#ask box meme responded

[lastofthebelmontsrp]

@ariaacrossthemultiverse

"Trevor! Trevor! Wake up!!!"

There's a very worried and slightly teary-eyed Aria kneeling over the Belmont and shaking his shoulder. There's also blood. A lot of it.

"Thank God you're breathing. Wake up, damn it!!"

Trevor was shaking. He looked up. Breathing hurt, "Aria," He said weakly, "Did we win the battle? Or is this the witness of the end?"

[randomsprinkles]

Hi! I just saw your drawing about Loid "For the mission", and it's look a like, the wall of Homer Simpson "Do it for her", for Maggie. It's super cutie! 😍

Ur so right

[b0tis]

Ahaha sorry i didnt specify the men i wanted you to rate! My bad 💀 So: Daemon obviously, Harwin, Crispton, uhhhhhhhh Corlys and Viserys?

aight

Harwin is a solid 9/10 or even 10/10 perhaps. yes very much perhaps. 11/10 dare i say? no, we'll stick to 10/10, no playing favourites.

Corlys is a 10/10 as an overall but a 9/10 on the daily since he thinks his son's just going through a phase. Y'know for several years at this point.

Crispton sounds like a tea brand and is... 4/10? Because externally he's conventionally attractive I suppose? And I can sympathise with his internal religious conflict and the distress it causes and overall I pity the man even though he annoys me.

Viserys is a 3/10 because. rot. also my poor poor aemma. But he has his golden moments in between being a weak monarch. He grants me the giggles at times, y'know, the small laughs, if you will. I pity him as well even though I can't stop thinking about miserable young Alicent next to him.

Daemon is a 👹/10 goodbye

[soulfullofold]

☂️ for Wide-Eyes, 🌻 for Limn

☂️ “How does Wideeyes respond to storms?”

Wideeyes LOVES monsoon season!!!! She loves getting her fur absolutely soaked and dancing through the desert as the rain plummets down. She loves when the sky turns rosy pink with distant lightning, and how the saguaros turn fat and happy the next day with the rain. Most of all, she loves how rains bring the flowers--nothing energizes her more when the superbloom hits.

🌻 “How would Limn describe their boundary?”

"Never far."

[asleepinawell]

My curse continues, Nintendo canceled my Bayo 3 order without sending me an email or having any indication on my orders page so now I gotta wait until I can get it delivered from another place, luckily they still had Trinity Editions so I didn't lose that at least. Thanks for reccing that short story with Judith I hadn't read it yet, good call. Most important Nona update from my progress, the nature of The Locked Tomb is you'll just be innocently reading and then a character starts reading from r/RelationshipAdvice and slaps you across the face despite the fact you should really know better by now. I've only known Nona for a hundred pages but I love her

the gods of pre-ordering have not been kind to you this year. :(

I'm glad you have Nona now though. it was so good and there's nothing I enjoy more than the moments that are like TAMSYN WHYYYYY when I get a really bad pun or meme reference. love that so much

the thing with the locked tomb books that's really funny to me is that Serious Book Reviewers and people who fancy themselves "literature enthusiasts" tend to not like them that much, especially harrow and nona. like the complaint i saw in reviews was about 'nothing happens!' and 'why are we focusing on these people for so long!!! why aren't exciting things happening??' and 'none of these characters are likeable!' and it amuses me because they weren't the intended audience of the books i think, or not of those parts. and they don't really understand that. can't understand that i'd say. the tight focus on characters feels a lot more like what fandom communities thrive on. also the love of characters who are just terrible absolute messes and awful people in a funny way. i feel so catered to by this series haha. with TM's background in fic writing and her inclusion of the tumblr meme culture popping up all over it's always felt like we were the audience she was aiming for with those things and obviously it worked great. with the reviewers it's like...imagine if someone came to tumblr and attempted to take it seriously. ye gods. F in the chat, etc

(also the writing is extremely good. i'm not saying it's like a tumblr shit post. it's excellently crafted and using very unique and distinctive styles and creative ways to deconstruct styles too AND has the hilarity of a great shit post. beautiful)

I'm gonna be passing on bayo 3 (not over the voice actor drama since that was sketchy from the get go and turned out to be a mess. other stuff), but what I saw of the combat and design looked pretty cool (especially the summons) so there's probably a lot of good stuff in there to enjoy. hopefully Nona will keep you busy until you can get a copy!

[116t98]

My Heartsteel Headcanons

(Except they’re real things real kpop idols really did)

The guys solve all their problems/make all their decisions by playing rock, paper, scissors. Ezreal always loses

Except for that one time when he didn’t, and he literally got down on his knees and thanked God for him finally not losing

(Yone was the one who lost that time, btw)

Kayn ripped his pants in the middle of a televised performance

While playing charades, the others try (and fail) to make Yone guess “luggage”. A few minutes later, he’s only able to guess the word after Sett (with Aphelios’s help) pretends to be a luggage bag

Kayn can play “Mary Had a little Lamb” on the recorder with his nose. Yone asked if he could play something else, which promoted him to immediately play “My Heart Will Go On”

Ezreal told their fans during a live concert performance that he used to have a really nice jacket that he wore for some performances… until one of his stylists accidentally left it on a lighting device

Long story short, his Gucci burned

Sett cries at the end of every concert

A fan once left a comment during an Instagram live that read “I’m crying in the club”, and Yone immediately responded with “you’re in the club?”

Aphelios can perfectly forge all of his bandmates’s signatures; he’s signed Heartsteel memorabilia with everyone’s signatures before, without anyone else knowing

Ezreal yelled at Sett on TV for wearing insoles in his shoes even though he’s already tall

They like to play games during their concerts, like limbo and “who can unravel a roll of toilet paper the fastest?” (it’s K’sante, but Sett’s a close second)

When he first debuted, Ezreal promoted himself by passing out mints to strangers and asking them to listen to his song

Yone wasn’t able to join the others for a live stream once, so they called him to chat for a bit. Aphelios thought it be funny to hang up on Yone as soon as he answered the phone

He was right

Kayn once showed up to the airport wearing a dog head mask

During an encore performance, the guys decided to have a push up contest while they sang

(Sett swears he won, but everyone else begs to differ)

K’sante once mentioned during a TV interview that Kayn didn’t want to watch a movie with him bc he “doesn’t like watching movies”, which got Kayn (who didn’t want to look bad in front of any movie producers who were potentially watching) so worked up, he threw a pen at the table they were seated at… which bounced right into Yone’s eye

While he was promoting his debut song, Ezreal’s brightly colored stage outfits became a meme after he compared them to different kinds of Listerine online. The meme gained so much traction, Listerine actually sent him boxfuls of mouthwash and a customized cake decorated with some fondant Listerine bottles and a sugar doll version of himself on top

The guys tease Alune a lot. Like, a lot. Sett even once jokingly asked their fans to help them set Alune up on a date bc “she’s always solo” and “it’s so sad 🥺” (pray for her u guys)

K’sante accidentally knocked the head off of a department store mannequin

After watching one of their performances, the CEO of their record label complimented the group members individually, telling them things like “your voice is good”, “you look great”, “keep it up”, etc. But, according to Kayn, the CEO only told him: “your forehead’s wide, so you’ll succeed” (wtf does that even mean??)

Kayn and Ezreal had a Twitter war where they enlisted the help of their fans to Photoshop dumb memes of the other using whatever unflattering images of themselves could be found online

Sett has a habit of napping wherever he can. The guys take advantage of the opportunity by taking pictures of themselves posing around him while he’s asleep; some favorites include K’sante standing above him to recreate “The Creation of Adam”, Aphelios putting q-tips on his mouth, and Ezreal stacking random things on his chest

For his birthday, K’sante was surprised with a birthday cake at the end of their concert. As soon as he blew out the candles, the guys shoved him face-first into the cake. He then proceeded to chase them all down, lobbing chunks of the remaining cake at them

An interviewer once said “Ezreal’s not big” (referring to his height). Ezreal responded by saying, “how do you know I’m not big? 😏” (not referring to his height)

Aphelios choked on his water when he heard Ezreal tell a different interviewer “I’m an innocent boy” (he absolutely isn’t). As he choked, Sett told him to “watch out, babe”

Ezreal told Ernest to leave the frame of a video they were filming, but he spoke the command in Korean (I hc that he’s trilingual). When Ernest actually obeys the command, Kayn asks, in the most incredulous way ever, “your dog speaks Korean??”

