#posts that are a nuclear bomb of sadness to my brain

[j0shuahongs]

Say It Again

summary: just mark malfunctioning

pairing: mark lee x female reader

genre / tags: fluff, smut, slight humor, established relationship

warnings: explicit sexual content, fingering, soft dom!mark, praise kink / pet name kink, lots of pet names, and overuse of the word "baby". (please tell me if i missed some!)

wc: 2.7k

a/n: this was supposed to be a very cute and fluffy fic but I got carried away (whoops) 🤭

You’re not a pet name type of person. You tease him for using them. Roll your eyes every time he says babygirl or sweetheart or honey. Always hit him with:

— “Okay, Romeo. Relax.” — or a dry “Gross.”

You’re smiling, though. Every single time.

He knows you are. Doesn’t even need to look up anymore — just hears the edge of your voice, catches the tiniest upturn in your mouth, and it makes his chest ache. This is just who you are. You love him with your whole heart. But anything too mushy? Too sweet? Makes you squirm. Too cheesy? Too sentimental? You’d rather set yourself on fire.

You fold his laundry, steal his hoodies, and kiss his forehead every morning— but call him baby? God forbid.

So he gave up on expecting anything back. Not in a sad way — more like muscle memory now. A quiet acceptance.

Mark knows his role — he’s the nickname guy, you’re the pet-name grump.

He calls you angel when you look sleepy. Pretty girl when you’re mad at him. Darling when you’re sick and curled up in bed, nose pink and pouty.

You just shake your head and mutter, “You’re so embarrassing.” But you never tell him to stop.

He’s accepted it. Doesn’t need the words. He has all the proof he needs in the way you touch him, look at him, reach for his hand under the table even when you're pretending to be annoyed. He’s already so gone for you, it’s pathetic.

But then.

One day.  

No warning.  

You're in the middle of conversation, half-distracted, elbow-deep in a crinkly paper bag of fries, when you say it.

“Wait, can you pass me that? Thanks, baby.”

Just like that. Casual. Offhanded. As if you didn’t just drop a nuclear bomb onto his entire existence.

Silence.

You don’t even register it. Just keep rustling through your food, completely unaware of the spiritual event you’ve triggered behind you.

Mark freezes.

Hand halfway extended, holding the takeout container like it’s sacred scripture.

His whole body stills. Eyes wide. Jaw slack.

Soul... buffering.

“...What,” he breathes. “What did you just call me?”

You glance over your shoulder, chewing.

“Huh?”

He blinks. Slowly. Like he’s trying to reboot.

“You said—”

His voice cracks. “You said baby.”’

You shrug, lips full of noodles.

“Oh. Did I?”

“Did I??” he echoes, horrified. “Do you even understand what you’ve done?!”

You pop a spring roll into your mouth, already focused on unsealing the dipping sauce.

“Relax, Mark. It just slipped out.”

And that’s when he absolutely short-circuits.

“SLIPPED OUT?!”

He clutches his chest like he’s been mortally wounded. Slumps against the back of the chair with the drama of a soap opera lead.

“I need to sit down—wait, I am sitting. Then why do I feel like I’m gonna faint?”

You snort into your drink, nearly choking on a sip of iced tea.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m writing this down,” he rambles, hand now scrabbling blindly for his phone. “I’m journaling this. This is the highlight of my fucking life. Our future kids are hearing this story.”

“Mark. You’re crying.”

“I’M NOT—crying—I’m just—emotionally compromised.”

You shake your head, grinning into your food like an idiot, while across from you Mark stares at the ceiling in silent, reverent awe. Like he’s just heard the voice of God.

Later that night, you’re sprawled on the couch, stomach full, brain slow. Wrapped in post-dinner haze and the sound of the TV droning low in the background. One leg draped over the armrest, your hand resting lazily on your belly like a satisfied cat.

Mark’s on the other end, curled into himself, hoodie wrinkled, sleeves shoved up to his elbows as he wages war with a stubborn snack bag. His tongue pokes out in concentration, brows furrowed, completely unaware that you’re watching him like he’s the most endearing thing you’ve ever seen.

You pass behind the couch to grab your drink, then pause —

just long enough to lean down, press a soft kiss to the crown of his head, and murmur:

“Thanks, baby.”

You don’t even look back. Just grab your drink like it’s nothing.

But behind you—something shifts.

You make it three steps before it hits you.

Mark hasn’t moved.

You glance back.

He’s frozen. Snack bag in hand, half-open, arms slack. He’s staring ahead, not blinking—like someone just whispered the secrets of the universe in his ear and he’s trying to process them.

“…Mark?”

He turns to look at you, slow and awestruck. Like you just performed a miracle in front of him.

“You just—” He swallows hard. “You said it again.”

You tilt your head, one brow lifting.

“Said what?”

He gasps. Full gasp.

“Said what?! Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what you said.”

You rest your elbows against the back of the couch, watching him with a smirk that’s far too satisfied.

“You mean baby?”

Mark doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe. The TV hums in the background. Somewhere outside, a car drives by.

Then it hits him. Again.

The snack bag falls from his hand with a soft crinkle. He recoils, clutching his chest like he’s trying to physically contain his heart.

“I’m sweating,” he mutters, fanning himself. “Do you feel that? That’s my soul leaving my body. You just—casually—called me baby like it was nothing. Like you didn’t just rewrite my entire DNA.”

You laugh so hard your knees buckle. You have to grab the couch just to stay upright.

“No, because what do I do now?!” he groans, sliding dramatically down into the cushions. “Do I sit normally? Offer you a ring? Should I faint? Do people faint romantically anymore?!”

“Mark—”

“I’m spiraling,” he moans, draping his arm over his face like he’s in the final scene of a tragic play. “You said it so casually. That was so unfair.”

You circle around to the front of the couch and settle yourself into his lap, straddling him like it’s second nature. He stiffens beneath you, lips parting slightly—like your weight on him just activated some buried instinct.

You tilt your head, playful. “If I said it again… would you survive?”

“Absolutely not.”

You lean in, close enough to feel his breath catch, your mouth brushing the shell of his ear.

“Thanks, baby.”

Mark’s brain stopped working.

His body locks up. Shoulders tense. Jaw slack. You swear you can hear his heartbeat from across the room.

His hands grips your waist, hard and instinctive, like he’s afraid the moment will vanish if he doesn’t hold onto it. His head drops back with a soft, helpless whimper — the kind he’d deny with every breath in his body later, but can’t suppress now.

“I’m not okay,” he breathes, eyes fluttering shut. “You’ve ruined me. Say it again.”

You’re still laughing, shoulders shaking, when his hand comes up and gently wraps around your wrist, pulling you closer— not rough, not demanding, just desperate.

Like he doesn’t even know what he’s doing. Like he just needs to feel you to know this is real.

“Say it again,” he pants, pupils blown wide. “I need to know it wasn’t an accident.”

You shrug, smirk curling at your lips. “It was an accident.”

“Liar,” he whispers.

His arms wrap around you tight, locking you in place. “You said it like you meant it.”

You pause. The laugh dies in your throat. Because something about the way he says it—quiet. steady. awestruck—makes your pulse stutter.

You drop your eyes to his lips. Your fingers are on his chest now, feeling the rapid thrum of his heart under your palm.

“You like it when I call you that, baby?”

His breath shudders. His grip on your waist tightens— like he can barely hold himself back.

You see the shift in his eyes. The air between you shifts—turns weighty, electric. Mark leans in, just enough that his nose brushes yours. He breathes you in.

The room suddenly feels warmer, your clothes feel suffocating.  

“Don’t say that,” he warns, voice rough. “Unless you want me to lose control.”

You grin, tilting your hips against his.  

“Maybe I do want you to lose control.”

That undoes him.

He grips your thighs, hard, and flips you underneath him in one swift, desperate motion. Your back hits the cushions with a soft thump, stealing your breath before you can even think.  

His body hovers above yours, warm and tense and trembling.

He moves before he even thinks—

No more softness. No teasing.  

His mouth crashes into yours like he needs to consume you— tongue licking into your mouth like he needs to taste the word baby right off your tongue.

His hands are already under your shirt, sliding up your stomach, dragging the fabric with them.

He groans into your mouth when he feels your bare skin— feels you tremble.

His lips leave yours, trailing down your jaw to the curve of your neck to your collarbone.

“You don’t get to say that and act innocent,” he growls, nipping at your skin.

His fingers slide down, skimming just above the waistband of your shorts— not quite dipping beneath, just teasing the edge.

“You’re fucking soaked through your shorts and I haven’t even touched you.”

You gasp, hips jerking.

“Want me to behave?” he hisses. “When you’re like this?”

You whimper.

He pulls back just enough to look at you—his hair falling into his eyes, lips flushed, chest rising and falling like he just ran a mile.

“You trust me?” he asks again, but this time it’s a whisper against your lips.

His fingers pause at the waistband of your shorts.

You nod, breathless. “Yes.”

You shift against him, guiding his hand lower. “I want this.”

He shoves your shorts down with one rough tug— underwear too— not even bothering to fully take them off.

He slides his hand between your legs, fingers slipping through your folds, achingly slow.

He groans the second he feels it.

“Jesus fuck,” he breathes.

His eyes flick up to yours, hazy and dazed.

“You’re dripping. Did that word really get you this wet, baby?”

You can’t answer. Can’t even think.

Your head drops back, and your hips lift instinctively into his hand.

He doesn’t rush.

He takes his time with you— running his fingers along your slit, collecting your slick and dragging it up in slow, lazy circles around your clit.

You jolt beneath him, letting out a broken noise. Somewhere between a gasp and a whimper.

“Greedy already?” he murmurs, voice hot against your skin. “Thought you didn’t do pet names.”

“Mark—fuck—please—”

“Oh, please now?” he teases. “Begging so sweet already. What if I make you say it again?”

He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Say it.”

You gasp.

“Baby.”

He groans—deep and guttural—like he’s unraveling from the inside out.

Then he sinks one finger into you.

Your back arches. Your walls clench instantly, the stretch rips a cry from your lips, and he watches—entranced.

