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didhewinkback · 2 years

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Something Old

Written for @harry-on-broadway's fic challenge.

Written prompt used: "What's this, then?"

Watching your childhood best friend (& the man you've been in love with for half your life) get married proves to be harder than you thought. Will you be able to make a quick getaway to avoid further heartbreak? Or is it finally time for the truth come out?

A/N: the pic represents more of an overall vibe rather than a definite representation of what he is wearing. but the vibes of the pic are absolutely accurate. some liberties have been taken with accurate chronology of his dating life bc this is fiction town usa baby. takes place during the fine line era, in a world with no covid. dream world. please let me know what you think!

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There was a huge water fountain, right in the middle of the hotel courtyard, making criss-cross patterns into the pool below and you couldn’t take your eyes off of it. It was soothing, in a way. Or at least you were trying to force the concept of being soothed upon yourself, trying to focus in on the sounds of the water and the lights reflecting off of it. Anything to not think about the background noise of the party, of the clinking glasses and what that sound would mean, to think of him – nope. Back to the fountain.

Your mother cleared her throat. Her eyes had been burning holes into the side of your face but you couldn’t face her or that look of pity in her eyes. Your fingers tapped against the handle of your suitcase as you kept your eyes on the water. Just keep staring at the water.

“Did you call an Uber or…?”

“I’m just going to take the rental back to the city and go from there.”

“You could always take it back to the house. Bit of a drive but…”

The thought of walking into your childhood home, alone, while his own childhood home sat right next door was too much to bear. “I don’t,” you cleared your throat as your voice caught, “I don’t think I can be surrounded by all those memories. God, Mum, this is so embarrassing –”

“Oh, baby, no. Come here” Your mom rushed over to you and wrapped her arms around you in a death grip as you let yourself collapse into her arms, feeling 8, 15 and 26 all at once. The tears which you had been trying to save for the drive poured out of you, your mum shushing you as you buried your face into her shoulder. She stood there and held you tight, letting you release all the emotions you had pent up since you got here. You had never had an explicit conversation with her about your true feelings for Harry but with the way she was holding you, you knew you never had to. She knew. The thought made you tighten your arms around her, burying your head a little deeper as the tears flowed. Just a few more minutes.

“I’m getting your dress soaked,” you said, trying to pull your head away and pull yourself together before your mum tightened her arms around you, holding you in place.

“Could give two shits about my dress.” “Mum!” “I’m serious, I don’t care. Not when my baby is weeping in my arms.”

“Okay, I’m hardly weeping,” you huffed a laugh as you took a step back and wiped your face, looking into your mum’s kind eyes, glassy in their own right.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk to him? Tell him what’s on your mind?”

You shook your head before she even finished her sentence. You had tried that, years ago. Winter break 2013. He had been gone almost two years, touring and traveling the world while you watched from afar at uni. You had walked down your stairs, rehearsing your big speech in your head while smoothing down the new skirt you bought for the occasion, only to look up and find him in your living room with the most famous pop star in the world in his arms. He had brought her home to “meet the family” he said. Which included you. You were just family. And he dated pop stars now. A gut punch that you quickly healed with copious amounts of tequila. And a drunken hookup with a boy from sixth form. It was fine. You were fine.

You had been best friends since you were 8, neighbors since you were 6, and for years you brushed off your crush, chocking it up to an extension of affection for your first male friend - the boy who made you laugh until you cried, who always needed help with math homework, who dragged you onto the dance floor when everyone else was too nervous to at that first school dance. The boy who stood in front of you in his bedroom, nervously singing along to a Youtube track before asking you if this was something you thought he could do, for real. The boy who invited you to join him a few weeks each summer, riding bikes through muggy Colorado streets for late night froyo or hiking those Hollywood hills. The boy growing into a man who called you when you were studying at the library, in the middle of the night halfway across the world, feeling overwhelmed by the pressure and needing a piece of home to slow his exhausted, racing mind.

This crush was something you thought you would grow out of. Except you didn’t. His life had become drastically different than the one you two had shared in your small hometown but whenever you were together, it was like no time had passed. After that fateful winter break, you had tried to keep your distance but each time you saw him, you were sucked right back in.

There had been more moments - falling over yourselves during a drunken McDonalds run, or during a screaming match in the middle of a very competitive round of charades, or when he bounded off stage after that first solo night at MSG, wrapping you in his arms and holding tightly - moments where the words were about to burst from your chest, overwhelmed by the love you felt for him. But you knew it would never work - he wasn’t interested. And, even if he was, you were nowhere near his league. Even his one night stands were straight off the Forbes 500 list. Not that you were ashamed of yourself or who you had become, you just knew, for many reasons, that there was a disconnect there. He wasn’t interested. You were family. You had to keep it that way.

You steeled yourself to get over it, to be okay with just being his friend. And you had convinced yourself it worked. You had met his girlfriends over the years; no longer tearing yourself apart in comparison as you blossomed into that confidence that comes with getting older and finding your place in the world. Falling into relationships with some really great guys, guys that you really cared for, who made you laugh and met your family on your birthdays. But no matter how hard you tried, those relationships always seemed to fizzle out because you never felt that spark. That once in a lifetime spark. That spark you felt the second you saw him yesterday - a smile blooming across his face as his arms lifted up in a cheer when he locked eyes with you. All that hard work shot to shit in an instant.

