#But now there's not that anymore. There's no “large” “medium” “small” and instead it only gives you “find image source”

[kyouka-supremacy]

Does anyone know where I can find the good quality version of this image? It's so frustrating because when cross searching on google it'll tell me the original quality is 850x478, but I can't find a way to download it in that quality. This is another version of the image (I'm guessing it's Mayoi promo art):

But I liked the clean white background one...

[thegainingdesk]

The Shirt

Ollie had to admit it to himself - he kind of looked sexy. His new shirt looked and felt great and he didn't know the last time he'd felt so confident. He usually didn't go for patterns, but there was something about the cute little dancing bear motif that really charmed him.

He'd held out on buying any size large shirts, convincing himself it was a boundary he wouldn't cross, that he'd lose the small amount of chub he'd accumulated, that he wasn't nearly as big as that yet. Wearing it now, he realised how silly he'd been. Not being constrained from all angles, not having to suck in his middle all the time, not having to worry about bending down or twisting the wrong way - it was like a weight was lifted.

Looking in the mirror now, finally wearing clothes that fit, it was obvious that most of the size was in his head. What's a large, really? Nothing. Okay, he wasn't skinny, but he wasn't fat either - he'd always been naturally broad, hadn't he? He was never going to fit into mediums like his mates. He just didn't look like a kid anymore.

"Looking good man!" Geoff said, sticking his head through the door. "New shirt? We're heading off in a bit, you joining?"

"Yeah, yeah, just give me a minute," Ollie said, smoothing the front of the shirt down and taking one last look at himself. Time to upgrade the rest of his wardrobe if it's all going to look this good, he thought to himself.

-

"You okay?" Ollie's date Malik asked, one eyebrow raised. "You look a little uncomfortable."

"No, it's fine," Ollie said as he tugged his shirt down and tucked it in for what must have been the tenth time since he'd reached the bar. "Really, I'm fine. My shirt's just a bit stiff. Reckon I must have washed it funny. Sorry, you were saying about your course?"

"Right, okay," Malik said slowly. "Anyway, like I was saying, it's so interesting looking at all these artists all together, I just…"

Ollie struggled to listen, instead fiddling with his shirt. It strained a little in his armpit, seemed to pull at the side, the way he rolled up his sleeves seemed to cut into his arms in a way they didn't usually. He hoped he could fix whatever he'd done in the wash - he'd come to think of it as his lucky date night shirt.

Still, it wasn't all bad. It was more comfortable to have the top couple of buttons open and he found the effect of his chest hair spilling out quite sexy. He wondered idly if it really was the shirt or it might be his body - after all, he'd borrowed Geoff's dumbbells a couple of times recently. He tried to flex his pecs a little. Yeah, that was it - he was just bulking at the moment. When he got around to cutting he'd look phenomenal in this shirt.

-

"Fucking hell mate, what's that about?" Geoff laughed as Ollie walked up.

Ollie looked down at himself, looking for stains, only to see the familiar dancing bear pattern. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"That shirt! It barely fits!" their mate Dan said, howling with laughter.

"Oh, right, that. It's, well I mean, it does fit," he stumbled on his words as his fingers tried to tug the bottom of the shirt towards his waistband, trying not to get too turned on by the feeling of brushing against the soft fat. "I'm just bloated at the moment, that's all. This is my best shirt, it fits perfectly."

"Fits perf… Right, gotcha," Geoff said, his shoulders shaking a little as he chuckled into his pint. "Well, I'm not being funny, but I think you've been bloated for a while now Ollie."

Ollie grinned, making a show of how little he cared. He did his best to ignore how the buttons gaped and cut into his middle as he sat down, even as he sucked his gut in. He set his pint down and flipped the menu open. "You lot eating then?"

Dan burst out laughing again. "You were bloated a second ago, what you wanting to eat for?"

"No, it's not like that," Ollie protested. "I didn't mean, bloated bloated, you know. I mean like, you know, it's just retaining water. You know, from the protein - I'm bulking," returning to his oft stated excuse whenever he was asked why he was eating so much.

Dan and Geoff exchanged a look. "Retaining water, right," Dan said, as Geoff muttered "Got to keep up the bulk."

Six pints, a burger and chips and a couple of side orders of onion rings later, Ollie struggled to suck in his gut anymore. As he walked back to their table, he did his best to hold the pints in front of the gaps in between his buttons where his belly hair was poking through. He set the pints down, exhaled as he lowered himself into his seat slowly and-

A ping rang out as the button hit Dan's pint, who fell under the table laughing. Ollie's hand flew down to his stomach, feeling the expanse of skin and hair now visible in the space opened up.

"Jesus Christ Ollie!" Geoff said, laughing. "Buy some new fucking shirts! Right, well we'll have to head home now, won't we?"

"What for?" Ollie asked. "Because it's your round next? Nah, don't worry about me, shirt's not going to fix itself by getting home any earlier, is it?" He wondered how much of a spectacle he could make of himself by the time they left. "Do you reckon they're still doing food?"

-

"What the fuck are you doing?"

As Ollie turned around the see Geoff stood in his now open doorway, he heard a rip and felt a breeze at his side. His hands scrambled for the two still-fastenable button on the shirt, his clumsy fingers struggling against the tension in the fabric. He inhaled, strained to shrink his swollen stomach just a touch. His fingers found some purchase, dug underneath the first button-hole, then the second, and the sides of the shirt burst open. He exhaled, and his gut hung out and down, the two halves of fabric framing his heft.

"Sorry Geoff, I was just, uhh." He looked around the room, trying to think of some plausible explanation. He hoped his gut, or at least the attention it was drawing, might hide his throbbing cock. He knew it wouldn't, especially with how tight his trousers were. "I wanted to see if this shirt still fit."

"Right, well, it doesn't," Geoff said. He looked to the side, clearly trying to spare Ollie's dignity by some small measure. "I think you'd sort of be able to tell without trying it on, to be honest."

Ollie shifted, and he tried to ignore the way his body wobbled and folded, willing his erection to stop. "I thought I'd maybe see how bad the damage was," he said with a small chuckle.

"I mean, do you really want to…" Geoff sighed. "The damage is pretty fucking bad, if you really want to know," he said, still averting his gaze. "You were smaller than me in first year, now you're… fuck Ollie, you're properly fucking fat."

Ollie nodded, reveling in the way his chins creased against each other. "I appreciate the honesty mate, really," he said. "I've uhh, started a diet," he lied. "Thought it could be an inspiration thing, you know, see if I can fit back into it at some point."

Geoff closed the door a little, shuffling out the room. "Right, well… anyway, we're going to the pub," his voice came through the door. "If you want to join."

Ollie peeled the shirt off his body, doing his best not to increase the size of the hole in the side seam. "Yeah, I'll be with you in a bit," he said, the sleeve inside out and sliding past his sausage-like arm. "You eating there, do you reckon?"

-

Ollie panted and strained. With one hand he gathered as much of his gut as he could, with the other he leaned past and underneath to what little remained uncovered of his dick. He squeezed his eyes shut against a wave of pleasure.

The shirt cradled his breasts like a makeshift hammock, a single button hidden in the deep crevice above his belly and below his chest. His rhythm halted for a moment as he dug one hand into a tiramisu and brought it to his mouth, cream smearing across his face. He grunted as he did his best to reach beneath himself, and he began to buck and thrust against his own hand, helping himself along.

He plunged his fingers into his mouth, counting the calories as he sucked down the last of the rich dessert, as he quivered and a sticky wetness covered his hand and filled the soft unknown beneath his quivering middle. He brought his hand up and smeared his cum against his shirt, falling back against his pillows. The motion proved too much for the tortured fabric, and it finally gave out, the button falling to the mattress and the shirt falling open around soft hairy man tits.

-

Ollie waddled as quickly as he could to the stall, and he smiled at the young woman manning it. He thumbed through the hangers, each shirt brushing against the furthest extent of his gut. 

"I used to have this one!" he told her cheerfully, pulling one out and holding it out, looking closely at the images of little dancing bears. "I've been looking for it for years. I outgrew it ages ago, I'd sort of given up hope of replacing it."

"Oh, right," the woman said, an uncertain smile on her face. "Well maybe we'll be able to help you with that."

Ollie grinned. "Maybe - what sizes do you do?"

The woman looked Ollie up and down. "Well, you see…" She looked around, as if searching for help. "We only stock up to XL, but we can do custom orders to 3XL." The last part was added with a clear tone of hope, however vain.

"Ah, right," Ollie said. "Not sure when I last wore 3XL. A couple of years at least."

The shop assistant smiled awkwardly. Ollie knew that look well - no one knew how to respond when he talked about his weight so openly. "I'll take a 3XL anyway," he said, thinking about how hot it was to obliterate the last one.

"Do you want to try it on?" the assistant asked, happy to be back to more standard shop-floor conversation.

"Oh no, don't worry. There's no chance of it actually fitting," Ollie laughed.

"Ah, okay then," the shop assistant smiled, her confusion apparent. "For one day in the future, maybe?"

Ollie shrugged. "Sure, why not?" He paid for the shirt and left. He couldn't wait until this shirt fit as poorly as the previous one.

[ereardon]

Part One: The Night Before

Summary: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw has been your best friend for a decade. He’s also your fiancé’s best man. So when he shows up at your hotel room the night before your wedding, it’s just because he’s your friend, right? 

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader 

Warnings: Angst, pining, weddings, cursing 

WC: 2.9K

Series masterlist here; part two here

There was a knock at the door. 

You sighed and stood up from where you had been sitting at the desk writing your note to Jeremy for tomorrow. 

Maybe it was Anna with the steamer for your veil. Or your dad asking about the schedule for the forty-ninth time. Or your mother with an emergency that definitely wouldn’t warrant her reaction: the florist only has medium pink not light pink roses or the wedding planner accidentally wrote cream china instead of bone-colored china and now the three-hundred person reception hall would be wrong. 

Except you didn’t care. You didn’t care about any of the details. 

Not anymore. 

The knocking continued. 

“One second!” you huffed, scurrying barefoot across the bridal suite. It was enormous and you simply flung the door open without looking through the peephole first. “Rooster?” 

Bradley gave you a small grin. He was still wearing his jacket and tie from the rehearsal dinner, but the tie was now loosened and hanging around his muscular neck. “Hey Ace. Can I come in?” 

You nodded and stepped to the side of the door. Bradley stepped inside carefully, walking into the living room of the suite. 

“Shit, nice room,” he murmured. 

You shrugged. “Dad said to do whatever I wanted. And how many times do you get married? One night in a hotel suite isn’t going to break the bank.” 

Rooster nodded. “Yeah.” 

You crossed the room, brushing a hand over his back as you grazed past him toward the wet bar. “Want a drink?” 

“Sure. What do you have?” 

“Wine, gin, bourbon, vodka, whiskey, soda, champagne. Whatever you want, babe.” 

“Bourbon on the rocks.” 

“You got it.” You grabbed a rocks glass and dropped in a few large cubes from the built-in ice maker before splashing a generous pour of Blanton’s over it. Despite the fact that you had promised yourself you were done drinking after the rehearsal dinner, you poured yourself a glass of champagne and sunk down on the couch next to Bradley, holding out his glass. “Cheers.” 

“Cheers,” Bradley whispered, tipping the glass back and pouring half of it down his throat. You sipped carefully at your champagne flute, eyes wide. 

“What’s up, Roo?” you asked softly, hand reaching out on the back of the white silk couch, touching him. He curled his fingertips around yours. 

“Do you remember the night we met?” he asked. 

You laughed. “Of course I do. You spilled an entire tray of tequila shots on my shoes.” 

It had been a hot June Saturday. You were out with a few girlfriends. You had just finished your junior year at Georgetown and were back home in Annapolis. 

You were standing at the bar, ordering another round, when the oaf next to you turned too quickly, taking down a waitress and her entire platter of tequila shots. They rained down on your feet. Thankfully you were wearing sneakers, so no glass penetrated your skin, but you smelled like the inside of a Mexican brothel. 

“Dude?” you exclaimed, looking up at him. 

Bradley Bradshaw looked back with wide eyes, cheeks flushed with pink embarrassment. “Oh shit!” he exclaimed and before you realized it, you were swept into his arms and he was carrying you bride-style into the unisex bathroom in the back. 

“Hey man?” you asked, tapping his shoulder. “Want to put me down?” 

“Sorry, yeah,” he said, setting you down gently. You tugged at your denim shorts and gave him a funny look. 

“Why’d you do that?” 

“In case there was glass,” he said softly. “Didn’t want you to step on it and hurt yourself.” 

You peeled off your white Keds, which were soaked and now a faint yellow color, and lifted one leg to dunk your foot into the gross sink. “You just go around pouring tequila on girls and then scooping them up and hauling them into dark bathrooms?” 

“I, uh,” Bradley stuttered and you laughed. He caught your gaze in the mirror and laughed with you. “I’m Bradley.” 

“Y/N,” you said. “Now are you gonna help me wash my shoes or what?” 

He picked up the Keds from the floor and took them to the other sink, rinsing them under cold water and pressing soap against the cloth sides. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t see that waitress standing there.” 

You shrugged. “It’s fine. Not the first time I’ve had a drink spilled on me. I’ve been to my share of college parties.” 

He grinned. “Where do you go?” 

“Georgetown,” you replied and he raised an eyebrow. “I’ll be a senior in the fall.”

“Georgetown,” he repeated. “Impressive.”

“Not really.” You switched feet, lathering the cheap pink soap over the toes of your left foot. “How about you, tequila boy? What’s your story?” 

“Naval Academy,” he said and you peered at him. It made sense, you guessed. He was tall, lean, and muscular. He had deft hands, you could tell just from the way he was cleaning your shoes. And he had a quick reaction to scooping you up and hauling you into the bathroom, despite your protests. 

“Just at the bar trying to sleep with townies?” you asked. 