His eyes are dark, locked on the way your body opens up for him, your mouth parting, breath stuttering.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he murmurs, his mouth brushing your pulse. “Say it when I’m inside you.”  

He starts to move—slow thrusts, deep and rhythmic. Each push of his finger drags a little moan out of you.

He curls his finger just right—presses deep and up—

and you gasp, hands scramble at his hoodie, digging into the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

His second finger slides in beside the first. He drags his fingers just right, slow and deliberate, making your stomach clench. His palm grinds against your clit every time he thrusts.

The wet sounds of your pussy echo with every stroke.  

“You hear that?” he growls. “You’re so wet I can fucking hear it, baby. That’s all you. All for me.”  

You cry out, hips lifting to grind into his hand.  

Mark’s eyes are wild. Possessive.  

He watches you like you’re unraveling just for him— like your pleasure is the only thing that exists.  

“Mark—oh my god—don’t stop—”  

He doesn’t. His fingers move faster now, smoother. Purposeful. Pressing again at that spot.

Your thighs tremble. Your breath comes in shallow gasps. Every nerve feels tight, like a bowstring ready to snap.

He laughs, low and breathless, and kisses your neck, open-mouthed and hungry. 

“Gonna cum on my fingers?” he breathes, curling them again. Dragging his palm over your clit in steady circles as his fingers fuck you deep. “Gonna fall apart just from my hand?”

You can’t answer. You’re too close. Too far gone.

“Say it again,” he breathes, lips brushing your jaw. “Let me hear it.”

“Baby—fuck, I’m—”  

He groans, deep and broken, like it cracked something open inside him.

He’s gone. No hesitation. No holding back—just raw, hungry need as his fingers move faster.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Just like that—baby, fuck—cum for me— let me feel it.”

Your breath catches.

One more stroke like and—

You break.

The orgasm hits so hard it steals the breath from your lungs. Your whole body jolts—back arching, legs locking around his hand. A cry rips from your throat, loud and raw.

Your walls pulse around his fingers as he fucks you through it, stroking you with deep, steady thrusts—like he wants to memorize every twitch, every moan.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers.

“That’s so fucking hot—baby, fuck,” he moans, like he feels it in his soul.  

He doesn’t stop until your hips twitch and you go soft beneath him, whimpering from the sensitivity.

Then he slows, easing out of you with soaked fingers, his eyes drinking you in like he’s never seen anything more divine.  

He sits back on his knees, eyes raking over you like he can’t believe what just happened. You’re a mess—hair damp, skin flushed, eyes glassy. Your chest rises and falls in shallow, shaky breaths — like your body’s still chasing the echo of his touch.

Mark exhales hard, staring at his wet fingers, trembling slightly — Then at you. Then—

without a word he brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean

One by one. Slow. Obscene. Eyes never leaving yours.

You make a sound you didn’t know you were capable of, and he smirks.

He leans in, presses a kiss to your temple.

Then one to your cheek.  

Then your lips—soft now, careful.  

“You have no idea what you just did to me,” he breathes.  

You smile, dazed and wrecked. “You’re dramatic.”  

He shakes his head slowly, eyes locked on yours.  

“No. I’m obsessed.”

You groan, hiding your face in his hoodie. He laughs, warm and breathless, as he leans down and presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

He lowers himself beside you on the couch, pulling you into his chest like something precious. Like he’s afraid if he lets go, this whole night will vanish into smoke.

The silence between you now isn’t awkward. It’s heavy in a good way. Thick with something neither of you wants to say out loud yet. So instead, he just holds you.

For a long moment, the only sound is the soft thrum of the TV. Your breathing syncs with his.

Then — quietly, tentatively — he speaks again.

“Baby,” he says again, like a prayer. Like a confession. “I’m gonna make you say that every time I touch you.”  

You bury your face in his neck, body still tingling.  

“You broke me. I’m changed. That word will haunt me—in the best way,” he says, grinning.  

You curl into his chest, breath syncing with his, safe in the warmth of his arms. Your fingers trace idle circles over his chest, hidden beneath the cotton of his hoodie. Slow and aimless. He holds you tighter and breathes you in, like he doesn’t want to let go.

“Say it again,” he whispers into your hair.

You blink. Look up.

“Not for sex,” he murmurs. “Not to mess with me. Just… say it.”

He looks at you like he’s holding his breath. Like he’s asking for a secret. A promise.

You lift your hand to his face, fingers brushing his jaw, gentle. He turns into your touch instinctively.

And you say it.

Soft. Sure. No teasing this time.

“I love you, baby.”  

Mark exhales — a sound that’s almost a laugh, almost a sob. Like relief, like peace.  

Like he can’t believe you’re real.  

Like you just gave him the world with one small word—

The one word he thought he’d never hear.

Baby.

[heister-shmeister]

holy shit hello saateco. firstly i want to say a huge thank you for reblogging this and having such a long response i love reading long responses and having talks like this. secondly i fucking love your artwork and when i saw it was you my jaw dropped. your art brings me so much joy

i wanna respond to a couple things in your reblog. i didnt intend to be as potentially ignorant sounding or insensitive in my original post as i was. its a pretty old post now i think and seeing my notifications blow up about it made me reread it and jesus christ i dont know if i agree much with it anymore. i guess i can thank you for the boost as well. i wanna say that i was not trying to say anything in the post as fact and the post was inspired by how i see the payday community talk about sokol as well as some of my opinions on him

im gonna admit the primary character trait being communism mark is entirely incorrect and i rescind it. communism does have smth to do with him though in some way, seeing as his mask is based off of the soviet navy flag. in fact it fascinates me how he references putin in his voice lines but also chose the soviet navy flag as the reference for his mask- but it probably doesnt go beyond “russian stereotype” and that makes me sad

another thing is my shock with his technological prowess comes from a character writing standpoint. this is all purely my opinion and how my weird brain processes character writing, but it simply eluded me why sokol built the bfd and has that engineering knowledge when many other characters were equally capable of creating the bfd, considering houston and wolfs engineering prowess is far more emphasized in the games. it just confuses me why sokol made the bfd and not the others and how nobody in the fandom brings it up

as for the comment on jacket. when it comes to the payday community a lot of people notice that logically jacket would not like sokol, even if he is completely neutral in the text of the game. in the game jacket is from, hotline miami, his best friend was killed in a nuclear bombing done by russia. in the hotline miami universe the cold war evolved into a full on war in which jacket fought against mainly russians. the core plot of the game revolves around jacket slaughtering the russian mafia in miami. that is why i mentioned it in the list, because people talk about their potential rivalry a lot. explaining this is not to imply that you didnt know i was just explaining things for example. i agree in not thinking payday 2 jacket actually hates sokol. i actually think theyre a little gay.

also this is not to say jacket is justified in his xenophobia in the hotline miami games just throwing that out there for anyone not directed at saateco just saying this in general. i think wanting to get revenge against the people that killed your best friend is reasonable BUT it is literally one of the points of hotline miami that the patriotism and hatred for russians was stupid.

idk how to close this out

thank you so much for the reblog im genuinely grateful

sokol is a fucking hilarious character

the purpose he serves as a character in payday 2’s story is so fucking funny his skillset is so god damn funny. but like. not even unrealistic

he has so many gimmicks

hes relevant for three seconds in the grand scheme of the payday story

hes.. russian. he is a professional hockey player. he- he can. build. shed-sized laser cutting drills

why can he do that who let him do that

he never mentions his engineering prowess in any of his voice lines (iirc)

he just. can do that

it gives someone with adhd taking their adderall for the first time and it kicking in right as theyre browsing the wikipedia article for nuclear fission and next thing they know theyre wanted by the fbi

its not like its unrealistic for people to have more than one interest but its just so funny how unrelated and irrelevant sokols engineering knowledge seems when put next to everything else about him. especially since theres already other characters who fill the role of awesome engineer dude already

houston isnt THE engineer but hes the mechanic and wolf literally has his own workshop

sokol made. the fucking bfd.

and his primary character trait isnt even that

its communism

his engineering smarts are like the last thing anyone remembers about his personality and it is the reason in lore why he is in the payday gang

sokols attributes in the order most often noticed by people who get into this game

russian

hockey

russian which means jacket wouldnt like him

burgers

prison nightmare voice lines

HE MADE THE FUCKING BFD..

THE BFD!!

[daryfromthefuture]

this is my 40s doc headcanon post

because i CANNOT get him out of my brain. i'm going to yell about him for a while now sorry not sorry

have another lovely image of him before we begin

general headcanons:

he is shy. even at work he's one of the most quiet people and prefers to do his research by himself. he is NOT the type of person to actively work with his teammates. bear with him he's just very much socially awkward and a massive introvert

like he pretty much always was, he's a bookworm. he definitely took his entire jules verne book collection to los alamos you can NOT convince me otherwise

a lot of people smoked in the 40s and i can see him being convinced to try it. he genuinely doesn't like it and thus never develops a habit

what if los alamos was the place doc discovered his alcohol problem. i watched the show "manh(a)ttan" because of this interest and it was commonly shown that the people there were going out in the evening and stuff. now i don't know historically accurate the show is but i like the idea of doc going to drink some wine and feeling miserable to the extent that he swears to never touch alcohol again. at least not until 1885

no matter how many times he tries to style his hair so it's slick, it is absolutely no use. he has messy hair and it's kind of become a thing where people recognize him because of it.

ah yeah about the hair. the work on the project causes him a lot of stress and the end when he goes through a lot of emotional turmoil does too obviously. which causes his hair to go white/light blonde at age 30. damn.

also apparently exposure to radiation can cause hair to fall out so doc probably goes through that kind of episode too (he's super sad about it)

he's one of the only people on the base who don't have a family or at the very least a spouse. he's super lonely but overall absolutely the kindest person you could possibly meet there

i think, other than gaining more scientific knowledge and helping the war effort, one of emmett's main motivations to join the manhattan project is the wish to restore his reputation in hill valley. which sadly goes wrong as we all can imagine.

