#once again I must air my personal grievances with this fandom

[austajunk]

Thoughts on Korekiyo? (Ik the writers did him so dirty, but he’s such an interesting concept imo)

Oy vey. Oy vey.

“Wasted Potential” being thrown around as a concept in this fanbase really drives me up the wall. I’m going to let you in on a little secret, friend, and please don’t think of me as an asshole, buttttt:

EVERYONE WHO DIES IN THIS GAME WAS WASTED POTENTIAL.

And that is the damn point. These characters? They were all fabricated and tropey versions of the actual person who was killed. For a TV show that has gone on too long.

Korekiyo, being what he is, is someone we never knew throughout the game. Oh, we can speculate on who he is based on this fake backstory and how he acts, we can interpret what we like, but we will never know. That’s why I said the ending to V3 is particularly stinging. If you were invested in a character during this game, it was a fake investment. It was built up, overhyped, and you were into a character modeled for a tv show, blown up with his trauma and “revelations” of a possibly abusive and obsessive relationship with his sister.

But what do I think about the Kiyo we’ve seen in the game? Yeah, I like him. He’s freaky, over the top, purposely creepy and strange. Lots of fun. Especially since he’s just that character out of the bunch that you knew would kill someone like Celeste and such.

Is he “wasted potential”? Yup. That’s the point. The point is… he’s like this to be showy and over the top. To be flamboyant for an audience.

And that’s all.

[7-wonders]

Memento Mori

Summary: When being in the wrong place at the wrong time lands (Y/N) in the blood-stained hands of D.C.’s most notorious crime boss, Duncan Shepherd, she finds herself unexpectedly in his debt. Perhaps owing the dangerous man a favor would be more torturous if he weren’t so engaging.

Word Count: 3286

A/N: Here it is! The first chapter of my crime boss Duncan fic. I’m SO excited to share this labor of love with you all, and I sincerely hope that you enjoy it. Feedback is always much appreciated and, if you feel so inclined, I would love if you left a like or a reblog.

(special thanks to Caitlin @divinelangdon for helping me with this!)

EDIT: *clears throat* as far as I am aware, Mallory @lvngdvns was the first to write a mob AU for THIS fandom. Thanks, Mal. I’d like to remind everyone that mob AUs are not a new concept, so y’all can hop off my dick.

Chapter 1: King of the Underground

It’s not a route that she would normally take home after classes, but today, (Y/N) (Y/L/N) is running late. The maintenance man is supposed to be at her apartment to fix the kitchen sink in twenty minutes, and it will most assuredly be another week before he can repair it if she doesn’t get home to let him in. This shortcut, through alleyways and past abandoned buildings, is a tour of the dark underbelly of Washington D.C. It’s one that she doesn’t get to dwell on when running late; instead, she walks quickly and clutches her keys in her hand tightly, eyes up and darting back and forth vigilantly. 

After taking this way home twice previously to today, (Y/N) quickly learned which alleys to avoid and which were safer to go down. The alley next to the butcher was safe, the stench of rotting meat causing even the most nefarious of characters to stay away. Bypassing the bridge meant she could dodge the junkies that traded drugs and needles there, and the abandoned set of warehouses were considered too “haunted” and “creepy” for most to venture into. With the rain that drenches the city today and (Y/N)’s lack of an umbrella, these deserted buildings provide the perfect cover as she tries to race home.

(Y/N)’s never seen another person in or around this empty strip, only mice and other small creatures. That’s why it’s so shocking when, as she walks quickly along the back wall, she hears voices from one of the rooms. Ducking behind a wall, she peeks in through a crack in the boards that had hastily been put up to cover a large hole. 

It’s difficult for (Y/N) to comprehend what she’s seeing at first. A man with shaggy hair is on his knees, hands raised pleadingly in the air as he trembles. Others are positioned around the room, blocking exits and providing what she assumes is security. Security for what, she can’t be certain, since the most danger looks to be the man standing above what must be his prisoner. 

“You seem to think that I’m some sort of idiot, Malakai,” the man with the artfully messy brunette hair says nonchalantly, as if he’s discussing the weather. 

‘Malakai’ shakes his head furiously as he stutters, “No, sir, never!” The man in question walks a slow circle around his captive, teeth bared in a savage grin as he takes glee in the scared reaction that he evokes. 

“Hmm, then why did you believe that it wouldn’t get back to me that you were attempting to make deals with people who are determined to take me, and my family, down?” The hostage pales, obviously not thinking he knew. “An amateur mistake; somebody makes a deal, and they foolishly believe that I don’t have eyes and ears everywhere around this city.”

“I-it was an accident, Mr. Shepherd, I promise.” (Y/N) slaps a hand over her mouth, stifling the gasp that threatens to force its way out.

She hasn’t lived in Washington D.C. her entire life, having only moved to the area for school. However, even somebody from the other end of the country would know the Shepherd family name. Although it’s never been said outright, it’s very much implied that the powerful family is involved in more than just politics. Their sudden prominence within the circles of the elite, the roots that spread everywhere, their influence on matters that don’t pertain to politics: it’s easy to make the inference that the Shepherds are involved in some “darker” activities. 

(Y/N)’s heard rumors of what the Shepherd family is capable of. Drugs, weapons, disappearances, murder, and corruption are just the beginning of an extremely long list of grievances. This man, with his hand on his captive’s shoulder and a look that screams revenge, must be the head of the Shepherd family.

“An accident,” he teases, reassuming his previous spot in front of the man on his knees. “Unfortunately, you know all too well that we can’t have accidents.”

A gunshot cracks through the air, the bullet quickly and efficiently leaving a hole in the middle of ‘Malakai’s’ head. His eyes roll back into his head slowly as his body slumps forward, blood pooling from the wound on his head. The man who was doing the interrogating, Mr. Shepherd, glances disdainfully down at the blood before stepping back to avoid staining his shoes.

“I’ve told you time and time again that I don’t like a messy job, Langdon,” he calls to someone that (Y/N) can’t see. 

If (Y/N) hadn’t just witnessed a murder, her first time ever seeing someone’s life taken from them, she would stick around to see who he’s talking to. She stumbles back in shock, unable to take her eyes off of the corpse lying on the other side of the repaired wall. Since she’s not looking, she doesn’t see the mouse that scurries over her foot. The shriek of fear that she attempts to hold back isn’t as muffled as she thought it would be under her hand, causing the heads of everyone in the room to snap up as they look for the source of the sound. 

She holds her breath, hoping that the crack she was spying through is too small for somebody to look through if they’re not right up against it. Her heart, along with her hope, sinks when she makes eye contact with the pair of stormy blue eyes belonging to Mr. Shepherd.

“Shit,” he gasps. 

She runs before her brain even realizes what she’s doing, sprinting faster than she can remember running in a long time. Footsteps pound behind her, the echoing sound ironically reminding (Y/N) of gunshots. Once she bursts outside, she immediately searches for an exit that will give her the best chance of evading a horde of murderers. Ducking down, she crawls through a large gap in the bottom of a chain link fence. Those chasing her aren’t deterred, and one quick glance over her shoulder (stupid, she thinks, you’re lucky you didn’t trip over your own feet) confirms that they’ve decided jumping the fence is easier. 

