#more sober than them its just hilarious

[gojowh0rcs]

i love the headcanons that are like “male so and so is v drunk and wants to fuck like rabbits and is gonna make u bust 5 times in a night” but its like do yall know abt whiskey dick??? where are THOSE headcanons??? do you know how disappointing a drunken sex night can really be??? its not that amazing i promise u 

[7s3ven]

WHAT HAPPENS IN VAGAS STAYS IN VAGAS. simon riley

( just an idea)

I recently watched a movie set in Vegas that had the title (what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas) as its motto and I thought it’d be a really funny plot. I’ll use Ghost as a placeholder for now.

But yeah, imagine reader and Ghost (total strangers) get married in Vegas and they’re like “wtf” and they don’t officially divorce so, hey, Ghost actually has a wife on paper. And then Laswell introduces TF 141 to a transferred worker and what do you know, it’s Ghost’s Vegas wife.

Ghost wasn’t known for drinking past his limits. In fact, he barely had any. He wasn’t a light weight in the slightest. He could drink at least twenty large pints of beer and still be fully sober. But, it seems Vegas had fucked him over. He blamed Jonny for convincing the team to take a holiday to America.

He could still taste the fruity cocktails on his tongue as he sat up, rubbing his face. His mask was discarded to the side, lying on the floor. The room was surprisingly tidy as he leaned over the body beside him to retrieve his mask- wait, that wasn’t right.

Ghost let out a grunt of surprise, staring at the person beside him. His gaze immediately landed on the wedding ring that glinted in the dim light. His heart lurched. Had he slept with a married person? His brows creased as he tried to remember what had happened. Who even was this strange woman? He had never seen her before.

Ghost racked his brain for clues until he realized that the woman beside him was the one he had been eyeing all night in a drunken state. He thought she was pretty and he hadn’t seen the ring before.

He looked down at his own hand, eyes widening even more at the sight of a matching wedding band. It didn’t take a genius to piece everything together.

Ghost hadn’t slept with an already taken person, he had fucking married a stranger instead. Well, in the grand scheme of things, that seemed a little better than ruining a marriage because he drank too much.

You stirred and Ghost froze as you opened your eyes, blinking in confusion. “Where am I?” You were just as confused as he was. “Hey, did we sleep together? You don’t have a girlfriend, do you?” Your words slurred together. You glanced at the ring on his finger, lurching back. “Oh my gosh! Are you married?! Did I fuck a married person?! I’m so sorry!”

“Look at your own finger.” Ghost grumbled. “Wasn’t married before I met you.”

At least you were a smart one. “Oh… we married each other… um, what’s your name?”

“Simon Riley.”

“Y/N L/N.”

The two of you shook hands, still tangled in the white bedsheets.

“So… what happens now?” You mutter.

“I gotta get to work. Give me your number so I can call ya and we can… figure whatever the hell this is out.”

You hand him a piece of paper with your digits written on it. It doesn’t take you long to get dressed and walk out of the hotel, already texting your friends on what you had woken up to.

Hours passed and then days and finally months. And there was no call from the handsome man you had accidentally married. And there was no chance of even divorcing if you couldn’t get in contact with him.

So you endured it. And whenever your friends asked about the ring, you told them the story of how you had managed to get drunk and marry a total stranger. They found it hilarious.

Kate Laswell was the woman who entirely changed your life, in more ways than another. When you were a teenager, she helped you out of a slump. You owed her a great deal for saving you at your worst. So when she asked you to transfer from your secretary line of work in the military to a special operations unit as their new intelligence operative, you agreed.

She had given a meaning to your life, a well-paying job that could support you, and unintentionally reunited you with the man who was bound to you on paper.

“This is Y/N. Treat her nice.” Laswell says to the four large men towering over you. But you only have eyes for the one with the Skull mask. You could recognzie those vivid eyes anywhere.

He wasn’t wearing gloves, giving you a perfect view of the wedding ring still sitting on his finger. You couldn’t blame him, you still wore yours too for some reason.

“Ey, LT, yer gon’ a burn a hole in the poor lassie if ya keep starin’ like that.” John Mactavish, aka known as Soap or Jonny, said, laughing. “You like ‘er or somethin’?”

“Yeah, I guess. She’s my wife after all.” Ghost grunts. You want to pinch the bridge of your nose. How could he say such a thing without context?

Gaz is the one who makes a fuss over Ghost’s statement. “Wait, you’re married?! And you didn’t invite us?!”

“It was in a dingy church.” You say to fill in the gaps.

“Where?” Gaz presses on.

You and Ghost exchange a look, embarrassed about your reckless actions. “Vegas.” You both say in unison.

You can practically see the cogs working in Soap’s head as he gasps. “Is that where yer disappeared off to? Ya got married to a pretty lass without tellin’ us? How long have y’all known each other?!”

You clear your throat as you hear the quiet sound of Laswell chuckling. Glad to see she finds your predicament amusing. “We don’t.”

“So you married a stranger?” Soap’s eyebrows furrow. “Ey, how come you got married before me?!”

“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.” Ghost reminds his team members.

It’d be really funny if, even after that, you and Ghost still don’t divorce. And y’all actually start treating each other like lovers.

Like, yeah, we were strangers and got married in a church in Vegas but we won’t divorce because the married life is actually better than expected. What about it?

Ghost literally brushes off the fact that you guys were strangers. He treats you like his wife, bringing you food and wiping your makeup off when you’re too tired to do so. And eventually, you guys just accept it.

[the-kr8tor]

Hi! I hope you're well! I've got a bit of a request (maybe? idk can be whatever u want it to be:D) So- R recently has had their wisdom tooth removed, and I think you've seen how people get so loopy afterwards. I think it'd be hilarious writing Hobie trying to keep a straight face and talk to R rambling on about some random things in the most serious manner he can muster lol

Thank you for requesting! Muah 😘 ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, TW blood, Fluff.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Hobie's nervous for no reason, he knows you're alright behind the tooth shaped door but the sound of the drill’s muffled whirring has his spidey senses going haywire. He thinks it's the weird smell of the dentist's office and the stark white of the walls that adds to his anxiety. His leg nervously bounces to the beat of the crappy music that the dentist's assistant keeps playing on loop (torturing him basically.)

He kneads at his temple to get the scraping sound out of his ears, due to his enhanced senses that includes super hearing, he can hear every pull and tug of your tooth, unfortunately. But he thinks you have it worse since you're the one who feels every tug and pull. Or maybe he just hates it when you get hurt, especially if he can't help you or even see you. He curses the tooth shaped door for hiding you from his view. Seriously, who makes a door shaped like that?

With a sigh, the toothy door finally opens, and out you roll out of it in a squeaky wheelchair. Hobie stands up lightning quick to get to your side. The dentist smiles at him with her perfect teeth, hands guiding you out of the sterile room.

“She’s good, don't worry.” The dentist senses Hobie's worry, or she just sees it etched on his face. “Your girl's a bit loopy because of the meds but it'll wear off in a few minutes.”

Hobie kneels down to face you. He almost laughs loudly at your swollen cheek that makes you look like a squirrel that's hiding its nuts inside its mouth. He rubs your knee softly to wake your foggy self based on how glossy your eyes are. Drool drips from the cotton in your mouth and he swears he almost loses it right there and then.

“Hi, love, ready to come home?” Hobie smiles softly like he usually does when he finds you endearing. Despite all the bloody saliva dripping out of your mouth.

“Hat?” You ask, voice murmured by the cotton. Hobie guesses you said ‘what?’ instead of asking for his invisible hat.

Raising your hand to his face, you give him a good pat on his cheek, you then let out a giggle that sounded more like a cackle. It all makes him raise an eyebrow.

“You gave her the good stuff huh, doc?” He asks, never leaving his eyes off your disoriented self.

The dentist chuckles, “just give her paracetamol for the pain and don't let her eat or drink anything for an hour or two if she can help it.”

“Thanks, doc.” Hobie gives her a polite smile while standing back up to his feet. “Ready to walk with me?”

You narrow your eyes at him, eyebrows knitted, hands balling at your soft pants. You dressed for the occasion, or rather, dressed down for it. You had the foresight to know that you'll be bleeding all over your clothes right after. Like how you are right now with one of Hobie's old band shirts. He clearly doesn't mind since he owns a hundred like them. But he won't miss the opportunity to tease you about it once you're sober and well awake.

You look at him like he told you the copper you gave him is in a poor state. “I hab boyfriend.”

“I know you do, it's me.” He sees the dentist crack a smile. “Get up, love, you'll kick my arse if we miss your episode.”

“Episode?” You once again ask with wonderment.

“Yeah, that dragon show you like so much. Up you go.”

“Dragons?!” Your voice echoes out in the room, like he just told you dragons are real. You stand up quicker than he thought you could. “Really?” Your question cements what he thinks. “They're dragons right? Not wyverns, they're different creatures y’know.” He tamps down a laugh.

Holding you by your biceps, Hobie flicks his eyes behind you and over to the dentist who just shrugs with a grin. “Her tooth was stubborn. Sorry, I could've given her the lighter stuff but she would've felt it.”

“That's alright, doc, this is how she usually is.” He jokes, which you chortle at. Well at least you recognize humour amidst the fog of whatever concoction the dentist gave you. “Thanks again.” He waves goodbye whilst he guides you out of the clinic.

“Why are you so pretty?” You look at him with sparkling eyes like you're about to cry from his sheer beauty. Tapping his chin, cheek squished against his shoulder, you don't look at where you're walking as you continue to admire him in the sun. “So p-pretty…like a-an angel.”

Hobie does all the walking for you, his arms are looped around your waist, effortlessly lifting you off the pavement. The tips of your shoes grazes the concrete as you squish his cheeks in your hand, making him pout from your cuteness overload.

“An angel? Just last night you called me a dick for eating your mango.” How could he know you were trying to save it inside the fridge?

You giggle, “mmm, mango.”

“I'll buy you a hundred more if you continue to dote on me.” You two finally make it to the van, he thanks his abilities for not getting winded out by the trek.

You lean back dramatically, making Hobie catch you in his arms. You both look like a cover from a romance novel.

“I can't! I have a boyfriend.” You say with your whole heart, and as serious as you can with your mouth full of cotton.

“Fuckin' hell.” He laughs, lifting you back up before someone in the street sees. “I'll buy you some ice cream if you get in the car. Mango or chocolate flavour?”

“I will,” you poke his chest, “not be,” poke “bribed by you–you stranger!” You poke him several times.

Hobie catches your finger mid poke. Leaning closer to your face, he smells the iron from your mouth. You sniff, moving your head away from him with a pout.

“Love,” he says sweetly, catching the back of your head before it falls further back. Laying his forehead against yours, he gives you a minute to recognize him from his warmth alone. He'd give you forever if he can. Holding your hand, he raises it to his chest, letting you feel the familiar thump of his heart. He remembers that you do it whenever he gets home from patrol. “It's me, yeah?”

Hobie doesn't realize the tears brimming in your eyes. He stands up straight at the sound of your quiet sobbing.

“We're gonna miss the dragons.” Fat tears roll down your cheeks, the cotton in your mouth threatens to fall out as you weep in the parking lot with him trying his best to wipe the tears while he coos softly at you.

Hobie definitely has his work cut out for him, now to get you home without crying about dragons or acting like he's kidnapping you. Yet, he'd gladly do it all over again if it's you.

[ashwhowrites]

Hiya, Mommy! I've got an idea for you (that might be kinda close to home)

So we know that Eddie obviously is from Indiana... let's see how he'd handle having a partner from the south. You can either do established or not, up to you. But I just wanna watch Eddie's confusion when his partner says some shit like... "grab me a buggy please" 🤭🤭

I absolutely love this ! I hope this is what you wanted <3 I love you, handsome

I'm high right now so I pray everything is written like I was sober

Different slang blurb

Eddie liked having a Southern on his arm, loving their thick drawl, and the additional attitude. But he often forgets they grew up in different places, and it showed.

~~~

"Can you grab me a buggy?" They said, eyes looking down at the grocery list. Eddie stopped walking, confused as he stared at his partner.

"Eds?" They said, realizing Eddie wasn't near them. They turned around and saw a blank stare on Eddie's face.

"A what?" He asked

"Buggy," They said, pointing to the mental carts.

"What the fuck is a buggy? You mean a cart?" Eddie spazzed, thrashing his hands toward the carts.

"A cart? No, it's a buggy." They repeated, rolling their eyes as they walked over and yanked one-off.

~~~

"And then, he fucking killed me! I didn't even know friendly fire was on!" Eddie complained, that game night at Dustin's went south. They adored how into their games Eddie could get, but this was hilarious.

"Oh bless," they said, shaking their head as they smiled. Trying to get into his complaint with him.

"Bless? I didn't sneeze!" Eddie sighed, "You aren't even listening to me!"

Y/N rolled their eyes at Eddie's small tantrum, laughing behind their hand.

~~~

"BOOM, I tripped and smacked my head into the wall!" Eddie explained, telling the story of how clumsy he was.

"Bless your heart." Y/N sighed, shaking their head as they listened to the story. Eddie wasn't sure what that meant. But he assumed they found his clumsy actions adorable.

"thank you?" He replied, a little confused still by the new phrase.

"For?" They asked, confused

"The compliment? My clumsiness was adorable and it like blessed my heart." He explained

"Oh! You're welcome!" They said, sometimes with Eddie, it was easier to go with what he believed in. He didn't need to know it was closer to an insult than a compliment. He was adorable and they adored that he thought it was a compliment.

~~~

"What do you want for a drink?" Eddie asked, grabbing spare change as he jumped out of the van, Y/N stayed in the car listening to music.

"A coke." They said, pecking Eddie's lips as he ran to their window before going inside.

Eddie walked in, and went for the pop section. His eyes searched for the cokes. Eddie quickly grabbed the red bottle and his drink. He got extra snacks and headed out.

He passed the bag over to Y/N, they placed it near their feet as Eddie settled in.

"Which coke did you grab?" They asked, curious as to what Eddie picked.

"Umm a coke, that's what you asked for. And don't tell me it wasn't. Because you said "a coke so don't try me." Eddie explained, already defensive.

"But which kind of coke?" They asked

"Regular! You didn't say you wanted a certain type." He explained, growing energized.

"You didn't ask which one I wanted!" Y/N explained, digging into the bag. Their eyes spotted a Coca-Cola.

"Baby, that's a coco-cola, I said a coke." Y/N sighed, rubbing their face in frustration.

"I literally don't hear a difference !" Eddie spazzed again.

"A coke is all the different kinds. Coca-Cola is that specific brand! To you, it might be like soda or pop?" They explained more

"A POP? A coke is a kind of pop. Not pop in general!" Eddie freaked out. He has never heard that meaning in his life.

"POP? THAT'S SO EW. ITS A COKEEEEEEE!"