coffee is the only thing he runs on. he barely sleeps because he has no one to tell him to go to bed at a reasonable time

when he's invested in some sort of calculation or problem he wants to solve DO NOT DISTURB HIM or he'll snap. this is not 80s doc and this emmett has quite the pride despite it not showing on the surface

in my head he becomes one of the most important scientists credited for the results on the project. people respect him and go to him for advice even though he's still fairly young when he joins (28). the whole thing allows him to gain knowledge on plutonium and nuclear physics in general, eventually allowing him to build the delorean time machine forty years later. but it comes at a cost and doc has moments where he'd rather throw his life's work and his family fortune away in exchange for never having lived through the painful memories and guilt.

headcanons about 40s doc & marty:

while marty never visited him in canon, there might be a timeline where he did, and in that case i think doc would find this boy strange. like. even more strange than 50s doc.

depending on the timeline (post telltale game or no telltale game) doc knows him from the 30s and is like. hm. something is odd why hasn't this boy aged

if doc did not know him beforehand, he'd think he's weird for a few days, but then let him into his life as a result of deep loneliness

he and marty would form a bond stronger than he did with any of the other scientists in los alamos. why? because marty's actually interested in his life outside of the project and asks basic things such as "how are you doing" while his colleagues would most likely just suck up to him to make use of his high position

marty would punch everyone in the face who even dares to utter an insult about doc, especially post-bombings

while 50s/80s doc acts more like a father towards marty, 40s doc would be a mixture of father and best friend. 40s doc is more mature than 30s emmett but certainly resembles him in more ways than 50s doc does. he's naive and sometimes just too kind and super stubborn and thus sometimes is more interested in his own needs than in marty's.

he acceps the nickname "doc" with no hesitation

marty is the only person that doc allows himself to let his guard down around after probably wearing a stone face for a while. marty makes it clear that he would never judge or blame him and allows doc to be vulnerable around him as much as he wants/needs

they are best friends. their friendship works in every decade what else did you think

ANYWAY that's it for now

i may or may not eventually write a fic about him and his experiences (without marty, basically twin pines doc timeline) but we'll see. i make no promises

[lampoest]

by request from @yeessha

Mission Impossible Fallout Thoughts

Like before: cursing and spoilers !!

short logos nice !!

oop starts with lane talking, always a win 😼😼

why does lane have a beard in this dream?

ooh dramatic nice !!

probably one of my favorite openings

this is badass

hhh its my favorite anarchist:)))

ooh cool name

ofc it's about nuclear warfare why not ??

nervous benji = win

sjshsjsgs

that man reminds me of elon musk :\

cant tell if that was tryna be a pg way to say 'fuck off'

where dat money luther ✋🙄🙄

what was that scream !?!

*throws plutonium*

cool car

ooh the shadows on that guys face

man this scene is really good

BENJI STAY WITH THE FUCKING PLUTONIUM WHAT-

well shit-

oh hey that news guy

pulling a sneaky on him

i also love this scene sm

literally everything about the nils delbruuk scene

:0 so cool

benji got to wear a mask >:))))

sjshsjsgsjs they made a bet on it i love that

ethan is very cool

HELL YEAH THEME SONG !!

i can never take hunley seriously

ooh she pretty :))

this movie has great lines

i also love how it goes in depth about moral choices

WALKER YESS :)))))))))) HE SO PRETTY😳😳

also she pretty too :))))

i just realized why former presidents still are protected

i like how they curse more

bro why is walker so :)))))))

btw this is just gonna be me simping literally everyone

the height difference

HALO JUMP HALO JUMP HALO JUMP

ugh fuck off walker you may be pretty but replying with 'crystal' naw fam✋😬😬

yes because we can die

oop they be falling

i dont think that would work but ok if you say so

not even worth it

i couldnt tell what they were saying until i put on captions

although i dont need any captions to understand the french 😼😼

the faint beat in the background v cool

reflexes

breaking things

chekhovs gun

shdhgdhshdjdhdjs why-

dis why you use the needle

damn he beating the shit out of them

ooh its ilsa

ethan why-

ooh she pretty too 😳😳

alright uh badass female is great

that man reminds me of a toddler

strong accusation coming from a terrorist

shsjdgsjs he wearing arm pads like the toddler whos mom is overprotective

WALKER TOO PRETTY:)))))

oop change of plans

LANE LANE LANE LANE

YES MY MAN :))))))))))

motorcycle chase pog

BENJI IN SUSPENDERS BENJI IN SUSPENDERS !!!

well shit-

eyy he killed some dudes

again walker, no one cares

oh dang she has to be careful, her aim is not the best

R U N

vrrm vrrrm

LOVE THIS SCENE YES

you can tell ethan is trying so hard not to punch lane rn

dang lane really flipped the interrogation hats off man

also i lowkey agree with his message. not his method though-

oop pretty ladies

also ethan killed 4 of your men maam

telepathy

SKDHJSJSJSHS YES THIS SCENE LANE SO PRETTY :)))))))))

i love how lane is just standing there vibing while they talk to hunley

benji dont worry youre great

wait i just noticed that benji's outfit is so cool-

skdgdjshs

walker is cool tbh

ILSA !??

this seems awfully familiar

im working on it

its a trap !!!

benjis wtf face there

oop tea ????

im paying attention to outfits so i can recreate their styles

oop i love how it focuses on walker there

true true

sticking up for your friend

no hes just here because they needed more pretty men

waiting for a diversion

in because HE IS LARK MY GOD ETHAN

ALSO THE LITTLE HEAD NOD I CANT-

stole han solos line there

matching jackets😼😼

how did they swap them ??

and how did lane go along ??

chekhovs......knife ??

wow he really fell for it

also more cursing pog

my two favorite characters together :)))))

CHGJFGSJ I CHOKED ON MY WATER KESUS CRISP

....oop i done fucked up

hunley being all cool and shit

benji being all cool and shit

lanes look of dissapointment is 🤌🤌

like damn bro you fell for that !??

lark

he really tryna lie out of it

ooh her-

whyd he say that-

oop betrayal

i love how benji is the first to drop his weapon

so cool

yeah wait where the hell is lane ??

rip hunley

whyd they treat his death like the death of a lover or smth

first wedding crashers, then funeral crashers, what next ?? birth crashers ??

the most tom cruisey sequence ive ever seen. some comedy some crazy stunts and a broken ankle but still finishing the take

chair theft pog

also i love how not just in this scene but before you see helicopters flying around

hes just hanging onto the elevator and the look walker gives him is top notch

ooh blackmail

this feels like the glass box scene. his foes are getting away and there is nothing he can do

its mission impossible for a reason

tea time with luther

ilsa is a good friend

benji is the mvp here

dang im just realizing how pretty ethan is 😳😳

keep your eyes on the road

luther is great, this is all just a luther appreciation post

they-

they-

they all just copied walker's beard

oh no its julia

ah yes one of the bombs

i like how it actually does take about 15 minutes

uhh no❤️ tom cruise why must you feel the need to do this

LANE :)))))

again why does he feel the need-

walker :)))))))

julia is pretty cool

hes just like: what the fuck how- why-

airspeed ah yes the most important part of not dying

this is a julia appreciation post

what was your plan after that? the detonator would just be at the bottom of that lake

the expressions walker makes :))))

hehe bitch

well shit he has a gun

his hair !!!!!

some star wars level action here

bro benji listen to ilsa

sjsgsjgsjsvsjs this shouldn't be so funny

bro ilsa listen to benji

benji stop wasting time

probably last time but, lane !!!!!

found the other bomb

very true statements from walker

other ? bomb ??

no personal space

ooh uhm lane maybe please dont-

the way he just pops his head into frame like: what the fuck was that ?

no sir you didn't survive that. that is false

i love how she clearly has the same fighting style as before

no benji no smooth brain move

mr lane do your shoes need shining ?!?

dey see me rollin-

ofc he gets burnt why the fuck not

uuuhm what✋😀😀 when the hot oil started spraying i felt a drop of what felt like hot oil on my finger. i am in my room and there isnt even water in here. im scared

also how tf is that holding his weight

chekhovs hook

team work makes the dream work

dang keep believing lane keep thinking that ✋🙄🙄

hes still pretty

so close oh no

why do things just magically stop at the edge of cliffs

kesus crisp ethan not again

i love his shoes though -

what if the hook missed though ??

esploded

thats a no from me dawg

his meniachal little smile shdgsjsgsj

its an action film he'll have it

aww lane so sad :((( oh yeah and 1/3 of the world is saved too. good job ig.

THEY PUT MY MAN IN A TRUNK NOOO >:000000

i like how they end as friends not as romantic interests. v nice

i love how this movie highlights the importance of friends but not in a childish way. even as adults friends are important. they are there for you when no one else did. i like that message.

alright thats pretty much it. sorry that its just me simping pretty much. in conclusion this is my favorite movie 14/10 but i can't wait for the 7th movie.

