#orignal content is not from me

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[pocketramblr]

ugh i cant believe when they newflashbirthed joe blackfire they took jason out of the story. jason. they took the formerly homeless robin with very specific drug experiences who'd end up dying and coming back gunslinging out of the 'batman and robin end up strapping up against a cult leader whos drugging the local homeless population' story. they could have leaned into the dramatic irony of alfred's flippancy of firearm use and bruce training jason with even more of them and discussing gotham as a warzone. they could have let jason be furious at bruce when he suggested abandoning the city. they could have focused on jason's point of view when he has to get a batman who's still partially tripping and withdrawing hard to safety. they could have boosted the suspense as jason searches every place he knew back in his old homeless days and bruce remains missing without a word. they could have made the red gas mask and goggles bruce gives jason look even more like the partial red mask he'd wear later as hood after going helmetless. they took jason out of the story when it originally ended with jason shooting someone, nonleathally, to save bruce, then bruce stopping him from trying to help deacon blackfire because he'd just die too if he tried and they can't save everyone.

i mean they changed a lot of the story too since it wasn't just about blackfire's cult. made a lot go on like jim gordon's trial and steph and pyg and stuff but like. they didn't have to do that. they could have let him stay in jason's past when they were redoing everything.

[octaneink]

October Rain

Will Lenney x Fem!Reader

Summary: Will forgets his two-year anniversary with the Reader Warnings: Sad then cheesy as FUCK Notes: Based on this ask! I got carried away on this one...Kinda has more angst than fluff I think, but I hope the end was fluffy enough. Reader is described to be wearing makeup and have hair that has their orignal roots peeking through (beiefly)

You spend an hour picking out the dress.

It’s ridiculous, really—the closet yawns like a wound afterward, half your wardrobe strewn across the bed. Too formal, you’d hissed at the emerald gown. Too casual, you’d spat at the sundress, though summer died weeks ago. The silk slip you settle on is the colour of champagne, the one Will once said made you look like “a sunrise with legs”. You spin in front of the mirror, fabric swirling, and pretend the heat in your cheeks is from the hairdryer.

The bathroom sink becomes a warzone. Eyeliner wings sharp enough to draw blood. Blush blended to that “just-fucked” glow he’d teased you about last anniversary. You spritz the vanilla perfume he buys you every Christmas—‘So I can find you in a crowd,’ he’d said. Your phone buzzes on the counter.

A text from Will:

Will (7:43 PM): Emergency reshoot. Might be 20 mins late. Don’t eat my breadsticks, thief

You roll your eyes, smiling. Typical Will. You text back:

You (7:43 PM): If you’re late, I’m ordering TWO desserts. And I’ll tell the waiter you stood me up

You leave a note on the fridge in your loopy script—“Gone to claim my free pity cake. Catch up, slowpoke.” — And double-checked the contents of your clutch. Inside rests a small box with a silver ring, its band etched with tiny stars circling a moonstone—a mirror of the one you wear on your right hand. Under the stone was an engraving of the date of your first kiss hidden in tiny numerals.

Rain whispers against the windows as you step outside, but you don’t mind. You imagine his face when he opens the box, the way he’ll fumble trying to slide it onto his finger mid-sentence, his laugh warm and sheepish as he says, ‘Should’ve known you’d out-romance me.’

The cab driver eyes you in the rearview. “Big date?”

“The biggest,” you say, thumb rubbing the moonstone. Two years. Two years of his chaotic schedules and your terrible puns, of long sleepless nights and his hands steadying yours when you cried during sad movies.

The hostess leads you to the corner table, its surface gleaming under a halo of candlelight. Rain ticks softly against the windows, a muted rhythm beneath the murmur of violins and clinking crystal. You smooth your dress as you sit, the silk whispering against your thighs, and immediately reach to straighten the centrepiece—a single tulip, its petals curled at the edges like parchment. Wilted, you note, but it feels fitting. Romantic, in a vintage way.

You tug the tablecloth taut erasing imaginary wrinkles. The waiter materialises, his voice a velvet hum. “A drink to start while you wait?”

“A glass of Maker’s Mark and a Cabernet, please,” you say, fingertips drumming the menu. The waiter’s gaze flicks to the empty chair, then back to you. He nods, vanishing into the amber-lit haze of the restaurant.

When he returns, the whisky glows like molten gold in its glass, the Cabernet a deep ruby beside it. You take a sip of wine, the tannins bitter-sweet, and blurt, “Could we also start with the breadsticks? And—do you have any recommendations for the main course? We’re… celebrating.”

The waiter’s smile softens. “Anniversary?”

You nod, thumb brushing the moonstone on your ring. “Two years.”

“Congratulations,” he says, and you swear his tone dips. “The duck confit is exceptional. Crisp skin, pomegranate glaze. A favourite for… special occasions.”

“Perfect,” you say, voice bright as the candle flame. “And the breadsticks, please.”

They arrive warm, dusted with rosemary and sea salt. You pluck one, the crust crackling under your touch, and set it on Will’s bread plate. His ritual: stealing bites before the meal, grinning with a mouthful of carbs. The butter dish sits unopened—he’d argue it’s “sacrilege” to ruin good bread.

The waiter lingers. “Shall I wait to bring the duck?”

“Please wait a bit more.” You clear your throat. “He’ll be here any minute.”

He nods and walks off.

The couple beside you leans into a kiss, their shadows merging on the wall. You look away, smiling. That’ll be us in ten minutes, you think, adjusting the tulip one more time.

8:03 PM.

The ice cubes crackle in his untouched drink. You text him:

You (8:03 PM): Breadsticks are going quick. Hurry!

Outside, the rain thickens.

The restaurant’s candlelight pools like liquid gold on the tablecloth, but it can’t warm the chill creeping up your spine. Rain blurs the world beyond the glass into a smudge of greys and blues, and you fixate on it to avoid staring at the empty chair. Will’s whisky glints amber under the flickering flame, ice long melted, the glass sweating like your palms.

8:17 PM.

Your phone screen dims again. You tap it awake, thumb hovering over the latest text—sent seven minutes ago, still unanswered. The waiter glides over, his voice a gentle ripple in the silence. “Can I bring you anything else while you wait?”

You force a smile, brittle as the sugar crust on the crème brûlée at the next table. “Just the duck confit, please. And another Cabernet.” The please cracks, but he nods, retreating with a discretion that feels like mercy.

The duck arrives, its pomegranate glaze glistening. You slice into it with surgical precision, the knife barely whispering against the plate. Last year, Will stole a bite off your fork, grinning as juice dripped down his chin. Now, you chew slowly, each swallow a battle. The couple beside you clinks champagne flutes, their laughter a bright, foreign language. You glance at Will’s whisky, then slide it toward yourself, the glass leaving a damp ring on the linen. The first sip burns; the second tastes like regret.

9:03 PM.

The candle drowns in wax, its flame shrinking to a pitiful flame. A tulip petal drifts onto Will’s unused bread plate. You pluck it gently, its edges browning like a forgotten letter, and tuck it into your clutch beside the velvet box. The moonstone ring on your finger feels heavier now.

The waiter hesitates, his polished shoes shifting slightly against the hardwood floor. His fingers, long and graceful from years of balancing trays, hover near the table’s edge as if unsure whether to reach out or retreat. His gaze lingers on the empty glass of whisky.

“Dessert, perhaps?” He offers again, voice low, careful. “The chocolate torte is—”

You press your lips together, forcing a small, polite smile. “No, thank you,” you murmur, softer than you intended. Your fingers, stiff from clutching the sweating wine glass, fumble for your wallet. “Could I just have the receipt, please?”

He hesitates, then nods, pulling the leather folio from his apron. You pretend not to notice the way his brow furrows—the unspoken Are you sure? in the slight tilt of his head.

You open the bill, scanning the numbers without really seeing them. The candlelight flickers, casting wavering shadows over the ink. Duck confit. Cabernet Sauvignon. Breadsticks (2 orders). A bitter laugh threatens to rise in your throat—two orders, because you’d been so sure Will would devour them the second he arrived.

He watches, silent, as you count out the bills. Your hands don’t shake—not visibly, at least—but the edges of the notes crumple slightly under your grip. When you slide them across the table, he takes them with a practised nod, but then hesitates, thumbing through the stack.

“This is too much,” he says gently, extracting a few bills to return.

You shake your head, eyes fixed somewhere past his shoulder, where the candlelight catches the rain-streaked window. “Keep it. For the… the trouble.” The last word splinters, but you don’t let it crack further.

His mouth opens—maybe to protest, maybe to offer some other kindness—but you’re already standing, smoothing the ruined silk of your dress like it still matters.

At the door, the hostess—her delicate silver name tag glinting, Sophie—catches your arm with a touch so light it’s almost imperceptible. The warmth of her fingers is startling against your chilled skin.

“The rain’s gotten worse,” she says, her voice threaded with something that isn’t pity, but close. “Let me call you a cab.”

You turn your face just enough to meet her eyes, another practiced smile in place. “I’m alright, thank you.” Your voice is steady and pleasant, the same tone you’d use to decline an extra napkin. “Have a good night.”

You don’t wait for her reply. The door swings open, and the storm greets you like an old enemy—immediate, unrelenting. The silk dress, already ruined, clings to your skin as the rain seeps deeper, turning the fabric into a second, heavier skin. The cold is sharp, but you don’t shudder. You walk. One step, then another.

Behind you, the restaurant glows—golden, warm, a world still spinning without you in it. The violins hum on, the clink of glasses muffled by the downpour. Somewhere inside, the waiter is clearing the table, folding the unused napkin, and wiping away the water ring left by what should have been Will’s drink.

You walk faster.

The rain tastes like salt.

The tube station swallows you whole, its fluorescent lights flickering like a dying heartbeat. Rain cascades down the steps, turning the floor into a mirrored maze. Your heels—strappy, delicate, stupid—stab into the tile with every step, blisters gnawing at your skin. The silk dress clings to your legs, its champagne hue now muddied to dishwater grey. You don’t flinch. Let the pain root you. Let it be real.

A digital board flickers: CIRCLE LINE DELAYED – 22 MINUTES. Commuters sigh, their breath fogging the air. You sink onto a cold metal bench, mascara bleeding down your cheeks in charcoal streaks. The moonstone ring on your finger feels like a lie. You twist it off, the silver band catching the light one last time before you bury it in your clutch beside the velvet box.

An old man lowers himself beside you, his trench coat smelling of mothballs and Earl Grey. His face is a map of wrinkles, eyes milky at the edges but kind. His hands, speckled with age spots, grip a weathered umbrella. “Nasty night,” he rasps, nodding at the storm outside.

You nod back, silent.

He thrusts a weathered umbrella toward you, its handle carved with faded floral patterns. “Take it, lass. You’ll catch your death.”

“I’m alright, thank you,” you say, voice fraying at the edges. Polite. Always polite.

He hesitates, squinting at your trembling hands. “Sure?”

“Yes.” The word cracks. You turn away, staring at the tracks until his shuffling footsteps fade.

The train arrives fifty minutes late, its doors wheezing open. You board, heels slipping on the grimy floor. A toddler points at your drowned-rat elegance, giggling. Rain drips from your hem, forming a puddle at your feet.

At your stop, you limp up the stairs. The storm hasn’t relented—it thrives, needling your skin, soaking through the clutch pressed to your chest. Let the rain scald. Let it strip you raw. Your heels click defiantly, blisters splitting open, blood mingling with rainwater. You don’t slow. The pain is an anchor. The pain is true. 

Let it drown out the memory of Will’s empty chair.

The automatic doors shudder open with a sound like a dying breath, spilling you into the lobby’s arctic chill. Air conditioning razors down your rain-raw skin, and your dress—once liquid silk, now a translucent shroud—clings to every curve, the fabric plastered to your thighs like wet tissue paper. Water sluices from your hem, squelching against polished marble as you walk.

