#need the humous

[izzymalec]

ALLEMAGNE ZERO POINTS

[adelinamoteru]

imagine how much better bruce & jason content would be if they genuinely made it so that jason’s existence in gotham never lets bruce off the hook. you don’t get to forget, bruce wayne. batman.

jason will always be the reminder of bruce’s mistakes, but not in what caused jason’s death rather in everything that came after. jason should not be there to absolve him of his guilt and grief and contradictions. he should be constantly calling bruce out on his hypocrisy and it should be tearing bruce’s mind to shreds. because they BOTH know that there is truth in what jason is saying, whether its re: his post humous treatment of jason as robin or their stances on killing.

bruce only deals with absolutes. he only ever deals in black and white no matter how much his “people can always change” philosophy tries to convince the audience otherwise. because bruce knows in the case of the joker that its just not true, jason knows its not true and the audience knows its not true but the narrative and the writers and bruce himself is trying to gaslight everyone otherwise.

it doesn’t have to be that one is right and the other is wrong, there’s merits to what both are saying in gotham’s reality, but bruce will never, ever admit so and I personally think jason shouldn’t let him off the hook for it.

I think this also comes back to that post where op was saying that jason’s refusal to center himself around batman’s pain was what was seen as “the ultimate betrayal” and he shouldn’t have to! bruce doesn’t deserve it, god knows, and I’d argue he needs someone like jason in his vigilante life to give him that swift kick to the head

[the-himawari]

A3! Seasonal Event Translation - A Mechanical Christmas (10/11)

*Please read disclaimer on blog; default name set as Izumi

---

Homare: …

Masumi: Hey. Let’s hurry up and take the group photo.

Homare: …Ah, were you searching for me again? My apologies.

Masumi: So do you still have lingering feelings?

Homare: Lingering feelings, hm… No, I have no regrets. I was simply reminiscing. That is all.

Masumi: …

*runs over*

Izumi: Ah, there he is! I see Masumi-kun found him. Thanks!

Masumi: There’s no need to thank me. …Ah.

Izumi: What’s the matter?

Masumi: I was planning to come here alone with you…

Homare: Is that so? I thought you did not believe in that jinx?

Masumi: I don’t trust it completely. But I’ll rely on everything I can.

Izumi: A jinx?

Homare: Oh my. Had you not heard, Director-kun? If you pledge your love in front of this tree, then your love shall be eternal so long as the tree moves.

Izumi: Oh, that! But I heard that got changed.

Homare & Masum: Huh?

Masumi: Kasumi never mentioned that the last time we met.

Izumi: I did some more research after the project was decided and they requested us to do an interview. It turns out they received complaints from couples all over the world who pledged their love in front of this tree but ended up having messy breakups. In a previous meeting, they said that it got changed so that people regardless of their relationship can enjoy it now. “The stories you share in front of this tree will never fade away, even if the tree stops working.”

Masumi: That’s broad as hell…

Homare: Hahaha, I see! There is surely no doubt about that. This conversation about jinxes and our shock of anything becoming allowed will surely become a humous story in the decade to come.

Masumi: Don't forget the accident during the show, and even your crazy adlib.

Homare: Indeed. They are memories we shall never forget for eternity. (Yes. I am certain that I will remember this day every time I gaze upon this tree hence forth.)

*notification sound*

Homare: Oh my, was that LIME? Let me see…

Izumi: Ah, that’s right! Everyone’s waiting. Let’s run back!

-pause-

Izumi: —Thanks for waiting!

Tsumugi: Good to see you’re back.

Kumon: You slowpokes!

Itaru: It’s great you found him.

Omi: I’ve set up the tripod.

Homare: Much appreciated. Now then let us get to our spots, chop-chop.

Kumon: How should we line up?

Tsumugi: Let me think. Considering their roles, maybe it would be best to have Homare-san and Masumi-kun side-by-side.

Masumi: Only Director gets to be beside me.

Kumon: I guess I’ll stand next to Tsumugi-san then!