You snapped back to reality, shaking your head more fiercely, desperately trying to get those memories to fall out of your head forever. “That’s not how he sees me, Mum. It’s not - this is just something I have to get over. But I can’t do it here.”

Her face fell, before she took a deep breath and steeled herself. “Okay,” she said, looking at you with new determination. “So, what’s the story? Work emergency? Appendicitis? Stomach virus? Uncontrollable pooping?”

“Mum! Oh my god!”

“What?!” she shrugged, her eyes glowing with a playful twinkle as she watched the smile grow on your face. “I just feel like the more details we provide, the more believable it will be.”

“Whatever you have to do,” you said, rolling your eyes as you pulled her into another hug.

“It’ll be okay, lovebug,” she whispered in your ear. “This pain won’t last forever. He’s not the be all, end all.”

“Why does it feel like it then?” you said softly, tightening your arms around her, unable to stop yourself when more tears began to fall. “I really have to get going, I don’t want anyone to see -”

Suddenly, the sounds of the party got progressively louder as the doors swung open. Your stomach sank as you heard the last voice you wanted to hear. “There you are! Been looking all over for you two. Ang? - Oh. ”

“Yeah?” Your mom turned to face him, blocking you from view as you furiously wiped away your tears.

“Mum’s been looking all over for you. Something about a bet involving tequila shots…”

“Ah, was hoping she’d forget about that. Tell her I’ll be in in a bit, just need to help this one -”

You cleared your throat, keeping your head down as you nudged her forward. “No, Mum, it's fine. Go in. I’ll be okay.”

She turned to look at you, eyes searching. “But you’re not feeling. well.” She emphasized her point by placing her hand on your forehead. Oh, god. No Oscar in her future then.

You looked at her, feeling his eyes on you, shaking your head. “It’s okay. Really. Have fun”.

“Love you.” She kissed you on the cheek as she squeezed your hand, whispering, “Be brave”.

You kept your eyes to the ground as you heard her walk inside, closing the doors behind her. Enveloping the two of you in silence. You looked up, taking him in for the first time all night. He knocked the wind out of you.

His white suit was tailored to perfection, the dress shirt open in a deep v down his chest, revealing the smattering of tattoos that you swore he’d regret one day, but that only looked perfectly in place as his muscles grew more defined. His hair, curls tousled just the way you liked it. The smattering of scruff along his chiseled jawline, held tightly as he took in the scene in front of him. He looked good.

You can’t imagine what you looked like. Tear tracks streaking down your face and hair messy from how often you had been nervously running your hands through it. Dressed for a cocktail hour while wearing your sneakers for the quick getaway. You had to get the fuck out of here.

“Thought only the bride was supposed to wear white.” The words slipped out of your mouth before you had the chance to stop them. This was not the time for banter. You should be in the car already, leaving all this behind you. You snuck a look at his face, his green eyes locking with yours, his brow furrowed in confusion.

He looked right at you, his deep voice rumbling as he shot back, “Wanted to be dramatic. It’s my day too.”

“Classic H.” you said. You could not get your feet to move. Your car was no more than 10 paces away and yet here you were, frozen under his questioning gaze.

“What’s all this, then?” he asked, as he took in your suitcase, the car keys fiddling around in your hand. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah. Uh, a work emergency came up.”

“Bullshit.”

“No it’s not -”

“Your mum just said you weren’t feeling well.”

Shit. “Both things are true. H, please just - I have to go.”

“No, I think I have the right to know why my best mate is leaving my wedding weekend early. Why you’re standing out here with your mum and - are you - were you crying?” He looks desperately confused, eyes searching your face. “Need you to talk to me.”

He takes a few steps towards you when he notices your hands visibly starting to shake. “Hey, hey…” He reaches his hands towards yours as you quickly put your hands on your suitcase, pulling it towards you. You take a few steps back and try to take a few steadying breaths.

“Please,” your voice was barely a whisper. “You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“I always notice when you're gone. Haven’t been able to find you all night, I’ve been trying to hang out with you. Wanted to spend time with you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the look on his face, trying to not think too hard about those words. Trying to be casual, nonchalant. Trying to be anything but the crumbling mess you were in front of him. “C’mon, I’m not even in the wedding party it’ll be better -”

“Is that what this is about? You knew we were keeping it small on purpose, didn’t think you needed to be in the bridal party to know how much y’mean to me but I guess–”

Anger suddenly swirled in you, turning your cheeks warm, eyes blazing. As if you’d be out here having a full mental breakdown over something so trivial. You scoffed, “You think I’m out here crying because of some arbitrary fucking title? You know that’s never mattered to me when it comes to you.”

“Then WHAT is going on with you?”

“Can you please just drop it and let me –”

“It’s my fucking wedding, you’ve been avoiding me ever since you got here. I need you here and you’re just standing outside with your car keys and your fucking suitcase like it’s nothing. Like I’m nothing–

“Oh my god, how can you even say that – ”

“Well, what am I supposed to think? I’m flying blind here you won’t TALK to me–”

“I CAN’T WATCH YOU MARRY HER!”

