#periodic post so the garbage takes itself out

[continent-of-wild-endeavor]

Normally I screen my followers as they come in so I can block bots, terfs, and creeps. Republicans and vegans are on thin ice (basically if you're loud about it you already got the block, otherwise I probably didn't notice but you're also not gonna like my content). Freaks and weirdos are welcome/encouraged.

I've lost track of it all lately, so here are some selections from my tags to tell you what I'm about. If you don't like it, get lost. If you do, hi hello!

[thedaythatwas]

How to be Alone

Summary: Goro Akechi has 30 days to vacate his apartment. If only moving on were half as easy as moving out.

CW: alcohol, emetophobia, run-of-the-mill violent thoughts from Akechi, and more repression than you could possibly fathom

This is just a little snippet of a post-canon Akechi character study I've been working on! I want to share it here on tumblr as a standalone oneshot. Please don't expect any tension to be resolved <333 because that's not happening here <333

Big thank you to my lovely betas, lambsear (ao3), @cardiganbear, and @cloudysonder. Another massive thanks to @chaoticconstellation – thank you for all of the inspo and motivation (and for making me aware that apartments that evil-looking exist!)

House Hunting (or, I'm not hung up on you anymore, but here's why I hung up)

Shopping for apartments online was hell.

Akechi was no stranger to feelings of mind-numbing rage. Even so, there was something about the website he was using to search for a new living space that made him particularly angry, even by his own standards. His cursor drifted across its screen, its interface lagged, and despite his perfect internet connection, it seemed as though every thirty seconds the damn thing refreshed itself. 

Akechi wasn’t sure where exactly he was looking to live; his requirements for a new place were the vague but apt key terms, ‘Tokyo,’ ‘cheap,’ and ‘studio.’ Unfortunately, his criteria seemed to be mutually exclusive. A room of his own would cost an arm and a leg; a room with a roommate or two would take a doable (albeit still exorbitant) chunk from his savings. It was tragic, really, that Akechi would be at risk of causing grievous bodily harm to himself and others if he were forced to share a living space. Forking over cash he didn’t have was quite literally his only option. 

Akechi might have been able to search out some middle ground between striking gold beneath the streets of Kichijoji and committing another homicide if he had the luxury of time to plan his move. He had always been scrappy, even if he was seldom lucky. 

Time, however, was something that Akechi didn’t have. That, of course, had to do with the circumstances that had pushed him to bearing the indignities of online apartment hunting in the first place.

On February 3rd, Akechi had woken up in his bed. This was strange for a number of reasons. One: he didn’t make a habit of waking up when his bedside clock brightly proclaimed it to be 8:37pm. 

Two: Goro Akechi was supposed to be dead. 

And, joy of all joys, he was not. Upon registering this unfortunate new development in the saga of misfortunes that was his existence, Akechi had rolled over, buried his head in his pillow, and screamed. When soreness in his throat informed him that screaming was no longer a viable way to spend his time, he had walked to his near-empty kitchen and grabbed the frilly bottle of expensive single malt scotch that Shido had given him the day he had reported to his office to confirm Wakaba Ishikki’s death.

Akechi had been saving the bottle for the day he won.

Well. Cheers to that one. 

He had sat down on the linoleum tile floor and taken a large swig out of the bottle. Presumably, he’d repeated the act a number of times, because the next morning he’d woken up in his bed – again, ironically, with no memory of how he’d arrived there – and promptly thrown up on himself. 

He’d tossed his unlucky shirt in the garbage, along with the bottle he’d found lying knocked over and bone dry on the kitchen floor. He really had always hated it.

After spending several days lying in his bed, only leaving it to periodically feed himself one of the instant ramen packets he stockpiled in the one cabinet in his kitchen he actively used, Akechi had washed his sheets and moved on.

What else could he do?

He had contacted Sae Niijima first, because while he had been spending several days laying horizontal in a dark room, adding an abstract collage of broth splatters to his sweatpants and trying to convince himself that any of his recent decisions actually mattered, Akira Kurusu was probably behind bars giving testimony that would damn Shido and potentially put himself away for good in the process. 

And like hell was he going to let Joker one-up him by rotting away in jail while Akechi – clearly, the most deserving party in this scenario on both counts – walked free.

As soon as he’d heard the click of his phone connecting to Sae’s, Akechi had come in guns blazing announcing his intent to march down to the police station and confess to everything he’d done. He would gladly go down with Shido’s ship if it meant he could anchor him well and truly to rock bottom. 

The elder Niijima sister had rolled shockingly well with Akechi’s punches. After expressing mild surprise that he was alive, Sae had efficiently talked him off his ledge.

“Do you want Shido to be locked away for life? If your answer is yes, I suggest you stay well away from my case. I have a strategy, and it will be much less effective if I have to account for the testimony of a magical teenage assassin confessing to cognitively killing some of Japan’s most powerful men just as they’ve begun to take me seriously.” 

Akechi had never answered her question, because Akechi didn’t want Shido to be locked away. Not like this, anyway. What he had wanted hadn’t involved Kurusu, and yet, here Kurusu was in the center of it all, robbing Akechi of his chance to make Shido’s fall really hurt. 

Still, Akechi had come to terms with the fact that what he wanted and what he would get were two very different things in regards to the fate of Masayoshi Shido, and to this brave new world where Akechi was meant to be long dead. 

What he had done was take a deep breath, swallow down his very reasonable retorts – he had at least five – and ask about Kurusu. 

His inquiry was fruitful, if aggravating. Akechi hadn’t been naive enough to expect that any update on Kurusu wouldn’t be aggravating. 

Per Sae, it wouldn’t be long until Kurusu was released from juvenile detention (implied: so long as Akechi didn’t butt in). Apparently, his extended posse had banded together, and Sae doubted it would be more than a few weeks before he was out. He was actually on track to have his criminal record completely overturned.

Kurusu was relying on the power of friendship to not only avoid a life sentence, but to completely exonerate himself from the year he had spent galavanting around the Metaverse, stealing hearts and minds and Akechi’s life’s work, too. One might say that Akechi was less than enthused. Mostly, because he was near certain that using the force of true love to outrun his mistakes would actually work for Kurusu, because he was Kurusu, and of fucking course it could.

He hadn’t told Sae as much, but he sensed she’d intuited his frustration from his chorus of ‘...I see,’ ‘...I see,’ ‘...I see,’  through the phone, each repetition darker than the last. 

With that sorted, Akechi had told Sae in no uncertain terms that she was not to tell Kurusu or any of the other Phantom Thieves that he was alive under any circumstances. She said that she would respect his wishes. She hadn’t asked any follow up questions. It was a refreshing change of pace from the back and forth that talking to the rest of Kurusu’s loyal followers always seemed to entail.

Then again, this was Sae. She had been a fixture in his life long before she had become a mainstay in Kurusu’s.

That little detail out of the way, Akechi had been prepared to hang up. Before he could, Sae had invited him to coffee. Bewildered, Akechi had accepted.

“You are aware, I presume, that I’ve killed more people than the number of cases you’ve litigated over the course of your entire career, aren’t you?” Akechi had said as soon as he had slid into the stiffly upholstered booth across from Sae at the too cold, overly gray café where they had agreed to meet the following day. “Including among them Wakaba Isshiki and Kunikazu Okumura.”

Sae had pulled her credit card out of her sleek handbag and rapped it on the table between them.

“I am. Could you give me your order Akechi-kun? Drinks are on me today.”

Akechi had ordered a black drip coffee – far from the best he’d ever had – and the two of them had talked about his future, not his past. 

Sae told Akechi that she would be willing to hire him as a personal assistant. She couldn’t swing him a position interning in the public prosecutor’s office; it went without saying that Akechi ought to stay as far away as possible from any branch of law enforcement for the foreseeable future. Sure, very few people recognized him nowadays – the demiurge had fallen and taken Shido’s influence with it, and Akechi had been out of the public eye for a sufficient number of news cycles for even his most avid fans to lose interest – but it seemed unwise to tempt fate. 

They both knew that most of Shido’s conspiracy was still at large. As repentant as their former leader was, his sentiments were not widely shared. Shido had done more damage than a single change of heart could fix. 

All this to say, Akechi would be keeping a low profile. Not that he would have acted otherwise, regardless of who might want him imprisoned, or who might want him dead.

Akechi was, quite frankly, tired.

His employment would hinge on agreeing to take his high school equivalency and college entrance exams before the next university matriculation cycle. Akechi had, more or less, finished his final year of high school. Unfortunately, the less in that statement meant that he had never actually graduated. Still, he could easily pass a high school equivalency exam – an inconvenience, but a bureaucratic necessity, and hardly an insurmountable one. Before his life had gone to shit, he had been on track to get top marks on his entrance exams. It wouldn’t be difficult to keep himself versed in the material he needed to know in order to pass with flying colors.

He didn’t have strong feelings for or against Sae’s vision for his future. Akechi had been slated to die long before he had shot shut the bulkhead door on his father’s ship. He had gone to cram school because it was what the detective prince was supposed to do, and he had excelled at it because the world had told him that he couldn’t. He wasn’t like Makoto Niijima, with her good marks and bright future. 

Sae would pay him for doing this, though. More, she had that earnest look in her eyes behind the stoic contours of her face that suggested she really thought she was doing what was best for him. 

Akechi had agreed to her terms. 

Besides, he’d always been told that college wasn’t in the cards for him. The idea of proving those people wrong lit something up inside him that he hadn’t realized had been smothered until then.

Akechi would work for Sae on weekdays and study on weekends. She would check in with him once a week to confirm that he was indeed making progress on his personal studies and to assign him new memos and forms to copy edit. So long as he was on track, she would pay him another week.

It had all sounded so easy. Too easy. Akechi needed to ask.

“Why?”

Sae had taken a long sip of her cappuccino. “Why what?” 

“You know what.” Akechi had crossed his arms, his mouth drawn in a hard line, “Why this?”

Sae had set her cup down onto her saucer without so much as an audible clink. “Is it really so difficult to believe that I’d want to help you?”

“You pity me.” He’d said it like a fact, because it was a fact, and he didn’t take kindly to it. 

Sae hadn’t looked surprised to hear Akechi’s words. She raised her eyebrows.

“No, I don’t. And I’m not absolving you, either. You made choices that hurt people, and you need to face consequences for that. But, Akechi-kun…” 

Sae paused, as if weighing her next words on her tongue. “Goro. You were sixteen.”

Akechi didn’t know which part of her addendum offended him most: Sae’s use of his given name – he’d bristled, he couldn’t remember how long it had been since someone had been presumptuous enough to call him Goro – or her implication that he hadn’t known exactly what he was doing back when he first approached Shido. 

She hadn’t seen how proud he had been when Shido handed him his first pistol. She hadn’t been there each time he’d pulled its trigger. Akechi had stopped feeling anything about his hits after he’d downed a handful of targets. Through it all, he’d never felt remorse. He’d even smiled, the first time.

That smile hadn’t lasted, of course. It had fallen right along with Ishikki. Still, everyone knows that it’s your first reaction to a thing that really counts. 

Her eyes on his were resolute, as if she were daring him to object. She wasn’t budging. 

Sae had sounded awfully confident for someone who had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

Akechi remembered their long days at the police station and the late night dinners Sae would treat him to after, when he’d watch as she scarfed down cheap conveyor belt sushi and let her dignified mask slip like the rice that fell from her chopsticks to her perfectly starched dress shirt. He remembered their constant shop-talk that always seemed to border on something more personal. 

Sae knew what it was like to prove yourself in a world that wanted to see you fail. He remembered watching her come undone in October, how he almost felt bad as he watched her slip further away from her sister, and from him.

Gripping his mug hard enough to put its handle in peril, Akechi had bitten back the urge to inform Sae that he was eighteen years old now, and had done very bad things continuously from age sixteen through now, thank you very much. He was suddenly aware of exactly how juvenile it would sound if he did.

He decided that Sae could call him what she wanted. ‘Goro’ didn’t feel wrong, he supposed. It just felt new.

She was wrong about him, but he had let her continue without correction. 

“You did things that were unforgivable. What our system did to you was unforgivable.” She took a sip of her cappuccino. The action was smug, somehow, like she knew just how much she’d gotten away with when Akechi kept his silence. At least she was self-aware. “Masayoshi Shido is being brought to justice, and Kurusu-kun isn’t facing anything that he can’t handle. This will be over soon.” 

Akechi could hardly believe that. While he had faith in Sae’s legal prowess, Shido was just one head of a veritable hydra of corruption and intrigue. Rooting out his conspiracy would air out Japan’s dirty laundry in a way that he doubted the powerful men who soiled it would permit. It would be dangerous business to try.

He couldn’t fathom that Shido was a problem that had an imminent expiration date. He was supposed to be Akechi’s Gordian knot. Shido was his arms race, his mutually assured destruction. Unraveling him couldn’t possibly be so simple, and it couldn’t possibly be done without Akechi. 

Could it?

Where the hell did that leave him?

Of course, Sae’s words were meant to be encouraging, even if Akechi could actively feel his vision tunneling and his pulse jackhammering up. He clamped that feeling down and shoved it somewhere to sort through later – or never – as Sae pushed on.

“I want you to move forward. I don’t see any reason for you not to. That’s where you’ll find justice.”

It all sounded so scripted. Akechi wondered how many times she had practiced her little speech in the mirror after she’d drafted it on her legal pad. He knew it was her standard practice for high stakes days in court. Sae never let slip that she was nervous, but that didn’t mean she never was. 

While Akechi was almost flattered that she considered him worth a rehearsal or two, her dedication had been proving to be rather inconvenient that day. A Sae who had decided she needed to win seldom lost. The Phantom Thieves had helped her reorient her sense of justice towards good ends, but there was no version of Sae who wasn’t as stubborn as the one they’d encountered in her casino.

Fortunately, so was Akechi. 

“I’ve earned execution ten times over.” 

He barely managed to keep his words level as he forced them out. It was vexing that he needed to remind the woman sitting across from him – a public prosecutor with one of the most gleaming case records Tokyo had seen in recent memory – that per the word of her own law, he deserved to die. 

She tucked a wayward strand of hair neatly behind her ear and clasped her hands together on the tabletop between them.

“And I’m telling you that executing you doesn’t help anyone,” she hadn’t raised her voice, but Akechi could hear it harden with authority, “Learn to be a better person. You still have plenty of time to grow. Don’t forfeit this opportunity that you’ve been given to do that.”

He scoffed. “And if I can’t?”

“Then don’t. But I think you can.” 

She had said it without hesitation, like she really believed it. At that realization, Akechi let out a laugh that bordered on a snort, the kind he never would have allowed to slip through his throat when Sae had known him as someone else.

“You’re all insane.”

She hadn’t seemed surprised by his outburst as she took a long drink from her cup. As she swallowed, clearly unperturbed, Akechi found himself wondering if he’d given her too little credit, or himself too much. Probably both.

Sae’s lip quirked up. “Maybe. But I’ve realized that you need to be a little insane to believe you can see the world change for the better. Your teammates helped me learn that.”

Akechi’s hackles raised. “They are not my teammates.”

“Oh really?” She set her cup down onto her saucer, “I think Kurusu-kun would disagree.” 

That half-smile of hers persisted, like she thought she knew something he didn’t. “You know, he asked about you earlier this week. He seemed riled up. I think he would want to know that you’re alive.”

It didn’t even take eyes to notice Akira Kurusu’s bleeding-heart obsession with who he thought Akechi was. It practically radiated off of him in waves you could touch, like he was some sort of sad magnet for homicidal lost causes. Sae wasn’t telling Akechi anything he couldn’t have reasonably inferred, knowing what he did about Kurusu. 

If Sae said that Kurusu was ‘riled up,’ he knew that Kurusu must have been near hysterics. Well, per the yardstick of Kurusu’s typical emoting capacity. He could envision the way Kurusu’s lips had probably gotten all drawn, the way they tended to when he tried to hide that he was feeling more than he let on. 

Kurusu didn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve, but he wasn’t impossible to read if you knew what you were looking to find. His brow had probably furrowed, his fists had probably clenched, and his eyes had probably gone just short of misty. 

Akechi wasn’t sure how he felt about that mental image.

“Well, we can’t always get what we want, now can we?”

“I understand, Goro,” Sae stared him dead in the eye as she said his given name, leaving Akechi no option but to immediately take a good long drink of burnt coffee from his mug. “But consider it for me, won’t you? I don’t think that it would be a bad idea for you to build a support network for yourself.”

 Akechi cursed to himself. He should have known that she wouldn’t let this topic lie so easily.

Akechi grit his teeth. “I don’t think Sakura or Okumura would take kindly to seeing me.”

“Then don’t see them.” She said it matter of fact, like it was that easy. “But, for the record, I think that Kurusu-kun would.”

Of course Kurusu would. Even a child who couldn’t add two and two could piece together that Akira Kurusu would probably lop off a limb to have been in that booth with them that day. The idiot had wished Akechi back into existence and into his life, and he would again if he could.

That was why he couldn’t know that Akechi was alive. 

Well, it accounted for half the issue.

The other half rested on the fact that Kurusu had been the first thing to cross Akechi’s mind in that half second that passed between realizing he was alive and resolving to scream about it. He hadn’t had the decency to fully leave Akechi’s thoughts ever since, with the exception of the several hours he had spent blackout drunk. 

Somehow, that last bit was less than reassuring. 

Even worse, none of it was exactly new. 

The long and short of it was that Akechi needed to get himself clean, and he couldn’t very well do that if Kurusu came chasing after him. 

And so, he made his words as sharp as he could muster. “I think that Kurusu-kun should get a grip and realize that I very sincerely tried to murder him.”

Sae stared him down. He was under no illusions – this was an interrogation. It was a surprise when her gaze softened. 

She hummed. “Do you regret it?”

And wasn’t that a loaded question? 

He regretted that it had all amounted to nothing. He regretted that Shido had played him for a fool, and that on the evening of November 20th, he’d gone home and damn near cracked open his bottle of Shido revenge scotch. He regretted that at some catastrophic point in the past year, besting Joker had become something bigger than besting his father, and that just as soon as Akechi had thought he’d managed it, the metal on metal scent of blood splattering onto the interrogation room’s table from Kurusu’s too-blank face became something he needed to forget. 

Of course, he also regretted that he’d been tricked, and that he’d wasted several nights wide awake thinking about the way Kurusu had looked at him that night in the bathhouse, sweat on his brow and droplets of steam condensed on his irritatingly long lashes, like he had really wanted to be there with him, listening. 

His brief brush with insomnia had cost Akechi twelve dollars in drugstore coffee, five dollars in sugar-free energy drinks, and at least three years of his life, if you accounted for the carcinogens that made up the latter. Akechi did.

At least he’d saved that bottle of scotch. It had gone to waste anyway, but it was more about the principle of the thing.

But he couldn’t very well explain any of that to Sae. So, Akechi had lied.

“No.”

“I see.” If Sae was disappointed in his answer, she didn’t show it. She gave him a nod, drummed her fingers on the table, and checked her watch. “Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll keep your existence to myself until you tell me to do otherwise.”

