#the damage is done sir

[freakylilnutjob]

not my father saying he doesn’t want to be the dad that treats his kids the way he was treated after getting butt hurt because I didn’t tell him I got a tattoo ✋💀

[rangersbecket]

[sciderman]

Were Peter and Harry properly a thing? Or was it more of a spur of the moment hook-up?

in 9319? it was just two sordid nights – and sweet, sweet lingering trauma...

harry so nice, peter had to have it twice.

[nad0re]

this man had a hole in his sidepot floor damage and still got p4

[drunkenskunk]

So, I was getting ready for bed, as I am Old™, and I have work tomorrow at Oh God Why The Fuck Am I Awake O'Clock. I looked at myself in the mirror, I realized: this is the look I was going for when I was designing Scarlet, my character in the Lancer game I'm currently in.

Hair tied back in a ponytail with loose frizzy bits along the edges, heavy bags under the eyes, the tired expression of a suicidally depressed alcoholic, faint scar across the nose from when it got broke that one time.

That is exactly the look I was trying to convey. Except my art skills are... y'know... kinda crap.

Also, I don't have red hair.

And Scarlet doesn't have disgusting, unshaven stubble.

And I'm not a mech pilot.

And... well.

Yeah.

[scribespirare]

[misha-69innit]

however much i scream and yell and analyze and gif the jawan fever just does not go away....i cannot stop thinking about that crunchy little movie

[afroboydyke]

I don’t CARE about them trying to make me sympathize with Endeavor I hope that bitch dies!

[suzybr00tal]

What if they got rid of Tuunbaq and just edited Shiver from Barbie: the Magic of Pegasus into the show (she’s still maiming and hunting them)

[moszeel]

Vergilius has rebranded from the Red Gaze into The Lime Lips 

[dominihilist]

pov kafka making me horribly depressed for some reason

[mycological-mariner]

Visiting a really tiny village on the coast and I am approached by a delightful old man/local historian/fisherman/probably also the mayor idk. He points out the interesting geography and the village’s sailing history, the old pilchard farm, a cave and a loo from the 1800’s.

“Course, back then you’d have to climb all the way down that there cliff just to use the privy.”

Naturally I had to ask. “Can you still get to it?”

And this old man - who’s name I never learnt btw - leads me to a sheer drop over a cliff down into the ocean. He points out the tiniest outcroppings ever and I climb down and I am now standing in an old 1800’s toilet where if you fell you’d die and there is a tiny hole in the rock and moss and oh yeah the ocean at high tide.

“Rather draughty in here!”

And from somewhere above me on the cliff I hear, “Oh yes, indoor plumbing is a wonderful thing, ain’t it?”

“Absolutely! By the way, how did people climb out?”

“Hello?”

“Hello?”

[boogiewoogieweeb]

I'm not saying The Terror in general and Joplittle specifically have definitively given me permanent brain rot but I am finding it funny that I'm picking up parallels and similarities with both in a series as far removed from it as Netflix's Blue Eye Samurai

[systemerrorbonnie]

* i did not just just see the word "likescolding" out in the wild

[teaboot]

I seriously hope you can job hop to something else cause you're not chaotic neutral man.

You're still a white Canadian whose actions and job help more the megacorps keep the status quo.

I really looked up to you but that's on me.

And yeah, I know security, cop shit and military pay good money but at the cost of my people? Fuck no.

Listen. I feel you. But there's a lot of cold, power-tripping bastards in this line of work and if I stick where I am then they don't get to have that.

I'm not a cop. I am not beholden to the justice system. Sometimes I get contracted out to people who say shit like "addicts should be put down, if you see any crackheads drag them out" and I nod and say "yes sir", and then I take their money and use it to buy those people coffee and a sandwich and tell 'em when free lunch days are at the church.

Boss sees me walking with someone and thinks I'm kicking them out, gives my boss great reviews. I'm having a great conversation with Connie, who used to by a stylist and wound up on the street after an accident that left her with chronic pain and a heroin addiction. Connie learns that there's a gap between two property lines nearby where technically nobody can call to have her removed.

There's a really sweet guy in town who's normally very nice, but sometimes flies into paranoid rage and yells slurs at people. Sometimes he forgets he's been banned from places and wanders in looking for a wife he hasn't had for nine years. Owner sends me to kick him out, and I ask "hey Mike, how are you?" And see where we are today.

One time there was a guy whose abusive ex kept following him to work, and I got to walk him to his car at the end of every day to make sure she couldn't get him alone.

