#the storyteller tells

[the-storyteller-and-her-soldiers]

"Dammit, LYLA!"

Title: "Dammit, LYLA!" Word Count: 2,009 Warnings: Mild swearing (none said in malice), questionable(?) Spanish (I only have the basics down as mentioned in the story but please correct me NICELY if it is so bad), tooth-rotting fluff!! Ship: A Different Web Weave (Miguel x Myself) Summary: I finally got to have my hair done, and I decided to try out a new look. However, where I got the inspiration may be a bit up in the air... A/N: 'Mi conejita' means 'my little rabbit' if I translated right? --

Quiet lo-fi remixes of pop songs from the 2000s floated through Rebecca's ears. It was a soothing white noise that reminded the woman to take a deep breath for once. Her pale fingertips caused a light crinkling sound to emerge as she ran them over the transparent hairnet that she wore. As she leaned back into the oddly comfortable salon chair and took a sip of the sparkling water that was provided, Rebecca's reflection cast her a smile.

Rebecca could have let out a laugh when the thought of her being prepped for clown school crossed her mind. With the way that her bleach-covered hair slightly stuck out stiffly, mixing new blonde shades with faded blues and greens, it certainly looked like all she needed was a full face of make-up to be done. But Rebecca knew better. This was just a necessary step in her tri-monthly routine of self-care.

As her hickory gaze began to wander from the full-length mirror in front of her to the quiet salon, a quiet beeping sound drew her sights to the band on her wrist. After tapping a few buttons, that to this day, Rebecca only vaguely understood, a rather smooth male voice spoke.

"Oi, Rebecca, where-- ...What is that on your head?"

Rebecca rolled her eyes when she heard her former boss and now very new boyfriend, Miguel O'Hara, speak. Yet the small smile that had been on her face only spread further.

"It's a plastic hairnet used to contain the heat from the bleach treatment. And if that doesn't remind you where I am, I'm getting my hair done at the salon! I only gave you, like, two months' notice when I booked the appointment."

Even in the small projection that the wristband provided of her boyfriend, Rebecca could make out how his thick brows knit together in contemplation. Deciding to tease him, in a melodic tone, she questioned, "Did you forget?"

Hearing her sweet voice seemed to snap Miguel out of his thoughts. A quiet grumble of affirmation ruminated through him. "Do you know how many people ask me for leave daily?"

Rebecca simply nodded, knowing that Miguel was a very busy man. Even with all her reminders, she wouldn't blame him if he did forget. But then he added, "Regardless, I thought your appointment was on the 30th?"

Rebecca's eyes crinkled in the corners as her whole face lit up. He had remembered, at least somewhat. "It was meant to be! But my French professor is crazy and decided to schedule class before Labor Day! So since I can't be in two places at once, I had to reschedule my hair for today. Don't tell me LYLA didn't remind you!"

Rebecca could hear the female AI pop in and confirm that she had, indeed, reminded him. LYLA then confessed that Miguel still insisted on calling since he missed Rebecca's voice.

This confession drew out a sweet giggle from Rebecca who was unable to hold it in due to the warmth swelling in her chest. Meanwhile, Miguel was less than pleased, condemning his assistant in a raised tone of exasperation. It was hard to see in the tinted colors of the projection, but Rebecca swore that his cheeks had flushed a different hue.

"That's sweet! But hey, whatever's bugging you, I know you got this! I promise I'll be in when I'm done and accounted for at home, okay?"

Miguel nodded in return while a ghost of a smile haunted his lips, "I'll be expecting it, mi conejita."

As Rebecca ended the chat, she could feel her cheeks heat up to a similar temperature as her hair. She wasn't fluent in Spanish by any means, with herself citing a basic public school education in the first few grades of her life. She knew enough from living in a heavily Spanish-speaking community to get by.

But as her stylist came back with the three bowls of dye they'd be using, Rebecca simply did her best to focus on her current experience rather than dwell on the nickname.