Bradley practically choked on his own spit. He caught your cackle in the mirror and turned to you with a grin. “God, you’re something, aren’t you?” 

“I’m drunk is what I am,” you replied. 

He held the shoes under the automatic hand dryer and you watched in silence as Bradley rotated them evenly. After a few minutes, he held them out to you. “Not perfect, but it’ll do.” 

“Thanks,” you murmured, reaching out and grabbing them. You leaned against the cool white porcelain sink to slide each shoe on, bending over to tie the laces. When you straightened up, Bradley was staring at you. You crossed your arms in front of your chest, leaning back against the sink. “So, sailor,” you said softly and he grinned. “Buy me a drink to make up for the truckload of tequila you dumped on me?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Bradley placed his hand on your low back and steered you out back into the bar. Someone had cleaned up the tequila catastrophe and you stepped right back to where you had been standing before the incident, Bradley’s fingers still warm on your back. They slid off as he went to grab his wallet to open a tab and you looked up at him. He was attractive in an entirely unexpected way. There were small scars that peppered the left side of his face and you wanted to reach out and trail your fingers over them. 

He handed you a glass — a vodka soda this time — and you smiled at him. Bradley smiled back. 

And then a hand appeared on his shoulder and you looked up. A guy with the whitest teeth and perfect Dr. McDreamy hair stared back at you. “Bradshaw, who’s your friend?” 

He was gorgeous. You felt your blood freeze for a moment. 

And then Bradley’s voice pulled you out of your coma. 

“Y/N, this is Jeremy. He’s my roommate at the academy.” 

Jeremy smiled and you felt your heart speed up. “Nice to meet you.” 

You left that night on Jeremy’s arm. He brought you back to his room at the academy; you were staying for the summer with your parents and bringing a boy home that you had met two hours earlier would have sent up red flags to your father. 

After, you got dressed and left Jeremy asleep on his bed. You cracked the door open carefully, closing it behind you with a soft thud. 

And then you almost tripped on a leg jutting out into the hallway. 

“Fuck!” You stumbled but righted yourself at the last moment. Bradley gazed up at you with tired eyes. “Bradley?” 

He nodded and stood up, wiping at his eyes. His Hawaiian shirt was rumpled and it looked like he had been asleep against the wall. 

“Were you sleeping?” 

“Just closed my eyes for a second,” he whispered. 

You looked down at your watch and groaned. “Shit.” It was almost four in the morning. Your dad would definitely be looking for you. You looked back at him. “I’m sorry.” 

Bradley shrugged. “It’s fine. Happens.” 

You looked back at the door, forlorn. So it happened a lot. You shouldn’t have been surprised. You had slept with Jeremy after three rounds of drinks. Why would you think that wasn’t a regular occurrence for him? You nodded. “I see.” 

“Y/N,” Bradley reached out and grabbed your hand. You looked up at him. “That’s not what I meant.” He sighed. “Jeremy, he’s a good guy. You should know that.” 

You smiled. “I needed to hear that. Thanks.” 

Bradley smiled back at you. “Well, I should probably get some rest.” 

You nodded. “Yeah, I should go.” 

“Do you need a ride or something?” 

“I’ll just get an Uber.” 

“I can wait with you.” 

“You’d do that?”

Bradley squeezed your hand. You hadn’t even realized he had never dropped it. “Of course.” 

The two of you stood in silence outside the dorm building. You were cold in the early morning fog. You shivered and Bradley shrugged out of his ugly Hawaiian button up and handed it to you. 

“Here.” 

“Oh. Thanks.” You slid it on. It smelled like suntan lotion and beer and it was warm from where it had hugged Bradley’s boxy form. 

A Honda rolled up slowly and you checked your phone, reading out the license plate. 

“This is me,” you confirmed. Bradley nodded. You stepped to the curb and pulled open the door. “Hey, Bradley?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Maybe I’ll see you around.” 

He smiled. “I hope so.” 

“Why is that what you’re thinking of?” you asked softly, taking another sip of champagne. 

Bradley leaned back against the white couch, sliding his arm down to his side. You combed your fingers through his hair at his temple and he shut his eyes. “How’d we get here, Ace?” 

“Get where, honey?” you asked. 

Bradley sat up and looked at you. “Here, Y/N. With you marrying my best friend tomorrow, in the ballroom downstairs.” 

You reeled back. There was a fire in Bradley’s eyes. You had seen that look before. “Brad,” you whispered. “What’s going on?” 

“Why are you marrying him, Y/N?” he asked. “Why him?” 

Your mouth popped open. Suddenly, it felt like the entire suite was devoid of air. You wanted to gasp but there was nothing to suck into your lungs. All that existed in that moment was Bradley.

“Roo? You’re not gonna believe it.” 

Bradley took a deep breath. “What is it, Ace?” 

“Jeremy asked me to marry him!”

He looked at your face. How fucking estatic you were. It had been seven years since the night the three of you met. Well, since the night you and Bradley had met, Jeremy had shown up out of the blue. Swooping in. Stealing the girl. Doing what he had always done. 

But this time had been different. You were different. 

You should have been his. 

“Bradley?” 

He looked up into your eyes. “What did you say?” 

You rolled your eyes. “I said yes, Brad. Of course I said yes.” 

And then you launched yourself into his arms, his hands wrapped around your waist, your fingers pressed tightly around his neck. 

You whispered into his ear. “I’m getting married, Bradley. How crazy is that?” 

He pulled you in closer. “It’s insane,” he murmured against your neck. “I can’t believe it.” 

“What did you say?” you asked, aghast. 

Bradley’s eyes were trained on yours. There was a hardness in his features that you recognized from all the times the two of you had been in difficult spots before. The first time he and Jeremy deployed together and you held both of them on the tarmac, tears in your eyes, your voice hoarse from spending the entire night before crying. It was the same look he had when Carole died and you had stood in a black wrap dress under an umbrella in the rain next to Bradley as they lowered her casket into the ground. It was the way he looked at you when you said the doctor found a mass on your ovary, only for them to remove it and confirm it was benign a few weeks later. It was the way he looked the night you had fought when he accused you of throwing your life away to follow him and Jeremy around the country from base to base. 

You had never been able to let him go. It was always the three of you. It had always been the three of you. 

Even when it was supposed to just be you and Jeremy. Bradley had always been there, in the shadows, never out of reach. It’s how you wanted him. It’s how you needed him. 

“Brad?” 

“Don’t marry him,” Bradley said. “Please.” 

You had loved Bradley Bradshaw for years. He was the best friend you had ever had. He fit so seamlessly into your life that you could barely remember a moment when he wasn't in it. 

He was the person holding your hair when you drank too much on your twenty-fifth birthday in Las Vegas. Bradley was there when you ran your first marathon. He was there when you and Jeremy bought the house. He was there the day you brought home Buddy, your labrador rescue. Somehow every single memory over the last decade has Bradley on the edges of it. 

He was also Jeremy’s best friend. 

“Most of you know me. I’m Bradley Bradshaw, best friend of the groom and best man.” Bradley paused while there were cheers from the tables of other Naval aviators. You grinned up at him from where you sat next to him. “But you might not know that I’m also a best friend of the bride’s.” He gazed down at you. “Y/N isn’t just the best thing that happened to Jeremy. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, too. So it’s the greatest honor of my life to be here with you all as they commit themselves to each other. I’ve been the third wheel for most of their firsts.” There was laughter in the audience but Bradley didn’t notice. His eyes were still on yours. You held his gaze, unblinking. “Tomorrow is just another first for these two. Here’s to a lifetime together. I love you both.” 

Finally he lifted his gaze from yours and raised his glass. 

“A toast to Jeremy and Y/N. Thank God I spilled tequila all over her shoes a decade ago or we wouldn’t be here now.” 

More cheering. Bradley gulped down his entire flute of champagne and sat down. You leaned over and wrapped your arms around his neck. “I love you, Roo,” you whispered into his ear. 

His hand came out and brushed against the white silk of your dress where it sat on your hip. “I love you too, baby.” 

Bradley’s soft brown eyes bore into yours. You suddenly felt exposed in your thin white lace nightgown that you had been wearing when you answered the door. You stood up and crossed the room, shrugging on the matching robe, cinching it tightly around your waist. So tight it hurt. 

Everything hurt. 

“What are you saying?” you whispered. “I’m getting married in less than twenty-four hours, Bradley. Why are you doing this?” 

Bradley stood up. “Because I can’t watch you get up there and walk down the aisle to him.” 

“Why?” you wailed. “Why the fuck not, Bradley?” 

“Because it should be me!” he shouted and you froze. Bradley froze. The air in the room froze. 

“What did you say?” Your voice was barely a whisper. It was so thin it could break. The way Bradley was breaking but you just couldn’t see it. Maybe it had always been like this and you had never seen it. 

Bradley strode across the room until the two of you were only inches apart, his hands on your neck, tilting your head up to look at him. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you since that very first night at the bar. I kick myself every night for not making you mine before Jeremy could.” 

“Bradley.” 

He dropped his hands and took a step back. You felt tears start to well behind your eyes. “I wanted to tell you, Y/N. I started to. A hundred times. A thousand. But then I saw how happy you were with him and I stopped myself. I care more about you being happy than anything else in the world.” 

He paused. You wiped at the tears beneath your eyes, the heavy diamond on your left hand grazing your cheek. 

A reminder. 

Bradley took a breath. “I’ll walk away, Ace. I’ll go back to my room and pretend I never came here. And tomorrow I’ll stand up there next to Jeremy and watch you walk down the aisle like the most beautiful bride on the planet and I’ll try to forget that I’ve loved you for a decade and nobody else can compare to you. I’ll do all of that, if you can answer one question for me.” 

You raised your eyes to his. 

“Does he make you as happy as I would make you?” 

A/N: This is a two-part series!

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[narafeedee]

What’s your go to fast food meal?

this is a fun question, thank you!! i always order the same things at places once i find something i like, so this turned into an absurdly detailed response very quickly

i think my most-eaten meal lately is two double cheeseburgers and a large diet coke because the burgers are BOGO for 29c. if i’m feeling particularly frisky and fat-walleted i’ll get the bakers dozen cookie tote.

in an alternate timeline where budgets don’t exist, i’d be getting a large DQPC meal mayo and pickles only, with a large diet coke, two mcchickens add mustard no lettuce, and either a cookie tote or two of whatever the specialty pies are

i eat McDonalds every day so naturally that’s where my mind went, my go-to orders elsewhere (in order from most to least frequent visits) are:

Tim Horton’s: XL coffee 3 creams, 2 sugars, 1 caramel and a sausage egg and cheese sandwich on a biscuit, every day with very few exceptions. once every couple months i’ll do McDonalds instead and get whatever breakfast sandwich deal they have - usually $2 sausage egg and cheese mcgriddle - and a large vanilla iced coffee

i eat at one of the places listed below maybe once every couple weeks:

BK: 3 to 6 rodeo burgers add mayo add fresh onion, large diet coke, sometimes a hershey pie

Wendy’s: $5 Biggie Bag - which is a double stack, 4 nuggets, small fry, small diet coke; if i wanna splurge i’ll get a large Dave’s Double combo no lettuce no ketchup, large diet coke, medium frosty

Taco Bell: i checked the app to be able to use the actual names of the things i usually order from Taco Hell but i just learned the chicken things i used to get every time are no longer on the fucking menu so i don’t know what i like at Taco Bell anymore and i’m a little salty rn. first they took away my grilled shredded chicken burritos with extra avocado ranch away from me, now this? what the fuck

KFC: two famous bowls and at least 8 hot sauce packets for each bowl, then stop at McDonalds for a large diet coke

Popeyes: blackened chicken tenders (whatever the best meal promo is), red beans and rice, blackened ranch for dipping, something sweet but i change it up every time, large sweet tea from Popeyes or a large diet coke from McDonalds

Checker’s: two large orders of mozzarella sticks, big buford no lettuce, large diet coke, large fries, funnel cake fries or brookie

everything else i eat in a day is normally freezer food - pizza rolls, waffles, uncrustables - or ubereats delivery. i also order the exact same things from the same 3 places on rotation when i order delivery. i don’t have an adequate kitchen to cook how i want to where i live right now but it gives me something to look forward to having someday 🤷🏻‍♀️

[losttinwritings]

comfort

[ Shawn Mendes x GN!Reader ] [928 words]

SUMMARY: After a rough day, Shawn manages to comfort you and make you feel better.

WARNINGS: hint of angst, but mostly fluff

A-N: Already edited two of my old mcyt fics I deleted. This one, then a sapnap one. Also, again, this is based on a personal experience of mine.

[masterlist]

The curtains remained closed over the large window, stopping the sunlight from seeping into the room. You had closed them to make it appear as dark as possible inside with your only light source coming from a small candle on the night-stand. You were currently lying bundled up underneath the doona covers of your bed. 

H/c locks of hair spread out atop the pillow that your head currently rests on, and your phone neatly settled in your hand, switched on as you stared at it sadly. You felt like shit if you were being completely honest, with tear-filled eyes and slight red tinted cheeks. 

The constant feeling of jealousy rested in the pit of your stomach as you scrolled through instagram, photos of your old best-friend filling up the brightened phone screen as she stood with her new friends and boyfriend, each with a large smile on their faces.

Why did life have to be so difficult? How could it be so cruel? Making you regret every shitty decision you'd made in the past. It was simply a routine for you now, where at least every few or so weeks you'd find yourself crying your heart out at the constant reminder of your friend. At the horrible reminder that you hardly talked anymore to each other.

A sob escaped your mouth, not bothering to cover it with your hand. Your boyfriend was out, he wasn't home at the moment. 

You didn't want to burden him with your problems, especially if he was too focussed on his music without having to worry about you. Instead, you kept it to yourself and allowed the sad emotions to wash over when you were in private, when you were home alone.