[five-rivers]

Blizzard

Danny checked his Ghost Time Zone Adjuster Watch (Patent Pending!) and frowned at the numbers on the dial.  It was, in theory, synced to the time on Earth– or at least the time zone Amity Park was in, but he’d noticed it got a little less reliable the further he went from the portal.  

He was hoping it was going fast tonight, because if it wasn’t, well, tonight had just become this morning.  He might have been used to late night and early morning fights, but that didn’t mean he had to like them.  

He’d wanted to get to the Far Frozen and back before he had to get up in the morning, but at this pace, that didn’t seem likely.  The Far Frozen was living up to its name, it seemed. 

But despite its inconvenient location, the Far Frozen was also the only place Danny knew of that was both willing and able to treat halfas.  And wasn’t Vlad.  Vlad didn’t count, for obvious reasons.  

Danny passed a set of melting stairs whose banister was slowly mutating into hissing snakes and the icy islands loomed into view.  He sighed in relief.  Finally.  

He zoomed towards the main island, skirting snow-laden clouds and pallid, sinuous frostworms.  Briefly, he touched down at the edge of the island, internally debating waiting for the yetis to notice him or going closer.  He bounced in place.  If he stayed still too long, he might doze off.  He’d been having some trouble with that, lately.  And he was short on time.  

Mind made up, he took off again, but flew more slowly.  The yetis should be able to notice him long before he reached their settlement at this rate.  

He saw the clouds of ice kicked up by the pair of skimmers before he saw the skimmers themselves and slowed.  The skimmers slowed, too, and they met in the middle.  

“Hi, guys!” called Danny.  “Do you mind if I take a lift with you?”

“Yes, Great One!” shouted the pilot over the engine of the skimmer.  “What brings you here today?”

Danny landed on the deck of the skimmer.  “Medical stuff,” he said, shrugging.  “You can call me Danny, by the way.  What’s your name?”

“Iceplow, Great One!  It is an honor to carry you!  Why, this is the first time I’ve had a passenger who wasn’t from the Far Frozen.”

“Yeah?” asked Danny, stifling a yawn and sitting cross-legged on the deck.  

Iceplow nodded, and launched into a story about how he’d learned to drive.  Danny, sadly, couldn’t pay much attention, because it sounded hilarious.  The skimmer bounced and jolted underneath him, but… compared to his dad… sleepy…

They skidded to a stop and Danny forced himself awake.

“Here we are!” announced Iceplow.  “Safe and sound, as promised, Great One!”

Danny nodded and smiled.  “Thanks for the ride.”

Upon hopping off the skmmer, he was swarmed.  He was maybe a bit of a celebrity here.  Way more than he was in Amity Park, which was weird because he’d never intentionally set out to save the Far Frozen.  It had just sort of happened, incidentally.  

Usually, he’d love the attention, but tonight, with how tired he was…  He started to flag immediately.  But the crowd scattered away, suddenly respectful.  

“What brings you here, Great One?” asked Frostbite, rescuing him.  “Unless I miss my mark very much, this is an unusual time for you to visit.”

Danny nodded, a less tired part of him making a note to figure out how Frostbite knew it was a weird time.  “I wanted to ask you a few, um, medical questions, if that’s okay?”

Frostbite sobered immediately.  “Are you ill?” he asked, clearly troubled.  “Have you been injured?”

Danny shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I was kind of hoping you’d be able to tell me.  I mean, I don’t know if this is something normal, or a ghost thing, or a halfa thing, or something else.”

“I see,” said Frostbite.  “In that case, we should go to the infirmary and do a thorough assessment.  If it is troubling you, after all, then at the very least it is a change to your normal status.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”  There were places to sit down in there.

Frostbite lifted Danny to sit on his shoulders.  Danny caught himself listing sideways, into Frostbite’s horns, which was really quite rude, twice.  

The infirmary caves, carved deep into the ice and rock of the Far Frozen, were kept meticulously clean and brightly lit.  It would be easy, down here, to forget that he wasn’t in a hospital back on Earth.  

… At least in some places.  In other places, the machines and equipment being used was definitely not intended for humans and the raw walls of the tunnels showed through.

Danny stared at the labeled diagram of a blob ghost on the far wall, his eyes too unfocused to make out the words on it.  A sharp buzzing sound rang in his ears.  The thought that he could steal a nap crossed his mind and was reluctantly discarded.  Or, rather, it wasn’t so much discarded as… Well, it would be rude, wouldn’t it?  To fall asleep like that?

Frostbite cleared his throat, a human habit he’d definitely picked up from Danny, jolting him out of his reverie.  “Let’s start with the symptoms you are experiencing.”

“I’ve been tired all the time.  But when I try to sleep, I just can’t.  I’ve tried getting myself to wake up more, and I’ve tried coffee, and I’ve tried wearing myself out so I’ll sleep, but…  Nothing seems to work.”

“Well, there are a few different things that could be.  Let’s start with some simple tests…”

Frostbite started with things any doctor would do.  He weighed and measured Danny, listened to his heart, took his blood pressure, tested his reflexes.  He also repeated most of Danny’s tests in both forms, took ‘aural photographs,’ and checked the energy levels of his ectoplasm.  Then came blood tests, x-rays, an MRI, an ‘ectoplasmic resonance scan,’ an ectosignature typing, and other, weirder tests.   

“Hm,” said Frostbite, looking down at the test results.   “Interesting.”

“Interesting bad, or interesting good?”

“Nothing bad, no.  I believe I may be able to do something to help,” said Frostbite, finally, “but may I ask a favor of you in the meantime?”

“Sure,” said Danny.  

“You see, I may have to consult with some of our experts, but they’re largely occupied with the children today.”

“Children?”

“You haven’t met them before, have you?” asked Frostbite.  “You have spent most of your time in the warrior’s camp.”

“The–?”  Any other time, Danny would be asking questions, but he knew that if he did now, the explanations would go in one ear and out the other.  He shook his head.  “You want me to watch them.”

Frostbite shrugged.  

Well, it couldn’t be any worse than trying to babysit Youngblood.  And it would make him feel better to actually do something useful, instead of just waiting for Frostbite to find something to fix him.  

Frostbite led Danny down another series of tunnels, then outside and up over a series of hills.  Danny started flagging right away, but Frostbite slowed to accommodate him. 

They crested one more hill, and then Danny saw it.  A wonderful, fantasy play structure that would fill any child under ten with avarice.  A finely detailed medieval castle, with slides, swings, climbing walls, and anything else you could think of, down to what looked like an accurate trebuchet and functional portcullis, all made of glass-clear ice.  Within the play structure were five small yetis.

Danny gasped and clutched at Frostbite’s arm.  “Oh my gosh,” he said, “they’re precious.”

They were small.  Well, smaller than the adult yetis.  Even at this distance, Danny was pretty sure the smallest one was at least as tall as he was and probably had at least fifty pounds on him with how fluffy they were.  

“How old are they?” he asked

“Hm, let’s see,” said Frostbite.  “Icepack is the oldest…  Snowflake is the youngest… so that would be…  They’re between fifty and two hundred and fifty years old.”

“They’re what?”

“Between fifty and two hundred and fifty years old.”

“Frostbite,” said Danny, “they’re older than me.  How could I watch them?”

Frostbite chuckled.  “I did not actually say that, if you remember.”  He gently pushed Danny forward.  “All I said was that I needed to speak with the experts here.  We do not have to go anywhere else to do that.”  Once more, he urged Danny forward.  “Please, Great One, go play.”

“I don’t…”  He looked back at the ice castle.  The children had definitely noticed him, and they were coming out.  Their eyes were sparkling.  

He couldn’t disappoint kids.  

As Frostbite went to go join the other adult yetis, who were sitting on a bench a short distance away, he approached, trying not to look nervous.  “Hi!” he said.  “I’m Danny.”

“I’m Snowflake!” said the tiniest yeti in an adorably squeaky voice.  “I’m a girl!”

“Everyone knows you’re a girl!”

“He doesn’t!”

“Yep,” said Danny, giving a shaky thumbs up, “I don’t know anything about any of you, so…”

“He’s Cryosphere.  His parents had to give him a really fancy name to make up for–”

The tallest of the yeti children put their hand on Snowflake’s head.  “I’m Snowpack,” they said. “These two are Featherice and Candleice.”

Snowflake beat Snowpack’s hand away.  “Are you a boy or a girl?”

“Uh,” said Danny, who had been prepared for a different kind of interrogation altogether.  

“‘Cause if you’re a boy, then we’re even, because Snowpack and Cryosphere are boys, and Featherice and Candleice are girls.”

“I guess I’m a boy, then,” said Danny.  

He got the distinct impression he was being sized up.  “Then you can be one of the princesses with me!  We can have a girl princess and a boy princess, then, and it’ll be fair.”

“You can’t have a boy princess,” said Cryosphere.  “He has to be a prince.”

“Princes are the ones who rescue princesses,” said Snowflake.  “Princes get armor, and princesses get crowns.  That’s how it works.”

“I know a princess,” said Danny, hoping to at least derail the brewing argument.  “She rescued herself, and she ha-aa-aaaawhn.”  Danny was unable to keep himself from yawning.

“You,” declared Snowflake, gravely and with great importance, “are sleepy.”  She tapped his nose with one claw.  This froze the air inside his nostrils and he sneezed.  

“Ahhhh,” said Featherice, “your sneeze is so cute!”

“Sleepy!” declared Snowflake again.   

“No,” he said, defensively.  At least for human children, being sleepy would be seen as uncool.  He wanted to be cool.  

The little yetis stared at him judgmentally.  

“I think it’s naptime, anyway,” said Icepack.  “So, why don’t we do a blizzard, then take a nap?”

Snowflake gaped at him, betrayed.  “I don’t need to take a nap.”

“It’s not very fair to tell someone else they need a nap, then not take one yourself, is it?” asked Icepack.  “We can all take one together, okay?”

“Um,” said Danny, “a blizzard?”

“It’s a type of group work,” said Candleice, quietly.  “You let your ice go together and shape it together.  In a blizzard, the snow comes and tucks you in, then you take a nap.”

“O-oh,” said Danny, “I don’t know if I should do that, my ice powers, um…”  He glanced over at Frostbite, who gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up.  The children were looking at him expectantly.  Danny caved.  “Okay, we can try it out.”  He could always just… not put any power into what they were doing.  

He was, upon agreement, promptly dragged into the castle’s courtyard.

“So,” said Icepack, “first, we get in a circle, and we all hold hands.”

The yetis lined up in order of height and Danny, the shortest, carefully took the clawed hands of Snowflake and Icepack.  

"Now, we start walking in a circle…"  Danny mimicked the yetis around him.  "And we wave our arms up and down.  Then we take cold in through our left arm, and out with our right.  Pass it around."

Danny had never done anything like this before, but the momentum the yetis were building made it easy to let the cold wash through him, sending ice feathering up his arms and around his shoulders.  The feeling plucked at his core, and, finally, he gave in to the feeling, adding a thread of his power.  

"There we go.  Good job, everyone."

A few meters above the circle, a storm swirled, building and building.  

"Alright, now change directions."

Danny stumbled a step, but fell back into the loose rhythm easily.  Snow began to fall from the clouds above, faster and faster, until even the constant movement of the circle didn’t stop them from having to wade through snow.  Snow gathered heavily on Danny’s shoulders, in his hair, his eyelashes.  The shifting white in front of him could have been Snowflake’s back, but it could just as easily be the snow.  He could hardly see his own hands, and definitely couldn’t see his feet.  

“And break!”

Everyone let go and threw themselves into the high bank of snow that had gathered outside of their circle.  More ice energy burst out as the circle broke, the power they were channeling and building escaping into the air and making it just that much colder, the snowflakes just that much larger.  There was some muffled giggling as the children flopped around and knocked snow onto one another.  Danny was promptly buried.  

“Naptime now!” called out Icepack.  The other children quieted.  

Danny sighed and flexed his hands, which were still bleeding cold energy.  He wanted to get up, but it’d be better if he was a good role model, right?

Although… This was pretty comfortable.  Nice and cold, the right temperature for his core, the snow underneath conforming to his body, the ever-increasing weight of the snow above, the dark and quiet, also increasing.  

Frostbite and the other adults were watching, too.  Maybe, just for a moment…

.

The blizzard cleared.  Not too long later, the five little yetis burrowed out from under the snow.  

“You were very mature, today, children,” said Frostbite, passing out little flavored ice treats.  “Thank you for your help.”

“He’s so little!” said Snowflake.  “He’s even smaller than me.  Did he really fight Pariah Dark?”

“He did,” said Frostbite, “that’s why it’s so easy, sometimes, to forget that he is a child, just like all of you.”

“Not that any of you should go off fighting strange adults any time soon!” said Driftice, their main caretaker for the day, swooping in.  “Humans age differently, and he had been a human for most of his existence.”

“Aha, yes, that is true.”

“Chief Frostbite,” said Snowflake, tugging on the end of his cape to get his attention back. “I have a question.”

“Go ahead, little one.”

“Doesn’t he know ghosts don’t take naps?  He’s got to know that, if he beat up Pariah Dark.”

“Well, he was human.”

Snowflake frowned.  “How do humans become ghosts?” she asked.  

Driftice glared at him from over Snowflake’s head.

“Oh, dear, look at the time.  You’re all late for your hunting lesson.”

“No, we’re not,” said Snowflake, even as the group was hurried along by Driftice and the other caretakers of the day.

Frostbite sighed and made an ice chair for himself.  He waited, amusing himself by making small sculptures, not something he got much practice at, with his duties as chief.  

Several hours later, the snow shifted and a rather disoriented-looking Phantom dug his way out of the snow.  “Huh?” he said, looking around.  “What?”

“You fell asleep,” explained Frostbite, putting aside his latest sculpture.

Phantom’s eyes widened.  “Sorry.  I didn’t mean to.”

“Perhaps not, but I meant for you to.”

“What?” asked Phantom, bewildered.  

“To put it simply,” said Frostbite, “you were too stressed to sleep, Great One, and somewhat overheated for an ice core as well.  I’m sorry for the deception with the children, but I wasn’t sure you would agree to rest, otherwise, and that’s the only cure for these things.”

“I,” said Phantom, frowning.  “But–”

“Do you feel better?” prodded Frostbite.

“... Maybe,” said Phantom, quietly, guiltily.

Frostbite smiled gently.  He handed Phantom one of the ice sculptures.  It was a simple thing, a series of spheres within spheres.  

“Everyone needs rest, Phantom.  There’s no shame in taking it.”

“But what if…”  Danny rubbed his thumb over the sculpture.  “What if something happens?  How long was I asleep?”  He flailed a bit more and freed a hand from the snow.  He glared at the small watch around his wrist.

“Then something happens, and you deal with it well-rested.”

