#the brain firing on so many different weird cylinders

[feline-evil]

I have the brain of a fallow deer i think because when i look at my beloved wrestleboys (or really any incredibly huge buff person) i feel the instinctive response in my brain of holy fuck this guy could eat me. Like i am some sort of prey animal. What's wrong with me. It contributes to the sense of awe when watching the sport but it's also another sign to never ever ever go to real life events lest i bolt in panic and dash in front of a passing Subaru.

[battlfofendorr]

The Best Intentions

Summary: The 11th Street Gang is on lunch break, and Vig suffers from a case of premature hotsaucelation.  PG for hints at crude humor?

IDK man still trying to figure this weird little alien brain out.  Some of it is playing for laughs, but there’s consistency underneath it, okay??

#

It’s not that Vigilante wants to miss the cues that make him feel like he’s speaking a foreign language  - or, rather, everyone else around him is. It’s that his brain defaults to literalism, and there’s nothing short of a full-frontal lobotomy that can change it.

Even then, he’s had enough blows to the head and assorted stab wounds that if a little scrambling about inside his skull was going to change something, it would have done so a long time ago.

No, the things that make him different are inherent – innate.  His mind spins off on currents and tides unfathomable to most people. Even himself, sometimes. Sad little boats in a duck pond instead of the open sea.

The words get ahead of him, or chase down a pattern structure that he doesn’t really understand, and then he’s left holding a bag of metaphorical cats – each one squirmy and adorable and in need of…

No, that saying doesn’t make much sense, does it? Why would anyone want a bag full of cats?

He’s not dwelling, as the 11th street gang banter around the lunch table, celebrating a recent win. He’s just wishing – a little – that he was in on the jokes.

It doesn’t help that people have a way of saying so many things that don’t really add up. That absurdism reigns supreme in English, a hodgepodge of things taken at face-value and metaphors that make it impossible to understand or follow along.

He knows aphorism, and alliteration, and metaphor. He has read lists of those commonly used impractical phrases, memorized their general meanings.  But it’s not something he recognizes – not something he follows. Not something he translates automatically.

It’s like asking how someone is doing, when you don’t really want to know. It’s because it’s what people do.

And so many of his attempts to blend in to it – to mimic, to copy, to just be a person – go awry.

That’s why he’s holding a bottle of hot sauce, staring down Economos, stiff, unsure what the joke is – unsure if he should be laughing or offended. Unsure if should be a gut-buster, or a polite chuckle, or a roll of his eyes like Harcourt always does, like she’s too cool to laugh, but still in on the joke.

He’s absolutely positive that if he gets it wrong, everyone will notice.  And it’s a rigged game, because it’s pure chance, and he’s missing half the cards that would tell him what to do.

And they get so impatient – so annoyed – when he gets it wrong.  Especially when he’s the one attempting a joke. They demand, Why is that funny? Ask him if he’s a total moron.  Insist he’s a buffoon.

Or worse, they get mad, but in a sneaky, quiet way. A way that builds, undetectable until it’s nothing short of rage.

Maybe he’s not firing on all cylinders anymore.   Maybe he doesn’t understand their attachment to strangers, their aversion to permanent solutions. Maybe he doesn’t understand their morality, which is built in pure grayscale, when his is so literal, so black-and-white.   Maybe it’s just that he’s cracked, but that’s not exactly new news. 

And he wants to get it. He wants to fit in. He wouldn’t admit it – couldn’t even explain the why – but he needs to fit in, as much as he needs a BFF like Peacemaker.

He wants to laugh. But he’s not really sure about the joke.

He’s late to laughing, because he’s weighing his options. And then his laugh goes a little long, or a little stiff.  He’s not killing it, as Adabayo would say. It’s not really a laugh – it’s a disguise. A way to fit in.  To use the same humor they all wield so deftly with one another.

And he holds the hot sauce, trying to keep the question inside, trying not to need to know the thing his brain insists is of vital importance, because it’s not just the jokes, or the expressions. It’s all the nonverbal stuff, too. So when they turn on to the next thought, Vigilante remains frozen. Like a foreign element, his body gives tells, tips people off that he’s not full up on the culture – not really communicating on the same level.

He really doesn’t mean to ask. He doesn’t. But it’s how he’s wired.

“Is it because it’s red?”

The groans are immediate.

“it’s not because it’s fucking red,” Peacemaker snaps, and the motion is so abrupt Vigilante’s hands slip along the neck of the hot sauce bottle, popping the lid right off, sending it spurting out across the table.  It splatters into Adabayo’s burger, and up over the crinkle-cut fries, painting them up like a murder victim.

“Damnit, Vigilante!” Economos takes the hot sauce back, never mind that Vig hadn’t meant to use it, hadn’t actually decided if he was going to try to, even. Never mind that he’d been surprised by Peacemaker’s sudden annoyance.

“My French fries!” But Harcourt’s eyes crinkle, and even Vigilante can tell she’s not annoyed. His bothering Economos is somehow a humorous thing they all agree on, because Adabayo starts to laugh, too, and even Peacemaker gets in on it. And Vig knows – because he’s spent a lot of time studying it – that these are their real laughs, their real smiles.  Not the pretend kind, or the annoyed kind, but the kind that they reserve for those quiet moments when they’re not a collection of weirdos, or a bunch of people speaking different languages. Those moments where they’re the 11th Street Kids, and somehow, for a fraction of a second, even with only half a deck to work with, Vig has played exactly the right card.

It's magic, but so fleeting – like cotton candy falling into a river, it just melts into nothing.

“Best part of being a lesbian is never having to worry about a premature hot-sauce-ulation,” Peacemaker says, leaning into the good mood, tossing a smile at Adebayo, resident lesbian and the group’s least volatile emotional mediator.

“That sounds like a personal problem, Chris.” But she laughs, wiping at those brown eyes of hers, and even Economos gets in on the giggling.

It’s rare, those moments where he thinks he understands them. Where he thinks they’re as much his friends as Peacemaker’s.

Where he thinks, maybe, he wants more than one friend.

It’s rare, and maybe, just maybe, it’s a good thing. A sign that he’s if not evolving then at least getting better at pretending to speak the language he hasn’t quiet figured out. 

[gt-brainrot]

And they were Roommates (Chapter 2)

Find the next chapter here, or go back to the start here!

Aubrey’s walk home was uneventful, although the peaceful ambiance had been offset by finding a fairy in the woods. Aubrey realized as she walked that she had no idea what Shai really was. She had started to think of her as a fairy, but she didn’t really know that, just that she wasn’t human. Having reached a question that she had no answer to, Aubrey decided to ask. “Hey, um, maybe a dumb question but. Are you a fairy?”

Shai at that moment was caught between the inquisitive part of her brain wondering how humans had made a weave so fine at their size, and without magic, and the very very tired part of her brain that just wanted to shut up and enjoy how damn comfy it was. Because of this, it took her a few moments to register the question, but once she did her inquisitive side took full control. “That sounds similar to what our records say your people called us, so maybe? What is a fairy?”

Aubrey responded after a pause. “Well most depictions of them are from legends, so it differs between tellings, but usually they’re magical creatures that live in the woods, they look like humans, but about your size, with some kind of wings?” From Shai’s place in her hood, she could feel Aubrey’s voice as much as hear it.

“Hm. I don’t think we ever had wings, but we were definitely closer to nature than humans were at the time we left” this was fascinating, but even as her curiosity was firing on all cylinders, her fatigue began to overpower it. She vaguely heard Aubrey ask a question about how her people “left”, but before she could even say that she wasn’t supposed to talk about that with a human, that that would be dangerous, she was asleep.

Aubrey waited a moment for Shai to answer, but she realized what must have happened as she heard snoring coming from behind her. It was surprisingly loud for someone of her size. What Shai had said was… a lot to chew on. Was it possible that fairies were real? That magic was real? She certainly hadn’t believed in any of that, but she couldn’t exactly argue against the existence of tiny people in the woods after meeting one. She had so many questions to mull on, and mull she did, as the trees at the base of the mountain gave way to streets and houses and she made the rest of her way back to her parents’ house.

The first thought Shai had when she opened her eyes was I’m cold, immediately followed by why is the ceiling so far away? As she sat up and came to terms with the events of the last day, that they had happened and weren’t going to un-happen, she slowly became more aware of her surroundings. She was no longer in the comfort of Aubrey’s hood, but had been laid on top of some folded cloth, on a huge flat surface that she realized must have been a table, though it was strange to see it from this perspective. To her left the table was occupied by some weird kind of slabs that she couldn’t determine the purpose of. Aside from the desk, the room was filled with a bookshelf that loomed over Shai’s position, and an amazingly expansive bed, big enough it might take her a minute to walk across. Shai’s mind hopped quickly from awe to confusion to curiosity as she started to inspect the contents of Aubrey’s desk.

Aside from the strange slabs that she still couldn’t determine a function for, the desk was a mess. Sheafs of paper with some strange, uniform script on them, some more books that looked strangely colorful and were bound in more paper, rather than leather, there was a small statue of some round creature that came up to about Shai’s knees, and all of it was so big. She knew she’d had the thought before but it kept coming to her how out of proportion she was compared to everything here. It was hard to get used to.

“Oh good, you’re awake!”

Shai jumped, and let out a loud “eep!” that she was immediately embarrassed of. Aubrey had entered the room while she was poking around. She moved quietly, which didn’t really seem fair considering she was so large. She looked chagrined at seeing Shai’s surprise, and she was carrying a plate.

“Oh, Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you. I brought you some food, if you’re hungry.” Aubrey sat down at the desk, and set the plate down with a ground-shaking thunk. On it was a gathering of fruit and nuts that were, like everything she’d encountered since she got here, comically overproportioned. Aubrey snapped one of the fruits about the size of Shai’s head and offered it forward. 

“I realize it might be a bit hard to eat, given uh. Y’know. I could cut it up or-” but Aubrey was cut off as Shai nearly leapt forward and snatched the feast from her hand. 

As soon as she’d seen the food she realized that she hadn’t eaten since before everything started, and she tore at the food quickly, getting juice all over her face. It was sweet, and crisp, and she ate until her stomach was full, which was about halfway through her second one. She spent a few minutes in bliss, just eating, until she remembered Aubrey was in the room. She looked over to the giant, still sitting at the desk, as she popped some of the nuts into her mouth, and continued to look at Shai with a look of curiosity. Her eyes were brown, like watching the bottom of a creek in summer, and Shai got lost in them for just a moment too long, before her mind caught up with her.

Specifically, the part of Shai that was thriving right now, the part that had always dreamed of being an ambassador to humanity, dreamed of learning their ways and bringing her people out into the greater world. It was the part of her that had driven her to make that portal, the part of her that had cost her so much, but here she was, and all she had done was get trapped under a rock, pass out in the hood of the first human she met, and eat their food. She gathered herself up quickly, before making her official introduction. “Hello! Thank you so much for your hospitality, I’m sorry to have been such a bother to you. I’m here because I’d like to know more about humans, would you be able to answer some questions?”

Aubrey decided that she just could not get a read on this little person. She had seemed to be in distress, and in need of a place to go, and she had been all over the place since she’d found her, and now she had started acting so formal out of nowhere, as if a switch had been flipped and she had just decided to act like a houseguest. Aubrey wanted to know what was going on with her, but she didn’t want to just keep asking questions directly, as it made her feel kind of rude. What she did instead was her default nervous chuckle, followed by her best attempt at assuring the other person. “Hiya! There’s no need to worry, I promise you’re not being a burden on me. I’d love to answer some questions, but I also have some of my own to ask, would that be okay?”

This caused Shai to pause for a few moments, as she put the remains of her grape back on the plate. She responded “I can agree to that, but I can’t answer questions that would lead you to my home or my people. Obviously, if I ask any question you feel is too personal or revealing, you don’t have to answer either. Does that sound fair?” The tiny lady held out her hand in offer.

Aubrey smiled. Now she could ask some real questions without having to worry about coming off as too forward! She took Shai’s hand between her thumb and one finger, and said “That sounds excellent! If I can start, what exactly are you?”

[caughtupinmyfeels]

Every night at 12 o'clock on the dot, it never fails, you call me up. Talking 'bout you had a bad day, so you're pullin' up. So I pour up a cup of just what you need, 'cause I know what you need. | #WhenWillILearn?

You know that kind of sleep where you’re straight up dead to the world? The kind of sleep where you can just turn over and fall even deeper into slumber because your body was so relaxed and needed the chance to recharge? I was in that place and it felt fucking amazing. I stretched with feline-like precision, my bare legs tangling in the bed sheets as I pulled them up over my shoulders. The room had dropped in temperature overnight, a subtle chill in the air making me want to bury myself deeper into the comfortable warmth. I wasn’t even sure what time it was, and frankly I didn’t care. Morning, noon or night, I had nowhere to be in that moment and I was glad. I turned onto my stomach, my lips parting in a soft yawn as my brain stirred, starting to fire up. It was so quiet. So peaceful. It was either really early, or really fucking late. The fact that I couldn’t hear music of any kind or the sound of movement outside my door had me reaching under my pillow for my phone. Holy shit. It was late. Had I really slept the day away? It was a natural reaction to feel the stirrings of what the fuck, but I reminded myself that it didn’t really matter. I lifted my head, glancing towards the window, the darkness comforting. My phone screen brightness was at the lowest setting, the sleep cycle app that was running blocking all notifications so that I wouldn’t be disturbed. Thank goodness for small mercies. My eyes flickered shut again, another yawn escaping as I shifted onto my back, pulling my hair over my shoulder as I dismissed do not disturb, my stomach twisting into a knot when I saw the multiple missed calls and text messages on my screen. Immediately, I swiped left to clear them, but the damage was done. My mind had gone from being gently awoken to firing on all cylinders. Fuck. I sighed, dropping my phone before my hand lifted to rub at my eyes, making a face when I saw the black smeared across it. I’d forgotten to take my make up off again. Getting home so late had me just kicking off my heels, peeling off my jeans and diving into bed. Sometimes, you need that. To not just give a fuck. Lately? I had run right out of them.