[obligatorilypretentious]

Review for: The Grief Keeper, By Alexandra Villasante

link to Goodreads review

format:

1st section: general gushing or hating

2nd section: spoiler-filled details

3rd section: final words

general:

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐: 5/5 stars

I will never not recommend this book, everyone I meet in person will have ears talked off about how they need to read this book. By the gods. Another one of my I-read-this-in-a-day, sobbing-loudly, im-queer-and-sad, favs. The ways this book deals with mental illness, privilege, anger/numbness, immigration, and queerness, both comfortably queer and in places where queerness is feared and hated. I would write a whole essay on this, but really all you need to know is to read it, cry some good healthy cries, hug your loved ones or strangers, maybe clean your space, and remember grief comes in many forms, and observe your grief. Deconstruct it, let yourself feel your grief, maybe get angry at it. Treat your grief like an angry cat, shoo it away when it gets somewhere it's not supposed to, let it sleep with you, across your chest. Grief is a human companion, and whether you feed it or not, it will always be there, so get comfortable with it, and grief does not have to be held alone. spoilers ahead: -Liliana: a seriously tragic character. I've met a Liliana- I've BEEN a Liliana. When growing up in a place of such hatred for who you are- for her El Salvador, for me deep southern Texas, it is so, so hard to be anything but disgusted with yourself, your actions. Even when you get to experience queerness so innocently and lovingly, like with Marisol, there is this, acidic, bile gurgling at the bottom of your heart, a hatred that has been shoved into your brain. You don't want it to be what it is, you don't want to be the "problem." So you shove your queerness away and you get so trapped in the shoving that you don't ever look at where your queerness, or who you've shoved, even falls. -Pablo: I wanted to hate him. I wanted to hate him for the things he did to Gabi, to Marisol, to their mother, who waited in the kitchen and cried, but I can't. Not when you have a boy, just a kid, become a product of his environment, the people that help him keep the pain medication on the table for his mother. The imagery of the purple too was particularly painful to me, along with how Marisol experiences her half-grief for him. -Ray: particularly, the obvious as well as subtle show of her privilege throughout. One line that got me, made me full-body cringe and hide under my covers, was the line about how she never knew the maid's names. You have these people, come into your room every day, but you treat them like ghosts, like the shadows left behind after nuclear bombings, you see the impact and never see the person. Made me quite mad at her for a while I'm not gonna lie. Definitely with Marisol on the whole anger at that one. -The Imagery: really I don't have much I can say because to put my feelings about this on paper would effectively be a key stash- but it was just beautiful. The personification of luck, the smell of lime, the whole trauma around "Manteca", just breathtaking. -I'm conflicted on the ending, but I feel this is certainly just a me problem. It was just, so hopeful at the end, when Marisol gets that interview, getting to tell her own story, without the practiced lines of before. This really made me sad. Many people don't get that ending, don't get that second chance, don't get the coin flip. Very bittersweet, but this is a book, and sometimes, we get to see happy endings, and I think it really wanted, no, needed to see. To see this tragic character get the girl, and get that good, sweet, hopeful ending, was like sitting in the sun. looking at you nonqueer mr. bury-your-gays-writers final notes: read it, so help me god read it. then go hug someone, kiss someone, tell a stranger they are beautiful, make one of those "I love humanity" Tumblr posts, pet a cat, and let yourself grieve. For small things, for life-changing things, for everything in between. Because we must let our grief be held by others, just as we hold it.

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again

tuesdays just keep fucking happening and there’s nothing any of us can do to stop them

listening shoutout to @flora-flauna​ for showing me Stayaway by MUNA (” cool sad queer girl pop “) and that’s spot on. there’s a really fun sludgy electronica thing happening in the chorus that i’m ALL about 

reading got both of these last spring, read through most of it, got distracted and did something else (probably a schlocky vampire romance given my tastes last spring) but i came back to the 2009 eight-issue Dynamite Comics run of The Good the Bad and the Ugly- they don’t seem to have acquired the rights to clint’s face which is at times screamingly funny. not a movie adaptation, a spinoff official fanfic. it’s mmm all right?  there are some major issues with art continuity in general but there are some fun nods to all three movies.none of the official fanfic for this film is Good, and i include all the weird little spinoff novels which are OPENLY and HORRIBLY racist and transphobic. 

Dynamite Comic’s 2009 eleven-issue run of The Man With No Name . clint is a little more on-model here, also some fun nods to the movies (tuco and angel are here with soup!) and overall a little more enjoyable than their GBU run imo aside from a very very weird character decision near the middle. has some Young TMWNN backstory with a man that looks nothing like young clint. seems to be in licensing limbo? the files i acquired left out issue #8, hopefully nothing important happened in that one. has provided us with a new meme 

watching the 2013 one-season anime Coppelion. okay listen. LISTEN. sometimes the heart wants a terrible anime to watch while knitting socks.

i have a lot of thoughts about this that might turn into a proper Poste, but at this point it might as well be an article pitch. 

these genetically-engineered high schoolers are sent into the ruins of Tokyo to rescue survivors of a nuclear accident. i did not realize that it was a nuclear power plant accident until almost the third episode- it is euphemistically referred to as the Contamination and i thought it was a biological agent for most of those first three episodes. there are Zones, as in the Roadside Picnic book/S.T.A.L.K.E.R. game series, but that touchstone isn’t quite accurate because it’s more like “this is a dangerous area of greater radiation but no spooky shit is happening”. it is a very soft apocalypse- there aren’t a lot of bodies or destruction with one notable exception. the countryside is taking back the city in a very real way, everything is super lush. there’s a neat bit about feral packs of dogs that the series forces you to notice and then doesn’t do anything with, and a neat subplot about guilt and mutual aid that i wish was explored more than in a very superficial Our Country Will Recover Because Of The Enduring Spirit Of The People way.  

set in 2016, the manga ran from 2008-2016. i SUSPECT the anime itself is heavily influenced by the 2011 Fukushima Daiichi nuclear disaster (it was actually meant to come out in 2010, but the disaster delayed it. not sure how far along in development it was at the time). there’s a ongoing theme of Science Has Two Sides: Positive And Negative, which i think could be much more interesting if the show were willing to dive scientific ethics a little more, but it seems to be crippled by Japanese nationalism. were this an American series, i would probably be like “oh this is propaganda about how great Sandia Nat’l Labs is, thanks Honeywell International I hate it” but i don’t know because i’m not Japanese and nobody other than blogs with names like The Pantsless Anime Blogger seems to be writing critically about this series. 

given Japan’s history with cities devastated by American bombing, i expected the subplot of Americans dumping nuclear waste into the already-contaminated city to have a bigger role? this did some interesting things with the role of the government and science in major nuclear disasters, ans set up a lot of questions about those roles and responsibility and ethics and rebuilding, but never followed through. the art is a little wonky in places (there are two distinct styles at war) and there are some serious pacing and information reveal issues, but the premise is interesting and the backgrounds are gorgeous. apparently the manga is better/a little more political but i think i’ve gotten all i want out of Coppelion. 

 playing civ 6. honestly the less said about this the better, bc two nights ago i played eight hours of it. this game is very bad for my brain bc it really encourages my unmedicated tunnel vision and i got shit to do. i really just think there should be more female warmongers i can  play as. 

there’s a lot i could say about how Bleh this game makes me feel re: who’s civilized and who’s not, how “colonization” is an explicit policy, how the Domination victory is the easiest to achieve(imo), the “barbarians” & treatment therof, &tc, smarter people than me who are paid critics have written about this. 

anyway i tried it, it’s not for me even though it is very addicting, on to the next thing bc there are practically infinite games in the world.

making sox. lotta Anxiety Knitting lately, this is the third sock i’ve cranked out in the past week. might rip out the half-inch of ribbing bc i think i can get one more V repeat out of the yarn i have left and i hate having tiny useless balls of sock yarn left over 

[theorynexus]

76:  Hopefully this does not explode like a nuclear bomb in my face.

Seems it’s time to follow the excited Mascot of Freedom and his merry companions once again!   Also a terrifying clown.

This is incredibly silly and absolutely ridiculous. But also, it is pretty hilarious how this makes him seem like the Shakespearean Fool.  (Which means that things are going to go horribly wrong. I am going to either greatly enjoy that, or cringe so hard my eyes pop out of their sockets and I never post again.)

Me too, John. Me too.  Also... FRACK, HE’S TRYING TO SPREAD THE DARK CARNIVAL LIKE I PREDICTED---   EVERYONE RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!!

I blame the similarities between Void and Rage as far as inebriation goes and/or the obfuscation of things (rational thought, knowledge, truth)~

DARNIT, HUSSIE, STOP MOCKING THE MAYOR!!!   (And yes, I will say that even if it IS someone else who’s actually controlling the narrative, because he holds the imaginary pen in real life.)

Well, yeah, they’re a whole universe away from the genuine article. Of course the traditions technically have a bit of a disconnect.   THAT SAID...  Huh. It’s interesting that John’s mentality did eventually circle around to seeing the sky as being an imperfect simulacrum of his own original version. Very intriguing.

I really, REALLY don’t trust that sort of mentality, Callie. That’s how politics gets screwed up and falls away from the public interest. Also, to be fair, he does indeed have some control over the political situation! What a silly little adorable skull monster. :3 (This really does make it seem like Gamzee is messing with their head, honestly. Rage screws with priorities. Through Gamzee, it manifests destruction!) I am honestly glad that Rox gets to finally enjoy that coffee shop with John, though~

And yet, I imagine it is cute!

Calliope is a shipper, and grew up with Troll Romance. The idea that they would be open to them being in a relationship and not uncomfortable with it seems quite probable. Also:   *shudders at the thought of Gamzee as Callie’s dog*

...   Eh?   Wow. Taking a direction which is unexpected, here.  I do wonder, indeed, why Calliope might think that this might mean the end of their time with Roxy (Gamzee, Gamzee, Gamzee [unless they just mean they wants to spend more time with her, and is feeling a bit jealous; in which case, not the best look, but I can understand that feeling, honestly  {And yes, I think I will be referring to Roxy as a “her” until I am led to believe that her gender identity has changed. I do not know when it might have been that she and Calliope came to their understanding of their non-binary/agendered identities in the Meat timeline, now that I think of it, so it may actually be either before or after the split between the two sides, and thus Roxy may not come to that understanding of her/theirself, this side of the divide; as such, the default of female seems a bit more appropriate, at least for now}]).        

Eh? Sad?  I thought this was the path that Callie wanted things to go down?  Hmm.

I mean... to be fair, that (the brain damage bit) might be true. Hard to say. Don’t know how troll anatomy might react to such issues.   Buuuttttt... he’s also almost certainly manipulating her, so-- whoops --there goes my pity.

***gags***   Oh my gosh, I had forgotten about his disgusting outfit.   ewe

Dangit, Roxy, stop inversely prophesying about John screwing things up by making Gamzee go flying off the deep end like an acrobatic fricking ninja!   (And I don’t mean it in the semi-racialized sense that Gamzee uses the term.)

Man... it’s not nice to steal a lady’s seat while she’s gone. :o(

***snerk***    I don’t know what’s funnier-- a god asking for help from a waiter (though to be fair, Gamzee’s sortof invincimmortal) or him being called Gamzee’s “horndog.”

At once, I find this absolutely fricking terrifying, and also appreciate that he calls him “vertebrother” instead of “invertibrother.”  (Though I admittedly do type with Gamzee’s quirk for fun, sometimes, I’m not going to do so here in the quotes in order to dignify this garbage with my approval.)

