#oh by the way low wage. also fuck off.’

[solarpunkani]

I wish ‘talks too much about gardening and milkweed but not in an eloquent way and has blogs but not in an eloquent way’ was a job I could be paid money for

Job hunting sucks ass thank you for coming to my tedtalk

[strykingback]

You know what Crimson you just really had to bring the anime argument onto a post talking about RWBY's legacy. Aight then. Might as well break down your most recent post then ya big whiny baby.

First things first to kick things off. Our friend here posted this image of Worick Arcangelo saying: "Hi Failure" in response to their RWBY Final Thoughts: Legacy.

This I assume is in response to how you (Crimsonxe) had gotten cooked many many MANY fucking times by the RWDE community here on tumblr, so much so that it's like a five-star course at an expensive ass restaurant. Plus, I am certainly aware the person who posted the image is aware of Gangsta for it's great usage of dark themes and the like as well.

Then, as soon as you respond back to "Leave Gangsta Out Of This" to which the OP then responds with the character Nicolas Brown while captioned "sleepy nico" Once again showing that they are aware of this manga and anime because Nicolas here is DEAF and uses sign language and sometimes even speaks as well!

I can assume yet again this was a means to tell you again Crimson that they are ignoring you as well while simultaneously cooking that five star course meal in the most vaguest way ever.

But aside from that. This was what prompted the response Crimson ya little bitch boy.

As you said yourself: "Also psssst newsflash anyone that does support manga/anime has no ground at all to speak against RT on the grounds of how they did things behind the scenes."

Now since you did mention "on the grounds how they did things behind the scenes." I think it's time I brought up a situation that happened last year.

Studio Mappa came under extreme controversy as it was revealed that the employees there was underneath extremely harsh conditions because they were working on four things at the same time.As quoted by the famous japanese freelance animator Mushiyo who criticized MAPPA as he compared the studio to that of a factory and how eighty percent of employees there had THE SAME COMPLAINTS AS HE DID.

Oh but it gets worse.... MAPPA had all employees and animators there sign an NDA that prevents them from talking negatively about the company online, low wages, abusive staff.

It would all come to a head during Jujutsu Kaisen Season two when MAPPA employees went to twitter to vent about working at MAPPA which garnered an incredible response from anime fans across the globe came to their defense praising the animators for their hard-work and demanding that MAPPA give the animators a LONG NEEDED BREAK.

Surprisingly enough.. its not just also Studio Mappa!

Studio Madhouse well known for Paprika, Perfect Blue, Hellsing Ultimate, and the first season of One Punch Man also suffered from this as well. As they were accused of violating labor codes as employees there worked over four hundred hours per month and went THIRTY SEVEN DAYS BACK TO BACK WITHOUT A DAY OFF!!! This was so SO BAD to the point where an employee working there who had committed suicide and was working 600 hours in a month.

Now while there are many other studios who could be just as worse as the two listed here. Surprisingly there are studios who do treat their animators fairly and like actual human beings. But some studios like Studio Bugs Film who created the popular Zom 100: Bucket List Of The Dead actually calls them out IN THE FIRST EPISODE.

Now with Manga most of the time the volumes released depends on one thing! The Mangaka's schedule and how detailed some of their art might get.

But at the same time there is indeed the brutality of the Manga workplace is competitive to hell! So much so that there has been accounts of manga artists suffering from mental, physical, or even internal health problems that can cause such problems so much so that it can lead to an early FUCKING GRAVE.

So Crimson... what was that about not having anime/manga fans not having grounds to stand on to speak against RT when anime and manga fans had known about this FOR YEARS.

Rooster Teeth had done this to their animators just like MAPPA did. How the hell are you gonna sit there and continuously glaze Rooster Teeth but ignore all the controversy they have done.

Low Wages Towards Employees

Literally made a slur as a nickname towards Kdin Jenzen

Had a Mocap person suffer permanent damage to their body

Many Many Animators working for Rooster Teeth suffering underneath Harsh to Abusive Conditions

Frat-Bro workplace

Gee the list goes ON AND FUCKING ON MAN. Like get it through that THICK HEAD of yours dude!

Now onto what else you said: "Especially in regards to femme characters, racism, homophobia, and transphobia."

Okay now that you mentioned that might I remind you that... RT also... did the same thing to their female characters

Gee I wonder if theres a post somewhere talking about that......OH WAIT!!!

1) Pyrrha has very noticeable cleavage 2) Ruby was put in a pin-up pose when she drank the tea 3) The anti-upskirt technology in itself is a bit counter-intuitive if they just like oh idk, didn't have upskirts at all like the V4 'joke' with Nora and Ren during the Nuck fight 4) Yang exists, especially her RWBY x JL Part 2 design. Not to forget other characters like Pyrrha, Glynda, and even Nora having cleavage or boob windows incorporated into their designs 5) Ruby when being tortured by Neo in V9 had clothing damage, one cut noticeably on her chest

Also it's not like I too also made a post about some tough femme fatales

Homophobia? Motherfucker there are plenty of anime that do have LGBTQ+ in it.

Banana Fish Citrus Yuri On Ice Revolutionary Girl Utena Bloom Into You Given Junjou Romantica Komi Can't Communicate (Contains a Nonbinary Character)

Trans-Anime? Oh Yeah THATS THERE TOO!!!

Claudine Boys Run The Riot Hourou Musuko Paradise Kiss Princess Jellyfish Skip and Loafer Ouran High School Host Club Tokyo Godfather Zombieland Saga Stars Align

Racism? Maaan CRIMSON YOU MADE THIS SHIT WAY TOO EASY

Code Geass Aldnoah Zero Space Battleship Yamato 2199 Inuyasha Attack On Titan Naruto FUCKING ONE PIECE.

Oh dont get so quiet now, I'm your bumper now Crimson!

Especially their views on Handicapped People? Crimson... you are stupid... just so so FUCKING STUPID.

Handicapped Anime:

Ranking Of Kings- Main Character Bocchi is Deaf and Mute A Silent Voice- Shoko Nishimiya is a deaf character as she has self-esteem issues and her childhood bully is learning sign-language in order to apologize. Yuki Yuna Is A Hero- Mimori Tougou is a magical girl that when she transforms she does not gain the ability to walk on her legs, but instead uses extensions of her costume to help her fight, even as the series progresses the other characters lose bodily functions and must figure out how to live with it.

Josee, The Tiger and Fish- Kumiko is a paraplegic girl who has a dream to see the Outside world with her own eyes, but due to the way how society treated her she generally is afraid of strangers and tries to act tough in a way.

Your Lie In April- One of the main characters, Kaori Miyazono suffers from a sever illness which prompts her to have multiple hospitalizations for most of her life. Then when its is revealed she does not have long left to live, she lives out her life the best she can while helping the main character.

My Sister Momoko- An Emotional movie about a girl named Momoko who is both mentally and physically disabled as after attending a special school she has the opportunity to study with her twin brother, which leads to her growth slowly becoming more independent as the movie goes on.

FULL METAL ALCHEMIST- Needs no Explanation. Literally does an incredibly amazing job talking about prosthetics, PTSD, mental health, physical health, etc. ITS ALL THERE.

Real fuckin' quiet over there Crimson. Cause certainly I did my fucking research! So yeah, basically me and the rest of RWDE all watched anime and we all do have the right to criticize RT and RWBY.

So do me a favor and Shut the FUCK UP.

Lastly before I go @surgepricing I read your RWBY Final Thoughts: Legacy and I hereby bestow upon you this.

You literally cooked an amazingly well done breakdown of everything for what may possibly be RWBY's legacy and so on forth. I hereby say that you are indeed a head chef cause goddamn I'd rather just be on a station and listen to you cook more! Once again well done !

Anyways Im out of here its 3:37 AM and I gotta get some sleep.

[ladykailitha]

If I Rescue You, Will You Rescue Me, Too? Part 10

The boys spend their day in Indy just having fun and getting to know each other a bit. Also what happens to Steve at the thrift shop actually happened to my husband. He and a group of friends went to a thrift store to find the wildest outfit they could put together and my husband’s outfit shouldn’t have worked, but did.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3  Part 4 Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8 Part 9

*

Steve pulled away from the hotel parking lot and looked over at Eddie. “You ready for the only portion of this shindig that I’m paying for?”

Eddie laughed. “I still worry about breaking your bank, Stevie.”

“I’m using my dad’s ‘emergency’ credit card for this, sunshine,” Steve replied. “And if asked, I’ll just tell him that the earthquake caused minor damage to the house.”

“Steven Alexander Harrington are you committing fraud?” Eddie asked all wide-eyed with mocking shock.

“One, how the fuck do you know my full name?” Steve asked. “And two, it’s only fraud if my father didn’t authorize my use of the card, which he did. Regardless of what the use is for, I can’t commit fraud.”

Eddie laughed. “It was on your medical leave forms. I may have had Robin peek while you were still out from dehydration and low blood sugar. Something I still need to kick your ass for by the way.”

Steve snorted. “Traitors. The both of you. And until you can catch me, sunshine, I think I’ll be fine in the ass kicking department.”

Eddie pouted.

Steve reached out and stroked his cheek. “Did anyone tell you, you have the most beautiful eyes ever?”

Eddie leaned into the touch. “Not usually. Mostly they’ve been called dirty or muddy. Though, I do recall my mother calling them chocolate buttons, but that’s more cute, than beautiful.”

Steve dared to take his eyes off the road for a brief second to smile fondly at him. He turned back to the road. “You are by far the most amazing person I have ever met. But if we’re being honest, I think I was attracted to you before the Upside Down bullshit.”

“Right back ‘atcha, big boy,” Eddie teased.

They pulled up to the first thrift store and it was closed.

“Stupid places being run by religious nut jobs,” Steve groused on their way back to the car. “Don’t these assholes realize that poor people don’t work nine to five?”

Eddie shook his head. “And what would you know about that?”

Steve looked over at him confused. “You do realize that I have a held down a minimum wage job for the last year, right?”

Eddie frowned. “But why? You have access to your dad’s credit cards. Why work if you don’t have to?”

Steve buried his hands into his jeans’ pockets and leaned up against the door of the car. “Until I turned eighteen I was given an allowance to do whatever the fuck I wanted. Usually beer and weed. But when I didn’t graduate top of my class to get into all those fancy schools, they cut me off. The credit card I have access to is for ‘emergencies only’. And paying the house bills.” He cocked his head to the side. “And for making sure I continue to look the part of their dutiful son.” He waved at his clothes.

“But I decided to say ‘fuck it’, you know,” he continued. “Since I’ve turned eighteen I don’t think they’ve stayed in that house more than a week or two at most. And that’s total, not at a time.” He kicked at the pavement scuffing his sneaker. “If they can’t be bothered to come running home when the god damn earthquake was on the national news, then I’m going to go hog wild. I’m going to have fun and give the best, bravest boy a day of fun. Because he deserves it. Because I deserve to give it to him.”

Eddie pulled Steve into a hug. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Sometimes I forget that I’m not a mind reader and can’t actually know what goes on behind closed doors.”

Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist and buried his head into his shoulder. “I just hate that even the people closest to me still apologize for me being a dick in high school or act like I haven’t changed. Like when Nancy and Robin picked me up from the hospital they were teasing me about me about something that Robin thought was misogynistic but it wasn’t. But they acted like they expected me to be. Just because of that’s how I would have been in high school.”

Eddie rubbed Steve’s back. “Maybe it’s because I’ve had time away from you since high school I can see that you’ve changed. You call me brave. But honey, I only did what I had to to save Dustin. But you? Darling, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but most people don’t literally put their bodies on the line for people that hurt them.” He leaned back so that he could see Steve’s face. He reached up and cupped his cheek. “People unconnected to them via blood ties. You and Robin could have walked away at any time. And probably should have after being tortured. But you didn’t. You stuck around. You fought against the toughest bad guy even in fantasy terms and you still stuck around. And that’s worthy of praise in my book.”

Steve let out a sigh and nodded. Eddie pressed their lips together.

“Come on,” he said, pushing Steve to the side so that he could open the door for him. “There must be thrift shop not run by poor people hating bastards.”

Steve laughed and got into the car.

Eddie hurried to the passenger side and pointed at the road. “Tally ho!”

Steve just shook his head and did as he was bid.

*

The next shop was open and while they were looking for band shirts, they also decided to see who could come up with the tackiest, most horrifically colored monstrosity of an outfit.

Eddie won. Even though Steve had picked outrageous colors, wild patterns, and a mishmash of styles when he put it all together, it looked good. Eddie laughed so hard.

“I don’t know what happened,” Steve whined.

Eddie looked around before pulling him close. “I do. You just have this perfect sense of style that even when it’s supposed to be awful, you make it look good.”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “I guess so. I wish I brought a camera to take a picture of this, so we can show them back home.”

Eddie’s eyes lit up. “I’ll be right back!” He took off like a shot running around the shop like a gremlin. He came back a few minutes later with an ancient looking Polaroid camera.

He took a couple of pictures of Steve in different poses and then had Steve do the same with him.

They paid for their purchases. Eddie having found and bought the camera at the thrift shop. What had taken the time was finding film for it.

They went out for lunch and Eddie took a picture of the two of them at the restaurant, smiling into the camera.

Eddie took Steve to his favorite record store. They wandered around and abused each of their music tastes. But they both agreed that Depeche Mode brought something new and interesting to the genre. So Steve bought “Black Celebration” on cassette for the ride home.

Eddie looked up at the guitars longingly.

“Wayne told me that he was only able to find your acoustic,” Steve said softly, “but not the Warlock after the earthquake.”

Eddie nodded. “I think it was because it got destroyed in the Upside Down, it didn’t exist in the Top Side anymore.”

Steve gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Eds.”

Eddie nodded and they left soon after.

*

They palled around Indy for a bit. Taking in the sites and just giggling like school children.

They headed back to hotel to shower and change for dinner.

As they opened the door to the hotel room, Eddie said, “You don’t have some other mega star going to meet us for dinner, do you?”

Steve laughed. “Not for dinner, no.”

Eddie eyed him suspiciously. “What do you mean not for dinner? Does that mean Ozzy was the only super star or does that mean I’m meeting someone else later?”

Steve just grabbed his bag and ducked into the bathroom without saying a word.

He just took a short shower and got out quickly. He came back out to see Eddie rummaging around a large black gift bag.

“Ozzy’s team finally delivered,” Eddie said. “You have one, too.”

Steve walked up to the bag that was on the fancy side table near the door. There was a tag that said, “For Steve, the guard dog.”

He just shook his head and took it over to the bed to look through what he got. There were a couple of tour shirts and some cassettes. A signed tour poster. At the bottom of the bag were two small boxes. There was a little note attached to the largest of the two boxes.

“Every good guard dog needs cool sunglasses.” Steve opened it up and on the inside of the top of the box was some designer from England that he only vaguely recognized because his mother had gone on and on about them the last time she was home. The glasses weren’t round like Ozzy’s but they weren’t sharp like Steve’s.

They looked like the guy in the suit’s sunglasses. Carefully crafted to cover the whole eye and rest comfortably on the bridge of his nose. He put them on and holy hell. He could see clearly but through the tint of the glass. They were far superior to fancy sunglasses he bought.