Homare: …Oh, Masumi-kun.

Masumi: !?

Homare: Haha, your cheeks are bright red. I shall warm them up for you.

Masumi: Stop. I don’t need it.

Homare: I was saved by you this time, Masumi-kun. Take this as my gratitude. …Thank you.

Masumi: Just your words are enough.

Homare: Haha, there is no need to be shy. Goochie-goo.

Masumi: I said I don’t need it!

Izumi: S-Stay still, you two—.

*click*

Troupe members: Ah…

Omi: Ahaha. Should we re-take it?

Homare: No need. This is fine. No matter how many years pass, I am sure I will reminisce upon Masumi-kun’s red face every time I gaze at this photo.

Masumi: Don’t make unnecessary memories.

Izumi: Ahaha.

---

previous | next

[fractal-voidling]

MAG111 - #0173006 │ Family Business

oooh, I finally get to hear Gerard

heh, dead serious

"Dying isn’t so bad. It’s staying dead that sucks." goes hard, ngl

that Gerard Keay sass 🤌

TMA, where a post-humous statement is just another Tuesday ✨

they are the fears!?

"Like colours, but if colours hated me. Got it. Christ, I need a cigarette." mood

so this is what a paranormal therapy session sounds like

aaaw, he wants John to call him Gerry

brilliant performances once again

[harrison-abbott]

She just couldn’t relax, all day. Her mind was one hundred places all at once. She tried reading and it was a good novel and very readable … but her consciousness was still ablaze. So she figured she’d head a walk down the street. And as she walked, she kept yammering to herself uncontrollably. A man passed by, pushing a pram. She could not control her voices. Speaking to herself, in curt ejaculations. Memories all crushed up and flung about at random. Down to the supermarket. A tub of humous, a pack of lentils and a bag of onions. All cheap, healthy. She never ate unhealthy food. And back at home she made a healthy sandwich, hoping that something in the stomach might help her calm down a bit. Nope. Thirty minutes later she was still buzzing, agitated, couldn’t stop moving. Bullies in the past. Bullies in her family. A whole host of people that never appreciated her. On top of the worries about the future. When was she ever going to find a proper job? Urgh. She tried listening to some music and playing a videogame. Y’know – simple entertainment, with some friendly tunes to cheer the mood. Not even ‘cheer’; that’s not the right term: a sedative, would be a better word. And it seemed to be working, until she started losing at the game. Then she found herself gritting her jaws and needing to win … getting angry with a television screen. And she did, eventually, win the game. But, Jesus, she was getting that angsty about a retro videogame? What was wrong with her? She switched the TV off and went downstairs and sat on the sofa and looked at her phone. Supposedly there was a storm coming tomorrow. RED ALERT in place. Which meant a possible Danger to Life, so the government were warning people. Looking outside, now, the clouds were white and there was barely a breeze; the trees leafless and still in morose January afternoon light. The last time there was a RED ALERT in this country was back in 1998. That was when she was a kid and she didn’t remember it. Was this why she was all bristly? Because of the coming storm? Hmm. The trees were not so far away from the house. They were maybe twenty yards away across the street. And she imagined the wind ripping one of them from its buttresses, for the tree to come thumping down on her house. Smash the roof in, smash the glass and masonry. What would she do then? She still couldn’t slow her mind down. Sometimes her days were simply like this – non-stop mental energy, and not necessarily in a good way. It could be unbearable. She would just have to sit it out. What for the mania to pass.

[adamwatchesmovies]

Patch Adams (1998)

While I didn't enjoy this film, that doesn't mean you won't. No matter what I say, the people involved in this project did it: they actually made a movie. That's something to be applauded. With that established...

Patch Adams is based on a true story, which is shocking. Not because a real-life doctor called Hunter “Patch” Adams existing seems impossible; because this film is so phoney, so emotionally manipulative, so misguided and manufactured not an ounce of it rings true. Obviously green-lit as a dramatic vehicle for Robin Williams, the story he’s given leaves a bad taste in your mouth despite his best efforts. It was a hit upon release and you can see why. This is exactly the kind of manipulative melodrama that would sucker indiscriminating viewers.

