#so when something does actually kind of work even if it's not replicable or under my control and it somehow is also FUNNY... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

homestuckreplay · 6 days ago

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hey i really liked your post speculating on the kids' school lives. i havent seen a lot of people talk about what the kids lives were like pre-sburb and you mentioned having more that you hadn't written so i wanna know what you got :D

hello thank you so much! this is something I definitely want to put more thought into, I think it gives a fuller understanding of them as characters to have ideas about their 'baseline normal' pre-sburb that they're now departing from. so here's a bunch of thoughts for now, and maybe I'll do some more later :D

John – I think that Dad Egbert had a happy childhood with Nanna, and because he was so happy, he’s basically tried to replicate those steps with John, and then is confused when John doesn’t respond as well as he used to. He’s definitely tried teaching John to cook and bake, going for walks/throwing a frisbee around together near pipe lake, enrolling him in all kinds of extracurriculars, etc, but John has always found it hard to get motivation to do those things – piano lessons was the one thing he actually stuck with, probably because it was a solo activity, and he never wanted to perform or be in an orchestra. When he was young it was rare for him to get invited over to other kids’ houses for playdates, and even more rare for him to ask someone over – the number of people who have ever been inside John’s room is extremely small imo. In nursery/pre-k when the teachers were trying to teach sharing skills and collaborative play, John was over in the corner making up scenes with various action figures, dolls and stuffed animals and he did NOT want any help.

But it’s the 2000s and nobody is talking about therapy or mental health, and he’s a nice kid, he’s not causing any problems he’s just a little quiet and spacey, so nobody ever thinks to assess him for anything and he kind of flies under a lot of people’s radar. And then as he gets older, later in elementary school and going into middle school, he starts to feel a little different, lonelier, seeing for the first time the things he’s missing out on and growing too big for this imaginary world he’s constructed for himself, so then he starts trying to learn to mask and fit in, play games with the other kids at recess, but by then it’s kind of too late because he’s missed out on so much. And he always kind of gets it wrong, like if the other kids all saw idk Night at the Museum when it came out, John would be all “yeah I saw that too!” but then he goes way harder on it than everyone else does and ends up looking weird, or he tries to play basketball and he’s actually okay at running and jumping but he doesn’t know The Rules so he fouls. And so he retreats into himself again, this time a little sadder and a little more restless, because he kind of knows he wants something else, but doesn’t quite know how to get it, or why it’s not working – because he has internet friends by this point, and they’re great but feel so distant, and there’s a real part of him who wants someone other than Dad to just sit next to on the couch and watch a movie with.

Rose – Mom is a scientist and clearly super intelligent, and she taught Rose to read, write and do basic math at a younger age then usual and Rose took to it quickly, so she went into kindergarten already knowing all that stuff and she showed up Ready to Win. Like it’s a challenge, like she could do all of the kindergarten work within the first week and then she wouldn’t have to go back for the rest of the year. And she was really annoyed when it didn’t work like that, because it wasn’t fair, like why should she have to sit at a table and wait while other kids are trying to make their first letter shapes? So she feels talked down to by the academics and she isn’t interested in other areas, like art and music and sport and group activities, because she doesn’t see them as important when Clearly there is a library here. Rose absolutely begs her mom to homeschool her as a young kid and Mom eventually gives in and they try it for the third grade, but by winter they hate each other and it’s what sets their relationship down its current path of misunderstanding and is what made them so distant from each other even while living together. After that Rose had a series of private tutors and was offputting and weird enough to get all of them to quit, some accidentally and some on purpose, so then for fourth grade she just goes back to school, and she starts applying herself to things like the violin and softball even though she doesn’t actually care about them because she’s just straight up bored.

Rose was a super early adopter of video games, I think her mom got her a computer of her own when she was very young to help with learning and because Rose was VERY intense and demanding as a small child, always asking complicated questions. So she really gravitated towards video games as something that has a skill curve in a way TV and movies don’t – I’m actually not sure she’s ever seen a movie, though she has played some shitty 2000s video game adaptations of movies. She started out playing educational games like Reader Rabbit and Cluefinders and then moved to playing anything she could get her hands on from various mail order catalogs, same with books, she would leave her order forms in stamped addressed envelopes on the front doormat and Mom would take them to the post office when she went out, pre-massive internet marketplaces. And after their relationship broke down Mom stopped taking her out of the house except to school, so Rose would pull stunts like setting a tent up in the backyard and sleeping there and making a campfire for a couple days, just for enrichment. Overall I think Rose has been like 10-20% understimulated for her entire childhood and has constantly, always been looking for things to pull her up to that baseline and has never really found anything, until right now.

Dave – I think Bro might send Dave to school as one of many hazing mechanisms, in addition to however many sword fights and rooftop battles, nobody is better at bullying and social control than kids. I also think Dave spends a lot more time outside of his house than the other kids, Bro probably kicks him out if he wants to have people over / set up some saw traps / do some weird puppet stuff so Dave ends up just kinda wandering the definitely not super walkable city streets as a pretty young kid, and that’s where he gets his ability to monologue like crazy because he just has this stream of thoughts in his head constantly as he observes the world. He doesn’t have food in the house but he has some local places like a mcdonalds and a diner where he can go in and the staff are like “hey it’s kinda weird this kid has a credit card. oh well!” and they’ll let him sit with a big plate of chicken nuggets and an apple juice because they figure his home life isn’t great, and occasionally one of the staff will go up to him and ask if everything is okay and where his parents are, and he just shrugs it off and says it’s fine and then doesn’t go back there for a while. Observing other people in the city is definitely where he gets his first inspiration for comics and blog posts, since he does so much more looking at the world than participating in it.

Dave doesn’t always bother showing up for school, he kinda decides based on the day if he’s actually going to go there because obviously he thinks everyone wants to see him and, like, what are those other kids gonna do if they don’t have someone cool to guide them around? But at the same time, he struggles with routine, and even if he genuinely tries to stick to going in, a couple days a week he just finds himself getting on the wrong bus and ending up in a random part of town, and he’s never had safety drilled into him so he’ll do things like pick up roadkill off the street to preserve it in his specimen jars, or climb up the outside of a building because a cop saw him not being in school, or steal from a store just to see if he can get away with it. It’s mostly for the story – he knows he can get attention from Bro or from people at school if he can share some wild stories, but in truth nobody actually believes what he says, and even though it’s at least mostly true he just gets seen as a kid with overactive imagination. That’s a big factor in his adoption of irony, because if he’s gonna be misconstrued and not taken seriously, he wants to control the intent behind that and its effects on people as much as possible.

#homestuck #there is. a little bit of projection in all of these tbh #so i can understand if different people have different hcs!#but this is a broad overview of how i see their lives <3 sorry theyre all a little bit sad. these kids are pretty fucked up!#thanks again for the ask :D #chrono

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treble-maker1212 · 3 months ago

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Sumerian has announced that they are doing a sequel to American Satan called American Satan: the beast goes on(get it, the beat goes o-? Never mind) and a comic book based on the Relentless. Here's my unwanted 2 cents.

Starting with the comic book. I don't have a lot of strong feelings about it, tbh. It looks promising and I will buy it for my collection, but that's pretty much all I have to say about that one. The fact that the comic book looks like it's set around the time of the show probably means that the comic book will serve as a season 2 because yes, Andy looks amazing and has barely changed since they filmed season one 6 years ago, however, the fact that he has a good 20 new tattoos since then makes things very difficult.

It won't work unless they cover all of those tattoos plus try and replicate the one he had covered up since then. So doing a comic book is actually a pretty good solution.

The art looks good and I'm happy that they went with the PC casting/aesthetic to keep things "cohesive" also probably means that Bella Thorne will be returning for the movie. That's about all I have to say about the comics. As for the new movie, I have a LOT to say.

Season 2 of PC has been promised to us over and over again, and we've gotten nothing.

(Read statement below)

Ash(derogatory) claims that it is due to budget and covid and that he was "called" to make that wrestler movie that he mentions in the statement, but seeing as they were supposed to start filming last year and have it released over the summer of 2023, I think those are just excuses(specifically the covid excuse. The only reason it would've still been an issue was if the rumor of Ash refusing to begin filming due to vaccine restrictions on sets werw true, and if anyone remembers the anti vax rant he went on using all of Sumerians socials, this shouldn't surprise you). The post of them announcing that they had parted ways with Amazon Prime and were going to film it on their own released on their Instagram over 2 years ago at this point. Andy was on tour 90% of 2023 so I don't know how Ash thought that was going to work either way.

As for Andy being attached to the project. I don't know how that worked out, but considering Andy had openly talked about how dirty Sumerian had done the band, I seriously doubt he did it for Ash(Lilith has also spoken about how awful the label was to her so again, I doubt Andy did it because he likes the guy). I have two guesses. Well, kind of three I guess.

1. He genuinely just loves the character/universe and is willing to continue on with the project so he can continue playing Johnny(also possible that Andy didn't want to do an entire show again and they had to switch to a movie to keep Andy attached).

2. Andy is under contract and had to fulfill his obligation of filming one more project.

3. A combination of the two. Andy can still want to play the character, but not want to film with Ash/Sumerian, but has to under contract.

There's also the option that Andy could be cut entirely out of the film if it's set after the events of American Satan. They could simply say he was in jail or rehab or something. The movie will tank without Andy so I hope Ash isn't that stupid.

As for the rest of the cast, since they only released drawings of Johnny and Lily, I have no idea if the rest of the cast is attached to the film.

Andy doesn't follow Sumerian or Ash anymore on Instagram, but tbf, he only follows the band and Lilith so that doesn't mean much. Ash however does not follow Andy so I'm guessing there is still some sort of beef there(Lonny unfollowed Sumerian and Ash too which is hilarious cause how did you piss off that sweet baby???)

All that to say. The comic book will probably come out, they already have artwork so it's been made, however I will not hold my breath for a movie until they are on set. Even then, it took over 2 years for PC to come out so I also don't believe them when they say the movie will release next year either. Again, not until we have a trailer and a release date.

Thats all I have for that, let me know y'alls opinions!

#andy biersack #american satan #johnny faust #paradise city show #bella thorne #lily mayflower #fuck you ash avildson #sumerian records #comic books

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fallinforerling · 2 years ago

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Relationship Alphabet erling Haaland

fluff alphabet | erling haaland

A/N: THIS ONE IS FOR CITEEEEEEEEEH

ೃ⁀➷ erling's taglist

ೃ⁀➷ erling's masterlist

ೃ⁀➷ masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

a = affection + activities (how affectionate is he? how does he show affection?/ how does he spend his free time with you?)

he’s SO affectionate.

like, no… literally. he won’t let you go from his embrace once he made it home, constantly rubbing his face on your neck and telling you how much he missed you while you stand there, smiling like an idiot because you have a golden retriever for a boyfriend.

he also gives you tons of butterfly kisses, bending over and staying there for so long, enjoying the smell of your hair or how much you squeeze his waist while hugging each other.

then you’ll watch a trashy show like love island while cuddling on the sofa, eating snacks and trying to replicate the accents, laughing hard when one of you actually gets it right.

b = beauty (what does he admire about you? what does he think is beautiful about you?

physically? he adores your eyes. how they sparkle every time you talk about something you love, or how they seem to hold the stars for the very first seconds of looking up to him. he sees them as a real window to your mind.

he also loves when your nose does that little wrinkle thing every time you’re excited about something, or just enjoying a meal.

you’re just the most endearing person he has ever met.

but personality wise? you’re so compatible.

you’re nice, kind and patient. you’re always trying your best and he knows you care so much about others, even if you don’t show it as much.

to him you’re the purest soul and he wants to protect you, because you’re his sunshine.

c = cuddles + comfort (does he like to cuddle? how would he cuddle you?/how would he help you when you’re feeling down?)

cuddles? HE LOVES THEM. even though it doesn’t seem like it.

he uses cuddles as a coping mechanism at this point.

when he’s mad, frustrated or just sad, he comes to you, asking for cuddles with the most serious expression ever. it’s hilarious.

did we mentioned the fact that he crushes you under his weight? but not in a bad way, it’s so comfortable. you feel safe and so so so warm.

you’re a pillow for a few hours, and you’re so okay with it.

it’s the same the other way around. even when you’re having the slightest inconvenience, you go to your boyfriend for some cuddles. he lets you sleep on top of him, arms and legs wrapped around his torso. it’s very funny to see.