It could have been at least one or two hours later with you just lying there in the same position, bawling. You couldn't really tell how long it'd been, though. 

That you had eventually not heard the quiet footsteps of Shawn heading towards the bedroom, nor could you hear the sound of the door opening as he walked inside. His eyes briefly glanced around the medium-sized room until they finally landed on your figure, where your soft sobs and small sniffles could be heard. 

"Y/n? Are you ok?" Shawn asked, the feeling of worry already managing to appear onto his features as he shut the door behind him. He felt like his heart cracked a little at hearing you cry, as he hated when he saw you do it. All he wanted was to be able to make you a little happier. 

"Y-yes?" Your voice felt a tad too hoarse, and it stuttered a bit from how much you'd been crying today. 

You didn't trust yourself to say anything else, as to not let anymore of the sadness you felt become even more evident to him. So biting your lip to suppress more sobs, then shaking your head briefly, you turned onto your side, facing away from Shawn and setting your phone down upon the bedside table. 

You were tired of looking at the exact same images that swarmed your instagram feed. It only ever made you sadder every time. 

Shawn, noticing you didn't want to talk much, carefully ran a hand through this short brown hair and carefully moved himself closer to the bed where you resided. He gently kicked off the shoes he had on and situated himself nearest to where you lay on your side. 

He wanted to pull you into a hug. He wanted to distract you from whatever was making you feel like this. He just wanted you to be happy and your usual self. The man felt himself slip underneath the covers now, turned to face your back, wrapped his strong arms around you, and tugged you gently back into his chest. 

You were surprised at first by this sudden action but eventually managed to relax into his warm and comforting embrace. Turning around in his arms, you buried your head into Shawn's chest. Your eyes felt puffy and red from crying as you let a few more tears slip down onto your cheeks and slightly dampened the cotton of your boyfriend's shirt. 

"A-are you ok?" Shawn hesitated at first before asking again. His hand came to run through the soft and gentle tresses of your hair, with a worried feeling still swimming in those eyes you always managed to get lost in somehow. He wanted you to be ok, but he knew right now you were far from it.

You shook your head, burying your head further into Shawn's hard chest, as his arms wrapped a little tighter around you as if to tell you everything was going to be ok. You could feel his gaze locked onto your smaller figure, as you still struggled to stop the tears from falling down your face at every thought of your old friend. 

How you weren't entirely sure if everything would be fine. You did know, however, that as long as Shawn was in your life, and he was willingly ready to comfort you, then you would be perfectly okay. At least you hoped you would.

And with those last lingering thoughts, you felt yourself distracted once again, as you managed to comfortably fall into a peaceful slumber, surrounded by the warmth of your boyfriend's familiar embrace.

[finn-m-corvex]

Jaya Week 2023 Day 6: Sunset

It is 1:30 A.M. but I finished it! Today was busy or else I would've had it out sooner, sorry about that everyone. This one was a lot of fun to write though! I took the idea that I had for Day 4 and put it here, and I mixed it with a scene from Day 1, so if you haven't read Day 1 go to my masterpost and check it out! Not a lot of dialogue in this one, but I've noticed that most of the stuff I write from Nya's perspective lacks dialogue because I think of her as an observer more than a talker. These also just keep getting longer and longer, geez.

Words: 3.6k

No TWs!

[REUPLOAD!]

Nya exhaled, leaning on the ledge of the lighthouse to look out at the rolling sea hundreds of feet below. The breeze blew away the loose strands of her hair that she hadn’t wrangled into a short ponytail, and Nya shivered despite the heavy sweatshirt on her shoulders. She always forgot how cold the breeze was that came off of the sea.

Despite being the water ninja, Nya had never felt a large connection with the sea. Ignacia was too far away from the coast to ever visit when she and Kai were kids, and even if it were closer they still would’ve had to manage the shop. The funds most likely wouldn’t have been there either. She had gotten to visit the ocean once they had joined the other Ninja, but her experiences there had been…less than pleasant, to say the least.

Instead, Nya found most of her comforts in the sky; it was why blue was her favorite color. Every day she would look out of her window at the shop, watching as the pale sky would gradually go from blue to orange to red until night finally fell. It was a comfort to know that some things in the world would never change: the sun would never stop rising, and the moon would never stop trailing behind in an endless chase.

Part of the reason she was out here freezing her fingers off instead of staying inside was to try and take some comfort from looking at the sky, a canvas of vivid warm streaks that made her happy to look at. So much of her life had been upended by that stupid djinn, so much of her life changed. But some things were never supposed to change, right?

She would be lying if she said there wasn’t another reason. She was worried about Jay.

The blue ninja had promised her only a few days ago that he would be okay, mere hours after they had skipped town and left Ninjago. His ruined gi still lay in the corner of their shared room, waiting for her to sit down and mend it as best as she could. Nya was thankful that she had the foresight to pack him several changes of clothes in their few duffle bags; Jay had certainly been making good use out of them. The sweatshirt she had on now was his, a medium blue with little lightning bolts on the sleeves with the word ‘ZAP!’ emboldened across the front.

It was the only hoodie she had been using whenever she went outside to watch the sunset. She would grab it up from the small pile of dirty clothes she kept on her side of their one bed, slipping it out before walking up the stairs to look outside. Nya would stay out there for hours, sometimes sneaking back in to check if Jay had gone to bed or if he was staying up late trying to fix things downstairs.

Jay wasn’t okay, despite promising that he would be. 

Her first clue was how quiet he had been since they had arrived. Jay was never soft-spoken, but it was like his time on the ship had flipped a switch hidden deep inside. Nya struggled to make him say more than three words at a time, and even when he was by himself he was quiet. Usually Jay would be whistling, beatboxing or humming or even singing to himself to do anything that filled the silence that he couldn’t stand. But now it settled over the lighthouse like a dense fog, and Nya wasn’t quite sure how to navigate it.

Something wasn’t right. This wasn’t her Jay.

It pained her to remember that he wasn’t hers anymore; if she didn’t allow him to hold onto her, then she couldn’t keep him either. That would be quite hypocritical of her, and Nya hated being a hypocrite.

Part of her was worried about how little sleep both of them had been getting. Logically, they had to start establishing some sort of consistent schedule for their nighttime routines, and while Nya herself had always been plagued by issues of insomnia, she never knew Jay to have the same issues. But Jay’s problem wasn’t so much of not being able to sleep: it was the nightmares.

Nya knew he had them, but she didn’t say a word to him about it after their first night. The sun had gone down long ago, Nya retiring to find Jay fast asleep already. It had barely been a couple hours since she had fallen asleep when she was woken up by the sounds of someone sitting up, the rustle of the sheets loud in the quiet of the night.

“Jay?” Nya had said, turning over and blinking awake.

He was shaking. Nya reached out to gently lay a hand on his trembling back, rubbing in small circles while he buried his face in his hands.

Frowning, Nya almost cringed away from how sweaty his sleepshirt was, before she reminded herself that she had, in fact, touched much worse. Jay’s breathing was stuttery, starting and stopping as if someone kept pressing a pause button. “Nya?”

“I’m here, Jay,” she affirmed, propping herself up on her elbow. “Everything okay?”

Everything was very clearly not okay, but Jay deserved the privacy. She watched as he started reaching back he suddenly froze, hastily retracting his hand before it could complete its journey.

Jay had been reaching for her hand.

A part of Nya wished that he had taken it.

Shuddering, Jay shrugged off her touch, standing up and running his hands through his hair in an achingly familiar pattern. She had seen him do it countless times whenever he needed to calm himself down, and now his hands were raking through his curly locks with a vengeance. They were longer than Jay normally allowed them to get, covering his ears and the nape of his neck, and Nya would be lying if she said she didn’t like the new look.

With a small sound of frustration, Jay bent down to grab one of his discarded jackets. “I need to check on the door downstairs. I’ll be back.”

“Is that a good idea?” Nya asked skeptically, and she saw Jay flinch from where he stood in the doorway. The moonlight filtered in, shrouding him in a dark silhouette and making his features barely distinguishable. His jaw tightened, illuminated by the sparse light, and the movement made the fresh scar over his eye stand out.

She hated it. Everytime she got a glimpse of it, she had the insatiable urge to run her finger across it, feeling the anger bubble up from deep inside of her on his behalf. Nya didn’t hate it because of the way it looked: Kai’s had prepared her for pretty much anything.

But this was different.

Whoever had put that scar on him had done so deliberately, trying to gouge out his eye and hurt someone that she cared about. Seeing the skin puffy and red around the wound when they had first arrived on the Misfortune’s Keep reminded her of the sun setting; it was a sign of your world going dark.

Jay wasn’t blinded by the injury, but he may as well have been. They had tested it before they had left Ninjago City, and Nya had been more than dismayed to discover that everything Jay saw through his left eye was pretty much a colored blob. Recently though, she was worried that his color vision was starting to go too; she had to stop him from cutting a red wire when he was supposed to be cutting a blue one while he was trying to repair one of the machines.

All of it made Nya’s insides twist with concern that she knew she shouldn’t have. She kept telling herself that it was over, and that eventually she was going to have to let all of her feelings go. Her independence was more important to her than anything else.

So why couldn’t she let go?

“I’ll be fine, Nya,” he said, but it was clipped. Nya recoiled internally; that had definitely been an overstep on her part.

Even though she hated the idea of him trying to make his way downstairs in the dark, she couldn’t really stop him. “Just be careful, okay? Come and get me if you need me.”

“Will do,” but Nya knew he wouldn’t come. Their door closed with a soft click, and Nya listened for the tell-tale sign of creaking wood as Jay stepped down the stairs. She stayed alert for the first sign of a fall (even though she knew that if he did fall she would never reach him in time), and Nya promised to stay awake to see him walk back into back.

Nya was out like a light not even five minutes later. When she awoke the next morning, the spot beside her was still cold and empty; it hadn’t been disturbed since the night before. Jay had never come back to bed.

That night, Nya heard him step out of the trapdoor while she had been doing her usual vigil outside. The sunset was still out but it was quickly dimming as the sun drifted further and further beneath the crest of the sea.

“Do you want to watch the sunset with me?” she asked him, turning away from the beautiful sight just to look at another one.

Jay looked apprehensive, the wind blowing his hair to the side and making his unzipped jacket flap in the breeze. His good eye was focused on her, but his bad one was quite dilated, clouded over with a film that Nya was scared of becoming permanent. Mouth twisting into an odd smile that didn’t quite fit his face, Jay shook his head. “Sorry, Nya. Gotta keep working on this stuff.”

He patted the side of an old toolbox, but it wasn’t the one that she always knew him to carry. That was still on the Bounty, wherever that had ended up at this point. Did he miss it?

“You’ve been working a lot lately,” she said softly, hesitating. Maybe she shouldn’t be saying anything. “It’s okay to take a break, you know?”

Shrugging, Jay turned away. “If I need one, then I’ll take one. For now, though, the plumbing isn’t going to fix itself.”

The trapdoor closed behind him, and Nya growled in frustration before reminding herself that she had to be patient. Navigating this situation was going to be tricky for both of them, with boundaries that definitely had to be reestablished and rules discussed. Yet somehow, Nya didn’t find herself as quick to draw a line in the sand as she had been before this whole mess had started. It was a weird position for her, because Jay was normally the more patient one out of the two of them, but Nya could pick up the slack every once in a while.

Both of them tiptoed around each other for the next week, with Nya making sure that she was giving Jay the proper space to figure his stuff out. She knew that trying to force him to talk about his time on the ship would lead nowhere; Jay could definitely match her strong will with his own. However, that didn’t mean Nya was going to switch up her routine. Every night she would stay outside and watch the sun wind down, smelling the salt from the sea on the breeze that blew through the open top of the lighthouse.

And every night Jay would check up on her like clockwork, making up a flimsy excuse that she could see right through. He had never been able to hide anything from here.

One time she watched as he deliberately left a wrench on the single table to give him a reason to come up the next night. The night after that he came up with a bucket filled with water, claiming that the downstairs had flooded from the high tide that day and he needed to dump it out. Nya had seen him down at the shoreline just beforehand fighting with the bucket and almost throwing it in frustration before he finally managed to fill it. The other reasons were just as faulty; she knew for a fact that Jay didn’t leave his toolbox that one time, and that he hated doing laundry when he claimed he was letting their clothes dry, and that his camera had run out of batteries on the first day they arrived when he told her he wanted a picture of the sunset.

Nya was a little skeptical of the last one, though, because she was fairly sure she heard the sound of his camera shutter when a particularly loud wave crashed against the rocks below.

Part of her was frustrated with how standoffish he was acting, but it was really her fault that he felt the need to be so far away. She had been quite abrasive before, so she couldn’t blame him for being too careful, especially if he had just acquired a brand new trauma that the rest of the team was going to have to explore.

You just need to be patient with him, Nya reminded herself, he’ll come to you eventually. He always does.

She didn’t mention the nightmares to him either, even though her chest tightened whenever she woke up to him gasping for air and clutching at his chest. Nya could feel his gaze on her every night, checking if he had woken her up, and she pretended to sleep every time. Her suspicions were soon confirmed: Jay never came back to bed after he woke up from a nightmare.

Patience is all it would take.

Finally, after around a week, Nya’s efforts paid off.

Jay crept up through the trapdoor, but something was different this time. Still adjusting the hoodie over his shoulders, Jay’s hair was out of control and coming alive with static, and his cheeks had small sheet lines from where he had been laying down. He was napping on the bed when Nya had seen him last, his lack of sleep finally catching up to him. Did he have another one?

“Hey Nya?” he asked hesitantly, and Nya’s heart clenched painfully. She turned around, pretending that she hadn’t been listening for his arrival.

“Oh, hey Jay,” she gave him a small smile that she hoped came off as inviting, “what’s up?”

