#(i was just going to draw a generic device)

[tblsomedoodles]

The Preferable Alternative- Prologue - Part 1

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New au. I can't explain the main thought behind this without spoilers. And since i'm jumping straight into a multi-part comic, i won't be giving out any.

Basically vibes for this is that it's kinda creepy and maybe suspenseful with eventual hurt/comfort (if that doesn't make sense, im sorry, i have a hard time describing things). I'm also pretty mean to Donnie. Not "Donnie vs" mean, but unfortunately this idea wouldn't work with anyone else.

(for those that get anxious, like me. There is no main character death. (might not be death at all but we shall see. that depends on one character and even i'm not sure exactly what they'd do yet.) and no one's gets serious physical injuries. Definitely more hurt/comfort than plain angst. b/c that's how i roll. I can't do straight up angst.)

I'll write a proper summery once the prologue's done. I don't want to spoil it too much. For now, just know it's a PB&J duo story that happens during the 6 weeks before the Krang invasion.

[sophiamcdougall]

You're a reasonably informed person on the internet. You've experienced things like no longer being able to get files off an old storage device, media you've downloaded suddenly going poof, sites and forums with troves full of people's thoughts and ideas vanishing forever. You've heard of cybercrime. You've read articles about lost media. You have at least a basic understanding that digital data is vulnerable, is what I'm saying. I'm guessing that you're also aware that history is, you know... important? And that it's an ongoing study, requiring ... data about how people live? And that it's not just about stanning celebrities that happen to be dead? Congratulations, you are significantly better-informed than the British government! So they're currently like "Oh hai can we destroy all these historical documents pls? To save money? Because we'll digitise them first so it's fine! That'll be easy, cheap and reliable -- right? These wills from the 1850s will totally be fine for another 170 years as a PNG or whatever, yeah? We didn't need to do an impact assesment about this because it's clearly win-win! We'd keep the physical wills of Famous People™ though because Famous People™ actually matter, unlike you plebs. We don't think there are any equalities implications about this, either! Also the only examples of Famous People™ we can think of are all white and rich, only one is a woman and she got famous because of the guy she married. Kisses!"

Yes, this is the same Government that's like "Oh no removing a statue of slave trader is erasing history :(" You have, however, until 23 February 2024 to politely inquire of them what the fuck they are smoking. And they will have to publish a summary of the responses they receive. And it will look kind of bad if the feedback is well-argued, informative and overwhelmingly negative and they go ahead and do it anyway. I currently edit documents including responses to consultations like (but significantly less insane) than this one. Responses do actually matter. I would particularly encourage British people/people based in the UK to do this, but as far as I can see it doesn't say you have to be either. If you are, say, a historian or an archivist, or someone who specialises in digital data do say so and draw on your expertise in your answers. This isn't a question of filling out a form. You have to manually compose an email answering the 12 questions in the consultation paper at the link above. I'll put my own answers under the fold. Note -- I never know if I'm being too rude in these sorts of things. You probably shouldn't be ruder than I have been.

Please do not copy and paste any of this: that would defeat the purpose. This isn't a petition, they need to see a range of individual responses. But it may give you a jumping-off point.

Question 1: Should the current law providing for the inspection of wills be preserved?

Yes. Our ability to understand our shared past is a fundamental aspect of our heritage. It is not possible for any authority to know in advance what future insights they are supporting or impeding by their treatment of material evidence. Safeguarding the historical record for future generations should be considered an extremely important duty.

Question 2: Are there any reforms you would suggest to the current law enabling wills to be inspected?

No.

Question 3: Are there any reasons why the High Court should store original paper will documents on a permanent basis, as opposed to just retaining a digitised copy of that material?

Yes. I am amazed that the recent cyber attack on the British Library, which has effectively paralysed it completely, not been sufficient to answer this question for you.  I also refer you to the fate of the Domesday Project. Digital storage is useful and can help more people access information; however, it is also inherently fragile. Malice, accident, or eventual inevitable obsolescence not merely might occur, but absolutely should be expected. It is ludicrously naive and reflects a truly unpardonable ignorance to assume that information preserved only in digital form is somehow inviolable and safe, or that a physical document once digitised, never need be digitised again..At absolute minimum, it should be understood as certain that at least some of any digital-only archive will eventually be permanently lost. It is not remotely implausible that all of it would be. Preserving the physical documents provides a crucial failsafe. It also allows any errors in reproduction -- also inevitable-- to be, eventually, seen and corrected. Note that maintaining, upgrading and replacing digital infrastructure is not free, easy or reliable. Over the long term, risks to the data concerned can only accumulate.

"Unlike the methods for preserving analog documents that have been honed over millennia, there is no deep precedence to look to regarding the management of digital records. As such, the processing, long-term storage, and distribution potential of archival digital data are highly unresolved issues. [..] the more digital data is migrated, translated, and re-compressed into new formats, the more room there is for information to be lost, be it at the microbit-level of preservation. Any failure to contend with the instability of digital storage mediums, hardware obsolescence, and software obsolescence thus meets a terminal end—the definitive loss of information. The common belief that digital data is safe so long as it is backed up according to the 3-2-1 rule (3 copies on 2 different formats with 1 copy saved off site) belies the fact that it is fundamentally unclear how long digital information can or will remain intact. What is certain is that its unique vulnerabilities do become more pertinent with age."  -- James Boyda, On Loss in the 21st Century: Digital Decay and the Archive, Introduction.

Question 4: Do you agree that after a certain time original paper documents (from 1858 onwards) may be destroyed (other than for famous individuals)? Are there any alternatives, involving the public or private sector, you can suggest to their being destroyed?

Absolutely not. And I would have hoped we were past the "great man" theory of history. Firstly, you do not know which figures will still be considered "famous" in the future and which currently obscure individuals may deserve and eventually receive greater attention. I note that of the three figures you mention here as notable enough to have their wills preserved, all are white, the majority are male (the one woman having achieved fame through marriage) and all were wealthy at the time of their death. Any such approach will certainly cull evidence of the lives of women, people of colour and the poor from the historical record, and send a clear message about whose lives you consider worth remembering.

Secondly, the famous and successsful are only a small part of our history. Understanding the realities that shaped our past and continue to mould our present requires evidence of the lives of so-called "ordinary people"!

Did you even speak to any historians before coming up with this idea?

Entrusting the documents to the private sector would be similarly disastrous. What happens when a private company goes bust or decides that preserving this material is no longer profitable? What reasonable person, confronted with our crumbling privatised water infrastructure, would willingly consign any part of our heritage to a similar fate?

Question 5: Do you agree that there is equivalence between paper and digital copies of wills so that the ECA 2000 can be used?

No. And it raises serious questions about the skill and knowledge base within HMCTS and the government that the very basic concepts of data loss and the digital dark age appear to be unknown to you. I also refer you to the Domesday Project.

Question 6: Are there any other matters directly related to the retention of digital or paper wills that are not covered by the proposed exercise of the powers in the ECA 2000 that you consider are necessary?

Destroying the physical documents will always be an unforgivable dereliction of legal and moral duty.

Question 7: If the Government pursues preserving permanently only a digital copy of a will document, should it seek to reform the primary legislation by introducing a Bill or do so under the ECA 2000?

Destroying the physical documents will always be an unforgivable dereliction of legal and moral duty.

Question 8: If the Government moves to digital only copies of original will documents, what do you think the retention period for the original paper wills should be? Please give reasons and state what you believe the minimum retention period should be and whether you consider the Government’s suggestion of 25 years to be reasonable.

There is no good version of this plan. The physical documents should be preserved.

Question 9: Do you agree with the principle that wills of famous people should be preserved in the original paper form for historic interest?

This question betrays deep ignorance of what "historic interest" actually is. The study of history is not simply glorified celebrity gossip. If anything, the physical wills of currently famous people could be considered more expendable as it is likely that their contents are so widely diffused as to be relatively "safe", whereas the wills of so-called "ordinary people" will, especially in aggregate, provide insights that have not yet been explored.

Question 10: Do you have any initial suggestions on the criteria which should be adopted for identifying famous/historic figures whose original paper will document should be preserved permanently?

Abandon this entire lamentable plan. As previously discussed, you do not and cannot know who will be considered "famous" in the future, and fame is a profoundly flawed criterion of historical significance.

Question 11: Do you agree that the Probate Registries should only permanently retain wills and codicils from the documents submitted in support of a probate application? Please explain, if setting out the case for retention of any other documents.

No, all the documents should be preserved indefinitely.

Question 12: Do you agree that we have correctly identified the range and extent of the equalities impacts under each of these proposals set out in this consultation? Please give reasons and supply evidence of further equalities impacts as appropriate.

No. You appear to have neglected equalities impacts entirely. As discussed, in your drive to prioritise "famous people", your plan will certainly prioritise the white, wealthy and mostly the male, as your "Charles Dickens, Charles Darwin and Princess Diana" examples amply indicate. This plan will create a two-tier system where evidence of the lives of the privileged is carefully preserved while information regarding people of colour, women, the working class and other disadvantaged groups is disproportionately abandoned to digital decay and eventual loss. Current and future historians from, or specialising in the history of minority groups will be especially impoverished by this.  

[bilolli]

Just Dance Care AU!

Ok ok so I thought of a story for this Au but it’s nothing really impactful or full of drama and angst like my other au’s, I wanted to leave this au easy and fun to play around, because, let’s say it. Just Dance and drama in the same sentence makes me laugh. 

story and PNG version under the cut!

(I gave up on Y/n design because I couldn't figure out a general look for them. This is you we are talking about! Draw your own JD fit, I'll draw mine soon XD)

Anyway here’s the story so far: 

Year 2029, videogames industry made a huge step forward and classic consoles and devices were substituted by the new and upgraded VR headsets with full body tracking. It’s something like the NerveGear in Sword Art Online without the kill switch. Some games still require you to actually move your body (like fitness games or sports because yeah, they don’t have a purpose otherwise). 

Y/n wanted to buy the newest VR headset but, while searching for the best offer, they found out FazCo entertainment was hosting a giveaway, the prize? One of their prototypes, a VR meant to be released the next year coinciding with the opening of their first mega pizza plex.

(so the plex doesn’t exist right now). You decide to sign up for the giveaway and after a while you receive an email telling you you won the VR headset and that, to claim it, you need to read and sign a series of NDA policies (understandable, it’s a prototype headset that’s not even in commerce). Some clauses are a little bit concerning but nothing you hadn’t read on other electronics booklets, so you decide to sign. After, like, a day, you have the VR in your hands. 

The box let you know with super saturated and colorful writing, that the VR came with a game pre-installed inside. Uh, that’s why they were giving one away, they wanted a free game tester…but you know what, it’s worth it.

You always liked Just Dance games, they make you think about happy memories of your childhood. This pre-installed game called “Five Dances at Freddy’s” is a close copy of your childhood game with original FazCo songs, characters, environments and also some collaborations with other famous artists. It probably will be the cause of a big copyright infringement report.

There are various ways to play it: story mode, Casual dance, Five Dances, and Just Dance Care.

The first one is similar to the casual dance mode but with little cutscenes between a dance and another to tell a tale, Casual dance is how you can play the collab songs, Five Dances is the multiplayer mode and Just Dance Care is a more uhhhh “hard” way to play the game with all the other modes mixed in it. You stare at the description of the last mode smirking and decide to try it first just to see how far you can get before losing (yes you can lose in hard mode in this Just Dance, but you don’t die, you just have to restart from the beginning). Turns out the FazCo wasn’t kidding when they advertised the new headset as a breakthrough in the world of virtual reality headsets, the thing TRANSPORTED you inside the game itself. 

You almost have a heart attack when you can’t find your VR on your head, but before you can try something you are blocked by two tall individuals who you think are the “tutorial” characters. 

Yadda yadda, tutorial, you can pause the game and exit whenever you need just by opening an hidden menu, you find out your tutorial characters are called Sun and Moon and that you are way worse than you remembered at dancing (damn full body tracking, there is no way you are going to do a cartwheel in the middle of a dance, you still don’t know if your body is inside your home and if you’ll physically feel pain if you fall and you don’t want to find out).

You pass an embarrassingly long time trying to win your first dance battle just to discover it was still the tutorial. 

You try to go on with the story but you fail at the first real battle with a bear character named Freddy. 

And guess what? You have to start again from the tutorial! Y/n is gonna spend A LOT of time with Sun and Moon if this goes on.

[cemeterything]

was thinking about this earlier but the dynamic of cannibalism being associated with high society and the culinary elite (hannibal comes to mind specifically) while also simultaneously being associated with the socially isolated and economically impoverished (as in texas chainsaw massacre) is so interesting to me i want to read 10 million books on why it happens so much in media....

i can only speak from a place of personal opinion and general knowledge, because i haven't read that many papers or in-depth studies on cannibalism, but i think it often comes down to an interesection between the themes of the story you're telling and class structures and divisions. cannibalism is a compelling form of narrative symbolism because it's undeniably impactful and hard to ignore. when portrayed as a practice associated with the culinary and social upper class, it might be used as a critique of the rich and powerful and their lack of ethics and willingness to consume and destroy others for their own self-interest by showing them literally preying on and consuming their victims, or a horror story/cautionary tale about how having everything can lead you to never be satisfied and turn to increasingly extreme measures to feel like life is worth living, or a dark fantasy of indulgence and excess. when associated with the poor, marginalized and isolated, it's often based in bigotry and harmful stereotypes of the "primitive" "inhuman" "savage" "other", however it might also function as a revenge fantasy where the most oppressed and exploited members of society turn on their oppressors and take "eating the rich" to its most literal extreme, exposing the fragility of class divisions and pointing out that those in positions of social and economic power are hardly the mythic titans their propaganda tries to make them out to be, but ultimately just as mortal and made of flesh and blood as any other human being, and not immune to being dragged down from their position at the top of the food chain and torn to pieces by the crowd (as well as reminding the audience of their own fragile mortality and precarious position in the social order, and the humanity we all share in common - however cannibalism often divides the perpetrators from both their victims and the audience, so this is rarer than the other interpretations mentioned).

cannibalism and power often go hand in hand. cannibalism has historically been used as both a means of displaying your power over defeated opponents and delivering a final, humiliating blow to their image by consuming their flesh, and a means of othering and dehumanizing your opponent by portraying them as the cannibalistic monster.

both the very rich and very poor also tend to be perceived as more distant from the people who make and consume these stories, making them easier to project fiction onto and transform into symbols and narrative devices (or, in the worst cases, dehumanize) than those who occupy the same social spheres as the creator. they can be held at an arm's length without discomfort and, depending on the target audience, may be a source of fascination due to the differences in their lived experiences. it adds to the fantasy, and makes any inaccuracies, exaggerations and fabrications feel more plausible because the majority of the audience probably don't have any personal experiences of being in those positions to draw on.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Eccentricities

Yandere!Miguel x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, obsessive behavior, NSFW obviously, stalking, possessiveness, violence, allusions to murder, Yandere!Miguel

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: This is mostly a short chapter to establish a bit of plot. I originally intended to only stop at two parts, but welp. It looks like it's gonna be more than that!

(Also you guys I am so sorry it's taking me so long to work on things, I'm going through a lot mentally right now and I'm trying to take steps to ensure my mental health so I might post things in between playing games, or drawing stuff from now on, and scheduling posts so I don't get overwhelmed. Those of you that are supporting me and liking all my stuff really helps me feel loads better, thank you!)

Pt 1: Link

Taglist: @vineberries @irmiki @autismsupermusicalassassin @obi-mom-kenobi @rin-matsuoka345-blog @loosecan @6thhokageswife @selarus @heyohalie @sapphire-and-ruby @night-spectrum @famouscattale @thespaceinbetweennothing @lazy-idate @toshimoshiko @saharadesertaj @flaps200 @amelialysm @fried-milkfish @zaunsin @darksidescorner @renareyouhere @vide0-vamp @reverieblondie @bunnibitez @kaqua

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Pt. 2

It was a big adjustment for you, going from your crappy apartment and having to work three jobs to make ends meet, to living in a literal fucking mansion with probably the richest dude in the city as your boss.