(Y/N) skids to a stop when she sees that a brick wall blocks her path to freedom. Making a split-second decision, she climbs up onto the dumpster and jumps. Her hands make purchase on the lip of the brick wall, and she summons all of the upper-arm and core strength that she has to start pulling herself up and over. It’s a struggle, and she tries to keep her legs tucked to her chest to prevent whoever’s chasing her from grabbing at her. She’s underestimated how tall these men (or women) are, and shrieks when her nails claw at the brick as she’s yanked down from the wall.

Her head cracks painfully against the pavement as she’s unceremoniously thrown to the ground. Scrambling back on her elbows, (Y/N) stares up at the two burly men who have managed to get her before she could make it over the wall. Hoping that they’ll show her some mercy, she holds up her hands in an ‘I surrender’ gesture. The men look at each other for a moment, as if debating what to do with her, and (Y/N) watches them optimistically.

A swift punch to the face knocks her out.

//

She doesn’t jolt awake in one smooth movement, eyes wide and glancing fearfully around. Instead, conscious returns slowly for (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Like pieces of a puzzle being fitted together, the blackness that had enveloped her is replaced, bit by bit, by a state of awareness. She tries to move when she realizes that she’s awake, but her arms refuse. Cold bites at her wrists, the telltale weight of some sort of metal weighing her down. Although her neck aches when she turns her head, protesting after sleeping in such an awkward position, she looks down and notices that she’s handcuffed to a chair.

Blinking quickly to adjust her vision to the shadows that envelop everything, (Y/N) tries to steady her breathing and not panic as she catalogues the room. This definitely isn’t the same room where she saw a man murdered. It’s small, maybe 8x8, and everything’s made of concrete. The walls, the ceiling, the floors: the room looks to be the same flat gray color. A small cart sits in the corner of the room, the only other furnishing besides the chair (Y/N)’s currently bound to. She kicks her legs uselessly, huffing when she sees that they’re bound by rope. Not that her legs being freed would do anything, since the chair is bolted to the floor, but it would still be a bit of a comfort. 

She doesn’t need a mirror to know that there’s blood on her face, probably from the punch that knocked her out. Her nose feels off, like it was broken when she was hit. Maybe it is broken; of course, that won’t matter if she’s killed in this small room. 

Quick footsteps sound in whatever hallway connects to the room (Y/N)’s being held hostage in, making her stare at the door as she tries to figure out what’s going to happen. Will this person save her, free her from her binds and lead her out of this mess? Or will they end her life quickly, using whatever method this mafia decides to be quickest and easiest? 

The bright fluorescent lights flicker on as the door opens, momentarily blinding her. The man that stands before her is tall, his all-black ensemble making him look even more imposing. Two others, a man and a woman, stand behind him (the security detail for these deadly mafia personnel is a little ridiculous). He moves towards her slowly, each move calculated in its fluidity. What scares (Y/N) about this man isn’t the knife that he slowly twirls between his fingers; it’s his cold blue eyes that are completely devoid of any emotion.

His long blond hair, expertly draped over his shoulders, shines as he teasingly drags the flat edge of his knife down her cheek with a chilling smile. “You’ve caused quite a bit of trouble for my boss, are you aware of that?” 

“I promise you that I had no clue what was going to happen,” she says seriously, eyes wide and pleading. 

“That’s funny, all the little mice seem to say the same thing when they’re caught in a trap,” he hisses, tapping her nose harshly to make her wince in pain. “Now, you’re going to tell me who you’re working for, or your nose is going to be the least of your worries.”

“I’m not working for anybody,” (Y/N) insists. He nods as if he understands, but she can tell he’s only humoring her once he rears his hand back and smacks her across the face. 

Her ears ring as her vision whites out for a moment, leaving her unable to hear the cry of pain that rips from her chest. She’s bleeding, that much is obvious. The large rings on this man’s hand must have opened up a couple of cuts on her now-swollen lip. He smirks, tangling his fingers in her hair and yanking her head back. 

“I don’t like to repeat myself, (Y/N).” She doesn’t have time to wonder how he knows her name when she notices the knife he’s holding is now pressed against her chest. “Who do you work for?”

“Nobody, I promise! I was running late to get home--” shit, the maintenance man must be long gone by now, “--and I took a shortcut that I always take when I’m late. I had never seen somebody in that strip of warehouses before, so I stopped to see what was going on. I didn’t know what was happening until that guy got shot.”

“Well then, this must all be one big misunderstanding.”

She nods gratefully. “Yes! Thank you so much, you have no clue--” a searing pain erupts above her eyebrow, and she groans in pain. Her eyesight goes blurry in her left eye, and it’s only when she blinks enough to see the red tint that she realizes she’s bleeding.

(Y/N) watches in disgust as he lifts his stained knife to his lips and cleans the blood off of it with his tongue. He hums delightedly, leaning in close enough that his breath stings the array of cuts. His hot tongue laves at the still-bleeding cut, sampling her blood until it finally clots.

“Mmm, you’re just my type,” he jokes. In the blink of an eye, his amused expression changes to one of anger as he slams his hands on the arms of the chair. “Tell me who you work for!”

“I’ve already told you!” She earns another smack to the face for that, blood dribbling down her chin as she grimaces. 

“Langdon,” a voice sounds from the door that she hadn’t heard open, making (Y/N) jump in her restraints. The man that she saw interrogate his now-dead victim stands behind the blond, a hand rubbing at the stubble on his face. “What did I say about making messes?”

Langdon sighs, rolling his eyes. “But it’s just so much more fun when I get to spill a little blood.” Regardless of his personal feelings, he moves for the door when Mr. Shepherd gives him a pointed look.

(Y/N) glares at Mr. Shepherd as he examines her in silence once Langdon has left. The security, she notices with a sideways glance, remains posted against the door. He fiddles with the sleeves of his expensive leather jacket, and she hopes it’s her defiant look that’s making him show a trait very uncharacteristic to someone who’s supposed to be a mob boss.

“It’s a shame my associate felt the need to bloody up such a pretty face.” He goes to stroke his hand along her face, stopping when (Y/N)’s spit lands on his cheek. Chuckling, he shakes his head. “Now (Y/N), there’s no need to be so hostile.”

“Give me one good reason.”

He doesn’t speak, instead grabbing a key out of his pocket and unlocking the cuffs that bind her hands behind her back. They fall off easily with a quick shake of her wrists as she pulls them forward and rubs at the chapped skin there. Mr. Shepherd takes out a knife and kneels, cutting the ropes tying her feet together. It’s an obvious ploy at attempting to gain her trust, but it’s one that, she reluctantly admits, works. 

He holds out his hand, “Allow me to properly introduce myself. Duncan Shepherd.”