Shuffling from foot to foot, she watched as Jay’s hands started twisting themselves together in a familiar nervous habit. “C-Can I watch the sunset with you?”

Here we go, Nya thought. “Sure! Come on, there’s plenty of room to watch.”

He chuckled, moving to stand next to her, mirroring her position of leaning on their elbows to look out. They stayed quiet, although Nya kept sneaking glances at the blue ninja at her side; she still had the ability to appreciate a good view when she saw one.

Despite being well-fed for the past few days, Jay’s jawline was still hollower than she remembered (and she remembered quite well), and she had to clench her hands into fists to keep herself from running her thumbs along his narrow cheekbones. All of the ugly black and blue bruises had faded into slightly less atrocious shades of green and yellow, but Nya knew they still hurt him. His scar wasn’t visible from this angle, and Nya was at least a little happy about that. She wasn’t sure how well she would’ve been able to keep it together if she had to look at it the whole time.

Jay sighed, and Nya quickly darted her gaze away to the horizon. He didn’t notice, only starting to tap his thumb on the back of his other hand. “I’ve been having nightmares.”

“I know,” Nya said quietly, and she could see Jay whip his head around to stare at her. Hopefully she had made the right choice.

“You know?” he asked, and she nodded. “Have I been waking you up?”

“Yeah,” Nya said, turning to look into his eyes, a pretty blue lacking the vividness they usually held, “since the first night.”

Muttering a soft curse, Jay turned away, and Nya could see his face twist with shame. Well, that just wouldn’t do.

“Hey.” she said, moving closer to him. Nya could feel the tantilizing warmth under his sweatshirt, his skin buzzing from his element. The familiarity of it made Nya want to curl up against his side, snuggling close; the breeze had been particularly rough that evening. “Stop it. I know you’re feeling guilty, so stop it.”

Jay didn’t say anything for a minute, and then he exhaled. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“It’s okay,” Nya told him, and she was surprised by how genuine it was. Honestly, she was a little disappointed when he would only walk away every night instead of going to her.

He looked at her with a questioning look. “You’re not mad?”

“No, I’m not mad.” Now she was the one feeling guilty, the feeling settling in her stomach like a stone. “Jay, you can talk to me about anything. Why would you think I would be mad at you for something you can’t control?”

The irony of her statement was not lost on her. Jay bit his lip, tapping his foot against the wooden floor. “I-I’ve been trying to respect your boundaries ever since we got here. I didn’t want to overstep.”

“I wish-” she paused when he flinched, and she quickly corrected her wording, “I was hoping that you would tell me, so I could help you. I-I don’t like seeing you in pain, Jay.”

“They don’t hurt anymore,” but he had said it a little too quickly, forced it out with a bit too much bite. Nya could tell he was lying.

“Stop lying to me.” she said sternly, taking the plunge and touching shoulders with him. “I don’t need you to be tough for you, I need you to be honest with me. You hiding things from me is overstepping my boundaries more than you needing help ever would be.”

He flinched, and Nya heard a tiny voice inside of her telling her that she was being unfair. Every time Jay seemed to get close to the finish line, she would move the goalposts, changing what she had expected of him at the drop of a hat. And yet, Jay adapted every single time to whatever she demanded; he may not have always gotten it right, but the effort meant more to Nya than she let on.

“Okay.” Jay said, and Nya watched him take a deep breath, steeling his nerves. “Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely.” Nya said firmly.

The small smile on his face made her heart flutter in a way that she had missed, and for the first time in months Nya let herself bask in the feeling. She never could stop loving him, no matter how much she shoved him away or convinced herself that she was over him.

Some things never changed, just like the setting sun.

Most of the things he was telling her made Nya’s blood boil with indignant rage, and by the time night had fallen Jay was done with his story. The two sat in silence for a while, before Nya’s eyes started to close and she knew that it was time to go to bed.

“Jay?” she whispered, amused to see that he had started falling asleep as well. “I think we should head inside.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” he yawned in the middle of the sentence, his scar stretching and morphing in the dim light of the candle that Nya had lit over an hour ago. She blew it out, following behind the blue ninja as he made his way inside.

Getting ready for bed was a quiet affair; Nya kept her hoodie on and was basically done after she slipped off her socks, while Jay changed out his shirt and put his hoodie away. All of the lights were turned out, and Nya was surprised at how little time it took before she heard the lightning ninja’s soft snores on her other side.

One of the cutest sights she had ever seen greeted her when she finally turned over: a sleeping Jay with drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth onto his pillow, his face finally free from all of the worry lines that had been making their homes there recently. Even his scar looked a little smaller from this angle, like it had somehow shrunk now that he wasn’t stressing about everything under the sun.

Nya indulged herself, letting her hand drift upwards to slide between Jay’s cheek and the pillow. Jay made a soft noise, and Nya was surprised to see his eyes blink open, still hazy with sleep.

“Thanks for letting me watch the sunset with you,” he murmured, and he must’ve had a lapse in judgement as he leaned into her touch and pecked her palm. Nya’s thumb stopped from where she had started stroking his cheek, but she restarted when his eyes slid shut and his breathing truly evened out.

First Master, how could she ever let this go?

In her own lapse of judgement, Nya leaned forward to kiss the tip of his nose, moving closer and molding her body to fit with his warm one. She smiled, keeping her lips pressed against his forehead.  “Anything for you, Jay. We’ve got all the time in the world to watch as many sunsets as it takes for you to feel better.”

[meditatewithfernando]

2024 News: A new coupon arrives... And your former instead of expiring, is now permanent!

2024 News: Here at Soul Guidance, they are all good! Hello! How are you? I hope you are enjoying this year, or at least the meditations on love and relationships. If you haven't, try one of them today, you'll love it! For this week I bring you the 2024 news. But they are going to be very direct, positive, and quick. We are sure that you have seen the changes that the websites and the entire infrastructure have been changing. Many things will continue to grow and improve, so looking forward to 2024! And one of them, you have probably noticed that we have more activity on the socials. So if you haven't done so, I invite you to follow us on all of them, because we are going to do giveaways on different networks, and not on all of them at the same time. This year we are going to grow a lot on the networks, so ride the wave today! Facebook-f Twitter Youtube Linkedin-in Instagram Pinterest-p Vimeo-v Quora Medium-m A couple of things about coupons. In the 2024 news, regarding finances, we are only going to talk about coupons! And also, very quickly: - If you have last year's coupon, maybe you remember that it was going to expire. Well, it won't be like that anymore, this coupon doesn't expire for now! - And if you don't have this coupon, I'm going to give you one now, also without an expiration date. This coupon is PERM5, and it is good for practically everything, including psychic readings, and monthly and three-month programs. And that's it for pricing and coupons. Some years we have to raise prices, but this is not one of them! By the way! Last year we had to give you some more difficult news, but this year it's all good. Even so, the 2024 news brings you a couple of cool things that will last until February 28: - With a small or medium reading, I will give you a basic healing on what appears in the reading. - I will give you complete healing plus a Guided Meditation with a large or extra-large reading. - With a one-hour reading, I will give you "Talk to Fer Whatsapp" to chat by text during the next seven days. We thank you very much for your loyalty. As always, we will continue to give everything to help you in the best way possible. One more thing! There are a lot of great articles; however; there are a few essential reads that may be of interest to you, so check them out: - You: How to get to know yourself and get out the most from your life? - What should people know about general astral projection, meditation, or spirituality? - Astral Travel: Get out of your body. Quick and easy Astral Projection Guide. - Dream Types: Dreams and Lucids, super-lucid, sleep paralysis, and more! - What are the chakras? How to open, heal, and expand them right now! - What is the difference between a Lucid Dream and an Astral Projection? We hope you enjoy these loads! And that's all. Did you like News 2024? Me too! Next week, we will talk about the meaning of being a starseed, personally and globally. As I starseed myself, I can share with you how it felt, and how it feels. But all of this, next week! See you next Wednesday! So, If you do not want to miss a single update, click below to join our weekly newsletter, and you will gain access to exclusive content. Subscribe now! I invite you to check earlier posts: seventh year, sixth year, fifth year, fourth year, third year, second year, first year. Love & Light, Lots of blessings and abundance your way! (Home) Rev. Fernando Albert Read the full article

[whennnow]

A Very Important Purse

October 26, 2023

[Image ID: a black velvet purse with sequins, black applique, and dark silver metal clasp and chain handle sitting on a grey chair.]

Last summer I had the great honor of being asked to be a bridesmaid at my friend's wedding. In the whirlwind of excitement that followed, I volunteered to make her a purse to use at the reception!

I'm not sure why I did that. Up until that point the only bags I had sewn were simple drawstring bags.

But wouldn't it be special to have a specially made purse? To include pieces from each of the bridesmaids' dresses? To have the bride's initials and wedding date embroidered on the inside?

Fast forward to about two months before the wedding and I had finally researched how to make purses, acquired the materials I needed, and settled on a design.

The Materials

I had opted for a "kiss clasp" purse frame - sort of a modern version of the typical coin purse clasp. So I ordered the frame and a matching chain (for the handle/strap) from this Etsy shop.

The main fabric of the bag was a textured and sequined black velvet, and I used a simple black poly/cotton for the lining. I also included pieces left over from when the three bridesmaids' dresses were hemmed.

As an extra special touch, the bride and her mother gave me some lace motifs that the tailor had saved from altering the bride's dress!

Hidden inside all the fun layers are a medium-weight sew-in interfacing (one layer as interlining each for the outer fabric and the lining) and the heaviest weight interfacing/stiffener my local craft store carried.

The Pattern

Because purse frames aren't really standard sizes, there were no patterns I could count on, so I scoured the internet for tutorials that suited the frame I had. This tutorial ended up being the one I used most because it used the same kind of frame I had and resulted in the amount of structure I wanted.

Now, this calls for one pattern piece and one big piece of fabric (or two if you put a seam in the center bottom), but I wanted my side panels to be plain, not made of the velvet, so instead of one complex shape I ended up with one large rectangle for the body and two small rectangle for the side panels.

So to recap, I had one big rectangle in velvet for the outer body of the bag, and two small rectangles of the poly-cotton. The inside was one big rectangle and two small ones for the side panels, both of poly-cotton. Each piece was interlined with the medium interfacing.

The Preparation

There was a lot of prep work to do before I could really start sewing, though.

First, each of the six pieces was basted to its interlining.

Then, because the main outer fabric was a stretch velvet (whoops), I followed the line of stitching attaching the sequins to the velvet and stitched the velvet to the interfacing at every other sequin. This took about 5 hours, but was absolutely worth it! You can't tell it's a stretch velvet anymore and it doesn't shift or sag at all

I got to attach the lace appliques from the bride's dress once the velvet was stabilized. I trimmed away the excess tulle and followed the direction of the thread in the lace with my thread, so it looks like the design was stitched directly onto the purse! I only went around the outsides of the motifs, but it still took maybe 3-4 hours.

Prepping the inside pieces was a lot quicker. I used two of the bridesmaid dress scraps (which were also stretch velvet btw) to make small pockets. The third scrap, which was the lightest color, I used as a background for the embroidery with the bride's initials and the date of the wedding.

[Image ID: a poor view inside of the completed purse, showing scraps of red and pink velvet used to make pockets on plain black lining fabric.]

The Construction

Finally, I could start sewing everything together.

The outer side panels were sewn to the outer body and the inner side panels were sewn to the inner body.

I added some top stitching around the side seams on the outer pieces to better define the corners and give it more structure.

Then the outside and the lining were placed right sides together and things get a little complicated.

The body of the bag needs to go up about a quarter inch higher than the side panels so you have something to glue to the frame. This was accounted for in my pattern draft.

First, I simply sewed the top of the side panels together. Then I had to do a bit of futzing so I could sew the quarter-inch height difference on the sides of the body panel. Lots of seam allowance clipping here.

Then it all got turned right-side-out and the heavy interfacing was trimmed to fit and slipped between the body and the lining.

Finally I could fold the outer body fabric over the top edge of that interfacing and stitch it down. Then fold the body lining in and top stitch that (it will be hidden when you glue the purse to the frame.)

At this point, I was having misgivings about the bag (it looked lumpy and sad), but I persevered.

The Frame

With the body of the bag complete, it was time for the last step. The only one that wasn't reversible. Easily the scariest part of the project.

I had to glue the body of the purse to the frame.

Yes.

GLUE.

I could only take comfort in the fact that glue is the normal way to attach these frames to purses and I had purchased a glue many people recommended (UHU Max Repair), so hopefully it would hold up to use.

The process itself is simple - clean the frame with alcohol to remove any oils, put a thin line of glue in the channel, and just... tuck the upper edge of the purse body in there. Do one side first, then wait an hour to do the second side. Let cure for 24 hours (waiting is hard).

Thankfully it worked perfectly on the first try (though I got some glue on the frame where it shouldn't be). I even stress-tested it to make sure the glue would hold, and it did!

By this point I was feeling very proud of myself and very in love with the purse. The addition of the modern black clasp and chain handle had really pulled the whole thing together and it looked incredible and surprisingly professional!

Once it was done, I just needed to clip the chain handle to the tabs on the purse clasp and package it safely to take to the bride

I'm pleased to report that she was delighted and amazed at how it turned out and she was happy to use it (and, dare I say, show it off) at the reception.

[Image ID: another photo of the black velvet bag, but this time it's the other side with a slightly different black applique.]

[countenanceblog]

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Rufus, Xander, Wayne and Corey sat on one of the expansive leather couches in Ralph Rockland's living room. The sunlight slipping in through the tall windows glinted off the abundant dust in the trashed house. The four of them were alternating pointlessly between the only four channels available on Agarthan TV:

NEWS

SPORTS

EDUCATION

ENTERTAINMENT.

"Look at this, Timothy," said Ralph to Tim from the kitchen entrance. "These four horsemen are watching TV. Instead of cleaning up this ridiculous fucking mess."