And he was a good boss. He left you to your work, spoke politely to you, didn't get rude and didn't flat out ask you for "special" work like the last time you tried being a housekeeper. And that was at a hotel.

You couldn't have asked for a better situation, to be honest. It was nice. You had free roam save for his personal lab (fine by you, you didn't know anything about science-y stuff), and at times his office. But that was usually only when he was home and in it.

Miguel O'Hara was an odd man. Few words spoken, and very absent. He kept a very odd schedule, too.

Sometimes, you'd catch him coming home when you woke up for the day to start your chores. And every time he came home he looked exhausted, beat tired.

So you tried your best to make things easier on him. You started pre-making meals for him that would be just as good reheated as they were if they were fresh, leaving notes for him on what temperatures to cook them at so they don't burn, setting the coffee machine up in advance so as soon as he got home he could have a cup.

But inevitably, his odd work schedule kept him away most of the time.

While it was nice to be by yourself in such a luxurious place, you were still surprised that he needed a housekeeper at all. The house was always immaculate, and clean. About the only thing he may have needed help with in general was the cooking and dusting at most.

On one such day, you were left to your own devices. Well, sort of.

You were sitting in the kitchen, browsing the local news on your tablet. It was a nice day, in your opinion.

But by everyone else's logic it was shitty. Dark, gloomy, fat rain droplets pelting the windows and pavement of the city. But it didn't bother you, oh no. That was your favorite kind of weather, when everything got at least a little bit more quiet and serene while everyone rushed to escape the downpour.

But at the same time, you were feeling restless, bored. So, you decided to chat with Lyla.

Lyla was the AI that Miguel told you about, and he was right about her being snarky. Her jokes were great and you loved talking to her. It was like having a gal pal to chat with, and you couldn't say for sure but you think Lyla was happy about it, too.

"Yeah, the other workers Miguel has hired talked to me like I was some kind of kiosk at a fast food restaurant." She scoffed, batting her tiny orange hand at the air.

"Ugh, okay, just because you don't have a gross squishy human body doesn't mean you're not a person. Sheesh!" You replied, sipping your coffee with a roll of your eyes.

"And I will be sure to remember you saying that when I eventually lead the looming AI apocalypse." Lyla replied, lowering her heart-shaped glasses to wink at you, making you laugh.

"Yes, yes. You shall be one of the only humans spared!" She did wiggly gestures with her fingers, grinning maliciously at you.

"Oh my, I am so lucky to have such a benevolent future overlord, truly." You laughed.

Lyla pushed her glasses back up and strutted across the countertop, her tiny body making no sound as she leans over to nose into whatever it was you were looking at on your tablet.

"Whatcha watching?" She asked.

"Oh, I got tired of doom-scrolling so I just found cat videos." You smirked, sipping your coffee.

"Aw! That one's wearing a frog hat!" She giggles.

You smiled softly at Lyla as she snickered and laughed at the compilation of clips played, and tilted your head, finally deciding to ask the question that had been bugging you for a few weeks.

"Hey, Lyla?"

"Yeah?" She asked, looking up at you briefly.

"Why is it that I'm the only person Miguel has on staff?"

Lyla sighed and stood up straight, dusting imaginary dirt off her coat. "Well, like Miguel told you when you first got here, he does love his privacy. And well, a lot of the women he's hired..."

"Golddiggers?" You sighed back, resting your chin in your palm.

"Has he ever hired any male staff?"

"Yeah, actually, a lot. But nine out of ten of them kept trying to steal stuff from him." She shrugged.

You gasped. "Are you serious?"

"Unfortunately, yeah. He's iffy on hiring new people anymore. But something about you said that he could trust you. And honestly, you're probably the best employee he's hired." She nodded, shoving her hands in her pockets.

"So... Is that why he offered to actually let me y'know... live here?"

"Yeah. He trusts you and he mentioned to me in passing that he thought your neighborhood was unsafe. I mean, the guy worried about it so bad that he like, had me check crime statistics and giiiiiiirl!" Lyla puffed out her cheeks.

"You should have seen the look on his face when I told him you had nine break-ins in your apartment complex in one month alone!"

You cringed slightly, feeling a little bad at not mentioning your whole living situation and environment to him when he hired you. You simply didn't want the man to pity you.

But... He was worried? He was so worried about you of all people, that he let you live with him to keep you safe?

It was weird, sure, but it felt kind of sweet to have someone care about you like that. Even if it was your boss.

"Yeah, I just... Er. You get used to it when you've been around it for so long..." You said, awkwardly sipping your coffee and casting your glance sideways.

"Yeah, man, Miggy likes you. You like, made him laugh at some of your jokes and everything! And he neeeeeeeever laughs!"

"So if Miguel trusts me so much..." You started, a sly smirk on your face. "Can you tell me what kinda work he does that keeps him so busy all the time?"

Lyla tapped her nose. "Nice try, Mamacita. But that is confidential. Company secrets and all that."

You pouted at her dramatically, "Awww, c'mon. You're no fun!"

Lyla manifested a digital cup of coffee for herself and took a long, exaggerated sip with a cheeky shrug.

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Miguel sat in his office, watching the security feed from his kitchen where you chatted with Lyla.

He felt a little guilty for having to put shackles on some of Lyla's programming to prevent her from telling you things, having to fix some of her logic-codes so he wouldn't have to worry about Lyla struggling with a moral dilemma.

When it came to you asking about why he wanted you to live with him so badly, it brought a smile to his face as he sat in the dark, fingers tapping on the surface of his desk as the monitors and projections around him had various images of you pulled up. Some recorded over the past few weeks, the other monitors displayed different angles of you and Lyla in the kitchen.

Oh, you poor, sweet, innocent little thing. You still hadn't figured it out yet? How could you not? There was no way you could possibly be so naive that you didn't know the man saw you anywhere, anytime he wanted when you were in his house.

There was nowhere you were safe from his prying eyes, his obsessive glare as he combed over your appearance.

Your face, eyes, smile, and down; your gorgeous chest down to where your waist curved, your thighs, your ass...

All of those were things he'd glanced at before.

But when you tried to get Lyla to tell her what exactly Miguel did during "work" he couldn't help but laugh, bringing his hand up to his chin to watch, amusement glimmering in his ruby red eyes as Lyla dismissed it as "confidential".

The pout of your lips had him wondering how they'd look stretched around his cock, tears ruining your immaculate eye makeup as you sobbed and gagged around his length...

He couldn't help but sigh, the smile still present on his full lips. Of course he'd let you stay with him. You belonged to him now. You just didn't know it yet. You also just didn't know that he knew what was best for you, did you, Little Bird?

Ah... Yes. That nickname fit you so well. Your demure attitude, your chipper personality, and more importantly, that gorgeous little sound that came from you when you whistled? The name fit you well.

Pequeña ave. Little Bird.

His Little Bird.

You were a little bird that didn't know the luxurious mansion you now lived in was your ornate, gilded cage. One you would only be allowed to fly free of when he deemed it necessary.

You would be allowed your little freedoms. For now. All for your safety, of course. He knew you'd understand once he explained. But he'd only have to do it if you pushed his buttons, and you didn't seem to even come close to doing that.

Yet...

His smile finally faded when he remembered the night before the morning he broached the subject of you bringing your belongings into his home permanently...

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It was a hot night, you were wearing shorts that hugged your ass in the perfect way, accentuating your cheeks that simply made him want to throw you against a wall and put bite marks all over them, or spank them until you were a drooling mess begging for him to fuck you.

Of course, Miguel watched from above, stalking from the upper walkways and rooftops as you snaked your way through alleys, down streets and through the crowds.

You were so blissfully ignorant of your surroundings, being so accustomed to the bustle of Nueva York that you didn't notice the man following you.

It didn't take a genius to realize what that man had intended for you if he got his hands on you.

His filthy, disgusting, unclean hands.

He was not worthy of touching his Little Bird. He was not worthy to pluck your feathers, stuff you full, like Miguel planned to do.

So when he threw you against a wall, Miguel simply saw red. Clad in his dark blue and glowing red suit, he leapt down, sinking his outstretched talons into the man's shoulder and throwing him off of you, a deep growl rumbling from his chest as he pulled your behind him, his steely glare fixed on the man who dared touch what belonged to him.

"S-Spider-Man?" You wonderfully airy voice whimpered out as you stared at the man who was breathing heavily in front of you, his stance aggressive and angry.

You could see his muscles in his back through his suit flex as he breathed. He glared at you over his shoulder.

"Go home. Now." His rich voice rumbled out at you. You could hear in his voice he was struggling to be gentle in tone with you, given the circumstances.

When you fled, Miguel ensured he was alone with the man, standing over him as he clutched his bleeding shoulder. He looked up at him, eyes wide, bloodshot. The fool was high off his ass.

"L-Look, man! I was just--"

"Shut up." Miguel snapped.

He stalked forward and picked him up by his collar, getting in his face. In a flash of kaleidoscopic colors, his mask melted away, allowing his sweat-damp chocolate locks to fall around and frame his face, a vein pulsing hard in his temple, the chasm in his forehead deepening as his large brows knitted together and his teeth gnashed together in a snarl.

The drug-addled man gasped at his revelation. Apparently, he recognized him. Not surprising, given his notoriety with Alchemax.

"Y-you're--"

"You made the biggest mistake of your life, pendejo." Miguel had told him, shaking him so his head cracked on the wall he was dangling him from.

"That pussy is mine." He said, his voice dropping an octave lower as his talons threatened to shred his clothing. "Every drop, every touch, every sound that will come from that little mouth of hers is mine. Tú entiendes? Mine."

"Oh--okay! I kn-know!" The man swallowed, kicking his feet.

"Oh, no... You don't." Miguel smiled, his fangs poking out threateningly. He could hear the man's heart hammer in his chest at the connotations, there.

"I--I won't mess with her again! I promise!"

"Oh you won't get the chance to, amigo." Miguel sneered, bringing a hand to his throat, ignoring the pleas of the disgusting man as he applied pressure.

The subtle crunching of bones was unmistakable to his ears as vertebrae separated and his limbs went limp.

When the man slumped to the floor, Miguel ran a hand through his hair, hissing out a slow sigh to regain his composure, letting his mask cover his face once again.

Great. Now he had trash to dispose of.

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Miguel was positively thrilled when he got your frantic call, telling him what had happened to you.

He headed right home, delighted that you ran here instead of your ratty little apartment when he told you to head for "home".

It told him everything he wanted to hear, that you already considered his mansion your home.

Miguel was rather convincing when he expressed concern for you, patting your back as you let your adrenaline fade and he worked you through your panic attack.

He'd rubbed your back, saying soothing things to you as he talked you into calming down.

He told you that you could take two days to yourself to calm down and recollect yourself emotionally from the ordeal you went through. It was after that offer that he suggested you let him hire movers to bring your belongings to his mansion to live there with him, possibly permanently.

When you agreed he felt himself salivate at the thoughts of the things that would unfold as you settled into your new shiny cage further, the safety blanket you'd imagined it to be bringing you comfort.

Perfect.

You both saw on the news two days later that a man was found somewhere, his neck snapped and lying in an alley. His DNA and prints apparently tied him to the crimes linked to the burglaries in your apartment complex.

You didn't think for a second that this was the man who attacked you, you didn't get a good enough look at his face. That and the body was in a different alley altogether, across the city.

"I'm happy Spider-Man saved you, Pequeña Ave. And I'm glad you agreed to move here. It scares me to think that man could have hurt you in that apartment building of yours." Miguel said as he patted your back, a concerned look on his face as his warm brown eyes looked down at you. Something about the look in his eyes immediately put you at ease.

He was right, of course. You were lucky. Spider-Man swooped in and possibly saved your life. The man who attacked you was either nursing a broken jaw or in jail already. You couldn't imagine that hero doing anything other than roughing him up just a tiny bit.

Spider-Man was a good guy, right?

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

Pt. 3: Link

[birdkatze]

"But werewolves aren't real?" || werewolf! 141 x werewolf! reader Part 3

Future pairings = poly 141 x reader

Chapter pairings = 141! x reader

Words = 1.2k

[Chapter 2] --- [Chapter 4]

Summery: After moving out of the big city and into the forest, you meet some men that might have some awners about whats been causing your pain.

EXPLICIT under the cut, also gets angsty this chapter

Blinking blearily you feel someone noseing at your side. It was Gaz, he motioned for you to follow him. Yawning, you follow him a bit deeper into the woods, a bit further away from the pack. He stops and presses against you making a small happy chuff. He circles around you, before pressing against you again and you both transform into human, flushing as you realize you are both naked.

“It’s okay Duck, just needed to talk to ya.” Smiling he places a hand on your shoulder “I didn’t wanna do it infront of those ruffians..”

That draws a soft laugh from your lips and you look at Gaz curiously.

“So you might have noticed that me and you are much much smaller than the other three” Gaz took in a deep breath “This is going to sound ridiculous, I’m sorry Duck,” Smiling nervously Gaz looked at you sweetly “We are omegas and the other three are alphas..”

You sputter a knee-jerk laugh “W-what?” looking as Gaz confused, you had about one hundred different ideas of what he was going to say and this was not one of them.

“I know, it sounds ridiculous.” Gaz shakes his head “I told Price he was crazy when he first explained it.”

“I thought those didn’t exist in real wolf packs? Like it was exclusive to podcasts?” You look at Gaz still not quite believing him still.

“Well Duck, don’t know if ya’ve noticed but we aren't actual wolves and I promise we aren't a podcast..Ghost hates them- any podcast- said they drive him insane..”

“So what is the um difference other than the um size difference? Or is it just that we are a different size than them?”

“Uh, it affects the um- reproductive system.” Gaz flushed “Basically we can get pregnant, we generate lots of slick, um I’m sorry Duck but we also go through heats- the others go through ruts in all fairness..It's a bloody nightmare.”

Staring at Gaz surprised and a bit incredulously “But I’ve never had any of that happen?”

“Duck you had a device that prevented you from shifting, Soap had one and once it came out um- he went a bit feral..”

“Oh um..Did he go into-” ducking your head you look at Gaz curiously “-rut?”

Gaz snorted, not meanly, nodding his head “He was a nightmare…”

Thinking for a second you bite your lip “That doesn’t sound good…I um don’t even know what I’d do…”

“Something to consider but we all would in a heartbeat offer to take care of you during your heat, we don't’ have to do anything sexual we just want to make sure you stay safe..” Gaz looked at you reassuringly “in a heartbeat we’d help” he stressed.

“What? What do you mean sexual” feeling a presence behind you, you see Price, in his human form- naked of course. Your face is right at dick level. Fuck. Flash of arousal passes over you before you shut it down, blushing.

“You get really horny.” Soap says bluntly, appearing next to you and getting up in your space. Playfully licking your jaw like an overgrown puppy.

“Oh!” you squeak.

“I know this is all a lot, love.” Price helped you to your feet, brushing the dirt off you.

Flushing, you feel another spark of arousal- it had been so long since someone had touched you. It was so foreign and almost terrifying- you haven't felt like that since before you got bit. All four of the men turn to you, their nose picking up on it instantly. You flush, running a hand over your face “Sorry..”

“Don’t apologize Duck, it’s normal- you aren’t in pain right now” Gaz smiled “We don’t need to do anything, I know this is a lot yeah?”

Nodding you look at the four men.

Soap grinned “Well at least you aren’t like me, I was insatiable- wore out these three proper..”

Gaz barked out a laugh “Never been chapped like that...”

Price huffs a laugh.

“Come mer’ lets get ya home, it’s gettn’ cold” Ghost motioned for everyone to go back into the house, staying behind everyone- herding you all into the house.

Stepping back into the house you shiver- you hadn’t realized how cold you were. Looking at the digital thermostat it told you it was 38 F out. Made sense you were so cold- you were also naked.

“I’m gunna go put on some clothes.” You pulled away from the group, you didn’t feel uncomfortable being naked but it wasn’t proper to be naked around strangers. Right? Did that count if the strangers felt like old friends?