(Y/N) eyes his hand warily, hesitantly shaking it before snatching her hand out of his grip. “I would introduce myself, but you seem to already know who I am.” She falters when Duncan Shepherd sheathes his knife, thrown off by this sudden change. “You’re not...going to kill me? Or you are, just not with that.”

“It wasn’t at all difficult to find out everything about you from a few simple background checks. I figured, either you’re telling the truth or you’re the worst informant my enemies have hired yet.”

“You couldn’t have checked my identity before you sent your goon to rough me up?”

“I apologize for that, but it’s just protocol. As you may imagine, my profession leaves very little room for leeway.” Duncan smiles at her, setting his hands on the arms of the chair in the same way that Langdon did mere minutes before. “You do know what my profession is, don’t you (Y/N)?”

“Vaguely,” she says dryly, peeved at how he insists on repeating her name. “I’m not too acquainted with the sort of business you’re involved in.”

“So I heard,” he smirks. (Y/N) tries to steady her thumping heart, which had decided it was off to the races when Duncan’s eyes, which she could see now were varying shades of dark and light blue that created a hypnotic combination, twinkled in the fluorescent light and his smile showed off the slight dimple on his cheek. How pathetic of me, just because he’s cute doesn’t mean he’s not a mafia boss. “You really shouldn’t take shortcuts through notoriously bad areas. You never know what kind of trouble you could get into.”

“Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Duncan stands up straight, allowing (Y/N) to feel slightly more comfortable now that she’s not directly breathing the same air as he is. Frowning slightly, he turns to the security posted at the door and mutters something, the woman nodding and disappearing out of the door. (Y/N) and Duncan remain silent until she returns, a bowl of water and a clean towel in her hands. Taking the supplies from her, Duncan wrings the towel out and holds it out as an offering.

“Either you clean yourself up or I do it for you,” he says when he senses her reluctance, waiting expectantly until she finally gives in and grabs it from him. He watches her closely, examining every wince she makes as she tries to clean the blood off of her already-bruising face. “Hmm, now what do we do with you?”

The blood rushes out of (Y/N)’s face as her heart drops. “What do you mean? You know I’m telling the truth, so let me go.”

“I could do that, but you did witness a murder. Who’s to say that you won’t run to the police the second I let you walk outside?”

She wants to deny it and emphatically say that she would never do that, but they both know that would be a lie. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, (Y/N) thinks bitterly.

“The obvious answer, of course, would be to just kill you.” Duncan looks at her, taking pride in how she doesn’t even attempt to hide the fear on her face. “However, I believe you’ll be much more useful alive than dead.”

“‘Useful’ how?” Everything she’s seen in movies and TV shows about the mafia has her mind racing with the worst possible thoughts.

He ignores (Y/N)’s question, choosing instead to pull himself to his full height in some sort of a power move. “Prove to me that you won’t go to the authorities, and this whole matter will be forgotten.”

“How am I ever supposed to prove that to you?” (Y/N) asks hopelessly. 

He shrugs. “We’ll find something that benefits the both of us.” At the horrified look on her face, Duncan shakes his head quickly. “No, nothing like that. I may be the head of one of the most influential families in Washington D.C., but I’m still a gentleman.”

“So then…”

“Think of it like running errands. Collecting dues, running product, gathering information on my behalf. You’d make a good little spy if you had the right training.” He goes to touch (Y/N)’s cheek, and she smacks his hand away belligerently.

“Don’t,” she warns. Duncan takes a step back, holding his hands up to teasingly show his harmlessness before he folds them behind his back.

“My associates will be in touch when we get something worked out.”

“Wait!” 

Duncan ignores her call, instead motioning to his security to open the door for him. Before he makes his exit, he whispers something to the male guard. With one last nod of acknowledgement in (Y/N)’s direction, Duncan leaves her alone in the room again. This time, her vision isn’t cut off with a punch; it’s with a black cloth bag forced over her head.

//

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[orangeoctopi7]

Liars

Spider Stan AU Chapter 5 Hey guys, sorry it’s been a while, I’ve been distracted by other fandoms. Also trying to apply to Grad School again. As such, don’t expect the next chapter until after November.

It had only been a couple of days, but already Fiddleford was about ready to smack these brothers. They barely spoke to each other, and when they did, it was clear they were walking on eggshells. Every so often, either Stan or Ford would take a bitter tone with the other, and McGucket hoped they were on the brink of actually talking about their issues, but each time, it just resulted in a heated argument. Twice now, Stan had driven off in his car, and Ford had stormed out into the woods. Ford came back first, worrying that Stan had left for good this time. Each time Stan had eventually returned, murmuring that he knew Ford wanted to run more tests.

That was another thing that had been bothering McGucket. The tests they’d run the first day had been interesting, to be sure. Stan’s nervous system, his immune system, all of his senses, were faster than any normal human’s. But there was nothing to indicate that his mutation was continuing or that it had any ill effects on Stan. If anything, Stan was healthier than he should have been, considering his living conditions. But Ford insisted on running more each day. Testing the extent of Stan’s strength, his flexibility and reflexes, whether he could see in the dark, how he stuck to walls, anything, it seemed, that Ford could think of. Fiddleford couldn’t help but think this went far beyond just checking to make sure Ford’s brother wasn’t negatively affected by his mutation. 

McGucket decided to air his grievances while he and Ford were alone, looking at some X-rays of Stan’s hands.

“Incredible! Look at this!” Ford pointed to some faint lines running between the phalanges and metacarpals, “Normally, in a human being, these muscles are vestigial, useless. But Stan’s mutation somehow enlarged and invigorated them. That must be how he can hold himself up just by sticking to a wall!”

“Well, that certainly is fascinatin’.” McGucket agreed. “D’you think it’ll lead to overcrowding with his other muscles? Arthritis? Carpal-tunnel?” 

“Mmm, no. Stan’s hands are rather large and meaty. There should be plenty of room. And it actually lessens the stress on his joints.”

“I see....” McGucket nodded, making a mental note to try and replicate the effect on a robotic joint later. “Ford, don’t ya think this is beginnin’ to go well beyond jus’ lookin’ after yer brother’s health? It’s pretty clear he’s fit as a fiddle, heck, even more fit than yer average athlete!”

“Well… yes, but… there’s still more to do… to, uh, study the long-term effects…”

“Stanford, please, you gotta start bein’ honest with yerself. And with him!”

Ford flinched. “Him who?” he asked nervously.

“Your brother! Who else?”

“Oh. Of course. I-I mean…” the researcher huffed a short sigh. “I know, sooner rather than later, he’ll decide he’s had enough and leave. I’m just trying to learn as much as I can from him until then.”

“Well, he’s already left twice, and ya spent a good hour or so worryin’ he was never gonna come back.”

“Be-because if he leaves, we’ll lose a great research opportunity!”

“But he’s come back each time. Supposedly because he knows ya wanna run more tests on him.”

“Fiddleford, if you’re trying to make a point, would you please just get to it?”

