#[ talking to tweety..... thinking about This ]

[ducktracy]

souhh, as a looney tunes buff, what’re your condolences on this (self-imposed or not) decision on LTC to not have 40’s-era daffy interact with bugs?

(this is prolly somethin’ i’d ask ya on discord, but i haven’t heard from that in a while (and also sorry for gettin’ nosy))

hey!! i’m very sorry to you and everyone whose left DMs on Discord or otherwise, i’ve been very very busy and a bit overwhelmed by a looooot of messages from a lot of people, so i haven’t had a proper chance to sit down and dedicate my full attention to respond (i know it’s hypocritical of me to answer asks heh, but it’s more self contained and im kinda doing it as a way to psyche myself up to answering 80+ Discord messages) so i thank you for your patience and understanding :)

but to answer your question: i largely, yet reluctantly agree.. i was discussing the Bugs and Daffy cartoon that never was with friends in another server, and someone very accurately described it as being beneath both characters’ M-Os. obviously we just got a little snippet, not the whole thing, so who’s to say—but what we have does seem more comparable to a sort of story done at Walter Lantz (Bugs and Daffy present Pantry Panic) or Terrytoons rather than a tried and true WB short made for the characters’ strengths in mind. it was probably best that it was scrapped for that reason—i’d be interested to see the remainder of the boards, but it does feel like a rather nonspecific story to give them that doesn’t play to either of their strengths, and that’s especially a bit of a priority with the high standard these directors and writers have set for themselves

the contrarian and stubbornness in me still thinks its possible, but i think you are going to end up with some standard of redundancy by pairing up “wacky” Daffy and a wilier Bugs. there will be little differences and quirks, and i focus a lot on these differences and quirks and that’s sort of what’s led me to beat my drum about GUYS THEY’D BE TOTALLY DIFFERENT!, but the bigger picture just paints one of redundancy. i’m sure it’s possible, especially done by people who truly know the ins and outs of the characters (and i love my LTC friends and kin, this is not a knock against you at all, you guys are truly wonderful and should know my fanaticism i hold for you and the show! but i have a lot of critiques for how Daffy is portrayed in LTC in particular, a lot of the nuances and delicacies of Daffy’s more screwball persona are really missed and so i wonder just how successfully that would’ve panned out…. it sounds like they were aware of this too, judging by the message here), but i maintain my position that Bugs and Daffy are characters who weren’t really ever meant to be together, at least not without a major magnification (ie rehaul.. i’m pedantic, Daffy has always had the qualities of the Jones duck even at some of his most primitive) of certain traits to make it work. and it’s not all on Daffy, either, poor Bugs had to be relegated to a life of boring domesticity and apathy.. it’s not a coincidence that my favorite incarnations of each character are when they behave the most similarly.

otherwise you end up with two Daffys or two Bugses, both very strong personalities that clash and override each other into redundancy rather than compliment. what purpose does one serve that the other couldn’t, etc. there are nuances and differences, but largely, structurally, speaking in generalizations, there’s just too much overlap. even in “canon” instances where we have them interacting together in this time period, like this radio bit, they sort of exist adjacently between one another rather than any meaningful interaction

what is interesting though is that the Dell comics have tried pairing them up on occasion! i don’t have the full story on hand right now as it’s been a few years since i found it, but there was one story where they’re together and Daffy actually comes out on top! though there’s certainly more of that conflict/embitterment from Daffy to make them stand out, even then

though something i noticed the other day in regards to the Bugs and Daffy planned cartoon news.. i could still be stretching, but i thought it was interesting:

[wileys-russo]

Mary earps in the date to remember series “I’m beginning to question whether you only married me for my ass” idk about location, maybe home or out shopping?

part of the a date to remember series gentle pat II m.earps

"okay! shopping bag, keys, list, phone, backpack leash, snacks for bribery. are we ready? i think we're ready." your wife clapped from the front door as you gave her a look.

"mary." you deadpanned, raising an eyebrow as she looked on uselessly. "forgetting something?" you egged her on as again she seemed dumfounded, going through her checklist and shrugging.

"me!" delilah came barreling through from the bathroom as your wife blushed slightly and you shook your head.

"from putting yourself to bed instead of her, eating half her dinner before she even got home from dance last night and now nearly locking her in the house alone...better pick your game up earps." you squeezed your wifes shoulder, snatching the keys from her hand, grabbing the shopping bags from the floor and walking out the front door.

"yeah mama, pick your game up!" delilah grinned cheekily as mary scoffed, easily scooping the four year old up and tossing her over her shoulder. "pick my game up! righto cheeky i've had about enough of this little parrot routine aunty tooney taught you." mary rolled her eyes, delilah for the last week finding endless amusement in doing and saying whatever she did on a dare from ella.

you of course also found it hilarious given it wasn't you that was being copied, not even lifting a finger to try and help put a stop to it.

"i'm not a parrot!" delilah huffed banging her fists against marys back who stepped out and locked up the front door. "are too, gonna change your name from delilah to...feathers? or maybe chirpy? squawk?" mary pondered as you watched on from the passenger seat with a smile.

"no! not allowed to do that mama." you heard your daughter scowl, turning around with a grin and tickling her stomach as mary buckled her into her car seat and delilah giggled kicking away your hand.

"good news babe i've decided we're changing her name. we've got options; feathers, chirpy, squawk?" mary pondered sliding into her seat and starting up the car as you hummed and delilah continued to protest from the back.

"oh! could call her tweety? or maybe birdie?" you joined in as mary backed out of the driveway with a grin. "no! delilah delilah delilah delilah delilah!" the four year old chanted over and over.

"okay okay! you can keep the name delilah...for now." mary teased as delilah huffed and pulled a face. "lilah we've talked about this. if you make an ugly face and the wind changes you're stuck like that forever." you warned as she quickly slapped a smile on and started to wiggle around happily as you flicked on her favorite playlist.

~

"don't wanna wear it! please mummy?" your daughter looked to you with the puppy dog eyes that normally broke both you and your wife but today all it earned her was a shake of your head as mary helped her slip on the backpack.

"sorry babe, you lost that privilege the last time we went shopping and you ran off. remember mama and i had to come and get you from the big security man? and we were very very worried." you clicked together the straps so it sat securely on her as mary grabbed the leash part.

"sorry." delilah mumbled kicking a rock, though spotting a pigeon land a few metres away she sprinted off as mary was almost taken down to her feet at the sudden tension on the leash and you covered your mouth to cover your laughter.

grabbing the shopping bags you winced seeing your wifes training bag shoved in the back, the girl currently in mid season break you knew it would have sat there for awhile.

"urgh mary!" you groaned, pointing it out as she near dragged delilah back toward you, smiling guiltily and kissing your cheek, promising to do the washing the very moment you got home as you hummed.

"hey! my turn." delilah stomped her foot, tapping her cheek expectantly and making you laugh as your wife rolled her eyes playfully but ducked down to kiss all over your daughters face making her squeal.

"alright. off we go!" mary nodded as you closed the boot and locked the car, gently tapping you on the ass as you passed her causing you to glare at her over your shoulder and delilah to giggle as mary only winked.

"you're in trouble." delilah warned wagging her finger at your wife as you took off ahead of the pair of them. "you're in trouble." mary parroted shoving her head to the side as delilah tried to tackle her and mary dodged out of the way with a grin.

turning around to see them left behind and chasing one another about you rolled your eyes and cleared your throat loudly, raising an eyebrow with one hand on a shopping cart as mary scooped up your daughter and hurried over to catch up.

"divide and conquer." you ripped the list in two and handed her half as you entered the supermarket, marys grip on delilahs leash tightening as delilah held up her hand expectantly.

"where's mine!" she frowned when she wasn't handed a list making you smile. "you get the most important job tiny." you warned as her eyes lit up and she nodded. "babysitting mama and making sure she doesn't get distracted." you whispered as delilah nodded, hugging your leg.

"go mama! hurry." the four year old barked, tugging on your wifes jumper where she was stood reading the nutrition information on the back of tub of protein.

"yeah mama, hurry." you teased, giving her a wink as you took the cart and headed off to start your own shopping, though not before a hand collided with your ass.

"mary! for god sakes we're in public." you hissed in warning as your cheeks burned red and she only grinned and headed off in the opposite direction with delilah ordering her around as she went, hitting her every time she deemed her as distracted.

you met back up every now and then, trading delilah or the shopping cart as you went, your daughter for once incredibly well behaved which earned her a few extra treats tossed in when mary thought you weren't looking which made you roll your eyes with a smile.

you were staring at the freezer section trying to find the specific brand of dinosaur chicken nuggets you knew were delilahs favorite and also the easiest way to get her to eat vegetables if mary smothered it all with gravy.

but a sharp slap to your ass had your body whipping around with a glare however the face you were met with wasn't the one you expected.

"deliah!" you exclaimed in shock as mary stood behind her with somewhat of a proud smile, your daughter grinning cheekily up at you. "mama does it." your daughter shrugged as if that was excuse enough, racing over to the freezer and pressing her face against it in wonder.

"you're a terrible influence." you glared at your wife who was tugged closer as delilah moved toward the ice cream section, pulled back a little by marys grip on the leash.

"me? my love i simply don't know what you mean." she winked, reaching around to squeeze one cheek in her hand as you smacked her chest and pushed her away.

"i'm beginning to question whether you only married me for my ass." you sighed with a shake of your head, grabbing the leash as your daughter continued to pull and struggle, determined to reach the ice cream section despite barely moving an inch.

"of course not darling i married you for your mind, your wit, your passion...and your ass."

[streamafterlaughter]

Soundtrack to Disaster

Chapter IV: Break Your Pretty Face

masterlist | playlist | pinboard | prev.

song(s) for this chapter: no remorse by metallica, hate you by boston manor, choke by idkhow, let’s talk about your hair by have mercy

chapter tags: swearing, drinking, meanish!eddie, angst | fic tags: Angst, hurt/(eventual) comfort, (eventual) smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC!Reader, Modern AU | This fic is rated 18+ MDNI

summary: everyone seems to be lobbying against you, in favor of the kid that put your brother in jail.

a/n: inspo returning rapidly, don’t let me burn out now.

taglist @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotinie @xplrnowornever @taccobelle @micheledawn1975 @mewchiili @dreamerjj comment/message to be added!

DISCLAIMER: I do not consent to having my work fed to AI engines, or reposted in any way, shape, or form on other websites. Unless otherwise stated, this is the only account that features and contains this work, and any replication was done without my consent. Please let me know if you see my work elsewhere. Reblog to support the author!

—

“Chris.” You give him your best death glare, arms crossed tightly against your chest. “Talk.”

“In my defense,” he stands from his spot on the floor. “I thought he’d told you years ago. I didn’t think to follow up, I thought it was just, y’know, common sense.”

You scoff. “And you think Eddie has that?”

“Y’know what, kid? Yeah, I do. Eddie’s a good fuckin’ dude. Granted, I guess I can see why you wouldn’t think so under these circumstances, but I have to let him explain that to you. I couldn’t begin to understand that choice.”

It’s like he’s speaking in riddles. What could there possibly be to explain? Eddie testified against Chris to save himself. Case closed, he’s a selfish bastard. “You gotta go see him, Bee.”

“Why do I care?”