Whipping back the covers, I swung my bare legs over the side of the bed, standing to my feet. A shiver ran down my spine as the cold hit, pulling my T-shirt as far down over my ass as I could. I needed coffee and a hot shower. Pulling open my bedroom door, even though I knew nobody was here, I still tiptoed from my room to the bathroom. Slipping my hand behind the shower curtain, I flipped the shower on, turning it up to get the temperature nice and hot. While I let it run, I sought out the nectar of the gods. A soft snicker escaped as I saw the post it note ontop of the Keurig. ‘Just hit the button’ was all it said, @Dillon’s perfect handwriting making me laugh. I did as he suggested and leaned against the counter as the machine started to brew, the scent of French vanilla filling the kitchen. Heaven. I grabbed my creamer from the fridge, watching the coffee flow in a steady stream into my cup. When the machine stopped, I loaded my cup up and took it to the bathroom with me. Steam was billowing out of the shower, the warmth taking away the chill of the apartment. Taking a sip from my cup before I set it down, I groaned as the sweetness of the creamer hit my tongue. So freaking good. Pulling my shirt over my head, I let it drop to the floor before I pushed my panties down and stepped out of them. I wasn’t even daring a glance into the mirror before I got into the shower. I had no doubt I was a hot mess. I let the steam envelop me, the heat of the water hitting my skin with welcome pressure. A sigh of relief escaped as I lifted my hand to run through my hair, the other resting against the cool tile wall. My mind was racing. It always did when #Noah decided he had the balls to come back round again. It was always the same old routine. The phone calls and texts would start. When he realized he was getting ignored, he would hang round outside the bar, hoping to get at me that way. Sometimes he did. Sometimes he didn’t. It had been nearly six months since I last saw him. Six blissful, quiet months in which nobody had tried to play with my head or my heart. It was complicated. In fact, that was a bit of an understatement. We made complicated look pretty simple. No matter how hard I tried to stop myself from reminiscing, I never could. I had learned to detach myself from the memories, but the echoes of the feelings were still there. I closed my eyes, image after image assaulting my mind. When you love someone, it never really goes away. It burns for the rest of your life or it changes you. There are so many different types of love that you’re never really out of it. You’re just in a different state. Six months ago? My wounds had been reopened. The stitches that I’d sloppily inflicted on my heart never had the hope of healing. Yet, I kept on doing it. I’d swore it was the last time and in my mind, it was. I’d made it clear, hadn’t I? We weren’t good for each other. We never had been. If we were? Our relationship would have worked out the first time around. #Noah didn’t agree. The second, third and fourth times weren’t much better and each of them did a hell of a number on my heart. It was the back and forth, unsteady steps and uncertainty that finally had me calling time on us. Every time I got pulled in, he played to my weaknesses. I love you. I need you. Poof went my sense and down went my panties. We would fall into bed and I would tell myself that it was just a one time thing. We would fuck and fight. Swear to stay away from each other. Then the texts would start. The late night phone calls that would go on for hours. We’d promise that we could be friends. Date other people. It would work for a while. Then, the cycle would start again.

I miss you. Can I come over? I would get stuck thinking about the crappy date I’d been on that week, or remember that night I got too drunk and ended up with a noname who needed a fucking map to find my clit. Every time, #Noah would swoop in and make me feel like it was the first time all over again. He would kiss me and the fire would start again and need would take over. It didn’t matter if we were in the middle of a bar or in the backseat of his car. It was impossible to resist. His hand would be in my panties while he whispered dirty little things into my ear. It was like an addiction that had no cure and I had no will to fight it. Except the last time -was- the last time. I’d fallen for his sweet talk yet again, my cooch and heart doing the thinking. I’d gone into it legs open and got fucked in ways I wasn’t prepared for. The one thing you don’t want to hear from a guy when you’ve spent most of the afternoon with his dick in your mouth and his head between your legs? I’ve met someone. It was like a switch had been flipped in me. There were no niceties. We didn’t part as friends. We didn’t part as anything. It was done. I’d come to the realization that he’d never made an effort to let me go because he loved me, he just didn’t want anyone else to have me. I was just too stupid to see it. Dicknotized. I wasn’t falling for it again. Squeezing a glob of shampoo into my hand, I lathered up my hair, before I reached for my puff and body wash. No matter how many times I scrubbed myself, I could still feel him on me. Inside me. The memories felt like fingertips gripping my hips. Like bruises that never faded. Painful. Everlasting. Yet invisible to the eyes. I thought that they had healed, but clearly, I wasn’t quite there yet. I hated the scent of the body wash. It reminded me of him. Of the one too many times that Dillon had caught us in here, loudly proclaiming that we were fucking animals who should be on display in a zoo. He was one of the main reasons why I’d stayed away from #Noah. Every time I had a moment, he’d remind me of the ten pounds I gained from inhaling nothing but Ben and Jerry’s in the days that followed our last go round. He would remind me that no dick was worth gaining a double chin for. Especially dick that drove a truck and said y’all far too much. He was my saving grace. My best friend. The one who put me to bed after too much wine and knew my coffee order off by heart. He said everything I needed to hear without saying a word. If he was straight? I probably would’ve fallen head over heels for him. All the best ones were gay. Thankful that my mind was turning around, I rinsed my hair and washed my face, determined to leave #Noah locked up tight at the back of my mind, where he belonged.

My coffee was still warm when I got out of the shower, and I chugged it back before I decided to eat something more substantial than the poptart I’d crammed after I got home last night. I turned up the air in the apartment, rubbing a towel through my wet hair after I got dressed. I was nothing but nipples in this ice box. Dumping the towel in my laundry basket, I grabbed my phone and took it with me into the living room. Getting comfortable on the sofa, I saw several more missed calls, blowing out a breath at the way it made me feel. Nervous. Apprehensive. The thing that surprised me the most? The lack of my heart skipping a beat. There was none of that weird energy that usually filled me, making me feel like I couldn’t sit still. Maybe I really was finally getting over Noah. Letting go of all the hurt, resentment and frustration was good for my soul. So was Chinese food. Muting Noah’s number so he would fade into the oblivion of missed notifications, I ordered dinner, firing off a text to Dillon to tell him I’d ordered his favorite orange chicken and was planning to eat it all. The minute my phone pinged with his response, I was laughing. “You’re going to die alone and fat. With a dozen cats that will eat your face.” I set my phone down, grabbing the Apple TV remote from the coffee table. Every girl needed some McDreamy on a Friday night. Dillon had already spoiled it for me, so I knew my days with Derek Shepard were numbered. Meredith Grey was a lucky bitch. I needed all that pick me, choose me, love me crap. Men like him didn’t really exist and it gave women like me unrealistic expectations. It was probably why I kept going back to a guy who could promise me nothing but multiple orgasms. The sigh that left my lips was real. I’d heard every pick up line, every cheesy come-on. Working at a bar had served me well over the years. I’d been a therapist, agony aunt and a consoler of the heartbroken for years. Heard every kind of scandalous story you could imagine, and seen more bathroom stall sex than I cared to. I’d also been hit on so many times that I was immune to it. I could shoot the shit with just about anyone without a single dent in my bumper. Well, except for the Noah sized one, and I was looking for a good mechanic to pop that out. I got swept away in the show, jumping out of my skin when the doorbell rang. Shit. I grabbed some cash from my purse, counting it as I went to the door. Yeah, I had enough and then some for a tip. I went to pull the door open, soft laughter escaping when I realized that Dillon had double locked the door. Flipping the latch back, I pulled the door open, my breath hitching in my throat when I saw #Noah on the other side of the door. “We need to talk.”

Story first published on Twitter. Find me on @GiveMeAThrilI.

[centipedall]

Crown of the White Death, or The Asbestos Prom

Senior year was my year. Student council president? Check. Choice college? Check. Prom queen? Check. Stayed with my boyfriend? No. Found out he was a cheating douche? Check. Not have a date to prom? Check. Prom king be a total loser who leaves early? Check.

Meh. Whatever. I don’t need losers in my life, anyways. Which was part of the reason I organized things the way I did. As student council president, I’m the one in charge of planning parties and organizing them. Well, the way I did it this time was just fan-freaking-tastic. Complex, yeah, but name one good thing that’s simple.

Now, my school is kinda set up in a circle. There are seven class areas that connect to two others, one for each subject. And, coincidentally, for each club I’m president of. And each color of the rainbow. Math, science, social studies, language arts, world languages, technology, and art. Chess, Science Honor Society, Philosophy, Creative Writing, Spanish Honor Society, Cyber Security, and Pottery. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet, black. I would have used the massive central courtyard and gymnasium for the final one, made it into a whiteout zone to contrast with the final black area, but there was a horrible asbestos outbreak there a week ago so it was shut down. Oh well. No plan survives first contact with the enemy, right?

So, if you weren’t in one of those clubs, I tried to make sure you didn’t come. Giving discounts to club members, targeted harassment, not telling people that the gym was full of asbestos, all that stuff. You know, to save space. No sense in wasting that on losers. Especially not losers who now have asbestosis. You don’t need all that nastiness here.

So, club members were in their respective areas, there were very few non-club members here, and everything was set up. There wasn’t really a theme, but everyone had kinda taken to wearing their own things. My student council team wore small, masquerade-style masks.

I stalked through the halls of the school, basking in the glory that I had made this happen. My entourage of student council members followed me. We didn’t really talk- for some reason, they didn’t like to talk to me. No one did, actually. But hey, that’s fine. I don’t need anyone.

I started my second round down the halls, starting at the red chess area. The chess club members wore simple, black-and-white formal clothing, contrasting against the various red tones of the math department. A few of them had chess pieces emblazoned on their dresses or suit jackets. They visibly paled as I walked in, making way for me and my group.

Then, I walked into the orange room, with a single massive paper-mache microscope in the center. The club members here wore stylized lab aprons, gloves, and goggles, designed more for fanciness than protection. There was a refreshment table full of smoking drinks in plastic flasks, which were evidently highly enjoyable. The vice-president of the club dropped her drink as I walked in, and it stained the carpet.

“Uh, h-hey, Prez.” She stammered out.

“What’s your problem?” Harsh, sure, but I had things to do. Well, not right now, I guess, but normally I do.

“Richard, uh, he saw, he saw, uh-”

“Christ, just spit it out already!”

“Norman! He’s here! In the next room!”

“Oh what the fuck.” I seethed.

That bastard. I told him that I never wanted to see him again. And now he showed up? Here? Oh, I’m going to tear him a new one. Quite literally.

I walked speedily into the next room. My face was a placid mask, and I walked with grace, but my hands were clenched. I felt skin split along my knuckles.

In the yellow room, there was only the paled philosophy club, goofily dressed up like different figures from history. I know they had fought tooth and nail- literally- over who got to be Aristotle. She averted her eyes- sorry, eye, now- to the ground. Plato glowered at her. That one didn’t need a bald cap anymore.

“Next room. Sorry.”

“Goddamnit.”

Creative writing. They had transcribed their favorite books into tattoos on their skin. Weird stuff. Kids were like a cult almost, which was why they were my least favorite. They still looked away from me as I stalked into the Spanish Honor Society’s room.

Huh. There was no one in here. Just an over-saturated blue. It hurt my eyes. Makes sense why no one was here.

It was similar in the purple room. The cybersecurity kids were in here, though. They scampered around on the floor, completely nude but for the blindfolds they wore. I was about to walk into the final room, but I hesitated. My ex was a big guy. Maybe I should have my entourage join in?

I turned, and they weren’t there. They must have stuck behind in one of the other rooms, too scared of him to go in. No matter. I’ll deal with this myself. Like a real queen should.

The black room was, of course, pitch black. But for a glow that emanated from a figure in the center. My ex. He was, of course, in the most infuriating costume I’ve ever seen.

He was thin, scrawny. Which should have seemed impossible, given how he was two-hundred pounds of muscle last week, but whatever. He wore a long coat and a pair of pants, both pure white. His face was alabaster white, just like my mask. Actually, I think it was a mask. As I walked closer to him, I heard wheezing, like his breath was short. His mouth and chest were scarred with bumps. Every breath he took almost inverted his chest, actually. His skin and eyes were irritated, but not red. Just white.

He coughed, a wet, hacking noise, and something came out. A small, wet piece of flesh flew from his mouth. It hit the ground just in front of me. It was just like his chest. Scarred, bumpy, and pure white.

Oh God. He was flaking. Clouds of little white flakes left his mouth with every exhale. Little bits left other parts of his body with every movement. Mostly his fingers and shoulders. The greatest amount of dust, however, came from the chunk that had left his mouth.

The worst part of all this, the real kicker, was the crown. It covered the top half of his eyes, like a blindfold almost. It was white and gold at the same time. I- I’m not sure how, it just was. It was bigger than my own crown, too. Like he was the prom king. A prom king afflicted with asbestosis.

Oh, that asshole. I pulled my hand black, and slapped him across the face.

But I didn’t. There was nothing there. Just a mask and clothes, crumpled on the floor.

I wheezed. Coughed. Something came out of my throat. Something wet, bumped, and scarred. And then I blacked out.

‘

Senior year was my year. Student council president? Check. Choice college? Check. Prom queen? Check. Just an awesome year.

As student council president, I’m the one in charge of planning parties and organizing them. Well, the way I did it this time was just fan-freaking-tastic. Complex, yeah, but name one good thing that’s simple.

Now, my school is kinda set up in a circle. There are seven class areas that connect to two others, one for each subject. And, coincidentally, for each club I’m president of. And each color of the rainbow. Math, science, social studies, language arts, world languages, technology, and art. Chess, Science Honor Society, Philosophy, Creative Writing, Spanish Honor Society, Cyber Security, and Pottery. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet, black. I used the massive central courtyard and gymnasium for the final one, made it into a whiteout zone to contrast with the final black area.

It was all pretty sick. Just the greatest party ever. There was only one problem: I had shown up late. And my prom king and boyfriend had probably taken his throne without me. But that’s okay. My entrance is going to be fantastic.

First stop, red. The chess room. My royal entourage behind me, we quickly strode through the room. It was a pretty fun design. The checkerboard people flickered in and out of existence. Black to white to black again. Good people. Fun to be around. Very, very smart, and very good at games. I was a big fan of the way they dressed up for the occasion. Old-fashioned in a new way, I guess?

Orange, now. The scientific. Loose strands of DNA littered the area. They looked like flasks, this time around. Filled with steaming liquids. They drank from plastic skulls full of juice. Nonalcoholic, of course.

Anyways, next room. yellow. Weird guys. I heard that this year, like always, they had fought over who got to be who. The leader was always Aristotle, but the others got to war over Descartes and Plato. Me, I prefer being the same person all the time, but different strokes for different folks, right?

Into green. The written. The folks in here had yellow skin, like an old book. The actual brains were written on them, though, like inked tattoos. It really must suck, being mental when all your friends are physical. Then you have to buy bodies, and actually get yourself in them. They’d bought cheap, but they made it look nice. Careful not to touch any bodies and smudge someone off, I went into the next room.