Sae had swallowed down the last of her drink, and that was that.

Since that day, his life had gone on. He spent his weekdays looking over Sae’s contracts and his weekends grinding out practice problems from study books. Sometimes he would work in his apartment. He’d draw open the blinds and spread his papers across his bed – he had a desk, but it was cramped, his chair was stiff, and he’d never really brought himself around to using the space as it was meant to be used. 

Other days, Akechi camped out in cafés around the city. He operated under the assumption that any place that had the audacity to charge 700 yen for a barely passable latte must have presumed he would use said latte as an all-day pass to free wifi and a climate controlled workspace. Akechi felt vindicated in taking full advantage.

He found that the more tasks he had to fill his time, the less liable his mind was to wander. 

Not that it was always easy. It had been hardest at first, when more mornings than not the was filled with the urge to lay under his comforter and rot through the day. He’d learned quickly that when that urge struck, it was best to call Sae and pick up an extra stack of whatever she could push off on him before her work day started. He would chip away at it during the daylight hours and catch up with his other tasks at night, a can of cold brew in one hand and a highlighter in the other. 

He never slipped behind Sae’s expectations for him, because he was Goro Akechi, and he didn’t let himself lose if he could help it. Still, it wasn’t lost on him that he wasn’t supposed to be alive. Sue him if that got to him once in a while. 

He hadn’t planned for any of this, and if he did anything besides move straight through it all, the shiny paint of productivity he’d slapped over his unplanned extension pack to living would slide right off. It would become obvious that there was little holding his life together besides spite, busywork, and a lawyer who had willfully decided she wouldn’t let him quit as her part-timer, or as anything else. 

Thinking about that never did him any good, so he didn’t. Fortunately, Akechi was no stranger to doing what needed to be done first and wondering how on earth he had managed it after the fact. 

Now, he needed to move forward. So he did.

That wasn’t to say his strategy always worked. 

It tended to happen late at night, when Akechi didn’t have the energy to stop his thoughts from drifting to the subjects his wiser, more conscious self refused to engage. 

Typically, that meant Joker. No. It always meant Joker. Shido, too, but it was infuriating, really, how even those thoughts tended to meander back around to Joker, too. 

As Akechi had taken his post-hibernation shower months ago, his sheets in the wash and grease sloughing from his hair in the suds of overpriced shampoo, Akechi had come to a number of resolute conclusions about the state of his life. Namely, if he was going to continue to live it, he had a few non-negotiables.

To start, he would keep a wide berth from any news outlets covering the Shido trial – he was sure there would be more than a few. He’d find a way to get his hands on another, cheaper bottle of something high-proof. He would learn to use one kitchen appliance besides the microwave. The oven, maybe.

And, of course, he would keep himself far, far away from Akira Kurusu.

Akechi would have liked to think that his thoughts always seemed to land on Kurusu out of force of habit. After all, he’d spent months tracking his every move. He’d never quite learned to think like Kurusu – he doubted that anyone could – but Akechi certainly knew the timetables of the trains he took to get around town, the names of his managers at each of his (many) part-time jobs, and which vending machines he preferred to get his snacks from. 

Had he strictly needed to collect so much information on the leader of the Phantom Thieves in the name of reconnaissance? Perhaps not. It wasn’t as though knowing that Kurusu routinely arrived at his station around three minutes before his scheduled train would actually give him an edge in battle. 

(Akechi of the past had tried to posture that it might, but Akechi of the past was an idiot, and Akechi of the present could admit that.)

He had never been one to half-ass, though, and Kurusu had always been so interesting. His calendar protested his reprioritization, but there was nothing new or surprising about that. The detective prince’s life had been a scheduling impossibility, and Akechi had managed regardless. More than managed, really.

Tragically, ‘reconnaissance’ couldn’t account for the way Akechi’s vision tunneled around Kurusu. It couldn’t explain away the thoughts Kurusu always managed to coax out of his head and into speech. 

So, no. Akechi wasn’t stupid enough to believe that his continued fixation on Akira Kurusu was ‘force of habit.’ It was something much more dangerous, and he couldn’t afford to allow himself to succumb to it. Not after everything.

If Akechi was going to live a life, that life would damn well be his own. He refused to live for anybody but himself, and that included Akira Kurusu.

Still, the version of Akechi that lay awake in his bed at 4am, strung out on caffeine, had been known to have other thoughts from time to time. When his eyes were bloodshot and jargon swirled on his ceiling, he thought back to the look on Kurusu’s face when he had caught his glove. Cocky – Joker always was — but something more behind that. Akechi could only describe it as the expression of a boy missing something he hadn’t yet lost. 

It had taken him too long to realize that Kurusu had known exactly what the glove had meant from the moment it had been thrown. It had taken him even longer to realize that Kurusu had understood it better than Akechi had. 

It was enough to make him want to tear Kurusu apart, nice and slow, piece by piece. It was almost enough to make him want to reach for his phone.

He didn’t, of course. There was a lot of power in ‘almost.’ It meant that he was in control.

It was easier during the day. Sae always had something to shrug off on him if he needed it. 

Of course, there was also the pesky matter of his father.

That day at the café, Sae had mentioned that she’d spoken to him. Shido had said that he wouldn’t implicate Akechi in his trial. Apparently, he’d expressed regrets about his treatment of his son. 

Akechi hadn’t asked her for more information. She had already said too much. 

Once, there had been nothing Akechi wanted more than to hear his father drool out how big of a mistake it had been to leave him. Now, the thought of Shido feeling at all guilty, or heaven forbid, apologizing to him, made bile rise in the back of his throat.

Just one hit, and Akechi would want another. There would be nothing of him left. It was a trend, it seemed, that Akechi needed to learn when to keep well enough away from people he’d let spin him in circles.

Fortunately, he had always been a quick study.

Akechi hadn’t tried to contact him, and he and Sae hadn’t discussed Masayoshi Shido any further since. 

Given his track record with all things luck and Shido related, Akechi really should have expected that decision to come back and bite him. 

The rabid dog that was the universe’s refusal to let Akechi live his life in peace caught up to him one day in early June. Coming home from a coffee shop, mini-mart sushi in hand, he’d seen it. 

He had thirty days to vacate his apartment, because of fucking course he did.

Akechi felt six years old again. Seeing the notice pasted to his apartment door, he may as well have been holding his mother’s hand. He felt it clench around his pudgy fingers tight enough to hurt. He knew that she didn’t mean it. He knew that she hadn’t meant to fall behind on rent, either. He knew that some nights at her club were lucrative, and that some mornings, she couldn’t find it in herself to get out of bed. Their income had never been stable, and neither had their address.

But his mother wasn’t there, she hadn’t been for a long time, and Akechi was the only one responsible for the little crescent-shaped indents in his palms as he stared at the paper on his door and tried to will it away with the sheer force of his – in his humble opinion – very justified righteous anger.

He’d called Sae immediately, right as soon as he’d ripped down the notice, gone inside, and poured himself a drink. Apparently, all of Shido’s hidden assets had finally been frozen. Even if he wanted to continue to pay Akechi’s rent, he couldn’t. Akechi hadn’t been affected until now because Shido had, prior to recent events, had his apartment bills set to auto-pay from one of his more clandestine bank accounts. 

That was something that even now made the part of Akechi’s brain that had stayed young and poor recoil. To have so much cash that a transfer of that size could simply be counted on to go through every month, no risk of declining – from an auxiliary checking account – seemed almost gluttonous. 

Well, the payment had finally bounced, it seemed. Nobody was untouchable. It would have been more gratifying if Akechi weren’t the one being left high and dry. He had hung up the phone and downed the last of his drink. His mediocre room-temperature sushi forgotten, he’d taken a seat on his floor, opened his laptop, and typed in a preliminary search for Tokyo-studio-cheap. 

That brought him to now. It was remarkable, really, how his day had only managed to get worse and worse in the hour that had passed since then.

Staying in his current apartment simply wasn’t an option. Akechi had tucked money into his savings account during his time as the detective prince, of course, but even the sizable amount he had slowly accrued for himself over the last several years wouldn’t be able to cover more than a month or two of rent in the place Shido had picked out for him. It had a separate kitchen, living, and sleeping space, alongside a full bathroom. It was fully renovated and featured in-unit laundry. It even came with a parking spot (not that Akechi owned a car, could drive, or feasibly use his space in the garage in literally any capacity). 

All of it had been an undeniable power play on Shido’s part. The place really was too much for him. It was a needless show of excess – an in-your-face sort of look what I can do for you, aren’t you scared to lose it?

Sure, Akechi could spend three years worth of residual earnings on thirty extra days in this place, but all it would do was buy him time, not to mention drain the last financial cushion he had left. He needed to put down a deposit on another place, after all. His bank account would be running on fumes after that, and rent at his new place would be due almost immediately. 

Fuck. He’d almost forgotten his utilities. His phone bill. His Wi-Fi. He didn’t need to be a genius to know that any day now, those expenses would hit him too.

Shido would be burning in hell for a whole host of reasons – Akechi knew this, because he’d spent the last several years of his life passively looping his long, long list of them through his head like a rallying cry. It was always a solid hit that got his head where it needed to be to do whatever he needed to do. This newest slight was a tiny drop of water in the ocean of ways his father had wronged him. 

Still. If there was any justice in the world, Akechi would be allowed to spit on his father during his fiery descent. Just a little bonus to him for needing to go through this after everything he’d already endured.

All roads led to moving. May as well get it done sooner rather than later. 

Akechi would need to pick up a second job to somehow come up with the difference between his dwindling savings account, Sae’s weekly commission, and the cost of living accommodations that would let him avoid adding to his death toll. It would be a less insulting prospect if any of the studio apartments he would be able to afford after that looked remotely liveable.

This one said that the paint on its walls might contain traces of lead, and that its landlord wouldn’t be held liable for medical damages that resulted from it. That one had visible mold on the bathroom tiles, even in the very obviously postured online listing photos. He shuddered to think of the state of that shower if he saw it in the flesh. 

Every listing Akechi had looked at so far seemed to come with its own set of shockingly diverse hazards, their one continuity being that they evoked similar feelings of dread in the pit of his stomach. The ones that didn’t come with a laundry list of health and safety violations stated up front that they required an application pre-screening. Akechi’s credit score was perfectly fine – the detective prince had always paid off his statements in full, and on time. What he didn’t have were two good references. As it turned out, that was rapidly proving itself to be a serious problem.

Even on a webpage with the best user interface imaginable, the experience would have been bleak. That said, Akechi might have felt slightly less homicidal if the website didn’t reload every single time he clicked the back-out arrow after he decided he wasn’t (yet) desperate enough to risk braving exposed wiring in his combined living-bedroom-kitchen-foyer-bathroom space.

It wasn’t as though Akechi hadn’t expected this would happen – he just hadn’t expected it to happen now. He had wanted to be able to really plan his move. The fact he’d even thought that taking his sweet time could be an option for him was proof that he’d let his guard down. 

He clicked on another listing. Wonderful. This one was just under 150 square feet. He honestly hadn’t known that was legal.

Well. Actually. 

He paused. Zoomed in.

On second glance, maybe it wasn’t so bad. It looked clean, recently renovated. The move-in date fit his needs. It was small, sure, but it seemed like the space was well allocated. He mentally crumpled up his commitment to learning how to use an oven. It wouldn’t be happening in a place of this size, but maybe that was for the best, anyway.

He decided to click the button to arrange a tour with the landlord. Maybe his situation wasn’t so dire after all.

Of course, that was when the website decided to crash.

The noise that wrenched its way out of his throat wasn’t unlike how he expected a dying cat might sound. He slammed his laptop shut and rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyelids. 

He needed another drink.

He poured himself a coffee mug of vodka and water. It was like vodka and soda for people who barely had the means to buy themself vodka, and for whom also needing to buy mixers felt like adding insult to injury. It was disgusting, but a disgusting necessity. Today, his crime against good taste was the housing market’s fault.

He took a sip, grimaced, and climbed into his bed. He propped himself up on his pillows and took another long drink. It didn’t taste quite so bad now that he’d whet his palate. 

Fuck. He hadn’t even had the chance to change when he’d gotten home. He undid the top buttons of his dress shirt where they pinched at his neck. It wasn’t as though Akechi had anyone to look nice for, nowadays, but his wardrobe hadn’t gotten a radical overhaul since the detective prince’s fall from notoriety. He’d worn designer shirts then, he’d wear designer shirts now. They looked slightly worse for wear, but at least that meant they were incrementally more comfortable to wear out now than they had been back in the day.

Not by much. He sighed as the stale air conditioning of his room hit his skin. He took another sip of his drink. Then another.

It wouldn’t be so hard to find that listing again. He was pissed on principle. Websites should work. Apartments should be bigger than closets. You should be able to beg a landlord to let you live in a closet-sized apartment on a website that at least functioned halfway decently.

He took another good long gulp from his mug.

He could have really gone for coffee, right then. Not the glorified overpriced milk you could get from any old chain. The good stuff.

It had been a long time since he’d had good coffee. 

There was only one place Akechi had ever had truly, honest-to-god good coffee.

His cellphone was lying at the foot of his bed.

He could send him a text, right now. Something clever. Akechi knew that no matter what it was, it would shock him, but it needed to be witty, too, because he would expect nothing less. He would kill to see the look on his face. He would look down at his phone, see Akechi’s name light up his screen, and his eyes would get all wide and scared. 

You’ve been alive all this time? 

They would meet up, and Kurusu, he’d be miserable, he’d probably cry or do something equally sappy, and – once he really processed – he’d be mad as all hell. Akechi would laugh at him, say something as snarky as the situation demanded, and watch the anger melt right off of Kurusu’s face in real time. 

Akechi would finally have pulled one over on him. He’d finally win. He could feel the rush already. 

Kurusu wanted to lose so bad, it was embarrassing, really.

Right as fantasy Kurusu threw himself at fantasy Akechi, real Akechi felt a wave of cold dread wash over him.

He walked to the sink and poured his final few sips of vodka water down the sink.

No. Hell no. 

He turned on the tap and splashed cold water on his face. It dripped down his neck. He couldn’t bring himself to mind as it trickled down to the collar of his undone shirt.

He was better than this. He knew damn well that the only one ‘losing’ in the situation his addled mind had cooked up was himself. 

It had only taken half a drink to get him there. 

Fuck. He doused his face in more water for good measure.  

He walked back to his bedroom, unlocked his phone, and scrolled through his message logs to find his last conversation with Akira Kurusu. Taking care not to click anything damning, he swiped to delete it.

There. It was over. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t done that sooner.

He rinsed out his mug and poured himself a glass of water from the tap. It didn’t need ice – he’d already confirmed that it was sufficiently chilled.

His laptop was still on his kitchen floor. Akechi took a seat, cross legged, and reloaded the webpage he had been on previously. Surely, he’d have more luck this session. Maybe he’d even find a place larger than 150 square feet. 175 seemed like a reasonable goal.

He would make this work. He was moving apartments, and he was moving on. He’d managed far more difficult things in the past. 

He looked at his phone, sitting on the floor to his right. He tapped the display once. 

No new messages. And why would there be?

He sighed and got to work.

[mixingpumpkins]

Just applied to USPS because no one will fucking hire me with no professional experience despite graduating summa cum laude a year ago and I might actually kill myself within a year so weehee that’s fun go capitalism fuck everything what’s the point

I wish you knew how much this sounds like me when I got out of grad school [redacted] years ago, because… it does. The summa cum laude, the no one will hire with no experience, the thinking of killing myself because what’s the fucking point when everything sucks so bad. So I’m going to tell you what I really wish someone had told me then. (I’m sorry if this is long.)

You’re right; stuff really sucks right now. Our system sucks. The job market is a complete joke. The whole post-graduation time period when you’re trying to break into the professional world fucking blows, especially if you’ve got people in your life putting extra pressure on you. But please reconsider killing yourself and consider speaking to someone who’s able to offer you more help managing those thoughts than I can. You won’t feel like this forever, I promise, and we need you here.

I’m wishing you the best of luck with the USPS application. It may not be what you wanted or expected with your stellar academic record, but it’s nothing to be ashamed of and a good position, especially for your first experience out of school. It’s an income > $0, probably some benefits since it’s a government job, and, importantly, will give you professional experience. You’ll meet people, you’ll learn some new skills, and you’ll have a job — which is always attractive to other employers as you continue your search for whatever jobs you’re trying for. (I’m actually considering applying to USPS myself, since I got laid off last month. Seriously. It’s not a bad option.)

Your first job out of school in no way sets your career path in stone. I know it can be really fucking hard, especially as a high achiever, to see your peers getting jobs and internships and whatever opportunities when you did everything right and can’t seem to find anything. It sucks. It doubly sucks when you’re feeling pressure to start your career on the right foot, or not “fall behind,” or enjoy your life while you’re young, or not “waste” your education and potential on a job you could’ve gotten without a degree.

All of that is bullshit.

It’s okay to take whatever job you can get — retail or USPS or washing dishes or whatever — especially when you don’t have any prior experience. If it’s not what you want, keep looking for something that suits you better while you work. You’re not a failure if you don’t get a job in your field for your first one out of school. Most people don’t. Some people don’t, ever. That’s fine too.

Is taking literally anything right now going to put you “behind”? No. You can’t fall behind; timelines are garbage. Kill the idea that you are stuck or behind or will never get where you want to be because you don’t see a way of that happening from where you are right now.

Stuff changes fast — maybe not the trash fire that is capitalism itself, but the stuff closer to you. The opportunities around you. Your priorities. Your career plans and options. These shifts make so much of a difference, and it’s hard to see just how fast they can happen when you’re in that shitty space of trying to get your first professional experience out of school. You will get something, and you will start seeing these shifts happen.

Plus… especially now, people switch jobs and entire careers all the time. They get burned out. Their interests change. A random opportunity leads them somewhere they never saw coming. The industry / economy / technology changes, and they’re out of a job and need a new one. (<- That last one is the story of my fucking life, tbh.)

Maybe the classmate who got that dream job/internship right out of school discovered that it actually sucks and they need to do something else. Or somebody’s side hustle pays better than their job and suddenly they’re occupied full-time with something they never studied in school. The kid who got a “head start” on a good career with a well-paying job is laid off and begging for a retail position two years later. Someone’s dad I know who got a degree in finance ended up working as a landscaper for decades instead, then went back to school at 57 and became a nurse.

It is literally impossible to tell where your life will take you from where you’re standing right now. Hell, at this point, I’d say it’s pretty stupid for anyone to assume they know what their life and career will look like in two years. But the point is to give yourself the grace and the time to figure it out.

It may take you 5 years to be somewhere that feels better. It may take you 40. Careers in this day and age are a fucking roller coaster and anyone who says otherwise is kidding themselves (and possibly had daddy paving the way for them).

Stay curious about what’s next and spite the fuckers who want you to do otherwise. What could your first job lead to? Idk, let’s find out. What could this detour or layoff lead to? Idk, let’s find out. Who cares if it’s not what you thought it would be? Maybe it could lead to something better. Let’s keep at it and find out.

