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destinyimage · 4 months

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He Died & Saw Hitler in Hell

Bryan Melvin, a self-described militant atheist, died after contracting cholera from drinking contaminated water at a construction site.

In this excerpt, Bryan talks about his time in Heaven and hell, especially focusing on the ongoing experiences of the people he saw who had been condemned to hell. He saw abusers, killers, and even a preacher. However, the most notable person Bryan saw is one of the most reviled men in all of history, Adolf Hitler.

After his death, he was given permission by Jesus to use his name and title. From there, he was sent to a place infested with demonic creatures…

I went through the doorway and was cast into a tunnel-like vortex moving toward a yellowish dim light, a different type of light.

I fell out of the sky and bounced on the ground. I stood up and thought I must be in hell. I remember when I was a kid, everyone talked about hell having fire and brimstone, devils, and the guy wearing tights with the pitchfork and wings and stuff. There was none of that.

I was sitting on a hill and there was a little valley with a house on the other side of it. Everything was brownish and dead-looking because it was so hot. The house was oddly like the house that I used to live in with my parents back in Virginia, but not quite; there was a difference. There was a dilapidated tree in the wrong place in the yard. It was where our driveway would have been. It was not the same house, but it was. I saw all that and then all these people came out of the house. Then more people came up out of the valley. It looked to me like they were coming to welcome me to paradise, slapping me on the back and everything. However, things just did not feel right.

I kept thinking that some of these people could not really be here because they were not dead. The people began to morph into other creatures right in front of me, trying to distract me. One even tried to appear as my mom, and I said, “You are not my mom. My mom’s not dead. You are not dead.” Then they all changed. I could see that their eyes were like alligator eyes with yellow irises. And suddenly I could see what they really looked like. That was when they all surrounded me and I started saying Jesus’s name and title nonstop. I had permission. He gave me permission to say His name and title. That is the first thing that people need to realize.

He gave me permission to say His name in this place. When I said His name, they could not grab hold of me. They could not bite me, but they could push me and touch me. Being poked and prodded by these creatures was an odd sensation. The good news is that they were unable to do what they had originally been planning to do. One creature came forward out of the crowd, who I nicknamed lizard breath. In fact, I found a statue of this creature that was made near Loveland, Colorado. I saw it from a distance and told my brother-in-law, “That looks like the creature I saw.” It is the best representation I ever saw of lizard breath.

So we walked over to it. It had a dinosaur or alligator-like tail, like it was reptilian, but his mouth was bigger. I could not tell you how many eyes he had because his breath was so foul that it would distort his face. He took me and he said, “Come, follow me, and I will give you half of my kingdom.” Let me go back to the statue really quick. When I saw the statue, it was opening day for this place. This statue was in the African art section and it said this is the traveler who escorts people into the underworld. Talk about creepy. This was a total Twilight Zone moment for me.

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I started following him and we took a few steps towards the horizon. He stuck his hands into the horizon and ripped it open. He stepped up and out of this place and motioned for me to come. I did not know what to do, so I just followed him, because I did not want to stay there with those creatures. I came out of a cube or a cell and was standing on a wide dusty road. The Bible talks about chambers of death and it describes hell as a pit with a dungeon and cells. I was seeing the pit of hell but at the time I did not fully grasp what I was seeing. I was scared, but at the same time I also knew I deserved this place. I wanted to wake up but could not.

So I was standing there trying to process all of this and all I could do was follow this creature. He started pointing toward the road and all the things that were going on. I could see tornado vortexes dropping people off into the cells just like I had been. I also saw this wide dusty road with these gaggles of hideous-looking creatures. These demonic entities were escorting people along this road and delivering them to these cells. It was extremely hot, dry, and dusty. As Bill Wiese says, “It is so hot, your eyeballs are going to melt out of their sockets.” The dirt of the place felt like I was walking on rotted flesh, but it was dusty. Very strange. I could see hot glowing rocks in various places and I could hear a roar of flame too. It all stank. It smelled so bad I could taste it.

I kept following this creature and he took me to the center of the road to a circular pit. The best way I can describe it would be a spiral staircase. The bricks were the cells and the cells were stacked six high and layered as a bricklayer does in a circle. Behind the first few cells, it opened into little V-shaped formations and little rooms the farther it went back. We walked over there and when I looked down, I saw a bottomless pit that went as far as I could see.

The creature told me this was a grand place. He motioned to me and I followed him back toward the cubes. When we got back over to the cubes, all I could do was just stare. We looked inside two of these cubes and I could see people inside of these cells. Somehow I was instantly granted knowledge of their life history. I knew how and when they got there.

I could see what was going on in the cell from my perspective, but I also could see from the perspective of the person inside the cell and what they were experiencing. This is exceedingly difficult to explain, but I could see it from both perspectives at the same time. So I was looking at this stuff transpiring and the people were experiencing just degrees of recompense just like the Bible says, payback for how they gamed the system, gamed God, and made life ugly. It all comes back to you. You are dwelling in a never-ending nightmare. That is what these people were experiencing and I saw a lot of people.

There was a professor writing on a blackboard. He had corrupted youth with his ideas. He never thought that there would be any payback for what he was teaching.

I walked to another cell and saw a minister who was not really a minister. He was looking to have his way with the young girls and ladies. He died during the Cane Patch Revival. As he sat inside his cell, he thought he was at a revival meeting, but nobody paid attention to him. The room was not filled with people; there were demons sitting on the chairs. All the props, including the chairs, were demons. When they got up and chased him out, they began beating him with a big black book. He thought he could run, but the inside of these cells were small. As he ran, the scenery would change, but I could see what was going on. It was like he was running on a treadmill, like what you saw inside the holodeck on Star Trek: The Next Generation. He was running and suddenly an entity came down through the roof of this place. He had cloven hooves with talons. He put his talons on the man’s chest and laughed as he crushed the life out of him. Then it would begin all over again. Another scene would change and he continued reaping what he had sown.

To make a long story short, we came to a row of cells and I saw some Nazis, people who had committed horrible atrocities, and they were experiencing being shot and killed. I saw the man who was known as the blonde butcher. He orchestrated and laid the foundation for the final solution. He was killed in Czechoslovakia in 1942.

I walked to another place and there were all these entities around and I stopped and looked inside this one cell that looked like the inside of a furnace. Inside I saw Adolf Hitler. You could not mistake him. People do not realize the depth of the vile hatred that he had and how much he was involved in the occult. His powers of deception were acquired through Luciferianism, a religion practiced by the ancient Nordic pagans.

He was being gassed and cremated repeatedly. His flesh would be consumed, burned off by the flames, and then come back. I cannot explain it. He was feeling the pain, yet he was also getting violently angry.

He was going through that same destruction that he put so many Jewish people through!

I saw him experiencing the flames of the furnace, but I knew intuitively that he also experienced the gas chambers. He experienced being stripped. He experienced being raped. He experienced being buried alive. He endured all the atrocities that he put the Jewish people through.

It was unmistakably Hitler. He had his little mustache and everything. He looked like a picture I had seen of him from about 1945, where he was pinching some German kid soldier on the cheek. That guy survived the war and talked about that. He looked like that, but he was bent over. Some people say that he might have had Parkinson’s, or Parkinson’s that was induced by the drugs that he was being given. He was a drug addict. People do not know it, but it has come out that Dr. Morell gave him shots and some synthetic form of methamphetamine.

I followed the creature down several more levels. Each level we went down, the more the torments increased. Eventually, we came to a cell that was open and looked like it had a dentist’s chair in it. This was how it was all supposed to end for me. This is where my cell would have been. Somehow I just knew that. This cell was a little larger than the other ones and it was open, meaning that the whole host of hell could come in and torment me. I realized that when the creature had said, “I offer you half of my kingdom,” he was offering for half of the kingdom of hell to torment me. I was at my wits’ end. This was the end and this was where I belonged. This was where I was going to spend my eternity. I understood that this was what I deserved. I had lost all hope. I wanted to wake up but could not.

Suddenly I felt a presence coming in behind me. As it got closer all of the entities scurried out of there and left. The ground was shaking and rocking with each footstep. At the moment I lost all hope, the presence came up behind me.

Bryan Melvin’s testimony doesn’t stop there!

To hear more of Bryan’s experience and his return, read the rest…

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

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Still Clean

CW: Referenced noncon and incredibly fucky attitudes/beliefs around spice and his own body from an abuse and assault survivor still very much normalizing it, minor attempting to initiate spice with adult due to trauma (adult reacts with a Big No), trauma response

TIMELINE: Chris’s first few days in the shelter, before he picks his name. I would say this is actually shortly after the first time he speaks to Jake.

The first shower is… different.

Baldur has taken showers before, of course. At Sir's, although mostly he had baths, soaking in the big old claw foot rub with Sir's fingers gently circling his scalp to lather up shampoo he'd ordered to bring Baldur's hair to a high shine, make it soft to touch.

H had showers in the big room at training, frantically scrubbing cheap soap into his scalp and skin, hoping if he moved fast enough he wouldn’t catch anyone’s eye. He's showered with other trainees who kept their gaze down, just like him, or handlers who would stare.

If you were lucky, all they did was stare.

223499 was pretty, they all said so. Too pretty. He knew what that meant. So he got clean as fast as he could, and it didn’t really matter, because nobody ever stays clean in training.

This, though, this is different.

For the first time in his whole memory, he’s going to take a shower alone.

The boy makes his careful way out from underneath the bed while everyone else is downstairs. He listens, at the doorway to the room he is in, head tilted. The sound of silverware scraping on plates, people talking over each other but not angrily, just… talking. Someone laughs, and then everyone laughs.

The boy swallows against a sharpness, like a bit of glass has lodged just over his heart. He would have liked to do that, he thinks. He would have liked to belong to someone who laughs, not at him, like Sir, but because something is funny without hurting anyone.

His neck is itching - they cut his collar off, and he feels naked without it, even in the big shirt they've given him to wear over the tight, soft black pants the woman who found him helped him put on in her car, in the rain. He hasn't taken them off yet. They feel like his trainee shorts. They feel like home.

While they are downstairs, he tiptoes out into the hall, wincing at the slightest little creaks of old wood beneath bare feet. His stomach gnaws on itself, empty and aching for something, but he won't leave the safety of the space behind the bed, not yet. Have to wait.

Wait for what?

He doesn't know.

Still, he knows that he smells - like sweat, a pungent sharp odor that he is sure must bother the other one who sleeps in the room, although the other one never says it. He knows.

He's only been dirty like this once, in memories he is almost too terrified to hold onto. Locked in the white room alone - alone and alone and alone- until he was screaming for someone to come in and help him, talk to him, touch him, do whatever they wanted if he could just stop being alone-

The boy's fingers slip up under the hem of his shirt as he creeps along, finding the warmth of his abdomen, twisting his fingers and tapping them. The soft soothe of controlled sensation calms the way his heart wants to race.

No more white rooms. The woman said that, to him - no more white rooms.

His eyes dart back and forth. The pills have worn off, and it's been so long since he could see with all his thoughts that he sees everything now, in a rush of detail he can't quite grasp onto.

He can see the pattern of the woodgrain in the floor and the way the old walls are painted with a heavy matte paint and photos hung there of the woman and the younger man and some people the boy hasn't seen. He is aware of a room that he passes and all the detail of the two beds inside - where the two girls sleep, the ones who he has only seen once in a brief glimpse. He knows their voices, though. They're laughing downstairs.

Another room, where the man, the one who might own him now, sleeps at night. Messy, a room that looks comfortable. It smells like the cologne the man wears. Baldur likes his cologne, a little too strong but it smells, to him, like something good. He sees the little hook to pull down a ladder to where the owner of everyone here sleeps in the attic and he sees the bathroom door has peeling paint over older, darker paint and he sees the towels are worn but fluffy hanging inside and-

And he is in the bathroom.

In training there were no baths, only showers. At Sir's, the shower was on one side of the bathroom and the old clawfoot tub on the other. Here, the bathtub and shower are the same, set into a notch in the wall. The shower curtain has dinosaurs on it and the boy hums, letting his fingertips reach out to slowly run down the silky plastic.

Tyrannosaurus rex. Stegosaurus. Triceratops…

He knows which is which, the knowledge dances around inside him, but he doesn't know why he knows it. He had a favorite dinosaur, once. He thinks.

He can almost see bookshelves full of dinosaur things, little plastic figurines that he could run his fingers over and feel the rough texture of their scales and skin built into the plastic. Tiny white-pain teeth there felt sharp if he pushed his little fingers into them, pretended the dinosaur would bite him.

Line them up by height, from tall long-necked to tiny little runners.

Dinosaurs are birds, now. But crocodiles… crocodiles and alligators haven't changed in millions of years, because they're already perfect, a voice murmurs, somewhere inside. Flush with excitement. A man's voice, maybe. Do you see? They didn't evolve more because they're absolutely perfect. We just don't get them, so we think they’re ugly, but we don’t know what ugly is, do we?

He winces, at the headache that rocks through him on the heels of the man's voice. It slips beneath the surface and the buzz of other thoughts takes over.

The boy doesn’t remember bookshelves anymore - or anything at all.

False memories are a common result of proprietary training procedures and should be ignored. That voice he knows, and there isn't any headache with that thought. Handler Petrus can live in his head without it hurting - it is the other voices that hurt.

The boy carefully closes the door to the bathroom, and with a thrill of fear at doing something so absolutely not allowed… he locks the door.

Baldur, darlin', are you allowed to-

No more locked doors, the woman said that, too, but she didn't say he couldn't lock them himself.

He pulls the shirt off over his head, steps out of the pants, peeling them away from his legs. He looks at the hamper, then puts the pants into the trash can instead.

The knobs are old and look like glass but feel like plastic, and water thunders from the faucet in a tremendous rush, ice cold when he puts his fingers underneath to feel it. He shivers in the chilly bathroom, and stares at it, listening and listening. It sounds like something. He can't remember what.

He's humming again, low throaty noises, settling his nerves. Not an allowed sound. His hands twitch in a memory of the black baton used to teach him to stop, and he goes silent.

Silence is better than stammering. Easy, just repeat, again and again, until the other thoughts are gone. But with the medicine gone from his system there are so many other thoughts, his mind running on so many tracks, that he can't drown it all out.

The water starts, slowly, to warm to the touch. The boy rocks, just a little - just the teeniest bit, no one is watching him, no one will know - as he enjoys the way it grows from cold to cool to warm to hot.

Then he turns the big knob in the center, and the shower kicks on, sending a cascade of hot water with a soft sssssssssssss to the tub.

The boy's hair hangs in greasy hanks over his forehead, and as he steps in, his eyes scan immediately for shampoo.

He finds something - he can't read the bottle but it is short and squat, a clear lime green. The liquid inside smells like mint and something else he can't name, and he breathes it in, eyes closing, before he rubs his palms together to lather and then moves his hands to his hair.

The air smells so good, around him, and when he catches himself humming again, he tries to keep it soft, rather than stop.

No one is in here. It’s just him, all by himself, and he smiles into the water, letting the shower beat directly onto his face, the water pressure gentle and low, falling like warm rain.

Days of oil and dust from under the bed wash out of his hair and down his skin, and he scrubs and scrubs the last remaining hints of Sir's hands and mouth with the bar of white soap that sits in a little dish attached to the tiled wall. There is a small matte green bottle, too, and it smells like the shampoo but it is thick and heavy and he thinks this must be the conditioner - so he uses that, too.

The smell-

He wants-...

On impulse, he rubs the conditioner over his entire body, all at once, determined to make every inch of himself clean. His back, right at the small of it, his stomach below his navel, his collarbone and neck, ears, even dipping between his legs with a thrill of the forbidden things he isn’t allowed to do right down his spine…

He would be in so much trouble in training, if they saw. And worse with Sir - there would be a game, to teach him never ever to break a rule again.

He isn't going to get in trouble, here - no one is in this room but him.

He isn’t trying to do things he’s not allowed to do, exactly. He just wants it all - all of him, every inch of him - to smell like the mint, chase away the memory of the things he is made for and doesn’t want, to wipe away all the remaining sense he has of the places his Sir liked to touch him most.

No Sir, here. Just him. Just himself, and the things on his hands that can make him feel almost… almost clean.

He is in there so long that the water turns back to lukewarm and finally to cold, and the boy is shivering as he steps back out onto a shaggy bath mat, which he realizes matches the curtain - it has a T. Rex on it, and he grins at that, rocking side to side, water running in rivulets down his body. Flash of teeth - oh he should brush his teeth, they’re fuzzy and gross like, like back in training when he would be locked in his room for days and days and days-

Baldur pads silently up to the sink, frowning, tapping on the porcelain before he pulls open a drawer, finds an unopened toothbrush, and forces it open.

Sir used toothpaste that tasted like cinnamon, and Baldur hates cinnamon but it didn’t matter what he hates, not to Sir.

But this… this toothpaste just tastes like mint and mint alone. He closes his eyes, rinsing his mouth, running his tongue over his teeth again and again as he feels them - solid, strong, and smoothly clean now.

He looks, he thinks, like a whole different person. Baldur stares in the mirror, blinking, at his own green eyes, the narrow chin and high cheekbones, eyebrows so light they seem to fade into the paleness of his skin. Smattering of freckles, he presses at those with his fingertips, hesitantly, gently. Clean, wet hair right now the color of an old penny and when dry, the same as a brand new one, flopped over his forehead, curling just a little under his ears.

Clean.

Clean, with no hands on him, no mouth. Just clean.

For now.

He will have to be good for the man, or the woman, whenever they get tired of his hiding. He knows that. There will be a new collar, sooner or later. But for this moment in the bathroom, he feels clean.

Like a real kid, like the ones he saw coming on field trips, who laughed and shoved each other and shouted and walked with awkwardness but with an understanding that their bodies didn’t come with a price tag.

Then he realizes he doesn't have any clean clothes to change into. Breath hisses out of him as he towel dries his hair and then wraps a fresh towel around his waist, but it's fine. There are clothes for him on the bed.

He just.

Just has to get back to his bedroom, and then hide under the bed. Right back where it's safe, where it's dark.

He twists open the door - the knob is a little slippery under his fingers, he hears the soft click of it automatically unlocking - and as the door swings open, he comes face to face with the man who might own him now.

Or rather, face to collarbone. He has to raise his chin to look the man in the eyes.

"Oh. Uh. Hi," The man says, in a deep voice. "Hey. I didn't know-... I figured you'd already-"

Baldur shivers, the chilly winter air in the house suddenly cooling every bit of damp still on his skin.

It had been nice, to be clean, for a few minutes anyway.

He looks up at the man - blond hair and nice jaw and soft blue eyes, this won’t be so bad, he doesn’t look mean like a handler or cruel like Sir - and Baldur lowers his hand down to where his towel is tucked over itself just above his hips, lips parted slightly. Into training, he knows this, it's what he's made for. It’s easy.

Tilt the head just so much, to let his hair fall over his eyes the right way, give a slight little smile-

The man’s eyebrows raise, and he puts up both hands, and the boy wonders what part of him the man will want to touch first. "Oh, uh, no, you don't-"

Bite his bottom lip, just a slight press of teeth into soft skin-

The man steps forward, and the boy’s breath hitches in. He can do this. He can, he’s trained for this, and if he screams inside his head and not out loud no one will ever know to punish him. H

is fingers hesitate, pressed into the soft cotton towel. He tells himself to let it all slide away, to slip beneath the white light and let his training take over. If he just goes away inside his head, it will be over, soon enough.

"Hey, little man, we definitely don't need-"

The boy drops the towel to the floor, wondering how long it will take to not smell like mint anymore, and says in a low, husky voice - his shoulders are tense, it had taken days to get his voice just right, days and days of saying it over and over again until he never stopped screaming in pain, “I want this. I want you.”

There’s a breath of silence, the man staring at him - at his face, the boy realizes, and no one’s ever just looked at his face before. Then he says, in a strangled voice, “Absolutely not.”

The boy swallows. Is he-... is he supposed to-

“Sir?”

“I’m not sir. And absolutely the fuck not could you possibly want-... no. No.” The man steps back, and back again. The blood rises in the boy’s face, he feels the heat there burning with something like embarrassment, or shame, except he’s not supposed to have shame anymore.

But he does.

“I-I want-”

“No you don’t. No, you-... you don’t. No. We’re not going to do that, here. You will never-... Jesus Christ, I just-. Shit. What worked with Kauri? I just-”

The boy stares, slowly comprehending that he has… he’s done it wrong, somehow, and the man doesn’t want him to. He doesn’t want to. The boy breathes in, and out, and it’s with worry and relief. “I-I, I don’t… know… how to, to clean,” He says slowly, worriedly. “Or to do-... anything. I-I’m only, only good for-”

“No, you’re not, you’re just-”

But they said-

The boy’s breaths are coming faster, close to panting, now, his heart pounding against his chest. His face still burns red, and his eyes flicker away, away from the look on the man’s face that he can’t read. He has to be, to be still, and be good, but he doesn’t want him to be good…

He can see the door to the room they put him in.