Blue, now. Just one member, in here. Spain looked at me with their thousand burning eyes. An army of skulls chanting in the darkness as their fingers danced. The mountains and rivers become nails and blood vessels. Twirling shapes in the darkness. A single piercing shriek echoing through the void.

Classy fellow. I’m glad they showed up. And in their best dress, too.

Okay. Purple. I walked through the blind, deaf, mute things. Cylinders of flesh that faintly throbbed as they sat in their chairs. Blindfolds covered alternating parts of them, like stripes. They rocked a little, swaying from side to side. It wasn’t due to any outside influence. Just their minds. I tried it once. The whole sensory deprivation thing. I got too antsy in there. Too many irons in the fire, you know.

Final room. Black. I was the only one in here. It was pitch-black, of course. Wet too. It thumped, and I could feel it beat around me. Thump. Thump. Thump.

I emerged from the pot, and entered into the white room. The throne room. My court. They were all there. Everyone from before. My kingdom bowed as I entered. And he was there. On the throne, with mine next to him. Two equal chairs, to represent two equal forces. The king and his queen. The light and the dark.

Pieces drifted from him, up into the sky. He breathed and his chest inverted. His crown was large, white. Beautiful. I couldn’t see my own, but I knew it was just as beautiful. I took my place next to him, sitting. And the kingdom was whole again. White and black united to become perfection. One that would reign for the rest of forever.

This is such a kickass prom.

[gwalchca]

ngl i started watched a piece of your mind because if kim sung kyu but what really really gets me is park joo-hyun’s acting as ji-soo.   i just.  don’t think i’ve ever seen a depressed person potrayed in a way that felt so real?

it’s... un-dramatized because they’re not showing those Big Things like drinking or overdosing or self-harming  ---  which are obviously real things that depressed people do,  but i think they’re maybe overdone when you think about for how many people depression is just going about your daily life but tiredly.

the writing for her is really,  really good but i feel like her acting is what sells it.   the slowness when she speaks and the awkwardness and overall weirdness bc your brain is firing on half a cylinder at most,  the way even when she smiles and laughs and is genuinely having a good moment there’s still an air of sadness like her whole heart isn’t in it,  the indecisiveness and unreliability and changing her mind and sometimes making huge,  stupid decisions on a whim,  the way she seems to look for that one thing that will make everything alright but never finds it,  the  “ i’m sufficiently miserable and sufficiently happy “ line because when you’re depressed your brain wants to be depressed and it feels right and you don’t even realize that’s not normal

idk,  obviously depression presents differently in different people so in a way it might just be that she acted the way i did when i was really depressed and that’s why it hit home so much with me but. it’s really well done and i haven’t seen a lot of ppl talking about it that’s all i have to say.

[whookami]

(Part 1/2) Follow up to your previous ask, what kind of roles do you wanna see Joe do in the future? Personally i prefer he does a variety of roles that are different from the light hearted way he plays Steve cause i wanna see his acting range, and i dont think the way the Duffers have dumbed down Steve to comic relief is gonna showcase that at all. I wanna see him try roles that are emotional/vulnerable in some way or even those that go into the intense unlikable villain category works for me.

(Part 2/2) thats why im curious to watch Spree because of how supposedly cringey, manic and unhinged his character is, cuz that would be different from the charismatic way he plays steve, and i've also heard critics comparing his character to the protagonists in Joker, American Psycho, Nightcrawler etc. but i dont wanna assume anything until i see the movie myself.

First, I could not agree more about Spree. That’s why I wanna see it so bad too. It’s something so totally different from what we’ve seen from Joe so far. I also love schlocky horror and dark satire, so it’s right up my alley in numerous ways.

Now, the roles I would like to see Joe do...some of these are like, weirdly specific, and some are just a general idea. What I want the most is actually probably the one closest to Steve, in that I want him to play a dude who is charming and suave on the outside and seems like the perfect guy, the perfect boyfriend, all that stuff, but in private is super emotionally manipulative and abusive, not necessarily physically, but in every other way. I want to see him just fitting into his gf’s family, her friends all love him, he’s just too good to be true because he really is. He gaslights his gf, makes her dependent upon him, just really destroys her life. Not because I like any of those things in real life, but it would really be fascinating to watch Joe, who is literally so charismatic the Duffers couldn’t kill his character off like they planned, playing someone who goes to the darkest extreme of how charming people can manipulate those around them.

Next, fatherhood. Sure, as Steve he’s pretty much adopted a flock of kids (more so in fanon than canon, but fanon is often way better for exploring these relationships). But Joe playing a young dad who wasn’t expecting the responsibility, who sort of accidentally wound up in that situation, struggling with trying to help raise a kid and not lose who he thought he was as a person, but finding himself changing and growing now that he has another life he has to nurture and protect? I want him going from a really irresponsible guy who makes a drunken mistake and then has to live up to the consequences, seeing the anger, the depression, the resentment, and through the experience comes to understand love and himself on a deeper level. Having a kid isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, especially when it’s completely accidental, there are a host of other emotions, many of them pretty ugly, that can be involved and I’d love to see Joe explore that.

Third, I wanna see him play a junkie. Someone who had a bright future and had his life pretty much planned out on a perfect trajectory, but at some point in college the pressures got to him and he would just casually take a little bit of something, to help him stay awake, to help his brain to fire on all cylinders, and it gets away from him. Eventually instead of it being a ‘now and then, when I really need it’ sort of thing it becomes almost daily and he loses out on his scholarship, his life begins to unravel, his desperation as he tries to fight alone but can’t help himself and just watching helplessly as things spiral beyond control, before finally giving in to the idea that he can’t do it by himself and has to go back home as a ‘failure’ and admit the truth because he’s been lying to his loved ones back home, and then watching him slowly be built back up, struggling daily and sometimes cracking under the pressure, but slowly step by step getting there with the support of family even though he lied to them and stole money for drugs and all that terribly painful guilt.

Finally, just because I love angst, I want him to play someone diagnosed with a terminal illness. I love crying at movies, I really do. My friends seem to find it amusing how often and easily movies make me tear up, but to me it’s a sign that a movie was being genuine and connected to me on an emotionally honest level!

So, these are just four of the roles I would love to see him try, because they each explore some really varied emotions and would really stretch his talents to some pretty different extremes. All of them do make use of his natural charm in some form, whether making it duplicitous in nature or not, but then take that base and either break it down or cause him to go through some form of disruptive life experience that challenges the true mettle of these characters. Is it weird that most of these are really really specific? Oh well. Hope you found my answers interesting. I’d love to hear what roles others would like to see him tackle!

[barnesnmrnoble]

Reason #6 -- Clint Barton

Main Masterlist - Clint Barton Masterlist - Reasons To Love -- Clint Barton Masterlist

Reason #6 -- Defining Deafness. -- Clint overcoming the fear and insecurity of his deafness. 

Word Count: 2285

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton (Winterhawk)

Warnings: little bit of angst, insecurities, minor panic attack, lots of fluff

A/n: I hope you all enjoy! If you do, leave a like and a reblog or comment! I’d love to hear what you think and honestly I need the validation. (Mistakes are mine!)

Read on AO3!

___

Clint hates these places. Hates them with more passion than he hates decaf coffee. 

It’s just pointless okay? Don’t fight him on it. 

He can’t help his fidgeting as he waits, his hands pressing together rubbing and pressing, probably too hard, on pressure points to calm himself down. He can feel the odd stares of the others in the waiting room of the too sterile feeling Otolaryngologist’s office. Most of them older folk, not exactly incredibly common to see someone as young as him in this place. Beyond that, he assumes their stares aren’t just limited to his youth, but the fact that he is with another well known Avenger. 

And maybe because he is sitting with another well known Avenger,  a terrifyingly bulky, metal armed hunk of pure beef. Yeah, that’s probably a major contributor. Bucky’s flesh hand settled on his knee, the one that’s been jumping relentlessly for almost twenty minutes now. It’s a calming gesture, at least outwardly. But Clint can’t help that nerves that are firing on all cylinders inside his mind. 

It’s when Bucky’s lips press softly against his head, just above his hairline that, inwardly, Clint minutely calmed down. He lets out a nervous laugh and a fond smile before kissing Bucky’s lips. Clint couldn’t be more glad he had Bucky here with him, he almost decided to go this alone but at least had enough sense to know that if he had, he might’ve spontaneously combust, or at the very least give himself a heart attack. 

He smiles when Bucky signs to him. “Stop worrying. It’ll go great.”

Clint never saw himself getting to this point. He had spent so many years struggling in silence, unable to communicate with his friends and people he considered family. He’d never imagined he’d find himself confident enough to break free of the cloud that followed him, to come here and face the fear that held him back in many ways. 

Bucky had been pushing for this, for him to get hearing aids for some time, knowing that Clint struggled more than he’d ever let on with his deafness. He knew Clint felt inferior to the other avengers on days where that dark cloud followed him. He always said he was dehanced as the others had been enhanced. Bucky couldn’t count the amount of days he spent questioning why he had a place on the team. But Bucky knew getting hearing aids was a big step that may lighten the load he carried on his shoulders. 

It was a big relief for Clint to have had Tony as a main consultant on making these aids. Giving him different designs for different aspects of his life, like missions and everyday designs, even going as far to make them all fairly waterproof. He’d still have a special pair for if he needed them and was swimming in water, but if he got them wet on a mission or forgot to take them out before getting into the shower, they could handle that. It pushed away some of Clint’s fear of going through the process. 

It still felt weird to him, though. He’d spent so many years, since he was a young kid still too afraid of his father to say anything , without the sounds of the world. It was silence for him. Well, he heard very muffled sounds, maybe less muffled when they were extremely loud. He was beside himself with what he’d do when he could hear people talking. Would this make team life easier? What did Bucky’s voice sound like? Was it deep and raspy, one that matched his appearance, or would it be gentle and soothing like it may have been before the war? He had no idea and was pretty sure that only sent him farther down the rabbit hole of anxiety.

Bucky’s fingers wove between Clint’s and gave a reassuring squeeze. It’d be okay. And then he felt him squeeze again and it pulled Clint’s gaze upwards where a nurse was waiting to take them to the back room. 

No turning back now, right?

Well, he presumed he could turn back now, break from Bucky’s grip and run until he found a high and hidden perch to wallow in his thoughts. But one, he knew he needed to do this, it was good for him, something he needed to lift a fraction of the weight he carried on his slumped shoulders. And for two, he was fast but he wasn’t fast enough to out run Bucky, the man could beat a cheetah if he wanted to. 

He was so in his thoughts, he’d spaced out for a while and walked like a twice dead zombie into the room. If it had not been for Bucky pulling him along, Clint is sure he’d have never moved from the waiting room. When he comes back from his spaced out thoughts, he is wrapped in Bucky’s arms, his hand running smooth and soothing lines up along Clint’s spine. He hums into Bucky’s shoulder, where his head is tucked and can feel the jump of Bucky’s body telling him he is chuckling. 

He likes being here, in Bucky’s arms. It’s warm and inviting. So inviting he never wants to leave. There have been many days where he’d done just that, the two of them in bed on a Saturday with nothing to do and so they spend it in each other’s arms because with the lives they lead, they need days like that. It’s always nice and Clint wishes in a distant part of his brain that they were doing that instead of this. 

He spaced out again, staring at a piece of artwork hanging on the wall of the office. It’s exactly what you’d think would be in the doctors wall, meant to calm you down and smooth you because, as Clint clearly exhibits, it’s more than just a bit nerve wracking to be here.

And then the door opens with a click and Bucky’s hand is squeezing his again letting him know to pay attention now and maybe answer questions. The doctor and Bucky have a conversation that Clint only catches a few words from, most of which are his name. But Bucky seems to be happy and smiling so it can’t be bad right?

Clint grins to himself when he realizes that won’t be as hard as it used to be, he will be able to take part in more conversations because he won’t have to rely on lip reading which he knows from experience, even years of it, it’s so hard to follow a conversation with only speech reading. Everybody is different in how they form the words and the sounds and sometimes without the context of other words, they all become jumbled. He distinctly remember a time when Bucky had his hands unavailable and was trying to tell Clint he loved him, but with only speech reading, Clint thought he’d said ‘olive juice’ instead of ‘I love you.’ 

Bucky had been more than just a little confused when Clint came back from the grocery store with a can of olive juice.

What made it more embarrassing was that it was the first time either had said it to each other. Though, it had become a running joke between the two and sometimes when Clint needed to smile, Bucky would look to him and say olive juice. It would always send him into a fit of giggles and have him blushing harder than when you talked about anything sex related around cap. 

Then the conversation in turns to him and he talks easily with the doctor. Mostly filler small talk until she can get everything pulled up on her computer and gets everything going. Clint’s surprised she does it so easily, signing to him and typing away at her computer. It’s impressive. 

And then, she reaches down and opens a drawer pulling out a small protective case with his name scrawled across the front. He feels his heart leap back into his throat, the doctor and Bucky must be able to see it pounding away and constricting his breathing. His hands are clammy too, and his face must have gone two shades whiter than it had been because Bucky is fretting over him like he does when Clint drops into a panic attack. 

And he can’t do this, he doesn’t deserve these, he doesn’t want these because... because why? He really isn’t sure why he is so hesitant to put two little earpieces in, two earpieces that are barely noticeable, thanks to Stark, and that will give him nearly limitless possibilities. It’s a positive thing and he can’t figure out why his brain is making it out to be so terrible. It isn’t painful, the hard part is done, and he may finally get to hear his boyfriends voice. He couldn’t ask for much more.

With a surge of confidence, he wipes his hands down the legs of his pants, drying the sweat and reaches out for the box. His hands are still shaking, because he can’t help that nagging voice of his anxiety in the back of his mind but he does try to turn the volume down a bit.  

The doctor signs a bit, pointing out various switches, buttons and how best to work the aids and Clint nods along, hoping she will finished before that shot if confidence he’d given himself wears off. She finally finished talking and Clint skids the pieces into his ears, they fit like a glove and are decently comfortable all things considering. The doctor reaches over and with Clint’s permission turns the aids on and waits to see. 

But Clint deflates.

It’s still silent. He can’t hear anything more than he could three seconds ago and all he wants to do is break down. Why couldn’t something go right for him, he’d done so much to finally get himself pumped up enough to do this and for them to not work? It’s crushing him under the weight and all he wants to do is break down. He wants to sit in Bucky’s protective embrace and just cry until his eyes run dry because this was the cherry on top. He had nothing left in him to want to be okay. He’d spent so long without his hearing, what was a few more years without it. 