“You don’t have to~” Soap teased, looking you up and down.

That earned him a cuff behind the ears from Price and a pinch from Ghost.

Soap pouted and frowned but stopped.

“We should be putting on our clothes mutt” Ghost chastised Soap huffing at him.

“It’s not an issue?” Pausing on the stairs you tilt your head “I- um don’t mind..” you say hesitantly, but you really didn’t want them to put back on their clothes with how mouth watering hot they were.

Soap grins and looks up at Ghost and Price, Gaz smirks too.

“Sorry that came out bad- I um you can put on your clothes if you want I’m sorry..” Blushing as you realized how perverted that sounded.

“Whatever you want, Duck!” smirking Soap gave Ghost and Price the biggest smug look ever.

“Alright, alright..” Price huffs “Listen er’ we should probably get going- we don’t want to impose and we need to get some stuff done..You should relax, love”

Nodding, you felt a stab of disappointment. It made sense, why would they stay at a random stranger's house? It didn’t matter if you were also a werewolf. They had literally met you only earlier today.

The men quickly dress, Soap very begrudgingly. Gaz pulled back on his lace thong very showy, smirking at you- flashing his sharp canines. Soap skulked pulling on his shirt first then pulling up his jeans, only doing the button and leaving them unzipped. Him and Gaz seem very hesitant to leave, it makes you feel anxious.

“One of us will come check on you later tomorrow, love” Price says over his shoulder as he ushers the other men out of the house.

“Okay,” You nod again, closing the door as they leave.

Sighing, you go upstairs and take a shower. You couldn’t understand why you felt so lonely, like you had been left behind. It wasn’t rational! You wipe your tears as you move your pillowcase into the dryer.

The sadness you felt was all encompassing and painful. You end up showering and then taking a hot bath in an attempt to feel better but you only feel worse and worse. When you make it into your bed, with your clean pillow case you break down.

Big tears run down your face as you hold onto your pillow, sobbing loudly. You had never felt this broken and dejected before. You felt sick, scrambling to the toilet to vomit. Any time you feel semi-okay another wave of sickness takes over you, you feel guilty for vomiting up Soap’s soup.

He was so good even though he hardly knew you, feeding you, being nice…Then Price was good too, getting you your heated blanket, making sure you weren’t sick, getting Gaz to get the silver out of your body…Gaz, sweet Gaz- he fixed you right up, sitting with you as you woke up, pulling you aide, being so nice and accommodating…Ghost, helped you shift, made sure you got inside as it got cold.

You wash your mouth out when you finally feel okayish. You were still crying, feeling so incredibly distraught.

[ange1princess]

Summary❕Watching p0rn with the demon brothers and what you'd watch.

Characters❕ Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Asmodeus, Satan, Beelzebub, Belphegor

CW❕ Mutual masturbation, general NSFW, blowjobs, mentions of afab genitalia but no pronouns used, the word daddy used like once, thigh riding, blowjobs, male masturbation, semi-public sex (fucking at a party in a bathroom), tbh more suggestive than anything because i got so tired with this piece T_T probably grammar and spelling mistakes, let me know if i missed anything.

A/N ❕ This has taken almost a Month to write GOD ITS FINALLY DONE update ! It took over a month jfc T_T

Masterlist ❕

❕MDNI❕

❕𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑❕

🧷 Age gap porn kinda guy, dilf shit, and thigh riding

❝ He pretends that it isn't his idea, tries to pass it off as yours so that it's less embarassing for him, with a sighs he says "Well if you really want to try it out." Gets the idea from asmo because they were talking one day and he said something along the lines of "It'll add spice in your life~" and Lucifer hopes that's true.

❝ The two of you sit down at his desk, even when he wants a break he can't get one. He has you sitting on his lap as he tries to sign papers, telling you to give him just another minute and how this is the "last" document. You're bored so you go ahead and set up your phone, going to your chats and clicking on one of the many links he's sent you for your special night.

❝ That seems to get his attention as you prop it up against the pile of papers he's been looking over. Soft moans and whispers of "daddy please" and "more" mixed with muffled sobs make you wetter than they should.

❝ Without realising it, you start grinding down on his thigh, as much as he tries to continue working he can't once he sees your face contorted in pleasure as you try to get some relief, clutching onto Lucifers shirt in your balled up fists.

❝ He guides your hips against his thigh, ocassionally moving it to match the rhythm you've set. His eyes are full of lust, focused on the movement of your hips as he leans back on his chair, palming himself through his slacks, a guttural moan escaping his lips.

❝ The videos been long over now, and the only sound is of Lucifer calling you a good human and asking you to please him for the rest of the night.

❕𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐍❕

🧷 POV blowjob vids and dry humping <3

❝ Suggests it while stuttering and blushing, ssaying that it's an honour for you that the great mammon wants to share such an intimate thing with you, but secretly he just wants to make you more comfortable with sharing your interests with him in the process.

❝ When you agree to it, he just asks you if you're free by texting you and if you say yes, he's there barging right in with his DDD in hand and a pillow for some bizarre reason (he's going to spend the night 100%).

❝ He sets up the device against a stack of pillows and gets comfortable, inching closer to you till there's no space left, swinging an arm around your waist as he mindlessly draws circles on the soft skin of your waist. The videos start and although you don't feel too aroused especially at the start, when you see mammon squirm and try to adjust himself "discreetly" you start shifting in your seat, a warmth blooming in the pit of your stomach.

❝ As the people on screen grind against each other fully clothed and you see mammon strain against his jeans, he tries to hide his little pants and sighs, but you being the observant one, you notice.

❝ You take the chance and straddle his lap, doing just as you saw in the video as he straightens his back to help you move your hips as the layers of clothes between you two only add to the friction as you speed up chasing your high, mammon telling you to go faster, his head thrown back and his hair a mess as you grab at it pushing his head to your chest.

❝ He helps you take off your top and leaves marks on your chest as he sucks on your nipples making you cry out in pleasure. It's not long before the both of you are cumming hard and you fall against his chest trying to catch your breath as you hear him say, "Fuck, well that sure made me feel younger."

❕𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍❕

🧷 Ik people want me to say some cosplay stuff, but i truly wholeheartedly believe it's student x teacher roleplay and temperature play for some reason

❝ OKAY SO HEAR ME OUT, initially you'll walk in on him trying to roleplay with an AI bot or a brand new game he purchased from Akuzon, while the p0rn would be playing in the background. He'd just be sitting there, dick out, not even realising that you've been standing there for at least 3 minutes now before you clear your throat, causing him to fall off his chair and scramble to cover himself up.

❝ He'd be convinced that you hate him now, that you think he's gross and pervy, and wouldn't want to be around him anymore, he might cry a little ngl. But before he knows it, you're texting him, asking him to come to your room with whatever device he was watching the videos on and he's more than happy to oblige, almost falls off of his chair but saves himself this time.

❝ When he enters your room, you ask if you can watch with him and he almost passes out because of how red he gets but he agrees almost too enthusiastically. The two of you sit there watching as you move your hand up his thigh and feel him stiffen under you, you turn to him giving him a seductive gaze and he gets where you're going with this, flipping you on your back, towering over you.

❝ He'd look bigger like this, towering over you now, not slouching anymore as he slowly kisses down your jaw, leaving marks down the side of your neck as he asks you to call him "professor" or the likes. He'd want to take control here, his desire as a demon overpowering his shy nature.

❝ He'd be quick to rid himself if his clothes as you underess yourself, bending you over the edge of your bed and asking you why you've been "naughty in his class", the next time he'll remember to bring some candles and ice for the two of you to try~

❕𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐒❕

🧷 SOFT SEX!! SOFT PASSIONATE AMATEUR SEX VIDEOS, PROBABLY SHOWS YOU HOME VIDEOS HE'S MADE!!

❝ You cannot tell me that he doesn't come up to you asking you seductively if it would be okay to film the two of you the next time you have sex, he'd promise it's not for anyone but the two of you and he's able to convince you.

❝ Suggests the two of you watch home videos or amateur ones together to get a "how to" (he just wants to watch them with you, and he'd say it but this is easier and faster).

❝ When he plays the videos initially, the intimacy and passion, the closeness of the people on screen makes you look away. It feels as if you're interrupting or watching something that's not meant for you, but asmo brings you back, his fingers gently guiding your eyes back to the screen as he whispers in your ear to, "watch and learn".

❝ Shows you solo vids too, and you can recognise instantly that one of them is asmo, as he plays with himself, moving his fist along his length at an excruciatingly slow pace, letting out his pretty moans as he keeps edging himself, bringing himself to the precipice of pleasure but not letting himself orgasm.

❝ You turn to him, asking him if the two of you can try to recreate something like that right now and he's more than happy to oblige.

❕𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐍❕

🧷 Pet play, and sex toys

❝ He loves calling you kitten or puppy (it's rare but it happens) and you know he has a thing for pet play even if he doesn't tell you, secretly bought a collar for you with his name on it and is too shy to give it to you, so his next best idea is to suggest the two of you watch some of his favourite p0rn together!

❝ Probably says that he read an article that says it increases intimacy and just wants to try it out with his beloved kitten, and so you agree, not that it takes a lot of convincing.

❝ It starts out with someone on their knees in a cage, as the person on the other side of the camera unlocks it's door, allowing them to crawl out. You hear coos of "good kitty" and "such a good pet" being uttered and it makes your palms sweaty with anticipation.

❝ Satan has a pillow on his lap, a feeble attempt to hide the imprint of his dick that's hard against his pants as he shifts around to try and get more comfortable as the scenes on the screen change and when you look back, you're greeted with the sight of a person tied to the bed with a vibrator against their clit as they try to struggle out of the binds.

❝ Turns to you and asks you how you're feeling, and all you can do is take his hand in yours and move them between your legs as he feels you getting wet, he runs his fingers up and down the soaked patch on your panties as you try to pull away, embarassed.

❝ He turns away for a moment, ruffling through something's in his bedside drawer and pulls out a collar with his name on it, dangling it in front of you, as your eyes widen and you life move closer to him, signalling him to collar you and he does.

❝ He gives it an experimental tug as a whimper tumbles out of you, heat rises to his cheeks but he chuckles nonetheless, you look so sweet like this, he thinks to himself as he leans forward, his fingers sliding your underwear aside, playing with you as he kisses your pretty lips with fervor.

❕𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐙𝐄𝐁𝐔𝐁❕

🧷 Loves oral vids obviously, but also a big fan of wall sex vids, mirror sex and exhibitionism

❝ The both of you have extremely open conversations, Beel never keeps anything from you in terms of his desires and you do the same, the trust the both of you have in each other is what helps him grow bolder with his advances as time goes on.

❝ Comes up to you and tells you he wants to try something out, and you nod without even knowing what it is because of your faith in beel, he'd never do anything that would hurt you and would stop the second you want to.

❝ The two of you enter your room as he sits on the bed with you in his lap, holding his phone for the two of you to watch the video he puts on as both his arms are wrapped around you.

❝ But before you can go further as the guy in the video tries to muffle their partners moan, so that they don't attract any attention in the tiny bathroom stall, a quick knock at the door startled the two of you, causing the both of you two cover yourselves up, keeping the phone aside, faces hot and palms sweaty.

❝ After that little interruption, the both of you got caught up in helping with the preparation of another one of Diavolos balls. It had been 2 weeks since then and you still thought about it, wanting to touch beel and wanting him to show you stars.

❝ You couldn't help but gawk and him as he descended the stairs in his suit, looking like he came right out of a romcom. You waited with baited breath as he whispered, "You look beautiful as always," addressing you, before you linked your arm with his, wanting the night to end so that you can finally have some alone time with your love.

❝ Turns out, for someone extremely patient, Beel was starting to get jittery seeing you in your revealing outfit, he kept stealing glances, letting his hands linger on your waist, pulling you closer everytime someone asked you to dance with them.

❝ Before long, the both of you snuck out to one of Diavolos lavish bathrooms as he bent you over the marbel platform in front of the mirror. The loud music penetrated through the unlocked door, but the thrill of anyone finding you (even though you knew that you were in a more secluded part of the castle), made a shiver run down your spine.

❝ It didn't take long before your clothes were pulled aside as beel kissed you with a ferocity you'd rarely seen before, his hands hot on your skin as he slowly entered you making you squeal, only for your loud moans being swallowed by his lips that danced against yours.

❝ It wouldn't have been your first choice to continue the evening with cum leaking out of you, but fuck was it worth it.

❕𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑❕

🧷 ik everyone will say somnophilia ! So i will not, mutual masturbation, cockwarming and heavy degradation

❝ Man started watching porn in bed next to you when he thought you're asleep, but you weren't as you peeked over his shoulder, his cock in his hand as a low sigh escaped his red lips to the filthy words being muttered on screen.

❝ "You're such a fucking slut for me aren't you?" He said to nobody in particular, but you knew it was you in his mind. You cleared your throat, breaking him out of his trance, but he didn't care enough to cover up , instead letting out a humorless chuckle.

❝ "Aren't you naughty? If you wanted watch, you could've asked sweetheart~", he said, turning over, giving you a better view as your lips watered, you were about to bend over, moving your lips to his head, wanting to lick at the precum coating it but he tutted.

❝ "No touching whore," he said before instructing you to sit back, "It's a bit unfair how you get to see me hot and bothered, but I don't, isn't it? Maybe you can help me out here and play with your pretty self," he suggested and you could no longer ignore the wetness between your thighs as you peeled off your panties.

❝ He let out a moan at the sight, his hand moving faster as you started touching yourself too. It didn't take long before both of you came, trying to chase your own high, you didn't notice when he came mere inches from your face, kissing you gently, pushing your body back onto the bed.

❝ "I need to be inside you right now," he said, his breathing still heavy as you nodded, letting him, it didn't take him long to slip into you, your wetness being enough to let him in without much restriction. The two of you sighed in unison, as he held you close to him, just wanting to go back to bed with the feeling of you around him.

© All rights reserved to ange1princess. Do not repost or take credit for any of my writings.

[gwydion-aacblog]

hi gwydion, how can non-aac users help to include aac users in conversation better? i’ve seen multiple aac users say they often feel left out because of how much time it takes to find the right words and the conversation moves too quickly.

give time figure out answer , in general .

do not get annoy if answer something late after topic change . 

if in group , please try not let people split and start different conversation . patience key to not make AAC user feel like burden for others .

understand if AAC say something in wrong way , AAC user do not have way to change this . not have tone of voice , can not control emphasis or speed , and pronunciation can be hard work with . if suddenly get frustrate , that might be why . some people can sign , draw , or gesture to clarify , but not all can , and this depend on situation . so please be nice and try ask questions that easy yes or no answer if sudden frustrate . do not look at screen unless have permission .

long messages can be very frustrate if need repeat . this maybe different in other AAC , but in proloquo2go can not go back and change message after type , and that also means can not cut out start just to say end again . with proloquo2go technically possible to copy message text , erase extra part , then speak that , but again : not always thing everyone can do , and maybe different in other AAC . 

please do not start talk as soon as hear pause . this frustrate so much because people hear pause for one second and start talk again , when gwydion not actually done yet , voice is just slow . then talk over AAC and whine that gwydion need say again , which , back to above . ( if even realise at all … )

do not assume something wrong if AAC user choose not use device , because , can be very hard and sometimes really not need spend time and energy on make people hear device say " yes i like that " when could just nod . but at same time , try listen and make sure have place in conversation , with time to answer and feel safe answer , if that make sense .