Phantom, in a way that was far too adorable considering that he had no fur and hardly any fangs, pouted.  “Frostbite, I was asleep for over eight hours.  I’m going to totally miss school.”

“And do you feel better?” prompted Frostbite again.

“... Yes.  But I really have to go, now, or else my parents will totally blow up at me.”

Frostbite was glad he knew that was a colloquialism.  “You can always tell them you were kidnapped by a ghost.  It’s even true.”

“You’re terrible,” said Phantom.  “But…  Thanks.  I might take you up on that."

[halfagone]

I just found this hilarious story called “Adventures of Magical Girl Ghostly Star”, where Danny and his rogues get sent to the DC universe, with Danny pretending to be a magical girl because he doesn’t know how the DC universe feels about ghosts. My prompt would be a one shot about magical girl Danny meeting a legit magic user like Zatanna and Constantine with shenanigans ensuing from that point forward. What do you think?

Huehuehue~ Okay, so! There are a couple ways this could go... Let's go with the funniest option:

---

Zatanna squinted her eyes so close together that she could hardly see past her eyelashes. This hero from another universe, called "Phantom", shuffled his feet shyly as he stood in front of her, clearly trying very hard not to shrink under her scrutinizing gaze. Bruce had said Phantom identified himself as a "Magical Girl" (Boy??), and Bruce had requested her presence to confirm its validity.

Problem was... Zatanna hadn't even realized Magical Girls were a thing. In fiction and anime, sure, but in real life?

She would have no way of knowing whether it were true or not. Phantom did have an air of death around him, but half the hero community had an air of death around them so that was hardly telling proof. There was definitely something supernatural about him, but it was hard to say how 'magical' that could be considered.

She tilted her head to the side and examined him a little more closely. Honestly... It would make sense? He had white hair like starlight, that floated around the crown of his forehead with a will of their own like an aura of brilliant light. His outfit was... not nearly as magical, but hey, she did have to admit a hazmat suit was a lot more practical than a frilly skirt and knee-high boots. And she swore there was a perpetual sprinkle of stardust around his eyes, dusting his cheeks with constellations disguising themselves as freckles...

"Yeah, okay." Zatanna agreed with a shrug of her shoulders. "It seems pretty legit to me."

Bruce snapped his head towards her. "What?"

Phantom gaped at her. "REALLY?!"

[On the other side of things:]

Constantine took one look at the so-called "Magical Girl" before he dragged his gaze over to Bruce. When he saw the man's serious expression, he instantly knew that this was no joke. He took a swig of his liquor. (He was far too sober for this.)

"Sure," Constantine grumbled. "That seems legit."

He was not going to be the one to explain how they'd somehow winded up with a death entity.

He wasn't malicious. Constantine had slept at night with far worse guilt hanging over his head.

---

OR! In other words: As far as the magic users know, they have never met a Magical Girl before, and thus they have no way of confirming if Danny is lying or not. They can tell something is amiss, or that they're missing some things, but it's never enough to confirm for certain. Constantine at first is pretty certain that Danny isn't a Magical Girl, but then something really lucky, perhaps even ✨Magical✨ happens to or around him, and slowly Constantine is convinced that maybe he really is. Zatanna, meanwhile, is experiencing the opposite. She sees Danny doing really creepy, humanly impossible deeds and she realizes with dawning wariness that he is no Magical Girl. Still a pretty sweet kid, sure, but yeah, there is nothing Magical about Danny splitting his head in two for shits and giggles.

[aysanderson]

FANFIC FEMALE VERSION ANDERPERRY !

NOTICES

* English is not my first language

*My girls Anderson and Perry in the movie and my girls Celine and Renné in real life! Double dose of sapphics!

*I would like to post daily, maybe not so long

*Probably +18 content

WELCOME TO THE TORTURED POETS SOCIETY

TAKE 01 . 

And they were roommates.

-Good morning everyone, girls, I'm Tomás, your director and I'm more than happy to announce that you're our cast! Welcome to the Tortured Poets Society!

Well, here we are.

A new movie is exploding with buzz throughout the film industry.

The remake of the famous and appreciated film 

“Dead Poets Society.” now titled Tortured Poets Society. 

For some time now, the producers have been wanting to renew, perhaps bring a new audience to the work, and also the need to finally expose the ideas that were not appropriate in 1990. 

And why not tortured poet girls!

Amazing. 

And so, here they are. The new characters and soon the newest eye candy and stars of the entire film industry. 

And not only was the film the hot news of the moment, but also Renné and Celine, rising actresses and polar opposites as the names to give life to the main characters.

The buzz quickly emerged in the media.

“Ah, but isn’t it a risky bet? A character as controversial as Celine alongside Renné?”

“Renné shouldn’t have stopped making the classics and risked this woke agenda”

“I just hope Celine is polite and doesn’t hit on Reneé, no one is forced to be gay either”

And as for the film, the rumors were even bigger and more venomous.

“It’s risky but the director gave free rein”

“It’s really sad to watch a classic appeal to the agenda.”

“It’s definitely something to make money.”

… 

-And then, I fell hard in the middle of the stage. I could barely understand what was happening. It was so embarrassing, thank goodness the spotlight soon went to the other side of the stage or I wouldn't have had the strength to get up!

Laughter could easily be heard from the lunch table of tortured poets, as the cast called themselves.

It had been a week since the start of the meetings for the beginning of the team bonding period.

The actress in the spotlight, who told a hilarious story about the time she fell in the middle of the stage, was Nancy, or rather, our girl Dalton, who was struggling to tie up her frizzy hair, while her laughter took all the breath away from her. Next to her hovered the calm redhead Sara, better known by her surname Meeks, who tried to help her colleague in her arduous mission of tying up her hair, and laughing and eating and remembering the facts of the story.

In order, the other redhead, Tayla, who was calmly sipping her apple juice and smiling at Nancy, unlike her character, who was reserved, would be and would, as is well known, at some point in the film, exchange blows with Dalton.

On the other side of the table we have the tall Suzie, who will soon be seen as our intelligent and sober Pitts, but who at the moment had a frown and serious brow, focused on her mission to discover the taste of the meat she had bought in the vegan area of the restaurant. Beside her, sharing the same mission, was Jhenny, with a white sweatshirt tied around her shoulders, even though the undeniable heat of Solarium was present without regrets, she wanted to feel the essence of the passionate overstreet.

In the distance, crossing the small street that separated the restaurant from the tables they were sitting at, Celine and Renné captured the eyes of the girls at the table, laughing at their conversation and absorbed in their bubble.

Celine dressed in a black t-shirt of the band she was in and ripped shorts with simple combat boots on her feet, contrasting perfectly with the light-colored pieces that Renné was wearing, a lace dress and small white heels, giving her a delicate and calm air. 

There couldn't have been better choices for our Anderson and Perry than them. 

The yin-yang in its perfect definition. 

Screw the critics. 

.the film will be a success

[constantcrisis19]

Live With No Regrets

Daryl Dixon x GN S/O

Word Count: 1,719

You moved cautiously through the claustrophobic corridors since you knew from experience that, if you were careless, each step would echo and give away your position.

So far, you hadn’t run into anything unsavory, but even then you couldn’t decide whether the lack of Walkers was reassuring or off putting.

“We ain't down here cause Officer Friendly is tryin’ ta off me, right?” Merle’s distinct voice blurted out into the silence, not even trying to control the volume of his voice, and you shot him a scathing look.

The man merely raised a brow at your disapproving frown, clearly unrepentant as he trailed behind you like a lost duckling.

“No, we’re in these cell blocks because they need to be cleared. If Rick wanted you dead, he would’ve sent you in here alone.” You shot back, your own voice softer and more controlled than Merle’s bored drawl.

He let out a mean laugh, the unpleasant sound causing you to look back at the man, catching him in the middle of shaking his head with a rueful grin.

“Why waste a perfectly good soldier to take out the trash, right?” He asked and -even though you were sure that it was an entirely rhetorical question- you still felt the need to answer, if only to wipe that self-deprecating look off of Merle’s face.

“Exactly.” You deadpanned as you turned to look at him, your careful progress slowing to a halt. Merle’s sharp look made your lips quirk up, ruining the effect of the jab.

Merle’s brows furrowed, his lips thinning into a displeased frown as he pointed an accusing finger at you. “Oh, you think you funny, huh?”

“I think I’m hilarious.” You quipped, pushing his remaining good hand away from your chest with a smug grin.

Merle opened his mouth to respond but a faint shuffling sound drew your attention to the tunnel stretching out before you.

You made an abrupt motion to shut up, Merle’s disgruntled expression at being rudely interrupted melting into an attentive one when you tapped your finger to your ear before pointing down the dim hallway.

You slid your hatchet from your belt and shared a look with Merle. At his nod, you wasted no time making your way toward the muted noises, Merle following close behind.

It wasn’t long before you came across the first Walker, the rotted creature turning with a growl at the sound of your footsteps.

You quickened your pace, gaining momentum before slamming your hatchet into the Walker’s face, the blow obliterating its skull, causing the brittle bone to shatter in order to make way for the sharp edge of the blade.

You felt Merle pass you in the narrow hall and heard him take out another Walker, the hissing and shuffling further ahead of them getting louder as their activities began to gain attention.

You pushed past where Merle was grappling with another Walker, pulling your second hatchet off your belt as you went, and took out two more in quick succession, dark blood splashing across the brick wall as you began to hack through the growing crowd.

Merle held off one of the more resilient creatures with his good hand, getting his prosthetic between them and up under the Walker’s jaw before a mechanical sound echoed through the cramped corridor.

The large blade that he’d rigged up to the metal prosthetic shot up into the creature’s brain, ceasing its attempts to bite and claw at him.

Once the creature went slack in his hold, Merle sheathed the serrated blade with a flick of his wrist, letting its body drop to his feet.

“I’m too fuckin’ sober fer this.” He complained, kicking at the limp body of the Walker he’d just put down as he wiped his face off on the sleeve of the jacket you’d gotten for him on your last run.

You huffed a breathless laugh and danced away from the group of creatures approaching, retreating back toward where Merle was standing in order to take a breather and wipe some of the gore off your hatchets. 

“I’ll make you a deal then, we finish this quickly and I’ll smuggle you a drink.” You offered as you squatted down next to Merle and wiped your weapons clean with the tattered shirt of one of the Walkers you’d taken out. 

“Ya sure yer boyfriend gonna approve ‘a that?” Merle grunted and you rolled her eyes as you slid one of your hatchets back through a loop on your repurposed utility belt before pulling one of your throwing knives out of your boot, pushing to your feet.

You quickly took aim at your chosen target, whipping your knife at one of the shambling Walkers in front of you, clicking your tongue in disappointment when the small blade embedded itself into the creature’s cheek rather than its eye. 

“Daryl has his own demons to deal with, he’s in no position to judge.” You shrugged, redirecting the Walker that lunged at you headfirst into the wall and pulling your knife out of its face before driving it back into its temple. 

“He still smokin’ then?” Merle asked and you glanced over your shoulder at him.

He was watching you intently and you narrowed your eyes, hoping that his very pointed line of questioning wasn’t some sort of test to see if you deserved to date his brother.

Because, as bad as the habit was for Daryl’s health, you wouldn’t dare get between him and his cigarettes, just as Daryl would never come between you and your own means of coping with the violent wasteland that the world has become. 

You had your reasons for your self-destructive behavior and he had his. 

“Yup.” You replied, popping the ‘p’ as you stubbornly maintained eye contact with Merle, rising to the challenge that you could see in his ice blue gaze.

He scrutinized you for a few more loaded seconds before he found whatever it was that he was searching for and his expression eased into one of amusement. 

“And ya still kiss him on the mouth?” He teased, mock-scandalized as he dramatically threw a hand over his chest like an appalled Christian woman clutching at her pearls. 

“Even when he smells like an ashtray.” You agreed with a put upon sigh, your mouth curling into a mischievous smile when Merle barked out a startled laugh.

The sound was echoed by the snarl of Walkers as more of the wretched creatures emerged from the dim hall before you and the previously easy atmosphere between the two of you dissipated at the reminder that danger was lurking around every corner.

Merle stepped up next to you and you tore your eyes away from the group of Walkers that were slowly lumbering toward you, looking down at your hatchet, your eyes tracing the smear of blood on the dirty blade.

“In all honesty,” You began and you could see Merle shift to face you in your peripheral vision, letting you know that you had his attention. “I try to kiss him as often as I can get away with because, if one day I don’t make it back to him, then I’ll die with one less regret.” You stated with a soft smile, your gaze moving away from your weapon in order to meet Merle’s unreadable expression.

“That was…” His face twisted up as he looked for the right words and you waited patiently for him to finish his thought. “...unbearably lovey-dovey. Jesus. Now you definitely owe me that drink.” He complained, rubbing a hand over his face with a disgruntled frown, causing you to snort in a distinctly unattractive manner.

The tension that had settled over you at the quiet admittance disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, leaving you both a new respect for each other.

“Yeah, yeah. Time to go back to work.” You waved the man off and adjusted your grip on your hatchet before bracing yourself.

Thankfully, it didn’t take you too much longer to clear out the area and finish your rounds before you felt confident enough to double back in order to leave.

And, while you couldn’t speak for Merle, you were in desperate need of a shower and some grub. 

You took the set of keys that you borrowed from Daryl off your belt as you neared the gate, fitting the correct key into the hole and promptly unlocking the door with a satisfying click.

The metal obstruction opened with a loud creak that had Daryl -who was in the middle of pacing the length of the main area- changing direction mid-stride in order to rush over to you as you stepped into the room, closing and latching the door behind you.

“Everythin’ go a’ight?” He asked, his hands hovering over you for a brief moment, his twitchy gaze darting over to where you assumed Merle was, before his expression shuttered down into a determined scowl and one of his hands settled onto your waist.

His remaining hand wrapped lightly around your wrist when you went to hand the ring of keys back to him, his thumb rubbing soothingly across the long gray, fingerless arm-warmers that he’d given you as a gift.

“Yeah. There were more down there than we thought, but Merle knows how to hold his own.” You said as you reached forward to brush the bangs -that were intent on always getting in his eyes- out of his face, allowing your hand to linger on his cheek when he subtly pushed into the gentle touch.

You still remembered all too vividly when he used to flinch away from any kind of physical intimacy with you, so you always made sure to treasure moments like this when Daryl translated everything couldn’t let himself say into an irrefutable display of trust.

You slowly leaned in as the keys exchanged hands, allowing Daryl the time to back away if he wanted to, but Daryl stayed where he was as you closed the distance, his deep blue eyes going half-lidded as your lips met.

You felt his chapped lips move eagerly against yours and grinned into his mouth, letting out a breathy laugh when he nipped at your smirk in retaliation before pulling away.