"Damn straight," said Timothy.

Xander rolled his eyes. "Oh fuck off, Dad. And especially you, Timmy." Ralph pounded his fist on the table. By the looks of it, Xander was experiencing laser-guided regret.

"What's that supposed to mean?," demanded Ralph. Rufus stood up and started picking up beer bottles.

"Look, Ralph, I'm doing it,” sighed Rufus. He looked at the television screen. A tall man with black hair and a small woman with red hair were enveloped in a cloud of sapphire smoke on the screen. "Wait, Medium & Miasma just came on. I don't think I can clean."

Ralph sneered. "And don't get me started on your rent," he muttered. Rufus looked at him acutely.

"I got a job, Ralph. I'm working it off, you know that."

"Not very fast,” Ralph quietly snipped. Gage was mesmerized by the television. A compilation of shots flashed on the screen. The redheaded woman exhibited telekinesis on a large scale, the black-haired man turned into a cloud of blue smoke, and a lot of stuff exploded.

"Shit's so cool. You know Miasma can shapeshift, and Medium can – " Wayne cut Rufus off.

"No one cares, we all know," said Wayne. Corey laughed. He placed his hand on his forehead.

"Dude, every time this show comes on, you start talking in circles. It's got to stop. Talk about something else. Aren't you fucked right now? With your sister? How are you still able to geek out on this TV show?"

Rufus was not even listening. For that matter, Xander and Wayne weren't either; not anymore. Corey ran his hand through his curly blond hair. He shrugged.

Ralph and Timothy retreated back to their respective caves, and for a while everything was peaceful. The four twenty-somethings watched Medium & Miasma together. In this episode, the time-traveling villain succeeded in kidnapping the goddess of beauty, Venuzia.

"You ever gonna use that marketing degree?," Wayne asked Corey. The blond-haired youth shook his head.

Someone knocked on the front door. Corey looked at his wholly absorbed companions, and got up to answer the door himself. When he opened it, Jack Edgar Miller was standing there in his long brown duster and his blue jeans. He had an angular face. His hair was dark and curly; medium-length. Corey's oddly childish face twisted up.

"Jack? What's wrong? Are the cops after you?"

"Worse, much worse." Jack walked past Corey, who followed closely behind him. Corey raised an eyebrow. Jack looked over the faces of the guys on the couch. "Turn on the news, right now. I mean right now."

Rufus piped up. "Jack? Long time no see man – "

"I fucking mean it. Change the channel." Jack had a terribly ominous look to him. Xander picked up the remote and changed the channel. All five of them stared into the screen.

"This is Alcazar Finch. The live footage I'm about to show you is highly alarming, please refrain from frightening your children with this content."

From the smarmy smile of Alcazar Finch, the screen switched to aerial footage of the most preposterous sting operation ever conducted in Agartha. Finch continued:

"Twenty-five HTU Heavy Tactical Units have been deployed to the town of West Air, marking the first occasion in fifty-six years when Elite Tactical has left the Water District. As you can see, they have the apartment complex completely surrounded. Troopers with plascannons have been sent to nearby rooftops."

"That's Raj's house,” said Rufus. His affect was completely flat. Corey and Wayne looked at Jack.

Jack crossed his arms. "Yup."

[the-firebird69]

This is another thing there's a few things happening here we have to talk about it's getting late already

-we have a couple caution flags and it slows us down but for real we put a lot out and blasted out and I guess I can't figure out stuff yet so I don't want anymore but just put it out there you can figure out if the whole thing would just have two pages instead of one for Christ's sake pour one glass of water but seriously this is different than a glass of water put in the three ring binder that's the last two pages.

The last stuff that happened the police of punta Gorda were fired about 50 of them okay well seriously 10 of them will let go from 60 to 50 and they didn't fire any yet and they can't stand them they're horrible

-pretty much went over everything except for Donald Trump and he's going to trial on Tuesday actually that was most of it and there's no construction happening the people in the planning board are there and building department and they're not out yet and they're holding on in the tire UPS and they are having people attack is 100,000 at the first train the outer ring has like 500 million it's not that big

-the evacuation is underway 4% evacuated it's roughly out of 12% if you want to include the top side clones. And so we're down to 8%. And another 4% went into the city areas therefore we're at 4% back where we said we were.

Truthfully there is a massive evacuation going on the second 4% of not gotten to the cities yet the first 4% just finished filling up and they are in the process of relocating all those people it's a huge number and it is going to be an all night affair really they're only down to 2% but I'm more of flowing out so all together 8% are up but only about roughly well let's say 2% have disembarked and two more percent added to the 2% that remained so there's 4% of the cities and 2% out and about 2 to 4% coming leaving less than 4% roughly 3.5% which is abysmal and fighting is ensuing and fighting is going on all over the world and they went up to Arcadia and they are fighting like madness they are down below fighting we have rumors that people are near the cavern and do see lots of weaponry and mac daddy says they have proof and he's sending it to foreigners to look he says where and how and it's going on now is extremely dangerous to leave them there and they do have proof that they are using the metals to try and access below the diamond safely with very large electrostatic discharge diodes and more.

The invasion is it nine points 10 to 20 trillion or anticipated this 30 trillion there and they're going to be wiped out momentarily not affecting the percentage much but they are building up defenses here more so and getting ready for tonight which may be horrendous are going to Australia and back the huge ships and there's a lot of them it's rough seas I'm just 10 20 mi ships and they on one run can grab a percent and transport it in probably 2 hours so in 12 hours it's 12% but that's going all night long and they won't be able to do that. They are getting more ships we anticipate by midnight maybe 4% will be on the islands and 2% will be in route and that will leave 6% in the mainland but possibly 4% at the city areas and only 2% in the remaining other areas

-the Western hemisphere bases of morlock are under severe attack 95% of them are on fire. 50% of the whole are defunct with 30% of the whole being only 20% functional. Leaving only 15% that are damaged but only 40% or less damage done to them in other words they're all pretty much at half hour a lot less and leaving only 5% intact although those bases are very big and these bases support them and they will be out shortly the small bases are all different the medium bases are half destroyed the remaining half of 20% or worse functional. And it is going to be said that they think all of them will be gone tonight and everybody is evacuating who are more lock.

-and it's one more thing happening John remillard is going to be leaving the apartment shortly and he says so and that's fine he says it all the time and we don't really listen to him and we verify what's happening and here's another scheme and a lot of people heard it

-I'm tired of these idiots and them declaring war on us if they all evacuate which they probably will end up doing the next few days I'm thinking that you should make sure they're not here and putting that forward down

Thor Freya

It's time to say it's the news and if there's more we're going to get to it shortly

Hera

Stan has been attacking any who tried to get to those combined bases and they're clearing warlock out of them and shortly the Bullock are going to be mounting attacks on those who are doing that and they're going to try and take over the fleet and they found it to be a lot bigger than they thought. And Stan was the one taking back to 20 mile ships they found that out today watson. Lots of them. And it is going to be a battle they're going there now huge numbers too probably 1% of what's left I also going to his basis. Couple more things that are happening we have a large number of people here we were wanted by the authorities we want to need them out and they're not moving so we need to keep doing our programs and tonight is Michael Myers in Halloween too at the site of them building that porch and you can see it in the movie and these people are fools

Olympus

[awkwarddystopianwarlord]

Some Updates and Some Thoughts

I’m sick, so if you were expecting an exciting post, I’m sorry to disappoint lads, but me brain is very congested and doesn’t think good right now. I don’t want to not say anything though, so I figured I’ll just do a chill log this week.

Being sick as an adult really sucks though, honestly. When I was in school and I was sick but had to go, I could at least portray that I was miserable. At work I still have to pretend that I’m fine, and it’s exhausting. You might say, “well, just call in sick”. Right, except I can’t afford that. I need the money from work and there are no paid sick days. Which brings me to my current gripe. We should have unlimited paid sick days. Especially now. The fact that we’ve suffered through a pandemic and that is still not a thing is baffling. The last two days, I’ve been stressed as all hell trying to keep the ill at bay so I wouldn’t have to miss any work. Since I get sick like this every year, I even have a react-and-further-prevent action plan. I’ll share it with you if you ever need to desperately and rapidly heal yourself for the sake of your income. Here be my flush-out-all-the-toxins-gameplan:

-a smallish mug of NeoCitran in the morning before work

-a thermos worth of NeoCitran for during work

-a pot of NeoCitran at dinner

-a mug of any size of echinacea tea also at dinner

-if possible, some soup of a variety for dinner

-throat lozenges as needed throughout the day (I use the Ricola brand, green tea/echinacea flavor)

-hot shower in the evening (morning too if I get up way to early or don’t happen to be working that day)

-repeat as necessary

I’m not sponsored by NeoCitran but I might as well be at this point because once a year I chug that shit over multiple days. Of course there wouldn’t be such urgency if I could just die at home for a short while and not worry about losing money. Instead I’m left to risk everyone’s safety. Before you despise me, I would never do this if I knowingly had COVID, I only do it when I have the sneezes, coughs, and congestion. It’s the kind of sick where you aren’t feverish, you just feel like shit.

I rehoused some plants. I forgot I had another three wick candle jar so my plant with the half decapitated leaf got its needed upgrade. I also upgraded a cactus from a shallow candle jar to a deeper one with some extra stones for drainage. The third that was moved to a new pot with a proper drainage hole was only done because, tragically, I had another casualty. Rest in peace to my other cactus who I evidently drowned I think. In his honor, I’m using his pot for my succulent who, like the first mentioned plant, needed something bigger. With hope, he will avoid the same fate as the first owner. I even acquired a plant rescue book because I couldn’t handle the deaths anymore and I feel much more confident now about salvaging my survivors.

My boobs still hurt sometimes, even after about eight months since my surgery. I haven't officially gone somewhere to have them resized, but I am able to now buy bralettes in smalls and extra smalls which is fucking wild since I used to get them in mediums or larges. I am having a much easier time keeping a better posture as well, so yay to my back, I guess.

I finally have a doctor, er, rather, a nurse practitioner. It only took the serendipitous opening of a clinic solely due to the lack of current clinics and the finagling of my friend’s mother whomst I’m pretending to live with since the clinic only serves people in a certain area. I went in with two of my friends and we talked to the nurse and then the doctor for over an hour combined. In that time, more was solved than in the last decade or so. That is genuinely insane. One conversation later and I’m getting medication for anxiety and depression, x-rays for my left knee and left foot, and blood work for all the things blood can tell like thyroid malfunctions and iron deficiency. It should not work like that. I am beyond happy that something is finally being done but, holy shit, this should have happened right away.

Anyway, short post, but those were some updates and thoughts. You may have no cares about it, or you may find it interesting. We all have our different tastes and that’s okay.

[lolita-lollipop]

yandere other mother x reader- Coraline au

warnings- yandere behavior, platonic yandere, manipulation, slight infantilism, mentions of neglect, false reality,

this one really isn't bad, but just to warn you, if any of these things trigger you, please don't read!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Y/n this is insane! Can’t you see that she’s crazy?!” Coraline yelled at you from inside the dusty room while the three ghosts watched, their mouths had been sewn shut long ago, so they weren’t able to intervene. You stood there, feeling like you wanted to cry, this “other mother” was amazing, your real parents never showed much affection, going far enough that it could be Called neglect, so when your other mother held you in her lap, and braided your hair, and gave you warm hugs, and kisses on the cheeks, you felt happy. Your other father was just as amazing, but still, their treatment of you felt similar to one of a baby’s, always treating you like a young child who can’t think for themselves. Coraline noticed this far earlier, while you remained happy and oblivious, the buttons for eyes were the last straw for her.

“I know okay! I just, she’s so nice, I don’t even know what to think anymore, you know what it feels like to actually have parents… I don't, my entire life I’ve been shoved in a little blue house down the stairs and told ‘don't disappoint us’ by my parents! I just want to feel loved… it’s just, it’s just not fair” you spoke, lip quivering, you couldn’t even remember the last time you allowed yourself to cry, you weren’t supposed to love the “other parents” but you did, they were the parents you never had, and you just had to live them. At this point silent tears were trailing down your cheeks, Coraline remained fuming at you, not even sparing a moment to acknowledge the two small black buttons that seemed to appear out of nowhere, peeking through the wall.

“That doesn’t matter, do you really want tiny little needles poking in and out of your eyeballs? Do you really want to leave your real parents behind? Do you want me to leave you behind?” She seethed, you shook your head, letting out a few small whimpers and sobs under your breath, you hated that she was right, you hated it so much, you couldn’t just leave everything in the real world for this parallel universe void of life, you should want to back there right? where no one cared about you, where no one loved you, where you were nothing.

“Coraline? Is that any way to speak to your friend?” A soft voice rang from behind your form, the few lost souls floating in the room ten up, showering to the far corners where the other mother couldn’t see them, then you felt warm hands engulf your waist, pulling you closer to the women’s chest, you subconsciously leave into her warmth, she glared down at Coraline, stoking your head lovingly. In reality, she hadn’t wanted for you to get pushed down here, but Coraline was getting in the way, and you just got caught in the crossfire, she did make sure that your landing was softer though, while Coraline's was harsh.

“You don’t get to tell us what to do, you aren’t her mother.” Coraline breathed out, slimming her eyes into a harsh stare at the woman in whose chest you were sobbing into. One moment, you were in the cold cellar-like room, the next, you were back in the baby pink room that was yours in this place, your true room was a boring white, with a ritzy mattress in the middle, and a small cabinet that served as a closet. Although you didn’t particularly like the color pink, it was nice to know that someone cared enough to bring true colors into your life. The other mother continued her embrace, picking up and cradling your head against her shoulder, you felt a wave of drowsiness overtake your senses, it hit you like a pound of bricks, and you squeezed the back of the women’s shirt to see if you were dreaming or not, her hold just felt so… comforting.