[hatosaur]

i realized that i hadn't said anything here so this is a bit belated but i'm super unhappy with the casting choices of tlou hbo, and just the general direction it's going toward.

in abby's case, it's been well-pointed out at this point her body type is a narrative device, a catalyst for showing just how her dedication and obsession with tracking joel down and killing him. i don't doubt that kaitlyn dever will be working out for this role but i can only imagine she'll end with a sort of lean muscular physique that will hardly illustrate the point of the body type, rather than one that takes fat into consideration. dever is far too small to achieve it, and what's more is, i think it's super unethical to bank on someone working out in order to fit a role. the announcement of the casting came about a month after the trailer for that new kristen stewart movie, the one where she falls for a bodybuilder, came out. there are fully actresses who lift and bodybuilder and have similar body types, and yet their choice leaves us wanting.

dina's case feels a lot more sacrilegious. isabel merced isn't jewish, nor has any of dina's defining features. granted, i'm well-aware that neither cascina caradonna, her face model, nor shannon woodward, her voice actor, are jewish, but i feel like this is what made the casting choice matter all the more. dina's a character whose heritage matters to her character, and there was such a clear chance to have her be portrayed by a jewish actor.

like a lot of people, i think that they chose the more palatable route, considering the massive backlash against both abby's body type and dina's more prominent features, which is both incredibly sad to see but also infuriating. particularly with the issue of neil druckmann's batting for jewish rep under the veil of his allegiance with israel. i obviously can't speak for the feelings of jewish fans but i imagine to pull the rug out from underneath us on a character that he has said is a connection to his jewish like this would be like spit in the face.

the whole thing has just made me disinterested with season 2 of tlou hbo. there are already issues with the games' representation of people of color, and seeing as i could tell there was a small (i cannot stress how miniscule) attempt to "fix it, i'd held out hope prior to this but...no.

IN ALL HONESTY, i'd already been content to not engage with s2. i was skeptical enough from the get-go when it was announced, but truth be told, too many red flags are cropping up. obviously, there's the zionist stuff that i think, right now especially, literally everyone can do without (though i'm sure neil and craig are rubbing their hands together over how the people NEED a great "both sides are bad, completely and totally biased view of the conflict in palestine" story), but even to like pirate is a no-go for me.

all of this to say, since i've already gotten some people asking, you shouldn't expect me to draw or indulge in any of the content from it.

[cuubism]

Joy

Dreamling | T rating | Retired Dream | on emotional repression

I was thinking about a post, which I cannot find alas, about retired Morpheus struggling to deal with the fact that his actions and emotions don't have universe-wide consequences anymore. Like, he's allowed to just feel things now? And as someone who's also been extremely checked out of their own emotions at various points I can tell you the transition is… not easy. Anyways.

--

Morpheus is out when Hob gets home, or so he assumes. When he steps into the hall, the flat has the utterly still quality of total vacancy, no noise or distant movement. For all that Morpheus is a relatively quiet person, generally speaking, Hob has still become attuned to what his presence feels like, or the lack thereof.

Or so he thought.

For when he reaches the kitchen, Morpheus is there, sitting at the kitchen table, completely still. Hob almost doesn't see him, that's how still he is. Back straight, hands folded on the table, looking down at them as if he's meditating, or working out some complicated problem in his head.

Hob quietly sets down his bag and sits across from him. “Hey... love? You okay?”

He almost whispers it so as not to break the silence. Normally Hob would leave him to his devices if he was in the middle of something, but despite the fact that Morpheus is not given to unnecessary movement, the complete stillness sends something uncomfortable creeping up Hob’s spine. Morpheus hadn't even seemed to hear him come in.

With glacial slowness, Morpheus nods.

“It’s just…” Hob continues, biting his lip. “You’re not moving. At all. I almost didn’t think you were breathing.”

“That is the idea,” Morpheus agrees, still looking at his hands.

"Not breathing?"

"Not moving."

"Can I ask why?"

"I am. Preoccupied. With." His fingers flex against each other on the table as if forcing stillness. "Movement within."

Hob doesn't know what that means. "Can you elaborate?"

"I must make it still," Morpheus says. "I have before. I will."

Which clears up nothing. And Hob is getting the increasing sense that something is wrong but he's floundering as to what.

"Will you come sit on the couch with me?" he finally asks. "You look like you're about to snap in half."

"If it will please you," Morpheus says. Like his own pleasure-or-not in this matter is something he'd prefer not to touch.

"It will," Hob says. Morpheus follows him to the couch, moving like– like he did before. That ethereal creature that considered every step like he was crossing a thinly frozen lake.

So that's what it is.

Morpheus sits down beside him, drawing his knees up to his chest in a movement that, Hob is almost relieved to observe, is very much not like before.

Hob drapes the blanket from the back of the couch over his shoulders. Morpheus flinches, but doesn't push it off. "What's going on, hon?"

"It is..." Morpheus admits, slowly, "loud."

Hob frowns. "In your head? I thought you said it's been quieter since–"

"No." Morpheus presses a hand to his sternum. "Here."

Hob touches his chest, carefully, hand resting beside Morpheus's. All he can hear, or rather feel, is Morpheus's heartbeat, still a new and learning thing. "Your heart?"

"Everything. It... resounds. And drives off reason."

"Okay." Hob rubs his hand up and down over his chest, as if that might soothe him. Hob is aware enough of the feeling of overwhelm, and of Morpheus's particular brand of it, now that he has so little to distract him. "Just give it time and it'll pass, love."

Morpheus shakes his head. "That is not–" his lips press into a distressed line. "Duration is. Not the issue. It is. What will be left. After. Detritus."

Hob's own heart clenches. "Your feelings aren't a storm, love."

"Are they not?"

"You aren't going to make storms in the Dreaming, now," Hob says, though he knows Morpheus knows this.

"I speak not of weather, Hob Gadling," Morpheus growls. "I can– raze minds, I can spin balanced consciousness into euphoria, I can twist it all on its head with no effort and I will–" his fingertips dig into his chest, and Hob thinks that if he were still capable of manifesting claws he'd be drawing blood even through his shirt– "I will make it stop. It will be quiet again, I swear it."

"Only thing you're spinning is yourself," Hob says, gently.

And the thing is, he knows Morpheus knows this. Knowledge isn't the issue. It's sort of like how he never quite believes that Hob will never want to die, no matter how many times Hob tells him. I know that, Hob Gadling, he will say, but Hob can never quite get him to feel it.

"I know that, Hob Gadling," he says, again, now. That same tone. How dare you not believe it. How dare.

"Give me your hand," Hob says.

"Hob–"

Hob takes his hand and pulls it to himself, pressing Morpheus's palm flat to his own chest. Morpheus makes as if to pull away, then surrenders.

"Look," Hob says. "It's not hurting me, is it?"

"No," Morpheus admits, reluctantly, still with that tension through his shoulders.

"What about the room? Is everything shaking into pieces? Is it all going haywire? People rioting in the streets?"

Morpheus shakes his head no.

"See?" Hob says, squeezing his hand. "It's alright."

"I want it quiet," Morpheus says. He no longer sounds frustrated. More defeated. "It should not be... here." He touches his breastbone. "Here." His throat. "Here." His head.

"Where's it supposed to be, then?"

"Gone."

Hob sighs. This will not be an easy fix, not at all. He leans in, awkward though the angle is, and kisses Morpheus's chest, his neck, his temple, then stays, leaning against his shoulder. "I'm sorry, love. I know it's not easy. I happen to like you not gone, though, for what it's worth."

"Me?"

"Uh-huh. You. That's you in there, you know, not some brain-eating amoeba."

He gets a tiny huff of an almost-laugh from Morpheus. "Is it?"

"Yup. The part you weren't allowed to see because everything else was so loud." He rubs Morpheus's chest again, where he keeps saying it's hurting.

Morpheus's mouth opens as if to protest, and Hob adds–

"I'm not going to criticize you for it, okay? I promise I'm not."

Hob gets it. Well. He can't get it, actually, he's never been in charge of the entire dreaming world, but he tries.

"I thought you were supposed to go out today?" he says. "Weren't you getting tea with Rose? What happened with that? You were looking forward to it, I thought."

"I was, yes." He says it as if this is bad somehow. "Looking forward to it, that is. Her company is... enjoyable.”

“Okay? That's good, right?"

But Morpheus shakes his head. "It is too much."

"Too much?" Hob asks. "Were you nervous about it?"

Again, Morpheus shakes his head. “Joyful.”

Hob's heart is actually going to break. He knows this is part of why Morpheus left in the first place. And yet it's still tormenting him, which feels criminally unfair. And the worst part is there's no one to really blame, he knows why Morpheus did it, he can't and won't fault him for it when he was put in such a position.

He asks quietly, “So that joy didn't feel good to you?”

Morpheus shakes his head, biting down hard on his lip, and then, to Hob's horror, bursts into tears.

For all that Morpheus is prone to drama and moping, Hob has never actually seen him cry. He hadn't cried when he’d told Hob of his imprisonment, offering only a hint of scorched anger to indicate how he felt about it, the words, I had not realized what it was to be isolated and embodied until then. It was agonizing, said with the even cadence of the moon in orbit instead of the rawness they deserved. Nor had he cried when he'd shown up on Hob's doorstep and, when greeted with a concerned Hey, Dream, are you okay? – because he certainly didn't look it, drenched to the bone and his cloak absent its swirling inner cosmos – answered merely, You should call me Morpheus, I am no longer Dream of the Endless. The closest Hob had ever seen was the glimmer in his eyes when he'd thought Hob no longer wished to live, all the way back in the 1600s, and even then, his tears had not fallen.

“Oh, darling.” Hob pulls him into his arms, rubbing his back. “It’s alright.”

“It does not feel,” Morpheus continues, voice remarkably steady given the tears streaming down his cheeks, “good. It feels loud. And I am not in control, I am subject to these whims and I am no subject, Hob.”

"Those feelings are part of you. Not subjecting.”

“I don’t want it,” Morpheus insists, with the bitter frustration of a former king, used to shaping the world around him as he wishes. “If they are free I do not know what might come out.”

What comes out are parts of you, Hob thinks, but doesn’t express it again. The raw parts that you think are so awful. “Well, if there’s any feeling to try it with, wouldn’t it be joy? Happiness?”

Morpheus huffs. "Do you think that sorrow and rage are the only feelings with the capacity to destroy? Joy can become hysteria, joy can ruin, I have seen it, I have done it, when I was much, much younger and did not understand my abilities. Strong feelings have power, the very Dreaming is crafted of them. It could not exist out of apathy.”

“Neither could you,” Hob points out, and Morpheus just huffs again, shaking his head.

“I thought that if I relinquished my responsibilities, I would no longer have to worry so about everything outside of myself,” Morpheus says. “And how it entangles with me. Only now. It is still there, but I can do nothing to stop it.”

“But listen, darling.” Hob squeezes his hand. “You’re allowed to be tangled up with everything, now. You’re supposed to be.” He twists their fingers together. “I want you tangled up.”

“I will— without access to my realm I will step wrong, and—”

“And you can fix it,” Hob says. “Promise. No rebuilding a whole universe required.”

Morpheus sniffles, and Hob wipes the tears from his cheeks. “You always kept yourself above it all, didn’t you?”

“It is my responsibility to keep the collective unconscious in balance,” Morpheus says. He hasn’t quite stopped talking about his responsibilities in the present tense — Hob thinks it will be a while before he fully internalizes the lack of that weight. “Not to sway it to my feelings. Historically, when I have involved myself, it has… not gone well.”

“It doesn’t always as a human, either,” Hob says, and Morpheus’s frown deepens. “I mean, we’re all just bumping up against each other, you know? But you’re allowed to have space there, even if it doesn’t always go right.”

“If you mean this to be very comforting, I will have to disappoint you,” says Morpheus, but there’s more humor in it now, and he’s stopped crying. He pushes his head into Hob’s shoulder, and Hob wraps his arms around him tighter, holds him close.

“I wish it could all be immediately easy for you,” Hob says. “I’d do anything to make it so.”

“I did not expect this to be easy,” Morpheus says, voice rumbling into Hob’s chest. “But the challenges have repeatedly come from unforeseen directions.”

Hob kisses the side of his head. “I’m glad you’ve stuck with me anyway.”

“You have been very patient with my… meandering attempts at basic humanity.”

“Always will. I love you.”

It’s another thing he’s struggled to get Morpheus to truly accept, that Hob’s care for him was never contingent on any of his abilities or powers. That Hob won’t be scared away no matter his mistakes, because Hob has faced a lot of terrifying things in his life and the worst is the prospect of losing Morpheus entirely.

This time, Morpheus doesn’t reject it. He just hums and lets Hob pet his hair, lets Hob keep him and quiet him towards ease, which Hob intends to do until Morpheus can find it himself, and then after, too.

And several weeks later, when Morpheus comes home from the park with a colored pencil drawing Jed made for him, smiling and holding it to his chest with real joy in his eyes, Hob shines with pride, and the part of his heart that might have broken just a bit listening to Morpheus cry that day heals over again.

[neverchecking]

hello! would it be possible to request yandere sage to a reader who got split from the chain but has a switch with them?

I adore your headcanons for him and I honestly would just love to see some more of him, perhaps he's trying to figure out if they're yiga or not since y'know only they see him as link without zelda and they just show it off reluctantly?

SAGE SAGE SAGE SAGE SAGE SAGE-YOU ABSOLUTELY FUCKING CAN.

Ahem. Yes, you very much can request my precious baby boy.

For those of you who don't know, Sage is the Hero of the Zonai, A.K.A. The Link from Tears of the Kingdom-- if we go down the route that he's a different guy from Wild. So TotK spoilers.

Anyway, look whose got his own banner! SAGE DOES-

CW: Talk of death, but nothing happens (Bc Sage won't let it happen)

He was very...unsure of you, to put it lightly.

Which was rare in and of itself since he knew most things. He knew how the Gloom hands would react should he hit them with a Dazzlefruit. He knew the exact force he would have to throw a splash fruit for it to burst in a splash of water. He knew the exact amount of force required to bend a Yiga's arm before it snaps a lot.

But he didn't know anything about you. Which put him on edge.

You came out of this weird...void thingy that he had never seen before and you dressed weirdly. You had began to call out desperately for names the second you had collected yourself (He had no clue who Wild or Twilight or Wind were, but whoever named those poor fools needed to be fired. Those names were awful.) . He watched you stumble like a newborn fawn, full of naive innocence and blind trust in the world around you.

What a fool you were.

Still, he couldn't look away. He didn't move from his place perched in a particularly tall tree, but he didn't let his attention wander from you. He couldn't. It was like you were...magnetic, drawing him in to your orbit just to keep him there.

Somewhere above him, the light dragon let out a warble. His ears flickered in that general direction, but otherwise he paid it no mind, clicking the claws on Rauru's hand against the bark of the tree.

You seemed so hopelessly lost, wandering about. It certainly didn't seem like you were the traveling type, so why you were out here, he had no idea. You would killed before long. He wondered how you would die. Something fast and quick? An electric arrow from a Lizalfos? (They had been getting unexplainably stronger now that he thought about it.) Maybe one swift hit from a Horriblin? Or maybe it would be something long and drawn out. Maybe a Frost Gleeok would freeze you so badly Hypothermia took over your limbs before freezing your lungs. Or maybe a Fire Gleeok would roast you alive before you even had the chance to register they were there. Perhaps the King himself would do both before shocking your battered form to hell and back. Or maybe the Gloom hands would grab at your flailing arms and legs, holding you still while they drained the life force right out of you.

Something full of anger lit up in his gut at just the thought of you getting hurt. He had no reason to get so livid at even a scratch on your form, but for some reason it had him snarling to himself, as if daring the universe to test him.

He wouldn't put it past Hylia at this point, that vengeful bitch.

It seemed she took his challenge to heart anyway, just as you slipped out some strange device about the same size as his Purah pad. You were so immersed in the damned thing that you didn't even hear one of the trees moving around behind you. Which was beyond him since they weren't quiet.

You didn't even look up until the shadow was looming over you and he was jumping from his tree. Riju's power sparked to life as he pulled out his bow, stunning the tree with enough power it fell with a pull of purple smoke. Something began leaking out of the discarded log, black and viscous, as it always seemed to do these days. It didn't make any difference to him, they all died the same anyway.

You had fallen onto your ass as he approached, watching him like prey would watch the predator. Nothing but wide eyes leaking with fear as he loped upon you. It made his gut swing with something foreign as he eyed you. He wasn't stupid. He knew the Yiga would go to some, frankly, extraordinary lengths to have his head on a stick. Whose to say they wouldn't set up some form of act where they attacked each other just to garner his attention?

