#he called them old farts and they are still salty about it

[mybrainlol]

I just did a shortish workout, listening to Pantera. Lifted the kettle bell, did some leg stretches. Decided to exercise and let out my anger frustration, rather than let it get to me and brood. It's absurd that Johnny would just block me, and make a post about how he thought I was calling out Sam on social media. Does the fool not realize that he was doing the same thing? Obviously not. That's how oblivious he is. I cried some tears earlier, because I was worried that Johnny would essentially slander my name, and maybe prevent the rest of the guys from ever wanting to talk to me. Then I realized, any actual adult would not give a fuck. Like Phil Anselmo said, "A punk like that is just piss in the wind". Nothing. Fucking nothing.

Honestly, thinking about it all now, it's pretty cringe for Johnny to come to the defense of Sam, when he doesn't even know the whole story. To even imply that I am ungrateful, and demanding is stupid. What's wrong with telling my side of the story? What's wrong with voicing how I feel? The moment that I point out someone is fallible, that makes me the bad guy? No. He's wrong. And stupid. So fucking stupid. How much of a fan boy can you be? I guess his wife really was right in that the guys are only nice to him because he tags them all the time online, and buys all their stuff. What a moron. There's people online that are so quick to call anything parasocial. Everything is a parasocial relationship now-a-days since people on reddit learned what that term was. But what John has in his mind, really is a parasocial relationship with the band. It's absurd! They're regular people, like you and me!

It's so stupid to me. Like, do I have to point out every single thing I do, to prove that I give a fuck about them? Do I have to make a social media post every damn day licking their ass and making sure their gooch is clean? mmm, salty. lol

How many people meet a band once and then claim that they're friends? How many times does a person like John or Gen have to go to one of these shows, buy all these peoples' stuff, in order to gain their "friendship"? Shit, that's parasocial in itself, despite being real life! You don't have to be on the internet to have a parasocial thing, it can be physical too. Face to face in real life. I remember at the last show, seeing Gen ask all the members for their autograph on the poster she bought. I thought to myself, "If these people are your friends, why would you have them sign your stuff?" That was one of the reasons I didn't buy anything, lol. Granted, at the end of the first show, I didn't bring my purse with me in time to the merch table before it was all packed up lol. Still, why would I ask my friend for their autograph, if I wasn't going to sell it on ebay or something like that? It's stupid to me.

I'm over it now. I'm glad that I blogged and exercised. I took a couple anxiety meds to calm down too. I had this anxiousness that could have escalated into a panic attack. I don't want something as lame as this to get to me mentally, you know? John is old, fat, and stupid. I'll outlive him, naturally. So there's nothing to even care about. I'm going to keep doing my own thing, and he can shit and fart about all the dumb shit that he can. It makes no difference to me.

I just hope, my only serious thing, that it doesn't prevent any possibility of giving my number to LB. Before all this, I had the idea to message a friend, to give it to him. Now, I don't know. If I do, I'm going to have to wait some more. Give it some more time. Unless, hopefully, there is going to be another show soon where I can just go do that there. That probably sounds parasocial of me! I swear it's not...my god there was a girl talking to Coleman and I saw that she gave him her number. I wanted to do the same thing for LB! But shy shell me just couldn't do that. Maybe for now, it's for the best.

I've been hoping that maybe, just maybe, he'll reach out to me, and maybe ask for my number. If I end up doing so, I figure that I'll just use the book I gave as an excuse. Like, "Hey, yeah, here's my number. Let me know what you think of the book!" Though my reptile brain tells me he probably wouldn't do that. No guy I've ever given my number to ever does that. Ah!

I hate giving in to internet drama. Yet, at the same time, I don't want to any perceptions, as blatantly erroneous as they may be, to cloud my chances of...anything. So I'm going to leave my post up for a while, then maybe post some things about my channel later. I'm going to cut out the personal stuff. I don't want to put that out anymore. God forbid this happens again, and someone decides to say that all the bad things that happened to me last year were my own fault; or that I deserved it. That's the thing that gave me the most anxiety earlier. I was afraid that John was going to say that in the comments of his post... that perhaps all the things I was sad about were partially my own doing. So far...no. At least, on the website where I can look at the post without logging in...no, he doesn't seem to say that. Though, should I really care? These people don't really know me. If he did, then he wouldn't have gotten offended by what I said.

All I said in my private story was that I have no idea why Sam hadn't talked to me. Not my problem anymore though. I saw some things he did that made me question his character though. But it wasn't my problem. And that's it. I'm keeping it vague because I don't want one of them to find this blog. Though, I doubt they will.

Anyway, if they somehow see this, why would it matter what I think? A real adult would be able to see my thoughts, then move on with their life. What's the point in getting frustrated over what I said? What's the most absurd part to me, is how he didn't even bother to talk to me about it? What's the point of that? You see my post then immediately block me...and then make a call out post of your own talking about how calling out people is wrong. Where is the logic in that?

[shyficwriter]

Temporary Home: Chapter 15

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!)

Summary: Peter and you have started another prank war. Who will come out on top?

Previous Chapter here | Next Chapter Here Or click here to: Start From Beginning

Author’s Note: Thanks to anon for submitting this idea for a cute fluffy scene to include in the story! Also, for my records this chapter ends on day 29 of the Guardians living with reader. Enjoy!

Word Count: 6,812

It soon became clear that the prank war was back on.

Just as you had resolved to the previous night, you squirted lemon juice in Peter's coffee when he wasn't looking.

He made a face upon tasting his ruined coffee, but just gave you a look of sleepy contempt as he dumped it in the sink rather than complaining. He knew what he had done to deserve it. However, that didn't mean he wasn't going to get you back.

He had his revenge later in the sitting room. He called you over, stating he had a question about a book. When you got closer to him, he then asked, "Hey, do you smell popcorn?"

You raised an eyebrow, and of course took in a big whiff. Big mistake.

You immediately gagged, your nostrils having been assaulted by the rankest smelling fart you think could have ever been expelled from a human body. It even rivaled Yondu's incident with dairy.

Peter lost it, doubling over with laughter as you backed away with your mouth and nose covered.

"Ugh! You nasty fecker! Oh my god!" you cried out, still backing away. "What's wrong with you!"

Kraglin, Drax, and Rocket were now also laughing from their places near the television. Drax laughed the loudest, saying, "Quill! That was brilliant! I'm not even mad that I lost the bet! HAHAHA! I'm going to try that!"