Dave, the night guard, freezes mid-yawn. His eyes dart from your bare shoulders to the puddle spreading at your feet, his Adam’s apple bobbing as if swallowing a scream. “Ev-evening, miss,” he stammers, fingers spasming over his keyboard like he’s forgotten how to type.

You smile. Polished. Automatic. The kind you’d give a stranger. “Evening, Dave.” Your voice doesn’t waver. “Enjoy your shift.”

Mascara bleeds down your cheeks in Rorschach trails, each swipe of your hand hours ago having smeared it into abstract art. Your hair, once sleek, hangs in Medusa tendrils, rainwater still glazing the strands. Your right hand drifts to your ring finger, bare now, the moonstone’s absence a phantom itch. 

The elevator dings. You step in, shoulders grazing cold steel. Your reflection splinters across the mirrored walls—a dozen shattered versions of yourself, each more unrecognisable than the last. One version trembles. Another sneers. A third presses a fist to her mouth, stifling something raw.

You fixate on the numbers lighting up: 4… 5… 6… Each floor hums, the sound vibrating in your molars. The doors open to your hallway, its geometric carpet clashing violently with your waterlogged heels. You fumble the key, metal scraping the lock until it gives, your trembling hands betraying you.

When the door finally gives, the flat smells of vanilla and Thai food. Light spills from the kitchen, where Will’s voice rings out, bright and buoyant over the clatter of dishes.

“Welcome home! You’ll never believe the day I—”

You step inside, rainwater pattering onto the entryway tiles.

“—had to reshoot the entire bridge sequence because the damn drone malfunctioned. Nearly brained James when he suggested cutting the tracking shot, but then—”

You don’t move. Don’t speak. You place your clutch on the coffee table, a dark stain spreading beneath it. The sound of his voice - usually so comforting - feels like radio static now, all meaningless noise.

"Anyway, I've got this banger idea for the next main channel vid—"

A cabinet slams. Silverware jingles. He’s pouring wine, you realize—the clink of two glasses meeting.

“Hungry? I grabbed that Thai place you like on the way back. The Penang curry’s still…”

He trails off as he rounds the corner, two glasses of Malbec in hand, hair messy and shirtsleeves rolled up. His grin fades when he sees you—a drowned spectre in ruined silk, mascara bleeding down your cheeks.

“Jesus, why’re you soaked?” He sets the glasses down too hard, crimson sloshing onto the counter. “Didn’t you check the weather? I texted you about the storm before I left this morning—”

Your voice cuts through his, quiet and lethally calm. “What’s today’s date, Will?”

“What?”

“The. Date.”

His eyes dart reflexively to the fridge—to the takeout calendar stuck beneath a Star Wars magnet, October 12th circled in your lavender gel pen. A Post-it note hangs half-peeled beneath it: “Dress fancy. 7:00. Il Girasole. Don’t be late!!! ”

The blood drains from his face. “Fuck. The shoot ran late, and then the producer ambushed me with notes, and I—”

“Two years.” Your whisper fractures. “You forgot two years.”

A beat. Rain lashes the window above the sink.

He reaches for you, wine-stained fingers trembling. “Let me fix this. I’ll call the restaurant—we can go now, I’ll—”

You sidestep his touch, the motion sending water droplets arcing onto the plush rug. The bathroom door slams shut behind you.

The bathroom tiles bite into your soles as you peel the dress from your skin. The silk clings, resisting until it finally slaps wetly against the floor. You ball it up, shove it into the rubbish bin beside the toilet. The champagne fabric wilts over the near empty bin.

The shower handle creaks as you crank it. Water hammers your hand before the heater catches up, icy needles sharpening to a scalding sheet. You step in, skin flushing red. Steam clots your lungs.

For a beat you stand there, staring blankly at the showerhead.

Then your breath hitches—sharp, shallow gulps that shudder through your ribs. You clamp a hand over your mouth, teeth sinking into the meat of your palm to stifle the sob climbing your throat. It works, but only briefly. A high, keening noise escapes through your nose, and you press your face into the crook of your elbow, smothering the sound against wet skin.

Tears come in silent, relentless waves. Your shoulders jerk forward with each suppressed gasp, muscles coiled so tight your back aches. Water streams down your face, mingling with snot and salt, but you keep your eyes screwed shut. When another sob threatens, you bite down harder on your hand, the pressure dull and grounding, but not enough to break skin.

Your free hand braces against the shower wall, fingers splayed white-knuckled on the tile. The urge to scream pulses in your throat, but you choke it back, swallowing until it burns. Your body rebels anyway: chest heaving, knees trembling, a strangled whimper slipping free. You slump against the wall, forehead pressed to cold ceramic, and let the water hammer the nape of your neck.

It’s messy. Uncontrolled. Snot drips onto your collarbone; tears pool in the divot of your pressed lips. You swipe at your face with a trembling fist, smearing rather than wiping, and suck in a ragged breath that catches like a hook in your windpipe. For a moment, you’re silent—then a fractured cry escapes, sharp as glass. You muffle it with both hands this time, breath hot and trapped against your palms, until the worst of the wave passes.

By the time the water runs cold, you’re hollowed out. Your breaths still hitch, but softer now—wet, exhausted sighs. You swipe your nose with the back of your wrist, eyes swollen to slits, and lean heavily on the wall to stand. Every muscle feels wrung-out, tender.

You reach for the soap with trembling hands. The bar slips twice before you manage to grip it, lathering mechanically between your palms. You scrub your arms again—not violently now, but with the dull precision of someone completing a chore. Bubbles slide over goose-bumped skin, your movements slow and leaden, like your bones are filled with wet sand.

Shampoo this time—squeezed directly onto your crown without measuring. You work it in with limp fingers, nails grazing your scalp without intent. Suds slither down your temples, stinging the corners of your bloodshot eyes. You don’t flinch. Just tilt your head back, let the spray rinse it away, your throat working silently as you swallow the last vestiges of tears.

A conditioner bottle clicks open. You apply too much, the excess dripping down your calves in pearlescent streaks. The scent—coconut, his favourite—makes your jaw clench. You rinse until the water runs clear, until your fingers prune and your skin feels scraped raw by nothing but time.

Beyond the door, Will’s breath hitches. He presses a palm to the wood, then balls up his hand, knuckles whitening, but doesn’t knock. “Fuck,” he mouths silently, raking a hand through his hair. 

He counts each shuddering breath you take, his own syncing unevenly with yours. When the shower shuts off with a metallic squeal, he staggers back, suddenly aware he’s been holding his breath.

Silence.

Will hesitates, arm half-raised as if to knock. Then the rasp of a towel against skin sends him retreating down the hall, socked feet silent on hardwood. By the time you crack the door, he’s slumped on the living room sofa, staring blankly at his abandoned wine glass.

You dress in the sweatpants and shirt he left on the hook—his sweatpants, the ones he’d draped there this morning while whistling off-key, already late, already forgetting—and don’t look at the bin where your dress lies balled in the dark. 

You crack open the door and step out, spotting Will with his back to the door, staring at something on the coffee table. You swallow and shuffle to the spare bedroom, closing the door softly and curling under the warm duvet, curling up and stare at the wall.

Rain ticks its fingernails against the windowpane. The hoodie you claimed for yourself from Will at the start of your relationship drowns you in its fabric, the cuffs frayed from his restless worrying and your attempted messy repairs at stitching them back together. The elbows are thin from wear. It smells like him still—

The door creaks. 

A sliver of hallway light fractures the darkness, then vanishes as Will slips inside. He’s haloed in the dim glow of your alarm clock, shadows pooling beneath bloodshot eyes. His socked feet whisper across the floorboards until he kneels beside the bed, a supplicant at an altar.

“You once said…” His voice splinters, raw as the blisters on your heels. He tries again, softer. “‘We should’t go to bed if we’re angry at each other’ Even if it’s 2 AM. And you’re rightfully angry at me.”

You curl tighter, hoodie fabric muffling your reply. “You remembered that?”

A beat. His exhale unravels, frayed and uneven, as if the truth weighs more than his lungs can hold. “I remember everything.” The mattress groans as he leans closer, his knuckle catching a damp strand of hair from your cheek—the touch featherlight, like he’s handling glass. “How you take your coffee. Your weird fear of pigeons.” His thumb skims your jaw, lingering where your pulse thrums. "The way your smile lingered after our first kiss, like you were still tasting it when I walked you to your door." A ragged inhale. "I remember us. Every moment. Just...not the date on the calendar.”

Your breath hitches, betrayal and hope warring in your ribs. But then his palm cups your cheek, calluses catching on tear-salted skin, and you feel it—the tremor in his touch, the way his gaze maps your face like he’s memorising it anew. This is the man who once spent an hour untangling your necklace with a paperclip, who still flushes peony-pink when you mimic the way he murmurs your name between snores—lips parted, brow smooth, utterly, infuriatingly beautiful.

The fist around your lungs unclenches finger by finger—air flooding in, sweet and sharp as the first gasp after drowning.

He removes his hand from your face and unlocks his phone, the screen’s blue glare sharpening the hollows of his face, and hands it to you. A reservation confirmation glows: Il Girasole. Tomorrow, 7:00 PM. Table for two. “They’re holding the same corner booth. The duck’s still on the menu. And—” His throat bobs. “—I’ll eat every fucking breadstick this time. Even if they’re cold.”

A teary laugh escapes you, brittle but real. “Your memory’s awful.”

“But yours isn’t. I may be pants at dates, but I remember the proper things.” He swipes open his notes' app, revealing a list titled THINGS TO NEVER FORGET (OR ELSE) in all caps. And in bullet points: 

Hates cilantro

Hates roses (cliché)

Hums when she cooks (buy a home speaker)

Secretly loves my terrible puns (look up more)

Saves fortune cookie slips (Saves it in a cute box, give her yours too)

Order at the dodgy kebab shop near the station: lamb, extra garlic sauce, no onions (but she’ll steal sone of mine anyway, so get a large)

Loves the centre of sandwiches (make sure to offer it to her before you finish it all)

Keeps the foil from chocolate bars (folds them into tiny stars when she’s stressed, found 17 in her coat pocket last winter)

Her ring size (6.25)

You sit up, moonlight catching the tear tracks on your face. “You made a list?” Your thumb keeps swiping, the entries endless—tiny, obsessive details you hadn’t even realised he’d noticed.

Your breath hitches. “How long…?”

“Since our first date.” He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “You told me you hated cilantro. I wrote it down so I’d never put it in your food. Then… it sort of grew.”

His phone screen flickers—a photo of you, mid-laugh at a pub, tucked between reminders: Buy more of her weird sour cherry tea and She bites her lip when concentrating (don’t distract her, no matter how cute it is).

"I updated it at the studio during the reshoot." His smile flickers, vulnerable at the edges. "James caught me and said I'm 'whipped.'" He huffs a laugh, thumb brushing your knuckles. "Told him he's just jealous because his girlfriend's never looked at him the way you look at me when I'm half-asleep and making coffee in my pants."

The tension unravels like a frayed knot, leaving only the quiet pulse of rain against glass. You reach for him, and he surges forward—foreheads colliding, noses brushing, his hands cradling your face like you’re something fragile. His thumbs sweep beneath your eyes, smudging tears into the salt-stained hollows of your cheeks.

“I’ll set alarms,” he rasps, lips skating your temple. His breath hitches, warm and uneven. “A thousand of them. Buy a calendar that takes up the whole fucking kitchen wall. Tattoo the date—”

“Don’t.” You press two fingers to his mouth, trembling.