“Was she mean to you darling? Don’t you worry your little head about it, shhhhhh, just fall asleep, mother will take care of everything.” She spoke, bouncing slightly up and down with each step she took towards the large bed that was displayed in the center of the room. You barely muttered a small “wait” before falling asleep in her arms. She tenderly placed your body under the silky sheets, wrapping you up with the soft fabric and placing a small pig plushy next to you, keeping an eye on her precious’s little daughter while she tended to some “housework”.

The second you went unconscious you slipped into a weird dream, you were walking on a thin sheet of water, in a pitch dark room, it was so cold like someone had dunked you in a bucket of ice, you stared out into the nothingness, gradually growing more anxious, where are you?

“HELLO! IS ANYBODY OUT THERE!” You screamed, only to be greeted by the echo of your own words, nothing more, nothing less. You started to swivel around in a moment of panic, having just about no idea what could happen to you in this dark abyss. That was until you dek the floor below you disappear, and you popped into existence into a completely different place, it was a medium sized room, the layout was similar to a grocery store, multiple shelves made the room feel smaller, what was odd about it, was that all the shelves were packed with hundreds of snowglobes. You admired the pretty glass structures as you slowly walked down the aisles, each had a completely different design, with little figures inside, you found it adorable, ogling at the pretty things. That was until you heard quiet clicking of heels, and your other mother came into view.

“There you go, now don’t be rude to me! You are a very lucky girl that I’m even letting you live, you should know much better than to taint my daughter's mind with your filthy voice, oh you make such a great addition to my collection! Enjoy your stay, forever” she chimed, you were positive that she couldn’t see you, mainly because you were standing frozen directly in front of her, and she hadn’t acknowledged you. At least you weren’t freezing anymore! You tiptoed closer to the snowglobe that was just placed among the collections, wondering why your mother was so enthusiastic about it. And saw nothing special about it, other than the bright yellow raincoat that adorned the figurine.

you remained completely unaware. of the thousands of button eyes that watched you from the globes, begging to be shattered, and set free.

“Pretty” you muttered to yourself before the world faded again, and you were back into your body, snuggled up under the covers, clutching the pig plushy close to your chest, you felt awake, but also very asleep, forgetting your entire dream the moment your eyes opened, slightly surprised to see that you were still in the pink room, in the other house. You could hear the feint sound of your bedroom door opening, the creak rang through the room. And the other mother smiled softly at your lovable position, cooing under her breath, trying not to be too loud and wake you up.

“Darling, we have to get up now, oh I know I know your still tired, but it’s dinner time, you can’t stay in bed all night, little sleepyhead, my little sleepyhead.” She spoke, rubbing your shoulder while you groaned at the sudden speaking and noise. You didn't know how long that dream lasted, but you did know that it was odd, so odd that in fact, it made up your mind for you about the whole button eyes thing.

“Uhm- Mother? I-I’m sorry, but I- I don’t want to put buttons in my eyes.” You muttered, awaiting a harsh reaction, but instead, getting another one of her sweet smiles, she picked you up again and sat you in her lap, your small frame getting engulfed by hers.

“Oh is that what you were worrying so hard about? Don’t worry honey, you never were going to have to sow buttons in your eyes, it was just to see if I could trust you, and I know that I can trust you now.” She stated, calmly, a little too calmly. So… she lied? You got in a fight with your best friend because she wanted to “see if she could trust you”?

“Oh- okay, where coralline though? Can I talk to her? Please, mother?” You started begging after seeing her stoic expression, why did you want to see her? Was she not good enough for you? Coralline was mean to you, she hurt her little girl! Why did you want to see her? We’re you going to leave your mother for a snobby brat? She tightened her hold on you, pressing you closer to her, whispering little “shh” or “stay with me” in your ear, for some reason, you couldn't place what Coraline's face looked like, even though you had seen her just earlier, any memories of her were slowly dimming, fuzzy spots started appearing in any of those memories, and like turning of a staticky tv, they disappeared. You couldn’t even remember the name “coralline” after a few minutes of being cradled in this women’s lap.

“Cmon darling, let’s go eat dinner now, your father made it this time, I’m surprised he hasn't burn down the kitchen!” She spoke, getting a few sleepy giggles out of you. After helping you down the stairs she led you to the dining room, where you went on and sat at the large table next to your two parents. And so, you forgot about your “real” world, staying young forever here, even growing younger and smaller as time went on, forgetting about coralline, and your parents, and the small door, you lived your life happy, dressed in frilly pink clothing, learning to lobe your mother as she grew more obsessed with you, she got what she wanted in the end

You stayed mother’s little girl forever

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

have a great day today :)

[brawltogethernow]

@mirrorfalls​ submitted: Came across this while searching for James Bond’s scrambled-eggs recipe (long story). Your thoughts?

~~

But did you find James Bond’s scrambled eggs recipe?

In this article, Scocca laments his inability to find accessible, lighthearted superhero comics suitable to read with his young son, while also demonstrating a mysterious aversion to looking at DC and Marvel’s lines of comics for children, which is where the accessible, lighthearted superhero comics suitable for reading with young children are. He wants his elementary schooler to be able to safely have the run of all superhero media so he doesn’t have to touch the yucky baby books.

This is not an industry-wide crisis. This is just one dude who got paid to write an article where he accidentally exposed one of his personal hangups.

The child headed toward the trade paperbacks of Marvel and D.C. superhero titles on the side wall […] a few steps in front of me. […] Is he with you? a clerk asked me. I said he was. You know, the clerk said, we have a kids’ section. The clerk gestured backward, at a few shelves near the entrance. I said, Thanks, we know and tried throwing in a little shrug, as the kid kept going.

You can’t just turn a seven-year-old child loose in a comic-book store to look at the superhero comic books. […] My seven-year-old really wanted to see that last Avengers movie […] that is, he wished it were a movie he could see, but he understood that it was, instead, a movie designed to scare and sadden him—a movie actively hostile to people like him.

They have a children’s section. Because comics are a medium suitable for stories for everybody, and they are sold in comic book shops, which have sections, like bookstores. You can use this organization to find books that you know in advance are suitable for children. What goes in that category is determined by industry professionals. This area will be bigger the bigger the shop is. These comics are not lower quality that titles from the main lines. They are actually slightly better-written on average.

Your local comic book shop has considerately wrapped Empowered in a plastic bag, so your child will not be drawn in by a colorful superhero and accidentally read a graphic scene. If you think your kid might find a memoir about internment camps upsetting, it is your job to notice them picking up They Called Us Enemy and read the blurb on the back before you let them have it. This comic adults are meant to read is in a comic book shop because that is where comics are sold. Not every public place is supposed to be Disneyland.

Movies have ratings systems. If you do not want your child to watch a PG-13 movie, you will find that most superhero cartoons are for children. They are about the same characters. Some are quite good! I really enjoyed Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. Your child may like Avengers Assemble. At least I think that’s right. I’m always mixing those titles around.

This is a deeply weird bias for Scocca to casually demonstrate, because he identifies in the article that real childishness is striving for empty maturity.

He compares an old comic,

[…]a 1966 Spider-Man comic in which Spider-Man meets, fights, and defeats the Rhino; participates in a running argument between John Jameson and J. Jonah Jameson about his heroism; buys a motorcycle; breaks up with his first girlfriend, Betty Brant; flirts with Gwen Stacy; and reluctantly agrees to let Aunt May take him to meet her friend Mrs. Watson’s niece, Mary Jane.

and a new comic,

[…]a 21st century comic book in which Thor, brooding in a Katrina-destroyed New Orleans, beats up Iron Man. He also yells at Iron Man a lot about some incomprehensibly convoluted set of grievances, including involuntary cloning, that he believes Iron Man perpetrated against him while he was dead(?), and then summons some other Norse god from the beyond somehow for reasons having something to do with real estate. I think. Where the 1966 comic is zippy and fun and complete, the whole contemporary one is muddled and lugubrious and seems to constitute a tiny piece of a seemingly endless plot arc—simultaneously apocalyptic and inert.

and concludes that the edgier comic is actually less mature. This is true. (This is not news about mediocre comics.)

It also has nothing to do with either comic being child-friendly, the article’s nominal thesis, except in the sense that ASM #41 (yes, I eyeballed that from that summary, yes I am just showing off now) is better written, making it more everyone-friendly. It also has practically more space dedicated to word balloons than art and is about a college student juggling girl problems and a part-time job with a tyrannical boss. But the immature one, as Scocca points out, is dour.

These are both teenagery issues, separated only by quality. It’s true that lots of new comics published by the big 2 are bad in the specific way Scocca describes here, taking themselves too seriously and hauled down by associated stories instead of buoyed by them. Some are not! Some titles from these companies’ main continuities are zippy, contained, and child friendly. Give your child The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl! Or if you like vintage comics so much better, why don’t you…buy some?

The books on the kid’s rack are good and fun and totally suitable for parents to read with their children without wanting to scoop their eyeballs out. Scocca cites the Batman ‘66 comics as the brightly colored, tightly written all ages solution to his problem about sharing superhero stories with his son. My local comic shop stores this title in the kid’s section. I am glad that Scocca’s does not, as he seems to have a peculiar aversion to looking for comics to read with his son there.

Scocca cites Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse as a superhero movie he could watch with his kids. (I was surprised when this line made it sound like he has several. I don’t want to assume the other one isn’t in this article because they’re a girl, but I very much am assuming that.) Great! Go to the kid’s section and look for Marvel Adventures: Spider-Man. It’s a fun, zippy title directly inspired by ITSV where Miles, Gwen, and Peter superhero together. It’s much more tightly written than most of the various Spider-Verse comics, which are ambitiously messy ubercrossovers. You may not want to give those to children because they include murder and so on, but also you just have the choice between the two as an adult reader deciding how much continuity you want to deal with. Adventures is one of the only titles I would buy on sight before corona. The kid comic rack is a reliable place to take a break from How Comics Get Sometimes regardless of how old you are.

This article makes me feel quarrelsome. Maybe it’s that it doesn’t seem like exploration of a single idea so much as a loosely grouped bundle of things to kvetch about. Maybe it’s that the experience of getting into superheroes that Scocca describes experiencing, projects his seven-year-old son will experience, and from which he extrapolates a metaphorical microcosm of the history of the genre is completely alien to me.

Comic books [and] comic-book movies—are […] trapped in their imagined audience’s own awful passage from childhood to adolescence. A seven-year-old has a clean […] appreciation of superheroes. They like hero comics because the comics have heroes: bold, strong, vividly colored good guys to fight off the bad guys and make the world safe.

But seven-year-olds stop being seven. […] They become 13-year-olds, defensively trying to learn how to develop tastes about tastes.

The 13-year-old wants many things from comics, but the overarching one is that they want to prove that they’re not some seven-year-old baby anymore. They want gloomy heroes, miserable heroes, heroes who would make a seven-year-old feel bad. (Also boobs. They want boobs.)

Not because of the boobs line, although that does illicit an eyeroll that this gloomy thinkpiece is fretting over preserving the superhero experience of little boys who resemble the little boy the writer was while casually dismissing everyone else. I was one of those unlikable little seven-year-olds with a college reading level and the impression that maintaining it was the crux of my worth. I only read Books - distinguished media you could club someone with. I have a formative memory of pausing, enraptured, in front of a poster for Spider-Man 3, preparing to say that it looked pretty cool, and being beaten to the punch by my mother making a disparaging comment about how the movie was trash. It wasn’t out yet, but it was a superhero movie. That meant it was for loud, brainless children.

That was the total of my childhood experience with superheroes, excluding being the unwilling audience to incessant renditions of “Jingle Bells, Batman Smells” that left me wondering why in god’s name Batman’s sidekick was named Robin. I certainly never visited a comic book shop. I got into TvTropes, which got me into webcomics, which got me following David Willis, who got me into Ask Chris at ComicsAlliance, which led to me rewarding myself for studying like a demon for the AP tests with three volumes of Waid’s Daredevil, pitched as a return to the character being colorful and swashbuckling. I was seven…teen.

This is of the same thread as Scocca’s point that immaturity is running from childish things. It leaves me baffled that he doesn’t follow that maturity is embracing them.

I will disclose here that while I think it was dumb I had to overcome my upbringing’s deeply embedded shame associated with enjoying arbitrarily defined lowbrow media and children being childish, I think it’s fine that I was allowed largely unchecked access to technically age-inappropriate content. In my limited experience, content small children are too young for is also content they’re too young to understand, so it kind of just bounces off of them, and what actually ends up terrorizing them is unpredictable collages of impressions that strike out at them from content deemed perfectly child-friendly. I would not forbid a seven-year-old I was in charge of from seeing an MCU movie unless I had a reason to believe that specific child would not take it well. These are emotionally low-stakes bubblegum films. It will probably be easier to socialize with other kids if they have seen them.

But then, when I picture being in charge of a hypothetical child, I usually imagine this being the case because they are related to me, and the pupal stage in my family strongly resembles Wednesday Addams. ALL children love death and violence, though, right?? This isn’t a joke point. I know it looks like a joke point.

The MCU thing seems especially weird in light of the article’s particular focus on Spider-Man, which is the kiddie line of the MCU, even if they refused to waver from their usual formula enough to get a lower rating. Though I am more inclined to describe it as “preying on the young” than “child-friendly”.

(MCU movies are increasingly dubious propaganda, but I would not judge them in front of a child who wanted to watch them for that reason, just in case this led to them partaking of them without me the second they were old enough to and then they grew up to run a blog about them while our relationship suffered because they didn’t feel like it was safe to talk to me about their interests…Mom.)