You could hear Merle grumbling -no doubt complaining about exposing him to your disgusting PDA- somewhere to your right, but when you turned to petulantly stick your tongue out at the man, you were surprised to see that Merle had a private smile on his face as he watched the two of you together.

Prompt: "I'm too sober for this."

[ebonystarfall]

Azure Lion and Peng oneshot (nothing romantic I saw your rules, just Peng getting some shenanigans and Azure having to put their antics to a rest because they are drunk BEYOND imagination)

Drunken Shenanigans

Azure Lion + Golden-Winged Peng

Created by: Starlight (Owner 2)

Type of content: Oneshot

Pov: Third

Word Count: 703

TW: Peng is drunk as hell, Macaque is still getting bullied even if he’s mentioned, probably super not canon, mentions of insects and bugs like snails and centipedes (not in detail), and certainly not proofread or whatever. This has been stuck in the drafts for two days.

A/N: Drunk Peng makes me giggle. Thank you anon for requesting this lovely thing 💜. Oh by the way me and Starbeam do ship these two, but we don’t plan on writing it because…you know, we made it a rule not to do canon x canon. 🐁

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED <3

The evening among the Brotherhood was, in its entirety, filled with merriment and light. Indeed, for a considerable span, the air was filled with raucous laughter; petty disputes arose but were swiftly ended by jokes and jests, and all seemed right and well. Azure Lion busied himself with clearing the plates of the feast while the others went to their respective quarters, the lingering sound of their drunken and goofy clamor trailing softly behind him. Yet, during his tidying, he noticed a certain figure indulging in yet another goblet of wine. It was no surprise to find his feathered companion savoring another amount of wine…

“Peng, old friend, is that not your fifth cup?” he inquired.

The avian demon responded with a dismissive snort, their fuchsia eyes half-lidded in a tipsy gaze. “Ah, dear Azure, don’t worry! It’s just a few drinks; what harm lies in that?”

The Azure Lion sighed and took the cup away from Peng, leaving the bird demon looking pouty. They grumbled and reached out for the drink again, nearly stumbling and falling face-first to the ground. Fortunately, Azure caught them just in time, still holding the goblet out of reach.

“Peng, you’re drunk.”

“What, and you aren’t?”

“I’m much more sober then you, that’s a guarantee.”

The bird demon wanted to glare at Azure, but instead, they snickered and snuggled up to him. With a sneaky and silly expression, they whispered, “Mmm..I was planning on putting snails in Macaque’s bed… but now I want to do it to everyone… especially you, Azure. Should I give you centipedes instead? I’m sure you’d love that...”

Azure Lion let out a soft sigh, placing the goblet on the table before lifting Peng completely off the ground. He looked at the bird demon and held them tightly to prevent any further attempts to reach for the wine. Peng's struggles were half-hearted and lazy, and they quickly gave up, choosing instead to let Azure carry them. “I don't think anyone would appreciate that, my friend,” Azure said gently. “You'd end up with more karma than entertainment.”

“Oh, I hate the fact that you're right...” Peng grumbled irritably, crossing their arms in annoyance. Their feathers ruffled as they glanced back up at Azure. “But you have to admit, it was a hilarious plan, wasn't it?” they added, a mischievous glint returning to their eyes.

“We can agree to disagree on that one.”

“Fine with me. Now hurry up and get me back to my room…you’ll carry me there, won’t you?”

Azure glanced at the plates on the table, considering washing them before dismissing the thought. Right now, there was someone far more entertaining to attend to. With a resigned sigh, he nodded to himself and gently held the intoxicated bird demon in his arms, guiding them towards their room.

As they walked, Peng rambled drunkenly about Macaque being boring and comparing him to a flea, along with other petty grievances about their Brotherhood comrades. Azure had grown adept at tuning out these rants, as such episodes were all too familiar. Finally reaching Peng’s room, he carefully set them down on the bed and sat beside them.

“Yes, yes, all of us are nothing compared to you…” he said with a lighthearted sarcasm, nudging them with a little smile.

“Of course! But…I can certainly tolerate you and Yellowtusk more than the others. I wouldn’t mind being your right hand if you plan to become the Jade Emperor..”

Azure looked at his friend in surprise. “We’re still on that topic? It’s been a while since it’s been brought up..”

Peng hushed him and wrapped their dear friend in a golden wing. “Hush, you know you'd look great on that throne, don't deny it,” they insisted warmly. Azure's gaze softened as he gently ruffled the feathers on Peng's head, drawing them closer with a smile. “Perhaps you're right... and do you need to throw up? That was quite a lot of alcohol,” he added with concern, noticing Peng's state.

“This is nothing compared to the drinking competition I had with that damned Bull King…”

“Peng, don’t bring that up again….the mess was horrible.”

Peng merely shrugged. “Eh, very well then, I’ll spare you the trouble of remembering.”

[wispythreads]

Fallout Series Positives:

Pretty faithful to the look and feel of Fallout, whether we're going BIG with technology and creatures, or small with food and tools

First episode an absolutely stellar introduction, got me hooked to the plot, got me invested in the characters, absolutely trashed my emotions and made me cry twice, first at the very beginning then again more towards the end

That Fallout branded mix of goofy, corny humor and absolutely sobering scenes of either how terrifying or deeply sad the world is

Action Sequences that either feel completely accurate to the standard game or like someone has Bloody Mess active.

Our main Vault Dweller is exactly how I felt first experiencing these games and it has been lovely watching her progression from sheltered/slightly off socialization to adapting to the surface while still maintaining the root of her core values

The Ghoul is a terrifying badass that is very entertaining to watch and whose experience with the world feels on par with how I approach the games now

Maximus clearly is on the road to being disillusioned with the Brotherhood and slowly becoming a better person, it is taking him time and effort and the journey is not yet over

Not sure if this would be a positive for everyone but watching the Knight go from intimidating figure to "I'm bored and want to shoot something." "*Sees creepy cave that clearly has something dangerous AND something they need in it* Fuck." "(uses companion as convenient meat shield/danger scout)" "*Is in fucking power armor but as soon as he is faced with something terrifying in nature and it is not going his way:* (running) fuck fuck fuck fuck" as much as he was an asshole it was hilarious seeing a representation of a True GamerTM experience.

I missed the more rotten ghouls of earlier games and so was pleasantly surprised by the inclusion of other ghouls that followed their design rules more than 4's raisin ghouls. Robert and Martha were devastating.

Some pretty good Vault horror honestly

A character's actions that were kind a messed up in a way that was clearly framed as comedic has SHARPLY turned sinister due to stuff that gets revealed at the very end and makes me very excited to see what more of their deal is the next time we see them.

Fallout Series ehhhs... (Will be containing spoilers):

Personal ehhhs:

Putting this ehhhh at the top because it's a very personal one that might be shared or might be different for other people, but a lot of the sexual things that cropped up (and for the most part seemed like they were meant to humorous? To get a laugh?) just really weren't doing it for me at best and making me deeply uncomfortable at worst. Would love a version with them cut. It does feel in line with a small part of Fallout 2's humor though so again mainly a personal ehhhh rather than disparaging the show for it.

This one might just be because I'm asexual but the romance between Maximus and Lucy feels forced? Allosexuals please advise, is it normal for infatuation to strike that fast and hold weight for so long after? I don't mind the two together, looking at their individual characters I do think that it could work, its just it feels off when the story is very clear about the intention that these two will end up together immediately upon them meeting. Again, I don't hate romance subplots in theory, it's just, in general, when they show up like this where it feels like it was tacked on in order to check a box, rather than fully explored into how that would develop, that kind of just bothers me.

As a small branch to that last one, if it is forced than it feels kind of bad that a lot of the positive developments of Maximus's character seem to only occur because of his crush on Lucy. Him wanting to help Lucy because he earnestly does want to follow the one value of the Brotherhood he's internalized, being a pillar of Justice for the wasteland, and her being a Vault Dweller following the Golden Rule clearly paints her as an innocent needing assistance and justice, well, that's all well and good, but her being able to influence his decisions because he doesn't want her to think bad of him in a romantic sense, if I'm reading that right... don't like it. Not to say that his character growth completely involves Lucy! His disillusionment with the Brotherhood happens without her, and he has positive growth with Thaddeus as well, it just seems like its easier for him to take steps back from his personal growth when she's not in the picture.

Production ehhhs:

some of the scenes had backgrounds that looked a little bit too much like they were taken straight from the game, with the actors in the foreground kind of visibly sticking out from them. I'm not sure if this is because they were using green screens for certain shots or what other explanation there might be for it. If it is green screens though... Amazon you cannot pull the wool over my eyes and claim that you did not have the funds to build actual sets for this tv show.

The initial introduction for CX404 was absolutely great and I was excited with how some frames seemed to emphasize her own perspective of what was going on around her and this one man that's cared for her since she was a pup, but any shots involving her after seem kind of weird with how they're cut and the perspective shots seemed to get dropped. Maybe I'm just spoiled with how well the shots were done with Jed in the Thing, and the perspective thing being dropped is really just a personal disappointment than anything wrong with the show, but, it's my blog so I'm gonna admit I'm disappointed that potential wasn't explored.

This one is kind of a true "ehhh," it's really all I can think to describe this thought when I remember John Boyega's role as Finn and watch this film. It feels off that, in this 3 protagonist cast, Aaron Moten and John Boyega both are in the role of a character whose background is coming from a deeply oppressive regime he's been brainwashed by since he was a child, and whose main soldiers are unilaterally recognized by the masked armor they wear. I do really like the archetypes they chose for the 3 protagonist cast! Pure of Heart Vault Dweller/Indoctrinated Brotherhood Scribe/Disillusioned Pre-War Ghoul, just... Thinking on the fact Aaron got the brotherhood role. Maybe this was done purposefully for a positive reason, but right now fresh off the show without digging into director/cast interviews that maybe explore this specifically it just. ehhh.

As much as I loved the horror set up for Vault 33 the span of time that goes between Norm and Chet discovering that and the next bit of investigation Norm does on the subject is. Incredibly long??? Brother clearly seems very resourceful and good at finding information, but with how the episodes are cut and framed it feels like a great amount of time goes by before he next tries to dig up anything on what happened to 33/why they were trying to get into Vault 31. I don't know man maybe this is because it's easier to do in a video game but I feel like if I found a bunch of corpses that wrote with their own blood how a discovered deception drove them to madness and were frozen in various states of doing whatever they conceivably could to break into a neighboring vault because of said discovery I think I would. Not sleep until I figured out just what was going on???

Lore ehhhs:

Same problem that usually occurs when Bethesda is at the seat of Worldbuilding. Philly might've fit ok in the West Coast back in Fallout 1 and 2 but it feels weird seeing a settlement like this 100 years in the future. 100 years ago for us was 1924, to kind of help put it into perspective. Having this all handwaved and explained as: "Well of course everyone's acting as if no progress was made since 100 years ago! Nukes were dropped on the NCR/Shady Sands and set them back to square one just recently!" Really isn't... good enough for me.

I've been away from the lore for a while so a lot of what I remember is vague rather than detailed, but I am getting the impression that Bethesda is making a bunch of tweaks to the history that was already set up by previous games and. I mean just honestly speaking I really don't trust their interpretations (to put it generously) of Fallout 1, 2, and even New Vegas's established lore. (EDIT: Oh no yeah I was definitely right they've straight up changed a lot and where they haven't made changes per say they have made choices for this present space of time that makes events in the first games kind of impossible)

The vials the Ghoul is reliant on. I've been generous with interpreting them as something that was recently invented, and used by ghouls who, at varying lengths of age, start showing signs of going feral. If the way the show seems to be framing them is true, that they are instead supposed to be things that have always existed and quietly used by ghouls to prevent every single one of them from going feral in the background of the games, then. No that is awful try again Bethesda. You cannot get me onboard with something like that, especially when it would've presented a really interesting quest opportunity AGES ago if true.

Character/Story ehhhs:

The amount of times something absolutely horrible happened that could've been prevented by something as simple as a character speaking up instead of just being set dropping is. Not small and pretty annoying. Miscommunication is pretty bad too. It's like watching a shitty romcom that knows the only way the scene will progress the way they want is if miscommunication happens but don't take the time to have that miscommunication occur in a believable way.

There is something very disjointed with our look at Cooper in the first episode vs. where he's ended up. The last shot we have of him is riding with his daughter as the bombs dropped, presumably trying in vain to put distance between them and the bombs/find shelter. His wife/her mother seems out of the picture at this point in time. But the Ghoul asks Lucy's dad where his family is, indicating that at some point between the bombs dropping his daughter ended up with his wife and he was separated from both of them. The only thing I can think of is that he somehow made it to his wife even though they were incredibly far from where ever she could possibly be with the Fallout quickly encroaching at their heels, and she took the daughter in a way that somehow kept Cooper from following/knowing their end destination and left him to succumb to the said encroaching Fallout. But, again, thinking about that very last shot of Cooper in the first episode, that feels really contrived and kind of implausible? If not impossible. Maybe they'll pull off an explanation that has me feeling less grumpy about it, though, who knows.

So okay hang on a minute. The overseer (look I forgot his name I'm sorry) was upset that his wife left the vault and took their two kids with her. The only possible way he could've thought to get his kids back was to nuke Shady Sands??? And he somehow had access to resources that would allow him to do that??? When he's been in the Vault and either entirely was frozen until recently or has periodically been put into and taken out of the freezer for 200 years??? The kids survived that/are not noticeably harmed by this experience???? The Brotherhood are somehow involved??? (I mean I can't think of any other reason why a knight was present as Little!Maximus stepped out and witnessed the devastation around him, they mostly stay in hiding on the West Coast by this point and for all they're so-called values they really aren't ever inclined to help out people in desperate need of it, so whatever they were doing it wasn't anything "good". Unless Bethesda is thinking of tweaking this aspect of their history as well which. It's not impossible unfortunately, considering they keep doing that/have already made changes in the show so far)

Don't get me started on Moldaver. I'm really disappointed we did not end this season with some kind of conversation between her and the Ghoul that would've given us any actual concrete information about her specifically that we weren't already shown by flashbacks and side characters talking about her. She is alive and looks exactly as she did 200 years ago. She doesn't appear to be a ghoul, as one from 200 years ago is obvious in appearance, it doesn't seem right that she would've been in cryostasis until recently, as she was clearly around when Lucy was a small child with barely developing memories and she, again, still looks EXACTLY the way she did before the bombs dropped. No explanation is given for this. I have a theory that she might be some kind of Phoenix-style new mutant that comes back to life no matter how many times she dies and so might not actually be dead, but that's relying a little (VERY) heavily on her Flame Mother epithet and again me being baffled that they killed the season antagonist when she seemed incredibly important to multiple characters and there's still so much mystery surrounding her. If I'm right that cryostasis is not the explanation for her still being alive and she's just been in the wasteland for 200 years, why has she only coordinated an attempt to get her research back now? How did she convince an Enclave Scientist of all people (granted, one who clearly has a soft spot) to get that research for her AND have it transported instead of kept for the Enclave? Why wait to go after the overseer at least a decade after the bombing and the murder of Rose? Why rely on raider help when she seems to be such a huge deal that she could've relied on better armed/more intelligent help? Why massacre a bunch of innocent people people who weren't in anyway involved with what happened to Shady Sands? Why not just wait until the cover of darkness, the newly wedded wife and all the other vault residents deeply sleeping, and whisk the overseer away then? Why put the two children that Rose clearly cared deeply for at risk? The raid of 32 was our kicker into this series, was incredibly interesting and investing, but now it just. Doesn't make any sense since we've learned who Moldaver actually is.