While self-administered in a mental institution, Hunter “Patch” Adams (Williams) finds that humou - rather than the cold, clinical attitude most doctors hold - yields the best results among the patients. After enlisting at the Medical College of Virginia, he questions the attitude his teachers hold towards the patients, raising the ire of Dean Walcott (Bob Gunton) and his roommate, Mitch (Philip Seymour Hoffman).

You can tell which scenes Robin Williams juiced up with his improv. Those moments are great and genuinely funny. The man had a warmth to him that made you believe in his character. Patch seems genuinely sweet and sympathetic. The rest of the picture is unintentionally funny when it isn’t cloying, overly sanctimonious and overbearing. I’m still shocked we didn’t get a scene of Dean Walcott slaming his fists upon a table yelling “Aaaaadams!” like the crusty dean in so many frat-centered comedies. The man’s a cartoon, a bizarro-world version of Patch who wishes every doctor could surgically remove their emotional glands to be as robotic as possible while practicing. This portrait of the medical world is an insult to doctors, who - according to this film - do not care about their patients at all.

I could criticize the film for diverging from the real story of Patch Adams but I won't. While the 47-year-old Williams is twice the age the real man was when he began his career, the casting is good. It's fine to stray from reality because movies are not real life. If you want to take liberties, however, do it to make the film more interesting. This brings us to the worst character in the film: Monica Potter as Carin, a fellow medical student. In a movie filled with stereotypes, she may be the worst; a love interest introduced where none is needed, a token female whose sole purpose is to serve the male lead. It gets downright offensive in the end but even before then, it’s kinda creepy to see Williams flirting with the then-27-year-old who tells him she’s not interested. He persists until eventually, she relents. It makes the sweet Patch seem like a creep and further undermines his character. Perpetually goofy and never seen studying (though we’re assured he’s acing his tests and brilliant at medicine), Patch steals medical supplies, bursts into patients’ rooms unannounced, invades people’s privacy and repeatedly ignores his superiors’ orders. You understand why doctors feel the need to remain emotionally distant from their patients. They're very likely to see someone in their care die. It happens in this movie. There is something to be said about being too cold but this movie takes things to such extremes that no one would ever want to be cared for by Patch.

Relying on one cliché after another and going for cheap sentiments every time is the favourite tactic of director Tom Shadyac but let’s not forget to blame screenplay writer Steve Oedekerk. Ultimately, Patch Adams is interested in giving Robin Williams a role. Everything else was an afterthought. (On DVD, June 7, 2019)

[magpiejay1234]

After Ancient Fairy Dragon, we have the following Level 8 animé Synchros that can get Level 10 variants:

**Sun Dragon Inti

**Infernity Doom Dragon

**Lightning Tricorn

**Life Stream Dragon

**Crimson Blader

Infernity Doom Dragon is the most likely one for now.

After the Level 10 Life Stream Dragon, we will likely have the Level 12 Black-Winged Dragon variant, and after that we will likely have the Level 12 Black Rose Dragon variant.

Honourable mentions go to Road Warrior, as we discussed before.

*****

For Level 7 animé Synchros that can get Level 8 to 10 variants, we have:

**Dark Strike Fighter

**Exploder Dragonwing

**Zeman the Ape King

**Driven Daredevil

With post-humous reference to Fortune Lady Every, of course.

****

After Tron, we still need to wait for the next Durbe/Vector/Number 96/Droite support batches. Tron will also need to wait for the remaining Chaos variants of his remaining Numbers, but also possibly the Chaos variants of Number 69's alternative forms.

For 5D's, after Ruka, we still need to wait for the remaining Dark Signers, as well as purified forms of Fortune Ladies for Carly.