*Sett promoting their music to random strangers*: “You want to be happy? Buy the CD! From Riot, listen in your MP3! You are not you and I am not me, bc we are one big family! 😁”

The guys once left Sett and K’sante behind at a gas station at night

Aphelios wrote Ezreal a heartfelt letter, written in Hangul, that he requested to be read during a live performance. Ezreal read the letter out loud; it started out well, until he realized that he recognized the words

He’d know the lyrics to the Sailor Moon theme song anywhere

[ao3commentoftheday]

Thank you for all the interesting posts you share, and really your entire blog. I appreciate it!

A few posts recently have mentioned having beta readers or fandom friends to talk story things over with. Do you or any of your followers have any suggestions on how to find beta readers or like minded people to connect with in a fandom?

Thank you <3

All of my beta readers (the few that I've had) have been people I was already friends with first. If you don't have fandom friends (yet) and need a beta sooner, I suggest posting on your social media accounts saying that you're looking for one, and add it to the end notes on a chapter or fic. You'd be surprised how often that works.

As for finding friends, here are a few of the things I've done myself:

drop into someone's ask box. Send a message in greeting, reference a recent post of theirs, ask a question from an ask meme they've posted, compliment their fanworks or theories.

create fanart or a fic for them. Waaaay back when I first joined the Agents of SHIELD fandom I saw a post where someone was talking about their Labyrinth AU fic and I did a quick photoshop of Fitz as Gareth. Immediate fandom bestie who introduced me to like 5 other people.

comment on their fanart and fics - either on AO3 or in tumblr tags etc. Let them know that you see them and appreciate them. Ask them a question about what they created and start a conversation that way.

put a question out to the fandom. Write a tumblr post, add a question to your fic notes on AO3. It can be something serious or silly, but if you welcome answers and respond to people, you'd be surprised what can happen. For example - this wasn't supposed to be an ask blog. It just kinda... happened.

Let's see what suggestions other folks have for making friends or finding beta readers. There's a LOT of options out there!

[miscling]

About Miscling

This is a horny blog for horny blog things. Please don't interact if you're a minor/under 18, go away, shoo. if you follow me, make sure to have some indication of your age in your bio or pinned

😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

i am nameless, so call me whatever you like, lin is fine if you need a name. i am a girl, toy, doll, cow, kitty, slut, and ditz. i like to talk to people and am not scary at all, so send asks and dms about anything at all as much as you like. i'll try to respond to everyone!

i am an obedient good girl, who likes being praised. i like being given tasks to do and then be praised for doing the task!

This is a hornyblog that mostly follows other horny and trans blogs. i am a trans woman who has a cunt, i am also autistic and have adhd.

i would like to get to know other poly queer trans people who are very kinky and would especially like messages/follows from them. i am a fun trans sub looking for other trans people ^^ i am mostly T4T, but cis people are fun to play with too! I am in the UK, and would desperately like to hear from any other queer trans people that are also here.

i (re)blog about edging, hypno kink, bdsm, fetishwear, tickling, masochism, petplay (i'm a kitty), hucows/lactation, monsterfucking, CNC, mindbreaking, dollification, dronification, and a lot of generally weird horny things that i'm into. i'm an exhibitionist, submissive, and easily controlled by people who make me feel safe. i'm just a dumb horny girl who is controlled by her cunt. i do not consider myself a person but a toy, i am not a person in the way a cherished item or pet is not a person.

Real people don't wish they weren't people, after all.

Also, i started collecting likes on my previous pinned, saying if i got to 100 notes I'd start sharing links to my edging audios on my blog. If i carry on, and got up to 31 on my last pinned, then this one only needs to get to... 69 (hehe nice) before i'll start doing it. You should like this post if you read it!

Tags and links:

About Miscling contains every post that's about me.

You can find pics of me in Miscling Appears. (it's okay to go on a reblogging and liking spree through them) i make original posts under Miscling Rambles and posts about my lactation journey in Miscling Lactates i also make polls, which you can find in my Miscling Polls tag. you can hear my voice in the Miscling Speaks tag and over at my soundgasm page!

You can send me tasks with my ask tasks meme! I will take tasks from literally anyone ^^ you can see tasks I've done here! If you like or follow my blog, think about sending me a task as a little gift!

I learned to edge last year and was broken by a poll I ran to get permission to cum here then here and here. i hope to never cum again without being forced. i can't be forced to cum over the internet. i kept an edging diary for a while and my last orgasm was 1feb24.

I love to write, and I especially like to write about kink. Read bits about my play with Miscling Plays and stories I wrote with Miscling Writes.

Use my ask box liberally, anon or not. i'll answer near anything and you can use my ask meme tag and miscling answers to find questions to ask me (scroll the tag and use any meme you like, but copy in the questions or link the meme!)

I have a lovense wishlist (long distance remote vibrators)

I have an amazon wishlist (lingerie and random kink things)

I have a cashapp link (if you just want to tip me directly)

I have a ko-fi link! (please don't reference anything nsfw on kofi if you use this)

I'm trying to tag my kinks so i can find them when i want them, this is no guarantee that i'll tag things though. mommysub for posts about being a mommysub, goddess thoughts for religionplay where i'm a subby goddess, Bind Miscling for bondage, hit me for masochism, moo for hucow things, lee mood for tickling, oh my circuits for robot/drone things, maid day for maids, tidy up tuesday for my maid day, monsterling for monsterfucking posts, hypno gif, spiral, hypno txt, and hypnaudio, for hypno play, and hypnoslut for general hypno posts, preyling for primal play, latexcellent for rubberwear, and as i figure out others i'll add them...

I'm a slutty set of holes, a toy for others to use. Fill my mouth, cunt, and ass.

Also, I have some limits:

i have a nest partner, i won't let anything come between us

i do not like misogyny, transphobia, racism, or bigotry. This applies to kink too.

i don't like possessive language, only people i trust can own me

please don't try to make me cum or ask/tell me to

don't call me a bitch or a puppy. i like puppy petplayers a lot, but i am a kitty petplayer.

i don't like being treated as inferior, i might be submissive, but i should still matter and be treated with care and respect

sissy blogs dni, i am a woman, do not reblog my pics to your sissy blog, i will block you if i spot you.

i am a toy for others to enjoy!

(Most tasks recieved and completed in one day: 18) (Most tasks recieved on a special occasion: 48)

ASK TASKS: OPEN

use my ask box to send me tasks to do! i'd love to entertain and perform for you all! i am a good and obedient girl, and i enjoy getting tasks to do!

choose one or more task emoji and send them to me! include instructions if you send complicated tasks

tasks can come from anyone, even anons!

i'll do tasks as soon as i can! i have to finish my work wach day before i can play and i've grown very busy lately. basic tasks i'll do on my own, but i'll need help for the slightly more complicated ones so they might be a little while! Mutuals can DM me with DM tasks, and if i'm available we'll play ^^

task list below the readmore

BASIC TASK LIST!

🗜️ make me wear nipple clamps for 5 minutes! 📦 make me wear 10 pegs on my cunt for 10 minutes! 🤚 make me slap my cunt 5 times! ⚡ choose a part of me and make me use my TENS unit there for 10 mins. 🪆 dolly time! for the next 30 mins make me cup my hands, stay on my tip toes, and arch my back. 😺/🐮 petplay! for the next 30mins, make me keep off my furniture and only move around on all fours. make me put on my animal ears based on which one you send! 🤖 make me a good robot and complete one thing on my to-do list! ♾️ make me get my breast cups and pump my breasts for 15 mins! 🤐 make me gag myself for half an hour! (tell me what kind of gag to use and if I have it I'll use it, otherwise I'll pick) 🧣 make me put on my collar if i'm not already wearing it! 👗 make me get undressed and be naked for the next 30 mins! ✏️ make me write what you tell me on my body where you tell me! 💖 make me draw a little heart on myself where you tell me! 😵‍💫 make me stare at a spiral for 5 minutes (send me a spiral to use) (i won't use spirals that give me bad vibes, but i'll use any i've already reblogged) 🗣️ ask me anything, name a kink or give me a topic to write about (kinky or otherwise) and make me infodump about it. 🔊 send me a post or a write something for me to record saying, and i'll post the recording. 📝 make me go add 100 words to my current WIP novel. 🫴 make me edge for 10 minutes (Send me instructions, porn, a post to edge to, or a mantra to repeat while I do it, you can use my mantra tag for ideas. i cannot do this task on thursdays) 🕳️ make me fill up a hole for 10 minutes! (Choose to plug my cunt or/and ass, i cannot do this task on thursdays) 👅 make me stick my tongue out for 10 minutes! 💋 make me go practice deepthroating for 5 mins! 🍇 make me go get a snack and a drink! ❌ make me go take a break outside for 5 mins! 😴 make me go lay down in bed for 15 mins, no screens allowed.