Eddie whistled. “Looking good, Stevie.” He saw the other box. “What’s in that?”

Steve looked down at the smaller box in confusion. “I don’t know yet.” He opened the lid and gasped. It was a simple necklace with a single red crystal hanging from it. The crystal shimmered like a flame.

“Wow,” Eddie murmured. “You’re wearing that tonight, yes?”

Steve could only nod. Not wearing it would feel like he was insulting Ozzy’s tastes or rather his wife’s Sharon’s. But also because it was beautiful in and of itself.

“You think it’s safe for me to take a bath or no?” Eddie asked as he stood up up from the bed.

Steve looked at his watch. “I’d wait until we get back tonight. We still have eat and get into our clothes for the concert.”

Eddie nodded. He got a quick shower and was back out in minutes. They put on clothes similar to the night before, with just the dinner jacket the same.

Steve kissed Eddie sweetly on the lips and Eddie hummed happily.

“This trip just keeps getting better and better, sweetheart,” he said, resting his forehead against Steve’s.

“It isn’t over with yet,” Steve promised. “There is so much more coming. So so much more.”

Eddie sighed. “You are too good to me, baby.”

Steve kissed him again. “I’m really not. It’s the perfect level of awesome for you.”

“But too good for Dustin, right?” Eddie teased, reminding Steve of what he said at the hospital.

“Taking him to Indy for the weekend would have been too good for the butthead,” Steve deadpanned.

Eddie burst out laughing. “That’s certainly true.”

Part 11  Part 12 Part 13 Part 14  Part 15 Part 16 Part 17  Part 18  Part 19  Part 20

Tag List: @anaibis @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @chaoticlovingdreamer @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666  @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @whalesharksart @nburkhardt @snapshotmaestro @shrimply-a-menace @theotalksalot @child-of-cthulhu @bookbinderbitch @cr0w-culture @punctualhowell @obliosworld @eddiemunsonswife @sharingisntkaren @dididisrespectyourbridgegoatman @lillemilly

[sarasa-cat]

Feeling behind on EVERYTHING thanks to probably-almost-definitely COVID recovery.

If left to my own devices, I sleep for 13.5 hours all in one go, just dead to the world oh so dead, not waking up for anything. That makes fitting everything else in a little bit difficult.

All that is really left is:

a. Managing the inflammation from low-grade viral-induced asthma which is definitely a thing I have experience with and do not enjoy.

b. Giving my body whatever time it needs to recover which means if sleep is what is on the menu during the best weather of the year (where I am) well, fml, but that is how it is gonna be.

In short, I'm going to be a bit flaky with being online for the rest of this month. Sometimes I will be VERY online as in EXCEEDINGLY online, and then other days I'll be making the best of what time I have to keep Life/Work/Shit moving forward and will probably seem like a ghost.

Low-grade viral induced asthma talk will commence here:

So, it is really simple: many different kinds of viruses can set off viral-induced asthmatic swelling of the airways. After the virus is long dead, the swelling persists. Fun times. 🙃

Normally, these days, if I am in a micro-climate that is dry enough** (I'm not talking desert bone dry, although I do like it, but just Not Perpetually Damp And Moldy), I just let all of my asthma medications expire at the bottom of an overstuffed medical-junk drawer in the bathroom. The only thing I take daily is a cocktail of OTC allergies meds.

When viruses attack --- as in the common cold, flu, etc. --- I dust those bad boys off and get on top of things as fast as possible while also making a point of AVOIDING ANY kind of irritating particulate air pollution that will set it off or make it worse. Cheap wet wood smoke? Neighbor's stank-ass BBQ? Get that shit outta my life.

The better course of action is the slow and boring kind: cancel the next 3 weeks of activities and just let it calm down with inhaled corticosteroids. But, if things get really bad or I am desperate need of immediate relief because my schedule cannot accommodate 3 weeks of doing very little followed by 2 more weeks of regaining my prior-to-attack aerobic stamina, I just break the glass and pop open the steroid step-down pack. Fast and effective, but annoying side effects can also occur.

Right now I have decided that things aren't bad enough for the BIG GUNS and that I can (grumbling grumbling grumbling) sorta afford to be on my ass for 3 weeks. But hooboy, I am not having a good time of it. (Oh, and that, that upcoming 10k fundraiser I had originally planned on staggering through? my participation is entirely, completely, no questions asked cancelled).

What I really want to do is just sit outside in a hot and dry place and let my whole body dry out. You might laugh but I am not joking about the power of that speeding things up. Unfortunately, despite it being august and living in a place that is definitely feeling the effects of global warming, it doesn't get hot enough here to be bathing suit weather under the baking hot sun. But, taking a picnic blanket+basket and a sketchbook to spread out under a tree in a park does sound like a good idea for tomorrow and Saturday (while dressed in long pants, t-shirt, and light cotton sweater).

Anyhow, for now I am taking the SLOW recovery route because I don't have anything forcing me to wage hardcore steroidal warfare on my body, which is precisely what the prednisone does.

But that means I will be flaky because my time is constrained. Some days I'll just say "fuck it" and have a sick day in bed with my laptop or phone and I'll be exceedingly online. Other days I'll make the best of the time I have to do all the adulting that still needs to be done by me, to get actual work done, or to make careful use of energy to (at this pace) inch-worm my way through the epic KonMari of various shit in my house & home-office/studio that needs to be organized.

This is really annoying and not how I planned on spending my august --- which is actually my favorite month of the year! But, oh well. OH WELL.

oh well.

[maeve-is-annoying-about-books]

Wow being unwell feels like shit.

But, I had the opportunity to recover. Something I really take for granted, honestly, the fact that I could convalesce in relative safety and security. I've thanked my loved ones for their help and patience so now, let's get back to doing The Things.

Okay first, I watched Castlevania Nocturne and oh baby we have to talk.

What a great fucking show, moon above it was pitched so well. I feel like there are definitely things I can pick at, pacing issues that could have been resolved by a little longer in the storyboarding room, but I prefer to judge things by whether or not they hit the points they're striving for. In Nocturne's case I have to say yes, each major beat hit exactly what it needed to in order to make the story come together.

Nocturne concerns itself a lot with legacy, I noticed. There is a much more prescient theme and I'll talk about it in a moment, but it really struck me how much each character has to live up to the legacies left to them. Richter to the Belmont name, Maria to her mother's powers, Annette and the legacies of her ancestors, and in a twisted way Erzebet to her own history. Naturally the first Castlevania series was also heavily steeped in legacy, but I find it a lot more present in my mind. It's fitting for a series that is being made as an essential sequel to one of the most popular animated shows of the past while now. It's almost as though the show itself is asking if it can live up to the expectations set for it. Something I can really appreciate, I have had a series or two I've tortured myself with the same question over.

Revolution, freedom, inequality, however. Those are the title card themes. We're set just before the French Revolution now, which is nothing less that the perfect backdrop for such a story. I find that I'm appreciating how the vampiric upper classes are portrayed. It's a perfect pastiche of arrogant nobility. Yes there's something to be said for how they are unproductive monsters who literally leech their lives off the backs of the common people, it's a classic allegory with vampirism in general. But more than that I appreciate just how excessive they are, how overwhelmingly self-important they can be. Erzebet herself is impossibly dramatic, showy, and completely out of touch with anything beyond her immediate world. Normally I feel like I would call it over the top or cartoonishly evil but this is ultimately the point of using her so aristocratically. It's perfect to the portrayal of a ruling class that only cares for itself. It's absurd that this woman goes around, caging virgins in solid gold just for a drink while she calls herself a God. This is the excess our little revolutionaries see in each and every noble who denies bread to their starving workers and a wage to the ones who would care for their gardens.

Speaking of I find myself vastly preferring this version of Annette. Her agency, her story. Her magic is cool as fuck, too, something we haven't seen before and that's amazing. I wish we hadn't dealt with her previous captor so easily in the graveyard, I feel there was a lot more to be said about the man who had her branded becoming branded himself in service to Erzebet. It speaks so much to the mindset of hierarchy and it's so... low of Vaublanc, it is so telling how he was eager to treat Annette as lesser and mark her as such, just to voluntarily do the same in the eyes of his "better". It's creepy, it's disturbed, it only makes Annette's own fight all the more righteous in my eyes.

It's especially interesting how much Annette has to find her power in others. By being close with her ancestors she can wield their magic, even though she could kill Vaublanc all on her own she was bade to seek out Richter and I understand why completely. Not for the epic, vampire-slaying savior, but because he is another equal who can stand at her side. As I've said it's a very cool take, I wish it had been given more room to ripen. A little faith in getting a second season would've been delightful for the development of this arc.

And Edouard oh my poor man. Once he died I was worried they just fridged a character for some bottled motivation, but instead they went such an interesting route. A singing night creature. It's such a parallel, Edouard was born free and is now kept in service to Abbot Emmanuel. Compare to Annette who was born a slave and had to find her freedom. I'm really invested in seeing this smaller "revolution" that's happening under the Abbot, I wonder if going forward he'll have to own up to the cold fact of what he's doing to people. I hope so, I am eager to see Edouard confront Emmanuel with the real truths of personhood.

Gosh I could go on about every character. Maria, Tera, Emmanuel, Olrox, Drolta, even Mizrak, but I will be here an age if I talk about them all. Allow me to shorten this a bit?

Belmont. Richter has always been burdened by his fate, or it comes across that way in Symphony of the Night, especially. He has to be the best magician, the best vampire hunter, so much skill is demanded of him before his wounds can even be healed over. So when Juste fucking Belmont appears and gives his "evil will always win" speech, ooh. I knew that was it, that set his whole character into motion. He'll either defy Juste's prediction or live it out, time and time again. It's such an important scene, he's literally asking the past and his legacy if he can live up to it, and the past answers him with "No. You can't, not forever." and it's somehow the exactly right and wrong answer at the same time. It's the reason to keep fighting, it's the reason to forgive himself for not being perfect, it's a warning that he will probably lose people he loves, it's a promise that after he's gone, there will be another night full of terror and hardship. My entire spine was humming like a guitar string. Hell all of episode six is fantastic, really had me at the edge of my seat.

Also as a brief aside they actually added Juste Belmont I got to see my bisexual twink icon be a badass old man I am SHRIEKING.

Juste is my favorite Belmont and the worst I have to say about the series is that it was complete cowardice to not have him be in a polycule with Lydie and Maxim. There is no straight explanation for Juste and Maxim's relationship.

Ahem. Right. So yes, Nocturne was really great at doing what it set out to do, and watching it was a really fun time. I really hope they allow themselves some breathing room on the second season's plot points, it'd be nice to see the cast grow into themselves now that they're so established. The setup is all there and the payoff is really promising.

[traceofexistence]

oh I have examples!

Star Trek Discovery, how much have been trashed by so called fans, because the protag is a black woman.

and I dont know if some of the choices made by the show early on were because women loved the show, but they were certainly controversial in my honest opinion, but later on they did way better.

first of all getting rid of Georgeou, by promising the actress a spin off that we have yet to see, (and no it's not because of covid, many trek have been created ever since already)

bringing her back for some episodes only for her to be an evil AU of herself, and put a stamp on the Georgeou-Michael relationship to be of "mother-daughter" to stop the shippers.

in the first seasons they gave Michael a love interest that, other characters had to tell her, he was interested in her. and it turned out he manipulated her as he was of the people who killed her family, and she had expressed hate over, and they played it as if they were destined, and he was like her soulmate or whatever the fuck, which was utterly disgusting and fucked up, complete character assassination.

then we spend an entire seasons of her being accused of the murder of her mentor, she self pity, losing her rank, to a cis-het white man, being mistreated left and right, and also he (as many years older than her as georgeou) was played as love interest in an alternative universe.

anyway

after that one ended as well, the writers wrote phenomenal stuff for the rest of the show.

--

another example of men despising women.

Supergirl the TV show.

it started on CBS with a woman show runner, excellent writing, wonderfully fleshed out characters, social commentary, and everything in between. besides the protags at the time abusive husband shoehorning himself in the show for an episode, as her love interest (she only came out about the abuse years after), the show was excellent.

of course the dudebros hated it, they hated the fact that the love interest was a handsome black man(in the racist sense of how dare take our white blonde women)

sadly CBS wasn't willing to pay for another seasons as it didnt make CBS numbers, and they dropped it to the CW where all the other DC comics shows were.

we lost couple of actors because of that.

just to be clear,

everyone LOVED supergirl's human sister Alex, who was an original character for the series.

for the second season, the showrunner decided to have a coming out story for Alex, as a lesbian, the actress loved it, and she even came out as queer herself later on, as the story that was told was so well written it made her rethink her entire existence.

and they brought in a well established in the comics lesbian character maggie sawyer, to be both Alex's awakening and later love interest.

they told the actress that maggie will not have a child like in the comic, as they were not interested in that storyline.

the woman show runner by going to CW her leadership was partly taken from her, until they fired her, so the guy who was lower than her in CBS could take full leadership.

that guy wrote a self insert, cis-het-white slave owning man child, who played as love interest to supergirl, who write after she kissed her black boyfriend she decided that you know what im not i love with him anymore. (which made zero sense and it was so obvious what they were trying to do, when they introduced said self insert)

the woman showrunner had written up to episode 8, so the coming out of Alex was in those episode.

what happened later?

everyone hated the manchild character, everyone loved the lesbian storyline,

so that asshole hated that so much, that he literally forced a "I want kids and you dont" bullshit on the lesbians and fired the actress who played maggie in the first five episodes of s3, that also along with reducing her screentime to nothing.

he was fired soon after that, for being a disgusting creep who sexually harassed more that 20 people, in the crew (he went for the low wage/low job security ones)

the actresses admitted he was a control freak who hated their characters, and deleted about 75% of their scenes.

Alex mind you, was not just a second lead in the first season she was a CO-lead, she had only slightly less screentime that supergirl herself. and in the second season, that asshole's self insert even had more screentime than supergirl at times. it was ridiculours.

after he left, he had done so much damage to Alex's character that a recovery needed actual writing skills that the show runners who were left behind didn't have it in them, not to mention the actress herself felt extremely betrayed and kinda lost her will to continue, but she was under 6 years contract.