[snowy-wife]

heyy, could you please explain the term “spirit wife” in this context? (ask long as youre comfortable with that ofc) i feel like i have a similar relationship/bond to a deceased person but i couldnt ever talk about it with anyone without being judged and i never really felt understood. hope you dont mind my message <3 you genuinely seem like such a cool person xx

Hello! Okay so the term "Spirit Wife" means you are the wife of a spirit that you're married to in a "Spirit marriage" aka a post humous marriage / ghost marriage! For further explanation, a post humous marriage is a relationship where one of the persons in the relationship is alive and the other is deceased. This type of marriage is practiced in many countries and in different ways such as continuing the family line, honoring the deceased, incorporating non-human spouses and proxy marriage! I can go in more detail about it in another post if you'd like, this is just a gist of what it is and thank you! I am more than happy to talk about it and try explaning stuff some more if need be!

[zooterchet]

Pre-Law History (War on Terror, UMass-Amherst)

Scenario: The People's Crusade, a media stoked movement.  

Response: We need these cows, the Arabs stole our meat.

The First Crusade, the sack of Armenia for holding Slavics as Russian Orthodoxy, Satanists outside the Gypsy gene.  

Response: Satan, is a deliberate faith, to be reversed through athletics; not battle, the proper murder, outside of prison's threat of the cell as an athlete.

The Third Crusade, the betrayal of the Jordan River Valley tower, unpaid labor.  

Response: Anything on a non-payer commune, is open to a snitch; you need to understand the face of a foe, not the truth.  Truth, is outside of money.  But money, rules the world, that's a teacher.

The Children's Crusade, the sales of children in the thousands to African slavery in exchange for marijuana seeds and samples, "Houses in Scotland".  

Response: "Con Air"; each of you convicts, are a job, and you've been in prison, your entire life.  Don't go in with the Africans, you've been raised "black", and they're far older at the game.  The Oath of the Italian Mafia; find the Boss, the Don, the Chump.  She isn't what she seems.

The Fifth Crusade, Pierre the Coward, the Red Badge of Courage, versus Saladin, the Witch Hunter, the arts war of al-Qaeda.  

Response: Starscream, the Decepticons, the Catholics, versus Optimus Prime, the Autobots, the Arabs.  This is a rare treat, if you can find Northrup Grumman; the Charleboises.

The Eighth Crusade, the death of the German King, due to heart attack from falling in the Rhine River, forced into place.  

Response: Any leadership war, is nothing without the King; but why do you have to have the King, on the spot?  He's sacrificed himself, by coming to your quarries.  Let Christ be King; Jesus was a pedophile, he saw for himself the ruthlessness of his father.  Loose Change.

The Twelfth Crusade, RIchard the Lion-Hearted, the gold trade, in Iranian souls, trapped via captive.  

Response: An O'Neill classic, "The Merchant of Venice".  The beginning of a brand.  "Ave Satani", Tip O'Neill.  Are you mine, rule of thumb?

The Thirteenth Crusade, the retaking of Jerusalem by Moslems, the homosexuals bred as soldiers.  

Response: Gay Niggers From Outer Space.  The illegal play; the Statue of Liberty; DC Comics, a "narcotics officer".

The Iranian resistance against Turks, the assassins, bred on marijuana prenatal exposure, and marijuana hashish oils, butter lipids.  

Response: The Nietzschean Society, the King's Men, and EON Productions.  The breaker of the rule, is the champion.  Friedrich Nietzsche, Adolf Hitler, David Charlebois.

The Mongolian invasion, the conquest of Russia, Mesopotamia, and Vietnam, by Uighurs.  

Response: Sell toys, collect children's literature, and protect your women.  Three rules, together, a German, the modern anti-Semite.

The Reconquistda, the French Germans, conquering Spain, and allowing Uthman, to return to stature, as a Rabbinical Jude, a business owner and manager.  

Response: The Synagogue, is a punishment, unless refused three times; then an Arab, the old Southern Larchy Tune.  For the Goyim. 

The mince meat pie, the bond between priests and imamis, the beginning of the university, Muslim Shaykhs, college professors, managed by Rabbinicals, salesman, through priests, the homeless managers of the common people into military and police arms.  