He kisses them anyway, teeth grazing your knuckles. “—on my ribs,” he finishes, voice rough. “I’ll hire a skywriter. Carve it into every birthday cake we ever eat. Make our future kids recite it before—”

“Will.”

“—school. Every. Morning.” He’s grinning now, wild and desperate, eyes glittering in the dark. “I’ll be the embarrassing dad with anniversary-themed socks. The one who—”

You kiss him quiet. He tastes of mint toothpaste, of apologies swallowed too late. When you pull back, his smile has softened—not a promise, but a plea.

“Just,” you breathed in, “be here,” ending in a whisper.

His forehead drops to yours. “Always.”

You hook two fingers into the waist of his joggers—a gesture from your early days, when you’d drag him into dive bar bathrooms for reckless, laughing kisses. He follows without resistance, knees bumping the mattress as you fall back onto sheets still smelling of rain and your abandoned perfume.

He folds around you like a prayer, all trembling hands and murmured sorrys into your hair. His stubble scrapes your temple as he nuzzles closer, one arm banded tight around your ribs, the other cradling the nape of your neck—possessive, penitent.

“Still stealing my hoodies,” he rasps, thumb brushing the frayed cuff around your wrist.

“Still leaving them where I can find them,” you counter, voice muffled against his collarbone.

His laugh rumbles through you, warm and wounded. You map the familiar landscape of his face-the faint constellation of freckles on his cheekbone, the delicate lines that etch the corners of his eyes and his eyes—god, his eyes—blue flecked with moss-green, his iris fractured by a sliver of grey hold yours like a vow.

The rain softens to a hushed patter as Will shifts, his chest becoming a pillow beneath your cheek. You trace the hem of his shirt where it rides up, fingertips skating over the warm plane of his stomach. He shivers, not from cold, but from the featherlight drag of your nails.

“Still ticklish?” you murmur, pressing a smile into his collarbone.

He huffs a laugh, catching your wandering hand. “Still a menace.” But he laces his fingers through yours, bringing your knuckles to his lips. His breath ghosts over them—a silent apology, a promise—before he kisses each ridge of bone.

You lift your head, finding his gaze. Moonlight spills through the blinds, striping his face in silver. His eyes are raw, red-rimmed, but soft as he tucks a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “Your roots are growing in,” he whispers, thumb brushing the faint line at your temple. “Like autumn creeping into summer.”

Your breath hitches. He notices. He always notices.

“I was going to dye it tomorrow,” you admit, voice still thick from tears.

“Don’t.” His palm cradles your jaw, calluses catching on salt-dried skin. “I want to watch the seasons change.”

You swallow, throat tight. He leans in, so close his lashes brush your cheek, and for a heartbeat, you think he’ll kiss you. Instead, he noses along your hairline, inhaling deeply.

“Vanilla,” he murmurs, lips grazing your earlobe. “And that shampoo you pretend to hate.”

You snort, swatting his shoulder. “It dries my scalp.”

“Liar. You keep buying it.” His smile curves against your neck. “Just like you ‘hate’ my puns, but laughed at the one about the scared pasta.”

“It was shell-shocked.” You groan, even as laughter bubbles up, bright and healing. “That’s not even a pun, it’s a crime—”

His lips meet yours not as an ending, but a beginning—slow, syrup-sweet, a confession pressed into flesh. The first brush is tentative, a question mark curved against your mouth. His thumb finds the frantic pulse at your wrist, a callused pad circling gently, as if polishing a relic. I’m here, it whispers. I’m not leaving.

You sigh into him, and the kiss deepens—no longer an apology, but a promise. His free hand cradles the nape of your neck, fingers threading through damp hair still chilled from the storm. His touch is summer-warm, grounding you as he tilts your head, lips parting yours with a reverence that makes your ribs ache. There’s a hitch in his breath when your teeth graze his bottom lip, a stuttered oh swallowed by your mouth as he pulls you closer. When you whimper, he gentles, tongue sweeping soft as a paintbrush over the seam of your lips. Let me in, it pleads. Let me fix this.

You open, and he moans low in his throat—a sound that vibrates through your sternum. His hands skate down your spine, bunching the stolen hoodie at your waist, kneading the tender hollows above your hips. You arch into him, fingers fisting in his shirt as he nips your jaw, then soothes the sting with a flick of his tongue.

His lips linger against yours, breath mingling in the scant centimetres between you. When he finally pulls back, it’s just far enough to let his thumb brush the fringe of your lashes. His own eyes are glassy, the joke hovering on his tongue not yet ready to land—not until he’s sure you’re both still here, still real.

You feel it—the tremor in his hands where they cradle your face, the rapid flutter of his pulse beneath your palm. He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing against your knuckles, before managing a shaky grin.

“Still got it,” he whispers, voice frayed at the edges. His attempt at levity cracks mid-syllable, revealing the raw fear beneath—the terror that this might’ve broken you.

You huff a damp laugh into the hollow of his throat. “Got what?”

He nuzzles your temple, stubble catching on tender skin. “The magic touch.” A pause. His nose traces your temple, breath warm and uneven. “Made you laugh, didn’t I?”

It’s not the joke that undoes you, but the desperation in it—the way his arms tighten around your ribs like he’s clinging to driftwood. You press closer, lips brushing the frantic thrum at his jugular.

“Terrible puns aren’t a ‘magic touch,’” you mutter, teeth grazing his collarbone in reprimand.

He shivers, fingers skating up your spine. “Admit it.” His palm splays between your shoulder blades, pressing you flush against him until there’s no space for doubt, for anger, for anything but his next whispered plea: “You married a comedic genius.”

“We’re not married.”

“Yet.”

The word hangs, delicate as the cobwebs glinting in the window’s moonlit corners. Your heartbeat thrums against his, syncing as his hands slide beneath the stolen hoodie, palms searing trails up your spine.

“Will—”

“Not asking,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “Just… storing the idea. Somewhere between your sandwich centres and chocolate foil stars.”

You fist your hands in his shirt, anchoring yourself as he shifts, rolling until you’re cocooned beneath him. His weight is a comfort, familiar as your own breath.

“Talk to me,” he whispers. “The quiet version. The one you only show at 3 AM.”

So you do—lips brushing his throat as you confess the ache of waiting, the terror of feeling forgotten. He listens, fingers combing through your hair, until your whispers dissolve into yawns.

“Sleep,” he murmurs, tugging the duvet over your tangled legs. “I’ll be here when you wake, I promise. Even if morning you is a sight.”

You snort, but curl closer, nose buried in the hollow of his throat. His heartbeat drums a lullaby against your lips—steady, alive, yours.

I hope this was okay! It took longer than expected, so sorry about that! And I hope you don't mind that I made it a female reader. Also, I'm thinking of possibly making a part two where they go on the date that Will booked...thoughts?

[pumpkinprincess22]

I need people to watch Nothing Much to Do and Lovely Little Losers webseries on youtube. I need people to understand the impact these silly little shows have had on my brain for the last ~6 years. I need people to know why I occasionaly randomly go 'engage your diaphragm' in a bad New Zealand accent during gay confession scenes. So anyway here's a pitch of why you should watch them:

Modern webseries adaptation of Much Ado About Nothing (the best Shakespeare play and you can fight me on that) set as a vlog series by a group of high schoolers in New Zealand

Any itteration of Beatrice/Benedick is one of the best romances ever and this is no exception

One of the most infuriatingly good cases of mutal mlm pining

It doesn't feel scripted like other webseries of its genere (I might be the worlds leading expert on literary webseries adaptations)

The sequel series Lovely Little Losers is loosely based on Love's Labours Lost and follows the main cast going to university and experiencing student shenanigans.

The two series were filmed from 2014-16 so they are deeply entrenched in Superwholock fandom and if you are reading this then I know you were too.

There are multimedia things posted to Twitter and Tumblr

They are running a 10 year aniversary 'Dracula Daily' style rerelease of Nothing Much to Do where you get emailed videos and/or multimedia content on the day corresponding to when it was orignally posted

[xclowniex]

So there is a post going around with a realy suspicious map, and OP of the post has me blocked so here is a link to their post since I cannot reblog it.

Okay so, I looked into this as from my own experience the map looked suspicious.

The orignal post of the map has been deleted. You can find the deleted post on reddit about it here.

I managed to find a repost of the map on tumblr, which had linked to the deleted reddit post, and you can find the repost of the orignal map here. Now onto debunking OP's claim of the map.

The title of the map is not solely about the west bank, it is about full john oliver episodes being unavailable in countries. Not just the west bank episode, all full episodes.

When I try to watch the video, i get the below error from youtube

Yep your eyes do see correctly. It is the uploader who made it unavailable. This means that either John Oliver himself, his production team or HBO who has the rights to his show, decided to make his content not available to be viewed in certain countries.

A comment on the reddit post which I think people should read is

"The title of this post makes many people think OP means ‘countries that have banned this’. Instead, this is just ‘countries where a network pays for the broadcast rights for this show’. The highlighted countries are ones where the show is most popular. The blank countries are where it’s not popular, so they give it away for free to try to drum up support"

Aka this is not purposeful censorship by (((zionists)) like tumblr op is trying to frame it. Its not keeping what happens in the west bank a secret. It is a decision made by someone in charge of the show, to make as much money as possible. Which still sucks! But, it sucks for different reasons than what tumblr OP is alluding to.

3. Tumblr OP is being antisemitic. Whilst it is definately written in a more subtle way, it is still invoking the whole "jews control the media" trope. A well known antisemitic trope is still antisemitic even if "jew" is replaced with "zionist". This is because whilst not every use of "zionist" is a proxy word of jew, it happens more than you think, to the point where meta (instagram and facebook) updated their hate speech policy to puroposefully include "zionist when its being used as proxy (aka dogwhistle) for jew is now hate speech on our platform". Meta still allows it to be used when talking about zionism as a political ideology, and have only banned the use of it as a proxy for jew.

OP of this post has already blocked me (only found out when i saw this post), so I wanna thank @coffeeconcentrate for reblogging this and not having me blocked so I can actually have a chance at reaching even a small group of people to make them aware of this so they don't fall for this poorly made post.

[cynthiav06]

Ok, sorry if this is personal.

But how many people sent you hate for criticising and disliking Percabeth?

Also, how many of them sent you terrible reasons to defend Percabeth.

It's happened to me too. I'm so concerned for people like that.

Okay, bear with me on this. I might go on a tangent, and this might get long. ( Spoilers: It did get long.)

This fandom was one of the most close-minded fandoms ever and still is to some extent where liking anything outside of popular opinions or canon ships was, is taboo and shunned upon.

But things have gotten better in recent years or so, I think. Because I have been on tumblr officially for just 2 years, and I started posting like a year and a half ago. And you would be surprised to hear me say this, but I think Percy Jackson fandom is still somehow on the low end of the toxicity spectrum compared to the other fandoms I was and am in.

I got a tumblr account first through The Orignals and TVD fandom cause a YouTuber friend urged me to post about my takes on the Klayley ship over here. I mean, I was on here before that cause I was and am in many other book fandoms along with Spn fandom, but the point is I interacted more with tvdu and spn cause usually most other book fandoms at least for the ones I prefer are pretty chill.

Also, if you know anything about the TVDU universe, you would know that people are freaks for Klaroline, a ship I dislike with intensity, and it has a large backing and oh the sheer murderous intensity of those shippers.

Do I even need to say anything about Spn? I mean, tumblr runs on Supernatural fandom, so yeah, the toxicity can go to a whole new level, especially considering the actors are also dragged in it. But I digress, so yeah, Percy Jackson fandom isn't even close.

And since I was used to that and a more intense atmosphere, I found toxic Percabeth shippers extremely mild in comparison. So I might have less of an extreme attitude on their takes. Personally, I have never received a death threat ever in the pjo fandom, but I have been told that it used to be excessively common a good 2-3 years back by fellow mutuals.