He was about to turn them off, thrown them down and find that perch he’d thought about before coming in here. Being able to outrun Bucky be damned, he needed solitude away from the sterile reminder he was a dehanced agent who had no place sitting among the tech geniuses and living legends of his team. But it’s when his fingers reach the button that he hears it. 

Hears it. 

He hears something. And Clint’s head shoots up, his eyes wide and frantic and he tried to piece together where that was real or just a thought in his head to placate his pain. Whatever he heard, he thinks it was Bucky, it was deep, rumbling from the chest and he loved it. Then he hears it again, it’s his name. It’s his name spoken aloud, something the hadn’t heard since he was a young kid. 

“Hey, how do they sound?” 

He still can’t wrap his thick head around hearing his boyfriends voice and he can’t contain the grin any longer. He smiles wider than the universe and it’s perfect, better than perfect. It’s everything. 

And then it hits him harder than that one times he got hit by a literal truck. He hears, and he hears Bucky’s words to him and it becomes so overwhelming. He can feel it begin in his chest, a pressure he can no longer stop until tears are streaming down his face and he is ugly sobbing as he falls into Bucky’s body. His hand is fisted in Bucky’s shirt and his tears are soaking spots onto his shirt but neither care because this moment is one they will never forget. 

“I can hear you. I can hear your voice.”

The volume is still a bit off, he is speaking a little too loud but nobody cares because that will come in time, as he gets used to his new hearing. 

Bucky pulls back and laughs and Clint has never heard a sound more melodic and beautiful and he wants him to keep laughing. 

“It’s fucking hot.”

And that sets the both of them off, and they even notice the doctor wiping away a few tears through her laughter. And Clint can hear that too and he just can’t stop the flood, the tsunami of emotions that are washing over him and it’s just everything that he could want and more. 

He makes Bucky talk to him the whole way home, keeps the radio playing in the background because he can hear it now. He drives with the widow open once they get into the busiest parts of the city, and listens to the sounds everyone is always complaining about. Maybe he will one day too, but for now? Those sounds are beyond magical. 

The first thing he does once they are in the tower is talk to JARVIS. The second thing he does is wrap Tony in the biggest hug he could manage and smirks when he hears Tony yelp. 

And then Tasha is hugging him so tight he is afraid she might break a few of ribs but he doesn’t care. She kisses his cheek and says she loves him as a passing thought, almost as if she’d forgotten that he could hear now. And he smirks before he can even say his smart ass remark. 

“I heard that.”

[thebibliomancer]

Dark Crystal Age of Resistance ep 4 liveblog

“The First Thing I Remember is Fire”

Just a stream of thoughts.

Dammit the logo caught on fire. This is why they didn’t want open flames on the sets!

Gelfling are just super racist against Podlings.

A Guard: “Shut up, you’ll give everyone nightmares with that wailing!”

Hup: -sings louder, out of spite-

Sooooooooo Deet has decided to be a cryptid.

For Gelfling are a superstitious and cowardly lot. 

Flew around wailing and screeching until A Guard and B Guard took off in a frighten and then rescued Hup.

“Thra’s true balance will be found when natural order is sound.”

Dark Crystal loves its weird, random prophecies. But they’ve got nothing on Redwall.

-Brea, breaks the secret door- 

Why is there a secret room at the end of the secret passage under a secret door in the throne secretly that has the symbols of the seven clans?

Brea: “Oh, its a puzzle!”

Hey, yeah, this is coming off a little Legend of Zelda…

“I have to put the clans in their natural order, from highest to lowest, and then Thra will be in balance” =| ffs brea

You done learned a classism, growing up.

Dammit puzzle room, don’t reward her for classism! Orrr racism?

Brea is having a hard time ranking the clans once she gets past the ‘well obviously the Vapra are the best’

Wow, good job, modern puppeteers. You’ve made the Skeksis eating even grosser. And in the original movie it was a sort of cathartic trash the set sort of scene.

Wow, very gross.

Oh, this specific gross banquet is in honor of the Ornamentalist. So of course everyone spends the entire time whining about how food is like ash in their mouths compared to drinking soul goo.

Soul goo is crackier than crack. One sip and the Skeksis are all super hooked on it and already jonesing for another hit.

And the Ornamentalist is just annoyed.

Ornamentalist: “Essence, essence, essence! That’s all any of you talk about since I returned. It’s my party. Talk about me!”

Of course, the Ornamentalist would gladly try a hit but there’s none left.

Awww, they didn't invite Scientist to the party. They locked him in his lab until he finishes his mad science chores.

All the Skeksis are talking about wiping out the entire Gelfling population and Chamberlain is the only one thats not stupid about the horrific act of eating souls to maintain youth.

Chamberlain: “A wise shepherd does not cull entire herd, yes? We should take only what Gelfling we need to survive!”

Gourmand: “Moderation is for the meek!”

I again wonder how these dinguses managed to rule the planet for a thousand years without using it all up.

Chamberlain just called the General a coward. And the other Skeksis are just going FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT

General: “I welcome war!”

Chamberlain: “Because you are too thick-headed to use brain!”

General: -affronted gasp-

And the Emperor is too busy PULLING HIS FINGER OFF to pay much attention

Gross. You’re getting pus… everything was already disgusting and you’ve found the way to make it worse, Emperor

So he wants instant results and starts yelling at the Chamberlain who can just shrink down and go ‘he started it’

Aww Emperor just dumped Chamberlain as his favorite counselor and his new bff is the general

Woow the general wasn’t kidding. The instant Chamberlain doesn’t have the Emperor’s favor, the General smacks Chamberlain to the floor and stomps on his hand.

I almost feel bad for him.

And now several minutes of Aughra complaining about how old she is and yelling at the ground to shut up until someone shoots plot arrows around her.

And the Emperor rolls into the lab to mock the Scientist for having no friends. Wow.

So the Scientist finished repairing the soul suck machine, with the bondage chair upgrade like in the movie.

Emperor: “How many Gelfling must we drain to cheat death for all eternity?”

Scientist: ‘thats fucked up, dude’

Or more seriously, the Scientist is actually worried about the Darkening and worries that draining Gelfling will cause it to spread faster.

But the Emperor is a global decaying denier and tells Scientist to tell him what he wants to hear.

Or he’ll kill his pet lab animals. Which the Scientist actually seems to like. I mean the animals, not the choking of them.

Scientist: “Fifty Gelfling, every trine!” I’m split between thinking ‘wow thats awful’ and ‘wow thats sustainable’

Chamberlain is feeling sad because Emperor doesn’t love him most anymore so he’s blowing an ominous horn.

Oh, another new Skeksis! SkekMal, the Hunter!

And all the other Skeksis are like ‘aw fuck not that guy’

Its interesting to think that from how much all the Skeksis seem to despise each other, thats actually them getting along and liking each other, and there are other Skeksis that they just don’t like at all.

WOW SKEKMAL LOOKS SPOOKY

THE GROUND IS ANGRY

THE SKY IS ANGRY!

WHY IS EVERYTHING ANGRY

Oh theres Aughra, of course she’s angry. She’s angry or peeved or irritated or disgruntled.

Aughra: “I will go no further!” -many plot arrows- “... I will go a bit further.”

I hadn’t gotten a good view yet but Aughra has a cool cape.

Oh hey, a new UrRu! This day brings a bounty. He’s the Archer who has been shooting arrows adjacent to Aughra.

Archer: “Thra still sings”

Aughra: “Then why don’t I hear it?”

Archer: “Because you turned your eye away from Thra and towards the stars.”

Hearing that from the Skeksis is just audacious but hearing it from an UrRu makes it hurt.

Aughra: “I trusted the Skeksis to look after Thra! I took their word!”

Archer: “And their gifts”

GET DUNKED ONNNNNN i guess.

Having four arms must help with archery. But apparently having arthritis in all of those arms doesn’t.

Archer shoots arrow straight up into the air and has it land right at her feet. And vanishes while she’s watching it go.

Aughra: “You could have just said this! Clearly, succinctly! Without all the walking!”

Archer is the troll UrRu

Ohhh, I bet Archer and Hunter are counterparts. BECAUSE THEY’RE BOTH BATMAN

Archer does the vanishing when he feels the conversation is ended part and Hunter appears out of nowhere to give Chamberlain a frighten.

Hunter: “What is the prey?”

Chamberlain: “A Gelfling”

Hunter: “Nope. Bye.”

But Chamberlain talks him into it anyway because talking people into things is what Chamberlain does.

Although first he tries to make the Hunter feel sorry for his, the Chamberlain’s, reverse in fortunes by whining that the General hurt his hand but the Hunter just. Doesn’t. Care. About castle politics. He wouldn’t be out in the night being batman if he did.

But Chamberlain does manage to somehow convince him that Rian is worthy prey.

Now the General is charge of Gurjin’s interrogation and he immediately cattle prods him several times and straps him into the soul suck machine. Welp.

Gurjin, you’re wonderfully defiant and snarky.

General: “I will ask you once again, WHERE IS THE FUGITIVE RIAN?”

Gurjin, having just been partially soul sucked: “Have you checked the Great Smerth? It’s particularly lovely in spring.”

The Emperor rolls in and its like dad came home and caught the boys misbehaving.

Scientist: “I told him not to do it!”

General: “I… I was just introducing myself to the Gelfling!”

Emperor: =__=

OH MY GOD BREA HAS JUST BEEN TRYING TO BRUTE FORCE THE PUZZLE THIS ENTIRE TIME

She’s just been trying different combinations and writing down what doesn’t work.

Brea: “‘Thra’s true balance will be found when the natural order is sound’… but there is no natural order because no clan is above any of the others! It isn’t a puzzle! It’s a lie!”

Good job overcoming your prejudices, Brea!

Also, apparently refusing to rank the clans was the correct answer. This puzzle room is smart.

Hey what. Hey um what. There’s this stone dinosaur now what.

Its kind of cute.

YODA????

IS THAT YODA???

So the rock creature is named Lore and it has like… rock grooved cylinders and a rock phonograph pick and like a recorded Yoda voice that drops exposition 

Yoda: “Lore has imprinted on you. He is now your guardian and will protect you on your journey to the Circle of the SUns. There you will find the key to free Gelfing from Skeksis power forever.”

Oh.

Wait, who put this here? If the All-Maudra is NOW deeply in the Skeksis’ pockets then who and when put a secret room under her throne? And who knew enough to put a rock puppy in a secret room with a prerecorded message that the Skeksis were up to nooooo good. If someone knew all along that the Skeksis were jerks, why bury a message about it instead of doing something?

And then Seladon shows up and is like “THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE”

I’m not sure what the Gelfling guards were going to do to a rock monster with little spears anyway.

And now Rian has wandered into the Podling village. Hopefully he manages to be less racist than everyone else (except Deet) that interacts with them.

Wait, is that Rian? Then who is the other hooded gelfling and why are there ominous scare strings?

Podlings just love to party. They’re the Michelangelo of Thra’s races.

-Podling picks up entire keg and sprays it into another Podling’s mouth-

Rian gets a free drink because an old lady Podling wants to flirt at him across the room.

But his heart is too tender after losing the love of his life and I’m sure he won’t have room for a new love anytime soon.

Gurjin’s sister is hardcore. Shows up and puts Rian at knifepoint to ransom him off to get Gurjin back.

Oh and Cool Sister Tavra also shows up to also try to capture Rian for murdering a member of the Vapra (which he didn’t).

Oh Cool Sister Tavra, why’d you have to be racist at the Drunchens?

Rian: “Will someone just please fucking dreamfast with me so we can resolve this damn plot?”

Entirely new character Kylan: “Yeah I’m game” “The Skeksis may rule the land, but they do not rule my heart.”

Damn, entirely new character Kylan, you’re dope.

Tavra also decides that if entirely new character Kylan is going to do it, then she’s going to do it too.

And Gurjin’s sister gets peer pressured into doing it too.

FINALLY dreamfasting does what it was designed to do and shortcut past doubt and suspicion so we can get on with it.

Oh hey, Rian’s dad wanders in (geez Rian is bad at hiding if everyone found him at the same time) and also gets in on this dreamfast.

It feels a little weirder though because he gets in when it was already ongoing and its like weird because everyone else consented to the dreamfast and he just invited himself in.

But hey it lets Rian make up with his dad so, sure.

Dreamfasting also apparently can create- oh dreametching. Yeah they did mention that could happen.

So now Rian, entirely new character Kylan, and Dadrian are going to the All-Maudra to get her to rally the Gelflings against the Skeksis.

And Gurjin’s sister Naia and Tavra are going to the castle to free Gurjin.

I caaaaan’t help but feeeeeel that if Tavra went with Rian’s group they’d be able to convince the All-Maudra more easily but surrrrrrrrrre do whateverrrrrr

Unless you get captured and killed, Tavra and Naia. I’d be disgruntled at that.

Its kind of weird you have this group of plucky youths and also Rian’s dad who is like the wizened old man compared to them.

Wait, where IS Kylan? Did he go with the castle group after all?

Wait, shouldn’t Rian dad go on the castle mission since he’s the boss guard? And would make it easier for them  to-

Oh, I see. He has to be killed by the Hunter to show how serious the situation is.

Sorry, RIan’s dad. You’re the sacrificial lamb.

I mean, it hasn’t happened yet, but I bet it will-

OH HI DEET!

Deet and Rian just barely cross each other’s paths again. Its a small world after all.

Rian: “Do you remember [father-son bonding activity]?”

Rian Dad: “Ahhh I see how that memory we both share would be useful here.”

HOLY SHIT the Hunter can book. All the other Skeksis are like lumbering around and feeling old and he’s jumping in trees. Maybe fresh air IS good for you.

And he’s a puppet or a costume or a costume puppet so holy shit.

Rian tries to sword fight the Hunter but like…. The weight advantage is very much the Hunter’s. He’s just easily pushing the Gelfling around

HOLY SHIT HIS TWO EXTRA ARMS AREN'T ATROPHIED HE’S SKEKSIS GENERAL GRIEVOUS

Hunter: “You have heart…. I’ll take that too.”

Oh no I was wrong! Rian Dad wasn’t the sacrificial lamb! He was the heroic sacrifice!

He tackled the Hunter into a pit of angry earth and the Hunter seems pretty okay with that as long as he takes someone with him. What an enigmatic guy.