SLIGHTLY MORE COMPLICATED TASK LIST!

👋 i'll ask my nestie to tickle me for 5 mins! (check my toybox) 🖐️ i'll ask my nestie to slap me 10 times! choose my face or tits 🏓 i'll ask my nestie to hit me 10 times! choose my ass or thighs (check my toybox) 👣 i'll ask my nestie to put elastic bands around my feet and snap the band against my soles 10 times. (nestie enjoys doing this to me) 🫶 i'll ask my nestie to choke me and hold my breath over a 5 minute session (please do not mix with other tasks) ⛓️ i'll get myself tied up and restrained for 30 mins! 🥊 No hands! make me put on my hand mitts for 15 minutes!

DM TASKS

If we're mutuals, you can dm me and play with me in other ways. Ask me for my lovense toy control links, combine tasks into one bigger task, send me files to listen to or hypnotise me yourselves, make me wear a diaper or control my toilet use, or suggest other things to do with me that you'd like! Non-mutuals who've gotten to know me can ask to play too.

Or...

⁉️ Give me a task not listed! (You can find the contents of my toybox here for ideas) (I reserve the right to safeword, but I'm very open and obedient, so shoot your shot)

[ezrazone]

TEXT ID: I saw these watermelon costumes at a demonstration I attended in Minneapolis. A white supremacist attempted to stab the crowd I was in with a box cutter, and I had enough. People were screaming in terror long after he was gone, like he might mow us down with his car from out of the blue. I hobbled down the grassy side of the Walker sculpture park, flicking up dirt with my cane and muttering unkindly about other attendees. This country has made me so small. 

Do you remember art memes on DeviantART? I watch disintegrated Palestinian children being pulled out of rubble by their shivering siblings, and I am gutted by the absurdity of meeting this horror with a “Draw this In Your Style” art challenge. How to compensate for this critical lack of imagination, this patently American creative dysfunction, when it comes to responding to crises? 

I know what it is like to be asked, by this rotted and festering empire, to kindly suffer and die in silence. I have watched this phony “return to normal” with my own eyes; eyes that cannot focus correctly when I am at my sickest. I am told the pandemic is over, and that is technically correct – the virus is now endemic. I am told we have the tools. We choose not to use them.

What does it mean to be a communist when you are too sick to get up and down the stairs in your home? What does it mean to be a Jew when your name is used to unleash and justify hell on earth? What does it mean to be queer, when empires dangle your expression as a spoil of colonial conquest?

What does it mean to be an artist, when no artistic endeavor is proportionate to the size of the world your country plunders for profit? 

I want to be as big as these watermelon slices. 

My liberation is wrapped up in yours. That’s all there is. My liberation is wrapped up in yours. / END TEXT ID

[desultory-novice]

Noir's Field Trip - "Starting Out"

"...Thanks, you two."

-

Ahem! Following in the footsteps of several other Kirby OC contest peeps, you may send in asks for [Noir]!!

(...But I'm SUPER busy so it may take until May to respond! ^^;;)

[Notes/Rules About Asks:]

-I'm iffy on back-and-forth style dialogue-based RP, due to the complex interplay of pseudo-linearity in an amorphous situation plus my autistic-self often being unable to figure out what my RP partner is actually trying to say tone-wise or what they are thinking and then-I-answer-them-wrong-and-embarrass-myself...!!

NVMD SEND WHATEVER YOU WOULD LIKE XD

That and long post-chains make me a little nervous. ^^; Asks in the form of questions Noir can answer in-character are preferred.

(You may also ask me generic "What does your OC think/do when...?" style questions, such as those from THIS detailed OC ask meme!)

-You can also send an ask for Noir from your OC, if you'd like to find out how the troubled teenage boy would react to meeting them! (These may or may NOT(!!) come with art, depending on mood, time, and a variety of circumstances. Tourney OCs will generally get preference. If I AM inspired to draw said meeting, I may request additional information/clarification before going through with it.)

Again, I'm pretty autistic, so if you are going to go this route, it'll help if I have something more than "Hiya, Noir!" to work off of - else he'll just react to you the same way he does to Marx.

(Not that you can't go places from there! XD)

-You can also prod Noir about his traumas if you like! XD Note that asking for details about certain things (the "murders" on Shiver Star or his hatred of physical contact) may result in responses with TRIGGER WARNINGS, if I decide to answer them.

-Tournament!Noir is currently in his own similar but separate timeline from Mainline Apologies Noir. However, events during this contest MAY influence his fate and the fates of those he holds dearest!

-Noir's latent cross-dimension sight means that you can ask him about his various other timelines or Kirby games he was not alive for and probably get some pretty unique/funny/strange answers.

-I almost assuredly won't be able to get to every ask/comment. Some I may avoid answering due to complexity, uncomfortableness, them not fitting tournament!Noir's narrative, or me just not having any good ideas. Please don't take this personally.

-Lastly, please leave space between sending multiple asks. ^^

omg I'm so nervous about this. I want to draw lots, for me and for others (!) too if I can but I want to follow the flow of the tournament and not JUST go off on my own crazy thing, except that I'm not even completely familiar with what the rounds will be like?!

[Non-Ask Notes:]

-The flowers in the BG are the forget-me-nots that Adeleine drew for him on his birthday and that he received in this post. That post was also the inspiration for Tournament!Noir. (Although he retains the corruption + the collar here.)

PS: In addition the song that post is, you know, named for, Noir + the forget-me-nots also makes me think of the lyrics: "Since the day I met you, there's never ceased to be music in this hell of mine" from the opening to Sousei no Aquarion.

-This, and the tag name, was inspired by @Graycoin's comment "Noir gets to go on a field trip. I hope he has a good time : D " (then I saw Starflung had the same idea to send her OC off with a backpack! Haha! XD)

-The fish bone is a gift from Gooey. He's doing his best. Adeleine is also doing HER best. ("...A comb? Really?" "It's unbreakable!")

-As to the bento box, I'm not sure if I mentioned this before (?) but the Fontaine children are French-Japanese...on their mother's side.

-Why yes, that IS a cellphone in his backpack! I wonder who might call him...?

[frownyalfred]

*busts down your doors* HEY! Long ask for ya

okay so I was rereading your fic where EMS showed up because Dick couldn’t flip on the trampoline (rip) and it got me thinking about routine trauma.

So here’s the thing: I am not EMS. I know three people who are EMS, but my extent of EMS experience comes from one (1) ride along and lurking on EMS subreddits. Those guys are a hoot. Great memes. Anyways.

A comment stuck out to me: “You haven’t truly lived the job until you’re eating a gas station burrito next to a dead body”. I’ve seen a bunch like that. Nonchalance and dark humor because well, that’s their job. Gore is the norm. Sure, depending on the area, your usual calls might just be lift assists, but other areas are neck deep in gang violence and violent crime.

A pretty common post on that subreddit is also, sadly, “I just got a call that’s never bothered me before but all of a sudden I’m broken” or “I’ve never had a problem running this type of call before but all of a sudden it just hit me.” Delayed trauma is a bitch. Someone pointed out that if a civilian saw a fatal car accident with multiple corpses, they’d be in therapy and given support and it’d be a huge deal. With EMS, they’re just expected to deal with it. (EMS mental health is getting better- there are helplines and resources and first responder focused therapies- but it’s still a developing field)

ANYWAYS, now that I’ve given you a crash course on the EMS mental health crisis (someone should really write a feature on EMS in Gotham those fuckers would be crazy and I love them already), my point is, how would this apply to the bats? Seeing bodies is treated as very much the norm to them, but do you think it ever just… catches up? The impact of seeing corpses day after day? Do you think they have to fake being fine and tough during those times because well, “everybody else in the family is fine with it, I’m not going to be a liability/burden/weak/etc”

Do you think Bruce, the goddamn batman, who shouldn’t be ruffled by anything, ever just feels something crack inside when he looks at a little boy who could have grown up healthy and strong like his Jason, had (Bruce) someone been there for him? and then he can’t work cases with kids for a week?

This is such an excellent ask, thank you so much for gracing my inbox with it!

It's a very good question. I'm also on a lot of those subreddits (needed to do some research for that fic) and the discussion in those forums and on TikTok is like you described, a kind of practiced desensitization to all gore and suffering in order to survive in their job.

What I've seen from those discussions (and my EMT friend) is an almost sub-conscious trend where they allow themselves the "thing" that breaks them, and they push a lot of that trauma and emotion onto that thing. Like an EMT saying they don't do kids, or they don't do gunshots to the eye, etc. And they'll sob like a baby on those calls, while remaining stone-faced and level-headed through the triple homicide.