So if you have had experiences with any of that, I am very sorry, and hopefully, you realize that some people and certain opinions are so repulsive and brainless that they do not deserve to be considered.

Another thing that's happened that's good is anti tags have become very handy for you know people who want to avoid seeing hate content on things they like. So most Percabeth shippers, the somewhat sensible ones, steer away from anti percabeth tags and given the butchering that Rick is doing to the already butchered ship in his new abomination of a trilogy, Percabeth shippers have learned to pick their battles. But yes, there are still the occasional hate comments, which some you delete, some you ignore because it's always something bullshit.

When I first began posting I was more on the extremely controversial side of the fandom but you know in the recent year the anti percabeth tag has grown, the fandom has finally started letting ships become more diverse and the arguments against the Canon ships have become more and more grounded.

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

Now, to the important part, what is their usual defense?

1.

Well, firstly, no anti Percabeth shipper is really authentic unless they have had to fight the misogynistic allegations. "You hate the ship because you hate Annabeth. You are jealous of her and are a misogynistic person."

Yes, I do hate Annabeth. It's an opinion reached out of personal maturity. Yes I am a woman, and women can definitely be misogynistic, but do I hate Annabeth because of that? God no, I have much better reasons for hating Annabeth. Literally half my blog is highlighting how toxic and controlling she becomes.

I also hate her because she could have obviously been so much more. She has such good backstory, realistic motivations, and a very prevalent flaw to overcome, and the fact that her character just devolved with each book is such a painful thing to read. How no one on their side even addresses that the flaws exist is literally beyond me.

2.

The second most common reason I get is that Rick based Percabeth on his own marriage.

Listen, people, when someone says that they based something off of something, doesn't mean it's the same thing. Parodies are based off of the orignal but are nothing like the orignal.

Plus, the fact that Rick has terrible consistency throughout the books and forgets many plot points would tell you that he has no idea how to develop some of these things.

The idea isn't the one being criticized here. The evolution of that idea is. None of Annabeth's flaws were tackled for more than a single instance of the plot and forgotten immediately after.

Her controlling nature towards Percy, her blaming Percy for getting kidnapped and being brainwashed, her making him apologize for it; her trying to limit his powers, having a great misunderstanding regarding the Akhyls situation and just straight up ordering Percy not to use one of his key abilities even if to defend himself and we getting a follow up on that disastrous situation when Percy no longer defends himself and almost dies against Kympoleia and Polybotes.

3.

I recently got these ones a lot. Either they blame me for not tagging anti when I already have tagged anti and always tag anti first. I think two of these comments are still visible on my "How impressive you have to be to pull Percy post?"

The next one is me being biased, and all my reasons are not valid cause I am biased and hate Annabeth, so neither of my actual canon based evidence is true.

Pick a lane people. Either let us have our opinion or have the guts to argue rationally on this.

Another thing I do is that while I always tag anti, just in case, some Percabeth fan ends up on my post, there's always a section for Percabeth stans which contains my usual queries or concerns regarding whatever recent take I am elaborating and it always starts with my mild suggestion of being calm and rational and then thinking my points over. Usually, it acts as a buffer between hateful or frustration induced rants.

Either way, it's just the integral part of being in a fandom. Stuff like this happens, it's not good, but it happens.

The trick is to have a respectful conversation with those willing to listen and ignore the rest. It will lessen with time, and if you stick to the anti tag, it will help in reducing most of the unnecessary arguments.

I don't know if there's much I can do to help you, but I hope the post is at least somewhat helpful. I always appreciate feedbacks.

[invivoinsomnium]

Welcome to, another review nobody asked for or probably wants.

Warning: I did not watch the series, I simply went to the episodes that involved pregnancy and childbirth which are the final two of the show (there was only a single season)

This isn't going to be in depth, lots of the episodes will be skip, these are mainly my thoughts.

Show is called Helstrom, pregnancy and birth occur during episodes 9 and 10.

It starts with Gabriella (our soon to be mother) waking up in a locked room. At some point she ends up throwing up and a voice speaks over the intercom, it tells her to save her strength and be healthy to which she accusses the voice of drugging her. The voice informs her that it's actually morning sickness.

Now it should be noted that this is meant to be an accelerated pregnancy but its not done in a way like you would usually see, with the belly visiably swelling while the woman is awake, nor does she scream or shout in pain. She is drugged and strapped to the bed. We see one scene where she is given an IV that drains quickly, she's given various drugs and something administered via syringe through the IV. I am guessing these are drugs that keep her both sedated and accelerate the pregnancy because there is no true interaction from her.

Eventually she does wake up via another drug, and is shocked to see herself full term. She tries to fight against the restrains but for the most part they hold.

Its revealed she's carrying the new form of the antagonist.

Gabriella does escape but of course as perdicted she is located by the antagonists followers at the end of the episode. She's about to stab herself in the belly but the knife is telekinetically pulled form her hands.

In ther next episode, the season finale, she is able to get away again but of course the search for her continues. At this point, I got bored. From what I gather the one who impregnated her found her, he's possessed, she willing goes with him to where the followers are, she's placed in a wheelchair and escorted away, brought back to the room she orignally woke up in.

The next time we cut to her she is being lowered into a bathtub and then after brief dialogue she goes into labour.

The birth is cut back and forth, there is no continuous scene, the only real memorable part is the way her belly moves just before the baby is born. It seems she's refusing to push, or maybe struggling since in episode 9 she was told it would be a difficult birth and one of the followers intervenes with a scalpel. I would have liked to have seen if it was some type of csection or an episiotomy.

Admittedly, I had high hopes. I would give this a meh/10. I would have liked to have seen some belly shots, to see it slowly expanding over time. When she wakes, I would have liked to have seen her lift up her top really bring home the pregnancy.

Honestly, we could have done without the escape, seemed pretty redundant. Rather, I'd have prefered them decide to induce her and instead of birthing in the tub have her giving birth in the bed or even in a makeshift delivery room. Would have been nice to see stirrups and some bre belly scenes. Also a continuous cut would have been appreciated with someone coaching her, telling her when to push.

Don't get me wrong, I loved her facial expressions and noises, I just think there could have been more. It's horror, embrace it.

I suppose you could check it out, but its not really going to be something I go back to continuously, maybe if the urge hits but this is definitely not in the top five nor the top ten.

Alright, admittedly not that bad but there are things I would have liked to have seen to make it better.

Birth Scene

[tyeart2003]

(This art is made by me but the rights to the game go to Berserk studios and Lachhh also these are orignal characters for the comic I am working on in the jsab au i made) ~Hey this is an update on what i am going to be doing and is also a progress report for what i am planning, I will post more monster high x welcome home content. but first i want to show what i have drawn for the jsab story also please read all this if you can~ there will be a Monster high x Welcome home comic in the future called Welcome home Monster High: Frightful neighbors. but the picture here is an original character comic au These two characters are two of the main characters for the story Just shapes and beats-The War in Paradice saga {TW TRAUMATIC BACK STORY FOR VEGA/ACTUAL SNEAK PEAK TO WHAT HE SAYS IN THE COMIC} *~vega when he is talking to rubix after rubix finds out the truth~* "When I was a kid I grew up in the deadlands, I was taken off the street by a corrupt gang that fights shapes to the death for rich shapes to gamble on… I was there from the age six to eighteen, I never had a family… immediately after I was rescued I began fighting in a more civilized way here as the captain of the fight club but sometimes I get scared or worse, mad, and my emotions take over, I try to keep my emotions in control by smoking and staying away from all people, throwing myself into my work as a fighter cause well… fighting is all i know how to do. I know killing is wrong i know it is so if you need to leave i understand i can find you a new roommate and stay out of your hair, like you said you don't really know me…."

[popculturebuffet]

Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck Retrospective: The Empire Builder from Callisota: "No Scrooge McDuck once had everything. Now all he has is Money and What Money Can Buy" (Patreon Review for WeirdKev27)

Hello all you happy people and welcome back to my look at The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck. After a long hiatus, it's almost over. Just two chapters left.

We've also got one I forgot..was banned. Yeah turns out a year ago Disney contacted rosa, told him this story was was banned and weren't really up to discussing it. As for why... well you can look above and get a pretty good idea. This story features Bombie the Zombie and Foola Zoola, characters Barks created... and characters who are entirely racist carcatures in their original form. Rosa DID do his best to give Foola depth, taking him from a one note villian to someone who didn't want a colonizer taking his land. Bombie.. really coudln't as he was a zombie and all that, but you can see from above why Disney wouldn't be crazy about reprinting Bombie and... I fully agree. As seen above, I can see WHY disney would choose to not want to print this story in it's orignal form as while Rosa did his best to fix the designs... Bombie still dosen't look that great.

The problems are twofold. The first is with Disney itself, who is unwilling to let anyone talk about it, is content to bury the story at at most suggested having people edit Rosa's art, something he's against. And I do get it: letting someone else walk all over something you carefully made.. isn't fair. I dont' agree with him on refusing to edit it due to being asked, as while as he says himself

“The Dream of a Lifetime” has only THREE panels of its 25 pages in which Bombie appears. Rather than ban this entire story forever due actually to only TWO of those three panels, the publishers suggested that I allow them to have Bombie redrawn. I would not allow art-tampering if my name is on the book. (I can tamper with my own art in reprints if I made some error, but I won’t allow changes forced on me.)

Look, I do think they should allow Rosa, if he's able as I know drawing is hard for him these days, to draw it and I do think just saying outright "you have to" instead of opening up an actual talk with him over the issue is scummy. Disney is being dicks and their possible "solution" of just removing the story is stupid. This is an integral part of life and tims and editing it is the better part. (As noted with dream of the life time it's only three panels).

That said while I love Don Rosa.. he should redraw it. He shoudlnt' of had his hand forced, again he deserves more respect and it's clear Disney is fairly hands off when it comes to it's comics. if he can't, then I do understand. But Rosa does have to understand.. this IS necessary. This WAS an error on his part as while he did do his best to make the characters look less racist and in Zoola's case an actual character, and was horrified by this chapter in Barks history in his commentary.. he has to understand times have changed. And while he considers the Don Rosa Library just for adults.. that's simply not the case. Jason Aaron , who wrote the recent Uncle Scrooge and the Infnity Dime, read these stories with his kids. Other people will do the same. And black children.. deserve to not have to see a racist caracture. I'm not saying ther eisn' ta market to have an unedited version with a warning label on it, Scrooge has adult readers, but I am saying these comics , while written smartly and fitting everyone.. are all ages and always will be. I'd rather the story be edited slightly to be updated than gone all together.

Let's be fair though: While I do think Rosa is being stubborn, Disney.. is still the worst and still shoudl've given him a more resonable chat than this. Disney clearly dosen't give one iota of a shit about these stories or how important they are to comics as a whole and while this chapter could use an update, it's callous to chuck it in a bin as some racist artifact when while the art.. again could use a slight touchup, maybe make bombie a full on green zombie like the 2017 cartoon.. the story itself.. isn't racist. Rosa took a racist old tale and made it a story of collonalism and scrooge's worst moment. The worst thing he ever did.. was forcibly take land from the people already living there and that's worth telling and Disney is fucking stupid for not getting that.

Lucky for me I own the story already, but I can't say that for everyone and hopefully at some point Disney gets their head and finger out of their ass and compromises with rosa while he's still around to compromise with.