I tried to overcome the philosophy of letting anyone read anything while compiling this handful of mostly-newish superhero recs for the road that anyone can read. (Handily, I have been in spitting distance of being hired as a comic shop clerk enough to have thought about it before):

For actual children:

Marvel Adventures Spider-Man (the new one is reminiscent of ITSV, the old one is more like 616) any DC/Archie crossover, Archie’s Superteens The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl (for bookish children who think they’re too good for comics and adults afraid of the kid’s section) Teen Titans Go (even if you hate the show) Superman Smashes the Klan

For teens:

Ms. Marvel Young Avengers (volume 2) Unbelievable Gwenpool Batman: Gotham Adventures Teen Titans Go (the tie-in comic based off the old show was also called this)

Here are a bunch of relevant C. S. Lewis quotes.

[sylverstorms]

Miranda x Mia---- Eternal

A Ko-Fi commission I wrote for the wonderful @saltwatereulogies. Thank you so very much for the support and I hope you enjoy the fic!

Drip. Splatter.

The first sound you’re aware of is that of the occasional waterdrop crashing onto the same humid, uneven floor you’re lying on.

The second is the sound of her voice.

“Rise and shine.” she says, somewhere off to the side. You are still too disoriented to pinpoint exactly where.

You’re not dizzy enough, though, to not immediately realize you’re trapped. The way the light behind your captor shines makes it all the more obvious, casting large shadows in the shape of your prison bars across your small, moldy cell.

“Y-you…” you struggle to talk. Your throat is too dry and your temples pound like a war drum. It feels like you’ve collided with a truck. And yet her voice commanding you to sleep is the last thing you remember.

“I haven’t formally introduced myself. Though I’m sure your friend has told you about me.”

You blink to make your vision focus yet it’s hopeless. She is but a dark blur to you –am I hallucinating or are those wings?

“My name is Miranda.”

Suddenly, that name snaps everything into focus so sharply you could get whiplash. You’re on your knees the next second, just about ready to leap at her. She’s the one. The one Chris warned you about. She may look like an angel but she is a devil.

“I don’t care who the hell you are! What do you want from me?!” you demand.

“Your cooperation in my experiments, for starters.” she says it calmly, but she is no fool to believe you’ll just agree to that, you can see it in her crystal-blue eyes.

“Ha! As if!” you retort.

“Well. That answer will change when I have Rose.” The name of your daughter makes every nerve ending in your body kick at once.

“What. Like Ethan will just hand her over to the likes of you?”

“Actually.”

A slow smirk crosses her full lips. Then their shape changes to match yours. All of her does, until you are left looking at a perfect mirror of yourself. Only, there’s no way you look quite that good inside of this shitty cell.

“He’ll hand her over to you.”

When she laughs, it is your own voice haunting your ears.

-

-

She has your daughter. She has your everything in her hands. So, she has your cooperation, as well.

Miranda doesn’t really talk when she comes to collect blood samples for whatever experiments she needs them. Your initial cries and questions were muted the second she told you the more helpful and less annoying you are, the more inclined she’ll feel to bring Rose to you for a while.

In the end, you do let yourself be her docile little lab rat.

Until you literally can’t take the silence anymore.

“Was it really… that easy?” ‘To enter my home and take my daughter’ you want to add but you can’t even get the words past your throat.

She seems to understand, though. “Effortless.” she isn’t being cocky as she says it. In fact, she seems almost surprised herself. At least, from the angle you get of her face, while she’s studying a strange rock-like substance under a microscope.

“How the hell did Ethan not figure out you aren’t me?!” That moron. He just gave your daughter to her. That clueless moron!

For a split second, you see her lip twitch in what could, perhaps, be a withheld smile. “I was there for a day, so. Seems like your husband doesn’t know you quite that well.”

Is it really fair to blame him for not knowing you, though? With the secrets you’ve kept from him? The distance? The trauma from the shared nightmare you experienced coming back to you every time you even looked at him?

God, Rose really is the only thing that kept you together, isn’t she…

It’s easy to hate the accursedly beautiful bitch outside your cell. It’s easy to blame Ethan for not even suspecting something was amiss with you for a whole damn day.

It is not so easy to blame yourself as much as you do them.

-

-

Miranda replies when you ask her things, so you ask her about herself. To your surprise, she does not shroud her motives from you.

She has lost her daughter, she tells you, and the only way to get her back is through yours. For the first time since you met her, you see emotion clearly expressed in her eyes and voice. You recognize how she longs to be with her child again.

You can understand the never-ending grief of a mother losing her offspring. You know if anything happened to Rose you would rather fling yourself off a cliff than live a life without her.

And apparently, that is what she tried to do, too. She tried to die –and discovered life instead. That is what she calls it, anyway. All you can hear as she explains is that she found –and founded— the Mold. The same one that ruined your husband and you.

One more reason to hate the psycho witch.

And yet.

When you try to reach for the rage you previously held for her, you find that it’s gone. You’re bitter, you’re exhausted, you want to cry and above everything you want to see Rose again. But you don’t loathe her as you should.

“What do you mean… the only way to get Eva back is through Rose?” you dare ask after several minutes of silence.

She turns to look at you, eyes as piercing as they are blue. “Technically, the trade is simple.” Maybe you’re losing it from the stress and lack of sleep, but you think she almost hesitates for a second. “…a life for a life.”

As soon as she speaks and the meaning of her words registers in your mind, you’re gripping at the rusty iron bars with all your might, rattling them, shouting profanities at her. You are back to hating her all over again. It’s much simpler this way.

Until… she walks over and grabs your hand over the metal. Her touch is oddly warm for such a glacial heart. You cannot tell what she does to you, but it feels like an aura flowing through your system that silences you. Calms you. You do not want to be calm.

“I wasn’t finished.” she speaks. “That is where the experiments with you come in. By running tests on your blood and Rose’s and using my DNA as a medium, during the ritual I can trick the Megamycete into giving me what I want through a form of mitosis. Essentially, cell duplication that will not override the existing vessel.”

To be honest… you lost her midway through the very first sentence. You were quite good with biology back in the day but right now, in the state you’re in, science is going right over your head.

“...Is there an English version of that.” you ask.

Her mouth curves into that almost-smile again. It would be quite gorgeous, actually, if she hadn’t kidnapped you, infiltrated your home as you and abducted your daughter.

“If the tests succeed, you get your daughter back, I get mine from cloned DNA and Mold cells.” There’s a hint of pride in her voice as she says it.

And now, assuming she’s telling the truth, you want those tests to succeed more than you want to get out of here. Her hand leaves yours and the weird calm she blasted into you dissipates with it.

“Wait. So…” Realization strikes you like a thunderclap. “So these tests are for me?”

“You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t say thank you, you crazy b—blonde.” You rattle the iron bars again, a tad weaker than before. She does smirk over the microscope, this time. “How likely are the tests to succeed?” you ask impatiently.

“Quite.” she replies, flat once again.

“…And if they don’t?” you hate how your voice shakes there, at the end.

She looks at you, dead in the eyes, as she answers: “I am getting my daughter back either way, Mia.”

You can’t believe it. You cannot believe you’re thinking this, but you hope the crazy bitch knows what she’s doing.

-

-

Miranda is… despicable, but she is a woman of her word.

She brings you Rose for hours at a time and in exchange you help her outside of your cell. You thought your daughter would be in a worse condition, considering who keeps her, yet she’s healthy as ever, well-fed and clean. The worst part is, she laughs every time Miranda comes close and she even reaches out for her.

“No, my darling, don’t do that.” you tell her, tucking her tighter in your arms, before the woman behind you notices what’s happening.

Except it’s too late. “Ah, I see.” Miranda speaks, coming up to you from behind. She’s tall enough to lean over your shoulder and wave at Rose, who moves both hands towards her. “A lady of taste.” the woman praises and the lightness to her voice almost makes her sound like someone else. Someone normal.

“Stop it.” You turn your child away from her. “She’s just confused because you’re lit up like a Christmas tree.” You motion with your chin at her getup.

Miranda chuckles. “What. She senses our bond. Rose feels safe with me.”

Safe with the monster who wants to sacrifice her to get her own child back. You cannot swallow that thought down. “But she’s not, is she?!” you snap.

“She is.” Miranda reverts to her cool facade, glancing down at your daughter. “I will never let anything hurt her. And when she gives me Eva back, I will make sure she grows up bathed in luxury.”

It’s the Mold, you’re sure of it.

It’s the Mold’s fault that you believe her.

-

-

You were supposed to see Rose today. Instead, Miranda comes into the cave alone, looking irritated. You start to worry. Nothing phases her without a good reason. What if—

“Where’s my daughter?!” you demand, eyes wide.

“We have a problem.” she tells you. Your blood goes cold in your veins. “A problem named Ethan Winters.”

“Ethan?” you gasp.

“He is trying to get Rose back and according to reports from the Lords under me, he cannot be killed. His hand got cut off and he just reattached it. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” she’s certain that you know. You can see it in her steely eyes.

“I— why would I—”

“Before you think to lie to me, hear something else. I bear good news, as well.” Miranda says. “I have succeeded in my experiments. During the ritual, I can guarantee Rose will remain unharmed and unchanged.” the edge of her lip curls up as she delivers the news. You almost cry from the sheer relief.

You almost leap forward and hug her, yet you remember who she is and that she caused this mess in the first place.

“But my conditions have changed.” her voice is a sword that cuts off your happiness just like that. You knew it was too good to be true. “For me to save Rose, you will tell me how to permanently get rid of Ethan Winters.”

…What?

She wants you to… trade your daughter for your husband? How the hell can I do that?!

“He has ruined too much for me to let him walk away happily now.” Her jaw is tight enough to sprout new lines on her flawless face. She wants him dead and she always gets what she wants. “He has killed colleagues of mine. Spat in the face of a damn-near god. I will have his head.”

The corners of your eyes sting with welling tears. Your body is far more honest than you in making a decision. Nobody is too important to sacrifice when it comes to your daughter. Not yourself. Not Ethan. And Miranda knows this better than anybody else. You loathe how she knows.

“Give him to me, Mia. And in a few days this whole thing will be over.” she continues in a significantly softer tone, getting closer to you. Her wings shift, the very edge of black feathers brushing your arms.

“You want me to aid in killing the father of my child?!” you sob, grabbing at her clothes. You’d expect her to shove you away, but she doesn’t move. She doesn’t even blink.

“You have been so cooperative and so brave.” she soothes, gold-taloned fingers coming underneath your chin. “Make one last sacrifice for me. Help me murder Ethan so Rose can live. Help me and I vow to be her eternal guardian angel. Hers and yours.”

She could just force the answer out of you. She’s touching you and you know she has that power. But she doesn’t do it and it’s far worse this way. She wants it to be your choice.

You look away from Miranda’s icy eyes and her promises of everything.

And you tell her.

-

-

You do not ask about Ethan. All that’s in your mind is the ceremony.

For the entire morning, you cannot breathe. You trace notes in her lab and pace around until you literally feel like you’ll explode—

And then Miranda comes in. She is radiant, smiling from ear to ear, glowing with pure joy. She looks every part the goddess she pretends to be. The golden circle usually adorning her back is gone, her long blonde hair is left free to flow like fine strands of silk past her square shoulders.

“It is done!” she tells you, a hand extended for you to take. “Come. I’ll take you to Rose and you will be the first to meet Eva.”

Her hand is warm when it closes around yours. Black wings shroud you both. There is a gravitational pull around you that’s so intense you shut your eyes and grab onto her biceps for dear life.

“You can look, now.” she speaks once the world is stable again. Your gut is churning, yet every bit of exhaustion and discomfort vanish the second you see Rose. She is safe within the first of the two golden cribs in front of you, bathed by the soft sunlight that disperses across the luxurious, dark-tiled chamber you’re in.

You run towards her, lifting your daughter in your arms and kissing her forehead over and over. She laughs at you, blue eyes crinkled. My love. My everything, you think. Everything was worth it for this moment. And you would do it all again, to ensure her safety.

Miranda’s steps, regal and authoritative, come to a stop near the other crib. You lean closer, take a look… to see another little angel there, sleeping peacefully. She resembles Rose, yet she resembles Miranda, too.

“Oh my God.” you breathe. “You really did it.”

“I did it and you and Rose made it possible, Mia.” she says. Your child extends a tiny hand towards her. She removes one of her claws and lets her finger be taken in your baby’s grip. “You don’t have to leave. She loves me already.” A proud smile curves her lips.

You hate how it looks like a sunrise.

You hate it even more that you understand why Rose is so charmed.

“Her mom can grow to love me, too.” Crystal eyes look into your own. “There is no place safer than by my side. Stay and we will raise them together. You won’t have to fear disease or death with me. You and Rose will have every little thing you could ever want. Forever.”

You don’t want your child to be co-patented by this selfish megalomaniac, who is the killer of her father. But. Then you stop to consider what you have been through until now. Nightmare after nightmare; this vicious cycle does not look like it will be broken. One thing or another will haunt you and hunt you wherever you go. You don’t want that life for Rose.

You won’t accept that life for Rose.

“…we will stay. But you can forget that part about me growing any fonder of you than I am now.”

Miranda nods, but something in her expression is so damn cocky you want to smack her. “Oh, what’s that, Rose? You can tell your mother is lying, too? My genius girl.”

Your jaw drops. She is my genius girl!

Miranda then touches your chin and tilts it up. You don’t want to be any closer to the gorgeous fucking witch, but when she stops there, hovering just over your mouth for a skipped heartbeat, looking down at you with those crystalline eyes of hers, you’re paralyzed.

Her lips slide over your own for just one slick, hot second. When she pulls back, she caresses Rose’s cheek and winks at you.

“I hate you.” you say, yet it holds no real bite. God, you’re exhausted.

“That’s alright. We have all the time in the world to change that.”

[boldbrash-fandertrash]

Ignore me, unless I’m right in which case I fucking called it

So I was rewatching the episode for the fourth time and one I realized that Remus is much much smarter than we give him credit for and two I can generally predict how the rest of the story is gonna go.

We’re gonna have another aside video with Patton and Janus before the big season finale, and that aside is going to be one of the most important videos to the general progression of the plot.