I'm just theorizing here, but I imagine the Batfamily uses similar coping skills -- pushing all that trauma and suffering into a box which cracks only under limited, defined circumstances. And they break or snap only under those conditions, because, subconsciously, they allowed themselves to.

So yes, Bruce might be 99% fine with most of the bodies he sees, but there might be a little boy who has a detail (like Jason's dark hair) that just slams into him out of nowhere.

PTSD and trauma literally change the structure of the brain. Individuals react differently to trauma after that, but there does appear to be a "desensitizing" effect with repeated trauma, as the body tries to compensate.

I agree that the Gotham EMTs must be some crazy motherfuckers. They probably deal with 6x the normal shit EMTs deal with in other cities. They probably take on a lot more trauma and burn out quicker than other EMTs, too.

Anyone else have thoughts on this? I admit I don't cover PTSD explicitly in a lot of my fics.

[jayfortheday]

Have you heard of the " can you go to the store and get me some pads?" Meme? If you have, can you please do this but with Vance Hopper and YN lol?

Morning Shopping (Vance Hopper)

Pairing: Vance Hopper x AFAB!Reader

Word count: 662

Description: When Y/N finds theirself without supplies when their period starts, they send Vance to the store to get some pads

Tags: periods, fluffy, cuddling ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun was already high in the sky when you awoke. You rolled onto your back with a yawn and rubbed the sleep from your eyes. You felt a dull ache in your stomach, but were too tired to make anything of it. As soon as you sat up, the pain hit you harder. The sudden jolt of pain forced your brain to think. Your eyes widened slightly before you sighed. Despite the fact you had been tracking your period for about 2 years now, for some reason, you had neglected to prepare for your cycle last night. You groaned, knowing you’d likely have to change the sheets. 

You stood out of bed slowly, trying to avoid agitating any pain. Once you were fully upright, you walked out of your room and towards the linen closet in the hallway. You opened the door and began rustling around to find your supplies. You found a box of pads, but to your dismay, it was empty. You grumbled in frustration before tossing the box to the floor to try to find another one. Except, there wasn’t one. Even after you pulled out all the sheets and towels and blankets, there were no pads or tampons or anything. 

At this point, your parents had already gone to work, so asking them or going out yourself was not an option. You knew you had another option, but you had to admit, you were a little embarrassed. You and Vance had been dating for a little over 8 months now, but had been friends for years, but you still felt embarrassed bringing this to him. You reluctantly walked over to the phone and dialed in Vance’s number. Once you finished dialing the number, you held the receiver to your ear and listened to the rings. It rang twice before Vance answered. 

“What’s cracking’,” he said on the other end, sounding much more awake then you. 

“Hey, Vance,” you responded, leaning against the wall by the phone as you spoke.

“Oh, hey, baby. What’s going on,” Vance asked with a friendlier tone than his initial greeting.

“I need to ask you a huge favor,” your face flushed with embarrassment as you asked. 

“Yeah, ok,” Vance hummed on the other side. “Whatcha need?”

“I need to you to run to the store and get me some pads,” you said, hoping he would be willing to do it. There was a brief silence on the other end. 

“Like, like period pads?” He asked, with slight confusion. 

“Yeah, period pads,” you responded, trying to bite back any annoyance from your voice. 

“Um, oh, ok,” Vance stuttered, you could tell his face was red without even seeing him. “Like, what kind? I’ve been in that aisle before and there’s like a bajillion of ‘em.” You laughed lightly at Vance’s comment. 

“It’s a green package, it should say Always on the front, can you get me two of those please,” you asked, your voice unintentionally going soft. Vance hummed in acknowledgement. 

“20 minutes?” He said, half-confirming his time of arrival to your house.

“20 minutes,” you confirmed.

Like clockwork, Vance arrived 20 minutes later, with a plastic bag and a red face. You smiled and let him in. 

“I swear that cashier looked at me weird, like sorry you’re single, David,” Vance said in a sarcastic tone, eliciting a laugh from you. Vance handed you the bag and went to go sit on your couch. You opened the bag and were half-surprised to see Vance actually found the right ones. 

“Be right back,” you called to him before running upstairs to change. 

When you came back downstairs, Vance lay on your couch, reading a magazine from the coffee table. When he saw you approaching, he set it back down on the table, and patted his chest. You happily obliged at lay yourself down on top of him. 

“Better?” He asked, storking your hair. 

“Better,” you replied, nuzzling your face into his denim vest. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Thank you so much for your patience guys. I've been working the past couple of days and, for me anyway, my shifts feel long. I had 8 hours yesterday and 9 today. I do have until Thursday off though, which I will use to write and see The Black Phone for the third time

Also, apperantly Always pads weren’t invented until like the 80’s but I’m gonna ignore that

[askbrahmsheelshire]

Come here... Ask me anything.

|| Hiya! It's @paletigers !! For my 300 follower present I made a Brahms Heelshire ask blog! Feel free to drop any asks in the box and I'll respond in character with either text or a drawing! I'll be posting expression memes and such for some more fun later on as the blog grows! Here's what I'm cool with: -18+ Asks / Requests / Writings - Brahms x Reader writing dabble requests -Alternate Universe asks (please specifiy and I'll do my best!) -Brahms being serious, silly, cute, evil, etc! -Introspective Asks (regarding canon or trans!brahms au backstory) -Kink Related Asks (Check my CW for kinks I'm willing to write/draw! https://nsfwpaletigers.carrd.co/ ) I'm not cool with: -Inc3st/P3dophilia Related Asks -Extreme Fetish related material -Asks regarding artist's personal life, etc etc etc I'm excited to start drawing and responding!! :D

[anonymouspuzzler]

oh baby it's SNORPY and CHANDLO let's go!!!! they are fun to draw so there are a few of these. thanks again to @incorrectbugsnaxquotes for a few of the comic prompts!

(alt text/image IDs under the cut!)

[Image 1 ID: A drawing of Chandlo and Snorpy recreating that Guy With Huge Bahongas meme. that's about it]

[Image 2 ID: A drawing of Snorpy from the neck-up, missing his hat and glasses, looking sleepy and disoriented. An arrow pointing to him reads "can't hecking see".]

[Image 3 ID: A tiny doodle of Chandlo from behind, smiling and flexing, wearing a t-shirt with torn-off sleeves reading "I FLEX'D & THE SLEEVES CAME OFF". His snapback also reads "SWAG". An arrow pointing to him reads "Jay's fault".]

[Image 4 ID: A drawing of Snorpy, looking terrified and standing stiffly, holding a comically large machete in one hand with text reading "BECOME UNGOVERNABLE".]

[Image 5 ID: A drawing of Chandlo, holding a flashlight towards the camera and smiling placidly, saying "whatup, demons, it's me, ya boi". In the background, Snorpy, also holding a flashlight, is looking over at him anxiously.]

[Image 6 ID: A drawing of Chandlo and Snorpy recreating a screenshot from an Unraveled video. Chandlo is dancing with his arms at his sides, grinning widely, while Snorpy at his left is dancing significantly more stiffly, blushing and looking anxious. Text underneath them reads "*INTERPRETIVE DANCE WITH A FRIEND*".]

[Image 7 ID: Snorpy standing and looking over his shoulder with a neutral, tired expression, wearing no hat and a t-shirt reading "I SOLVED THE MYSTERY OF GRUMP PEAKS AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS T-SHIRT".]

[Image 8 ID: A drawing of Chandlo, sitting cross-legged on the floor, with Snorpy lying with his head in Chandlo's lap. Chandlo is smiling down at him warmly, propping himself up with one hand while patting Snorpy's hair with the other. Snorpy, with his hat off to the side and wearing one of Chandlo's slightly oversize jersey tanks, is laughing with one hand on his chest and the other wrapped around Chandlo's arm.]

[Image 9 ID: A two-panel comic of Chandlo and Snorpy sitting side-by-side, embracing. Chandlo is leaning back on one arm with Snorpy at his right side, who is turned to place an arm around him, both of them smiling. In the first panel Snorpy says, "You're the love of my life and my best friend. I would do anything for you". In the second, Chandlo, with a slightly worried smile, says, "I want you to eat three meals a day and have a decent sleep schedule". Snorpy, looking nonplussed, replies, "Absolutely not."]

[Image 10 ID: A two-panel comic of Snorpy and Chandlo. In the first, Snorpy is standing with his arms crossed and an annoyed expression, saying, "Being gay is NOT a choice". In the second, he is clutching Chandlo's arm with both hands, eyes narrowed and saying, "It's a game and I'm winning". Chandlo simply turns his head to give Snorpy a kiss on the cheek.]