The words were loud, louder than you meant them and out faster than you could stop them. Fuck. This was. Not. How This. Was supposed to go. You shut your eyes. Your mind was racing, mouth trying to move to make an excuse but you couldn’t think of anything and then you hear a derisive snort, your eyes flying open to see his, suddenly colder, taunting.

“‘S that what this is about, then? Never did like her, did you? Always wondered when we’d have this conversation. Thought you may have been a little more fair and try to do it before my wedding weekend but hey, guess I’m not the only one who can be dramatic.”

You stood there, gaping at him, tears pricking your eyes as he glared back at you.

“Let’s hear it, then. What’s so wrong with her?”

Oh, he misunderstood. You could let him think this is the truth, that you’re just some bitchy childhood friend who never approved of the fiancée and waited until the last moment to make a dramatic exit. You could leave right now and let him think that. But he needed to know the truth, as painful as it may be. You began to shake your head, the tears seconds from pouring out.

“No, that’s not - you’re not understanding me.”

“Am I not? Seems pretty clear to me” His tone was still taunting, angry. He had every right to be. This was supposed to be the biggest weekend of his life and here he was, out here with you, instead of partying with all of his loved ones mere feet away. The thought of it made the tears spill over, a small sob escaping you. Through the tears you saw his face drop, his brows furrowing.

“It’s not her. She’s lovely. She’s so lovely and you should be in there with her. You could be marrying fucking Beyonce and I wouldn’t be okay with it. I … I can’t watch you marry someone else without - without wishing it was me instead.”

You watched as he froze, his eyes widening. In shock? Anger? Pity? You weren’t quite sure.

You took a deep breath and kept going, continuing to dig yourself into the grave of your own making. Every part of you was screaming at you to stop, but now that you got started, the words kept coming, “I’ve been in love with you since we were like 15. You’re my best friend in the whole world and I…god, I can’t breathe when I look at you sometimes. You’re the first person I want to make laugh with a new lame joke, the first person I want to share good news with. The first person I want to do anything with. You’re kinda it for me. Always have been. You’re just my favorite person in the world. And I –”

You shook your head, cutting yourself off. Your heart was about to beat out of your chest, your cheeks burning. You stand there, slightly panting, watching him watch you, his own eyes glassy, his own breath coming in fast spurts. Neither of you dared to move.

You stand there, watching as your confession explodes between the two of you, helpless to do anything but stand in the carnage. It is deadly silent. A minute passes, then another. It could be five, it could be twenty. What did you just do?

“Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry.”, you said frantically, your brain finally catching up to your mouth. “You should go back inside. I’m –”

He inhales sharply, head shaking in disbelief, “Y’think - y’think I’m going to go back in there right now? After–? Fuck.”

He drags his hand down his face, bringing his other hand to meet it and standing there with his head in his hands. You wish you could get a good read on him, to tell how he’s feeling, but you just stand there, heart beating wildly, in disbelief of what you have done.

“I’ve got a reception hall full of people here.”

“I know.”

“People traveled for this.”

“I know.”

“Why - why now? I had no fucking idea. Why’d you never tell me before?”

“I tried, but the timing was never right – ”

“Yeah, well, your timing right now is impeccable,” he deadpanned.

You rolled your eyes, though his sense of humor reappearing made a zing of hope run through you. Maybe he won't hate you forever. Maybe, one day, the friendship could be salvaged. Maybe you didn’t just embarrass yourself beyond belief - though your burning cheeks indicate otherwise.

He clears his throat, pulling you out of your racing mind. “This whole time…you’ve felt this way? This whole time?”

You had been expecting to confess and run. For him to smile politely at you, let you down easy. You had spent your whole life believing this was a one sided thing. But here he was, looking utterly wrecked, his green eyes never once wavering from yours.

“Yes, H,” you told him. “I’ve loved you this whole time.”

You watch as his face crumbles slightly. He brings a hand up to his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, a mumbled, shaky “fuck” leaving his lips.

You clear your throat and wipe at your eyes, praying your waterproof mascara is doing its job. As much as you want to live in this fantasy of possibilities, you can’t let yourself make more of a mess of this than you already have. He was getting married. Tomorrow.

“H, the last thing I ever wanted to do is ruin this for you”, your voice shakes the more you look at him, “I will be fine. You should go back inside. I’m going to go.” You grab your suitcase and keys and start to make your way to the car. The sound of his voice calling your name stops you in your tracks.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice cracking.

You turn to face him, finding him staring right back at you. His glassy eyes ablaze, his jaw set. You don’t make a sound.

“Please.” He closes the distance between you in a few quick strides. Hesitantly, he lifts his hand to your jaw. You’re sure he can feel the warmth there, blooming at his touch. You lock eyes with him, both of you barely breathing. After a second, his thumb caresses your cheekbone, his eyes fluttering closed. He leans his forehead against yours and you can feel his hot breath on your lips, the smell of mint and tequila filling your nose. You might pass out.