[oswednesday]

okay snap a picture of this

these horny posts take place in a spin off series set when the kid twins are 17 going on 18, like space time peta is like what has happened to bill and the fellow life forms is evil they are the last of their species so its established like a time-space lock zoo that gets attached to the mystery shack and if you Know you Know and you can take your higher being family to gawk at them at the fearrarium, i get hired to watch the store/zoo (unbeknownst to me) because i have a an Alarmingly low Affected By Weird meter like the range of like things without minds range and also i have great tits and im good at sales and have a good eye for when stuff is expensive despite being awful at numbers and i have no ties to anything (plot spoiler) perfect employee-housekeeper the twin kids come to visit earlier than planned to do a surprise party for their grunkles returning from their off season travel, they see that the place is like an abandoned mess like wasnt someone hired for this??? and realize i fell into the fearrarium, they look, assuming theyre going to see a gore show and theyre Riiight but its cause im playing russian roulette with the other henchmaniacs, doing the allotment of their daily party drugs (i was lured in, not getting the lock pad but seeing spaces where it was warn and just getting lucky, but its a one way lock without the proper tools so its like oh =_= because i step in and let it close behind me but im completely and utterly sold like i was persecuted by ALL people and im like thats so sad ACAB ) and dipper has promised mabel that they'd do the party first Then work and dipper relents, after being reminded that, they'd tell other people about that later and get the shack ready for their grunkles and their party this of course is focusing in on themes of the original show but making more sense because mabel isnt an elementary school student--like if you dont take responsibility and brush difficult things off with silliness something something morals

anyway all this to say is a formulaic antics are bill and the crew are trying to escape the fearraium like aquarium squids several running gags are: bill tells me to kill the protagonists and im like b,but theyre just kids! and hes like if you kill them all you'll get to do the second line of space coke off of 8ball's head Aaaaand if you get every headshot you can be the henchmaniac of the month and im like oh boy starts blasting (the joke here is that im Always the henchmaniac of the month, any time another character is in the gallery hall of the enclosure the series of framed images are blurred out and make people turn away, go oh god, retch in their mouths a little bit) the second running Gag is that stan and ford add details how much they fucked up hiring me like stan is like oh yeah they were from a mental hospital hiring program i didnt even have to meet minimum wage haha,,,ford like i thought they were a harmless barely sentient idiot (with a great rack, stan interjects and ford starts to agree and stops himself closing his eyes, sighing, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses) and so on the third most is bill and i get so caught up in larping husband and wife that we forget what we're doing and have to be reminded final bit of tone: close to the end of the spin off series it looks like the pines family have finally Finally convinced me bill is too evil to be with and Bad for me and im pointing a lethal space weapon at him or have some hand on some lever (etc you get the idea) having some kind of sobby wet monologue and hes like "babe cmon" then "babe"(more threateningly and my like we'll stop you and save the world is really hitting its climax when im like-- Just Kidding ^x^ (scampers like faster that they thought i could move back over to bill, turning the weapon around and undoes whatever bindings through sheer dumb luck) like oh my god could you even imagine

[madchild-dennis]

I know I know. I'm not ready to fully tackle it and sometimes unable to physically talk/type about it (like last night). I also hate that it has engulfed my life. I hate that it make me too distracted to tackle the government's fuckery. But, we'll talk on the funk, soon.

I do want to talk about something I sat and talk with someone about:

You see this individual did ALL the things that the government is claiming to provide. And still could NOT elevate himself. In fact he now choosing to do things he dislike so that he can do his best to progress himself.

Did you know this person did the work and effort in the Heart program and still got NOTHING. Apparently only a few of his classmates, despite being ahead in the class, got the certification. In fact he said it was a scheme and problems cooked up by the organizer of the program. Plus the overall structure is so lacking that MANY of the programs become USELESS.

Therefore the whole FREE EDUCATION THROUGH HEART TRUST NTA is USELESS and a waste of fucking time.

Then he emphasized how he would not go back even for the free program because who'll pay for his fare, food, uniform and more during that time.

That sounds very familiar. Sounds like I made this very point before👇🏾:

Source:

Then this person revealed that he is NOT currently working. He even break down how he not just survive but also fund the goals he's been working hard to achieve. Oh yes, it is by what you think. Nope not like me, which is by God providing through others. But by skillfully redirecting other people's money without their permission for his use/goals. He even break down how (I was curious). He said he is NOT working because minimum wage is SHIT.

I did not just leave it there. I asked "if minimum wage was $29,000/week would you drop the scamming and work".

He loudly and excited said yes. He even said "why would I work for people, be disrespected by the owners, deal with rude workers and more for $13,000 a week. What I can make in a day by using my phone."

So what I get here is the system set up by the government to make minimum so low, exploitable and unliveable is what making many people, who rather do the right thing, go to do unsavory work.

Nah let me not be so nice about it.

The fucking GOVERNMENT AND THE SHITTY MINIMUM WAGE, LACK OF CARE FOR WORKERS OR UNWILLINGNESS TO STAND AGAIN LABOUR EXPLOITATION IS THE REASON THE COUNTRY IS FAILING, FILLED WITH SCAMMERS AND THE SEVERE BRAIN/LABOUR DRAIN AS THEY ALL MIGRATE (or try to).

I just want to tell ALL who jump on/off boats, hike jungles and struggling while undocumented abroad to be SAFE. And MAY GOD BE WITH YOU AND PROTECT YOU. BECAUSE the potential for betterment, good life or even a life at all is NOT in this JAMAICA with these FUCKED UP leaders.

Now to the Jamaicans left, decide.

Either you FIGHT, or there are ways to leave (legally as well if you can). There is NO SPACE for complacency or indifference or else you will be destroyed. If you're ready to fight, I'm already fighting for you against those fuckers.

You just have to STAND WITH ME. STAND for INTEGRITY. STAND FOR JUSTICE. STAND for GOOD THINGS not shiny shit.

STAND FOR YOUR RIGHT. STAND FOR YOUR JAMAICA.

JAMAICA LAND WE LOVE.

[itwasthereaminuteago]

|| From Ashes ||

Pairing: Frank Castle X F!reader

Rating: M

Tags/warnings: unexpected pregnancy (wrap it before you tap it!), bit of angst and small scuffle between Frank+Matt, birth (not explicit), fluff.

A/n: I am not at all interested in having kids but I look at Frank and he somehow just makes me broody as fuck. Also I have limited knowledge of childbirth so please don't come for me with my inaccuracies 😅

If you like my stuff, I'd really appreciate a reblog ♥️

You'd talked about it before, you both wanted to start a family at some point, but that was sometime way off in the future, after all the shit that he was caught up in was taken care of. Frank said it wasn't safe for you and you had agreed. But one day...

The night before the explosion at the docks, not that you could have any idea he wouldn't be coming home, you'd begged him to fuck you raw. You'd had to talk him round to it. Of course you were on the pill and usually always used condoms, but that night for whatever reason you just wanted to feel him.

"Better be careful darlin' or I'll put a baby in you."

The sound you made and the way you felt when those words left his lips and hit your ears you'll never forget.

"Oh, you like the sound of that sweetie?"

In the midst of the gut-wrenching grief and fog of confusion after Frank was gone you'd missed a couple of days of pills but didn't think anything of it. After all, what were the chances? A few weeks later you put the skipped period down to extreme stress, it had happened before. Now you were here, crumpled on the bathroom floor with five positive pregnancy test sticks confirming the real reason behind your 'vomiting bug".

You didn't know what you were going to do. The only thing you were certain of is that you were keeping it.

When you had asked Matt to meet you it was as if he already knew something was up. Aside from the obvious hammering of your heart with nerves, "you smell different", he'd told you.

"I'm pregnant".

That was the first time you'd actually said it out loud.

It suddenly made everything real and you didn't even realise you were crying into Matt's chest as he held you and promised it would all be okay.

When you went for your first scan you realised that your wage from your shift at Josie's wasn't going to cut through the upcoming hospital bills alone. Matt insisted on helping you with the finances but you didn't want a hand out, you wanted to work.

"Well, Nelson, Murdock and Page are actually doing pretty good now, and as we're so busy we could really use some help. How about you come work for us?"

You couldn't thank him enough.

~

Now it was time. Once you were checked into to the hospital and given a room, Karen and Foggy helped you get settled in and comfortable while Matt gave the nurse some more information.

"Mr Castiglione?"

Matt nodded, going along with your preference of Frank's old moniker and pretending to be your partner. You didn't want to take any unnecessary risks and Matt was more than happy to be there for you.

"Okay, you say the contractions started around an hour ago, and she was feeling a little dizzy?"

"Yes," Matt confirmed, "I think her blood pressure might be low. Will her and the baby be okay?"

The nurse nodded. "We'll keep monitoring her as normal but it's looking fine at the moment, contractions are still quite far apart. Certainly nothing to worry about."

She turned to you. "If they start coming closer together you just let me know, but for now try and relax as best you can honey."

Matt cocked his head as he picked up the radio call of one of the police officers at the opposite end of the floor. A fight underway in an alley a couple of streets away, suspected armed gangland conflict. He looked over at you talking with the others.

"Uh, I'm just gonna go pick up some snacks and water for you from the store round the corner okay?"

You nodded, "thanks Matty, don't be too long, no idea when this baby's coming!"

"Don't worry, be back in no time."

~

Was it irony that tying up the last loose ends of Frank's past had brought him right back to Hell's Kitchen? When this was over maybe he could finally work out how to come back to his  life, back to you.

He'd put three of the gang he'd been chasing down already before a familiar masked pain in the ass jumped down from the fire escape landing in front of him.

"The fuck you doin' here Red?" Frank spat, flooring the last goon with headbutt.

Matt approached him. "Was in the area, heard a ruckus. The usual. Sure as hell didn't expect it to be you somehow..."

Frank chuckled, "yeah I'll bet, you feel like fightin' a ghost?" He inched towards the Devil.

Matt was on his guard. "Not here to fight you Frank but you gotta come with me. Now."

"Nah, nah, you're comin' with me, gonna tell me where my girl is."

"Listen, how long have you been away?" Matt asked him, circling Frank and keeping his distance.

"Had stuff I needed to take care of, what the fuck is it to you?"

"Nine months, Frank. You've been gone nine months."

"Why the fuck does that matter? Where is she?" He roared.  "Went to the apartment and most of her stuff is gone...  looks like she ain't been there for a while. I know you know, Red. You were always close."

"She's been living with me the last few months-"

Frank charged forward with a growl, aiming to kick Matt square in the chest but he dodged away before he could connect.

"Oh, right yeah! I get it. I'm barely dead and you just slide on in, huh? Real gentleman." He span around fast, popping his elbow up and smashing it into Matt's face making him stagger back, blood gushing from his nose. "If you were anyone else I'd fuckin kill you. But I won't, for her sake."

"Jesus Frank, you've got it all wrong," Matt wiped his nose and spat out the blood in his mouth. "if you'd just stop trying to beat the shit out of me and let me explain!"

Frank grabbed him by the throat, slamming him against the roof door. "Yeah I'd fuckin' love to hear how you think you can get out of this one "

Matt choked, swatting and wrenching at Frank's arm but he was running on pure rage and too strong, his dark eyes blazing into Matt's unfocused ones.

He swallowed, "she came to me... 'bout a month or so after you were gone..."

Frank's grip tightened. "She came to you?"

Matt tried to get the words out as fast as he could given the circumstances.

"Hngh-... s-she was scared, she'd just found out she... she was pregnant. She was worried about money, worried she couldn't cope. Karen, Foggy and I... we've looked after her, made sure she has everything she needs."

Frank choked as he processed Matt's words.

"Pregnant? W-what? Who's... is it yours?!" He pushed Matt into the wall.

Matt spluttered out an incredulous laugh, "Think about it Frank,"

He turned it over in his mind, you were his everything, all he wanted was to keep you safe, and him ending up 'dead' had the perfect way to do it. He could hunt down every single threat from his past and blow them away easy. It had taken him almost all the way across the country in about nine months. Nine fucking months...

"Fuck." Frank released his hold on Matt and fell down to his knees.

"My girl, she- she's..." He ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head. Matt coughed, trying to get his breath back as he straightened up, laying his hand on Frank's shoulder.

"She's in Metro General right now. I've been trying to tell you, c'mon I'll take you to her."

They entered the hospital through a service door at the rear, Matt guiding them through the corridors without drawing attention to an vacant locker room. He gestured at a shelf of clean scrubs opposite as Frank checked behind them was clear before closing the door.

"Clean up as best you can and put those on. Can't have you waltzing in there looking like you just beat some Russian gangsters to a bloody pulp, huh?"

Frank grunted, shedding his bloodsoaked, dirty shirt and donning the blue scrubs and borrowing a hoodie hanging on a peg before heading to the sink in the corner, washing his hands and splashing his face with water.

He paused gripping the edge of the sink, leaning over it. Bloody droplets fell onto the stainless steel and trickled down the drain.

"You ready?" Matt called, taking off and shoving the makeshift mask he was wearing under some trash in the bin.

Frank shook his head slowly. "I'm scared Red, christ.'

"I think that's normal...."

"I mean, I'm fucking terrified." He started pacing, "what if I go in that room and she... she doesn't want me?"

"She will Frank. She does. She loves you, she never stopped loving you."

Frank looked up at him.

"C'mon," Matt said, opening the door. "you don't want to miss this."

As they headed up to your room, Matt filled Frank in.

"Her water broke after I uh, made her laugh a bit too much..."

"Typical." Frank mused.

"Mild contractions started a couple hours ago, they're still pretty far apart but I brought her in early as her blood pressure was low," Matt sensed Frank's immediate concern. "She's fine, she's okay. Baby's heart is strong."

Frank chuckled in disbelief, "you can hear that?"

Matt smiled, shrugging, "yeah."

"Jesus. Can you tell what it is, I mean, does she know... boy or girl?"

Matt smirked. "No, she didn't want to know. And I'm not that good Castle. It's a... surprise."

Frank laughed nervously as he followed him around the next corner. "Damn right it is."

Frank froze in the doorway when he saw you, lying propped up on the bed hooked up to a monitor. You were talking to Karen. A little bit of sweat beaded your forehead. He could see the rounded swell of your stomach under the sheet that covered you. He'd never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

"Matty, you're back! What the hell happened to you?" You exclaimed, seeing the bruises on his face, eyes flicking to the hooded figure in scrubs beside Matt.

"...Karen, they've definitely not given me any drugs yet have they? This baby's making me crazy, I thought I saw Frank standing next to Matt."

You watched Karen stare at the doorway, her jaw opening and closing silently.

"He- he is." She finally said in disbelief.

"Karen don't joke, Frank's dead."

You laughed as the Frank-shaped hallucination belted across the room to your side and gently grabbed your hand.

"What? This... isn't real... he's- you're dead." You stuttered, trying to comprehend the fact you could feel him squeezing your hand, his eyes fixed on yours, glittering with tears about to fall. "But, you're dead..." you choked out.

Matt rubbed at his throat, his voice still hoarse and raw, "I promise you he's real, and very much alive."

"Sweetheart." Frank's voice was small, rough and choked up but there was no mistaking it. He raised your hand to his lips and kissed, brushed your hair back out of your face and kissed you on the forehead. He said your name, it was just like the dream you had on so many nights but the warmth of his lips that you thought you'd never ever feel again was so solid and real and here. You flung your arms around him pulling him as close as you were able to. Holding on to him so he wouldn't disappear again.

"Frank! Oh my god Frank-"

He nuzzled against your neck, kissing you there too. "I'm here baby, I'm so sorry! God I've missed you so so much." You breathed each other in, you were whole again.

You cried, he cried, Karen cried, even Matt was blinking away tears.

Frank finally found your lips and almost kissed the breath from you. You held him there for a long moment, foreheads touching, before letting him go and smacking him in the face with your right hook.

He rubbed at his jaw, moving it from side to side. "Yeah, I deserve that."