[Image 11 ID: A two-panel comic of Snorpy and Chandlo. In the first panel, Snorpy is wringing his hands and looking embarrassed and anxious, blushing furiously and seating, saying, "Just to make sure, are you asking me romantically or platonically?" The second panel cuts to Chandlo, down on one knee wearing a tuxedo-print t-shirt with the sleeves torn off, holding a giant bouquet in one hand and a box with an engagement ring in the other, looking incredulous as he responds, "Are you kidding me--"]

[Images 12-13 IDs: A seven-panel comic of Snorpy and Chandlo divided into two images, with the first three panels in one and the last four in the other. In the first panel, Snorpy, wearing a Grump Peaks t-shirt, is sitting on a couch next to Chandlo. Snorpy has his legs folded up, one hand resting on his knees and the other propping himself up on the couch, while Chandlo has one arm propping himself up and the other behind Snorpy over the back off the couch. A "DING!" sound effect goes off and Chandlo looks up with a grin, saying "Pizza's ready!!" The second panel shows him opening up the oven and looking at the pizza on the top rack, then the third shows him turning over his shoulder, looking agonized, and saying, "This is always the worst part." Panels four through six then show him grabbing the pizza tray out of the oven with his bare hands, screaming all the while, then tossing it on top of the stove. The final panel show shim turning back to Snorpy with a grin, giving a thumbs up, hands visibly burned. Snorpy, looking absolutely terrified, is backed up against the couch with one hand clutching his chest.]

[Image 14 ID: A drawing of Chandlo and Snorpy recreating a meme from a Japanese weather report. Chandlo, wearing a varsity jacket over his tank top and holding an umbrella, is standing with one arm around Snorpy, who is wearing a ribbed sweater and blushing as he covers his face with one hand. The Journalist's hand is visible holding up a microphone, and Chandlo says, "Being in the snow with my lover like this immerses me in a special feeling, bro."]

[ashlingiswriting]

do i know you? chapter eight

[ chapter eight — 6.4k words ] [ masterlist ] [ prev chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven ] "well, now you know what to get me for christmas." richie jerimovich x reader, past mikey berzatto x reader, slow burn warning: drugs, insects

the next day, you wake to your customary darkness. outside your window light snow whispers against your window and thick clouds beyond promise there’s more where that came from. you pull a mini pizza from the freezer, crack an egg on top and put it in the toaster oven, call that protein. boil some water in your smallest pot. pull out your favorite chipped blue mug.

the dream did come last night, but its dread was dulled by early waking. you’re grateful for that. this is about as good as it gets, you think: tea on the way, a thick stillness enveloping your apartment, the city outside preparing to sleep while you keep watch. 

but wait, the phone. 

you go into your room and kneel by the bed.

michael’s small box is half-empty now that you’ve put his shirt in the wash, so the nokia is easy to find. when you flip it open, he’s there, waiting for you—one unread text—and in the sleepy silence, a bubble of incredulous unreality balloons and then bursts. it’s not michael.

they all blur into each other like drops of blood in water: you’re crushed to find that he’s still gone, relieved he’s still gone, guilty you were relieved, relieved that richie’s texted—no, happy—no, that’s embarrassing, but you can’t help it. it’s happiness and it’s something else. happiness is the warmth by your side and something else is the radiator.

the message turns out to be a single emoji, the one with the pink tongue sticking out. definitely richie. with no idea what that’s supposed to mean, you try to think of something equally silly. failing that, you pull up wikipedia on the phone and generate random wikipedia articles until you finally come across a fragment that strikes you as too beautiful to pass up. you weren’t looking for beautiful, but what the hell, it’s charmed you. copy, paste, and send.

> it was announced on january 30, 2023, that she will be writing an original poem dedicated to nasa's europa clipper. the europa clipper will launch in 2024, and by 2030, will be orbiting jupiter. limón's poem will be engraved into the craft.

not expecting an immediate reply, you replace the lid on the box and slide it back under your bed, only to hear the vibration of the phone against the wooden floorboards.

reading what he’s written makes you smile. proper punctuation and all, mimicking you. can’t tell if it’s meant to be snide or if he’s just matching what he thinks is your mood. you’ll take it either way.

> must be a bad motherfucker, that limon.

> must be.

> is she your favorite poet or something?

you feel a dissonant twinge of pride and shame. you once had a favorite poet, but that was a long time ago.

> i haven’t decided yet. are you getting better?

> i haven’t decided yet. i had three grape popsicles in bed for my breakfast, it’s kind of hard to argue with that.

> malingerer.

> i’m actually polish.

and so on. 

when he finally says goodbye so he can go back to sleep, you’re still laughing a little to yourself, and you’ve been kneeling there beside the bed for so long that your knees ache.

.

.

.

in the days that follow, richie texts you at exactly the time he’d usually visit. you stand outside like he’s still there, have a couple cigarettes, and enjoy the nonsense even as your fingertips go numb in the cold. once, he sends a picture of a meme so italian that you don’t get it. you obviously weren’t meant to get it, either, so you respond by sending him the middle finger emoji, which he, nonsensically, hearts.

if he needs help, he’ll ask for it, you think. you hope. he seems to be on the mend. anyways, you no longer feel that fear except in dreams, and you stop wondering when he’s gonna text and start expecting it, and then, less than a week later, he shows up. you know this because he texts, where are you?

you open the window and stick your head out into an eddy of snow. sure, you’re glad to see him, but: it’s too fucking cold for this!

he waves.

man was feverish for literally days and here he is in mid december with a hoodie under his leather coat but no scarf, absolute idiot, and so you close the window, go down to meet him, and break the rule. standing there, holding the door open, you say, c’mon. 

he’s surprisingly perceptive. he walks over, but he doesn’t cross the threshold, just pauses in front of you.

i don’t think we can smoke in there, he says.

we can’t, you say, moving back one more step, making even more room for him. or at least i can’t. i don't want to get evicted. my landlady will do it too.

yeah? he says, not moving. you're scared of her?

you shrug. you've moved back as far as you can, you're letting all the cold air in, and there's nothing you can do except say please.

you say, she's like four foot tall and a hundred years old, man. women that tiny that survive that long? you should be scared of them.

as if that was the final straw—though how could it be?—richie walks inside. without skipping a beat and for no reason you can figure out, richie walks inside.

learn my ways, sweetheart, he says, touching his chest and giving you his very best look of ridiculous condescension. old women love me.

as you close the door behind him, you fend off a stray, ridiculous burst of giddiness. it's just the lobby, pale linoleum floors and a single artificial plant by the elevators, but it feels radically different from the concrete outside. no cigarettes, no excuses. he’s only there for one reason.

old women do not love you, you say.

they do!

tina loves you. the rest of them, i don't know.

he snorts. you really don't want to be standing face to face with him for however long you’ve got him, so you lean on the wall instead, and he settles by your side the same way he always does.

when he looks over at you, there’s a hint of sly mischief in his eyes that makes you say, what?

wait for it, he says, and when you open your mouth, he holds up a finger.

you roll your eyes, but you hold your tongue with no idea what this is about, undisguised curiosity, and a readiness to be delighted.

you hear that? he finally says.

wind, maybe, or the distant rattle of a train? nothing special. you shake your head no.

that, richie says, is the sound of the sky not falling. 

knowing he noticed, that’s the worst thing about being told that everything is gonna be okay. it’s also the best thing. you shove him with a bony, solid elbow. i should’ve let you freeze.

he catches himself before he can topple, his smile gone goofy and so pleased. fuckin drama queen.

full han solo style, block of ice.

it was carbonite, not ice. how do you not know star wars?

course i know star wars, you lie. how do you live in chicago and not own a hat?

i have hats. i just also have a car.

uh-huh. if he wants to trade accusations, you’ve got a doozy you’ve saved up till you could turn it on him in person.  i noticed the other day that your place isn’t exactly in a location that makes my place ‘on the way home’ from the beef. 

he’s caught, not sorry. grins. you noticed that, did you.

yeah, i might not be from around here, but i still know north from south, all that shit. 

well okay, sherlock. you wanna charge me with a crime? the challenge in his eyes says it all; he knows you’re not unhappy to find he lied. 

you still need to get a hat, you say.

well, now you know what to get me for christmas.

you’re getting jack shit.

you already know what you’re getting him for christmas. 

.

.

.

kraft’s mac and cheese is a christmas tradition in a two-person slice of your family, and you’re one half of that slice, so mac and cheese is the first thing you think of when richie tells you he’ll be there for christmas eve. 

after that, it’s on to donna’s on christmas day. then i’m gonna kidnap carmy for some ice fishing, he says.

you ever been ice fishing before? you say. 

he splutters. do i not strike you as a, uh, an experienced-ass f—

no.