when that doesn’t work (which it’s a rare thing) he gives you space, always making sure that you have snacks or a quiet room to be at when you’re feeling overwhelmed.

d = domestic + dreams (does he want to settle down? how is he around the house?/how does he picture their future together?)

does he want to settle down? he can’t wait to actually have you with him 24/7. he loves your presence, even when you’re in separate rooms.

he’s a very good companion, and when you weren’t living together but just staying at each other’s places, he was such an organized person… most of the time.

it doesn’t matter when he’s a mess, though.

anyways, he’s always thinking about how the future it’s going to be like.

how many kids? where are we going to live? are we going to have a farm together? will our kids play football like him? where is the wedding going to be? what type of house are you guys going to buy? SO MANY QUESTIONS.

he has a little list on his mind, and he’s going to use it someday. he knows he’s going to marry you.

e = equal (is he the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?)

none of the above. both of you are equal in the relationship.

he’s a kind soul, and most of the time he doesn’t bother to make decisions for you.

the only thing he’s in charge of is picking up the restaurants and making you cum.

both of them are always taken care of.

f = fiancé (how does he feel about commitment? how quick would he want to get married?)

as i said before, he can’t wait to marry you.

he wants to settle down but doesn’t want to pressure it too soon, since it’s a big step.

but yeah, he’s just being a bit patient, since he knows you’re going to be his wife.

already looking for rings and spying your pinterest page for clues on the perfect ring.

he doesn’t say it, but he also has a pinterest account where he saves cute wedding dresses he thinks would look amazing on you.

he just loves you too much, okay?

g = gentle + gratitude (how gentle is he, both physically and emotionally?/ how grateful is he; is he aware of everything you do for him?)

he’s the most gentle human being you’d ever met.

despite his height and how people picture him, he’s very delicate while touching you, or doing things in general. he’s so comforting, you’re mesmerized by his patience, his soft touches and his words when you’re feeling down.

he’s your rock. every time you need support of reaffirmation, he’s there for you. he always knows what to say.

in return, he knows how much you do for him.

not only while emotionally supporting him through the stress and pressure he feels sometimes, but also at home, when he’s tired from a match and you make him an special meal.

he’s so grateful for you in general. you’re an angel to him.

h = honesty (does he have secrets he hides from you? or does he share everything?)

it wasn’t considered a secret perse, but erling hates to worry you.

so sometimes he hid his injuries from you, and when you found out, you got so mad. he never did it again.

it was scary.

he’s overall very open, he doesn’t believe in secrets between you two. you always have talks about everything.

you trust each other blindly.

i = i love you + inspiration (how fast did he said the L-word?/ did you changed him somehow, or the other way around? do you guys try new things together or help each other solve personal problems?)

you both said it rather fast.

six months into the relationship and you both knew you loved each other.

he said it first, since he couldn’t keep acting like he wasn’t aware of the word almost slipping out of his mouth every day.

you said it back instantly.

you both changed each other for the better. you taught him to be more open, less serious. but just because you knew he’s the most interesting person ever and the rest of the world deserved to know him.

he helped you to overcome your shyness and to make new friends, to get out of your comfort zone.

you’re always trying new things (food, vacation destinies, shows, hobbies) it’s so so so fun to start new projects with him.

the latest one is a bookclub (it’s just the two of you).

and yes, every time you’re feeling some type of way or having doubts, you talk to each other. you always find a way to get through it.

j = jealousy (how jealous does he get, and does he get jealous easily? how does he deal with it? what does he do when he’s jealous?)

he’s not a jealous guy in general; he knows you love him, and he loves you.

but sometimes he just can’t stand when other people can’t dissimulate the stares when you’re with him at some event.

like yes. he gets it. you look stunning and you’re the most beautiful woman in every room, but damn.

he just takes a deep breath and tries to think about you and not all the people that wants to be on his place.

but he also keeps a hand on your lower back, staring back with an arched eyebrow to the guys that look at you for too long. his serious face it’s very scary.

you love to see him a bit jealous.

he also kisses you so much.

he’s so hot when he’s leaning over you to kiss you and whisper sweet nothings in the middle of a crowded room, just to show you’re his and he’s yours.

k = kisses (how are his kisses like? where does he like to kiss you? how was your first kiss like?)

they can be the sweetest kisses ever or the most intense, dizzying, wonderful kisses you’d ever received in your life.

he doesn’t hold back.

face grabbing, chest to chest, hands everywhere type of kisses.

he loves to kiss your neck, it always smells amazing and you get all tickly.

you’re both pretty much addicted to kiss each other.

the first kiss was so so so wonderful. you were so nervous but he’s such a great kisser. it was like floating. you’d never stopped feeling like floating whenever he kisses you.

did i said he’s a great kisser? yeah- he is.

l = love language (what’s his love language? is it compatible with yours?)

do we have any doubs?

it’s obviously quality time and physical touch, duh.

you’re both pretty the same.

although he also showers you with gifts from abroad if he has a game far from home.

expensive isn’t a word when it comes to gifts for you.

princess treatment all the way.

you were very apprehensive while receiving them, but he insisted so much that now you don’t know how to say no.

he’s so full of himself every time you’re wearing one of his gifs.

especially the little “e” necklace made of his birth stone.

m = morning (how are mornings spent with him? what’s your morning routing like?)

it’s so cozy.

you’re very sleepy, just wandering around the house while doing the basics: making coffee and breakfast, brushing your teeth, showering and just looking at each other from above your cups.

lots of kisses on the head or long hugs in the kitchen.

he likes to stop by while you’re making something on the stove and just lean on top of you, resting his chin on the top of your head.

it’s hard to say goodbye after the two hours you have with each other during the mornings.

you cling to him, hugging him tight until he just has to go and you miss him a lot even though it’s been five minutes since he stepped out of the apartment.

n = nicknames (what does he call you?)

so many nicknames in norwegian.

you’d been learning and instantly melt when he calls you vennen (sweetheart) or elskling (my love)

!!!!!! your brain goes brrrrr

you call him lover most of the time, and he smiles so widely

or when you call him kongen, he just walks around calling himself “the king” for a week straight

martin loves to mess up with both of you, since he’s one of the few people that actually speaks norwegian around you

o = on cloud nine (what is he like when he’s in love? is it obvious for others? how does he express his feelings?)

he’s obvious.

like painfully obvious, even though it’s just like for the people that knows him.

martin was the one that noticed first.

erling’s eyes will linger on you for way too long, smiling at your words, even if they were just a tiny hello or a short story.

all his teammates couldn’t stop giggling and whispering every time you’d come visit as a friend first, knowing he had the biggest crush on you.

once he made it and got to be alone with you, he didn’t hesitate, he asked you out.

it was such an amazing time. he was the most caring person you’d ever met, and you couldn’t believe it was your reality

he hasn’t changed one bit since the first time he took you out.

he always remembers. he’s always looking forward to your next date or little getaway.

you’d never felt more loved than now.

when he isn’t making you feel loved, giving you hugs, kisses or quality time, he’s showering you with little gifts that remind him of you.

p = pda (is he upfront about your relationship? does he brag about you with others? or he rather shy to kiss, etc. when others are watching?)

he’s not shy about it.

like yeah, of course he’s a private person and you’re as well, but he isn’t hiding the fact that he’s dating you, aka the most amazing woman in the world (his words).

you’re often feauted on his instagram, and that’s how people get updates about your relationship.

he totally brags with his friends and teammates though.

like so much.

he doesn’t shut up about you, never

it’s even worse when you’re with him at events. he’s all over you, kissing your neck and dragging his hands on your back, whispering things and chatting with you so closely that people look away, like they’re spying on you two.

he’s never shy when it comes to showing love to you.

q = quizzes (how many little things does he remember about you?)

as i said, he remembers so much.

every little detail he has ever learned about you, he remembers.

from your favorite juice flavor to your most embarrassing childhood story.

he knows them all.

most of his gifts are related to something you like, said, or did together. it melts your heart.

goes both ways. you’re always giving him little gifts that remind him of you, or even better, his time as a youngster. you love to tease him about the flow kings.

r = romance ( how romantic is he? what would he do to make you happy? is he cliche or rather creative? what is your favourite moment in your relationship?)

he’s romantic-romantic. it’s just that people can’t imagine it.

he’s always taking you out on romantic dinners, bringing you flowers or organizing little trips to your hometown or norway to spend some alone time where no one can find you.

you’re the happiest when you’re on those trips; it brings you such calm that you feel like a new person once you’re back at manchester.

he’s a very good mixture of cliché and creative. and you love it! he always gives it his own little twist to the most cliché things. like personalizing the color of the flowers he gives you by checking which heart emoji you used to most that day.

UGH!

pure love.

your most treasured memory from the relationship is the moment you first attended a city game as his girlfriend. you got to experience it with him from the moment he arrived to the first goal of the night. you lost your voice that night, but it was worth it. never in your life you’ll forget how excited he was once you reunited, how much he kissed you and let you hold his hattrick football to take a silly picture. at that moment you knew it was forever.

s = security (how protective is he?)

oh, erling is protective.

like no fooling around. he’s going to protect you no matter what.

when you’re out in public, he makes sure that no one, absolutely no one, gets on your personal space.

and when it comes to your mental health, he does the most to protect you from mean comments on the internet. he doesn’t need you to pay attention to stupid people that don’t have a life.

you love him for it, and you make sure he knows how important he is, despite how horrible the hate towards him gets.

t = try (how much effort would he put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

first of all, we know he’s a very neat guy that’ll help around the house as much as he can during the week.

and as i mentioned, he puts so much of himself on your dates, anniversaries, and gifts that you don’t know how he’s this original.

like where did he get a bunch of your childhood’s snacks just because you mentioned you missed their flavor?????

yeah, you won’t be disappointed.

the anniversaries are so much fun.

it’s like a little holiday-

everyone on twitter went crazy that time he made fans hold up signs that read “happy anniversary to my one and only” when he had to play that exact date.

you were there… and cried.

u = understanding (how well does he know you? is he empathetic?)

there’s never a chance where he isn’t the best boyfriend ever.

he’s always making his best effort to understand your feelings and how to bring a smile to your lips again

hates seeing you cry

he knows you well enough to make you happy in less than an hour

you’re so grateful for him

late movie nights with him to cure any bad day ❤️‍🩹

v = value (how important is the relationship to him? what is it worth in comparison to other things in his life?)

this relationship is everything to him

of course he loves football. and of course he loves you.

you are on the top of the list

there’s only you, football and his family

nothing else matters as much

he does everything on his power to make things work, even when you’re going through long distance

and you do as well

the power couple fr

w = whole (would he feel incomplete without you?)

totally

have you seen him while being away?

all pouty and calling you at any given opportunity

sleeping and hugging a pillow to pretend it is you

he carries a little bottle with your perfume to spray on himself so he can smell you during training sessions or important games

he also wears your headbands

he’s so adorable

x - xtra (a random fluff headcanon)

you both love the color purple

so he would always buy matching clothes or items on that exact color

in fact, that’s how people found out you two were dating

he bought this very very very expensive and unique pair of shoes with a matching tracking suit in purple

two days later you were wearing the same outfit

yeah, it was obvious

now it’s a fun anecdote

y = yearning (how would he cope when he’s missing you?)

as i said

he would always use your hair stuff of your perfume

but he also makes you wear various t-shirts a day before his trips so he can use them to sleep or walk around, knowing you were on them just a few hours before

so so so many texts with random stuff that reminded him of you

lots of audios and calls

“baby i can’t wait to be home, i miss my little pillows so much”

“erling, those are my boobs”

“yeah…? so???”

z = zeal (is he willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? if so, what kind of?)

totally

he won’t hesitate to make a decision based on how it would benefit the relationship

he totally bought a house for the summer on your home country just because you mentioned you missed home

learned your language so you could feel more close to home

he even learned how to cook typical food

you cried the day he surprised you with it

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆·˚ ༘ * ERLING’S TAGLIST

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maddsmallow · 2 years ago

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" "con, don't you ever fuckin' relax?"

"lieutenant, i'm a machine. i don't need to 'relax'."