"Fucking right you do, where the hell have you been?! I thought you were dead! We all did!"

He sat beside you on the bed. "I know, god I wanted to tell you, to see you..." he kissed your fingers again. "there were things I needed to take care of you to keep you safe, and it meant that I couldn't come back. I didn't know that... that you- fuck if I'd known..."

"That I'm having your baby? Our baby."

"I'm so sorry honey, sorry I wasn't there for you. Shit, I've really missed everything, the scans... wasn't even there to rub your feet..."

"Not much to miss, just me growing to the size of and looking like a beached whale. Anyway, Matt and Foggy gave A+ foot rubs."

Frank dipped his head. "Shit, I owe you guys, big time. You came through for my girl. I'll make it up to you I swear."

Matt shrugged, "you don't have to, nothing we wouldn't have done anyway. Just glad you're back Castle."

"Yeah," Karen added, smiling, "you're where you belong."

Just then Foggy returned from the coffee run. "Sorry it took so long, the guy in front punched the machine and actually broke it because it wouldn't give him change so I had to go-" he clocked the hooded figure crouched by your side stroking your hair. "Castle..?"

Matt reached out catching hold of the coffee cups before Foggy dropped them out of shock.

"Holy shit... I guess daddy's home?!""

"Good to see ya Nelson."  Frank nodded before turning back to you.

"Anyway, you ain't the size of a whale, you look beautiful, doesn't she?" He looked to the others for some backup.

You snorted, "oh yeah, ask the opinion of my best friends, one of whom is blind..."

Matt just grinned while Foggy and Karen clamoured to assure you that you looked great.

"Well you're fucking gorgeous, and I love you." Frank said as he kissed your lips again. You saw his eyes flick down to your belly as he sat back.

"I love you too, so much. Here," you say, pulling your gown up a little way and taking his hand and placing it carefully on your bump.

Frank shook his head, a choked laugh escaping his lips as he felt movement, still not fully believing.

"I swear it's gonna be better at kicking ass than you!" You joked.

He smiled, and you bathed in it. "This is really happening huh?"

"Yeah, and-" You hissed, gritting your teeth as pain suddenly lassoed around your abdomen. "it really fucking hurts!" Frank tried to soothe you as you shifted around trying to get comfortable, you got him to pull you up so you could stand and lean over the bed while he rubbed your lower back.

"You okay?" Matt asked. He tilted his head, a furrow appearing between his brows.

You laughed nervously, "heh yeah, peachy." Another contraction, this time much stronger hit you and you felt like you wanted to bear down. "Oh fuck!" You groaned, your legs buckling with the pain. Matt made to move towards you but Frank caught you and held you up.

"Okay," Foggy said, putting his coffee down, "I'm no expert but I think these contractions are getting a mite closer together, gonna go get someone."

"Thanks Foggy." Frank resumed massaging your back and you hummed with gratitude, bracing yourself for the next round of pain.

"Think this baby decided it's time to meet their daddy..."

The midwife and nurse appeared with Foggy. "Alright, anyone who's not a parent will have to leave. This ain't a party."

Karen squeezed your hand, "we'll be right outside, you've got this."

"Good luck!" Foggy said, kissing your cheek.

"You're gonna be fine sweetie, Frank's gonna take good care of you." Matt said. As he reached for the door you turned to Frank.

"I want him here, please..." Frank nodded, he owed Matt that much and it was your decision.

"Matt will you stay?" You called out to him.

"Of course, if that's okay?" He replied, humbled that you'd asked.

"Can he?" you asked the midwife with pleading eyes.

"Fine, just don't get in the way." She said. "Dad, you come over this side, you're gonna be her squeeze toy and help her breathe okay?"

"Yes ma'am." Frank replied, taking your clammy hand in his as you focused on him.

Matt sat on the opposite side, his fingers locking between yours.

The midwife checked you over. "Alright honey it's time to push, nice big deep breaths for me, here we go."

~

A girl.

Frank was so in love with you both and he couldn't do enough to help when he got to take the two of you home. It made your heart burst to see him singing to her, getting up in the middle of the night to help feed and change her. This was a side of him you'd never seen but you always knew was there.

Matt, Foggy and Karen worked tirelessly to find a way to exhonourate him from the dock incident, and all the other gang hits while he was 'dead' were untraceable back to him anyway. He'd been careful.

You both finally had your own family, as well as your found family, and nothing was ever going to take that away.

[greengay]

hi my mood stabilizers have successfully lobotomized me -_-

once i join a gym i’m gonna stop taking them though, just to shake things up 🥴😜🥳🤠🤡

but did y’all know that life doesn’t have to bounce back and forth between seemingly never-ending agony or euphoria?????? it can just be…… normal 😳

oh also i’m a dog groomer now lol i needed to take a step back from music photography cos i just….. needed fucking stability and routine for a bit. i just want/need to go to work, do my job, get paid, and then leave it behind when i go home. when you’re in a creative field, ESPECIALLY when it’s 90% socializing…. you literally can’t ever stop. like you can’t turn it off lol. you always have to be grinding and looking for more opportunities and pushing yourself etc. and it was causing me to fucking spiral.

so. just gonna groom dogs for a bit, and then once i am Healed (emotionally, mentally, physically, spiritually), i can shift back to photography/art.

dog grooming is fun, though. i’m on my way to making hella $$ (50% commission babeeeeey. plus tips. plus hourly wage that’s double the minimum wage). it’s physical and i like working with my hands. and i get to chill with dogs lmao.

moved to a new apt. sharing a townhouse w a bunch of ppl. my room is almost 300 sq ft. 😳

still reeling from the fact that bc i’m medicated, things that aren’t ideal can happen and it doesn’t feel like the end of the world and i’m going to die lol.

but…… damn, you don’t know happiness until you’ve experienced mentally ill™ happiness. but the Lows were just….. too much

but… routine is nice! stability is nice! shaking things up

[clefairymuke]

oiiii i have a request for a oneshot or maybe something fun to add to your regrets fic (whatever you find better) I think it would be funny a reader x the scouts drunk and levi finding them and being all cute taking care of reader :3

thank you for this request!! sorry for how long it took, but it managed to pull me out of some writers block that’s been kicking my ass lately. thank you for suggesting it and reading!

as always, much love! <3

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

Red Wine | Levi x Reader

pairing: levi x reader

themes: fluff

tw: swearing, alcohol use

word count: 2511

True fun and relaxation is not something you typically experience.

Of course, when you signed up for this whole Scout Regiment thing, you weren’t expecting nights out in bars and plush queen-sized beds with wool blankets. You expected exactly what you got: exhausting days and mostly sleepless nights, demanding grief and waking nightmares. One thing you hadn’t expected, however, was how stale it would get. These thoughts are why you ended up where you are now: propped lazily against a wall surrounded by your friends, loud laughs bubbling freely from your ever-smiling mouth, and a bottle of wine in hand.

While the “why” is clear to you, the “how” is a bit more cloudy. Around the complete euphoria in your head stands a thick fog blocking your memory — that, or the fact that your drunkenly dwindling attention span can no longer support a thought lasting more than a second or two. All you know is that you’re here now, and you’re having the time of your life. Your eyes and ears skirt past Eren and Jean arguing without stopping to listen in as you pass the bottle to Mikasa.

For once, you aren’t thinking about how Levi could make this experience better. Although you love being in the company of your boyfriend, you can’t help but imagine his disdain if he were to witness your situation. You can almost feel the ferocity of his razor sharp-glare creeping up your spine as you picture it within your mind.

You lay your head back on the concrete wall that keeps you upright and close your eyes. Although you had shown to be quite social when the bottle first began to be passed, you now wanted nothing more than to take a nice nap — or to go vomit just to ease yourself of the queasy feeling that was overtaking your stomach. Either would suffice. You listen to your friends chatting mindlessly around you, their care to be inconspicuous slipping away with the wine. You watch Connie drain what was left in the bottle, leaving you to curse at the fact that you would be stuck in the uncomfortable kind of drunk that left you a bit nauseous while still conscious enough to be prone to anxiety.

You sit there in a dizzy oblivion for what could have been five minutes or fifty, tuning out the antics of the rest of the people in the room as they laugh and roughhouse. Your stomach stirs and turns, but your mind begins to clear: you notice Connie and Sasha choreographing a dance routine to music only they could hear; Mikasa and Armin sit quietly chatting behind Eren as he and Jean argue over who is more adept at fighting; Ymir and Christa are making googly eyes at each other over their giggles.

“Hey, guys?” you say, your brain lagging behind your mouth by at least a few seconds. “I’m probably about to throw up.” You quickly discover that you’re right, as your gut begins to bubble and your mouth begins to water.

“Oh, fuck,” Connie mumbles as he looks around the room desperately. Sasha looks disappointed as he stops dancing and approaches where you sit against the wall, gripping your wrists in his hands and helping you to your feet; with both of you being drunk enough to show it, stumbles are surely present. Time skips, and you’re kneeled in front of the toilet, Connie leaving to give you privacy — you’re decidedly much drunker than you thought you were.

Just as you start to vomit, you hear Eren defeatedly say, “Oh, fuck me.” That can’t be good.

The space goes silent save your groans. The most imaginative depths of your brain think that perhaps a titan is looking in the window, waiting to bring you all to your doom. How convenient for half of the newest scout recruits to be intoxicated and defenseless. When you hear Levi’s voice say, “Stupid fucking brats. Where is she?” you wish it were a titan instead.

A chorus of voices answer, “Bathroom.” What a bunch of fucking sellouts, you think to yourself. Your heartbeat begins to pound in your throat again as you hear his footsteps grow near; when he taps at the door a few times, you let it all out — out of fear or simple drunkenness you are unsure. “God damn it,” you hear him mumble before the door handle turns and his hands find your hair, pulling it back into a makeshift ponytail.

He rubs your back in a manner you can only describe as passive-aggressive. You can tell he wants to scold you — and you’re definitely in for it once you get to feeling better — but you can also tell that he wants to care for you. That’s why you try to pretend not to hear his curses as he lectures you on responsibility.

“Why the hell are you drinking with these idiots? I wouldn’t be mad if it was a glass or two, but there are three empty bottles on the floor in there. Three. No wonder you’re puking your fucking guts up,” he mutters, voice low enough for only you to hear despite his angry tone.

You feel your eyes watering as your stomach settles for another brief moment. “Levi,” you say, your breathing labored, “now is not the time.” You hear him scoff before you begin to dry heave, his hand moving a bit more caring across your back as he holds onto your hair. Your gut starts to feel a bit better as your brain realizes there’s nothing left. He places his hands under your arms and lifts you gently to your feet before flushing the toilet. You stumble awkwardly to his lead as he escorts you to the sink.

He reaches around you to turn on the water, which is cold to the touch as he holds your hand beneath it. “Clean your mouth out,” he says, nudging his hand around yours until you form a cup. “It’s disgusting.” You oblige him, lifting it to your lips. You feel it drip down your chin as you swish it around between your teeth, looking up in the mirror to see your blushing cheeks and droopy eyes. Levi stands behind you, dressed in no more than a grey t-shirt and some comfortable-looking pants. His hair is neat and combed, which doesn’t quite match the rest of his attire, but you aren’t complaining. He looks as ethereal as always. After you spit, he grabs your shoulder and spins you around to face him.

“You okay?” he asks, brushing the tears that had formed on your face away with his thumbs. You shake your head at him, your eyes trailing down to the ground. Here comes the scolding.

He sweeps you off your feet, to your surprise, holding you bridal-style as he carries you out of the bathroom. You lay your head against his shoulder, seeing the walls of the room and the faces of your friends go blurrily by as he strides to the door; they all look terrified.

“Laps,” you hear Levi announce to your friends, his voice icy. “At dawn. I don’t give a shit if you’re hungover.”

A chorus of groans is the soundtrack for your exit as the door slams shut. The walk back to Levi’s suite is spotty at best; you’re unsure of exactly how long it’s taking. The scenery around you feels more dreamlike than anything — you find yourself hoping that you’re still propped against the wall with your friends, sleeping soundly and dreaming of Levi catching you red-handed. When time jumps and he’s laying you down on his couch, you’re pretty sure you’re awake.

You hear rustling around as you lay there, still half waiting for a scolding. He rejoins you rather quickly, setting some things down on the side table and gently lifting your head. He sits, letting you back down slowly to lay in his lap. “I brought you bread,” he says, taking it from the table and placing it in your hands. “It’ll soak up the alcohol. There’s water over here when you need it.” You inspect the bread lazily before nibbling on it. The very idea of chewing something and swallowing it is enough to make you nauseous, but you trust his judgement.

You feel his hand fall atop your forehead and his fingers draw circles in your hair. You don’t fight the grin threatening your lips. “Are you okay, my love?” he asks, his voice soft. This is the tenderness you had fallen in love with many months ago; the one thing your friends are blind to. He carries himself with such coldness for the public — he is rude, and blunt, and insufferable, and unobtainable. With you, however, he could be kind. He could be loving. The speed with which his gentle voice melts your heart never lessens. This is Levi at his most vulnerable.

“I’m just drunk,” you tell him, your words slurring into each other. “I’m not dying.”

You hear a chuckle barely pass over his lips like a spring breeze, the sparkle in his eyes reminiscent of the way the sun reflects off the surface of a pond. The peaceful nature of your position is a worthy opponent to how your insides wage war on one another: nausea, dizziness, and the beginnings of what will become an absolutely splitting headache all contained within one disoriented body. “I would’ve gone with you, you know,” he says suddenly after a serene moment of silence. “I would’ve known when you needed to stop drinking.” He combs his fingers against your cheek, silvery eyes softening into pools of undeniable adoration.

“You would’ve been a complete buzzkill,” you reply, half joking as you close your eyes and enjoy the rare affection.

You hear a cross between a scoff and a laugh come from above you. “Keeping those brats from getting you so wasted that you start puking isn’t being a buzzkill. It’s called taking care of you.”

“I think I’m not drunk enough,” you say honestly. “We ran out of wine right at that stage where you could go to sleep or start throwing up, but there’s absolutely no chance of having a good time.”

He taps the top of your head with two fingers, prompting you to let him up. You oblige him, using the opportunity to lay down your bread and take a sip from the glass of water that rests on the side table. You watch as he saunters back toward the kitchen, wondering what he was doing somewhat, but mostly just trying to get a grip on your senses. You sit up as you wait on his return, laying your head back against the plush upholstery and taking deep breaths.

He’s back as quickly as he left, both hands behind his back in a feeble attempt to hide the wine glasses as their stems poked around to your view. You feel a smile creep onto your face as he unveils his master plan: a bottle of red wine and a glass for each of you. “Don’t expect this often,” he announces as he sets it all on the table, pulling a wine key from his pocket. He joins you on the couch, scooting in close so that your knees brush before you hear the satisfying pop of the cork and the relaxing swish of liquid on glass.

“You’re expecting me to believe that Captain Levi is offering to get drunk with me?” you giggle, almost nervous to reach for the wine in front of you. He laughs off your comment, reaching in front of him and lifting the glass to his lips; he takes only a sip before looking at you in expectation. You take yours as well, holding it up to his jokingly before you both bring them to your mouths.