Another person had a stalker who kept asking receptionists when she was gonna be there, when she was supposed to leave, if she was in today. I'd keep record of every time he came in, every time someone saw him, every time he violated his restraining order or damaged her things.

And when I wonder if I'm actually helping or not, or if I'm part of the greater problem, I remember that other people who work with me call homeless people wildlife and talk about how bad they wanna get an excuse to fight someone and I remember that I'm the one who knows where the blind spots on the cameras are, and thank God it's not him.

My position is fundamentally different from that of the military or law enforcement. I don't *need* to be buddy-buddy with most of these dickheads- I don't *need* to send people into the justice system.

I do single-person foot patrol. Nobody cares how I get the job done. They say, "Hey, faceless goon number three- make that bastard disappear" and I say "on it, boss" and give him tickets to disney world.

I once asked another guard if he knew that one of our regulars used to be an airplane technician. He said, "No, I don't talk to them". Blanket "Them". "Them" as in street people. "Them" as in addicts, or shoplifters, or ex-cons, or sex workers.

I asked why, and he told me, "it's easier if you don't think of them as people."

Anyhow, now I get calls to "watch that sketchy lady who just came in" and I say, "yes, sir" and leave her the fuck alone, 'cause that's Jolene, and people always think she's on drugs and aggressive but she's just deaf in one ear and slurs cause she has brain damage, you dickhead

so yeah, don't worry, I've spent a lot of time weighing the pros and cons of my vocation, and I still think I'd rather be in charge of my locations than someone like Darryl, who dreams of "cuffing a perp" and drives a car with Punisher decals on the hood

Also it's minimum wage but that's kinda tangential

[shushmal]

tw: for implied past emotional abuse, im in my feels today

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Hopper growls. He's not quite shouting, but he's still loud, raised voice echoing through the living room. "She's not ready to drive yet, I forbade it, and what? You two decided that you knew better?"

Eddie rolls his eyes, but gamely keeps quiet. He knows Hopper's less upset with Ellie taking a spin through the parking lot and more upset about the property damage. Eddie's on her side though, that phone pole came out of nowhere. Must have been pretty rotted out too, to fall over that easily after a little love tap.

Ellie had done a damn good job fixing the huge dent in the bumper.

But if Hopper wants to be dramatic and chew everyone involved out, Eddie's not going to stop him. Whatever gets the guy's blood pressure back down.

"You're supposed to be responsible adults! Especially you, Steve!"

Rolling his eyes again, Eddie glances over, hoping to share a commiserating look with Steve.

Except Steve isn't looking anywhere but down, shoulders and spine ruler straight. Eddie stalls there, stuck on the way Steve's standing, tense from jaw down to his ankles, his hands balled into tight fists flat at his side, knuckles white. Hopper keeps ranting, pacing a wide circle in front of them, but Steve doesn't flinch, doesn't look up, doesn't react. It's like all the color has washed from him.

"Are you even listening?!"

"Yes, sir," Steve says tightly. He doesn't look up. Hopper keeps going.

Eddie watches as Steve's throat works to swallow, like he's choking. Like he can't breathe.

"Hopper," Eddie snaps. "Shut the fuck up."

Hopper whirls on him, livid, but Eddie's not looking at him, fixed on Steve as he reaches out. Tries to take Steve's hand, just holds his wrist when Steve can't unclench his fist, gentle as he touches him. Steve is tightly wound and trembling under his fingers.

When he looks, Eddie finds Hopper with deep regret on his face, struck silent. He doesn't say anything when Eddie leads Steve away, back out onto the porch. They sit on the swing, Eddie's arm around Steve's shoulders, rocking back and forth until the muscles loosen and Steve slumps, strings cut, into Eddie's side. They'll sit like that for a while more, watching the woods as the sun sets and listening to the dusk settle, crickets and cicadas and chats calling the moon up, filling their silence with nighttime music.

Later, Hopper will come out, temper cooled, and sit on Steve's other side. Will ruffle Steve's hair when Steve starts to stiffen. Will apologize when Steve eyes him warily.

Later, Eddie will scowl and glare, but ultimately keep quiet, unwilling to make the whole thing worse for Steve, another fight, another shouting match. Will stiltedly tell Hopper good night and take Steve home, wait patiently until Steve finally speaks, when he finally tells Eddie a little more and a little more, until Eddie's holding him tight.

That's later though. For now, he digs his heel into the porch, rocking them back and forth, and waits for Steve to breathe.