room. Sitting on your bed, you place the other worthless mail beside you and cling to the most valuable object. Running your fingers over the enlarged font, you take a deep breath before flipping it over. Your heart leaped at the familiar handwriting that was scribbled on the back. At the top, your name was written clearly and sincerely, just as Igby remembered you. The only thing written on it was a new address, as well as a plane messily drawn near the bottom with a note below it.

Until I can send the real thing. -Igby

Smiling at the written promise, you bring the small piece of him you had to your chest⸺hugging what meant the most to you close to your heart. Taking a deep breath, you stand from your bed and place the postcard on your vanity where you can always see it. It becomes clear that out of every expensive piece of furniture and knick-knacks you had, this twenty-five cent piece of cardboard held the most value.

That would continue to ring true, except as the months went on, Igby would continue to write to you. His letters filled with what life in California was like; he’d write of the sun and the warmth, but he’d never admit that it didn’t compare to the warmth you had offered him. It wasn’t even close. It would beg to be written, but it would never reach the paper, the boy fearing that his confession would confirm how much distance there was between you. So, instead, he’d settle with leaving constant reminders that he’d return to get you and help you escape your parents' isolated prison. Your letters would contain what the weather was like in New York, as well as telling the boy that Russel had taken to delivering the drugs himself. The drug dealer not wanting for you to be left alone⸺he couldn’t do that to the tragic muse of his work. You’d sign off every letter with the same promise of seeing him when the time came. Eighteen was closer than it seemed. It had to be. It was a reminder you would write to him in hopes of reassuring yourself.

However, the shared fear of you and Igby would come true. Your parents would decide that letting you go at eighteen isn’t what’s for the best. They would continue to hold you hostage in the apartment, now sending in professionals to prepare you to work for your family company one day. Your once promising letters turned to ones full of misery and doubt. Igby’s remained optimistic, even going as far as offering to return to New York and bring you back to California with him. He knew you wouldn’t do it because, as he had told you on the rooftop the last time you saw each other, your parents' claws were too deep in you. They were too embedded for you to remove them without fatality. Yet, he needed you to know that his promise would always remain. He’d always hold you and the unbroken promise sacred.

Years would pass, yet Igby’s letters never slowed, and you kept every single one of them. There were occasions when the two of you would call one another, but timezones and your parents' distractions caused them to come to a predictable decline. On your twentieth birthday, you broke your own heart⸺sending him a letter of apologies and regret. You felt as though you were holding the boy back from living his life fully. It wasn’t fair of you to make him wait for you. It wasn’t fair for him to be free yet still be tied down by someone who couldn’t share that experience with him. So you offered him an out, telling him that he didn’t need to check up on you or keep your promise because your devotion to your parents had been controlling you and remained unmoving.

In return, Igby sent you the shortest letter he had ever sent to you. There was no talk about California, its weather, its glowing sun, or the new activities he had clung to within the time he received your last letter. It was just a piece of paper with three sentences scribbled on it.

My life here will never be complete until you’re here with me. I’ll wait for the rest of my life if I have to. I know I’ll be seeing you again. -Igby

These three sentences would sit with you for nearly a year. The letter would remain with you at all times, serving as a reminder that even when you’ve given up on yourself, there was someone out there who loved you enough to wait a lifetime. You’d read it once, twice, even three times a day. Letting his words ignite a bright and burning fire in your soul. Finally, on a random Wednesday evening, the fire would burn away the leash that your parents had you locked in. You had saved more than enough money on your own to live comfortably for years and enough experience to find a job elsewhere. So without warning, without so much as a notice, you walked away from your family's company, returned to the familiar apartment, packed your things, grabbed every single letter and postcard Igby had sent you, and left this life of despair behind. Not feeling an ounce of loyalty to return or shame to cower away from this moment.

After almost twenty-one years of begging and pleading for love from your parents, you finally walked away and toward the golden affection and tenderness that awaited your arrival on the other side of the country.

Igby never stopped thinking about you, wishing upon shooting stars and fallen eyelashes that you’d one day have the courage to cut the ties of your enclosure. He’d imagined on countless nights that you would call him or send him a letter that revealed that you were finally free. His mind would only ease itself to sleep if it thought of the one night you had spent together all those years ago. The night where he momentarily forgot about your shared pain and instead found light within each other. It had been the best sleep of his life⸺his body tangled against your own in a blazing flush of adoration and tranquility.