--

Hours later, after her hair had been dyed, trimmed, and layered, Rebecca paid for her treatment and bid the staff a good weekend. Another 20 minutes passed as she got a ride home and takeout with her mother. Once she was settled into her room and made sure the door was shut, Rebecca finally transported herself to Earth-928, the hub of Spider Society. She hadn't even bothered to change out of the black Miku shirt and the stretchy jeans she had worn to the appointment.

With a small box in her grip, Rebecca jogged through the halls to where Miguel usually lay in waiting. She had been stopped a few times by multiple Peters being nice and complimenting her on the somewhat drastic changes. She was sure that they were just being nice, but Rebecca couldn't completely deny that voice in the back of her head that alluded to other meanings behind their words. Not that it truly mattered to Rebecca either way.

When Rebecca finally made it to Miguel's office, or lair as she deemed it, she made herself known by cheerily announcing she had food while swinging up to his highrise platform.

"You didn't have to bring me food," Miguel stated before he turned around.

"I know," Rebecca reminded as she strode over and placed the small box on one of the few clear spots amongst his vast setup, "But I also know that you probably haven't eaten in a while, if at all, today. So since I treated my family to food and you're a loved one, I figured 'Ah, what the hell?' If you're not hungry, you can save it!"

It was as Rebecca placed the food down, that Miguel caught sight of her. No longer was her hair blonde and blue or a faded pool of melting cotton candy. It was vibrant, rich, her usual royal amethyst, and... crimson. The ends of her silken locks were the same color as the accents of Miguel's suit in this low lighting. When Miguel came to this realization, his chocolate orbs dilated.

Then Rebecca stepped in front of him, tilting her upper body to the left so that she was the center of his view. The smile that had started to linger in so many of Miguel's thoughts was plastered so smoothly across Rebecca's soft skin. "So this is what the ridiculous hairnet and bleach led to. What do you think?"

Miguel stepped closer to the woman, his large hand ghosting against the curves and dips of her waist. "It looks good. I understand the purple since you always say it's 'your thing'. But, uh, why the red? Not... Not that the shade doesn't suit you as well. It's just new."

Rebecca's arched brow quirked upward. She knew Miguel wasn't one to lavish her with compliments, especially within the halls of Spider Society where any prying eye could come across his vulnerability. But to see him take such interest left her intrigued as well.

"Well yeah, the purple's been my thing for so long I honestly don't know if I could go without it! But I've been thinking about changing up for so long now and especially after the incident, I wanted a new look. 'New look, new me' and all that crap... Why, do you think you were an influence?"

There it was again. That cheeky, teasing tone contrasted with her big, brown eyes. If it had been anyone else, it would've frustrated him beyond belief. Even when they first met and interacted, Miguel swore he would've throttled her if he had to witness it one more time. But now all he could do was swallow down the big lump forming in his dry throat.

Rebecca brought her pale hand over her peachy lips in a poor attempt to stifle another giggle. For a brief moment, Rebecca wondered when such an intimidating man began to melt before her.

"Don't get flattered, Miguel. This kind of red is quite common in the suburbs of Earth-9612 during the autumn season. Not to mention that purple and red sort of add to the Halloween vibe without being straight-up black and orange. Gotta say that's the one color I've not tried and don't plan to unless I wanna be a carrot!"

Rebecca listened to her voice as she spoke. She wasn't exactly lying since those were valid reasons she had. But to say that Miguel wasn't at least somewhat of an inspiration, wasn't the whole truth either. In her ears, her voice sounded rather smooth and nonchalant. Now she could only hope that the scarlet-tinted glow of all of Miguel's screens managed to neatly blend with the warm hue painting her cheeks once more.

Right as she heard Miguel give a hum of agreement and dismissal, another familiar voice spoke up.

"She totally did get inspired by the suit design~!" LYLA teased, glitching in between the couple.