—fisherman and woodsman, and like—

nope.

—man of the… he gives up. whatever?

do you have a float suit? 

richie exhales smoke and fixes you with a look, annoyed but curious.

i’m carmen fucking sandiego, you say, by way of explanation. of course you’ve been ice fishing, you’ve been all over the world.  

sure you are, he says. he waves a dismissive hand. my buddy’s got all the stuff, we’ll be fine. it’s whatever, i just gotta get carmy out of the city so the only things he ends up killing are fish.

his first christmas since. you don’t have to finish the sentence.

yup, richie says.

it’s richie’s first christmas since, too, but there’s no call to say that. 

lapsing into a companionable silence and shrinking a little closer to the building as the wind picks up, you decide that you’re definitely gonna make him kraft mac and cheese for christmas eve. he wouldn’t take it as a letdown, he'd laugh at the single spinach leaf on top. he’d get it.

.

.

.

on christmas eve, ten minutes before you’re expecting richie to show up, you get a text message.

> need u 

it’s the wrong phone, though. it’s your work phone, and after everything those fuckers have done, they can’t possibly be calling you in on christmas eve. not now. your butter’s already cut, your colander’s in the sink, and you’re stirring the pot of boiling macaroni with a couple takeout chopsticks. they can’t—

the phone starts ringing. you pick up. 

fuck off, you say.

no wait! 

the voice is familiar; it’s kevin, a man so stupid that he once introduced himself to you out of anxious friendliness even though you’ve always made very clear that you don’t want to know anybody’s names. kevin must have you on speakerphone, because in the background, you can hear the telltale sounds of somebody else cursing in a continuous wretched stream. that piques your curiosity.

thirty seconds, you say. keep it clean. meaning, don’t give me names. 

kevin says, we were doing a thing and some stuff happened. 

that’s no use. he kept it a little too clean. you sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers. you were doing a thing on christmas eve?

we thought…look, can you just come? aren’t you on call? isn’t this your job?

you tell me, you say. it’s been radio silence on my phone for three weeks and i haven’t gotten paid for almost a month now. 

oh.

yeah, you say, knowing damn well that it’s not kevin’s fault, but more than happy to take this out on somebody. they fucking ghosted me.

sorry to hear that, man, he says awkwardly. 

a thought occurs to you. likelihood of the carusos being involved in some shitbrained christmas eve scheme pulled by kevin? nil.

was this even a sanctioned thing? you say. like, did—

you know what, it’s fine, kevin says hurriedly. it’s basically a flesh wound.

the guy in the background howls, i got shot in the fucking foot!

shut up, howie, kevin hisses. you hang up.

there’s no reason for you to get involved. no orders, no blackmail, and probably no money; plus, your timer is counting down the last minute of macaroni boiling and richie will be on his way soon. 

you pocket your phone, walk back to the stove, and resume stirring. 

no reason for you to get involved. your timer rings out, so you dump out the pasta, put it back in the pot with the butter, add some water and the cheesy powder, stir with an eye for sauce thickness, wait for it to settle you. it doesn’t.

the thing is, there are so many small tricky bones in the foot, and you haven’t had a real surgery challenge in ages. ever since your bosses ghosted you, you’ve just been staying in your apartment, in limbo, seeing nobody except richie and occasionally a cashier. sleeping and waking neither on your old strict schedule nor on a normal daylight one. doing nothing, worth basically nothing. 

so yeah, you text kevin.

> send me the address

then, as quick as you can so you don’t have time to overthink it, you text richie. 

> work emergency, i have to cancel. sorry. 

the response is immediate.

> text me when you get home.

you realize that you’re still stirring, and you turn off the stove. although you give him a couple minutes, richie doesn’t add anything. no joke to put spikes on the soft gesture, no expression of disappointment to make you feel guilty for canceling this late. nothing. text me when you get home, that’s all.

if you were that generous, you’d text back don’t stay up, let him get some extra sleep in preparation for tomorrow’s christmas hell. but you don’t. you want to think of him waiting for his phone to chime, staying awake for you, thinking of you, even worrying. so you react with a thumbs up to his message.

the next time your phone goes ping, it’s kevin sending you the address, and you head for the door. 

.

.

.

you’re sitting on a coffee table beside the old sofa that holds your resting patient. lying on the coffee table beside you are half a dozen grape skittles, the remainder of your christmas eve meal. there’s literally baggies of cocaine sitting on the kitchen table, the tv is playing charlie and the chocolate factory, and everyone involved in this—including yourself—is so stupid that you’re all definitely going to jail. but you’re having one of your good nights.

only drugs compare to the state of pure focus that surgery grants you, and even though it’s always in shit circumstances done for shit people, you can’t help but feel like a serious machine doing all this ad hoc emergency shit. this has to be how athletes feel, after a game. it’s physical: your vision feels clearer, your hands are steady, your body’s slouched comfortable and sated. it was decent work you did, given the lack of fucking everything. you’re pretty sure howie won’t even have that bad of a limp. 

kevin finishes counting your pay and hands it over. you begin to count it again, too—twenty, forty, sixty—and then look up at him. 

what? he says.

you haul yourself up and walk over to the kitchen table, ignoring the cocaine in favor of the scale, on which you place a twenty. it comes up as 0.94 grams when it should be a single 1.0. so you throw your earnings in the sink, get out your lighter, and set it on fire.

the fire alarm! kevin rushes over to turn the tap on and put it out.

you can hear howie calling from the couch, what’s burning? 

kev just tried to cheat me. 

i did not, kevin says miserably, it was a misunderstanding. 

he pulls his own wallet out of his back pocket and starts to count the money, but you take it from his hands, sit at the kitchen table, and begin counting money yourself, weighing each bill as you go. once you’ve taken a hundred and fifty, you stand up and call over to howie, night.

yo, howie says. is my, like. what are the chances they gotta amputate?

that gets you a little, despite everything. howie spent the past few hours thinking he was gonna lose an entire foot, and he was stubbornly proud enough that he almost made it without admitting the fear to anyone. in a way, you gotta give it to him. admiration’s too grand a word, but it’s something like that. 

chances are super low, you say. as long as you follow instructions, keep an eye out for infection, and don’t get hooked on pills, you’re gonna be fine. 

for a second, there’s silence. then: thanks, babygirl.

for that, you take another forty dollars from kevin’s wallet and point them at him. asshole tax, you say.

as soon as you’re out of the house, you can hear kevin locking the door behind you. then he says, goodnight!

i shoulda robbed you, you say. then you start down the sidewalk. it’s bitter cold and you’re not a hundred percent sure you’re headed in the right direction, but just then you feel invincible. 

fuckin jagoffs, say to yourself.

.

.

.

on the train home, the peace and quiet is interrupted by a herd of college girls, twentysomethings all decked out in tinsel necklaces, clearly on their way to a different party, and hitting all the wrong notes in deck the halls.

most days, you’d hate this, but in your current state of satisfaction with yourself and the world in general, their effortless enjoyment doesn’t seem to completely shut you out. they’re so young, and one of them is sitting in another’s lap while a third drapes herself over her shoulder. they smell like spiced rum, they make it hard to be a bitter old crone.

one of the carolers makes direct eye contact with you, and instead of having the decency to keep herself to herself, she extends her hand to you and sings even louder, fa-la-la-la-ing like she’s god’s gift. for a second, you let yourself mouth along, fa-la-la-ing, but then she says, come on, i know you can do better than that! and nope, nope. fuck it.

you try to look away, she yells another, come on! and you give her the death glare. surprisingly, she keeps beckoning to you—they’re stubborn, kids these days—but eventually you win the way you knew you would.

she looks away and whispers in the ear of the lap-sitter. that girl, the tiniest of them all, gives you a look that could sear meat. you could break her in half with one hand tied behind her back, she really has the build of a hummingbird, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping her.

you roll your eyes, lean back with exaggerated deliberation, and get out your phone. 

> i’m home.

you want somebody of your own, you want richie’s reply. but none comes. 

he’s not waiting for you outside your apartment building, either, so there goes that mad hope.

.

.