Oh. never mind. Hunter is still alive. He’s too angry and spry for the ground to eat.

I was about to say what a shame it was to introduce the guy and immediately get him eaten by the ground.

And also Riandad’s sacrifice was pointless because the Hunter immediately captures Rian and absconds with him.

Deet and Hup must be very confused coming into this plot branch with no context.

[saanphoenix]

If you're still accepting prompts for Connor can you please write something where the reader likes to play scary video games but they always end up being too scared to fall sleep at night so they call Connor over to keep them company?

This is not exactly what you wanted, but. I got a few spaces on the Bingo card and I feel that counts for somethin’.Warning: 2.7k words and swearing. RIP mobile users should Read More fail.

You listen to the sounds of your feet echoing off the wooden floor beneath you as you sneak your way through the decrepit house you’ve wandered into for supplies. Groans and growls give away the position of the zombies outside. One’s just beyond the window you crouch-walk under, snorting as it no doubt flails around to check the slight creak it’s just heard but can’t find the source of. One’s to the far left of the house, beyond the room you’re in and the adjoining hallway.

It won’t cause you any problem, so long as you do nothing stupid like knock a vase off a night table trying to open a drawer like you did last time. No, it’s the one near the window that poses the problem.

You want to exhale, to calm your nerves as you slink forward another foot towards a dresser that probably contains a few extra shotgun shells. But you can’t. Because your dumb ass turned on the option to allow real world sounds influence the game. If you so much as sneeze you’re dead. So, you hold your breath, praying that the damn stiff near you shambles on before the end of time.

Something clatters loudly to your left, startling you. You turn your head to the left, your heart already in your throat, only for your brain to realize a second too late that the noise came from beyond the headphones on your ears.

“Noo!” You exclaim as the window shatters, spraying glass down onto your character. Decaying arm’s wrap around your neck as yours rise up to stop them.

The only thing that keeps you from flinging your headset across the room is your left hand’s ability to remember just how much the damn thing cost.

Shaking from the adrenaline rush, you pout your lips and glare over at the source of the noise that did you in.

Your cat sits on the side table beside the recliner, blinking slowly as it makes itself comfortable in the heat of the lamp. The small glass bowl that’d held your pens, nail clippers, and screwdriver? Dead on the floor.

“Thanks, cat.” You seethe. “Not like I was in the middle of doing anything.”

You receive another slow blink in reply.

Without the artificial light of the headset’s screen pouring into your eyes, you suddenly realize how tired they are. Looking up at the clock, you inwardly cringe at the time. Shit, it’s already one in the morning? I’m not going to like work tomorrow. With a sigh, you get up and switch the console off. At least autosave’s got my back. You pick up the mess your cat made, shooing them away with a wave your hand so you can put everything back in proper order.

It takes you fifteen minutes to get ready for bed. You mentally cross the number from the amount of sleep you could have had had you not gotten completely absorbed in the game you’d been playing. I’m really not going to like work tomorrow, you tell yourself again. Four hours is not a lot of time to sleep.

Snuggling into your covers, you try to put your mind to rest, try to convince your body you need to pass out right now or else.

Your efforts are in vain. You’re still too wired from the excitement of trying not to die in virtual reality and failing miserably. Every course of action you could’ve done differently plays out in vivid detail behind your eyelids. You frown as you roll over and try to get comfortable again. If only your cat wasn’t an unintentional asshole. If only you didn’t insist on playing with the most extreme settings the game allowed just ‘for an extra challenge.’ If only–

The loud clatter that startles you this time comes from outside. Behind your house. Suspiciously near where your trash cans are.

Raccoon, the logical part of your brain says. Rat. Literally any once-woodland creature come to scavenge for the scraps of humanity.

Ah! Zombie! Shrieks the dumb part of your brain that sends you jolting upright in bed as you reach for your phone on the other pillow to call– Murderer! Jason Voorhees! –not the police.

But who to call other than Not-The-Police? Who the hell is up at one-thirty in the morning that won’t be horrendously pissed off by pleading with them to check the perimeter of your house because you’re too much of a chicken shit to do it yourself?

Your thumb scrolls through your contacts, presses a name, and dials Not-Technically-The-Police. The other line picks up almost immediately. Having the number directly to someone’s head is handy like that.

“Hello?” Connor asks, slight concern sneaking its way through his usual calm tone.

“Connor,” you grin as you sing-song his name. “How’s it goin’?”

There’s a small pause on his end before he asks, “Is everything alright?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Why else would you be calling me at near two in the morning on a work day via the emergency line I gave you?”

You laugh nervously. “Yeah, no. Everything’s fine. There was just… noises… outside of my house. And…”

You can practically hear him nod, you’ve learned his mannerisms that well. “You want me to come check it out for you.”

“I figured you’d be the only one up who might stand a chance against armed rodents.”

“Rodents? Perhaps. Armed rodents? I’m not so sure. They’ll definitely have more firepower than me.”

You snort, drawing your legs up under you. “What? You can’t steal Hank’s gun?”

“I could,” Connor replies smoothly. “I don’t think he’d like that very much.”

“You’re only in trouble if you get caught.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

You look over at the digital clock glowing on your nightstand. You’re not getting any sleep tonight. It’s too late for you. Tomorrow’s going to be hell. But at least Connor’s coming over. Misery loves company, after all, and you love Connor’s.

You hadn’t expected to when you’d first seen him. You hadn’t given the old guy with the rundown but well-loved car who lived down the street much thought before then. He was just a weird dude who could use a stylist. But then, one day, a young man had mysteriously appeared in his front yard. A young man who was doing his best to hold a Saint Bernard still while trying to wash soap suds off its fur. And, though you had a cat, you liked dogs, too. And you quickly discovered you liked warm, attentive brown eyes. Eyes that had blinked when you’d asked, “Need a hand?” because you knew blurting out, “My God, you’re adorable,” wasn’t socially acceptable.

Learning Connor was an android didn’t really put a damper on your budding friendship. It wasn’t like you’d been one of the many people to flee Detroit during and after the great Robo Revolution of 2k38. If anything, such knowledge made Hank’s comment of, “If you like him so much, you can keep him,” a little less awkward. You had a crush. You hadn’t exactly asked for his hand in marriage, yet.

And it’s that crush, you think, that probably clouds your judgment. “You sure you’re okay doing this? I don’t want to bother you.” Pester, maybe. Not drag him away from something important.

“You’re not bothering me,” Connor replies. He’s being earnest even when it sounds like he’s merely stating a fact. “Your safety’s more important than reviewing Hank’s old case files.”

You cringe. “You were working. I’m sorry–”

“I was researching,” Connor hastily interrupts you. You know he’s trying to make you feel better. He’s quick to do the same with Hank. “Nothing pertaining to a current case. Just something to pass the time.”

You doubt that. Connor’s quick to lie if he thinks it’ll put someone’s mind at ease. At least, he is now. Listening to him and Hank talk sometimes, you get the feeling he wasn’t always that way. But you imagine that’s what comes with the whole deviancy thing.

A knock on your door almost makes you drop your phone. “Jesus Christ!” You mutter, mentally berating yourself and your frazzled nerves.

“Not quite.”

With an angry pout, you flail your way off the bed and pad loudly to the front door, which you open with the full intent on giving Connor a piece of your mind.

“You could–”

Connor stands politely at your front door. His brows raise slightly as he tilts his head to the side. You’re momentarily thrown off by the look he gives you. His eyes travel to the phone still raised to your ear, reminding you that it’s there.

Pressing the screen, you end the call and then point the device at him, “You could warn me before you do that next time.”

“I knocked,” he reasons with faux innocence.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Connor smiles, a small thing but no less genuine. He deftly changes the subject. “You said you heard a noise?”

“Yeah. I think it was my trash can.”

His eyes dart down as he thinks and then meet yours again. “You should probably accompany me while I investigate. I don’t think we want anyone mistaking me for the culprit.”

You nod. That’s a good point. Calling Connor to avoid calling the cops and then having someone else call the cops on Connor would be an awkward scenario at best. You take a step towards him, expecting him to move out of the way so you can lead him to the backyard, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he holds his hand up and gently pushes you back that one step. Confused, you look up at him.

He smiles at you again and looks down at your feet. “You’re not wearing shoes,” he explains. “It might be more efficient to walk through the house to get to the back.”

“Oh. Right.” You blink lazily. Turning around, you head off in that direction. You ignore your cat as it bolts across the floor to hide when Connor enters the house. No matter how many times someone comes over, the darn thing always gets spooked. “You’ll have to excuse me. It’s ass o’clock in the morning and I’ve had no sleep. I’m not exactly firing on all cylinders.”

Connor doesn’t reply, but you know it’s simply because he doesn’t feel the need to and not that he didn’t hear you or that he’s trying to be rude. Connor’s a thinker. Whether it’s because he’s an android, one meant to be a detective type, or because it’s just a facet of his personality you’re unsure, but the occasional silence has never bothered you. It’s always seemed companionable. More-so than with any other android you used to try and talk to in the past.

When you get to the back door, you step aside and look to Connor, waiting for him to do the honors. He seems to know you don’t trust what awaits on the other side and obliges. He steps outside without a care in the world, triggering the security light. You hang your head out the door and look after him, holding the door frame as if you’re trying to support it and not the other way around.

“See anything?” You whisper loudly so as not to disturb the crickets.

Again, Connor doesn’t respond, his eyes scanning the grass, the newly made mess of trash cans, recycling bin, gardening tools, and a rusted bike you should really look into replacing.

You’ve never really seen him work before. Stare off into space while cross-referencing something, yes, but nothing with the amount of intense focus he’s doing now. You admire the way his lips turn downward as his brow twitches. He certainly is beautiful.

You feel a little disappointed when he turns his face away from you, staring down the length of your house. Seconds tick by and the more that do the more you start to worry.

“Connor?” You ask.

His head snaps back to face you. You didn’t even notice he’d tensed up until you see his shoulders relax. But then he’s struggling to find words and you realize he’s seen something. He’s seen something and he doesn’t know what to tell you, most likely because he doesn’t want to frighten you. Too late for that.

“What?” You demand, voice flat in an attempt to mask your growing anxiety. Fancy that. The dumb part of your brain was right for once.

He blinks and then he’s moving towards you, his gait unhurried but purposeful. “Get inside,” he commands, hand coming up to rest on your shoulder and you allow him to guide you back into the house. He shuts the door behind him and locks it. Despite how your heart starts to hammer in your chest, Connor looks as cool as a cucumber.

“What?” You ask again, voice cracking a little. Zombies don’t exist in this world. Other predators do.

“There’s thirium on the ground outside.”

“Blue blood?”

“Yes. It’s old. You wouldn’t be able to see it. But its trail leads across your yard and into the neighbor’s.”

You shake your head as your tired mind attempts to deduce things like his. “So… An android tried to steal my garbage? Tried to break into my house?”

“No,” Connor answers and looks to you. He’s being honest. “That was a raccoon. There’s hair caught on the lip of the metal can, most likely pulled out when it lost balance and then knocked everything over.”

You sag. “Oh, thank God. That’s good. I can handle raccoons.” Your brow furrows. “Then why did you act like the android was the problem?”

Once again, Connor struggles. His eyes get a far-away look in them as they wander away from yours. You might not be firing on all cylinders, but you think you’re figuring it out. When his eyes find yours again, you know you have.

A smile graces your face. “You’re worried about me,” you say, pleased.

Connor hesitates before answering, “I know what injured and scared deviants–androids–are capable of.”

At first, the comment sounds random. But as you think about it you realize what he’s insinuating. Just because the android wasn’t here tonight doesn’t mean they hadn’t been here at all. Instead of crossing through your yard to safety, they could have just as easily broken in to hide. Or…

Your smile fades. “You think they’re still out there?”

Connor takes a deep breath. You wonder if the action has been programmed to calm androids like it does in humans, just to make them seem a little more natural. “In my experience?” He asks rhetorically. “Frightened, damaged androids rarely go far.”

“Oh. Oh, good. That’s great.”

“Nothing’s happened these past few days? Not that you’ve noticed?”

“No.”

“Then chances are you’re safe. But if you’d permit me, I’d like to remain here for the rest of the night. I can keep watch as you get some sleep. Check the area after you’ve awakened.”

You nod, numb. You don’t have an awesome robot brain to calculate statistics, don’t know how close you came to misfortune. But Connor knows.

“You’d really do that for me?” You question.

The small smile he gives you makes you think it was a dumb question. He finally moves away from the door and steps closer, head tilted as he gazes down at you. “Why wouldn’t I?”

You have no answer. You’re too busy memorizing all the little details on his face–the moles, the small dimple in his chin, the way that one little strand of hair falls over his forehead–to even remember how to speak.

His smile grows. “Tell you what. I’ll do you one better.” He places his hands on your shoulders. “I’ll even call your boss. Leave a message saying you’re going to be running late because of a police investigation. Give you a few more hours to get your beauty sleep.”

He winks and suddenly you can’t stop yourself from blurting out, “Marry me.”

He laughs, a quick exhale of air as he bows his head. There’s a grin on his face when he raises his head. “I’ll think about it.”

[kitcunninghamroject3]

Evaluation

“This project is about experimenting with Photographic imagery and applying it to a 3D Context. Photography is traditionally associated with printed or on-screen imagery, but during this project you will be encouraged to critically analyse and integrate research, contextual understanding, materials, methods and skills to create a 3-dimensional Photo Sculpture.”

My final piece for this project is pretty much a 3-dimensional Christian Cross which is upside down, which is made up of 6 photos that i have taken of a church in the centre of town near the grovsnior casino. I came up with the idea by taking inspiration from a photographer, author and sculptor called Richard Artschwager who created images of 3 dimensional boxes all aligned in quite a ravish way creating a phsycadelic vibe amongst the work, for some reason when i glassed at this image the more i felt like it was turning into a upside down cross and once i saw that i thought it was the perfect opportunity to base my work on the christian faith due to my distant views and feelings of the faith and what i represent it with i guess you could say this is my personal biased opinion though as there would be no way of changing my mind. This would be more inspiration from my views and personal journal that is my head.