“Alright, fine! You two keep dancin’ around yer issues, pretendin’ like yer jus’ here fer the sake of science, but it’s pretty obvious yer both hopin’ that somehow bein’ in the same place long enough is gonna somehow make everythin’ right. But it ain’t! Nothin’ about whatever bad blood you two got betwixt y’all is gonna get solved unless ya both sit down an’ talk. An’ I mean really talk, not jus’ yellin’ or bein’ passive-aggressive all the time.”

Ford was taken aback by his friend’s bluntness. He spluttered for a solid thirty seconds before finally shouting, “It is incredibly presumptuous of you to make assumptions as to why I choose to keep my brother around, let alone deem yourself qualified to offer me advice on how to conduct my own family matters! And while we may be old friends, I shouldn’t have to remind you that while you are here you are technically my employee. As such, keep your overly-large nose out of my personal business!”

“Personal business!? I’m the one who has to live with both of ya!” Fiddleford retorted, then stormed out of the lab.

“I’m not forcing you to stay here!” Ford shouted after him. “You could get a room at the motel if it bothers you that much!”

McGucket’s raging mood quickly dissipated as he took the elevator back up to the main floor. He hadn’t had an angry outburst like that in a while. He wasn’t nearly as short tempered as those Pines twins, but even the mild-mannered inventor just lost his cool sometimes. 

“Good to see I’m not the only one he has shouting matches with.” Stan commented from the chair sitting in front of the TV when McGucket passed. Oh right. Enhanced senses, including hearing.

“How much did you hear?” Fiddleford asked. 

“Eh, more the volume than actual words.” Stan shrugged.

McGucket briefly considered telling Stan how much Ford had worried each time he left, telling him exactly what he’d told his brother. But Fiddleford had a feeling Stan would have a very similar reaction, except the con man’s temper was even worse than his brother’s.

Instead he settled for a beleaguered “You two’re gonna drive me off the deep end.”

* * *

It didn’t take long for Ford to regret his words. Sure, he was mad that McGucket would try and wheedle his way into the brothers’ issues when the inventor clearly didn’t understand the complexities of their relationship, or the extent of the betrayal Ford still felt. But the inventor’s heart was in the right place, and he was the one who had to live with the feuding twins. And while Ford had been truthful in telling Fiddleford he was free to leave, that certainly didn’t mean Ford wanted him to go. Just the opposite, in fact.

Stanford had never felt lonely after moving out to the woods of Gravity Falls, oh no. He’d kept far too busy exploring and studying for that. But after Fiddelford had moved in, the researcher found he preferred his friend’s company to solitude.

Of course, if McGucket were to move out now, Ford would not be returning to solitude. He’d be sharing his cabin with Stanley.

Stanford decided he really needed to apologize to Fiddleford.

The researcher hastily put away the x-rays and the other print-outs he’d be going over and rushed into the elevator. He hummed impatiently as it creeped back up to ground level. Once he reached the kitchen, he rummaged around the pantry until he found a can of those baked beans McGucket liked, heated it up over the stove, and began searching for his roommate so he could extend the peace offering.

He found McGucket just as the researcher was finishing a conversation over the phone.

“...Uh-huh. Yeah, I’ll leave as soon as I can. See ya soon. I gotta go sugar.” He said when he saw Ford enter the hall. “Love ya.” He hung up the phone.

“You’re leaving?” Ford asked, trying not to sound hurt. He’d known his harsh words would probably come back to bite him, but he hadn’t expected it to be so soon!

“Uh, that’s right…” Fiddelford began awkwardly. “I jus’ spoke with Emma-May an’--” 

“Fiddleford, I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t have yelled, and I certainly shouldn’t have insinuated you might be fired, or insulted you. But please, don’t leave!” Ford pleaded. “I’ll admit, the situation with Stanley is volatile, but that’s why I need you here now!”

“Calm down, calm down!” McGucket placated him. “I ain’t leavin’ fer more’n a few days. I was tryin’ to tell ya, Emma-May’s sick, an’, well, she needs me to come take care of Tate ‘til she gets better.”

“O-oh.” Ford squeaked out once his mind processed what his friend was saying. McGucket was leaving, but it wasn’t because he was mad, it was because of a family emergency. That was almost worse. Ford could try and apologize or talk his friend out of it if he was mad, but the researcher couldn’t, wouldn’t, try and stop his friend from taking care of his family.

“What’s goin’ on?” Stan peeked into the hall, checking to see what all the commotion was about.

“Oh, uh, I was just tellin’ Ford I gotta head back home to help take care’a things while my wife’s sick.”

Stan scrutinized McGucket carefully, taking in his expression and stance, before glancing at Ford briefly. “Uh-huh.” the con-man grunted.

“So, I’ll be leavin’ soon as I get packed. Are… are you gonna be fine here, just the two of ya?”

“Sure, mom.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” Ford folded his arms defensively.

“That’s not really what I’m worried ‘bout.” McGucket muttered under his breath. “Oh! Are those baked beans?” He exclaimed, like he’d only just noticed the pan Ford was carrying, “I think I’ll go eat these before I pack.”

With that, the inventor made his way to the kitchen, leaving the two brothers alone, with the fact that they were about to spend a lot more time alone together hanging over them.

Stan shook his head. “He’s a bad liar.” he said as soon as McGucket was out of ear-shot.

“What!?” Ford spluttered. “He’s not--”

“Just callin’ it as I see it.”

“He’s coming back!” the researcher insisted, even as his own thoughts doubted “He wouldn’t just leave…” He wouldn’t just leave me like this.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be back soon enough.” Stan agreed. “But his wife ain’t sick.”

“Oh, and is that another thing your ‘Spider Sense’ can detect?” Ford asked sarcastically. Ever since Stan had interrupted one of his visions with Bill, the researcher didn’t have a high opinion of that particular ability.

“Nah. You lie enough, and you get pretty good at tellin’ when other people are doin’ it. If his wife was really sick, you’d think he’d be a lot more concerned. I mean, you’ve mentioned he has issues with anxiety, but he doesn’t seem all that anxious about it. He did seem keen on gettin’ out of here before we could ask him more questions about what’s wrong with her.”

“I think that if you lie enough, you start to assume everyone else must be lying too.” Ford said icily. Although he couldn’t help but remember a time a few years back when Fiddleford had gotten news his mother was sick. His poor friend had been so worried, he’d barely eaten the day he got the news.

“Whatever.” Stan harrumphed and turned back down the hall. “Honestly, I can’t blame the guy for wantin’ a break from all of this.” He gestured back and forth to himself and his brother. “Anyway, I’m gonna go see if there’s any of those baked beans left.”

* * *

That night, Ford had a hard time falling asleep. Stan’s wrong. He kept telling himself. But a part of him couldn’t help wondering, But what if he’s right? What if all this tension with Stan is driving Fiddleford away? What if he doesn’t come back? 

When he finally did fall asleep, Ford was glad to find Bill waiting for him. He could really use a little help from a friend right now.

“HUH, YOU’RE LATER THAN USUAL. I DON’T THINK YOU’VE HAD THIS MUCH TROUBLE FALLING ASLEEP SINCE THE HAUNTED CABIN.”