The reveal of the Vault 31-32-33 experiment and what was in Vault 31 was. Ok. Kind of deflating, honestly, considering how much was built up around it in Vault 33. Not to say that the experiment isn't still completely fucked up but. I don't know it doesn't seem as bad as to result in that kind of reaction that happened in 33. Maybe there is more to discover, though.

Actually no wait hold on. How did the raid in 32 even happen??? Bud is overseeing everything that happens in each vault, and the overseer (and possible any other originally vault 31 residents) of 33 had been dead for a long, LONG while before the raiders showed up. Bud didn't notice Vault 33 died?? If he did, this information wasn't passed on to the overseer of 32?? There was no suspicion on either Bud or the overseer's side that 33 has been quiet for so, again, VERY long, and no one investigated?? Bud didn't clock that the door had been opened by Rose, who was dead for at least a decade by this point?? The overseer wasn't suspicious AT ALL that he didn't recognize any of these supposed Vault 33 residents, especially considering the long silence beforehand??? This is an incredibly huge failure of management hoo boy. (The one, again, very generous interpretation I could give this is that the overseer did recognize Moldaver and her name, but only vaguely, fuzzily, which he chocked up as him not paying attention well enough to remember someone who must've been skilled enough in management to be made overseer. That doesn't explain the raiders with her. That doesn't explain the fact that somehow someone he knows is not from Vault 31 was made overseer when the last 33 overseer perished. Like we see that there were backup 31 vault dweller's hanging around 32, why wouldn't the same be true for 33 based off everything we've learned so far???)

[marta-bee]

Let’s talk about good and evil, Good Omens-style. 

Pressing on with reading the book, I’m maybe two-thirds or three-quarters through the first chapter. Still not through! But War has made her first appearance, Aziraphale and Crowley are finally sobered p and decided to be god-parents, and I think I’m ready for another mental break. It’s hilarious. It’s harrowing. I am marveling at the sheer genius of the writing. And feeling for Aziraphale being stuck in his own goodness. He’s a cheeky bastard what with the bible-proof pages and all, but still so hemmed in by what he’s defined himself to be. 

Mostly I think I need to take a break, because there’s some really interesting philosophy going on here and I need to unpack it a bit to really feel his weight. 

Last week I’d stopped with Crowley and the Spanish Inquisition. Still feeling the *oomph* of that passage; but this week starts out with its flip-side, which had such an aura of hope to it, for me.

And just when you'd think they were more malignant than ever Hell could be, they could occasionally show more grace than Heaven ever dreamed of. Often the same individual was involved. It was this free-will thing, of course. It was a bugger.

That’s one of my favorite things about humanity, how we’re capable of what my human-bound sense of morality connects with goodness. We’re both. We’re potential. And I think for Crowley, that potential is almost more important than what we potentialize into. Maybe it’s that humans have creativity and a spark that lets them do things stolid heaven and decrepit hell just can’t conceive of. But there’s something very attractive to Crowley about this ability change, to make a choice and not just do or be what they’re predestined to do or be, that’s very attractive to Crowley. If anything connects to what I think of as morality in this world, I think that ability for growth is it. A capacity to surprise and spersede your programming, for lack of a better term.

There’s actually a really delightful exchange I’d forgotten about, on the concept of free will, leading up to that snippet I quoted earlier:

Aziraphale had tried to explain it to him once. The whole point, he'd said-this was somewhere around 1020, when they'd first reached their little Arrangement-the whole point was that when a human was good or bad it was because they wanted to be. Whereas people like Crowley and, of course, himself, were set in their ways right from the start. People couldn't become truly holy, he said, unless they also had the opportunity to be definitively wicked.

Crowley had thought about this for some time and, around 1023, had said, Hang on, that only works, right, if you start everyone off equal, okay? You can't start someone off in a muddy shack in the middle of a war zone and expect them to do as well as someone born in a castle.

Ah, Aziraphale had said, that's the good bit. The lower you start, the more opportunities you have. Crowley had said, That's lunatic.

No, said Aziraphale, it's ineffable.

Aziraphale. The Enemy, of course. But an enemy for six thousand years now, which made him a sort of friend.

Crowley reached down and picked up the car phone.

Being a demon, of course, was supposed to mean you had no free will. But you couldn't hang around humans for very long without learning a thing or two.

Angels and demons can’t change; except of course they can. That’s the whole point of Satan, as Crowley points out later:

"What will happen to the child if it doesn't get a Satanic upbringing, though?" said Aziraphale. "Probably nothing. It'll never know."

"But genetics-"

"Don't tell me from genetics. What've they got to do with it?" said Crowley. "Look at Satan. Created as an angel, grows up to be the Great Adversary. Hey, if you're going to go on about genetics, you might as well say the kid will grow up to be an angel. After all, his father was really big in Heaven in the old days. Saying he'll grow up to be a demon just because his dad became one is like saying a mouse with its tail cut off will give birth to tailless mice. No. Upbringing is everything. Take it from me."

"And without unopposed Satanic influences – "

"Well, at worst Hell will have to start all over again. And the Earth gets at least another eleven years. That's got to be worth something, hasn't it?"

Now Aziraphale was looking thoughtful again.

"You're saying the child isn't evil of itself?" he said slowly.

"Potentially evil. Potentially good, too, I suppose. Just this huge powerful potentiality, waiting to be shaped," said Crowley. He shrugged. "Anyway, why're we talking about this good and evil? They're just names for sides. We know that."

"I suppose it's got to be worth a try," said the angel.

Satan can change. Satan did change. And Crowley, too, in the first passage; he decided to make a choice when that’s supposed to be very much a human thing. Even Aziraphale shows a real capacity to, not change his mind perhaps, but let himself be swayed, certainly That whole conversation between Aziraphale and Crowley over what to do about the antichrist reeks of motivated reasoning on his part.

"That's it, then," said Crowley, with a gleam of triumph. He knew Aziraphale's weak spot all right. "No more compact discs. No more Albert Hall. No more Proms. No more Glyndbourne. Just celestial harmonies all day long."

"Ineffable," Aziraphale murmured.

"Like eggs without salt, you said. Which reminds me. No salt, no eggs. No gravlax with dill sauce. No fascinating little restaurants where they know you. No Daily Telegraph crossword. No small antique shops. No bookshops, either. No interesting old editions. No" – Crowley scraped the bottom of Aziraphale's barrel of interests-"Regency silver snuffboxes . . . "

"But after we win life will be better!" croaked the angel.

"But it won't be as interesting. Look, you know I'm right. You'd be as happy with a harp as I'd be with a pitchfork."

He’s supposed to want good. He’s with heaven, that’s the definition of being heaven-aligned, to want good; and taking better as a synonym... yeah, probably if the win the Apocalypse (which they probably would), life would be more good. And that thought makes Aziraphale desperate; he’s croaking the words there, see? He’s torn between what he’s supposed to want and what he actually wants, and it’s all coming to a head. 

Then Crowley said it won’t be as interesting, something else entirely, from the heaven- or hell-aligned, and that’s when he starts to crack. It’s a rebellion, or at least a falling (sauntering vaguely downward, if you prefer); because he’s choosing something here too outside what he’s supposed to be working toward: not better, but more interesting. And thank Someone for that.

Let’s go back to that first exchange, though, where Aziraphale and Crowley are discussing free will. Because Crowley makes a really interesting point, both narratively and in terms of real-world philosophy.

Hang on, that only works, right, if you start everyone off equal, okay? You can't start someone off in a muddy shack in the middle of a war zone and expect them to do as well as someone born in a castle.

Ah, Aziraphale had said, that's the good bit. The lower you start, the more opportunities you have. Crowley had said, That's lunatic.

Aziraphale’s line is one I heard often enough from the Protestant-Christian side of my upbringing. Blessed are those who suffer for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. And Crowley’s right: it’s nonsense to think people who are fighting all day every day to survive will ever be able to do as well at this free choice sanctification scheme as people who have the luxury of a bit of breathing space. Free will, for one thing, is meaningless if you don’t actually have two options to choose from; and the space (mental and otherwise) to actually make a decision.

Personally this isn’t the interpretation of Christianity I’ve found most useful, or consistent with the way I read the (Christian) Bible. It’s not that suffering gives you more opportunities for growth; there’s a sense of to-whom-much-has-been-given-much-will-be-expected shot through so many of Christ’s parables (the Five Talents, for instance), and of course there’s the line that it’s easier for a rich man to pass through the Eye of the Needle than to get into heaven; if you know your Biblical archaeology, that’s essentially saying you have to be stripped free of your baggage, which is the one thing rich people won’t be able to do.

Put another way: those who suffer, those who are poor and week, are blessed not because their suffering lets them achieve more heaven-points, but because they don’t need them precisely because they’re small. Whereas those given more resources, more is expected of them. I don’t think Crowley would approve of that kind of valorizing of smallness, but intellectually at least it makes more sense than what Crowley’s been twisted to think is correct.

I’m more a fan of the Aristotelian approach, myself. There are virtues that ought to motivate actions, but at the same time it’s all tied up in what’s possible for an individual. So a person who’s, say, OCD and deals with excessive anxiety might show more genuine courage in crossing the street than someone without that psychology would need to run into a burning building. Of course there’s certain maladies that make it impossible to exercise true virtue and we should feel pity for those people even if we don’t think of them as virtuous. But at least within certain limits, courage isn’t just about doing the most extreme thing, even necessarily what the situation demands, because courage is being guided by fear in the right way so we behave courageously; and if you’ve got more fear to navigate you need better courage than most to do the navigating.

That’s a much better way of thinking about things to me. Afflicted people aren’t better than those with a better starting out point because they get more heaven-points (whatever form that takes) or reach some better external state than people with a more favorable starting point; it’s that to even get to the same result as other people, they need more oomph, more grace, more whatever, because of all they’re pushing back against. It’s not fair, but it seems at least a more generous interpretation of the reality we’re all trying to struggle through.

Getting back to the book, though, I find it really interesting that Aziraphale and Crowley think of good and evil in these terms. It’s a sign of the headspace Heaven and Hell drive them toward, I think; to the point Crowley says they’re just labels for our side, those words don’t actually mean anything. 

But he’s still shaken by Barcelona. He’s still begging with Aziraphale- test them, sure, but not to destruction. He doesn’t want humanity to be ended, and it’s not for the more self-centered reasons that drive Aziraphale here, those lovely little bits of life on earth he finds so enjoyable. There’s a sense that he shouldn’t allow that to happen. There’s a should, an ought, a moral imperative still, even for a demon who’s been trying to tempt humanity toward his side for six millennia here. And while I don’t want to indulge on simple moralizing, there’s something at his core that won’t let him just let history do its thing. It may not neatly align with what heaven or hell is pointing for, that’s really the point, but there’s still an ought in play that’s somehow independent of all that.

Frankly, I find all that fascinating, not to mention a damned compelling narrative.

And War’s up next, I see. I need a readerly break, but when I get back, I think things are about to get fun.

[rubyblue2005]

Au where the future is brought back to the past rather than the other way around. Like, Konoha-Nine/Twelve are zapped back into the past Age of Calamity style. There is defiantly a Back to the Future reference somewhere. Zapped Back and To the Future.

And there’s this awkward scene where someone from the past (Most likely Izuna or Touka) mistake Naruto for a Senju, and all of Konoha-Nine/Twelve malfunction, a complete “Hol’ up, what” moment (a real Konoha.exe has stopped working moment if you will-) and Naruto just starts to fucking lose it laughing because this is the first time he’s ever been mistaken for a Senju, though he knows its probably from the blonde hair on his head rather than the Uzumaki patented Red locks. But the whole situation is so bizarre that Naruto can’t help but be amused.

Sakura is over here like “Lady Tsunade would kill him if he was.”

The reveal of Naruto actually being and Uzumaki garners hilarious reactions from the past, only topped by the moment both Past Senju and Uhchia learn that Naruto is- in fact, married to a Uchiha.

“Why the fuck would you ever play nice with an Uchiha?”

“Why wouldn’t I play nice with my husband?”

Everyone from the future all collectively decide to pointedly not mention the copious amount of times Sasuke tried outright murdering Naruto and all their epically homoerotic battles just to watch the Past clans flail in confusion. (Past.exe has stopped working)

Even then, it takes Sasuke getting drunk and being openly affectionate towards his husband (Who is stone cold sober due to ridiculous metabolism bs) and all of Konoha-Nine/Twelve obligatorily teasing him like “Le gasp, the emo duckling actually has emotions other than hatred and rage?” 

To which Sasuke drunkenly hides his face in Naruto’s neck and rests there as he hides from the world- for it to truly cement into the Past Senju and Uchiha that an Uzumaki- famously considered the Senju’s sister clan, to be married to an Uchiha- famously in a generational war with the Senju.

Kurama got zapped back too, but somehow merged with his younger bijuu self so he is looking for his Jinchuuriki because “Ew, not this bullshit. I want to take a nap.” 

Everyone from the Past is collectively freaking the fuck out- just a little bit, due to the rather giant nine-tailed bijuu of myth and legend just casually trotting along and nonchalantly chatting with Konoha-Nine/Twelve and bickering like he isn’t centuries old in age compared to with Naruto-  the ninja he’s bickering with. 

“Why the fuck are you so tall?”

“You were just born unfortunate, brat.”

“Oi, Hey!”

“Just get taller if you hate being that small so much.”

Kurama still has a disdain for the Uchiha and Mokuton-user’s (rightfully so) so he just ignores them and is acts like a little shit towards the one Uchiha he does interact with (Who is Sasuke, that Kurama just barely tolerates) and the Past is freaking out just a little more because “What did we do?!” with the smaller thought of “At least the Bijuu isn’t trying to kill us outright??” When Kurama pretends that their very beings do not exist. Konoha-Nine/Twelve have a mixed reaction of mostly sweat-dropping exasperation and finding the Past’s whole deal with Kurama funny.