“This is a lot to process,'' he whispers.

“I know.” You try to pull your head back a bit to give him space, but he holds you steady in his grip. His other hand falls to your waist, both of you inhaling sharply at the contact.

“I have to go back in there. Supposed to get married tomorrow,” he whispers as his thumb starts to draw circles on your hip bone. You’re sure even he can hear your heartbeat at this point, the way it’s thundering in your ears.

“Y-you don’t owe me anything, you know”, you whisper back, his brow furrowing as he feels your breath on his lips. “Just because I told you. There’s no pressure or anything. I know, like… I’m not….I’m not expecting - I should -”

He takes a step closer to you, pulling you flush against him, effectively cutting you off. “Don’t. You can’t. ‘S not pressure, I just - I don’t know”, he takes a deep breath, “I need time. Please. Don’t leave. You don’t have to go back in there but don’t leave tonight. Please.”

He kisses you on the cheek.

“Please.” His words fall across your lips as he moves to kiss your other cheek.

“Fuck. I wish…just - please don’t go.” He leans in slowly, kissing you once on the neck, right below your ear, inhaling deeply. His forehead falls to your collarbone, resting there. “You can’t go, not yet. Not until…Please. I need time to think. I don’t know. Promise me you’ll still be here later tonight.”

He lifts his head, holding eye contact with you until you nod, bringing your hand up to wrap around his wrist, moving your thumb in soothing circles. He stares at you, eyes dropping to your lips, then back up to meet your eyes. His grip on your hip tightens, his eyes dropping to your lips once more.

You hear glasses tinkering, calls of his name. Shit. You take a step back, his hand sliding from your jaw to your wrist, holding a loose grip. Your cheeks burning at how caught up in the moment you got, head reeling at what this could all mean.

“I have to -” “I know.”

He leans in, presses his lips to your forehead, not once letting go of your wrist.

He steps back, his glassy eyes flitting all over your face before meeting yours once more and holding your gaze. “You’ll be at the hotel later tonight? You promise?”

“I promise,” you say, squeezing his hand once before letting go.

He nods sharply, walking backwards towards the door, eyes never leaving yours. He stops right before the entrance, quickly wiping at his eyes, shaking his head. You can see him physically brace himself as he pulls the door open, a tight smile on his lips as he gets pulled into the party once more.

The doors close, once again surrounding you with silence. With your own thoughts. The feeling of his lips on your neck playing over and over again in your mind.

Holy. Shit.

#harry styles fan fiction #harryonbroadwayficchallenge #harry styles angst #would u believe this was supposed to be posted 3 hours ago but i got so hung up on one detail that i couldnt iron out #i am a gal who loves run on sentences with commas and for that i will not apologize #fic rec #babys first fic #cant believe we are here #harry styles fic #i have read this so many times i started to hate it thats when ya know its time to post #just losing it in the tags over here #something old

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gor3-hound · 5 months

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how comfortable are you with necrophilia? I ask bc i’ve started working on a fic where leon is a mortician & he is in love with reader, who is a ghost, and she convinces him to yk her body along with some other things & I would love to send a snippet to you if you’re comfy with it !! (｡･ω･｡) - 🦦anon

more comfortable than i should be 😭😭 BUT HELLO? she convinces him to what? you got me hooked now omg pls pls send in the snippet i am SO curious x

#asks <3 #🦦 anon #and oddly excited #weirdest sentence i'm ever gonna drop incoming >#i'm actually quite a fan of necro in fiction

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chibishortdeath · 11 months

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Ok ok so this one needs context, it’s like half a shitpost half an actual artwork and it all happened because of the tag on this post that I ran into before I had an account:

#scene legend!

So uh, I thought about that for a really long time. The sheer hilarity of calling Simon a scene legend, so I drew something silly >:3c.

You gotta see the context before you see the art trust me on this one it’s important—

So this exists now lol. Scene legend Simon everybody, Konami hire me to make character costumes please— (reform your company first)

I debated making the hair primarily red, but I thought yellow with a red underside looked way cooler :3. Middle school me would’ve DIED for hair like that. The raccoon stripe ear tails are a nod to when Haunted Castle gave him blue hair. I could’ve given him a bit of green since he had that in a palette swap in Dream Mix TV Fighters, but I didn’t know at the time of drawing it (>~< ). A lot of the grid patterns are based on color palettes and textures found in the NES games!!! The shoulder armor being black with the blue outline is based on the Simon’s Quest text boxes!!! There’s also a lot of item sprites!!! And the sharpie writing on his shoes say on his right “The morning sun has vanquished the horrible night”and out of view “bloody tears”, and the left says “vampire killer” and “what a horrible night to have a curse”!!!!!!!! :D. At a certain point this was just a challenge to see how many references I could put in one outfit. Tbh I think I could do more than this, but yeah. Idk how to end sentences and paragraphs uh anyway—

Bonus silly doodles with Judgement Simon being emo lol (he’s got that Death Note shirt) and some old memes I guess based on the whip spinning mechanic. d(•w• ) Anyway I should draw Simon as a HotTopic worker someday—