Response: The whole thing has to be thrown out.  Then, you win, because someone, needed your help.  Law enforcement, is a tool of a university, and the arrest, is the highschool.  Elementary school, picks cops, the track athlete; the shutdown of a banking corporate, because a child, wanted to run away.  

The resurrection of Judaism, the victor of the military, as refusing products based on rationing, the bigot to be sided against in war.

Response: The Grand Ol' Party, The United Kingdom, the Nation-State of Israel, the Federal Republic of Russia, and the Assembly of France.  The last, John Wick, is post-humous.  Is France, ethnic?  Or just Jews? 

[dower]

No vote of confidence

It would be a lie to say I have voted religiously since I turned 18. In fact, in my 40 years of illegibility to vote, I have probably voted less than a dozen times. You see, I’m not very political in my thinking and regard most of the choices in the UK as minor variations on a theme.

The last decade has been different, though, the heady combination of increasing social conscience, a middle-aged financial mindset, and time to deep-dive societal challenges has driven me closer yo politics. I head our village committee and was approached to stand on the local council. So much for my former political ambivalence.

I still see politics as a trap for the feeble-minded and a festering nest of badly thought out personal agendas. I watch politicians stagger from defeat to defeat, there never seems to be any winners, just an endless stream of nobodies repeatedly picking pointless hills to die on. Its thankless and pointless at the same time, yet occupies so much of MSM.

Just maybe, after spending the last decade engaging in political policies, I will slip away again to my previous state of “meh”. I could skip the whole “Politics” section of The Guardian and I could care not a jot who governs our sceptred isle.

Just as long as it doesn’t affect my wallet, eh. Don’t change too much; I’ve evolved to benefit from pension rules, and tax bands and wheezes. Here I think is the crux of the challenge; we’re a well-heeled, middle class, middle aged, median couple - as long as our money boat is not rocked too much we’ll sail blissfully into the next 25 years without a care in the world. Does that mean we, and the millions like us, cannot vote Labour?

Turkeys not voting for Christmas springs to mind, so a decade of my policy of voting Conservative nationally for small government and preferential taxation might be over. Not that I could bring myself to vote red.

Jeez, is that it? Is the only reason I vote Conservative is for my self-centred quest for grubby money? Conversely, I have consistently voted LibDem at the local level as I do see the work our councillors do, hell I’ve met and know many of them personally. Maybe they should get a turn at my lazy postal vote in the national elections?

Voting LibDem might be seen as a protest or a warning to the big two parties that if they carry on being dicks we’ll vote in a real set of amateurs to turn the country into a idealised clusterfuck. I mean, a party with less than 100k members and a series of fuckups for ex-leaders - what could possibly go wrong!

Just need to see if I qualify … Consume humous? Drive an EV? Can pay for organic celery? Liberal mindset? Ride a bike? Wear upcycled clothes? Stop that now, of course I qualify - I can afford to vote LibDem but I’m not rich enough or grubby enough about money to need the Tories. Yeah, I’m in.

Post note: During my extensive research into the swamp that is the BritPol system, it was (maybe unsurprisingly) the LibDems that closest matched my values so I joined up, as much disillusioned by the Tories and still fearful of Momentum. As Daft Punk sang in 2000 … “one more time”.

[madafact]

nope

ill try to be concise and add as much detail as possible

sometimes writing can be a cover to a book that is about to be written, read, burned, or put down

my brother anthony john masters died on june 10th or 11th i cant remember, the days post have zero anchors or even dates. mostly just a sense of disbelief, and the need to still have to put on clothes, smile and get hair cuts and shit, ya know life bullshit, the stuff that doesnt fucking matter after you lose what you really have in this odd plain we occupy.

my first notice was a photo of his beautiful body being held captive by a hospital bed and three not even complete sentences,

"bicycle accident. head trauma. will be in for seven days"

this was sent by my most eloquent father, who will not hesitate to mention he is a writer who has a vocabulary that could sink the titanic.