.

when you get inside your apartment, you kneel to untie your boots and spot a flicker of movement on the floor. it’s a black ant scurrying towards your countertop. with a rising sense of horror, you straighten up and see a swarm of ants, dozens and dozens, maybe a hundred busily moving little black dots, crawling to and from the pot of macaroni and cheese on your stove. your stomach turns, and if you’d had a real dinner, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from throwing it up. as it is, you just gag. it feels like a violation, an invasion, and you’re more outraged about these fucking ants in your apartment—your fucking apartment—than you ever were about getting not paid or cheated or maybe even blackmailed. 

you go into the kitchenette and get the ant spray out from under the sink, then you stand back and spray everything in sight. the whole fucking counter, even though, yes, you cook your food on that, and the stove, and the floor for good measure. fuck them all. 

you should’ve known better than to leave food uncovered in this apartment. you’ve lived here for three years and this always fucking happens. you’d think the novelty would’ve worn off, but nope. it’s still as disgusting as it was the first time you woke up to see last night’s plate covered in black.

today, the spray isn’t working fast enough for you, so you get out a trash bag, put the pot in it, and head out for the dumpster. 

out there in the cold, waiting for the ant spray to do its work inside the trash bag, you remember that you left your lighter in kevin’s house. you tip your head back and look up at the sky. it’s so thickly smothered in clouds, there’s barely a glow of moon. 

yeah, you say. 

after a while, you untie the bag, shake the dead ants off your pot, and throw the bag away. you’d stomp on the ants for spite, but that would necessitate looking at them, and you’ve had more than enough of that. you just head back for home.

you almost make it to the front door, and then you smell it, the smoke.

well? richie says from around the corner. he must have heard your footsteps. you coming or what? 

you walk the last few steps and there, just around the corner, there he is. he has the navy hood pulled up over his head, both his hands shoved deep in his pockets, a cigarette between both lips. he looks at your pot with interest. 

after a second, you say, you’re late.

something tickles the inside of your wrist and you flinch. one last ant has crawled up the handle of the pot and onto your arm; you drop the pot in the snow and shake the ant off you. it lands by richie, and he stomps it dead matter-of-factly. 

it takes everything you’ve got not to start swearing like howie with a shot foot.

merry christmas? richie says after a second. 

merry fuckin christmas. you reach out and take the cigarette from his lips. long drag. you needed that. 

settling beside him so both of you can look out into the night, you hand the cigarette back. and that’s how it is for a while, sharing. the wind thins out, the streetlight across the way reflects in the glass of another apartment building's door.

when your body’s finally calmed down, you look over at him. i got you something.

aw, you didn’t have to, he say, a little curious and not particularly surprised. he probably thinks it’s a joke. 

you hold your right hand palm up, and he takes his right hand out of its warm jacket pocket to mirror the gesture. then you reach into your hoodie and unclasp his gift from your neck. 

the chain is gold. thick, but not so thick that it comes across comical. incongruous with you and with him, the weight of it and the shine, how new it is. when you lay it in his hand, it looks like a golden snake, intricate and flawless. 

after a second, he gives you his cigarette like he can’t both smoke and think about it. then he speaks. 

this is fake, yeah, he says.

hundred percent fake. 

actually, it’s regifted. it was originally one of your boss’s christmas bonus gifts, and given that you pawned all the other christmas bonus gifts to pay rent, you’re pretty sure that the chain is solid gold. it’s for the best that he doesn’t know it, though.

as you watch, he puts it on, fumbling a little with the clasp. looks at it for a second, tucks it back inside his coat. there goes the last 

yeah? you say, after a second. 

yeah. think i like this sugar baby shit. keep ‘em coming, he says. 

you laugh, real, so relieved that he didn’t take it weird, so relieved that you got lucky tonight and he got it the way he sometimes can, acceptance without explanation.

he lets you laugh, and then he says, mine’s better, though.

diamonds?

it’s back at my place, he says. i can drive?

you want that so bad, and you didn't even think to want it just seconds before.

yeah, you say, dropping the cigarette and stomping it out right beside the dead ant, unbothered. 

you want to take the pot up? 

you shrug, crouch down, and cover it with some snow; you’re not gonna leave him down here waiting for you, and you’re not gonna take him up to the horrorshow of dead ants either.

it’s still pretty obvious, richie says.

it’s christmas eve, who’s gonna bother digging in dirty snow to steal a pot?

this is chicago.

this is idle argument as companionship and you know that, but you're impatient. are you taking me home or what? yes, you can hear the double entendre. no, you don't fucking care.

there’s a slight pause before richie says, car’s this way.

.

.

.

in the car, there’s crumbs but not much mess; a coupon for personal pizzas in the cupholder, and that’s it. he must have cleaned.

when he starts the engine, you say, wait, and make an elaborate show of putting on your seatbelt. then you say, okay, now i’m ready.

fuck you, he says, and he’s still smiling when he starts to drive. 

the radio is playing carols dimly in the background, and you don’t hate it. 

you doing anything for christmas day? richie says. 

i’m working christmas, you lie.

seriously? tell your boss he’s fucking barbaric.

would if you could; you’ve already tried to say as much in your many texts, but it is what it is.

yeah, you say. bunch of fuckin jackoffs, right?

jagoffs, he says, over-enunciating, frustration immediate. he really is too easy and he knows it. you’re—

jackoffs, that’s what i said, that’s what you told me—

if you can’t do it right, don’t do it at all. he has to drive with his right hand so he can make chopping motions for emphasis with his left hand, because of course he does.

you say, jackoffs.

you’re killing me. 

and yet you go on surviving. you relent. got everything you need for ice fishing?

richie scoffs in disgust. yeah, but now carmy is trying to bail on me. 

if he’s not gonna say, typical, then neither are you.

he wants to work on the twenty-sixth, he says.

oof.

yeah. like a full planning session, go over the rest of the rollout schedule with the entire staff and like… he rubs his forehead. i don’t know. like we haven’t even gone to christmas yet and he’s already, fucking. i don’t know!

i mean.

he glances over at you briefly.

carmy wants to make the staff come in on the twenty-sixth just to go over the renovation schedule again?

he’s out of his fucking mind.

you already know what you want to say, but you have to double-check it in your own head to make sure you’re not overstepping. you don’t actually know these people.

but also, fuck it. 

you know, you say, you could tell him if he acts like this, syd’s gonna quit again.

he whistles. julie with the big guns.

how i’m built, you say.

yeah, i noticed, he says affectionately. it’s okay. i’ll figure it out.

i know you will. it’s kindness, and you mean it, and you don’t take it back. 

thanks, he says. 

you lean your forehead against the cold glass of the car door and watch chicago going by, all gold and black and white.

.

.

.

after a few minutes, he parks the car in an underground garage. 

you ready for this? this is gonna rock your world, he says. 

diamonds and rubies? you say, unbuckling your seat belt.

you’re gonna be fuckin crying.

diamonds and rubies and pearls?

.

.

.

at the door to his apartment, he says, close your eyes, hold out your hands, and wait here, so you do. when the door opens, you can smell whatever it was he made for his christmas eve dinner with eva. it smells like everything christmas eve should be, rich and homey. you could wait here for, say, half an hour. you could stretch this moment out. you wouldn’t mind.

okay, richie says. here.

when the gift touches your palm, you instinctively pull back. richie swears and catches it. 

it’s hot! you say as you open your eyes.

it’s soup, he says. you want it cold?

you look down. yeah, that’s definitely french onion soup, with a big white and brown patch of melted cheese and toast on top. it’s an echo of what you made him when he was sick. it’s him showing off his work in comparison to your two-ingredient version. it’s unfortunately perfect. there’s no way he knew that you haven’t had anything for dinner except skittles.

it smells like home.

here. you hand the bowl back to richie, but only so you can take off your coat and your shoes. 

there’s only one hook on the back of his door, so you hang your coat overtop his. as you move through his apartment, you take stock: the walls are still orange, but things are a little tidier and there are new drawings magnet-pinned to the fridge. eva’s going through a cat era, clearly. the kitchen lamp is as warm as before, and the cactus by the window has a small red ribbon on it, probably a nod to christmas. 

you sit down at the kitchen table on one of the foldable stools, and richie sets your spoon and bowl in front of you. there’s a half-empty bottle of coors on the countertop behind you, and you take a sip of that. he sits down on the chair to your left, so he’s in your peripheral. he’s next to you.

you can feel it coming.

um, you say.

he glances over, and you can feel that too. what’s up.

don’t be a dick, okay. you say it very low and very flat, not even angry, because angry wouldn’t cut it.

the pause is too long, but at least he finally says, okay.

you pick up your spoon and take the first sip. 

the bit of melted cheese hits first, warm and gooey and salty then the sweet savory richness of the broth, and yeah, okay. it’s happening. your eyes are wet.

you can feel him not saying anything about it, but before it can build up to torture, his phone rings. 

sorry, he says, getting up. it’s tiff.

he must know from the ringtone alone, but you’re not even mad at it, you’re relieved. saved by the bell, another bit of good luck. maybe christmas is real.