"oh fuck you, come on, we're on break. loosen up a little or something. you can chill out from your fuckin' mission for the three minutes it'll take me to smoke this cigarette. and shut your mouth before you go telling me it isn't actually exactly three minutes on average to smoke a cigarette or whatever."

connie closes her mouth. a small addition to her list of missions to accomplish is made: try to appear "relaxed" to appease lieutenant anderson. a raise in friendship means an easier partner to work with, so connie carefully inspects the lieutenant's posture and does her best to replicate it. being a machine of plastic and metal certainly doesn't make it easy. "

hankcon, but gorls. did i base hank off of my butch lesbian manager at my old job at a sex toy store who was covered in spongebob tattoos? absolutely yes i did

mostly i just wanted to portray fem!hank as a Large Woman because i think there is a severe lack of that. broad with muscle hidden under fat, like the kind of woman who does shot put. so uh,,, ms trunchbull basically LMAO. deep voice, raspy from smoking and drinking, all that good stuff 😩👌 also peep the button on her jacket hehe

got some headcanons and stories for them under the cut!

-hank wears cargo shorts 100% of the time. no matter the weather or temperature. like, 'bill and ted at prom in shorts, but it's her at a dpd ceremony in cargo shorts' level. but not actually because i'm totally gonna draw her in a pantsuit later, totally not with connie on her hip in a slinky dress 👀

-also yes hank's shirt is a spongebob reference

-when people ask hank why she goes by hank and not her "real name," (which i like to headcanon is "henrietta") she always says, "oh it's actually a really funny story, i'll tell you later," and the later never comes lmao. or, if she does tell you, it's some made up wacky story that actually has nothing to do with giving herself the name hank. the real reason? she just likes it

-speaking of "henrietta," this story, 'if you know where to look' by ghost_teeth, works so fucking well with a lot of my headcanons about how their characters would be like genderbent! highly recommend it, and all their dbh stories honestly!

-connie has a compact gun (i asked my brother for examples and he said sig p365 or springfield hellcat, which i think work perfectly for this) holstered inside her jacket on the left side. also, i'm stealing this idea from this post (which basically almost has the same design for fem!connor (altho like, most designs for her are basically the same lmao)) but she also has a knife strapped to her thigh

-her skirt is actually made of some super high tech flexible and durable material, and she's got specific programming to make her balance crazy good, since she'll be running in heels. she's made to hunt and pursue deviants so obviously she needs to be able to run and jump. the outfit is only made to appear like a standard "business woman" to blend in with the humans she would be required to work with, but otherwise gives her everything/doesn't hold her back from doing what she needs to complete her mission. here's a bonus conversation i had with @extraordinaryandroid about it lmaoo:

-hank met connor-51 first for the ortiz case, but connie-52 (with 51's memories of course) came in the next day when it was announced they were to be officially paired to investigate deviants. cyberlife has their grubby lil hands in everything so of course they knew their RK800 unit would be paired with this lieutenant anderson before basically anyone else, and deemed that she'd get along better with a "female model" that she would find attractive. which of course has hank like WOW that's super weird and gross of y'all! and i fucking hate that it's working you pieces of shit at cyberlife !!!! but ofc connie's like "im a machine i dont even have a gender" all the while hank's sweatin major thirsty bullets

-at the cyberlife tower, connor-51 is the one to hold hank at gunpoint. how did he get hank to trust him? idk i haven't figured that out yet lmao, but the angst of connor-51 essentially taking the place of -60 from the game in the sense that he's clearly deviant in some capacity, in this context being that he feels connie stole the life he deserved (which he'd never admit) and now wants to suck up to cyberlife and be their best boi to feel important and special again and not knowing they'd just throw him away for the RK900 model, is very good imo. that was a very long sentence so i hope it made sense lmaoo. have i worked out all the details of how all that shit would work in a story? absolutely not, im too busy thinking about butch fem!hank making her robo girlfriend bluescreen in the bedroom 🤪

also if ur wondering wtf the background is, idk. my usual plain color gradient was too simple, but i did NOT want to put in the effort to do a whole ass real background, so i settled on something in between. meh, it's just them hagin' out behind the station on a smoke break ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

consider supporting me on ☕! ko -fi. com / maddsmallow (without spaces)

#detroit become human #dbh #hankcon #detroit: become human #d:bh #fem!connor #fem!hank #connor rk800 #hank anderson #fem!hank anderson #dbh genderbend #conhank #hannor #dbh fanart #dbh connor #dbh hank #idk what else to tag this as #my art #the blogger says words

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cabensonsgirly · 6 months ago

Text

I'm Gonna Pack My Things and Leave You Behind. (18+)

Content: Angst, mentions of ptsd, happy ending dw, mentions of smut, religion

Word Count: 7944

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He hadn’t fled, not really. He had said his goodbyes, sealed with a tender, lingering kiss to her forehead and a silent I love you. That was enough, wasn’t it? Why stay when all that would happen is their hearts would ache, the cracks splitting into canyons that could never be filled? His heart was not a vase nor a piece of porcelain that could be repaired with kintsugi. He had seen what happens when Band-Aids cover wounds that haven’t been treated; they fester, the infection spreads, and soon everything is sick, and the only cure is radical treatment. He wasn’t going to make the same mistakes he’d seen so many times before. So, he left.

When he closes his eyes, he still remembers how soft and warm her skin felt under his lips. But of course, with remembering such tenderness, he too remembers the way her eyes glistened with tears, the way her hand reached out for him in a silent plea for him to stay- to change his mind, to try just one more time. Why couldn’t he stay? He had seen her grow so much, blossom into such an incredible leader and advocate, a privilege he was so lucky to obtain. But he too had changed, although as he kneels at the altar of his new local church, his rosary clasped tightly in his hands, he wonders if he had turned into some kind of invasive moth, not the butterfly he so desperately tried to be. A moth and a butterfly could never work. A saint and a sinner could never work. Everyone knows what would happen, the saint would pay for the sinner’s deviance and then too fall from grace. Jesus paid the ultimate sacrifice as payment for sinners, he did not want his love to suffer the same way.

He presses the beads to his lips before standing up, bowing his head once more then turning to leave the place he often sought refuge when his apartment felt too much like prison. He returns his beads to his coat pocket, his thumb running over them as he walks the pavement back home. His heart aches at that. He calls it home when talking to his mami, but it isn’t really home, is it? His heart does not feel content there. The walls, although adorned with tasteful pieces of art, shelves full of books he’s collected and awards and knick-knacks he’d kept after his abuela passed, felt lifeless. The plants, although thriving, seemed plastic, like he’d gone to the dollar store and picked out the cheapest ones he could instead of what he actually did, which was spending months researching which ones would improve the air quality of his apartment. No matter how long he spends there, it would never feel like home.

He hangs his coat up on the hook in the hallway, smoothing it out with his hands before stepping out of his shoes then heading through to the lounge where he goes to the liquor cabinet and pours himself a scotch. It wasn’t his favorite brand; he couldn’t bring himself to drink that anymore as it reminded him too much of her. Even now when he thinks about it, he can picture them sitting next to one another on the couch with her feet in his lap with a drink in one hand, his other resting gently on her leg as his thumb brushes softly against it. The way the alcohol always tasted sweeter when close to her, her laugh filling him with a warmth that nothing else could replicate, not even his mami’s tamales could hit the spot but he wouldn’t dare say such a thing to her face. He sucks back a mouthful of liquor, closing his eyes as he wills the tears to stay in his tear-ducts and not spill onto his cheeks to travel the same path they had many times before. He didn’t want them to find home in his beard because he knew he couldn’t find it in himself to wash away the reminder as each tear contained his love for this woman, a memory of how things used to be, how things could have been had he chosen to do something different. He runs his hand over his beard, smoothing down the bristles that stick out- he only trims when it becomes unmanageable, and even then, he has to force himself not to think about what he was getting rid of. The last hairs falling into his sink that his love had touched, it was too painful to think of.

He refills his glass, returning the stopper to his decanter before taking his glass with him to the lounge. His stomach rumbles as he sits on the couch, another sound he has grown to ignore most of the time. He reaches for the remote and turns his tv on, flicking through the channels until she appears, doing what she does best- advocating. Her voice is powerful, he can feel the hairs on his arms stand to attention, and he even leans forward so he can hear her better. A small smile tugs at his lips, “Look at you soar,” he whispers, the corners of his eyes creasing with adoration, “Look at you fly.”

He rests his hand against his heart, feeling a warmth spread through him as he sees her again. Love never really goes away. No distance has changed that, nor time. He picks his glass up and drinks the liquor, and of course- of course it tastes sweeter, he can pick up on the undertones, the subtle vanilla notes, the sweetness of toffee on the tip of his tongue, and fig coming through, all erasing the usual burn as it works its way down his throat. His eye catches a glimmer when a camera flashes so he pauses the news and gets up, moving closer to the screen so he can get a better look. The air gets sucked from his lungs, the glass nearly falling from his fingertips when he sees it, the necklace sitting on her chest front and center. It had been months, why hadn’t she taken it off? Why didn’t she take it off? His grip on the glass tightens, his hand shaking through sheer force. He clenches his jaw, hating how tears fall freely onto his tan cheeks, running their way through the paths they’d carved previous times, “Why didn’t you take it off?” He almost pleads. “Why couldn’t you make this easier?”

That wasn’t fair of him to say, and he regrets it as soon as the words leave his lips, his features dropping as he shakes his head, “Why didn’t I stay,” he adds, going back to the couch where he resumes the news, it quickly catches up to where she was now answering questions posited by the reporters. He watches her skillfully answer questions and deflect others that were borderline inappropriate, the muscle in her jaw tensing briefly- a sign she was trying hard to remain calm and not give a well-deserved tongue lashing to the journalist. Then a question comes truly from left field, “Are you still close with disgraced former ADA Rafael Barba?” His love falters, a flicker of pain washes over her face, her lips turning down slightly. She sucks in a breath, blinking rapidly as to force the tears to remain in her now glistening eyes as she ends the press conference, thanking them for their time as she heads off stage.

He reaches for his cellphone, unlocking it and going to his contacts before pausing, his thumb hovering over her number. It wasn’t his place anymore. It wasn’t his place to check in with her, to make sure she’s doing okay. He sits back, brings his glass to his lips as he finishes his drink, his eyes still lingering on her profile picture. He should have deleted her number when he moved because he often found himself late at night, laying in bed just staring at the picture of her, wishing she was there with him in his arms.

He sighs and turns the screen off, getting up before he makes his way through the apartment to his bedroom where he’ll bury himself under his thick sheets in an attempt to escape the reality he had made for himself. At least in the darkness he wasn’t at risk of reaching out to her, instead, he was trapped with pictures of her seared into his eyelids, haunting him. To be loved by her, though, wasn’t to be haunted. To be loved by her was to know how free Ikarus felt flying so high, so close to the sun. To know what beauty Michelangelo felt as he painted the ceiling on the Sistine Chapel, how close to heaven he was in that moment. He removes his clothes, leaving them discarded near the laundry basket before climbing into bed, pulling the covers over his head. Now he knows that flying too high, too close to the sun only means your wings will fail and you will fall.

He turns his phone on under the covers, checking her Instagram as he did on long nights. She was only posting pictures of meals she had eaten, flowers she found beautiful, and silly poses with friends. She seemed happy in those photos, a smile was on her face as she laughs, but he knew better. Of course he did. He knew that when she truly smiles, she gets crinkles on her nose, and the creases on the corners of her eyes become more pronounced. He had spent so much of his time tracing her features softly with his fingers, following the curve of her smile lines, the dip of her cupid’s bow, the scar she has on her upper lip after an accident as a child, all such subtle things that most people would overlook. Like her exes had overlooked in favor of just treating her like a piece of meat who was only as good as her tits and ass. Even thinking about her like that made his skin crawl because she was- is so much more than that. Yet whenever he would stop by her office and catch her explaining the case, he would notice the way her male colleagues would only stare at her breasts, excluding Odafin. It always infuriated him because how dare they do that? How dare they treat her that way when she has worked so hard to become Captain? He knew they’d say, “Oh I can’t help it, you know how us men are.” Because he knew he was nothing like that, so he was vehemently against being lumped in with the rest of the group. He would rather take the claims he was a little twink than puff his chest out and go “Yeah! I love staring at my boss’s tits!”

He takes a breath to calm his rising anger before resuming scrolling through her Instagram. He comes across a photo of the view from a yacht with a candle-lit dinner, a vase on the table with flowers. He remembers that night, and if he closes his eyes, he could still feel the weight of the box containing the necklace in his pocket against his thigh. He had called his friend the week before to see if he could use his yacht, and after a few back-and-forth things where he was mainly bribing his friend with a particularly expensive bottle of wine, his friend agreed to let him use the yacht for the weekend. He had gone into planning overdrive after that, any spare moment he was going to markets to order the finest produce so he could pick it up Friday evening after work on his way to get her. He hadn’t felt so nervous since sitting his Bar exam, and even then, he didn’t feel like throwing up. He had called his mom on the drive in hopes she would help calm his nerves, and she did. “If you’re this nervous, Rafi, it means you are worried about doing a good job. You will make her night, I’m sure. You know how much she likes these gestures. Take a deep breath, and try to enjoy yourself, okay?”