You’re smart — enough to graduate summa cum laude. No professional crisis or difficulty navigating this shit job market and obscene cost of living nonsense can take that away from you. Tell anyone who tries to make you feel otherwise (including that critical voice in your head) to go fuck themselves.

I really hope you get the USPS job, or something better. Come tell me when you do. And yeah, fuck this unbridled capitalism shit — so let’s give it all the hell that we can in the meantime. 

[plummyplums]

Hello Plummy. Free ticket to talk about your blorbos because I would like to hear about them please 👀

Ok it took me a few days to figure out how I wanted to answer this (goodness there's so much I could say about so many fellas) but I finally decided on doing a lil stream-of-consciousness about the fella you followed me for, Freakazoid! He's the one who currently is taking up the most space in my mind, after all.

I might do more posts about other blorbos later, but this one got so long that I decided to split it all up, even with the cut XD

Random Thoughts: He's my lil guy, just a lil fella! He has so much "annoying brother" energy to me, it's adorable. In my head, he and Dex become more like brothers in a month than Dex and Duncan have been in years. I'm not gonna get into it, but my biggest Blorbo Thoughts are nearly always angst and hurt/comfort, and that does apply here, though it's tough when we have so little canon info on how he works. I'm actually pretty neutral on Dexter; he's a good lad, but he doesn't give my brain the Happy Chemicals like Freak does. I have to actively remind myself to include him in stuff 😭

Not them, but our favorite blue menace has also given me the annoying habit of unconsciously sticking my tongue out, so now I have to actively stop myself from doing that.

Headcanons: I see him as like, a combo of Dexter, some garbage code from the chip, and The Internet Itself. Their existence is incredibly confusing, and I continue to curse the network for failing their show. I like fan ideas of them both having spaces in their mind and communicating through their thoughts, so I keep those in my interpretation. They have the Freakazone, the "Dexterzone" (Dex is on the fence about the name, it's essentially a recreation of his room), and a middle-ground that they can both access. Upon switching, they’ll “spawn” in their respective room and can do whatever from there, and they’ll both be in the mindscape when the body sleeps or is unconscious, no matter who was out.  They’re capable of “locking” their personal room, preventing the other from entering for a time.  No matter where they are, they’re capable of seeing/hearing what the body sees/hears, though they can choose not to.  The mindscape can only be affected by whoever is in it at a given time, and they can add spaces at will, but they’re temporary and usually go away when whoever made them goes out.

I headcanon them as both having ADHD, and having the whole of the internet stuffed in your brain makes it only that much harder to focus. I mean, imagine juggling quite literally millions of thoughts at any given time, 99.9% of which aren't yours and are just the product of what everyone on Earth is looking up. No wonder Freak is considered "crazy". The amount of global internet traffic actually affects his focus; more traffic, more thoughts, more difficulty concentrating. Dex learned binary and basic coding in a period of hyperfixation, and he is constantly starting and stopping things like coding projects, plans to upgrade his computer, transcribing things into binary, learning about various topics, etc. Rejection-sensitive dysphoria makes it hard for him to approach people, considering how he's treated by his peers, but he does his best and would really like to make friends!

They both love cats, I know they do. Mr. Chubbykins may be the family cat, sure, but he's Dexter's cat at heart. Younger Dex picked him out at the shelter, named him, and spoils him enough that his name still applies. Freak is influenced heavily by the internet, and even since the early days, the internet has always loved cats. He's more prone to trying to put poor Chubbykins in little outfits (which Dexter heavily discourages) than actually taking care of him. On that topic: Dexter is a cat person, Freak is a "it's in my vicinity and I can pet it" person.

AU Time: I've actually been poking at the idea of an AU where Freak was the human and Dex was the being created by the chip, a roleswap. Freddie Douglas (someone told his parents that they shouldn't name their second child alliteratively when the whole family is like that already) exists in Dexter's place, and he's pretty much just Freak but mellowed to a degree. He's a gymnast, wrestler, and tech enthusiast, but more generalized to all electronic devices, not just computers. He just likes working with his hands, really. It's nerdy enough for Duncan to still give him trouble, though.

The Pinnacle Chip creates Poindexter (working name), a genius mad scientist type. While Freakazoid is the fleeting, scattered, attention- and entertainment-seeking nature of the internet, Poindexter is the academically collaborative, logical, and organizational nature of it. Despite being very different, they both encompass parts of it. He's a very cerebral superhero, and he's always thinking 50 steps ahead to problem-solve and protect people. Heck, he can read 3 textbooks in an hour and absorb everything in them. He's full of fun facts that he loves to share and is more socially awkward than his counterpart. Don't get me wrong though, he still loves to have fun and is a bit of a trickster! He just has more self-control. And also telekinesis.

[bad4amficideas]

In/succubus!reader details

I've been having dreams about succubus/incubus! reader. Like, background info. I couldn't write a book, but if you want silly details for a video game and its world, I'm your dwarf woman. (I won't say that history writes itself, but I don't know where this came from)

Anyway, you know from that post that I made a long time ago that the reader could feed on platonic or romantic affection but someone killed the platonic found family they form so Reader went to America in search of a vendetta and to find out who and why killed them when they was literally doing nothing wrong?

Reader can feed on strong emotions from the environment, such as concerts, meetings and the like, without harming anyone because it has no particular objective.

Reader had, an adoptive russian mother, the biological son of the adoptive mother, a best friend/surrogated sister from an abusive home. Two pseudo uncles and a granma that they found on the streets.

If they is well fed, they can influence the emotions of others.

They used this to create a "quirky" modeling company (meaning everything, ALL body types), influencing people's acceptance so they would see beyond the physical. The company quotes the Addams family "Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly." Guess the company name.

Of course, Reader could only do this with a body that fit the description or more like would not fit the traditional beauty standard (her grandmama is the agency's most beloved model, she dresses from leather to hippie and looks fucking good in both).

This company is trending in Europe and Reader used the excuse of branches to go to America.

The first (and traumatic) time they had sex they didn't kill their bed partner because they was well fed with their family storge and philias love and ate more out of gluttony than anything else (The partner ended up in a coma for a few days, like Rogue from XMEN and Reader when hype and super for the same period of time). Of course, eating emotions is quite an experience depending on what you eat

As Reader hit puberty, they and her sister had a strained relationship until Reader learned to control their hormones.

The more powerful Reader is, the more people, or more powerful people, they needs in the Family. In the long run, the Family benefits from the relationship with the in/succubus, with longer life, immunity to disease, and youth (although this takes time to discover).

Reader tries that if they has to attract someone into the "fold", it's people for whom the family can offer a good life. They doesn't take anyone out of their life against their will. Reader even tries to force themselves to like people, though that doesn't work out.

They found their uncles and granmama volunteering at a soup kitchen, "adopted" the ones they liked.

It is likely that the murder of The Family has to do with either the comatose mate or Reader's original family.

Their first runway in America was hero-thematic. It was fucking long for obvious reasons and people loved it. No, Reader did not choose a hero, although her initial idea was for them and their family to be like firefighters, doctors, garbage men, policemen and so on. The Family died and that was taken off the runway.

The first time Reader encountered superheroes, she was more interested in seeing if their outfits had been well-inspired and in the materials of the supersuits.

"Reader, one step away from being Edna Mode"

Now, this is weird, but my dream branched off here and on one side, instead of being superheroes, they were all magical creatures too. The fact is that by p or r, Reader ended up involved in the super / preternatural community

Either way, they first meets Clark because he got "punished" covering non serious, celebrity gossip. He didn't smell anything. But he smelled something. I don't know if you understand me.

Then they actually met The Flash and anyone I can't remember now who is involved in the police and forensic world (oh yes, Dick *facepalm*). They was asking for second opinions on the murder of their family.

To all this, between opening a new branch, chasing the murderer of THEIR family, moving, traveling from corner to corner of the USA. Reader did not realize (or refused to accept) that they had to start substituting their family or feeding themselves at least a bit each week.

If they didn't want to mug someone and kill them with one hit. Or go into an orgy and not kill anyone by distributive property of energy.

Here I cry because I would write a smut with the Batboys. Or Flash, Green Lantern and Green Arrow, or all the Lanterns or the Outlaws or the Trinity or idk, you understand me.

IF I KNEW WRITE.

ADOPT THIS STORY. MAKE YOUR -my- DREAMS COME TRUE.

[liampk]

Deadpool and Wolverine

In a lot of ways, I’m extremely the target audience for Deadpool and Wolverine; I’m a 30 something straight white guy who mainly watches comedies, who is likely to recognise at least most of the references this movie makes and who grew up during the brief period when Fox was the king of superhero movies. And yet, for whatever reason, at the time I saw D&W, I had never seen Deadpool 1, 2, or Logan, the movies that D&W acts as a sequel to, nor have I watched barely any of the post Endgame suite of Marvel movies which D&W is joining. I watched D&W because I had an awkward amount of time between work and dinner plans and I’d seen every other movie I’d heard of at the theatre I wandered into. So I’m left kind of confused why I have so many thoughts about I movie I didn’t even particularly like. Why was this the movie that made me go back and watch the other two Deadpools when I had no interest before?

When his fans talk about Ryan Reynolds, they like to treat him as the bad boy of blockbuster superhero movies, the one willing to “go there”, the one willing to bite the hand that feeds him, the one who can say the things that other superhero movies can’t by taking refuge in audacity. But D&W is not a transgressive movie. It, like it’s character, is puerile and immature, with the degree of edge of an uncle making an inappropriate joke in front of grandma. The closest the series ever got to making an actually transgressive statement was in making it’s romantic lead a sex worker, and even that serves only the film’s male gaze, before damselling, fridging and writing out Vanessa from being involved in the plot of three movies in a row.

But what would an actually transgressive Deadpool movie look like? One which has an actual point of view, a target for it’s satire which would require real artistic courage and vision? Weirdly, for all it’s “I get that reference” humor and uncritical fan service nostalgia, Deadpool and Wolverine comes the closest.

D&W is, by far, the most metatexual of the Deadpool movies. Unlike the first two, where the metatexual aspect is reduced to a couple of fourth wall breaking lines and references to the real world, D&W uses the context of it’s release as allegory; it is a movie about itself, the history of it’s old studio and the future of it’s new one.

The film opens with Deadpool, taking advantage of Fox’s recent acquisition by Disney, auditioning to join the Avengers, in order for him to finally do something “important”, something that “matters”. After being rejected and spending several years as a retired superhero, Deadpool is approached by an agent of the TVA, the Marvel universes’ metaphysical office for managing timelines. Here, he is told that the nature of universes mirrors those of film franchises; that each universe has an “anchor”, a person who is of such immense existential importance that their death will lead to the eventual death of their universe*. For Deadpool’s universe, this anchor was Wolverine (specifically, Wolverine from the movie Logan), and without Wolverine to keep his universe alive, all of Deadpool’s friends will soon face annihilation.

In order to save his world, Deadpool must travel the multiverse to find a new Wolverine to replace his world’s as an anchor. In the process, both he and “Loser Wolverine”, the only replacement willing to talk to him, are sent to the Void, a garbage bin of the TVA where they send the things no longer useful; primarily, a rogue’s gallery of characters from other Fox super hero movies: Jennifer Garner’s Elektra, Wesley Snipes’ Blade, Channing Tatum as Gambit in a reference to a movie that was never made, and for one of the funnier jokes in the movie, Chris Evans appearing not as Captain America, but as Johnny Storm.

In the film proper, these characters’ reappearance serves little but to be references to point and laugh at; Elektra was a terrible movie, so obviously it can’t be thematically meaningful to include, right? But isn’t this act of stewardship actually really significant to the metaphor of the film? Deadpool spends most of the movie heartbroken that he “doesn’t matter”, believing that his life can’t be actualised except through acceptance by the Avengers. A better written movie would challenge this through the central allegory of the film: the idea that only “important” things deserve to exist, that worlds without “use” are doomed to non-existence. They would frame the TVA as the villains, as proxies for Disney, whose corporate monopoly slowly swallows up everything in it’s ecosystem, erasing that which is not profitable from it’s platforms forever. But D&W pulls it’s punches. The villain isn’t “really” part of the TVA, he’s an independent agent acting without approval. And the film never bothers to argue against the central contention of it’s allegorical villains; the idea that worlds without their anchor must die. Deadpool does not disprove their claim, he simply affirms it by providing his world with a new anchor, identical to the old one.

In a lot of ways, D&W has the pretence of covering similar thematic ground as my favourite movie of last year: Everything Everywhere All At Once. Both are action comedies about multiversal losers (the worst version of themselves) who are made the unlikely hero in a dimension hopping conflicts with the existence of their world in the balance, in which they learn that prestige doesn’t matter, that contentment must be found in the humble. In a better written world, Deadpool would act as the “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead” to EEAAO’s “Waiting for Godot”; a metatexual echo, using allegory to express the same philosophical view**. But EEAAO actually follows this theme to it’s logical conclusion: no world is unimportant, no life unmeaningful.

It is easy to not see anything to fight for in 2005’s Elektra; It is not a great movie, nor even an okay movie. But it is art. It is work made by people who put in time and effort. Jennifer Garner doesn’t need to be lionised, but all the invisible hands upon which she stands do. If Deadpool’s satire is to have heart and meaning, if it wishes to “matter and be important”, it should tell us this; Every movie is someone’s favourite movie, and even Elektra does not deserve to be shovelled as fuel into an engine of commerce like the Disney corporation.

* This, obviously, is completely nonsensical when divorced from the allegory: do the universes only come into existence when the anchor is born? Wouldn’t that mean that every universe only has a lifetime of something like 50-100 years?

** I realise that unfortunately this metaphor implicitly compares the MCU to Hamlet, as embarrassing as that would be.

[derangedhyena-delphinidae]

numerous issues with “The Aftermath of Seaworld”

When I get time to do so (aka when I’m done with the documentary), I’m likely going to make a video version of this going into the details. 

But for right now, I’ve made this. Both as a guideline for me and so everyone can begin to get an idea of the severity of issues involved.

Researching things is time-consuming and can be very difficult - believe me, I know. But I’m of the mind that if you’re making content with the intent of educating people, you have a responsibility to perform a certain level of due diligence. It IS okay to express uncertainty or doubt if you have it. It is NOT okay to confidently assert things that you do not know with certainty.

The video has an anticap slant, and I’m obviously not disagreeing on that front. But again: if you’re gonna go through the trouble of teaching people something. Bare minimum... please make sure it’s actually correct. *** 1) x ‘founded in 1964 and based out of Florida’ -  ???? Seaworld definitively began on the west coast, in San Diego, CA. And given that the first park opened in early 1964… things came together before that. Uh? 2) x ‘four people founded Seaworld [...]’ For one… it wasn’t originally conceived as a restaurant, it was originally conceived as an underwater bar/lounge. Two… calling the four guys involved in founding the place “frat brothers” is fucking ridiculous and completely overlooks a) how each was actually involved and b) the overall significance of their contributions to the field as individuals. Hint: like it or not, they were important and did a lot! 

3) x If one is going to bring up SWBGCF/rescues while talking about the literal founding of SW, it gives the impression that it’s been around for that duration. It hasn’t.  It’s actually a bit unclear when SW started an organized rescue program, but the Fund itself and all that it did came about much later. The rescue information and how it’s presented is actually INCREDIBLY complex, nuanced, and has a fascinating history (from a “bad company behaving badly” perspective). Oversimplifying this, to this degree and in this misinformative way, does the facts of the situation an INCREDIBLE disservice.  

4) x [assertive statement about what the name Shamu means]  ….Uh actually there’s several explanations for the name Shamu, and the most likely one IMO seems to be the “she-namu” one, not the “friend of Namu” one(? What is this even based on.) 4b) It’s not quite clear if she’s saying “Namu was the first ever orca to be displayed and perform shows” or or Namu was the first to be displayed and, like Shamu, performed shows. Either way, Moby Doll was the first to truly be displayed to the public, not Namu.

5) x ‘Namu died after one year in captivity and you’d think that this might deter Seaworld from doing the same thing again…’ Seaworld truly had nothing to do with Namu. And they leased/took possession of Shamu before Namu died. ‘Again’? What?

6) x “Now, PETA paints a pretty disturbing picture…” [while showing Okura’s artwork] This video segment is, and this is putting it nicely, a pile of poorly-researched BULLSHIT.  -Yes, PETA talks about Shamu’s capture, re: the harpooning of her mother. This Youtuber cannot apparently be arsed to look more than 1 Google search into this, as she proceeds to dismiss the information as potentially fabricated. There are two detailed accounts of Shamu’s capture that I’m aware of - in books - and though they have some slight conflicts, it’s absolutely NOT in doubt that the female who was very likely Shamu’s mother was 1) harpooned, 2) died from her injuries and 3) this had been done to make her easier to catch/locate because there was a fucking buoy attached to the harpoon. Which she dragged around for at least 24 hours prior dying.  So maybe don’t dismiss that as PETA hysteria, maybe TRY to determine the truth of the matter, which would inform one that it is both true and completely horrifying.  -In addition, Okura is an awesome individual who has worked very hard to create a variety of informative artwork for our cause. Okura is NOT associated with PETA and it’s borderline libel in my eyes to use their artwork in this dismissive manner when the primary sources of it can be easily identified online, with full explanations and everything. Do I take special offense to this because of the misuse of artwork? Absolutely. Artists get disrespected enough online. I’m tired of it. This kind of laziness IS NOT acceptable.

7) x ‘timeline is fuzzy about when Shamu died’ …………… it’s…. It’s really not … newspapers are pretty clear about it…..

8) x [complete and utter oversimplification of the lifespan issue, which is not acceptable for anything published in 2020. It just isn’t. If you’re going to bring it up like this, either do the legwork and get into the weeds or stay out.] 8b) [same for reproductive ages. sigh]

9) x if we’re going to talk about when Cornell was involved with Seaworld it’s very important to specify when Cornell was involved with Seaworld and not make it seem like it’s present tense.

10) x “both were rescued by Seaworld” - uh? no. Zero orcas have been rescued by Seaworld. Literally none. The infected-jaw orca was Sandy, whose story is complex and certainly does not involve Seaworld until much later. And many of the orcas in that time period had bullet wounds, often only identified post-mortem because they didn’t seem to hurt the animals much. Also, unflinchingly blending 70s captivity ethics with modern ones is also complete nonsense? 

11) x [tilikum coming from sealand] inhales I am going to make an entire video centered on this fucking subject because it’s one of the single most profound arguments for Seaworld being garbage as assessed by US government agencies in the 90s yet everyone utterly fails to mention this. Why?!

12) x what on earth is this nonsense re: quoting a quote from Zimmerman’s article - which has already been removed from its original context, so the original context is not available - and then penalizing the quote for existing as if Zimmerman’s article were the context? That is offensively disingenuous. I honestly don’t know what the original context is, either - but it’s wildly inappropriate to act as if the Zimmerman article is.

13) x this is relatively minor but ‘Paul Sprong’? You literally have his name on the screen. And then mis-reading his age too? While asserting it from a static article published years ago? Effort? Where is it?