“Come on, you care a little. You two used to-“

“Shut up.” You grit your teeth. “You haven’t been here. You have no fucking clue what happened to us.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, whatever. You’re dropping me off though, I’m not wasting gas on this bullshit.”

He nods, unhooking his keys from his belt loop. “Well,” he gestures to the door, “After you.”

-

You get to Eddie’s trailer in what feels like record time, causing you to frantically rehearse what you want to say to him. You have no idea what Chris has said, why he’s so adamant that the two of you speak.

“Call me if you need a ride home, ‘kay?” Chris unlocks the passenger door. “And please, don’t kill him. I know he looks tough, but that kid’s the biggest softy I know.”

You groan, rolling your eyes so hard you’re sure they’ll get stuck. “I can’t guarantee I won’t at least try to kill him.” You mock his tone from earlier. He shoves you playfully, and you swing the car door open.

Eddie’s underneath his van, an old piece of scrap metal on wheels at this point, and you can hear him grunting as you approach him.

“Careful now, don’t want her wound too tight.” You gently kick his foot, and he slides out from under the vehicle.

“Back for revenge?” Eddie slaps his hands together to wipe off the excess grease he’s accumulated, then stands to better greet you. He turns the music on his stereo down, some obnoxious metal song you’re sure he thinks is super artistic. “Look, I know you probably didn’t want me taking care of you, but I wasn’t gonna just leave you there to pass out on the floor.”

“I just want some answers.”

“Yeah, alright.” Eddie wipes the sweat from his forehead. You can’t help but take him in, white t-shirt covered in black soot, coveralls pulled down low on his waist. His hair is tied back, revealing his soft cheeks and metal clad ears. He catches you staring and waves a dirty hand in front of your face. “Hello, earth to Tweety?”

“Stop calling me that.” You huff, fists clenching at your sides. “No one calls me that anymore.”

“That’s why I like it. But fine, what d’you want me to call you?”

You glare at him. You know he’ll come up with a multitude of nicknames that will make your stomach flip with rage if you give him that freedom. “Bee’s fine.”

“Aw, c’mon, everyone else calls you Bee.”

You shrug. “Shoulda thought about that when you betrayed my trust forever.” He’s too invested in your banter, and you catch him off guard.

“Wow, right to it, huh? No ‘How’re you, Eddie,’ no ‘Sorry I puked all over your shoes, Eddie.”

You flush. “I puked on your shoes?”

His facade breaks, and he grins wickedly. “No, you didn’t. But I had ya for a second.”

“Ugh, can you be serious for like, five minutes? Then I’ll leave you alone forever.”

“Forever, huh? Sounds way too good to be true.” You can’t explain why his words sting. You feel them in your throat. Eddie plucks a joint from his ashtray and pats his many pockets. “You gotta light?” He asks, filter between his teeth.

You pluck your bright yellow lighter from your sweatshirt pocket, offering it to him. “Thanks, Bee.” He winks at you, and you fight the urge to start walking home. He puffs on the poorly rolled joint and offers it to you.

“No, thanks. I only smoke with friends.” It’s a low blow, you recognize that, but the frustration in your chest is building to an unbearable level.

Eddie clutches his chest in mock offense. “You wound me.” He pouts, batting his obnoxiously button-like eyes. You have to look away.

“Well, you said you wanted answers. Let’s see what I can provide.” He hops up onto the hood of his car, feet dangling above his license plate. You stay planted in front of him, posture tense as you debate how to approach the topic. “Why doesn’t Chris hate you?”

Your question throws him off. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, Munson. You testified against him. I’d be counting down the days til I got out so I could get your ass if it were me. How- why are you guys still friends?”

Eddie shakes his head, inhaling yet another hit. “Chris is just not that guy, I guess. Maybe he had time to think in the hole.” His response is completely unconvincing, and you roll your eyes for the millionth time today.

“That’s bullshit.”

“Okay, you know what? He told me to do it. Said it would keep me out.”

A pregnant pause. Then, shrieking, “And you just listened to him?!” Your voice is octaves above natural, growing more piercing by the second. “Friends don’t do that! They don’t betray each other.”

“Look, Bee, I don’t know what you want from me. An apology? Fine, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I listened to Chris and got him locked up, I’m sorry I’ve made you fucking despise me. I was eighteen, barely fuckin’ legal. I had no priors, no guidance. I had no one to ask for some goddamn help— besides Chris— so I trusted him. If I could go back and change it, I would. I’d rather have him hate me one hundred times over if it would mean a good relationship with you.” He stops abruptly, lips pressed together tightly like he hadn’t meant to say that.

“Well, you can’t.” A weak response, mumbled to the floor.

“Yeah, no shit.” Eddie cranks the music back up, slamming the door on your conversation. It’s another loud, angry song. “You can go now.” He turns his back to you, and you can’t even bring yourself to ask for your lighter back.

-

“I can’t fucking stand him!” You’re pacing Robin’s room back and forth while she watches with wide, deer in headlight eyes. “He has the fucking audacity to tell me my brother asked him to snitch? He really thought I’d believe that?” You turn to Robin, and she gapes at you. “Hello?”

“What? Oh, sorry. I don’t know, Bee! Think about it. Chris took Ed under his wing. They did everything together.”

“Yeah, you think I don’t know that?”

She shrugs. “I’m just saying, it’s a valid reason to hate him. He was treated more like Chris’s blood than you were sometimes. But, I dunno, I don’t think Eddie would lie. Not to you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Robin sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “God, it’s kinda crazy that you can’t see it. The way that kid used to follow you around like a lost puppy, the way he still looks at you now.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You’re in no headspace to consider what she’s saying, not after what you learned today.

“Please, Bee! He had no fucking reason to take care of you. He wanted to.”

You groan, flopping back onto her bed. “I don’t trust him. I can’t.”

“Yeah, it’s him you can’t trust.”

You sit with it, let it eat you alive, but you don’t respond.

-

Steve arrives at his and Robin’s shared apartment with pizza an hour later, and offers both of you a fancy IPA that’s supposed to “enhance the flavors of the sauce.” You snort at his pretentious delivery, but accept the drink anyway.

“What did I miss?” He flops down on the couch between you and Robin, remote aimed at the television.

“Nothing much, Bee just learned some very earth shattering news.”

“What?” Steve whips his head in your direction, eyes frantic. “What god awful thing did she tell you about me.”

Robin snorts. “Dingus, relax. Not everything is about you!”

You snicker, and pry a piece of pizza from the box, cheese stretching across the table. “But now I wanna know what would make you this nervous if she did tell me!” You fold the pie before cramming a bite into your mouth.

“No, we’re not changing the subject. What happened?”

You glare at Robin for bringing it up. Steve has a tendency to worry when things aren’t all sunshine and rainbows with his friends. He knows you and Eddie aren’t close, but he appreciates your mutual ability to remain civil. “Robin thinks Eddie has a thing for me.”

“Eddie definitely has a thing for you.” Steve says without missing a beat, unfazed by the bomb he’s dropping on your head.

“What?”

“What? Is this not common knowledge? I’ve known for, like, months. I dunno if it’s a crush, per se, but there’s… something. You can’t tell me you had no idea.”

You definitely did not have any idea. “You’re fucking with me. You have to be, that doesn’t make any goddamn sense! He treats me like shit, like I’m the most annoying person on the planet. He never invites me to hang out with you guys, we haven’t hung out alone in, like, six years. You're making shit up.” You cross your arms, waiting for the argument that doesn’t come.

Steve shrugs. “He knows you don’t like him. Or, he thinks you don’t. I know better.” Steve winks at you, and you stick your tongue at him. “He’ll probably never admit it, but if you just pay the smallest bit of attention to the way he acts around you, you’ll get it.” Robin nods in agreement, like she’s known this all along.

“You guys are traitors!” You groan, taking another messy bite of pizza. “Can’t believe my best friends are telling me the most dreadful news possible right now.”

“Oh relax, drama queen. It could be worse, I could tell you all the things he’s told me about you in middle school.”

Your eyes feel like they pop out of your head. “What the fuck did he tell you?!”

Robin giggles. “Don’t worry about it!”

You flip her off, and she throws her head back, cackling.

—

The Hideout is dead. It’s a weeknight, and the only people at the joint are the same five drunks you’ve grown quite fond of over the last few years. There’s Samuel, a construction worker that’s been on the same job for the last two years with almost nothing to show for it; Jack, the executive supervisor of some uppity tech business in Indianapolis that’s yelling on the phone outside most of the time; Suzette, who comes in on Sundays to watch the game, and Mike and Mark, the old gay couple that tip you really well and call you Dolly.

“More Jack, Jack?” Your perky disposition makes the suit smile ever so slightly.

“Make it a double, darlin’.” He jabs the END button on his cell grumpily, and you pour his whiskey neat into a fresh glass.

You’re about to ask him what’s got him upset, he usually isn’t here during this late, when the door swings open with a creak, barely drowned out by the song blaring over the speakers, one you’d chosen to let off some steam that is very quickly finding its way back.

It’s as if the universe is out to get you. Eddie holds the door open for his date, a date that is certainly not Chrissy Cunningham. This girl looks more like Morticia Addams and a tattoo machine had a baby, and you wonder if this was who Robin had been referring to. She’s stunning, covered neck to toe in intricate ink you could play iSpy with. Her hair is long, dark, and silky, swaying down to her butt. Did this woman lose a bet? Why is she here with him?

He catches you staring and has the audacity to wink at you, pulling a chair out for Morticia. You quickly avert your eyes, suddenly fascinated with the stains on the bar. It’s not two minutes later that you feel his presence in front of you.

“Hey, Tw- Bee. Funny seeing you here.”

You don’t respond to his attempt at conversation. “What do you want?” You deadpan, trying to keep your expression blank. Uninterested. Cold.

“I’ll have a beer, Red Stripe if you got it. The lady wants a martini, extra dry.”

“‘Course she does.” You think you say it quiet enough, but the tilt of his head tells you otherwise.

“What’s got your panties in a bunch, Princess?”

“What? Nothing! She just looks like the type, y’know? Fancy.” You cringe. Luckily, Eddie doesn’t seem to notice.

“She’s so cool, right? Name’s Macy. Met her at a gig.”

“Uh huh. Here,” You hand him his drinks. “Would you like to open a tab?”

“Nah, this is only our first stop.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “And, no offense, this isn’t really an ideal date spot.”

His words knock your brain around. “Date, huh?” The words catch in your throat. “I didn’t think Eddie Munson went on dates.”

Eddie falters, but recovers quickly. “I’m full of surprises, Sweets.” He slides the drinks off the bar, slapping a 20 on the table. “Keep the change. See ya ‘round.” He kisses the air in your direction, and your fist clenched tightly around the soda gun. You spray yourself in the face with club soda, and grit your teeth to keep from screaming.

—

Your shift is crawling by, your only company until eleven being the cook and the seven patrons, two of which you’ve been staring daggers at for the last hour. Someone has queued a slew of slow, sad songs and you have a suspicion Suzette is still sulking about the Colts’ loss.

Eddie and Macy are lost in conversation. He’s staring at her with a stupid, lovesick expression you wish you could slap off his face. She seems enamored, sipping her second martini without ever breaking eye contact with him. It drives you up the wall. As if hearing your silent prayers, Eddie pushes from the table, and holds out Macy’s coat for her to slip her slender arms into. He slips his own leather clad arm around her waist and make their way to the door. You’re almost at ease, finally, but he stops abruptly and pivots on his heel, coming right at you.