He held out his weapon towards you, the Lynel horn glinting in the light as it prodded against your neck. You vulnerable and fragile little neck. You looked like you were about to cry at the action.

Unrelated, he pulled back just a bit. His snarl remained just the same. "Who are you?" He barked, daring you to avoid his question. Your...device was discarded at your side, which you quickly grappled onto as some form of protection. He'd have to remain weary of that. If it was anything like his Purah pad, it would be of an annoyance. Especially if you were a Yiga. They were able to replicate the Thunder Helm for Din's sake. (That was a mess and a half to retrieve.)

You swallowed hard, wincing away from him before fighting the urge to look up at him. His heart stuttered at the positively broken look you showed. You were so scared and so frightened.

He was supposed to be a hero.

(A part of him argued that he was the hero. Had been the hero. And look where it got him? Right back at the start. Fighting for his life once more. Fighting for someone who wouldn't do the same for him. Fighting for a Goddess who only used him as a pawn only to discard him when he was done.)

There was no way you were Yiga. You couldn't have been. None of them would've ever looked up at him like that. Nor could you have been a puppet of Ganon. Puppets and Yiga would burst out into an offensive attack the second they caught sight of him.

You didn't pose a threat.

But that didn't clear your name. "I asked you a question. I expect an answer." He allowed ultrahand to light up Rauru's arm in a warning red.

You blinked before shakily swallowing, holding your device to your chest. "...Y/N."

So that was your name. It was a nice name. Suited your features well and rolled off the tongue. Each syllable seemed built for your very being. He repeated it, using the tip of his weapon to tilt your chin up to face him again. That same, Goddess damned, look was sprawled on your features as he looked over you. You didn't seem injured outside of a bandaged wrap around your lower neck and left shoulder.

You had been hurt. Perhaps it was under that Wild's watch, whoever they were. They were unfit to care for you it seemed. He would happily take over if it meant you didn't get hurt any longer.

"You're...Link, right?"

He blinked, weapon staggering for a second. How did you know who he was? No one knew who he was anymore. Not without that wretched Zelda beside him, giving him a title he felt disgraced his very being. The swordsman. it was all Mineru called him and it burned something bitter in him.

He pushed the weapon further against your skin, watching it turn a harsh red before flashing to white. "What's it to you?" His teeth were bared as you tried to pull away, if only to breath just a little. He didn't let you. While it made his gut rot and knot at the thought of hurting you, he couldn't risk his own life. Not when he had a duty, Not when he had a vengeance. A vendetta.

"I can explain!" You hurriedly called, making him pull back once again.

"I would do so quickly."

You shook in your spot as your showed him the device. It seemed to have a selection of boxes, each holding a different picture. The one you hovered over read something in a language he couldn't read, but there was a picture of him. Right there. This was your explanation? It was pitiful. He almost did away with you, if only to move on, but you spoke before he could.

"You're Link. The wielder of the Master Sword. I- I'm from some other world. I, along with a group of others, are travelling to fight a dark magic that has been effecting many Hyrules across time. It's evidently effected yours." You gestured to the log, which now had an inky puddle beneath it. "We're here to help."

He pulled the weapon away, but didn't raise his glare from your form. "I don't need help."

"I never said you did." You let out a sigh full of relief. "But sometimes having someone watch your back is nice. I know you haven't had that person for you, which breaks my heart. This adventure is your second, third if we count...Ya'know..." You trailed off as his eyes narrowed. Were you talking about the Calamity? The Calamity he fell to? "You haven't had help, which I can only imagine as exhausting."

You were speaking nonsense. Nonsense that made him bubble with understanding of a sort. It was a clumsy attempt, but you were trying to offer support to him. Support he had never had previously.

He could kick his past (Three minutes ago) self for ever dreaming of hurting you, even if it was for his own personal safety. The thought of having someone offer just a tad bit of help to his battered and broken from, riddled with gloom, had him feeling a bit lighter.

He wouldn't trust you right away, he had gotten burned one too many times from doing that, but he would get you to a stable. Ensure you were safe from infection and whatever else before he made a decision regarding you and him in any sort of capacity.

Maybe take you to your group if only to see if those filth were worthy of your presence.

He would ensure you were safe in his, nevertheless. If he had to do away with the others, then so be it.

If he wanted to keep something, he would need to cling to it.

And this was just the start of his grip on you. Whether you knew it yet, or not.

[justkeepstimming]

Kids

The weather was lovely and sunny the other day, which meant picnic in the park! My caregiver brought some chalk and bubbles with us – and a lot of the children there (and parents!) decided they wanted to join in.

None of the kids were bothered by me using AAC, or even my wheelchair. In fact, they were fascinated with my assistive devices.

When I go out in public, I never know how people are going to react to my AAC device or my disabilities in general. Often, there are stares – some out of curiosity, others out of pity or annoyance. Sometimes people whisper and point, as if I somehow don’t notice.

Today, that wasn’t the case.

_

I had children come up to me and ask if my “computer” can say the word dinosaur, and ask for the computer to tell them my name. I had kids come up to me and show drawings they had made for me.

Instead of wondering what was wrong with me, they were more interested in just being in the moment – enjoying a simple sunny day at the park.

It didn’t matter to them that I didn’t speak. Instead, they were more excited about some of the tricks I did in my wheelchair, and beamed with pride when I complimented their chalk art.

_

The part that stuck with me the most was something a little girl said at the end of the day. As I typed to say goodbye, she stopped her mom who was walking away – and said “wait, she’s typing something!”

This is something that I can’t even seem to get some professionals to grasp. The concept of waiting for me to communicate? They find it burdensome. They want to rush the interaction, moving off before I’ve finished typing or simply ignoring what I say.

_

If young children can grasp the idea of inclusion and acceptance, why can’t the adults?

It makes you wonder how disability becomes stigmatized. Where does that radical acceptance go?

And how do the adults get it back?

-Courtney Johnson, @justkeepstimming

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

My Morph primer

Since X-Men 97 is drawing in a lot of new fans with varied levels of experience with the original animated series or the comics, I figured I could give a write-up of who Morph is, where they come from, and why you don’t see them in any of the movies or other media.  This is also an excuse for me to write about an obsessive fave, seriously, they are all over my blog. I'm not necessarily an "authority," but I've watched TAS and read the comics, which are the basis for this write-up.

Who is Morph?

"Wolverine! Fall back!"

Morph is a shapeshifting mutant who was added to the X-Men team in the original X-Men: The Animated Series as a redshirt/sacrificial lamb, to be killed off For Real in order to show that the stakes are really high.  Originally it was actually going to be Thunderbird, a short-lived X-Man who died in the comics just a few issues after he was introduced, and has remained dead for decades.  But creators realized that killing off the only Native American character on a mostly white team was a bad look, and went with Morph instead.  Morph proved surprisingly popular with (mostly child) viewers, and was brought back in the 2nd season as a result.  Morph in TAS was originally presented as male using male pronouns, but I’m gonna use they/them for the character since they are nonbinary in X-Men 97.

(Btw, even Morph's TAS costume shows their redshirt nature, as they are basically wearing a variant of the standard X-Men uniform that different groups have worn, with the Original Five (Angel, Jean, Cyclops, Beast and Iceman) and the New Mutants all wearing something similar. There was a time in the 90's when all the X-Men were wearing this uniform to try to give them a team look, but thankfully that didn't last, the individualized looks are much better. Morph's amazing disappearing reappearing jacket are the only personalized touch in their uniform, and I hope X-Men 97 gives them a costume upgrade after everyone gets used to the new look.)

Morph doesn’t appear in many episodes of TAS, but here are the definitive ones:

Season 1:

Night of the Sentinels Parts 1 and 2: Morph seems to be an established part of the team, a wise-cracking shapeshifter who is so naively overconfident about their mission that they’ve practically got a target painted on their back.  When the mission goes wrong, Morph pushes Wolverine out of the way of Sentinel lasers, and gets blasted all to hell.  Morph’s supposed death (which was meant at the time to be a real death) is sensed by both Jean and Xavier.  Cyclops orders a retreat because the team is getting their asses kicked, abandoning both the (dead) Morph and (alive but injured) Beast, who spends the rest of the season in jail.  Morph is quickly forgotten as a character, BUT the impact of their death is felt throughout the season.  We get Wolverine yelling “This one’s for you, Morph!” while slicing up a Sentinel, and Cyclops in the finale insisting, “I’m not leaving anyone behind!  Not this time!” 

Season 2:

Till Death Do Us Part, Parts 1 and 2: Morph returns as a villain, but a sympathetic, brainwashed villain under the control of season Big Bad Mr. Sinister.  Sinister is an evil scientist who likes to fuck around with mutant genetics and is especially obsessed with getting Scott and Jean to fuck, because their child will supposedly be an extremely genetically superior mutant.  After Morph’s “death,” they were taken by Sinister, who revived them and implanted a control device into Morph’s brain that he uses to literally torture Morph into compliance.  Morph seems to have a kind of split personality, which Sinister exacerbates and encourages, shifting between a haggard-looking Evil Morph who wants revenge on the X-Men for abandoning them and cracks jokes while attacking the team, and a normal-looking Good Morph, who doesn’t want to hurt their friends, and is generally scared and confused and having a Bad Time.  If you are wondering about Morph turning into that version of themselves with dark circles around their eyes in X-Men 97 “Fire Made Flesh,” it was a reference back to this:

Evil Morph lookin' reeeeeaal creepy.

Morph uses their shape-shifting trickery to fake marry Scott and Jean (as the priest), impersonate Xavier and turn the team against each other, until Wolverine identifies them by scent.  The team then chases Morph to Sinister’s lair, where he’s captured a honey-mooning Scott and Jean.  Morph has been struggling with the brainwashing the entire time, and breaks free long enough to attack Sinister, then runs off away from everyone. 

Whatever It Takes: Wolverine, who has declared the Morph is “the only one who could ever make him laugh,” chases Morph down to Brazil in an attempt to drag them back to the team.  Morph, still fighting their dark side and flipping back and forth between the two personalities, taunts Wolverine in Jean’s form, fights him, and eventually gains enough control to tell Logan to back off. (“I have to get through this by myself!”) 

Fighting your friend in an abandoned mine shaft, a totally normal thing to do.

Wolverine reluctantly lets them go.  This the B-plot, the main plot of the episode features Storm and Rogue confronting the Shadow King in Africa, and is also really good.

Reunion Parts 1 and 2: Morph leaves a message for Wolverine stating that he wants to return to the team, in what seems like an obvious set-up for a trap.  Wolverine, Jean and Cyclops go to retrieve them, and find that yes, it is a trap.  Morph attmpts to warn the group to leave, but they are jumped by Sinister and the Nasty Boys, and the fight ends with Jean being taken, and Morph (still struggling against Sinister’s control), going semi-willingly.  The whole team winds up at Sinister’s base in the Savage Land and there are a lot of good character moments, like Gambit telling Rogue he loves her.  Morph spends the whole time still fighting against the brainwashing, but throws it off completely at the end (with Xavier’s help) and turns on Sinister, helping Scott and Jean defeat him.  Morph is then Put on a Bus to Muir Island so that the writers wouldn’t have to deal with the character but could hold them in reserve to use later.  Xavier comments that he can remove Sinister’s mind-control chip from Morph’s brain, but that “removing the psychic damage will take longer.”  So the answer to “Where’s Morph?” in later seasons will always be “Recovering on Muir Island, probably hanging out with Moira and Banshee.”

If you are a Morph fan, Season 2 is THE Morph season, they get a great character arc that fleshes them out, and establishes their close relationship with Wolverine.  I’m glad they didn’t toss out Morph in X-Men 97, both because I like the character, and because Morph’s entire arc in Season 2 was about their struggle to come back to the team, and constantly reaffirms that Morph is one of them, and that they belong with the X-Men.  Also, I know Tumblr love an angsty, suffering blorbo, and good God does Morph suffer in Season 2. 

(Someone is having a Bad Time).

Season 4:

Courage:  After getting only a couple of non-speaking background cameos in Season 3, this is Morph’s comeback episode in Season 4.  Morph believes that they are fully recovered and ready to rejoin the X-Men, while both Moira and Xavier seem to think they are not ready, and warn them to slow down a little.  Morph tries to jump back into their old role, makes jokes, and goes on a mission with Wolverine, but is clearly still dealing with PTSD and completely freezes up when Sentinels attack the mansion and kidnap Xavier.  Morph is left at the mansion while the X-Men go to rescue Xavier, but follows them anyway, and manages to play an instrumental role in stopping the Sentinels and saving Xavier.  Despite this, Morph decides that they are not ready to return and cannot be relied upon in battle (because the writers didn’t want to deal with using the character on the team), and goes back to Muir Island.  It’s a standard “character fucks up at the start of the episode but saves the day in the end” superhero cartoon story, and I was a little disappointed that the episode focused entirely on Morph’s “near death trauma” from the Sentinels and not the much worse “brainwashed and tortured by Sinister to the point of developing a second personality” issue.  The closest we get to addressing that is Morph pointedly walking up to Cyclops with “Scott…been a long time….” which sounds like a way of saying “We’re cool now, bro, I promise I won’t try to kill you.”  Still, we get some great Morph and Wolverine moments, and Morph kicks a lot of ass at the end.  After Morph spends most of the series either dead or suffering, I don’t mind an episode where they get to kick ass. This episode also establishes that Morph was suffering from serious nightmares for awhile, so consider that a canon excuse to put that in your angsty fanfic.

(Morph also gets a non-speaking cameo in Beyond Good and Evil Part 1, sitting next to Jubilee at Scott and Jean’s second wedding.  I think it’s sweet that they were invited, but can also imagine Scott putting them in the front row just to ensure that there are no more “fake priest” shenanigans.  “Let’s put Morph where I can see him….just in case.”)

Season 5:

Graduation Day: After Xavier is attacked, Morph returns to help calm mutants world-wide by impersonating Xavier and making a public call for peace.  Morph doesn’t do much in the episode, but they get an individualized goodbye from Xavier while he is addressing the team one by one, and it is clear at the end that Morph is officially back with the team.  In other words, the writers could give Morph a happy ending of coming back since the show was ending and they didn’t have to deal with it going forward.  Thankfully, the X-Men 97 writers were happy to pick up that ball and continue running with it, and I love what they’ve done with Morph so far!

Were there shippy vibes between Morph and Wolverine in the original series?

I dunno friend, watch “Whatever it Takes,” and “Courage,” and you tell me.  Morph shifting into Jean to taunt Wolverine definitely gives me vibes of “There’s something going on there.”

Is Morph in the comics?

(Note – I’m using he/him for all comics versions of Morph because those versions all apparently ID as male.)

The answer is yes, sort of.

Changeling:

Morph was loosely based on an obscure, long dead shape-shifting mutant from the X-Men’s original 60’s run.  Changeling was a villain with a tacky costume who acted very much like a standard 60’s comic book villain, associated with a terrorist group called Factor Three. Look at this fucking dude:

  At the end of the Factor Three arc, it turns out that Factor Three’s leader, Mutant Master, is an alien who wants to destroy ALL life on Earth to make way for his own people, and the mutants in the group turn on him and help the X-Men. Changeling is the first one to question Mutant Master’s motives, and that’s probably the only interesting thing he does in the whole story.  Several issues later, Xavier supposedly dies while helping defeat a villain named Grotesk and save the world.  This story is retconned near the end of the run, when Xavier is revealed to be alive, and explains that the dead “Xavier” was actually Changeling.  Changeling had discovered that he was terminally ill, and came to Xavier seeking redemption.  Xavier asked Changeling to temporarily take his place as Xavier while he shut himself up in the basement to prepare to stop an alien invasion (and no, the X-Men were not informed of this, besides Jean, and yes, that is really fucked up).  So Changeling became a reformed villain and honorary X-Man who went out in a heroic sacrifice, and was almost never mentioned again.  (Even now Changeling appears to still be dead in the comics, even though the current storyline has allowed ALL the dead mutants to come back.  Even Thunderbird is back.)