And of course, like the good boy he is, he did what his mom said. He thanked her before hanging up just as he pulled out front of her apartment. He parked the car then raced around to the other side to open the door for her, “You look beautiful,” he complimented and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. He shut the door after making sure her clothes wouldn’t get caught in the door before getting in the driver’s side after putting her bag in the back.

The drive was long as the boat was docked in the Hamptons, but neither of them minded. Rafael had held her hand the whole time, both of them just listening to music that played on the radio. A comfortable silence with the occasional, “Oh look at the sunset,” from her. He would always reply with, “It really is beautiful,” but his eyes were only looking at her. The cotton candy sky made her skin glow, dancing across her tan cheeks, catching in the golden streaks in her brown eyes making it look like God himself had carefully weaved in only the finest of gold threads. “Dios mio,” he muttered, a smile on his face as he looked back at the road. His heart had been pounding in his chest, a sensation that one could only describe as having made him feel giddy.

When they had finally made it onto the boat, he had poured her a glass of wine, “You sit and relax, okay? Leave the cooking to me. Put your feet up, admire the view, relax.” He had stroked her cheek affectionately, sealed it with a kiss before he pulled back and tied an apron around his waist. His mami had made sure he knew how to cook because she wasn’t about to let him treat a woman as just a kitchen-maid. As he cooked, he would make sure she would get a taste of the dishes too, along with providing her a little charcuterie board to nibble on while she waited. He loved cooking for people, and he loved cooking for her even more, especially because she appreciated food just as much as he did. She would tell him if he needed to add a little more salt or a touch more acidity, and he would agree. He felt incredibly in tune with her, every suggestion they would say it almost at the same time resulting in the two of them laughing. Rafael would add, “Does that mean you owe me a soda when we get back?” To which she would reply, “I’ll get you the finest bottle of Jarritos, Rafi.”

He had served their dinner on the deck, pulled her seat out for her before he pushed her back in. He sat opposite her, clinked his wine glass with hers, “To a wonderful evening in a beautiful place with beautiful company.” He smiled and sipped his wine before returning the glass to the table. He struggled to take his eyes off her as they ate, the setting sun danced across the surface of the still water and kissed her skin was just such a glorious sight to him. If he knew how to take better photographs on his phone, he would, he would gladly have filled his phone storage with pictures of her in beautiful lighting, and even more candid moments. Now, that wasn’t to say he didn’t have any photos of her at all, but certainly not the amount he wanted. He didn’t want to take a photo of her and have it fail to capture how he sees her. He longed for the ability to paint her like art gods of old, to see the texture of her soft skin like Van Gogh and his swirls, to see the Holy beauty and power that radiates off her like the artwork that adorns so many churches. He saw it every time he looked at the stained glass in his church, while the sun made the images glow brilliantly, there was still a softness to the art- conveying such tenderness, the way Mother Mary cradled her son’s face just reminded him of how compassionate she is with victims.

While they did enjoy their meal, and she had loved the necklace he gifted her, there was a heaviness that weighed on the two of them. Neither had spoken much about the case, about whether it was wrong or right to want to end the life of a baby who would never know true freedom, never have the ability to play or exist without pain. He could see it in her eyes, the conflict, the pain, and she could see it in his. He had laid some blankets and pillows on the deck so they could lay there and watch the stars twinkle in the sky above, she cuddled in as close to him as she could without climbing into his ribs. He idly drew patterns on her side, “I don’t know if I can continue to do this case, mi amour,” he started, taking a steadying breath so his voice didn’t crack like he knew it would, like it always did when it involved a child, a baby. “I can’t prosecute someone who- who is going through so much pain, so much turmoil. It doesn’t seem fair. We- we are supposed to do real crimes, assaults, rapes, murders. Not this. Not parents fighting over whether to continue watching their little baby suffer or let it pass.”

She had looked at him, her eyebrows furrowed slightly before she returned her gaze to the sky, “It isn’t our decision to make, Rafi. The baby is not a pet, we can’t just put it to sleep when it is suffering. No matter how tough things may be, it is our job, our duty to persevere and ensure justice is served.” She took a breath, “If they had known when she was still pregnant, if the tests had been available, there would have been options they could have taken. But to do so now is- Tantamount to murder, no matter how-“ She shook her head, “It’s- It’s not our decision to make. It is a burden to the parents, an unfair one, one that hurts everyone but hurts them the most. All we can do is make sure they have the support they need no matter the outcome of the trial. I know that whatever you choose to do will be the right decision.”

Rafael looked at her with tears in his eyes, “Mi amour,” he whispered, “Will you still love me if I made the wrong one?” She cupped his cheek softly, her thumb had brushed lightly across the swell of it as she reassured him that she would. They had shared a soft kiss, while she wiped away the tears that fell onto his cheeks. They returned their gaze to the stars above, she told him which constellations were which, sometimes making them up just to see if he would catch on, but of course, when he is so in love, he never felt the need to correct or interject because why would he? Why would he when any sound that fell from her lips was like music to his hears? When any word or string of sentences felt as though Shakespeare himself was speaking to him, or Sylvia Plath or Dickenson. To be loved and to be so thoroughly in love was such a privilege to him. At church he would confess how much he loved her, how it felt almost sinful to be this in love, only to be told by the priest on the other side that a love as pure and deep as his was so far from sin that the angels in Heaven could even hear his words. That they too would play their harps and sing songs about this mortal love.

“I hope,” she said, “That this feeling, this- grief, this darkness does not become too much for you.” Truth be told, it hadn’t become too much for him, but for both of them. The grief that came with the decision he made sent shockwaves through them both that no amount of prayer and penance could fix.

That first night apart, the emptiness in the bed beside him was palpable, it felt as though there was an anchor weighing that side down just to accentuate the fact that he was alone and it was his own doing. He would rest his hand where she had laid and if he held his breath, he could almost trick himself into feeling her hand gently wrap around his and press a soft kiss to his knuckles. He could still hear her voice, in the evenings there was always a slight roughness to it that made him shiver, and she would talk about where they would go on holiday when they were forced to take leave. Italy, Paris, Cuba, Mexico, but it did not matter truly, as long as they had each other that is all that mattered. They would talk about how they hope that one day, there wouldn’t be such a hard battle for victims to be believed, and sometimes they would just talk about the stupid reality programs that were plaguing the tv. Everything she said or did was holy to him. And although it was blasphemous to say such a thing, he would gladly worship at the alter of her, saying prayers between her golden thighs as though she were a God herself.

He always thought he had left to protect her, to save her from further anguish, but perhaps he was too caught up in his own heartache to realize that she had also done it to protect him. She had always done that. Looked out for others when she should have been focusing on herself too. And maybe… Maybe things had just become too much even for her.

That’s what he thought until he saw the pictures of her, but he could tell things weren’t right. He knew that when she was truly happy, the captions to the photos would reflect that, whether it be a flood of emojis or a quote that resonated with her, but now it was nothing like that. Just simple, “Fun with friends,” and maybe she was having fun, but he knew that wasn’t true. Her true joy was unbridled, outshining the sun itself, making grey clouds go away on stormy days. Her love- No, Olivia’s love was something that was uncontained, addictive, pure, Holy. Even on the last night they had spent together, they had assured one another that they would do everything they can to support each other no matter what. It was laying there on the deck of the yacht that he realised now was their way of saying goodbye to one another despite the kiss he would press to her skin the next day.

Now here he was, curled up under the covers like a dejected dog that had been told no to a treat. The alcohol made his head hurt, and on an empty stomach, he knew that any sudden movement would surely make his head spin. While church did fill him with a sense of belonging and community that he had missed since moving, it still did not fill the void he now had within him. He still returned to a lifeless apartment, he couldn’t bring himself to adopt a rescue animal in fear he would make it depressed with his moping, or worse, it would get critically ill and he could not bear to make that decision again. Every time he returned home, he actually prayed for Olivia to be there waiting for him. To see her suitcase by his bedroom door, her shoes tucked in next to his by the front door, and her coat hanging up beside his. He couldn’t stop thinking about her even though every time it hurt him so deeply, filled him with a grief he can’t help but compare to when Holy Mary was grieving the loss of her beloved son.

Olivia. Olivia. Always Olivia. The brunette whose laugh revitalized him, whose eyes he would gladly drown in, whose tongue skillfully empowered everyone around her, or soothed the worries and fears one might have. Olivia, who even on her worst days, was still the most wonderful person to be around. Olivia whose lips felt so soft against his own. Olivia whom he loved.

He wipes his eyes, his cheek feeling cold due to the tears that had cooled on his sheets before startling when his doorbell goes off. He knew it wouldn’t be his mami because she always called him when she was coming over. He pulls himself out of bed, begrudgingly putting at least some pants and a shirt on before going to answer the door. He scratches his beard as he looks through the peephole, feeling what color he had on his cheeks fade instantly. He blinks a few times, his mind going blank as he forgets how to open a door. The bell rings again, the woman worrying her lip between her teeth before she starts to turn to leave. Rafael fumbles with the locks on his door before pulling it open, one word leaving his lips, “Olivia?” What was she doing here? He did send her a text months ago about his new address, but she had never replied. Why would she? Why would she come when that is how they had left things there on the streets of New York City? “Olivia- What- What are you doing here?”

The brunette turns to look at him, almost surprised he answered the door; she looks so tired, her eyes sunken in the way they used to when she was particularly troubled by a case, barely holding on to the life-raft she had crafted herself- a flicker of a smile spreads across her face, a ghost of how she used to be, “I- It’s the anniversary of when you passed the Bar exam,” she says softly, “I couldn’t miss it. I could never miss it.” But she had. She did. But he couldn’t blame her for that, it was a mutual break-up, they were both at fault for missing important events.

“Olivia…” Rafael wanted to push her away because how could they go through all that pain just for her to come back? Without saying anything? How could he let her in when he had hurt her just as much as she had him? His eyes dart to her neck, she was still wearing the necklace, but it was tarnished, like she had never taken it off, not even to shower or polish it. He rubs his bear again, the sharp bristles scratching against the soft skin of his palm as he debates what to do. But at the end of the day, it was Olivia, his Olivia, so, he steps to the side to let her in, closing and locking the door behind her, “I-“

“I know I missed a lot of things,” Olivia says after a while of thick silence, the space between the two of them felt endless but realistically they were only a foot apart. They both made a mistake, they both screwed up by walking away from one another when really they needed that support that the relationship provided. “I’m sorry I didn’t fight more- I’m sorry I didn’t fight more for you, for us. I thought it would have saved us both some grief. I thought- I thought we were both going to drown, and I didn’t want you to sink with me. I didn’t realize in doing that, I’d cast you away.” She looks down at the bag containing a gift for him, a Band-Aid to loosely stick over the wounds she had caused him, but once again, like she had so many times before, she saw something and thought of him. Oh God, God how she thought of Rafael, every moment of every day was filled with thoughts of him. Every time she went to church to pray, he was the first name to leave her lips as she asked for God to watch over those she loved.

When she lay awake at night she thought of him, when she turned on her side to stare at the wall, she would watch the way the lights from the city would glide through the sheer curtains and skate across the wall and remember how it looked as it kissed his skin, catching the silver hairs that adorned him. She couldn’t bare it any longer. “I got you this- I saw it and thought of you,” Olivia says quietly, handing Rafael the bag, “I know- I know it’s late, but- Happy Bar Anniversary.”