The boy’s eyes flicker back to the man’s, then to the door of his room. He moves, carefully, to crouch back down and pick the towel back up. The man doesn’t stop him, only watches as the boy wraps the towel back around his waist with shaking hands. He’s going to be in trouble. Somehow he messed this up, and he’s not sure how, and… and…

“I, I, I-I like your sh, shower curtain,” The boy blurts out, and then flees down the hall back to the room, throwing himself inside and slamming the door shut, scrambling across to the bed and grabbing a pair of pajama pants that were there on the blankets. He drops to his knees and crawls underneath to the little nest he’s made along the wall of blankets and pillows, curling up naked but for the towel, under a blanket, shivering, staring from under the bed at the door.

He hears, dimly, the man say, how the fuck do I keep screwing this up? and then the sound of stomping feet down the stairs. The boy rocks, under the bed, rocks and rocks where he is safe to rock and no one will stop him or hurt him, tapping on his own skin, just to feel a little calmer.

At some point, he falls asleep.

He’s good at falling asleep whenever and wherever, now. Nothing could be worse than trying to sleep curled up on the cold tile floor with the bright white light. Here in a warm soft circle of blankets, it’s almost impossible for him to be awake for long.

When he opens his eyes again, it’s night - the other man here, the soft quiet one, is already asleep, breathing deeply in the other bed across the room. There’s a small night light plugged into a wall, throwing a dim, warm, gentle yellow glow in a small circle around itself.

Folded and laid carefully just on the floor, an arm’s length away from the boy, is a t-shirt. He has to squint to see it, but his eyes widen as he realizes the front of it has the outline of a T. Rex holding a mug of coffee. There are words, but the boy carefully doesn’t see them as he grabs at the fabric - soft, ancient and washed a hundred times, it feels almost like skin - and pulls it to himself.

He pulls it on over his head, and then pulls the pajama pants on up over his legs. Soft, soft, soft. He runs his fingers back and forth over the slight change in texture from the design, just a little rougher than the soft cotton around it. Pulls the neckline of the shirt up over his nose, breathes in. It smells a little like the man’s cologne, mixed with laundry soap.

Is it his shirt? Did he give the boy his shirt, even after he wasn’t good the right way?

He pulls it back down and some of his hair falls over his eyes.

He smells mint.

Still clean.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions, @pretty-face-breaker, @boxboysandotherwhump, @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth, @cubeswhump

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runicrever · 5 years

Text

Primal Irken Headcanon/Alternate Universe

Hello everyone for those of you not here for the whole Headcanon or the AU story then this is where I’ll give minor explanations

First off

- HE’S NOT WEARING A BRA -

(I’m only saying this cause everyone in my household and at least one of my friends thought he was wearing a bra which isn’t the case)

The thing on his chest is a PAK stabilizer and a chest plate it’s there to protect vital organs hold the PAK more firmly in place and to block the pheromone receptors on his chest more will be explained in the head canon section

I based his design off the idea that what if a insect and a reptilian bird (aka dinosaur) were some how mixed how I came to this conclusion is the fact that Zim in the show looks very bug like but he’s green and Dib refers to him as a “lizard” at times in the show so I thought he must have lizard like skin which also would explain how flexible he’s shown himself to be which bugs can not do

This is basically my idea of what irkens long before they made proper PAKs and were planet destroying conquerors of the universe they were just little bug birds with a hierarchy similar to ants and bees where they make large hives with hundreds of thousands of irkens with a central queen and her chosen mate(s)

Zim is defective and a runt so as a smeet he’s thrown out into the wild in hopes he’d die but despite the odds he somehow barely made it to adult hood and the AU goes from there.

And FYI the first one if of him on Irk where he’s starving while the second and third are him after coming to earth and becoming much much healthier

Alright that’s the end of the introduction sorry it’s so long.. now for the hard Headcanon

- HEADCANON -

alright so to begin at the very start due to irkens showing signs of being a very unified group and seeming to act like a gigantic hive I believed that irkens came from a slightly more hive or nest like origin. the planet they lived on was rich in metals especially those that are rather rare on earth like platinum, gold, silver, titanium and others. This could mean the ground would be difficult to hallow out naturally leading to irkens to be very very skilled at hallowing out and hardening metal to make unground hives like those ants make but made of metal. I believe that they’d make sure the strongest metals were closer to the center of the nest to protect the queen and her mates.

The Original Queen how ever is the most powerful of irkens she’s huge, she’s powerful she, and oh dear god don’t piss her off or going to die! She is the only natural born queen and because of that she is the only irken queen who’s actually immortal other irkens. Like worker ants and bees are made to do their job and die as are irken soldiers and like bee and ant queens the irken queens life is FAR longer then any other irkens.

Other irken queens are females from hives that wanted to gain a mate and have smeets so the queen of such hive sends them away to find a male from a different hive. When the queen has found a mate they dig out the hole to the center of their hive and then begin having smeets. Within an irken year those smeets will be sub adults and begin serving their queen as loyal and devoted soldiers. The queen and her mate over that first year will produce pheremones that physically change their body structure so that they can do their job more effectively. The queen will get bigger and gain more fat stores so that she has lots of extra energy to make more smeets. The male mate will become leaner and taller and act as the queens advisor when not making smeets with her and instruct the other smaller irkens to do as she says or tell the queen of what’s needed for the hive.

You may be noticing a few similarities between the queen and her mate that there is between the control brains and the tallests. That is because this leads into my idea that when the Original Queen had an irken who figured out how to make PAKs to extreme the lives of irkens he began work on making it so the queens could truely live forever. This explains why the control brains oversee all major things such as executions, re-encodings, and the making, hatching, naming, and encoding of smeets. The tallests have taken on the roll of the queens mates. Due to irkens no longer actively reproducing and using cloning tubes the queens mated became permanent advisors and leaders for the rest of irkens. Which meant they no longer needed to be male and be good at making big healthy smeets instead they merely needed to be the perfect image of an irken. For the control brains still being irken queens who want tall healthy and strong looking mates they decided the tallest of irken soldiers would become tallests. Which would at least ensure the leader was tall and powerful and once they were tallest they were allowed to eat as much as they want when they want which by irken standards meant they were healthy.

In early irken society irkens were given rolls after they showed signs of talents. Theses talents were classified as Medic, Technician, Soldier, Nurse, and Drone and each irken was given their first name by the queen and their last name was their queens name and they would be given a letter in front of their name after they found their talent. For example a irken in this time maybe called S. Zept Mira which would mean the Zept was a soldier and served under queen Mira. Those serving under the Original Queen are instead given the last name of her mate Xalon since she only allows her closest protectors and her mate know her first name though a few select irkens have secretly learned of her name.

A defective irken in this time is any irken that is considered to small, malformed, hatched with a deformity, hatched with a mental disorder, or those who’s PAK can’t properly command the irken to serve their queen and respect the Original Queen. If an irken as one of these then they’re given an irken month to prove they can over come the disability but any more the one of those and their immediately thrown out to die as a tiny smeet there are a few irkens who were cast out at month who survives and formed a small tribe together and they work to together and only grow in numbers by hives casting out their month old smeets because they have no queen. When a month old is thrown out to die where they pick them up and help them until adults at which point they help the tribe but the tribe doesn’t take in hatchlings as they’d be to much work and because of this no day old has survived after being cast out. Well… all except one.

This is where the AU begins

Other more minor things to mention is the PAKs. They’re far smaller then the ones irkens wear today and have a harness like thingto stabilize them and cover the irkens sensory organs on this chest. In the comics there’s a page that shows Zim having three dots in his chest most took these to be nipples but reptiles birds and bugs don’t have that and I really don’t see irkens to be very mammalian so instead I took these to be sensory organs sort of like those in an alligators nose or those on the front edge of a viper or pythons mouth. But unlike those on reptiles they’d be some form of pheromone and hormone receptors. Yes the irkens antennae also do this but to a lesser degree. Honestly I’ve made irken antennae have a lot of different reasons for existing. The main one is hearing they’re primary purpose is feeling the vibrations of sound and sending those vibrations to organs in the skull that make sense of them and send them to the brain. The lower jaw of an irken also connects at a place very close to where the vibrations are made sense of so he can also hear through his jaw but it requires direct contact with the vibrations and his jaw to do this. So in the AU he may press his lower jaw on the ground or other solid objects to hear was going on inside them. His jaw connecting so high up on his skull is also why he can open his mouth so wide(if you don’t know what I’m talking about look at any time he screams in the show)The antennae two secondary uses are smelling/picking up pheromones and showing emotion. Firstly explaining that they also smell and register pheromones is simply connecting them to bugs. Ants bees and basically any insect senses smells and pheromones through their antennae hence why they wiggle them around at things they’re wanting to eat or at each other since pheromones are how bugs talk. But this is secondary because their tongue does the other half of smelling (cause if you didn’t know this the senses of smell and taste are actually pretty strongly linked) and the holes on his chest due the other half of pheromone reception. The emotion part how ever should be obvious.. in the show Zims antennae spring up when he’s attentive or confused and lay back more when he’s angry or worried so they’re sort of just do that naturally.

- ALTERNATE UNIVERSE STORY -

Zim just after hatching is inspected by the Queen and her mate Xalon. He’s picked up and looked over curiously as they try and figure out what’s wrong with him as they can already see he’s far FAR smaller then he should be. He came out of an average egg and there was no signs of issue but the the tiny runt smeet only was calmly curious of the new world around him. The queen called in the royal Medic and Technician to give the smeet his PAK which was done quickly. The process of putting on a PAK was incredibly painful for smeets especially smaller ones but ones in place and fully connected they ran diagnostics. Sadly for the tiny smeet the PAK informed all of them that the poor smeet wasn’t properly connecting to the PAK his brain was fighting the PAKs demands and because of such the queen sighed as she called in two of her soldiers to take the smeet to the forest to be left to die. Likely by being eaten by something or simply die of thirst and starvation.

The soldiers did as told without question as this was very standard practice for them they carried the tiny smeet by his PAK stabilizer. Once they got to the deep parts of the forest they tossed him and began walking back to the hive careful of their surroundings as the forest was home to monsters. They did not pity the smeet and they instead focused only on their own survival and the survival of their nest. Such was the way of the Irken.

The tiny abandoned smeet was very confused as to why he was dropped in this new place and merely began to explore. Everything was new to the newly hatched smeet as it calmly wondered about the forest floor. Within hours night began to fall and the tiny smeet quickly found itself getting very cold as at night the temperature on the planet quickly went down and the tiny smeet desperately tried to find a place to hide for the night as was his instinct to hide when it got dark and to huddle up when it got cold. Eventually he found a tree with a small hold where its roots had begun branching out into the ground and he crawled inside and curled up tight against a side of the hole desperately trying to stay warm during the night. He attempted to sleep as rest is important for smeets but due to the cold he got very little sleep.

By morning the smeet was tired and growing hungry and climbed out of the little hole to begin looking for food. He searched for quite a while being on high alert as his surrounds were rather concerning lots of sounds from animals could be heard and all the smeet wanted was something to eat and then go hide again. Even tally he ended up finding a berry bush and his PAK informed him that they were safe to eat so he grabbed the ones he could reach ate them quickly and looked for more food. Another few hours passed before he found a small nest of lizard legs and his PAK telling him that they were edible he grabbed a few and carried them off to his little hiding place to eat the next time he got hungry. Once back in his hole he curled up and slept until next he got hungry.

This cycle continued for most of his life until he couldn’t fit in his hiding spot any longer which at around 4 months old he began digging himself a new hiding place to live in and began making tools to catch himself food. He was an incredibly smart little irken despite his disabilities and differences and by the time he reached a year of age he had a hole that he hallowed out at the base of a tree and a deeper part below that in the ground for when winter came around. he’d relocated a few bushes he new grew edible berries to be closer to his little den as well as setting up pit traps for animals he could eat to fall into.

He’d even began going to the hive dumps and looking for scrap items he could use to built things and eventually built himself two little robots one that followed him around and watched his back when he was hunting or scavenging and a second that hovered staying close to his den to alert him if something attacked it. Both were rather adorable and due to Zims instinctive need for company and companionship both robots served a secondary purpose of being things he could hug or “talk” to when he was scared nervous or just lonely.

I say he “talked” to them with quotes because his talking was severely lacking due to the lack of actual conversing. He could speak irken of course as that was done by his PAK he had learned quickly that it was better to stay quiet making a lot of noise attracted predators and it also didn’t help that any irken he found would look at him as if he were a freak and yell at him. They’d even attack him if he was in their hunting grounds or found scavenging in their dump so he rarely spoke causing his voice to be soft and hoarse. He instead spoke to his robots in soft chirps whistles squeaks and if he was angry hisses. Irken itself was a very harsh language coming from ruff gut earl growls and high shreeky screams though some sound were softer but those were few and far between. So Zim had developed his own little language only for himself and his robots.

But one day towards the end of his 16th year in exile an odd ship landed near his den. He was terrified as he’d never seen anything like it in his life and what came out of it was even more of a shock. A tall and thin beast, it’s body was clothed in a T-shirt jeans and trench coat, his hair a dark raven black with a cowlick taking on the shape of a scythe and odd clear circles that reflected light slightly hiding his golden amber eyes. This creature was not from Irk and was both horrifying and interesting to the little irken. He was so tall and lean Zim couldn’t help but find him interesting to look at but his trench coat and glasses gave him an aura of mystery and curiosity. The human looked around his surroundings excited to have found a planet with plants and life leaving his ship unattended.

The irken approached the ship pressing his jaw against it to listen to it and found the humming drone of the engine and the buzz of electricity. He moved away from the ship and carefully approached the human. As he got closer the human turned and the two locked eyes.

And that’s what I have the AU is partly for an roleplay idea ive had but I wanted to make this post so I had some where to send people to if they wanted to try the AU in roleplaying with me. If your interested then your welcome to ask to try the RP I merely ask that I get to be Zim for it..

#Primal!AU #Primal!Zim #DoofArt #iz #invader zim

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cecilspeaks · 4 years

Text

166 - Delta

The stars tell us our future. They’re rarely correct, but yet there they are, blathering on night after night. Welcome to Night Vale.

At the foot of a sandy hill, a woman explains to her son what a flower is. She’s pointing at an orange starburst atop a squat bulbous cactus. She says: “Flowers are beautiful, aren’t they?” I cannot hear what her son says. She answers: “Because bees like beautiful things and flowers want the bees to take their pollen, that little bit of yellow powder, right down there inside, and give it to other plants, so they can grow up and be beautiful too.” There’s a long pause. Then she says: “Nature wants to make more and more beauty all the time. That’s all it wants to do. If it is not beautiful, it cannot live.” She’s upset at her son’s next question. “Humans wish to make beauty too, but not for nature,” she snaps. “They want computers and airplanes and factories, oh Benny, don’t touch.” She sighs. Then she says: “The cactus hurt you, didn’t it? The cactus knows you’re human and it does not want you to watch it, and now it has let you know that, you won’t touch it again, will you? No Benny, you won’t.”

Underneath the scant shade of a dilapidated wing of an MD-90 aircraft, a middle aged man tells another middle aged man about a time he went to New Orleans. He thought the French Quarter was too crowded and the jazz scene overrated, so he drove east along the upper neck of the Mississippi Delta to a Swapshack, where he paid a man 50 dollars to take him on a hovercraft to look at alligators. “Such majestic and hideous creatures,” the middle aged man says to the other. “You know, when I was little, I cried thinking about how I would never see a real live dinosaur. All the world had left were bones. But right there in southern Louisiana lay dozens of living dinosaurs. It’s an extraordinary world when you finally realize that all life is magic,” he says. The other middle aged man had heard the story dozens of times, but still he replies: “I hear you, I hear you.”

A young woman thinks about a job interview she never attended. She is happy without that job, yet she feels regret for what could have been. “I cannot imagine myself behind a desk making spreadsheets and memos,” she says to no one. “But I cannot imagine a 5-dimensional horse, nor the width of the void, nor the language of whales. I cannot imagine a lot of things but the pay, the pay would have been pretty good.”

Behind a blighted Palo Verde Tree, hidden between lush acacia shrubs, two teenaged boys kiss for the 50th time or so. It is brief, as one stops to look around, on alert for overbearing parents. They kiss for the 51st time or so and then laugh. Their fingers clumsily fumbling over each other, trying to decide on the perfect grip, the perfect touch. They melt like marshmallows in the flame of inexperienced joy. This moment in their lives is as pure and powerful as they have ever felt and may ever feel again.

My mind is crowded with voices, with people living their lives all day listeners. these are the stories, they are eating fruit and playing cards. They are arguing about who said what and when. They are meditating and conversing, retelling old shows and books they remember from when they had such things. A copy of Tina Fey’s memoir “Bossy Pants” was found in a suitcase seven years ago, and everyone in the group has read it at least once. Someone mutters that they used to have a copy of Karen Russel’s “Swamplandia!”. It was in her purse when they landed here, but someone won’t own up to stealing it. another says the book might have been used to make a fire one night, because whoever made the fire might have thought the owner was done reading it, hypothetically.

It’s been several days since the voices came into my head, and at first it was new and interesting, but already I have grown tired of it. I do not know how Amelia Anna Alfaro lived her whole life with these sounds in her mind. It’s unceasing and I’ve not gotten much sleep. The teenage lovers sneak away each night to hold hands and talk big dreams underneath the moon. It’s sweet and romantic, but at 2 AM, give it a rest boys! I could try to talk back, but none of the voices can hear me. It’s like asking the rain to return to its cloud. But when I talk to Carlos, the voices go way. Thankfully I have my greatest peace when I’m with my favorite person. I can’t keep Carlos awake at all hours or have him skip work to be with me, so I have to learn to make peace with the voices, as they are noisy but permanent room mates in my brain now.

I do have news to report, but it’s mostly stuff you already know about. The high school basketball team has tryouts on Saturday. The library is doing open mic poetry nights on Tuesdays at 7, and we all know it’s a trap. Don’t do it unless you’re well armed. And the Opera House is extending its run of Verdi’s “2 Fast 2 Furious”, starring Renée Fleming, through the end of the month.

It’s hard to concentrate on reading these news stories with so much other language running through my head. Like this: there’s a guy who’s complaining about metal scraps that haven’t been cleaned, and the woman he’s talking to is explaining that they are conserving water for drinking and the guy is saying that it’s unsanitary to make dining utensils out of dirty metal, and she replies that they’re not making any more forks or spoons, they don’t need any more forks or spoons, they need knives but not for eating. What am I supposed to do with this information, it’s been going on nonstop for days? You cannot possibly understand what its’ like to listen to someone you don’t know, who you’ve never even met, who you can’t even see, ramble on and on about their boring personal life straight into your head, it’s awful. I can hear another person saying he’s found something. Good for you pal, way to find another rock or stick or lizard or whatever.

Wait. “Weeeee have founnnnnd ittt,” the voice says. I know this voice. It’s the first voice that’s been familiar to me, where do I know this voice, he is saying “first weeeeeeeee found you. You who are – no where – now weeeeeee have founnnnnnnd itt.” And other men are barking in agreement. Listeners, that voice is Doug Biondi from the asylum, and the voices around him are the agents from the National Safety and Transportation Bureau, all of whom escaped the Night Vale Asyulm two months ago. They are in nowhere, in an otherworld desert standing near a door attached to no building. Not far from a passenger set, long since rotted away. A jet that has been home to 143 passengers and crew members, one of those 143 – the pilot. Asylum warden Charles Rainier warned us of this. He had been a been a passenger on that plane, he became part of a small commune that grew into an angry cult under the leadership and telepathic influence of the pilot. Charles told us that the pilot would find those who could help him find Night Vale. Help him find the real world, and Doug Biondi knows the way back.

The pilot found Doug and Doug found the pilot. “Iii know the wayyy,” Doug Biondi says, laughing the laugh of a man whose smile is too big for his face. At the foot of a sandy hill, a mother tells her son it is time. “Stop crying, Benny. Stop crying so that there will be more flowers, more beauty.”

Underneath the scant shade of a dilapidated wing of an MD-90 air craft, two middle aged men argue over which hand made axe is sharper. At last, they agree that the one crafted from the rotor flap and held together with the hand belt is the better blade. “No you take it,” one says. “No, I insist you, I’m happy to use the smaller axe,” the other says, “because it is easier to manage what with my back spasms.”

And behind a blighted Paolo Verde Tree, hidden between lush acacia shrubs, two teenage boys kiss the way you kiss when you think it may be your last. They whisper impossible promises and raise high their rusty shovels, the spades’ tips having already been sharpened to deadly points. They race toward the gathering crowd.