One:  No. Just no.   Two:  Wow, if Gamzee is the cause of their relationship actually starting up, I think I’m going to be sick.  Three:  Gah, I hate the bilge he spews, sometimes. Not that Gamzee always has garbage in the thoughts that he’s communicating. It’s just... the content (not even the quirk, which I am fine with). The way he communicates things, such as calling Roxy a “premium ho”...   I don’t like people being referred to in that way.  (Now I’m paranoid that people will accuse me of racism for my reaction, when my objection is with the it feeling misogynistic to refer to someone in that way, rather than the racial coding of some of his juggalo-isms in general.  Like... right afterward, he suggests that John is “squandering pussy.”  What the heck? ewe )

Wow. Insulting him by calling him a “little bitch” as he’s offering to help is not cool. Also:  Weird fricking metaphor. @w@

I know how you feel, John.   You deserve all the headpats for the garbage you are now putting up with. uwu

[newstfionline]

Headlines

No more green tea, vaping or drinks ending in ‘-ccino,’ Mormon Church tells members (Washington Post) The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints wants to make clear that vaping, green tea and fancy coffee drinks are off limits under the religion’s dietary code meant to keep members from consuming unhealthy substances. Church leaders on Thursday pointed to a recent article in New Era, the church’s magazine for young people, reminding them that the Word of Wisdom prohibits “hot drinks”--understood to mean tea and coffee--and harmful or habit-forming substances. E-cigarettes are highly addictive, “iced tea is still tea,” and any drink ending in “-ccino” probably has coffee and therefore breaks the rules, the church wrote.

Peter Fonda dies at 79 (AP) Actor Peter Fonda, the son of a Hollywood legend who became a movie star in his own right after both writing and starring in the counter-culture classic “Easy Rider,” died Friday at his home of complications from lung cancer. He was 79. “I am very sad,” Jane Fonda said in a statement. “He was my sweet-hearted baby brother. The talker of the family. I have had beautiful alone time with him these last days. He went out laughing.”

When pen and paper beats all things digital (LI) Need to focus? Ditch the smartphone and laptop, just for a bit. Old-fashioned pen and paper are especially good at stimulating our reticular activating system, nerve pathways in our brain that help us weed out excess information and zero in on what’s pressing, writes Fast Company’s Stephanie Vozza. Paper is thin, light and it doesn’t run out of batteries. And it doesn’t beep and buzz and distract you with notifications. Yes, productivity apps offer benefits, but we shouldn’t discount the power of paper.

13 arrested, 4 injured at Portland right wing rally: Police (ABC News) Thirteen people were arrested and four were injured, as over 1,000 right-wing demonstrators and counter-protesters descended on downtown Portland on Saturday, police said. Previous rallies featuring right-wing groups and antifa have turned violent in Portland, a city so closely associated with liberal hipsters it inspired the parody show “Portlandia.”

Rift opens between Democrats and Israel after the nation refuses entry to two members of Congress (Washington Post) A politically explosive fight over Israel’s attempt to block two members of Congress from entering the country--at President Trump’s urging--has elevated rifts between it and Democrats who have increasingly started to view the Israeli government and its leader as out of line or, in the eyes of at least two presidential candidates, even racist. The shift in dialogue has been accelerated by the tight embrace between Trump and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, and after a dizzying 48 hours, some Democrats are more openly discussing the unusual step of reconsidering foreign aid to the longtime ally.

Mexico City Assesses Monument Damage After Anti-Rape March (AP) Workers erected a wooden wall around Mexico City’s iconic Angel of Independence monument Saturday after feminists defaced it with graffiti during a raucous and violent protest over a string of alleged rapes by police.

Wildfire Prompts Evacuations in Canary Islands (Reuters) A wildfire in the Canary Islands led to the evacuation of a small town in Gran Canaria island on Saturday, and officials said the blaze had a “great potential” to spread.

UK Faces Food, Fuel and Drugs Shortages in No-Deal Brexit: Sunday Times (Reuters) Britain will face shortages of fuel, food and medicine if it leaves the European Union without a transition deal, jamming ports and requiring a hard border in Ireland, official government documents leaked to the Sunday Times show.

Italy’s Salvini Agrees to Let 27 Minors Off Migrant Ship (AP) Italy’s hard-line interior minister buckled under pressure Saturday and agreed to let 27 unaccompanied minors leave a migrant rescue ship after two weeks at sea, temporarily easing a political standoff that has threatened the viability of the populist government.

Rainstorm Floods Markets, Underpasses in Istanbul; 1 Dead (AP) Heavy rains have hit the Turkish city of Istanbul, flooding streets and basements, stranding drivers on roads and disrupting rail and ferry services. At least one person was found dead inside a flooded underpass, the private DHA news agency reported.

India Reimposes Movement Curbs on Parts of Kashmir’s Main City After Clashes (Reuters) Indian authorities reimposed restrictions on movement in major parts of Kashmir’s biggest city, Srinagar, on Sunday after violent overnight clashes between residents and police in which dozens were injured, two senior officials and eyewitnesses said.

After Blast, Enraged Afghans Question Talks (Reuters) Outraged Afghans questioned on Sunday the point of negotiations with the Taliban aimed at getting U.S. troops to leave and ending the war, after 63 people were killed in a suicide bomb attack on a wedding reception in the capital, Kabul.

Kim expresses ‘great satisfaction’ over North Korea weapons tests (AP) North Korea said Saturday that leader Kim Jong Un supervised another test-firing of an unspecified new weapon, seen as an attempt to pressure Washington and Seoul over slow nuclear negotiations and their joint military exercises. Pyongyang’s Korean Central News Agency, or KCNA, said that following Friday’s launches, Kim expressed “great satisfaction” over his military’s “mysterious and amazing success rates” in recent testing activity and vowed to build up “invincible military capabilities no one dare provoke.” The report did not mention any specific comment about the United States or South Korea.

Hong Kongers rally against government under stormy skies (Reuters) Thousands of school teachers joined an 11th weekend of anti-government protests in Hong Kong on Saturday, as shops pulled down their shutters and braced for another restive summer night.

Iran-Aligned Houthis Strike Major Saudi Oil Field (WSJ) Yemen’s Houthi rebels struck Saudi Arabia’s Shaybah oil field, one of the kingdom’s largest, Saudi officials and the Houthis said, deepening tensions between Iran and its rivals that have engulfed the region’s energy facilities. The Houthis said in a statement Saturday that they had targeted Shaybah with 10 drones. The Iran-aligned rebels said the attack was their largest of its kind on Saudi Arabia, which they have been fighting for control in Yemen since 2014.

Sudan’s military, civilians sign power-sharing deal, setting up elections in 2022 (Washington Post) Sudan marked a major symbolic milestone Saturday as the military officers who overthrew ex-president Omar Hassan al-Bashir in April signed an agreement to share power with civilian leaders in an arrangement that sets up elections in 2022. Bashir, who ruled Sudan for 30 years, is awaiting trial, with proceedings expected to begin Monday.

[scoutmark]

I posted 1,612 times in 2021

42 posts created (3%)

1570 posts reblogged (97%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 37.4 posts.

I added 630 tags in 2021

#beetlejuice - 145 posts

#nice art - 130 posts

#best - 105 posts

#gato - 70 posts

#posts i wrote - 36 posts

#christian borle - 34 posts

#something rotten! - 34 posts

#falsettos - 31 posts

#words - 25 posts

#sondheim - 20 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#also the image is right there but i wasn't looking at it so my jaw literally dropped when i realized this is when the cursed selfie was lol

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

it’s the perfect day to die, cause this guy happened to be passing by!

(i posted this on my instagram also)

98 notes • Posted 2021-05-08 17:45:02 GMT

#4

happy halloween!!! here’s some act one sketches i drew last night in a fugue state

102 notes • Posted 2021-10-31 15:30:05 GMT

#3

a plague of mice, a lighting strike, or drop a nuclear bomb !!!

also posted on my instagram :P

121 notes • Posted 2021-06-03 19:23:58 GMT

#2

they’re the same image

131 notes • Posted 2021-01-31 06:26:46 GMT

#1

beetlejuice moments that make me laugh every single time (mostly dialogue)

“how YOU doin’? woah, not good! adadoodoodeedadoo da da!”

“if you die during today’s performance the show will not stop :-)”

“apart from frustration pain and financial drain it’s fun !!!”

“look at these jugs!” (beetlejuice turns around and then looks disappointed)

the little dance they do during “what’s the point of having children if we’re drowning in debt”

“maybe 80%” “i’d say 78”

“sometimes puppet shows are sad”

“i mean say we are…dead…that’s…that’s bad, obviously-“

“ghost zombie jesuuuuuus”

“you don’t recognize me. i’m your father.” “…dad?”

the face barbara makes when beetlejuice gives her the femur

“we. are. invisible.” (spank)

“mmmmmmmYYYyyess, there’s Very Good Energy In Here”

“he’s my white whale” “i don’t see race <3”

“oh god delia. you erotic astronaut”

“you said ‘stop being so we-eird, i need this job’”

“knock knock! who’s there? happiness-!” “NO”

“it’s just a figure of speech jesus christ adam why you gotta be so sexy”

“whose head is that???” “..i don’t know..”

beetlejuice air-drumming during the first chorus of fright of their lives

“dolly levi, matchmaker!”

the backup singers in fright of their lives’s entrance AND exit

barbara and adam’s little dance after they say “let’s hide their phones!”

“fuck brigadoon”

“see you in hell! bah! i’m gone!”

“hey guys..? fuck you guys”

“let’s…haunt this biiiiitch”

whatever barbara is doing during adam’s “if we wanna win back our home” part

delia dab

“it says i’m warm, i’m friendly, and i think about death only a normal amount.”

“LYDIA NO GIMME THAT! smash.”

“what’re they saying?” “buy more crystals”

“and you have to buy a cat cause that’s your last chance to have a family”

“we used to make these haunted houses in the garage, but in the summer, so no one was expecting it”

“adam that’s not why she doesn’t like it here” “i know but it’s not helping”

third leg

“she’s always like get a job, why is your hair purple, i should have left like your father”

adam and barbara possession song and dance

“fool your friends! fun at parties! i did iiiiit”

“i was kicked in the head by a dressage horse!”