“Sorry, I’m just really stressed right now, what with everything that’s going on with Stan and McGucket.”

“HEY, I WARNED YOU BRINGING YOUR BROTHER BACK HERE WOULD BE BITING OFF MORE THAN YOU COULD CHEW.”

“It’s not.” Ford said defensively, “I mean, yes, I’m a little more stressed than usual, but I can handle it.”

“OH SURE.” Bill rolled his eye, “THAT’S WHY YOU’VE KEPT WORKING ON THE PORTAL, OH WAIT! YOU HAVEN’T! AND NOW THE GUY WE NEED TO ACTUALLY START THE BUILDING PROCESS IS LEAVING!”

“That’s unfortunate, yes, but it’s not McGucket’s fault. His… his wife’s sick.” Ford explained, although there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

“YEAH, NO. YOUR BROTHER MAY BE AN UNTRUSTWORTHY LEACH, BUT HE WAS RIGHT ABOUT ONE THING. FOUR-EYES WAS LYING TO YOU.” 

“Hey, Stan’s not--”

“OH, ARE YOU SAYING I’M WRONG? ME? THE ALL-SEEING EYE?”

“No, of course not!”

“HERE, I’LL SHOW YOU!”

Bill’s yellow bricks flickered like a television screen, and suddenly Ford was watching McGucket’s conversation on the phone earlier, from the perspective of one of the many effigies of Bill he had hanging in the house.

“Hey sugar, it’s me!” Fiddleford began the conversation. “Yeah, things’re, uh, things’re goin’ great here. But, you’ll never believe what happened last week! We were in Portland, doin’ some, er, some research, an’ guess what? Stanford ran into his twin brother!” 

He paused and listened to her reply. “Yeah, he don’t talk ‘bout it much. They ain’t seen each other in over ten years. Anyway they, uh, need some time to re-connect, So I’m gonna head home, jus’ so’s I can give ‘em some space fer a bit.”

Another pause. “Aw, naw, Ford said it’s fine! I don’t think it’ll be a problem! And besides, this way I’ll be home fer Tate’s first spring break!”

“...Uh-huh. Yeah, I’ll leave as soon as I can. See ya soon. I gotta go sugar.” He said when he saw Ford enter the hall. “Love ya.”

Ford shook his head in disbelief. “I-I don’t know what to say…” 

“WHAT’D I TELL YA, FORDSY? I’M THE ONLY ONE YOU CAN TRUST!”

On one hand, he was hurt that his friend would lie to him like that, but on the other, it was clear that poor Fiddleford just wanted to spend some time with his family, and Ford could hardly begrudge him that. All the same, there were those same thoughts that had been keeping him up earlier, only here in the Dreamscape, they echoed around him in surround-sound.

It’s my fault. I’m driving him away, all because I can’t get along with my own brother!

“AW, DON’T FEEL SO BAD, SIXER!” Bill patted him on the back comfortingly. “IF THIS IS ANYBODY’S FAULT, IT’S YOUR DUMB BROTHER. HE’S THE ONE WHO BARGED BACK INTO YOUR LIFE JUST WHEN WE WERE ON THE BRINK OF CHANGING THE WORLD.”

“I know you don’t like me spending so much time studying Stan’s mutation. But it’s so incredible! We’ve only just scratched the surface of what he’s capable of! I know with just a little time and training, he could even help us build the portal!”

Bill didn’t look convinced. “FORGIVE ME IF I’M NOT SOLD ON BRINGING THE GUY WHO SMASHED YOUR SPIDER HABITAT TO SMITHEREENS INTO CONTACT WITH THE DELICATE WORKINGS OF A TRANSUNIVERSAL PORTAL.”

Ford frowned. “I know, but… but ever since I learned that Stan’s the Spider Man, I’m beginning to think… maybe he’s changed.”

“HA!” Bill laughed sharply. “I NEVER TOOK YOU FOR A SENTIMENTAL FOOL, STANFORD!”

“I’m serious!”

“I KNOW! THAT’S WHY IT’S SO HILARIOUS!” But Bill noticed Ford wasn’t taking this not-so-good-natured ribbing well. “HEY, DON’T LOOK SO SERIOUS, IQ, IT’S JUST THAT YOUR HUMAN SENTIMENTALITY IS SO FAR OUTSIDE MY PRIORITIES. IF YOU’RE SO DEAD-SET ON IT, GO AHEAD AND INCLUDE YOUR BROTHER IN ON THE PROJECT. EVEN IF HE DOES MESS THINGS UP AGAIN, YOU’VE GOT ME FOR DAMAGE CONTROL THIS TIME.”

“Thank you, Bill, I’ll do my best to make sure Stan doesn’t cause too much trouble.”

* * *

Once again, Stan woke in the middle of the night, his Spider Sense twinging. He was really getting tired of this. Not wanting another wild goose chase like his first night here, the conman tried just sitting quietly and concentrating on the unfamiliar sensation. It was so unlike his usual Spider Sense, and yet… somehow he knew it was the same sense. 

Maybe this was a newly developing power, like Ford had predicted. Unfortunately, waking Ford in the middle of the night seemed to have ticked him off so much that now Ford didn’t want to hear anything about the Spider Sense. And McGucket had left earlier that evening. So Stan was going to have to figure this out on his own. Ha. That wasn’t any different from his other powers.

As Stan sat focusing on the strange sensation for a few minutes, he finally though he could place a direction to it. It seemed to be coming from everywhere, but there was definitely one direction where it was the strongest. It was coming from downstairs.

Stan followed the sensation as quietly as he could, which was pretty darn quietly. It led him to Ford’s bedroom.

“Oh no, we’re not doin’ this again.” Stan muttered to himself. Ford had been mad enough the first time. Twice in one week, and he was sure to be kicked out. But still, he couldn’t help wondering what was going on. Was Ford in some kind of danger? Or maybe… Ford was the danger?

“Great, now my Spider Sense is trying to protect me from emotional harm.” Stan grumbled to himself as he climbed the wall back up to the attic.

* * *

Dbae’k rwou se apfleqnx dtirj. Swt tyw xwrv jpisff ew gvl cqd fx sqm. Sme pon lz oek Ktfei lz bhigh bhzk mqg Dsnseiww jatc tvtf lsm svs?

[ajuimaginary]

Soulmate Joshua

Part of the Seventeen Soulmate Series

Your soulmate must have been an incredibly careful person. Incredibly careful. Because you were pretty sure you had barely ever received anything from them. You had grown up watching your friends gasp happily whenever they discovered some new item showing up in their backpack, or when they reached a hand into their pocket, or even materializing under their seat or at their side.

Sometimes, it made you a little sad, to have less of a connection to whoever your soulmate was, but at the same time, it was endearing to see how careful they were.

And besides, you knew they were out there. One time, right before a really important assignment where you had to give a speech, you lost the flash drive with months of hard work stored on it in the form of your notes and your power-point presentation. Right in the midst of your panic and stress, suddenly, out of no where, the flash drive popped back onto the table in front of you.