Work shop that inspired me was one we did with Jordi where we used one of are photos and place it over  a net, in this case i used a photo of my friend Olly Liddar and place his face over a cylinder. I took this inspiration as i thought it would be perfect to place my images on a set of 6 Netted cuboids to then later glue the together creating a upside down cross. this is the only inspiration i took from workshops for this project as i thought it most related to the idea behind mine and how i would achieve this in the most fluid way.

the materials i used to create my final piece was paper, scissors, and glue. can’t really say to many materials were involved in making my final piece as it wasn’t to hard to make and docent involve much materials. Sticking it all together was quite a tricky job as prick stick is commonly known to be relatively unreliable and wasn’t holding to well in some cases. I can’t really say the materials used in making my final sculpture could relate towards the space my sculpture was placed in, as it was just paper and glue. I guess you could say that the paper relates to the space i choose because it represents an area that is dark and gloomy and some would maybe say that paper looming with dark and gloom, due to the sad mass production of paper that starts off from a trail of dishonourably cutting down trees for our own personal gratification in many different aspects.

The photos that i have taken for my final sculpture relate to my work, as my sculpture appears to be a upside down cross or commonly referred to The cross of saint peter or petrine Cross which is in a inverted Latin cross traditionally used as a Christian symbol, but in recent times is used to represent the anti christian symbol. which makes more sense to be represented in that way. The reason why Saint Peters cross is symbolic as such instead of satanic is due to the fact that he was the 12th apostle of “Jesus Christ’ like “Jesus” himself saint peter was also crucified for being a member of the christian church and was crucified upside down. Which i find to be quite ironic that one of “Christs” disciples had more of a memorable crucification than the lords saviours own son as i feel the inverted cross has become more depicted throughout history and is kind of a big “ may your biscuit always fall into your tea” (this was a polite way of saying F**k you, thought this would sound better)- also due to the fact that the old testament tired to turn this round by giving saint peter his own personal symbolic cross that is noticeably different to the original, i find this all very funny that most people represent this as a satanic symbol this in my option that the christian faith is dying out slowly but surely, which will be a good day for some people that are like minded as myself i can’t say I’m the only one. to sum it up my photos are also taken of a church so i all connects in some weird way which makes sense in my brain may not in others. It also relates to the area that its in as my hole sculpture is about the negativity surrounding christianity, that sounds like I’m discriminating i should say religion in general. but the cross represents the christian faith more so than others. The area it is in appears to be evil and mistreated along with my inverted cross and the christian faith.

Well if i had the funds i would have liked to have printed it onto glass and i only really thought about this once i had finished and no longer have the time i also thought that it would be tricky because i don’t really have the materials to make a 3 dimensional cross out of glass and print my photos onto it, i think with this whole project i was bit ambitious especially when thinning about my initial idea so eventually i had to lesser myself and settle for paper.

If I’m totally honest i feel that i could have done a lot better with my assignment but i didn’t really allow myself much time and didn’t give it my all, as i was never really to interested in making a sculpture but don’t get me wrong i have up most appreciation toward the brief and the skills that i will be learning. Due to the way that my brain works or the way that i am if i don’t like something i become the definition of a  procrastinator i try to put something off as much as possible. In this case i deeply regret this because i feel that i have kind of stuffed myself for this project and have left it all far to late and have put myself under more pressure and stress than i can bargain with. I wouldn’t say I’m to happy with my work or final outcome and didn’t really go through a process when coming up with the idea that you can see but thats kind of how i role, which i guess isn’t an excuse and some people may not understand that my way of generating ideas or coming up with something is up in my head and don’t feel to much that i have to generate ideas as i can already see the final outcome so perfectly in my head.

If i could change the outcome if i had more time i would go back and start the whole assignment over again but theres no such thing of going back and doing it again. so i have to make do with what I’ve got. i chose the location in my image as i wanted it to be something on the grunge side as my final outcome was more on the sinister side, i set fire to the cross as i thought it would add some sort of affect toward the images and was ironic as its like the burning of the cross, lets just hope i don’t go to hell from this antic. overall I’m quite happy with it now but i am still not a fan due to the fact that building a sculpture isn’t what i wanted to do.

[blessuswithblogs]

Katsura Hashino is a Big Fat Creep and Other Observations

(for the record all uses of the word “queer” in this post are meant in the academic sense as shorthand for a wide umbrella group of gender and sexual minorities and not as a slur i hope that is evident from my past history and status as Big Gay Bitch Who Loves Girls but let it never be said i don’t cover my ass)

A few weeks ago, Catherine: Full Body Edition or whatever gross subtitle it got was released. Catherine has had a very checkered history as one of those games that is just kind of slimy, though it has endured with a cult following and a surprisingly successful competitive community by way of the game's multiplayer mode where you compete to see who can climb The Dream Sex Tower the best. Honestly, I don't know that much about Catherine because it is difficult to think of a game that repulses me more on a visceral level, but I want to do my due diligence and not talk out my ass. One of Catherine's initial claims to fame was that it was by Atlus Japan, specifically the same people who made the much beloved Persona games. This is evident in the game's art, music, overall style of delivery, and being basically hate speech.

The original Catherine was a greasy, misogynistic mess with some really vile politics about trans people in particular. Deadnaming your own fictional character in the credits is some next level petty malice. Full Body returns with, stupendously, a double down on this ideology that is actually kind of comical in how convoluted it gets in trying to decry the Degenerate Queer Lifestyle. The game adds a scene with Rin, who is apparently a gay crossdresser from space(???????), getting slapped away and running away crying from their love interest after he learns The Terrible Truth. In another game, with a different writing team, this could have been a teachable moment about the destructive consequences of taking too narrow a view of human sexuality and gender expression, but as it stands it's just another tiresome example of Trans Panic with a sheepish admonishment from the other characters that gosh maybe slapping their hand away was a mean thing to do.

So we're already firing on all cylinders here, but the best is yet to come. The bulk of the outcry comes from the addition of a weird "true ending" cutscene where Catherine, who is also from space, goes back in time to make everybody's life better. Or something. This is already pretty stupid on the face of it because its Fucking Time Travel Out of Nowhere, but the scene then depicts a pre-transition Erica, the game's trans character who got deadnamed in the credits the last time. There has been a lot of exceptionally tedious discussion about exactly when this scene takes place in the game's chronology and what it means for Erica, and some brain geniuses have tied their thinkmeats into pretzel shapes to prove definitively that all this means is that she delayed her transition in this Better Timeline, that might not actually be better, because Catherine is weird and selfish, maybe. And. Fine. Sure. Okay. Let's accept that for now. Given the game's previous track record, and continuing insistence on using Erica's pretransition name in the credits even in the rerelease, it is meanspirited at best to show her before her transition at all (many real life trans people would be utterly mortified for such a thing to happen to them) and overall just in poor taste and pretty lousy writing at that because it's so unclear what any of this actually means. Since the game has not yet received an official english localization, the context of this scene is to begin with muddled by amateur translators on the internet all with slightly conflicting interpretations of the scene. It's a fucking mess, by and large.

So I would disagree that this is a fake controversy manufactured by those damnable essjaydubyas. Even with the most charitable interpretation possible, it's still just really sketchy and gross. Erica's english voice actress, who seems to be very fond of the character, has been vocal about her dissatisfaction with the new scenes on twitter and has recently come out to say that the localization team is going to try and take some steps to make things less blatantly hateful. Between this and Jennifer Hale's recent tweet about it being time to grab our pitchforks in response to Activision-Blizzard's mass layoffs, I'm starting to think that voice actresses are pretty cool. I mean honestly I always thought that but we're getting off topic. One of the top competitive Catherine players, who was by all accounts really hyped for the release of Full Body, just straight up said on twitter that he was quitting the game because he couldn't support something like that in good conscience. I don't know if he's remained consistent on this position since, but it was a bold statement, to say the least.

Now, whenever an incident like this happens, the inevitable string of More-Progressive-Than-Thou white boys who watched an anime once and thought the bouncing titties were a little much appears to start pontificating about the cause of such untoward elements in media. And it's basically all just a bunch of Orientalist bullshit. Every time. For whatever reason, people still really love to be racist towards Japanese people because it's still sort of socially acceptable when couched in the language of "oh japan!!! ecks dee" and so the neverending procession of softboi neckbeards declared with confidence that Atlus's continual inclusion of Actual Hate Speech towards LGBTQ+ people was the result of the inscrutable Japanese Mind and its Mysterious, Antiquated Culture. Many mentions of the philosophy of Wa, wherein the nail that stands out gets pounded down, and lots of very lovely psuedointellectual claptrap. Evidently, people just seem to think that queer people don't live in Japan, or that they don't fight just as hard as we do for equal rights and protections under the law. They do live there, and they do fight as hard as we do. Obviously. You fucking imbeciles.

In their quest to clearly illustrate their moral and intellectual superiority to the backward, collectivist Asiatic Peoples, these highly reasonable and enlightened manboys forsook a very important logical principle: Occam's Razor. Sure, you could blame jApAnEsE cUlTuRe for Atlus's impropieties and just conveniently ignore all of the fantastic queer media it has produced in recent years like My Lesbian Experience With Loneliness, Horou Muskou, Nier Automata, etc. Or you could go for the simpler and more logically consistent option: Katsura Hashino is a big fat creep. Who is Hashino, you ask? He is the director of every Persona game since 3, as well as Catherine, and all of these games' gross shit and self-contradictory themes of self-acceptance and rebellion against an unust society (unless you're gay, ew) can probably be traced to him and his gaggle of accomplices. In addition to the fact that Atlus games not by Hashino's team tend to just. not have these problems to nearly as large a degree or even at all, Hashino himself has gone on record saying some really kind of hilariously backwards shit. Most infamously, when asked why in Persona 3 literally all of your social links with girls ended up with Hot Makeout Sessions regardless of like. Previously Committed to Relationships. Hashino simply said he couldn't imagine friendships between boys and girls. So that's where his brain is at. Since subsequent games in the series graciously allowed the player the option to not be a Huge Cheating Bastard, one can assume either his moral development has progressed past early puberty or somebody on the team convinced him this wasn't actually a normal thing to think. Given the man's output, I would say it's probably the latter.

It is because of this man's decisions and behavior that so many people are simply unwilling to give Full Body the benefit of the doubt. The game's director is, quite simply, a well known louse, and not in the endearing, Roger Smith way. Once again, it requires far fewer leaps in logic to assume that Hashino is just being a bigoted creep again than to go through some fuckin galaxy brain Kingdom Hearts-esque dot-connecting to justify it as just a LITTLE BIT bigoted not REALLY SUPER bigoted, or simply blaming the whole ordeal on some strange ineffable property of the Japanese Character. He's a gremlin! An overgrown manchild with a warped view of human interaction and society put in charge of games about exploring those concepts for.... reasons. My bet is that his dad knew somebody and then Persona 3 was successful enough for the rest of Atlus to just go "alright fine let him do it while we do mainline games". Unfortunately, Persona became so popular that the mainline games sort of switched places and became side-projects, at least in the eyes of the Western consumer base (which let's be real is the only perspective that any of these Serious Online Commentators even pretend to care about).

So I would once again caution everyone against just assuming that Japan is some sort of quaint anachronistic country of weird gameshows and backwards social mores. This is both a gross oversimplification of an entire culture and the struggles of their own subgroups and minorities and simply a grand display of lacking self-awareness. Like have you fucking seen the guys in the White House? The preposterous media that gets routinely greenlit on prime time TV, theaters, and digitally? Don't make me laugh. The West has no claim to any sort of progressive superiority to anybody else. The white cishet bubble of comfortable middle class affluence might distort what you see of the rest of the world, but believe me: we got problems too. Big ones. Even the presupposed bastions of Demsoc Virtue like Sweden have an awful track record of discrimination and eugenics. But Dazzlyn that's different, you cry! All of these groups and forces don't represent the entirety of Western culture! Yes. Exactly. Oppression is not culturally bound like cuisine or art. It is a nasty, universal thing that worms its way into everything, and it will use any excuse it can find to murder and exploit. It's against Christian values! It represents a genetic defect that must be purged! It's ostentatious and immature! The list goes on. And every time you giggle and go "oh those silly japanese" you're just being another expression of the same vile ideas.

I'm going to relate some of my own personal experiences, because as a noted Big Gay Bitch Who Loves Girls, I feel like maybe I have some authority on the matter? Just a little? Enough that if I make a well reasoned argument it can't be dismissed out of hand? Let's hope. So, what's the gayest game I've ever played? Final Fantasy XIV Online: A Realm Reborn. Look yeah I know I'm talking about it again but come back this is important. Final Fantasy is a series that has had a lot of LGBTQ+ undertones pretty much since forever, and while they have largely been in keeping with the times in terms of tact and representation (the Crossdressing Cloud debacle is a deeply bizarre, uncomfortable sequence in a lot of ways but there's also some genuine Good Gay Shit in 7 like Cloud's surprisingly cute and genuine date with Barret. I think. It's... it's been a while.), by God, it was at least there, and 13 had honest to god Lesbians, Harold in Fang and Vanille. I don't want to say it has pedigree, but the series has dabbled. XIV continues on the tradition with a vibrant world that's actually got a lot of characters and NPCs that are just incidentally there and kind of gay. The adventurer couple that befriended the Tonberries in Wanderer's Palace, a vendor that appeared in the Rising cosplaying as Minfilia at her wife's behest, a miqote lady bathing in the oasis that lets on she wouldn't mind having cute girls stare at her instead of grabby boys, every horny Elezen in Ishgard, Samson and Guydelot (shoutouts to Lulumi Lumi), and probably more that I've missed. More than that, though, is that because FFXIV is an MMO, it is by necessity a social space, and in my experience it has been one that has gone out of its way to be inclusive to everybody, from the GMs handling reports of abusive behavior right up to the top decision makers who made same sex player marriages a thing just immediately on its implementation and letting boys wear the gold saucer bunny costume too (albeit after quite a bit of pleading). The game's got a huge queer community of which I am kind of part of sort of. It's one of the reasons I keep coming back to it. Hell, they've recently partnered with a pride group in Australia to have an FFXIV float in a parade. I usually turn my nose up at such things as meaningless corporate grandstanding, but it does seem to be more meaningful than two boy pastas getting married or rainbow colored oreos because like. Cheesy as it sounds, it's more than just a brand to a lot of people, it's a place, sometimes the only place, they can go to feel safe and accepted in a community. Having official, vocal support from the dev team means genuinely a lot, I think.