The bet he was referencing had happened moments prior, when Peter saw you in the hall and hurried into the sitting room whispering to his friends that he bet 20 units he could make you willingly smell his farts. Ah, what an immature lot they are.

You would have smacked Peter, but that would mean getting closer to him and the smell and you thought better of it, instead turning with the intent to leave the room completely, leaving them still laughing in your wake with only revenge on your mind.

You tried to think about what you had at your disposal, and remembered that you still had the whoopee cushion after you had snatched it back from Kraglin during the last prank war. You kind of wish you knew where your spider went though. It proved marvelously effective last time. After Peter threw it at you and it resulted in your arm getting injured, you hadn't really thought about what happened to it afterwards until now. You obviously hadn't taken it, so you just assumed that it must still be with Peter. You momentarily considered looking in his room for it, but the thought of searching through his stuff felt strange to you, even if you would be looking for your own toy.

You remembered the sticky notes in your desk up stairs and thought if worse came to worse, you could always pull a classic "Kick me" sign.

You decided a walk might help you consider your options better and so you collected your earbuds from the hall table and made your way towards the back door. You noticed Gamora in the kitchen on your way, and realized she might actually have the answer to one of your questions.

"Um, hey, Gamora?"

She turned to give you her attention. "Yes?"

"I was wondering..." You suddenly felt ridiculous for asking, but pushed it down, "if maybe you had seen if Peter still had that toy spider of mine? I was wondering if I might have it ba-"

"Nuh-uh. That ain't happening."

You raised an eyebrow in surprise, but not at her, for she hadn't been the one to answer, and she was just as surprised by this sudden third-party interjection.

It had been Yondu who had spoken, and he spoke again. "I'm the one that's got it, and I ain't givin' it back." He sat at the table looking at you with his arms crossed and wearing a smirk, as if daring you to complain about it. He had snatched it the night you dislocated your elbow, around the time he was scolding Peter and Kraglin and calling an end to that prank war himself after it had resulted in an injury.

You raised both eyebrows in surprise now. "Excuse you?" you say, surprised at his boldness and a bit irritated at how he now seemed like a scolding teacher who had confiscated contraband from a naughty child.

"Yondu, you can't just steal her property." Gamora chided.

"Ya heard me. Last time she and Quill had it that happened," he gestured to your arm. "So I'm keeping it since clearly neither of the two of 'em seem to have any sense. She wouldn't be askin' for it back if they weren't gettin' into it again."

You exchanged a look with Gamora. Her expression told you that she seemed to agree with his argument, but didn't want to risk saying so, and that she now seemingly regretted being involved in this situation.

Deciding you were on your own you opened your mouth to tell him off, but before you could he spoke again.

"Don't try denyin' it either. I saw ya putting that sour juice stuff in his coffee. I know the two of ya are back at it again with that prank war stuff," he said almost smugly. "Ya ain't getting it back." He didn't want another prank war to result in more injuries, and if he was honest, he was still slightly salty about having been caught in the crossfire of one of your pranks that had been meant for Peter. He thought outright admitting to confiscating your spider toy would hopefully send the message to you to knock it off before you got started.

You bit your lips and narrowed your eyes at him, half embarrassed at being called out like that. You then shook your head. You were not about to demand or beg for the return of a rubber spider like a child. You straightened your back slightly and said, "Whatever. Keep it then. Don't care." in your best flippant tone. You turned away, putting in your earbuds and added, "Going for a walk. Try not to burn the house down," as you exited out the back door and left the two of them in the kitchen.

You didn't need that spider anyways.

***

It was a cooler day out, overcast in a way that made you think it might rain that night, and you were glad you thought to grab a jacket before you left for your walk. You thought you might visit your old tree, and assess that old door while you were out there. There wasn't a whole lot you could do with your arm still in a brace, but you knew you could still at least open it and give it a general look to see what you might need to build a new door for it.

However, when you got there you quickly realized that the door was simply too awkwardly big and slightly too flimsy due to decay from the elements to risk trying to open it with just one arm. You didn't want to risk falling in it and either causing further injury and/or not be able to climb back out if it turned out the ladder rungs descending into the tunnel were bad too. You were now kicking yourself for not having fixed it months ago when you first noticed how bad it had gotten. At least at that period of time your arm wasn't in a brace and you didn't have eight houseguests to worry about.

You sighed. For now you settled on making a list in your phone of the different materials you'd need to make a sturdier door in the future when you were less... indisposed. No big deal. The world wasn't going to end if you couldn't fix it immediately, and honestly it was probably dumb of you to come out there right now in the first place. Sure, maybe you could get the door built in your current state. Maybe. If no one was around to see you breaking the doctor's orders on the weight restriction and then tell on you to Fury. But that didn't change the fact that you'd then need to carry it out there somehow. Something you definitely couldn't do in your current state. There was perhaps the option to bring the materials out there and assemble them on-sight, but you knew you couldn't carry them out there in a timely fashion either. Could you if you asked for help? Absolutely. Were you going to? Not a chance.

You hung out around the tree for a bit, just listening to music before deciding to head back, and that's when you noticed some pine cones littering the ground.

This gave you an idea. You remembered once when you were little and your dad took you and your brother camping. Your brother had hidden pinecones in the bottom of your sleeping bag. Your feet came in contact with the foreign objects, and being met with weird almost scaly feeling forms instead of the softness of your sleeping bag made you jump right out of said bag with a shriek.

You grinned. You had found your revenge prank. You only hoped that it would have the same effect on a grown man finding these at the foot of his bed as it did on seven-year-old you finding them in your sleeping bag.

Now you had another reason to be glad you wore a jacket. You could hide the pinecones in the pockets as well as hiding them inside the jacket itself and zip them inside.

You loaded up several pinecones. Enough to be sure he'd notice when crawling into bed, but not so many that they'd be noticed as you snuck them into the house.

You arrive back at the house to find the house mostly quiet, and it made you worry that Peter might be in his room and you wouldn't be able to place the pinecones.

However, just to your luck, you managed to catch a glimpse of him and a few others out front through the kitchen window. Perfect.

You quickly make your way upstairs and headed towards Peter's room. The upstairs seemed to be empty and you were just about to congratulate yourself on your good fortune as you already started pulling pinecones out of your pockets, until you noticed Rocket standing in Peter and Gamora's room.

Seeing him caused you to start and you dropped a couple of your pinecones on the ground due to your arm brace hampering your ability to reflexively catch them before they fell. The sound of the pinecones hitting the floor caused Rocket to startle in turn.

