#I'M BITCHIN!

[welcometogrouchland]

Making peace with fiction that wasn't poorly executed but was in fact so so so so fucking close to being perfect (via a balance of perfect scenes and overall good ones) but missed the mark just a smidge to the point of it being jarring. That's the hardest battle god can give you

[ot3]

Correct post because the number of ace attorney fans who openly admit to not playing these games and won't even check the wiki for basic facts is so frustrating. but incredibly ironic coming from the "Manfred von karma wasn't abusive and his relationship with franziska and edgeworth was loving" person

[denkies]

Inspired by @kyouka-supremacy 's post

[luck-and-larceny]

FFXIV Write: Telling

Audr Shade's home is a small, nondescript house in a relatively undeveloped ward of the Lavender Beds. It sits tucked away in an appropriately shady, uninhabited corner of that undeveloped ward. This says to me one of two things:

This guy is a recluse who is just begging to be robbed and Nymeia is fully on my side today.

There is no Audr Shade. This is an elaborate set-up by my asshole ex-boyfriend and the Adders and Nymeia has decided I should get fucked today.

If I abandon the plan to rob this very introverted and probably very imaginary music genius now, I will avoid being arrested. That might be nice.

But I'll also never know what might have happened if I went inside and what secrets could be hidden within. That is not nice. I do not like that.

It occurs to me that I have more options than just stupidly going into this house. I don't have to roll the dice without knowing who I'm playing against. I don't have time to go searching through public records or to interview people about this lucky landowner's history and tragic backstory, but I know people who do have that time. I settle into a cozy spot hidden away at a nearby, half developed house, behind abandoned construction supplies, and watch Audr Shade's place while I call my fixer.

“Floors and Decors,” he answers. 

“You changed the name again? Sibert, you're not going to be taken seriously as a committed business if you can't even commit to a name for that business.”

He sighs. He hasn't made it through even one sentence from me before becoming exhausted. I feel so powerful!

“Go on then,” he says in a world-weary voice. “Give me more business advice I can rightfully ignore. I've got the time.”

“Oh, good! It's time that I need, actually. See, I'm working on– you know what? No. I need to say more. I take back my criticism. I don't think you're changing the name of the store enough actually. You should switch it up at least once a week. Keep em guessing. What's that guy in that ramshackle place down by the dock saying he's got this week? Chairs for Lairs? Sheds and Beds?”

He cuts me off to grumble, “Stop! What is it that you need?”

“Couches for Grouches then,” I reply, “I'm working on a job and I don't know if it's a setup. I don't actually know if the guy I'm robbing even exists. I've been sent to Ward 31 of the Lavender Beds–”

“I didn't know there was a 31st Ward,” he interrupts. “I thought it was still being constructed.”

“Me too,” I say, “But there is a house here all the way at the very end of this ward. It's super basic. Nondescript. Nothing notable in the yard. I don't even see a place to tie up a chocobo.”

He scoffs. “Well, that's telling. Are you calling to ask me if this obvious trap is actually a trap or to try to convince you it's not?”

Well, fuck. When things look like they are too good to be true, they usually are. But sometimes they're that good because Fortune has smiled on you. I admit I have some difficulty these days discerning between divine intervention and my own intervening delusions. I really ought to examine that more. I won't, of course, but I ought to.

“Could you just look into this guy for me anyway, boss man? His name is Audr Shade and–”

“Audr Shade? The musician?” He's curious now.

And I'm annoyed. Why did he know that immediately? I'm the one whose hobby is music and I didn't know him! Unbelievable. I bet Sibert couldn't tell the difference between a flute and a fart.

“Yeah. Him. So he's real?”

“Well, I've never met the guy face to face, but I know him, yes.”

“Right. Of course. Because you definitely pal around in the same circles. The antiques and home goods community sometimes invites the art crowd to brunch?”

“Well, no. I mean, sort of? I mean– Lia, he's worked with me before. Not as a contractor, but as a client. Not recently, but not so long ago either. Actually, I had you retrieve a golden spoon once for him. Do you remember that?”

Do I remember that? Sibert had “forgotten” to warn me that the woman who had this antique spoon also had a trained Gigatoad. I shudder at the memory and suddenly feel like I'm covered in toad slobber all over again.

“Yeah, I remember. Wait, so this guy is a part of our world?”