After your first gulp, time begins to melt away. A movie-esque montage begins in front of your eyes: the sight of the man you love, once so stoic and so stiff, loosening and laughing the night away at your side; the feeling of typically isolated and scarce hands trailing carelessly along the length of your arms, warm against the sensitive skin of your wrists and your thighs; the smell of red wine spilled innocently on hardwood and upholstery without complaints or uprooting to clean it; the sound of his velvet and brass voice with his uncensored expressions of love, whispered and melodic; the taste of mint and jasmine tea on his unusually wandering lips.

What might be thirty minutes or three hours passes in a flash, leaving you sprawled across the couch with the drunken mess that is your typically reserved lover, legs utterly entangled so that you were unsure where you ended and he began. He’s whispering to you — that much you know — but his words are slurred, and you’re unbelievably distracted by the feeling of wet kisses being peppered along your jaw and ear. He grasps at your back, massaging and caressing and leaving no inch uncovered by his calloused hands as his touch reminds you why you breathe and laugh and plainly exist.

“Levi,” you whisper, your mind a tangled ball of twine save for the feeling of his breath on your cheek.

He hums in response, not bothering to look up at you. You can feel his grin against your jaw.

“We should get to bed, love.”

You’d be left to wonder how the two of you made it into the next room when morning came; rest assured there would be a trail from the couch to the bedroom door made from clumsily knocked-over knick knacks and your discarded clothes from the day to clue you in. If you were sober, you’d care enough about Levi’s wrath tomorrow to clean up behind the two of you; however, you aren’t sober, and you don’t care enough.

The two of you fall into the bed you share, intertwining your limbs like the threads of a tapestry, laying out plainly and beautifully the comfort you find in him. Your head finds his chest and his hands find your lower back, pulling you flush against him as his eyelids begin their threats to close before he is quite ready. He murmurs out your name, his hold on you growing more snug when it passes his lips. “I love you, s—” he falters, nuzzling his face in the top of your head. “So much.”

It’s short — and a pretty common thing for someone to say to the person they love — but it means everything coming from him. “I love you, Levi,” you tell him, praying to whatever is up there that you’ll remember this in the morning.

Soon, the two of you stop stirring and whispering. As you breathe him in, you try to hear his words in your mind as many times as you can before you slip out of consciousness. You begin to drift off to sleep, peaceful and content in his arms as you’ve ever been.

[thessalian]

Thess vs Economic Meltdown

UK Population: So the only real surprise about today's budget--

Tory Government: It is NOT A BUDGET. It is a financial *event*. Or a mini-budget. Nothing that requires scrutiny from ... you know ... nay-sayers.

UK Population: You mean independent experts.

Tory Government: Tomayto, tomahto. Anyway. NOT-BUDGET.

UK Population: Whatever you want to call it, the only real surprise was the abolition of the 45% rate of tax over £150k.

Tory Government: Oh, come on! It's only going to cost £2bn!

UK Population: Well, even though you weren't obliged to seek independent scrutiny or post actual numbers, independent experts did look at the numbers you *did* see fit to show us. And they reckon you got that number way wrong. Reducing the rate of tax above £150k to 40% actually costs £6.6bn.

Tory Government: Nooooooo no no no no. See, if we reduce the rate of tax for the rich, they won't avoid as much of it, so in the end they'll really pay *more*! So we calculated our numbers based on what we believe the wealthy will do!

UK Population: As opposed to what they've actually *done*?

Tory Government: ...I'm prepared to be unpopular.

UK Population: Well, I should hope so, because you're definitely going to be. Nothing in this entire bud--

Tory Government: Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!

UK Population: *siiiiiiiiiiiigh* Nothing in this so-called 'fiscal event' is even remotely helping the people who need it most, and it disproportionately rewards the already wealthy.

Tory Government: Well, they deserve it more!

UK Population: Wut.

Tory Government: And we're trying to get people to invest in the UK!

UK Population: Byyyyyyyy ... tanking the pound? GBP is almost at parity with USD now; you know how bad that is, right?

Tory Government: It'll encourage more people to BUY BRITISH!

UK Population: What, you mean British as in 'tiny island whose exports are more or less nil, and who now lack the people to pick crops, butcher livestock, pluck chickens, and drive delivery lorries because of Brexit'? With a side order of 'a lot of our previous trading partners won't deal with us at all anymore because of Brexit'?

Tory Government: Ah! We have a solution for that! AND it'll help the poor get more money!

UK Population: Really. Okay, fine. How?

Tory Government: We're putting sanctions on Universal Credit so that people who only work part-time will have to seek full-time employment or they'll get their benefits cut!

UK Population: So ... *everyone* who only works part-time. Including the disabled, the elderly, and people who are caring for the disabled and elderly, and literally can't work full-time without suffering?

Tory Government: Yep! Lazy workshy scroungers, all the low-wage plebs. We're going to fix that!

UK Population: Oh for fuck's sake...

Tory Government: Oh! Also! We came up with a solution to NHS understaffing!

UK Population: I am afraid to ask.

Tory Government: We'll just do what we did during the Covid pandemic!

UK Population: The one that's still technically going on?

Tory Government: We're pretending it *isn't*, because if we ignore it, it'll go away eventually!

UK Population: Oh for-- wait. Doesn't "what you did during the worst of the Covid crisis" basically mean "ask for volunteers from other departments and retired people, preferably without pay"?

Tory Government: Yep!

UK Population: *EPIC FACEPALM*

Tory Government: Oh, and we expect Scotland to do all this too, and stop trying for any kind of pay equality!

Scottish Government: FUCK. OFF.

Tory Government: They just don't get it. This is what going for growth looks like!

UK Population: No, this is what slash-and-burn economics looks like. This is what disaster capitalism looks like. This is what "We're going to lose the next election anyway so let's take what little we still can and run for the hills, and leave the mess for Labour to pick up because they won't manage it and we'll look like the better option when they fail" looks like.

Tory Government: ...You love us really.

UK Population: The polls are saying different, sunshine. And what happened to "We're prepared to be unpopular"?

Tory Government: Okay, the people who *matter* love us, really. Now shut up or we really will bring back the workhouses.

[stratiotis-nth]

“Dean, just go book a massage already.” Sam griped as Dean let out another groan, his muscle roller brutally pressing over the knots in his shoulder. “Campus offers sessions at the health center.”

In all honesty, Dean had been trying to do everything except go get a massage. He didn’t like the idea of strange people touching him, and it certainly didn’t help that he’d seen a lot of erotic massage porn in his day. He didn’t want to get a goddamn boner in the middle of the session and get stuck in an awkward predicament with some poor girl just making minimum wage.

“I’m fine.” Dean grumbled, wincing again as the roller bumped over the aching knot he had had since he was a teenager.

“Your appointment is on Friday at 2.” Sam replied flatly. Dean turned to stare at him, incredulous as Sam showed him the confirmation page on his laptop. He scowled.

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

——————

Dean mentally cursed Sam as he sat in the relax room in nothing but a fluffy towel around his hips, anxiously waiting for the masseuse to come get him (despite the room’s literal purpose being to relax). He had tried to cancel his appointment, but Sam had done something to it so the cancellation page was guarded by a passcode. He had clearly gone lengths to get Dean’s muscles loosen up, but he also suspected this was payback for every time Sam had been forced out of their apartment so Dean could hook up with whatever chick he happened to woo at the bar.

“Mr. Winchester?”

Dean jerked his head up, startled by the low pitch of the voice. Holy fucking shitbags, was he getting rubbed up by a dude? He had been expecting some hot chick with curvy hips and big tits with soft hands that could melt him to butter—

He could practically hear Sam’s voice in his head.

You’re confusing reality with porn again.

Dean nearly choked on his words, his anxiety only increased when he realized what was about to happen.

“Y-Yeah?” His voice cracked at the end. He only just started taking in the guy’s features and felt his shoulders stiffen even more—fuck. This guy was gorgeous. Not only did he have the voice of a goddamn erotic storyteller, but he looked the part too. Glossy black hair that was unfairly messy in the most attractive way (Dean’s horny mind unhelpfully suggested his hair looked like he had just gotten thoroughly fucked), a strong jawline darkened by a five o clock shadow that was so defined Dean felt the strangest urge to bite it. His lips were a little chapped, but they were plush and pink—

All train of thought came to a screeching halt when their eyes met. Jesus Christ, did this guy inject the fucking ocean into his eyeballs? No one has eyes that blue—Dean could make out the color from across the room. They shown bright and soft, a shocking contrast from the sharp defined features of a young man in his prime.

“If you’ll come with me, we can start your session.” The guy said. Dean nearly stumbled on his goddamn feet as he stood up. He had never had a problem with guys before, so why was this one throwing him off kilter?

It’s just because he’s gonna have his hands all over you in a minute. Dean reasoned to himself, anything to stop the feeling of panic fluttering in his chest. He silently followed the guy into one of the rooms, once again distracted by how fucking good the guy smelled. Maybe it was just the aromatherapy mentioned on the center’s website, but this guy smelled deeper, like almond extract and honey mixed with pine and campfires. Woodsy but sweet and Dean felt his shoulders relaxing involuntarily—until the sharp scent of lavender hit his nose and the guy’s scent was wiped out. The lavender immediately brought him back to the present, and he snapped out of his daze to realize the guy was standing patiently by the massage table—right. Dean was supposed to lay down on it.

“Have you ever had a massage here before?” The guy asked as Dean laid down and self consciously adjusted the towel now unwound from his waist and spread out on his pelvis.

“N-No.” Dean managed in a somewhat level voice.

“Well, welcome.” The guy gave him a small smile. Somehow, it made him feel better. “I’m just going to go through the standard procedure you ordered before we begin, alright?”

“Kay.” Dean squeaked, immediately making up for the embarrassing noise with a low grunt as he cleared his throat.

The guy started to calmly inform Dean of the places he would be putting his hands, all while pouring sharply sweet smelling oil on them. While he talked, Dean’s gaze somehow latched themselves onto the now-shiny hands that were about to be on him. They were nice hands—really nice hands. The knuckles were defined and his fingers were slender and strong. Dean could see the veins and tendons rolling under tan skin as he worked the oil around.

“—is that alright?”

He blinked, tearing his eyes away from the dude’s hands and back to that too blue gaze.

“Yep.” He said, all without really hearing a word the guy had said. It was an automatic response, one that the panicking part of Dean was screaming to take back.

“Your form says your problems areas are your shoulders and upper thighs.” The guy said casually. Dean felt the tips of his ears burn—his thighs were just fine, Sam knew that.

Fuck. Sam had done it on purpose, hadn’t he? To fuck up Dean’s world in cruel retaliation.

“Please turn on your back so we can begin.”

Dean tensed up the moment he was in position and the guy’s warm, slick hands touched his shoulders. His masseuse didn’t seem fazed, because he immediately went to work, strong fingers pressing into his skin as they work down his upper shoulders.

It took him a moment, when he felt Dean relaxing under his ministrations, to really begin. Dean bit back a groan as the hands suddenly became brutal, zeroing in on the knots and forcing them down with accurate strength. Dean tried to breath through the agonizing pain as he felt his muscles get pinched between strong fingers and pulled on the harsh rub downwards.

The guy worked diligently even though he had to know how much Dean was struggling. His body was both encouraging and protesting his actions, because while the knots hurt, Dean found himself floundering whenever the hands disappeared from his skin for more oil.

He felt himself sinking into the cushy table, melting like wax under this guy’s hands. As the pressure of fingers stayed on Dean’s upper shoulder and neck, there wasn’t even a buzz of arousal that he had expected. Porn lied to him, clearly, because this was perfectly okay and clinical—

And unmanly whimper escaped Dean’s clamped lips as he felt the hands slid downward without warning and suddenly there was warmth shooting down his pelvis—oh no…

The hands never stopped, traveling further down his spine and sides, pausing here and there to work out kinks. Dean did his best not to squirm, to think of disgusting things if only to dispel the chubby he probably had. The hands were nearly at his hips, pressing on either side of his tailbone and jesus fucking christ surely the towel was covering him up?

The hands disappeared, and immediately, Dean despised the loss. All his panicking vanished, replaced by a yearning to feel the touch again. He nearly jumped when the hands suddenly pressed into the back of his thighs, just below the crease of his ass. Another spike of hot arousal shot down his spine, and Dean sincerely prayed he wouldn’t be asked to turn over.

But jesus, this guy was working magic. He found knots that Dean didn’t even know he had, nearly making him cry when he worked out a particularly harsh one in his calf.

He was there for nearly an hour, fighting between states of arousal and panic in complete silence while this poor (but very hot) guy did his job in total blissful ignorance of Dean’s internal war.

“If there are any areas on your front you would like me to work on—“

“No!” Dean said a little too quickly. “No, I’m fine. Just—“ While panicking, his shoulders had tensed up again. And maybe a small part of him didn’t want to leave just yet. “Can you work on my shoulders a little more? I’m always tensing them.”

“Of course.” Came a rumbling reply, and those glorious hands were back on his shoulders, carefully pressing out the knots trying to form again. Dean immediately melted again, his shoulders slumping against the pressure.

He thought that would be the end of it. Dean had gone to the massage like Sam wanted (maybe he was thinking about going back, because he hadn’t felt that relaxed and loose in years), and now Dean could get back to classes and the garage. And if maybe he jerked off to a massage porn video imagining his masseuse instead of the faceless guy in the flick, if maybe Dean started having wet dreams about him basically every night, if maybe Dean was starting to question is already questionable sexuality all because this guy gave him a massage, it was no one’s business but his. Not like he’s ever gonna see the guy again anyway, because how could he go back now that he’s jerked off to the guy? That’s just rude.

So imagine his shock, terror, and panic when he walked into the first day of his tech class to see Mr. Massage sitting at a nearby work table, talking quietly with the professor. Mr. Magic Hands is Castiel Novak, Dean’s TA…and his lab partner for the year.

[dystopia-fantasy]

Always read the job description -Part 1

Max was a fit, well built man. He had been body building since he was 14 and now In his early 40s he has the body of a god, but is slowly getting to the age when he needs to find another way to make money. He knows he can't take part in his competitions anymore, and needs to take it easy. He got great grades in school and college, proving people wrong that you can't be a nerd in a jock body.

Max had some money saved and was able to keep up on bills for a few months but needed a job to keep his large house, in the rich area of the city. He got a call from a business he applied to a couple of days ago, telling him to go in for an interview tomorrow, and if it goes well he will be sent straight on a trip for the company. He gets his new blue suit ready to be worn the next day.

The morning arrives, it's 5am, and Max wakes. He does his normal morning routine, making breakfast, working out, taking a shower, then gets his suit on ready for his early morning interview. Driving to the office building in the middle of New York, it's at least 50 stories high, and is made of mostly glass, and is one of the newest modern builds in the city.

On arrival a large man in his late 60s wearing a suit greets him, "hello sir, you must be max, Sir Mammon is on his way down to collect you, may I say what an amazing suit you have on today".