"Uh..." you said awkwardly, stepping into the room and picking up your pinecones, "What you doing?"

Rocket, who had been digging through a dresser drawer, responded with, "...Nuttin. What are you doing?" He eyed the pinecones in your hands.

"Nothing." You responded.

An awkward silence fell for a moment. You both knew the other wasn't really supposed to be there, that the only reason for being there right then was mischief of some sort, and you both knew that the other knew that you knew. There was only one thing for it.

Rocket spoke again. "Right..."

You nod. "Yes... good. So... carry on then?"

Rocket nodded slowly. "Yeah..." He turned back to looking for whatever it was he was snooping for.

Taking the hint, the unspoken 'I won't tell if you won't," you carried out your plan, removing the pinecones from your jacket and placing them at the foot of Peter's bed under the blankets.

You finished quickly, catching Rocket's gaze again before you left. A silent nod was all that was exchanged and you were on your way.

***

The rest of the day was mostly uneventful. You read, you listened to music, you got roped into a game of Monopoly that went on far too long because Mantis kept needing reminded of the rules. You didn't entire blame her. It was pretty obvious that it was everyone but Peter's first time playing.

Speaking of Peter, you were surprised he hadn't tried to mess with you the entire game, and you wondered if Gamora might have got on him after hearing Yondu say he could tell that the two of you were starting in on another prank war, or if Yondu had scolded him himself.

Sometime after the game had finished- Gamora won, and Peter pouted- you went to get a drink from the kitchen. When you returned to the sitting room to grab another book to bring upstairs to read you saw Drax approach Yondu and ask, "Yondu, do you smell popcorn?"

Not wanting to sit through another round of what Peter had done to you that morning, you quickly grab a random Sci-Fi/Fantasy book from the shelf and turn to get out of there just in time to hear Yondu reply with, "What the hell is popcorn?"

This was immediately followed by the sound of a very loud fart along with Drax's booming laughter.

In startled surprise you sharply turned in their direction to see Drax laughing and Yondu's face scrunched in both confusion and what was likely disgust.

Peter was laughing too, but at Drax rather than Yondu's misfortunate proximity to his offender. "Drax! Buddy, the fart's supposed to be silent."

Drax didn't seem to mind his mistake, just simply responded with "Ohhh!" and continued to laugh while Yondu shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

Taking in the sight you couldn't help but giggle too at just how ridiculous the situation was. You brought a hand up to your mouth to suppress it, but the sound caught the attention of Yondu and Peter anyway. Yondu's eyes narrowed and Peter was pleasantly surprised that you found the situation funny as well.

You broke their gaze and retreated to your room. Better to escape before you risked smelling anything awful.

***

It wasn't hard to tell when Peter found what was waiting in his bed that night. However, instead of girlish screams like the night he found the spider, he let out a cry of, "Gah! What the hell!?"

You grinned as you sat on your bed reading your book. Mantis was already fast asleep in her bed, and she stirred at the sound of Peter's cries just on the other side of the wall. After looking toward you and seeing you sitting calmly she determined there must not be any danger and soon fell back to sleep.

A few minutes later, though, you were surprised to see Peter walking into your room.

Startled at the sudden intrusion you jolted and as he approached you, rather quickly at that, you said, "Hey- what are you doing?"

He stopped in front of you with a smirk and raised his arms. It was then you realized he had been carrying a shirt bunched up as if it were being used as a sack.

Unceremoniously he emptied the shirt/sack over your head, showering you with all the pinecones you had hid in his bed.

"Hey!" you complain, raising your good arm to shield your head from the coniferous onslaught.

Mantis stirred again, lifting her head to see what was going on.

"This is for leaving those in my bed." he laughed, turning to leave. "And don't think that counts as me getting you back!" he added as he stepped out the door.

Mantis yet again laid back down to rest upon seeing the disturbance was just Peter's shenanigans. You got the feeling that she must be used to it.

***

The next couple days were mostly spent with you and Peter battling back and forth via small pranks.

Yondu obviously noticed, and despite him acting like he didn't want the two of you to get started again, he didn't say or do anything to stop it. It was clear it was keeping your mind off what what had been bothering you, so he just let the two of you be. Especially as it seemed to be harmless.

Kraglin mostly stayed out of it this time. Sure, he helped Peter some, but he was still more likely to bend to Yondu's orders of "This prank war is over!" from last time. That, and he still felt bad about what happened with the incident with the spider, even if it had been mostly Peter's idea.

Peter got you with the old 'shoulder tap misdirection' a couple times, where he'd tap one shoulder and either be on the other side when you turned to look, or have walked away completely.

You hit back by turning the batteries backwards in the remote, knowing he'd likely be the first to use it that morning.

After he finally figured that one out, he decided he'd retaliate by turning all your books backwards on the shelf. When you walked in that evening to see him mid-prank, you simply sighed and rolled your eyes. Seemingly embarrassed to have been caught mid-prank he laughed nervously and straightened up, rubbing the back of his head.

You rolled your eyes and left the room, hoping that since he'd been caught he'd then turn them back right way round. Knowing it was unlikely, you decided to shove some newspaper in his shoes. You could hear Drax in the background laughing at Peter for getting caught as you walked away to retrieve an old newspaper from the table in the hall.

He clearly must have found it at some point the next morning because he got you back around lunchtime by pouring just a little bit of water in your seat right before you sat down to eat.

You jumped from your seat the moment you felt the cold water soak the left side of your ass and after a few seconds of reaching back to feel the wet spot and checking the chair you looked over to where he was sitting and narrowed your eyes.

He simply grinned at you like he had pulled the best prank ever.

Taking a breath, you straightened and just shook your head, warning him that he shouldn't escalate unless he wanted you to do the same.

He didn't seem to take your warning seriously.

***

The next morning when getting ready you saw that Peter had struck again. You didn't know when, or how he had managed to find the time to both sew a pair of your socks shut halfway down with sloppy grey stitches and place them back in your dresser (on top so they'd be first picked, of course) without you noticing, but you did know that this meant double war.

He had pranked you twice in a row, without waiting for you to have retaliated against his last prank first. Or, more likely, he had set this prank and then pulled another without waiting for you to find the first one. Tsk, Tsk, Peter. Bad form.

You found another pair of socks, luckily he had only bothered to adulterate one pair, and then went to confront him.

"You're really asking for it." you say, thrusting the socks towards him in the hall.

"What?" he asked. Trying to act innocent, no doubt.