“Enough that he's reached out a few times anyway. Describe the house to me again?”

“Like I said before, I can't. It's the most boring house I've ever seen, but, like not even in a notable way. Like… it's just a white house with black shutters. You know what? Shutters are stupid. Like they don't DO anything. They're just a decorative thing that pretends like they have a function, but they're nailed to the sides of windows! They couldn't even actually shutter anything if they wanted to. Everyone's just got these silly pieces of nothing fixed on their houses because they see every other house has them–”

“Yes. Great. People do things because other people do them and because it looks good. Very insightful. Back on task, Lia. I said it was telling that his house is nondescript. I thought that might be because it's a trap. But maybe it's not. Maybe it's nondescript so it'll be ignored. Maybe he does live there."

A light turns on in the home. Moments later it turns off again and a guy… a very boring looking guy– the Highlander equivalent of a nondescript white house with pointless shutters– steps outside. And looks right in my direction. 

[coquelicoq]

bitch, noun: this is a misogynistic slur to me and i hate how casually and widely it's used, though i recognize and respect that other women may have a relationship with it that is different from mine.

bitch, interjection: this has become a more or less neutral way of expressing alignment and/or a term of affection in many dialects, but i don't use it myself. too close to the noun.

bitch, verb: clearly derived from the noun and with negative rather than neutral or affectionate connotations. despite this, the verb bitch doesn't really bother me for some reason. however, i still mostly avoid using it because otherwise i feel like a total hypocrite.

bitchin', adjective: absolutely baller word. 10/10. no notes.

[doot-boi]

My christmas gift for me is on the way and in honour of that I wanted to post the part I'm most keen for

Look at 'em. The blorbos in love. This is my favourite love scene ever and I get to have it on a card for the tcg I love in a fancy printing. Thank you Justyna Dura for your marvellous rendition

[elecmon]

Odaiba day over time to feel immediate soul crushing sadness with a special hint of loneliness sucker punching me in the throat

[rocketbirdie]

*cue cloud strife, sobbing hysterically while snowboarding straight back into r&d's labs*

[wispstalk]

ten hour bartending shift, did it wearing a corset and fake elf ears and 12-inch horns, swapped no fewer than 6 kegs, did not sit down once. now I am smoking some fucking WEED and taking a fucking BATH. a sixtel (party keg size) weighs about sixty pounds, while a half barrel (what you are probably picturing when I say 'keg') weighs about 160. moved three of each, not to mention all the cases of beer cans. I am going to be so sore and I'm opening tomorrow pray for me. but I do what I must so that nerds can party 🫡

[zingaplanet]

Insight to Federer and Nadal's private convo during the Match In Africa + the in-laws reuniting:

[chainsawmascara]

It would be gr8 if chronic fatigue could Not Do This

I'd go on a paragraph about how I don't feel well to do my usual cripple blogging but man

Typing requires so much energy

And there are so many things I want to do

Stares at Google docs for writing projects, sketchbook, charcoal, and sewing machine

Stares in I Have No Idea How I've Managed to Function Enough to Take Care of My Child but Here We Are Disabled Parental Superpowers

Stares in Lifting My Head Took So Much Energy I Need to Lay Down

[citrine-elephant]

how i'm feelin after workin on a damn shitpost for a week (plus when it's done)

[askmamahusk]

((Mym: if any of you want to read the story as it goes, please be aware, 18+))

[helix-enterprises117]

Today was... well, I think y'all know. Good night.

[thirddagger]

google why do my knees hurt like so often

[ruinedbycatastrophe]

@writtenxbeginnings

Prompto shivered slightly when Gladio put his hand against his head, his eyes closing though at the contact. It always helped, knowing that he was near by, but at that moment? Prompto just wanted it to go away, and he was trying to try anything at that point. "Don't wanna move any way. Tummy." The words came out as he pouted his lips, looking up at his boyfriend. "Help."

Gladio rolled his eyes, moving to then pick up the blond gunslinger. Cradling him like one would walk a bride passed the threshold, the Shield managed to get them to their shared bedroom. If anything, Prompto deserved to lay in a cool, dark room. And that fever and stomach ache worried him a little bit. "Let me get you somethin'. You want me to call Iggy?" He ran his fingers through his hair. "Or Noct?"