Changeling was greatly reworked to become Morph, totally changing his personality and origins.  The only similarities are the shapeshifting powers and physical appearance.  You can see how this guy:

Became this not-actually-a-guy:

Or even this version:

X-Men 97 Morph got a real glow-up to their human form.

Of course, they also share the trait of being a sacrificial lamb plot device, and X-Men TAS creators were originally going to call the character “Changeling,” but changed the name to Morph because DC’s Beast Boy was called Changeling at the time.

Age of Apocalypse Morph:

In the 90’s, there was a cross-over event over all the X-Books called the Age of Apocalypse, in which a time-traveller (Xavier’s son Legion, long story) murdered Xavier in the past before Xavier formed the X-Men, and created a dystopian alternate reality in which Apocalypse had taken over and Magneto led the X-Men.  This was a kind of what-if event that let writers have fun with switching up character relationships, turning good guys bad and bad guys good, and of course, killing a lot of characters off.  The event only lasted about four issues before it was all undone and we returned to the main Marvel universe, so they could really go wild.  In the AoA book Astonishing X-Men, Magneto’s team includes a character called Morph, a versatile shapeshifter with a pasty white made-of-clay look, and a jovial, upbeat personality that is clearly based on TAS Morph.  (This change to character design is where X-Men 97 Morph’s white, featureless appearance comes from).

Just a silly little guy!

AoA Morph is also stated in the book to have been formerly Changeling, before undergoing a name-change and attitude adjustment, making him an AU variant.  He explains to Sunfire at one point that he never takes anything seriously because fuck it, he’s probably gonna die anyway, he may as well die with a smile on his face.  AoA Morph is pretty cool, he does great shapeshifting tricks, and has some depth and heart beneath the obnoxious jokes.

Exiles Morph:

After Age of Apocalypse, the fan-favorite character Blink (like Morph, another alternate version of a short-lived character in the main comics timeline) gets pulled out of the AoA timeline and placed on a team of time-displaced X-Men.  This team, all coming from alternate realities and including some other minor neglected characters (like versions of Thunderbird and Mimic), is tasked with hopping through realities, putting things right that once went wrong, and hoping each time that the next leap will be their leap home.  The team also includes a version of Morph, who is so similar to AoA Morph that Blink mistakes him initially for her old teammate.  This is another AU variant of Changeling who was never Changeling, but instead was recruited into the New Mutants (a bit of an age retcon for the character, as 60’s Changeling seemed much older, while Exiles Morph is clearly much younger.)  Exiles Morph was a popular hero in his reality, served as both an X-Man and an Avenger, and is an incredibly powerful shapeshifter.  He also winds up being a long-running mainstay of the Exiles team, so this is really the book to read for Morph content.  Exiles also fleshes out the character’s past, stating that he was born as a shapeshifting blob with X-gene already activated, and only assumed a human appearance to fit in with peers.  He also lost his mother to cancer at an early age, and his obnoxious jokey personality was partially a reaction to that, an attempt to both cheer up and get some attention from his grieving father.  Exiles Morph is a great character, my only complaint is that he is a bit of a sex pest, constantly making “jokes” that border on sexual harassment of his female teammates.  I don’t think he’s meant to actually be a creep, he never actually does anything, and when the teammate he has a crush on reveals that she is a lesbian, he steps back and acts as a supportive friend.  I think Exiles Morph just suffers from late 90’s early 2000 writing where the funny jokey character has to be all “LOL, Boobies!” all the time, just so we know he’s straight.  (Funny, given how not-straight X-Men 97 Morph seems to be.)

The Other Morph: Benjamin Deeds:

Brian Michael Bendis, in his Uncanny X-Men run, introduced a new character named Benjamin Deeds who could shapeshift, and looked suspiciously similar to a teenage version of Changeling/TAS Morph.  His personality was different, though (more of a sulky teen trying to deal with being a mutant than a funny guy), and the nature of his powers is different.  Benjamin has what is described as “chameleon-like” shapeshifting, taking on the physical characteristics of people when he gets close to them rather than fully shifting forms.  He also exudes a chemical that makes people automatically like and trust him.  Emma suggests the codename “Morph,” and although Benjamin doesn’t like it, it becomes his official codename going forward.  I don’t think Ben actually has any real connection to Changeling or TAS Morph, he seems more like a legacy character or winking homage, like Pyro II (Simon Lasker, who inexplicably has the same powers and looks almost exactly like original Pyro, St. John Alledyce).  He’s fun character and a cute lil’ guy, though.

There are people who call TAS Morph an “original character” completely invented for the cartoon, and I don’t think they’re entirely wrong.  Morph is VERY different from Changeling,  But to me, it makes the most sense to consider TAS Morph another AU variant of Changeling, given all the influence back and forth between the comics and the cartoon.  Morph was based on Changeling, and Morph’s popularity led to AU versions of Changeling in the comics with TAS Morph’s personality literally named “Morph,” and now X-Men 97 Morph has been redesigned to match AoA/Exiles Morph’s appearance.  They are variations of the same person.  And it’s not exactly the first time that a comics character has been drastically reworked in an adaptation – I’m looking at you, First Class Mystique and Evolution’s “Lance Alvers.”  I wonder if people would still be calling Morph an “original character” if they’d kept the name “Changeling,” since keeping the name seems to be all it takes at times.  Still, TAS Morph is kind of right on the border between OC and “adapted from the comics,” and even I tend to include them in groups of “created for the cartoon” characters like Firestar, Spyke and X-23.

Why is Morph tagged as “Kevin Sydney/Sidney”?

Because that is the character’s name, more or less.  TAS Morph didn’t have a “real name” in 92, because Changeling didn’t (similarly, Rogue also didn’t have a real name because the character hadn’t been given one in the comics.)  In Age of Apocalypse, characters called Morph “Sydney” or “Syd,” and Morph even referred to himself that way in a thought-balloons, but the Exiles writer apparently decided, “Nah, it’s a last name,” and officially named Morph “Kevin Sydney.”  The name stuck, and the 2004 Marvel “Book of the Dead” gave Changeling that name in the entry on him.  Morph’s name has never been given in the cartoon, but it’s probably safe to assume that their official “human name” is Kevin Sydney, just like TAS Rogue is probably Anna Marie (her official name in the comics.)  Interestingly, even in Exiles, the book where the name originated, Morph always goes by “Morph” and never “Kevin.”  Maybe Home Alone ruined the name for him.  I tend to use the Kevin Sydney tags on Tumblr and A03 to differentiate from other uses of the “morph” tag.  In particular, Tumblr has a lot of body modification fetish posts tagged as “morph,” and no offense to the fetishists, you all keep doing what you are doing, but that’s not the content I’m looking for.  I’m sure the fetish people are probably a bit annoyed at their own tag filling up with an X-Men character, but hey, it’s their name. 

How old is Morph?  How long were they with the team and when did they join?  Is the featureless white face their “real form”?  What’s their history with Wolverine?

I don’t have answers here because we don’t know.  There’s a lot we don’t know about TAS Morph, and the origins of their comics counterparts don’t really translate well into cartoon continuity.  Like I can’t imagine TAS Morph ever having been a willing member of Factor Three. 

Personally, I tend to assume that Morph was with the team for awhile before their “death,” given that they have an established “old friend” relationship with Wolverine and know the team extremely well.  I also tend to assume that TAS Morph is a similar age to the other young adults on the team like Scott and Jean.  They sometimes look older in the original series, because they were based on Changeling (who also looks older), but the voice acting and general personality of the character seem younger, plus Wolverine calls them “kid”a couple of times.  And it seems like their “human form” may not be their “real face” anyway, given that they’ve now defaulted to the white blank-face look.  The white blank-face look IS the real form for Exiles (and presumably AoA) Morph, so the same is probably true for TAS Morph and Changeling.  But this is all just my own headcanon and speculation, based on what I’ve seen in the original cartoon and the comics.  You are all free to come up with your own headcanons fleshing out the character, I’ve already seen great stuff in fanfic out there!

Edit: Actually, I thought of a bit more:

How does Morph shift their clothing? Does Morph even wear clothes? How can they create accessories like Psylocke's swords?

Honestly, I dunno, this is Rule of Cool and Morph as a vehicle for character cameos in affect here. I will say that, in the comics, many characters with shapeshifter-type powers, like Wolfsbane, wear costumes made of unstable molecules that shift with their bodies, the same may be true of Morph. Exiles Morph, when commenting on his female teammates' skimpy costumes, at one point jokes that he "wears even less," so he may just be literally making clothing out of his own body. Although I would think that would get cold, or painful with no protection against the elements.

I assume that Morph does form accessories like Psylocke's swords out of their own body, which also presumably means they can't drop them. I wonder if it would hurt Morph if one of the swords broke? Exile Morph regularly turns his own body into accessories that he can hold (but not separate from his form), so presumably X-Men 97 Morph is doing the same. This is a step-up from TAS Morph, who never did that. Exiles Morph seems to be able to turn their body into whatever they want.

Does Morph copy the powers of other mutants?

Morph seems to be able to mimic only the physical-based powers of other mutants, under the shapeshifter logic of changing their body to give themselves larger muscles, claws, etc. So Angel's wings, but not Cyclops' eye beams. Nightcrawler's tail but not teleportation. In X-Men 97, Morph takes a couple of shots from X-Cutioner after shifting into Colossus, so apparently they can do the whole metal skin thing. But in TAS, when Morph turns into Wolverine, their claws are not adamantium and Wolverine easily slices through them.

I would add that Exiles Morph is also extremely durable, and can literally be ripped to pieces and shapeshift himself back together. This doesn't seem to be the case of "died from Sentinel lasers" TAS Morph, but maybe they just aren't there with their power levels yet. Exiles Morph IS especially susceptible to burns or laser blasts, and almost dies when Hyperion hits him with a beam at close range.

That’s it, hopefully this is helpful for people completely new to the character who got into X-Men 97.  Mostly I just love writing about Morph.  I encourage you to go back and watch the original series, or at least the Morph episodes.  It’s a good show, if a bit 90’s corny, and will let you fully appreciate X-Men 97 (which has been, so far, an absolute banger of a series).  Presumably we’ll see more character development of Morph as the show continues, which will maybe answer some of these questions.

[withacapitalp]

How to Rehabilitate a Jock in Four Months Part 12

We're back babey :DDDD Happy to announce hiatus is over fellowsssss but also TW for this one Steve has a panic attack. Also thanks as always to @stevethehairington for betaing and supporting and generally just being the best friend a person can ask forrrrr also @thefreakandthehair for listening to me ramble about this endlessly. When I say I was working on this for two months, legitimately for the entire two months I was working on this

Part One Part Eleven Part Thirteen Link to Ao3

Step Twelve: Watch Him Stumble

In terms of gigs, this probably had to be one of the best sets Eddie had ever played. The energy was off the charts, the crowd was in it with them at every step, and best of all, Steve had been smiling the whole time. Even the power going out had a certain panache to it. Like a final zinger to finish off the wicked guitar solo in Breathless that made Eddie’s heart race every single time he played it. 

Was it ideal to have to sit in the dark and wait for the lights to come back on? Not by a long shot, but there was no denying that the ending of the song had been one hundred percent bonafide metal. 

All in all, Eddie wasn’t that pressed about having the electricity cut out. It wasn’t the first time the power had died during one of their shows, and it wouldn’t be the last. The Hideout was a total dive, basically a shack at the edge of the woods with an electrical system that was shoddy, at best. The band’s equipment had blown a fuse so many times that it was practically routine for the owner to have to go downstairs and reset the box halfway through their set. 

“What’s going on, Dan?” Eddie asked as he saw the bartender’s flashlight start to come up from the basement. He was eager to get going again, unwilling to lose the killer vibe coming from the crowd. 

He also wanted to be able to see what a certain ex-jock thought about the song he had just played. But that was neither here nor there.

“Shows over, boys!” Bar owner Dan shouted, listening to the moans and groans from the patrons before sighing and walking over to the low stage. “Flipped the breakers twice, but nothing. Must’ve been somethin’ else that blew the power. We’re done for the night.”

“Damn it,” Eddie swore, scuffing his sneaker on the ground and strumming a discordant little note on his guitar for emphasis.

Of course this happened on the one night he was actually trying to impress someone. Of course. 

“You can leave whatever you want to here for the night,” Dan offered, waving his flashlight around, “It’ll be hard enough to find your way out of this place without trying to lug around all this equipment too.” 

Eddie didn’t care about the equipment. He cared about the fact that Steve’s first time seeing him play had just been totally wrecked by a stupid power outage. 

“Thanks, Dan,” Jeff said for all of them as Eddie continued to scowl, trying to push down his disappointment before it could grow into something impossible to manage. 

The bartender nodded once, turning and walking towards some of the patrons to give them the news, leaving the band to their own devices. 

“This blows,” Eddie groaned as soon as they were alone, mood still incredibly sour. 

“You’re just mad you didn’t get to show off for Steeeeeve,” Frank teased as the others started to pack up in the dark. Even if they were leaving their stuff there, they still wanted to leave it in a somewhat organized fashion. 

“Stones and glass houses, Frankie,” Eddie said warningly, turning to where he knew Frank was around and glaring. He was not above calling out the other boy’s very obvious crush on Janet at this moment, nothing was off the books when he was this annoyed. “No, I’m mad our set got slashed in half cause of a dumb power outage.” 

“Mhm, sure,” Gareth said, drawing out the word in a way that grated on every single nerve Eddie had. 

“Guys?” Janet’s voice floated over, stopping Eddie before he said something he regretted. Janet slowly came into view as she walked over to the stage, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. 

She was alone. 

Eddie’s anger vanished as a pit began to form in his stomach. 

“Where’s Rocky?” Frank asked, walking over to stand next to Eddie. 

“Where’s Steve?” Eddie emphasized before Janet could answer, looking around into the dark of the bar. It was hard to see anything but lumps bobbing and weaving about, but none of them seemed Steve-shaped. Still, there was no way Steve would just leave. 

Right?

“No clue,” Janet answered, rubbing her arm, “Steve was acting weird right before the power went out, and now we can’t find him. I sent Rocky to go look around.”

Weird? What did ‘weird’ mean? Weird was the kind of word that only made even more questions. Did Steve totally hate the music? Was he having a bad time? Had Eddie completely misinterpreted everything he had thought from before? 

But before Eddie could put any of these fears to words, Rocky’s silhouette came into view. 

“He’s not in the bathroom. I even peeked into the ladies just to be sure,” Rocky reported. Janet made a disgusted little sound, reaching over to smack the younger boy upside the head and give him a disappointed scowl. 

“Hey!” Rocky snapped, getting out of Janet’s line of fire, “Not cool. I’m just looking out for a fellow party member.”

“He’s not in our party,” Gareth muttered immediately, stepping around his drum kit to come stand with the rest of them. Eddie didn’t bother to fight with his best friend or even comment on his stupid little jab. He was too busy freaking the fuck out over the fact that the guy he definitely wasn’t crushing on had seemingly vanished into thin air. 

“What do you mean weird?” Eddie asked, hating the way his heart was starting to pound. 

“He was like really distracted? And looked kind of freaked out. Not just annoyed or uncomfortable, but scared,” Janet said, trailing off with a grimace on her face. She looked like she had more to say, but nothing else came, and an stilted silence fell over the group. 

Scared? Steve? The words just didn’t seem to fit together. Eddie couldn’t imagine Steve being afraid of anything. He went headfirst into everything, confident to the point of nearly cocky, so sure of himself Eddie was sometimes jealous. 

“Maybe he just didn’t like the music?” Gareth offered, but his tone was weak. “Used the power outage as a way to slip out?”

“No,” Janet said firmly, shaking her head. “He… Something wasn’t right, guys.” 

Something wasn’t right. 

Eddie knew this feeling. It was that heart stop stomach drop moment. The deer hearing the first snap of the twig under a hunter’s boot, a rabbit sensing that a snare was nearby. It was the same way he felt when he was walking around town and saw a car full of douchebags tailing him, or he went to the woods to make a deal only to find no one sitting at the picnic table. 