"You sewed my socks shut. I warned you, don't escalate unless you want me to do the same."

There wasn't really any anger in your voice despite your warning tone, which Peter took as a good sign. "I didn't escalate-"

"Oh-ho! Don't try that with me! You double pranked!" As the words left your mouth you internally cringed. This reminded you of how the two of you had bickered like children in the grocery store. You pushed the feeling that you sounded like a teenager in a Disney sitcom aside for now.

Peter eyed you for a moment before crossing his arms and smugly replying, "Technically no. You interrupted my book prank and then stuffed paper in my shoes. So, because I technically didn't finish my prank, you double pranked."

"No-" you started.

"Yes." He laughed. "So if anyone escalated, it was you." He said in a teasing voice, aiming a couple pokes to your abdomen and making you flinch back at the touch.

"I did not!" you argued, smacking his hand away.

"Eh... ya kinda did..." he drawled out with a grin. "So, I think that means you gave permission for all unwritten rules of pranking to just be thrown out the window." He chuckled, a mischievous glint to his eyes.

"No-" you said warningly. "I did not." You could tell he was just trying to piss you off, but you weren't going to let him win.

"Yeah, I think you did..." He lightly laughed. "So anything else that happens... you'll only have yourself to blame." He said the last bit in a sing-songy voice and went to walk into the kitchen. He stopped momentarily and turned back to you with a grin. "However, you can always avoid any further annoyance by just declaring me the prank master..."

You blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Declare I'm the prank master and you won't have to worry about what I'll do next."

You scoffed at him. "You're dreaming."

Peter grinned wider. "Nope. I'm just 'The Prank Master.'"

You narrowed your eyes and walked past him into the kitchen. "You're gonna regret that," you warned, earning only a chuckle from him. There was no way you were going to declare him master of anything.

You made your way to the pantry to find something quick for breakfast and Peter went to pour himself some coffee.

That's when you found it. Your next prank idea. And boy, was it going to be good.

While grabbing a pop-tart from the pantry, you happened to notice a certain box of gel food dye sitting next to your spices. Your eyes lit up, knowing exactly what you would do with it. You quickly pocketed the blue vile and hid the rest of the box behind the spices where it couldn't be seen for security purposes, just in case Peter would happen to have the same idea. You weren't going to do it right away, but knew it couldn't hurt to have the little bottle on hand just in case...

***

After breakfast you decided to head out to the shed to survey the pile of spare wood you had.

In the shed you found Rocket. This wasn't surprising as he spent a decent amount of time tinkering in the shed since you showed him the workshop. You still hadn't gotten around to finding the spare key for him, just letting him continue to use yours since there wasn't a lot you could do out there anyway until you got the brace off anyway.

You greeted him with a simple, "Hey," that Rocket returned as you made your way back to the spare wood to look over what you had on hand as far as repairing the old tunnel door to get an idea of what might you need to pick up from town.

Was it useful to look now seeing as you likely wouldn't get the brace off for at least a couple more weeks? No, but you were restless and you were really just looking for an excuse for something to do until that night when you could enact your prank.

"Whatcha doing?" Rocket asked, barely looking up from whatever plans he was drafting up on the old pad of paper you left out in the workshop.

"Nuttin," you reply, finishing up your shifting around of the wood and determining that you might have just enough of the right cuts already out there to make a full door, but you might need to pick up some more wood for it, as well as some brackets, later.

Rocket grunted in response and you start to walk back out when something caught your eye over by the long workbench.

You looked down to examine it, and a slight smile played on your lips.

"Did you fix my stool?" you asked, turning to him.

He didn't look up. "Nope."

You raise an eyebrow, mouth twitching upwards in humor. "Oh really? Then who did, if not you? Other than me, you're the only one who comes out here."

Rocket's gaze remained on the notebook. "Dunno. Must have been a 'stool fairy.'" Those last two words were laced with sarcasm.

You smirked. "Ah. I see. Well if you happen to see this 'stool faery,' be sure to tell him I said thank you." You turn and begin to walk out of the shed.

Rocket's ears twitched back for just a second and he grunted out in response, "Uh huh. Sure thing."

***

Unfortunately the stars didn't align that night for you to use the gel coloring on Peter. You had to time it just right to both make sure no one got caught in the crossfire and to not make it obvious you were up to something.

This, however, was probably for the best because Fury's visit the next day caught you off guard. You had been so busy pranking and being pranked and researching door construction and tunnel maintenance that you had managed to lose track of the days and didn't realize it was time for another weekly check-in until you heard him knock at the door that late afternoon. The sound actually startled you at first, and you mentally cursed him for insisting on keeping the times he'd show up a surprise.

Again, probably for the best you weren't able to pull that prank. You weren't sure how pleased Fury would be with you if he saw what you had planned to do to Peter if you had succeeded in going through with it.

The visit was brief. Same old news about the Guardian's situation; nothing changed, little to no progress made. It was time to re-stock the rations again and the guys helped Maria with that like last time. The doctor also accompanied them, and of course he ignored your case for removing the brace and instead just set the hinge to a slightly increased range of movement. He did say that as long as you continued your 'good behavior' it might be ready to come off the next week. You weren't going to hold your breath. Oh, and he also increased your weight restriction to ten pounds. Yay...

At one point Agent Hill pulled you aside like last time, wanting to check in to see if matters regarding your mental health had improved since the last visit.

You answered honestly that they had, but didn't bother to mention that the reason why was likely because Peter had managed to keep you annoyed enough that you didn't have time to dedicate enough thought to what had previously been bothering you.

She tried to pry more, but you weren't really giving her anything, so she just resigned that what she had been able to garner was good enough and the two of you rejoined the group just before Fury announced they would be leaving.

***

It didn't take long after they left for Peter to resume being his annoying self.

You were in the sitting room trying to read, but Peter kept singing along to a song on his Zune that he had come to realize you absolutely hated. To make matters worse, it seemed that he was intentionally singing as poorly as he could just to annoy you. He even got Kraglin to join in with him.

How could you tell it was just to annoy you? Well it didn't start with the singing. It started with tapping. Constant tapping. With his foot on the floor. With his knuckles on the coffee table. He even came up behind you at one point after you refused to react and started tapping you on the head as you sat curled on the sofa attempting to read. That one finally got you to react and scold him to knock it off, and that's when he switched to singing.

Of course, you told him to take it somewhere else. Did he listen? No. He instead moved to sit right next to you and sang louder.