Rafael takes the bag, it felt remarkably heavy, weighed down by the time the two had spent apart, the aching in his chest that was left in her absence, the loneliness that had settled in his bones and often anchored him down to his bed for days on end. He goes over to the couch and sits down, Olivia sitting a distance away as he removes the crepe paper from the bag before taking out the small box at the bottom. Inside the box was a pair of cufflinks, the Scales of Justice in platinum, he had always wanted a pair like this but often felt like it was too arrogant for him to get. He carefully removes them from the box and examines them, he loved it, he knew he would because he always loved anything Olivia had given him, “They’re perfect,” Rafael says quietly, “Really nice, Olivia. Thank you.” He returns them to the box, not wanting to try them on right now. He closes the box then just stares at it, it felt weighty in his hands. The room was quiet, all he could hear was the steady breathing coming from himself and Olivia.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry for everything, Rafael. I thought- I thought if I agreed to the break-up, that things would be easier. That I would be happy. I- I tried dating, there were some nice men, but you know- You know how they get when they find out what I do,” she smiles a bit, “Always wanting to know too much about work, about cases, some even- They always got so mad when I ended things. So angry. Said of course a stuck-up bitch like me would do that and wrongly persecute men because that’s all we’re good for. They’d push drinks on me, get pissed I’d turn them down because heaven forbid I want to avoid becoming like my mother. And all I could think whenever I came home was what it would have been like if it had been you on those dates. Those dates gave me flashbacks- triggered my PTSD and made me wonder if the medication even helps because I always feel like clawing my skin off to try and get out of it. That maybe we should have gone to therapy together and talked about what happened, but I was so scared that it would just make things worse. I know that makes me a coward and a fool, but I couldn’t bare the thought of losing you for good. Now I know that isn’t fair for me to say, but it’s the truth, and you deserve the truth after so long of nothing.” Olivia takes a breath, blinking back tears, “All I’m reminded of is all that could have been. That I could have continued winning cases because of you. That I could have been with you. I could have been truly happy, but now- now all I know is grief and heartache, surrounded by sharks that love to see me panic and scared. This darkness that seems to want to suck me in, and the only light that comes through those cracks are when I think of you.”

“Olivia,” Rafael puts the gift to the side, tentatively reaching out to hold his hand in hers, and oh its embarrassing how his heart soars upon feeling her hand in his own once more, “When I think of you, I think of warmth and hope. Nothing about you is dark. You are the sun on the first day of spring, radiant and a beacon. Those men- I’m sorry they did that to you, and I’m sorry it gave you flashbacks. But the meds- Do you feel like they’re helping? You’re still here, you’re still you, so they must be doing something, right?”

“Oh Rafael, you’re so sweet,” Olivia whispers, gently squeezing his hand, and there- there it is, that spark, that little ball of hope coming back to life in the very depths of her soul, the little ball trying to bloom into a beautiful flower that was him. “You’ve always been so sweet to me. You say you’re not romantic, yet you are, you always know what to say to me.” Olivia bites her lip, and he could tell she had been doing it more often due to the scarring on them, “Sometimes- Sometimes I think I’m getting better, and everything feels manageable, but then- then it all comes crashing down around me. There I am in the corner of my room clutching my pistol to my chest as I will the person banging at the front door to go away. It just- Feels like a battle I’ll never win, and the pills, the therapy, are just covering a wound that will keep festering.”

Rafael rubs circles lightly on the back of her hand, running his thumb lightly over her knuckles, “You’re still here, Olivia- You’re still here, so you’re still winning your fight. I know it’s hard, believe me I do. I don’t know how many times I have been to church and prayed and confessed and done penance in hopes it eases the turmoil inside me, but it helps even if it is just for the night. You can get through this.” He smiles a bit, an idea forming in his mind, “I think I’ve got some ice-cream in my freezer, how about we make some banana splits like we used to? Come on-“ He gets up and heads through to the kitchen where he starts rummaging through his freezer for the Ben & Jerry’s ice-cream. He still brought a pint of her favourite flavor because he hoped that one day they would see each other again. He lost count of how many evenings the two of them had made banana splits, saying it was a healthy meal because of the banana even though it was drenched in chocolate syrup and caramel.

“Oh- I don’t-“ Olivia lets out a quiet, nervous giggle as she follows him to the kitchen so she could help. She tried doing this with a friend who stayed the night and they weren’t interested in it, saying it was too unhealthy for them instead of just enjoying it as a treat. “You’ll mush the banana if you keep that up, honey,” the term of endearment slips from her tongue before she could stop herself, but neither of them cared, it felt like things were like they used to be and that is what they both needed right now. She shows him how to cut the banana in the peel before handing him the other so he could do it himself, “We have done this so many times, and every time you would still squish the banana.”

Rafael didn’t have the heart to tell her that he did know how to do it, he just loved whenever she would do it because that meant she was closer to him, close enough for him to smell the faint perfume on her skin, the shampoo in her hair, and the laundry detergent on her clothes, “Silly me,” he chuckles softly, cutting the banana correctly this time. When he’s done, he places it in the bowl, a smile on his face, “Perfect.” And in that moment, the way the evening sun shone through the windows and flooded the space with a heavenly glow made her skin look like gold, and he remembered that was how he had always looked at her- like she was crafted from natures finest gold, and that the sun glimmered in the sky just for him. His Olivia always looks so beautiful, even on the days where she struggled to get up with her mused hair, and slight smile, she still made butterflies come to life in his stomach.

“What?” Olivia asks, doubt returning to her eyes, “What is it? Do I have something on my face?” She brings her hands up to cover herself, but Rafael stops her, gently holding her hands in his, “Seriously, Rafi, what is it? Please- I-“

“Olivia,” he says softly, “There’s nothing on your face. There’s nothing wrong. Just in this lighting- the sun makes your skin look like God himself carved you out of Earth’s finest gold, and it’s so beautiful. You are so beautiful. You always have been.” He brings a hand up to tenderly stroke her cheek, his thumb brushing against it lightly, “They never once said that, did they?”

Olivia dips her head, still leaning against his hand but avoiding eye-contact, she couldn’t, “No- Well- Not as nicely as you did. Just whenever they wanted something. I never believed them when they said it because of the look in their eyes, just this real sleezy look- Like those men we would put in prison.” She worries her lip between her teeth once more, it had been so long since she had felt beautiful and not like a piece of meat, and while she always had with Rafael, she still couldn’t help but doubt it this time because what if he didn’t mean it? What if he was just saying it to make her feel better?

“That was my favorite thing to do, doing that with you. It was always so satisfying seeing them get mad,” he chuckles softly. “Remember when we made one cry because he turned down the plea deal and got sentenced to life? That was great,” Rafael gently tilts her head up, looking into her water-color eyes. “You know, even though you’re likely doubting what I have said, I assure you that I would never lie to you about anything, Liv, never. You know my mami would know, and God would be the one to tell her, then I’d never hear the end of it. So, when I say you’re beautiful and that you always have been, just know that I mean every word of it.”

“I know- I know that deep down, I do, I promise I do, but it’s still hard when the only people who have said that to me lately were just saying it after staring at my breasts. It’s like how you struggle to think you’re a good lawyer- I still remember when you lost a case… You spent so long going through the evidence and your notes as though it would somehow change the decision the jury made, that you’d find some smoking gun and the bullets and be able to bring it to them and tell them they were wrong. I told you- I tried telling you that you are good at what you do, and that I know you did your best, you snapped at me with tears in your eyes because how could I think you were good when the jury had let him off his charge?” Olivia traces his features lightly with her finger, “You hid away in your office as you willed yourself to somehow be better, to will the outcome to change. You refused to eat anything, even when your mom came with tamales. You spent so long in there, and all I could do was ensure you drank, make sure the windows were open, so you’d get some fresh air, and ate at least one tamal.”

It took days before he came out of the hovel he had built, sure he went to the bathroom, but that was it. He didn’t speak a word. The night he came out, she had left the curtains open so he could see the city lights and watch the sunset kiss the sides of the buildings and flood the streets. She had come in with some horchata and fresh churros, and she saw him in all his glory. Olivia had put the food and drink down on the table by the windows before sitting down near him, her fingers idly drawing patterns on his arm, “Hey,” is all she had said with that silly little smile on her face. She knew he would be famished but knew he wouldn’t be interested in eating tamales, so churros and horchata was the safest option that he rarely turned down. Rafael had reached for one of the churros, his hand shaking slightly from the lack of food, and slowly made his way through them, dipping them in the rich chocolate sauce.

“How can you still look at me that way?” He had asked her, “With stars in your eyes, like I’m a good person. I don’t understand how you can do that.”

“Because you are. I will always look at you that way, nothing will change that. That court case won’t change that either,” Olivia replied, sipping her own drink she had brought. “I know you see yourself differently, just like how I don’t see myself the way you do, but please let me tell you what I think of when my eyes land on you, Rafi. I find myself thinking of statues that people carved as offerings to their gods, the stained glass murals that are in the churches we love, and even then, they still wouldn’t capture you. I see caramel skin that chefs couldn’t even make after years of practice, emerald eyes like beautiful lakes left untouched by man because you- Oh you are a rarity, a limited-edition print that stars could only dream of collecting, and you- you are all mine. Your hair is kissed by the stars with flecks of silver scattered throughout that so many look to in the skies above in hopes of finding some guidance. Then your smile, how it makes me feel like the only woman in the world, dazzling me like when we see the gorgeous paintings on the church ceiling. The fire you have in the court room is enough to keep me warm for days after. Never have I met a more passionate, handsome man than you. No matter the outcome, I know, and so do the victims, that you have done everything you can to win. A loss does not detract from that because all it does is show you did all you could.”

Rafael couldn’t breathe, staring at Olivia in shock and surprise that after all these years, she still remembered what she had said to him word for word, and how she managed to seem so serious despite the mess they were making while in the kitchen. Rafael, himself, had remembered that poem too, word for word, and tried reciting it to himself on the days where not even church could lift his spirits, but it never moved him the way it did when she said it. “You remembered,” he said after a while of silence, a small smile tugging at his lips, “You remembered it word for word. God, and does it still fill me with butterflies too.”

Olivia laughs lightly, her true laugh when she was happy, the one that came from deep within her stomach and bubbled out of her throat like the tune of a songbird, “Of course I did. I remember everything when it comes to you: How one of your favorite foods is your abuela’s tamales but you say your mom’s so you don’t get a clip round the ear, how you like peace lilies and begonias, how when you’re craving something you like really greasy tacos from the taco-truck under the bridge near the Bronx, although sometimes you just want a taco bowl from Chipotle and vow I don’t tell anyone you committed such a sin. I remember how you always wanted to adopt a rescue dog from the shelter, how you absolutely hate driving and would rather catch public transport.”

Rafael’s cheeks flush a deep red and his smile grows, “Oh Liv,” he whispers, feeling that little red thread pulling the two of them together once more, just like it had when they first met, although back then he didn’t believe in such a thing, “It’s always been you, hasn’t it?”

“And it has always been you, Rafi. Always.” Olivia cups his cheeks and leans in, their breath intermingling in the small gap between the two of them, she smelled off coffee and peppermint gum she always chewed when anxious.

“Liv,” he whispers, wanting nothing more than to feel her soft lips upon his own once again, “Are you sure?”

“I always am when it involves you,” she replies before kissing him softly, and in that moment, magic felt real again- the spark that travels from her lips to his then through his body, electrifying every single nerve ending in his body. It was cliché, but cliches are only that way because they are true. His hands return to her cheeks, tilting his head slightly so that their lips could fit together better, two puzzle-pieces after being separated for so long still fitting together as though they had just joined- perfection.

Olivia is the first to pull back, her cheeks rosy, "You still using the lip scrub and beard oil? It’s really like kissing a marshmallow and being tickled by candy-floss, your lips and beard are so soft.” She giggles and steals another kiss before putting a dab of chocolate syrup on his nose, her eyes twinkling once more, “Now we match.”

“I do, you know me, Liv, skin-care and beard-care are important.” Rafael chuckles and bites his lip, gently pulling the brunette closer, “Now we match. I think- I think you just gave me a reason to look forward to things again, Liv. Tell me, please, will you stay?”

“I don’t- I didn’t bring any clothes- I only have my bag,” she admits, looking at his hands holding hers, “I don’t want to leave NYC, Rafi-“

“That’s okay, Liv. I just- For tonight at least. You can wear one of my shirts tomorrow, and I-“ His cheeks color, “Have a few of your things you left in my old apartment. Then- If you want, we can- I can come visit you, we can take turns until we feel ready to move in again. We’ll be okay, Liv. You and I- Will make it work, we always will.”

Olivia looks at him, “We will be, won’t we? I- Would like that, a lot, Rafi. Thank you.” She leans in and presses a soft kiss to his cheek.

“We’ll figure it out tomorrow, okay? Tomorrow I’ll show you around the place, I know it like the back of my hand, oh and the church- Dios mio, it’s beautiful. Oh Liv, I have so much to tell you.”