But, Konoha-Nine/Twelve make up this stupidly vague story about how ‘all the Bijuu could forgive the Past Clans forgetting their duties throughout the course of time but can never forgive oathbreakers and forgetting those who sacrificed themselves for their clans’ continual survival.’ Which is kind of based on Indra and Asura and Zetsu and the whole drama thing that the Ninja world had to find out and deal with in the Fourth Ninja War. Though, Konoha-Nine/Twelve definitely bash faux-plants way more.

The mention of Zetsu causes a discussion on whether or not Zetsu would be considered a kinslayer or not, being related to both Indra and Asura as their uncle seeing as he was technically Kaguya’s youngest kid and he did sort of manipulate and mentally fuck with Indra to the point of Indra and Asura duking it out. And proceeded to do what was basically just longterm Bloodline Theft for centuries trying to get the rightly seasoned eyeballs to create the Infinite Tsukuyomi.

Then, all of the sudden sand appears and then the One-Tailed Bijuu just pops up. 

Shukaku comes and starts a play-fighting-bijuu-sand brawl with Kurama that Naruto has to stop because now all the non-bijuu are spitting out sand and coughing up dirt from the bijuu’s Sibling Bonding Reunion Brawl™ and the Past Clans find out that all the Tailed Beasts are actually related. Which is somehow less of a shock to them than the marriage between Naruto and Sasuke.

While it’s also found out that all the Bijuu actually merged with their past selves and some even brought back their own Jinchuuriki, which had Naruto both hyped to not be the only Jinchuuriki around but also concerned because “Everyone kinda needs to get home and we have no idea how to do… that.”

There’s also the Tuvix problem with the Bijuu becoming a hybrid of both Past and Present created from the time-travel zapping. No one knows how it happened, or how the future got to the past.

Turns out the reason they all got zapped to the past was because of Zetsu but he’s not plant-y or shadow-y or anything so when the dramatic reveal happens…

“It was me all along! I am here to enact my plan you so hurtfully ruined!”

“??? Who the fuck are you???”

And then Zetsu face-faults then proceeds onwards “You prevented me from releasing Mother from her prison… On the Moon!”

“Oh… Oh! Zetsu, you piece of crap! You started the Fourth Ninja War!”

Meanwhile the Past is standing over there, confused as all get out before the rest of the Konoha-Nine/Twelve not involved in Zetsu’s dramatic villain speech of evil fill everyone not in the know, in on the sidelines. 

“FOURTH WAR?!”

“Whisper, Insert Cliff Notes, Whisper”

“He did WHAT??”

“Yeah, the past affects the future, imagine that.”

[yaminerua]

This one got away from me a bit yesterday and I fell behind again, haha. I might try to smush today's prompt with tomorrow's to try to catch up again.

As always, prompts are by @a-literal-toaster-wtf

Anyway Day 4's theme was Family, and I couldn't help but think of Jim and Bexley. Needless to say it does cover a bit of Lister’s pregnancy.

Words: 6238

****

The last year or so had, for lack of a better word in the English language to adequately describe it, been pretty smegging bizarre. Perhaps it hadn’t really been any stranger than the year before it, after all waking up from stasis 3 million years after you went in to find that the human race had all but petered quietly out of existence around you while you’d been frozen in time had been quite a shock on its own to say the least, but it had certainly done its best to match that level of weird and expand it to newer and more mind-boggling ranges of nonsense.

Most recently, in one of several misguided attempts to orient themselves towards Earth and find their way out of the uncharted, seemingly unpopulated vastness of deep space, the Boys from the Dwarf had wound up skipping into a parallel dimension and come face to face with versions of themselves which had been familiar in some ways but also very, very different in others.

As if that on its own hadn’t been more than enough of a dosage of strangeness to call it a day, the encounter had ended – as many ill-advised, drunken liaisons do –  with one David Lister discovering that he was somehow, impossibly, incomprehensibly, ‘up the duff’, as it were.

Sure, he had known that children were in his future, he had seen the two crying little boys with his own eyes in that brief lightspeed anomaly that had allowed him to glimpse snapshots of things that were yet to happen, but with circumstances as they had been at the time the revelation had led to much curious speculation over just how exactly it was going to come about. Lister was the last living human being after all, floating through deep space on a ship populated only by a computer, a hologram and a humanoid who had evolved from what had once, long ago, been a regular black cat. With no women on board, it had seemed only logical to assume that somewhere out there, waiting to be found, was the person who would one day be the mother of his children.

Well, he hadn’t exactly been wrong about that per se… The mother of his children had indeed been out there. He just hadn’t exactly anticipated that it would end up being himself.

Rimmer had found it absolutely hilarious when it had all first come to pass, when that final little piece of the jigsaw had fallen impeccably into place, filling in the mystery once and for all. There was something almost poetic about it in a strange way, something karmic and deeply, deeply amusing about being impregnated by your alternate universe self, and the sheer thought of it had had him snickering and guffawing at frequent intervals at Lister’s expense throughout the process of Lister’s own staggered, reluctant acceptance of his own fate.

The hilarity of it had, of course, only been short lived. Once the reality of the situation had finally settled and it had dawned on them that Lister was, in fact, going to have to endure a full term of pregnancy if these boys were going to actually be born the full picture had blossomed then into cold, sobering clarity and suddenly become quite decidedly unfunny.

For what felt like an endless eternity after that, Rimmer had busied himself reading book after book on pregnancy, trying and failing to take in as much information as he possibly could ahead of the big day, treating it like he would any other exam or test (which inspired no confidence in anyone who knew Rimmer’s track record with those) while Lister just dealt with it in the only way he could, which was largely by continuing to pretend it wasn’t actually getting closer and closer with every passing day.

The logistics of how exactly things were going to work had been something he hadn’t wanted to think about too closely so it had fallen to Rimmer to read up on it himself instead because at least one of them had to be prepared for this and if Lister himself was going to shirk that responsibility despite having been the one to put himself in this situation in the first place then Rimmer was, as usual, going to have to pick up his slack.

That had been much easier said than done, however. Being a hologram, he’d had to rely largely on the assistance and coordination of the skutters to hold the books and turn the pages and whenever those had failed he’d had to turn to Holly and used vocal commands to navigate pages on harsh, bright screens that made his eyes feel like they were burning in their sockets after hours of staring at them.

Rimmer had never realised just how much went into a pregnancy. He’d never had cause to learn it properly before, of course, but there was no time like the present to suddenly decide to become informed. He’d done his best to attempt to supervise Lister’s eating and drinking habits to ensure every possibility of a healthier birth, and he had reprimanded him every time he had so much as even breathed in the direction of his cigarette packs or alcohol.

He’d drawn up timetables, plotting each significant milestone of the pregnancy, and bored Lister half to death with all the fussy, pedantic little things he did to try to take control of the whole situation and after enduring it for as long as he could Lister had finally rolled his eyes and groaned in aggravated frustration one day and pointed out how much he was starting to sound like a nagging, controlling husband. Rimmer had choked and spluttered in disgusted horror at the implications of such a comparison and had promptly disappeared off to some quiet, isolated part of the ship and avoided being anywhere near him for the rest of the day, which had come as a welcome relief.

Eventually, of course, the slow, steady march of time had brought the final day upon them and there had been no way to continue to put off acknowledging it any longer. By then, thankfully, a few important things had changed on board Red Dwarf. The biggest of these had been that they had acquired a new crew member, a service mechanoid by the name of Kryten who they had crossed paths with once before.

Kryten was well equipped to be able to assist in all manner of things, mostly pertaining to the upkeep and maintenance of the ship’s general tidiness but he also was quite competent in numerous other fields and was, importantly, capable of learning new skills and good at comprehending and retaining the information which was far more than could be said for Rimmer, who had at one point found himself more than halfway through a chapter on natural childbirth before he had belatedly remembered that Lister wouldn’t be experiencing it that way and had flipped, mortified, to the chapter on C-sections and promptly been rendered entirely unable to focus well enough to take anything in.

With Kryten’s presence on board, Rimmer had been privately relieved to discard the initial plans for carrying out the daunting procedure, which would have largely involved him trying desperately to coordinate the skutters to work together to deliver the twins without accidentally killing them or Lister in the process.  Needless to say, that was one role he had been more than thankful to be able to hand over to someone else.

When the big day finally arrived, he had tried with all his might not to give a single solitary smeg about any of it. He had been as carefully nonchalant as was possible as Kryten had come in to wheel Lister off to the medical bay, waving after him with a falsely bright “Don’t die, Listy!” as he’d watched him disappear down the corridor. He’d swallowed about as much of the nerves as he could keep down but the fact of the matter was that, in all honesty, he had been absolutely petrified. The little matter of his own continued existence relying heavily on Lister’s survival through this crucial procedure aside, there was – deep, deep down where not even Rimmer dared to investigate – a genuine concern for Lister’s wellbeing in its own right. He didn’t exactly like Lister, and he made that patently clear at every available opportunity, but he didn’t hate him – didn’t really want anything bad to happen to him. Certainly not something bad enough that they wouldn’t be able to laugh about it afterwards (even if Rimmer was the only one who might have been laughing).

While Kryten worked what he hoped was medical magic behind closed doors, Rimmer had paced along the length and breadth of the corridors like a man possessed, wringing his hands and vibrating with anxiety. Several times across the excruciatingly long duration of the procedure, he had become increasingly, frustratingly aware that this behaviour was doing absolutely nothing to shake off the appearance of ‘overly-concerned husband’ but given that the only other person bearing witness to any of it had been the Cat who honestly couldn’t have given a smeg, he’d simply brushed it off and pushed it down every time it had tried to resurface.

When finally, after what had genuinely felt like an eternity, the doors to the medical bay finally slid open and a self-satisfied, proud looking Kryten had walked triumphantly out, wiping his hands, Rimmer had nearly bowled him over with his aggressive impatience. “Well?” he’d snapped urgently, nostrils flared and lips drawn together in a tense, thin line. “What happened? How did it go?”

Kryten had simply smiled genially at him then and announced happily, “It’s two boys!” and if he had been capable of it Rimmer would have throttled him right there.

“I know it’s two boys you half-chewed rubber-headed git! I’m talking about Lister!”

Kryten had been a little put out by the outburst, blinking sheepishly down at the floor, the smile on his face wiped off in an instant. “Oh, yes of course,” he had said, fidgeting slightly before recovering himself and straightening up. “Mister Lister is going to be fine, sir. He just needs to rest up and keep clean.”

Rimmer had rolled his eyes sarcastically and scoffed. “Oh, fantastic, he’s doomed then is he?” he’d said wryly but there hadn’t really been any bite in it. At this point, now that presumably the worst of it had come and gone, he’d simply been left too exhausted for there to be any genuine hard edge to it. In all honesty he’d just been filled with an immense sense of relief that the whole thing was largely over and done with now.

Kryten had paid the remark no mind, instead deciding to inform Rimmer that he was heading off to prepare the room the twins would be staying in once they were ready to do so and had given him permission to go in to see them if he wanted to, requesting only that he be mindful not to wake Lister and then he had been off leaving Rimmer with nothing better to do than do precisely that.

That had been a good few hours ago now and as Rimmer sat peering down into the little crib at the tiny sleeping bundles destined to be named Jim and Bexley, he felt the weight of all these past weeks weigh down heavily on him, equal parts relief and exhaustion.

This had been more work even than preparing for his exams had usually been. At least with those he had been able to take breaks away from it but living with a pregnant buffoon that you had to effectively supervise and educate yourself about had felt like an endless job he had never willingly signed up for.

The boys had been moved into their new room by now, just down the corridor from the bunkroom so that it was near enough to be easily accessible without the sounds of screaming and wailing being too close and loud to get in the way of Lister’s much needed rest or get too much on Rimmer’s nerves.

Lister himself had been moved back into his old room – mostly because he had apparently insisted on it – however given his current condition and the effort that getting up onto the top bunk would have required, Kryten had carefully placed him on the lower bunk without Rimmer getting much of a say in the matter. It didn’t really matter all that much anyway. Lister had already been forced to relocate to Rimmer’s bunk as his growing size had limited his movements so it wasn’t so much of a leap to let him keep using it a little longer. He was pretty certain that once he was finally able to be granted access to his own bed again after Lister was fully recovered he was likely going to have to fumigate the whole mattress and all of its covers but that was a problem for a later date.

It was strange that it was over, all that build up, all that preparation that had been made in advance of this day and now the moment had passed. Now all that stretched on ahead was a new and entirely different situation and it was one that Rimmer was secretly dreading in an entirely different way.

Jim – or was that one Bexley? He couldn’t remember – hiccupped gently in his sleep and snapped him from his thoughts, catching his attention as he shifted a little, letting out a soft, gentle vocalisation as he turned towards his brother. They were so small, so fragile-looking, and Rimmer felt entirely out of his depth thinking of the responsibility of keeping them both safe. He didn’t know the first thing about children. He doubted Lister knew any better. This whole thing was surely going to be a disaster.

Bexley – or simply ‘the other one’ – whimpered slightly, a small, feeble whine that threatened to escalate into something else. “Shhh,” Rimmer said quietly, as soothingly as he could, indicating urgently for the skutter sitting by his feet to initiate the gentle rocking motion he’d instructed it to do in events like these, anything to try to keep the boys content and quiet, though he knew that would only be able to work for so much longer before the problem became something that genuinely required someone else’s assistance.

That was another thing about being a hologram that was going to make this new future difficult to handle. He couldn’t touch anything which meant that he’d be useless at any of the more hands-on aspects of looking after children. There was nothing he would really be able to do to stop the boys from doing something if they wouldn’t listen to his commands (and if they turned out to be anything like Lister was, that was a very likely outcome). Not only that, but he wouldn’t be able to help feed them, or hold them, or change their nappies or any of that – not that those duties would have fallen to him anyway. The most he could hope to do was simply sit as he was now and watch over them quietly, speak to them occasionally and try to soothe them with his words if they started to cry, rocking them gently back to sleep with the aid of a skutter to handle the movement for him.

He supposed he shouldn’t really feel as bereft as he was about this whole thing. These weren’t his children in any capacity. They were Lister’s through and through. Rimmer was effectively just someone else who shared the same space as them, a strange ghostly uncle of sorts at the very most, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to be a little more involved in the process, at least a little. Maybe he just wanted some kind of evidence to prove to himself he’d have been any good at this…

He sighed, gesturing for the skutter to ease the rocking to a gentle stop now that the twins seemed to have settled back down again.

He lost track of just how long he sat like that watching the two of them sleeping on peacefully but it must have been quite some time. Kryten had popped in every now and then to check on them and even the Cat had swung by to squint curiously down at them and comment that he hoped they would have better dress sense than their daddy when they grew up.

When the door to the room slid open behind him some time later with another gentle hiss he expected it to be Kryten so when he turned round to find that it was in fact Lister making his way with some difficulty and no small degree of discomfort towards the cot he had to bite his tongue fiercely to keep from shouting for him to get back to bed.