how we communicate, to me, shows me the level of respect, admiration, reverence and connection you feel to someone. Ill let you connect those dots. but i will give you a hint at the ending, anthony died. and all the anger, disrespect, lack of trust was the missing words in the first transmission. i think ive said it before but my father does not like me nor does it seem he has any interest in knowing who i am. but this isnt about me

anthony was conscious for the first few days and the prognosis was picking up like the wind. the sun seemed to be parting the clouds and what seemed like just another 'slam at the park' was going to be in the rearview mirror. but ya know, another front moved in on it began to rain.

i have been well informed just how prickly of a cactus new york city can be, and if you dont respect the idea, then you become the grease that turn the wheels of incompetence. it seems incompetent doctors, nurses and medical staff cut anthonys life short. more on that later.

i arrived at the hospital to late to see my brother still squirming in this world and he let me know just what he thought of my tardiness. im trying to open the ICU doors (which open not by handle, but by button, and once initiated, do not stop not even for a 500 lb gorilla. my welter weight body was absolutely brushed aside, sat on my ass with a broken nose and blood, thanks ant, you loved a good board to the face or some shit like that.

anyway he was gone, his body was warm, in a failed attempt i tried to climb into his bed and kinda just spread over him like butter, backside stil moist from his path through life. i touched his chest, kissed his forehead, held his hands examined his post humous face, and went as far as to cut lochs of his beautiful hair for safe keeping, for as many years as i have left. he truly was a beautifully built creature, tats and all, scars, broken bones, off set nose and all. but when i got there, all that started its slow process of fading slowly, then quickly, and soon into ash.

even having him in my arms wouldnt let reality in. shock will be my blanket for the coming winter and it looks to be particulary brisk this season. it still hasnt set in. even after gallons of tears, thousands of racing thoughts, a landscape of sweaty palms and not much rest or fuel. its starting to take a toll. i showed up to a memorial for him a day early today. cold sores are tilling my lips and a general sense of seeking shelter on a partiulary blustery day is my commute to work these days.

the lochs of hair were for me but ya know, as soon as people see you getting something, they want it too. it wasnt supposed to be for everybody, its supposed to be for the ones who seized the opportunity. me.

but ya know find grace and share. even though...what ever.

i maybe spent 40 minutes to an hour with his physical form before the next step had to begin. the state makes money on beds, and once you dead, you out da bed. he was just another stat, another pair of pants to check for loose change and maybe an unspent bill or two. and they wanted us out to begin the search.

fuck the state, and those who tow its nets across the ocean floor decimating everything in its path to catch a few prizes and waste a whole host more souls.

fuck new york

fuck california

fuck me

so i guess thats the end of the experience, but it is only the beginning of the angelification of my brother. the people he affected, the tone (for lack of a better word) he set, the wake he created and the stories that will outlive him.

his chosen family was a mega group of friends made around the college years, fostered across both coasts and eventually planted in bay shore or point pleasant new jersey. a wonderful family of young and old. similiar age and even multiple species. but little was i aware, this was only a small portion of the spiders web. he had been very busy spinning intricate patterns that in the morning light and dew would mesmorize people. moths to flame but this was a bit more of like a cozy fire or even perfect coals to prepare food over.

california, new jersey, new york, mexico city, colorado, oregon, washington, and im probably forgetting a whole host, or just havent found out about the other places. multiple ceremonies were held for him, and are still being planned for future dates, future surf trips, future joy and happiness.

he truly went after being part of peoples love for life. he was a one way street to positive town. it took many forms, tropical mental attitude, tony masters association, boistrous, gregarious, know only for hug not handshakes.

the ceremony we held in the immediate day after was located in new jersy at the beach with more surfboards and beach toys than the coast could imagine. we were even granted passed past the usual, permits, rules etc. for a day, anthony has the bay head cops in his pocket and they nodded to his celebration while many local people looked around in an unusual jealous disbelief.