It was at that moment that two pairs of widened brown eyes got lost in each other before Rebecca quickly cast her gaze downwards to stare at the oh-so-interesting table. Her cheeks now seemed to match the crimson ombre of her hair while the purple strands masked her widened gaze.

"DAMMIT LYLA!" Rebeca spluttered. She wasn't angry by any means of the word, simply flustered by all comparable measures. "I don't know what you mean~! I-It's merely coincidence and crimson is a pretty color! Who's to say that it doesn't suit me more than it does the big boss?!"

It was already too late though, and Rebecca could feel it. Miguel was already smirking down at her, his hand now firmly planted on the familiar spot on her waist. Meanwhile, out of the corner of her eye, Rebecca could see the digital woman lowering her heart-shaped spectacles as she bent forward with a similar smile.

"So it was totally a coincidence that you asked me for the specific shade about three weeks ago?" LYLA pressed.

Rebecca nodded as if her head was to fall off any second. Though Miguel only questioned why his assistant gave up such info so freely.

"Knowing a certain shade isn't going to do any harm, Miguel. It's not like you're even hiding your identity from her, not with all those late-night conversations you so often tell me to replay."

Rebecca had come to rest the top of her head on Miguel's chest, against his heart, in unspoken defeat. However, as LYLA continued to spill the beans, she could feel Miguel's upper body grow warmer as he desperately tried to shoo LYLA away to no avail.

"Aww~ you two are cute! I have to tell Peter B. so that Jess can get her proper payout."

Both people in the ever-pining pair shot their heads up to look at LYLA as she snagged a picture. But before either one could ask about this bet that was made behind their backs, LYLA decided to drop one more bomb.

"Oh yeah, Rebecca, have you seen Miguel's new phone case? During the last few missions, the old one got pretty beat up. So when I asked what he was on the market for, he told me that he didn't care as long as it was 'protective and a nice shade of purple'."

LYLA then played a clip of Miguel's exact words that she had recorded. Sure enough, that was what Miguel had requested, citing something along the lines of having a new appreciation for the color and wanting to give it a shot. Despite her hardest to listen to her boyfriend's past words, it was pretty hard to hear over his current words barking out flustered condemnations towards his assistant once more.

Rebecca then stood on her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss into the crook of her boyfriend's neck to temporarily calm him. She could feel his grip tighten as he pressed her against his chest. Though Rebecca soon turned to face LYLA once more with a smile.

"LYLA, forget what I said. I love you!"

Taglist: @disneymarina @floweringforgetfulness @nyandereneko @maskedanarchy-ships @singingdeepinme @goldenworldsabound @wanderers-wife @canongf @hadesgoddess @violetsandmilk

[bixels]

It's crazy how Dungeon Meshi's manga can feel more cinematic and emotional than the anime to me, even when they're practically the same. Compared to the anime, this moment is such a heartbreaking gut-drop. The way Kui uses negative space and flat compositions to create a sense of horrific stillness is so key.

The way the text (Senshi's monologue) is sequestered to an empty corner of a panel or huddled away from the edge of its text box is not only a great way of showing Senshi's headspace (fearful, isolated, dissociating), but creates a visual representation of pause, as if you hold your breathe after each line. The first panel puts us directly in Senshi's perspective too (compared to in the anime, which puts us as an outside observer over Senshi's shoulder). The detail of the door and bricks so effectively implies that he stared at it for so long, waiting and hoping, that its image is burned in his memory. The wood grain, the brick arch, the number of rivets. The lack of dialogue in the second panel shows a moment of realization too –– "he's dead" (also a great example of the Kuleshov effect). And it's that pause that creates a beat and sets a great rhythm to his headspace, like a music rest: "He never came back." (oh god.) "I'm all alone." Finally, the third panel's negative space, cropping Senshi, shows how truly alone he feels. Without his family, the world ceases to exists. Under shock, he traps himself in a 1-foot radius, too scared to even perceive a world outside its boundaries; a world that can hurt him, kill him, make him disappear with it. There is only his body, the stone beneath his feet and against his back, his thoughts, and that awful bowl of soup.