Catching himself in time, he opted instead for hissing the demand but Lister waved him silent, all stubbornness and disobedience as always. “I want to see my boys,” he said firmly and Rimmer couldn’t really argue with that.

He stood up from the chair he’d been seated on and shifted over to the one next to it that Kryen had been using earlier, letting Lister drop down heavily and breathless on the one he’d just vacated, watching the way he winced with pain and clutched at his lower abdomen. “You really should still be in bed, you know. You can’t just walk around all willy-nilly after you’ve been sliced open,” Rimmer said matter-of-factly.

Lister simply offered a partial shrug and leaned carefully forwards over the cot as far as was comfortable, beaming down tiredly but joyfully at the two little boys he’d brought into the world.

“Aren’t they fantastic?” he cooed, awestruck, reaching a hand out to tentatively brush his fingertips feather-light across their little cheeks. “They look just like me.”

“Well,” Rimmer began, his tone sarcastic and utterly unsurprised. “When your mother and father are the same person what do you expect?”

Lister shot him a look, unamused, and turned back to look down at the twins again. “Alright, Rimmer, leave off. Yeah, it’s a bit unconventional but it’s what happened, alright?”

He could hear Rimmer let out a small, indignant ‘tsk’ to his left and decided not to acknowledge it. He wasn’t going to let anything he had to say ruin this moment for him after everything it had taken to get here.

He sat back in his chair, eyes still twinkling proudly, warmly, down at the wholesome little sight, a single shining gift in what had otherwise been a cold and difficult couple of years to process. Behind his ribcage, he felt oddly light, a rosy glow of affection radiating out from his heart and expanding to fill every inch of him, making him feel positively giddy, though that might have also partly been the painkillers.

“I always wanted a family,” he confessed quietly, suddenly, eyes softening with a wistful, distant look of longing. “A proper one, I mean. The one I got did their best but, well…”

He trailed off, ending the sentence with a shrug and a shake of the head. Rimmer didn’t say anything, didn’t really know what to say.

A heavy silence settled between them, oddly tense, before Lister decided to break it again. “Never actually knew me real dad. Or me mum,” he began, speaking aloud to no-one in particular, peeling back the more private, personal layers of his past just a little, giving Rimmer a few more pieces of a jigsaw he’d previously only had scraps of before. “I was left in a box under a pool table in a Liverpool pub when I was still a baby. No idea why…”

Rimmer bit back the urge to say that explained a few things. It didn’t seem appropriate. Instead he remained quiet, watching Lister out of the corner of his eye, noting the way he chewed anxiously on his bottom lip, a little agitated crease forming between his brows, staring absently into the distance for a moment before affixing a falsely bright smile to his face and shaking his head, attempting to mask how he really felt about the whole thing. “I like to think they had a good reason for doing it but… I dunno.” He looked down at Bexley, who had unconsciously grabbed hold of Lister’s finger in his sleep, his tiny little hand loosely clinging on unknowingly to someone to whom such a simple human gesture meant so much.

Lister swallowed hard, struggling to push past the tight little ball of emotion that had formed in his throat. When he spoke, his voice sounded choked. “I always wanted to have sons of me own one day, so I could be there for them, watch them grow, y’know? Do what my parents couldn’t.” He laughed, a little incredulous, disbelieving sound, as he looked around at the room. “Didn’t think this was how it’d end up happening though.”

Rimmer huffed a short, curt laugh beside him, hollow and humourless, and Lister shot him a glance, eyebrow quirked slightly in curiosity. “What about you?” he asked after a moment, searching the tightly drawn lines of Rimmer’s face. “Did you ever want to have kids one day?”

Rimmer didn’t look at him, didn’t dare to. He could feel the burn of that inquisitive stare boring into the side of his head but he kept his gaze fixed straight in front of him, locked on nothing in particular, and Lister watched carefully as he swallowed slowly, adam’s apple bobbing above the collar of his uniform shirt.

“I don’t know, to be quite honest with you,” he admitted quietly after a moment, a rare fragile, vulnerable quality to his voice, honest and open in a way Rimmer only occasionally allowed himself to be. “My parents expected me to of course – they expected us all to – but I don’t really know if that kind of life was ever actually in the cards for me.” His face crumpled slightly and a harsh, sharp laugh ripped its way bitterly out of him. “Well, obviously, of course it wasn’t – just look what happened to me!”

Jim stirred suddenly in his sleep in the cot, disturbed by the sudden sound, his little face scrunching up momentarily, seeming just about ready to burst into tears and Lister readied himself to react but the moment never came to pass. He simply settled back down and kept on sleeping peacefully, which was a much appreciated relief for now.

Rimmer became very quiet then, introspective and solemn, his whole form seeming to shrink into itself as he sat with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped tightly between them. He bowed his head and looked down at them, agitated, flexing his fingers tensely as his brows knitted together.

“I don’t know if I’d have been a good father. Guess I don’t have to ever find out,” he said bitterly, the muscles in his jaw tensing noticeably as he wrung his hands together. “I didn’t exactly have what you would call ideal role models so maybe it’s for the best.”

Lister regarded him sadly, sympathetically, and had to fight the overwhelming urge to reach out there and then and place a supportive, encouraging hand on Rimmer’s right knee. Given the circumstances it would only have made the mood worse.

He’d heard Rimmer talk about his family life before and each revelation had been steadily building a much more detailed picture of Rimmer’s past and all the smegged up little things that had made him into who he was today. He knew very well that he wasn’t joking about them being less than ideal, in fact that was something of an understatement. They’d certainly done a number on him, that was for sure.

Not wanting a repeat of the gloomy mood that talk of his parents usually caused him to descend into, Lister tried for an optimistic, sympathetic smile. “I dunno, man. I think you’d probably have been alright,” he said, and somewhat to his surprise, he meant it quite genuinely.

Rimmer, however, didn’t seem to agree. He scoffed derisively at Lister’s words and rolled his eyes, doubtful. “Oh, please, I know you don’t actually believe that.”

“I do, man. I do,” Lister insisted gently and then, seeing the persistent look of disbelief still painted stubbornly across Rimmer’s features, he huffed a sigh and looked down. “Look, so your parents were smegheads and they got a lot of things wrong but that might’ve worked out in its own weird way. I mean, think about it. Now you have a pretty comprehensive list of things not to do to start off with. Can’t go too far wrong if you stick to that, right?”

Rimmer considered his words for a moment and then begrudgingly offered a stiff nod in agreement. “I suppose,” he said quietly, contemplatively, but there was still a noticeable note of bitterness to his voice, like he still didn’t quite believe that was enough on its own. “What does any of that matter anyway? I’m never going to get to find out what kind of father I might have been.”

That same awful, suffocating silence as before descended once again upon them and this time Lister didn’t know how to break it so he didn’t try to. Instead he let it hang in the air around the two of them, thick and heavy, until one of the twins coughed and startled himself awake.

Lister was quick to reach for him, scooping him up and cradling him tenderly in his arms, crooning softly to him as he rocked him back and forth, the gentle motion enough to stall whatever waterworks might have been about to follow.

Tiny and curious, his little face squinted in enchanted bewilderment up at Lister who beamed warmly back down at him and planted a quick little kiss upon his forehead. “There you go, Bexley. Let’s not wake up your brother just yet, yeah?”

Rimmer found the affection hard to look at, like staring directly at the sun, so he tore his gaze away and fixed it instead upon Jim who had thankfully remained peacefully undisturbed.

“I still think you could have gone with better names than Jim and Bexley,” he said pointedly, glad for the slight change in subject. “There are so many more appropriate options out there.”

Lister shot him an impish grin, mischief glinting gold in the brown of his eyes. “Oh yeah?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Still trying to make Arnold Lister happen are you?”

He waggled his eyebrows teasingly and relished the way Rimmer dissolved into a spluttering flustered mess, the tips of his ears flushing scarlet red in mortified horror.

“Don’t,” Rimmer said warningly, not wanting a repeat of the last time he’d innocently suggested the name. “You know what I meant when I suggested that, Lister. Don’t try to turn it into something else!”

If he hadn’t had his hands full, Lister would have held them up placatingly. “Okay, okay! I won’t,” he insisted but Rimmer seemed doubtful, suspicious, unwilling to let it go quite yet.

It was all the silly little jokes that had been building up over the passing weeks sharing the same space together that had buried themselves under his skin like an itch that couldn’t be scratched and refused to budge. Everything felt like a suggestive insinuation now, an accusation of something his own father would have surely disowned him for – if it had had any truth to it of course, which it didn’t because Rimmer was absolutely, one-hundred percent not whatever it was those implications might try to suggest. It didn’t matter that no-one was left around who would give a smeg about whether he was or wasn’t in any way that would have actually mattered. Rimmer still felt the need to defensively deflect any and all implications regardless.

“Don’t even joke about it,” he said, staring evenly, piercingly, at Lister, hazel eyes dark and deathly serious as he said in a choked, half-hissed, tight voice, “I’m not even remotely that way inclined and don’t you forget it!”

“I never said you were!”

“Well I’m not.”

“Okay! Okay.”

Rimmer seemed to finally relax a fraction, satisfied for now with Lister’s acquiescence. He breathed in deeply, slowly, and released it in a long, steadying exhale, his tensed, squared shoulders finally slackening just a bit.

Lister watched him out of the corner of his eye and couldn’t help himself.

“Even though you were the one who smushed our names together in the first place.”

“Lister!” Rimmer all but shouted, his voice rising to a desperate, rasping hiss, all thoughts of keeping quiet very nearly forgotten in the wake of incandescent, scandalised rage.

Lister laughed as quietly as he could, wincing as the pain in his abdomen seared at the motion, tears beading at the corners of his eyes at the way Rimmer’s nostrils had flared and his whole face had pinched itself tightly to contort around his scrunched up nose. It had been a step too far, he knew that, but Rimmer’s buttons were far too amusing to keep from pressing and he really was being far too defensive about what was genuinely just a little teasing.

He hadn’t meant anything by it, just a little joking around, but every time he did it Rimmer always seemed to become immediately aggressively defensive, his whole body drawing itself taut and rigid with tension, coiled up tight like a spring waiting to snap.

He looked about ready to explode, his jaw set and knuckles white, a pleading, wild, desperate look in his eyes and Lister knew then that he’d pushed him about as far as it was safe to go.

“Alright, I’m sorry!” Lister said, and this time he meant it, not wanting to risk a further escalation.

The apology did little to release Rimmer’s tension, the knuckles of his hands still blooming a ghostly white where he continued to grip them tightly. His mouth was drawn tight and thin, distrust burning fierce and unrelenting in his eyes.

Huffing an exasperated sigh, Lister bit back the urge to utter some remark under his breath about the negative effects of a conservative Ionian upbringing but ultimately decided he preferred not to instigate a full-blown argument in front of his newborn sons. Instead, he turned his attention back to little Bexley in his arms who had started to stir with discomfort again at all the commotion. “Hey, don’t worry, Bexley. That was just your Uncle Smeghead. Nothin’ to worry about. See? From this angle you can see right up his nose into his empty head.”

Rimmer scowled incredulously up at the ceiling and shook his head. He’d had just about as much nonsense as he could take from Lister right about now and here he was still trying to poke fun at him.

“Ha ha, Lister. Very funny,” he said flatly, stonily. “You better be careful what you say around the two of them, you know. If their first words end up being smeghead instead of dad that’ll be a personal failing on you.”

“Yeah, yeah, but it’ll be worth it for the laugh I’ll get from it, eh?”

Rimmer turned to look at him askance, a thousand possible insults and retorts flying through his head but none of them making it past his lips. There was nothing to say, really. Lister was an imbecile and he was absolutely going to raise his sons into precisely the same kinds of imbecile and the mere prospect of having more than one of that kind of person around was quite frankly a depressing thing to imagine.

“The wrong people get to be parents,” is what he eventually decided on, looking back down at Jim in the cot and wondering if there could have been any hope for either of those two boys’ braincells.

The smile on Lister’s face died then and there and he became oddly quiet, rocking Bexley back to sleep before finally lowering him back into the cot beside his brother.

Sitting back, he watched the two of them silently for a few moments longer, the humming and creaking of Red Dwarf all around them the only other sounds.

Now that he’d been up and about for a while and had had a bit of a joke and a laugh, the exertion was beginning to wear him out, the ache in his abdomen and the heaviness of his body calling for him to yield to the pull and finally go back to bed. His eyes slid closed of their own accord and his head bobbed and lolled as he began to gradually drift off, his body starting to ever-so-slightly tilt to the side, towards Rimmer who only realised what was happening moments before it would have spelled disaster.

“Lister, wake up!” he cried, hands flying up helplessly to try to stop him, passing uselessly through him with no resistance whatsoever.

Lister started awake and caught himself, one hand bracing steadyingly against the chair Rimmer was on, disappearing into Rimmer’s torso as though it were impaling him. He jerked back, alarmed and unconsciously rubbed vigorously at his forearm, momentarily disturbed by the reminder that although Rimmer was very much there in spirit, he was very much not there in person.

“Sorry. Nodded of there for a second,” he muttered sheepishly, unable to lift his gaze to meet Rimmer’s.

“I told you you shouldn’t have got up,” Rimmer said, his tone thick with patronising condescension. “I told you you should still be resting.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” Lister relented, pushing himself up with great discomfort onto his feet and steadying himself with the rails of the cot.

“For what it’s worth, Rimmer, and I know what you’re gonna say to this but just listen, alright?” Lister held up a hand, silencing whatever interruption Rimmer might have been about to make. “But, in a way, you kind of will know what kinda dad you’d have been. You’re helpin’ me out with these two after all.”

Rimmer’s face twitched a little, that same little pang of defensive discomfort twisting in his gut. “That’s not being a dad, Lister. If anything I’d be something of an uncle.”

Lister shrugged. “Uncle, Dad, whatever. You’re still helpin’ raise them. You never know, we might end up balancing ‘em out in the end.”

“You mean they might not end up the same kind of lazy, slobbish gimboid as you are?” Rimmer said, raising a dubious eyebrow.

Lister frowned, leaning against the doorway. “Well, yeah, that. But also…” He trailed off for a moment and looked away, suddenly unable to look Rimmer in the eye, his face grimacing a little as he tried to shrug off the awkwardness of what he was trying to get out. “I dunno, it’s just good to not be doing it on me own. Yeah, they’re my kids but beyond me, you and Cat and Kryten are all else they’ve got. Smeg, even Holly too.”

He scratched the back of his head restlessly, feeling altogether too exposed, too naked in this rare show of vulnerable honesty towards Rimmer of all people. He risked a glance in Rimmer’s direction, trying to gauge his expression but Rimmer wasn’t looking at him. He was very pointedly facing away.

He fished helplessly for something else to say but he couldn’t think of anything. A yawn was threatening to force its way up his throat and his energy was flagging. He really needed to get back to bed.