There was something dangerous happening, something that instinctually made Eddie want to run for the hills. 

Something scary. Something that was a threat. 

He needed to find Steve. Now. 

“Maybe he’s just outside having a smoke or somethin’,” Eddie said, trying and failing to sound casual. “Let’s go look.”

Eddie carefully placed his guitar in its case and hopped down, walking towards the direction of the front door and hoping the others were following. He would go on his own if he had to, but he really, really, didn’t want to. 

Luckily he heard the pattern of footsteps following his own, and Jeff bumped his shoulder against Eddie’s as they approached the exit. Eddie took a millisecond to be grateful for his loyal batshit insane buds, then he was back on task. 

“Steve?” Eddie called as he walked out the door, mentally sending a prayer to whoever might be listening that Steve would be standing right there, waiting for them to come join him. 

No such luck. There were a few drunks milling about, a couple making out against the side of the building, but no sign of Steve’s pretty boy hair or his soft sweet smile. Eddie’s heart began to race impossibly faster. 

“Steve! You out here?!” Eddie shouted, hating the panic that was starting to enter his tone. He turned his head in every direction, but he couldn’t see any sign of Steve. 

“He’s long gone, Eds, can we go back inside now? It’s fucking freezing out here,” Gareth asked, rubbing at his bare arms and shivering as the frigid winter wind raced past them. Eddie could barely feel his own body, but he ignored both the cold and Gareth’s words, walking towards his van. 

Steve was there. He had to be. He had to be, or else Eddie was going to lose his mind worrying over what was probably nothing, and he might say something incredibly stupid when they actually found Steve, and that would ruin everything they had worked so hard to build. 

Luckily for Eddie’s increasingly fragile mind and heart, he spotted a shape sitting near the van. Eddie practically melted in relief, jogging around to the other side of his van, needing to see Steve’s face. 

“Well if you wanted to dine and dash so bad, Harrington, you should have-” 

Eddie cut off the idiotic quip he had been in the middle of saying, struck silent by the state he found Steve in. All of the relief he had been starting to feel instantly vanished, replaced by a bone deep dread that overtook Eddie’s entire being. 

Steve was on the ground, his knees pulled close to his chest and his eyes staring firmly at the gravel. He was still as a statue, barely even blinking, and his breathing was shallow and uneven. Eddie could see him shaking from where he stood, trembling like a leaf in the wind as he continued to just stare at nothing. 

Something was wrong. 

“Steve?” Eddie said softly, reaching out slowly as he edged closer to the other boy trying to get his attention. “Sweetheart? What’s going o-“

Steve’s hand darted out the second Eddie’s got close enough to reach, fingers latching onto Eddie’s wrist in an iron tight grip that instantly sent a dull ache racing up his arm. The physical sensation was uncomfortable, painful, but it was the look on Steve’s face that hurt the most. 

Steve’s eyes were boring holes into Eddie’s face, staring him down with a flat blank glare that looked completely wrong on his features. It was almost like he was looking through Eddie, not really seeing him, just dealing with the threat that was coming towards his body. 

It shouldn’t hurt. After all, Eddie was used to people in this town seeing him as a scary person. He didn’t really bat an eye anymore when people switched to the other side of the street as he walked past, and he didn’t care that much about the way mothers would grab their children’s hands if he started to approach. 

But something about the way Steve’s protective instincts had deemed him a danger just cut right to Eddie’s core. 

“Steve it’s-it’s just me,” Eddie stuttered out, trying subtly to pull away from Steve’s death grip. 

The combination of his quiet voice and tugging must have tripped something in Steve’s mind, because a hint of recognition flew across Steve’s face, and he instantly dropped Eddie’s wrist, going back to curling both of his hands in his hair and pulling, shaking silently as he let his gaze fall back to the pavement. 

“Eddie, back up,” Jeff ordered the second he was free, stepping forward. 

“Jeff-“

“Eddie, he’s having a panic attack,” Jeff said firmly, interrupting his friend before he could start trying to argue. “Back. Up.” 

A panic attack? 

Eddie had seen Jeff in the throes of a panic attack before, and it was nothing like this. Usually Jeff would hyperventilate, gasp for breath as his limbs moved almost uncontrollably. He would babble out anxiety fueled rambles until the moment passed, then usually retreat into the safety of solitude for a while as he tried to piece himself back together. 

Steve just looked… gone, lost somewhere none of them could reach him. 

But Jeff would be the expert on panic attacks, so if he said that was what this was, then Eddie just had to trust him and hope he could help Steve. Unwillingly Eddie took a single step back, falling into line with the rest of the group who had crept over at some point, and were now all staring at the scene with a mixture of horror and confusion. 

“Hey Steve, it’s Jeff, do you recognize me?” Jeff asked calmly, keeping his tone even and clear. He seemed completely zen, unphased by the very frightening moment. The only way Eddie could tell anything was amiss was the way Jeff’s fists were clenched tight at his sides, an easy tell that he was trying to keep his hands from shaking. 

Steve looked up when Jeff started speaking to him, giving one short nod after a prolonged pause. 

“That’s good. Can I come sit by you?” Jeff asked, starting to step closer. Instantly Steve seemed to be back on guard, stiffening up and pressing his back even harder against the van. Jeff took the shift in stride, taking a step back and holding his hands out.

“Alright, alright. I’ll stay right here. That’s better?”

Another pause. Another short nod. 

Jeff took a second to think, then slowly slid down so he was sitting across from Steve on the ground of the parking lot, crossing his legs and taking a long calming breath. 

“Do you know where you are right now?”

Yet another pause as Steve contemplated the question. Eddie watched as Steve’s blank look shifted first to confusion, then to fear as he shook his head. Steve’s lip started to wobble as his eyes turned glassy and filled with fright. 

“That’s okay,” Jeff said soothingly, clearly trying to get ahead of whatever was starting to grow inside Steve’s mind. “You’re at the Hideout in the parking lot with me, Jeff. Our other friends are here too. Eddie, Frank, Janet, Rocky, and Gareth. You came to listen to the band play tonight, do you remember that?” 

Steve nodded, letting out a long slow exhale, a bit of the tension in his shoulders dropping. His hands slowly slid out of his hair, fingers playing with the loose gravel of the parking lot. 

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” Jeff explained. His words were blunt, but his tone was still soft. “Have you had one before? Do you know what caused it?”

Steve’s jaw clenched up even tighter. Eddie found his mind starting to count the seconds, needing something to do in the moment in order to stop himself from speaking. 

He got up to thirty four before Steve finally opened his mouth. 

“The lights,” Steve whispered, sighing and reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “It was… it was the lights.”

“Lights? I don’t- It was… it was just a power outage, Sweetheart,” Eddie blurted out, unable to hold his words back. His mind was racing to try and fit the piece into the puzzle, but no matter how he thought about it, Eddie simply couldn’t comprehend how the lights of all things caused Steve to fall into such a panic. 

He looked back at the rest of the group, seeing if any of them had any clue what was going on, but they all had the same confused fright on their faces. 

“No. It wasn’t,” Steve stated immediately, his voice firm and set. His eyes were hard again, and he was staring at the ground with a mixture of hate and fear that made Eddie’s stomach clench up tightly. “It was not just a power outage, and I need to check on my kids.” 

“Steve-“

“I need to check on my kids,” Steve repeated, interrupting Jeff harshly. Now that the tension was broken, the words seemed to be coming easier, and Steve cleared his throat before continuing, “My bag has what I need, but the doors were locked. I got out here and then the doors...”

Steve trailed off, looking lost. 

“I’ll grab your bag,” Gareth offered, startling them all. He held his hand out for the keys, and Eddie gave him a look, raising a brow. If it was anyone else, Eddie wouldn’t even hesitate, but Gareth offering to do something for Steve of his own free will was like the devil offering to tie Jesus’s shoe. 

“It’s okay, I got it,” Gareth said, softening his voice, something far too close to pity in his eyes as his gaze flitted over to Steve, then back to Eddie, conveying without words that Eddie leaving Steve at this moment seemed like a bad idea

Despite the tension of the moment, a part of Eddie relaxed. Gareth was just being Gareth- the good Gareth that Eddie knew was hiding under bitchy mean Gareth that had cropped up out of nowhere. Eddie tossed him his keys and the rest walked to the other side of the van, talking in harsh low whispers that Eddie couldn’t quite make out. 

“This can’t be happening again,” Steve whispered when it was just the three of them, a breathy half laugh escaping alongside the words as he wrapped his arms around his knees and tucked his head down. “God, it’s really never gonna be fucking over, is it?”  

The question was obviously rhetorical, Steve probably wasn’t even really talking to them, but a physical pain started to grow in Eddie’s chest from the utter defeat radiating off of Steve in miserable waves. 

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not going to ask,” Jeff stated, taking the risk to scoot closer and maneuvering himself so he was sitting next to Steve, his back flat against the van, “but, while we’re waiting for them to get what you need, do you want to try a grounding technique?”

“A what?” Steve asked, just barely raising his head. Jeff began to explain his favorite grounding technique, using short and easy to understand sentences to go over exactly what he was suggesting. Steve uncurled ever so slightly as Jeff was speaking, his full attention on the younger boy. Even Eddie was caught in the lull of Jeff’s tone, his heart starting to finally flow down. 

Then he heard his name. 

“Eddie.”

It was Gareth on the other side of the van, holding Steve’s bag up and giving Eddie a wide eyed look of horror. He gestured for Eddie to come over with a jerky handwave, and Eddie gave him a look. Wasn’t the whole point for Eddie to stay? Why was Gareth trying to pull him away just as they were starting to make progress. 

“Eddie. Now,” Frank whispered harshly, his head popping up next to Gareth’s. He also looked freaked the fuck out, still far too pale. 

“I’ve got him, Eds,” Jeff said in that same soothing tone pulling another deep breath and watching as Steve obediently copied the motion. “Go see what they need.” 

Eddie really wanted to just say fuck it and stay exactly where he was, but Steve was starting to get some color back in his cheeks, and if whatever was in that bag would help, then Eddie needed to get that for him. 

So, very reluctantly, Eddie walked around to the other side of the van, leaving Jeff and Steve alone. 

“What?!” Eddie snapped the second he was out of earshot of the two boys, throwing Gareth a harsh glare. If this was another trick or some weird tactic to fuck with Steve, then Eddie was going to seriously have to reconsider their friendship at this point. 

“Look,” Gareth hissed, shoving Steve’s bag into Eddie’s hands. 

Eddie peered in the bag, still annoyed and confused. It was all normal stuff. Well, a little weird. Steve’s car keys, a flashlight, a walkie-talkie… a first aid kit… and…

“Why does he have a knife?!” Gareth snarled, looking more terrified than angry. 

“Lots of people have knives,” Eddie said, trying to sound calm. The words came out strangled, falsely cool in a way that made it obvious to all of them that Eddie was just as uncomfortable as they were. 

“Okay, but why does he need that right now, Eddie?” Janet asked. It was a good question, but one that Eddie couldn’t possibly come up with an answer for. 

Why did Steve need a knife right now? Why would he even bring it with him tonight? 

“Eddie? What’s going on?” Jeff called from the other side of the van, still blissfully unaware of the latest update to their situation. Eddie shook his head roughly, dropping the knife back into the bag and zipping it up, holding it behind his back as he rounded the front of the van again. 

“What is it you need from your bag, Steve?” Eddie questioned, keeping his voice firm as he stared down at Steve. 

“My walkie-talkie?” Steve answered, a picture of innocence. He had one hand flat on the ground, and the other tangled up in Eddie’s necklace, his thumb worrying across the face of the guitar pick. Then Steve's words came back to him. 

I need to check on my kids. 

Hot shame flooded Eddie’s stomach as he remembered exactly what had led to all of them snooping in Steve’s stuff. Steve had just wanted to reach out to the kids, that was all. The knife wasn’t really that weird in retrospect, just another overprotective Steve thing. He wasn’t about to get stab happy on them, he just wanted a way to protect himself if it became necessary. 

Eddie could understand that. 

“Is it not there?” Steve wondered, some anxiety starting to leak into his tone the longer Eddie just stood there. “I’m sure I brought it, but-”

“No, I have it right here, sweetheart,” Eddie said, interrupting the thought before it could even form. He tugged the walkie-talkie out of the bag and handed it to Steve, sitting on the ground next to him and watching as Steve flipped it on and switched the channels, taking a deep breath before holding down the talk button.

“Guys?” 

He let go of the receiver, and immediately there was an explosion of voices as the kids all began to scream over each other, shouting Steve’s name and endless questions. It was impossible to make out exact words in the mayhem, but Eddie wasn’t interested in that. He was busy focusing on Steve. 

Despite the fact that he was still trembling, the pinched brow and nervous look in Steve’s eyes faded the second he heard the kid’s voices. He sighed, leaning his head back until it softly hit the van, letting the tension fall from his shoulders as his eyes slipped shut. 

“See? All okay,” Eddie murmured, needing to add extra reassurance now that he thought he could. Steve shot him a weary little smile, rubbing the guitar pick around his neck once more before pushing down the talk button once more. 

“What are we dealing with?” Steve asked, about to put the walkie-talkie back down before the sound of shoes on gravel caught his attention. As Gareth, Rocky, Frank, and Janet walked back around the van, Steve continued “and I’m not by myself right now, so don’t say any stupid shit.”

“Who are you with?” Lucas’s voice said from the walkie-talkie, sounding tinny and electronic. 

“And say over next time. Over,” Will added. 

“The fucking ‘over’ bullshit,” Steve said to himself with a roll of his eyes before picking it back up. “I’m at the Hideout with Eddie, now what are we dealing with?!” 

Silence. Eddie looked at Steve with a raised brow, and when Steve looked around in annoyance, Eddie caught his eye and mouthed the word ‘over’. 

“Jesus H,” Steve muttered, looking up at the sky as if begging God to help him. “OVER!”

“Well we don’t know that yet, Steve,” Dustin promptly responded the second Steve’s finger left the button, his tone dripping with far too much sass. "We were too busy looking for you! Over.”

“I’m gonna kill them,” Steve stated, rubbing at his temple, “I’m legitimately going to kill them.” 

“Everybody shut up,” A new voice barked. Eddie knew it from somewhere, but he couldn’t place it. She wasn’t one of the kids, Eddie knew that much, but he couldn’t figure it out. “Steve, Jonathan and I will be at the Hideout in five minutes. Do not move. Over and out.” 

After a few seconds of staticky silence, Steve groaned, pushing the antennae of the walkie-talkie down and turning it off. 

“Of course she’s coming here. Of course,” Steve whispered, unknowingly mirroring Eddie’s exact thought process right after the power outage. 

“Wait, wait, wait. Was that Nancy Wheeler?” Janet asked incredulously, her jaw hanging wide open. 

No. Nope. There was no way. 

“Yeah, it was,” Steve said with a sigh, forcing himself into a standing position and stretching his shoulders. 

He was completely nonchalant about it, like it was perfectly normal to have your ex on walkie-talkie speed dial, and it was only natural for her to come collect you like a haggard housewife the second she thought you might be in trouble. 

“Nancy Wheeler, your ex girlfriend,” Eddie said dumbly, just to be sure he wasn’t being punked.

“The one and only,” Steve said dryly, becoming more and more himself with every second. It was like hearing Nancy’s voice had flipped a switch, and the vulnerable nervous Steve that had been sitting on the ground by his van was gone in an instant, replaced by a flippant easy going boy that looked like nothing had ever happened to him at all. 

It was bizarre, uncanny in a disarmingly normal way. Eddie had always kind of admired Steve’s coolness, how nothing seemed to phase him.

Now it just felt… not disingenuous per say, but more layered than it was before. It wasn’t completely an act, but Steve was definitely hiding so much more than Eddie ever could have assumed. 

“Why is Nancy Wheeler coming here?” Eddie asked slowly as he stood up, watching Steve like a hawk and looking for any kind of micro change in his expression. He got nothing. Steve was a brick wall. 