For now the story itself.. and this is the one I was dreading. Not for all the above, i'd happily forgotten that till I went to get the image then had to dig into it a bit. Thank you reddit. No.. this is the sad one. See when we first met Scrooge.. Barks hadn't quite worked out who he was. He was always a bastard but he wasn't the layered bastard we know, one who will undersell his nephews but also do the right thing in a pinch. As a result he entered the story a frail old recluse donald hadn't met yet with Night on Bear Mountain, and earlier stories had him more as an antagonist before Barks took a shine to him and found out just how well the old man fit the adventure stories that he'd been telling with donald.

One of those early stories... was a massive headache for Rosa. Voodoo Hodoo, the story with the racist carcatures mentioned above, one where Scrooge gleefully admits to tearing down an african villiage and getting cursed as a result.

Like me Rosa had dreaded this part as how the hell would this fit: he coudln't ignore it due to his pride, trying to weave everything in, but it was incredibly hard to parse that with who scrooge became.. till it hit him: USE the fact it was horribly out of character for Scrooge. Have it be the one moment that in rosa's words "he became flintheart glomgold" that one moment of weakeness where he became his worst self for just one day, succumbed to every bad instinct he had did something truly unforgivable... and have it have consequences. Have his worst moment, his one bad day, be the reason his family left and he didn't reunite with them till inviting donald and the boys for christmas all those many decades later. It's why I dreaded this chapter: it's the one where Scrooge gains everything he ever wanted.. and looses what he had in the process. It's one of the hardest chapters to read and it's under the cut.

So we open with Matilda closing her scrapbook. Up to this point her scrap book had been the opening page, tracking her brother's journey.. but now she and her sisters are adults working for their brother, staying at the office while he travels the world and the seven seas building his empire and slowly filling his bin. It's a nice bit of symbolisim considering what's about to happen.

Scrooge returns as you'd expect.. inside a canon as he refused to pay extra shipping to ship himself. He could, as Hortense points out let someone else run the show.. but he refuses. No one else has his grit and while he dosen't say it... no one else simply has his stubborness. When mugged and having his hat shot he runs down the new generation of mcvipers in a flashback simply because they shot up his hat and cost him money. The man DOES need a better work life ballance.. but he isn't wrong. Scrooge is simply at his best when he's doing some of the work himself. His 2017 self does delegate more.. but truly thrives when his nephew and niece and later passel of nephews and daughter he never knew he had remind him of adventure. He dosen't always turn a tidy profit.. but the experince is well worth it and for every loss there's a gain.

This mindset makes a LOT of sense in story: We've seen scrooge struggle and scrape to get this far. Fight every minute as he will not settle for a life he does not deserve nor feels his family dosen't. Every time he seemingly got up the mountain and won... something shoved him back down with only a small handful of cash as progress, enoguh to get to the next adventure. Over that, with Rockerduck and Roosevelt's help, he learned he just.. loved the chase. He's in a comfy enough place where he can still keep going on the chase.. but every small loss isn't a gutting reminder he hasn't gotten anything but experince. He can take risks. He sometimes dosen't because he's a cheap old bastard, but he can adventure.. because he can afford it. Before it was just to survive.. now it's because it's what he WANTS to do. He wants to be richer than god, to keep going keep growing his empire and he was taught the only way to get that far is to do the hardest work yourself and maybe let others come to you for money once you got it.

Case in point Scrooge really didnt' see the need for a larger office staff, leaving only his sisters to run it.. and thus hilariously passes out when he finds they hired Ms Quackfaster. For those more familiar with Ducktales 2017 Quackfaster here is more timid, put upon back when it was entirely okay to abuse your secretary/office assitant. Ah the 40's.. please stay 50 feet away at all times thank you. He goes catatonic at finding out they have a full staff, but Hortsens is unphased throwing a whole cup of coffe in his face and making it clear that A) They couldn't do this with two people ya jackass and B) we're comnig with you.. ya jackass.

The girls have brought quackmore to office manage so they can go globetrotting something scrooge is suprisingly happy with.

Sadly this is about as light hearted as this adventure gets as we head into the congo.. where

The story strangely dosen't say, which is uncarctrastic for Rosa. This story has that racist habit a lot of stories do of just saying "Africa' instead of "what country exactly on the largest continent in the world". Which is not great when he was far more specific when we did the previous jaunt to south africa. Yeah... some oft his story has not aged well and Rosa can and should have done better. He does through research but here just... plunks a very plot importnat villiage int he middle of a giant continent.

Scrooge is intent to impress his sisters.. but instead shows them, and us, how far he's fallen: Scrooge does one of the oldest tricks in the colonalist playbook, offering the cheif a quarter for the land rights since the man genuinely DOSEN'T know he's getting screwed over. This trope is.. awful, that old "Oh stupid indgenious peoples they'll belivie anything. So it's not great.. but it is softend a bit as the chief offered a tiny war drum something sacred to him, something not worth money, but worth a lot to their small community.. and scrooge faked that gesture while really screwing the poor guy over. While the optics are sketchy.. the intent works: Scrooge has sunken so low that rather than make his money square and returning a heartfelt gesture of someones cutlure sincerly.. he tricks the person for his own ends.

The sisters call him out for this... and it's a scene I forgot.. but boy does it hit

Seeing Scrooge fallen this low.. is hard. While it's not the man gut punch of the comic, Don Rosa's not even close to done working the body, it still hits to see how much he's changed. It was to the point I THOUGHT this was a bit abrubt, that while it's been a while since the last chapter, it surely can't of been THAT long.

Thinking back though... this was set up most of the story. Scrooge's dark side has always been part of his character, especially in the comics: Even in the better days ahead in the prime of the barks and rosa eras.. he's still rageful, barely pays his family or workers, petty and often wont' do things he easily could simply to be a selfish dick. Christmas for Shacktown has him refuse to help pay for christmas for orphans even when Donald put in the hard work to get 25 dollars.. which is, to my shock 294 dollars and 17 cents in today money. So yeah donald gathered nearly 300 dollars in charity.. that scrooge refused to repay. I'd say he's the worst evil billonare in fiction but his competition is pretty stiff

Point is part of Scrooge's charm is he COULD be an asshole... it thankfully got toned down with time and Ducktales and ESPECIALLY 2017 Ducktales toned it the fuck down, the latter having what I consdier to be my faviorite version, but he's still some form of bastard, and his need to grow as a person or suprising bits of depth and humanity are what make him so fascinating. He's a dick.. but he has a lot of layers to him and a moral code.

This chapter shows just what thin ice that code is on: how it wouldn't take too much for him to tip over the line and become an even worse glomgold. While that darkness isn't there in the early chapters, as younger scrooge is both a tad more naive and way more kind and trusting it slowly builds: in Raider of the Copper Hill he nearly goes mad with power at just the THOUGHT of his newfound fortune and only having to sell his newfound wealth immediatly for pennies snaps him out of it. The Terror of Transval breaks his trust in most people completely, thanks flinty. In King of The Klondike while still sympathetic you can see his harder shell having fully formed, how he avoids other people, is rude to just about everyone and later in the next chapter, is fairly cold to people.It's been bubbling faster and faster: In the billionare of dismal downs, he snaps at the townspeople threanting to leave them all homeless out of petty spite. And finally in the previous chapter, he kicks those boy scouts out rather rudely, which bites him in the ass when they assume he's a foreign spy. The last part is just them being dummies, but there's this harsh sharp edge we simply don't fully notice forming.. because it's who scrooge is even after he takes about ten percent off. The guy is mean.

But Barks uses this opportunity to show why he's a hero.. by showing him, for one shameful moment, as a villian. As a pure monster who gladly tricks an indigenous person out of their land and his response to being called out on it by his anchors, the thing noticably able to snap him out of his worst insincts... is to say "i'm done playing fair."

Scrooge is often honest.. because he's got people around to curb his worst insincts. His family keep him grounded: having the goal of helping provide for them kept him honest, his dad kept pushing him away from his worst instincts and his sisters and mom kept doing the same.

The problem is.. slowly but surely.. he's just about lost everyone: His mentors are long gone or in the white house. He dosen't trust anyone enough to have actual friends. And as for his family.. h'es slowly lost them: His Uncles have passed by now, he lost his mom and found out in the worst way possible, and he just lost his dad. He has his sisters.. but like Donald and the Boys later, he's on an uneven enough playing field with them to ignore them if he wants. After all he provided for them, he gave them a home in america, what fucks should he give they don't care. Their the last tether he has to his humanity and he's kept them at arms length, keeping them at home whlie he journied and letting himself get more and more corrupt. Without the humanizing aspects of his goal to gain wealth, having saved his ancestral castle, given his sisters a good life and become rich, all that's left is gaining more and more money whatever it takes. Scrooge may be unscrupoious on a good day.. but he has enough honor to do the right thing, to be honest about his money. Without that is just the monster barely contianed under the surface and the last thing locking it out.. is about to go away.

So Scrooge confronts the Voodoo Part of the tribe, which while... once again about as researched as Tintin in Africa, is one of the better parts. Again Barks casual racisim.. shows a bit. It's something I didn't notice on previous readings but is kinda.. obvious now as the man just didn't bother ot put in the research he did for white legends and locations. He's not always racist, he put true effort into researching the dreamtime for the Dreamtime Duck of Never Never, but it's clear when it comes to africa he didn't really give a shit.

That said while he has issues I WILL give Rosa credit for how he redid Foola. The racist aspects are gone aside from fangs for teeth.. and characterzation wise he's treated not as some cheap villian.. but as a man who puts on scare tactics because he's used to men like scrooge: Greedy white assholes who try to take everything they can from his sacred land. Foola is unimpressed by this colonizing asshole and it's a part of the story that, unlike most of the other villiage stuff, holds up very well: Barks clearly respects Vodoo even going on one of his signature "old man yells at cloud" rants about how "traditional" zombies are nothing like the ones we know now. Foola is only in the story for a short while but makes a hell of an impression, being one of the few characters to truly best scrooge

Now Scrooge probably woudln't of takent his well in any form at any time. The diffrence is the scrooge later could at least be talked down by the nephews or would've barged back in solo to fight Foola. He also never would've done the racist offering a quarter shit to him or the chief. This scrooge.. does easily the worst thing Scrooge McDuck has EVER done in any medium.

I love the heavy shadows over his face in this scene, just the pure.. evil radiating off scrooge for a moment. Anger, malice.. we've seen it.. but we've never seen him as a complete and utter monster destroying people's lives and homes all for his greed and every minute of it is painful, seeing just how... Broken matilda is by it. You can see just how sad she is to see her brother not only tear her apart for no good reason but tear innocent people apart.. while Hortense.. prepares to pack.

Somehow scrooge manages to do MORE horrible shit, pretending to be someone else to get foola to sign the contract. Foola swears his revenge... and Scrooge returns not to his sisters forgiving him and gladly taking the money as he expected... but a letter

While dishonesty is kinda underselling it, it's a truly painful moment. It's also an awesome one as the whole time Scrooge has ignored what they've had to say.. and now he can't. All he can do is gripe about WHY he's sunk this low: that if the world isn't honest why shoud he be? It's a problem that feels extra relevant these days: if the world is a dumpster fire... why shouldn't I be one too? If nothing we do matters, what does anything matter?

I'd forgotten this scene.. but damn it hits. The one thing that gets through to him.. is his dad. He can lie to himself.. but he can't lie to his dad. And the answer to that hypothetical above was simple: to be true to yourself, to respect yourself enough not to sink to tohers levels.

This does convince scrooge to go reunite with his family.. but first he has bigger issues. Foola's back..a nd he's brougth bombie. And bombie's design isn't great, but Barks reimagines him well: more as an unstoppable juggernaught than a mildly racist zombie. Thankfully Rosa also needed to retcon something else: Scrooge looked like a young donald in the flashback, something that didn't really stack up with later versions, so in not ignoring this story, Rosa found a clever way to deal with that; his earlier disguise looked like donald, so bombie only goes after him when he has a hat on.