“You should probably take a break soon too, Rimmer,” he said, bringing a hand up to shield the yawn as it finally broke through.

Rimmer nodded. “I will when Kryten comes back,” he said simply and Lister nodded in agreement at that.

“Alright. Night, Rimmer.”

With that, the door to the corridor slid open and closed and it was just Rimmer left in the room with the two sleeping boys again, as he had been for much of the day.

Lister was right, he really should take a break. He felt mentally and emotionally spent after everything but he was finding it hard to switch off after months of hyper-vigilant supervision and he didn’t really know what else to do with himself. His bunk was currently occupied and he would sooner die a second death than ever consider using Lister’s even once.

He thought about what Lister had said again about how they would all be contributing together in their own little ways to the collective raising of Jim and Bexley, about how in a funny little way they were all now part of what was surely a very dysfunctional and highly unconventional family unit. Something about that made him feel a tad strange, an unfamiliar little glow of something warm and light in his chest that flitted about like little butterflies, a mix of apprehension and something almost pleasant.

Maybe he would never have been a good dad, and maybe he was a little bit thankful he would never have to truly find out, but for the time, in this current situation, he was quite content to settle for being the best possible uncle he could be.

And they’d call him Uncle Arnie, not Smeghead. He’d make absolutely sure of that.

[multifandombullshitbabes]

chaotic sub squad phoenix bob fanboy and payback. halo later on.

this is the group that first learns abt bob's hidden bitch personality, his inner fat old grumpy cat energy. its the first one to suffer nat, drunk of her ass, try to carwheel in high wheels and surprisingly not fail.

bob n nat are trying to get mickey n reuben together the whole time. also mickey is always flirting with bob but bob playfully only compliments reuben. its chaos.

bob is normally the only sober one, and always warns them when he gets to be drunk with them. he ends up being the sleepiest drunk ever. he will fall asleep on the floor. theyre dragging him everywhere.

mickey n bob are like puppy and cat but if both were equally capable of destruction and crimes. mickey got bob into kpop and now carpool is just them both screaming the lyrics. nat joins in and screams gibberish while reuben is busting some moves.

halo brings the secret quiet weapon energy, cuz she is a mystery and also very cryptid, but kind and cute, so its fine. the boys r trying to get the girls together. bob feels like a fourth wheel most days

mickey n bob both bond a lot over being trans men. yes, they have kissed. they have yet to fuck. bob is playing hard to get since he finds it hilarious. mickey is whiny abt it. reuben is not as jealous as he thought he'd be

reuben n bob r the only ones that know nicki minaj's raps by heart. yes, reuben fills in with the n-words. carpool is very good in this squad

most pics they take on their nights out become memes and are used n abused by the rest of the daggers squad. reuben keeps sending them all to the groupchat whilst still drunk

nat is absolute shit at making drinks. that wont stop her tho. bob n mickey wish she would (theyre too curious to not try them and finish them, even if theyre more akin to poison than alcohol)

i love them all so much, can u tell??

[sweetdemolitionlovers]

Well... I know it won't be read, given the immensity of the thing... But this text that I wrote (which is a bit dated) means a lot to me, so I wanted to share here... (Please forgive if there are any mistakes, but translating such a long text from French to English is not an easy thing...)

[Fubuki's memory] The loss of a brother at heart.

Another evening spent with him. More hours of getting lost, having fun, smoking, drinking, flirting... More girls hanging on our arms or snuggled up to us. More slaps that we took or that we managed to avoid. And yet another exit from an umpteenth hostess bar laughing, holding each other not to fall. Celebrating my role as clan leader together on the roof of the building I'd inherited while drinking cheap beers was cool, despite the weird request he made of me. But celebrating by doing what we like to do almost every night is even better! And I don't care if I'm drunk, I don't care if I'm about to fall down every second, the proof is, I'm laughing! Just like I don't care about the sideways glances people give me because I'm too noisy. I even provoke them by trying to climb on my drinking companion, hilarious, like a marmoset on its tree. Yeah, I don't care and I'm having fun at the same time, because that's how it always ends with him, with Noboru...

We were not very fresh, we knew it, and yet we continued to walk the streets of Kabukicho between cousins, staggering, laughing, smoking. At one point, Noboru had even bent down a bit when he saw a girl in a miniskirt walking by, and he grumbled about the fact that she was wearing a parachute instead of panties. Like the big moron I was, I burst out laughing and suggested that we have a contest to see who would see the most beautiful chicks with sexier underwear than that. And the jerk had worked, he had accepted! So, yeah, we did it. Until we came across a bunch of transsexuals who started to hit on us heavily. We didn't ask for our rest and we left, not without laughing, again.

In order not to be tempted to do something stupid anymore, we had started to avoid the main streets to take the alleys instead. Thanks to this decision, we slowly calmed down, we even rested for a while to sober up a bit. After a while, after going from alley to alley, we found ourselves in a bigger street, but not very busy, if at all. We were alone here, our voices and footsteps echoed in the street, and I had the feeling that the only smells I smelled were our alcoholic breaths and the smoke of our cigarettes. However, this "calm" ended when we heard other footsteps, much more hurried than ours. When we stopped and looked up, we saw a group of men dressed in suits. Obviously, we already knew who these men were, we were not stupid. Drunk, yeah, but not stupid, for sure. These guys had been hanging around Noboru for months, fighting with him to kill him, but they always got caught. Here, did they want to take advantage of the fact that he was drunk to get him? But they were poor, naive people... Drunk or not, Noboru knew how to fight, and so did I.

It only took one thing, a simple look and a smile for us to agree. If they wanted our skin, we might as well take theirs first! So, without saying anything to each other, we had thrown our cigarettes and we had run on them to fight. Punches and kicks rained down, the sounds of percussion and the cries of pain from these guys echoed in the street. My elbow had hit the face of one guy, my knee the crotch of another. Noboru was doing pretty well too, I even shouted congratulations when I saw him bang two heads together. There was no need to say, if alone we were already strong, together, we were much stronger! We were invincible! At least, that's what I thought...

While I was busy with two other guys, I had felt myself being pushed around by Noboru. After that, I thought I heard a muffled cry of pain, but since I had bumped into one of the two guys who had messed with me, I wasn't sure of myself. Only, when I looked up, I winced when I saw other men coming. Putting our backs against each other, both of us panting, surrounded by those fucking yakuza, I had huffed. I was going to tell Noboru that we should get out of here, that we'll never get through them, but I didn't have the time. No sooner had I opened my mouth to tell him that than I frowned as I felt him slide against my back. Worried, I turned my head and there I saw him holding his bloody lower back, a knife stuck in it. My eyes widened and this time I turned around and took him by the shoulders for support. I understood why he had shoved me... He had just saved me by taking the knife instead of me... Gritting my teeth, I shook Noboru and yelled at him to get out of the way, and fast. But all he did was pull the knife out and stab a guy in the shoulder as he approached us.

Despite everything, he wanted to continue, the idiot! He had started fighting again, and I saw myself protecting him by preventing anyone from approaching him and touching him. But the number of men was increasing, we couldn't fight them all... So, against his advice, I had grabbed his arm and pulled him to force him to follow me to flee. I hated the idea of running away, I admit it, but here, the life of my cousin, my brother in arms, was at stake. But of course, those sons of bitches weren't going to let us get away, far from it! They had been chasing us for a while, but we must have been running way too fast for them because they started pulling out their fucking guns and shooting at us! Luckily, they didn't manage to hit us, at least not right away... In the rain of bullets we were passing through, one hit Noboru in the shoulder blade, causing him to let out a hoarse scream. A second followed, then a third. Nobu was beginning to weaken and collapse, but it was out of the question! Immediately, I pulled his arm even more and threw him over my shoulder. While supporting him, I was increasing the run to get out of the damn neighborhood so we could get home, but more shots were heard, and in the process, I took one in the left leg and shoulder. Nevertheless, I continued to shoot Noboru who had been shot twice more in the back.

We were in a very desperate situation, but the adrenaline helped me and gave me wings. By some damn miracle, I had managed to lose those guys and enter a quieter neighborhood, still dragging a barely conscious Nobu to his house. When I got to his street, I noticed with horror that he had passed out! So, despite the pain in my leg and shoulder, I increased my pace and entered the Katayama's property. As soon as I got to the door, I opened it on the fly, screaming for help. Immediately, I saw Kaname come out of the living room, and then my uncle Junichiro, followed by his henchman, came out of his office. Seeing our condition, Kaname panicked and joined me to take his unconscious brother. As for me, drained by the crazy race I had made, I had let myself fall against the door. I couldn't say anything, couldn't do anything, my mind was like dead. I could only watch as Kaname carried his brother to the room where his mother's altar was located and put him there, then gave his father's henchman his phone and asked him to call the first number on his phone book. I also saw him go to the stairs when he saw Akashi coming down to find out what was going on and ordered him to go back up to his room.

The time had passed slowly, I was still in the hall, staring at the door where Noboru, Kaname and the doctor had arrived not even five minutes after the call. It felt like minutes had become hours because it seemed so long. My mouth was dry, I was at my worst, in panic... And when the door had finally opened, I felt my heart do a good turn. Hope... Yes, I hoped that he had made it, so much so that I got up... But when I saw the doctor's discomfited face, and Kaname's tearful face, I understood. Noboru was gone... He had lost... He had left me... My tears started to flow, my chest tightened to the point of pain, and as I saw Noboru's feet pass before the doctor closed the door, my legs stopped carrying me. I fell to my knees and screamed at the top of my lungs, tearing my vocal cords. I felt like I was dying inside, I was crying and screaming so much that I ended up passing out.

When I opened my eyes, I was lying on a bed. Looking around, I could see that I was in Noboru's room. Noboru... Thinking about him, I sat up but screamed in pain as I felt my shoulder being pulled. Then I noticed that I was in my underwear, with my shoulder and leg bandaged. So it was all true... I had really lost my cousin, my best friend...? Like a zombie, I got up and dressed, then, without even thinking, my mind blank, I took one of Noboru's katanas, his favorite, and went out of his room. Taking advantage of the fact that there was no one left standing, I went down the stairs and left the house. My footsteps had taken me by themselves to the home of the clan that had taken my brother from me. Clutching the handle of the katana, I approached the door and kicked it open. Inside, there was carnage. I had slashed and killed in cold blood those sons of bitches who had dared to kill Noboru. Oh sure, I had taken other blows and wounds, but I didn't care, I was like in a second state where all I could do was to pierce all those scraps! Unfortunately I could only get the ones who were in that house, none of them had survived, I knew that. But I also knew that not all the clan was in there, and that pissed me off... Once I got out of that bloodbath, I went back to my uncle's house, my body dripping with blood, theirs, mine, all mixed up. When I got home, the only person I saw was Kaname. I told him that I had avenged Noboru as I should. He was in tears and when he saw me holding his brother's katana, he hugged me, called me an idiot and said something that screwed me up forever...; "Fubuki... He... He won't come back... Ever..."

[transandersrights]

happy friday!! how about handers, nighttime in kirkwall, and someone's laughing nearby?

(I take prompts! See info here)

Ohhh this is a really evocative prompt, ty! I offer ~700 words of mHanders pre-relationship flirting. It got real goofy ahaha

It was almost the moment they stepped out of the Hanged Man that Hawke tilted his head to one side and groaned. “Maker, they had to do it out here?”

Anders twigged only a moment later, catching the distinctive sound of running water. Not the sea in the distance; running water, outside the tavern with the Free Marches’ most unsanitary hole-in-the-floor toilets. Yep, that could only be one thing. “Better out than in?” he offered, smile wry.

Hawke’s returning smile was unfairly soft. Andraste’s sweet nipple tassels, he had to stop doing that. “Better inside than outside though, surely. What if there’s a dog out here! Or a mugger?”

“There are muggers in the Hanged Man,” Anders pointed out.

“Point taken.” Not that they’d ever go for Hawke, but someone tried their luck with Merrill once. Poor sod walked out with a half-empty bag of nuts and a shadow in the shape of Varric’s pending blackmail against him. “Must be embarrassing, though. Dick out in a Kirkwall alleyway.”

“Oh, you’re such a romantic.” Hawke shoved him very gently for that, and Anders made a point of stumbling forward, arms flailing. “And a gentleman, too!”

“I can be a gentleman.” It was too dark, and Hawke’s face just a little too far away, but Anders could hear the pout. “I could show you chivalry like you’ve never seen.”

“You could, could you?” Anders really should have stopped pushing the flirting weeks ago; no, months ago. Hawke was an unattainable dream, and this was only going to make it all worse, but…

Hawke bowed low, his arm twirling in a particularly lavish flourish. “My fair companion. Would you accompany me on a nightly stroll back to your humble abode?”

Yeah. That was why Anders was primarily screwed and secondarily never going to stop; terrible Orlesian accent and all. “We’ll trade eau de piss for eau d’espair.”

Hawke snorted; around the corner where the piss noises came from, so did someone else. Great — they had an audience. Except then, because Hawke was as much a shameless flirt as Anders and twice as bold when there were other people around, he moved closer, his arm outstretched in an obvious invitation.

They’d look like drunks, walking arm in arm and laughing at each other’s awful jokes. Hawke was lightly tipsy at most, and Anders stone cold sober, but they’d still attract the worst kind of attention. Did he have the energy for that right now?

Did he care, if he’d get to walk with Hawke like that? Anders was pretty sure he knew the answer already.

“I think you surprise me more every day,” he said, stretching his arm out in turn. Hawke linked them at the elbow, a small smile forming on his face.

“I dedicate myself ever to your amusement.” And his voice was softer again, which was so unfair. Who taught this man to be like that? Who made Anders so susceptible? “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

The laughter, once around the corridor, drew closer and came into view. Anders recognised its owner, someone he’d had in the clinic a couple of times: a dwarf with a particularly impressive grey beard — he couldn’t recall her name. “You two are hilarious,” she said. She looked between them, then snorted. “Sorry, did I interrupt your foreplay?”

“No!” The moment he said it, Anders felt bad about how quickly the words left his mouth. Yikes, that wasn’t going to make Hawke think this was anything more than a joke at all.

Maybe that was a good thing.

She glanced at Anders again. “Sure. You’re in the way of the door, by the way.”

“Right.” Hawke’s voice sounded tight when he lead Anders away, leaving the path to the Hanged Man clear once more. “Hope you had a good piss?”

She grinned. “Go sober up, lover boy.”

When she left, Hawke covered his face with his free hand and sighed. “Please tell me you don’t know her.”

Oops. “Guilty as charged,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Maker, you know everyone.” Hawke’s despair was a joke, but it still felt like something had been ruined. Just a little.

Ah well — there was still the rest of the night to get it back. Anders could salvage something in the walk down to Darktown, surely.