“Hey,” He calls, leaning over the bar as you whip around, busying yourself organizing the fridge. “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.” You don’t turn around, stacking used glasses on the dish rack.

“Can I ask the front of you something?” His voice is teasing. You turn back to face him, finding his face far too close to yours. Behind him, Macy’s tapping her foot in annoyance by the door.

“Make it quick, you're keeping her waiting.” You nod in her direction, but he brushes it off.

“You ever… think about what could have happened? Y’know, with us? If things were different, I mean.” You can smell the beer on his breath, he’s so close.

You shrug. “Not really, no.”

His face falls for a fraction of a second before he recovers, stoic.

“Right, yeah. ‘Course not. See ya, Bee.” He waves weakly, then steps forward to hold the door for Macy, disappearing into the Autumn night and leaving your brain feeling like TV static.

—

You get home around 3am, dragging your sore feet over the threshold with a heavy groan. The apartment is quiet, save for the gym of the TV coming from Chris’s makeshift bedroom in the den. He’s out like a light, snoring obnoxiously as reruns of The Simpsons flash multicolored across his face. You tiptoe past him, into your room where you all but collapse on top of your bed, still fully clothed. Eddie’s question plays on repeat in your head, much to your frustration. Why does he even care if you think about him? Why would he ask you that?

You’re pondering whether to tell Steve when your phone starts ringing.

You can’t hide the exhaustion, wishing you could just curl up and pass out. Steve knows you’re awake, knows you just got home. “Hey, Stevie.”

“Hey, Bee. You okay?” Worry laces your friend’s voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He hesitates, you can hear his breath stutter into the receiver. “Well, I got a cryptic text from Eddie. He told me he did something stupid, was wondering if you had a clue what he was talking about?”

You roll onto your back, groaning into the phone. “Is this really that important right now? Eddie’s dramatic, we know this. He didn’t do anything worth panicking over.”

“But he did do something?”

“Ugh, no! He was drunk. Asked me if I ever thought about him, if we could be friends I guess.”

“And what’d you say?”

“I was honest. I said no.”

“Shit, Bee. That’s cold.”

“What, should I have lied? Told him we could’ve been best friends if he hadn’t snitched on my brother?”

There’s a lilt in Steve’s voice. “Is that a lie?”

You bite your lip, thinking. Maybe you and Eddie could’ve been friends, but there’s no use dwelling on it. “No, it’s not. I don’t like to live my life through what ifs.”

“Okay. I get it. I mean, I get what you’re saying. I get his worry too, though.”

You roll your eyes despite his inability to see you. “Okay, Steve. It’s late. I’m gonna go to bed.”

“Yeah, alright. Sweet dreams, Bee.”

“‘Night, Stevie.” You click the END button and place your phone on the nightstand. After a struggle to get up, you quickly change into your pajamas, swearing you’ll shower in the morning, before flopping back into bed.

—

[sean-gaffney]

What's Left of the Looney Tunes?

So you’re a Looney Tunes fan, and you’re waiting with baited breath (Greetings, Bait!) for the cartoon list for the next Collector’s Choice Blu-Ray.  And as you wait to see if they add that 1953 Friz Freleng or 1958 Robert McKimson cartoon, you must be thinking:  Surely they’ve released every single cartoon at SOME point since the 1980s, right?  Well, except for the really racist ones.  Right?

Nah.  There’s 129 Looney Tunes and Merrie Melodies that have never been officially released, restored or unrestored, on home video at all.  And, to be honest, most of them are unlikely to be on the Collector’s Choice sets.  Let’s take a look at the last bastions against having all 1000 LT/MM cartoons available.

Bosko.  Now, there are a few Bosko cartoons available.  There’s 38 Bosko cartoons from 1930-1933, not counting the weird ones like the Talk-ink Kid pilot or whatever Bosko and Honey was.  Of those, 11 have been released officially.  This leaves 27 in limbo.  This is a shame, there are some really good Bosko cartoons.

Buddy.  Even worse, to be honest.  23 Buddy cartoons were made, 5 have had some official release.  That leaves 18.  Now, there’s a reason for that.  They’re awful.  (Also, two of those 18, Buddy of the Apes and Buddy in Africa, also fall under one of the later categories we’ll get to.)

Seven B&W Merrie Melodies.  Two of these, Hittin’ the Trail for Hallelujah Land and Goin’ to Heaven on a Mule, are basically banned for content.  Those Were Wonderful Days, Why Do I Dream Those Dreams, The Girl at the Ironing Board, The Miller’s Daughter, and Rhythm in the Bow, are simply not available, possibly as they’re dull.  However, they have been restored.  (As has HtTfHL.)

Seven B&W Looney Tunes.  Mostly the same as above.  The Daffy Duckaroo and Tokio Jokio are banned for content, though we may see Duckaroo someday (Native American caricatures have traditionally been less banned than Black and Asian caricatures).  Saps in Chaps also has some Native American gags, I think.  As for The Fire Alarm, Joe Glow the Firefly, Gopher Goofy and Nutty News, they’ve been restored but never released.

The rest of the “Censored 11”, of which Hittin’ the Trail for Hallelujah Land was the first.  As most cartoon fans know, this is not a catch all of all racist WB cartoons, it’s just the ones that were owned by Associated Artists productions.  So yeah, Sunday Go to Meetin’ Time, Clean Pastures, Uncle Tom’s Bungalow, Jungle Jitters, The Isle of Pingo Pongo, All This and Rabbit Stew (a Bugs Bunny cartoon), Coal Black and de Sebben Dwarfs, Tin Pan Alley Cats, Angel Puss and Goldilocks and the Jivin’ Bears.  They’ve all been restored.

The dog cartoons.  There are a bunch of one-shots that have no regular characters but all involve dogs, and (likely as they don’t have a “star” and aren’t really great) they’ve never come out.  Pappy’s Puppy, Mixed Master, A Waggily Tale, Dog Tales.  All but Pappy’s Puppy are restored.

Miscellaneous “banned for content” cartoons.  Which is Witch (a Bugs Bunny cartoon), Tom Tom Tomcat (a Tweety and Sylvester cartoon), and two REALLY late cartoons, Hocus Pocus Pow Wow and Injun Trouble.  None of these have been restored.

Random missing 50s stuff.  A Bone for a Bone (Goofy Gophers), Sock a Doodle Doo (Foghorn Leghorn), Easy Peckin’s, Quack Shot (Daffy Duck and Elmer Fudd), Trick or Tweet (Tweety).

60s stuff that’s still actually Warner Brothers.  There’s about 10 or 12 early 60s cartoons that just aren’t very good, and that’s why they’re not out.  They’ve all been restored except Unnatural History and What’s My Lion, which are two of the worst LT/MM shorts that ever came out – not for content, they’re simply pathetically unfunny.

All the post-64 stuff.  There’s a pile, I won’t break them down one by one.  Mostly Daffy/Speedy cartoons, the nadir of both characters.  A few of the Roadrunner cartoons that weren’t stuffed onto that one DVD a while back.  They’re here as no one wants to watch them.

The post-67 stuff, aka the nightmare years.  Cool Cat, Merlin the Magic Mouse, Bunny and Claude… those.  (Though actually, both Bunny and Claude shorts HAVE been released.)  They’re here for the same reason – unpopularity.

Note this doesn’t even get into the cartoons which were fine to release in the 1980s on VHS but *aren’t* fine to release now (all the Merrie Melodies that weren’t banned but have racial stereotypes, such as the Inki cartoons, a huge number of cowboy and Indian cartoons, and Bugs Bunny’s unfortunate wartime cartoon).  Or all the stuff that’s restored and out on Max, but has never hit a DVD or Blu-Ray (half of the 30s Merrie Melodies).  Or the stuff that’s unrestored, not on Max and has never hit a DVD or Blu-Ray (the other half of the 1930s Merrie Melodies).  Or Holiday for Drumsticks, what’s up with that?

In any case, when they announce the cartoons for the 4th set in a week or so, you can look at this list and see if it has any of those.

[izxz-is-deranged]

Baptism by Fire | Matt Murdock x BAU!Reader

Summary: You love your position at the BAU, but your life is uprooted when Hotch sends you on a temporary assignment to the FBI field office in New York. Apparently, someone had the bright idea to make a deal with a crime boss named Wilson Fisk, and now it's your job to build a profile to determine if the information he gives can be trusted. As you realize quickly things aren't as they seem, you must find a way to protect yourself- If protecting yourself has something to do with a masked vigilante... That's no fault of yours.

multiple crossovers | slow burn

A/N: Starts about ep3 of S3 of Daredevil! Reader uses a fake name, and can be seen as an original character if desired. Future storylines may involve Reader's past coming back to haunt her (Supernatural) and the trials and tribulations of her day job (Criminal Minds)

< ao3 link > <Masterlist>

7: Means to An End

Where the hell are you going?

What the hell are you doing?

All your training at the FBI couldn't've prepared you for this. Luckily, your previous life running in hunter’s circles didn’t make you panic having to act outside the law. You couldn’t go back to the hotel. God knows its crawling with Agents who you weren’t sure were compromised or not. Plus, Fisk is there too. You’re not keen to be in the same city, let alone the same building as him. Obviously, you’d underestimated how deep Fisk’s tendrils ran. Your wounds throb as a brutal reminder.

You try to focus on driving, but your mind doesn’t leave Matt in the backseat. What the hell sort of abilities did he possess? Was he actually blind? Was it some sort of psychic ability? Was it possession? He did take a scary amount of punishment without stopping.

Slipping a coin out of your pocket, you keep one hand on the wheel. You’d seen him touch iron bars of jail cells, but a silver test wouldn’t go astray. You could rule out a few monsters that way. You thumb over the tarnished coin, placing it calmly on his hand. No reaction… Good. You feel a bit partial to the man who you owe your life too. You run through a scenario of that riot where he wasn’t in that nurse’s office with you. You’d like to think you would’ve survived, but you know deep down without his weirdly adept fighting and sixth sense… You’d have left in a body bag.

God. That’s another question. How does he fight like that?

Exhale. You had to take this all one step at a time. He’s a civilian, there was time for speculation later. Priority one is getting Matt somewhere safe. He asked you to take him home. You could deal with your problems with Fisk after that. You steal a glance in the rearview at him laying limply in the back. Matt’s dark hair flicks back and forth in the rushing wind from the broken window. You should probably take him to a hospital- Jesus, you should take yourself as well. Yet, if Fisk had eyes in the prison, they’re probably hidden in the hospitals too.

The road your driving slowly turns more urban. You’d get lost if you weren’t careful. You needed his address quick. There’s only one person you can call.

“Office of professional genius, be prepared to grovel at my feet- How can I dazzle you today?”

“...Garcia?” Your voice cracks. Relief floods you hearing a familiar string of words from a friend, even if it was through the speaker of your phone laying on the dash board.

“Oh, tweety bird, you okay?” She asks quickly, concern evident.

“Is that Wren?” Another voice pops up.

A warm smile grows on your face. “Hey, Spence.”