In the morning, the Slocumb boy would check his voicemail for any missed calls from you and check his mailbox for any letters. When there were none, he’d resort to continuing on with his day, his thoughts lingering around what you were doing, where you were, and if you were okay.

Reading a book you had recommended to him, Igby tried to pass the time. Eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he read. The boy's attention was broken by a knock on his front door. Pushing himself off the couch, he places the book down and approaches the door with a swiftness in his step. Without peering through the peephole, the brunette opens the door and pauses at the sight before him.

Your body stood frozen before him, your eyes scanning his before taking in every feature. He had grown since you had last seen him; his face was more mature, and his body was not as awkward against his posture. His slouch had disappeared after all these years away from his family, no longer looking over his shoulder or running from shadows that lingered for too long.

His hazel eyes held onto a stunned shine, taking in every part of you. His tongue darted between his lips as he tried to decipher if this was real or if his imagination had finally seeped into reality. You had looked different, yet exactly the same. The sun circling around your body, causing your new freedom to radiate off you in waves.

After a prolonged moment of shocked silence, you smile and breathe out, “Hi.”

That smile, your smile, and that voice, your voice. It was real, it was right here in front of him, you were right here in front of him. The warmth that California couldn’t supply Igby came rushing through him in waves of love as your eyes locked, a grin growing on the boy's face before his hands grabbed the sides of your head, pulling you into a long-awaited kiss.

The two of you smile into it, unable to stop laughs of disbelief from breaking through the moment. After all this time, after all the distance⸺this was happening.

You were real. He was real. This moment was real.

Pulling back slightly, the boys' thumbs caressed your cheeks softly, the two of you looking at one another with tear-filled eyes. Unable to say anything, he pulled your lips back to his own. This time, there was no laughter, there was no smiling. There was passion, there was gentleness, there was warmth, there was comfort, and above all else, there was love.

The two of you would continue to live your lives together in harmony. Knowing that no matter where you were, as long as you were together⸺everything would be okay. You’d grow together, you’d fight together, and you’d love together. There were times of hardship and disagreements, but never doubt when it came to each other or your relationship. In moments of weakness, you would uplift one another, and in times of remembrance of your estranged families⸺you’d remind one another how much love there was between the two of you, and there was no limit on it. Your love for each other was unconditional.

For so long, you two had been labeled as difficult. Difficult to obtain, difficult to tolerate, difficult to love. They said you two were too sensitive, too much to handle, too emotional. It was the universal curse of sensitivity. However, as time continues and your love grows stronger with Igby, it becomes clearer. You were not difficult to obtain or tolerate. And you are not difficult to love.

Igby and you now knew that your sensitivity wasn’t a curse��not when it led to this. This happiness, this warmth, and this love that would grow forever and evermore.

[mooshs-crack-headcanons]

OK I'm single handedly defending nemona from creepos online. She just likes to battle okay? She's not a creepy "yandere" or a stalker.

"BUT ITS JUST BATTLING WITH HER!! SHE STALKS YOYR CHARACTER BEFORE EVERYTHING GYM!!!!" It's pokemon. Characters in pokemon tend to really love battling. Also its just cliche coincidences in a video game chill.

She is also now my pokemon professor oc's adopted daughter, fight me.

[thebumblecee]

Tarlos in chapter six of for if I’m going down, I’m taking you with me by me and @mooshkat

[thechurchofsplatterdaysaints]

Finally planning the next road trip and omfg I can't wait to get all up in 'merica's guts! Found a few places out in the middle of nowhere that require my attention, stat.

Haven't had vodka in a min. Sober days or poppin a few brewskies like it's high school.

Hitting thrift stores for art supplies and hoping to get some work done on the wall this weekend. Nothing but researching routes and getting *jazz hands* excited. Gonna shoot nonstop idgaf. Not coming back til there's some mf magic on that gd sd card.

Wasted my whole life when I coulda been some rad ass /ˈpiCHər/ taking trucker cruising the country. Shooting trim from Madawaska to Mount Vernon when not turning over rocks in some gorgeous, long dead town.

Ah well. I guess someone had to see a ton of shows and try all the drugs. Guys. Did I ever tell you about the time I was huffing gas in Mechanicsburg? (s/o to PA DoC!)

In some old farmhouse hallucinating that the Mom from Muppet Babies (just the vague muffled speak) was handing me the head of AEON FLUX carved from ice but filled with fresh squeezed OJ.

Bf pulling the jug from hand before I could drink gas may have been one of the nicer things he did. haha fml

Working on package for bff. Did I tell you the beet staining on the bones was HUGELY unsuccessful? Coffee/tea/turmeric staining it is!