The next section is kinda weak, if understadanbly so: Rosa had to cover DECADES of Scrooge's life this time around, so we follow him as he doe ssome buisnessy buieness buienss and outwits bombie, along the way picking up a candy striped ruby. IT's all pretty standard though the climax of it.. is fucking amazing. Bombie follows Scrooge to the titanic. Where Scrooge dosen't notice the boat sinking because he's busy with bombie. It's a sequence I just kinda eyed over in past readings but in this one.. hot damn is it fun.

After he beats bombie we then get a montage as Scrooge makes a global empire, mostly nods to various barks stories I don't think i've read yet, like the gilded man of el dorado.. who then runs in fear as he forgets who he's dealing with. Nothing bad but it feels like it's there more to cover all the gaps in scrooge's history left before the finale than tell a story for the most part. There is one exception though: after he gets shoved off a cliff.. he finds he's picked up a new ability, one of his most famous

Also props to rosa for explaining the "how he can swim through coins" thing: As ducktales 2017 put it it's a hard won skill and just diving in would kill anyone else. Rosa like barks takes this seriously, as while this world has fantastical stuff in it he grounds it in the logical explanation, ones that don't feel like nitpicky fan wankery, but a logical reason why Scrooge can do the thing people know him for.

Turns out Bombie wasn't lost in the titanic... which makes sense: If James Cameron the Bravest Pioneer didn't find him while taking underwater footage of it, he must've been gone. The Chief of an Island scrooge is negotating with takes the ruby in exchange for binding Bombie for 30 years and Scrooge is sur ehe'll NEVER see him again.

Some time ,more finagaling and proftering later, Scrooge FINALLY returns home to a warm reception.. an ddickilsh bashes the mayor with the key to the city

Sadly his return to his office.. means our ending. And it's one of the hardest things i've had to write about. And I had to write about frasier mowing down the ACLU a few weeks back.

No this ending is simple but crushing: His sisters decided to let bygones be bygones, enough time had passed. Sadly.. Scrooge taking the long way round.. meant he just.. dosen't care. He brushes them off, storms into his office and when Hortense storms in.. he angrily tells them they didn't care when he was abroad all that time supporting them before. What he misses.. is that things changed. Two, when he started his trip, small children with no real agency seeing their brother off versus two grown women who simply want him to acknowledge them.. is diffrent. They don't need him anymore.. and Hortense tells him if he shoes them away NOW, it's over. And sadly.. Scrooge pushes them away. While before it was due to his darkest hour.. this time.. it's just due to who he is. Scrooge is a prideful old bastard who can't accept weakness and sees his emotoinal ties as just that. IT's why it takes him so long to actually admit, and rarely to their faces, he cares about Donald and the nephews.. and his sisters need and deserve that. THey deserve to be acknowleged. Donald and the Boys did.

Speaking of Donald he and Della were here and whiel Della was only a character enough at this point to get a cameo Donald... gets the last shot in.

Bout sums up their relationship really.. but it's also oddly sweet.. donald kicks scrooge's ass, literally and desrevedly.. because he made his momma cry.

Scrooge has a chance, to reconcile, to fix this.. but sadly instead...

God that last panel, his sisters sadly resigned to letting him go as the Bin towers over everything, showing off just how lonely he is and forever will be. Even if this story as a whole has a happy ending, this ending... guts you.

And somehow.. I found a way it guts me even more on a second reading. This.. is the last time Scrooge talks to hortense that we're aware of. He DOES see Matilda again, a story we'll certainly get to someday, and one of Rosa's finest.. but it's heavily implied Hortense and Quackmore are gone by the time Donald and Della are adults as we never see them and unlike Della, we never got an explination in the comics. Scrooge's last time seeing his sister was a terrible argument and him turning his back on his family out of pride. He lost so much time with her, her children and his family.. all for nothing.

The Richest Duck in the World is a good story.. if an uneven one. Parts of it are mildly racist, with Rosa again not having cared enough to do actual research this time and that's damming from a guy who prides himself on it, and it drags for a bit as Rosa has to stitch together decades of noodle incidents in Barks work. The titanic scene is great but most of it is pretty much fanservice and while I am a fan of Barks work, i'm not the super student Rosa is, so I don't get nearly as much out of it. I'm fine with fanservice, but the rest of the comic does a better job threading it in naturally.

That said while the chapter is uneven.. the parts it nails.. it really NAILS. Scrooge's darkest hour is truly chilling, a monsterous act that is truly horrifying to watch and the ending just hits like a truck. While we get a SLIGHT breather with Donald kicking his ass, it ends on a gut punch that reminds us Scrooge.. lost his family. The very thing he set out to help... he lost.

Thankfully.. this isn't the end. While this is the climax.. i'ts not the ending. So

Next Time: We end this trek as Scrooge gets to know his nephews and has to deal with an old foe. Till then thanks for reading

[georgiapeach30513]

RE: Red One.

It’s funny how critics and people online continue to want to keep this film down, but I think it’s continuing to exceed expectations which is a good sign.

I had a feeling for a long while it was going to surprise people, given how many were complaining nonstop about Chris’s involvement.

Also, the discourse about his career choices… 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄

It’s one thing if he were to sit there and complain to the media about not being able to find more serious roles or prestige movies to do.

But to my knowledge he’s never done that? I can only think of him saying years ago that his good films he feels nobody watches (true, or at least not ENOUGH people watch) but even then it wasn’t so much a complaint as a response to a question.

It seems like he is having fun and just picking what he wants to do. I’ve never heard him say “I only did this because I couldn’t get that.” He’s thrown out there he did Red One because he’s always wanted a Christmas film and there was a part for someone like him in it. Makes sense to me. And he just did three smaller scale lower profile projects with directors that are still establishing themselves. Without his and Anya’s involvement, don’t know that sacrifice would have been able to get made. I wish critics who aren’t up to date with his career move at least stop talking and wait for developments over a “hot take” for hits.

I saw a ridiculous tweet once again undermining Red One and his choices. Here’s the thing…red one was an orignal IP. It was a new story that wasn’t from an existing franchise, show, book, or sequel. Lots of people worked on that film and Amazon giving it a theatrical release also helps those who worked on the film that aren’t DJ or the rest of the cast. People who are seeing it in theaters are helping to create box office return and if films like this did well and were received well, maybe there would be more studios willing to take a chance on an original take over an existing IP.

Just because it’s a popcorn movie with silliness does not mean it’s trash and only films like Oppenheimer can be considered art.

I really despise that take and how some cinephiles look down on these films yet solely up lift Oscar bait films.

It bothers me immensely as a creative myself because in my opinion, movies are entertainment and they’re supposed to entertain you. If you and others have fun with the content and enjoy, have a good laugh, a smile, a cry, then I think the creators have done their job. Not all films need to be awards worthy, and art is subjective.

Ahh, the discourse on Chris' career is a tale as old as time at this moment. According to some he will never be good enough or rise to his potential. According to some he is a washed up has been, and yet they can't seem to quit him. I think that makes him a bit more powerful than they want him to be. But alas, we're all free to spend our time how we see fit.

It's funny because I don't think some people realize the roles that he was considered for, the roles he turned down, the roles that he was wanted for. Back when Running Man was in talks, he was top of the list as the lead, and we see that he wanted Sacrifice instead. I think that was a better choice, because quite frankly I'm getting fatigued at all the remakes, but some people want to make their career out of remakes. To each their own.

Unfortunately Chris outside of the MCU has never been quite as a box office draw. A lot of his movies, well most, are on a smaller scale. I think people are looking at his last three movies; Ghosted, Pain Hustlers, and Red One, and immediately jumping on a hate bandwagon. Let's break this down, Ghosted was a small movie, and judging by the synopsis I think we got what we were promised. I think that Dex, Chris, and Ana all were making different movies.

Pain Hustlers will mostly be forgotten. It was part of the opiate epidemic movies that became oversaturated. It didn't have any promotion, and compared to the other projects in the opiate crisis genre, it wasn't that great. I still will die on the hill that his performance was solid, and the best in the movie. Emily was oddly terrible.

Red One I think surprised a lot of people. Nobody expected it to be as fun or as good as it ended up being. Due to the strike, Chris didn't get to really film last year, minus the Deadpool movie. Had R1 not be released a year late, he would have only had Deadpool for this year. Starting next year we're going to have another surge of his projects, and they all seem different, so maybe people should just be patient.

The average movie goer wants to be entertained. That's why popcorn flicks make more money than the award movies. now sometimes you can have both. But anyways.

[ganondoodle]

genuine genuine genuine question- wwwhy do you not like the zonai? (zonau? not sure if thats like. the worlds coolest plural or a translation difference) given your content with more monstery designs i would have thought they'd be up your alley!! however. i have also not played skyward sword (as much as id like to) and i know most of peoples upset with their existence and the totk storyline is because of its conflicts with that plot? i'm very excited to see what you do with your rewrite/botw2!! given their slight presence in faron in botw, it would be cool to see you repurpose the zonai in some way that doesn't conflict with the plot you're going for, something that makes more sense with the cryptic kinda bare minimum we had in botw? sorry if you've explained your stance on the zonai before <3

hhhhhhhh i had ranted alot about it but i hope you are prepared- (also "zonai" is sonau in german but im choosing to write it with a z so people recognize it at least, im pretty sure zonau is also the orignal japanese word for them)

i am fine with their design, in fact, i LIKE their character designs, however i dont like everything else about them.

and no its also not bc it affects skyward sword bc it doesnt affect ANYTHING in skyward sword, bc skyward sword is the VERY FIRST zelda game in the timeline and totk is nowhere near it, totk draws several paralels towards skysw bc its meant a sort of soft reset for this new era but its really just thematic overlap and references bc those are cool (i know alot of people are trying to convince the entire fandom that totk somehow is crammed into the old timeline but trust me its never anywhere near confirmed nor does it make any sense, heres the lil graphic i made last month to clarify how i think its meant to be understood .. quite obviously even -

i dont mean to sound .. mean, but some people read too much into little phrases or references to older titles (like first king of hyrule .. doesnt have to mean the literal firstest of the first ones in all of forgotten history ever, just the first of THIS hyrule for example), and while im not against theories i am very annoyed when people try to say its somehow canon when its NOT)

with that out of the way;

i dont like how they are 'integrated' into botws world, they feel unnatural and shoved in everywhere, they have been everywhere and did everythign better and cooler and no part of (this) hyrule was untouched by them their architecture feels not integrated well either and design wise its rather bland, while the sheikah shrines for example while obviously not natural and very 'techy' they still build a harmonizing contrast while the totk shrines are pretty laughably unfitting compared to them the basically complete disappearance of all sheikah tech related stuff bothers me immensely bc why would you just get rid of it istead of developing it further (i know about purahs towers and think they are just like a worse version of the previous ones; and before this argument comes up again, them destryoing it all -somehow- bc they were afraid of it being taken over again is a dumb excuse bc then they should be even more scared of zonau tech- even MORE unknown and advanced tech literally falling from the sky) you could have done SO MUCH with the ancient shiekah tech it drives me nuts

i also think it tipped the delicate balance of the kinda medival setting + high tech that botw had set up compeltely over, the zonau tech just .. is so painfully obviously only the way it is to give you little lego parts to glue together (i know its a focus of the game ... or at least the gamePLAY but it could have been done better, again i think they managed the balance perfectly with shiekah tech, its weird and isnt natural but doesnt endanger the believability of it ... the zonau tech just throws that out the window rly ... how cool would it have been if you could built lil guardian walk thingies djknhfkd )

in general they just feel like a complete replacement for the ancient shiekah and are so SO desperately trying to make the zonau the COOLER and BETTER versions of what the shiekah were (you COULD have connected them in a cool way, like there being ancient shiekah labs build in the old zonau mining facilities bc they used zonau tech as basis for their own tech etc)

like instead of building on the set up and potential botw had prepared, they just scrambled to make a 'better' version of botw, like oh no forget THAT ancient civilization we have an EVEN MORE ancient, and EVEN MORE highly developed peoples there that were also everywhere before you but also were never really hinted at- and then repeat botws structure .__.