#do I main tag this #yeah sure let’s main tag this #there’s not much in the Simon tag anyway 💀💀💀#castlevania #castlevania games #castlevania judgment #castlevania chronicles #simon belmont #akumajou dracula #art post #my art #shitpost??????#idk what the Castlevania shitposting tag is uhhhh… do we even have one wait #anyway I am cringe but I am free #Simon is allowed to wear anything he wants #anytime I make any outfits for him I look at all the ones he’s had before and try to judge what he likes and would be comfortable with #I’m reading that again now and that’s a sentence for sure #I’m normal about fictional characters :3 #yeah but tada the silliness™️ I guess #also please imagine Simon working the counter at a hot topic #socially inept barbarian man #it would be so cruel to make him do customer service 💀#castlevania au where Simon is a HotTopic cashier Dracula is his shitty boss and the curse is his job help I am dying fucking laughing #silly posting #enjoy i guess <3

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writingamongther0ses · 1 year

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The unicorns have gotten clever. None of the traps are working.

All of the maidens are dead the next morning.

#3 sentence fic #unicorns #fantasy #microfiction #fiction #my writing

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broke-on-books · 1 year

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☕

The live action Scooby-Doo movies?

I did not see this ask until RIGHT now (first time on desktop since crab day, second time since Nov 5 2020 [which was DOUBLY experience since I got my phone taken the same day]) so I'm going to assume this ask got eaten on mobile because tumblr, HOWEVER you poked a bear with this ask anon (as I'm sure you knew when asking) SO without further ado: my Scooby Doo live action opinions

So when you say 'live action Scooby-Doo movies' I'm assuming you're talking about the James Gunn films, starting with Scooby-Doo (2002) followed by Scooby-Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed, just due to like, generally popularity and also the fact that I have actually seen those films. However shoot another ask if you wanted me to include Curse of the Lake Monster in this (because I will if anyone cares and turn this into a live-action scooby dissertation, i'd just need to like. watch the movie first) But anyways where I'm going with this is that this post is about the Gunn movies aka the ones with SMG, Freddie Prinze Jr., Linda Cardellini, and ofc our #1 man, Matthew Lilliard.

Okay so my take on these movies is... complicated. I wouldn't say it's as complicated as my feelings towards SDMI, because I watched the live actions way less as a kid and generally care less about them, but still no matter how much shit I throw at these two movies there are parts that I generally like (even love) that stops me from totally condemning them wholesale. Like the fact that these movies are FUNNY! There's so many moments from this duology that are just beyond iconic "like, that's one of my favorite names!" the whole thing with Scooby in the dress at the airport, ET. CETERA (like I can go on!)

The Gunn movies are genuinely SO fun and I can 100% see and understand how they've stood so well in the public view as a representation of Scooby. HOWEVER, this is where you start to see my problems with them. For the general American, (because that is the audience I'm familiar with) ESPECIALLY millennials and younger, who happen to make up the majority of both people on this site AND people I talk about Scooby with in real life, these movies, and the elements they introduced as "quintessential scooby tropes" are the base of their understanding of the Scooby franchise, along with likely some miscellaneous WAY episodes and maybe SDMI.

Which is where I get pissed off. In the pushing of the narrative of "breaking away" from the Scooby norm, Gunn basically invents (aka totally makes up) an idea of what classic era Scooby was like, cementing an idea of classic Scooby into the public mind that is totally disingenuous and just straight up false. For example, in attempting to portray Daphne as having taken strides to be seen more seriously in solving mysteries and defending herself, it pushes the narrative that in the classic era she WASN'T taken seriously, and only existed as a damsel-in-distress prop of a character, which is just not true??? Like yes, Daphne is clumsy, that's a part of her character, and her friends (because, fun fact, the gang ARE friends) joke about it sometimes because that's what friends DO. Framing that in some kind of sexist "that's all she does" lens is just total bull, especially as gang members fall into secret passageways/get lost etc. in WAY ALL THE DAMN TIME because that's how the plot functions! Like are we calling Velma ditzy for losing her glasses every other episode? Of course not, and Fred falls into passageways all the time, not to MENTION Shaggy and Scooby and all they get up to. Also one last thing on the topic of Daphne, like this idea of her mystery solving skills not being respected by the gang is just so supremely bullshit it amazes me sometimes, especially when she was the LEADER (or leader adjacent) through pretty much all of her appearances in the 1980s [Not that James Gunn could look at '80s era Scooby without spitting on it, but I digress]