Sierra Nevada Torpedo going down nice and music on deck. Time to feed the baby his moosh.

Trip isn't for a few weeks so I'll be jabber jawin about it til then. (stfu)

love youuuuuuu

[journalsouppe]

ORACLE OF AGES MY BELOVED!!! Mwah mwah I love you so much OoA you were so silly and fun and charming. If only there was a third game about Farore since she's my favorite golden goddess!!! Oh well, at least we have two fun Oracle games and at least Farore is in both.

The images are printed screenshots from the game I found online!

Writing typed below:

Rating: 8.5 Played: Fa 2022 Port: 3DS (GBC Version)

Comments

Feels older than ALTTP

Great reach with sword, better than ALTTP

the screen scrolling caught me off guard

why is the tree in love with Link T-T

let me see Farore!!!!!

loved L-1 boss!

omg riding on the animals <3 love you Moosh

the puzzles are unique but very Zelda like

some similarities to the minish cap

you really need to unlearn everything you know about Zelda to play each game -> potions and fairies are switched in this game

the man's ceremony is gonna make me lose my mind

love the return of the gorons

the gorons all dance, just like smth I believe each Zelda race does

the Ghini are back ahhhhh

mermaid link!! so cute

baby Jabu Jabu!!

very experimental with play styles, I love it!

LYNELS?????

koji kondo killed it as usual

pixel art is 10/10

I like collecting the relics for L-8

omg both types of zora exist I absolutely adore that

omg a little statue of LInk <3

love the skeleton pirates

LINK TEACHING RALPH SO CUTE!!

final boss wasn't too bad, I liked dark link and her final forms (veran)

My holodrum code

Summary:

What a unique game. The whole concept was super cute and I am surprised the oracle games aren't that popular. There are many aspects inspired by OOT and MM such as the Hand in the toiled and some of the enemies but it definitely takes even more inspo from the 2d games. There's a lot of similarities between this game and the Minish cap! It was super cute and it really felt like they let the developers explore silly ideas. For one, they included both river and ocean Zora which I believe is one of the only games to do so. It also has bonus content if you play its sister game, seasons. The dungeons had a good difficulty to them and the bosses and mini had really cool designs - honestly designs you probably wouldn't see in any other game. There was also a good amount of down time content for when you aren't in the dungeons with really fun scenery and characters. Speaking of, the character designs were super cute and unique since they a different pixel art style! (Before I knew this was inspired by Link's Awakening). I highly recommend this game to anyone with a 3DS (rip you can't get it anymore). It is absolutely worth it. A Zelda fan must!!

[java-dragon]

Bookbinding for beginners by a beginner, part 5.5

Onward... can you believe we're still talking about just gluing shit to paper? Neither can I...

But after an hour or two you're going to see how well the glue is doing, if it looks like it's setting and going in between the signatures a little good job you've done it. Now add another layer, and whip out your mull.

and eyeball it and cut a length, I always overshoot but it's forgiving enough to trim.

Fiddle with it a little line it up and add more glue. I like to add some scrap scrapbook paper or cardstock to reinforce the back and I just kinda moosh it down.

Let this hang out for a few hours. You're one step closer to having this part of the bookbinding process DONE.

OOOOK *drinks half a gallon of water* I have done my best to get photos of everything for this particular bit how successful I was I have no idea.

But you gotta give me a lil credit for the attempt (speaking to self while looking into a mirror)

So next after all this once the text block glue is dried or dry enough to handle remove it from the press and double check which way is up and mark it with a sharpie, a pen, I wouldn't recommend blood but use what you got.

I glue my bookmark ribbon to the bottom. Why? so when it's on the shelf the charm dangles see an example of a done text block with a charm and everything. But not yet in it's cover:

But feel free to do what you want if you do ribbon charms. This is 100% optional but sometimes it's nice to have a built in bookmark.

Now after that, line up your Book Ribbon (also optional but it makes everything look tidy, once again, do what you please).

Tack everything down with more glue I dab a bit of glue before laying things down and then a either use the access glue to go over the top to make sure everything is smoothed down.

Congratulations you are now done gluing the text block. Leave this to cure over night. Pat yourself on the back and have a drink of your choice. You're almost there.

Next Post:

How to make Book cloth with 3 simple ingredients How to build a book case (the cover of the book) End Papers

And if I don't hit my photo limit how to put the book cloth on the book case