Even though they're a series of flat images, there's an implicit reading of silence in Senshi's realization and horror. Kui influences your experience to slow down and take your time.

Compare this to the anime, which fills every shot with dialogue. The pacing is fast; we never get to sit in silence like we do with the manga. The horizontal frame allowed the boarders to add Senshi, turning the composition into an over-the-shoulder shot, which takes us out of Senshi's POV. They also added a zoom-out in shot one, which adds unnecessary energy to a very somber scene. The tightening on Senshi as a close-up reaction shot also dulls the moment. In the original panel, Senshi stares ahead at the empty space to his left as a shadow surrounds his mind. It not only shows how Senshi's senses are dulling and his world is shrinking (setting up panel three), but shows how terrified Senshi is of what's in front of him, how the air itself becomes pitch black and opaque, how Senshi is surrendering himself to fear. The pacing is understandable and necessary; this episode packed a lot of story content together. It's just a shame because it really (imo) deflated one of the most nauseating moments in Dungeon Meshi.

[superkitten-poison]

tom simons put some goddamn respect to the name shaky lore breath

[giantkillerjack]

Me: hm, I want something to put on the TV as background noise... Huh. Looks like YouTube is recommending something called The Last Unicorn. That's perfect, it's probably some old shitty animation that has aged poorly! I can watch it ironically!

Me, 2 hours later as the credits roll: *crying, cheering, buying the book, composing the songs*

Me, 2 weeks later: So I have compiled all of the quotes from the book that I think could make good tattoos, and also, HOW HAVE I NEVER LEARNED ABOUT HOW THE LAST UNICORN FUCKING SLAPS??? This gay-ass little fairytale fed my soul! Watered my crops! Transed my gender! Can't believe I heard of this story from youtube recommendations, of all places!!

[muffinlance]

Do you get the impression the live action is treating us like utter morons?? Like I thought that making it aimed at an older audience would open the doors for more subtle story telling, but no, they're just using monologues to tell us eveything! Like in the second episode Katara's like 'oh his power isn't that he's the avatar, it's that he ~connects~ to people'. Girl we're not idiots we can see that!! And the first episode with Aang's goddawful 'I don't want this responsibility' monologue

THIS, YES. The word that keeps coming to mind is definitely "subtlety". The show for literal children? Had it. The remake for adults? Not so much.

[captainmera]

Boopity boop, it's the oldest Wittebro.

[The tales of Caleb Wittebane, fanfic]

[dcbatbitches]

Consider, Cassandra Cain does lion dance.

[katy-l-wood]

I am reading a paper for my disasters in film class that is, supposedly, about myths in disaster films and. Y'all. I have so much fucking beef with the people who wrote this paper. And I'm only halfway through it.

I'm getting the urge to look up this journal and send in an official rebuttal because you are all SO WRONG.

[kael-writ]

The gradual degradation of Brennan's costume in Never Stop Blowing Up is a common environmental story telling trope in 80s action movies where the main character get progressively more injured but doesn't let it slow him down as he keeps fighting.

In a horror movie, these injuries would be slowing the character down, putting them in more peril, showing weakness and anguish.

In Action, it (at least) borders on comical how little injuries can matter - as Brennan showed in the hospital scene. Action is defiance of and triumph over death, it's about feeling like you're insanely tough, a badass who can defeat and overcome anyone and anything (physically).

The art and make up team here are telling a story. This is a character who exists parallel to our main story who is going through his own action journey, patching himself up when he can as he goes but bleeding through those bandages later as he rips a wound open that probably needed stitches but he doesn't have TIME to get a much needed blood transfusion, goddamnit, he's gotta get to the thing with the thing before the bad thing happens.