AND THIS IS JUST DAPHNE! Like the perceptions pushed towards Fred (and Velma, but mostly Fred) through these movies are just as bad! Like okay, with Fred---In these movies Fred is just an asshole. I hate Gunn Movies!Fred. I mean yeah he can be funny but it's almost always so mean! Almost nothing makes me madder than a mean Fred by the way. If he's putting other gang members down (even halfway, like with his whole "dorky chicks like you turn me on too" line, which... ew) then to me something has gone very, very, VERY, wrong in your basic understanding of Frederick Herman Jones as a character. Like he's the cheerleader! He puts himself in between his friends and danger! He loves nets, and traps, and Elvis impressions, and wrestling, and the trapeze, and cars, and most of all he LOVES sharing the things he loves with his friends! (Sometimes to a bit of an extreme. No one wants to hear about your net facts, Fred) And the live action movies just don't understand that at all. And I know there's maybe something to say I suppose in that some of those aspects of his characterization hadn't been "established yet" by the time "Scooby-Doo" came out in 2002. But it's there if you look. For Fred Jones, being the leader means being the caretaker, (he's the Mom friend what can I say) and any version where he's cruel and arrogant and just DOESN'T CARE about his friends in the way he's shown to in the Gunn movies is just so far from Fred to me it's not even funny. And what makes it even worse for me is that this (or at least something similar) is the idea of Fred that has really spread to the popular culture. Just the "leader", the jock that makes the rules, the one that [insert X adaptation here] finally gave a personality and made interesting (something that has been said more times than I can count for pretty much every gang member, save Shaggy and Scooby).

And I haven't even touched on Velma, and how they gave her a bit of a early 2000s smart superiority girl complex against Daphne, plus the whole makeover thing and etc. etc. The Gunn Movies are pretty much what would happen if you took someone who hadn't seen Scooby since they were 7 years old (and honestly had a pretty negative outlook against it then) and tried to "fix" it, only his memory was so bad he just made up problems (and threw in a good helping of early 2000s style sexism with it) convincing pretty much the entirety of the popular culture that said problems exist and that Gunn was absolutely brilliant for fixing them (and then bringing up said "problems" whenever anyone wants to talk about Scooby) and this entire rant has been without even fucking MENTIONING what is probably the reason you, anonymous tumblr user sent this ask in the first place, to I, Swishy "Scrappy Doo Redemption Arc" Broke-on-books (dot tumblr dot com), which is his HIGHLY SUCESSFUL and utterly sadistic character assassination of my number one man, Scrappy Doo.

And I am going to try my damnedest here not to get totally into my highly passionate opinions over what James Gunn did to Scrappy in the first of his Scooby movies and how thoroughly it has pissed me the fuck off because I have been writing this post for over an hour now and if we start to really get into my feelings on this topic it will certainly be a couple of hours more but like. That Fucking Bitch. I give James Gunn personally a solid eighty-five percent of the blame for making my life as a Scrappy Doo fan UTTERLY unbearable with this stupid fucking movie alone, and just his Scrappy crimes would honestly be enough for me to say that I hate this movie, not even considering the numerous Scooby crimes I've been talking about here for the past million paragraphs, but the part about this movie that makes me the MOST mad the most pissed off is that it's actually a good fucking movie. James Gunn wrote two hilarious and entertaining movies that have become beloved in the popular culture for their successes in that arena, while at the same time pissing all over the core themes and messages of the franchise of which it was based, that of friendship.

TLDR; The Live Action Scooby Doo movies (written by James Gunn) are highly entertaining and fun pieces of media to watch, and are widely loved by the general public and looked at with fondness and nostalgia because of that. However, as a hardcore Scooby Doo fan (writing that phrase sounds so ridiculous but oh well) the existence of these movies and their impact on the popular culture can be extremely frustrating (despite any personal nostalgia said fan may have) due to their spreading of a misinformed picture of what "typical Scooby Doo" looks like. This picture is especially frustrating due to the fabrication or exaggeration of problems present in classic Scooby (such as sexism in regards to the girls), as well as giving more ammunition to other problems in Scooby fandom (such as oversexualization, and sexualization in general, which no one wants to see in regards to their children's cartoons, like HONESTLY.) Discussions of sexism and sexualization in Scooby (both of which ARE present and are issues, although not at their worst in WAY) can often lead to an overlooking of the issues that are very present and clear in WAY and have continued since then with far too little resistance (I'm 100% talking about the racism here) HOWEVER that topic deserves at least a dozen posts of its own that I am no way informed or qualified enough to even begin to think about writing. The Gunn Movies are frustrating to many longtime Scooby fans because of these reasons, but for me, and fellow Scrappy Doo fans there is also the added aspect of the demonization of Scrappy Doo in the live action movies and the affects that has had on the popular culture as well, making it uniquely inhospitable to like or enjoy the character of Scrappy. End post.