A young woman who thinks often about the job interview she never attended shouts: “Nature is beauty!” “We are beauty!” replies antoher woman. They repeate these calls. “Nature is beauty! We are beauty!” And now every voice in my head is chanting the phrases, chanting and chanting and chanting, it’s too… it’s too much!

Silence. They’re silent suddenly. My head is clear. I can think my own thoughts.

Night Vale, I’m getting word that Sheriff Sam is barring all known passages into our town. This includes roads, trails, sewer grates, even the Dog Park which is not officially an entrance to the Desert Otherworld, but you know, let’s be honest here. We’re on lockdown, Night Vale. No one enters or leaves.

Good. This is good. If the voices can reach me, they can reach any of us. In fact, if the voices can enter my mind, then the pilot and passengers of flight 18713 may well already be here, or some of them anyway. Or maybe the voices come and go. This is the first moment of silence I’ve had alone in nearly a week. Maybe the voices aren’t always there like, like radio signals as you leave a city or, or a cell phone in an elevator, maybe the voices can’t permeate us under certain conditions or maybe… Or maybe… The voices are silent because… they are listening. Maybe they’re listening to their leader, their pilot who is giving instructions on what to do next, when and where to attack.

I don’t know. But I must use my moment of clarity to tell you some news. Nope, the voices are back. A single voice is back. I know, without knowing, that it is the voice of the pilot. He says: [in a neutral tone] “Uh, hi there, this is your pilot speaking. Just wanted to let you know that nature is beauty, we are beauty. We propagate our pollen, we spread our seeds, we grow new life over old life, we cleanse the toxins of technology. We depose the human king and return natural instinct to its rightful throne. If you can hear my voice, then you are chosen. You are chosen to join all who join our nature. All who join our beauty. All who refuse will be recycled into the earth, destroyed and dispersed to fertilize new more beautiful life. All those who are beautiful are chosen. All those who are not, are a cancer, blight, infection and disease. All who are not beautiful will be cut away, amputated, so that the Earth’s wounds may finally leave, so the Earth may grow beautiful once again.

We have been found and we will return. Open the gates to freedom, end the tyranny of artifice. That’s all for now, we’ll be arriving in just a few moments, Night Vale. There is going to be some turbulence.”

[distraught] I’m sorry, listeners! I did not meant to do that, I did not want to do that! The voice of the pilot overtook me and I, oh, I need to lock myself inside the studio, I have to protect you from me, but first the weather.

[“A Prayer for the Sane” by Danny Schmidt http://dannyschmidt.com]

I brought Carlos to the studio. When I talk to Carlos, I don’t hear the voices of the passengers from 18713. I don’t hear the voices even now as I look directly at Carlos while I’m speaking. Like Charles Rainier’s fishing hole or, or Amelia Anna Alfaro’s puzzles, Carlos grounds me, lets me be wholly me.

Thank you, Carlos.

Oh, I also had Carlos bring a pair of handcuffs with him that he bought at –Target on his way to the station, and used them to shackle me to my desk. If Charles Rainier is correct, then once the pilot can speak to you, he can control you. And if that should happen, it won’t happen but if it should, then now I won’t be able to leave here and do harm to anyone else.

From my window, I can see far down the street a spiral of black smoke. There are flashes of emergency sirens. Now I can see people coming up the road. They are long-haired, sun-scorched and nearly naked, wearing not much more than flat wide-brimmed hats and short tunics fashioned from seat upholstery. These people are carrying large blades, roughly honed from scrap metal. Some have widdled down pieces of plexiglass windows into sharp points and tied them to ends of long sticks. They’re deliberately walking up the hoods of parked cars and smashing windows and caving in the roofs with their bare feet.

It is no doubt that the passengers of 18713 are here, Night Vale. If you can hear me, sty inside and lock your doors. If you can her the pilot, then do as I have done. Secure your position so securely that not even your own mind can talk you out of it. Sheriff Sam has stubbornly kept up all roadblocks in and out of town, so we have no choice but to stay. The long unmoving lines of traffic at the edges of the city are easy prey now for the 18713. The pilot offered the choice of joining or refusing, but it is not a choice, not really. He either can control you or he cannot. Those whom he cannot control will be killed at the hands of those who can.

[anxiously] Carlos? You don’t hear the pilot voice, and thus cannot be controlled. But I do, and I can. I have been controlled. We’re in trouble, Carlos. I can’t stay chained to this desk forever, can I? And if the pilot means to destroy you, he might make – me do it myself. Just promise me you’ll run. Leave me behind if that happens, OK? OK. But for now, do not let me out of these cuffs, not even if I use a safe word, which I hear is something quite a few people use in healthy fun intimate relationships.

The people of 18713 are climbing up storefronts and tearing off signs. I can see about 10 or 15 in normal street clothes in the crowd now, which means the group is growing. They are recruiting quickly.

But something else is eating at me. In the asylum, in Doug Biondi’s journal and among the myriad voices in my mind, I still have not seen nor heard Amelia Anna Alfaro, the first person to make contact with the pilot. She disappeared in 2012 and no one has heard from her since. I need to find her. Somehow, if anyone can solve this, it might be her. She was always the best at everything.

Stay tuned next for the sound of me talking to Carlos forever and ever.

Good night, Night Vale. [creepily] Gooood night.

Today’s proverb: People who live in glass houses shouldn’t hire that realtor again.

#welcome to night vale #welcome to night vale transcripts #episode 166 #delta

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musedblues · 5 years

Text

Between The Lines

a/n: Here it is! Nothing but pinning and fluff for the much anticipated STL Event! This is my gift for the lovely wonderful @joemazzmatazz I really hope you enjoy this, lovie! And I hope that your day is beautiful regardless of this silly little holiday. 💖

w/c: 6k

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It was Valentine's day. Usually, you were only excited about the day that followed, when all the chocolates went on sale. But this year your roommate had plans to throw some big ridiculous party. Tilly had been planning this bash for over a month now, and you had agreed to help set up and mingle with mutual friends. But until later tonight, you had far too much more to worry over.

"I've gotta go get Joe from the airport." You sighed, sliding your arms into a thick jacket.

"Oh," Tilly realized with a playful roll of her eyes. You let out a frustrated mewl at her disregard as you scrambled to grab your purse.

"I just don't get it." Tilly continued smirking. "Why are you nervous, again?"

"Because." You hissed. "I've gotta tell him. And I don't want to."

Tilly must have registered the true dread bubbling closer to the forefront of your system; because she slouched closer to the door as you stepped out into the hallway. She said, "You have no reason to be nervous. Trust me."

Oh, but how wrong she was. Since Joe had up and left overseas to film his latest project, you missed him. But you came to realize the magnitude of your feelings for your dear friend smack dab in the middle of a grocery store's freezer section, last month. After spending too long debating on ice cream flavors, you chose cherry, because Joe loved cherry and you loved him. Oh shit. The thought seamlessly pieced itself together in your mind as if it were a fact as clear as any other. You raced home in a panic and spilled your guts to Tilly like she was a priest and you, a dirty sinner. Your roommate helped you through that night, and several more that followed when you regretfully avoided Joe's phone calls. You were afraid of letting your true feelings seep through the phone speaker, or at all. But time was up. You had agreed to fetch your dear friend from the airport some odd weeks ago, and according to the time on your phone, his flight just landed.

Joe deserved to know how you felt, so why not rip the plaster off right away? He'd be pissed if you kept this from him for too long, and you couldn't act like everything was fine. You knew you had to tell him. You just really didn't want too.

As you slid into the driver seat of your car, you reached toward the visor for the pair of sunglasses you stashed there. From out of nowhere a tiny piece of canary yellow stock paper came fluttering into your lap like confetti.

"Oh, wonderful." You huffed a laugh. It was a note from Joe. He was always stashing these tiny pieces of yellow paper in odd places for you to find later, with silly little sentiments jotted down. This one read:

"You're only a day away!"

He must have left this one before he left to go film.

Some notes Joe left were inside jokes. Some were thank you's for dinner. Some were doodles of dinosaurs and maps. You kept them all in a ball jar on your dresser. But all you could do with the latest note was stash it in your jacket pocket with a frustrated groan as you began to drive off.

It all started the first night you went out to dinner with your hoard of mutual friends, who were the only reason you'd met Joe in the first place. They each left one by one, and soon you and Joe were alone with a basic knowledge of each other's existence, finishing dinner at a six-person table. By the end of the night, you'd exchanged life stories and ended up rambling over the topic of arcade games. You marveled over how fun they seemed growing up, but how you came to understand the sad reality that most arcades were just scams to collect change in disguise. But then Joe brought up some bowling alley he swore had a rigged Pacman machine that spit out tickets that won some above-average prizes. He decided he would invite your group of friends there, next weekend. Then, he exchanged his phone number on a slip of canary yellow stock paper because your phone had died and he left his in the car.

The following weekend you met up with all your friends at that bowling alley. They were shocked to see you'd come out of hiding two weekends in a row, and invited you to pick a team to bowl to the death. But then you locked eyes with Joe, walked past the lanes and headed straight for the arcade in the back. Joe had been right about the rigged Pacman. He showed you how to pause the ghosts by holding down a broken button to cheat. But after racking up mega points, the machine was out of tickets. You both presented this sob story to the jaded arcade prize gatekeeper, who simply did not care. Not like you did, either. Even though you had your eye on a silly looking plush green crocodile from the midlevel prizes; the time you'd spent with Joe was reward enough for you.

He called it a night soon after, leaving you with the few friends who couldn't be stopped from bowling. You joined their team, even though you already felt like you'd won something.

You were at ease that evening as you headed toward the dusty car park.

You notice something was resting against your windshield. You were alarmed enough to wonder if this was one of those trafficking tricks, where a kidnapper left something for you to be distracted by long enough to snatch you. But then you noticed just under your windshield wiper, a canary yellow slip of stock paper. It read:

"Sorry I couldn't win you the alligator you insisted was a crocodile. Hope this will do until next time."

Next to where Joe had left the note, you found a tiny keychain with a neon green frog attached. It wasn't quite the river monster you'd been hoping for, but Joe had left it just for you, alongside a note; the latter of which would become a tradition. You stashed both mementos in your pocket and wondered when you'd see Joe again.

One long year had passed by, and you managed to see Joe at least once a week since those first fateful meetings. You added the frog charm to your keychain. And every time, without fault, Joe would leave behind a note for you to find.

You spent days accidentally snowed inside each other apartments. He bought you Christmas presents and you took him out for his birthday. You watched terrible movies for fun and wound up alone together even in the midst of your group of friends, who were the reason you'd known Joe at all. You'd seen each other cry and fought over things that did and didn't matter. But it wasn't until he flew across the ocean for a while that you realized exactly why you missed him so much.

Considering the time you'd spent with Joe, practically attached at the hip, your heart sunk at the realization that if anything romantic had been blossoming between you, Joe would have done something about it by now. But you had to tell him how you were feeling, waiting any longer would only complicate things further. So as you pulled up to the airport gates and marched into the waiting area, you practiced a speech in your head one thousand different ways. There was a swarm of people buzzing in different directions hardly paying you any mind, but soon one voice cut through the crowd.

"It's you! It's really you! You haven't aged a day in the hundred years I've been gone!"

You spun toward the sound of Joe's excitable greeting and barely caught a glimpse of his bright smile before he was pulling you into a hug. You couldn't help but laugh as you hugged him back, welcoming the boy home, but selfishly longing to be so much nearer to him all at once. Oh no. This was too weird.

"Welcome back." You grinned as Joe reached for his suitcase once more. He was still smiling that stupidly pleasant smile.

"That's all I get?" He playfully jeered. "No, 'I almost died of boredom without you? '"

A nervous chuckled escaped your throat as Joe started walking toward the sliding doors, right up to your car right outside.

"Uh, actually... I. Well." You began, sheepishly following Joe out of the airport. "I was going to tell you something but we can worry about it later." You feigned passivity, all the things you practiced to say melting off the page in your mind. That wasn't the plan, but the words were out before you could think of reforming them.

"What? You found someone funnier than me to add cometary to hallmark movies?" Joe quirked a brow.

"Impossible." You assured, opening your back car door so he could lift his luggage inside. "How was your time?" You scurried to change the subject, not really sure what happened to the plan you'd promised yourself to stick by.

Joe didn't seem to notice your internal battel as he eased into your passenger seat, already rambling about where he'd been and what he'd done. You listened with care, truly interested in knowing what he had to say. But one half of your mind buzzed with worry and confusion while you drove Joe home.

You unlocked his door while he managed his luggage from your car. When Joe made his way inside you remembered the plans you'd made for the rest of the evening. He was apart of the group chat where your roommate birthed the idea for her Valentine's day party. Joe was invited, and one late night over the phone (before you started having this strange crisis) you offered to spend the rest of this afternoon with Joe so he could hitch a ride with you to the party.

"So Tilly's party isn't until nine, now. I promised to pick up Zoey and Lyla and stop for dinner someplace." You chatted naturally as any other time you'd spoken to Joe. Regardless of your feelings, Joe was still your friend and you had plans. You naturally expected Joe to shrug and agree like he always did when your shared plans became altered. He was standing before you, bright forest colored eyes searching your face as his usually permanent grin began to fade.

"Actually..." Joe frowned, flicking his eyes to the floor then back up to yours. "Well, is it okay if I just meet up with you where you stop for dinner? I kind of need to do something. Alone."

"Oh... sure." You tried to hide the shot through your heart as you processed this. Of course, he wanted to show up alone. Lyla always had a thing for Joe, never one to hold back her lingering stares. Joe was single and it was Valentine's day. And right now, you had to pretend like you couldn't care less.

"Thank you for picking me up, Y/N. Text me where to find you." Joe shifted, dawning a little smile.

"Of course, Joe." You smiled brightly, stepping out of the already opened door.

"I'll see you tonight! And you can tell me whatever it was you mentioned earlier!" Joe promised as you skipped down the steps toward your car.

"It doesn't matter anymore!" You waved a hand, opening the driver door, trying like mad to remain casual. Shit. Why did I say that? You just dug a deeper hole for yourself.

"Oh. Well okay! See you later!" Joe waved from the door, shutting it as your engine started.

Okay... Was it just you and your twisted, jumbled up mind, or was Joe acting weird, too? Maybe he picked up on your vibe and didn't want to spend any more time near you than he had too. You boggled your brain all the way home, wondering why you were such a wimp. When you unlocked your apartment door, Tilly was pinning bright red cartoon hearts across the living room wall.

"Oh." She cocked her head at your arrival as you shut the door behind you. "You're alone."

"He's meeting up with us later, I guess."

"You guess?" Tilly wondered in a curious tone.

"I didn't tell him." You huffed, kicking your shoes off.

"You were supposed to bring him here either way! He said he'd help decorate." Your roommate pouted, nodding toward a box of Valentine-themed tinsel on the sofa.

"This is all a bit ridiculous don't you think?"

Tilly's excuse was that every holiday deserved a party, even the one couples famously spent alone together. You proceeded to help decorate, draping streamers and tossing flower petals in place. Your roommate made 'Love Potion' with peach schnapps, red grapefruit juice, and vodka, while you jammed strawberries onto the side of clear plastic cups.

"I'll be handing these out. Take your pick." Tilly held out a bin full of plastic headbands. Some were pink with cartoon hearts attached to a couple of cheap springs, like an Instagram filter come to life. Others were deep red devil horns covered in glitter. You just rolled your eyes and went on setting up snacks.

"When are you going to tell him?" Tilly asked from across the room as she placed her bin of headgear on a table near the door.

"Oh, you know what?" You raised the pitch of your voice. "I think I'll do it right in the middle of your bangin' Valentine's party." You pointed toward Tilly, as if this idea had just come to you like a message from cupid himself. Tilly let out a dry mocking, "Ha Ha."

"You can break out that Prince vinyl, and I'll stand on the coffee table and rip my own heart out in front of everyone!" You really hoped you sounded more like you were joking, and less like you wanted to cry.

"I'm sure we'd all love a bit of a show. But babe, it's gonna be okay." Tilly softened.

"Isn't it funny how you keep saying that and I keep on feeling the opposite way?" You groaned, abandoning the kitchen past a doorway full of shiny maroon ribbon.

"You have exactly an hour to dress up for seduction!" Tilly comically hollered your way, skipping toward her bedroom.

"You mean confession!" You shouted back, sulking toward your own room. After shutting the door, you unearthed Joe's latest note from your pocket. The one that fell from your visor. How hadn't you found it sooner? Without too much thought, you opened the jar on your dresser where other notes had been collecting and went about getting ready.

You stared into your closet for far too long, almost talking yourself into throwing on a pair of leggings and calling it a day. But then you found an unassuming longsleeved dress, one that was passable in the cut-throat world of party fashion, but somehow remained supremely comfortable. It would do.

Then you hurried to fetch your friends from across town. Zoey and Lyla were dressed in tight velvet and equally as confused when you showed up to their door without Joe. "He's never not with you." Zoey pointed out. "Is he okay?" Lyla worried. This only made your heart hammer despite all your efforts to pretend everything was perfectly fine.

You pulled into a shitty diner because Zoey wanted breakfast for dinner. Both girls were enjoyable company, laughing over memes and telling you their latest gossip. The three of you were nearly through your meals when Joe finally showed up to join the party. He was dressed for the occasion, in a cozy blue sweater and dark jeans. You had to turn and sip your soda to keep from staring. Joe slid into your side of the booth with an arm across the seat, trapping you into his side and unknowingly making your guts twist up. Lyla seemed unusually unassuming. Every time before now, when Joe was in her line of sight, Lyla hardly ever hesitated to throw her self near him. You wondered why the hell everyone was being so insanely weird tonight, but then the thought brought you comfort, hoping you weren't alone in all the unease.

While Zoey and Lyla waited in a long queue to pay, Joe dragged you around the corner to an empty section of the diner. For just a moment, Joe stalled and looked to you with a barely noticeable furrow in his brow. It was as if he had something to say but forgot in a flash. Just when you were about to question Joe's antics, he turned away from you and walked deeper into the unused room. There was a giant, brightly painted claw machine in the corner, stuffed with prizes of the highest caliber.

"I dont have any quarters." You frowned, looking toward your friend. His smirk was back, the one you'd missed seeing all this time. Joe just chuckled, reached into his pocket and stepped up to play the game.

You should have been distracting him with a joke. You should have been saying something. He dragged you all the way back here to be apart of the fun. But all thoughts faded while you kept an eye on your dear friend. Joe was surprisingly good at operating the machine, eyes focused on the claw, fingers moving the control in just the right direction. It was becoming a challenge to keep your lovesick thoughts from burning your skin.

Joe broke out into a celebratory jig when the claw latched onto some plush toy and you laughed all the while, snapping back to reality. Joe retrieved a small plush bear from the prize slot and tossed it your way. You caught the thing without missing a beat, but the action caused your head to clog up all over again.

Luckily, Zoey and Lyla popped around the corner, excited to leave for your roommates long-awaited Valentine's day party. You kept a hold of the claw machine prize while you drove the girls in your car, watching Joe's following close behind.

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived. With the plush bear dangling by its paw from your grasp, you led your crew inside. Past guests who had all already shown up, mostly Tilly's friends. Men with sharp jawlines and nice cologne. Girls in tight dresses, lingerie peeking out from hemlines. And a couple of people you knew, offering hugs and demanding selfies in their matching themed headbands.

Your friends grabbed some from the bin next to the door. Joe chose a headband with cartoon hearts but turned to put it on your head like a crown. All you could do was hope to high heavens that you weren't blushing.

"Snacks in the kitchen. Don't forget to try the 'Love Potion' it's actually pretty good." You shrugged, passing a massive bowl of pink alcohol nestled behind a row of already filled cups. Joe grabbed one as he followed your lead.

"Everyone is in there." You gestured toward the living room entryway, where a group of girls lingered, taking selfies. Zoey and Lyla scurry hand in hand into the dim dance party.

"And you should be too! Nice of you to finally make it." Tilly twirled into your vision, toting an empty tray, her sequined dress sparkling right in your eye.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." Joe greeted with a smile. She gave him a half-hearted hug, complaining about running out of finger foods. Your roommate loaded her tray with cups full of candy hearts and dashed back into the room where the party raged on.

The kitchen was empty and quiet now. You reached for a skewer of cherries and plucked one off to eat. A distraction.

"You look really nice. I like this." Joe actually honest to God tugged at the hem of your dress. And somehow, you magically managed to keep from fainting into a puddle.

"Thanks. You too." You shrugged, eating another cherry. You were being weird again. Usually, you'd make a joke or sashay around the kitchen to show off your look. But your feelings were collected in a mess of worried thoughts, and you were being weird. You knew Joe noticed, but if he cared, that didn't show. He just downed his 'Love Potion' and reached for two wine glasses from the rack near your stove.