uh-huh, you can hear him saying. yeah. that’s— he laughs, and you know from that laugh alone it’s something about eva. yeah, put her on. a beat, then. hey, honey. no. no, she’s right. listen, santa won’t come if you spy on him. the guy likes his privacy, okay? he’s not in it for the applause, he’s not in it for the publicity. pause. well, that’s what the cookies are for. i am being serious, that’s what they’re for. okay. who—okay. he snorts. okay, you got me. don’t tell your mother, though, okay? she really enjoys it. pause. it’s up to you. okay, i gotta go. i love you. hey. i love you. 

that’s more than enough time for you to wipe your eyes on your sleeve, get all fucked up again listening to him, and wipe your eyes a second time. by the time richie sits back down, you’re basically normal.

that sounded like some saga, you say.

this jewish kid at school told all the christians that santa wasn’t real, he explains. and now she’s going around busting all the lying adults one by one. 

you laugh. 

they’re starting young, he says. when i was in school, they always used to make us wait until at least sixth grade before we could go around busting myths.

you’re jewish?

he shrugs. kinda sorta.

you see the opportunity to make another joke about him being zero percent italian, and you ignore it. did eva like the doll? you say instead. 

yeah. i mean, it was a huge hassle, it’s so expensive i had to go halves with tiff, and i nearly had a heart attack when eva said something about kirsten cause i thought i’d got the wrong one— he starts eating again, eating soup and talking, and you don't hate it. which by the way, swedes? have the most boring american history of them all, i don’t know why they’d make a doll about that, but anyways, yeah. she loved it. he reaches across you and takes his beer back so he can drink the last dregs of it. ever since the divorce, we don’t even call it christmas eve, we just call it christmas one and christmas two. as is tradition.

he says the last three words kind of weird. 

as is tradition? you repeat.

tiff and i, we don’t have a bunch of traditions from our parents, so it’s like. we make up a lot of stuff and then we say ‘as is tradition.’ cause it’s not.

i mean, you got two generations involved, so that counts.

eh, he says, drawing it out dubiously. 

i got two-generations traditions, you say.

you didn’t intend to talk about your family, you weren’t thinking about that at all, you were just thinking about richie. but now you gotta sit in the silence as he decides whether or not follow up about your parents.

finally, richie says, you got a kid? he’s doing his best to be cool about it, but his voice goes up a little crazy on the last word.

no, i mean—you’re laughing. i meant me and my dad.

oh, he says, maybe a bit relieved, definitely a bit something, you can’t quite place it. oh.

i used to make us mac and cheese for christmas. with a leaf on top, like lettuce or spinach or something. cause, you know, that makes it salad.

that’s cool, he says flatly. after a second, he adds, less flat, i don’t have any traditions with my dad. i mean, he’s dead, but like before then, we never. so i think that’s cool. 

you hate his dad. it’s a split-second decision, but you feel pretty confident about it.

two generations is all you need, you say. and you got eva. so it’s a tradition. 

heard, he says.

when you glance over, you see the chain catching the light, gold over his dark shirt. he looks at you. you both keep eating.

.

.

.

eventually, you finish off two bowls of soup and a hot chocolate too, courtesy of eva’s swiss miss unicorn package. you feel a bit subdued by the ordeal of being human, but relaxed. 

best christmas ever, you say.

really? richie says, like he believes it and feels bad for you.

god no, do you think i came out a dickens?

what the fuck is a dickens?

you’re illiterate, it’s okay. you look at him. you know that your eyes are a little red, but thankfully you can also see, reflected in his eyes, that he knows you're all right.

thank you, richie, you say. it’s all wrong, you shouldn’t be saying his name and you shouldn’t be saying thank you either, it’s thanks or nothing, but something about the formality feels a little heavier and therefore suited to the day. it’s getting late.

i’ll drive you? he says, and there’s a little extra question in it that you can’t bring yourself to consider. 

you shake your head and get up from the table heavily, feeling a thousand years old. i’m good. 

he gets up, follows you, stands there with his hands in shoved his pockets as you crouch to put on your shoes.

i wasn’t suggesting a sleepover, he says. 

no, of course not, you say, and you congratulate yourself on not making it sound bitter.

unless, richie says.

you look up at him. 

i have so many condoms, he says, deadpan. just. so fucking many. some of them are citrus flavored.

there he goes, saved it.

it’s not just tonight, is it? it’s not just tonight, it’s not just luck, it’s not just christmas; somehow, richie’s become…he’s figured it out, how to be with you. when to show up and when to let you go. not always, but more than enough, and he just. he wakes up and he struggles and he breaks shit and he irritates you and he calls eva and he watches youtube and he goes to bed and he wakes up and he struggles and he learns and you love him.

what a fucking time to find out. you look down and begin tying your shoes again.

you got pineapple flavor? you say.

in what world is pineapple citrus? richie says.

well, tough luck. you back up and turn around to put on your coat. for me, it’s pineapple condoms or nothing.

you’re a real high-maintenance fuck.

you laugh. michael used to like that about you, just how easy you were, or how easy you made yourself. buddy, you got no idea. 

it’s been such a long day for both of you, apart and together. of course you’re getting messy, of course it’s time to go. you zip up your coat, run your hand through your hair. 

let me drive you, he says again.

you wave him off. no, i need to walk. clear my head.

it’s december in chicago, fuckin pitch black— 

i’ll be fine.

it’s christmas eve, are you really gonna punish me for a fucking joke? he says, and you look up, startled; you didn’t know he was upset. in retrospect, you were just focusing on avoiding his eyes, so what did you expect?

i’m not punishing you for anything, you were great. richie. you look at him straight on and steady, so he understands. a little gentle, as gentle as you feel you can get away with. you truly have to go, and there’s no resentment in it. i just need to clear my head. i’ll be fine, i’m always fine. 

you never… richie trails off, eyes you, decides against finishing the sentence. you’re stubborn.

always. you give him a small smile. thanks for the soup.

goodnight.

that should be the end, but it feels unfinished. his blue eyes are alive to the possibilities when you reach out, but you just touch the chain with a fingertip where it rests over his collarbone. his right hand moves a little and you draw back, your other hand on the doorknob at once, already leaving.

.

.

.

two days later, the cops issue a warrant for your arrest. 

.

.

.

[ next chapter ] [ masterlist ]

.

.

.

@garbinge, @narcolini, @drabbles-mc, @beingalive1, @eternallyvenus, @cerial-junkie, @jackierose902109, @shinebright2000, @scorpiolystoned — if anyone else wants to be tagged, let me know.

[the-inky-waters]

Inkclan Information

Finchology(LOB) Uses She/They. Maggie uses They/Them.

start reading here!

Join the discord!

_____________________________ __ _

this comic has minor to moderate gore. all comics will be labeled accordingly.

Inkclan is a clangen-based comic made by Lob (@finchology) and Maggie (N/A)!

We are here to bring you a fun, interesting and dramatic story with diverse and engaging characters!

Most comic panels are made by Lob, while many of the lore work and clangen work/mods are by Maggie! Both of us manage this blog, but it is primarily ran by Lob.

This is a passion project and does not have a schedule, so we recommend following this blog for updates on moons and asks!

this blog also has other clan fanart and mentions!

Fanart & Cameos

We allow Fanart of all of our characters! It’s appreciated and cherished, and we will try to reblog as many fan arts as we can. However, please don’t draw ship art of our characters with anyone but their partner / canon crush / past partner IF they had one. Cameos in other comics are okay as long as you understand their existence in your world is not canon. We also ask our character aren’t used at plot devices in any comics they are featured in. The ideal cameo is in the background of a large gathering/patrol/ect.

________________

Ask information

Our ask box is open 24/7! Your ask will be sorted into two categories when we receive it.

if you ask is specified to be for a character, like, “Sunstripe, how are you doing?” It’ll be in line to be drawn and responded to. We ask you specify a character this is directed to, if you do NOT, the ask will be discarded.

Or, if you have a question for the creators, it’ll be responded to ASAP out of character!

Any Uncomfortable / Inappropriate Asks will be removed, and depending on what it said, you will be blocked.

________________

Tag Information

There are three defining tags we use for our posts, among others. Those are:

#InkInfo

#InkAsks

#InkMoons

Which are all relatively self explanatory. All moons and asks will be under their respective tags, and updates/issues will be covered in InkInfo!

We are also professional jokesters, so check #InkMemes for memes about Inkclan

________________

clangen favs, inspos, and friends ;

@moons-of-dewclan

@gray-thistleclan

@cutieclangen

@mosscore9800

@littlebloomclan

@rise-of-littleclan

@angelclan-souls

and this is only a few!!!!

That’s all for now. ^_^