#that last sentence is such a weird tone jump btw but its because the topic flowed one way and i had to jump it back to a summary to actually #finish this monster of a post #SO anon i hope you're happy with this and this makes my opinion make some more sense. and you or anyone else is more than welcome to ask me #questions about anything i said here or my opinion on any and everything scooby related (and not) so if theres a specific aspect of this yo #would like expanded on i can definitely 100% do that for you or anyone who cares #also there are many complexities towards my feelings on these movies that i didnt get to hit on despite the monstrous size of this rant (il #check word count later but im not gonna fuck with it now because im terrified of deleting this post by accident) one of which is my lasting #fondness towards all of the actors in this movie. YES including freddie prinze jr. i may have major issues with his fred but hes also playe #characters i really really like. for example hes the va in this tv show i LOVE and havent watched in like 10 months despite the fact im on #the last season because freddie's character dies in like 7 episodes and i am NOT AT ALL emotionally prepared for that on any level because #that is my fictional father goddamnit!!!!!#also every buffy the vampire slayer gifset that crosses my dash gets me closer and closer to watching it because oh my god daphne!!!!! that #sarah michelle gellar thats daphne oh my god!!!! also i went and saw guardians of the galaxy 3 with my friend (despite not having seen a #marvel movie in 2+ years AND holding a grudge over james gunn's scooby doo crimes)[the things you do for {platonic} love amirite?]#and the title sequence SAID linda cardellini was in it and i got SO excited i was looking everywhere for her it was like wheres waldo in th #discount movie theatre FOR REAL and i just could NOT for the life of me find her (turns out she was VAing the ferret) so in a way linda mad #me cry with that role. whatever. istg i get so off topic i forget what i was even talking about but ANYWAYS <<<1 of my fave english words b #dubs (my favorite spanish word is el amanacer btw. it means sunrise. also burbujas because its bubbles and saying it sounds like bubbles #popping) BUT. AS I WAS SAYING. SEND ME ASKS IF YOU WANT SCOOBY DOO OPINIONS. DEAR GOD I GET SCATTERBRAINED SOMETIMES.#scooby doo #answered #anonymous #blah

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im-an-anthusiast · 6 months

Text

The Butterfly Too, Will Follow

Twin island of black and red, swimming in seas of milky white. Santi had never really liked the eyes they were born with. Neither have they ever liked the rest of their body. Sickly pale and frail – they have always stood out, being so unlike the rest of their peers. Santi saw the unspoken words, and the looks they were given tasted like ash on their tongue. But that was all fine. It really was. Because someone understood.

“You in there, Santi?”

“Y-Yeah. Sorry. Be right there.”

Two dark, hollow pits of a shadowy grey, swimming in an ocean of cloth. Santi had always found the featureless mask covering the entirety of their face, head, and neck to be comforting. Much like they did with the 3-piece suit covering the rest of their body. Dark grey and sleek – it didn’t make them stand out, but was fashionable regardless. Santi could always divert the curious gazes, and the whispered words dispersed like steam if they wished it. It was all fine. It really was. But no one-

“Ah, there you are, Santi”

“So I am.”

Santi swallowed thickly, doing their best not to let the stress get to them – and failing. They followed Gabriele closely, holding their friend’s hand as the two of them approached the mansion’s doors. They had never even seen such a... beautifully grand building. They felt out of place in front of such opulence – feeling almost measly compared to it. Still, Gabriele went on and grabbed the large metal knocker on the dark oak door.

“I-I’m not... I’m not sure about this, Gabriele...” Santi said, a hesitant tremble shaking at their words.

“Oh, Santi, don’t be like that now! My parents and I went through so much trouble to prepare all this for you! Surely, you wouldn’t want our effort to go to waste?” Gabriele replied, pouting, though her eyes were twisted in a smile.

“I... suppose not.”

“Good answer,” she cooed sweetly, with what Santi thought might be a condescending smirk twisting her features for just a second before melting into a smile instead. Gabriele rapped at the door with the heavy-looking knocker, the vibrations of metal against wood rattling Santi to their core.

Santi sighed deeply, hoping to release their stress along with their breath – and failing. They followed Gabriele cautiously, keeping in mind where her hands were as the two of them approached the limousine’s doors. They had never seen a car so grossly grand. They felt sick, standing in front of such disgusting opulence – everything around it feeling measly and dirty in comparison. Still, Gabriele approached it with almost-glee, looking back at Santi facelessly.

“You coming?” she trilled, her voice muffled a surprisingly small amount. Santi didn’t reply, not increasing the slow pace of their stride towards the vehicle.

Gabriele continued, “Oh, Santi, don’t be like that, now! I went through so much trouble to arrange this all for us. We both know how busy it can get for the other, no?”

“I’m sure that you do,” Santi said with all the calmness they could muster, finally having come up to the car. Gabriele flexed her jaw and scoffed quietly enough that the usual person would not be able to hear. But Santi did. Regardless, Gabriele grasped the door handle on the side of the limousine and knocked on the window – likely signalling for something – the dull sound of knuckles against glass making Santi clench their gloved fists.

“Do you like it?” asked Gabriele, wildly gesturing across the entire dining hall with her arm.

“It’s... pretty,” Santi said cautiously, eyeing Gabriele’s reaction. At Gabriele’s satisfactory hum, Santi let themself actually inspect the room. Orange lights danced across an assortment of dark woods and black stone, pouring from the lit fireplace in the far wall. The ceiling was incredibly high, with an assortment of metallic chandeliers hanging from it. Impressive though it all was, Santi’s attention was drawn to the long, tall table – it was like from a fairy tale Santi’s mother would read to them. It was beautiful – fit for a king or queen. Fit for royalty.

“So,” Gabriele exclaimed, clapping her hands together in delight, “you wanted me to show you... Magic. To teach you.”

“Y-yes.”

“You want to be like me?”

“Yes. Yes... please.”

“Then you will have to promise to do as I say, okay?”

“...Okay. I promise.”

“Do you like it?” asked Gabriele, wildly gesturing with her hand at the car’s interior, as she sat comfortably opposite to Santi.