You threatened to chop him in the throat if he didn't take his annoying self somewhere else, and while that got him to stand up, he didn't leave. Instead that's when he recruited Kraglin, who had walked in just a few moments prior to see what all the racket was, and who also didn't hesitate to accept an earbud from Peter and follow his lead.

You tossed your head back on the sofa in frustration and let out a growl as you gritted your teeth.

Peter broke his singing to laugh and tell you that he warned you, all you had to do to make it stop was admit his was the master.

And that's when you threw the pillow at him.

Well, you had been aiming for him, at least. You would have hit him too, had he not dodged at the last second, allowing for the pillow to instead smack Yondu, who no one had noticed had walked into the room, right in the face.

Your eyes widen, as do Peter's and Kraglin's. Only they're trying not to laugh as Yondu's stony face stares at you.

In your startled shock you stammer as you attempt to make an apology, but as he picks the pillow up from the floor all you are actually able to get out is, "I- Uh- I didn't mean-" and a nervous giggle.

Yondu stands back up, pillow now in his hands, and cocks his head at you. "Oh so ya think that's funny, huh?" He starts to walk towards you.

You of course deny it, trying to set the record straight that it had been meant for Peter, but the glint of a playful grin mixed with his grouchy façade made you unable to suppress a nervous grin as he approached. He then tossed the pillow back at you and you deflected it back onto the sofa.

"Nah, I think ya thought that was funny, even if it was meant for my boy." He was standing over you now and Peter and Kraglin were snickering as Peter encouraged him, saying that he thought you definitely thought it was funny to have hit Yondu with the pillow.

"Looks like someone needs to teach ya a lesson in manners, missy." Yondu said as he reached out and squeezed rapidly right above your knee.

Caught off guard you instantly throw back your head and cackle, your hands instinctively reaching for his as you kicked out. "No! Stop it!" you cry out between giggles before managing to free yourself and stand up from the sofa.

Abandoning your book you attempt to escape, but Yondu just grabs you by your good arm and pulls you back, effortlessly succeeding in securing you in a headlock and purposely arranging it so that your good arm was between the two of you and your braced arm was out to the open. He knew with the limited range of motion the braced arm had available you wouldn't really be able to use it to help free yourself in any meaningful way. He then proceeded to give you a noogie.

"Hey! Cut it out!" you complain, uselessly pushing against his shoulder from behind with your good arm. You cursed your arm brace. Without it you could have gotten out of this hold in 3 seconds tops. You still technically could, but didn't want to use that method unless you had to. You didn't want to risk hurting the older man, after all.

Yondu paused a moment and pretended to think. "...Nah. I didn't get an apology yet."

"Ugh! Fine! I'm sorry about the pillow! Happy? I already told you I meant it for Pe-TER!" You squeaked when Kraglin cheekily couldn't resist coming up to pinch your ribs in your current vulnerable state. "Knock that off!" you ordered. It of course only earned you another tickly squeeze from the first mate and the three men to laugh as you commanded Yondu to let you go before you made him.

"Ya ain't gonna make me do nuttin, missy." Yondu laughed, clearly believing he could take you in a fight any day even if your arm wasn't injured. "Where's my apology for when ya pranked the sink and it sprayed all over me?" Yondu asked with a mischievous chuckle. He then pinched your nose shut just to mess with you further. This prompted you to smack his shoulder with your good hand, but he did let go, laughing about how you were a 'feisty one.'

"Yeah," Peter egged on for the sink comment, laughing. "He yelled at me for that!"

You huff out a sigh. "Fine. Sorry for that too. Now this is your last warning to let me go!"

This only made Yondu and the other two laugh and Yondu went to noogie you again. Clearly they were underestimating you. Well, you did try to give him a warning...

In one quick motion you positioned your foot between his so that your leg was locked behind his thigh, reached your good arm up to rest your hand on his forehead, and threw your weight backwards, sending you both to the floor.

Yondu went easily, clearly having been caught off guard and landed on his back with an "oof!" and subsequently released you. Surprisingly though, he didn't seem angry about landing on the floor.

As you both sit up he was actually chuckling, to your surprise.

"Damn, didn't think ya had that in ya." Yondu laughed as he stood up.

Peter and Kraglin, who had went momentarily silent when the two of you fell, were now laughing again. Kraglin made a joke about how he didn't know you could actually fight.

You just grumbled and grabbed your book, deciding you would retreat to your room to finish reading for the night where you were less likely to be annoyed.

Ironically, the whole ordeal actually caused you to forget about the prank you had intended to pull on Peter until you again missed your chance to do it. Oh well, there was always tomorrow, right?

***

The next day you announced to those in the kitchen that you were making a run into town and told them if there was anything they needed to let you know now while you were making a list.

They didn't list-off much. Again, SHIELD provided them with pretty much everything they needed. Some razors, hair conditioner, lotion, and a couple requests for some Earth snacks they had come to enjoy were among the items requested. Simple stuff.

Then Yondu decided to be cheeky and claim his request was for you to take Peter with you again.

"No way," you say flatly, remembering the last run into town. "Not happening."

Yondu just grinned and leaned against his chair. "Fury said ya got to. Ya can't leave without a buddy 'til yer arm is healed up." He elbowed Kraglin and added, "Didn't he, Krags?"

Kraglin, clearly not expecting to be suddenly roped into the conversation said, "Uh, yeah. When you was in the other room talking to that Miss Agent Hill lady when they was here yesterday. He-uh- he told us then." He wasn't exactly the best liar.

You narrowed your eyes. "He did not." You looked to Gamora, who seemingly then immediately realized she had anywhere else to be before you could ask her to confirm.

"Ya can always ask him yerself." Yondu smirked, sure that like last time you wouldn't dare call Fury to confirm.

"Or I can not do that because I know he didn't," you countered.

"I wouldn't be too hasty girl," Yondu drawled. "'Cause what if I'm right? Ya leave without a buddy, and we can just call him and tell him ya broke his rules... and well, we all know what he said he'd do with ya if ya did that."

"You know, I didn't really take you to be such a snitch." You say, irritation clear in your voice. You knew it was at best childish, and at worst fighting words, but you were too frustrated to care.

Instead of being offended, Yondu just laughed and leaned back with his hands folded behind his head. "Gotta do something to pass the time. 'Sides, I think 'blackmail' has a nicer ring to it than 'snitchin'."

You glare at him, not giving him the satisfaction of telling him that he was technically right. This wasn't him being a snitch. This was blackmail. You just didn't understand why this was the hill he decided to die on.