14) x ‘another trainer, Peter’ ….. Ken Peters…. 

15) [weirdly glossing over the widely-available list of orca-trainer injuries/aggressions, despite it being central to the point.] 16) x This pilot whale outrage certainly happened but it was pretty clearly Blackfish that started the cascade of woes for Seaworld. Who has ever asserted this?

17) if you’re gonna just rehash blackfish, tell people to go watch blackfish.

18) x I’ve already gone over the context issue with Seaworld calling out Howard’s statement in Blackfish here (point 23). Which is to say, IN CONTEXT in Blackfish it’s clear what Mr. Garrett is talking about but, divorced from that, it sounds incorrect. But this Youtuber AMPLIFIES the issue by doubling down on the assertion with “no record of a killer whale doing any harm to anyone in the wild.” The surfer event should always be mentioned. Yes, there’s absolutely room for doubt. But there’s also a clear demarcation between an accidental attack (eg mistaken identity, as was likely for the surfer) and intentional one (eg the incidents at marine parks.) Why do people kneecap themselves on this point 18b) please stop acting like Luna represents orcas in general.

19) x “Howard, for all of his research…” … while referring to David Duffus’ b-roll and statements. Uh. 20) x Apparently this Youtuber has single-handedly resolved the dorsal fin issue. You know, the thing that hasn’t been properly researched ever, that has been subject to a ton of debate, that isn’t 100% settled for a variety of reasons, and almost everyone talks about in terms of theories and likely possibilities.  21) x Alexis Martinez wasn’t “torn to shreds.” In a space where even moderate exaggerations are often penalized harshly by the opposition, this kind of blatant nonsense is not welcome. Plus, the reality’s bad enough… you don’t have to make anything up!

22) x *sighs. points at own webpage*

23) Talking about the shows stopping without acknowledging how that’s a bit of a farce is something else. In addition to apparently just flipping to buying what Seaworld’s selling re: its ‘improved image.’ 

*** Tl;dr video is so unrelentingly full of errors ranging from small to egregious it makes me seriously concerned for the veracity of the rest of this person’s content. The maker of the video provided a list of their sources in their video description, which I will have time to look through in detail later. The above is solely a response to the information they present IN THE VIDEO - which, is very important because let’s be real: a lot of people are not going to look at the list of sources. People don’t even do it when citing papers (no really, you’d be surprised, fml.) For anyone who wants to whinge that I haven’t linked or asserted any sources of my own for my claims… well, remember what I said about time-consuming and ‘I’m busy’? Yhea. Getting all of that together will be part of making a video. So if you want to shrug loudly at my list here… you can, that’s your prerogative, I’m happy to say I DGAF if that’s your takeaway. 

What I hope, is that if there’s anything I’ve made clear over the While of running this blog, it’s that I don’t fuck around when it comes to sources and information and do my best to provide what information exists, all of it, not just cherrypicked bits and bobs. Anyways. Here’s step 0 at least. Please don’t share that video. Pretty please.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Tainted Apollo

Pairing: Kars x Reader

Warnings: mentions of gore, death of minor characters, slight allusion to dubcon.

Words: 3056.

Summary: Finding a peculiar sculpture in the ruins of an ancient temple, you realize you have stumbled upon a god set in stone.

P.S. I forgot to post this one here haha

____________

"Good morning, Sire." You welcomed him as you stretched in your improvised bed, an old metal container of some kind with a pile of blankets on top of it.

Rubbing your sleepy eyes, you slowly put your feet on the floor and adjusted the hem of your nightgown so he wouldn't see too much of your flesh. Kars always found this habit of yours ridiculous. He had been a piece of stone for God knew how long, and even after you found him he'd been confined to bed for no less than a year, barely moving and unable to speak. Kars was sure you didn't even understand what he was, but you still cared about covering your body in front of him. What a pathetic habit, he thought.

When you found him in the sands, somewhere in what appeared to be a long abandoned temple that had been in ruins even before he reached the Earth, you first thought he was some kind of sculpture, adoring his unusual but captivating form. He hated you watching him with your eyes wide, even touching a lock of his petrified hair - you were just a mortal human woman, one of those he had been determined to wipe out, but you had the audacity to act like his sole purpose was to lay in the sand for your entertainment. If he could move, he would definitely end your pathetic like there and then. But Kars couldn't.

It must have been ages, if not a millennium, since he had been banished from Earth. Drifting through darkness, his body had turned to stone, his limbs losing their ability to move - regardless of him finally becoming an ultimate form of life, it brought him nothing but eternal suffering and oblivion. Kars had stopped functioning like a living being almost completely. Almost. If he hadn't been returned back to Earth by some accident, he would continue his meaningless journey to the stars till the end of times because the darkness enveloping him had no limits. It felt like being thrown into a cold throat of some gigantic monstrous creature, but instead of reaching its stomach and finally dying he had been forced to circulate somewhere in between, neither dead nor alive. If silly humans thought the Hell was real, it had to be it.

He couldn't remember what force sent him back to Earth as he could think of no one doing it intentionally, but it didn't matter as long as he could reach Earth. Regardless of what would happen after, Kars knew he would survive and regain his power, finally giving humanity what it deserved for what they had done to him.

Funny, but when his mind had awoken from hibernation, Kars realized there was no one to take revenge on. Humanity had successfully wiped itself out.

Even after year and a half that passed, he still saw just you, a girl who had brought his petrified form to her home to take care of him knowing he was alive - by the time you met him Kars was able to open his eyes. Oh, he remembered well how horrified you were, stumbling upon an immensely beautiful statue that turned out to be a stone god, he heard you saying that for a few times. That day you ran away with such an expression Kars didn't expect you to ever come back, although you showed up a couple of days after, trying to talk to him in that odd new human language he had never heard before. As he kept silent, unable to even move his lips and make a sound, you realized the god you stared upon had been trapped in stone, and you could do nothing to free him. You went away, but came back with an odd machine that reminded him of Stroheim, and Kars thought of melting your bones when you dared to use to transport him. However, he had to admit how further did human technology evolved when even a small and timidly-looking machine like yours could lift and transport him to your home, a place inside another machine that had been definitely used for military purposes before being abandoned. It looked incredibly pathetic, as if you were a little rat that had to live in a pile of garbage out of pure need.

The world he once knew and wished to conquer had disappeared. All he saw while being driven away by your small machine had been a never-ending desert and ruins of other machines: he learnt lately those were enormous satellites, star ships, and other rusting remnants of an epoch that had been long gone. Watching gigantic sand stingrays crossing the desert as if it were a sea made him realize how far humans had gone - they had created monsters that were never meant to exist in the first place.

Of course, they paid for it. Judging from the stories you told him and what he observed himself, humanity had faced almost complete annihilation even without intervention of their outer space enemies, if there were any. The atomic war destroyed nearly everything humans had been creating since the beginning of their era. It affected even the natural course of life of every living being on Earth, forcing them to change and finally become a horrifying, mutilated, monstrous life form of something they had been once. Even the Moon had been gone, it's ugly half-destroyed form shining in the night sky and making it even more revolting. You had said something about unsuccessful colonization and the war over moon territories while Kars had to force himself to look down on the sand that was at least familiar to him.

Disgusting. He still had hard time believing how far humans had gone, destroying everything that existed long before they started ruling the planet. What would Jojo say now if he saw what a nightmare the world had become? Wasn't it better to let Kars wipe out the humanity before this had happened?

He had been fighting the urge to break your spine or melt your insides at least for a couple of months, blaming you for the crimes of your ancestors despite you obviously being too young to commit any of the atrocities that had happened. How come a human being had the audacity to survive in this post-Apocalyptic world while other life forms had mutated into monsters? When you were wiping any impurities off his cold stony skin, he was dreaming of the time when his body would come out of this odd hibernation period he couldn't control and then murder you in some rather painful way, prolonging your death till you felt all kinds of despair a human like you could. As he struggled to move even his fingers, he had finally decided not to harm an only being capable of taking care of him.

Each day you brought him to sunlight so he could observe what was outside of your pathetic shelter while you worked to grow anything in this lifeless place, several times a week departing to some place to fill the ugly rusted water tank, then watering your plants in a some kind of a nicely equipped greenhouse - funny, now you used it to protect the plants from the intense heat rather than trap it inside. Fruits and vegetables were what your diet was based on, including some synthetic supplements Kars refused to consume, disgusted by something made purely by humankind. Sometimes you would bring him fried meat, and while the thought of eating a mutilated animal had been revolting to him, Kars knew you could offer him nothing else. Even the meat you brought you offered only to him, rarely taking a piece for yourself: now it must have been a great privilege to consume meat. Besides, it truly sustained him better than fruits or vegetables, and he was dependent on what you were feeding him, slowly getting his strength back. After a year and a half he was now able to move his lips and fingertips, making you nearly ecstatic: it seemed you were doing everything right.

What did you think he was? A deity? A monster? A machine? Probably an immortal being who had existed long before the annihilation, that's what you said: you were talking to him from time to time either to pay your respects, tell him more about your world you thought he knew nothing about or voice what you were going to do right the next moment. One day as you brought several rectangular plates made with what looked like a blue metal to him, you read Kars about ancient Greek gods, wondering if he had been one of them - you saw him melting food with his skin, and for you it was the inherent symbol of his divinity. Kars had to give you some credit: you weren't as stupid he first thought you were. You weren't worshipping him as much as he deserved, but you probably did the best you could do, just a little desert rat having nothing but her plants and a decaying metal house.

"I won't come back till the sunset." You said once you finished washing your face and brushing your hair, tucking them under a faded scarf out of some light fabric and then reaching out to grab your mask. "I'll try being quick, Sire, but it's important I visit that place. If I'm lucky, I might bring something very useful to you."

Useful to him, huh? He would appreciate if you stopped humoring yourself: there was nothing useful you could bring him aside from a dozen people to devour. While he knew there were some people left on Earth still, he also knew you wouldn't master the strength to capture, less sacrifice them to him. Besides, Kars was still deciding whether it was worth devouring those creatures. While it certainly would make him return his powers faster, he could wait a couple of centuries - Kars doubted remaining humans could do something worse to Earth than what had already been done.

You didn't return after the sunset that day. It was the first time you hadn't keep your promise to him, and it made ill-tempered Kars bitter: oh, he would remember it and make sure you remembered it, too. He spent the night thinking what he was going to do to you, albeit not getting too violent in his thoughts. Something probably happened on your way, and you had to stop and spend the night in the desert before coming back.

The next day you didn't return either. He waited for you till the sunset but heard nothing but the sound of sand stingrays travelling to the other part of the desert. The complete silence troubled Kars more than he was able to admit: you had been somewhere around most of the time, taking to him or making some other irritating noise. While he found you just one more annoying creature inferior to him, your absence had a strange effect on Kars - it felt like something was crawling beneath his stony skin, making it harder to keep calm despite the fact the man had always been patient, unaffected by something so unworthy of his attention. However, your absence was a clear sign that something had happened, and it somehow bothered him.

Were you attacked by the monstrous creatures roaming the earth? Humans? Some other force he knew nothing about? Surely, it had something to do with the thing you attempted to bring, but you were vague about its nature, and Kars doubted it was really something decent. How come you had the audacity to risk your life when you were his one and only follower, sustaining and taking care of him while he was still in hibernation? Were you so unbearably stupid you decided you could leave him alone for long? Who had given you the right to bother Kars with your absence? It was inexcusable. The only reason why he didn't punish you was his petrified body, but he wouldn't stay in such state forever.

The lack of your presence was becoming more and more disturbing, and Kars questioned himself why did it matter. He had never needed someone's company - even though he had respect for both Esidisi and Wamuu, their closeness to him wasn't something essential. Not that your presence was either... and yet he found himself constantly thinking about the reasons why you were late. Although it irritated him, Kars decided that time he spent into space had its effects on his mind.

When you returned at last, the sun had already disappeared over the horizon. You were bleeding - he saw crimson stains on your face and your left arm, your faded scarf absent when you stormed inside your house, a small metal container in your hand as you flew to your stone god. Something had gone terribly wrong.

"I'm sorry, Apollo." You were running out of breath, but Kars heard you calling him by a Greek god's name. Was it the god of light? Your choice was rather peculiar. You were probably calling him like this in your mind since you brought those books home, but was afraid to voice your thoughts to him. "I wasn't as prepared I thought I was. The guards are still there even after all these years."

Leaving the container on the floor close to him, you took your bag and started your things there, searching for food and flasks. Somebody had been following you to your hideout.

"This is all I could find." You whispered, opening the container and taking out a small glass vial with a bright red liquid inside. "I can't tell how it will affect you, but I believe it would be of use to you, Apollo. Please, consume it."

You had carefully lifted the vial as if it were going to explode and then put it on his chest, awaiting for Kars to melt it onto his body. He had been suspicious about this, for some reason unable to detect what the liquid was as the vial seemed to block it, he consumed it, nonetheless - there was a chance it could speed up the end of his hibernation.

And it did. He felt the familiar heat, albeit Kars had never thought the stone could be turned into liquid, and yet it was it, something he had been chasing for so long once before becoming who Kars was now. How come it had been somewhere here all along? Was it fate to land here where it had all ended for him once? Kars had no answers. Not that it mattered now as his petrified body was rapidly recovering, his limbs finally able to move, his dark locks softening, the paralysis shattering while he stood up, showing you his perfect form in all its glory as you stared at him, either afraid or unable to move. He was the God you were waiting for, his large wings turning into flesh hands, a halo of light surrounding his perfectly proportioned, sculptured body and making you lose your eyesight for a couple of seconds. It happened so suddenly you were trembling on your knees in front of him, forgetting about those who had trailed you and the danger they could bring to your God and you, both fear and admiration engraved into your stare. Kars was much more than you had pictured him to be, undoubtedly.

As much as he enjoyed that look on your face, devouring your fragile figure with his eyes, he could feel his enemies breathing down his neck. Of course, all of them were unworthy of seeing his true power, but even someone as miserable as them would do for a quick warm up after centuries of hibernation: once several disgustingly looking men with scars and mutilated limbs showed up in your hideout, all of them Ripple users just like Jojo had been, Kars let out a laugh, watching them demanding both him and you to surrender. Worthless little creatures, they thought they could give orders to him, the most perfect form of life on Earth. He had slashed all of them the next moment, pools of their blood dirtying the floor and spreading further to metal walls: apparently, despite them still being able to use Ripple, their power had deteriorated greatly to the point they only posed a threat to a fellow human being, someone as frail and delicate as you.

Turning to face you still on your knees, he saw your wide eyes, tears streaming down your cheeks while you covered your mouth with your hands: was your God more terrifying than you had imagined him to be? Did you think he would forgive those who made a mistake of challenging him, the most powerful being the Earth had ever hold? Silly little girl, there were so many things you had to learn about him, the God you were destined to worship and love with your whole being.

"Stand up, woman." He said, watching you tremble and trying to wipe away your tears, not knowing what you had to say to the God you finally saw in all his glory. "I demand you to leave with me before the sun rises. Gather whatever belongings you need for a long journey, we will depart soon."

You bowed to him deeply, afraid to open your mouth and say something your God would consider inappropriate, and hurried to take your bag, quickly putting everything you considered important in it while Kars stepped closer to the pathetic beings, consuming what was left of them and feeling the power coursing through his body, filling him with warmth he had craved for so long. That little vial you brought was truly worthy of him, and Kars felt satisfied it was you who found him in the sands in the middle of nowhere. He would take you with him while he would try to resurrect the Earth as he remembered it, bringing the balance to it and watching it flourish once again.

"Apollo, I have taken everything." You whispered to him timidly, forgetting you were using that fictional name you gave him.

Kars chuckled, marching through your hideout flooded with blood of his enemies. If you needed to compare him to some stupid Greek god so desperately, you should have chosen Hades.

[agirldying]

a little update

I got the Mirena iud yesterday morning and I just wanted to talk about my experience because I feel like it's not often talked about and I think it's important that people know what getting it can look like. If medical procedures and problems squick you out or trigger you then feel free to skip this post (it's long).

Honestly I was really excited to get it done, I really had my game face on and I was like "What's the worst that could happen?"

So the gyno told me to take cytotec vaginally the night before which I didn't realize is literally a labor induction pill but. I took it at like 10pm and went to bed early because the appointment was for 9am and not only does it take an hour to get there but I was instructed to take 600mg of motrin an hour before the procedure.

I woke up at 2am to cramping that was worse than my periods which are usually heavy and painful. I decided to take a motrin but the cramping was so bad I started convulsing and shaking and for a moment I wondered if I should go to the hospital but tried to just go back to sleep knowing I had to wake up early.

Then I woke up at 4 and went to the bathroom just to cramp over the toilet, at this point I felt a little nauseous so I sat in front of the toilet for a while but nothing came up so I decided to just go back to bed. I went back to the bathroom a couple times and it started frustrating me to the point where I remember crying but not being able to shed any tears. I remember lying wide awake in bed staring at the clock reading 4:38am, just in so much pain that I started dissociating. I felt the pain spreading from my uterus to my ovaries, then my thighs, then my stomach.

Then I woke up at 6am, went back to the bathroom, and as I was heading back to bed I realized that I was much more nauseous than before, especially while walking, and at this point I just wanted to get it over with so I grabbed my garbage pail and walked around until I started dry heaving and then I ran to the bathroom and threw up. I sat on the bathroom floor until my nausea subsided and woke my mom up to tell her I had thrown up, so we ended up starting our morning at 6:30 in the morning.

I waited impatiently for 8am to take the motrin. Dumbass me took 6. I legitimately thought 1 pill = 100mg. 1 pill actually = 200mg. So I had accidentally overdosed on motrin but didn't know. Right after I took the pills I had 2 slices of banana and morsels of a chocolate chip muffin I bought from the grocery store. I wanted to eat more but I was literally forcing myself to chew. I felt so weak that I kept dropping my head and arms and when I got in the car (my mom drove) I put the seat back and lied down. But not even 15 minutes into the drive I sat up and hunched over in pain, and just started crying because I was looking around at everyone walking on the street and envying their painlessness.

The next eventful part was when the procedure actually started and I told my gyno about the previous night and morning, and she was surprised and apologetic, and said that its uncommon to react severely like that.

The procedure itself really wasn't that bad, they injected some numbing medication in my uteran opening (i don't know terms leave me alone lol) and then used a clamp thing to hold it open. my uterus rejected the iud the first try but the second try worked and let me tell you. The feeling the first few minutes of that iud inside me was SO painful, not only did I feel it in my entire uterus but my lower back as well, and the pain was so severe that I started shaking again and threw up my breakfast.

Thankfully the nurses were really nice and they pet me and let me rest until my body calmed down and then they gave me an ultrasound to make sure the iud was in place. Then I told the gyno that I had taken 6 motrin and she stared at me and was like,,, that's double what you should've taken. and I was like... uh oh. what might happen? and she said renal failure, i asked what that meant, and she said kidney failure, and i was like oh shit. so she left the room, came back in after a while and asked how much i weigh so she could determine the toxicity level, but then she realized that I had very likely thrown it up with my breakfast and just let me rest for a bit longer to make sure I wasn't dizzy. She also said that I could've been throwing up because of how much motrin I ingested as well.