"The usual?" He asked in a funny voice, already reaching for the bottles of wine on your counter.

"Of course."

You liked white wine, but not too sweet. He liked red wine, but not too bitter. So you learned one night, to mix them together. Everyone around you practically shrieked in terror, because of etiquette or whatever. But you and Joe eventually figured out the perfect proportion to mix, and he made a show of it every time. You were laughing again, as Joe poured each wine in a separate glass and went on pouring one into the other until he was satisfied. It was like watching a middle schooler at a science fair. He offered you one of the experiments and leaned across the counter to enjoy his own glass.

Then you settled into conversation, like always. He talked about his flight. You bit your tongue. You kept waiting for Joe to mention anything about being occupied earlier. Where he might have gone and why. But he never did. So why did he skip out from you in the middle of the afternoon? And why was he acting like nothing was strange at all? Why was Joe standing in the kitchen with you, instead of flirting with one of Tilly's pretty friends with sparkly devil horned headbands peeking through their silky hair?

Your intrusive thoughts were quieted as Joe asked about you. And somehow you both stared laughing about stupid old jokes, reaching for another love potion and gripping a little tighter to the plush bear in your fist.

When Tilly turned off too many lights and cranked up some tasteless raunchy record, Joe rolled his eyes. You watched him move to the other end of the kitchen, snatching the two bottles of wine, and an unopened box of frosting covered cookies.

"Come on!" He snickered, clearly headed right toward your room. You giggled, pushing yourself from the counter to follow behind him, toward your bedroom.

Usually, when Joe hung out at your flat, you'd had to hide away in your room together often. At first, because Tilly would bring dates home who couldn't keep their hands to themselves far past the living room couch. Later on, because it became a normal and relaxing spot to unwind.

So when you shut and locked the door, to keep any drunken partiers from breaking in, it didn't feel weird. And it wasn't unnatural the way Joe flung himself toward your bed. He reached across the empty blanket-covered space to grab your remote. You ripped off your stupid cartoon heart headband and rested it on the dresser with your plush bear, the same space the jar of notes had taken residence.

Before you knew it, Joe had queued up 10 Things I Hate About You, kicked off his shoes and settled in for one of your favorite stories. Naturally, you floated to his side and tore into the tin of iced cookies, much like any other normal movie night with your friend.

Joe made you screech like a loon, adding his own commentary and laughing too hard to even go on doing so. Maybe it was the wine, but either way, it was paradise. And Joe always made you laugh that hard. Between the sweets and all the wine, You and Joe nearly laughed yourselves sick. When the film cut to the scene where Kat was meant to read her poem, Joe lunged for the remote and clicked pause.

"Okay, name ten things you hate about me, Go!" Joe laughed, laying back and looking up to where you sat cross-legged, sipping some water you'd earlier filled your cup with from your bathroom sink.

"One..." You thought for a second, glancing at the bottle Joe kept a loose clutch on. "That you're hogging all the wine." You laughed, swiping the bottle from his grasp. He gave it up easily, chuckling with you.

"Nine more to go." Joe rose a brow, searching your eyes as you held the wine bottle to your chest. You couldn't think of anything besides the way Joe's eyes peered into yours, how they still seemed so bright in your low lit bedroom. You were suddenly a little too flustered by the sight of Joe laying against your pillows.

"I can't think of anymore." You looked away from Joe's gaze and took a swig of wine right from the bottle.

"I'm sure that's not true," Joe chuckled again, egging you onto listing off the things he did that annoyed you. But you couldn't seem them right now, you couldn't see much of anything past the way your eyes fogged over with a rosy sheen.

"I dont hate you, Joe." There you went again, speaking without thinking and letting your tone reveal more than intended. You hadn't even considered a response before that one came tumbling past your lips, like a half-hearted confession. It was quiet then, with the movie on pause. Even the heavy thrum of music from past your closed-door seemed light-years away.

"What were you going to tell me? Earlier?" Joe asked, propping himself up a little so his eyes could catch yours again.

"Oh uh- no. Nope, not yet. I should probably wait." You decided, feeling vile for admitting you had something to say but holding it hostage all because you were suddenly not at all ready to give up this moment. You figured Joe would catch on to any way you acted trying to hide your feelings, but when you froze up, Joe had yet to call you out. So now you were trapped in feeling too frightened to give any of this up. Say how you felt would ruin all the fun. You didn't want to confess, watch Joe leave and spend the night locked away alone while strangers made out in the hallway outside your door.

Thankfully, Joe didn't push you any further. He just watched you watching him. You knew better than to say another word. But then, Joe shifted. He slid off the side of your bed onto the floor beside you, kneeling with one knee on the ground.

"What the hell are you up to?" You couldn't help but cackle, out of nerves mostly. Joe had that look in his eye, the one he got before telling you a story or showing you something he was proud of.

He reached into his back pocket.a Joe pulled out a pretty velvet wallet. He held it out in front of you.

"I uh... I tried to give this to you at the diner. Unzip." Joe demanded, still holding onto the thing.

You glared suspiciously out of the corner of your eye, taking a beat to try and figure out what this is all about. After setting your bottle of wine on your bedside table, you did as he said. Inside the wallet was a tiny yellow note.

It read "Happy Valentine's Day" in Joe's writing. Nothing more. Nothing less. It was the first note he'd given you in ages, even though you'd only just found the last one he left, today... This one felt different. Your heart seemed to grow three sizes as you glanced over his holiday greeting once more.

"It always takes you way too long to find my notes. Keep this with you, I'll put them in here for you to find, from now on." Joe explained with a sleepy smile.

"I do." You mocked his kneeling on one knee, ignoring the butterflies multiplying in your belly. Joe's smile was soft as he slowly shifted to sit on the edge of your bed next to you.

"There's something else in there." His voice nearly caught in his throat, it was so quiet. The muffled music from the party outside your door was beating as heavily as your heart inside your chest. Joe was so close to you that you could practically feel him, just far enough away to leave you wishing you really could.

You let those thoughts seep into the back of your mind while you reached into the wallet once more. You pulled out another piece of trimmed stock paper. This note was an unusual shade of tea green, and three words were meticulously scrawled in dark marker.

"I love you."

I love you?

"Joe..."

"I 've had this plan forever, but I started overthinking everything. So I waited till the last minute and I had to go buy more of this paper and I felt really bad about sending you away without earlier any explanation. But I wanted you to have this. It's like a promise. You keep the wallet, I'll keep giving you these notes." Joe gestured toward the gift as you gapped at him. "And also I love you. I know it's a cheesy holiday but it doesn't matter, I couldn't as hold it in any longer and I wanted to do something for you anyway but I didn't wanna freak you out and -"

"That's what I was gonna say. Earlier. I was gonna tell you that I'm in love with you. But then I got scared. I... I never thought you'd. .. " You look back down at the note. His confession.

"Well, I do."

"You really love me?"

"I love you a whole fuckin' lot."

"I love you." You grinned in near disbelief. The irony of this situation was almost unreal. Joe was here, something you'd been so nervous about. If only you could have spoken up at the airport, maybe this day would have gone differently. But a wave of affection washed over you thinking back to Joe's sweet presentation. You wouldn't have wanted this day to have gone differently, after all.

And slowly, you both leaned in. Joe was the first to brush his lips against yours. You pressed yours back with all the care in the world. That must have been enough of a confirmation for Joe, as he moved to cradle your head in his hands while proceeding to part your lips and kiss you like a soldier coming home after too long gone. Your head spun as you registered the way he smelt like fancy cologne and the way his fingertips pressed into your head, pulling your lips closer to his. You thought of nothing but the way he kissed you, warmly and deeply. You lifted a hand to rest on his shoulder. But you couldn't tell if it was because you longed to touch him, or if you needed the extra support from how dizzy his kisses were making you. But they slowed after then and turned into lingering pecks. As you parted ways to catch your breath, you glanced to his gift still in your grasp.

"Thank you for this, Joe." He looked to the wallet you'd fixed your gaze on. "You've got a lot of notes to catch up on, ya know?" Joe had been gone for longer than you allowed yourself to keep track, feeling void grow vaster every day he wasn't around.

"I hope those two will suffice for now," Joe smirked, searching your face. His eyes were still sleepy but they were filled with all kinds of multitudes; flecks of gold and green you'd always wanted to look at a little longer each time your eyes managed to meet his.

"They're the best notes you've ever left me." You beamed, glancing at Joe with a wide smile. Then you were struck with the realization that everything still felt normal. Exceptionally normal. Tilly was right when she warned you not to worry. You rested the wallet on your side table next to a bottle of wine and turned back to throw yourself toward Joe, wrapping him in a hug that was more like a tackle. He laughed at your antics, chuckles dying down when you pressed your lips against his, again. Joe gave you a sweet kiss back before he broke out into quiet laughs once more.

"Were you really gonna lay all that on me at the airport, earlier? Why didn't you? We could have gone viral on Facebook, or something." Joe teased. Yep, still normal.

Even though some shitty pop music still blasted from the living room, you reached for the remote to start the movie over and turned up the volume. The rest of the night faded into some pulsing daydream version of all the things you longed to do with Joe. Lingering touches you'd never let yourself wish for, because you were so sure they'd never come true. Sweet, hot kisses that each lasted a little longer each time you met again after pausing to breathe. You laughed the whole night long, about how you stopped Joe from leaving marks on your neck long enough for you to focus on your favorite part of the movie. You laughed over one of Joe's stupid puns. You muffled your giggles when some drunken party people tried their luck at your locked door handle. You marveled the colors Joe was made up of and he traced every shape of you, with focused eyes and a smile you could have gazed at forever. After the deed was done, and done again, you ended up wearing Joe's sweater, polishing off the last of the wine from the bottle. Joe had somehow found that stupid Valentine's day themed headband (the one with the cartoon hearts) and wore it a little crooked while he snacked on those cookies he'd stolen from the party earlier. He actually ate the last cookie, even as you protested. You were actually kind of hungry, by now.

So once you noted that the music from the living room had been turned off for a while, and noticing the clock on your wall ready somewhere around 2 in the morning, you had no qualms with sneaking to the kitchen for a midnight snack. You collected all the trash you'd accumulated and skipped out of your bedroom door as quiet as a mouse, really hoping some of the fruit skewers were left. There were a couple of guys passed out in the frame of the hallway entry, and you had to maneuver around a few more sleeping beauties in the living room. By the time you rid your arms of two empty wine bottles and an empty tin of cookies, someone else pushed open the kitchen door.

"Holy shit, I thought everyone was asleep." You gasped with a hand on your chest, watching Tilly groggily shuffling toward the refrigerator.

"Fuck!" She cursed weakly. "Someone stole my Gatorade."

"Take one of my coconut smoothies from the back." You shrugged, knowing your roommate only sought to prevent feeling like shite in the morning.

"God, you're an angel." Tilly croaked as you snagged the last skewer of cherries and kiwis from the fruit stained cutting board. Tonight had really turned out in your favor.

"But you look like hell." Tilly went on, shutting the fridge and moving to make her exit. But before she could leave she kept an eye on you while you snacked on the leftover fruit. And the look in your roommate's eye shifted as she gave you a once over.

"Care to explain in explicit detail why you're wearing Joe's sweater?" She asked with a grin and a look in her eye that made you believe the girl would have acted far more excited if she wasn't so partied out.

"You don't need to know everything..." You turned slightly to hide the blush on your cheeks, even in the dark kitchen. But Tilly already knew everything, even what you weren't telling her. "Yet."

After you shared a hardy laugh, Tilly sulked back to her room with one of your favorite smoothies in hand. But not before she said, "I told you there was nothing to worry about."

Of course, she had been right all along. You wondered how Tilly could have been so sure all this time as you walked back to your bedroom. There you found Joe had tidied up the colossal mess you'd made of the sheets and was in the middle of queuing up one of your favorite shows. You performed the ritual of locking the door and throwing yourself on to your bed, and into Joe's arms. He engulfed you in a familiar hold and chuckled as something on the television. As much as you enjoyed being with him, you couldn't get over the fact that he was here with you. You laid next to Joe in the stillness of your bedroom, considering the whirlwind your day had been, reveling in how everything ended up.

You used to only like the day after Valentine's day, when all the chocolates went on sale. It was three in the morning on the fifteenth, and you had a whole lot more too look forward too, now.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

#joe mazzello #joe mazello x reader #joe mazzello fanfic #stl event

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mrs-hollandstan · 5 years

Note

Can I request a mob Tom Holland, where he's married to reader (I'm 22) but this is his 2nd marriage (prev-zendaya) & reader's first, she's very dedicated but he's aloof & cold. He also has kids which reader loves like her own & he starts falling for reader & hence is guilty &doesn't like how kids love her. Once kid calls her mom & Tom looses his shit & calls reader names & manhandles her. All angst. But later all fluff & smut. Thank you 🖤🖤

This is actually real cute. Just beware, there's mentions of domestic abuse basically. If this'll offend you, please don't read.

[[MORE]]

The stoic face of Tom Holland should've melted away the moment he saw you, when he was in your presence, but it didn't. He was cold and reserved, sitting across from you at the dinner table with dark, caged eyes. He barely said two words to you ever and he turned his back to you in bed. When the two of you had sex, you were always on your knees, neck braced down against the bed. Not that you really minded when your husband looked like he did.

The day his and Zendaya's son, Theo called you momma was the day he snapped. From the moment you were in their lives Theo took to you like velcro. He was connected to you at the hip and loved spending time with you if he wasn't with his mom or dad. You took him out all the time with Tom's permission which Theo had to ask for considering Tom rarely ever talked to you as it was. The day the five year old called you momma when you asked him if he wanted dessert was when Tom lost it, standing with a clatter of his fork on the china plate, shoving you against the wall and caging you in,

"Did you tell him he could call you that?" He growls, face inches from yours. You shake in fear, head shaking,

"No... he called me that earlier. I-I thought it'd be fine."

"Its not fine! You're not his mother you ungrateful bitch and you never will be." He says through grit teeth while Theo tugs at his arm trying to get him off of you as he slams you harder against the wall, bracing your arms against it in a grip that you know will bruise and has you crying out. Theo tugs at Tom harder as he leans in,

"You're such a fucking whore. Is you being here not good enough?!" He hollers, reaching down to press your hips to the wall. Theo finally dislodges him though, Tom thrown off his steps, eyes still locked on you though in an angry, wide eyed glare. He holds Theo's hand, jaw clenching as he stares you down. He turns, dragging Theo with him,

"Clean this mess up. Get Theo dessert, leave it on the table, I don't wanna see you for the rest of the night." He commands. Once he and Theo have left the room, you break down, sliding down the wall to wallow for a few moments before doing as you've been told, setting the tea plate with a small slice of homeade chocolate cake, slinking up to your and Tom's room, finding the necessities to sleep in the spare bedroom. You can hear Tom and Theo in the master bathroom, Theo in the bathtub asking Tom a number of questions concerning how he treated you. Each new question posed has Tom feeling marginally guilty. He knows he shouldn't be teaching his son to manhandle women. But the way his and Zendaya's relationship ended wasn't pretty and he'll be damned if he let's Theo call you his mother now.

Theo is bathed and put in pajamas when you're turning in. He and Tom sit at the dinner table, Tom watching Theo eat his cake while you lay in bed, contemplating everything that's happened. Maybe agreeing to his marriage proposal was a bad idea. But Theo, Theo was who you really stayed for. And as if his ears were ringing, the door was creaking open and Theo was carrying a little stuffed alligator in with him. He closes the door victoriously, having looked all over the house for you in order to soothe you. Helping him up into the bed, he snuggles into you,

"I'm sorry." He says softly. You shake your head and wrap your arms around him,

"Its not your fault my love. It's okay. Your dad is just very complicated when it comes to me." You explain, his head resting against your chest. His dark brown eyes, one of the only things inherited from his father, sparkles as he looks up at you, holding Bubbles, his alligator between the both of you,

"Why? Doesn't he love you? I love you." He says softly. You smile down at him,

"I love you too Theo. Daddy just... he's been through a lot. He's very reserved when it comes to me. He has been since we met." You tell him. He nods,

"Tell me again how you met." He requests. You both know it'll put him to sleep. He chooses the real stories over the fairy tales to tire him, coming from you in your sugar sweet voice that you know he loves so much. And almost five minutes in, he's drifted off, holding you close. And not long after, you follow suit, staring down at the little boy that's stolen your heart and makes you want a little love of your own. From the time you entered Tom and Theo's lives, three years ago, you've wanted a baby. But you were terrified to bring it up to Tom, and he never talked about having another kid. Theo seemed enough for him, and the way you and Theo loved each other was like he was your son, before you even said it.

Tom goes in to check in on Theo, out of habit, finding his bed empty. He's not worried, knowing that his sweet little boy loves nothing more than comforting people in distress. He knows exactly where the little one is and it has his guilt bubbling over. As soon as he pushes into the guest bedroom, he sees the mop of dark brown hair peeking from under the blanket you both sleep under. Tom huffs, walking forward and lifting Theo from the bed gently, as not to wake him. Carrying him to your shared bedroom, he lays him in the middle, walking slowly back to the guest bedroom slowly, he leans at the edge, stroking the few strands of hair from your eyes, rousing you softly. When you shift, he can see the marks on your biceps from where he grabbed you. He purses his lips, running his fingers over the darkening bruises, your eyes fluttering open at the feather like touch,

"Tom?" You speak up quietly. He nods,

"Yeah... hey." He replies just as quietly. You rub your eyes,

"Where did Theo go?" He gestures over his shoulder,

"I took him and put him in our bed. I uhh... when I found out he was in here I figured he was proving a point. I needed to at least say something to you." He says with a sigh, sitting at the edge. You sit up just the slightest, watching him bring his leg up onto the bed and toy with his wedding band. He sighs again, jaw clenching,

"I just... you know i don't like the idea of him calling anyone else mum. His mum is Zendaya and strictly her. And I like that he's comfortable around you but... I don't like that. I don't." He lays out. You nod,

"Okay-" He holds his hand up,

"But... I need to get over it because what else is he supposed to call you? Ya know? So uhh... I guess I'm gonna have to get used to it. And of course its gonna take time but... I'm hoping that... you and I can make this work. I don't hate you and you're my wife and we should be in love not... you loving me and me hating you." He sighs again. He feels stupid and he knows he's been an asshole and it hurts your feelings. He should have never done that to you. You play with a loose thread on the comforter, not looking at him as he mutually avoids your eyes. But he finally looks at you,

"I want us to work like Zendaya and I couldn't." He says softly again. You look up, fighting every fiber of your being to not reach out and touch him. He's never been okay with it. But maybe this is the best time to do it. Leaning in, you place your hand over his. He looks down at your hands before finding your eyes again. You swallow,

"I want that too." You reply. He nods, eyes flickering down to your lips. Leaning in slowly, he slides his hand up to your jaw, pulling you in to kiss you softly. So softly, you wonder if you're dreaming. He's never this gentle. You kiss back, reaching up to hold his wrist. He clambers to his knees, laying you back against the bed. Crawling over you, he peels the button up, silk sleep shirt down to kiss between your breasts,

"You want me to prove it to you?" He asks softly. Running your fingers up his jawline, you give him a loving smile he sees all too often and returns with a scowl most times. But he returns it softly, leaning in to kiss you again. You nod, threading your fingers through his hair for the first time in the three and a half years you've known him, been married to him. He's been so reserved and now he's getting closer, more open with wide, dinosaur steps. You nod more firm this time,

"Yes... yeah, I want you to prove it to me. Please. Then let's get to bed with our boy." The words stop his heart. He wants to correct you so badly, but he won't. He won't do it. He leans in, kissing your neck before he starts to slide out of his sweats and boxers,

"Tom?" You speak up softly again. He draws back,

"Yeah?" You swallow and reach up to brush the curl from his forehead that casts a shadow over his face,

"I uhh... I love you." You say in a squeak, fearing the reaction. He smiles, letting out a little laugh through his nose. He swallows then, nodding and preparing himself,

"I love you too Y/N. I don't think I would've asked you to marry me if I didn't." He says almost in a coo. You nod, running your fingers up under his jaw. He leans in to kiss you again, lips lingering on yours,

"Now," he says, brushing his bottoms down, "let's get this over with so we can get back to her and sleep with our boy." You smile without him seeing, letting him draw your panties down with a finger, holding his arms for the first time, chest to chest.

#tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #my writing #tom holland fan fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland gif #dad!tom imagine #dad!au #dad!tom #mob!tom x reader #mob!tom holland #mob!reader #mob!au #mob!tom #blurbs #second wife!reader #tom holland blurbs

513 notes · View notes

archiveofidentityconstellations · 5 years

Text

cass won't share her cheese nibs and bruce doesn't love me and i think?? that i deserve better??? than this???? i'm moving to alaska where NO ONE CAN TELL ME WHAT TO DO

the sequel to that one trix yogurt fic

I feel like I should tell you that I am MASSIVELY fucked up right now

like i am such a garbage heap that oscar the grouch took a look at me and said

“fuckk off!! i have standards!”

anyways

it’s Brimothy, bitch

what is UP mothertrucksrs it is Me i am back here to write a report on the UNBELIEVABLE SHIT I JUST HANDLED.

okay so u know how Gotham city is on crack cocaine all the time. with like some LSD and heroin and never ever any weed except for like who is that pig guy?? nevrm he doesn’t have weeeed but like he is definitely a Pig. what the fuck is his name. what the fuck.

okay so anyways

is it Goyle

Doyle

Pigoyle

tin foil? lmao

OKAY FUCK anyways the City, who Also May Be My Lover, is in a constant life crisis (which i relate? a Lot) and do you want to know this s h i t

Crocodile

Killer Croc

who Steve Irwin would be v disappointed in

Is climbing

into people’s FUCKING TOILETS

???????????????

THIS ISN’T FLORIDA

THIS IS NEW JERSEY

WE WEAR SHOES IN THE WINTER

WHAT SORT OF FLIP-FLOP WEARING CUCKER DOES HE THINK HE IS

okay so obviously KC is a big guy. a Dude. a whack-o whaler of a Male. a Big Boh. the largest banananana in the pack. he is Big. so he cAn’t fit into most people’s toilets. he can, however, fit into Big People’s toilets (big as in wealthy, not As in Tom Hanks)

so KC (crispy,,,nuggest…i wonder if fried alligator is good—not that im thinking of eating him, though someone really should threaten him with cannibalism, like if you’re going to be a bitch about it then you deserve the same done to you, it’s just manners) is in cahoots and canoodles with Someone Who Shall Not Be Named (not bc i don’t know, I do, that’s how detectives work. it’s my JOB to know, and i was a prodigy) but bc there is a whole other report detailing this person and their movements and its case file #4461 if u don’t believe me, but i ain’t no snitch, but i will say that tonight’s events connect to file #4461 so Dad if you’re reading this you should already have it out bc it’s your JOB

speaking of jobs ding ding here is mine coming round the mountain as she comes bc the apple bottom jeans the boots with the fur will be coming round the mountain when she comes shE’ll be coming round the mountain she’ll be coming round the mountain she’ll b e coming round and getting low low low low low l ow low

It was a crisp October night. The sun was blinking its sleepy lids, setting the ballroom with an incandescent glow. Bruce Wayne strode across the floor, his daughter Cassandra accompanying him. They wore matching expressions that the privileged always wear: guarded, yet hungry. Hungry for what? Probably for the crab cakes just out of reach. Neither of them had an allergy, and Cassandra in particular had a propensity to shove anything edible in her mouth, so it really was a tragedy that those crab cakes were all the way across the room. There should really be a table right in the middle of the dance floor just for snacks. That way caterers wouldn’t have to do so much leg work, which is actually a good thing, because that ballroom floor is slippery af. This narrator should know, he has Died A Few Times getting there. Suddenly, the night’s festivities were interrupted by a social faux pas: a scream.

You don’t just scream at regular parties, it’s uncouth and hysterical. But you can scream if the social boundaries have already been crossed, and boy, were they crossed.

You see, Dear Reader, there was a man in the toilet.

I use the term “man” loosely, as his glaring yellow eyes do wonders when you might just crap your pantaloons. You start imagining things, like dinosaurs whcih i am personally a big fan of bc Jurassic Park has a kid named Tim in it and I am also Tim.

hI y is our toilet so big that Killer Croc could wiggle his way up? also how long can he hold his breath.

it seems to be impressively long

hey Bdad how long can he hold his breath? please let me know if you can, and if you won’t i will eat all your wafers becauzs i wa

Mrs. Trenton screamed and fled the impertinent bathroom guest, who wasted no time in ripping the commode to pieces. There was a roar and all the guests paused, unsure if it was merely pipe problems or if they were under attack.

Reader: They were, in fact, under attack.

The guests, deciding that Mrs. Trenton was a social entrepreneur, followed her lead and began to scream. Killer Croc had made it to ballroom, standing at an impressive height just outside the doors.

He was Not wearing a shirt.

okay have u ever noticed that Killer Crog hasn’t got any nipples????? where are they? he’s got pecs but no nipples??

where did they go where are his nip nops i kno people don’t like to think about this but i hAve wondered since i was like 13 like where did they go. has anyone ever asked him.

did they fall off

“Take the crab cakes!” shouted Matthew Fielder, a lil bitch.

“No, take me!” said Cassandra Wayne, who would literally rather die than give up those crab cakes.

Killer Croc paid them no heed. He desired one thing and one thing only, the sweet satisfaction for his carnal craving: Humain Flesh.

(alliteration hell yeah hell yeah take that Mrs. Johnson i do know shit and im creative as well u jusy don’t know how my brian works it’s like a golden goose egg trap ye ye ye)

i just Realized

i am…a high school drop out

i don’t know why im doing this

Dear Reader, as an Aside: Smoking can lead to many health issues, especially if one begins smoking at a young age. Harmful side effects include increased risk of stroke and brain damage; muscular degeneration, eye cataracts; cancer of lips, nose, tongue, and mouth, and nipple loss.

Jason you may want to have a talk with you and your mipples

The terror in the air was stifling. Cannibalism conduct was not something conveyed in etiquette classes. Rich people never expect to be eaten.

Reader, everyone hardly breathed. Something deeply primal had occurred.

From the doorway the golden eyes struck. Deadly. Lethal. Hungry.

This was more than vengeance. It was a sadistic occasion of play.

okay good thing Dames wasn’t there because he fucking HATES KC he gets all huffy and shrieky about him like “he’s a HYGIENE PROBLEM” and it’s like,,,,,.ur right but i don’t want to agree with you because where do we stand if i do that?? as brothers???

i think the fuck not

anyways i just realized i’ve been calling Waylon Jones KC the entire damn time (NEWSFLASH ASSHOLE) but to be fucking h, he wants to to be called that. i called him Allen once and he was so PISSED so i can only think of actually calling him by his name. he wouldn’t even be chill with me naming the sewer alligators even tho they were awesome names. i called one Dundee. that’s fucking genius. that’s just. i’m fucking amazing. stupenous. and unappreciated.

maybe his nipples fell off because he swims in shit every night?????

question: why do i swim in shit almost as often

what the dfck

what are my life choices

i feel like there should have been some fine print involved here

“Robin duties include scraping shit off your asschreks 3 times a week”

mahbe,,,,maybe not what i want

personal choice

though i haven’t really seen any alligators in the sewers for years now, which is

oh my god OH MY GOD HE ATE THEM HE ATE THEM OH MY GOD OH MY GOD !!!!!!!!!!

HE FUCKING HE FUCKING. HE. HE ATE HIMSELF HE FUCNING ATE HIMAELF AND HIS FAMILY HIS COUSINS HIS CPOUSINS HIS FAMILY OH MY GOD THIS IS LIKE MY 8TH GRADE GRADUATION ALL OVER AGAIN

im so disturbed……..i like, need to eat something. Fucking hell. this Not what i had in mind when i decided to be alive.

i feel like as if i woke up one day and i was the only one in the entire world who remembered Caillou. also could pull off my face and eat it like taffy. imw so. i.

mom i know i refused to go to Shabbat when i was ten so i don’t get to say this but:

this is Not kosher

oh heyy i want some pIckes

i was also thinking of takin a spin class?? like fuck it i like to bike. fuck it. and maybe iwdont want bruce and nigtwink fucking watxhing me with their beady eyes. like get those off my calves. my cleavage is up here, gentlemen. stop talking about proper form. some people can do things and suck at them. i’m never going to be like a professional ice curler. and i shouldn’t feel bad about that. who the fuck curls for fun. maybe Canada???????

note to self: look up the history of the sport of curling

i’m going to get good at it to piss off Jason

Back On Topic:

Killer Croc took a step forward. His mouth trembled, watering in anticipation. He took another step.

Mrs. Trenton drew in a breath.

The room was silent.

Far across the room, Bruce Wayne clenched his champagne glass. Cassandra Wayne stopped chewing the crab cakes. Reader, I won’t mince words: Waylon Jones crossed the threshold.

and the instant he put his foot down on the ballroom floor he fucking slipped like a drunkass toddler

like when Damian is really really tired bc he’s like 2 years old (only an evil 2 years old like chucky) and Jason tries to give him a high five

gremlin still doesn’t get that “down low” precedes “too slow”

and he like. faceplants

onto the fucking concrete

and then Bruce yells at Jason

and then Jason yells back

“I NEVER ASKED FOR SIBLINGS”

like it was something we all did, like wrote it down on our batmas lists for Brucie Claus

and im sitting there, a perennial Forgotten Middle Child

and Damian is like still. on the ground.

anyways KC is just slipping across the ballroom, slippering and sliding bc the floor was just waxed and it’s silent except for the wet slaps of his feet against the floor and the screech his tail makes every time he trips (sort of like this) and when he sometimes falls it makes that sound of when your thighs SLAP against the mats and it sounds like a wet walrus coming to cheer you on while a Giant simultaneously swallows a liquid-filled gummy worm down his throat like QAWAGGHHHHHHH only his falls reverberated against the ceiling panels and the cherubs looked down in like. disgust.

Cass began chewing the crab cakes again by the time Killer Croc fell for the twelfth time so idk it was an embarrassing situation

we all did that Thing people do when a social barrier is breached

we like…..avoided each other’s eyes and made light conversation

meanwhile Killer Croc’s body screeched in the background

anyways Matthew Fielder was like “so I hear you dance ballet” and Cass responded “uh huh. tap too” and the chewed up crab cake crumbs fell out of her mouth and onto the floor

i CAN’T

scrambled cock on a cracker, Cass why does Alfred let this happen????? what is this?????? like she can snort creme puffs like cocaine but GOD FORBID i put my elbows on the table and call damian “a poisonous little bitch” because he ate my croutons

the standards in this family are unbelievable

So everyone is just talking and Mrs. Trenton is sipping champagne now and Luis Alvarez is doing that thing where he starts trying to eat caviar one teeny tiny egg at a time and KC is just like WHUMPH for the thirtieth time

finally dad takes pity on him and crouches down and is like “hey how you doing slugger” which???? Offended me. Very Much.

that’s MY nickname

has Waylon No-Nipples Jones been adopted by Bruce Wayne??? has Waylon No-Nipples Jones retrieved HIS sorry ass from time?? i don’t fucking think so

the audacity of this man

but before Killer Croc can reply

Red Hood

BURSTS INTO THE ROOM

guns out, voice modulator kind of fuzzy like a broke refrigerator that makes an “eeeeeeeeeee” sound ever since i tripped over it and fell on it

which wASN’T MY FAULT

IM NOT “deformed baby zebra clumsy” FUCK YOU JASON

MAYBE HE SHOULDN’T KEEP HIS EXPENSIVE HELMET ON THE FLOOR THEN

you know what? I’m GLAD i tripped over it.

yeah. suck it.

im glad you sound like a 90s japanese transistor radio

off brand too

fuck you

I GOT A BRUISE NOT THAT ANYONE CARES

even Bruce was like “hey tim you need to watch where you’re going”

???

how about YOU watch where YOU’RE GOING

“where” as in TIME TRAVEL

REMEMBER THAT BRUCE

REMEMBER THAT?!???????

HUH BIG GUY?!???????!!???

no one is allowed to criticize me from now on

i am Above Reproach

anyways yeah Red Hood appears at the party and shoots KC and Bruce was like “why the FUCK would you SHOOT HIM” as if he has some misplaced paternal feeling for Waylon No-Nipples Jones because he called him slugger which is something he calls one of his other kids but whatever im not bitter im just insecure and sad all the time but don’t worry about it maybe i’ll die one day and you’ll all be sorry especially about Certain Things like not sharing cheese nibs huh Cassandra

so RH and Bruce Wayne kind of argue. like. literally sniping at each other bc SOMEBODY forgot that Red Hood is a criminal and not their misplaced son and RH is like “it’s!!!!! a tranquilizer!!!!! ya big hoe!!!!!” only he doesn’t really say it like that but everyone isn’t even listening at this point because this party has already been so goddamn weird and we’re all suffering from secondhand embarrassment

i am Assuming,,,,,that Killer Croc Jones “Jonsie No-Nipples” has been taken away to be put into jail and studied for his non-nipple properties but at this point i’ve been sitting here huffing that cold medicine or whatever Bruce gave me. which

oh yeah i was crushed earlier

it was by “slugger” but whatever

yeah his body broke mine

it was because Bruce and Jason were fighting again and not paying attention so

KC was tranquillized and like

fell on me

he drooled on me too

those ballroom floors really hurt

like my head feels like mush

Alfred’s oatmeal

on its second day

because i refused to eat it on the first day

that man has a spine of Steel and he Does Not Let You Waste Food

btw he fell on me because i pushed Luis Alvarez out of the way

he was really transfixed by those tiny fish eggs

it’s fun to put them on your tongue and let them like slide around

so i pushed him out of the way and was promptly crushed to death

B said something about a broken collarbone

i am more worried about a broken butt

fuck

my coccyx

PROFESSOR PYM wait no shit that’s a comic book character

anyways my butt is broken and im hungry and dad wouldn’t let me get out of the chair so i write up this report because I am A Real Life Detective and I do my JOB

once again im the best

hey red jood can you get me some cheese nibs cassandrA won’t share which is p mean especially since i was all for being eaten to give her those crab cakes red hoof red why isn’t he responding to me i want xheese nibs red hanz red red Red Hood please I require sustenance red fhau red gjji red hhood ted joood redb hood red red edds red red edd dedd red red red red red wd red what the fuck what a right bastard sometimes oh hi Badaman

EDIT: His name is “Pyg.” Fucking. Pyg. Points taken off for unoriginality.

decided to have a tumblr version too ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#take this and put it on my grave #in remembrance of me

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perish-the-creator · 5 years

Text

Extinction Headcanon

So I’ve recently watched a documentary on YouTube highlighting the final days of the dinosaurs following the asteroid collision, and of course, it got me thinking about Godzilla. So I’ve formed this conclusion that makes sense (in my opinion).

Every on the Titans we see was the smallest of their kind.

Here’s my explanation. Aside from the mammal based Titans, we can safely assume than those who are reptilian-like were present sometime around the Cretaceous period, which was when most of the iconic dinosaurs were around. Using fictional science we can estimate that the atmosphere's high oxygen count at the time help contribute to their large sizes, as well as the diverse amount of food for them since it’s safe to assume most are carnivores. Once again, bullshit science and we can say that Mothra was already around at this time.

Anywho, seeing as the extinction even is the used explanation as to why these titans are the only ones left means that somehow these ones, in particular, had managed to brave the chaos. As of now, I am still unaware of ALL the titans so my headcanon will only be based upon the ones I know.

Rodan:

I would like to say that in comparison to the other dinosaur-like creatures, he is, in fact, the youngest. Granted, this means nothing in the vast span of millions of years. Anywho, I’d like to advocate while also paying tribute to the original Rodan film that his parents and his kind died a fiery death. Now, that doesn’t make sense because his species appears to thrive off of literal lava. But here’s what I mean. Their lungs burned up. The powerful blast and the dust that came after were composed of different particles than what would be in their familiar habitat. We can also add that perhaps the fact that it came in such a high dose that their bodies could not handle it, thus leading to them suffocating and their dead bodies starting to sircome to the effects of heat exposure as they start to decompose. Basically, Roan was born an orphan and born in a harsh landscape. He had no true recollection of life before that. He has vague memories of hearing others like him, but he hatched into a wasteland with no one who looks like him. This also explains his overly aggressive attitude. He had to fend for himself since day one and was always cautious of other titans around him. He was also small and if the chaos had never ended the world he probably would’ve either been eaten by his parents or kicked out to go his own. So, as far as keeping himself feed wasn’t an issue since his small size didn’t need much to stay energized.

Godzilla:

Godzilla was born to a small clutch of four and was the smallest of his siblings. His kind would be social but solitary at the same time. Like alligators who swarm swamps and such. Most sea bearing creatures would’ve bested the end of the world for the most part but I want to make this tragic as hell. So, we can say that he was born to a breeding pair but both died from venturing up on land at the time and, like Rodan’s folks, had their lungs burned. That would leave Godzilla with his siblings who eventually die of either by picking fights or starving because they couldn’t live off a small diet like Godzilla could. In fact, we can add in that Godzilla was born with a minor defect that had him be drawn towards those toxic little volcanos near the bottom of the ocean. But he truly survives by, waits for it, eating his siblings' corpses. Yes, you read that right, Godzilla was a cannibal. But I’d imagine this isn’t a taboo practice for their species at all.

Mothra:

Mothra was already apart of a vanishing species long before the asteroid hit the earth. Despite their size, they were often the target of ambushes and found it difficult to combat the other flying individuals that evolved. (Rodan and Mothra’s species were actually enemies and would kill young on both sides. As to why his kind began evolving to handle the heat while Mothra’s started to grow sharper and more poisonous stingers.). We will assume only about 40 were around when the comet hit the earth. Mostly, they died together as a swarm in the blink of an eye. Mothra, however, was an outcast for her size and the fact she lacked the correct social status of her swarm to be included. Her exclusion was what ultimately kept her alive as when the asteroid hit she was already deep within a cavern drinking on stalagmites and underground rivers.

Anguirus:

Anguirus is plain and simple. He was a runt who was cut off by his clan. He had already sheltered up in a deep cavern and ate on minerals and the soil after the disaster happened. He is also an omnivore and ate on a few small mammals here and there along with whatever vegetation he could find.

So why did they live for so long? What’s their secret to basically being immortal? (Aside from Anguirus rest in peace bby). Well, let’s just say they age very slowly and know how to balance out life. The more active they are the faster the body has to keep producing new cells and whatnot. Basic laws of existence. Therefore, as if they all had the same idea, it was soon known that if one slept, they could technically live forever as their bodies momentarily pause its function and or slows them down. Now this isn’t a perfect headcanon, and I’m sure there are soooo many loopholes that are involved, but it was just fun to try and write it out and actually see what I was thinking. If you have anything to add, please do, because honestly, this stuff is fun to talk about. (I’m a biology nerd. Fiction or not I love explaining how lifeforms work.)

#godzilla kotm #godzilla #mothra #rodan #anguirus #mosura #gojira #godzilla king of the monsters #godzilla headcanons #evolution #perish speaks

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angelbabylu · 5 years

Text

The Art of Losing // AI

pairing: i created an oc for this bc its pretty heavy

prompt: Imagine you and Ashton are married and have a baby girl. You and your baby girl are driving back from a long day at the carnival and you get into a bad car accident.

warnings: this is supposed to be sad okay, warnings for death, drug use, & problematic domestic situations

word count: 5.5k

notes: this is for @myemptywallets who sent me the prompt. i hope this is does your prompt justice. shout out to my love @5sosnsfw ! thanks reading and editing this. love you

title from the poem One Art by Elizabeth Bishop

- before -

There is no sound in the dressing room as Ashton sits typing away at the screen of his phone. He had taken a few photos of the boys during sound check, and now he’s posting them: Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, the works. With his focus buried deep in the world of social media, he is lost to the world around him.

A voice floats through the device on the desk in front of him, disrupting the silence with an exasperated, “Ash.”

He lets his eyes to flicker up to the neutral-faced woman on the screen for a half a second before shifting his attention down to Twitter once more.

“One second, babe. I just need to send this tweet.”

With a heavy breath, she tries to convey her feelings of discontent. Were Ashton paying attention, he would have picked up on it in seconds. Then again, were Ashton paying attention, she wouldn’t be upset in the first place.

“Ashton, I think you guys are big enough now that you can hire someone else to run your twitter account.”

He doesn’t hear her. Or, if he does, he’s too engaged to respond.

It takes a full minute for his head to pop up and his eyes to meet piercing ones, their intensity dulled by the LCD display. She never quite looks the same behind a screen. Something about her felt diluted by the machine that separated them.

“What?” His thick brows furrow, creating a deep V in the space between them. She is opening her mouth to restate herself when his brain catches up.

“Baby,” he scoffs. They had talked about this. “You know how impersonal that is to me. Our fans deserve to hear straight from us.”

This time he keeps his eyes on her long enough to take in how disconcerted she is. Ashton knows that face better than his own. There were hours in years past that he dedicated to learning her every emotion. On that day that Ashton said those fateful words (“Maren Anderson, will you marry me?”), he promised to always do what he could to keep her happy. His current actions were contradicting that vow.

“Mare, you okay?”