There's so many little interesting details unraveling in the story the make up is telling, like having one side of the body clearly have gotten exposed to an explosion. Meanwhile the cut on his left arm goes from open, to cleanly bandaged, to bleeding through the bandage. The latest episode brings us to the point in the movie where he finally just throws off the torn and bloodied dress shirt.

Which is part of action stories too, where the main character moves further and further from someone who was trying to be a Business Adult in the Real World before shit hits the fan and the battle can't be fought by a civilized man in a suit and tie, it's gonna get fuckin messy.

(as always please be mindful and respectful anytime you think about commenting on a performer's appearance).

[artist-issues]

okay one more thing

the scene where Kate and Tyler just so happen to be talking about exactly the same “we don’t know how a tornado forms” concept in separate cars, and the scene is cutting between them as they basically finish each others’ sentences—

—they’re chasing what, during that scene?

Twin tornadoes.

yeah buddy we do have twins, we sure do—it’s Kate and Tyler’s twin souls

[the-storyteller-and-her-soldiers]

Sims Shipping?

So even though I've been dead here due to real-life stuff and not being motivated to write, I'm still thinking of my selfships daily! (Plus all my likes are me being like "Hi, I love you and I know your f/os do too~!")

That said, I play Sims 3 and 4 mainly with my selfships! I feel really proud of how I make them, I love how our relationships develop, the fankids we have, and all that! So I've always been tempted to post it!

So since I've been dead, I was wondering if you all would be interested in seeing that? It wouldn't be every little thing, just like milestones and such! Plus I'd love to have you and your f/os included too!

That said, if y'all could interact so I know if you'd wanna be tagged in the future? Also if you'd want to be included with your f/os, I'd love to get ref pics and any cc you may have!

Either way I hope you have an awesome day and get all the love you deserve!

Tag: @canongf @maskedanarchy-ships @disneymarina @floweringforgetfulness @ignited-lovers @singingdeepinme @goldenworldsabound @nyandereneko @hadesgoddess

I'm just tagging those who I know don't mind but if you wanna be added or have a sim in my games, please just comment! Either way, I hope you have an awesome day and get all the love you deserve!!

[llemon-soda]

more scribbles

[demigodofhoolemere]

I know those stories were always only tenuously canonical but I’ll be darned if I ever let go of them

[egg-but-with-style]

What is fear? Is it the blood pumping out from your heart and into your veins at high speeds? Is it the adrenaline keeping you running despite the ache in your legs? Is it the deep burning in your lungs as it begins to hurt to even breathe?

No. You don't think it's any of those things. It can't be any of those things.

Because the only thing that drives the adrenaline to keep flooding your system, the only thing that keeps the blood pumping, the legs running, the lungs burning, is those eyes.

His eyes.

König was never stable. You knew that. You understood that. Someone could only see death so many times and come back with their humanity intact.

He'd seen blood and viscera paint his vision. The smell of death explode in his sinuses. Gorey battlefields painted crimson, with only him standing.

Its how he got his title as Colonel after all.

So when he actually broke, finally had some sort of mental breakdown that caused him to snap the necks of half his team, you weren't really surprised. Just terrified.

Terrified as you took your bag, sneaking away from your desk with your most quiet of footsteps. He wouldn't notice the pretty and plump secretary missing from his desk, right?

You had made it just a little ways down the hallway, the lights starting to flicker slightly, when you saw him standing there.

His eyes were..well the only way you could describe it was mad. Insane, deranged. Something you had only seen when soldiers came back from a mission and still had blood caking their uniforms.

The bloodlust in his eyes..it's not a mystery why you started to run.

It's not a mystery why he started to chase.

You called yourself stupid a few times as he started to sprint down the hallway after you. You should've known a predator would chase prey. Its in a killing machines instinct!

You just told yourself you had to keep running, it didn't matter if you could physically feel him getting closer, or your legs starting to ache like they were about to explode.

You knew you couldn't fight him, he'd snapped his fellow soldiers necks like they were peanut brittle. No matter how tall and strong you were, you knew he was stronger.