Spencer Reid (Affectionately, Spence) was like a drop of sunshine. Most intelligent man on the planet and huge, huge nerd. Him combined with Garcia was a recipe for long nights watching Doctor Who, and deep dives into the weird and wonderful. It had been all of 3 days since you’d been in the same room as them, but it felt like a lifetime.

“I don’t have long to talk- I’m on a bit of time crunch,” You start again, then add, “And yes. I’m fine. It’s just been… a day.”

“How’s New York?” Reid asks, voice cheerful.

“...Chaotic.”

“Well, New York City being home to about 8.8 million people it’s likely-”

Garcia begins to shush him, and he trails off. You can see his guilty face in your minds eye.

“You said time crunch, girlie. What’s up?” Garcia cracks her knuckles.

“Can you send Matthew Murdock’s address to my phone?”

Furious key typing projects from your speaker and it ends with a ding. “Easy. Done.”

“Matthew Murdock? Isn’t that the lawyer who-” Reid starts.

“Yes, that one,” you affirm, knowing he already had the information correct and memorized. It’s more surprising when he didn’t know something than when he did.

“Ooh! Did you find out more about him up and vanishing?”

“Well, funny story…,” You look over your shoulder at Matt’s unconscious figure, “I, uh… May have just found him.”

“Was he missing?” Reid asks. A rare instance of being lost.

Garcia responds, “Catch up, Boy Wonder. Wren’s solving a case for the ages.”

You shake your head, smiling softly and grabbing your phone and setting the navigation up. You say your goodbyes and they wish you well. Garcia adds that you have to bring her some tourist trap New York nick-nack for her desk. You promise to. When the call ends, you’re thrust back into the reality of your situation. Should you tell them? Should you ask for the help of your team?

… No. This is too dangerous. You can’t drag the BAU into this. Trained agents or not, risking your life is not the same as risking theirs.

~

God bless New York. People truly mind their own business here. You’d been worried someone would catch you in the taxi driving around a half dead guy, but you pull into the Matt’s street without question. Your mind is on a one way track: Get him inside. Get him safe. Get yourself out. You veer the yellow hunk of metal into an alley, tucking it behind dumpsters and trash cans. To any passerby, it’d look like any other taxi parked off duty.

There was a back door entrance to his apartment building through here. You spot it as you step out of the vehicle. Good. You really didn’t want to drag his bloodied self into the broad daylight of sidewalk. You hope internally his neighbors mind their own business too. The smell of the trash, the steam from the sewer grates, and the laundry exhausts fills the alley, an assault to your senses. You don’t think you’ll get used to how pungent this city actually is.

The backseat car door opens with a whine when you pull the handle. Replacing the scents of the ally is the sharp twang of iron- of blood. It muddles with whatever warm cologne and sweat Matt has clung to his skin. He doesn’t stir at the sound, or your intrusion leaning into the back, or the unbuckling of the seat belt you’d secured him with. You press a delicate two fingers on his neck, making sure his heart was still beating. It’s slow, but steady. He’s warm under your touch. You exhale, allowing your fingers to dance upwards with urgency. You peel back his eyelids, but then realize just how unresponsive his pupils are to the light. Holy shit. He really is blind.

You feel the exposure weigh in on you, leaned into the car like this makes it almost impossible to track your surroundings of the alley. How the fuck are you supposed to get him inside if he was out cold? It’s not that you weren’t strong, it’s just that this man was about 5 foot 10 inches of lean muscle and all of it is densely packed dead weight right now. You grip his shoulders, delivering a decent shake.

“Mr. Murdock- Mr. Murdock, can you hear me?” You speak a little louder than normal in an attempt to reach him in the distant recesses of his psyche.

His eyelids barely flutter in response.

You try again, shaking a little more fiercely, but trying to avoid actually aggravating his wounds. Your voice is the picture perfect example of the cool, calm Agent you were trained to be, and not the panicked wreck that rattles against your rib cage. “Mr. Murdock. I need you to try and stand for me. This is Agent Singer- We need to get you inside your apartment.”

His breathing picks up, and his face has the faintest hint of alertness. You see his limbs begin to stir, dragging like they were tied down by bricks.

“Where… Where are…?” Matt begins, voice scratchy and pained.

“Your home. Your apartment,” You coax, repeating, “Which floor are you on?”

You knew the number, 6A, you just needed to know how many stairs you were about to scale.

He makes an attempt to shift towards the door, hands loosely grasping at the leather seat around him. “...Top. The top floor. Door on the… left when you get up the… Ah, stairs.” Each phrase and word takes tremendous effort on his part. His sentence is intermixed with gasps of air and pain.

Matt practically rolls out of the car, footing failing him. You let out a gasped “fuck” as you go pull him back up. His hand smears a line of rusty red across your shoulders. While he was lightyears away with about as much control as a newborn deer, he still manages to stand, leaning almost all his weight on you.

Now you just have to get inside.

It’s a goddamn struggle, but why wouldn’t it be? You’re doing most of the heavy lifting. It’s through the door from the alley, up maybe 5 flights of old new york staircases. You wonder what could possess a blind man to live with all these stairs. That has to be some sort of risk, right? The thought doesn’t stay long, and by the time you reach the top, the only thing your focusing on is keeping your breathing steady. It reminds you of the training drills from the academy.

The dark wood of the floorboards creak as you take the step onto the final floor. The hallway his apartment door is on is yellowed with age. It’s lighting dim, with only the sparse coolness of a singular ray of daylight reaching from the other end of the hall. It feels old, but not like a discarded lamp at a goodwill feels old. It’s in the way a grandparent’s chair feels old. Well worn, lived in and safe. It briefly reminds you of Bobby’s house. Nostalgia hits you like a old friend punctuating a joke.

Matt becomes more alive at the presence of his door. He must’ve been counting the flights, or using whatever sense helped you both out of the prison. His step picks up, and he points over at an old radiator heating system.

“My spare key… Hidden behind the third rod.”

He shrugs off of you, leaning on the space of wall next to his door. You fish the key out of the hidey-hole and go towards the knob, prepared to unlock it. A wide hand is placed over yours, interrupting the process.

“No. No need, Agent… You’ve done enough. I’ll be fine from here,” Matt breathes out, words dismissive in a way you didn’t expect. His hand radiates heat into yours, and you glance down at the vicious splits and bruising in his knuckles.

You feel an emotion snap like a rubber band in your chest. Hurt? Disappointment? Indignation seems like the right word. You scoff. “Respectfully, Mr. Murdock, I didn’t get myself almost killed in a prison riot nor by a crazed cab driver to let you bleed out on your couch now. You at least need someone to look at your headwound and logic says hospitals are out of the picture.”

His sightless eyes are fixed in your direction. Even through the foggy sedative wearing away, you could see flickers of running thoughts in his expression. Hesitation. Deliberation. Call it what you will, you just saw the warryness of man not keen to trust you any farther, but to your surprise, he retracts his hand.

Matt nods, granting you permission to stay.

You unlock the door, eager to get out of the hall. You both had luckily missed any neighbor encounters and you attributed that to this all happening in the afternoon of a workday. Matt pushes in first, stumbling through the entrance. You walk in more hesitantly, locking the door behind you.

If your profiling skills didn’t serve you wrong, you imagined Matt’s apartment would be something practical, sparse of furniture that could be a tripping hazard. Something distinctly bachelor pad, but still put together enough to show that he was a working professional. Matt blows through the space like second nature. You step out of the entrance hall slowly, taking it all in.

Light spills in from big glass block windows, which almost remind you of a warehouse from the early 1900s. Each pane is a slightly different shade and hue. The ceilings are high, with a bedroom on the far side and a kitchen on the other. Met in the middle under the windows is about as an intense of a living room as you’d get in such an open concept apartment. Everything is as you guessed, but the entrance to the roof rising to your left surprises you. What does he want roof access for? Rent here couldn’t be cheap, there had to be a reason he chose this particular unit.

“What happened with the cab driver? After I was out?” Matt calls, digging in his bathroom. He exits carrying a hodge-podge of first aid items. His steps are heavy and so is his breathing, but you can tell he’s still trying to conceal how much pain he’s in. He’s growing more cognizant the longer he stays awake, though.

“He pulled a gun on us,” you respond swiftly. Matt moves aside 3 neatly stacked piles of mail to make room to place all the items on the coffee table, prompting you to meander over to it.

“Did you kill him?” He asks. His voice is low with his back to you. Matt says it like it’s somehow a test. You squint at him. He’d directed you to not shoot anyone unless absolutely necessary in the prison. Guess he had a bit of an opinion on taking a life.

“No. We fought. I broke his arm and forced him out at a roll,” You answer.

He huffs in amusement. “Well, that’s one way to do it.”

Matt begins to slowly peel off his suit jacket. His motions are slow and pained. You track the way his broad shoulders move, just barely cloaked by the thin fabric of his white button down. Red splotches of blood and grime stain the front, but he doesn’t remove the shirt, opting instead to push up the sleeves and loose his tie. It joins the grey jacket on the floor.

You pick both up wordlessly and drape them over a chair.

“Listen, do this quick,” Matt groans, eyes fluttering as he drops onto the couch with a sharp exhale. “Then you need to pack up and leave town.”

You don’t take your eyes off him, but your brow knits together in response to his commanding words. As you sit down as well you can’t help but scoff. “Like hell I will. A bad 2 hours doesn’t send me running, I’m too stubborn. Fisk can try to kill me all he wants but all that’s gonna make me is more pissed off.”

Matt shakes his head. “No. You don’t understand. If he wants you dead, it’s over. Your best bet is to leave.”

“I’m assuming this line of thinking excludes you?” You slyly remark, beginning to fiddle with the first aid supplies. Matt looks lost in his thoughts and you prep a few wipes to get the dried blood off his face. A nasty split in his forehead is really what you wanted to fix. It definitely needs stitches.

“I can handle myself.”

“Like you handled yourself at the prison? Sick moves for a blind dude,” You say, turning to him. You raise the alcohol wipe, but pause a few inches from his face. “Can I?”

He nods lightly. You notice he tenses when you place your hands on his face. A worry of hurting him bubbles up, but he relaxes just as fast. You hold his head steady with one hand and gently clean away the dried blood in rhythmic, delicate wipes. It’s quiet in the apartment, and that quiet makes the action laced with an intimacy you didn’t expect. You pretend to not notice the raw feeling.

“People usually accuse me of faking it after seeing something like that,” Matt mutters as he blinks slowly at you.

“I’ve seen weirder things,” You hum, working on a particularly tough spot near his cheek. “And unless you magically know how to keep your pupils from constricting in direct sunlight, I won’t question it.”

A ghost of a smile graces his face. “You don’t seem like the type of woman to not question things.”

“What do I seem like then?”

It’s like all his attention is trained on you, even if his eyes miss the mark slightly. The tilt of his head, the parting of his lips, the relaxed arch of his shoulders. There’s an intensity to him that simmers just below the surface of his skin. A deep set well of emotions, with such a tight and fallible lid. You feel like if you pressed just enough, he’d snap closed like a mouse trap… Hurting you in the process.

“You seem smart, if not a bit reckless. Capable, driven. Fisk said you went to Rikers to investigate further despite warnings from your Superiors, so definitely more independent that the FBI bargained for,” Matt explains slowly. “Stubborn. But you just said it yourself, so don’t hold that one against me.”