“as my guru otho always says, DAYYYYYYY-O.”

“on behalf of delia and myself, i’d just like to say WORK ALL NIGHT ON A DRINK OF RUM”

“barbara, the pig!” “who wants bacon?!” “no! stop! i’m a vegan!”

“hello! i’m from the u.s. census bureau, time for a few Oh My God!”

“if i were alive i could get out of this house, meet my kind of people. yknow socially liberal but fiscally conservative.”

“what, where’d i lose ya? oh, it’s not a real marriage. it’s like a green card thing! yeah, strictly business.”

“who are we decapitating?” “beetlejuice.” “you should! he’d love that”

“hate is a strong word, but i…do not like him!”

“woah…! this is such an interesting font!”

“a spin your own yarn kit?!?” “okay, that was not as much fun as i thought it would be”

“break it.” “*gasp*”

“you have a big brain.” “you make it big.”

“and the age gap is upsetting :D”

“👏did 👏you 👏e👏ven 👏read 👏the 👏hand👏book. 👏what 👏else 👏do 👏you 👏have 👏to 👏DO mami? you’re dead!”

“Nietzsche was right you know, to live is to suffer, bro!”

juno “running” with the walker

“your mother knew this was going to happen.. i mean not this, i don’t think anyone could have predicted this-“

“i hid it in case that dancing football player found me. he was so fast! so much poise!”

“what’s wrong sugar lumps? did you think i wasn’t coming back?” “i mean you literally jumped into hell to get away from me”

“mr. juice.”

(i’m listing this as three separate jokes)

“NOW HOLD ON ONE DAMN MINUTE.”

“MISTER beetlejuice. since we met, you have PINCHED ME, GROPED ME, and HARASSED ME, sir.”

“and i wanna tell you in front of all these people, that it! has! worked.” (skeletons gasp) “i want you, beetlejuice.” (unbuttons collar)

“saggy old asses”

“i found me a wife. l’chaim. to life.”

“i was ignored, but now i’m adored! ‘cause i extorted, tortured, and lied! give it up for my underage briiiiiide!”

“i can’t believe some cultures think this kind of thing’s alright :/“

“YOU.” (BWAMMMMMM)

every “this guy knows what i’m talking about” but especially the last one

“yeah i’m a part of this too i don’t get it but i’m a part of it!!!”

“well look at you! all ganging up against the mean lady from hell!”

“check it out lydia! now we both got dead moms!”

“delilah.” “delia.” “we didn’t hang out much. charles-“

“TELLLLL MYYYY STOOOORYYYY”

236 notes • Posted 2021-07-12 03:00:13 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[razberryyum]

Gintama manga chap 668

Dear Gintama gods and Sorachi-sama,

The more I stare at the last image of this chapter, the more I am befuddled as to how you are going to get the gang out of the huge, fiery bind that is currently hurtling towards them. Considering the horrifying proximity of the Amenotori ship with the planet’s surface, an Earth-ending impact looks to be pretty much a guarantee. While the ending tag “Is what is arriving the end, or is it–?” would appear to be providing some hope of salvation, frankly, from the looks of things, you would have to introduce the mother of all deus ex machina in order to save them from this imminent disaster. Will those time guardians from the frozen time arc suddenly pop up with a spare 3000 world clock to stop time, leaving the Yorozuya as the only people who are still capable of moving around and carrying on with their lives? I believe there was a Twilight Zone or Amazing Stories episode with such a haunting premise (I wish I could remember exactly which show and episode, but I was really young when I watched it): where a person who could stop time had to do so to prevent a nuclear bomb from crashing into their house, but of course the consequence was that person had to live the rest of their life alone with everyone frozen around them because if time was released, the planet would be obliterated.  Of course it would be quite sad if Gintoki, Shinpachi, and Kagura were the only ones left on Earth who could still function normally, but at least they would still have each other. Such an existence could probably spin off into its own entire new series. It would definitely be a very bold, shocking and decidedly haunting ending that’s for sure.  

With rumors abound that Gintama might be ending in only one or two chapters, another equally bold and shocking conclusion is if you just kill everyone, and then maybe all of them will either become Force ghosts or meet up again in Soul Society. With your love of Star Wars and penchant for paying homage to your peers’ works, I wouldn’t put it past you to end the series in such a borderline goofy manner. Though honestly, I don’t really believe Gintama is ending that soon. It’s not entirely due to denial; even if Utsuro is defeated, there are still loose ends to be wrapped up—the state of the nation and relationship loose ends—and killing everyone off so that they could become spirits would not provide the most satisfactory solution to those dangling plot points. Not to mention, I also want to believe you spent too many years of your life on Gintama to even want to end the series in such a rushed fashion. With Gintama being one of the most familiar and popular pillars of Shonen Jump for so long, I doubt even Jump would want you to hurriedly end your masterpiece. Even if the climax of the fight against Utsuro is indeed approaching, I hope you would still take your time in allowing life to go back to normal and perhaps even give us the hope of Edo being rebuilt. We have been in the midst of fighting for so long, I really hope you will allow us some peace time merriment before finally having Gintama make its last bow. In fact, I would be ever so grateful if you could give us a post-battle epilogue that lasts the rest of this year at the very least. Either way, until you actually have the fat okama sing, I am not going to prematurely start mourning the end of Gintama right now.

So instead I would like to focus for a second on a very unexpectedly moving moment in this chapter: when Gintoki runs after the monster that is Utsuro, the flesh-and-blood ghost of his former teacher, and reaches out for him, seemingly with the intention to save him. Even more shocking was that in the process, Gintoki appears to have sacrificed his own safety completely to go after him. I know Utsuro’s defeat was in part caused by memories of his own humanity, but the fact that Gintoki was trying to save him made me wonder, does Gintoki see that humanity resurfacing in the monster? Is that why he would forget self and safety to go after him? It was a heartbreaking moment since to me, it indicated that just as the images of Gintoki as a child started resurfacing in Utsuro’s mind, Gin-chan reverted to his young self as well as he only cared about saving the teacher, the father figure, he so revered. As if having to kill him once already was enough, and so this time, despite all the damage Utsuro has wrecked on his life and everyone’s life, he simply cannot allow his teacher to die in front of him again. I do not even want to imagine the amount of guilt that is probably still festering inside of him even now that would motivate him to such actions. Seeing Shinpachi and Kagura behind him, reaching out for him to stop him from such a suicidal gesture only made the scene even more heartrending. It was a quick couple of frames only, but it had just as much of an emotional impact for me as seeing the Shinsengumi and the Yato men help the Yorozuya bring down Utsuro did.  The group effort in defeating the monster was something I was hoping for and therefore was elated when you granted my wish; the Gintoki and Utsuro moment was something I never anticipated and as a result I am taken aback by how much that moved me. And now, I do hope Gintoki is able to hold his teacher in his arms again and have his closure before the thing that was Shouyou/Utsuro finally surrenders to its mortality. I would hope that his other students will be afforded the same type of closure as well, since they were not able to participate in his actual defeat. That is also why I hope you won’t utilize the first two scenarios I mentioned—time freeze or mass murder—as a means to resolve the very imposing problem of the crashing Amenotori ship. My feeble, unimaginative brain cannot come up with more logical solutions for the pressing dilemma, so I can only anxiously await what yours would be, and as usual, I would ask that you please have mercy on those characters I love the most.

Yours truly,

A silly fangirl with yaoi dreams

(T_T)  

PS: for a happy yet morbid second, I thought, oh my gods, if they were to die now, TWO of my OTPs would at least die together: Gintoki/Hijikata and Okita/Kagura. In the end, of course I am not disappointed that they didn’t die together because I don’t want them to die, but I am sad that by the chapters end, they were all separated again. Still, thank you for this lovely bit of happiness, regardless of how brief it was. (Apologies to Pachi-kun: I’m glad he was there too to potentially die together with them. Poor kid needs a mate, he’s always the odd man out in these scenarios)

[gospacegay]

LRTIHEW: Part Twenty Five

The title stands for “Longest Rusame Thing I Have Ever Written”.

First Chapter: https://gospacegay.tumblr.com/post/165808913233/lrtihew-part-one

Previous Chapter: https://gospacegay.tumblr.com/post/166625960863/lrtihew-part-twenty-four

There is swearing, fluff, smut, insanity, and lord knows what else.

Ivan flushed a little, excited to see his dearest companion. Sweeping Alfred into an entirely unprofessional hug, the giant of a nation squeezed hard before letting go. “Oof! Glad to see you too!” Alfred chuckled, willing in the exchange. Canada watched silently, brows raised. “Bad news first.” Ivan finally replied, resuming his calm composure.

“Okay. Japan is out. He declared neutrality. Poor little guy ran out of steam I guess. That and Tokyo was bombed. It's a mess. The International headquarters for Nintendo was wrecked! I'm so sad! I don't even know when the next Pokemon game is going to come out now! How am I supposed to collect them all?” Alfred complained, going off track like usual.

Canada cleared his throat, glaring at his brother. America looked confused a moment, then grinned. “Oh... good news! I brought cookies... and Mattie is being the best bro ever. He won't help with the fighting, but he was going to offer medical services or something. Also... I got permission to use nuclear bombs... if we absolutely had to.” The airy conversation went serious in a second, not suiting Alfred at all.

Truthfully, Ivan was having a hard time stopping his boss from using nuclear warfare. It was horrendously expensive and doubled global cancer rates. Ivan was finally getting his cancerous impulses under control. His famous chain smoking ways was now a pack of cigarettes daily. Before, if Russia was stressed, he'd burn through heaps of smokes.

Accepting the box of almond cookies, the Russian became lost in thought. The worst conclusion became the most clear. “Alik, walk with me. Follow if you must Matvey, but beware. You walk with monsters.” Ivan warned, as deadpan as ever. Alfred followed, being unusually mature. Canada, hesitated, then chased after to catch up.