The look she gives him says that she obviously isn’t. He feels a twinge in his gut at the realization that he had been neglecting her. Placing his phone back in his pocket (after covertly hitting send on the tweet), he gives his attention over to her.

“What’s up?”

“I miss you.”

It is three simple words, but the weight of them is enough to crush Ashton’s heart. This is why he had become so engrossed in the business side of the tour. Being the band’s personal PR agent is just one of the many tricks he uses to keep his mind occupied. The more menial tasks he finds to consume his days, the less time he spends thinking about to what he left behind at home.

She reaches her left hand up to sweep her hair out of her face, the diamond on her ring finger catching the light, sparkling on screen. Ashton still remembers the day he gave her that ring - more so than the day he had stumbled into Tiffany’s at Saks Fifth Avenue, drugged out of his mind but sure of one thing: how much he wanted her to be his wife.

“Why aren’t you on tour with me again?” He tries to keep his tone light, recognizing what the scrunch of her nose meant. If he allows the conversation to continue with professions of just how much pain the space between them is causing, she will inevitably start to cry. Selfishly, he doesn’t want to go on stage thinking about his wife crying thousands of miles away, with no way to comfort her.

“We’re blaming Eden,” she says, and that is just the segue he is hoping for. If there is one thing that could put a smile on both their faces, Eden is it.

“And where is my little devil?”

His wife is sitting on the couch in their living room, and if the smile she shoots over the screen of her phone is any indication, so is their five-year-old daughter.

“Daddy!”

The scream is accompanied by high pitched giggles as a flurry of dark curls materializes on screen, dislodging the camera from her mother’s hand. In the next second, Ashton is facing the light of his life. She is smiling, as always, her dimples the size of craters on her cheeks.

“Hey! How’s my favorite girl?”

“Once again, your daughter comes on screen, and you forget I exist.”

His wife’s voice comes from somewhere to the left of the device, meaning she doesn’t see the roll of his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he calls out. “Who are you again?”

Neither Maren nor Eden take lightly to the joke.

“Daddy, don’t be mean!” the curly-haired kindergartener chastises.

“Okay, okay.” He raises his hands in defeat. “What are my two favorite girls going to be up to today?”

Maren’s head pops up on screen then, resting her cheek gently on the top of their daughters head. She doesn’t take the phone from Eden, knowing how much she likes to be in control during these family FaceTimes (“She gets this control thing from you,” Maren never hesitates to tell her husband.)

“We’re going to the carnival!”

He catches his wife’s guilty eyes over his daughter’s head. Just last week she had sworn they wouldn’t go to the carnival, citing it as punishment for Eden’s recent unruly behavior.

“We’re only going for a few hours,” Maren tries to explain. “Because Eden was good and cleaned her room today without me having to ask.”

“And I spoil her?” His voice is incredulous, hinting at a conversation they’d had numerous times before.

Eden, too clever for her own good, comments, “You both spoil me.”

The sound Ashton releases is an embarrassingly loud guffaw. Eden is sharp, to the point where Ashton is continuously amazed by her mind. Of course, he remembers watching his younger siblings mature, but something about watching his daughter, someone he helped bring into the world, go from only being able to laugh and babble to now developing her own firecracker sense of wit, felt different. He is immensely proud. And grateful to be blessed with someone as amazing as her.

“Your eyes, your smile, and now your sass,” his wife says fighting a slight smile. “She is her father's child.”

And she is. The resemblance is uncanny. Not only in their looks, but in their personality as well. They are both talkative pranksters, demanding of attention, always in need of stimulation and excitement. Together, they wreak havoc in their house. They are partners in crime. His wife often complains that they needed another child ASAP. It is easy to feel out of place in the Ashton and Eden Show.

“I’m daddy’s child when I’m bad, mommy’s child when I’m good, and uncle Lu’s niece when I whine too much.”

Eden recites the mantra Maren has been repeating since Eden could talk. There are more sayings for the other boys as well. She is Mikey’s niece when they couldn’t get her away from her video games and Calum’s niece when she is melodramatic.

(A few days before they had gone on tour, Ashton had walked into their house to find Eden home from Kindergarten, sprawled out on the tan carpet of their living room. His wife at their record player with a Depeche Mode album in hand.

“What’s going on here?” he had asked.

Maren shrugged. “She came in, threw herself on the carpet, and asked for this album.” She waved the Some Great Reward Vinyl in her hand before slipping it out of its sleeve and onto the player.

“Bug?” Ashton turned to his daughter then, looking for more information.

No such luck.

“People are people, daddy.” She said as if there was some great weight on her five-year-old shoulders only Depeche Mode could solve.

Ashton caught his wife’s eyes. Then, as if there was no other response to the scene in front of them, they both sighed, “She is Calum’s niece.”)

They speak for a while, Eden monopolizing most of her dad’s attention. She is in the middle of a nonsensical story that Ashton was having a hard time following.

“Four, five, six hippo princesses and a dinosaur car chase!” Ashton’s mind supplies, and even though he has no idea what that means, he nods along anyway.

A knock on the door interrupts them just as Eden begins to mention Ali’s tater’s and lasers, or perhaps alligator lasers, Ashton isn’t really sure. She pauses though, all three of their attention shifting to the door as Ashton called the person inside.

It’s three people. Luke, Calum, and Michael stumble through the door of their dressing room looking all fired up and ready for the show. As soon as they see who’s one screen, they do not spare Ashton a second glance.

They crowd around the back of Ashton’s chair and begin to all speak at once, offering varying greetings to Maren and Eden.

“Sorry little bug,” Calum begins once everyone has finished exchanging pleasantries. “We’ve come to steal your daddy away.”

Luckily, Eden does not put up as much of a fight as she usually does.

There are tears - there are always tears. The second Eden hears that her dad has to leave, she begins to cry. Her nose scrunches, similar to the way Maren’s had earlier, and her eyes well up with rivers.

“No please,” She begs her uncle. “I wanna talk to daddy.”

All five adult hearts at that moment shatter. The boys know how hard it is for Ashton to be away from his daughter. Truthfully, it is hard for them to be away from her too. At that moment, Ashton is the only one with a child, and in many ways, Eden has become theirs as well.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, they have done this enough that everyone knows how to calm the five-year-old down.

“Eden,” it is Luke’s turn this time. He crouches at Ashton’s side, bringing himself down to be face to face with the screen of the iPad. “You know your daddy & your uncles will call you after the show.”

“Yeah,” Maren chimes in, her hand gently running through the unruly mop of curls on her daughter's head. “And we have the carnival. If you talk to your daddy all afternoon, we won’t be able to go.”

Eden still doesn’t budge. “I wanna keep talking to daddy.”

“My little sunshine.” Ashton and his daughter are twins. He boasts about knowing how to talk her down. “Go to the carnival. Have as much fun as possible. Then later when you get home, you’ll have twice as many stories to tell me and all the time in the world to tell them!”

At the thought of making more memories to share later with her dad, the kindergartener reluctantly resigns. “Okay,” she pouts.

“Love you, little bug.”

They exchange a round of “I love you’s” before Ashton got up and got ready for the stage.

- after: ashton -

Calum receives the news first. He is the closest to the wings of the arena stage that night, so when their manager rushes on stage, only ten minutes of the set remaining, he is the first one she runs into.

Ashton doesn’t realize that he has stopped playing for a full minute. It is not until Michael and Luke stop playing as well, both their attention on Calum, that Ashton begins to register that something is off.

Later, he will tell them that he knows the bad news is for him from the get-go. How can he not, with the way Calum breathes, “Fuck,” and immediately turns to him.

The arena is almost silent now. What was once thousands of fans yelling the lyrics to She Looks So Perfect is now a mass quiet, curious faces. Ashton wonders if the crowd can feel it too, can feel the realization that his manager’s next few words will tear his life apart forever.

“We regret to inform you that due to a family emergency we will be cutting the show short. . .”

Ashton doesn't get to hear her finish the speech because the boys rush towards him, all but forcing him off stage. He knows his body is moving, vaguely aware of the gentle hand at the small of his back, guiding him through the backstage area. His mind - that is elsewhere. It buzzes with one question only: What the fuck was happening? It takes him a full minute to realize he is repeating it aloud.

He doesn’t get his answer until Calum shoves him into a chair in their dressing room - the very same chair he sat on earlier when talking to his daughter and his wife.

“Promise me you’ll take deep breaths after I tell you this,” Calum commands. That is never a good sign. That phrase is not one that is usually followed by good news.

Ashton looks up and meets Luke’s eyes. He is surprised to find that he and Michael are confused as well. Calum is the only one who knows what was going on.

“Cal, what the fuck is happening?” Ashton says in lieu of the promise.

Calum is silent for what feels like a full minute. Ashton could hear the sound of each second passing from the clock on the dressing room wall. Tick, tick, tick.

It counts down the seconds before Ashton hears, “Maren and Eden got into a car accident.”

Luke and Michael release gasps of shock, both staggering as if Calum’s words are enough to knock them off their feet.

For Ashton, the words don’t quite sink in. He is on his feet before Calum’s next breath. The phrase alone is too much for Ashton to process, but he is aware that it is Mare and it is Eden and it is bad news.

“Okay, I need to - “

He doesn’t get to finish before Calum is pushing him back into his chair. “You need to breathe. We have a flight. The four of us. We leave for LA in 2 hours. The car will be pulling up any second now. We’re gonna go to the hotel, grab what you need, and then we’re gonna go.” He speaks like he would were it Eden in a crisis, demanding and almost infuriatingly slow.

“Do you understand?”

When Ashton nods, Calum shakes his head. “I need you to use your words, Ashton. Do you understand?”

He’s not sure his voice will work. He surprises himself when he’s able to croak out, “I understand.”

“Did you want to try eating breakfast today?”

He doesn’t get a verbal answer. Instead, the mop of hair peeking out from underneath the comforter slowly shakes no.

“You need to eat something,” There is a pleading in his voice. Still, he gets no response from the body tucked tightly in the bed sheets.

Sighing slowly, he closes the door behind him.

Maren hasn’t said a word since they came home from the hospital without their daughter. He understands. Some days he’s surprised he’s able to get out of bed at all. His mother thinks that he’s in shock, that the finality of everything hasn’t hit him yet. Maybe he hasn’t realized he will never see his little girl again, never see her smile, never hear her say a sharp comment, nothing. He thinks she’s partially correct. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recognizes that this truly terrible thing has happened to him, but if he doesn’t give himself the time to think, the time to mull on just how world crushing the situation is, he won’t snap. He won’t fall to pieces like his wife has. And right now, he has to keep it together for her.

When he gets downstairs, he finds Calum, Michael, and Crystal in the kitchen.

There are a million people staying at his house right now. Luke refuses to go home. He spends most of his days curled up in bed with Maren. From what Ashton can gather, neither of them say very much. They just sit together in silence. Sometimes when he walks by the TV will be on. Other times, they’re crying. But he hasn’t heard either of them utter a word. He’s happy (a funny word at that moment) that Luke can be there for Maren in a way that he can’t.

Mikey and Crystal will go home sometimes. Mostly because Maren doesn’t like seeing Crystal, the small 4-month baby bump a reminder that of the child they had lost.

His mom and his siblings are milling around somewhere. They flew in just a few hours after he did.

God. Just 4 days ago he was still on tour. He shook the thought out of his head. There was no point in worrying about how his fans were reacting to its abrupt cancellation.

Calum catches sight of the motion and looks over him with scrutinizing eyes, “You okay?”

Calum had been his rock in the past four days. Ashton will never forget how he ushered him from one place to the next that first night, getting him ready for the plane flight and the subsequent visit to the hospital. And now, there was no way he could plan this funeral without Calum. They were the only ones strong enough to. Better yet, the only ones strong enough to pick themselves up after a good cry.

Neither of them told anyone about the day at the funeral home. Calum had barely been able to clarify, “We’re looking for child caskets,” before the both of them broke down in tears. That was the only time Ashton allowed his emotions to slip. Even then, he forced himself to regain composure, perhaps too quickly. Ashton is afraid that if he lets himself to really cry, he will never stop.

“Fine.” He responds to Calum’s earlier question.

Eventually, his sister joins them in the kitchen and all five of them make breakfast. It is a little crowded, but everyone just wants to be around each other, so no one complains.

The funeral and wake will be later that day. The wake is being held at his house so of course his mom has been up since the crack of dawn cleaning. Never mind the fact that they could easily hire an entire crew to do so. His mom recruits his siblings, Michael and Crystal to help with the cleaning. Calum and Ashton go over final funeral details. And Luke and Maren. . . they cry and try to gather their strength for the funeral.

Ashton makes it through the funeral, his eulogy, and the wake that follows. He makes it to the end of the week. He makes through seven days of his wife not uttering a word to him. So, he feels weak when the thing that finally causes him to break is his mom leaving.

He had rolled his eyes at the airport when she asked, “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” and all but pushed them onto the plane. He knew they wanted to stay and be there for him, but his siblings still had school. They had already taken a week off. They made promises to see each other the next holiday and then said goodbye.

It doesn’t hit him until he gets home.

There are no more distractions.

The funeral is over.

The few days post-funeral he had spent shopping for and catching up with his mom and his younger siblings.

Now they are gone too.

Michael and Crystal are home together.

Luke is probably curled up somewhere with Maren.

Calum finally went home to his girlfriend, no longer needed to help plan a funeral.

Ashton is alone.

Maybe not totally alone.

He takes a deep breath and climbs the stairs, en route to his room. He knocks but knows better than to expect an answer before pushing it open.

He’s surprised to find that Luke isn’t there. He’s even more surprised to find his wife sitting up, and scrolling through her phone. “Luke went home?” he asks.

She doesn’t even look up at him.

“Yeah.”

Yeah. The first word his wife has spoken to him since the death of their daughter.

He sits gingerly on the bed. His side of the bed. A bed he hasn’t slept in for months.

“Should we. . .” he trails off, looking at her, hoping to meet her eyes.

She keeps her gaze down.

“Should we talk about it?”

For a minute, he thinks she isn’t going to respond. She’s almost robotic in the way she stares at the small device and in the movement of her thumb. He thinks that maybe if he sticks it out, if he sits by her, she will look up at him and they will finally get to talk about it - to go through this pain together.

They don’t.

“Ashton,” Her voice is small. She turns off her phone, but her eyes never leave it. “Don’t take this the wrong way but - “

Her voice is breaking, just like his heart.

“I’m having a hard time okay? I just want to be alone to process my emotions. I can’t talk about it. It is still too painful.”

He doesn’t know what that means. What he’s supposed to do with that information. A million responses roll through his mind.

He eventually settles on, “Okay.”

Before he’s even out the door, he has his phone in hand, dialing a number he hasn’t touched in years.

- after: maren -

The first words Maren says after Eden dies are, “I need to go get Eden ready for school.”

She’s woken up by someone placing something on her bedside table, and for a brief moment, before she even opens her eyes, her subconscious thinks it’s Ashton waking her up to go get Eden. They had done it many times before. He would make her breakfast, a nice gesture, but inevitably wake her up with the clanging of the breakfast tray on the bedside table.

But this time it wasn’t Ashton, and she would never get Eden ready for school again.

When Luke lets out a shuddering breath, reality comes rushing back to her. As soon as her eyes open, she is crying. She has only seen people through her tears recently.

Luke is crying too.

At this point, it’s two days since Eden’s death. One day since they got home from the hospital. The car was hit on the passenger side, where Eden had been peacefully babbling, playing with a stuffed giraffe she had “won for her uncle Lu” at the carnival.

A drunk driver. Dead on impact as well.

The car had spun out, gone off the bank on the opposite side of the road before being stopped by a thicket of trees. She had been conscious until the airbag deployed, causing the majority of her injuries.

Lucky. That’s what the doctor said when she awakened. She was lucky to walk away with a few burns and a broken arm.

Mourning a child felt impossible. If the driver had hit her side and Ashton were planning her funeral, she knows it would be hard, but some part of her thinks like it would be better.

She has experienced life. Eden has not. She’ll never experience the first day of first grade, she’ll never get her first report card, do a science project, have a first crush, bring a significant other home, anything.

The thought swarms her mind what feels like every second of every day. So much so that she can’t speak. She thinks that if she does, all that will come out is a list. A list of things that she’ll never see her baby do.

So, she locks herself away. Luke is the only one brave enough to come and see her - and even then they don’t speak. They cry and listen to Eden’s favorite albums and watch Paw Patrol of all things. All without exchanging a word.

She leaves her room twice in that first week. The first time, she shuffles down the stairs in search of water. It’s expected when what feels like a thousand voices float up from the foyer, getting clearer as she gets closer.

She knows that all the boys are there. They wouldn’t leave Ashton’s side at a time like this.

When she walks into the kitchen where they’re gathered, everyone grows quiet, watching her as if she is teetering on the edge of a break.

To be fair, she is.

She sees Crystal’s baby bump for the first time since the accident and immediately breaks down in tears.

The second time is for Eden’s funeral.

Ashton even gets a fucking priest. Neither of them are very religious, so it feels disingenuous. She briefly wonders if five-year-olds go to heaven. If Eden is somewhere at that moment, being taken care of.

It’s a nice thought. Something easy to believe.

Perhaps that’s why Ashton got the priest in the first place.

She sits in the back and leaves before it’s over.

Ashton tries to comfort her at times. She’s aware of him coming to her door daily, of the food he sends up with Luke even after she says she doesn’t want to eat, of the gentle hand that he places on her shoulder at the funeral that she promptly shakes off.

She loves Ashton.

She does.

But Ashton is Eden’s twin. They were always joking about that. Now, Maren couldn’t look at him without being reminded of everything she’s lost.

She doesn’t expect it when Ashton stops trying.

The day she sends Luke home is the day she pushes Ashton away.

She realizes too late that it’s a mistake. It means getting out of bed and making her own tea.

The first day she tries but finds one of Eden’s sippy cup forgotten at the back of the cupboard. She spends three hours on the kitchen floor crying.

At the end of the second week, she works up the energy to make an appointment with a grief counselor.

“And how is your husband taking all this?”

Counseling is going great until she gets that question.

She doesn't know how to tell her counselor that she hasn’t seen her husband in weeks. She has no idea where he is or what he has been up to. She never even asked him how he was feeling about the death of their first child.

At the encouragement of her counselor, she makes an effort to reach out to Ashton.

Staring at her phone screen for hours, she finally decides on a text.

Dinner?

She’s not sure that he will respond.

He does, seconds later.

He says, i'll be home in 20.

After all that time, Ashton still came running when she called.

She thinks it’ll be cute to bring back some of their old traditions. The first time she cooks for Ashton, it is after spending an entire day wrapped around each other. Naturally, she was wearing his clothes while she did it. Somehow, it becomes a ritual of theirs: her wearing his clothes as she moves about the kitchen, him watching from the sidelines pretending to help.

What she finds in his t-shirt drawer derails the entire night.

When Ashton walks in, she is not in the kitchen preparing dinner, but in the living room, sitting quietly in the dim light of their table lamp.

“Really?” Maren asks. This is the second conversation they’ve had since Eden, and she feels like this will be their last.

Ashton’s eyes finally fall on the bottle in her hand. It’s a translucent orange with a handful of white pills sitting at the bottom. When she shakes it, its rattle thunders through the room. His flinch lets her know that at least part of him feels remorse.

He had stopped taking Xanax before they got married. It was their deal. She would only marry him if he got clean. To know that he was back. . .

Ashton’s first reaction is to downplay it all.

“Eden is fucking dead, Mare. This is my way of dealing with it. Just like yours is to disappear to your room for weeks and refuse to say anything to me.”

Maren doesn’t respond. She knows that if she opens her mouth to speak, she is going to yell. Gritting her teeth, she tries to keep her comments to herself – comments about how her dead daughter is not an excuse for him falling off the wagon.

Her silence only serves to agitate him.

She has to tighten her grip on the pill bottle as he continues, voice rising as he yells, “What so you’re allowed to feel things, and I’m not?”

Anger bubbles inside her. First, he uses their daughter as an excuse to go back to the dark places of his past, and now he is throwing her own grief back at her. She stands, facing him, but tries to keep her voice level, aware of how easy it would be for both of them to start screaming.

“This isn’t feeling things. This is you not knowing how to deal with your emotions, same as always.”

“What the fuck are you on about?” He asks, as if this isn’t a conversation they’d had before, as if she hadn’t once begged him to go to therapy for it.

“When you were on tour, and you missed us, instead of allowing yourself to feel it, you buried yourself in work and pretended everything was fine. This is no different.”

“You’re comparing the pain that I’m feeling over our dead daughter to me missing you on tour?”

“No.” She knows he is purposely misunderstanding her for the sake of argument. She explains herself anyway, “I am saying that just like how you refused to deal with your pain then, you are refusing to deal with your pain now.