You toss the dirty wipes to the side, and begin to focus solely on the headwound. If this was any other situation, you would’ve assumed Matt was lightly flirting as he spoke. There’s always this look men get in their eyes; The way their smiles look distant enough that you know they’re lost in the thought of you. You could swear you see a glimpse of it, under the weight of the day. You smile for the first time, almost on instinct, not seeing it as the trap it is.

“I’d say I’m impressed, but I work with the BAU, you know,” You answer playfully, “So I’ve seen better.”

You’re stringing the suture needle with the thread when he speaks again.

“You want better?” Matt cocks his head.

“If you’ve got it.”

“Alright,” He says before his voice drops into a sharp whisper, “Why did you lie about your name?”

Your mind goes blank in shock and dread, then it kickstarts like it’s running a hundred yard sprint. How does he know that? Did he somehow figure out your past? Did he research you before you walked into that prison nurse’s office? No. Not possible. Think. Profile.

Matthew Murdock is an orphan. He grew up in the system. Children who do have issues building deep relationships or opening up due to lack of trust in others. Since he grew up in a strictly catholic upbringing, it’s likely religion is a corner stone of his psyche. Lost his father to mob violence, so he deals with that grief and guilt by becoming a lawyer to do good in the legal system. But you saw today he’s not above the dirty work, making deals with Albanian mobsters and fighting like a rabid animal. His sense of justice is too great-

Wait. Stop. It’s too familiar. Where have you heard this before?

…Holy shit.

You turn agonizingly slow to face him. Flashes of the way he fought today overlaid visions of a man in a black mask. You focus in on his lips, recalling the spilt you spotted last night. Sure enough, the wound was still there. A nothing short of evil grin cracks open you face. If he airs out your secret, you’ll air out his.

“And how long have you been Daredevil?”

It’s his turn to act shocked, but Matt masks it expertly. Doesn’t mean you still can’t envision the flames seeping out of his nostrils as they flare.

“I asked you first.” His tone is nothing short of icy.

“I ask you second. How’d you know I was lying?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me!”

“Do you work for Fisk?”

“Is that was this is about?! No! No. I don’t work for him. Goddamn, you really do have trust issues.”

The room quiets as the tension from the quick exchange releases. Matt shifts, letting out deep exhale. He nods like he just accepted something to himself. You wonder if you just offended him with that comment. A long silence fills the space, both of you judging your next steps forward.

“...Did you really think I worked for Fisk?” You ask slowly as you resume your prep of the needle.

Matt thinks for a second. “Maybe. I just wanted to make sure.”

“After you let me into your apartment? I feel like that’s bad instincts,” you turn to him to, ready to stitch the wound closed, “I could be lying anyway.”

“You’re not.” He’s resolute.

“I go back to my question: How do you know that? Is it a psychic thing?”

Matt laughs as his face brightens into a surprised amusement. “No, no it’s not that. It’s… It’s more of a sensory thing. It’s really how I fight… or see for that matter.”

You blink. “That doesn’t clear much up, you know.” You bring the needle up, and Matt leans his head down for you to get the best angle. “This is gonna hurt like a son of a bitch.”

“I’ll be fine.”

And he is. Beside the odd hiss as the needle works through his skin, Matt doesn’t give any indication your stitching his forehead closed. Even still, you keep talking, your curiosity eating at you. “What do you mean ‘sensory thing?’”

He considers for a second, and internal debate happening. You can almost feel his thoughts humming under your fingers as you hold his head.

“When I went blind, my senses… changed. Heightened, or whatever people like to say. I woke up and everything was just more. The sounds. The scents. The feeling of fabric. The ragged breathing of patients down the hall. It was like someone dialed everything up to 11, and then never turned it back down,” He’s stills as he talks, lost in the memory, “Eventually, you start to differentiate them, how to put the pieces together to… see a scene. It’s just my reality.”

“That explains how you navigated the prison,” You note, pulling the thread taught, “I still don’t get how you can tell if someone is lying.”

Matt shifts ever so slightly to focus more directly on you, careful not to interrupted the stitching process. A long moment passes until he says, “Heartbeats.”

“You can hear heartbeats?”

He nods. “Yours jumped when you introduced your name. It didn’t when you said you denied working for Fisk. Lie v. Truth.”

You’re just beginning to tie off the last stitch, trying to decide whether or not your believe him. You, unfortunately, didn’t have some super sense to tell you the difference, just a keen eye and FBI training. It’s such a wild and novel concept you can’t help but take it at face value. I mean, you really have seen weirder, to be fair. You weren’t lying about that.

“Alright, so you’re a human polygraph, and more aware of you’re surroundings than most seeing people,” you drop the needle onto a tissue on the table, “Stitches are done. Any other life threatening wounds I need to look at?”

“No, no, just bruised.” Matt brings a hand up to lightly touch the stitched wound. He nods. “It’s good work. Where’d you learn to stitch like that?” he asks, probing you to open up further.

You’re wiping the last of his blood from your hands when you chew your lip, hesitant to go there. You knew exactly where you learned to stitch like that, but talking about your past didn’t come easy. You hid it from everyone, the BAU, the FBI in general (It’s for the best, most of your close “family” was on multiple watchlists), but it wasn’t an admission of anything terrible. And, in complete fairness, Matt already talked about his “super senses”, so perhaps there wouldn’t be too much harm in repaying the favor.

You sigh, “My brother- Well… Sort-of brother, Dean… He used to come home all busted up, with Sam, our other brother, dragging behind him. Sam was the baby, unless I was in the room, and I’m pretty sure half the stitches I helped with, Dean earned trying to protect him while…”

You trail off, trying to figure out how to dance around the subject of hunting. All these years and it still bled through into your actions. It was weird, saying Sam and Dean’s names out loud to anyone besides Bobby. You couldn’t risk saying a word in front to your team. Lord knows Reid alone probably had their files memorized, and you didn’t want to put a target on your back… human or other.

Matt’s eyebrows raise. “You didn’t go to hospitals then either?”

“No,” You quickly say, then try to cover it, “It was… a religious thing.”

His head cocks, and he cracks a knowing smile.

“Yeah, yeah I get it. It’s a lie.”

Matt gingerly touches your arm. His touch is gentle and you feel taken aback by it, compared to how swiftly you saw those fists just earlier that day connect with convict’s faces. Your eyes watch him, warily. “Listen… We don’t have to talk. We’re not friends. You can lie about whatever you want to. The less we know about each other the better. But, if you’re not going to leave town, you’re still FBI. We find Jasper Evans, get him to confess? You arrest him and help put Fisk back where he belongs. We can be a means to an end for each other. Put Fisk back in prison and get you back to the BAU.”

You’d already resigned yourself to the fact you’d have to find Jasper Evans. You had a feeling, even if you left New York, Fisk would find you, and that could put your team at risk. This was new territory for you. Fisk’s game was larger than you anticipated, and you’d made a damning move waltzing into that prison. But, what Fisk didn’t anticipate, was that it may have made a very, very dangerous alliance. Working with Matt, who just so happened to be the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, could be lethal. Together, you could do some real damage.

“That sounds like a plan, Mr. Murdock.”

---

taglist <3: @echo-dreams-of-recs @juskonutoh @groovycass

[quietfounder]

I don't actively ship these pairings I'm listing, they just occasionally plague my mind and I want people to know about it. I will do my best to explain why and even when I starting thinking of these ships. Maybe I'll convince people to start liking them too.

Buster x Plucky

(Tiny Toons Looniversity)

I don't really feel the need to explain why I have this ship on here and I think people have shipped during Tiny Toon Adventures, but I'm just letting you know when I started thinking about these two.

I'm sure since the reboot came out this and another ship are the most popular within the fandom, but I just want to talk about them.

Besides them being frenemies and roommates, I feel like people think of this as next gen Baffy. SInce they're basically original characters there is potential for them to get together, even though we all know who they're based off of.

Also, I'm gonna take the opportunity to say that I can't imagine TTL!Plucky being with a girl. I actually find the thought of it completely laughable.

Babs x Sweetie

(Tiny Toons Looniversity)

I don't really have much to say other than this was the other popular ship I was talking about for the series.

But I will add that the reboot made me like Sweetie more as a character than in the original series.

Buster x Hamton

(Tiny Toons Looniversity)

I didn't even consider this ship until the episode General Hogspital.

I mean this was such a Buster x Hamton episode what with Buster being devastated that Hamton left for medical school, doing what he can to get Hamton to come back to Acme Loo, and putting emphasis on himself when telling Hamton that he was missed.

Speedy x Tweety

(Wabbit/New Looney Tunes)

I don't know why it took until New Looney Tunes for me to want interactions between these two. Two tiny individuals outwitting their much bigger opponents, with them even sharing the same one.

I think of Tweety of being the more unhinged one between them.

Babs x Lena

Credit goes to @ace-of-garlic-breads for bring my attention to this ship.

A while back I made a post talking about crossover ships where I included WakDuck ships, so I was on here looking at art of them when I came across this post where I saw Bablena and went "huh, this interests me."

Varian x Urchin

I watched Rapuzel's Tangled Adventure, got reminded of Urchin by Varian, then re-watched The Little Mermaid series.

A headcanon I have for these two to remain in contact is by using a magic mirror (or something similar to that) to communicate and they'll know when the other wants to talk because it'll start to glow. If you've seen H2O: Just Add Water, then Urchin can just pull a Luca and shift between human and merperson forms.

Faith x James

Okay, I know this pairing might not make sense but I'm gonna try to explain to the best of my abilities. This all started because I was thinking of what kind of Disney Princess story I can make.

All you need to know is that my oc is a 16-year-old princess who’s the second child in line, and she acts as a traveling ambassador and goes along with her two older friends who owns a flying ship (think of Peter Pan or Treasure Planet) that’s way bigger on the inside.

Where these two come in is whenever I think of my story having a crossover with other Disney characters, I always think of Faith leaving Corona after the battle and encountering my oc and asks to go along with them (haven't worked out the details but that's the most I came up with). With James, I figured with Amber being the future Queen and Sofia being the future Protector, he would want to do what my oc is doing too and is invited to join them. Oh, and Varian is also included in the story as he wanted to go with them so he could construct plans on how to help restore the Dark Kingdom by visiting different places and seeing their architecture, and maybe that's how he meets Urchin, but this section isn't about them.

It's just she used to be a handmaiden and he's a prince, now they're on a ship where their titles don't really matter. I think it would be such a cute love story for them!

Gladstone x José

Look, hear me out.

Unlike the pairings I listed on here, I don't really ship these two as a romantic couple.

So it should be okay that I think of these two hooking up in college and doing it again when they meet later on because they want to relive those moments. They're adults. It's not romantic. It's only casual.

Plus, have you considered that it would be really funny if they didn't know the other's connection with Donald and have to deal with the awkwardness once they do with both of them thinking, "Donald's gonna kill me if he finds out."

I mean the characterizations are a little different, like José has his black magic and isn't really fazed by Gladstone's luck and Gladstone likes that someone treats him as normal.

[abarbaricyalp]

Too Sweet

I finally finished it AO3 Link

November

"Don't sulk. And stop chewing on your nails," Rhodey said, appearing in the chair beside Bucky with a frankly uncanny quiet.