He continued. "Yer better off to just save yerself the trouble and take Peter."

You eye him for a bit before deciding this time you would call his bluff. Partially because you knew he was lying, but also because a tiny part of you was afraid he wasn't, and you knew what would happen if he wasn't.

You dialed up Fury, knowing that the consequences for possibly annoying him with a dumb phone call were vastly less than what they'd be if you disobeyed an order, especially since you were already skating on thin ice. He also seemed to be less upset with you lately due to your 'good behavior,' so at least you had that going fo you. You almost thought you saw Yondu's smirk falter when you started dialing. Almost.

To your surprise, Fury answered after only a couple rings. You put the phone on speaker, and inform him your reason for calling was to confirm something that had been said.

"They're trying to tell me that when Agent Hill pulled me aside yesterday you instructed them to tell me that, under your orders, I am not allowed to drive into town without taking someone with me until my arm heals. Is that correct?"

Fury was quiet a moment before he answered, his voice seeming neutral. "I did not say that."

Yondu and Kraglin's faces fell slightly, and like a child you made a quiet, "Ha!" noise and stuck your tongue out at them, but before you could thank him, Fury spoke again.

"But I am now."

Your eyes widened and shot back to the phone, as if you'd be able to see your director in there. "I'm sorry, what?"

Yondu burst out laughing at your expression, and Kraglin joined in with a grin.

"Effective immediately I'm requiring you to bring a companion on any trips you make into town. Mr. Quill would be the safest choice, but as long as they pass for human, I don't care who it is."

You tried not to sputter. "Sir-... that-... Why-??"

"It's not a bad idea," he said cooly, adding, "and if you're gonna call me to settle a petty squabble then you better be prepared to get an outcome you aren't going to like." He didn't sound angry, more just matter-of-fact.

You blinked. Did he really just imply he was doing this just to annoy you? "Sir, I ask you to reconsid-"

"If you want to keep going, Agent, I can easily make this decision permanent."

This set off another round of laughter from the guys, including Peter from behind you who had walked into the kitchen with Gamora at some point. You didn't know how long they were standing there, but it seemed he had also heard Fury's decision.

With slight heat in your cheeks, you respond to your director. "No, sir."

"Good. Have a good day, Agent." Fury replied, and then hung up. If you didn't know better, you'd say his tone sounded almost amused.

You put the phone back in your pocket and rubbed your hand over your eyes while the others teased you.

"That's what ya get for not just listenin' to me in the first place, girl. Now ya really do have to do it!" Yondu laughed.

"I hate you," you say bluntly.

He only grinned in response and called over to Peter. "Ya heard the man, boy! Looks like yer takin' a trip!"

Peter grinned cheekily at you and you roll your eyes. "Fine. Get ready," you order as you walk past him and out of the kitchen. Then, seeing an opportunity to let out some frustration (probably misplaced in this instance, honestly) you turned back with a smirk and added, "This time don't forget to go potty before we leave!"

You turned away again, but not before being able to see the cheeky grin fall from his face and hear him yell back, "Not cool, dude!" along with some snickering from the others in the background.

Little did you know, though you probably should have, that decision to embarrass him would seal the fate of your nerves, and possibly your sanity as well, on the trip to come.

[allegra-writes]

"TKN"

Peter Parker x Anti-hero!Reader

General audiences

Warnings: None

Part XIII of the "Mercy" Series

SERIES MASTERLIST | MY MASTERLIST

"Secrets only to those you can trust.

You better not break the Omerta..."

TKN - Rosalia f. Travis Scott

72 hours. That's how long you and Peter had been on the run. And in those 72 hours, Peter had gone through more new experiences than in a whole year as an avenger: He had joined the mile high club, only to five minutes later jump from said plane at cruise speed. He had illegally entered a country, broke into a department store and even shaved his whole head to completely change his appearance. He had celebrated his and yours new freedom with sangria, and more lovemaking at the beach under the stars... 

But this? Being held at gunpoint by a tiny girl with murder in her eyes and superhuman reflexes? That was, sadly, nothing new. 

It was like watching a dance, the way your high kick sent the gun in her left hand flying, as the blonde rolled out of your reach too fast for you to get a hold of the other gun on her right. You avoided a punch to your midriff, as she jumped away from your knife. And your boyfriend saw, helpless, as it was shot out of your hand by a bullet fired with millimetric precision to its blade. But he had been instructed under no uncertain terms to stay out of the confrontation, and by now he knew better than to disobey you. 

"Don't you know what they say about bringing a knife to a gunfight?" The girl quipped, heavy ucranian accent lacing her words.

You smirked,

"They only say that cause a knife is only as good as the one who wields it, тетя Lena… Are you sure you're better with a gun than I am with a knife?"

She rolled her eyes at your cockiness, knowing full well you had several more sharp weapons hidden in your body. 

"Ты менг раздржаешь... So," Lena inquired, eyeing Peter up and down, "Who's the boy toy?"

Your smirk intensified, a barely there twitch, an almost imperceptible movement of your fingers, was all the signal your boyfriend needed,

"His name is Peter," A web shooter went off, and Lena found herself suddenly unarmed "and he's not a boy toy" 

"No, he's an avenger" She spat the word like an insult, "You know the rules, Likho. We don't fuck with strangers"

"And we only share secrets with those we can trust" You finished for her, "I trust him, Lena" 

She huffed, still sizing him up, but you could see a new glint of curiosity, if not respect, in her emerald eyes. 

After a minute, she finally relaxed, dropping her defensive stance. Without another word, she turned away from you, opening a cabinet, taking out three glasses and a bottle of vodka. 

"What's the story, then?" She began pouring the drinks, "I assume there is a story there, last time I saw you, you wanted to kill the avengers. Now here you are, with one as a pet…"

"I'm not- I'm not a…" Peter stammered his protest, "I'm not a pet" 

"Then why are you trailing after her like a lost puppy?" 

"Lena," Your tone was warning, as you grabbed your glass "play nice"

She rolled her eyes again,

"You sound just like your mother. The blonde widow made a face, downing her drink in one gulp, only to immediately refill it, "I miss her"

"Yeah" you sighed, "me too…" 

Peter fidgeted uncomfortably next to you.

"Everything ok, Peter?"

Your boyfriend hesitated: His spider sense was still on high alert, but he couldn't really tell if it was because of the assassin, or another threat you were unaware of.

He decided to play it down for the moment.