Soon enough I was cleared to get dressed and leave. When I got dressed I realized that there was a lot of blood on the table so I decided to go to the bathroom and put a pad on. What was interesting was that as soon as my body calmed down I still felt an aching in my uterus but it was just localized to the uterus as opposed to the cramping I was feeling in my ovaries from the cytotec. So somehow the iud overrode the cramping from the pill and honestly I was perfectly fine with that since this was a dull ache in comparison.

The pain very quickly went away entirely and I am no longer in any kind of pain but my body is still incredibly fatigued from the lack of sleep, the pain, throwing up, and also just the shaking. I took a long nap when I got home and now (the next day) I'm actually still really weak but other than that I'm feeling good.

If you read this whole thing than here's your special medal:

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Resident Evil 8 characters but as parts from the report I wrote on a high school production of Carrie the musical

because i don’t have any ideas for a real post

Ethan- As “When There’s No One” fades out and the applause dies away, we all think to ourselves: There’s no way it can get worse. Not after that. There’s hope now!

And then the rest of the cast says, “Yo, watch this” because even though the bar was already so low, they brought a shovel.

Alcina- In the scene that comes after, Carrie and Tommy don’t even interact because Carrie walks offstage before Tommy can even ask if she was okay after being harassed by Billy. This creates no kind of relationship between them. Anyone could take Carrie to Prom and it would make no difference. In fact, I think I would prefer to watch one of the ensemble lesbians take the extremist Christian girl to Prom. I would rather watch the ensemble lesbains, full stop. That would be way more interesting than this trainwreck.

Heisenberg- Carrie the song goes about as hard as the actress does- so not at all. If it’s not the way she pronounces words weirdly, then it’s the way she strains to hold the high notes at the end to the point where I just muted the volume so I wouldn’t have to hear her screeching like a jungle bird in heat.

Donna- Carrie completely butchers “The Destruction”, and the massacre itself is clumsy and hard to watch without getting embarrassed for all the kids. I mean, Carrie fucking makes two girls basically do goddamn ballet before killing them.

Moreau- It’s going to have to go in the G ranking, and there isn’t even a G ranking on the chart.

Mother Miranda- She was better off tying a noose out of those towels and hanging Carrie with them because she was doing nothing to make the girl feel better.

Angie- During the period scene, Carrie should be more embarrassed by her acting rather than getting her period for the first time because she doesn’t even seem shaken by what was going on. She just seems mildly inconvenienced by the whole event. And they don’t even try with the period thing at all because Carrie comes out wearing KNEE-HIGH SOCKS AND FLATS.

Bela- In terms of support, “Unsuspecting Hearts” was about as comforting as my parents telling me to not be anxious when I tell them about my anxiety. It’s like going onto a vent chat on a Discord server and talking about how your depression is making you want to cut yourself and the other people tell you to simply “not hurt yourself” like you hadn’t thought of that before, but this time those people are tone deaf and singing so badly you want to take that razor blade and cut your own ears off.

Cassandra- But even worse than all of that: they make Carrie die during the Prom seemingly for no fucking reason. She just drops to the ground and Sue appears out of nowhere and then she fucking dies, which means Margaret’s line about sacrificing Carrie makes no sense, Margaret is still alive, and Carrie dies an unrepetant monster. Like, I didn’t think this show could get any worse, but Dutchtown continues to prove me wrong time and time again because this is plain garbage. I feel sorry for Margaret for having to be grouped with this cast.

If you find yourself wanting to watch this version of Carrie, I suggest you rip open your stomach, pull out your small intestines, and then hang yourself with them, because that would be less painful than torturing yourself with this production.

Daniela- “In”? More like “Out” because I want to get out of this fucking video and watching something good.

[myrandomfandomramblings]

Making memories - a Chenford fanfic

For Chenfordficweek2021 - as described by @therookiebook

Instead of a fic a day for chenford fic week I decided to just write one incorporating as many prompts as possible. This is because when I read them a few just connected in my head and then I had way to much fun seeing how many I could kinda incorporate. Some of the quotes aren’t word for word but the lines are inspired by the original prompt.

*Note: my beach fic was also inspired by this prompt list but I got antsy and posted it early so if you haven’t read it, you can check it out.

Main prompt: Road Trip

Other prompts:

July 11th- 

"Is that you...singing? Since when can you sing?" 

"I wish we could stay like this forever." 

Fight 

"You're comfier than a pillow." 

July 12th- 

With Child(ren)- theirs or not

"I fucked up."

"Where have you been?" 

July 13th- 

"You're crushing me." "I can't breathe with you on me." 

"Stay here." 

"What do you want?" 

July 14th- 

"I'm calling the police." "We are the police." 

"Don't move." 

"That a new dress?" 

Sweet tooth

July 15th- 

Locked out (Car/house/station) 

"Stop hogging all the blankets." 

"Why are you bleeding?" 

"Make me." 

July 16th- 

Shopping together or for the other 

Getting lost

"Is that my shirt?" 

Under the stars

July 17th- 

Competition 

Tears 

"Why are you so late?" 

When Lucy arrives in role call and hears she’s partnered with Tim for the day, she’s excited. When she hears they are to wear civvies and take Tim’s truck to surveil a suspect, she’s confused. And when said suspect drives further and further out of LA and they are instructed to keep on his tail, she’s annoyed. If she didn’t know better she’d think some writer designed the assignment purely because it was convenient for their story. Nevertheless, this is her life: crashing at a random hotel nearly nine hours from LA, after finally being relieved of surveillance detail, by the local sheriffs department, at 2:30am. The plus side is she’s being paid overtime, not only for the late night but also for the commute back to the city tomorrow. The down side is despite being exhausted she twists and turns all night unable to get comfortable in the strange environment. So when Tim knocks on the adjoining door between their rooms at 10am she’s already been up for a few hours. She has written a journal entry in her notes, preordered drinks for them to pick up at Starbucks and spent more time than she’d like to admit on google maps and various travel sites researching their trip home. She has also found time to plunder the continental breakfast and is currently demolishing a strawberry danish and a cinnamon bun. This earns criticism from Tim, whose plate carries sausage, eggs and an orange.

By 11am they’re on the open road again, coffees in the console between them. The small talk they had been making since they left the hotel had slowly died out so now they sit in comfortable silence. That is until Lucy reaches over to turn on the radio. 

“You know how I feel about car radios Chen,” Tim warns in his best TO voice. 

“Even off shift?” Lucy scoffs, and continues to press the on button and turn the volume dial up. Nevertheless, nothing happens.

“Looks like it doesn’t work anyway,” Tim states as he continues to hold the volume down button on the steering wheel, unbeknownst to Lucy.

“Fine then I’ll be the radio.” “You like Lady Marmalade, right?” She’s referencing Tim’s LA CLEAR security answer but she doesn’t wait for his reaction or reply before beginning to belt out the opening lyrics.

As she sings his initially surprised expression, morphs to shock and then awe. 

“Since when can you sing?” he asks when she finishes.

She just shrugs, looking down at her hands as they begin to fiddle in her lap.  

“Now I wish the radio really was broken,” Tim states as he turns it on and music starts playing.

Lucy shoots him a quick death glare before turning her attention back out the window.

---

By noon Lucy’s singing quietly along to the music (causing Tim to reevaluate his opinion on car radios) when she suddenly sneezes then freezes as her eyes go wide.

“Ah, can you stop at the next place with a bathroom?” she asks bashfully.

“We haven’t even been driving that long can you hold it?”

“Find me a bathroom or your truck will be covered in blood,” Lucy says, her tone conveying urgency.

“What? Why are you bleeding?” Tim asks, confused.

“If you don’t know why I, a woman, would be bleeding and thus need a bathroom then the public school system failed you.”

 “Oh, ah, right, sorry,” Tim stutters, “I think there’s a small town at the next exit.”

“Thank-you,” Lucy replies clearly relieved.

“Do we need to find a drug store or do you have what you need?’

“Ya, if you could find a drug store.” She’s fiddling again, unable to shake the feeling of embarrassment even though she knows, rationally, she has nothing to be embarrassed about.

Several minutes later Tim’s pulling into the drug store parking lot and Lucy’s unbuckling her seat belt to run in. But as soon as she stands up Tim’s voice stops her.

“Wait Luce.” There’s a tenderness to his voice especially when he uses the new nickname that stops her more than the instruction itself. “I think we’re too late.” 

Lucy looks down at the seat she just vacated to see its center now decorated with a dark red stain. A matching stain is present on the butt of the long yellow dress she’s wearing. 

“Of course,” she spits as she tries to fight back tears that are already running down her cheeks.

“That a new dress?” Tim questions awkwardly, caught off guard by the sudden display of emotion.

Lucy lets out a choked laugh as Tim flounders to find something helpful to say.

“I ruined your truck, I ruined my dress and now I have to walk around the drug store with a giant stain on my ass,” Lucy sniffs.

“Hey Lucy, everything’s going to be okay.” He reaches across the console to put a hand on her shoulder. “Stay here. I’ll go in and get what you need.”

She stares at him surprised and unsure. The idea of him buying her tampons and pads and, she realizes, new underwear seems uncomfortably intimate.

“So, ah, what do you want?”  

Because she has no desire to walk around the store with a giant blood stain on her butt she gives him her order, eyes down, face turning redder by the second.

He just nods and returns a few minutes later with three grocery bags and immediately hands them to her.

Inside she finds much more than she requested. The first bag contains two chocolate bars, two bags of candy, and two bottles of water. The second holds 6 different packages of assorted pads and tampons.

“How much blood do you think someone loses on their period,” Lucy teases.

Tim gives a small shrug. “I didn’t know which kind you wanted.” 

Inside the third bag Lucy finds a bottle of Advil, a package of wet-wipes, a spray bottle of stain remover, a new package of underwear (simple white cotton), a pair of black tights and a box of black garbage bags. 

“What are these for?” she asks holding up the garbage bags.

“They didn’t have any shirts so I thought we could make some head and arm holes and-“ he stops talking when he sees Lucy’s unimpressed expression. “I know it’s not ideal.” 

“Good thing I already have that figured out,” she says holding up a plaid button up. 

“Is that my shirt?” He had taken it off as soon as he got in the car, since like usual he had a henley underneath, and thrown it into the back. Lucy must of retrieved it while he was in the store. 

“Please,” she says fixing him with those puppy dog eyes. “I promise I won’t get blood on it. Well, I’ll do my best. Please don’t make me wear a garbage bag.” 

He laughs. “I forgot I had that. I guess I didn’t need these.” He takes the garbage bags from her and is about to throw them in the back when Lucy speaks up.

“Actually I’ll take one,” she says ripping the cardboard and freeing a single bag. She proceeds to rip a hole in the top of the garbage bag and pulls it over her legs like a skirt. Then she puts Tim’s plaid shirt on overtop. Tim is watching her with raised eyebrows.

“What? It’s just temporary. I promised I wouldn’t get blood on your shirt.” She puts everything she needs in her bag and goes into the bathroom to clean herself up. When she returns Tim is just finishing cleaning the blood off the passenger seat. 

“I would have done that.”

 “It was no trouble.” “Here spray some of this on your dress before the stain sets,” Tim offers as he hands her the stain remover.

Lucy does then drapes her dress over the backseat.

“Ready to go,” Tim asks.

 Lucy nods and by 1pm they’re back on the road.

 ---

By 2pm they’re both hungry and decide to stop for lunch. The place they choose is a fast food joint connected to a gas station. It’s busy. Probably because it’s the only place to eat for miles around. While they wait in line to order, Lucy goes to use the bathroom, only to find another line just as long. She decides to try the gas station bathroom instead, telling Tim that she’ll be right back but if he gets to the front first he knows her order. He goes to argue but she’s already gone, which is probably a good thing since he has no rebuttal, considering it’s the truth. 

A few minutes later Tim has their food: a veggie burger with extra pickles and fries for her and a burger and fries for him, but she still isn’t back. He wanders over to the gas station to find her standing in line at the register. 

“Put the candy back Chen.”

“Make me,” she says shaking the bags as she holds them by her shoulders.

Tim reaches for them but Lucy moves to evade his grasp. “Too slow,” she teases.

“You’ve already had two pastries, one bag of candy, a chocolate bar and a frappa-cappa-crapacciuno or whatever.”

“It was a chai tea latte and you know it.”  

“It was more sugar than anything and we still have more candy in the car. You’re going to give yourself diabetes.” 

She shrugs. “It’s not a road trip without excessive amounts of junk food.” 

“It’s not a road trip. It’s a commute home.” 

“It’s whatever we make it,” she says as she taps her card to pay for the candy. 

They find a state park a few minutes up the road and unpack their lunch at one of the picnic tables. They talk as they eat, familiar banter flying across the table. As they near the end of their food Lucy is animatedly telling a story about a recent arrest. She has a french fry in one hand and as she gestures, a little too aggressively, a glob of ketchup flies off the end of the fry and right into Tim’s face. 

She sinks down a little in her seat and covers her mouth to try to suppress a laugh.

“Did you just throw ketchup at me Chen?” he glares as he slowly removes the offending condiment.

“Not on purpose,” she giggles.

“If you start a fight you better be prepared to finish it,” he says as he rips open a package of mustard and squirts it at her.

Although it has poor projectile power a small amount lands in Lucy’s hair. She looks back at him mouth wide. “That was on purpose. That’s assault. I’m calling the police.”

“We are the police,” Tim deadpans as he rips the top off another mustard package.

“You wouldn’t” Lucy warns as she opens a mayo.

Then words are abandoned as condiments fly. They go through 5 ketchup, 3 mustard, 2 mayo, 1 bbq sauce, 1 ranch dressing, 1 aioli and 1 pepper packet before they both surrender. In fact the only packets left untouched are the hot sauce and salt. Both their faces are covered in assorted condiments. Most that had been scooped off the picnic table and smeared directly onto their target when it became clear the packets could barely project their contents a foot. The only one that was truly an effective weapon was the pepper which successfully gave Tim a sneezing fit. 

As they sit back down to finish the last bit of their lunch Lucy picks up a fry and runs it along Tim’s cheek then throws it in her mouth. 

“Not bad,” she says as Tim makes a face of disgust.

When the last fries are gone they throw out their garbage, wipe down the picnic table, then turn their attention to themselves.

“It’s a good thing I bought these wipes,” Tim says as he passes one to Lucy. 

She laughs as she takes it and begins to wash her face. 

“Did I get it all?” she asks when she thinks she’s done. “Because you didn’t,” she adds as she reaches up to wipe the side of his mouth.

He’s startled at first then his expression morphs into something she can’t quite read but something that makes her linger just a little longer than strictly necessary. Then she steps away and climbs into the drivers seat and by 3pm they’re back on their way.

---  

By 4pm Lucy’s in the middle of a seemingly endless monologue about the bachelor franchise when she looks over to realize that Tim is fast asleep. She would be insulted but instead she sees it as an opportunity. She starts to take every turn she can. Whenever she comes to an intersection she turns on to the smallest street. By the time Tim wakes up, about half an hour later (of course he would have is body trained to nap the ideal more than 20, less than 40 minutes), they are in the middle of nowhere. She waits until he’s fully awake then slams on the brakes.

“I’ve been shot. Where are we, Tim?” she demands in her best Tim Bradford voice. He looks out all the windows to see nothing but ranches then back at her, confusion clear on his face.

“Did you get us lost just so you could prove a point?” His tone an odd combination of annoyance and amusement.

“We’re not lost I’m taking the scenic route.” 

 “I’m pretty sure the scenic route is supposed to run along the ocean not through the desert in the middle of no where.” 

“We’re not in the middle of no where we are North of Martinus Corner at the intersection of Cross Rd and and Lockwood Jolon Rd,” she brags. 

“Great you know where we are. Do you know how to get us back onto the main road?”

“It’s not all about the destination, you know, It’s about the journey,” Lucy offers. “When’s the last time you did something just for the fun of it.”

“We go for a hike or a walk along the beach with Kojo every weekend.”

“I know I’m fun to be around,” she teases, “but that’s an errand, Tim, the dog needs exercise.” 

“I see your point but what are we supposed to do in the middle of ranch land? You want to go cow tipping?”

“We won’t be in ranch land for long,” Lucy replies, but half an hour and at least twenty turns later they’re still surrounded by fields and livestock.

“Will you admit you’re lost now?” Tim asks.

Lucy sighs, “Fine, can you please google map how to get to Route 1”

“We were on 5.”

“5’s the freeway. 1’s the scenic route,” Lucy explains. “the one that runs along the ocean.”

Before Tim can bring up the app they’re emerging into a small city centre. As Lucy continues down the main street she excitedly points ahead. 

“Let’s go bowling,” she says indicating the bowling alley sign.

“I thought you wanted to go to the ocean.”

“We can still take the scenic route home, after we go bowling.”

Tim sighs.

“Come on let’s have some fun, make some memories,” Lucy encourages.

“You’re not going to take no for an answer.”

Lucy shakes her head and happily pulls into the bowling alley parking lot.

Several minutes later they have their bowling shoes on and their names entered in the computer on lane 4. Tim goes first and immediately gets a strike.

“You want to put money on this game Chen?” he asks cockily.

“Lucky shot,” Lucy replies. “I’m not betting money but if you win I’ll let you pick the route home but if I win you can’t complain when we take the scenic route.

“Deal,” he says shaking her hand.

Lucy goes next and gets two gutter balls in a row. “Why didn’t we get the bumpers?”

“The bumpers are for kids.”

On her third throw she throws the bowl with two-hands after swinging it between her legs.

“Speaking of for kids,” Tim teases.

“Don’t argue with results,” she counters as her ball connects with the pins.

They continue going back and forth, Tim using the classic one-handed bowling throw and Lucy trying a different technique each time. She tries sitting down and pushing it down the lane, pulling out the ball slide meant for toddlers, standing backwards and throwing the ball between her legs but eventually settles on the two-handed granny throw. 

By half-way through the game Tim’s score is double Lucy’s and he starts to get cocky. He throws with his eyes closed, on one-foot and after spinning in a circle 10 times. 

3 quarters through the game the black lights come on and they laugh at each others teeth glowing in the dark. The disco lights and music follow. Then Lucy who had been giggling and joking around all game suddenly becomes serious. 

“I have two more turns and I really want a strike,” she states. She has a couple spares on the board but strikes remain elusive. Tim on the other hand has three.

“Can I show you? he questions handing her a ball.

He initially tries to coach her through the throw but she isn’t catching on so he steps behind her, puts his hand over hers and leans into her back as he guides her through the motion. The ball knocks over all but one pin but Lucy almost misses it because she’s looking up at Tim. He lets go and steps back.

“You think you can do that on your own next turn?” he asks shaking the huskiness from his voice.