having an old and forgotten civilization of whom only some withered ruins remain gave botw a much more real feeling, a world with a history that you will never know (you know, bc that makes it intriguing and is just .. a good choice of worldbuilding imo)- and then totk comes along and reveals everything and also nothing, we know too much of them to be intrigued by their mystery and also not enough to actually care about them (also them beign presented as the good perfectly perfectestest kingdom of light that can do no wrong other than underestimate the eeeevil guy while they also had their hands on every part of the land and made all other races be their face and nameless servants just ... thats weird man!! i know its a game, even if its only aimed at kids my god they arent stupid either!! you really present me with that and expect me to take it at face value what argh)

again i think they COULD have been integrated into it, but the way it was done completely threw me off, im not mad about them EXISTING but about how it was DONE in the game

the way they were done robs not just totk but also botw of mystery and intrigue, for example i much rather had them stay a mystery, only ever talked about in some text and some old and almost completely withered ruins left, you never get so see what happened there in the past, you can only guess, but you have to deal with the fallout anyway and thats just ONE possibility, there are so many and it feels like they chose the most boring one every single time

sometimes knowing less is better than knowing half

(maybe i can make it clearer when .. or if i can get to illustrate what could have worked -in my opinion- better .... sorry for ranting again ;__; )

[coolbeansawrestlingblog]

Moving Day

A/N: My first request on this blog for @brideofinfamy thank you for requesting and waiting patiently. I hope you enjoy. My requests are open if folk want anything from any companies.

Request: Both are dating for 3 years and they take the next step and moving in together in his place, on the day of the move when all of the bigger stuff is settled in, they both decide to have an movie night while cuddling, Reader falls asleep in his arms and wakes up later and excuses herself to him and he responds with something like "it's your home too now you can fall asleep here" so they both head to bed and fall asleep cuddling in each others embrace.

Masterlist

Today is the day. I'm finally moving in with my boyfriend of 3 years, Alex Shelley. We've been talking about moving in with each other for awhile, trying to work out what would be the best option for us. We ultimately decided that I would move into his house since I was practically already living there, my stuff just wasn't there, till now.

I looked around my now empty house one more time. All my stuff is either already at Alex's or sitting in the car. As i stand in the middle on my living room, taking in the empty room, I felt a pair of arms wrap around my waist.

"You okay sweetheart?" Alex says before kissing my cheek then putting his chin on my shoulder, making me smile.

"Yeah, it's just wild how my whole life was in here then we packed it up then shifted to yours. It's crazy how it all changes."

"I know, it's a new exciting chapter, where you go, for the rest of our lifes, I will follow." I sighed happily leaning into his embrace, relaxing into the warmth of his body. "You ready to go, or do you want some more time?"

"I'm ready, let's make a start on this new chapter." I pulled away from his arms but then stuck my hand out for him to take it as head out and close the door on the house that was once mine.

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

Once we got to Alex's house, we made a start on unpacking all my stuff. We put my clothes in the closet, placing my ornaments where they seemed to fit, pretty much placing my stuff in an effort to create and make this place our home.

We spent most the day packing, I couldn't wait to relax and unwind. We decided we'd watch a movie on the sofa and I let him decide. He chose the first X-Men from the orignal trilogy which was such a typical choice for him.

Once it began to play, he sat next to me and wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into him. I nuzzle my head into the crook of his neck, already feeling more relaxed by simply being with and hearing his heartbeat.

"How are you feeling now all the moving is done?" He asks as he pulls me in, impossibly closer to him.

"Content and tried if I'm honest. Just happy I don't need to stress anymore." I sighed, the last of the stress leaving my body with the sigh.

Alex began to rub his hand up and down my arm. "Just switch off now, the hard part is over sweetheart. Relax now." He placed a kiss on the top of my head. I closed my eyes for a second, taking in the love Alex was giving me and the relief of living with me.

However, I opened my eyes and I saw the credits of the movie running. I fell asleep through the whole damn thing!

"Ah, sorry," I said as I untangled myself from Alex, looking for something.

"Hey, it's okay, what are you looking for?" He watched me confused.

i stopped in my tracks, "I don't know," I questioned myself but he had the answer as always.

Are you looking for your stuff to go home?" I let out a laugh as a reponse. My instinct took over as before when I would watch a movie with Alex, I would go home as I'd usually have work the next morning.

"I'm so silly, must be all over the place after the big move and all the stress with it. I've verted back to the past." I laughed out.

That's okay Y/N," Alex laughed out, then took my hand in his and brought his other hand up to cup my face, so I can look at him in the eyes. "But from today onwards, for forever, our home is together, where ever you are, that's where I'll be. That's my home. To me, home is where you are,"

I felt the tears well up in my eyes. I didn't think I could love him anymore but he always finds a way to make that so.

"I love you," is all I could respond with alongside a kiss.

"I love you too, more than you can imagine." He said as we pulled away. I smiled and blushed with that then cuddled into him more, still feeling a little sleepy.

Next thing I know I feel myself getting lifted up, I look uo at Alex as he smiles back at me and gives me a kiss on the forehead. "I think it's time for bed." I nodded my head in agreement.

He jokely threw me down on the bed, we both laughed. I settled under the covers with him following shortly after. I rolled over and I lay my head on his chest and he wrapped his arms around me. The comfort and love, he was giving me, making my heart soar and lulling me to sleep for the first time, in these walls of my new home and into the arms of the man I love.

[switchyglitch]

A Glitchy Introduction 🪶

The beginner's guide to Glitch (Updated for 2025)

Hi everyone, welcome to my tickle blog! My name's Glitch 👋

I'm a geek of a switch with a biiit of a tum addiction. Just a little.. well.. maybe a bit more than a little…. OKAY, fine, a lot! But can you really blame me?? 😅

Aside from just making typical posts, I like to do the occasional drawing, usually starring my orignal characters, Skitters (a bug-like incredibly ler tickle-bot) and Eepo (a sleepy switchy night owl).

I also do some writing, from smaller recurring series' to full tickle fics (some including those tickly boys of mine I mentioned 😋). You can find all of my more extensive writing here on my masterlist:

I've been here in the tickle community for years now, making content that's mostly SFW. My love of tickles can dip into the NSFW a bit (wish it wouldn’t, conflicts hard with my ace side, but here we are), but unless specifically marked as such, my posts will always be on the SFW side of things.

That being said, 🚫 PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU'RE A MINOR 🚫

I'm in quite a few fandoms, including but not limited to: The Amazing Digital Circus, Sanders Sides, Adventure Time, Fionna and Cake, Doctor Who, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Undertale/Deltarune, Steven Universe, The Owl House, Hazbin Hotel, Doki Doki Literature Club, etc.

And that's about it I think as far as intros go! If you made it to this point then thanks for reading, and I applaud your patience 👏

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

👇 Credits 👇

Meet The Switch Template by @the-cutest-tickletoy (who doesn't seem to be on Tumblr anymore.)

Picrew by Chemicataclysm:

Tickle Aesthetic Posts:

[monodramatic-cannibal]

Renegade au world information

All this info is subject to change.

This is just some info on undertale (Sans) au I've been working on. I don't mind questions about the world, but bear with me I'm not that good at world building lmaoo. So if things don't make sense just let me know and I will try to fix it or explain it lol.

This au is also self indulguent, orignally I was going to keep it to myself, but since I've made a ut blog, may as well share the utau content I'm making since I don't know how much of my ut art is gonna be the renegade au.

Also Characters won't be following their canon personalities, there will be a lot of fandom interpritations and my own head canons.

Also a bit of info on the name, originally the au was going to be something different (plot/world wise) its originally name was "Reject/|Renegade", which then got shortened to Renedage. Then I changed the plot/world and since I was so used to calling it the Renegade au I never changed the name. So the name might not make sense for this world, but thats why lol.

Asks about the world/characters will be open, or just doodle ideas/requests for them too. I'd also love to hear peoples thoughts/interpretations on this au lol.

Also when sending asks for the characters: The asks will be like voices that can't directly/physically interact with characters. (Thought maybe on special occasions I may let askers appear as animals or something else to interact physically with characters) If your going to send in an ask make sure to specify that its for the Renegade au somewhere in the ask and also make sure to specify which character the ask is for.

(there's also sans shippings in this au, so if thats not something you like this au may not be for you.)

More info under the cut

World inspo (just so u know when I reference things in me trying to explain my aus setting): -Obviously undertale and all of its au's is an inspo for me lol -Stray (Cat game), For the world and its environments. As well as the horror inspo. -The artist Simon Stålenhag (https://www.instagram.com/simon_stalenhag/), Specifically their work on the artbooks “The eclectic state”, “The tales from the loop” and “The Labyrinth”. The world design is amazing and a huge inspo. (the inspo for me comes from the world not so much the story) -The game Wuthering Waves, specifically it’s world design. -Also some inspo came from me hearing about the place Kowloon city. (There's more inspo, but I'll save that unless I'm asked lmaoo)

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World/au takes place on the surface. The tree of emotions is in this world (tree from Dream and Nightmare's story).

Where it takes place:

The story also takes place in a world sort of like our own, in terms of there's a ton of wars of counties going on, and most likely a lot of conflict with monsters/humans as well. Leading to the incident which put the world into an apocalypse, which the au takes place a little bit after that situation, so weaker buildings are starting to crumble, and some plant life is starting to over grow in places.

The tree of emotions is also in this world, due to it being around for a long time (it’s older than Dream/Nightmare) its roots are deep, it’s a giant tree (It’s around the size of the giant tree in Wuthering Waves that's in the Violet Banyan area).

The tree of emotions is so in tune with the world, that if there were to be any problems with it, it can affect the world and the laws of the world. The tree still does have apples (both the golden and obsidian apples) on it, but it doesn’t look like an apple tree it looks like a mix of a weeping willow tree and wisteria tree (with both purple and yellow flowers yellow on Dream’s side, purple on Nightmare’s side). The tree on both sides also has little nooks and places for the twins to be, either it be a place in the tree to hide or sit, or places in the middle of the tree for both of them. The tree can grow and shift to fit the twin's needs.

The world has been deeply effected by the tree of emotions (see the paragraph above). When the apocalypse hit it wasn’t long before the land/environment itself was effected, things started appearing where they shouldn’t be e.g. trains in the middle of fields, or a patch of a flower field being placed into the 3rd floor of a large building. It started to affect the gravity of things as well, leaving cars suspended in the air, not really floating away but not coming down either. Roads and buildings been pulled up into the sky left floating. Glowing orbs of all colours randomly (normally its only one or two just randomly around theres never really a lot of them). Impossible machinery just placed at random (look at Simon Stålenhag art books “The eclectic state”, “The tales from the loop” and “The Labyrinth” for inspo, though the renegade world doesn’t have things nearly as drastic in them.) The rapid growth and decay of plant-life. Either plants taking a hold of buildings within a year, or whole forests dying leaving barren lands. Cracks forming in the earth revealing cave systems that weren’t there before, showing extensive environments that shouldn’t exist, like a portal to another world almost. (e.g. these environments can look like undertale underground, as the underground doesn’t exist in this world. Or can even look like other things like bioluminescent caves). Or glowing white cracks in the earth that decay the world around them turning the ground black becoming spawn points for Wraiths.