I’m sure you’ve noticed the pattern so far, two sides who diametrically oppose each other being forced to work together on a problem they vastly disagree about, usually turning the small issue into something much messier than it ever would be and them learning something about themselves in the process.

Each pairing exists to point out to the viewer exactly what issues exist with each side that need some form of resolving, and the big unifying theme amongst them is “you’re not listening to me”. Roman and Virgil dragging Thomas across the cafeteria in favor of or agains him talking to Nico, Logan and Remus deliberately ignoring and working to undo the others work in an attempt to break Thomas out of the depressive funk he found himself in. Nobody is working together here. The only side to even remotely cooperate with the group was Virgil body checking Thomas into Nico, and it took him and Roman bullying each other and Thomas for an entire video to even get to that point.

Watching Logan and Remus interact, one, brought me immense joy and I will be chasing that high for weeks to come, and two, after an ounce of critical thinking was frankly painful to watch. Any critiques Logan offered to Remus were immediately discarded with absurdity and any critiques Remus offered to Logan were discounted as absurd.

During the obvious scene at the end with the Eyes™️, Logan claimed he wasn’t pretending Remus didn’t exist, but honestly, he kinda was.

The Dunce Cap Scene really accentuates this point. Logan pulls a holier than thou, why won’t you learn I’m always right, bullshit passive aggressive remark, Remus does his dramatic repenting student shtick, starts singing directly into Logan’s ear, and makes a kink joke. Literally the words Remus sings are “can’t fix this guy, all by yourself”. Remus is saying this inches from Logan’s personal face and even still the logical side ignores him outright, because of all the fluff around the message. Hell, in Remus’s introduction video, Logan likens him to a screaming baby on a plane, essentially saying “well eventually he’ll stop screaming so just bear with it for a while and you’ll be fine”. He’s ignoring Remus outright due to a preconceived notion and missing out on valuable information because of it.

The dunce cap scene indirectly calls back to learning new things about ourselves, where Logan is completely unreceptive to the puppet bit because of its perceived absurdity and absolutely refuses to acknowledge any potential the medium might have for learning until he physically cannot anymore.

Remus is capable of, and does often, make valid points and offers genuine critiques of shit happening in their lives. In Forbidden Fruit, almost every single line harkens back to some idea the other sides had been trying, and failing, to communicate to Thomas. “Good and bad is all made up nonsense”, “if you shared those musings with your friends i doubt they would forgive you”, “why deny yourself knowledge, say, knowledge of yourself” “people don’t like me much, Thomas, but that only just cause I’m honest”, “these sorts of things are only thought in the mind of a man who’s soul is truly rotten.”

Despite all of this, he is ignored outright because of his medium. Just like Logan is ignored due to his monotone cadence and large volume of content, just like Roman is due to his flair for the dramatic and artistic display of ideas, just like Patton is due to his playful and childlike nature, just like Janus is due to his perceived role as the Villain, just like Virgil /was/ due to his perceived role as the villain.

They all have become accustomed to being stepped on by the other sides because of who they are and how they communicate, and have in turn learned some less than ideal methods of being heard again. Logan yells and gets passive aggressive, Remus ups the fear factor for everyone around him, Roman shuts down anyone who tries to talk through bullying and raising his voice, Patton manipulates the others into feeling guilt and covers it up with a smile, Virgil whips out the tempest tongue and incites fear in Thomas, and Janus physically silences anyone in his way.

And here’s why I say the next asides episode is going to be the most important one developmentally. Patton and Janus are going to be forced to work together. Patton, who is in the midst of an identity crisis, and willing to listen to any new ideas provided they offer a valid solution to the shit he’s found himself in, and Janus, who knows a lot more than he’s willing to let on, who concerns himself exclusively with Thomas’s self preservation, and loves to talk when given the opportunity. Janus is gonna have a thing or two to say to Patton when they’re inevitably faced with their moral dilemma, and Patton is going to be in just the right mindset that he’s willing to listen. And Janus is going to end up being right, and the small issue they’re facing will be resolved, which will therefore strengthen Patton’s trust, and his openness to changing for the better.

Patton is goofy, and childish, and kinda ditzy sometimes, and because of that we as a fandom tend to overlook any of his moments that are anything but that, but we are not giving this man enough credit. When Patton sets his heart on something, he throws his whole self into it, and is willing to stand up for his beliefs in the face of extreme opposition, and would gladly do anything in his power to defend his family. Once Patton decides that he’s willing to grow, and if he believes that this growth will help put his family back together, nothing can stop him, and that will be absolutely crucial for the growth of all the other sides around him.

Whatever him and Janus discuss during their aside will absolutely give Patton the information he needs to help stitch together the rift between everyone.

I predict the next official Sanders Sides video is going to be the longest one yet, possibly over an hour long, because there’s a LOT of work that is going to need to be done, and Everyone is going to be in it. The big issue of “you’re not listening to me” won’t be resolved, but it will be acknowledged in a serious light by everyone. We won’t be getting any appearances from the Orange Side I don’t think, that would end up just complicating matters even more when each character is already incredibly shaky in their own identity.

Something less than ideal is gonna happen between Thomas and Nico, he’s gonna summon the initial three to deal with the matter but the other lads are gonna worm their way into the discussion, everyone’s gonna start screaming at each other, and Pattons gonna do something that stuns everyone else into silence (I’m guessing he’ll start crying, considering the start of season two was all about him repressing negative emotions and what better way to show character growth than to sob openly on camera).

Once everyone just fucking stops for ten seconds that’s when the apologies start. None of the sides are ever the first to apologize, we’ve seen that time and time again. Their desire to be in the right as well as their pride will always get in the way, however if someone starts the apology train everyone will eventually follow suit. We see that in Alone On Valentines Day, My Negative Thinking, Growing Up, Accepting Anxiety, Fitting In, Moving On, actually in pretty much every video where an apology actually takes place, once one person apologizes the other will immediately follow suit.

Patton is gonna be a goddamn mess, he’s gonna apologize to everyone in the room for anything he thinks he may have done to wrong them, and that’s gonna be what gets everyone to acknowledge all the shit they’ve put each other through, and the others are going to jump between trying to console him and trying to apologize to each other. They’re going to come to the unified decision that they need to work together more on future issues, the group is all going to offer up a solution and decide together on a remedy to whatever happened together between Thomas and Nico, and that will be that. Season three will be about them finding the balance between stepping on toes and being stepped over, while also working out how the orange side fits into everything.

Thus marking the end of my rant.

I started writing this at 2 and it’s now 4. I have to be up in three hours. I have an essay due at 3pm tomorrow that I haven’t started, but instead I typed up all this bullshit. I hope any of this made any sense, and I hope this is a suitable replacement for my emotions essay that’s completely untouched because chances are this is what I’m presenting to my therapist tomorrow. Wish me luck.

[tales-unique]

FAITH, LOST  III

I gave myself a small case of blue balls with this chapter, I apologize! It gets a little, ahem, spicy. ❤️

Edit: @chelseareferenced forgot to tag my boo! Sorry love!

Chapter 3

Lords grant you mercy you were going to kill him if he didn’t let you out. Heisenberg had, quite quickly, established a set of ground rules that you were to adhere to at all times when in the Factory, the most notable being that you weren’t to leave the upper floors without him under any circumstances. This, of course, left you alone for the majority of your time there since he never allowed you to aid him in his work.

You’ll just get in my way — he’d sneer at you, patting your head in a condescending manner. Not to mention the Lycans have a preference for young, supple devotees — he would tease you, wiggling his gloved fingers at you from inside in the elevator, chuckling to himself as he descended into the bowels of the factory to continue his projects. You had no idea what he was creating down there, but you knew that it often didn’t work out as planned from the way he’d fume when he returned. Once again you have been left to your own devices, only this time you have a way to alleviate at least some of your boredom. With a huff of effort you slide to the floor and crawl over to an old vent duct in the wall. It had caught your attention one night when the echoing of his voice through the shaft had woken you up, realizing that one of his work rooms below you was connected to yours via this duct. Though it provided you with minimal entertainment, it did give you insight to the type of work he did. Experiments; this was where he made the Lycans and the other twisted creatures that roamed his Factory. One night, against your better judgement, you had read an extract from an open journal on his desk when trying to make yourself useful. It mentioned something called Soldats and an army he was trying to create. You were lucky that you had moved away from it to straighten his sheets, otherwise he would have caught you red handed. Not that he was happy to have you in his space at all. “Fuck!” The loud cursing pulls you back to reality and you peer down the shaft expectantly, gripping the grate that covers it as you listen to Heisenberg rant about his latest creation being a failure. He had a tendency to speak out loud, likely recording his findings. The echo of his boots thudding against the metal floor betrays his movements and you follow it along the floor until you can’t hear it anymore. It means one of two things; either he’s leaving the Factory altogether or he’s coming back up. Quickly, you get to your feet and smooth down your clothes; a pair of simple trousers and a tunic top. You’d managed to scrounge up the modest outfit with the help of the ever amicable and charming Duke after a rather abrupt introduction from Heisenberg. Begrudgingly he allowed you to pick whatever you deemed necessary, and even a few luxuries like a fancy hand mirror, even though he complained that you were going to bankrupt him. It didn’t stop him lingering nearby, supervising the exchange through the puffs of cigar smoke. It was on your return to the upper levels, Heisenberg fancying the stairs instead of the elevator this time, that you’d properly come into contact with the Lycans. You weren’t sure what possessed him to give you a glimpse of inner workings of his Factory. Maybe it was another cheap shot at frightening you, or maybe it was pride that drove him to parade his creations before you. Needless to say, they did scare you. The lower reaches of the Factory was their domain and as you followed Heisenberg closely, his one clear instruction, you couldn’t help but feel their eyes watching you from afar. They snarled and growled and howled at your intrusion, sniffing the air curiously. It was rare for their Master to bring something new to their den and not let them tear it limb from limb. You were quick to beg him to take you back to the relative safety of the upper floors, which he did so with immense satisfaction and shit-eating grin on his face. The sound of the elevator dings and you come to stand in the doorway, watching him stalk out as soon as the gate opens, muttering heatedly to himself. In typical Heisenberg fashion he stalks right past you and into his office without so much as a grunt of acknowledgment. Clearly someone was having a bad day. Steeling yourself, you pad gently to his office door and find that he’s left it open for once. A good sign. Usually if his mood is dangerously sour the door is slammed shut and you avoid him like the plague until he makes himself known, but that isn’t necessary this time. “Is everything alright?” You ask from the threshold, careful not to enter until you’re invited. Like the ever faithful woman you are you try to serve him as best you can, even if he does make it very difficult at times. Heisenberg sits in his metal chair, leaning back. His stance is exasperated, but the tight grip on the shot of liquor in his hand is angry. His hat and coat have been discarded on his bed, his glasses sit on the desk, and you see blood on his knuckles. Upon closer inspection you see the trails of splatter on his exposed forearms, his shirt sleeves having been rolled up while he was working no doubt. “Yeah,” he breathes, raising the glass in a mock toast, “I’m just dandy.” He is definitely not dandy. Toying with the prospect of overstepping the mark or remaining respectful to his status, you rock on the balls of your feet. On one hand he always seemed so annoyed when you’d remind him that you were there to serve him, as Mother Miranda had instructed, but on the other he often chastised you if you tried to take the initiative; frankly, the constant push and pull drove you mad. “Heisenberg,” you chide quietly, approaching him cautiously. He hated it when you called him my Lord, or even sir, heatedly telling you to just call him by his surname like everyone else did. You obeyed, accepting it as the happy medium. Vibrant green eyes watch you closely as you settle for leaning against the desk, careful not to disturb the organized chaos that was his research. It’s still a work in progress, the way you navigate around one another, but you’re slowly making progress. “You can talk to me, you know,” you remind him, trying to remain resolute under his intense stare. There’s no denying that his rugged appearance, scars and all, are attractive and his more wolfish qualities gave him a uniqueness that was equal parts exciting and intimidating. You swallow nervously at the notion that you may be growing a little too comfortable in your thoughts of Lord Heisenberg. “Is that right?” He hums, knocking back the shot in one. He sets the glass down slowly on the desk, lulling you into a false sense of security that you had no business having in that place. In an instant he’s up on his feet and towering over you, hands braced on either side of you. You stiffen at the sudden closeness, looking up at him with a startled expression; he always gets a kick out of scaring you. “And just what would we talk about?” Comes his veiled question, shrouded in feigned innocence, asked in a voice like sin. You can practically feel the static in the air, the room electrified. He’s trying to tempt you, to trip you up so you’ll fall into his trap and make a fool of yourself. It’s a game he likes to play. That little hummingbird caged within you is in full flight when he runs a clawed finger gently down your cheek, the threat of him slipping and slicing your flesh too real to ignore. Oh, how he finds your fear so tantalizing. Your lips part in a shaky exhale, chest tight with the onset of emotions you’d really not want to be unpacking right now. The metal edge of his desk digs into the back of your thighs, boxed in by his large frame. This close you can feel the heat that emanates from him, a consistent wave, that mingles with the scent of oil, leather, and something wholly him. It leaves you reeling, panicked by the unsettling notion that you like it. You’re losing the game so early on and he knows it, even though it was rigged from the start to be in his favour. Just at the point when you’re about to crumble, your body yearning for that delectable touch to trail just that little bit lower, Heisenberg cuts you off. It’s cold and efficient, with all the precision you’d expect from someone of his talents. With a low, downright sinful chuckle he takes a step back, leaving you a wide-eyed, wanton mess. He’s won and you just let him do it. Colour burns shamefully on your cheeks and you’re quick to scamper away to hide in your room, proverbial tail between your legs. You’re furious that you made things so easy for him to play you, and play you he did. Utter fool. Little did you know that the fourth, and most dangerous, Lord had played himself for a fool too.