She nods. Tim bowls, then it’s the moment of truth as Lucy throws her ball imaging Tim’s arm along hers, guiding it. The bowl rolls straight down the alley where it connects with the pins and knocks them all down. STRIKE flashes on the computer screen as Lucy jumps for joy then right into Tim for a celebratory hug. He’s initially surprised but is able to catch her and himself before they fall over. He spins them around as she laughs and he’s suddenly really glad Lucy made him stop.

With that the game is over. Tim’s still ahead but the margin had narrowed. They return their bowling shoes and head out to the truck.

“Fine you win this time, we can go back to the interstate but I want a rematch. I’m thinking mini-golf or the arcade,” Lucy says as she pulls out of the parking lot. 

“Nah, go to the 1,” Tim says as he starts to read the directions off his phone.

Lucy looks at him quizzically but doesn’t push her luck. By 6pm they’re driving along the ocean.

---

By 7pm, although it’s not that late, it’s already dark. That combined with her lack of sleep the night before is making Lucy sleepy. When she yawns for the third time in less than 20 minutes Tim suggests they switch drivers. Lucy happily obliges pulling into the next rest stop. During the day it would have a beautiful view of the ocean but now all one can see is darkness. The only evidence of the ocean’s presence being the rhythmic, crashing of waves against the base of the cliff below.

They pull into the abandoned lot; Lucy takes her time backing into a spot, mostly just to annoy Tim and they both get out, reflexively closing their doors behind them. As they pass each other Tim holds his hand out for the keys. 

“I just left them in the ignition,” Lucy explains. Tim looks over to the truck then back to her a look of defeat on his face.

“Your doors lock automatically, don’t they?” Lucy asks rhetorically, “I fucked up.” 

They try the doors just in case but sure enough they’re locked. 

“Well it could be worse,” Tim offers much to Lucy’s surprise, “at least it’s not running.” “I’ll call Angela and see if I can convince her to grab the extra set of keys from my house and come meet us but its going to be a couple hours.” 

Lucy nods. “Thank-you and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Tim shrugs, “we’re making memories remember.” Then without another word we walks away from her as he hits a button on his phone and puts it to his ear. The conversation doesn’t last long. Angela obliges but insists that Tim now owes her one. He thinks she still owes him a couple from everything he did as her man of honour but decides now isn’t the time to bring that up. When he hangs up he finds Lucy has lowered the tailgate of his truck, where she now sits. She’s shivering, arms wrapped around herself, but she’s smiling as she looks up at the sky. 

“You can see the stars here,” she explains hearing him approach, “away from the lights and smog of the city.” 

Tim climbs up into the bed of his truck and removes a stack of old moving blankets from the storage box he keeps in the back. 

“Angela’s on her way but in the meantime we should stay warm.” He wraps one around Lucy’s shoulders. Then lays the rest on the floor of the truck bed. 

“Good thing I left these in after helping Tamara move last weekend.” He shimmies his way in-between two layers then taps the spot beside him, inviting Lucy to join. She climbs in beside him eager for more warmth. With the sun gone the temperature had dropped fast. 

Lucy pulls up an app on her phone and hands it to Tim so he can identify constellations for them while her hands and arms stay hidden under the blankets. Then they lay down and look-up at the stars. Tim uses the app to find constellations, points them out to Lucy, then reads the story about them provided by the app. Meanwhile Lucy snuggles deeper and deeper into the blankets. Tim stops in the middle of the story he’s reading about the the swan constellation as the blankets are pulled off his torso. 

"Stop hogging all the blankets,” he complains pulling them back.

“Sorry, I’m freezing,” she confesses. 

He pauses for a second clearly debating something internally before opening his arm out to the side. “Then come closer,” he finally says. 

She hesitates for a second before slowly moving to snuggle against his side. The possibility of warmth far outweighing any awkwardness she’s feeling. She rests her head on his chest. She can feel his heart racing to match her own and can’t help but smile to herself.

“Better?” he asks once she’s finished squirming around trying to maximize her view of the stars and the amount of body heat she’s receiving from him.

”You're comfier than a pillow,” she confirms, nodding. 

Tim doesn’t respond just wraps his arm around her shoulders. He continues to point out constellations and read the stories in Lucy’s app. 

“None of the constellations actually look like their name sakes,” Lucy says after a while.   

“You have to use your imagination.” 

“I could use my imagination to name my own constellations.” 

He shrugs. “Go for it.” 

She finds a cluster of stars that vaguely resembles a duck. She points it out to Tim then makes up a story about a duck that joined the LAPD and saved the city from a gang of geese. When she’s finished she turns to Tim,. “Your turn.”

He gives her his best ‘not happening’ look but he’s met with those pleading brown eyes that hold more power over him than he’ll ever admit and caves almost instantly.

He points out an X made of stars. “That is where the space pirates buried their treasure.” Lucy looks up at him expectantly. “The end,” he finishes.

“That’s your whole story? One sentence.”

“I’m not as creative as you.”

“Then tell a real story,” she says, “here I’ll go first.”

She points to a jumble of stars. “That is Caligula’s toy chest,” she says then proceeds to describe in great detail all the filthy, horrid things she had seen the day he taught her the DEAR method.

“Why would you tell me that?” he asks when she is done.

“Now you share my pain.”

Tim laughs and points at four stars arranged in a rectangle. “That is the phone that was used too much at work.” He spends his entire story essentially mocking her for always being on her phone. Lucy would be annoyed or insulted but the amount of detail he remembers about the completely benign things she has done is kind of sweet and a little exhilarating.

She next finds a ’surf board’ and tells the story of a weekend getaway with some collage friends that ended with a black eye, a broken board and a lot of great memories. 

Tim follows suit finding a ‘football’ and telling the story of a particularly memorable championship game during his high school career. He’s half-way through his story when he interrupts himself. “You're crushing me,” he tells Lucy who is draped over his torso. “What are you even doing?” I can't breathe with you on me."

“I’m tucking in the blanket so our heat doesn’t escape,” she says as she pushes the edge of the blanket under Tim’s side along the length of his body. When she’s done she rolls off of him, cuddles back into his side then tucks the opposite blanket edge under herself. 

When Tim finishes his story they continue to go back and forth, learning more and more about each other each turn. Lucy tells stories from the time she spent travelling and working odd jobs, from her time as a psych major and her time in the academy. Tim talks about his family, his time in the army, and his early years on the force and with Isabel. 

He tells her about a colleague who despite being a great cop made the mistake of using his radio near an explosive and paid for it with his life. He is the reason Tim baby powder bombs every Rookie: so no other good officers will be lost because a critical piece of information was taught so dryly that it couldn’t possibly be recalled under pressure. 

She tells him about her ring as she twirls it around her finger. About how she found it in her grandma’s dress-up chest when she was six and it immediately became her favourite item. How every time she played dress-up the ring was part of the costume, whether she was a princess or a ninja, a cat or a witch, a clown or a police officer. How unlike her parents, who always thought she’d follow their career paths, her grandma always told her she could be anything she wanted. How when her grandma passed away she had found the ring again as she helped her parents pack up her things. How she had started wearing it to feel closer to her. How as she looked at the ring day after day she heard her grandma’s voice in her head:  “You can do anything you put your mind too,”  “the sky’s the limit,” “do what makes you happy.” How that made her realize she was not where she wanted to be and led to her decision to quit her Master’s program.  How her parents had chalked it up to grief and tried to use psychoanalysis to convince her to return. How that had pissed Lucy off and led to her applying to the LAPD. How she had continued to wear the ring as a reminder and motivator during her training. How much it had meant to her to have it returned. How now it not only symbolizes her grandma’s belief in her, but also Tim’s and her own. How it continues to give her strength.

As Lucy talks Tim rubs circles on her back as if connecting the stars that constitute Lucy’s ‘ring’ constellation. 

Just as she finishes she excitedly points up. “Look a shooting star!”

“Make a wish,” Tim advises.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.” She surprises herself by how quick and confident that comes out. She hadn’t even thought about it, but it is true. In this moment everything is perfect. She is no longer cold. She is warm and happy in her little burrito with Tim: wearing his shirt, listening to the ocean, surrounded by stars. 

Lucy half hears Tim name a constellation “the best boot I ever trained” and start to tell a Coles notes version of their story but she’s already falling asleep.

She wakes up some time later to Tim shifting beside her. 

“Don’t move,” she groans still half-asleep.“

“Ange is here Luce. It’s time to go home.” 

“Am home,” she mumbles before falling back asleep.

Tim manages to free himself from Lucy and the blankets. He shuffles out of the back of the truck and walks around it to meet Angela who is just getting out of her car.

“Where have you been,” Tim asks. 

“Driving.” 

“I mean, what took you so long?” 

“I thought you might be enjoying your alone time with Lucy more than you’d admit, so I didn’t rush.” 

He wanted to argue but he couldn’t. “Thank-you for coming.”

She shrugs. “Honestly, when your baby refuses to sleep anywhere but a moving car a 4 hour drive is not as inconvenient as it sounds.”

As if to prove her point the infant starts wailing from inside the vehicle.

Before Angela can move Tim’s opening her car door and removing his god child from the car seat. He holds the baby to his chest and starts rocking him. As the baby continues to scream and Tim continues to rock, sway and bounce, Lucy emerges from behind Tim’s truck seemingly woken by the crying.

“There’s my favourite little guy,” she coos as she approaches. “You’ve gotten so big. Next time I see you you’ll be taller than your Uncle Tim,” she continues as she rubs the baby’s back. Despite all the attention the baby continues to fuss.

“He’s hungry,” Angela explains. “Give him this,” she continues handing him a full bottle, “I pumped on the way here.”

“You pumped while driving?”

“It’s called multitasking.”

Tim takes the bottle and offers it to the baby who immediately begins suckling. While the baby drinks Lucy goes back to Tim’s truck and grabs some blankets. She gives one to Angela, drapes another over Tim and the little boy and wraps herself in the last. 

Over the next half an hour Tim and Lucy work together to feed, burp, and change the baby before putting him back in his carseat, all while his mother watches with a very amused expression. When he’s buckled in they say their goodbyes, thank Angela again, then head back to Tim’s truck, which is now unlocked.

By 10pm they are back on the road. They spend the rest of the drive cooing over baby Evers and talking about their own theoretical future kids. While conveniently avoiding any mention of theoretical future spouses or co-parents.

By midnight Lucy is just getting home. As she walks through the door she sees Jackson on the couch watching TV. 

“Why are you so late?” he asks turning towards her.

“Long story.” 

“Is that Tim’s shirt?” 

“Longer story.” 

“Aha,” Jackson says giving her a knowing look.

She just rolls her eyes and goes to get ready for bed. She falls asleep almost immediately and dreams of sweets and stars, babies and bowling and a life with Tim.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird:  The Hand of Andromeda Ch. 2 ( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps) (New chapters will be posted first to patreon and then moved here)

The Ageis system was not what one would consider a pinnacle world of civilization in an age of interstellar travel. At best it was a backwater system deep in unclaimed space between the Rylon Collective and Havatal Republic the system with only one habitable planet, Ageis Prime.

The planet itself was largely barren, consisting of entire continents of jagged rocks and acidic seas. Only a small belt of land near the equator was remotely capable of sustaining life and supported small clusters of forests isolated from the harsh surrounding landscape.

First development of the planet was made by the Xlaxon Mining Guild when a remote probe of theirs scanned the system and found valuable minerals scattered around the planet. Shortly after a group of indentured laborers were imported to the planet and a mining operation was established, initially consisting of a landing pad, machine shop, processing facility, and several other living quarters.

Just as the operation was about to get underway however the Xlaxon Mining Guild found itself drawn into what is now known as the “Guild Wars”, which were a series of escalating conflicts fought between rival mining organizations. To put it mildly the Xlaxon’s did not last long and were quickly consumed by a larger guild. In the confusion of the guild wars the newly establish mining operation on Ageis Prime was lost in paperwork and quickly became further isolated from the rest of the galaxy.

With no overseers left and a semi functional colony all to themselves the newly transplanted workers began to form their own society on the planet and carved out a small patch of the planet they could call their own. It was nothing to brag about, but given their limited resources they made due. Several years passed before the planet would encounter a small group of mercenaries that would change their destiny forever.

A group of mercenaries calling themselves “The Fishermen” landed on the planet, which had now grown into a dense urbanized city, looking to finally establish a base of operations. There was initial resentment from the inhabitants as the established ruler of the planet, a self-proclaimed warlord known as “Kevin the Heartless”, ordered his enforcers to drive off the mercenaries. The battle was swift and the better trained and armed mercenaries easily overpowered the enforcers with the struggle finally ending when the warlord himself had his head bitten off and spit out by the mercenary’s Predatorian leader.

The inhabitants were surprised to find their new overlord was much more merciful than they had expected. While the mercenaries did establish themselves on the planet they also brought with them a vast amount of wealth from numerous sources. The normal baggage train of any military group flocked to the planet and set up shop. Bars, brothels, weapons dealers, mechanic shops, and even an official branch of the intergalactic bank quickly set up as the mercenary band began to sell out their services. As their fame grew the group not only enriched themselves but oddly enough began investing in the planets community’s as well.

Schools and hospitals were built for the growing population, a new police force and government system was established for official recognition and participation by the people of Ageis Prime, and most beneficial of all were several terraforming towers that were installed around the planet which began replacing the harsh world with an increasingly comfortable climate. With all of these improvements the general population lauded the Fishermen and heaped praise after praise on to them.

In the span of three years Ageis Prime had gone from a forgotten backwater to the galactic hub of the dead zone of unclaimed space; a pillar of civilization in the dark void of forgotten space.

Yet for all their generosity, the Fishermen still controlled everything from the shadows. It was an unspoken law of the land that nothing of importance was done without their leader’s approval. Even to run in an election a nominee had to first come see their boss and present him or herself to see if they’d amuse the Predatorian; if he didn’t find them amusing than they were expected to drop out, lest an unfortunate accident befall them.

At any given time the mercenary group was contracted out between ten to fifteen jobs ranging from basic security details for high value personnel and facilities, to waging wars on distant planets on part of an ad hoc detachment. This abundance of work was rather common as both the Rylon Collective and Havatal Republic lacked the means to enforce their wills in the unclaimed systems between their two borders. This didn’t even come close to the dozen or so different criminal groups that inhabited this unclaimed space who were always in need of additional muscle.

There were of course rival organizations to the Fishermen such as the Abvara Syndicate, Pelpens Pirates, the Brotherhood of Orion, and the Band of the Hig who each had their own sizable forces; yet each of them were constantly switching between periods of stability and bloody internal struggles for leadership. This facet was not seen inside the Fishermen thanks not only to their structuring, but also to the visionary leader that formed and continued to lead the group even now.

Sitting at the very top of the organization was the Predatorian, a massive mound of raw muscle, sharpened teeth, and with a twisted sense of humor only psychopaths could fully appreciate. Rising from a former slave he had first formed the Fishermen from the same slaves he was freed alongside during a bloody slave uprising. After taking control of ship that had once held them captive he steered it to the nearest port and sold it off, then used the funds to train and equip the slaves into a standard fighting force.

His name was Mr. B.

No one in the organization knew if that was his real name or not but what they did know was not to mock it. The last person that did had their fingers bitten off one at a time by Mr. B before they were thrown out on to the street. Mr. B later said that hearing all their jokes about his name had made him hungry for some “finger food”. He was ruthlessly efficient in his work and he expected that from all those under him. His combat experience was rivaled only by the commando units of the galactic governments. Yet for all his combat talent and training he was not as skilled when it came to logistics and the day to day operations common for such a large group. Thus he was greatly benefited by his second in command who was aptly proficient in such matters at such a young age.

A nine and a half year old human child named Lizzy Stalwart.

If there was little known about Mr. B there was even less known about his adopted daughter Lizzy Stalwart. Freed from the same slave ship Mr. B had been previously held, she had been by his side ever since. Rumor was she had been the one to trigger the mass unlocking of cells on the ship which led to the ship wide revolt of slaves against their captors.

While Mr. B handled the military aspects of the group it was Lizzy that managed the books. She had a keen insight for numbers and was always able to keep the group well-armed and fed as they went contract to contract. A common saying among the grunts of the organization was that you’d never run out of blood with Mr. B, and never run out of bullets with Lizzy Stalwart.

Despite his brutish demeanor, Mr. B had a natural soft spot for Lizzy and he had taken her under his fin so to speak and had come to see her as his daughter. The two of them were set to take on whatever the galaxy could throw at them, and they had an army behind them to throw it right back for payback.

The transport shuttle slowly descended to street level before killing the thrusters. The bus driver checked his systems and pulled open the door latch to the street.

“Fisher HQ!” they called out to the passengers behind them.

Vick grabbed his satchel bag and hefted it over his should as he stood up and made his way to the door.

“Let me guess,” the bus driver said as he finally reached the front; his eyes taking him in for a moment before he smirked, “trying to swim with the big boys?”

Vick smiled at the man as he got off but didn’t answer him. The shuttle thrusters kicked back on and the craft once again rose upwards into the air before speeding off down the road leaving Vick in the billowing cloud of dust it left behind.

He coughed several times and swiped the dust from his eyes before the cloud parted and revealed his final destination; the headquarters of the mercenary Fisherman.

It was a vast compound just outside of the city limits easily taking up nine city blocks in size. It held its own private landing pads, medical facilities, housing and training grounds, munition depots and manufactures... It was like an entire city itself dedicated to killing for money.

From the moment he had quit his dead end job as a dish washer of Veega Ce, Vick Novikov had thought of nothing but this moment. He had spent every credit he had ever saved to purchase his passage off world and the compact pistol strapped to his right thigh.

No longer would he be looked down on by those around him, no longer would people shove him out of their way as if he was garbage in the street, no longer would kids throw fucking rocks at him and laugh like the little shits they were.

Today Vick was going to become someone new, someone better, someone to be respected and feared.

Today, Vick was going to become a Fisherman.

[undyingskies]

Pregnancy Scare

Request: yes, “Hi! I never ask anyone for an imagine before so here's me shooting my shoot. Could you please write an imagine about the reader having a pregnancy scare? Maybe she's been feeling a bit sick and Owen makes a joke about her being pregnant and reader realize that she missed her period and the whole pregnancy scare while Owen is besides her supporting her no matter what. Thank you 💗”

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this one! I am hoping to have the Charlie fit out tomorrow, I am not sure yet but it is coming. I have a few more Owen requests to get done and I also have an idea for an Owen fic that maybe a two parter?? If people are into it! Thank you to everyone who has been liking my posts, following me, and sending requests! xoxo

Warnings: Brief mention of sex and moments of anxiety, but other than that it’s mostly just some fluff! 

—————————————————

It has been days. Days and days and days of feeling like complete and udder garbage. You couldn’t even turn in your bed without having nausea hit you like a truck.

As many days you haven’t been feeling well is the same amount of days you haven’t left your house and barely spoken to anyone.

You didn’t meant to ghost anyone, especially Owen your boyfriend, but you felt so gross that doing anything but sleep just seemed way too difficult. You just wanted this to end, you wanted to feel normal again.

You hear your front door open and you panic a little but then you hear your boyfriends voice. A smile forming on your face, you did miss him.