“And now, Rafi, we have all the time in the world. I’m not going to walk away from us again. Not this time. Not again. I promise.”

“I promise you too, Liv.”

#Barson #Olivia Benson x Rafael Barba #Rafael Barba x Olivia Benson #Olivia Benson #Rafael Barba #Law and Order svu

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drivinmeinsane · 1 year ago

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Thoughts on Officer KD6-3.7 as a romantic partner

It takes K a long time to confront his own feelings about you, much less say it out loud. He was worried that if he acknowledged the love he feels for you, he would be irreparably changed, never close to baseline again. He wasn’t wrong. To love and to be loved in return is to be changed.

He uses terms of endearment for you more than he uses your name. It helps to make his dreams of serene domesticity more of a reality. “sweetheart”, “darling”, and “honey” are his go-tos. The first time you called him by a pet name, he stopped dead in his tracks, completely overwhelmed. It gives him a sense of humanity, of belonging, when you call by something kind.

K would never miss a special date. He’ll even go so far as to make up his own milestones and celebrations as an excuse to do something nice for you when the mood strikes. It’s your anniversary today? Sure, of the twentieth Tuesday you’ve known him.

The replicant is touch starved. Even simple brushes of your hand against his or grazes of your bodies together when you move past one another is enough to bring him leaning into your space, chasing the sensation. It is not something he seems to have control over.

He's more comfortable being touched than being the one to touch. He’s not accustomed to being allowed to initiate contact with no orders or with implied permission. Once K overcomes that barrier, he can hardly keep his hands off of you. He places lingering hands on your arms, brushes his fingers over your palm, winds your hair around his fingers, anything at all to feel something tangible and remind himself that you are here with him.

He wants so badly to be real for you. In his worst moments, he’s worried that he won’t ever be enough, that his status as a replicant makes him lesser, not worthy of your affections. His fears lead him to believe that you would prefer an organic partner.

K often tells you that you don’t have to be nice to him, that you don’t have to treat him with the care and tenderness that you do. He can’t seem to fathom that you actually want him. He doesn’t have anything to offer you but himself and that’s hardly worth having, isn’t it?

He would do anything within the realm of his capabilities for you. You are the most important thing in his existence. He wishes he were not a despised pet tethered to the LAPD. He wishes he could leave without becoming what he retires.

He reads to you. It takes his mind off the work day. The apartment isn’t filled with many books, but you enjoy each of them because the time he spends reading out loud is soothing for the both of you. His steady voice lulls you into a relaxed state from where he reads in his chair as you sit on the couch with his feet resting on your lap. His voice gets rougher and deeper when you trace nonsensical patterns over his legs.

While he’s not supposed to take items from crime scenes, he does it anyway, slipping them into the pockets on the inside of his coat. He comes home and shows what he has taken to you with the earnest hope that you will enjoy the meager offering. He can’t afford to give you much, but he can do this.

He always looks at you like you’re going to disappear. His eyes scan you like a data screen any chance he gets. He’s memorizing everything about you with each pass of his eyes. He holds those observations close for fear they’ll be all he has left of you. He doesn’t get to keep things. He doesn’t get to own anything that can’t be taken away. He’s a possession himself.

18+ content under the cut.

His cum is bio-luminescent. In the dark, it glows a pretty blue to match his eyes. It's another reminder that K is not quite human.

He's nervous about sexual contact due to past experiences and trauma. You're one of the very few people that he's actually wanted to be intimate with. He’s firm, almost aggressive, in bed. He’s starved for physical intimacy for so long, that he longs to feast, to make up for the absence.

K firmly believes that he is a tool. He is made to give, not to receive, so it surprises him every time when you want to bring him pleasure for the sake of it. The novelty of receiving a blow job or something that focuses solely on him never wears off.

He has a breeding kink. He knows it's impossible for him to get anyone pregnant, but it's nice to occasionally lose himself in the fantasy of being real enough to make it happen.

If Joi is an active participant in your lives, one thing that really gets him off is engaging in sex with you while Joi is activated. Her being there to murmur encouraging things to the both of you, dictating how you should touch each other, gets him cumming embarrassingly fast.

{ m a s t e r l i s t }

#blade runner 2049 #blade runner #br2049 #officer k #kd6-3.7 #officer k imagines #blade runner 2049 headcanons #officer k headcanons #ryan gosling character #my posts #my work #just to put it out there. i've been referring to k's uh.... release as glozz (glow jizz)#it's been knocking around in my head ever since wrote the driver/ken fic that mentioned ken's glizz (glitter jizz)

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hua-mo-jin-is-a-cutie · 4 months ago

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okay so like disregarding the horrid ethics of ai scraping without consent and compensation and the huge impact ai has on the environment, focusing solely on the claim companies love to make, that ai is a tool for artists, IF ai had stayed looking like shit, if the early days of dall e mini had been the extent of it's power, I could see it being a tool.

If it had stayed like this. Where everything is melting and hard to decipher, it could have been a tool specifically for practice. Because that's what it was when it first came out. Artists, before learning about the ethics of ai, saw these images and thought "wouldn't that be a fun exercise in interpretation?" and made redraws of these horrible awful images. It was a good exercise in creativity, it was fun to take these melting monstrosities and make them into something tangible. But then ai kept getting better at replicating actual images and now if you want a picture of an anime girl you can get one in just a few seconds and it looks like this

and that SUCKS. I can pick out the artists these images are pulling from, they have names and years of hard work under their belt and... what is there to do with these images really? This isn't a tool, there is no work to be done with them, they are, for all intents and purposes, the same as a finished illustration. The most an artist would do to these is make some small touch ups to make the blunders of ai like hair or clothing details not quite making sense, a little bit less noticeable. At that point it is not a tool. It does not aide the creative process, it takes it from the hands of the artist.

When ai gen images were first gaining traction and it still looked like shit. I did a few of these interpretation exercises and they were genuinely fun. The ai images were made by feeding Looking Glass AI some images of vocal synth character portraits and seeing what it spat out. And it spat out a lot of shit, girls with 8 arms and 4 legs and no head and hair for eyes and whatnot. So it was FUN and A TOOL because it looked so bad. Do I think the designs I interpreted from these are good? No not really. I think they could be if I did a few more passes to flesh them out, they aren't really something I'd usually design so it could be fun to keep letting them evolve, but as it stands they definitely need work.

But at the end of the day, saying all this, the fact of the matter is that ai image generation, in it's current state, regardless of what it looks like or how artists can or can't use it, doesn't matter. Because ai image generation is unethical. The scraping is unethical, the things that these datasets contain should be considered a violation of privacy considering some of them include pictures from MEDICAL DATA. And the environmental impact is absolutely abhorrent. The planet is already dying, do we need to speed it up for anime girl tiddies at the press of a button?

So if you're an artist looking to do an exercise like this where you look at something unintelligible and make sense of it with your pencil, what can you do? Well there's a few options really.

Having poor eyesight helps if you want to observe things in real life. take your glasses off and look around.

Look at the patterns in the paint on your ceiling or the stains on the floor or the marble texture of your counter top or the wood grain of a table or whatever else is around you.

Take poor quality screenshots of things you see online, you can even make the image quality worse digitally.

random paint or marker splotch doodle page. Draw over the shapes that random paint or marker marks make on a page.

take pictures of things from weird angles. distort them even more digitally if you want.

make collages in a photo app. I used to use pixlr in high school to make weird little pictures and while I never drew from them, they certainly changed the original images

I still think that if they ai looks bad enough that this kind of exercise can be fun and helpful if you're in a bit of an art block, and I do truly believe you can take inspiration from anything. I may take ai generated images that already exist on the internet, reference a few of them at once, and try to make something good out of them. But the way that ai exists right now, it just simply isn't the tool the companies are trying to sell you, and I most certainly won't be generating any new ai images any time soon.

#anti ai generated content #anti generative ai #art #commentary

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eve2atom · 1 month ago

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Fav fruits tierlist?

AHHH TYSM MOOT i am SO glad you ask. here is the basic list and i put all the extra insane dia fruit info under the cut so that people don’t get a headache trying to scroll past it

I am God tier: fruits that are THE fruit. nothing can ever be more of a fruit than these fruits are. pinnacles of excellence, unable to be replicated or improved on. Literally have never had a bad sample of these

— GRAPES (red + green)

there’s something about biting into a crisp fresh big grape that makes you remember why being alive is so great and amazing. the birds are chirping the sun is shining i remember to brush my hair and visit the library

— BLUEBERRIES

the average individual who is not a fruit connoisseur like i am typically does not understand the complexities of the blueberry. “it’s flavourless” “it’s boring” IT IS A STAPLE. TO ALL FRUITKIND. they are delicious as a topping on confectionaries, for breakfasts, and even frozen during hot summers. nothing does it like they do okay

— NECTARINES

a recent contender actually. i will recommend to everyone who sees this post to order a slightly unripened one and eat it asap. the texture is like an apple but somehow softer and the flavour is unlike anything to ever exist

the Rapture tier: i may not be like super religious or whatever (sorry nana) but sometimes a fruit will hit ur tastebuds and get you dancing to invisible music and angels like the rats from the Ratatouille movie

— STRAWBERRIES

should’ve been god tier Honestly but once i was out picking them with my grandmother in like. 2017, bit into one and there was a big ol slug inside it. no hate to the slug btw i totally would also want to live in a fruit as scrumptious as the strawberry however i am lowk traumatized from that experience

— CANTALOUPE

hell i don’t even know where to start. but if fruits were anthropomorphic i would date the fuck out of a cantaloupe. we serve them on fruit platters for catering at work and when they come back we are sometimes allowed to snack on them. i LUNGE for the cantaloupe slices like some secret assassin is five seconds from my location and devour it. makes me feel like a demon tho so it got bumped down also

— LEMONS

idk man i love lemon everything. truly the best artificial flavour to ever exist. if motor oil tasted like lemon i would slurp that shit up. getting my teeth cleaned? lemon pls. drink of choice? lemonade don’t play with me now. hungry? let me eat the zest part first okay

— RASPBERRIES

me and my sister fight each other over the raspberry pints like we’re the two weird ginger guys from gladiator 2. enough said

— WATERMELON

if i ever need to drink water i eat watermelon. idk how fruit can be so yummy but also hydrating. kinda like the fruit version of humans if u think abt it… am i committing fruiticide?

Ascending to heaven and Yummy tiers are both quite similar tbh. the main difference in my mind is that if the wicked witch offered me a basket of poisoned fruit and it was from the Ascending tier, i would eat it and die. technically i’d die eating a kiwi regardless of the poison status (allergies 😓) but i eat mangos all the time anyways so they can’t be that bad

ye ol reliable is literally just what we have in the house regularly. you may ask “dia why the hell do ur parents have apricots and not idk. red apples” and all i have to say in return is idk either man. my dad likes fitness + smth about green apples and pears appeal to him. for some reason. it baffles us all

onto the apocalypse… i try to be kind and not hate any specific fruit bc i am a fruit connoisseur as stated above. but there is only so much even i can tolerate u know? we used to grow figs in the backyard and my dad would make us eat them until i googled a pic and found out wasps die in them and STAY there. cried until i threw up + he took pity on me. and let me just say right now if somepony handed me a coconut i would concuss myself with it and DIE. not a fan

#fruit #asks #anyways dia yap personal post idk

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imtrashraccoon · 1 year ago

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Do you know what tatting is? It’s a kind of lacework, but I’m curious how you think the Underfell bro’s would react to an MC with tatting as a hobby

Thanks for sending this ask, it was fun to write out! I actually had to look this up as I hadn't heard the term before. Totally thought it was related to tattoos until you specified lol. Headcanons under the cut as they got a bit lengthy...

Both brothers would likely be a bit confused about the term unless they saw you in the process of actually making the lace. While both would find the process and techniques interesting, they would have slightly different reactions from each other.

Sans:

He would be absolutely amazed that you both have the time and patience to make such a delicate creation. He's certainly not known for his patience, especially when it comes to fiddly things like this with all the tiny loops and chains required to make lace. Also, he has sharp claws and would likely tear the thread or otherwise ruin the lace if he tried himself.

While he isn't interested in taking the time required to even attempt to make something like this, he is impressed that you are. Even though he makes a habit of doing nothing most of the time and often has long periods of his day dedicated to doing nothing, he couldn't see himself putting that time into something like this. He's still a lazy bonehead it seems.