Bucky looked away from where his gaze was drilling into Sam and the man he was dancing with. "I'm older than you," Bucky pointed out. "You can't order me around."

"I outrank you too," Rhodey pointed out with a smirk. 

"You and most of the army. Tweety outranks me." He nodded off towards Joaquin, who was not watching Sam the way he normally did. Instead, he was three people deep into an animated story and an adoring crowd.

"It's not going to last," Rhodey continued. He usually had some remark about how Joaquin was a 'good kid' or something, but clearly he had a mission today.

Bucky took in a steadying breath as he dragged his eyes away from Sam again. "Have you met Winston? Even I like him. He was practically gift-wrap-made for Sam. Sam's crazy about him."

"Sam likes him," Rhodey accepted. "And they're pretty cute. But it's not going to last," he repeated. 

"Why do you say that?"

Since beginning to spend more time with Sam--and following him around like a shadow when he could--he'd learned that Sam and Rhodey had become close friends, despite all of the bullshit that tried to get between them. Rhodey was the kind of noble that Bucky thought only existed in fairytales, so it made sense him and Sam found camaraderie in each other. There was some super-secret Air Force bond that Sam wouldn't tell Bucky about, too. Bucky liked Rhodey. He thought he was level-headed and no-nonsense, which Bucky was appreciating more as he realized how rare it was nowadays. 

Still, Rhodey could be nosy when it came to Sam. Could be as bad as all the old folks down in Louisiana, who were the reason Sam was slow dancing and laughing with Winston now. Bucky always had a suspicious side-eye ready when Rhodey brought up Sam in a less than professional context.

Like talking about his relationship not lasting.

Bucky gnawed on his cuticle again and watched Sam get spun around in a dizzying turn combo. He watched him catch himself on Winston's chest and hide his laugh against Winston's shoulder.

"Because I saw the way Winston reacted to Sam getting home last weekend."

Bucky bit down on the side of his finger too hard and tasted copper instantly. "He came all the way to DC to see Sam?"

Rhodey shrugged. "Sure, but he was freaking out about it. We were a day late, comms were out of the question. Winston was losing it."

Bucky shot him a strangled sort of look. "You're complaining that he's a concerned partner?"

Rhodey rolled his eyes. "Sam wasn't even hurt. Imagine how he's gonna react the first time Sam winds up in a hospital or a fall is caught in HD and plays on the news for a week straight."

"I get pissed off about things like that," Bucky pointed out.

"But you stick through it. I'm just saying, a lot of soldiers lose partners who can't handle the danger of the job. Imagine dating a superhero."

Bucky couldn't imagine it. Being best friends with one was exhausting enough and he was one himself. All of the people who kept his bed warm were hardly interested in his long-term wellbeing. It's not something he thought about often.

"Sam's always alright," he said. "He's the last guy someone would have to worry about. He's smart out there."

Rhodey leveled him with a skeptical look. "Isn't there a 'Days since last self sacrifice' countdown on your fridge?"

Bucky shrugged. "That one's got a money-pool attached to it. We have to pay up when we're the one who resets it."

Bucky looked away when Rhodey didn't. He could feel his gaze heavy on the side of Bucky's face. There was always something slightly appraising about him. He was a Colonel through and through, even on his easy days.  He never told Bucky what he was thinking about, which drove Bucky nuts. But he also never asked Bucky either, which was a blessing, so Bucky kept his irritation to himself.

Sam and Winston had stopped dancing--the song had moved onto something more up-tempo--and they were engaged in some inane conversation. Bucky could tell because Winston's eyes kept darting around for an out. But Sam was ever the professional. He was engaged and responsive, was making that lady feel like the center of the whole world. Bucky knew the feeling. His arm was around Winston's waist, thumb brushing over his side, just out of sight of their audience.

Bucky wanted to be sick with jealousy. He started to chew on the side of his thumb nail again. Rhodey swatted at his hand once but gave up and went to impart either wisdom or exaggerated stories on someone else.

. . .

January

Two months after the gala, Bucky was laying on the couch early one morning because he couldn't sleep. He had a marathon of sci-fi B-movies playing with the volume only on the first dial. It was enough to keep his ears distracted, but not enough to really keep him from falling asleep if he could trick his brain into it.

It had been a rough couple of days. A mission had gone sideways and Sam had ended up in the hospital. Bucky accused Rhodey of speaking it into existence, but he hadn’t fared well himself either. The parade of faces had followed, people Bucky knew and didn’t know. Mostly people he didn’t know. They had been in DC, so everyone from Delacroix had been absent. Sam had even convinced Sarah not to make the trek up. It wasn’t that bad, he lied, save your miles for something better.

Okay, maybe it hadn’t been a terrible injury. Lied was a strong word. Bucky was overreacting just a little because he’d lost comms with Sam and hadn’t been the one to assess him on the field. He hated it when it shook out like that. All of the anxiety about Sam’s condition got about sixty-five times worse when he couldn’t make his own call. Bucky’s bad mood also hadn’t been helped by the way Sam had perked up every time the door opened, only for the person on the other side not to be his boyfriend. Bucky also blamed Rhodey for this.

They’d only been back in Louisiana for a week and Bucky had kept a pretty intense eye on Sam for that whole time, but he’d relented recently, gave Sam space, which he used to hang out with everyone who’d been worried about him earlier. Bucky hadn’t kept an ear out for his comings-and-goings, but he’d expected Sam was out and about because the house had been quiet since dinner.

So he was surprised when someone stepped over the back of the couch and sat down next to him.

“You should absolutely not do that with those stitches,” Bucky scolded.

Sam rolled his eyes, Bucky assumed, and nudged him in the ribs. “I won’t tell you what I was doing at the docks then.”

Bucky glared at him, which delighted Sam, as it usually did. He existed to test the serum, see if he could make a super soldier need blood pressure medication. “I thought you’d be out tonight. Date night? Just some alone time?” he eventually offered as a bridge to a more relaxed conversation.

“I saw Winston,” Sam agreed. He shifted so he was against the arm of the couch and could shove his toes under Bucky’s thigh. “We, uh… We decided to end things.”

Bucky’s brain fuzzed out for a few seconds. “What?” he asked. “Why? You like him.”

Sam breathed out a sad, frustrated little huff. “Yeah. He’s just…not ready for this kind of thing. It takes someone specific to put up with it, y’know?”

Bucky wondered if he was stuck in a timeloop. Was he having the same conversation he’d had with Rhodey? Had the timeline shifted a little to the left, so now he was having it with Sam instead?

“He’s soft, y’know. Real gentle. I didn’t wanna hurt him by making him stay in this relationship where he’d be worried all the time. He didn’t wanna be hurt.”

Bucky found himself holding Sam’s ankle, which didn’t seem to have surprised Sam the way it surprised Bucky. “You’re worth worrying over,” he said seriously.

Sam nudged his ankle against Bucky’s hand. “Yeah, that’s why I have you,” he said. “You’ve got it covered for the whole rest of the world.”

“I don’t give you half of what you deserve,” Bucky scoffed, then heard the words ringing back in his head. He prayed Sam didn’t clock how sincere he actually was.

Here’s the thing. Bucky had known he was in love with Sam for probably the better part of a decade (give or take five years that didn’t count, though he imagined even while he didn’t exist, he loved Sam). And the thing about loving Sam Wilson was that Bucky never wanted anything less than the best for Sam and Bucky Barnes was definitely not the best thing for him. Sure, in the heat of battle, there was no one better to be on Sam’s six, and Sam had chosen him as roommate for some reason that Bucky couldn’t comprehend. Bucky was great as a friend and a partner. No one was going to protect him more than Bucky. But as a life partner? Sam deserved the sun, the stars, the moon, the whole entire sky, and all the universe beyond it. He deserved someone as stable and strong as him, as giving and free, as happy and earnest. Bucky was never going to be that person. He wasn’t sweet. He wasn’t the boy next door anymore. No storybook prince.

And he’d made his peace with that before the world had ended a few times and he was finally back in America. He could be this for Sam. He could give Sam all of him from a distance and make sure Sam found only the perfect love for himself.

He could sit on a couch and get angry at a guy he had actually liked because they decided Sam wasn’t worth the hurt. Bucky would live in a world of nothing but hurt if it meant Sam was part of his life. 

If Sam read any of that in Bucky’s words, he didn’t react. He just kind of screwed his mouth to the side in a deprecating half smile and picked at a snag in the upholstery. He didn’t say anything as he tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

“I was probably gonna be up for a while,” Bucky offered. “You want some popcorn and latte creamer?”

Sam made a face. “That sounds disgusting. But, yeah.”

Bucky snorted and squeezed Sam’s ankle again before standing and heading to the kitchen. “M&Ms in the popcorn?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Do we have any?”

“Yeah, the boys left a bunch of tubes of minis last time they were here.”

“You bought them everything they said they wanted,” Sam corrected with a laugh. “Don’t you know kids’ eyes are bigger than their stomachs?”

“Yeah, but not bigger than mine,” Bucky shot back. He threw a bag of popcorn into the microwave and grabbed the fake latte drink from the fridge, along with two mugs, which he brought back to Sam. “Anything you wanna watch? This is a replay from earlier in the week.”

“Yeah, I remember you bitching about the officiating in it,” Sam teased. “Let’s put on some horror movie. It’s been a while since I’ve had running commentary about how implausible every death and gore scene is.”

Bucky took the ribbing in stride, passing the remote over and settling next to Sam, closer this time, pulling Sam’s legs over his own lap. “It’s not my fault no one ever gets the spillage right.”

“You’re so gross,” Sam laughed, digging his heel into the outside of Bucky’s thigh and pulling him closer in the same move.

Read the rest on AO3

[toasttt11]

will

November 30, 2020

Ophelia let out a quiet sigh as she got out of the cab and looked up at the tall building, she fixed her mask on her face.

Ophelia had no idea that when she stayed in Seattle after her Dad’s funeral they a quarantine would happen and she had ended up in Seattle all alone for the last seven months.

It was hard, really hard to be just stuck in her house alone and grieving her Dad, she couldn’t even go to the rink for for most of quarantine so she spent alot of time outside just working on her hockey and getting her feelings out.

Ophelia didn’t know her Dad had set up therapy for her after he passed but about a month after his funeral she got a notification about it, her sessions are all on online but her Dad was right to book therapy for her and it is helping her a lot to grieve him.

Ophelia had a hard time on her Dad’s birthday and her own birthday without him.

The only positive thing about how long her Dad was sick was Ophelia had time to accept his death but also prepare her self and also be able to do everything with him and she didn’t regret not being able to anything, she got to say goodbye. It’s made grieving a lot easier for her and she knew that’s what her Dad would want.

Ophelia has tired to not focus on the sadness and heartbreak everyday and slowly move on because her Dad wanted her to keep living when he passed.

Ophelia had just got the information from her Dad’s lawyer for his will reading as it got pushed back because of covid but she was gonna be able to read it today but unfortunately her mother was going to be there and she hasn’t seen her since her Dad’s funeral.

Ophelia put her hands in her jacket as she thanked the cab driver and headed inside the building and asked the front desk what floor to head too.

Ophelia got in the elevator heading to the tweety floor and walked down the hallways till she found the door with the lawyers name on it and she knocked and hear a come in.

“Ophelia!” John got up smiling seeing one of his favorite clients daughter, he walked over and shook her hand gently.