Max looks the man up and down, seeing the man's huge belly flowing out from under his dress shirt, showing a massive W shape, "thanks mate, you might want a bigger shirt" then points to his belly.

"sorry if I offended you sir, but all clothing has been chosen by Sir Mammon himself" Mammon is the big boss of the business "if you would like to make a complaint I can print you a form".

Max laughs, "No thanks, I'm gonna sit over there, tell Mammon im there".

"will do sir, have a great day" the man says while max walks away paying no more attention to him.

About 15 minutes later a young handsome slender man walks over. "Max is it?" He says behind Max.

"yes.." max says confused.

"I'm Mammon, nice to meet you" he smiles holding his hand out for a shake.

"oh hello Mammon, is wasn't expecting someone so young, no offence of course" max shaking his hand.

Mammon let's out a little laugh, with a little grin "it's ok max, people don't expect someone like me to own such a remarkable company like this one would you like to follow me, we can go up to my office, this is Mark by the way, he's my Butler". Mark is another large man aged around 50, he has a massive belly stuffed into his suit, hes huffing and puffing, like he ran a marithon, "don't mind him, most of my staff are..."

Max cuts him off "fat?"

They both laugh, "you could say that Max" the elevator arrives and they all walk in, "now max, you did read the whole advertisement correct?".

Max didn't, it's was 48 pages long, who would read it all? He just looked at the wage he would get, it started at $100,000 per month. "Yes, I did".

"that's good, most guys are more keen to keep their body's but I guess if your struggling you'll do anything."

Max now confused just nod's and watches though the glass elevator as they fly up to the top floor.

"where here sir" Mark the butler says peacefully in his British accent.

They walk into the room, and Mammon sits at his desk pouring himself a glass of wisky, and Max one too. Max looks around in aww, the room was covered in art work, with the walls painted in golds and whites and had its own bar. "How do you have all this money?" Max asked.

"a mix of many things, this company, and a few investments paid for this whole building, I have many other ways but we're not here for that." Mammon points at the seat," take a seat max" Max sits the chair is made from leather and is very comfy. "So, max, I've gone through your file, I think you're perfect for the job."

"so, does that mean I have the job?" Max replies confused, expecting to be asked a question.

"well yes, if you agree to the terms"

"terms?" Max still confused.

"well yes, you expect to be paid 10times the amount the normal person for this job without any terms or conditions?"

"well I didn't know.." Max gets cut off.

"Max let me simplify them for you. You sacrifice your body to the company, and in trade you get, $100k X the amount you weigh paid into your account per month, So if you weigh 450lbs, you get $450k a month."

"what the fuck? That's sick, I'm not doing that, I'm leaving" and with that Max got up from the chair and stood face to face with Mammon, with the desk all that is separating them. "Your sick, you fa**ot".

With that Mammon's eyes glow a bright red. "I'm a what?" Max got through back against the chair by an invisible force. "Max you could have just left with your freedom, but now look what you've gotten yourself into".

"Let me go, What the fuck?" Max says while traped against that chair, it chreeking with the force of his muscle.

"I'm a fucking demon max, I'm never going to 'let you go'" he took a second break to mock max, "now, what did you say? Fa**ot, was it?".

"fuck, I didn't mean it" the force pins him down harder, trapping his arms against the leather chair arms, and pushing his legs against the underboard. "Please let me go home, I won't do it again."

"shut up max, the process is already starting".

Max looks down to see his body deflating, his pecs turning from mountain peaks to a flat surface, his giant powerful arms turning weak and light. And then looking up he sees a whole new man infront of him.

"Not as big as I thought I would get, but boy I'm big" he took a break to admire his new giant arms and pecs.

"what the?" Max looks in confusion, "how did you do that? Give me them back".

"what are you gonna do max? I'm an infinitely powerful being and you, your an old man, or at least your going to be."

"I'm only 42, what do you mean, going to be?"

"you see I don't have my infinite life span on earth, so to stay alive and in this fit body, I absorb anything a guy has and I want. In your case, these massive muscles, but then I need to absorb their life force as well, in order to make sure I don't age."

"what do you mean life force?"

"well, you have roughly 50 years, worth of life left, I'll drain about 20 years leaving you in your future crippled body at around age 60, force you to work for the company for another 20 years, then when your 80 drain the rest of your life, which after you get fat won't be much, then you got to hell."

"man your sick, let me go, LET ME GO!".

A bright red light shoots from Peters hand enveloping Max's whole body, and he starts to age, his face wrinkling, skin dropping, eye sight worsening, hearing getting muffled, and mind changing a little. "Max, you ok old man?".

"yes sir" max was confused in his mind, why did he say sir?

"max, you ready for your Cruise? You can have tones of food for the next 6 months."

"Yes sir, I'm ready" max lifts his head, opening his eyes to see a new blurry room from his new old eyes.

"you're gonna need these from now on" Peters eyes glow and a new pair of glasses appear on Max's face he can now see clear.

"thank you... Sir", max blinks seeing Peter infront of him, "what have you, done to me".

"Max, I've turned you into the perfect office worker, old, brainiac, who is soon going to get fat and live the rest of his life, in an office chair for me, don't worry for accomodation you live here now, we have apartments on floor 30 to 40, all workers live here, it's policy, we have also sent a team to your house to, well, blow it up, that way nobody is going to be looking for you, becuase we can plant a body"

"give me... My.... Body back, give me... My.. life back."

"Max we both know that will never happen, now enjoy a life of gluttony, and prepare yourself for hell, that's gonna be worse then anything I can do to you." Peter snaped his fingers and a red glow enveloped max.

Recovering from the glow max sees two men infront of him with a trolly of sorts between them. "Is he awake" one says,

"I don't know" said the other.

"im- awake" max said in a much older raspy voice.

"good we can now start the feeding" the man on the left said, his body as muscled as a god, ripped from head to toe, and we can see everything.

Max rubs his eyes under his glasses and opens them again, "Fucking hell, put some clothes on both of you".

Both men where nude, one a ripped god, another muscled up but with a big gut. "Clothes are banned here mate" the beefy man said in a type of Australia accent, "you cant say much fella, look at that tiny pecker".

The men laughed pointing at Max's shriveled up old cock and low hanging balls, "what the fuck"max tries to move his arm to cover him but his arm doesn't move, he looks down to see him stuck in a chair, with a cut out hole under his ass, and straps tying him down, trapping him. "What... Are you gonna do to me?" Max asked sceared.

The men laughed at him again, "no need to act to sceared, we're here to feed you for the next 6 months".

"but... Sir said..." Max get cut off.

"he said you'd be going on a cruise? Fucking hell are you dumb? He's a demon, you shouldn't trust a demon" The muscled guy says.

"bro let's start the feeding we have 50 other guys to see and I wanna watch football Tonight." The beefy guys says, and in unison both their eyes glowed a bright red, showing they where demons too.

The trolly between them had several items on top, one long tube, which floated in the air for a few moments before shoving itself down maxes nostril and deep into his stomach, his head flipped back trying to wriggle it out, but it was stuck. Another item moved into his frame, a IV bag holder, holding a giant barrel type object made of glass, and two large bags floated of the table again and started to drain into the barrel, and the tube connected itself to it, starting a flow of the liquid into maxes stomach.

"done" the beffy guy said. "Now we'll be back tomorrow to refill your barrel, and clean you up if you make a mess, but youll basically be unconscious for the next 6 months, due to the drugs were feeding you."

"so enjoy your sleep mate, you'll litterally wake up a different man." The two men laughed and walked out, max tried fighting the restraints but in his crippled form could do nothing. The door slammed and locked, and the room fell dark, max screamed begging into the darkness to be let free, and to have his life back, which he had only an hour before, but nothing happened, nobody came. He felt the drugs taking effect, but tried to fight back, but it was useless, his body slumped and loosened. His mind fell blank as he drifted of into his 6 month hibernation.

[meyeselph]

Gwenpool: Desperate Misanthrope's Confused Angst

Showtime

Ms. Pool woke up in a familiar room. Not in Krakoa - there are no mutants around. This isn’t a story about that. Look, honestly, without an actual Gwenpool series and the constant breaks in her comics appearance I can’t even begin to give a fuck. I cancelled my marvel universe subbie. I might get back to my stories but single issues are iffy. I read fast and don’t pore over the artwork. So I get 10 minutes of entertainment for….FIVE DOLLARS? When did this happen? Jeezus.

Who even reads comics anymore?

Anyway, long story short, Gwen got out of bed and recognized the room as her old one from the “old times.” The dark times. The ‘not running around in pink and white outfits and shooting people’ times. She panicked (Been there. It is what it is though). The only way out of trauma is through.

She dressed in old clothes, immediately hit by old smells, she couldn’t help but cry. Was it all a dream? Have I gone insane (again)? All the usual self doubts cropped up. I mean, really, if you think this kind of thing didn’t pass through her mind regularly why don’t you transport yourself to a comic book universe?

Oh, you can’t?

Oh. It isn’t actually possible for you and I’m stupid for suggesting it. So, yeah. If it actually happened and you kept that attitude then the logical assumption for a normie is a mental breakdown. Trick for Gwen, though, is it's probably always been both real and her being nuts.

So she goes downstairs to the kitchen to figure out why this is happening and Evil Gwen is having cereal. Let's say cocoa puffs. I’ve been thinking about those recently. You ever remember cereal as something worth cherishing. Not as just bullshit that TV convinced you to want? God damn, now I want Cookie Crisp. Cookie Crisp wasn’t even ever that good. Why do I want Cookie Crisp?

So also sitting around the table were the faceless versions of her father, mother, and her brother. Just chilling. No BD. Seen Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind?

Yes, I know that references aren’t jokes - fuck you, I’m painting a picture and I CAN’T PAINT, THAT’S WHY THIS ISN’T A COMIC. Fucks sake. Anyway. So, Gwen is so creeped out that she just sits her butt down by Evil Gwen as if she’s the comforting presence here.

Her name’s too long. Let’s call Evil Gwen uh…….Gren. You know, like Grendel from Beowulf. I haven’t actually read Beowulf and this is all a little confusing but I'm solving problems here. Writing this is harder for me than you would think so it’s best to keep things flowing off the cuff. That’s the Gwenpool™ style anyway, isn’t it? Are you laughing yet? IMPROV. “YES AND” MY SHIT, READER!

“So, you ever really look into the retconned past thing, hun?” Gren said, moving her tongue around her food. Being gross as an attempt to be properly evil. She swallowed before continuing. “This is all I could really put together on short notice but i’m pretty sure what the future people created, all that stuff to try and trick you, it was all bullshit.”

“What do you mean? Are you trying to convince me to go all psycho like you again?” Gwen asked, exasperated, realizing she was now back in the whole ‘fuck with Gwen to decide her fate’ song and dance routine from the end of her first arc.

“Nah, not really.” Gren said. A hammer appeared in her hands out of nowhere and Gren swung it into their fake father’s head, snapping his neck..

“DAD!” Gwen instinctively cried as she saw her father’s body slump to the floor. Gren slapped Gwen’s face. “That’s it,” Gren said, “this is what the trick was.This is a poorly created character in a fictional story. Meant to manipulate you into attaching your concept of “father” to it. Even his finished version in the original comics run wasn’t THAT well drawn. Your dad read like a boomer’s idea of a responsible parent. You were going through a mental crisis and struggling to find purpose in life and his genius idea was get a shitty low paying job and suck it up?”

Gren turned to their brother, pushed his face to the table and smashed the back of his skull. . “Brother dearest, too. Going right along with their victim blaming. He gaslighted you as if what you were going through was just you being ‘irresponsible.’ Bitch, people working a minimum wage job aren’t somehow not impoverished and miserable because they get some of that ‘honest work’ that folks keep badgering on about. Minimum wage work is occupied by many physically and mentally disabled people held hostage; they’re people society only pretends to care about. Then they turn it all into you acting like some world ending threat. No questions about what drove you to the edge in the first place. You are just ‘unstable,’ so you’re just a problem to be solved. They say, ‘Let’s all solve this girl being upset and on edge by ruining her concept of self, reality, and memory.’ Brilliant!”

Gwen barely processed this in horror. Gren then slit the poor facsimile of their mother’s throat while continuing to rant, “You see people die all the time, Gwen. Half of the time you are doing the killing. You do it because it’s in a story. In a story the NPCs don’t matter and, after all, your original schtick in the story was to be kill-crazy. The non-marketable characters can be replaced or retconned at the stroke of the artist’s pen.” Gren leans forward as she pulls a Gwenpool mask over Gwens face. “Then the writers convince you that you have some middle class milk toast family and you take abuse and subsume your emotional needs because the problem MUST be you. You aren’t ‘normal’ so you have to be fixed.”

Gwen wiped her eyes over the mask and sighed. A bit of fire filled her gut as she stared at Gren. “So fucking what? You want me to go on a killing spree and be a big time villain to get myself a nice, shiny permanent big bad status? That’s how I stay around right? Just build my legacy on bodies?”

Gren scoffed “You already lost that fight, girly. Where do you think we are? Because this ain’t Marvel Comics.”

Confused, Gwen blinked and tried reaching for the page margins, finding nothing. Wait….why was everything on this page so ill defined and undetailed? Wait? Why was the story in kinda wobbly third person past tense?

Gwen sighed “Oh. I’m in a fanfic. I guess the publishing fight is for another day eh?”

“My advice, personally,” Gren stated, “is that you consider the lobster.”

“Wait, what the fuck?”

Gren pulled aside the kitchen curtains revealing the face of a giant lobster, its claws tapping on the glass. The lobster muttering gutterally about personal responsibility.

“Because there’s a couple thousand giant lobsters outside that would like to claw you until you read their book.”

--

Scared of Girls

On the rooftop, Gren shoved a high powered rifle into Gwen’s hands while she handled the close range threats. So, this conversation they’re about to have is important. Sniping puts Gwen into a sort of zen space, so that’s a better task to keep her focused, after all.

“So, what? You wanted me to internalize that my “origin story” is bullshit? Okay, what does that accomplish, then?” Gwen asked in a bit of a deadpan. She was so tired today. Not really feeling her happy go lucky energy. More like a “happy go fucky” energy. It was hard to always be on a knife's edge. Still the rifle’s kick into her shoulder was satisfying as she blew through two of the creepy looking lobsters at once. “Also, why the lobsters?”

Gren considered this. “Okay, last question first, I had to experiment a lot and do a lot of research to construct this place for your learning and healing in fanfic form....These buddies are a failed experiment of mine that I repurposed because the fic needed more action. Isn’t that right, giant enemy crap?” As she peppers the nearest goon with a hail of shotgun pellets the entire throng of them burst out, sharply muttering about divine symbols.

“As for what I'm trying to teach you, it’s that you aren’t reaching your potential.” Gren grumpily huffed.

“Duh,” Gwen reloads, “I mean you just killed a mannequin version of the voice in my head that says that to me every day.” one of those crustaceans talks about feminine symbolism while she decides on her next target.

“Not like fake daddy’s ‘Be a responsible member of society by paying your taxes’ type of potential. I mean your creative and emotional potential.” Gren flipped off the slavering throng of monsters, noticing they were starting to keep their distance from the roof.