Your soulmate had lost it on purpose. So that you could have it back. The thrill of the encounter made you so confident that the speech went better than you ever could have expected. You could already feel yourself loving your incredibly careful, incredibly thoughtful, soulmate.

Then there was the pen. You weren’t even entirely sure that it came from your soulmate. But one day, there was no pen on the floor of your bedroom, and the next day, when you woke up, there was.

You turned it over in your hands as if it would reveal some great truth to you, a huge smile on your face. It was pretty ordinary really. The most standard issue pen you had ever seen. You tucked it into your bag and carried it with you for the rest of the day. Then you placed it carefully in the top drawer of your desk so you wouldn’t accidentally lose it yourself. It made you wonder if other small things might have slipped through the cracks over the years without you noticing. You couldn’t be sure.

Though one person in your friend group had already found their soulmate before high school ended, most of them were still searching, losing things, finding things. The most amusing day of all was when one of your closest friends found himself suddenly given an entire dog. His soulmate had managed to lose the poor animal when he was meant to be taking care of it for a friend. They luckily lived in a city only a few hours away, and were united for the first time through the magic of micro-chipping and the database at the vet. You loved funny stories like that. They were very sweet. You just wished you had a story of your own.

You discovered Seventeen in the midst of the time when most of your friends were finding their soulmates. You and your best friend were browsing YouTube when you came across them.

The first one to catch your eye was Joshua Hong. You didn’t know his name of course, but when you watched Aju Nice, you wouldn’t help feeling captured by those stunning eyes. And you loved the shot of him, reclined on the couch, seeming lost in his thoughts. Then you noticed the striking rapper called S.Coups and the long haired angelic boy you later find out is named Jeonghan. 

From that moment, you and your friend were hardcore fans. You watched all the videos you could find that evening, and kept updating each other of new discoveries in the weeks to come. You were a 95 line fan, for sure. You loved their dynamic- loved each of them so much. Of course, you loved the other members too, but it was trio of parental figures that appealed to you most.

“So who is your bias, anyway?” your friend asks you one day, after explaining to you that she finally settled on Mingyu.

“Joshua,” you say, without hesitation. “Of course, Joshua. Miles above the rest. I mean I love them too, but… something about Joshua.”

“Seems suspicious to me,” you friend teases. “Aren’t all of us Carats meant to struggle a little more picking a bias? I have like three bias wreckers already.”

You shrug your shoulders, smile soft to yourself.

“I just like Joshua.” You murmur quietly. She laughs at the love struck look on your face and chucks a pillow at your head.

And the conversation moves on.

Your fandom life turns out to have a kind of hilarious irony that all of your friends like to laugh at you for. Whenever you order an album or something with randomized content, it will turn up in the mail full of items themed after every member but your favorite. Ever member but Joshua.

The photocards you receive are a very broad range of faces. Just never his. The posters, as you unfurl each, reveal themselves to be one of the others.

You don’t mind much, of course, because you love them all. And of course, you can’t expect to get only things with your bias. Just, you know, statistically, you would expect to have at least one thing. After all this time. 

And yet…

You trade some stuff for Joshua themed items. You keep other 95 line things, and smile when you line up your growing (though still modest compared to some) collection of photocards. It’s good to have his face on the wall, even if apparently fate would like to keep his face far, far away from you.

Then there are the actual interactions with the members of course. You haven’t yet had the chance to meet them in person, but you seem blessed with good luck over other mediums. On twitter, Vernon and Minghao have both replied to your tweets. On Vlive once, when Gag Trio held the phone and read some fan comments, yours made them laugh out loud, even showing it to Seungcheol off camera.

And last of all, there was the time when one of the shows they were on complied fan messages and put them on a wall of the room the members were in. You had sent one in just in case, sure it would be lost among the flood. But instead, the show selected your letter among the final ones to print and hang up for the boys to see. Your friends screamed when they saw it, so excited you all had to pause the show to calm down before you could continue watching. 

And then you all stared as, reading down the line of letters, every single member you hadn’t yet had some kind of connection with managed to pause beside your letter. Vernon translated the first few lines for them (though they didn’t have time for the whole thing). And Joshua was off in the background, not enough room for alI thirteen. Talking to Seokmin. Missing the entire moment.

It is funny, you have to admit. It’s almost funny enough to take away your mild disappointment.

But maybe it makes you treasure your Josh themed stuff even more. In fact, over the years, you’re sure you lose track of some of your Seventeen stuff, especially when you get older, move out of your parents’ house. Some things had vanished from your room or backpack at school from time to time. The move results in a while stack fluttering off in the wind in between the car and your new home. But you never lose a single one of those hard-earned searched-for Joshua items. Not a single one.

.

Vocal team haven’t forgotten to include Joshua on one of their outings in a long time. Ever since he aired his grievances with Jihoon, and their leader explained it was always accidental, he’s been carefully invited along to all the things they do. He doesn’t feel so upset about the times he was left out in the past

But then they do it again.

“Where on earth did Jeonghan go?” Joshua asks Seungcheol, peering into the room where a few of the members are playing some game on the Playstation.

“Huh?” Seungcheol answers, half distracted. “Oh, I think Jihoon took him with Seokmin and Seungkwannie to get some ice cream.”

Joshua takes that in. Nods stiffly in understanding. And maybe he should be mature enough for it to not upset him. But it does bother him to feel so easily looked over.

“So it’s all the other members Vocal team?” he says, voice deliberately made lighter than he feels inside.

“Oh crap, Shua,” Seungcheol lets the controller fall from his hands, forgetting his competitiveness for a moment and definitely giving Wonwoo an accidental upper hand against him. He looks at Joshua. “I’m sure they didn’t mean to leave you-”

“I know,” Joshua shrugs. He turns to leave the room, knowing the boys would rather play their game than have to worry about him. He had only wanted to speak to Jeonghan because he was already a little upset about something.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Sh-“ Seungcheol yells after him. 

“I’m fine, Cheol.” He insists, managing a laugh. “You don’t need to be such a Dad all the time.”

Seungcheol sounds uncertain as he agrees and lets it go. But he knows there’s no point pushing Joshua to talk. So he goes back to his game. And Joshua goes to sit in his room alone.

It’s Seungkwan who finds him later. It makes sense that it’s him, since they do share the room, but Joshua is extra glad to see him. Because everyone in the team knows the kid is good at being sensitive with emotions - better than Seokmin (who is their other roommate) - and also because Joshua is one hundred percent certain he can’t face seeing Jeonghan or Seungcheol right now. Even if they are his best friends.

“Hey, Seungcheol hyung told me what happened,” Seungkwan says softly, sitting down on the bed in front of him, pulling a pillow onto his lap, making the mood feel causal rather than sad. “We didn’t mean to leave you out. It didn’t even occur to us it was just Vocal team.”

“I don’t mind, Seungkwan.” He says, not looking at him.