"Yeah just… don't want to be rude or anything but I'm not really the vodka type"

"I guessed that already, Spider-Boy. Is why I didn't pour you one…"

"Then who's that one for?" He questioned pointing at the third one.

"That would be for me" 

You looked up, your face breaking into the biggest grin Peter had ever seen on you at the sound of the new voice.

"Alex!" 

A pang of jealousy hit him, as he watched you throw yourself into the arms of the tall, handsome stranger.

Because this Alex guy was handsome, there was no denying that: Bright hazel eyes on top of the sharpest cheekbones Peter had ever seen, pale face framed by dark, shiny long tresses almost to his shoulders.

"Nice hair" You teased, running your fingers through his luscious locks and Peter had the sudden impulse to stick bubble gum to them like Flash had done to him once, back in junior year. He self consciously rubbed his own head, too aware of his buzzcut.

"Nice bangs," the Alex guy shot back, messing your hair like one would to a little child, "you look like a schoolgirl" 

That earned him a rather painful looking punch to his shoulder.

"Punch like a girl too"

"Train a little harder and you will too" You winked. Peter cleared his throat. "Right, of course. Alex, this is Peter. Peter, this is Alex" 

They shook hands, Peter impulsively squeezing a little too hard for a human. But the skinnier boy simply smiled a wolfish grin, all sharp white teeth, returning the grip with just as much strength. 

"Welcome to the spiders' den, Peter"

…

An hour later found the four of you satiated and relaxed, amongst empty pizza boxes and beer bottles. 

"... So, there we were, completely surrounded by both Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, that were actually also Hydra agents, outnumbered and without any exit points in sight" Lena was retelling, Alex nodding enthusiastically beside her as he chew yet another slice of pepperoni, "So I reach inside my boot for my hidden glock, smirky hydra son of a bitch goes 'You looking for this, blondie?' Shaking my knife in front of my face…"

You fidget uncomfortably next to Peter, his eyes going from your beet red face to an Alex that seemed to be choking.

"And that little brat" she pointed at you, "Barbie pajamas, ice cream cone in one hand, my fucking gun in the other goes 'No, fart knocker, she was looking for this'" 

Alex finally snorted, little crumbs escaping his mouth and hitting you in the face as he started coughing. You wiped your face with as much dignity as you could muster.

"You're just salty because a nine year old saved your ass" 

"A sick nine year old" Alex managed to get out between barks, "With pink eye, she could only see with one eye. And using just one hand. Is why we call her Likho ever since" 

"Wait, you still had your ice cream?" 

"She never let go of that ice cream" Lena replied to the question Peter had directed at you, and you felt the temperature of your cheeks rise even more. 

"Literally single handedly took out 7 agents" Alex added, "and then demanded another scoop" 

All three of your companions dissolved in laughter, as you felt your stomach churn. Alex wouldn't look back on that particular memory with such fond eyes if he knew what that little incident had initiated, how it had snowballed until the consequences had reached a girl on the other side of the world, another red room experiment, just like you. 

They said a butterfly flapping its wings here can cause a typhoon in China. Well, your hurricane had levelled Ava Orlova's life.

You weren't one for guilt. Guilt had no place in survival. You did what had to be done in order to preserve yourself and your freedom. Just like your mother had taught you. Just like she had done. But being with Peter, loving Peter… well, that was having unforeseen consequences too, as you were coming to realize. 

Because now you understood. Now you understood Alex and Ava's bond, because Alex had felt for Ava the same way you did for Peter. Probably still did, since it was with trepidation that you realized his death probably wouldn't change your feelings for peter. 

After all, your own hadn't. 

"What about you, spider-boy? Any embarrassing stories to share?"

Peter smiled, for a minute forgetting where he was or why he was there,

"Actually, I do. It involves a barn, an overly friendly goat and hay in places hay should never…" He trailed off, his smile falling when he saw the look on your face.

"No! Why did you stop? That sounds like a great story!"

"Yeah, you got me at 'overly friendly goat'!"

Peter simply interlocked his fingers with yours, silently offering his support. It was time. You took a deep breath

"Because it wouldn't be fair to tell you a story that I don't remember" 

Silence fell over the small kitchen, as Lena and Alex processed your words, the later being the first to break it,

"S.H.I.E.L.D?"

"The T.A.H.I.T.I. protocol" you confirmed. He leaned back on his chair, chuckling, but there was no humor behind it.

"Well, well, well… ain't karma a bitch" 

"Alexei," Lena's tone was warning, "that was the Blank Slate project. You can't blame Likho for what Natasha did"

"Can't I? Really? Cause in over twenty years, our sister never cared about my 'trauma', but we find out about her" He pointed, accusingly, "and suddenly she is all about giving us a normal life. As if we could ever be normal. As if new memories could erase the Red Room from our bones"

"Alex…" You tried, weakly, but you didn't know what to say. Not when everything he was saying was true. 

"And now what? You want me to help you break through it? Now you need us to get back the memories they took from you, just like your mother stole memories from us?" 

"Alexei!"

"NO, YELENA!" Three figures automatically jumped into a fighting stance when his fist met the table. Alex closed his eyes, attempting to get his breathing, and his emotions, back under control. 

"If you want to help these Avengers, go ahead" He finally said, eyes fixed on his sister's, "but don't expect me to be a part of this." 

Without another word, he got up and left the room, leaving Yelena to pick the pieces of the broken bottle that had rolled off the table. And you, to pick up the pieces of your broken heart. 

"Shhh, it's ok, y/n" Peter, sweet, loyal Peter, tried to envelope you in his arms when he heard the first sob leave your throat, even if he didn't quite understand why it had hurt you so much to be called an Avenger. But Lena was there in a heartbeat, throwing him a dirty look, and taking your face in her hands to force you to look at her instead. 

"Don't listen to him, Likho. You're not an Avenger, you are a widow. You will always be a widow, and always will be a part of this family. Just like your mother."

You nodded, buring your face on your aunt's shoulder. 

"I'll help you, both of you" Yelena declared, eyes meeting Peter's, "Us spiders ought to take care of each other" 

To be continued… 

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Foreign Languages (standalone)

Summary: Rus always thought he was a pretty likable guy. Everyone in Underswap always thought so. So why was it Edge hated him so much?

Tags: Spicyhoney, Enemies to Lovers,Getting Together, Misunderstandings

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Rus took the wet dish from his brother’s hand and dried it carefully, making sure to get any damp places that would leave spots when they dried. On the counter in front of him were stacks of already dried plates sitting next to the glasses and Rus added the current one to join its brethren. Because despite what some people might think, and say, loudly and frequently, Rus could and did actually help out with the housework.