“That’s irrelevant.”

“So dismissive,” Gabriele said with a huff, removing the brimmed hat previously casting shade over the blank layer of skin stretched over her actual face. Then, she took her sunglasses off, though her eyes were still clad in shadow – visible only due to the holes torn into that second layer of skin. Grotesque though it all was, Santi’s attention was still drawn to Gabriele’s hungry, arrogant gaze – it was like from a fairy tale Santi’s mother would read to them. It was sickeningly cocky – fit for a king or queen. Fit for royalty.

“I assume you’re not going to be removing that ridiculous thing?” Gabriele asked, though she didn’t wait for an answer before scoffing and continuing, “So, you really want to know about... them?”

“Yes.”

“Then I expect you to cooperate.”

“Sure.”

“Really cooperate.”

“Sure.”

Santi’s eyes were wide with wonder. Drops of liquid perspiration trickled down Gabriele’s face, and her eyes were squeezed almost completely shut. However, that was not where Santi’s attention was drawn. Instead, their eyes were glued to the small – no taller than half a metre – figure, standing on the table. It was dressed up in fancy clothing, almost resembling a doll. Its lack of a face, however, quickly shattered that illusion. Regardless, the blank, faceless figure moved around gracefully, its movements fluid, yet not natural.

“It’s... it’s amazing! Can I do this too, Gabs?” Santi praised and asked in an almost-shout, still not looking away from the figure.

Gabriele smiled widely, before saying, “It’s called a Puppet. And of course, you can, Santi. You just have to do exactly as I say! Especially for this next part.”

Santi’s eyes were narrowed with focus. Drops of liquid red dripped down Gabriele’s real face, and her eyes were half-lidded, staring at Santi in a challenging manner. However, that was not where Santi’s attention really was. Instead, they were focusing on channelling Magic into their hands – as they took their glove’s hem and stretched the glove further onto their hand – performing their Gesture. Feelings of doubt and uncertainty – Santi’s Magic – flooded the interior of the limousine, the intensity making Gabriele flinch – and drop the knife she had used to ‘unmask’ herself.

“How in the...?” Gabriele muttered with her – now fully revealed – eyes wide, before speaking more loudly, “Right, Santi is all grown up now... This is how you want to play this, is it?”

“With effort, to answer your previous question. And no. This is how I have to play it, Gabs,” retorted Santi, poison seeping into their usually neutral demeanour.

“What was it that we said about cooperating?” Gabriele hissed in response, her face – paler than the rest of her deep brown skin and slick with blood – twisted in a scowl.

“I was just levelling the playing field. This is cooperating – in the sense that we’re both playing the same game, on the same board, for once. Now, give me what I came for.”

“Don’t look at me like that, Santi! You wanted this, remember?”

Santi stared at the slab of meat wordlessly. The flesh hadn’t even been stripped of the skin. It was still raw and red – with blood pooling under it, staining the gleaming, white plate.

“Dig in, Santi. You wanted Magic? You wanted to be like me? Then eat it.”

“P-please... do I have to?” they pleaded meekly, their vision spinning and bile threatening to climb up their throat.

“Don’t be ridiculous Santi! You promised!” Gabriele snapped, though her enraged voice had a hint of an odd elation in it, “This is all for you! For your own good! Don’t you want to be better? Like me? Don’t you want to change – climb into a chrysalis and emerge a beautiful butterfly?”

“Don’t look at me like that, Santi! You wanted this, remember?”

Santi stared at the images wordlessly.

“Why so down, Santi? You wanted to know what happened to your family? Your parents? Now you know.”

“Sh-shut up,” Santi growled weakly, their vision spinning and bile threatening to climb up their throat.

“’Same game’... Don’t make me laugh. You don’t know my game,“ Gabriele said condescendingly, before chuckling and continuing, “I have to admit, you had me scared, there, for a second. I thought the old Santi was gone... but no, my pure little butterfly was just hiding. You never changed, no... I didn’t let you, after all...”

“I’ve always adored the saying ‘like a moth to a flame’. Imagine loving something so much that you are willing to die for it, to sacrifice everything else. But I think that such a person would also need to have nothing else – for the flame to be its only love, the only thing it needs. So that it is willing to get burnt,” Gabriele said, the skin of her jaw stretching oddly as she spoke. Hearing barely a slurred string of somethings – only somewhat resembling words – as Gabriele spoke, Santi stared at what seemed to be a short flap of skin stretching across the edges of her face, ending perfectly evenly – looking almost cut. “Don’t you think so as well, Santi?” Gabriele questioned, before suddenly – with the slightest gentleness – cupping their chin and wiping the mix of blood and saliva coating it with her thumb. Meeting Santi’s unfocused eyes, she continued, “Because if it has nothing else, can it even tell that the burning of its wings is not love? Does it even care? Still, it will fly to the flame.”

“I don’t think you quite understand, Santi,” said Gabriele, a strained, almost incredulous guffaw quickly dying on her lips. “Like a moth to a flame, like a lamb to a slaughter, I want the beautiful butterfly too, to follow.”

“And if it doesn’t?” she continued both times, two snarling voices melding to one, “I will make it.”

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