“Seems like you do,” Seungkwan tilts his head sideways. “But also seems like something else happened to upset you?”

Joshua lets out a long sigh. Dips his hand into his pocket. Withdraws a piece of card and hands it over to Seungkwan.

“Oh,” Seungkwan says. “I see.”

It’s another photocard. Seungcheol’s smiling handsome face staring up at them.

“So it happened again?” Seungkwan asks softly. Joshua doesn’t like the hint of pity in his voice, but he nods, responds anyway, explains.

“I got a whole bunch this time. They appeared on the bed while I was sitting here. My soulmate must have accidentally lost all of them all at once. I can add them to my collection.”

He has a whole shoebox full under his bed. Several photocards. Rolled posters. Even a homemade birthday card that his soulmate’s friend covered in printed out pictures of Jeonghan and Seungcheol, with an inscription on the inside that says “Happy birthday from your bestie. You know you loves these faces the most ;)))”

Every item came from his soulmate.

“My soulmate is Coups and Jeonghan biased,” he sighs, willing to whine a little in front of Seungkwan, leaning back against his pillows. “Every member of 95 line minus me. The actual soulmate.”

“It’s still cool they know about us at all.” Seungkwan says with a little attempt at a laugh, seeing if he can brighten the mood. “A connection to a Carat. You’re living Jeonghan’s dream.”

Many a time, all of Seventeen have joked about how Joshua managed to get a fan as a soulmate. The poor fan is probably totally unaware of the intensity of the connection. The poor fan will probably get the shock of their life when they find out.

But Joshua isn’t feeling it today. A weak smile is all he gives. He can see the tears well in Seungkwan’s eyes- damn the boy cries easily- and knows how hopeless he must look. It’s been a long week.

“I’ll be fine, Seungkwan.” He promises. “It’ll be fine when I meet them. Everything will be fine when I meet them.”

“Of course it will.” And Seungkwan pulls him into a lovely tender hug. “But I know it’s tough to feel overlooked sometimes, Shua.”

He leaves off the word “hyung,” and it feels like a real moment of sweetness. Joshua only just manages to hold his tears. But he returns the hug, lets out a long breath, feels relieved just to have some understanding.

.

You’re beyond ecstatic when you finally get the chance to attend your very first ever Seventeen concert. Bouncing in the line beside your friends before it starts, chattering excitedly. Singing and jumping and mostly just watching in awe through the entire night- you spend the whole concert staring heart eyes at Joshua.

At the end, as you file out, you and your best friend are too overwhelmed to do anything much. Your other friends have another ride home, so they part ways. The two of you drift to a nice little sitting spot a small distance from the concert venue, and sit yourselves down on a park bench, absolutely stunned into silence.

“He was… so beautiful… in person.” You manage to say.

“They were all so… wow.” She chokes out.

Silence again. She has a huge grin on her face, and looks over at you to say something else.

And then, suddenly, before a single word can pass between you, you feel a weight drop around your neck, like a necklace materializing, and your friend gasps.

“Y/N, that must be something from your soul- OH MY GOD!”

You look down at the item, lifting it in your hands. It’s a lanyard with an ID hanging on the end. Granting permission on entry into… the building you just came out of. The concert venue. And the face and name attached?

Joshua Hong. Performer.

“Oh my god,” you breathe.

And then your friend is screaming and jumping up and down. And you’re too overwhelmed and stunned to let her do much more than hug you.

Everything feels like a blur after that (your friend ushering you to the back door of the venue to return the lost item). You’re so shy and overwhelmed, face bright red, trying to force yourself not to jump to the conclusions your friend is insisting on. Because maybe your soulmate is just a staff member who lost a lanyard they were taking care of. 

Your soulmate simply cannot really be Joshua Hong. No matter the soul deep connection you felt with him. You know every fan must feel the same way…

“Well, would you look at that,” smiles the plump lady who was monitoring the entrance when you arrived and stammered out your problem. “We have a real soulmate situation here.”

“I’m sorry, what?” you ask, not expecting them to believe you so fast.

“Yeah.” She smiles softly at you. “The boys have been real polite and careful since they arrived. Us staff have been very impressed with them. No surprise then that Joshua Hong reported the lanyard missing the second he noticed he had misplaced it. I’d say about five minutes ago?”

“Oh my god.” You friend says.

“You two can come inside if you want.” The lady offers. “You can wait with the staff until we let Joshua know.”

You walk on numb feet inside. Joshua’s lanyard is clutched tight in your hand. Your breathing is uneven.

Someone comes and tells you he decided to wait for you backstage, where they caught him searching for his lost lanyard. The dressing rooms are crowded with the members, and he said he wanted this private.

 So they escort you there and leave you.

And there he is. Joshua, twisting his hands, in among the hanging wires and the lights, face cast a little into shadow, but the smooth beauty of his features still visible. Up close for the first time, your breath is stolen from your lungs.

“Hi, Joshua?” you say tentatively. He’s staring at your like the sun and moon just brightened the dim dusty shadows around you.

“Hi,” he whispers, awed. “Are you Y/N?”

“Yeah,” you say, surprised. It’s just the first name, but still. It’s surprising that he knows it.

“You lost a birthday card a while ago,” he tells you softly. “From your friends. With your name in it. So I knew…”

“Oh,” you feel yourself flushing, remembering one card that you’d left lost among the wrapping paper despite intending to keep it. One you’d found funny and wanted to set up in your room because your friends had made fun of the curse the universe had put on you, covering the card in the other members of 95 line and leaving out your favorite. “W-what card?”

He’s still staring at you like he’s drinking in every feature. Your heart is pounding.

“The one with Coups and Jeonghan,” he tells you, a little hesitant, and tries out a quiet laugh. But you can see some insecurity behind those stunning eyes. “So were they, um, your biases?”

“Joshua, no!” you promise, grabbing his hands, shyness cast aside as soon as he needs your comfort, already willing to give him anything to bring his smile back. “It’s actually a bit of a joke among my friends. I love all of 95 line, but you were always my favorite. And somehow the universe seemed keen on pranking me. Constantly. When I ordered the albums, the randomly gifted photocards and postcards and posts and everything that came in my orders seemed to always be Coups or Jeonghan, or occasionally the other members. I never once received anything with you on it.”

He’s staring at you, mouth a little open.

“But look!” you say, pulling your phone quickly out of your back pocket, showing it to him. “See, you’re my phone background.”

“Oh, wow,” he says, clearly flattered, taking your phone and looking at it with faint disbelief.

“And, um, I did trade away some of the other members photocards and stuff to get ones with you.” You say with an attempted casual shrug. “I guess I was more careful with them than I was with Jeonghan and Coups? I didn’t lose them.”

Joshua laughs.

“I never thought of it that way. If you were losing them, they must not have been as important to you.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I was still upset,” you tease mildly, enjoying his smile. “But I kept the things with your face as safe as I could at all times.”

He looks lost for words. He still can’t stop smiling. You feel bolder, managing to bring up the words you’ve wanted to say this whole time.