the waves were not typical for the time of year, the wind stayed the right direction, the sun shined ALL fucking day. all ages caught waves and hooted for each other. anthony was fully on display as his new angelic form. tending to the elements, playing jovial pranks and keeing safe passage for all. just like he always dreamed of. he had arrived. he had become that all powerful, undenieable indescribeable wonderful dream. the light was so bright i imagine. he must have felt the warmth. after all it is a very bright light that we must walk into.

im not even two days into the i think day 5 nightmare/ endless bummer that has no signs of slowing, callousing or even seeming at all acceptable. please help me find acceptance anthony. what happened to you was unacceptable but if your reward is the infinite, cheers dude

i think ill have to do this post based on emotional resources, because as i get to this point, crying in a coffee shop wearing sunglasses trying to stay low key. its not working. the sniffles are giving me away and my coffee cannot be sipped in a unrippled fashion. the hands tremble and my backspace button is just getting a workout.

so please forgive me as i collect myself, my thoughts, and look to the sky for the strength to even find reason to keep my foundation built by me, for myself to not come crashing down.

the crescendo continues..

[harrison-abbott]

A Small Start

When Pat woke up he felt pretty bad. He drank some of the water from his pint glass. It gave him momentary respite. Then he was lying there looking up at the ceiling. With yellow light beyond the curtains. Dehydration across his whole body. “How did I ever get to this point?” he said, quietly, to himself. Eventually he got up. His hair swished in his eyes. Had been doing that for weeks; badly needed a haircut. His face always seemed to look worse in the mirror in the mornings. But, maybe he shouldn’t be thinking about his appearance at all. He put his coat on and walked out into the street. With a brief wonder over the daylight that smarted the eyes. Pat wished that there were some things in life that he had done way differently when he was younger. He supposed that was the irony with older age: you were more mature, now, but you wished you’d been this way, back then. Hmm. Maybe he couldn’t call himself ‘mature’. It was when Pat was bathed in the sobering sunlight that he most felt like a nobody. He walked down to the supermarket. A pair of magpies flumed overhead in brilliant black n white and he saluted both of them. When he got to the supermarket carpark he remembered the story of the man who had been stabbed here. A few years back, there’d been a stabbing. And it was odd how, when it happened, he didn’t know about it until he saw it on the news: considering how close he lived to the building. Pat went inside the market. There was an odd mixture of workers in there with different nationalities. One of them was a very pretty woman who was hard to look at. Pat wondered whether he’d ever be with another woman in his life … Maybe not. Boo hoo. It wasn’t the most important thing. Pat figured that if he could work on survival, and keep his health in check, then he could think about other things such as those. He picked up some humous and a bag of tomatoes and a cucumber. The prices had gone up 10p since last time. Inflation. Hey: at least the city he lived in wasn’t being bombed to smithereens. … There were entire sections for the Easter weekend coming up; as in, a whole cacophony of chocolate eggs. Pat didn’t eat chocolate anymore, or eggs. Though when he was a kid he used to do the painting thing with them and roll them in the garden, the hard boiled eggs. It was odd how mass atheism in this country had turned into millions of overturn on chocolate products in bulky plastic boxes, sold by among the larger corporations in the world. Pat wondered what Jesus must think of it now, if indeed he was watching from Heaven. … Pat took his stuff to the checkout and scanned the items. There was an older chap there with a white fuzzy beard, who was always friendly and chatty with the customers. Even though it seemed like such a gruelling job, you never saw him in a grouchy mood; and Pat wished he could be like that, like him, most of the time. Pat went back home, up the long road. Maybe being a nobody was fairly normal. He was only 31. He hoped he could get to the age of 40 without dying. It’s just that it was getting harder to move as fast at this age and he really had no clue how his future would play out, and it often seemed that he could use his imagination well in certain ways, but not at all in others. He got back into the house. There was no other option than to deal with his issues. He went up into his room and reopened the book that he’d been reading last night. This was a small start.                                                                 

[witchmd13]

I woke up and chose to be mad about humous today. How’s your morning going.