They walked to the edge of the military camp, only ten miles from the Chinese border. Fresh pits in the grassy landscape revealed recent battle. Gazing at the beautiful destruction, Ivan looked to his freckled companion. He would speak in English, if only to appease Alfred. “I am going to use the bomb, Alfred. I do not wish to, but... I have no choice.” Ivan said solemnly. “You always have a choice. The bomb... It is excessive.” Canada protested, quite brave today.

“I have to agree with Mattie here.” Alfred agreed. Ivan sighed, looking at the ground. “Ever since I became politically neutral, People have become less afraid of me. Most of Europe is beginning to like me again. Unfortunately my former states now see me as weak. They sap my strength everyday with their lesser battles. I will be eventually destroyed, if only for the oil deposits I own.” He explained, expression pained.

“We could fend them off, we could... I don't know... conquer a few little guys to set an example.” America offered, putting a reassuring hand on Ivan's shoulder. Appreciating the gesture, Ivan chuckled. “No Alik. As the USSR, I beat, starved, and tortured many. It did nothing to stop their will.” the ash blonde replied, comfortable enough with their unique bond to share such sensitive topics. Canada dragging along was less than welcome, but he was basically America's emotional baggage handler as it was.

“But... the bomb is so extreme! Japan was afraid to look at me for decades after I hit him with two” Alfred opposed, surprisingly conservative about nuclear use.

Ivan shook his head ruefully, replying. “No. You don't understand. I am a landlocked nation with oil, uranium, coal, and steel. I need to be feared, or I will be destroyed by my neighbors. I don't have a military big enough to even fully defend myself. That is the situation I am in Alik. I do not have the luxury of two oceans to protect me. I don't have the luxury of friendship, or vacations. I do not have the luxury of being... myself. I need the bomb. Any bomb. I need to be feared.”

“But... it can't be that bad.” Alfred protested, stubborn as ever. “Fourteen. I am bordered with fourteen other countries across eleven time zones. If it's not China, it will be someone else.” Ivan argued, becoming irritated. Why did America have to be so dense?

Alfred looked despondent, then angry. “So that's it? You have to run off and bomb shit and stop being friends because of what... some need to be scary? That's fucking stupid. I reject it, and you can fuck off.” he snarled, arms crossed. Canada looked pensive, glancing at his younger sibling. Ivan giggled, delighted his companion was so concerned over their friendship. It made the northern nation feel so warm and giddy.

Switching to his native tongue, Russia leaned in and grabbed Alfred playfully. “No worries, Alik. You saved my life twice, and recovered my body once. I will always be thankful, and happy to see you. We are kin born of blood and battle, our bond strengthened in the fires of war.” Ivan assured with a soft half lidded gaze, affection blatantly obvious. He kissed Alfred on the cheek just once, a quick thing, then let go.

Alfred blushed madly, lost for words. “I... umm... okay.” the honey blonde stammered, caught off guard. “Now, if all is settled on that matter. Let us discuss drop sites in the tent. This heat is terrible in uniform.” Ivan cheered in English, clapping his hands together. “What? What was that?” Canada asked with furrowed brows. “It's... Everything is great. Let's go talk about... that.” Alfred murmured, looking slightly shocked. The scene was adorable to watch. Ivan distantly wondered how fried Alfred's brain would become from a real kiss. The ancient Russian's libido perked up vaguely at the idea, long neglected for decades.

“I don't want to be any part of this.” Canada objected, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. He headed off to the temporary airstrip, head held high. “You should come with me.” Ivan purred, tugging Alfred along by his sleeve. The urge to taste and conquer his companion burned fiercely in the Russian's mind, not fading at all. Normally he had much better control over such things as kissing and touching. Today was just random he supposed.

“Guess I can forgive you for using bombs. Man, I feel uncomfortable with picking the spots to use it...” Alfred admitted, his wits mostly returned. “Just... Please don't bomb Beijing. I know its a sound strategy, but neither side hasn't even lost a million yet. Twenty four million live there, it would be horrible.” the honey blonde continued sadly. Ivan disliked Alfred being so upset, lifting his face to match the Russian's purple gaze. Summer blue looked away, distraught.

There was little else to say about the heavy subject. They walked back slowly to the camp center, side by side. “I have to go, but take care of yourself, okay?” Alfred said, his usual cheer and pomp returning. With a whine, Ivan trapped his American companion. “No, no, just a minute.” Russia protested, physically dragging Alfred inside the tent office.

Ivan locked in a real kiss, aching for touch. His sunflower's lips were so soft and perfect. Shivering from the sensation Ivan squeezed Alfred closely. “Take care of yourself, and eat healthy... and don't be afraid to visit.” Ivan whispered, desperation hurrying his touches. The second kiss was more forced and exploratory but still willing. Alfred groaned into it, blushing a beautiful shade of pink.

“The same goes for you. Don't... don't kill too many people while I'm gone... and if you get lonely, don't fucking talk to a stuffed cat. Call me instead. Maybe we could visit California and beach bum for a day...” Alfred replied after gasping from another kiss. Three wasn't enough. Ivan wanted a hundred kisses, he wanted everything. Feverish with the need to mate, Ivan pressed closer. He whimpered from frustration, his constrained cock trapped in tight fabric.

As suddenly as it began, the improvised make out session ended. Alfred held Ivan at arms length, looking pained. “I need to think, and I'm about to wreck my nice work pants. So... I'm going to go, okay?” he said, trying to convince himself more than Ivan.

Somewhat clouded by lust, Ivan strained against his captor. “If you must. I could always use help by the desk.” He offered in a husky voice. Preferably, he needed to bend Alfred over the desk. Fucking him senseless, exploring and tasting. The thought was a dominating one. “Not today, big guy.” Alfred dismissed, gone as fast as he arrived. Once again alone, Ivan was now stuck with a moral dilemma and a raging erection. At least one of these things was easy to resolve.

[dantediscoversfic]

Chapter 21: Skirting and Sketching

I brought my sketchpad, charcoal pencils and the book of poetry by W.S. Merwin I’d been reading earlier in the week with me over to Ari’s house. When I got there I took my shoes off and left them on his front porch, Japanese style, so I wouldn’t track any dirt inside. I rang the doorbell and Ari’s mom greeted me.

“Dante, it’s so nice to see you. I’m glad you’re here. Ari’s been having a tough week.”

“Yeah he said on the phone he’s had a bad flu. I think getting sick during the summer should be illegal, don’t you? It’s…incongruous.”

“Incongruous,” she repeated with a laugh. She had a lovely low honey laugh like Ari’s. He must have inherited it from her. “It certainly is. His fever broke but he’s still a bit out of sorts.”

“I was worried about him when he didn’t show up at the pool this week.”

“I’m sorry about that, I didn’t think. I should have let you know he was under the weather.”

“It’s ok, I’m just glad he’s feeling better now.”

“He’s in his room. Would you like anything to drink?”

“No thanks, I’m good. I’ll just go see how Ari’s doing.”

“Ok, let me know if you two want a snack. I still have half a big pot of chicken soup left and Ari is going on a soup boycott, so you’re welcome to have some.”

“Thanks Mrs. Mendoza, I bet it’s delicious.”

“Lilliana. Mrs. Mendoza reminds me of my students and this is still summer break after all. You remember where Ari’s room is? Just down the hallway on the right.”

“Yes, thanks.”

I approached Ari’s room and stood in the doorway. He was lying in his bed on top of the covers, wearing his ratty Santana t-shirt and checkered pajama bottoms. He wasn’t reading or anything, just looking up at the ceiling. He had dark under eye circles and his hair looked exactly how you’d expect for someone who’d been stuck in bed for four days: a little greasy and matted and pillow-flattened and cowlick-y. His rumpledness made him look younger and more vulnerable, which isn't a word I ever thought I'd use to describe him. He turned his head and looked at me. Smiled, but with sad eyes. All the mess of hurt feelings that had been cycling through me all week seemed to slip instantly away the minute I saw that tired little half-smile. My chest felt tight. I was so happy to see him.

“Hi,” I said.

“You forgot your shoes,” he said. Honestly, he was obsessed with my shoes (or lack thereof).

“I donated them to the poor.”

“Guess the jeans are next.” (The jeans I was wearing were basically in tatters, but I didn't care because they were my favorite and unbelievably soft).

“Yeah," I said and we both laughed. His honey laugh was still there, just a little raspier than normal.

I examined him closer. “You look a little pale.”

“I still look more Mexican than you do.”

“Everybody looks more Mexican than I do. Pick it up with the people who handed me my genes.” I’d meant for it to come out flippantly, our regular joke, ha-ha, but was surprised to hear more than a tinge of bitterness in my voice.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “So you brought your sketch pad.” He knew me well enough to change the subject away from all the Mexican stuff.

“Yeah.”

“Are you going to show me your drawings?”

“Nope. I’m going to sketch you.”

The idea to sketch him had come to me earlier in the week, after my parents told me about Chicago, because I wanted a way to remember him if we ended up moving. We didn’t have any photos of each other (I planned to remedy that by convincing him to go into a photobooth with me the next time we went to the arcade). I’d drawn pictures of him from memory, but they didn’t quite capture his features in a way that I was happy with. They were my filtered and cartoonish reinterpretation of him, which is not the same as when you can draw someone when they’re right in front of you. When they let you really look at them.

“What if I don’t want to be sketched?” he said and I smiled at what a typically obstinate Ari response it was.

“How am I going to be an artist if I can’t practice?”

“Don’t artists’ models get paid?”

“Only the ones that are good-looking.”

“So I’m not good-looking?”

He arched an eyebrow and we looked at each other for a brief moment. Was he messing with me? 'Good-looking'? Who was he kidding? That was like describing the sky as simply ‘blue’ when there are words out there like azure, sapphire, cerulean, or cornflower. Heart wrenchingly beautiful.Those are the word I would have chosen, if he’d asked me sincerely, not as a breezy offhand joke, what I really thought when I looked at him. Even in his post-flu state, all disheveled hair, sallow skin and blood-shot eyes, he was still the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.“Don’t be an asshole,” I said, pure deflection, because I was beginning to feel my cheeks and neck get incriminatingly hot but I tried to shrug it off, hoping he wouldn’t notice. Of course he'd notice. He had eyes and my face was probably redder than a fire engine. Cardinal red. Russet. Sanguine.