Now, there is one quality about this game of which I am speaking that might strike you as noteworthy: it is Japanese. It's made by Japanese people, in Japan, under a Japanese company. A middle aged Japanese man goes up on stage in Gunbreaker cosplay to speak in Japanese about the upcoming expansion, while a meme obsessed gremlin translates for him. It's not perfect, there are problems, etcetera, why do I even need to qualify that in 2019, when everything sucks, god. But it's better than most things. I hope that it serves as an example to people that even in the supposedly regressive countries of the world, queer communities are still living, fighting, and sometimes even being heard, and that the only thing you're enriching by dismissing them wholesale as socially backwards is your own internet penis. And nobody fucking cares about that you simpleton. I expect 5.0 to be gayer than ever before because they're taming up with Yoko Taro to do a Nier themed raid and by the 12 Warrior of Light Dazzyn Reed is going to kiss 2B or an equivalent model right on the robot lips.

[writsgrimmyblog]

Fic: Only A Kiss (Gryles)

Written for my call for Sunday Shorts prompts. I may squeeze one or two more in tomorrow because I’ve had fun doing these, but for now I’m off to bed.

Prompt: Since the BRITs will be upon us soon, how about some gryles messy straight through crew: the reboot. I would especially love just a straight up drunken snog with no feelings like our nicky does with all his friends. maybe he can snog everyone in the studio!! I'm getting carried away and greedy so I'll stop. Thank you you are the best �💜� from the lovely @beforeitalldisappears - thank you for the prompt!! I didn’t get the snogging everyone in the studio bit in, and I think I might have added feels (I AM SORRY) but I hope you enjoy it, nevertheless. Also, I’ve now got ‘Mr Brightside’ stuck in my head :D <33 Rating/Content: PG-13, lots of drunk-in-a-taxi kissing Pairing: Nick Grimshaw/Harry Styles

Only A Kiss

There’s no diamond encrusted bottle of vodka this time and Harry is categorically not going on the radio, or so he says as he and Nick collapse into the back of a taxi in a fit of giggles over a joke Nick can’t even remember telling.

“No point coming into the studio if you’re not going to get on the radio, Styles.” Nick prods at Harry’s leg when he looks like he’s not paying sufficient attention. Nick doesn’t like it when people aren’t paying attention to him. It tends to make him louder than usual, particularly after a few drinks. “I didn’t buy you all them expensive cocktails just so you could sit around eating pizza with Rita Ora.”

Harry smiles at Nick, beatific and totally rat-arsed. Nick’s definitely going to be able to get him on the radio at this rate. “I got the drinks. Remember?”

“Now you’re just showing off.” Nick waves his hand. “You filthy rich popstars are always going on about the size of your bank accounts.”

“Mine’s enormous.” Harry looks like he’s aiming for the kind of shit-eating grin that’s been known to stop a few Victoria’s Secrets models in their tracks, but it goes lopsided. Any attempt at suave innuendo disappears entirely when he starts laughing, his smile wider than ever. Eventually he sobers, helping himself to Nick’s bottle of water and taking a swig. “Very dry room again.”

“Like a bloody desert in there,” Nick agrees. “That’s why we needed all those beers.”

“So many beers.” Harry sounds morose. He slides down in his seat, long legs clad in ridiculous florals. His suit jacket is half off and his shirt could definitely use a few more buttons. Or not, Nick thinks as he takes in the chest full of tattoos and the LA tan which reminds him of the summer. Nick envies a good tan. He’s more the burn your forehead type, slapping factor 50 on his nose and getting papped by the Daily Mail who post unflattering pictures of him and go on about him losing listeners and his bromance with Harry. Nick hates the Daily Mail. It’s shit.

“No napping on me. Straight through crew, remember?”

“Yeah.” Harry sounds suspiciously sleepy, focusing his slow blink on Nick after a moment. “Like before.”

“Not quite like before,” Nick decides. Before was…before. It was different then, with Harry. Not better, not worse, but definitely different. The air around them doesn’t have the same charged electricity it used to have back in those days. Now it’s hugs that don’t linger and a just-best-friends clap on the back. Nick sometimes wonders if he should have taken what was offered back then. It’s a thing he regrets, and he doesn’t like to have to wonder about the what might have beens. It makes him feel weird. Besides, Harry has nice lips. Excellent lips. Nick likes a snog and he reckons Harry would be good at it.

“You’re thinking,” Harry says, like it’s a surprise. Harry’s a cheeky little shit when he’s drunk. Nick could be thinking. Nick’s often thinking.

“Philosopher, me.” Nick grins at Harry and stops staring at the distracting upwards curve of his lips. Nick taps his fingers against his head tp show just how full his brain is of clever thoughts. It reminds him to check his hair in the mirror before they put the cameras on in the studio. Nobody wants to see a flaccid quiff when they’re eating their cornflakes. “I’m dead brainy.”

“You are.” Harry sounds far too kind and serious which means he’s the kind of singing at the sunset drunk he was at Pixie’s wedding, when he loved everyone, and everything, and you best of all though, Grim. “I like how you think about things.”

“Give over.” Nick snorts with laughter and watches London roll past. The first drops of rain and the dirt on the taxi window give the lights of the city an odd, blurry sheen. He blinks and focuses on Harry again. “You’re pissed.”

“You too,” Harry replies. It’s a fair observation so Nick doesn’t bother to defend himself. He’s not as pissed as he was the last time he was on the way to do the radio with Harry beside him post-BRITs, but he’s definitely a woozy sort of happy; the kind of drunk that makes him want to keep the night going for as long as he can. 

“Maybe”

Harry frowns at Nick. “I’m not doing the radio.”

“You can’t leave me on my own. You’re our only guest.” Nick isn’t positive that’s true because he asked two people off of the X-Factor, at least one member of the 1975 and Ed Sheeran to come on the show. Plus, Stormzy promised more pizza and Rita said she’d pop in towards the end. She even went home early because she takes her job helping Nick with his job very seriously.

“What’s in it for me?” Harry’s good at bargaining with Nick. He’s a terrible, impossible child who has managed to kidnap three of Nick’s favourite shirts, two books of poetry and a very decent bit of art because of those bargains. He knows how to haggle when Nick’s not firing on all cylinders.

“Give you that snog you’ve always wanted if you come on for half an hour.” Nick shrugs. He’s not bad at bargaining either.

“Dickhead,” Harry mutters. He doesn’t sound so sure. “You wouldn’t.”

“I might.” Nick looks at Harry again. Lovely Harold, with his eyes and hair and dimples. He’s got an excellent face. A brilliant face. Nick’s glad Harry’s his friend, because otherwise he’d probably hate him for being stupidly fit and successful.

“I’ll do twenty minutes, if you play one of my songs.” Harry’s gaze drops to Nick’s lips. “And I want that snog.”

“Come on, then.” Nick holds out his arms and he’s not quite expecting Harry to squirm into them, or the limpet-like grip as Harry gets his spidery arms around Nick. Harry moves in for a kiss just when the taxi goes over a speed bump and it knocks their faces together. Nick laughs and buries his head in Harry’s neck. He smells like Nick’s cologne which means he pinched some from the bathroom before they left Nick’s house to get their cab. “Smooth.”

“The smoothest.” Harry pushes his hands into Nick’s hair and then tugs him into a proper kiss. The taxi stays mercifully still and it’s really quite nice, kissing Harry. Nick gets a bit handsy and Harry’s fingers slide over Nick’s stomach against the bit of skin that’s usually ticklish. Nick hauls Harry deeper into the kiss and wonders dimly if this is a mistake. It’s not at all like kissing Gillian or Pixie, Kelly, Alexa or Rita. It’s not even like snogging Henry and having a friends-with-benefits moment when they were both pissed up and horny.

“There.” Nick pulls back after the kiss threatens to turn into something that might get them both arrested or thrown out of the taxi. He pats Harry’s cheek, not missing the flushed heat of it beneath his palm. “How was that for a snog?”

“Good.” Harry’s voice sounds even deeper than usual, which should be impossible. “Yeah. Good, man.” Harry looks out of the window, drumming his fingers on his leg. The silence is a bit awkward and Nick can’t help but think this was going better when they were kissing. “We far away?”

“About ten minutes,” Nick says. He takes a breath. “Time enough for another of those kisses, if you record a Celebrity Gamble for us.”

Harry is across the taxi again in about three seconds flat and his mouth opens eagerly to Nick. He tastes like sweet cocktails and he’s so hot in Nick’s arms, his ridiculous sofa-like suit shiny and thick against Nick’s fingers. Nick’s definitely going to have to make fun of that outfit choice on the radio. He cups a hand to the back of Harry’s neck and deepens the kiss.

If he’s only got another three minutes, he might as well make the most of it.

                                                          *****

“Thank fuck that’s over.” The show went surprisingly well considering most people involved were drunk, hungover or cross because everyone else was drunk and hungover. Nick’s head doesn’t feel brilliant though and he just wants to get back to his dogs, drink Lucozade and eat crisps.

“Jeff said it wasn’t half as bad as the last one. I sounded fine.” Harry speaks around a yawn, pleased with himself. “Can I have a kip at yours?”

Nick glances at Harry. “Yeah. ‘Course you can.” It’s nothing unusual, Harry staying over. It’s nothing unusual having friends he’s kissed - and the rest in some cases - staying over. It’s not like Harry gives him that wide-eyed look he used to back in the day, but something still feels off kilter. Nick shakes himself and blames the hangover. “I’ll even let you choose the film if you like.”

“The Notebook?”

“You’re obsessed with that film.” Nick doesn’t care. He plans to sleep through most of it. Let Harry recite both parts this time instead of forcing Nick to do the Ryan Gosling bits. He’s an actor, now. It’s good for his versatility. 

“Fiona mentioned about doing the podcast, maybe. Before I’m on tour.”

“Yeah?” Nick tips his head to look at Harry. “Would you be up for it?”

“Dunno.” Harry shrugs. His cheeks are pink and he gives Nick an odd look. “It’s a bit more than twenty minutes, a podcast.”

“Suppose.” Nick frowns at Harry and then the implication hits him. He raises his eyebrows. “Wondering what’s in it for you?”

Harry nods, a smile playing over his lips. “Might be.”

“Few more of those kisses?”

Harry looks at Nick seriously. “It’s a podcast though. I think it might take even more than that.”

Nick’s fairly certain the laughter welling within him is part hysterical panic and part surprise. The warmth he gets in his stomach when Harry’s home intensifies. “I dunno how I feel about you making me sell my body for your radio airtime, Harold.” He closes his eyes and leans back against the taxi seat, unable to hide his smile. “But I’m sure we can sort something out. I just hope the BBC appreciate the sacrifices I have to make.”

“Good.” Harry sounds closer and a warm head - mercifully head up, not down - nestles in Nick’s lap as Harry yawns again. Nick drops his hand to mess up Harry’s hair. “I don’t want you to feel cheap.” Nick laughs and he tugs at Harry’s hair, making him hey at Nick in that drawn-out way of his, and just like always it’s as if no time has passed between them at all. 

[recentanimenews]

FEATURE: Fan Passion and Otaku Humor Run Wild in Anime-Gataris

  Out with the new, in with the old, as the saying certainly doesn't go! It's a new year and “Cruising the Crunchy-Catalog” is resolved to leaving 2020 in the dust by cleaning up our respective queues and watching a few anime series that we may have missed back when they were initially broadcasting.

  Join us this week as we check out Anime-Gataris, a fall 2017 TV anime that takes a simple premise — a group of high school students form an anime club and then try to protect it from a student council that wants to shut it down — and flips the whole thing on its head with increasingly fourth-wall-breaking humor.

    What's Anime-Gataris?

  Anime-Gataris is a 2017 TV anime with direction by Kenichirou Morii and animation production by Wao World. Crunchyroll describes the story of the series as follows:

  Just as soon as she enters Sakaneko Private High School, Asagaya Minoa is dragged into the anime club by her classmate, Kamiigusa Alice, even though she knows next to nothing about anime. A classmate, Kouenji Miko, along with other anime-loving senpais, quickly turn her into an anime fan. Fighting off the incessant shut-down threats of the student council, and completely oblivious to the coming apocalypse, the anime club talks about anime in the club, at Akihabara, at anime Meccas, and at hot springs.

  Written in katakana, gatari can mean “talk” or “recital” (i.e. chatting about anime), but it can also refer to the sound of clashing and banging around, so Anime-Gataris is a series that begins with some pleasant conversation and builds to an explosion of absurd situations and scenarios.

    Fandom Clubs.

  The primary layer of comedy in Anime-Gataris is observational humor. The series begins with the protagonist, Minoa, trying to remember the name of an anime that she saw as a kid based only on a loose description of the climactic final scene, and her efforts to track down this tidbit of trivia result in her getting press-ganged into the local anime scene.

  Having run a high school anime club myself many years ago, I can say with authority that Anime-Gataris perfectly captures the exact sort of goofy arguments and clashing personalities that such an organization attracts. The series also spoofs anime-adjacent activities (such as idol culture and cosplay), so if you want to see your favorite pastimes get gently roasted, be sure to tune in.

    Anime Hearts.

  Anime-Gataris doesn't confine its humor to simply chronicling fan spaces, fan interests, and fan behaviors. The series also digs into the technical side of anime production, promotion, and distribution in an effort to tickle the funny bone, in the process tackling subjects such as anime tourism pilgrimages and even the dreaded challenge that is Summer Comiket.

  Anime-Gataris celebrates the artistic achievements that anime creators strive for while also emphasizing the tremendous amount of work and crushingly tight schedules that are involved in anime production. Even the janky, no budget flash anime that the club produces for the school festival involves months of back-breaking labor and coordinated effort, and Anime-Gataris mines plenty of grim jokes from this process.

    Weirdness in Spades.

  Anime-Gataris really ramps up when it dives headlong into meta-textual humor with jokes that poke fun at the conventions of the anime medium and the foibles of its fandom. Within the context of the show, this is explained by the “reality” of anime bleeding into the everyday life of Minoa and her friends, resulting in innumerable sight, structural, and situational gags.

  It's easy to include jokes that break the fourth wall, but Anime-Gataris plays the invasion of anime tropes into the real world like a brush with existential horror as Minoa reacts with increasing distress at each bizarre escalation, such as when her friends' faces spontaneously assume ‘90s-style character designs. The shape of the series itself — its narrative structure, character designs, pacing, etc. — becomes part of the gag.

    The Gift of Gab.

  Crunchyroll currently streams Anime-Gataris in 51 territories worldwide. The series is available in the original Japanese language with subtitles in English, Latin American Spanish, and Portuguese. The series is also released on Bluray in the United States by Funimation, and this home video version includes an English language dub.