“Y/N where are you?? I decided that you couldn’t ignore me if I was here with you.” You hear him chuckle and he makes his way into your room. Practically busting the door open, the sound of it hitting the wall causing you to wince.

Did you mention that on top of the constant nausea, you always had a migraine to just top it off.

Owen notices you wincing and immediately feels bad. He knows you’ve had a migraine for days now and he think to himself that he should have been more careful.

“Aw baby, I’m sorry. I forgot for a second buuuut I do have some medicine for you. I have caffeine pills that will hopefully help with the migraine, as well as advil. I also brought a heating pad for your stomach and some ginger ale too.” He tells you, sitting beside you on your  bed. He leans down to place a kiss on your forehead.

“You don’t feel warm or like you have a fever so that must be a good sign.” He tells you.

“I guess, I don’t know what’s going on though.” You tell him moving to sit up and face him. Which was a mistake, a big one. The minute you moved your whole head started to spin and you felt your stomach turn.

You look at Owen panicked. You push him out of your way, your feet landing on the cold floor, taking you to the bathroom as fast as they could. You reach the toilet just in time as your stomach empties itself into the porcelain bowl.

Your stomach continued to empty itself, which is shocking because you’ve barely eaten anything the last few days. Your throat burning and you’re left sitting by the toilet heaving.

You miss Owen coming in the bathroom and sitting beside you on the floor. He has one hand pulling your hair out of your face and the other gently rubbing circles on your back hoping it would help you calm down.

It takes a few minutes for you to calm down and catch your breath again. You push yourself up a little and your back comes in contact with your tub, offering you some support to lean on. You pull your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around them. You let your head rest on top of them.

You peak up at Owen and give him the biggest smile you could muster. Which quite frankly is pathetic, which causes him to laugh a little.

He moves again to sit next to you, pulling your body into his side. You lean your head on his shoulder. The two of you just in silence for a little.

“Are you feeling any better now Y/N?”

“I guess, still feel super nauseous.” You tell him. “It’s been so many days now; I just want it to be over.”

“Dude maybe you’re pregnant!” Owen says laughing, thinking his joke would lighten the mood.

That’s when it hits you and it hits you like a truck. Pregnant. Oh my god. You didn’t even realize it but you haven’t had your period this month. How could you not realize that? You start to panic; how could you be so stupid? How did you not notice? You feel your thoughts spiraling.

“You okay baby? What’s going on in that head of yours.” Owen asks you now worried because of the look on your face. He moves your face to look right at him.

“I...I missed my period this month. I didn’t even realize until you just said that. Owen, I could be pregnant!” You say panicked, looking at his face carefully and seeing a similar panicked look come across his face.

“What do you mean Y/N? That can’t be, we haven’t had sex in a while. The last time was...”  He trails off and realization hits the both of you.

The last time you guys had sex was on a night out. You both had a few too many drinks and were left giggly and touchy all night. You’re usually both so good at using protection but due to the level of intoxication that night, neither of you were quite sure if you did use it or not.

“Okay, okay. So it is possible.” You say, more panic setting in at this realization. Owen can tell how freaked out you are, between the two of you, you’re usually the one to calm the situation down. This time it has to be him. He grabs both your hands in his.

“Look at me baby. It’s going to be okay, you and I, we will get through this. Let’s just take a breath in and out and calm down first, okay?” He says making direct eye contact with you and breathing in sync with you. You nod and breath with him for a few seconds.

“What are we gonna do O? What if I am pregnant?” You ask, worry setting in again.

“If you’re pregnant then you’re pregnant and we’re gonna be parents. It’s you and I baby. I have your back no matter what.” He tells you with a smile, your nerves slowly starting to calm down.

“How about this, you take a nice warm shower and I will go buy some tests. Do you feel good enough to get in there? I think it’ll help you calm down and feel better.” He asks you. You nod your head yes.

Owen is quick to grab you by your hands and help you stand up. He goes to turn the water on and letting it run so it can get warm for you. He turns to help you pull your sweatshirt, well his sweatshirt, over your head. He leans down to give you a kiss and help you step into the warm water.

Your stress washing down the drain with the water.

“I’ll be right back baby. Take your time and relax okay. I promise it’s nothing to get too worked up over, remember it’s you and I no matter what.” He leans into the shower to give you a kiss goodbye. Then he’s on his way to the store, a blush on his cheeks as he has to purchase pregnancy tests from a stranger.

You let the warm water caress your skin, trying to calm your thoughts down. You can’t help but let them wonder. Owen just started his career, a family would get in the way of that, besides your both still so young, you don’t even live together yet. How is adding a baby to that going to help? Well it’s not going to help, you think.

Sobs start to wrack through your body as you let your intrusive thoughts take over your mind. You don’t know how long you were in the shower or how long Owen was gone but the water started to get cold.

Owen stepped into the apartment and he immediately heard your sobs. He quickly runs into the bathroom and turns the water off. He pulls you out of the shower and wraps the towel around your body, helping warm you up again.

He has your body so close to his, that you couldn’t possibly get closer. He’s placing soft kisses to your head and whispering sweet nothings into your ear hoping to help you calm down.

He hears your sobs quieting down and your breathing start to return to normal.

“What happened baby? When I left you were doing fine.” He asks you worried again.

“I just started thinking about it all. Owen you just started your career, a baby, a family would get in the way of that! Plus we’re so young, how could we manage a family this young? And to top it off we don’t even live together yet, I don’t want a baby forcing us to move in together or force us to move faster than we want too.” You spew out, feeling a little better now that you got everything you were feeling out.

A little nervous at Owen‘s reaction. He places his hands under your chin and has you look at him.

“Baby I told you, it’s you and me. No matter what. None of that stuff matters, my career will be fine. A family and a baby would not ruin that in any way. And yes, we’re young but who cares, we would be able to handle it. A baby would not force us to move faster than we want too, I love you with my whole entire heart Y/N. Maybe it is time to start moving forward.” He tells you maintaining eye contact the whole time. You smile at his words and lean in to kiss him.

“How about you take the test now?” He says placing the box in your hand. He leaves the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

Moment of truth you think to yourself as you open the box and prepare to pee on that little stick.

You set a timer for two minutes and make your way out of the bathroom to sit next to Owen on your bed. Owen has another idea though and pulls you to sit on his lap. You tighten the towel around you and he snuggles his head into your neck.

You breath in and just enjoy this moment with Owen. His hot breath on your neck and his thumbs rubbing small circles on the exposed skin of your legs.

He’s right, it really is him and you, since the moment you guys got together. He has always had your back and never faltered either, you doing the same for him. The love you guys have for each other is that once in a lifetime type of love. You feel your nerves calm down yet again at your thoughts but they spike up once again at your alarm blaring.

Owen lifts his head to look at you.

“Guess this is it.” He says to you, grabbing your hand and you both make your way into the bathroom and to the sink. Your test placed upside down on the sink.

You look at each other and take a deep breath in as you move to flip the test over.

*Not Pregnant*  it reads. A sigh of relief leaving both of your lips. You turn to look at each other and laugh a little.

“Is it bad that I am relieved?” He asks you, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“No, not at all because same.” You tell him and lean in to give him a kiss. He wraps his arms around your waist.

“Thank you for being so sweet and the calm one throughout this.”

“Of course baby. Like I said the whole time it’s you and me, no matter what.” He leans in to give you a sweet kiss, all your negative and nervous thoughts fading at his words and lips on yours.

You really were so lucky to have him.

“Now how about that moving forward thing we were talking about. Maybe it is time to move in together?” He asks you his tone full of hopefulness.

“I think that’s a great idea.” You say smiling up at him. He leans in for another kiss.

You were now moving in with the love of your life and you could not be happier. The future was bright for the two of you.

[levinletlive]

I am Now a Week Out From Surgery.

Almost exactly, in fact, since I was released from the hospital around noon-thirty last Wednesday and I'm writing this as of noon-thirty today. I know I talked about my experience immediately post-surgery, but I thought I'd talk a little bit about the recovery too.

So, here are my notes from week one:

☼ Day One, Ground Zero ☼

I'm starting with the day of my surgery, from the minute I woke up. It has been exactly a week as of my writing this (or at least starting to write it) almost down to the minute, since it is now 12:32 p.m. and I was released officially at 12:34 p.m. the day of the procedure.

After I woke up, like most people after a surgery, I desperately needed to pee. I waited for a nurse to come check on me, but they didn't come by fast enough and I'm not ashamed to admit that I pissed myself because my bladder felt like it was about to pop. The nurses actually felt bad for not checking in sooner, and they brought a commode over because I was way too messed up to walk.

I think I set a personal record for most times peeing in a day following that. I went 3 times at the hospital and another 4 times at home. I was recovering from the anesthesia, but also on oxycodone and ibuprofen for the pain. The pain itself was pretty mild; it felt mostly like moderate menstrual cramps, and I was careful not to move around too much and find out how painful it could be. I basically just slept on and off the rest of the day and played on my Switch at night between microsleeps.

I did have to wear a pad for the first time since I started testosterone in 2019 because there was a bit of spotting, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Actually, pads fit remarkably well inside of boxers. The most uncomfortable thing about the boxers was that they pressed against the site a little, being elastic, but I just wore them lower than usual.

We had prepared my upstairs bedroom to be my recovery area, so everything I needed was at hand. I have a captain bed with three drawers, so I stocked them with snacks, medical supplies, and other items I thought I might want while I was healing. On the bed I had 4 pillows. Two went behind me to keep my head and chest elevated, one was on my stomach to protect me from bumping the incision sites, and another one was placed under my calves to keep my feet elevated and my back straight. It was weird sleeping on my back, but I wasn't comfortable enough yet to sleep on my side and it's advised to avoid sleeping on your stomach very soon after the operation.

☼ Days 2-3 Were a Blur ☼

I don't remember exactly which stuff happened on what day, but I do remember that when I woke up the day after the surgery, I felt pretty well-rested and relaxed. There was no pain outside of mild cramping, which I promptly tamped down with the oxy and ibuprofen. I was still swinging wildly between being awake and dozing off.

I couldn't move around a lot because I wasn't able to use my abs, and I had a cough from the intubation. I don't know if you've ever tried to cough without your abdomen, but I couldn't get enough pressure in my lungs to make a good, full cough. I mostly compensated by clearing my throat a lot, which made me sound like a garbage disposal. I managed the cough by eating some Werther's Original hard caramel candies. Those are a lifesaver when you have a sore throat and don't want to cough a bunch.

I was able to bathe myself by the third day. Even before surgery I had always sat on the floor of the tub when I showered because my hypermobility disorder makes me dizzy and breathless when standing for long periods, and a shower takes me (on average) 30 minutes to complete. I used my dandruff shampoo because my scalp was out of control, and I used a little bit of Dial Gold soft soap to just rinse off my belly and groin areas. I was still orange from the iodine they'd put on me in the operating room. It felt really good to be clean.

When I removed the velcro wrap the nurses had put me in, I was a little scared to look at the site. The incisions aren't actually that big. They're maybe a half-inch each, except for one longer one next to my belly button. That one is about an inch and a quarter. They're slim, like a cat's scratch. Not half as painful though, and no itching. A medical glue was used to seal them, and they're basically just scabs. They should be gone altogether in a week or two.

I still couldn't walk much, so I just paced from my room to the loft and back a couple of times each day. Other than that, I just watched Youtube videos and played on my Switch. I couldn't think straight enough to write and I my speech was a little slurred too.

My mom has been making non-stop soup. Chicken soup, potato soup, tortilla soup, beef stew, etc. The soup is nutritious and helps keep me hydrated and regular. I have also been craving cheese. Cheeseburgers and grilled cheese sandwiches, in particular.

☼ Days 4-5 I Fell and Couldn't Get Up ☼

My mom had a hysterectomy sometime last year, so she warned me not to do too much when I started to feel better. You'd think that I'd be laid up a lot longer, since an entire organ is now missing from my gut, but I was pretty alert by the following Sunday. I still couldn't walk much and going up and down the stairs took longer than usual. I had a friend over to hang out and she brought in some mail and packages I'd ordered, so I was having a good time opening them and checking out my new swag.

At one point, I tried to sit on an empty box to open the one I was previously sitting on. I don't know what I was thinking. As you might imagine, this poor, empty cardboard box could not support the load that is my absolute dump truck of an ass and it caved under me. I looked like a flipped turtle and couldn't get up without assistance. My friend had to pull me by both arms out of the box. I also had some additional spotting, which is a sign that I was doing too much and needed to chill out. So, we spent the rest of the day on the couch just shooting the shit and playing on our Switches next to each other, and that was nice.

The next day I started to realize I had some things I needed done that my mom wasn't able to do. I needed to have my sheets and blanket cleaned and replaced, but I couldn't lift my mattress so there were spots I couldn't reach without risking injury. I also had a couple of 40 lb. bags of cat and dog food that were still sitting cardboard delivery boxes and needed to be moved to the closet so the boxes could be broken down. And then, of course, the boxes were overtaking the living room so they needed to be chopped up and added to the recycling.

I was slow to get help, as usual, but did end up inviting the same friend back over to just do some of the house chores. I tried to pay her for the labor, but she refused the money. She's an actual saint. Thanks to her, there's no more cardboard in the living room, my sheets are clean, and the pet food is ready to go.

☼ Days 6 and 7 Went Too Slow ☼

By the end of the first week, I was starting to get bored and restless. I wanted to start cleaning my sewing room because I finally ordered some nice, new button down shirts for work. While my ass literally will not quit--no matter how much I beg it to stop hoarding resources--my torso is very skinny. My ribs and shoulders are so slim that a men's XS still fits me like a Hefty Force-Flex garbage bag. The disparity between my upper body and my lower body is one of the biggest factors in my dysphoria, but now I'm getting off topic.

The point is, by the end of the first week I was feeling restless. I wanted to do something, but most of the things I wanted to do required too much heavy lifting or would take longer than I could remain standing. I started to think about it and realized that I didn't have to finish any task I started; I could start, take the rest of the day off, and do a little more the next day. I can't do any lifting, but I can clean the clutter from the top of the tables. I can run a disinfecting wipe over the equipment. I can bag up Bear's old, half-empty litterbox. I can even use the shop-vac to pick up any bits of litter or fabric or whatever else has gathered in the corners of the room.

I can water my plants, I can sweep a little bit of the redwood detritus up in the backyard, I could put the tarp down after a few days of doing that, I could bring an empty bin outside and fill it with water and CLR and just let the grilling racks sit in it for a day or so, I could scrub them one at a time, I could get the mini-fridge on the dolly with some bungee cords and bring it inside, etc.

For the rest of my recovery, the game is just pacing myself. I didn't think I'd feel this good so soon after coming home because my other procedure was such a shit-show, but now I have all this energy and not enough outlets.

☼ In Conclusion ☼

As of finishing this article, I am 9 days out from the operation. Today, I was pretty content just to nap and play games or write on my laptop. I didn't even need to take the ibuprofen, and I stopped taking the Norco two days ago. There's almost no pain, but after being mostly laid up for a whole week I still get out of breath and dizzy after minimal activity. Today is a rest day. Tomorrow I have my first D&D session since the procedure and my players are excited to get back together again. We had a big reveal last time about one of their characters and we have 2 newbies joining us too, and on Sunday my sister is coming to visit me and help us out a little bit around the house.

So, I'm just going to start doing small things here and there and hopefully I can strike a balance where I don't feel bored or land back in the operating room.

As always, I hope anybody reading this can take some useful information away from it and if you have any questions about the procedure or the recovery, feel free to reach out! I love an opportunity to help out.

[whentheynameyoujoy]

So the ATLA Movie Is... Good, Actually?

Just kidding, of course it’s not, it’s so bad it sucked the paint off my walls. But after ten years of people pointing out its glaring flaws, why would anyone bother talking about this garbage heap if not to go the other direction? So here’s a very brief and very superficial list of things the movie does get kinda... not atrociously wrong.

And they won’t be fake hipster pokes, like “It’s fun to laugh at”, “The Rifftrax for this is OK”, or “Kudos to the actress for managing to say we believe in our beliefs as much as they believe in theirs with a straight face”.

(though now that I mentioned it, it is fun to laugh at, the Rifftrax for this is OK, and massive props indeed.)

Rasta Iroh

Yes, I know it’s not exactly the aesthetic of the real Iroh or that it makes no cultural sense for him to sport this do when no one else in the racebended Indian “OMFG what were you thinking Shyamalan” Nation does but goddamn, long-haired dudes are my one mortal weakness and I will ogle the hell out of him.

Jesus is that a man bun I see that’s it mum I’ve been deaded

Yue’s hair

No.

Now we’re talking. Yue’s hair turned white when the Moon spirit gave her life, so it makes sense for it to go black again when she sacrifices herself to revive the koi fish. It’s a neat detail I find myself expecting whenever I rewatch the scene in the show. Yes, I realize it’d be a pointless hassle to animate since she, unlike in the movie, immediately goes on to become the Moon herself but still. I like.

The Blue Spirit’s mop

Zuko, hun, what’s with the dance-off?

First of all, I want to imagine that Zuko the Theatre Nerd was about to leave his ship with just the mask like in the show but then stuck his head into the cleaning cupboard and went, “Yeah, more coverage might be good, even though it do seem mighty fried to shit”.

Which makes me giggle. I like to giggle.

And secondly, the hair’s movement is what makes the static mess of the Blue Spirit’s solo fight scene appear at least bit more dynamic because God knows the cinematography isn’t doing it.

Any particular reason why it’s at the edge of the action, shot all boring-like?

Now, I get why circular shots would be reserved for Aang while he’s in the practice area and then used once the two join forces. What I don’t get is why Aang’s part of the action scene has a defined visual style while Zuko’s delegated to a few stationary wide shots from afar as though he’s a tertiary goon, meaning that when the time comes to combine the respective pieces of cinema language and visually convey collaboration, there’s not really much to combine.

But as long as Zuko is stuck in this static mess, it’s that awesome disaster on his head flopping about that draws the eye, helping me understand that something even is going on over there.

It also prevents me from paying much attention to how the extras are mostly just staying put and a lot of the hits don’t land, so that’s good.

The music slaps

James Newton Howard is too good for this.

Pls ignore that the word “gods” is used in the ATLA universe

I can’t be the only one who constantly uses this piece to daydream about writing specific fanfic scenes instead of, you know, actually sitting down and writing them. It’s just so good at communicating a sense of sorrow while speaking of rebirth that I find myself getting misty-eyed whenever I listen to it. Unfailingly, the soundtrack as a whole manages to break through the mile-thick crust of horrible acting, confusing writing, and uninspired cinematography and make me feel things. And considering how everything on screen is working against it, that’s no small feat.

Imagine what a powerful experience it would be if the score was used in service of an actual movie.

Dev Patel

No wonder since he’s the only one in the film occupying that crucial intersection between “is a good actor” and “was given something to work with”. It also doesn’t hurt that he breaks with the trend of actors starring in martial arts flicks despite never having done any martial art.