Then something happened I wouldn't have predicted. Ari’s face got red, too. Was this some sort of belated fever symptom? He was the last guy in the world who I thought was capable of blushing. “So you’re really going to be an artist?” he asked to the ceiling, not me.

“Absolutely. You don’t believe me?” I found in that moment I could look nowhere else but his flushed cheeks and his lips, which were a little chapped, but still perfectly pink.

“I need evidence,” he said.

I sat down on his rocking chair and got my pencils and sketchbook out, fiddling a bit and taking more time than was probably necessary, since I realized that if I looked at him again right away I was afraid of what might come out of my mouth. It took a second for my heart to stop jack-hammering. When I’d gotten all my supplies ready I looked back at him, this time in the subjective and focused way an artist looks at a subject, not the confusing and dizzying way a friend looks at another friend’s lips.

“You still look sick.”

“Thanks.”

“Maybe it’s your dreams.”

“Maybe.”

“When I was a boy, I used to wake up thinking that the world was ending. I’d get up and look in the mirror and my eyes were sad.”

As a child the idea of atomic bombs and nuclear war had both terrified and fascinated me, especially after my grade school teachers made us practice emergency “duck and cover” drills. Later when we learned about the Vietnam War and I read that Little Boy was the codename for the bomb dropped in Hiroshima, I thought immediately of those drills. All of our little bodies crouched in rows by our hallway lockers, our little hands covering our little heads.

“You mean like mine,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“My eyes are always sad.”

The way he looked at me made me wonder if we were still talking about our dreams or were we talking about something else?

“The world isn’t ending, Ari.”

“Don’t be an asshole," he said. I liked that he’d repeated my phrase from earlier. It made me smile, despite the seriousness of the subject we were skirting around. “Of course it’s not ending.”

“Sad, sad, sad,” I said.

“Sad, sad, sad,” he said, turning it into another one of our little games.

This time I laughed in earnest, because it was almost like he’d read my mind, knowing how much I liked my words repeated back to me from his lips. Like I’d given him a present and he’d given me one, too, and when we opened them up we couldn’t help but laugh because we’d both given each other the exact same gift.

“I want to draw you.”

“Can I stop you?”

“You’re the one who said you needed evidence.”

I threw him the book of poems I’d brought. “Read it. You read. I’ll draw.”

I turned my attention to studying the room around him, my focus narrowing to lines and light. I looked at Ari, wondering how I could possibly capture in two-dimensional markings, shades and shapes the complexity of him and what he made me feel inside? But I had to try. I blurred my eyes momentarily to get a sense of just the light hitting his face and skin, like the smooth under painting before all the details are added to the surface of a canvas. I could tell he was nervous because he kept fidgeting and hadn’t opened the book. I was nervous, too. But I tried to project nothing but calmness so he would let me keep looking at him. I furrowed my brow in slightly exaggerated concentration so he’d get that me looking at him was just an artist-subject thing. Nothing to be scared or uncomfortable about.

“Make me look good,” he said.

“Read. Just read.”

He relaxed eventually. I did, too, though in a way that is similar to swimming, when you get ‘in the zone’ and a different part of your brain takes the reigns and you stop second guessing what your body is doing, so you are focused and relaxed at the same time. Breathing helps. He got caught up in reading the book of poems, which I knew he would like. There was one poem in particular I liked the most, "Youth". One line—from what we cannot know the stars are made—reminded me of my favorite Carl Sagan quote: “The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of starstuff.” I thought about the carbon in the pencil I was holding, how it was made of the same starstuff as I was and Ari was. I tried to not only capture him on the paper, but cement all the little details of him in my memory as well. I knew I’d need them stored up so I could call upon them later, if the unthinkable happened and my family ended up moving to Chicago.

I drew and drew and drew. I was greedy for the smallest of details. The precise curve and thickness of his eyelashes. The twin crescent creases that formed between his eyebrows and the way he’d stick his tongue out a little when he was really concentrating on understanding a difficult line of poetry. The way the sunlight wrapped around his jaw and cheekbones, softening them and drawing attention to their attractive angles at the same time. And his hair. Since I couldn’t actually touch it, my pencils became a proxy for my fingers and I tried to capture the exact way his hair swooped lazily across his forehead, the nearly infinite shades of black, the tiny wisps at the nape of his neck. I could have drawn just his hair for hours.

At some point, he shifted his position so he wasn’t leaning up against his bed's headboard to read, but lying on his side, one hand propping up his head, the book of poems open on the bed in front of him. I watched him close his eyes briefly. Then shift so that the pillow was under his head, not his hand. He made a valiant effort to keep reading but eventually closed his eyes again. His breathing evened and he drifted off to sleep. I drew him just like that. It was the best gift he could have given me.

When I was certain he was sleeping deeply enough that I wouldn’t disturb him, I quietly moved off of the rocking chair and pulled his blanket up around him. I sat down next to him for a while, matching my breath to his. I was careful not to touch him, so I wouldn’t accidentally wake him up. He looked so peaceful it almost made me want to cry. I hoped that his period of nightmares was behind him.

I looked around his room and my eyes were drawn to the rocking chair I’d vacated. I liked the way the light hit it and the long shadows it cast on the blank white wall (since Ari had taken down all his posters). I tapped the curved base with my toe to make it move back and forth. It kept rocking for a long time on its own after I’d lifted my foot away because his window was open and there was a slight breeze coming through. Or maybe, I thought, because a ghost was sitting in it. An old world-weary ghost enjoying its ghost retirement relaxing in a rocking chair. For some reason, that made me smile. The chair was alone, but not alone, since I was there, and maybe the ghost, too. I drew the chair and it wasn’t until I was done that I realized that I was actually drawing Ari.

I left the drawing for him. Maybe he’d think it was just a chair. Or maybe he’d see something else, like I had.

I left a note with the drawing for him to read when he woke up.

Ari,

I hope you like the sketch of your chair. I miss you at the pool. The lifeguards are jerks.

Dante

[tessatechaitea]

Wacky Raceland #6

Coming soon to an America near you!

Pat Pending has almost certainly stuck his dick in that giant brain.

• Last issue was called "The Butcher Shop, Part One: Revelations." So you might think that this issue would include, somewhere in the title, "Part Two." But you'd be wrong! You probably weren't surprised by that revelation since that was such a standard set-up. No, this issue is also called "The Butcher Shop, Part One: Revelations." I guess that means it's Part Two of the first part of The Butcher Shop story although it doesn't make that explicitly clear. • Pat Pending's wife is the all-powerful Announcer. He blames her for destroying the world after she went insane. He doesn't explain how or why she went insane but I'm willing to put twenty dollars on "Pat stuck his penis in my amygdala." • The Announcer decides to blast some Wacky Raceland history into the heads of all the racers. Please oh please let it be that moment that I've mentioned twice now about the pinky and the brain. • The Announcer tells everybody about Pat Pending's experiments to help enslave the world: weather control, nanite swarm death panels, dwarf clone armies, and weaponized Scooby Dogs. I knew this was the same universe! Now to just have Slutty Velma behind it all, making plans and gobbling dicks, and I'll be happy! • Too bad for Pat Pending, his experiments revolted, led by the Slag Brothers. In the riot, Pat's wife was mortally wounded so he stuck her brain in a jar. That seems like a shitty idea. Could you really keep loving your partner if they were just brain? I'd bring women home to have sex with and they'd be all, "What's with the brain in the jar?" And I'd be all, "Just put a sheet over it." Then because I was stupid enough to hook the brain up to censors and microphones and computers, it would be all, "What's that sound? Tess? Are you fucking another whore?!" Man, just let her die, Pat! • Angelique, who probably goes by "Ann" since that works for Announcer too, became Godlike in her powers over the world being linked directly into the World Wide Web. She decides to kill the world leaders and take over. I'd probably do something like that if I were a brain as well. • You know the most worrisome thing about a Trump presidency? I once fleshed out one of our No Apologies! Press characters from the Galactic Hero Corps called Global Thermo-nuclear War Dude. I revealed that his main goal was the destruction of everything because he couldn't bear to die knowing that the world would still go on without him. I have a feeling if Trump gets some kind of health news where it's revealed he doesn't have long to live, he's taking us all out with him. • Pat's wife not only killed all of the leaders, she destroyed the Earth.

And they're off!

• Pat Pending's plan was to train the Wacky Racers until they were strong enough, and a cohesive enough unit, to take down his wife, the Brain in the Jar. He probably could have offered to change out her brain water and then "accidentally" dropped her on the floor and kicked her under the fridge. Although that probably would have been a short comic book series and it wouldn't have involved the Wacky Races. So I'm glad it was done this way. • The Announcer's jar is impervious to most weapons. But it has one weakness! It can't stand up to the Wacky Racebot! That's the robot that the Wacky Racecars turn into when Pat Pending initiates secret FuckCar Protocol 777. We all know why 69 is 69 but 777 is when a bunch of cars stick their dicks in each other to become one giant car. • The Wacky Racebot defeats the brain by putting a cancer bomb inside of it. That's one way of like ten million ways to destroy a brain, I suppose. • Afterward, all of the Racers head off to get drunk. But Pat Pending stays behind because he's not Pat Pending anymore!

I fucking hate it when this happens.

The Ranking! +1! Um. I guess that's it? I wasn't prepared for this to be over so soon. I guess I'll just have to go stick my Wacky Races DVD in and pretend they're racing through the end of the world. At the very least, this version will probably always shade my reviewing of the cartoon in a positive way. I always loved the cartoon because it's fucking silly. I mean wacky! But I also always loved the "competition" cartoons where you never knew who was going to win each week. Although when your favorite character is the guy who is never allowed to win and his dog, it made for some sad Saturday mornings. But come on! Dick Dastardly should have won them all! And the Really Rottens should have won the Laff-o-lympics every week! We all knew it was true! Anyway, I'm sad this is over although I'm always kind of happy to find out I've got one less comic to read each month! That's me! Always* looking on the bright side! *Always represents between 1 and 3 percent of all of the times.