It was almost funny how you could already feel the trauma of seeing such bloodshed searing itself into your mind.

You knew you'd never forget this moment for the rest of your life, though it seemed like your life was about to be cut short, so why worry?

Running through halls with flickering lights, and the only sound being your pants and footfalls, and his in almost perfect synchrony.

The exit sign being your gospel, your salvation, that maybe once you stepped out that door that someone would see and shoot könig on sight.

You kept pushing, and pushing, through anguish and pain you'd never felt before. Feeling like you were going to puke at this rate.

But your faith held true, there it was in all its holy glory. The exit door.

You rammed against the metal mechanism of the door, feeling it push in and then..it was locked.

It was locked.

You quickly fell to the floor. Your legs falling to the ground along with your hope, and it shattering with your heart.

You could barely feel yourself breathing. Too stunned by sudden hopelessness, but you could hear him.

He was right behind you, breathing in deep, controlled breaths. Why did you think you could outrun him? Why did you think you could escape when you were heaving through your breaths like a dog?

You knew what fear felt like. It was the terror and knowledge of knowing you can't run away, you can't escape. That even the people you knew can snap and turn against you.

Maybe it was fear that made you use the last bit of your energy to turn and face him. Your back now held up against your false savior.

Or maybe it was some deep need to look your would be killer in the eyes, to leave him some scar on his mind.

You saw him, and those bloodthirsty eyes. His mask soaked in bright red crimson, his fatigues in a similar state. Patches of blood from people you had only known as acquaintances warning you against your own fate.

But the stab of a knife never came, the twist of your neck between his giant hands never happened.

Instead he..kneeled. Getting down to your level, still looking you in the eye.

He reached into his pocket and you were sure he was going for his gun, a little touched that he'd want to take you out quickly.

But then he pulled out..a heart...the heart he ripped from the chest of one of his teammates, you remembered the scream, and the spray of blood.

Now it sat lifeless in his hands, presenting it to you with sick satisfaction. You knew he had a tendency to stare at you while you worked, to give you slight favor over everyone else. You thought it was because you were his secretary but-

"I love you, meine liebe..I..I couldn't let you leave..I'm sorry you had to see such a mess but..I love you.."

His eyes changed to that of a sad dogs. Wide, round and filled with tears. This is what caused all of this? Your 2 week notice? He killed atleast 6 men just because you wanted to leave!?

You wanted to scream, shriek, yell at him with all your fury, how dare he!?! How could he!?! He can't say he loves you! But all you could do was cry.

Little pathetic sobs coming from ragged lungs and a heart beating like a rabbits.

He just came closer, sitting the heart down beside you with a slick plap. He then put his bloody hand on your face, spreading viscera and gore as he rubbed away your tears with his thumb.

"Don't cry... I'll make it all better.."

He put his mouth to yours, taking his other hand and putting on the back of your head. Forcing you to kiss him. Making you taste blood. It was almost ferocious the way he stuck his tongue down your throat and pressed you lips against his.

The hand that was on your cheek was now holding your waist, gripping into the fat of your hip as he pushed himself against you, rabid for contact.

This deep desire for your love and affection, even when you were traumatized and burnt out.

Only when his lungs started to burn, and your vision started to go black at the edges he finally pulled away, letting you slump against the door, exhausted.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw him pull a syringe out of his breast pocket, it having been wrapped in bubble wrap.

He pushed on the plunger just a bit, making sure no air was left. Then with all the gentleness a murderous, giant, monster of a man could muster, he poked it into your arm.

Cradling you as you felt your vision slip. Almost gentle and warm. But you only felt one thing. Fear.

[gunsatthaphan]

🤓🚩🫶🏻

[hoofpeet]

Re: archeops imitating voices: what if it learned to say cute things like “hello”, “wanna treat?” And “I love you”

Ough.. I feel like having a large & dumb bird be able to talk could backfire in some ways