And all EIP-jokes about “stiff and humorless” aside, he’s a pretty decent Zuko considering how abridged this version of the character is. A while ago, I remember hearing a reviewer say that with his comedic chops, Patel should have been cast as Sokka. And on one hand, yes, god, absolutely, I need to see that asap. But on the other? He captures all layers of Book 1!Zuko, the desperate obsession, rage, and self-loathing, and at the same time gives you a peek at the soft momma’s boy dork that’s buried underneath. For Christ sakes, he exudes intensity and ambivalence even when acting against an emotionless hunk of wood that’s giving him nothing in return.

Oh, and I guess there’s a tree in the frame.

Ba dum tss

What can I say, the guy’s good.

Showing vs telling

OK, so this movie is all tell and no show, except for one single moment. And it’s the exact moment where the original goes in the other direction in terms of how information is conveyed.

See, I never liked this. The revelation is preceded by Iroh giving advice to Zuko who scolds him for nagging. Iroh then apologizes, moves in to say the line above, and is interrupted by Zuko who seems rather uncomfortable with Iroh laying his feelings out like this. And once they’re out, Zuko verbally confirms that he knew already and Iroh didn’t need to bother.

All this extraneous information and pussyfooting ends up weakening what should be a profound scene that reveals to us, the viewers, how deep the relationship between these two in fact runs.

Compare to the movie where Dadroh acts like a parent by fussing and worrying, with Sonion needing a single look to tell him and us that he understands what it’s all really about.

It’s genuinely efficient and just good.

No Cataang

Fine, a bit mean-girl bitchy from me since I only start minding the ship in Book 3. And probably unintentional on the part of the creators since there are moments where I think they’re trying to set the romance up? There’s a, well, an attempt to recreate the famous introductory shot of fateful meaningful destiny of meaningness, there’s some slight note of saving each other’s bacon going on, I’m pretty sure they’re the only ones in the film who smile, and oh, right, Katara’s shoved into her post-canon useless role where she doesn’t ever do anything, and is all about Aang right from the get go.

Yes, I will blame the “executive producers” because a) I’m incredibly petty, and b) it’s perfectly in line with their vision of the character so why the hell not.

Hilariously, none of it reads on screen because the actors are just... yeah. These poor kids are struggling so much with delivering their own lines and portraying their own characters they don’t seem to have any strength left to create something between them. To be fair, the bare-bones shot-reverse shot style of their scenes doesn’t exactly lend itself to the idea they occupy the same universe, let alone are friends or each other’s crushes.

And I enjoy this immensely because it allows me to forget the depressing horror show Katara’s life turns into post ATLA.

Yes Zutara

I need to delve into this because it’s fucking hilarious. So in a movie which fails to establish the original’s central romance so spectacularly that if Aang got lost in a crowd I don’t believe Katara would notice, SomEOnE thought it’d be a good idea to add an utterly unnecessary non-canon moment where Zuko for some reason feels the need to pause his character-defining hunt for the Avatar which otherwise has him ignore everything and snap at everyone, and explain his central conflict to an unconscious peasant he doesn’t know, complete with gently pushing the hair from the pretty girl’s the soulmate’s the Water Tribe Ambassador’s the Fire Lady’s the love of his life’s her face away, AFTER his uncle nagged him twice to find a girl and settle down.

I just wanted to make sure we’re all on the same page and this is what we really saw.

Celibate Avatars

I have no idea why the decision was made, if TPTB thought expecting viewers to understand the story through the lens of Buddhism would be too much, or if the “executive producers” already worked their retconny magic. What I do know, however, is that there’s a big shift in worldbuilding and Aang’s struggle with his role as the Avatar stops being a personal conflict defined by a) his grief for Air Nomads, b) his notion of being robbed of the loved ones in his life, and c) the selfish attachment to Katara he confuses with true love. Instead, what he has a difficulty to accept is apparently a general notion of who Avatars are supposed to be, i.e. a fantasy version of Catholic monks, no family and worldly relations, period.

I guess either someone understood the original’s portrayal of de/attachment as “hermit no freaky”, or thought the audience would so why not go there outright.

Now, do I like this on its own? No, God no, it makes the world infinitely poorer and changes the story from an exploration of ideas which aren’t all that ingrained in the West, to a cliché tropester about a Catholic priest going Protestant so that he could be with a girl.

At least I assume that’s where they were going to take this eventually.

I mean, I think the direction was “look conflicted, this isn’t the final stage of your journey”?

But consider this—the show went there, it built on the concepts of Eastern philosophy and touched upon the ideas of spiritual awakening, only to swerve in the end and strongly imply they’re bullshit and Aang should have never wasted his time with them.

So honestly, I much prefer scanty worldbuilding to an insulting retcon by a damn rock.

Multiracial Air Nomads

Probably the most substantial “no hint of irony” point on this list and a genuinely good addition to the universe’s worldbuilding.

See, the notion of the elemental nations being perfectly separate and never mingling before Sozin has always been sketchy but it’s especially ridiculous in the case of airbenders. It never made sense to me for all airbenders to be Air Nomads and for all Air Nomads to be monks and for all monks to be chilling at the temples all the time to facilitate a quick everyone-dies genocide should an imperialistic warlord ever decide to commit one.

Because committing everyone to a single way of life at a handful of places kinda goes against the central philosophy behind airbending. Like the freedom and nomadism part.

Instead, there should be more variety to the airbending culture, with some staying at the temples as monks, hermits, and teachers while others live as nomads, travelling the world and creating more airbenders, with the resulting children in turn being influenced by the non-airbending cultures they grew up in.

And thus, not only should airbenders not be modeled after a single culture to create a one-size-fits-all lifestyle, but they should have the most diverse and dynamic culture out of the four nations.

And it’d be precisely this diversity which would pave way for an eventual reveal that some of them survived, that their complete extermination is impossible.

Because they’re everywhere.

You know.

Like air.

[amispnrewatch]

SPN 1x06 “Skin”

Okay, I’m gonna try to type while I watch this time instead of forgetting this blog exists until the episode is almost over.

You can tell the footage for the previously on segment was saved on a VHS copy instead of the original film that the show was shot with because even in the HD iTunes version I have it looks low quality as fuck. And jumpy in the way that brings me back to my teens watching the WB all the damn time.

I love this song. WTF is this song. Shazam says “Good Deal” by Mommy and Daddy. I… have no comment, except that it sounds like everything I was listening to in college at the time this shit was airing.

Aaaaand not!Dean turns around to face the SWAT team after obviously torturing some woman. THAT is a cold open.

I wanna know what that car is in the background. It’s pretty. Maybe a convertible Impala? They have similar grills. This is not at all important.

Also, I love that with these higher definition versions of the episodes you can see that Sam’s email is lawboy and whatever dot com and that people in the fandom have started calling him Law Boy. It’s hilarious.

DEAN: Well, what exactly do you tell ‘em? You know, about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doin’?

SAM: I tell ‘em I’m on a road trip with my big brother. I tell ‘em I needed some time off after Jess.

DEAN: Oh, so you lie to ‘em.

SAM: No. I just don’t tell ‘em….everything.

DEAN: Yeah, that’s called lying. I mean, hey, man, I get it, tellin’ the truth is far worse.

SAM: So, what am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life? (DEAN shrugs.) You’re serious?

DEAN: Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can’t get close to people, period.

Aaaaand now I have Dean and Cassie feelings again and we haven’t even gotten to her episode yet.

SAM: No, man, I know Zack. He’s no killer.

DEAN: Well, maybe you know Zack as well as he knows you.

Aaaaaand now I have Dean and Lee feelings and we’re nowhere near Lee’s episode in season 15.

YOU JUST BLEW THROUGH A STOP SIGN DEAN WTF.

Little Becky. Oi with the reusing of names.

Of course Sam made friends with a bunch of rich kids while he was at college in a desperate attempt to try to be normal.

SAM: You know, maybe we could see the crime scene. Zack’s house.

DEAN: We could.

REBECCA: Why? I mean, what could you do?

SAM: Well, me, not much. But Dean’s a cop. (DEAN laughs.)

DEAN: Detective, actually.

I love that Dean was like “how dare you call me that.”

Okay, after a bit of research, I totally want to take a day trip to Bisbee, Arizona, but it’s already in the 90s here in the desert and it’s not even May so that trip is going to have to wait until… winter or something. There is no way in hell I’m going deeper into the desert when the weather gets hotter.

It’s a historic mining town tourist trap looking place now which is exactly the kind of shit I love.

SAM: Bec, look, I know Zack didn’t do this. Now, we have to find a way to prove that he’s innocent.

I mean, not technically, technically you would 1) NOT FUCK WITH A MURDER INVESTIGATION YOU’RE NOT LEGALLY INVOLVED IN BECAUSE ANYTHING YOU FIND WOULD BE INADMISSABLE IN COURT 2) find evidence to provide a reasonable doubt for the jury that he did commit the crime. You know, like a lawyer would need to do, Law Boy.

DEAN: I just don’t think this is our kind of problem.

When I made my husband watch this show with me (he’s seen it all at least once now over the years) this is the recurring thing that drove him crazy.

You guys can’t even go in through the back door? Or shut the front door behind you? Really?

REBECCA: (tearfully) Well, there’s no sign of a break-in. They say that Emily let her attacker in.

Yeah, that doesn’t even really mean that she knew her attacker. Just that it was someone she let her guard down around or got in some other way. See: The Son of Sam and Nightstalker, etc.

Love the pinup magnet on the fridge. I’d throw shade at that, but I have a pinup magnet on my fridge too so… pot kettle and all that.

Okay, both people in the next couple are gorgeous.

And oh wow those special effects changing eyes… wow.

This poor couple. I feel so bad for them in this episode.

How… how are the police gonna explain the way he was able to beat himself over the head with a bat??? I…

I love that 5:30 in the morning on TV is clearly like… 10 AM.

Okay, this is a really unrelated point, but the graffiti on the dumpster here reminds me of the Teen Wolf fandoms use of the name Void!Stiles when Stiles Stilinski was possessed by a Nogitsune… I just spent way too long digging through YouTube and my Tumblr tags from back when those episodes were airing looking for a few specific videos and couldn’t find them. The TL;DR reason I bring it up here is goofball, bi-coded main character guy getting possessed by an entity set on destroying the people he loves. SOUNDS LIKE THIS EPISODE AND A WHOLE LOT OF SPN RIGHT. I love that all these monster hunting shows call out to each other.

This scene haunts me years later and I don’t even WATCH Teen Wolf. I just watched the fandom on Tumblr collectively lose it’s shit then tripped down a Hale Pack fanfiction rabbit hole.

ANYWAY

Back to Supernatural, a show that also treated its fan base, cast, and characters like garbage! Huzzah!

DEAN: Well, there’s another way to go—down. (They look down and notice a manhole.)

I’m gonna be mature and ignore the double entendre there…

But I love that Dean thinks of the world in 3D. Which sounds like a dumb statement to make, but this is honestly a good example of that in action.

SAM: I bet this runs right by Zack’s house, too.

Really Sam, sewers run by houses? SO WEIRD. I WOULD HAVE NEVER GUESSED.

DEAN: You know, I just had a sick thought. When the shapeshifter changes shape—maybe it sheds.

SAM: That is sick. (DEAN puts the bloody pile back on the ground.)

Guys, there is a WHOLE ASS EAR in that pile of yuck you’re looking at. I think it’s pretty safe to assume the shapeshifter indeed sheds its skin like a snake. A much… gooier snake.

Sam’s friend is rightfully pissed at him for fucking with the crime scene.

This is before the pearl gripped guns?! Wow. I never noticed that before.

Also, this whole episode gives me feelings.

++++

Cool. Tumblr mobile ate a whole section of my notes on this when it crashed for NO APPARENT REASON. Love that.

It always boggles my mind that actors can trust the people they’re working with enough to let people “tie” ropes around their neck or put them in actually dangerous positions in a scene.

SHAPESHIFTER: He’s sure got issues with you. You got to go to college. He had to stay home. I mean, I had to stay home. With Dad. You don’t think I had dreams of my own? But Dad needed me. Where the hell were you?

SAM: Where is my brother? (The shapeshifter leans in close to SAM.)

SHAPESHIFTER: I am your brother. See, deep down, I’m just jealous. You got friends. You could have a life. Me? I know I’m a freak. And sooner or later, everybody’s gonna leave me. (He backs away.)

SAM: What are you talkin’ about?

SHAPESHIFTER: You left. Hell, I did everything Dad asked me to, and he ditched me, too. No explanation, nothin’, just poof. Left me with your sorry ass. But, still, this life? It’s not without its perks. (He laughs.) I meet the nicest people. Like little Becky. You know, Dean would bang her if he had the chance. Let’s see what happens. (He smiles and covers SAM with a sheet.)

This exchange is just… so much. So many feelings. And I will forever (unless we magically get a fix-it fic mini season someday…) be SO MAD that none of this got resolved in that pointless, trash heap of a finale.

REBECCA: Okay, so, this thing—it can make itself look like anybody?

SHAPESHIFTER: That’s right. (She chuckles.)

REBECCA: Well, what is it, like a genetic freak? (The shapeshifter laughs.)

SHAPESHIFTER: Maybe. Evolution is about mutation, right? So, maybe this thing was born human but was different. Hideous and hated. Until he learned to become someone else. (REBECCA looks around, uncomfortable. The shapeshifter’s eyes glint silver, and he smiles.)

It always amazes me how much of this show is a pile of accidental queer allegories parading around in an ill-fitting toxic masculinity suit.

Vulcan mind meld! I love nerd!Dean. Also, I’m rewatching Star Trek: TOS with my husband, because that is what my life amounts to these days, rewatching comfort TV and flailing over the bits I love.

This post does a better job than I can do of pairing up screen caps with the dialogue of this next scene. SIX EPISODES IN. They’re dumping all of this character depth SIX EPISODES IN. FUCK THIS SHOW FOR NOT EMBRACING ITSELF.

Okay, I love that he screams back in her face after he threw the phone. It’s not something to laugh at because the situation is horrifying, but I can’t help laughing at it every time.

AND THE WAY THEY CUT THESE SCENES. Going from him winding his hand back to backslap her directly to him dropping the chains on the table to show how hard he must have hit her without actually making the actors hit each other. Good job editing department!

I… don’t understand the shifter’s motivation for killing people. If he can take over people’s identities without killing them, why kill them? Is it just because he’s a homicidal, rapist piece of shit? Cause that’s all it seems like.

How did the SWAT team even know she was being attacked? Why can the snipers aim no better than Storm Troopers?

Ugh, these kind of transformation body horror scenes are exactly why werewolf stories have never really appealed to me much. Like, I could do without watching your ribs move and teeth fall out, dude.

BUT.

THIS FUCKING SCENE.

I looked up the song that’s playing over shapeshifter!Dean being caught by the SWAT team and then going through the grotesque transformation. (And as far as I know, the iTunes version has the original music from the episodes.)

It’s a song called “Mary” by The Death Riders

Who's your mother, who's your mother here boy // Who's your mother, whos your mommy dear // Who's your father, who's your father here boy // Who's your father, who's your daddy dear

Silently screaming // Where everyone knows // Daddy's always watchin' // Where everywhere - everywhere I go

I don't wanna be a freak show pretty boy anymore // I don't wanna be a full time slave // I don't wanna be your midnight cowboy anymore // I just want to be Mary

This is… a fascinating choice. Here are the rest of the lyrics. The song as a whole has a weird incesty kinda vibe to it? Kinda like when SPN tries to straight-wash itself and misses the mark wildly. (Like Dean’s male siren episode.)

The midnight cowboy line reminded me of 12x11 and the bull riding scene with “Broomstick Cowboy” by Bobby Goldsboro playing over it

Dream on, little Broomstick Cowboy, // Dream while you can; // Of big green frogs, // And puppy dogs, // And castles in the sand.

For, all too soon you'll awaken; // Your toys will all be gone. // Your broomstick horse will ride away, // To find another home. // And you'll have grown into a man, // With cowboys of your own. // And then you'll have to go to war, // To try and save your home.

And then you'll have to learn to hate; // You'll have to learn to kill. // It's always been that way, my son; // I guess it always will.

Because, you know, why not add tons of feelings into the lyrics, right?

Props to the people who can embrace their rewatches and reclamations of the show with ease. Because every episode seems to remind me of how hollow and tragic Dean’s ending was and I just… struggle all over again.

Anyway, back to the episode so I can move on with my day.

REPORTER: An anonymous tip led police to a home in the Central West End, where a S.W.A.T team discovered a local woman bound and gagged. Her attacker, a white male, approximately twenty-four to thirty years of age, was discovered hiding in her home. (A sketch of DEAN appears on the screen.)

DEAN: Man! That’s not even a good picture. (SAM looks around cautiously.)

SAM: It’s good enough. (He walks away.)

DEAN: Man! (He follows SAM.)

(CUT TO: Alley. DEAN and SAM are walking. DEAN steps into a puddle.)

DEAN: Ugh, come on.

I love that we get two tiny little back-to-back vanity moments for Dean here. One commenting on the sketch artist rendition of him being broadcasted on the news and the other tripping in the puddle. There is literally someone running around the city trying to kill people while wearing Dean’s face, but Dean is still concerned with how he looks appears to others. He’s still concerned with keeping up his own performance. The shifter left him with just a t-shirt, so he doesn’t even have his usual comfort layers on and at any moment someone could spot him and call the police or try to kill him for assaulting Sam’s friend. His life is wildly out of control in that moment and the only thing he can try to focus on is his appearance (something semi-controllable) and finding the shifter before any of that other shit can happen.

One day I want to put together a like top 10 episodes focusing on / explaining each TFW character from the series. Like the kind of list you could show someone who’s never seen the show, but has OPINIONS about the characters (or who hasn’t seen the whole show and seen the growth they went through… you know, like the people responsible for the travesty of 15x20). This episode would be on that list. I’m not sure how I could manage to make a list of only 10 episodes to understand Dean Winchester by, but eh.

SAM: What are you gonna do to me?

SHAPESHIFTER: Oh, I’m not gonna do anything. Dean will, though.

SAM: They’ll never catch him.

SHAPESHIFTER: Oh, doesn’t matter. Murder in the first of his own brother? He’ll be hunted the rest of his life. (He picks up a sharp knife and examines it.)

Speaking of season 15 in general, this right here. This was Chuck’s villain story arc thesis statement. AND THEY DROPPED THE GODDAMN BALL WITH IT. I think that’s the thing that honestly pisses me off the most these days (about 5 1/2 months from when the finale aired) is that they tried making the whole thing a tragedy but did such an awful job with it that it just ended up like a deflating condom balloon at a dive bar concert. Disappointing and gross. The finale for season 14 set them up SO FUCKING WELL and it just… didn’t get there.

Becky’s parents are gonna be pissed at how torn up their house is after all this shit…

And you’re not shooting him when you first see him strangling Sam because…?????

I like that he took the necklace back. Also, is this kinda Dean death number .5 of the show? Like it wasn’t him but it was also kinda him. Eh.

At least they left the windshield on Baby this time. Reflections are better than tearing her apart.