He may not fully understand why you enjoy making lace. It takes hours upon hours to do and when you're actually done, you end up with such a tiny and delicate piece that doesn't really do anything? It does look nice but he wouldn't dare wear any lace out in public - he has a reputation to uphold afterall.

However, he might make an exception if you two are in a relationship and you make something specifically for him. He cares a lot about you, and this hobby of yours is one of the many things he admires about you as it shows how gentle, patient, and basically the complete opposite of everyone else he's ever known is like.

He's both proud and protective of your skills. If someone belittles you or thinks it's a dumb hobby? He will convince them otherwise, which may or may not involve a beat down depending on how mean they were.

Papyrus:

He is fascinated you know how to do this and whenever you're casually doing so, you'll have a captive audience. He wants to know how you do it, even if he isn't sure he'd actually be able to replicate it like you can. He'll try his hardest though, even if it results in the obvious outcome of torn thread from his sharp claws. He'll get it eventually, just bear with him a little, and be patient.

Being a member of the Royal Guard doesn't allow him much free time and when he does, he generally spends it doing chores or running errands. He's motivated enough to slot this hobby of yours into his schedule though and would appreciate it if you helped him make time for it. He prefers spending time together with you, even if he is a workaholic, and this is the perfect reason to do so.

Much like Sans, Papyrus isn't interested in actually wearing the lace pieces but would likely use it for decorations around the house. Unfortunately, he also has a reputation to uphold and wouldn't tell anyone about his new hobby as a result. He would be the type to hype up your skills though if someone is visiting and compliments your lacework. He might even admit that he took up the hobby because of you, but only if they genuinely liked it.

He also might make an exception to wearing lace if it was a gift that you specifically made for him. He cares a lot about your talent and the commitment it requires to make it. He would be very proud to wear your gift if you two were in a relationship, regardless of what other people think.

He's already rather protective of you and your hobby is no exception. However unlike his brother, Papyrus is a bit more calculating if someone were to be mean to you or belittle your hard work. He could resort to physical violence but he'll try other methods first if the situation allows. The bully may not even know he was angry until they get a surprise visit from the Guards at an inopportune time, especially if they were already involved in criminal activity. If you find out about this, Papyrus will likely give you a wink and mention karma came for them, but you know he was purposely involved.

#anon ask #i'm not sure if this would exactly apply to how i've written either brother so far as i've never thought of this before #good ask keep em coming because i love answering them!#raccoons drabbles #underfell #undertale #underfell sans #underfell papyrus #reader

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itstobias149 · 2 months ago

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Hello everybody! Tobias here with another post! Today I bring a post about dynamics and headcanons for my Halloween horror nights oc! I am so in love this with fandom, this is so right up my little alt heart ally!

I know along of you guys are here for punch out and this might not be your type of content, epically if you don’t like mentions of darker subjects like gore, horror, etc. If you don’t like those things, this may not be the post for you!

Now let’s get into the Meat of this post 🥀

Penelope & The Director: A Horror Icon’s Worst Nightmare

The dynamic between Penelope and the Director is a chilling mix of unwanted admiration, obsessive fixation, and complete disregard for personal boundaries. While most fear the Director for his sadistic tendencies, Penelope is one of the few who outright avoids him—not because she fears death, but because she knows she’s already exactly what he wants.

The Director’s Obsession:

To him, Penelope isn’t a person—she’s a spectacle. Her gruesome death, the way she moves, her eerie presence—everything about her is perfectly cinematic. Unlike the other ghosts, who are either too crude or too predictable, she embodies a tragic horror that can’t be replicated with actors or special effects.

• He Sees Her as His Masterpiece, Even Though He Had Nothing to Do With Her Death – In his mind, she is the embodiment of everything he spent his life trying to create on film. Even though he had no hand in her tragedy, he still claims artistic ownership over her, as if the universe created her specifically for his vision.

• He Wants to Capture Her on Film – If he had the power to record her, he would. He often expresses frustration that she exists outside the reach of a camera, like an unfilmable ghost story.

• He Speaks to Her Like She’s an Actress, Not a Person – Instead of calling her by name, he’ll refer to her as “the perfect shot,” “a vision of horror,” or “a moment in time.” If he ever does use her name, it’s in a way that makes her feel like a character in one of his productions, not an actual individual.

Penelope’s Discomfort & Avoidance:

While Penelope is used to scaring people, the Director’s interest in her is deeply unsettling because it’s not fearful—it’s admiring. He isn’t afraid of her. He doesn’t even want to hurt her. He just watches her like a collector who finally found the rarest piece of horror history.

• She Hates That He Talks About Her Like an Object – The way he describes her as “an accident of beauty” or “a tragedy worth remembering” makes her feel violated. It’s a different kind of horror—one where she isn’t being threatened, but claimed.

• She Goes Out of Her Way to Avoid Him – While most spirits either serve him or stay out of his wrath, Penelope actively hides when she senses he’s nearby. She knows he’s not going to kill her—but something about his presence feels worse than death.

• His Eyes on Her Feel Like a Camera Lens – When he watches her, it’s like being under a never-ending spotlight. She’s spent years scaring others, but he’s the only one who makes her feel like she’s the one being watched.

• She Tries to Unnerve Him, But It Never Works – Most people recoil when her torso slides apart or when she reassembles herself in unnatural ways, but the Director leans in like he’s studying a special effect. Sometimes, she’ll deliberately twist her body in grotesque ways just to see if it will make him flinch. It never does.

Their Conversations Are Disturbingly One-Sided:

Penelope’s interactions with him are a masterclass in passive horror. Unlike his usual victims, he doesn’t need to threaten her—his mere interest is terrifying enough.

• Him: “Do you understand what you are, Penelope? You are the climax of a film no one had the privilege of shooting.”

Her: “Yeah? Too bad I’m not looking for a director.”

• Him: “You have no idea how many men spent their careers trying to replicate what you are.”

Her: “Yeah, and they’re all dead. You wanna join ‘em?”

• Him: “You don’t need a script. You don’t need direction. You are, simply, horror. And that is why you will never escape it.”

Her: “…You realize how messed up you sound, right?”

The worst part? He never gets angry. No matter how much she brushes him off, he never lashes out—just continues watching, admiring, waiting.

The Director’s Twisted ‘Respect’ for Her:

The Director is known for being brutal, controlling, and sadistic, but Penelope is one of the only spirits he wouldn’t dare to harm. Not because he cares about her, but because, in his eyes, she is already perfect.

• He Would Kill to Protect His ‘Greatest Work’ – If anyone tried to mess with her in a way that ruined what makes her unique, he would lose it. Not out of affection, but out of artistic rage. He considers her state of being sacred and wouldn’t allow anyone to change it.

• He Doesn’t Want to ‘Fix’ Her—He Wants Her to Accept Her Role – Unlike others he tortures into submission, he never tries to break Penelope. Instead, he wants her to understand that she is exactly what horror should be.

• His Interest in Her is Almost Worse Than His Usual Violence – While other spirits fear his cruelty, Penelope fears something different—his fascination. He doesn’t want to hurt her. He just wants her to exist, forever, as she is.

Penelope’s Worst Nightmare?

The scariest part about their dynamic is the idea that, if the Director had been alive when she died, he would have filmed it.

• The thought disgusts her—the idea that someone like him would have enjoyed her suffering. That if he had the chance, he would have turned her into one of his movies.

• Even though he had nothing to do with her death, he still acts like she was meant to be part of his legacy.

• It makes her sick to think that, in some twisted way, he sees her as his greatest success.

Penelope & The Director: A Macabre Muse and Her Obsessive Auteur

Their dynamic is a psychological horror film in itself—Penelope is the perfect subject for the Director, and he is the worst kind of observer for her. What makes their relationship disturbing isn’t violence or direct malice, but the twisted reverence he holds for her existence and the way she wants nothing more than to escape his gaze.

The Director’s View of Penelope:

1. She is Horror Without Direction – The Director has spent eternity controlling horror—framing it, manipulating it, making it perfect. Penelope is an anomaly, a being of horror that requires no script, no lighting, no guidance. He finds this infuriating and intoxicating all at once.

2. She’s His Living (or, Well, Unliving) Work of Art – He considers her death a masterpiece, despite having no involvement in it. He doesn’t need to shape her—she’s already exactly what he spent his career trying to manufacture.

3. Her Tragedy is His Fascination – It isn’t just how she died that captivates him—it’s that she still lingers, still exists in such a raw and haunting state. She didn’t just die horrifically; she became the embodiment of the consequences of ignoring danger. That kind of natural horror? To him, it’s unmatched.

4. He Doesn’t Want to Change Her, He Wants Her to Accept Her Role – Unlike others he manipulates into his “productions,” he doesn’t need to mold Penelope. Instead, he wants her to realize that she is horror itself. In his mind, she is a star who refuses to acknowledge she’s already on stage.

5. He Would Immortalize Her If He Could – If he had the power to trap her in a permanent loop—forever reliving her final moments, forever haunting the park at her most tragic—he absolutely would. The only thing stopping him is that he can’t.

Penelope’s Hatred Toward Him:

1. She Feels More Like an Exhibit Than a Person Around Him – The Director never treats her like a person. He speaks about her, at her, but never to her in a way that acknowledges her as anything but a work of horror. His interest in her is detached, clinical, admiring in the worst way possible.

2. His Stare Makes Her Skin Crawl – She’s used to scaring others, used to people looking at her with fear, but the Director’s gaze is different. It’s intrusive. It’s not the look of someone afraid—it’s the look of someone studying every inch of her, committing her to memory like she’s a film reel playing before his eyes.

3. She Can Never Shock Him – No matter what she does—letting her torso slide apart, warping her body in unnatural ways, whispering warnings in a ghostly voice—he never flinches. He only watches, always fascinated, always analyzing.

4. She Knows He Would Have Filmed Her Death If He Could – The worst part? If he had been alive when she died, he would have loved it. He would have seen her suffering as art. That knowledge makes her sick.

5. She Sometimes Wonders if He Wants to Recreate It – He’s never outright said it, but there’s an unsettling feeling she gets—that if he had the chance, he would stage it again. Not out of malice, but because he wants to capture the moment in a way that he can keep forever. She knows he has tried to go back through archives to find any recording or photos from the accident.

The Director’s Attempts to “Work” With Her:

1. He’s Tried to Get Her to Participate in His Films – He’s offered her roles in his twisted productions, but not as an actress. No, he wants her as herself. He’s tried to convince her to play a ghost doomed to relive her final moments on film forever. She refuses.

2. He Studies Her Without Her Permission – Sometimes, when she’s haunting a guest, she’ll catch him watching. Not interfering. Not engaging. Just watching.

3. He Speaks in Film Terms About Her Death – When he describes her accident, it’s never as a tragedy. It’s always as a scene.

• “A moment of pure horror. No need for dialogue, no need for excessive gore. Just a clean, visceral separation—a cut so precise it could have been storyboarded.”

• “Your expression… The way the realization sets in before the final moment. I have seen actresses try to fake that look. None have ever come close.”

4. He Never Raises His Voice at Her—But That’s Worse – Unlike others who provoke his anger, he is never aggressive toward Penelope. His voice remains level, his words smooth and precise, as if he is directing an interview rather than speaking to a fellow ghost. Somehow, that’s more disturbing than if he were violent.

5. He’s Told Her He Would Have Cast Her in His Films if She Had Lived – “If fate had not taken you so soon, I would have made you a star.” She hates that. She hates that he thinks her life was meant to end this way.

Penelope’s Attempts to Avoid Him:

1. She Purposely Disrupts His “Sets” – When he stages his theatrical horror scenes, she’ll glide through at the wrong moment, unsettling his carefully arranged lighting. She wants to throw off his perfectionism.

2. She Loathes That He “Respects” Her – Unlike others who he views as beneath him, he treats her with a sick kind of admiration. It would almost be flattering if it weren’t so horrifying.

3. She’s Considered Going Full Poltergeist on Him—But It Wouldn’t Work – She’s thought about making his existence miserable—whispering in his ear, slamming doors, breaking his props—but she knows it wouldn’t scare him. It would just interest him more.

4. She Calls Him “Boss Man” Just to Piss Him Off – Even though she avoids him, when they do interact, she never gives him the satisfaction of taking him seriously. She’ll mockingly call him “Boss Man,” “Mr. Hollywood,” or “Creepshow.” He never reacts—he just smirks.

5. She Knows He’ll Never Stop Watching – No matter how much she ignores him, no matter how much she tries to stay out of his sight, she knows the truth:

The Director will never stop observing her.