  Although it takes a bit for the series to fully rev up and begin firing on all cylinders, if you stick with it, Anime-Gataris becomes a transformative comedy experience whose later developments will rattle your brain and force you to look at the earlier episodes in a completely different light. If that kind of meta-textual humor appeals to you, and if the series is available in your area, then please consider giving Anime-Gataris a try.

    Thanks for joining us for the most recent entry of “Cruising the Crunchy-Catalog”. Be sure to tune in next time, when we set sail for adventure with a look back at High School Fleet, a spring 2016 TV anime that puts the moe in mutiny.

  Is there a series in Crunchyroll's catalog that you think needs some more love and attention? Please send in your suggestions via email to cruisingcrunchy@gmail.com or post a Tweet to @gooberzilla. Your pick could inspire the next installment of “Cruising the Crunchy-Catalog!"

      Paul Chapman is the host of The Greatest Movie EVER! Podcast and GME! Anime Fun Time.

Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

By: Paul Chapman

[freevoidman]

④ DAY 4 (10/22): Alternate Universe ★ Fears/Insecurities

For some reason, daemon activity has been on the rise in Insomnia, despite the walls standing as strong as ever. The city’s falling into panic, and on top of all of that, there are completely new daemons that are fighting for dominance in the city. The only thing Lucian scientists can conclude is that they’re spawning from a similar area, given that all eye witness reports claimed to see a green hourglass symbol somewhere on their bodies.

Meanwhile, Prompto has a new accessory: a large, clunky watch that doesn’t tell time.

((Look y’all I have no idea where this AU came from but it’s my brain child and I love it and I might continue it after Prompto Week bc I am a self-indulgent piece of trash))

Ignis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he looked at the scene in front of him. “What number is this?”

“Nine. We’re nearly at double digits.” Gladio nudged him, holding out a can of Ebony. “I probably shouldn’t be feeding your addiction, but I think after this many early morning wake-up calls I might have to get a can for myself.”

Ignis took the drink and quickly opened it, taking a long gulp. He surveyed the ripped streets, the jagged crystals jutting out of the ground, the overturned cars and, of course, the daemon’s blood, only just beginning to evaporate in the early dawn light. “I doubt the cleanup will be anything but pleasant.”

“Sure won’t be like that green goop stuff from a couple weeks ago.” Gladio made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat and slapped Ignis on the back. “C’mon. Cor’ll kill us if he sees us slacking.”

Ignis quickly downed the rest of his Ebony, surveyed where workers hadn’t started, and picked up a hammer and chisel.

It was time to get to work.

~*^*~

His homework (somewhat) completed, Prompto grabbed an energy drink from his fridge and took a few sips as he looked out the window. He put it down on the small table next to him, besides his camera, and examined the watch on his wrist.

Today would mark the beginning of week three since he found the stupid thing. It had been left in an alley, faintly glowing green, and he’d seen it on the walk back from his job. He’d gone to pick it up, like an idiot, and it had leapt from the ground, like an excited puppy, to clamp onto his wrist. No matter what he did, it wouldn’t come off, and he wasn’t about to cut off his arm to do so. More importantly, the stupid thing couldn’t even tell him the time!

And then he discovered what the watch could actually do.

He opened the window, peering at the street below. So far, no one was outside—which was expected with the mandated curfew given the rise in daemon activity and the mysterious creature killing them. Pulling back, he tapped the watch’s face, the green and black disc popping up into a cylinder. The green hourglass symbol shifted into a diamond, and a silhouette appeared in the center.

Prompto scoffed. “I am not becoming Antman again.” He twisted the face dial, the silhouette changing into different forms, one after another, each one being changed as Prompto considered them, only to move on. Finally, he nodded, and very lightly placed his hand on top of the dial. “Please don’t mess up, please don’t mess up, please don’t mess up…”

He pressed the dial down, and his apartment was filled with green light.

When it faded, Prompto was gone. In his place was a bipedal creature with sleek blue, black, and white scales. His body was lean, with a long, reptilian tail coming from his back. His feet ended with jet black spheres, and his fingers had fused into three claws. His head was angular, an x-shaped visor covering its eyes and mouth. With a hiss, the visor slid back, exposing narrowed sky-blue eyes. Prompto looked down at his body, examining the hourglass symbol badge on its chest.

“Alright, looks like I got the right one.” Prompto’s voice had become somewhat raspy and higher pitched, noticeably different from his normal tone. He carefully went back to the window, claws clicking against the windowsill. “Now the hard part.”

The creature backed away a few feet, sizing up the available gap, before darting forward faster than any human could. At the last possible second, it leaped, diving through the gap and tucking and rolling before hitting the ground. Not wasting a second, the creature took off down the street, the air around it rippling and buffeting the buildings.

Prompto grinned beneath his visor, darting down the streets and weaving around, performing a few tricks as he went. Velos was always a fun form to take, mainly due to the fact that the high speed and traction allowed him to run laps around Insomnia, if he wanted.

However, tonight, he wanted to be Velos because of the increased security. Last night’s patrol had left a sizable amount of damage to the streets, as Terra was bound to do. Turns out he could create more, similarly colored and shaped rocks so long as he had contact with the earth!

He winced as he darted past the torn up road and stabbed buildings that he’d hit dealing with a bunch of Arachnes. He did feel guilty about it, but he couldn’t really do much about it now, not without creating more, unintentional damage as a result.

Moving on, he dashed into the northern neighborhoods, keeping as close an eye as he could on the smaller gaps between the apartment complexes. Satisfied with the lack of any daemonic activities, he moved southwest, making a very complex, maze-like path around the city.

Tonight he’d simply do a short patrol. The watch would change him back sooner rather than later, but he should have enough time to do a quick sweep through. The Kingsglaive were probably actively patrolling, because of him or the daemons or both he didn’t know, but it would certainly make the rest of Insomnia feel better.

Western neighborhoods secure, Prompto moved to the southern end of the city, then to the east once he was satisfied at the lack of any daemons. Deciding to vary his path a slight amount, Prompto found a lowered fire escape ladder and took the stairs at a much slower, much more annoying pace. Velos was the fastest thing alive so long as he wasn’t going up a ladder and trying to keep quiet enough to not wake up anyone staying in the apartments.

Reaching the roof, Prompto sighed and looked over the barely-tall-enough skyline. So far, the night had been pretty easy going and, frankly, he was surprised! Typically he’d run into at least one nasty daemon encounter or another before retiring for the night. Maybe they’d finally screwed off and given him a break.

A distant scream came from far down the street, almost far away enough that Prompto barely heard it.

He sighed. Never could get an easy night, huh?

Racing across the rooftops, Prompto headed towards the scream, paying attention to the roads below. He slowed considerably when he couldn’t hear or see any daemon activity, and stopped completely on top of Nouveau Records, a store he frequented for movies and music. As far as he could see, there weren’t any daemons, so what—

“Keep his mouth covered! Do you want to have the Crownsguard finding out about this?” Prompto paused, then walked to the edge of the roof and looked down. Beneath him were four people dressed in all black wearing ski masks, keeping their identities a secret. One was standing guard at the entrance of the alley. A second was hanging back further in the alley, a gun in hand. The third and fourth were working in tandem, with one pinning their victim against the brick wall and the other looking through his bag.

Now this was a bit more uncommon. With the curfew in effect, as well as the known increase of daemon activity and patrolling guards, there hadn’t been a lot of robberies or just… crime in general. Insomnia had become safer with Prompto running as a monster, in a weird, paradoxical way.

Still, he wasn’t opposed to stopping a robbery. With a smirk, Prompto ran down the side of the building, rapidly circling the one hanging back and creating a small tornado before darting towards the one holding the victim to the wall. He slammed into him, throwing him into the guard and knocking both of them to the sidewalk.

The fourth robber yelled, and Prompto just had enough time to turn and see the glint of silver before his clawed hand stabbed into the robber’s arm. He let out a scream, holding the wound and dropping the switchblade he’d intended to use. Hearing the screams of the first man he attacked getting louder, he picked up Mister Switchblade and threw him into his buddy before he could hit the ground, both of them flying back into the alley.

“What the fuck is that thing!” Shouted one of the robbers currently outside the alley. Not wanting them to escape scot-free, Prompto grabbed both of them and threw them back into the alley into their friends. As a last hurrah, he grabbed the cell phones from their pockets, keeping the only flip phone (thank the Gods for that) before grabbing a dumpster and blocking them in, cutting the wheels from the bottom with the spheres at the end of his feet.

Satisfied with his vigilantism, Prompto opened the flip phone and dialed the emergency hotline, tapping his foot in impatience when he wasn’t immediately answered. “Hello this is Insomnian Emergency Hotline, how many I help you?”

“Hi, yes, I’d like to report a robbery at…” He dashed to the street, narrowing his eyes at the street sign. “The corner of seventy-sixth street and Lexington. They’re in the alley between Nouveau Records and Lectio’s Books, behind a dumpster.”

“A… dumpster, sir?”

“Yep, at the back of the alley. Thank you!” Flipping the phone closed, he tossed it into the street, uncaring if it broke or was run over. Darting back into the alley, Prompto picked up the bag and any discarded money or somewhat-clean items and put it in the bag, turning to the guy still pressed against the wall. “Here you… go…”

Noctis’ wide, terrified eyes stared back at him, the grip on his short sword trembling as the awkward silence settled between them.

[kestrelsansjesses]

The Thirst Strikes Back

[[Summary: CAN ALSO BE READ AS A STANDALONE. Some levity in the midst of so much angst, and bringing the series back to its roots. Comments super appreciated- I feel like people have been quiet lately, so if I'm doing something wrong, let me know. :(Their journey will soon end, but their dirty talk will live on forever. Previous

NSFW-ish

Ryder x Kandros

AO3]]

Another morning and another breakfast, this time mostly in their galley kitchen, Wren Ryder sipping powdered coffee blearily, hating the taste but needing the rush of caffeine, barely noticing when Peebee came in to make her own breakfast. There were a few minutes of companionable silence, Ryder sitting down on the floor and staring forward, trying to mentally sort out the past few days and eventually giving up in favor of just trying to feel moderately alive.

“So, Ryder, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” Peebee broke the silence first, sounding far too chipper and far too awake for the current, ungodly hour. Ryder took another hard drink of coffee, choking slightly as it burned her throat and then managed to nod and grunt. Questions. She could answer those. All cylinders were definitely firing.

"With Kandros, how is the… you know?” Peebee’s voice trailed off and Ryder blinked twice, feeling stupid and slow, settling for looking at the asari blankly. “The sex, Ryder. How is the sex?” Sounding eager rather than flustered, Peebee blurted out the rest of her question and pulled a sip of her own drink, looking over the rim of the cup and then winking outrageously at Ryder.

It was definitely too early for this and Ryder choked again, this time spluttering as she tried to come up with some kind of answer. “Not really information I want to volunteer, Peebee,” was what she settled on, trying to sound dignified but instead sounding like there was something stuck in her windpipe, face turning bright red.

“Ryder, come on. Just between us. I’ve never been with a turian. Is it good?” Now Peebee was wheedling, tone grating.

Well, Ryder was definitely awake now, thoughts full of Kandros in a way that wasn’t unpleasant if she hadn’t had company. “Look, Peebee. Kandros is great. It’s all great. Fantastic. Is that what you want to hear?”

Peebee put her drink down carefully, taking one of Ryder’s hands in her own and patting them. “You’re not a virgin, are you?” she asked, tone dripping with sympathy.

“Fuck, Peebee, no, but Kandros wasn’t exactly in the right frame of mind this trip.” And they had both been too tired back on the Nexus, but Ryder wasn’t about to describe the whole of her bedroom activities with her bedroom to anyone, especially Peebee, who would no doubt tell everyone on the Tempest about it. Shit, but now Ryder couldn’t stop thinking about Kandros. “I’m going back to bed,” she announced, pulling her hand back from Peebee and pushing away from the wall abruptly.

Laughing, Peebee waved her off, apparently having determined that the conversation was only over temporarily. “Okay, tell me later Ryder. Tell Kandros I said hi!”

Though she had seen Kandros as recently as yesterday, he was heading back to the Nexus on a shuttle, their paths taking them in different directions again. The Tempest was traveling slowly; Ryder still had things to do on Kadara to help Reyes sort out the succession, and Lexi wanted access to more medicals to help in stabilizing Sloane, who was still unconscious in their medbay. It was a lot on everyone’s plate, but Kandros didn’t have the time to take off. His last email to her had been terse, but… There was one more Ryder would send to him, thoughts now full of sex. Thanks, Peebee. Great job.

Sitting down at her computer, Ryder cracked her knuckles, wracking her brain for the right way to phrase her email.

Kandros,

It’s been less than a day and I miss you. Kind of sad, really. Every inch of me misses you.

Too cheesy? But it was true.

Would it be weird if I ask if you miss me too?

No, delete that last one, say the first thing that came to mind and then just send it, not stopping to think about how stupid it sounded once it was written down.

How many inches do you miss me with?

Ryder

Email sent. Ryder stood up and stretched, heading to the shower. A cold one would do her some good, clearing her head and making her think about Kandros slightly less. Damn it, she was a grown woman and not a horny teenager, and yet.

There was a message waiting for her by the time the shower was done and she clicked it open eagerly.

Pathfinder, this hardly seems like the most appropriate use of emails. I’d like to remind you that these aren’t encrypted.

Also, turians don’t measure in inches. I have pictorial evidence of how much I miss you if needed.

Head of Nexus Security,

Tiran Kandros

There was an attached image file and she clicked it open, already feeling the flush in her cheeks. And… it was an image of his face, winking at her, angled slightly to the side so she could see that area of his mouth where his tongue was visible. It was both a relief and a disappointment, washing through her in waves colder than the shower. She was quick to type something up in reply, hoping he was sitting there waiting but knowing he probably wasn’t.

I know it wasn’t your intention, but I can’t help but wonder what your tongue can do. I feel like we haven’t explored this enough.

Official Pathfinder Wren Ryder

A few minutes of official paperwork later (she didn't have to actually read what she signed, did she?) and there was a reply.

I believe you once mentioned me arresting you, Official Pathfinder. With the aid of Official Head of Nexus Security restraints, we can test out what my tongue is capable of.

Ryder burned hot, wishing he was there, wanting to reach under her towel but needing to start her day. One last email.

I can’t type anymore. This is your fault, Kandros. Meet you back at the Nexus?

His email came back almost right away.

Locked in a bathroom, attempting to not be suspicious. I’ll meet you there.

Another embedded jpeg, this one encrypted, able to be unlocked only by SAM, and it was definitely not Kandros’ face.