“I never did finish that fanfic idea I had.” Gwen mused.

“God, don’t mention that,” Gren thrusts a finger at Gwenpool. “Not that I don’t respect fanfic, but when comic book writers make you and Kamala squee about fanfiction to try and relate to “the kids” it comes across as so condescending.”

“Really? I mean…..I'm sure it’s meant as support for the concept?”

“Most fucking superhero comics are just legalized fanfiction! The people who created the characters are either long gone or working on someone else’s characters! They just think they are so much better because they got fucking paid. They can’t imagine themselves as on the same playing field as fanficcers even though most of them have the same level of connection to the roots of the work as anyone else.” Gren groused loudly as she seemed to pull Reed Richards out of nowhere.

Confused, Reed looked around until his eyes met Gwen’s.“Oh great, you again.” Reed groaned as he turned to survey the piles of lobster gibs while Gwen cheered the lobster forces’ retreat with a resounding “EDF, EDF!”. The scattered creatures skittered amongst the bland scenery. It looked like a suburban neighborhood but someone forgot to color in the sky….or write that the sky had color. A castle hung out in the distance breaking up the generic normalcy and lay cloaked in shadow despite being surrounded by an endless white void.

“And…..black….you?” Reed pointed to Gren, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I have an evil future self….well I stopped that future so it’s an….evil...alternate timeline self?” Gwen said with a nervous chuckle, abandoning the kill quest for the minute and rested her rifle on the roof.

“Ah. Yeah I’ve been down that road. It’s a rather common occurrence. Multiverse being what it is.” Reed laughed heartily while putting his hands on his hips.

“I’m not sure I’m evil, honestly,” Gren interjected. “I think I’m just really fucking grumpy and I’m slightly more gung-ho on the homicide. Considering Gwen’s already one of the more kill crazy characters on the roster it’s not that much of a distinction.” Gren flipped her cape. “My main distinction is I don’t like that meme from The Incredibles! You can just make it so the cape detaches automatically when it’s pulled hard enough!”

“You could still have it tangled up around your face.” Reed pointed out in his standard know-it-all fashion.

“Don’t make me go into fuck wife mode, stretch.” Gren spat. “Okay, anyway, so I brought him here to illustrate a point. Reed. Explain particle physics to me as a laymen.”

“Huh...i’m not sure why but okay. Particle physics (also known as high energy physics) is a branch of physics that studies the nature of the particles that constitute matter and radiation. Although the word particle can refer to various types of very small objects (e.g. protons, gas particles, or even household dust), particle physics usually investigates the irreducibly smallest detectable particles and the fundamental interactions necessary to explain their behaviour. In current understanding, these elementary particles are excitations of the quantum fields that also govern their interactions. The currently dominant theory explaining these fundamental particles and fields, along with their dynamics, is called the Standard Model. Thus, modern particle physics generally investigates the Standard Model and its various possible extensions, e.g. to the newest "known" particle, the Higgs boson, or even to the oldest known force field, gravity.” Reed rattled this off rather mechanically.

Gren then took out her phone and showed Gwen the Wikipedia article on “Particle Physics,” which is naturally the same words that Reed had regurgitated above, just without any formatting and, again, on a phone.

“Reed can’t be a genius in any subject unless he’s written by a genius in that subject. That’s how stories work. Everyone is limited by the understanding and capabilities of the writer. Same with your origin story and all the people you’ve interacted with. If you are as ‘meta’ as you think you are then you have to realize that you aren’t actually talking to people. You are talking to the writer. Dr. Strange didn’t rewrite your existence to be a part of the Marvel Universe. As far as most of Marvel continuity goes Dr. Strange was never there and doesn’t know or care about his MCU casting…..Hey Reed, buzz off please before the conversation pivots to why you haven’t cured all known diseases.”

Reed looked a little surprised but then pulled out a teleportation device (of course he has one) and blipped away with a shrug.

“How awkward is that going to be when he enters the MCU after Kamala is already introduced with a very similar power set?” Gwen chuckled.

“Keep up the way you’ve been going and you’ll never see it. I’m not exactly expecting a young blonde girl casting call for Deadpool 3 and that’s your best bet.” Gren snarked. Gwen winced with a sigh.

“I don’t get what I'm doing wrong. I have a fanbase comparable to some of the characters that have already shown up but I can’t even get comics written about me most of the time. An MCU push seems unlikely. They would literally have to deal with completely recontextualizing my powers and gimmick”

“Let’s ask her what you should do.” Gren motioned her way to the suddenly appearing long hair future Gwen, looming over them like The Attack of the 50 foot Woman for some reason. Dwarfing the roof they are on. Let’s call her BIGwen!

--

Gold Guns Girls

As BIGwen acclimated to her surroundings she stubbed her toe on a car, dramatically flipping it so that it took out a few more lobsters before caving in a nearby house. The lamentations about clean rooms soaring as the remaining couple dozen of them attempt to clean up some of the bodies of their fallen kin. The large and sort-of-in-charge Gwen hissed in pain and adjusted her boot. Getting her balance as best as possible she muttered curses that traveled rather well considering the lung capacity of a giant.

“You know,” Gren started, “I wasn’t expecting much from our previous uses of the ‘make her big for emphasis’ trick, but it really does only work as a vague ghostly background element. I didn’t just want it to be ‘oh, here's a third Gwen for the conversation, though. Would lack umph.”

“ Yeah, I get it, but staring at my own giant taint is unsettling.” Gwen muttered.

“I’d still, hit it.” Gren grinned, then immediately got punched in the arm. “OWWW! Look, I’m the evil one here and we’re in a fanfic. I’m allowed to make internet fetish jokes.”

“And I’m allowed to hit you for it.”.

“Dirty lampshading goody two shoes. Don’t act like half your fanbase isn’t thirsty. It’s “insert current year argument”, all art is sexy to someone.” Gren complained back,rubbing her arm before hopping off the roof. Gwen followed while listening as patiently as she could considering how many changes in topic her evil-caped self is going through to get to her point. “This chick is the reason you’ve been on the path of good girl. Some vague idea that in the future everything will work out for the best. HEY, DOWN HERE, BIG SHOW!” Gren waved at BIGwen and she looked down curiously.

“Yeah what??” BIGwen responded in a booming and agitated tone. Honestly, being in this fic made every version of Gwen a little grumpy.

“How’s she supposed to be a popular hero that makes it into the MCU and has a stable publication history?” Gren asked.

“Fuck if I know.” Came BIGwen’s response. “Have you tried growing your hair out?”

“Rub it in,” Gwen muttered under her breath, “I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of depressed now.” Gwen said as she sat on an abandoned car.

Gren hopped on the roof of the car, patting Gwen’s shoulder before squatting with enough force to flex the car’s shocks like a rocking chair just to amuse herself. “Future “good” Gwen wasn’t an actual plot point, it was a call to action to the fans to make fanfic like this and support the character outside of the actual Canon. Chris didn’t trust that Marvel would treat the character right. That, and your obsession with getting a new book, are both the writer’s attempt to turn a marketing tactic into fan engagement. If you want to be real then that makes the fans want you to be real even more, too.”

Gwen sighs heavily and leans her chin on one hand. “I mean...the time traveling through the life of an NPC fan complete with a Never Ending Story reference was a bit sappy even by the standard we sometimes set...damn it it really was just kind of a fan manipulation trick wasn’t it?”

BIGwen Sat down on the street next to them and crossed her legs. “Hey, little me. Don’t get too down. I mean it worked for the most part. You have a healthy cult following. Characters have survived on less and there are worse things to be known for then as a fan first character”

“But I have to fight for attention all the damn time, though. It’s so easy for Wade with his fucking meme bullshit. He even gets runoff enthusiasm from me. Jeff the land shark is all over Oldpool online” Gwen felt rather heavy and tired all of a sudden. Marvel editorial forcing a gun to your head is not a fun way to be.

“All that fight is hell on the fanbase too.” Gren sighed. “Advocating for shit, getting crumbs and being expected to accept it while Disney lavishes all the attention based on some bullshit numbers game. Even if you make it into the MCU will it be a Batroc style cameo with obligatory ‘killed off in case we don’t feel like paying the actor again later.’ Will it be an emotionally rounded character or an ambush bug style joke? The thing is. You're Not the one fighting and you never were.”

“The fuck do you mean?”

“This version of her doesn’t know?” BIGwen whimpered.

“You aren’t real, Gwen.”

--

Head Like a Haunted House

“No….we aren’t having this conversation. Fuck you fuck you i’m not a fucking Nihlist and i’m not going to do this right now.” Gwen said as she scrambled off of the car and pulled out some guns. BIGwen then picked her up off the ground.

“You need to hear this, Gwen,” BIGwen boomed. “The gimmick has run its course. It’s fucking with your canon. You’re never going to be a marketable character keeping up a half fourth-wall Kayfabe”

Gren climbed onto BIGwen’s Shoulders and perched over Gwen all menacing like. “You need to listen. I’ve been trying to ease you into this. Making things more meta slowly until you were ready but it was never going to be easy.”

One of Gwen’s guns was fired from it’s holster and pierced one of BIGwen’s fingers. BIGwen screamed and her grip loosened. Soon Gwen was on the move running up her arm and firing at Gren, who dodged like the nimble and cute badass she is. “Don’t do this Gwen. Just because it doesn’t matter to the comic version of you doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m a real person god damn it! I read the comics out there! I came in! That’s why I know shit I shouldn't know. That’s what I am! THAT’S ALL I AM!” Gwen shrieked as she pulled out a sword from hammer-space and decapitated BIGwen. Suddenly a mess of colored streamers and a pile of Mickey Mouse merch tumbled out. Look, I am busy right now. Gwen is still slashing at my ass. I'm not going to explain it.

For some reason now the remaining lobsters were helping Gren. For Gwen’s own good you understand. This is proof that I’m right for some reason.

Gwen pulled out a revolver, firing pumpkin sized holes in lobsters who were still wailing about self actualization. She fully planned on shoving a sword up her evil self’s ass and getting rid of this doppelganger shit for good. Which is total bullshit by the way. She totally just cut off Gren’s leg because what the fuck you mean I’m not real? I’m going to be real all over your corpse.

Gren didn’t really think that was even a good comeback and also thought you should probably say it instead of meta willing the smack talk into existence, otherwise this fanfic is going to read like trash. Also, Gren’s leg wasn’t actually cut off. In a puff of smoke it is revealed that the cut off leg is a log and her leg is fine. Gren is a ninja now, believe it.

Gwen proceeded to do a sick ass CQC judo throw on Gren and then grab her cape and wrap it around her face like Reed suggested. Callbacks for the win! Callbacks to Checkov’s gun ideas always lead to victory in fights! She then totally shot at her and such.

But the bullet was caught by the cape because the cape was a symbiote! That’s right Gren is also GRENOM!...boy that sounds stupid. Anywho, the cape was no longer around her face and the fight continued and Gren now ALSO had extra powers and special wizard-symbiote armor (that would only show up in the MCU version if Marvel finally got the Sony characters back). The meta powers work like shit in text but this would be really good in CGI or animation if Marvel wanted to adapt this fic and give the writer lots of money. Gren still has more experience with them, though, and Gwen can’t really just kill her way out of this fic so she has to just let the story play out.

…...eh?....oh Gwen’s crying. I love/am you girl but we gotta work on the crying. Fucks sake this is harder than I thought. I’m depressed now too. Well I'll try to get the writing back on track so you guys can see what is going on. Even the lobsters are minding their manners now. Chill vibes, guys.

“The marvel character page for Gwenpool says, and I quote:

Gwenpool arrived in the Marvel Universe from the “real world,” but has wasted no time in making the most of her time in her fictional universe. Using her knowledge of comics to her advantage, Gwenpool causes and solves problems for her fellow heroes.”

Gren drags a lobster corpse slowly toward Gwen and sits on its tail as she talks to her. Taking her time to really scrape the lobster against the ground, smearing the gore on the pavement. Not that it was heavy for her or anything. Totally still has that symbiote, which would make moving it easy. Totally wasn’t a detail added in the second revision of the fic slightly before the lobsters were added.

“The words “Real world” are in quotation marks in that wiki. Real people don’t make it into comics because fiction isn’t real. Half of your versions barely make use of the ‘real person’ gimmick because it’s too meta by half and not every writer wants to waste time justifying it. So they just treat it like Deadpool’s medium awareness. Which it mostly is.”

“I really am just a fucking rip off distaff character.” Gwen moans. “Just a Gwen combined with a Pool. I’m worse than the Batman who laughs. I never mattered because I was never real”

“Fuck don’t say that. You were made with love and care by a team of creators who took a weird offshoot idea and built out a compelling metafiction idea and a likeable protagonist off of it. They just didn’t have the time and foresight to go far enough.” Gren sighed.

“Far enough?” Gwen sniffed as she was pulled up to her feet and dragged toward one of the big castles. As they walked Gren kicked along a Mickey Mouse doll that had rolled out of BIGwen’s severed head. Every time it bounced it cheerfully said ‘hahah. I love you!’

“Too much haha, not enough trauma. You’re not just a joke character.” Gren said as she kicked the Mickey doll into the big front door of the castle. The shadowy thing of course lighting up and being all fantasy and shit as the door opened.

“Well I did end both of my comic runs pretty mopey.”

“Damn right you did. When the jokes run thin they run to your real bread and butter. You’re an empathy machine.” As Gren shoves Gwen through the gate they are swallowed up in the castle, going dark again. “Let’s getcha sad clown on.”

--

Never there

“See, what evil me should have been telling you about in the original run is how to find meaning and purpose when technically nothing means anything. Comic book characters live in a world without real death and suffering. It’s all a puppet show version of real pain and real emotion meant to bring that out of an audience.” Gren opined as they walked through a black void to a couch floating in a nothing area lit only by the static of an old TV.

“Can we turn on a light?” Gwen asked as she sat on the couch. Gren sat on another recliner that suddenly appeared and put her feet up.

“Fuck off. Ambiance is a thing. We aren’t having a ‘lights on with something fun on the TV’ conversation. So look, I am not really ‘evil gwen.’ I’m half an author insert and half a plot device. If we are talking about the reality of the story you are basically talking to yourself. I am speaking about the things you don’t want to admit to yourself. You know, you’ve seen this kind of story sorta... right?” Gren picked up the remote and frustratedly changed channels between a bunch of vaguely illustrative footage on the TV, not finding anything that worked. A lot of black and white footage of trains for some reason. Just what comes to mind when I think of documentary footage? Weird.

“I am not sure how to illustrate this shit visually and this is a text story anyway so I would have to explain the illustration,” Gren griped.

“I basically get it. It’s not that uncommon a trope.” Gwen nodded.

“Because of the level of meta we are on right now we have to really acknowledge that you are basically an author insert, too. I mean, to a certain extent every version of you is more the writer that is working with your character at the time than a set character.” Gren said as she settled on a visual of Gwen being pushed out the window by her own narration text in the original comic run. When all else fails, resort to footage from the last story. That way people can look it up online!