“After all, your face is my favorite.” You manage to say. “Best in the world.”

Joshua starts blushing. He laughs in that adorable way of his, lifting his hand to cover his mouth. You feel flustered then, eyes skirting away, embarrassed to have been so open. But at the sight of your abrupt self-consciousness, he catches your chin in his hands.

“It may be the first time I’ve ever seen yours, but it’s my favorite too.”

And so he kisses you. Soft and gentle, like he’s afraid you may vanish at any moment. You feel like melting right there. 

“Come on,” Joshua murmurs in his too-sweet too-soft voice, the one that makes your knees weak, “Let’s go and meet the guys. And then, maybe, even though it’s late, I can take you out for some food or something and… get to know you better? I doubt I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

“Me either.” You laugh. “That sounds perfect.”

And so, hand entwined with his, you step over the mess of wires backstage, and weave your way to the dressing room to begin your new life at your soulmate’s side.

[overwatchandarrow]

Catharsis

Or, festivus came a little late (early?) for tumblr user overwatchandarrow and I have to air some grievances out.

I try and be a generally positive person. I don’t like to focus too much on stuff that bothers me because, hey, life is honestly hard enough as it is. 

But every so often I need to just do a quick purge of all the things that have been bothering me lately to an empty space before I go mad.

So here I go.

Susan Williams

Okay, let’s start with the ethically fucked up, reporter shaped elephant in the room.

Seriously, what the fuck is up with this bitch? She makes me so mad. She makes Oliver look like an IDIOT (but I’ll get to his ass later). Why is she still here? Why is she still filming? She bothers me so much and the fact that she bothers me so much BOTHERS ME EVEN MORE. She turns me crazy. She needs to go for my own sanity. Just reveal your evil purpose and go.

The only consolation is that I know Thea Queen hates her as much as I do.

Olicity

Look, simple and plain: I MISS OLICITY. Like, holy shit. I miss them like crazy. And that make me a bad fan or viewer or whatever cause I “only care for a ship”. I don’t give a shit. We didn’t hallucinate 4A. We didn’t ask them to go in the direction they did. When season 4 started (and until 8 episodes in) we thought it would be the season of a wedding. We didn’t ask for it but it was what we were lead to believe. We were given a healthy, serious relationship that was about to go very far and now they don’t even acknowledge it at all. 

So what the fuck. I miss them.

Just kiss and make up already you stupid white kids.

Felicity

No lie. Felicity is my favourite person. This Helix/Pandora storyline/arc intruiges the hell out of me and if it’s done well I’m so here for it. I hope she burns the world to the ground.

But there’s so much ugliness around all of this. The unnecessary boyfriend. The weird handling of said unnecessary boyfriend’s death. The weird offhand comments she makes that are so off but done so passingly you can barely pause to question it (”that’s okay, what happens in Russia stays in Russia” call back comes to mind). The fact that I’m supposed to buy that she would not have opinions on gun violence after being a victim of multiple gun related incidents, and one particularly poignant one. 

In any case, I’m waiting for her to fuck shit up and end me.

Diggle

Okay bruh.

Where has this man been. 

My dude spent like the first chunk of episodes in various jail cells. He’s back now, so it’s fine I guess but it’s not because none of it entirely made sense in the first place.

Basically, just justice for John Diggle over all.

Also, bring back my girl Sara Diggle.

Oliver

Will the real Oliver Queen please stand up?

I’m serious.

Where is he. Who the hell is this guy. Why does he look so fucking worn out all the time.

Why is he so preachy about justice the right way but going back to killing without even a second thought (hi, 5x13).

His 5x10 logic about fauxrel made NO SENSE. AT ALL. 

I love the guy to death, I really do, but he’s being a dummy.

I mean, fuck, he slept with the lady who might as well be called Shady McSketcherson.

So from the bottom of my heart, get your shit together dude. Because I miss the Oliver Queen I was familiar with for four seasons, who of course wasn’t perfect but had some consistency. 

Wild Dog

I actually don’t have any complaints about him specifically. But I am sick of the Wild Dog slander that’s so halfheartedly coded in racism. And I’m equally sick of the “I am a POC and I hate Wild Dog so it’s not racist sweaty :)” announcements. I must have missed the memo that said you were the spokesperson for POC everywhere. 

In any case, dehumanizing a person of colour and calling them names like “wild mutt” just because you don’t like him (while simultaneously crying for Roy to come back when he was just as if not more entitled you seem to think Rene is) is transparent as fuck.

Also. Wild Queen is a ship that needs to happen don’t @ me bye.

Dinah? Tina? Who is you

Okay straight to the point: why is everyone throwing dicks at this girl. 

Seriously.

Week one she had this ~connection~ with Oliver, week two her vagina was apparently so magical she would be able to break up John and Lyla’s marriage.

Let’s let this girl just settle the hell in.

Also, why are they making me give a damn about her apartment hunting. In an episode where there’s serious political debate going on the C story is completely unfitting and takes up airtime that could have been used for, I don’t know, perspectives that got silenced.

Also, can we get this girl a hair tie please. I suffer on behalf of the actress every week when I watch her fighting scenes. 

Final point: I’m all for more WOC heroes, but not this half assed archetypcal “badass” girl they’ve written. Come on. We all deserve better writing. And preferably female friendships (I think a Thea-Felicity-Dinah girl gang would be unfuckingstoppable)

Fandom

(This one got away from me)

There seems to be like two camps that have emerged this season especially. There’s the “super positive don’t complain about a thing” camp and the “everything is awful  and hopeless” camp.

Both are equally unnerving in my opinion,

Let’s start with the hyper positivity squad. Hey, guess what. Being critical about a show doesn’t make you a terrible person. Not being complacent isn’t a bad thing. Sometimes I understand that reading people’s rants and discourse about why things suck can be tiring or discouraging in your own excitement about the show or place in the fandom. I get it.

However, belittling people who dare to have an opinion that doesn’t match up with yours and being condescending is annoying as fuck. Comparing people to l*urivers or, oh yeah, Tr*mp supporters, is gross as fuck. If people decide they don’t to stick around for whatever the hell this season’s been, that’s their prerogative and it’s not your duty to go around telling people how long they should or should not wait.

Keep it.

Okay, negative nancys, it’s your turn.

Once again, I get where it’s coming from. It’s not like there haven’t been reasons to be critical lately.

However what I don’t get is constant complaining, taking positive spoilers that people could enjoy and being condescending (’oh wow, you actually think it’s going to be good? lmao that’s naive”), and just generally being wet blankets achieves.

Additionally, if you claim you’re 100% done with the show, you haven’t watched a single episode of the season and only get your information from people you follow, do your own health a favor and CUT TIES. If you say you’re never watching another episode again and you’ve moved onto other fandoms that make you happier, then WHY are you the first person to read every interview and have your two cents about everything being shitty? Literally what are you achieving? 

Keep. It. 

In conclusion:

Okay whew thank you that is all I’ll go back to just lurking on tumblr and do vague rants on twitter BYE.