“Hello John.” Ophelia softly greeted back, John has been her father’s lawyer since she was born and one of the very few people her father counted as a friend.

“Come sit, we can start once she gets here.” John’s face darkened slightly thinking about Megan. The amount of things he had to work on for Brian because of things Megan did was horrible.

Unfortunately John legally had to have Megan at the will reading because legally she was the guardian of Ophelia.

John talked with Ophelia for a few minutes which Ophelia honestly really enjoyed getting to talk to a person face to face after being in quarantine for so long.

It was peaceful until the door slammed opened and Megan came strutting in with her full designer outfit and she immediately looked at Ophelia with a disgusted look, “You’ve grown.” Megan said flatly glancing at Ophelia up and down.

“Hello to you too.” Ophelia just said flatly back not even remotely surprised by Megan.

Megan just roiled her eyes and sat at the free chair, “Well what do i get from that poor excuse of a man.”

Ophelia bristled, nothing makes her angry quicker than her mother, “Do not speak about my father like that.” Ophelia said calmly with a sharp edge not even glancing at Megan.

Megan scoffed, “Of course you side with him even when he is dead.” Megan snapped.

Ophelia clenched her jaw her fingers slowly curling into a fist.

“If you cannot stay calm you will be asked to leave.” John cut in calmly giving Megan a look, he would happily make her leave.

Megan just huffed.

“Well Megan nothing is for you.” John bluntly said looking at her satisfied seeing the anger growing on her face.

“After everything i did for him this is how he repays me, giving everything to that brat.” Megan’s voice shrilled as she gestured to Ophelia.

“You didn’t do anything for him.” Ophelia sharply said not even glancing at her.

“You little-“ Megan was cut off what she was going to say.

“Ms.Gillen.” John sharply interrupted her.

“Whatever when can i give up her custody for her so she is emancipated.” Megan demanded wanting to have Ophelia emancipated immediately.

“Not till she is sixteen so next year.” John calmly said he was not surprised that’s what she asked because that’s exactly what Brian said she would say.

Brian kept Ophelia’s custody in Seattle because she can’t legally be emancipated till she is sixteen.

“Whatever i’ll be here next year then.” Megan snapped and got up and hair stormed out immediately.

“Well that went well.” Ophelia sarcastically commented making him laugh softly.

“Here you already know everything but do you can see it.” John handed her a stack of papers but he knew she was already aware everything her Dad had was going to go to her.

Ophelia swallowed dryly looking at everything, she was healing yes but seeing all of her Dad’s things that were now technical hers was still hard to see.

Ophelia and John went through the list of things and some things she had to sign for it to now be in her name and also went over sometimes that would change next year with the emancipation.

Ophelia shook hands with John and headed out for his office, she only had a couple months before hopefully her hockey season would be starting as it was pushed back because of covid.

She had applied for exceptional player status so she could play a year up and got accepted and was recently drafted to the Regina Pats so when the season did eventually start she would be heading to Regina.

Ophelia got into a cab and out let out a sigh looking out the window, reading her Dad’s will went a lot better than she thought it would.

[that-rackin-frackin-varmint]

#66 — 08/07/2022 5:46 PM

Foghorn legit acts so fatherly with everyone with "son" and how he lectures the interviewer like an overbearing father.

I like how Daffy shows to be on good terms with Porky, and also seems close enough with Sylvester that he references his catchphrase. Also like how unfabricated the audience is towards their opinion of Daffy. Cuz I personally never found it funny when a general public acted so biased against him in recent times because that's the gag. Dissing him.

It makes sense for toon logic, or warner executives and other co-stars to give him shit. But not a general audience who would at this point probably not have a strong opinion or exposure to his personality to hate him by default.

I like how this aged interview from the 70s informs us of how Warner Bros would portray Daffy before leaning on the running gag of just making everyone supposedly dislike him. Here, he is portrayed as successful, beloved, and -- in spite of his snobbish disposition -- distinguished and well-acknowledged for his talents. People clapped for his arrival, Daffy comfortably talks about his career without an air of insecurity or even a mention of Bugs, and just plays to the audience coolly when requested to do his iconic laugh.

He's professional yet upfront. So idk wtf happened lmao

Present day thoughts:

"idk wtf happened" -- basically Daffy got treated like a one trick pony by directors and writers. He's a fun proverbial stress toy to chew and crush. Plus, the looney tunes are not lauded for their ~expertly crafted characterisations~ so who's out here reprimanding screenwriters, directors and such for portraying their little guy wrong?

It's pretty obvious looking through the track record for even the original directors' handlement of Daffy that Daffy's fodder that can be reduced to whatever role the writer/director wants of him. He could be treated as a well-respected legacy toon actor, worthy of acknowledgement. Or he can be the stooge to contrast ~T h e B U G S B U N N Y~, or Tweety Pie, or Speedy Gonzales. Pick your poison, Daffy fan.

I still think about that WB Teen Titans Go special, where Daffy gets paired with TTG!Robin. It felt like watching Daffy symbolically passing the "flanderised stooge" torch to him... I feel like I should feel happy that Daffy wasn't the butt of the joke for most of that special, but I just disliked the special for being lame, and for doing my man Michigan Frog dirty like that.

I feel like I could make a ramble dedicated to my feelings about TTG, but the omission of discussing it is my own way of expressing my undivided disdain for it.

[razorblade180]

Names

Furina:Aether, we need to have a very important conversation. Promise you’ll take this seriously.

Aether:….I know we’re both over 500 but I’m not in the mindset of a family besides finding my sister.

Furina:Not the conversation I wanted in the slightest! I just gained my freedom in case you forgot. I just wanted to discuss cute little names for one another.

Aether:*scrunches face*

Furina:What!? Why that face!?

Aether:Never really was a fun of that sort of thing.

Furina:Said the man who accepts titles like they’re going on sale.

Aether:You know…

Furina:I’m not calling you “Executioner”

Aether:Then what’s the point of any of this!? It’s so cool.

Furina:I told you to be serious!

Aether:May I ask what brought this on?

Furina:*red* I just…think they’re neat. It’s only natural that people who are close to one another to give names that show the affection.

Aether:….

Furina:Is this you silently judging me?

Aether:No I’m just fighting tooth decay. Your answer was unexpectedly sweet. Still, I’m not really good at these sort of things.

Furina:That’s because you’re an overthinking. Surely you’ve known me long enough to have something to describe my magnificence.

Aether:Furina if I’m being honest, if I had to compare you to anything it would either be those floppy ear bunnies that get angry sometimes, or an emotional kitten.

Furina:Please never say that second one again.

Aether:What’s wrong with kit- okay I see. Told you I suck at this! Why don’t you just go force and tell me what you have in mind.

Furina:…

Aether:You haven’t the slightest idea.

Furina:I thought maybe we could workshop or something!? Cut me some slack. I typically shorten names but yours feels weird. Plus that would be boring.

Aether:We’ll what do you typically want to call me?

Furina: What, besides “mine?”

Aether:….

Aether:You’re going to make kitten stick if you keep talking like that.

Furina:*red* Nooooo! Focus Aether! We don’t have to commit to anything right now. Just spitball.

Aether:Despite the fact you constantly smell like a pastry mixed with rose water, I’m not about to call you a long winded dessert or something as dull as cupcake.

Furina:First of all, my shampoo is daisies and not rose water. Second, I appreciate you noticed I smell nice. Third, cupcake is wonderful but taken by Clorinde.

Aether:Who calls her cupcake?

Furina:I’ve…said to much. Dismiss that from your memory.

Aether:…Tweetie. I like your singing. You’re like a free songbird.

Furina:That’s not a bad attempt.

Aether:It’s funny how nicely you said that while obviously rejecting that.

Furina:*smiles* I am a woman of many talents. We should probably call it here. No need to force these things. I only wanted to bring attention to it. Rest assured that I will put the utmost care in whatever my heart chooses.

Aether:Seriously, it could just be my name.

Furina:Awww, is someone embarrassed about this sorta thing? You are surprisingly introverted despite all of your achievements.

Aether:You’re one to talk.

Furina:Hehe, true enough. *hugs him* I suppose “Aether” is as glorious as any other name. I’ll admit that I personally enjoy how it sounds.

Aether:*flustered* I swear, where do you get your energy?

[Sometime later]

Navia:Have anything planned after this?

Furina:Not really. I should probably run through some lines after this tea party but I don’t actually feel up to it. Maybe a nap or-

Aether:*walks by*

Navia:Oh! Hi Aether!

Aether:*turns head* Hmm? Oh hi Navia. *looks at Furina*…..

Furina:??? What’s with the silent gaze? Is there something on my face?

Aether:*red* N-No. I was surprised to see you is all, Sugar Cube.

If a ghost were to sneeze right now, everyone would hear it. Navia’s eyes widened as she let out the smallest of gasps and saw Furina’s mind come to a screeching halt while her face became every color of red. The actress slowly put down her tea, stood up, and dragged Aether by the hand around the corner.

Furina:I’ll be right back Navia.

Navia:(Where is Clorinde and Charlotte when I need them!? I have to talk about this with someone!)

Aether:W-Was that bad?

Furina:*grabs scarf* No no no. It was simple, realistic even. Not to mention cute. However… you were absolutely right about the embarrassment. I don’t think my soul can handle that! Just call me Furina.

Aether:I wanted to do that from the start! I said that in front of people!

Furina:I’m sorry!! I thought I was strong about this but I was horribly wrong!!!!

[fabdante]

Preboot Vergil sending Griffon to annoy "our baby brother" (reboot Vergil- who is, technically, the youngest; even if Nero were younger, Vergil takes guarding his son as something he himself should do), when he can't be bothered to do it himself.

Poor reboot Vergil is THIS CLOSE to snapping and poofing Griffon back to his little demon orb shape, just to get some peace, because the damn lightning chicken keeps shorting out his tech (on accident!) and Will Not Shut Up. His only reprieve is that Griffon will bother reboot Dante slightly more, but only because reboot Dante talks back to the annoying murder Tweetie more than reboot Vergil does.

Preboot Vergil also sends out Shadow to guard Kat, but the worst Shadow will do to the human is try and lay on her lap (Kat: "Kitty, I can't feel my legs, please move." Shadow: [gently headbutts Kat for more pets]) and steal her food. Besides that, Kat and Shadow are actually pretty chill.

Oh reboot Vergil would HATE Griffon asdfghjkl not only would Griffon like to harass him, but Griffon also likes to overshare about Vergil and depending on what's going on with him at the moment he'd either hate that or really hate that (imagining the hilarious scenario of Kat and Vergil not being togeather and Griffon, while she's in earshot, making some very loud comment about the way Vergil's looking at her only to get strangled)

Vergil would be spending so much time being like 'Hey Griffon :) why don't you go talk to Dante :))) you like Dante! He needs help :)', which in turn Dante would also hate. At least until it turns back around to Griffon poking fun at Vergil and Dante will then join in and Vergil will need to separate them. Comedy gold, obsessed sdfghjk

The twins definitely argue about this also sdfghjk like Dante over here asking why Vergil's sent Griffon to him because he's very annoyed, and Vergil just telling him that him and Griffon have so much in common though :( he thought they might get along.