[spider-xan]

I completely understand why people are immediately upset and freaking out at seeing Van Helsing's letter to Jack being marked as undelivered, after what happened with the telegram that got delivered 22 hours late due to a missing county, where perhaps Lucy could have been saved if Jack had been there like he was supposed to be, as well as Mina's letters to Lucy that were unopened by her, but in this case, Van Helsing's letter being undelivered is a GOOD thing - it means he survived the night, so the letter didn't have to be delivered after all!

The letter was an 'In case I die, this is vital information you need to know, as I am no longer here to tell you myself' letter - I write this in case anything should happen - so the fact that it was undelivered means nothing (bad) happened; instead of communicating via a post-humous letter, he can now just tell the rest of the team and show them the relevant documents in person himself, and take charge of the mission, instead of leaving it to Jack to do it himself in his stead.

[magpiejay1234]

Of course, since we are in the regular Adult Evolution segment of 02, this begs the question of why there hasn't been post-humous regular Perfect level Evolutions of the main trio.

Half of the 02 cast have them, with Wormmon's being Jewelbeemon. Presumably these would be weaker than Jogresses, so the main trio would still need their partners.

Granted, simply making more Jogresses between different duos would have been more interesting, especially considering the unresolved issues between Daisuke/Takeru, Iori/Ken etc. (make the canon Ultra Angemon a Jogress between Daisuke/Takeru for extra comedy points for example), but this is still another oddity of 02's Digimon line structure that continues to this day.

[inyourfantasyfanfics]

Hi there! I hope that I'm not being rude! I saw that requests were open and I was wondering if there can be a scenario where Giorno has a bad nightmare where he turns into Diavolo and when he wakes up, S/O comforts him?

I hope I'm not being rude!

Yes of course!

Giorno x GN Reader: Nightmare

It was unusual to be awake before Giorno, he was usually a very light sleeper. It was easy to feel guilty by moving even slightly as it would wake him and look at his surroundings just in case. You had to stop apologizing for every time this happened because after a while he just explained it would always be like this and not to feel guilty. Sleeping in his room wasn’t always common but usually happened after a self-care night full of skincare and silly romcoms.

You realized that it was so late in the night that It could be morning and you didn’t just wake up before him but he’s was slowly starting to move in his sleep, odd he rarely moves. Ever. Upon further inspection, Gio’s face was scrunched in discomfort and he let out small whispers of denial and hatred. Gently you placed a hand on Giorno’s cheek stroking lightly, it didn’t seem like the type of dream to shake him awake too. "Gio, love... wake up," you said softly as you see him stir. The boy's eyes open in a panic till they settle on you.

"Sorry," he says almost whispering, you weren't sure why he would apologize perhaps for waking you, or maybe it was trained into him. Nevertheless, you gently adjusted till his head lay in the crook of your neck and start to stroke his back and run fingers through his hair. You could feel the tension leave from his body gradually as he relaxed

You both stayed like that till sleep was taking you again. "I had a dream where I.." he trailed off in hesitation "You don't have to tell me Giorno" If there was ever a time for him to be vulnerable it would be late nights like this. "I feel like I need to talk about it but, it's embarrassing... it was so scary when it was happening, however." he gave a humous sigh and then continued " I turned into Diavolo. It makes me wonder if I am any better than him."

You couldn't help but give a playful scoff at this and lift his head to make eye contact. His eyes were tired but attentive and his eyebrows furrowed only a little bit it changed the composition of his face drastically. God, it broke you. "You will never be as low as him my love. you could set the city on fire and still be more pious than that awful man. Ah and the most important distinction of all Gio... is that you have a much better sense of humor." this earned you a genuine smile and a weak breathy laugh that came as fast as it went but the gentle smile remained. you both stayed like that for a few seconds before he gave you a peck on the cheek and put his head back in between your neck and shoulder. "I don't know what I would do without you," he spoke barely above a whisper. You both drifted back into sleep and accidentally woke too late into the morning.