The specific area the story takes place in is a big city area, the group have made a small settlement within the higher floors of buildings that have bridges connecting them together. They've cut off most of the lower floors of the buildings to keep the Wraiths away from their living spaces. But have kept a few exits to get up and down from the buildings. They often use roofs for gardens and stuff, and fire escapes for movement around floors as well. Each character has a different mental map of both the living area and the city around. E.g. Night’s view of the city is going down all the nooks or walking along places that the average sized person cannot or using underground tunnels that he squeezed into. Where as someone like Error has a different view of the city, mainly viewing it from above, being able to use his strings to swing around to to launch himself building to building. This is to say each character has a different story when it comes to the city and their view of it. (Inspo for this is when people talk about “Kowloon city”)

The group try to give out roles to everyone, trying to cater to everyone's skills, but some people hang around without doing too much for the group, just as long as the rest of the group can rely on them when they need it then they're fine with it.

Wraiths:

The Wraiths look both human and monsters, they look like the Amalgamates (from UT), but come across as slightly more blob like, these creatures sort of look like tar. They're beings of negativity. They're often violent towards anything that isn't a Wraith, though they do tend to leave most animals alone, but do attack when they get too close. They possess a bit of magic abilities, some maybe more than others.

They can travel alone or in large groups. For people with no magic or limited magic, it's best to stay away from them.

People can't really turn into Wraiths (only the tree can turn people). But the Wraiths can spawn back after a while, often 'spawn points' will be littered amongst the land, being hot spots for Wraiths to be. Though on rare occasions the tree may turn people to Wraiths, mainly it’s when some is abusing the fact the world is in an apocalypse with no rules to do bad things, due to the build up of negative energy around them, it can cause them to get turned into a Wraith.

Wraiths aren't really that intelligent, some may have the intelligence of animals, but the most intelligent tend to have the brains of 7-year-olds. So they are capable of makings some sort of attack plans, but often lack the knowledge to fully cooperate with one another effectively. Though some rare few may have more intelligence than others.

Some Wraiths have been show to be evolving in ways, e.g. if someone specifically kills the same Wraith over and over, the Wraith may start developing features to combat that person's attack style. Some people think the Wraiths may be getting more intelligent, when in reality it may be a Wraith having a moment of clarity, as they did use to be a sentient being, they may try to do things that they used to do in life, e.g. returning to a building where they lived or worked. Wraiths magic is partly based on what they were before, either that be human or monster, and what magic capabilities they had, or could grow to have. Some Wraiths are a lot stronger than others, able to use their magic effectively.

Wraith growths are normally found around ‘spawn points’ for the Wraiths. It’s like a mold looking flesh that covers the ground and buildings (think of the sort of things in Stray ((the cat game))). Though it’s started to spread out past the spawn points. The ‘mold’ itself isn’t much of a threat, but Wraiths camp out in areas that have these Wraith growths covering them. Which can lead to dangerous situations if effort isn’t taken to make sure the growth doesn't spread any further.

Cause of apocalypse:

The tree of emotions is in this world (tree from Dream and Nm's story), and is the cause of the apocalypse. Due to all the negativity in the world, the tree without the input from its guardians (Nm and Dream) decided to cause a 'world reset'. The tree corrupted half of the population in the world (think of the Thanos snap but instead of disappearing it turns people to Wraiths). Due to all the negative emotions, the tree saw it best fit to start completely over in terms of the world's creatures that are capable of emotions. Most of the beings left alive blamed Nightmare for what happened, thinking this came from his side of the tree. When in reality it was a sort of man made issue that a higher being decided to sort out. The tree until it sees more of a balance of the negative/positive emotions will continue to keep the Wraiths around, either that means society finding a way of living in this world peacefully or everyone dies out from the Wraiths. Due to the build up of negative energy people would have thought Night would have gotten more powerful, but instead his power manifested in an alter self which looks a lot like the Wraiths but less drippy goo like, though he still looks like tar and such.

Powers/Magic:

In this au a lot of the powers/magic is a lot more toned down. Monsters are closer to humans in terms of the fact they don’t have a lot of magic. Monsters magic has dulled over time with being on the surface with humans, leading to monsters having more convenient powers that might help in day to day life, rather than having combat magic. Some monsters still have combat magic and some monsters may be born with more magic than others. Humans can also learn magic due to spending a lot of time with the monsters. But humans don’t have a lot of magic, and can only do basic things, sort of like the monsters of the modern-day.

When talking about the Skele's: When it comes to teleporting they can only do it very small distances, normally the length of a bus, but a few can train themselves to teleport a little bit further than that. They can also only teleport to places they’ve either already stood or straight ahead (almost like a dash when they do it ahead of themselves) (they can’t teleport through walls unless they’ve already been on the other side)

Being able to summon bones is a lot more limited in this au compared to the game. (They can still summon quite a lot of them, but they can’t spam it compared to the games).

They still have gaster blasters but they’re a lot smaller. A few may have slightly bigger gaster blasters, but normally they’re the side of a large dog.

They’re able to assign weapons to themselves, which allows them to summon/dismiss their weapons at will, they can have up to 4 weapons they can summon. (Their magic doesn’t count towards their weapons, it’s more of a physical weapon, such as Horror’s axe)

Some of them can have specific abilities that only they (or a few others) can use. E.g. Ink being able to use paint as his magic/power ability, or Error and his strings.

Original team/group and what order people joined it after that:

Og group: -Ink -Blue -Outer -Sci

What order the rest joined the group (same point = joined at the same time): -Horror / Error (Joined around 3 weeks into the apocalypse) -Fell (Joined just over a month) -Dream / Nightmare (Joined 3 months into the apocalypse) -Dust / Killer (Joined 4 and a half months into the apocalypse) -Lust (Joined 6 months into the apocalypse) -Geno / Echo / Edge (Joined 7 and a half months into the apocalypse) -Cross (Joined 9 months into the apocalypse) -Death (? didn't exactly join, followed Geno) -Fresh (? didn't exactly join, appeared shortly after Lust joined)

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Ships that are in this Au: (will be adding more ships as it goes along)(also even thou I say these ships are in here, feel free to ship what you want lol)

-Crossmare (Nightmare X Cross) (Both Night and Mare are apart of this)

-Afterdeath (Geno X Reaper)

-Horrorlust (? idk what it's called) (Horror X Lust)

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As mentioned a lot of this is subject to change. So Will be adding to this as I go along. I will try to let people know as I update this and whats changed so people don't have to read through all of it again. I'm looking to improve the world building, so if you have any suggestions I'm open to listen lol.

Some extra stuff :D :

When I talk about things like "living area" it means the collections of buildings/etc that the group is living in. And when I call something someones "room" it actually means a whole apartment, or in the case of Echo's (Radio room) and Error's (Storage room) rooms its an office floor that has been cleared out.

playlist I made with a few inspo videos for renegade, has world building shit, trailers, and music. Will be adding to this whenever I can be assed too.

https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLsOp1NNY64Q34UJs-FRLTbqoqhLymApfI&si=VN3GkrjQyF8yawOr

Some more info on the character designs

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Links to character refs:

Nightmare (Night and Mare's ref)

Dream

Cross

Blue

Ink

Dust

Horror

Killer

Error

Lust

Fell/Edge

Geno

Outer

Sci

Reaper/Death

Fresh

Gans/Echo

Chief

(The refs posted in bulk with no info)

Refs 1

Refs 2

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Credits:

Nightmare/Dream belong to Jokublog Cross belongs to Jakei95 Blue (underswap!Sans) belongs to P0pcornPr1nce Ink belongs to Myebi/comyet Dust (Dusttale!Sans?) belongs to ask-dusttale Horror (Horrortale!Sans) belongs to sour-apple-studios Killer belongs to rahafwabas Error/Fresh/Geno belong to loverofpiggies Lust (Lusttale!Sans) belongs to NSFWShamecave Fell (Underfell!Sans) belongs to underfell/Fella/Vic (???) Outer (Outertale!Sans) belongs to 2mi127 Sci belongs to (???) Reaper (Reapertale!Sans?) belongs to renrink Gans (Echotale!Sans?) belongs to Yoralim (???) Chief (Swapfell Purple) belongs to (???) (Let me know if I need to change any of these, cuz a few I was unsure about)

[fruitedsnack]

hey aphblr HELP MEEEEEE

ok so im working on my diaries rewrite right now, and it essentially exists as a world building project on google docs. I have overhauled a lot of the og content and rewrote the world and story in a way I'm super proud of! But I honest to god JUST realized that me rambling about the wolf tribe customs and their variants and the Wyrven language, and nonstop monologues about characters and their motivations is pretty boring! So fuck! I had planned to post it once finished (which I'm still a while away from anyways) but now I'm not so sure. Anyways, heres what I could do, use all this information and post a series on AO3 where I rewrite the og plot as I imagine it, (with y'know flair and intrigue and stuff). ORRRR i could post the Doc as orignally intended. ORRR i could just say fuck it and do both. Not like I have anything else going on. BUT I NEED YOUR INPUT (PLEASE) I only want to post what people would be most intrested to read!

I'll probably end up writing both, but I want to focus my efforts into whichever people are more intrested in seeing. So please chime in! If u have an prefrence or neither at all! I really am curious.

[shit-talk-turner]

To the anon who wrote the above - yes, I agree with your view points. Your post was thoughtful and beautifully written. It’s really interesting to read content like this, I also think Alex is deliberately trying to hide the meanings hidden within his lyrics, because he deliberately doesn’t want to reveal himself too openly online. And who can blame him?

I really enjoy his lyrics, they’re funny and witty is a really dry English humour way - ‘betting pencil or a Mecca dauber’ makes me smile every time I hear it for example. His lyrics are playful and naughty, Cornerstone is such a good example - it lures you along the love and romance line, up until the sister bit, and so many great phrases in there - so close that the walls were wet, and she wrote it out in Letraset…

What are other people’s favourite lines? Do US people have any lines they don’t understand that us Brits can help explain?//

Orignal post Anon back again, I just had to reply to the lovely anon who highlighted Alex's sense of humour and wit in his lyrics.

I also don't blame him for being cautious in terms of what he reveals to us either! I mean these various blogs and AM forums on the web are proof of how we analyse and speculate on things, I just wanna be clear that I don't think that's unnatural but I can understand from his view point especially when the lyrics are personal to him that he may wanna keep some things closer to his chest.

When I first got into the Monkeys one of things I first loved was how Alex's lyrics reminded me of The Smiths, I've always enjoyed Morrissey's sense of humour and wit and I really like that Alex has a playfulness, wit, sense of humour and perhaps sarcasm injected into his songs as well.

I could go on and on and on for days talking about Alex's writing, if there was a course for it, I'd sign up haha!! But as to not derail the blog a lyric I am stupidly amused by is "And as I arrived I saw you leavin', Carryin' your shoes."

It makes me chuckle; It's lines like these that bring his words to life and give character to the song. I'm sure all of us girlies have had a moment where we've worn uncomfortable shoes because it completes our outfit and then inevitably they're coming off at a certain point in the evening. I really like how observant he is as a person, there are a few examples of this both in his lyric writing and how people have described being in his presence. I swear my heart grew wings and flew around my room for a short time when I first heard him sing "And when you say that you need me tonight, I can't keep my feelings in disguise, the white parts of my eyeballs illuminate and I'll wait for you as if I'm waiting for the storm to stop."

I often find myself pulling out the good ol Dictionary to decode a word or typing a search request in Google to figure out what he might be talking about, I enjoy that aspect too. There's so many wonderful, intelligent, funny and interesting lyrics to discuss!! I hope one day if it's something that interests him he'll release a book of short stories and/or poetry, he certainly has the talent and skill for it. Xx

This is all really well said. His songs are beautiful but also do stop and make you think about what’s actually being said, while also coming across so easily. So simply clever and intricate at the same time