Kat would love Shadow I think. Shadow's chill, she snuggles. She doesn't sass her. I can also see Shadow as the type of large animal who does forget her size so she is definitely curling up on Kat, who can only deal with that for short periods of time. I can also see Shadow as the type of cat who is in your face while your eating being a nuisance which leads to Kat needing to be creative to keep her away. She'd love having Shadow around, though. (She does her best to ignore Griffon asdfghjkl)

I think they love Griffon in their own way he is just you know, Griffon sdfghjkl

[eepy-weepy-silly]

Wallace ‘Willie’ Delaney

“I like Willie! He’s got a good head on his shoulders and he knows how to talk folks into buyin’ his papes. Boy, he knows how to talk. I betcha he learned from his old man, Willie mentioned he was in business or somethin’. He ain’t a chatterbox like Tweety, but he’s still a good guy. But he’s always worryin’ ‘bout the rules and gettin’ caught. He’s only sixteen, why’s he always worryin’? Its like he’s done forgotten how to be a kid..” - Racetrack Higgins, 1899

Tweety’s older brother and all he has left.

Age: 16

Gender: Male (he/him)

Sexuality: Bisexual (slight male preference +🚪)

MBTI: ISTJ

Family: Charles Delaney (father; deceased), Anna Delaney (mother; deceased), Roy ‘Tweety’ Delaney (younger brother)

Backstory: Willie was verge close to his parents growing up, and he was ecstatic to get a baby brother. When he was little, Willie was a very carefree little boy, not worrying about hardly anything. He was also very energetic, always wanting his parents to play with him. Then along came typhoid fever, which killed both of his parents. Both of their parents had no siblings and they grew up not really knowing their grandparents so Willie and Tweety were basically left with no one but each other. They got placed in a less than ideal orphanage, and this was where Willie began to change. He started to worry about a lot more things than he used to, like if him and Tweety were going to be able to eat tonight, whats going to happen when they get too old to live in the orphanage, just so many things that he didn’t even have to think about before all of this. Then he met Mr. Klopmann. He had taken up a job shining shoes, and he met Klopmann through that. As he shined his shoes, Willie purposely mentioned that the orphanage him and Tweety were living in didn’t exactly offer the best conditions and that his shoe shining job doesn’t pay that well. He mentioned how he wants to give Tweety a nice place to sleep for change, where he doesn’t have to cuddle up to him for warmth because their sheets are too small. And that was all it took for Klopmann to offer that Willie come work as a newsboy and stay in the boarding house, and Willie also managed to get him to agree that Tweety could come too and start working (“the younger ones sell the most papes, right?”) and they’ve been in the boarding house ever since.

Hobbies/interests: Reading, stargazing (sometimes he just likes climbing up to the roof at night and staring up at the sky..), greek mythology (he grew up reading the books in his dad’s office, and his dad would tell slightly simplified versions of the stories to him as bedtime stories), space (mainly constellations)

Hair: Blonde

Eyes: Brown

Faceclaim: young! Callen McAuliffe

“Tweety, don’t you even think about it-! GET DOWN FROM THERE-”

Dynamics

Jack: They get along well, and Willie secretly looks up to him a lot. He is, after all, the closest thing Willie has to a big brother other than Ace.

David: They’re very similar in personality, so they get along well. They bond over being both interested in greek mythology and history (you can pry history and Greek mythology nerd David from my cold dead hands idc)

Racetrack: They get along well, but Racetrack likes to mess with him due to him sometimes being so uptight, but its all in good fun. Its playful back and forth.

Les: Willie is glad Tweety has someone who’s as talkative as he is. Les is a good kid, and him and Tweety have fun with each other.

Spot: These two are.. Interesting. They really enjoy each other’s company, and they have a rooftop that they like to meet up on. On that rooftop, they talk for hours, joke around (Willie finds himself very relaxed around Spot), and stare up at the stars. They’ve told each other things that Spot has never told anyone and that Willie hasn’t even told David or even Tweety. But Willie knows it won’t last. He knows its only a matter of time before they “grow up” and Willie finds a wife to settle down with… But he doesn’t ever want that to happen.. Not if it means losing these moments with Spot.. Oh, and Spot calls him ‘Wally’ (which is a proper nickname for him, because Willie is more of a nickname for the name William- Race came up with it idk-) but none of the other newsies do. They can tell it’s something special.

[cas-is-my-weakness]

Queer Castiel is not open to interpretation

Seeing the poll about dean being bi getting so much attention and interest from you all. I thought why not do a Queer Cas poll. It is canon that cas is indifferent to all sexual orientation but him being an angel doesn't mean cas cannot be queer that is a wildly atrocious comment I have seen in this fandom. This is also unrelated directly to destiel although cas had the strongest relationship with dean in the show, but cas is queer regardless of whether dean reciprocates or not in canon. That is another discussion. Anyway this is the positive queer space and it is good to discuss about representation.

If you have any other moments in your mind other than those in the options please comment below I would like to know more about it. So vote for fun.

**Note please scroll past and dni if you think cas is not queer because sorry to tell you, you might be homophobe to deny literal canon queer main character.

These are my other polls -

Dean is bi poll

Dean's interests

Castiel's interests

[franki-lew-yo]

It says so much about Ben Shapword as a person that he was threatened enough by Bluey to greenlight Chip-Chilla.

I mean this in the nicest way possible, but nothing about Bluey is striving for being ''progressive'', at least not by rightwing standards. It's no Owl House or Steven Universe. Outside of the ep where Bluey makes a French friend and the Heelers celebrating Easter I can't ever recall the concept of religion, ethnicity or heritage being important in the series. Don't think I've ever seen a gay couple or pride flag in the background, neither. Obviously I don't think the show being made for little kids and/or about anthro dogs means you can't talk about concepts like that, it's just that Bluey doesn't even attempt that. In fact because it IS made for and about small children I would argue that's the reason there's no big talk about money problems in the show and all the characters seem well-off.

My point is, unless Steiner/Waldorf schools became a tool of the left when I wasn't looking (they're not; Waldorf schools teach pseudo science and are sometimes antivax. Hopefully not in Calypso's class but yeah now you know what to look for when you google 'waldorf school controversies'), Bluey is about as 'woke' as modern day Peanuts or Illumination. It's inherently nonthreatening and non-confrontational of bigger concepts outside of what's universal to kids and the kid characters. It'd be interesting if they had a LGBTQ character or a talk about (dog?)race and culture, but overall the show seems 'safe' from that stuff that makes conservatives cringe. So at first glance you think Chip-chilla is just a "want to cash in/draw people away from sinful mass media"-thing. Still disgusting but honestly par for the course. Christian programing meant to be a 'safe' alternative to nasty secular shows isn't new.

And then, it dawns on you:

Bluey gets confused for a boy by those who don't watch the show, kind of like how people misgender Bambi, Tweety or Peppermint Patty sometimes.

Chili and Bandit both work and have equal time to be the at-home parent with their kids.

Dailywire is offput by a girl character not being definitively feminine from first glance. Dailywire can't stand the idea of a man being a home husband. They not only see these standard lifestyles as threatening, but that this alone is trying to 'push' something on them when it's just, you know, trying to depict accurate home life of most kids.

What hope do trans people have even existing in the world when a cis girl without eyelashes is a threat to you? What kind of person looks at a dad (who isn't even a fulltime homehusband) having a nurturing relationship with his kids and thinks "DEGENERATE!"

I don't have to answer. You all know the kind of person.

On a happier note: I'm very curious how Bluey would go about addressing that real world representation I was talking about. I think that could be done well but, considering how the exercising episode was received by some adults, no doubt there'd be controversy. And I mean controversy inside the communities they're talking about, not pundits like Ben who'd have a heartattack over a progress flag being in the background that's never even addressed by anyone. I can see an adult character walking off with their same-sex partner or maybe a new classmate who's muslim and wears a hijab just being there and some people being concerned they're not handling it right/well enough. Which is probably why the writers just have steer cleared of it, I think.

If there's one gift Benny boy gives us all it's making us realize that that kind of discourse is always preferable the one where garbage people have no care for others.

[lorre-logic]

If you could time travel and spend one day with Peter Lorre what would you want to do? 🤔

Time travel??? With my skin color??😭😭😭

I don't think that'll go well at aaaaall. Not because I think Peter Lorre would have any kind of prejudice (I actually heard many lovely stories about him and with people of color) however I feel like there's nothing fun I could do with him in whatever decade I'd time travel to. It just would be limited. If that wasn't an issue then I'd love to go on a shopping spree with him and yap about all kinds of nonsense as we pick out outfits.

Instead I'm going to suggest a different scenario. Lorre time travels to this time period and hang out with him. Mainly because I just wanna make him gawk at modern things.

As much as I said I'd love to traumatize him with the Ren and Stimpy Adult Party Cartoon, I actually wouldn't do it. I don't want to send him back to the grave twice. Though the desire for it is still there. I also would avoid telling him about his sad fate. He deserves to have a good time.

I'd just want to let him know that he's still very liked and show him what the current gen of Lorre fans are doing with the interwebz. He deserves to know that people are still being introduced to him and fall in love with his movies to this day. Also of course infodump about the lore of Lorre caricatures because I have no self control and I MUST share about the cartoon fish that had rotted my brain for the past 3 years and make him watch the Slappy's solo episode Slappy Daze.

Also show him all of the other Lorre caricatures but I'm picking the ones I think won't traumatize him. So obviously no adult party cartoon, and no strip club lorre caricature. Also gift him a copy of The Animated Peter Lorre, Slappy's character sheet, and various other things. Perhaps customize a tweety bird plush to make it that Tweety Ugarte from Carrotblanca. Maaaybe gift him some antibiotics too for his chronic lung infection and warn him about cigarettes and about the dude who squandered his money (gotta change space and time so I can get a few more years of Lorre movies ya kno)

Tbh that aside, I'm not sure exactly what else I'd lik to share with him? I'm not that talkative irl so I'd feel like I'd get overwhelmed and forget anything I'd want to say. I think I'd just die happy if I got to shake his hand tbh. I'd need another lorre stan to be there for emotional support and probably do most of the talking for me. I'd have more fun listening in and studying him like a specimen from afar. I need hair samples for...scientific purposes <3333

[michimonie]

What do you think of Sly, Tweety, and Granny genuinely getting along with each off-screen?

My general headcanons towards off-screen Looney Tunes interactions are that they all are on relatively good terms, but specifically with those three

I like to believe that Sly and Tweety are kind of like brothers. Tweety is the younger, manipulative (yet sweet) one, and Sylvester is like the older, more antagonistic brother who still cares deep down. I imagine he teases Tweety (and probably Hector, honestly) a lot, but doesn't try to eat him off-screen (at least not as much.)

Granny probably still takes no shit. I imagine she's kind of like how she is in Looniversity. She cares, but also has a life of her own, you know. She'd probably crack down on some of the more destructive behaviors, but just lets the little things slide because

Who's got time to deal with ALL the things these two do to each other?

They're just messing around most of the time.

With a lot of the off-screen interactions, it's hard to tell in canon when they're really off-screen, lol ("That Blooper Bunny", "Space Jam", "Space Jam 2", "Back in Action", etc...). Sometimes I defer to the nicest versions of the characters and go "that's probably how they act." (You'll often see me talk about Sly as an artist for that exact reason, lol)