“Ashton, our daughter is dead.” He winces at her impassive tone. That is the difference between them. It has taken her months of depression and counseling to be able to say those words. Ashton isn’t there yet, and she knows that if he doesn’t acknowledge his feelings, he never will be.

“Our daughter is dead. And that is not something that you can forget or pretend isn’t happening with drugs. You need to allow yourself time to mourn her. The drugs? That’s not helping you feel things.” She calls back his earlier phrase again, to drive her point in. “That’s helping you burry those feelings.”

He recoils as if her words are a slap to the face.

“Oh get off your fucking high horse, Mare!” Because of the volume and the intensity of his words, now Maren is the one to flinch. It was like this before too, with the drugs. He was easily irritable, prone to blaming his out of control behavior on anything other than himself, “I had to deal with this shit by myself. You disappeared. I had to plan this funeral while I mourned the loss of our child. And you created this distance between us. You! The only other person who understood what I was going through.”

He’s screaming by the time he has finished.

And he’s right.

That’s the painful part. Maren fucked them up first, but if she sticks around, Ashton is going to make everything worse. She knows she didn’t deal with Eden’s death in the best way just like she knows that Ashton isn’t coping in the best way now. If they continue down this path, they’re just going to keep hurting each other.

“I think I’m gonna go.”

“Go where? We’re not done.”

She ignores his angry protests and sidesteps him as she makes her way to the door.

“I love you,” she says. Her back is to him, hand already poised on the knob. “I will never love someone as much as I love you. And that’s why I think it’s best if I go.”

“Why are you always trying to walk away from us?” His voice is small now, barely above a whisper. She can feel him pleading in his words.

He is referring to the first time she gave him an ultimatum. Back then, he had brought her the beautiful ring that still sat on her finger, but he had been so drugged up he could barely get words out. What she told him then is what she tells him now.

“You need to realize Ash that this is bad for you, for the both of us. When you realize that and you get clean, come find me.”

She looks back at him for a brief second, and the last thing she sees before she leaves are the tears running down his face.

end notes: don’t forget to let me know what you think! thanks for reading!

tag list: @5sosnsfw / @bloodmoonashton / @lukescaboose / @5sex-of-summa / @deviantnines / @halcyonnhood / @gh0st-0f-y0u-95 / @aspiringwildfire / @cal-pal-cuddles / @hotmessmichael / @hereforlukescruff / @softforcal / @ohhmuke / @calum5os / @grittyisathot / @calumamongmen / @ashtonandcalslefthand / @asht0ns-world / @colorful-queen-of-the-roses / @peraltiago-drarry / @slowlyelectronictragedy / @myemptywallets / @pagesuponstpages / @fallfrxmgrace / @thefireisgone / @michaelorwhat / @dammitbands

#ashton irwin #ashton irwin fic #ashton irwin blurb #ashton irwin imagine #5sos #5 seconds of summer #5sos blurb #ashton irwin angst #ashton irwin au #ashton irwin fluff #5sos fic #5sos imagine #5sos fluff #5sos au #luke hemmings #calum hood #michael clifford #my fics #jay writes

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danganronpaimagineslol-blog · 6 years

Text

Danganronpa Imagine | S/O with a habit of making puns

A/N: Shoot! I completely forgot to finish and post this yesterday. I was playing Killing Floor 2 all night. Don’t hate me the Halloween update is amazing. Thank you for this request! I left out Komaru. I hope you don’t mind. I don’t know her character too well, so I decided not to write her in. I hope it suffices anyway :) - I am currently looking for mods! Mod application survey can be found here!

Character x S/O

Genre: Fluffyy

Submit a request here [X]

Makoto Naegi

“What do you call a sleeping dinosaur? A dinosnore!”

Makoto didn’t really mind his s/o telling puns all the time. Some of them were pretty funny and he sometimes wished he was talented enough to come up with puns, but he always believed he was incapable of doing so because he wasn’t funny and way too normal.

So Makoto had been practicing his puns over a long period of time. He wanted to make his s/o laugh since it typically wasn’t something he was very good at.

During an ordinary Sunday, they were both relaxing at home, watching movies and cuddling on the couch.

He was trying to think of a good pun to come up with, but the pressure of having come up with a good pun was getting to him.

“What do you call a nose without a body? Nobody knows”

His s/o fell over laughing and Makoto was shocked, to say the least.

He would blush, watching his s/o laugh so hard because of something he said. It would definitely boost his confidence and he would continue working on coming up with more jokes to tell his s/o.

They would both be supportive of each other’s jokes and help come up with ideas of how to finish them and perfect them.

It was overall extremely wholesome and precious.

Hajime Hinata

“What animal is best at hitting a baseball? A bat!”

Hajime would just shrug and shake his head. He was more of a serious person so puns weren’t really funny to him. Nonetheless, his s/o tried every day and eventually, it started to grow on him.

Hajime would find himself coming up with random puns. He would be working, and something he read came off funny to him and he’d try to create a pun out of it.

At first, he didn’t realize he was doing it. When he did realize it, he would try and get himself to stop, but the puns had taken him over.

He always found himself trying to come up with puns, but he never told them to anyone.

Until one day.

He was working from home and his s/o was working on something on their laptop right next to him.

What do you call 2 octopuses that look exactly the same? Itenticle”

He said it out of nowhere and his s/o’s eyes shot up and looked at him in confusion. It quickly became awkward because Hajime expected his s/o to laugh at his joke, but he screwed it up and instead they were confused. Later that same day he told another joke and this time his s/o laughed along with him.

As much as Hajime didn’t find the puns funny at first, they definitely grew on him and it became a cute thing his s/o and he would do together.

Kaede Akamatsu

“Where did the cat go when it lost its tail? The retail store!”

Kaede would laugh at her s/o’s joke even if it wasn’t a very good one. As much as she loved her s/o and wanted to support them and laugh at their jokes, they were also becoming more and more frequent and it was becoming frustrating for Kaede.

So, Kaede thought of a way to get back at her s/o. She had decided that she would start telling bad puns as well. Her idea was to annoy her s/o so much that they begged for her to stop.

“Hey hey s/o! I have a joke for you”

“What do you call an alligator with a vest? An investigator!” Kaede would laugh at her own joke too, to make it appear like she really tried and actually thought it was funny.

From here on out Kaede would make constant jokes to her s/o daily and she could tell they were growing bored of it.

One day they both had enough. It was their anniversary and they had decided to celebrate by going to an expensive restaurant.

“Why are cats, bad storytellers? Because they only have one tale”

And then the ‘bad pun’ war started. They were both too busy trying to out-pun the other that they forgot about the food they ordered.

After this, they realized they had a problem and decided to stop telling puns to each other. Occasionally they would slip up and have weird pun wars, but they enjoyed it.

Wtf did I write

Shuichi Saihara

“I accidentally drank a little food coloring last night. I ended up dying inside”

Shuichi would just lower his head in shame. He loved his s/o, but their bad puns were pretty horrible and embarrassing.

It was a habit of his s/o to tell these bad puns, and Shuichi got more and more annoyed by it every day.

Or at least he thought so.

Until one day, where he was hanging out with s/o and a few of the other classmates including Kaito, Maki, Tenko, Ryoma and Gonta.

They all had decided to go to the movies, so when the movie was over and they had all gathered their things and went outside. They noticed the person working behind the snack counter had accidentally spilled all the boiling water for the coffee and cocoa, so Shuichi went;

“Rest in peace boiling water, you will be mist”

Shuichi and his s/o cracked up together. They both laughed so hard that they fell onto the ground and was rolling around.

The others had no idea what was going on and didn’t find the joke funny either, so they decided to leave them there on the ground and went back home.

Shuichi and his s/o kept laughing for a good 5 minutes and they kept telling each other horrible jokes on their entire way back home.

~ Mod Ibuki

#danganronpa #dangan ronpa #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa blog #danganronpa imagines blog #danganronpa fluff #drv3 #drv3 killing harmony #dr1 #dr2 #danganronpa requests #makoto naegi #hajime hinata #kaede akamatsu #shuichi saihara #dr imagines #dr imagine #dr headcanons #danganronpa headcanons

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mspaleoart · 6 years

Photo

Juramaia – Late Jurassic (160 Ma)

Just who is this beautiful boy? This chubby, shrew-looking fellow? He’s only a few inches long, and he has a sharp little nose. His name is Juramaia, and if you went back about 120 million generations, your ancestor would look something like him.

Juramaia was discovered in Liaoning, China, in 2011. Recent enough that if you’ve been following paleontology for a while, you may have heard of him. China has, since the beginning of this century, been a treasure trove of important fossils. We first found feathers on a Chinese dinosaur named Sinosauropteryx. We also found Juramaia, who is absurdly important to our understanding of mammal history.

Juramaia is a basal Eutherian. Eutherians are, simply put, living mammals who aren’t marsupials or monotremes. In fact, this is the oldest known Eutherian to date. We can’t say for sure that Juramaia is our direct ancestor. In fact, he’s probably not, statistically speaking. But he’s close enough to give us tons of insight into our origins.

When the first true mammals evolved depends on how you define a mammal. The late Paleozoic was ruled by a group of animals known as synapsids. These were our earliest ancestors and cousins, sometimes called proto-mammals. Originally considered a subclass of reptiles, we now know that they diverged from basal amniotes around the same time as reptiles, and have much more in common with mammals, anyway. They’re still popularly referred to as mammal-like reptiles, though that term is outdated. The terminology is a bit confusing, since synapsids also include true mammals, but I’ll use ‘synapsid’ here to mean the same thing as ‘proto-mammal.’

So, even when synapsids first appear in the fossil record in the late Caboniferous, they look distinctly mammalian on the inside. Their skulls have holes behind the eye socket, a trait shared by all their ancestors (fun fact, we lost this trait; our skull temples are the recently-closed secondary holes of the skull). They don’t have scales, either, so if you see a scaly Dimetrodon or Gorgonops, the portrayal is either outdated or incorrect. Synapsids also developed a semi-erect gait, something halfway between that of an alligator and a deer, for reference. Synapsids also immediately show the variety of teeth mammals eventually came to be most known for in paleontology. Towards the end of the Permian, they even develop bristles and fur.

By the Triassic period, we have the Cynodonts, a group so close to mammals that they’re easily mistaken for them. We aren’t quite at mammals yet, though. Cynodonts are pretty uncontroversially considered proto-mammals, but they’re definitely considered transitional. It’s when you move a few million years up that things get dicey. Animals like Megazostrodon and Morganucodon appear in the late Triassic, and they’re almost indistinguishable from a shrew or mouse. Plenty of people consider Megazostrodon and company to be the most basal mammals. This gets into what I talked about in Westlothiana’s writeup. These animals are so close together, and so close to the symbolic gulf between proto-mammal and true mammal that it’s almost impossible to come to agreement on which it is. In The Ancestor’s Tale, Richard Dawkins has a policy of not getting too hung-up on labels when dealing with these animals, and I think that’s a good rule of thumb.

Juramaia, though, is unambiguously a mammal. It has every trait we associate with the class today, and was a card-carrying member of the group that would eventually become the majority of mammals we know today. Most mammals looked a lot like Juramaia during the Mesozoic, with a few glorious exceptions. Most of our 100+ greats grandparents were relegated to exploiting the lower niches of nocturnal insectivores. Make no mistake, though, we flourished under the footfalls of dinosaurs, and spread all over the world. We made the most of that strategy for 100 million years, until there was room to diversify. If you can believe it, we—that is, mammals as a whole—retain a lot of holdovers from our stint as tiny nocturnals. Juramaia is an animal with just about all of those traits.

Think about some defining features of mammals. I don’t necessarily mean technical stuff, like bone structure and all that. That’s irrelevant to this particular point. You’d be surprised by how many of those traits are the result of 100 million years as pseudo-shrews:

Most mammals have dull coloration. Most of us are brown or tan or gray or black. Being the same color as the dirt or decaying leaves is very advantageous to a tiny animal that sleeps all day and spends all night worrying about being eaten by other animals. And remember that dinosaurs probably hunted primarily with eyesight, considering how good birds are at it. The color of our fur is a relic from when we needed camouflage to survive.

Your typical mammal has scent as their strongest sense, with hearing close behind. On top of that, they have terrible eyesight. It can be hard to remember that since we’re an exception, but it’s true for almost all non-primate mammals. Nocturnal animals tend to have poor color vision, trading off detail for the ability to see in as little light possible. Scent and hearing are really good traits for an animal that can’t and doesn’t need to see that well, too. It’s also worth mentioning that mammals on the whole have a well-developed sense of touch. It’s weird to think that other animals aren’t as good at feeling things as us, but it seems to be true.

Even fur and warm-bloodedness might be holdovers from Mammals: Nights. They might have served to keep us warm in dry places, where it would get much colder at night. Since we weren’t sleeping at night, it was important to have a mechanism to stay warm.

All of these points, are bundled together in a theory called the “Nocturnal Bottleneck.” There isn’t much evidence of nocturnality in other groups of animals back in the day, which suggests mammals pretty much had that niche on lockdown. Juramaia displays all of these traits, and it’s easy to see how an animal like this eventually diversified into the mammals we have today, who, despite having all kinds of shapes and roles, still retain some traits that betray their nocturnal heritage.

So, like an evolutionist in a Jack Chick comic, it wouldn’t be unreasonable for you to frame a picture of one of this guy and label it “Daddy.” Or maybe something like “Great Grandpa,’ because, I mean, “Daddy” has some implications in this age when nothing is sacred.

#juramaia #eutheria #stem mammals #mammals #jurassic #mesozoic #paleoart #palaeoart #paleontology #palaeontology #paleoblr #palaeoblr #prehistoric

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ukdamo · 6 years

Text

Narrative: Ali

Elizabeth Alexander

a poem in twelve rounds

My head so big they had to pry me out. I’m sorry Bird (is what I call my mother). Cassius Marcellus Clay, Muhammad Ali; you can say my name in any language, any continent: Ali.

Two photographs of Emmett Till, born my year, on my birthday. One, he’s smiling, happy, and the other one is after. His mother did the bold thing, kept the casket open, made the thousands look upon his bulging eyes, his twisted neck, her lynched black boy. I couldn’t sleep for thinking, Emmett Till.

One day I went Down to the train tracks, found some iron shoe-shine rests and planted them between the ties and waited for a train to come, and watched the train derail, and ran, and after that I slept at night.

I need to train around people, hear them talk, talk back. I need to hear the traffic, see people in the barbershop, people getting shoe shines, talking, hear them talk, talk back.

Bottom line: Olympic gold can’t buy a black man a Louisville hamburger in nineteen-sixty.

Wasn’t even real gold. I watched the river drag the ribbon down, red, white, and blue.

Laying on the bed, praying for a wife, in walk Sonji Roi.

Pretty little shape. Do you like chop suey?

Can I wash your hair underneath that wig?

Lay on the bed, Girl. Lie with me.

Shake to the east, to the north, south, west—

but remember, remember, I need a Muslim wife. So

Quit using lipstick. Quit your boogaloo. Cover up your knees

like a Muslim wife, religion, religion, a Muslim

wife. Eleven months with Sonji, first woman I loved.

There’s not too many days that pass that I don’t think of how it started, but I know no Great White Hope can beat a true black champ. Jerry Quarry could have been a movie star, a millionaire, a senator, a president— he only had to do one thing, is whip me, but he can’t.

7. Dressing-Room Visitor

He opened up his shirt: “KKK” cut in his chest. He dropped his trousers: latticed scars where testicles should be, His face bewildered, frozen in the Alabama woods that night in 1966 when they left him for dead, his testicles in a Dixie cup. You a warning, they told him, to smart-mouth, sassy-acting niggers, meaning niggers still alive, meaning any nigger, meaning niggers like me.

8. Training

Unsweetened grapefruit juice will melt my stomach down. Don’t drive if you can walk, don’t walk if you can run. I add a mile each day and run in eight-pound boots.

My knuckles sometimes burst the glove. I let dead skin build up, and then I peel it, let it scar, so I don’t bleed as much. My bones absorb the shock.

I train in three-minute spurts, like rounds: three rounds big bag, three speed bag, three jump rope, one- minute breaks, no more, no less.

Am I too old? Eat only kosher meat. Eat cabbage, carrots, beets, and watch the weight come down: two-thirty, two-twenty, two-ten, two-oh-nine.

Will I go like Kid Paret, a fractured skull, a ten-day sleep, dreaming alligators, pork chops, saxophones, slow grinds, funk, fishbowls, lightbulbs, bats, typewriters, tuning forks, funk clocks, red rubber ball, what you see in that lifetime knockout minute on the cusp? You could be let go, you could be snatched back.

10. Rumble in the Jungle

Ali boma ye, Ali boma ye, means kill him, Ali, which is different from a whupping which is what I give, but I lead them chanting anyway, Ali boma ye, because here in Africa black people fly planes and run countries.

I’m still making up for the foolishness I said when I was Clay from Louisville, where I learned Africans live naked in straw huts eating tiger meat, grunting and grinning, swinging from vines, pounding their chests—

I pound my chest but of my own accord.

11.

I said to Joe Frazier, first thing, get a good house in case you get crippled so you and your family can sleep somewhere. Always keep one good Cadillac. And watch how you dress with that cowboy hat, pink suits, white shoes— that’s how pimps dress, or kids, and you a champ, or wish you were, ‘cause I can whip you in the ring or whip you in the street. Now back to clothes, wear dark clothes, suits, black suits, like you the best at what you do, like you President of the World. Dress like that. Put them yellow pants away. We dinosaurs gotta look good, gotta sound good, gotta be good, the greatest, that’s what I told Joe Frazier, and he said to me, we both bad niggers. We don’t do no crawlin’.

12.

They called me “the fistic pariah.”

They said I didn’t love my country, called me a race-hater, called me out of my name, waited for me to come out on a stretcher, shot at me, hexed me, cursed me, wished me all manner of ill will, told me I was finished.

Here I am, like the song says, come and take me,

“The People’s Champ,”

myself, Muhammad.

#muhammed ali #cassius clay #boxer #usa #race #african american #olympian #poetry #elizabeth alexander

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write-stuff-for-life-blog · 6 years

Text

Review: Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom

NOTE: I actually saw this movie in theaters but since it’s DVD release was yesterday I figured I’d post my review of it here. I might ramble on for several paragraphs in these reviews, especially if I feel strongly about something, so I’ll try and make it a point to post a short rating at the top as well as a more in depth one at the end.

NOTE THE SECOND: I don’t usually care about spoilers in these reviews so read at your own risk.

1 out of 5 stars. Only watch on Netflix if you exhaust all your other options.

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom is written by Colin Trevorrow (previous writer and director of the last entry in the franchise) and Derek Connolly and was directed by J.A. Bayona. Chris Pratt and Bryce Dallas Howard reprise their roles as Owen Grady and Claire Dearing respectively and are sent back to Isla Nublar by Jon Hammond’s previously never mentioned before former partner billionaire Ben Lockwood played by a James Cromwell who can barely bother to keep his eyes open throughout the movie. I, in fact, share that same sentiment.

Usually in these reviews I try to touch on all the aspects of said medium: visuals, camera work, writing, directing, acting, etc. But this review is going to focus mainly on the writing and acting because both are so atrocious all the other aspects are inconsequential.

I didn’t think the first Jurassic World (JW) was as great as it needed to be for a soft reboot / revival of such a beloved franchise but it did have several memorable moments. The leads were charming enough to make you forget that they lacked meaningful character arcs (Claire does have one but the movie doesn’t care about it that much) and the action in the second half of the film was pretty cool (specifically T-Rex and Raptor and Giant Alligator Thing vs. the Indominus Rex). So for the second go around I was hoping that the filmmakers would take the time to really get it right and do the franchise justice. My hopes were far too high.

The only two performances that were worth anything in Fallen Kingdom (FK) were the two returning leads, Pratt and Howard. Howard is a decent enough actress but I’ve never seen a performance from her that I really love and FK continues that trend. Claire does undergo a change from shrewd, cold businesswoman to animal rights activist and that does give some depth to her character but it happens off screen during the three years between JW and FK. It was a little jarring at first but I swallowed it better when the film took a minute to explain her motivations. Pratt was as Pratt as ever as Owen is exactly the same through this movie as he was when we first met him in JW. I fear there’s a real risk for Pratt here as it seems as though he’s becoming another Will Smith or Tom Cruise. He is varying degrees of his usual charming and charismatic self in whatever project he appears in. Owen is just Pratt but outdoorsy to the extreme. Star-Lord is just Pratt with his ego turned up to eleven. Andy from Parks and Rec is just Pratt as a dumb man-child. And I guess that’s fine. Plenty of stars have made careers doing the same but actors actually stretching themselves and challenging themselves to become someone else will always be more impressive.