She is already his perfect horror.

And he will admire her, forever.

A Director’s Obsession: The Sick Fascination with Penelope’s Body

The Director has always had an appreciation for real horror—visceral, untamed, something raw and inescapable. Penelope? She’s not just a ghost. She’s the perfect spectacle. A walking, breathing special effect that never degrades, never loses its edge. And he can’t resist the urge to understand her.

He doesn’t just watch—he wants to feel.

His Obsession with Touching Her

1. The First Time He Reached for Her, She Froze.

It happened so fast. One moment, she was skating, the next—her balance shifted, her body slid apart.

She expected the usual reactions—screams, gasps, maybe even someone passing out. But then there was him.

• He didn’t flinch.

• He didn’t hesitate.

• His hand was already reaching.

Fingers brushing along the seam of her torso, tracing the clean edge like he was examining a perfect prop. Testing the way it held, the way she could separate without blood or organs spilling out.

“Flawless.” His voice was soft, almost reverent.

• She shoved him off before he could go deeper. He held onto her gently holding her upper body in his arms.

• He sighed, as if she had ruined a perfect moment.

2. He Likes Holding Onto Her, Seeing How She Works.

He’s done it more than once. The moment she falls apart, his hands are already there, not in a perverse way, but in something just as violating—a technical curiosity.

• He’s held her torso in place, like testing a practical effect.

• He’s felt the connection point, seeing if there’s any tension when she moves.

• “A seamless cut… yet you do not unravel. How do you function?”

• “None of your business, Hollywood.”

And it’s never frantic. He doesn’t grab at her. He simply studies, deliberate and meticulous, like he’s handling a fragile artifact in a museum.

3. He’s Tried to Look Inside.

The worst was when she fell too fast to stop him.

• She felt his fingers ghost along the inside of her torso, cold space where organs are bright red.

• He leaned in, staring into the cavity with a fascination that made her stomach twist.

• “No blood. No rot. Yet the insides remains…”

• His fingers pressed against the inside, testing the way the surface reacted.

That was when she kicked him hard enough to send him flying.

• He barely staggered, adjusting his coat.

• “Fascinating.”

The Smell of Blood—A Nostalgic Vice

The Director is a man of the past, an artist obsessed with the authenticity of horror. And nothing is more authentic than the smell of blood.

1. He Remembers the Set—The Warm, Metallic Scent of Real Fear.

• The smell of a fresh wound, the way the air changes when someone is bleeding.

• He used to chase that scent, ensure his films had the realism that no artificial effects could replicate.

• And while Penelope doesn’t bleed, there’s still something about her… something that suggests the memory of blood.

2. He’s Leaned In Too Close, Trying to Catch a Scent.

• Penelope has felt it—when he stands too near, when he subtly inhales like he’s trying to detect something beneath her ghostly existence.

• “There should be decay. There should be rot. And yet, you are preserved in the moment before ruin.”

• “Get a new hobby, boss man.”

3. If She Ever Did Bleed—He Would Lose Himself.

• She knows it. If she ever found a way to manifest a physical wound, even for a moment, he would lose control.

• He would have to touch it.

• He would have to study it.

• And that thought disgusts her.

Penelope’s Response: Avoidance, Anger, and Unease

1. She’s Stopped Letting Herself Fall Apart Around Him.

• The second she feels it coming, she stabilizes.

• If she must separate, she makes sure he’s not nearby.

2. She Keeps Her Distance—But He’s Always There.

• He never lurks in the traditional sense, but she knows he’s watching.

• Always with that calm, studious gaze, waiting for another chance to witness.

3. She’s Snapped at Him, Threatened to Haunt Him, But He Never Reacts.

• He doesn’t taunt her.

• He doesn’t mock her.

• He simply observes, with the cold, clinical admiration of a man who has found his greatest subject.

And no matter what she does, no matter how much she fights it—

She knows he’ll never stop looking.

Unsettling Conversations: Penelope & The Director

1. The First Time He Touched Her

Penelope skates through the foggy corridors of the park, her presence ghostly yet casual. Then, a misstep—her balance shifts, and her torso slides cleanly from her legs.

Before she can react, there’s a hand at the edge of her separation. Not frantic, not startled—just deliberate, tracing the clean divide like he’s handling a rare film reel.

The Director: “Flawless.”

Penelope: (Immediately shoving his hand away.) “And you’re about to be fingerless. Hands to yourself, creep.”

The Director: (Unbothered, adjusting his gloves.) “You mistake me. This is not perversion. This is admiration.”

Penelope: “I don’t care what it is, I ain’t a damn set piece for you to poke at.”

He simply smirks, tucking his hands behind his back as if he wasn’t just examining the inside of her body like a practical effect.

The Director: “Then perhaps you should stop making yourself so… captivating.”

2. The Time He Tried to Peer Inside

Penelope skates backwards, keeping an eye on the Director as he approaches with that usual measured gait. She doesn’t like the way he’s looking at her tonight—like he’s already dissecting her with his eyes.

She tries to keep her cool—until she misjudges a turn. Her top half slides off, torso tipping cleanly from her legs before she can snap back together.

And then—his hand is already there.

Not grabbing. Not groping. Just… testing. His fingers ghost along the inside of her hollow torso, feeling the cold, empty space where organs should be.

The Director: “No rot. No disintegration. A perfect preservation of the moment before destruction… remarkable.”

Penelope: (Kicking him square in the chest, sending him staggering back.) “You wanna keep those hands, or should I start throwing ‘em out like souvenirs?!”

He straightens, sighing as if she’s the unreasonable one.

The Director: “You continue to misunderstand me.”

Penelope: (Snapping her torso back onto her legs.) “Oh, no, I understand just fine. You’re a creep with a fascination for dead girls, and I’m two seconds from making that your problem.”

He adjusts his tie, entirely unfazed.

The Director: “Not dead. Merely… suspended. It’s a distinction worth admiring.”

She shoves past him, skating off before he can try anything else. But she knows he’s watching. He’s always watching.

3. The Blood Conversation

She doesn’t bleed. She never has. But sometimes, she wonders—if she could, would it change the way he looks at her?

She never meant to bring it up. But one night, as she lingers near the abandoned theater, she speaks before she can stop herself.

Penelope: “You like blood, don’t you?”

The Director turns, raising a curious brow.

The Director: “A man cannot appreciate cinema without valuing its most vital element.”

Penelope: “Yeah, but you like it more than most, huh? The look, the feel, the smell…”

There’s a pause. A shift in the air. His smirk is slight, but it’s there.

The Director: “The scent of it is unmistakable. A warmth in the air. A suggestion of finality.” (He tilts his head.) “But you, my dear, have none.”

Penelope folds her arms, feeling uneasy even though she’s the one who started this.

The Director: “Tell me… if you could bleed, would you?”

Penelope: (Scoffing.) “Wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.”

The Director: (Soft chuckle.) “A shame. I imagine you would be… magnificent.”

She skates off before she can hear anything else.

4. Getting Too Close

The park is quiet late at night. Penelope skates aimlessly, the wind whipping against her spectral form. Her legs move effortlessly, but she can feel it—his gaze, always lingering. She knows he’s watching, but tonight, he’s closer than usual. Too close.

She stops when she hears his footsteps approach. She doesn’t have to look—she already knows it’s him.

The Director: (His voice low, almost a whisper.) “I do wonder what you’d feel like if I touched you just a little longer. To really understand your construction.”

Penelope rolls her eyes, already bracing herself for whatever weirdness he’s about to pull.

Penelope: “If you’re asking for a touch-up, sweetheart, you’re not getting one. No makeovers, no skin-peels, and no backstage passes.”

She turns, only to find he’s standing way too close. She can feel the heat of his breath, like he’s studying her. His hand reaches out—not to touch, but to hover, just shy of her body.

The Director: (His eyes gleam, darker now, filled with intensity.) “You are… more than I thought. So much more. I wonder how many layers there really are to you.”

She steps back, throwing her arms up in frustration, her torso sliding apart just slightly—enough to make her point.

Penelope: (Snarling.) “You’re pushing it, buddy. One more step and I’ll—”

The Director: (Interrupting, his voice smooth as silk.) “And what? Disassemble in front of me?”

She freezes at his words, the imagery far too close to what he’s already done. She doesn’t know if he’s teasing or if he’s genuinely interested in seeing her come apart, but she doesn’t trust the look in his eyes.

Before she can respond, his hand finally inches closer, brushing against the seam of her torso. It’s barely a touch, but it sends a chill through her as if his fingers are testing the boundary between reality and something darker.

Penelope: (Hissing.) “Get your hands off me, you freak. Don’t make me show you how this feels in real time.”

The Director: (Feigning innocence, pulling his hand back.) “I’m sorry, but your body is an endless puzzle. I can’t help but be fascinated by it.”

She glares at him, her eyes burning with a threat, but he just smiles—smug, unbothered, like he’s won something.

5. The Nosey Inspection

Penelope is trying to keep a low profile, gliding silently between the rides, hoping for a moment of peace. But of course, the Director isn’t far behind.

She feels him before she sees him. That unnerving silence in the air, the absence of sound that signals his presence. She senses his proximity as he moves behind her, walking closer than he ever has before.

The Director: (His voice soft, measured, with just a hint of amusement.) “Tell me, Penelope. If I were to move a bit closer… how would you react?”

Before she can move, she feels the breath against the nape of her neck. She freezes, fighting the urge to slap him away. His hands are just inches from her torso, inspecting her separation like it’s some kind of bizarre science experiment. She shudders, feeling him take in every detail of her unnatural form.

Penelope: (Warning tone.) “You really are pushing it now. If you think I won’t haunt your every dream after this, you’re dead wrong.”

He ignores the threat, leaning just a bit closer as his nose inches near her torso, sniffing.

The Director: (In an almost reverent tone.) “The air around you… it smells of something unnatural. Not decay, not death—no, it’s something far more… intriguing. What is it, Penelope? Can you even tell?”

She twitches, repelled by the way he’s getting so intimate with her. His nose brushes just near the seam of her torso as if he’s inhaling the hollow emptiness she holds inside.

Penelope: (Livid.) “What is it with you and the smell of things you can’t touch? Back the hell off!”

The Director: (Ignoring her once again, his voice lingering with obsession.) “I can’t. You’re irresistible, you know.”

He takes another step forward, but she finally has had enough. Her form shifts—her torso slides right back into place, a quick, sharp movement, creating just enough of a distance between them.

Penelope: (Coldly.) “I warned you. Next time, I won’t be so generous.”

The Director doesn’t move. His eyes are still glued to her, a mix of admiration and something darker simmering behind them.

The Director: “And I’ll be right here. Waiting for you to fall apart again.”

6. The Final Confrontation—Touching the Void

She’s had enough. Enough of his games. Enough of him getting too close. And tonight, she decides to confront him once and for all.

She skates into the shadowed corner of the park, her form sliding with a purpose. She knows he’s lurking, watching, waiting. But this time, she’s going to end it.

The Director steps into view, his usual calm demeanor not masking the undercurrent of anticipation.

Penelope: (Voice low, a dangerous edge to it.) “You’re going to regret this. You’re going to wish you never started touching me.”

The Director: (Smirking, steps forward.) “Oh, but I’m so far beyond regret.”

And with that, Penelope lets herself slide apart. Her torso falls away from her legs in a perfectly clean separation, leaving her vulnerable and exposed in front of him.

For the first time, she lets him come closer—right to the edge of her form. But when his hand reaches to inspect the empty space, she grabs his wrist with unnatural speed, yanking him closer.

Penelope: (With venom.) “You want to know how this feels? How I feel?”

His eyes flicker with excitement, but there’s something else there now—something darker, something scared.

Penelope: (In his ear, voice like a whisper.) “Try it again, and I’ll show you how real terror feels, Director.”

His eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t resist. Instead, he stands still, his breath shaky, caught between his twisted fascination and the very real, very alive threat standing before him.

Final Thoughts:

The Director is the only entity that makes Penelope feel truly vulnerable. Not because he threatens her life, but because he romanticizes her suffering in a way that feels violating.

She hates him. She hates the way he looks at her. She hates that, to him, she is already a finished product.

But worst of all?

She knows that no matter how much she avoids him, no matter how much she fights back…

He will never stop watching.

#oc #hhn the director #hhn oc #hhn icons #hhn #paulo ravinski #cw: gore #cw blood #halloween horror nights #horror #the director #the director hhn #Spotify

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