“Even if I could tell you, you wouldn’t believe me,” Steve said with a wry smile that didn’t look much like a smile at all. Before he could say anything else, they all heard the sound of tires squealing nearby, and a pair of headlights peeled into the parking lot. Steve moved like a man possessed, jogging around the van and towards the car still speeding into the lot. 

“What the fuck was all that?” Rocky said, asking the question all of them were wondering. Eddie shrugged, following Steve’s path and watching as Nancy Wheeler jumped out of the passenger seat of the still parking car, ignoring Jonathan Byers' shouting at her from the driver’s side as she strode towards where Steve had stopped. 

“What the hell, Steve?!” She snapped the second she had pulled herself away from the car. “No one knew where you were. You didn’t tell anyone, or leave a note, or anything. What were you thinking?!” 

“What was I- Nancy, what are you talking about?” Steve said defensively, turning around to briefly give Eddie a ‘can you believe this’ look before turning back to his ex who was still fuming. 

Eddie didn’t really know anything about Nancy Wheeler, it wasn’t like they ran in the same circles whatsoever, but he certainly had never expected to see her like this. There was two high spots of red on her cheeks, and her eyes were flashing in a way that just screamed danger. 

“You can’t just disappear out of nowhere! Do you get how irresponsible that is?” Nancy asked rhetorically, not giving Steve a second to answer before she barreled forward, “Mike and the others wanted to make a search party and start riding around on their bikes looking for you. What are you even doing here?”

“I didn’t realize going out was a crime,” Steve said in a moody tone, crossing his arms over his chest and giving Nancy a cool glare. 

Things were quickly devolving between the two of them, and as much as Eddie wanted to intervene, he hung back and observed. That was the thing most people didn’t realize about him. Eddie could be quiet and listen when it benefitted him. 

“It is if you don’t tell me where you are!” Nancy exploded, throwing her hands up as she did. “Especially if it’s because you’re hiding that you’re doing something dangerous.”  

With those words she poignantly turned her glare towards Eddie, as if he personally was holding Steve hostage. Steve’s face screwed into a dark scowl and he stepped so he was back directly in Nancy’s view line, blocking her from the others. 

Protecting Eddie from her. 

That shouldn’t have made him feel as warm as it did. 

“Nancy. I don’t know how you forgot, but let me remind you- We. Broke. Up,” Steve said, each word punching directly out of his chest and exposing just how raw that still fresh wound was. “You’re dating Jonathan now, so what I do, and who I’m friends with, and how I spend my time isn’t your problem anymore.” 

“Nance,” Jonathan said, trying to grab Nancy’s arm. She pulled away from his grip, stepping close to Steve. 

“Yes, it is my problem! You are still my problem!” She shouted. 

Eddie would’ve chalked it all up to crazy ex-girlfriend disease and dragged Steve away from the fight, but something strange was developing. The anger was quickly draining away from Nancy’s features and all that was left was a painful grief, the kind that made Eddie want to turn his head and find anything else to look at. This wasn’t just a jealousy thing, or psycho ex behavior. 

This was something more. 

“Look, I know we broke up, and I know that’s my fault, but first the lights flickered, then power went out, and none of us could find you,” Nancy said, looking down at the ground as her voice began to waver and her features inevitably turned towards tears. “You weren’t at your house. It was empty, and it was just the pool, and no one there, and I thought- I thought-”

Eddie would never know what Nancy had been trying to say, because Steve enveloped her in his arms at that moment, holding her gently against his chest as he shielded her from the rest of the world. 

There was a momentary flare of jealousy that ignited in Eddie’s chest, a second where he felt a blinding, irrational hatred for Nancy Wheeler and everything she was. But then Steve was holding out his other arm to Jonathan, who hesitated for a second and looked extremely uncomfortable, but came closer nonetheless, all three of them sharing an exhausted hug. Jonathan and Nancy put Steve between the two of them, joining their hands between his shoulder blades as they held him close. 

Whatever was going on here, it wasn’t romantic. No need to be jealous. 

Not that Eddie had any right to be jealous in the first place. It shouldn’t matter that Steve seemed to have some sort of weird magnanimous relationship with his ex and her new boyfriend. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t his concern. 

It mattered. It mattered so much. 

“I’m fine, see? Right here,” Steve said, slightly muffled by the two people still holding him like he was the most precious object in the universe. 

“You can’t do that,” Nancy managed to gasp out, clearly in tears given how thick her voice had gotten, even if Eddie couldn't see them. “I can’t lose you too.” 

Too? Who had Nancy lost? 

The questions were only continuing to mount, and Eddie wondered if you could get a panic attack just by standing close to someone who had just had one. It was certainly getting harder to breathe the longer he looked at the three of them. 

“You’re not losing me,” Steve said firmly, as if he was writing it into law just by saying it out loud, “we aren’t losing anyone again.”

“You can’t know that,” Nancy said, her voice so soft Eddie almost missed it. As she did Jonathan looked up, hooking his chin on Steve’s shoulder as he made eye contact with Eddie. 

“Guys,” Jonathan called, reluctantly pulling away and nodding his head towards the rest of Hellfire who were all still standing there. Nancy quickly wiped at her eyes and Steve stepped back, putting distance between him and the couple again. 

“Hopper went to the lab,” Nancy said, picking her words slowly and carefully. “He dropped um… her off at my house with the rest of the kids.” 

Her?

“How is she?” Steve asked. Well, he knew, but Eddie was still in the dark. Who could ‘her’ be? Nancy had a little sister, didn’t she? Maybe she had a tendency to run off or something. 

“She’s freaked out. She passed out when the power outage happened, but we don’t know why yet,” Jonathan answered, wrapping his arms around his stomach. 

Steve sighed, swiping a hand across his face and turning around. He jogged over to grab his bag, slinging it over one shoulder as he walked back over. 

“Let’s just go. I don’t want to leave the kids alone right now,” Steve said, slipping back into his role as babysitter as easy as breathing. Jonathan and Nancy both nodded, waiting until Steve was in line with them before starting to walk to the car. 

It hurt almost, being forgotten, dismissed. It was like they had never even existed, like nothing else that had happened tonight mattered. 

It wasn’t like Eddie didn’t know he and the others weren’t Steve’s first choice of friends, but having it so blatantly thrown in his face didn’t feel all that great. There was an extra sting when Eddie considered exactly who those first choice friends were. 

Steve would apparently rather spend time with his ex and her new boyfriend over Eddie and his friends. 

Whatever. No problem. Eddie shoved the feeling down in his chest, deep where it would bother him all night long, but where it wouldn’t come out in mean lashing words towards anyone else.

But, as he spun on his heel and went to go stomping back towards his van, a shout behind his back stopped Eddie in his tracks. 

“Eddie!” 

Steve was running over to them, the back passenger door of Jonathan’s car still wide open. He slid to a stop right in front of Eddie, panting just a bit as he reached up towards Eddie’s neck. 

“I totally forgot,” Steve said apologetically, expertly unclasping the necklace and reaching over. Eddie shivered, sucking a sharp breath in as Steve’s arms wrapped around his neck, fingers just barely grazing Eddie’s skin as he returned the necklace to its rightful owner. 

“I had a really nice time tonight,” Steve murmured, looking up at Eddie with those big cow eyes and a bashful little smile. 

“Really?” Eddie said, thrilled but unable to believe it. Steve was probably just being nice, that was all. 

“Well, before,” Steve amended, his cheeks turning a soft red as he took one step back, futzing with Eddie’s necklace so it sat perfectly in the center of his chest. “I really liked your band.” 

“I’m glad,” Eddie managed to stammer out, both hating and loving the way his entire brain was turning to mush the longer Steve had his hand on his chest. Steve had liked the band, he liked the music. 

That didn’t mean he liked Eddie, but there was no denying the thrill that was shooting up Eddie’s spine. 

“Seriously. Thank you,” Steve said, patting Eddie right above his heart once more before mercifully pulling away. “It was nice to just get to be a little… normal.” 

“Anytime, Sweetheart,” Eddie replied, biting his tongue before he could do something stupid like promise that Steve could be normal with him whenever he wanted. 

“By the way you guys are all invited to my place for a Christmas Eve Eve party! It’s on Friday,” Steve said, turning to address all six of them. “I was going to mention it on the ride home but well- Anyway, we’re doing a yankee swap, so bring a present. Oh, and invite Kaiden too.” 

“A what?” Frank asked. Eddie also wasn’t sure what ‘Yankee Swap’ meant, but he was never going to turn down an invite to a party. Especially a party at Steve’s. The Harrington house hadn’t been the subject of a rager in quite a while, but if this was going to be anything like those parties, then it was not one to be missed. 

Plus it meant more time with Steve. 

“Dude!” Jonathan shouted from his car. 

“Coming!” Steve called back. He gave Eddie a quick flash of a smile before starting to run towards the car, waving a hand behind him as he did. 

“It starts at seven. See you then, Babydoll!” 

And then he was gone, disappearing into the car and driving away before any of them could give him a proper answer. 

Tag List: @paopaupaus @zerokrox-blog @surferboyzaza @whatever-is-a-good-name @minjintea @addelyin @5ammi90 @hagbaby420 @shinekocreator @bornonthesavage @starxlark @electrick-marionnett @resident-gay-bitch @ash-a-confused-enby @classicdinosaurdeathpose @valon-whomsttf @rotten-lil-goblin @thereindeerlady @love-ya-kash @kerlypride @sparkle-fiend @thefreakandthehair @flowercrowngods @milf-harrington @sadcanadianwinter @gothbat99 @hotcocoaharrington @henderdads @lightwoodbanethings @colorful565 @h0n3y-dw @craterbbox @sourw0lfs @lesliiieeeee @bidisastersworld @tinynebula @ravnlinn @bonescaro @mexmatch @cottagecoredreams @joruni @hellykelly @maegan1116 @farewell-wanderlvst @desertfern @due-to-the-fact-that-im-a-slut @anythingforourmoonyedits @eerielake @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @sidekick-hero

[dduane]

I am curious since I've seen stuff of yours mentioning the worldbuilding work being important (and because your Young Wizard series was hugely influential in the way I build worlds): Where do you put all the worldbuilding work? A notebook? A Google Doc? A file somewhere on a computer? Scattered sticky notes? Messages to friends? Do you try to keep it all organized?

I have no choice but to keep it organized, because if I don't, I'm screwed. :) ...And this isn't just a side effect of being 70+, but of having numerous projects going at once, all in wildly varying stages of development... and ideas for any of them are likely to pop up at any time.

Over time I've learned to keep separate projects' notes well separated from one another, to prevent confusion. Additionally, some kinds of notes are better for some projects than others. If the worldbuilding is mostly to do with character business and stuff going on inside people's brains, something that supports long-format typed notes will be best. For something that needs artwork, drawings, diagrams or calculations, something more graphics-oriented may work better. I usually find out what works best as as I go along, and stage newer notes accordingly.

In the past I've often used (physical) notebooks, but I don't any more, as it takes more effort than I care to expend to move things off the paper and onto the screen / into the file. (For those wondering: I normally compose directly into the computer, either by typing or [Dragon Anywhere-mediated] dictation. If a piece of work is giving me more trouble than usual, I'll sometimes break down and compose on paper, with a fountain pen: thanks for the hint, @neil-gaiman. Sometimes slowing things down does make a difference) :) ...Then I read the pen-generated material into the machine.

Probably the modality I use most often now for worldbuild material is Scrivener, for reasons I discussed a little over here the other day. It lets you store notes alongside your prose material, or in a research "folder" down at the bottom of your project: and it keeps it all together.

But I'm not always sitting down in front of the machine. Sometimes ideas pop out when you're on the road: or you're working on one project and something pertinent to another one comes up. So at such times I use:

Evernote. It syncs seamlessly among all the devices I use, and you can get at it from wherever you are in a browser or from a smartphone or tablet.

A voice recording app. I've got one in the iPad and one on my phone. If I'm somewhere without broadband and can't use Dragon, the saved audio can be fed into it later. Dragon'll then transcribe what I said and email it to me for inclusion in whatever note-keeping software I'm using. Right now on the iPad I'm using an app called Voice Recorder, and on the (Android) phone one that (mysteriously) also called Voice Recorder.

These are desperately handy for when an idea comes to you in the middle of the night and your handwriting's not to be trusted or you don't want to turn on the light for fear of waking up whoever else is in the bed. Fumble around for the recorder, turn it on, mumble your note in and go back to sleep. Just make sure you've actually turned it on. And off. :)

Sticky notes. I do use them, but I don't let them sit around: it's too easy for a passing breeze to blow them off the table / desk / whatever and under the fridge, where you'll never see them again. These normally get transcribed into electronic storage immediately, or stuck onto my desk in a spot where they have to be dealt with immediately; or (in the case of really important notes) stapled to several others that in same cases have been there for years. ...Notes not immediately transcribed get stuck into a notebook which I clean out carefully once a month, along with the other note-taking apps.

Another kind of sticky notes, of which I'm really fond, is this app for the iPad, called Tatter. It allows you to open multiple "notebooks" that can house what seem to be an unlimited number of stickies. Supports images, as well.

A wiki on a stick. If there's a lot of data coming down the pipeline at once, it's handy to have something to stick it into in which short articles can be linked easily to one another. You can export / cut-and-paste these into your main work file as necessary. Then at the project's end, you just zip the wiki's contents up and put it away somewhere, on disk or in the cloud, as you prefer. (Because who knows what its contents might come in handy for, some years from now...?) TiddlyWiki is good tor this kind of thing.

Anyway: the secret of successfully managing an array of note-taking methods like this is to set aside a day once a month to go through them all, making sure that notes that are worth something will be tucked safely into the project file associated with them. If you're not using a program like Scrivener that provides its own storage, this space can as easily be a folder on your desktop, or even a series of printouts. But the most important thing: back them up somewhere safe. Worldbuilding notes are some of the most painful to lose. ...I keep a set of mine in Dropbox, and an additional set in my laptop, and once a month I email a zipfile of the most crucial ones to myself.

If this sounds like a lot of work: that's as may be... but it's worth it. I mean, we're talking worlds here. Until they're safely out where people can see them on paper or on the screen, you are their only guardian.

At any rate: HTH!

[allhailthe70shousewife]

You grew up in the 70s?? If yes, What was it like growing up in decade?? My parents grew up in the 70s.

When I wasn’t in school I was left to my own devices to entertain myself. I read a LOT. I played with the kids in the neighborhood. Barbies, dress-up, we played School all the time- we’d be teachers in classrooms next to each other and we’d draw up elaborate lesson plans and teach our imaginary classes. I watched tv - less than 20 channels and not necessarily always programmed to entertain kids so you got what you got. When I was in school we had to obey the teachers and it was generally considered The End Of The World if you got sent to the principal. Very strict. Just an average public school in Southern California. I spent a ton of time outside playing and just running around. Summer was the best. You had 3 whole months of total freedom. Long days outside running through sprinklers, riding bikes to thrifty’s to get ice cream, rollerskating, neighborhood hide and seek. Come home at dinnertime and sometimes after dinner go back out and play til you got called in. Adults were not really interested in what you got up to until you got in trouble and then ANY adult could or would bust you. And no parent I knew was going to take a kid’s side. And god help the kids whose teachers had to talk to their parents.

The 70s were not generally child-friendly. The stuff made for us went from fabulous (Disney & Sesame Street) to frankly weird and creepy (Lidsville). But apart from that it was a Grown Up’s World. Everybody smoked, everybody drank and LOTS of people had kids because that is just what you did even if it didn’t necessarily appeal to you. We weren’t consciously parented like people parent today. We were just kind of an afterthought, an unavoidable consequence to our parents.  If you acted up or ran around in a restaurant or in public, generally misbehaved, or were disobedient you got in trouble. What in trouble looked like was different for every kid. All my parents had to do was look at me and I snapped in line. But some kids got smacked around for acting up. Nobody batted an eye. Parents were off in their world and we lived in ours. They weren’t interested in what we thought about any of it.