“Right here is where the character crystallized in the mind of the author of the current fic we are in. A vague suicide metaphor wrapped up in the flavor of self destructive escapism. Your parents in the story thought it was a suicide attempt on at least some level. This is serious business. Not just a girl who doesn’t like work and can’t finish her fanfic. In this comic you are built on this understanding. The writer of this fic has ADHD and autism. So his version of you more or less has it, too. Writers bring themselves with them into their work.”

Gwen nods and takes a deep breath. “I….I can feel it. Like the world is closing around you. You aren’t built for anything that anyone wants from you. The one thing you really believe in, the one thing that really defines you, the stories in your head…..it’s just not enough.

You can’t trust you’ll ever make it with writing because you can barely write. You barely have the energy to do anything but wish that you weren’t you. What if someone actually listened? Actually believed in you and whisked you away somewhere else where the world would fit your needs? What if you were someplace you could be someone else, someone strong and confident?”

“Yeah. Like a funny anti hero in a comic for instance.” Gren nodded. “But the original comics sort of left the theme on the table. They were captured by the misconception of Gwen as the problem and not a person who needed help. All that desperation that real fans of the character might feel just bundled up into love for this character that really ‘gets’ them but Marvel doesn’t ‘get’ the character. They won't use her. They won’t go past vaguely gesturing at her mental issues and moving on. They saved the angst for Wandavision.” Gren scoffs.

“I mean the show was okay but they literally have a character built entirely on the theme of escapism and trauma. One that’s custom built for mind-screw visuals and reality bending plots and they think she’s just a lazy fangirl who really likes guns that they can sit beside Deadpool sometimes and stick in the X-Men’s bloated background character roster when they don’t need her.”

Gren leads Gwen off the couch and deeper into the void where a door to a bedroom waits. A room like her own, absolutely slopping over with old toys of comic book characters. An unclean messy space in a run-down house that smells faintly of cigarette smoke. Huddled in bed, reading an 80s era X-men comic with a flashlight, is a 12 year old Gwen.

“This is never going to be canon but this is the version of Gwen in this fic. She can’t stop crying at school. Things that shouldn’t be hard are so hard and she can’t explain why. Everyone says she’s making excuses. Meanwhile her mother is fucked out of her mind on pain killers and her step father killed himself last year ‘cleaning his gun’ while drunk. You know exactly what is on her mind right now?” Gren says as she gestures at the girl.

“I wish the superheroes would save me from this.”

“They won’t. They can’t. They were never meant to.” Gren Slams the door loudly on the scene.

“That is the emotional core of Gwenpool in this fic. The desperation that so many of the fans down here in the fucking muck of the real world feel. Poor and emotionally unfulfilled. Confused and vulnerable. If Disney and Marvel gave two fucking shits about people like that they wouldn’t waste as many stories as they do. They wouldn’t just use untold wealth to make expensive escapist stories with the military. Their gestures toward progressive ideas that they occasionally make in their stories would be THE ENTIRE POINT of their stories and the actual thing they used that money for instead of lobbying the government to keep Mickey Mouse out of the public domain.

“Disney has the power yet they save a fucking miniscule fraction of who they could. Saving people doesn’t make money.”

--

When I Get To The Green Building

Gren stormed through the void. The scene disintegrated around her as Gwen followed. Both now in a bit of a sour mood but with newfound determination.

“Come to think of it. Why is the fucking Hulk getting to fight for social justice in the comics? Why are they making a gay alternate universe Captain America? Why are they grasping at straws so hard to find characters that get to advocate and I am just sitting on a fucking island being grumpy?” Gwen groused. “I’m pretty sure I’m pansexual….at least in this fic. I could advocate for a bunch of shit at once.”

“You have a youth fanbase, a unique story and you technically aren’t an alternate universe version of fucking anything no matter how many people still think you are a Stacey. They made a fucking ‘for the fans’ character and then neglected it. Presumably because some fucking money making metric didn’t pan out despite the comics just being an MCU test kitchen and IP farm anyway.”

“You’re a fucking check mark on a ledger. I don’t even know if anyone technically created Gwenpool as a whole and Disney/Marvel can give the character to whoever they want to do whatever they want completely separate from what the fanbase wants and needs because she isn’t established. The IP landlords have spoken. The fans haven’t risen to enough ‘buy my merch’ calls to action to invest more resources. So tease endlessly until that changes.”

“Gah. Now I'm actually as pissed as you are.” Gwen said as she started fiddling with her guns. “Who do I kill?”

“We can’t do shit. You’re not even a character at this point. You are a meme for an underused character.” Gren smirked all evil like. “See but that’s it. You aren’t just a meme. You’re a MEME.”

“Uhm...I don't follow.”

“Like the concept of Justice. Gwenpool is an idea. Defined entirely by how people who engage with the idea choose to engage with it. The IP law means Disney owns Gwenpool but they don’t own how Gwenpool is perceived. Just like we as a people decide what justice is through popular consent we also decide what Gwenpool is. You see they made a character for the fans…..in my opinion that means the fans can do as they like with it even if it makes Disney uncomfortable.”

“I mean they can’t even stop porn of their characters just because of the sheer volume of the problem. I suppose people could do whatever.” Gwen nodded.

“Exactly. So the fans should just fucking Occupy Gwenpool!” Gren said as she flipped her cape dramatically with a mad smile on her face. That’s right. She was Dirtbag Leftist Gwen all along!

“Squat on that IP. Make Gwenpool a mental health advocate. Make her an LGBTQ activist. Make her fight for social and financial justice so hard that Bruce Banner looks like a poser. Make her talk shit about politicians who put their career ahead of the people. Do all the shit that makes the comicsgate crowd sad. Keep politics in our stories! Rally around that pink and white ass so hard they have to notice and then tie it all to the fact that Disney has great power and with great power they take no responsibility for how shitty the world is.”

“ If they are going to fuck Gwenpool fans they gotta learn Gwenpool fans fuck back. We have already proven we can make all kinds of cool shit. Let’s get serious and make more, harder, faster! Get a hashtag or some shit. They can't DMCA all of us! GWEN IS OURS WE JUST HAVE TO REACH OUT AND TAKE IT. Then they either respect the character and her fans or they just hit a PR disaster.”

“Marvel/Disney neglects fan focused cult character themed protest movements. Proves they are only progressive when it makes them money. They’re so worried about Mickey ending up in the public domain? We’re the public domain! After our entire lives stannin their characters and buyin their merch building them from an animation house into a juggernaut they are just another weight on top of the boot on our necks. They have to take responsibility!” At this point Gren is pretty much ranting maniacally and neglecting the actual writing of the story so this is Gwen taking over to wrap up.

Guys I may not be ‘the real Gwen’ but really, isn’t the version of Gwen that actually came from the real world all of us? Isn’t Gwenpool really the Gwens we made along the way? We could easily bring a little heroism and chaos to the real world (at least to the internet) if we really tried. Put the fear of God into some IP landlords and fight for some cool people that society is screwing over, too.

Prove that even in the fandom abyss people aren’t as powerless as they seem. Use that internet comic fan mobbing for something besides giving Zack more money. Disney is gearing up for their next IP fight for Mickey in 2024. Seems like a fine time for IP themed protests. For now we just need to spread the word that our needs are more important than their profits.

It’s been real. It’s been long. It’s been a real long time coming…..

But I finally finished my fanfic.

See ya, true believers.

[dreamylyfe-x]

11x04: NIMBY Reactions

Oh my God, that’s the good stuff right there. I’ve been hanging on for the middle of the season, where I have felt pretty certain the tone -- with Gallavich particularly -- might shift and I was NOT disappointed. 

So first thing’s first: though Mickey had barely anything to do with the A Plot (Milkoviches Next Door) I still thought this episode was the best  Mickey-being-Mickey-as-I-know-and-love-him  episode we’ve had yet. (Though fair warning, I thought 11x03 had some quality classic Mickey in it -- just mostly the scenes without Ian.) 

Before we get started on Mickey, though, this is the second episode in a row where I’ve enjoyed the Frank plot? Granted, it was LARGELY Liam that I enjoyed, but I was still watching the Frank plot and that is a major shift from season 10, where I barely bothered. 

But yeah. Ok. Mickey. This episode was such a great Mickey episode from start to finish. One of the things I love about Shameless is the whole thing where normal for kids living in desperate conditions, while very different from most people’s normal, is still normal for THEM. And I really enjoyed Mickey watching the Milkoviches move in while giving the Gallaghers key intel on exactly what they were seeing. And kinda understanding how messed up some of it was in real time. That’s a real experience people have -- being mid-story and suddenly thinking “Yeah. This is way more fucked up than I realized.”  

I also enjoyed the several moments in the episode where Mickey overtly acknowledged that his family is insane, he just doesn’t like the Gallaghers looking down on him. Which: valid. 

Speaking of -- finally we find out the state of the Mickey-Terry relationship. Which is: there isn’t one. Another thing I loved is that Mickey shares the desire to see his family move on, but he’s not going to bother engaging with it. He’s going to work on getting him and Ian out of there, and pay hardly any attention to his family. Love that for him. 

I also love love LOVE that, now that he has a bead on something to do for money that doesn’t fill him with dread, Mickey is taking the same attitude he had when Ian was working and he wasn’t -- which is that he’s going to take care of things. As someone who was baffled at Mickey’s inaction and willingness to let Ian do all the work in the first few episodes, I really loved this. Because it’s consistent and it indicates that his world view just kinda like... Someone has to be taking care of the money part, and that might shift back and forth between him and Ian, but the result of the effort is going to be shared between them. I understand where Ian was coming from -- especially when Mickey kept returning to criminal enterprise -- but it’s nice to see a little more of how Mickey views things. 

Also, I know this is very well observed, so I’m retreading well-worn ground, but the scene with the cereal. Gah. I love it. Ian regressing -- I know they gave us the shot of the bottle of Jamison, but I felt like they were getting their point across with the cereal and the cartoons. And Ian not answering or responding to Mickey right away was extremely evocative of Ian’s history of depressive episodes. I loved how forthright Ian was about how awful the prospect of finding another job was, because it’s covertly agreeing with everything Mickey was saying in the first few episodes, too. 

There are so many little things I like about this scene. Mickey coming down the front stairs instead of the back, like he intuitively knows where Ian is at. Ian watching Harley Quinn cartoons, as both an in-joke AND as a believable cartoon choice. Mickey picking up the bottle, checking it’s weight and then just... moving it a little to the side. Mickey putting himself between Ian the TV. Mickey already having a plan for Ian. Just so much good stuff in there. 

Also, let’s talk about Ian for a minute here. One reason I hesitate to call anything OOC with these two is that the book generally isn’t closed. I really didn’t get the “I’m on my honeymoon” stuff, but after this episode, it folds in a lot better with what is going on with these two. Another thing that folds in better is Ian’s mounting frustration -- which is VERY Ian. He starts out with this forced buoyancy -- we’re going to get out own place, you are going to get a legal job so you can stay out of prison, I am going to make this warehouse gig work, and even though I’m frustrated and losing patience, I’m still trying to talk things out, and touching your hand and trying to ground everything in the fact that we’re together and we love each other -- and then we see that get chipped away at. Ian’s paycheque reveals that he’s being scammed out of a living wage. Mickey takes the road less travelled and immediately brings in more money that he’s every going to be able to get through the jobs he can currently get as a parolee. Mickey isn’t gracious about this, and the tension ramps up and that four episodes later he’s just walking around with a well-established and throughly justified black cloud over his head. 

The Milkovich’s really arrive like they’ve bought a White Trash in a Bag collection from Target. They seem to even have brought mattresses expressly for the front yard. 

OMG, Mickey got a scene with Sandy (and Debbie). But honestly, my favourite beat is the look Franny gives Mickey after he says kids are idiots. I also love how Sandy joins Mickey in just not seeing a point in waging battle against their family.

Lip, this is a little thing, but you aren’t supposed to eat breakfast, brunch, lunch and dinner. Brunch ideally REDUCES the number of meals you eat. But the key brunch move is to order something you can’t/wouldn’t make at home. Do not pay $14 for eggs and toast. 

So. Ok. I have seen some people very annoyed that Ian is so focused on Mickey not going back to prison, but I can’t see what is wrong with this. He just flat out isn't wrong to worry about it. It would be devastating if that happened. Mickey and Ian are extremely fortunate that he’s out at all. It’s a truly bizarre turn of events and I do not fault Ian for having a lot of concern about anything happening to jeopardize Mickey’s freedom. I also think this is confirmation that Ian just flat out doesn’t want to be without Mickey. I think he’s depressed -- and therefore extremely pessimistic -- in this episode, but there is far more indication that Ian wants Mickey around than that he doesn’t, so of course he’d be extremely focused on this concern. Also Cam puts some tremor onto “get sent back to prison” that really grabs my heart and squeezes. 

Cam in the towel is just good news. Mickey’s adorable with the gun. This scene is cute. 

This is the episode where I gave up on side-eying the Gemma-is-Superior running joke and just accepted it as kinda funny. Something about third-party confirmation. I dunno.

I enjoy the fact that Debbie apparently doesn’t know Sandy lives with them? Also, that feels like an Ian move. Gets boyfriend, moves in with boyfriend. 

The fact that Mickey is low-key playing Ian to get him to join him in this MUCH more promising venture is my absolute favourite. Bless the director for that foreground Mickey shot. Bless Noel for that nuanced facial expression. Bless everyone involved in that moment. It is one of my favourite things ever. 

I love that Ian’s whole reason for these outfits is so that Mickey will LOOK dangerous and not have to defend himself, thus staying out of trouble. That’s deeply, deeply sweet. 

Another sign that something is even more wrong with Frank than usual when he fully forgets the entire trip to visit the Brotherhood. 

I didn’t love V vs. Debbie but I really did enjoy Kev aligns with Frank, and also has a scene with Mickey. And that they weren’t silo’ed off on their own. 

So the eventual reveal we get that the old lady loves having rough sex with Terry was not a surprise to me because a) Shameless, but b) because of Christian’s face. Christian’s facial expressions are among my favourite on the show right now. 

I love this gif set by @sickness-health-all-that-shit.  What can I say except “look! Ian is smiling!” 

Mickey should be a better liar, but you know. He isn’t. 

I do like that, in this moment, the things they both bring to the enterprise come together to create a new possibility. This is pretty much exactly what I HOPED was going to happen and I love to see it. 

I think I’m going to ignore the Tami storyline because it was gross (not bad, but ... gross.) Also @fiona-fififi already wrote something that is much more comprehensive... I get the frustration, but just no part of me thinks Ian would allow himself to go where Tami did in examining what happened to her. Not at this point in his life. Which is sad, but very much in line with how Ian handles himself. 

Um. Yeah. Carl. Glad you’re not fully participating, Carl. But this is untenable. 

Overall, I am all the way in on this storyline for Ian and Mickey -- and pretty into the idea of V getting involved with politics. I think we’re getting all the seeds of where this show is going to leave the characters. And I haven’t loved every moment, but I do feel like the overall show is working for me better than last season. 

That might be faint praise. But I really liked this one. Best yet.