One thing that annoys me about modern blockbusters are their tendencies to inject new secondary characters into each following installment while completely ignoring the B cast from the previous entry. In the original Jurassic trilogy it did make some sense to do that as each sequel followed the branching lives of Ian Malcolm and Allen Grant who, we can presume, never encounter one another again after the first film. But here there’s little justification for it. JW’s comic relief characters Lowery and Vivian, played by capable comedy actors Jake Johnson and Lauren Lapkus respectively, are nowhere to be seen in this movie. Instead we have Franklin Webb, a spazzy tech guy played by Justice Smith, and Zia Rodriguez, a ball busting veterinarian played by Daniella Pineda. I don’t have much to say about Pineda, she was decent enough and served her purpose, but Smith … Oh my God. I believe this guy will go down in history as the absolute worst character in any Jurassic movie ever. Yes, he is even worse than every child character in all of the movies combined. He does nothing for the movie other than to scream in a high pitched voice when something scares him. Everything scares him. It’s always played for laughs but the joke falls flat on its face every time. The movie thinks it’s funny for a grown man to shriek in terror and scream out loud the thing that’s scaring him. “Lava!” “T-Rex!” “Social interaction!” All right, I made up that last one but the character is so cliché he might as well have said it. And what’s more there is no reason for this character to be here. The movie wastes a fine opportunity to bring back JW’s Lowery who was also a tech guy. In fact it even makes sense for him to run with Claire in her animal rights activism as he was a huge fanboy for Jurassic Park. He had toy dinosaurs all over his work station, he loves them! And it makes even more sense for him to return to Isla Nublar because he was familiar with the park’s computer systems. Why isn’t he joining Claire? He was courageous and had some genuinely funny interactions with Vivian. He certainly would have been better than Spazzy McScreamy.

Speaking of trends let’s talk about the obligatory child character. Isabella Sermon makes her big screen debut as Maisie Lockwood, Ben Lockwood’s granddaughter. Of all the new additions to the franchise she’s the standout as her performance has a depth and range most child actors would struggle to convey. Now one thing about the Jurassic movies is that their child characters were usually pretty capable in some way or another. Hammond’s granddaughter in JP reboots the computer system. Malcolm’s daughter in Lost World is able to gymnastic a raptor to death (yeah it’s a dumb scene but she saves her dad). The teenager in JP3 survives Isla Sorna alone for eight weeks. And the brothers in JW are able to fix a derelict jeep and rescue themselves. FK started out following this trend of capable children with Maisie … until it abandons the idea so we can have a “monster creeping through a child’s bedroom” scene. This completely undermined her whole character. Up until then the movie had established her as smart and independent and capable as hell. She snuck into the secret lab, spied and hid from the bad guys, busted out of her room which she’d been locked in, and climbed atop buildings all secretly by herself without help from a single grown up. But the minute the new hybrid dinosaur goes after her, which she had seen several times before then, she immediately forgets how capable she is and hides under her bed sheets. This might be the most heinous example of bad writing in this whole movie. Mixed messages? Okay, fine. Forgettable action sequences? Whatever, that’s most of Hollywood anyway. But please, for the love of God, have consistent characters!

Now the villains. Ugh.

BD Wong returns as the dastardly Dr. Henry Wu, the mastermind genius behind the dinosaur cloning process, the I-Rex, and FK’s new hybrid the Indoraptor. It would seem that in the three years since JW InGen and its parent company Masrani Global have cut Wu loose as he’s now partnered with a new financier Eli Mills played by Rafe Spall, the CEO / director / executor of Ben Lockwood’s … estate? Company? Trust fund? I don’t remember the movie specifying what Mills’ job was, only that he was another white collar villain (because we haven’t seen that before in a Jurassic movie). Toby Jones makes an appearance as Mr. Eversol, an auctioneer for the high rolling criminal underworld, and Ted Levine plays Ken Wheatley, the leader of a disposable mercenary force who has an odd fetish for collecting dinosaur teeth. And that is literally all there is to the villains. Each of them is cartoonishly shallow to the point that Wheatley is a parody of an archetype and all Dr. Wu needs is a mustache to twirl. True, the villains have never been that big of a deal in the Jurassic movies as the dinosaurs have always been the main attractions but not even Vincent D’Onofrio’s Hoskins from JW was this bad and in a movie full of weakly written characters he was the weakest link.

And let’s not forget the dinosaurs. They are there. Not as much as you’d like but they’re around. The big draw for Owen this time around is to save Blue, the only surviving raptor from the pack he raised and trained, from Isla Nublar’s impending volcanic eruption. FK plays this up as though Blue was always the equivalent of a loyal attack dog but it conveniently forgets that JW established her as a dog capable and willing to bite the hand that fed her. The scene from the previous movie in which Owen is in the raptor enclosure is a tense moment because he is under threat from all the raptors, Blue included. In fact when the I-Rex persuades them to go after the humans all the raptors focus in on Owen. There was that one moment when Owen pulls off Blue’s head camera at the end of JW but to rewrite the relationship as though she were a loyal golden retriever, I feel like that was not earned in the slightest. And the main attraction this time is the new hybrid, the Indoraptor, essentially a smaller version of the previous movie’s I-Rex. FK presents this abomination of genetic manipulation as an ultimate monster but it really just looks like rejected concept art of the I-Rex. Also the Indoraptor is only in half of the movie. The I-Rex in JW was a better monster because it was terrorizing the island for almost the whole runtime. Plus the I-Rex has some decent build up and a good reveal. Here, it feels like the movie couldn’t be bothered. “By the way, we made another hybrid dino. Here it is.” I did enjoy the return of more practical animatronics over every dino being CGI but if you saw the last film this one doesn’t have anything special for you in that regard.

Let’s talk about Trevorrow’s writing. It’s awful. Like a pile of hot rancid garbage awful. The biggest problem with JW is that it completely ignores the moral of the original. JP was a cautionary tale that proves whenever man tries to exert his will over nature he will lose and just because we can do something it doesn’t mean we should. It’s classic man vs. nature ending with man being humbled. JW said, “Hey look, we’re going to keep doing that ethically questionable thing most people believe we shouldn’t be doing and wield the power of a god with no regards to any possible consequences,” and gets upset when the monster it created wreaks havoc. But does FK finally learn that lesson and try to take the franchise somewhere new that doesn’t lead the characters into being idiots who keep going back to the island? Do Michael Bay’s Transformers movies understand subtlety?

More than ever this movie has dumb characters making dumb decisions that nobody with a brain can follow. The villains want to capture the dinos and auction them off to billionaire criminals because these crime lords want them for pharmaceutical reasons (but why though?), the ability to hunt one like a big game hunter (because we also haven’t seen that before), or for weaponization. Let’s touch on that last point. The villains justify it by saying animals have been used in combat scenarios for centuries when armies rode to battle on horses and elephants. And the movie might have had a point if either one of those transportation methods hadn’t become outdated before the fifties.

Now just for the sake of argument I’ll list off a few more examples for this movie’s case: K-9 units, bomb detecting dolphins, and pidgins have all historically been used by one military or another at various times. But here’s the common thread among all those examples: none of those animals are predisposed to ripping a man’s head off in a single bite. Why do you think it isn’t common practice for a military to use lions and tigers and bears? And let’s take a closer look at the proliferation of working dogs and horses. Could it be that thousands if not millions of years of closely co-existing with humans have made them predisposed towards not killing us on sight? What’s that called? Oh yeah. Domestication!

Whether we’re talking about fiction or not, training an animal that never co-existed with humans so it can become an attack animal is not a good idea any way you slice it. Any semi-intelligent person can recognize that there are way too many variables to take into account. Oh but what about Blue, I hear you asking. Owen proved that raptors can be trained with Blue. That may be true but one successful instance against a multitude of failures does not prove the concept. Sure the Polish Supply Brigade around WWII kept a bear named Wojtek that would carry their supplies for them but you don’t see cargo bears being implemented throughout the world’s militaries these days. Do you know why? Because they’re freaking bears! They could go in for a playful swipe and nick your carotid by accident you MORONS!

And that leads me to this movie’s message. Apparently FK believes these animals have as much right to life as any other endangered species. That’s the whole reason Claire wants to go back so she can save them. But the film is bookended with Jeff Goldblum reprising his role as Ian Malcolm speaking before a congressional committee on how much that is a bad idea. He argues that nature selected the dinos for extinction millions of years ago and bringing them back was a mistake. The volcano erupting and eradicating the clone dinos on Isla Nublar, he says, is nature’s way of correcting that mistake. So the film opens and closes arguing why protecting these creatures from a second extinction is the worst. And yet we spend most of the runtime doing exactly that.

Seriously?

Malcolm has always been the ultimate voice of reason in these movies and we as an audience are inclined to agree with him given the proof each movie provides for his argument. There are four previous films illustrating why bringing the Earth’s most dangerous predators back to life is a horrible idea. And now that nature wants to correct the mistake you’re going to defy that decision?

The film uses Maisie here to make this case. The dinos are technically clones and we learn that Maisie is a clone as well so now we’re using clone rights to justify saving the dinosaurs. It is a weak argument thrown in at the last moment. Arguing for conservation is good and all but how well are you going to side with that argument when the T-Rex is meandering through a neighborhood gobbling up pedestrians left and right? These animals have lived on an island their entire lives. Aside from T-Rex who visited San Diego in the 90s they have never seen a town. The only human made structures they are familiar with were the derelict park buildings that the movie shows them waltzing through all the time. Even our own real world wild animals don’t understand that they should stay away from human settlements, how well do you think Blue is going to do the first time she’s caught in the headlights? But apparently they have a right to live because they are just as alive as Maisie the clone is so let’s end the movie by releasing all these dangerous animals, most of which are as large as a rhino or elephant, into the American countryside.

Sure, forget about public safety. Forget that dinosaurs had their chance but nature selected them for extinction over sixty million years ago. Forget about all the indigenous plant and wildlife that is now under threat because you just loosed at least eleven different dinos onto the world. Forget about how their nesting habits might destroy the landscape like nutria in Louisiana. What was your motivation again? Conservation? Give me a break.

Honestly this movie makes me glad Trevorrow was fired from Star Wars Episode Nine. This proves that he has no clue what decent writing looks like and has no regard for what the original was trying to say. Just because he was given the opportunity to make these films doesn’t mean he should have.

1 star out of 5

A forgettable and messy film that slowly meanders through the second and third act with no sense of purpose other than to say, “Ooooh look. It’s a dinosaur!” And it doesn’t even say that well.

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letmeletmetrashyourlove · 7 years

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Let’s Go: Chapter Two

Summary: Billy and El are left home alone together...

Author’s Note: I was going to make this longer, but it’s written in third person (which i hate writing in.) and I didn’t want to switch back to first person in the middle of it. Which means MORE PARTS YAY! This won't make too much sense if you haven’t read part 1.

CHAPTER 1 MASTERLIST REQUESTS OPEN

Feedback always appreciated, especially if you didn’t like it (seriously, you can roast me. I always want my work to improve)

“So, what do you do here all day, kid?” Billy asked, relaxing beside El on the couch. Her eyes were transfixed on the TV screen as they ordinarily were. “TV.” She replied.

“All day?” She nodded, flipping through the channels. “Y/N came after school, before you.” She sassed. Billy bit his tongue. He had to contain his animosity for a 13-year-old girl, if he didn’t, he’d have to endure the wrath of an older one.

“Sorry to rain on your parade.” He murmured, lighting his cigarette. “Gross.” “I’m going to go outside, will that make you happy?” Billy rose to his feet, stepping outside. He puffed on his cigarette for a few minutes before concluding he was frigid and needed to come back in. He tugged on the door handle, but it was jammed. The door had been locked from the inside. “Oh, come on!” He cried, throwing his hands up in outrage, “El!” She ignored him, keeping her back turned as she rubbed the blood from under her nose.

He let out a growl, trudging over to the front door, which was also bolted. “Okay. Come on, kid. This isn’t funny!” “You don’t have to like me, but for Y/N sake, can we please just try to get along?” No response, “Look. She’s really important to me. And she’s not gonna be happy if we can’t at least pretend to not hate each other.” The latch clicked, signifying that the door had been unlocked. As soon as he tugged down on the knob, it clicked shut again.

“Seriously!” He wailed,

It unlocked once more, this time allowing him to open the door. El sat browsing through a magazine, a devilish smirk on her face. “How do you do that? Got the locks hooked up to some kind of a remote or something?” Billy inquired.

“Quiet. Or back outside.” She warned.

****

After a few hours, Billy actually found himself chuckling at the black and white comedies that were playing on the screen. He didn’t know if it was because it was indeed funny, or if enough of his brain cells were dying to make it so. El was sat beside him on the couch, occasionally shooting him a dirty look. “Y/N says your papa hurts you.” She blurted, turning towards Billy. He was taken aback by her unusual interest in him,

“Uh…yeah.” He reacted. “Does he hurt your mama?” She inquired. “No… Not anymore… She lives in California.” Billy replied. “California?” “Yeah, you know… Ocean. Hollywood… Where all those movies you watch are made.” “Ocean?” “Uh…” He scanned over the coffee table, landing on a road atlas. He flipped through the pages until he discovered a US map.

“So… Hawkins is here.” He uttered, pointing to Indiana, “And California is all the way over here….” He traced the path between the two. El followed his finger with hers, “Far.” She muttered. “Yeah. It’s pretty far.” He confirmed, nodding his head. “Your mama is there.” She pondered, pointing to the map. “Yep…” “Do you miss her?”

“Yeah… I do. But I’m just glad she’s not with my dad anymore.” Billy confided. Why he was telling this to a random child he just met, he couldn't say “Because he hurt her?”

“Right.” She hummed to herself, still looking at the page, “Ocean?” She queried, remembering the word from earlier in the conversation.

“Yeah. There are lots of oceans… All the blue on the map is ocean. Uh… The Pacific Ocean is by California… The Atlantic Ocean is by Florida… Don’t ask me where the rest are…”

“Florida?” “Yeah, over here.” He replied, pointing to the peninsula state. “Ocean and Hollywood in California. In Florida?” “Ocean…. Alligators… Hurricanes.” He rattled off. “Hurricanes?” Billy found himself enjoying the interaction with El. Nobody had really relied on him like this before. Before long, he found himself sitting on the floor with her, various books scattered about. He explained alligators and hurricanes, which led to questions about dinosaurs and tsunamis. Everything was brand new to her, and he got to be the one to introduce it. He hadn't had that bonding experience with Max. Maybe his stay here wouldn't be so bad after all.

#lidi writes #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove/reader #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fic

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thedaveandkimmershow · 3 years

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"It can be raining like crazy and then fifteen minutes later it's fine."

That's Kimmer, by the way, commenting on yesterday afternoon's sudden deluge of rain.

Deluge.

Of rain.

All that rain came with intense flashes and branches of lighting accompanied by thunder that was much like a bulldozer careening around an industrial kitchen.

It was very clangy is what I'm saying.

We managed a reservation at Margaritaville for lunch, scoring a table on the covered "Indecision Porch" in front of which everyone on foot passes. From our perch, it's impossible not to see certain things.

For example, a tall young man with his arm draped lazily around the young woman he's with. Kimmer thought first-date. My bet's on they're a couple and she's not super happy about it because at one point he leans down and over to kiss the top of her head and the look on her face at that moment is one of enduring it.

I noticed a number of families wearing uniforms, bright green or orange t-shirts that make them impossible to miss by family members even from low earth orbit. Which is a good thing 'cause all these families have little kids in tow.

I saw a coupla brothers, older and younger, and caught the moment when the older brother put his arm around the younger and they took off running.

Took.

Off.

Running.

I saw a father try to put his arm around his daughter but she kept ducking it. And when he finally relented... she took his hand instead. ♥️♥️♥️

I saw off-season Santa driving an electric cart, dressed from head to toe in a red warm-up suit.

I saw someone wearing a "Free The Dinosaurs" t-shirt and now I want one of those t-shirts too.

Plus, you know, I really do want to free the dinosaurs 'cause I'm environmental like that. 😁

I also realized during lunch that Kimmer's scheduled for us a vacation, a vacation, and a vacation. Right now we're on a three-and-a-half day stay without obligation, responsibility, or agenda. That vacation'll be followed by five days of all things Disney starting Monday. And the last two days are no-obligstion free time again.

Lovely!

Our lunch was also accompanied by a live steel drum band performing popular covers that caused me to indulge a mental game of "Name That Tune". I wasn't very good at it though eventually I figured out most of the songs. Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline" was one of the most well known along with the "Guilty Feet Have Got No Rhythm" song by George Michael that's actually "Careless Whisper" by Wham 'cause I just looked it up.

After lunch, it's nap and relax time. And then it's time for night bowling 'cause it's this thing we both really want to do and I stood in line this morning for nearly forty five minutes waiting to get a reservation.

We had a great time, by the way. I started off with three strikes in a row which felt really bizarre. Kimmer took a few frames to get her groove back and ended up improving her score with each game while my game seemed to get worse.

Still.

Night bowling. The missus 'n me.

♥️♥️♥️

Not long after we finished, Linzy's flight landed at Orlando International and, while we were hunting around for a dinner sandwich for her, she managed to land in our hotel's lobby.

She was pretty wiped out much as we were a few evenings ago. It's amazing what air travel takes out of you. Not sure why. And that three hour time difference is always a bigger deal than it has any right to be.

We finished the evening with Linzy getting us hooked on that Netflix series "Lupin", "a retelling of the classic French story about Arsène Lupin, the world-famous gentleman thief and master of disguise." (Wikipedia)

We blew through two hours of this foreign language subtitled action/mystery show, only stopping 'cause it was 230.

A.M.

A few hours later, 6AM, I'm up again 'cause Rachel's plane lands a little after six. It winds up landing about ten minutes after six and I meet her in the hotel lobby after she Lyfts the final leg of her journey to a most welcome sleep 'cause she's been flying all night, having a classic red-eye experience.

Now, we didn't get to bed 'til 230 this morning. And Rachel didn't get any sleep on the plane 'cause they kept it so cold. So I'm figuring she's just gonna maybe say a quick hello to Kimmer 'n Linzy before going to sleep while everyone goes back to sleep.

Haha. NOPE.

We haven't all been together as a family for a long time now and suddenly (and for the week) the band's back together again. So a lot of catching up ensues. And a lot of laughter followed by shhhhh's 'cause it's still earlyish in the morning.

At some point, though, not sure when, I nod off.

It's 10AM!

Yeah. It's 10AM and this is one of those experiences like when I used to get up super early on Sunday morning's to do my paper route and then went back to bed again after finishing it only to get up a few hours later.

It felt like a different day every time. Even after those few hours of sleep.

And so it is this morning.

While the girls remain essentially comatose after their travels, Kimmer slips downstairs to Starbucks whilst I take a glorious shower. "Glorious" in that it really does seem like a completely different day.

:-)

After clearing the room, checking out, and stashing our bags at the front desk for a few hours, the missus 'n I indulge mango smoothies by the pool whilst talking life 'cause that's what old people do. Then we're off to Trader Joe's with Santiago, an Uber driver who shared bits of life with us as we did with him. We talked about New York City where he lived before, we talked a little sights of Orlando where he's lived since oh-three, we talked a little bit Seattle where his best friend's younger brother lives (and also where we were born & raised), and then we talked a touch of Puerto Rico and Hurricane Maria.

It doesn't take us long at Trader Joe's, a coupla bags worth, really, before we hail another Uber back with Carlitos from New York State… . Westchester. We talked old school sports video games as well as the challenges of proper car maintenance before dropping off again for one more best.

Burger.

Ever.

At The Hideaway Bar & Grill.

😁😁😁

Eventually, it's time to end Vacation #1 with a Lyft from our driver, Wanell, to our rental condo at Floridays. We talked the recent Haiti earthquake a little and quickly determining that all his friends and family are okay. Alive and uninjured. Then, because we were passing it, we talked Icon Park with that crazy tall rotating swing guaranteed to induce nausea and vomiting. The Kraken roller coaster was another candidate on which we all voted would produce similar results as we passed Sea World. And then, finally, somehow, we talked alligators 'n fries.

I don't know what to tell you. Rachel was super interested to hear about it.

And so on.

We're pretty much having a Maui experience here where there seems to be more time in our days. More hours than just the 24 we're routinely allotted. Because once you start having to count the time between one event and the next… your day just gets away from you. Sometimes at light speed.

And we're not doing that.

These are not full days of To-Dos. This is nearly all unstructured time. And when it's unstructured time… the day just unfolds and keeps unfolding.

It's crazy how much livable time there is on any given day.

Seriously. There really is.

Anyway, this first vacation, part 1, the one before our Disney vacation, wraps up today. And tomorrow… we dive head first into, well...

We're about to find out.

🙂🤔😁

#vacation #vacation stories #disney springs #universal's cabana bay resort #trader joe's

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