Okay, it was possible he played up the laziness whenever some people were here, come on, it was funny. That was the joke! And sure, he got some chuckles out of it, but in the end, the fact remained. He helped, thanks, he did have jobs, he put money towards the bills, and he wasn’t some lazy, good-for-nothing jackass sponging off his brother’s goodwill, he wasn’t—

“You can quit brooding about it now,” Blue told him. Rus looked down at him. The sink was at his bro’s level and unless Rus wanted to sit on the floor while he washed, they usually went with Rus at the drying end of the line. Blue rinsed another plate and handed it up. “They’re gone and they won’t be back for another week.”

“they may be physically gone, but i swear, their presence lingers like a rancid fart in an elevator,” Rus grumbled. He rubbed away the droplets of water with more energy than was probably necessary, but it was probably better the plates took the bulk of his irritation than where he really wanted to shove it. “the Fell brothers seemed to bring their version of trouble with them wherever they go.”

“What I don’t understand is why you let him get to you,” Blue sighed. He scrubbed at the casserole dish, attacking the dried-on bits and ugh, gross, there was another reason to be grateful he was tall. “I’m aware you two simply don’t get along, but you’re usually so much better than that! How can you ignore every other Monster in the Underground, all with a smile on your face, except him?”

Rus sighed, sagging against the counter. “bro, i dunno. he’s worse than the mating call of piece of styrofoam.”

That was a kind way of putting it as far as Rus was concerned. His undersized clone from murderworld was flat-out fucking obnoxious. Rus could handle insults, hell, when he was doing standup, Rus could handle any heckler from the stage with the finest level of panache. But somehow, that guy managed to find his very last nerve and pounced on it with the kind of accuracy that Robin Hood would envy.

Ignoring that shit was seriously above and beyond the call of duty. The only other option would be going out whenever they were over, but fuck that. This was his house, thanks, and Rus wasn’t getting chased out of it by some overblown copy of himself that needed heels to look him in the eye sockets.

Blue rinsed off a handful of silverware and handed it over. “Things are different in Underfell you know that.”

The forks jangled as Rus tossed them roughly on the counter, “so what, that gives him blanket permission to be an asshole?”

“No,” Blue pulled the plug and wiped his hands on his apron, “but it also doesn’t mean you have to rise to the bait every time.”

“why are you only bitching at me and not him?” Rus whined. Honestly, it was so unfair. Just because he was taller didn’t mean he always had to be the bigger skeleton. He tossed the rest of the mostly dried silverware in with the forks and flopped down to the floor, wrapping his arms around his bro from behind and hauling him in for a hug. Blue snuggled in obediently, but that wasn’t enough to save Rus from the scolding.

“Because he isn't my brother,” Blue said firmly. “You are. And if you're waiting on Red to reel him in, I'd suggest not holding your breath.” That was the fucking truth, Red never joined in on the fun, but he tended to sit back and watch the show with a smirk on his face. That was the Underfell brothers, wasn’t it, the asshole and the whole ass, and they shared the titles between them. “Now, promise me that you won't let him get to you this weekend.”

Rus grumbled under his breath.

"What was that?”

"I promise," he sighed. He really did hate letting his bro down. He let Blue go and sank back on his heels while he tried very hard not to sulk, because that only made his bro unhappy and didn’t solve a thing.

This wasn’t the first time Blue begged him to tone it down for a while, but fuck, it was like that asshole was deliberately needling him, seriously, he was begging for an insult. The real problem wasn’t that he couldn’t control himself, but the simple fact that Edge wasn’t gonna make it easy for him.

This past movie night was a case in point. Nothing but jibes, back and forth, from the second Edge walked through the door ‘till the moment he set those high heels of his back into the snow.

“Tell me, how many piles of filthy clothing did you need to wade through before you found that sweatshirt?”

“only two, edgelord, wanted to make a good impression. and how many emos did you have to kill to put together that outfit, good on you for getting all the dust out.”

“My apologies, I suppose having clothing that wasn’t scrounged from a vomit-inducing dumpster is offending your sensibilities. I’ll be sure to wade through some filth before our next visit.”

“shouldn’t be too hard in underfell, all you have to do is take a stroll outside.”

“Do you think so, I wasn’t sure you knew what a stroll was, considering that the couch cushions are sunken in your shape.”

And that was just what Rus remembered from the top of his head. If he could give Edge grudging credit for anything, it was that he was quick with a comeback. Too quick, and constant to boot. By the end of the night, Rus was seething and Blue was exhausted from playing monkey in the middle, trying feebly to keep the peace.

If Edge had ever pointed any of that shit on Blue’s direction, this wouldn’t even be an issue. Rus would’ve shoved their pointy asses back into the portal so fast, the void would be spinning. Whatever problem Edge had with him, though, it didn’t extend to Blue. They were chummy as hell, thick as thieves, whatever other fucking metaphor the undernet could spit out.

Seriously, though, if he’d been even the tiniest bit as rude to his bro, this whole movie night thing would’ve been dumpstered a long time ago.

Only he wasn’t. And he wasn’t to Papyrus either, or Sans, or any other fucking person he’d seen Edge interact with. Doc Jekyll was perfectly kind and polite to anyone else and only pulled a Monsieur Hyde whenever Rus was close by.

Seemed like Edge saved all his vitriol for him. Lucky lucky him.

Well, this movie night was gonna be different. This time Rus wasn’t letting that asshole get to him and that was final.

~~*~~

If Rus knew that ignoring Edge was going to be this amazing, he would have tried it months ago.

It started from the first moment they walked in the house, like it always did. Edge barely kicked off his boots when he called out, “Have you been wearing that same shirt all week, Swapshit? Are you experimenting on whether it’s actually possible to wear something to rags?”

“Guess so,” Rus said absently. He didn’t elaborate on it, didn’t ask whether Edge shook all the dust out of his ensemble before coming. He only stayed where he was, slumped on the sofa while Blue began the entire convoluted ritual of bringing out popcorn and drinks, chattering about what movies they were planning on watching today and what was for dinner.

Usually Edge would step in and help, but Rus’s lack of reply seemed to have thrown him for a loop. He wavered for a moment then rallied with, “Perhaps you let your brother wash it this week after all, since I doubt you’ve laid a hand on a washing machine in months.”

Rus only shrugged vaguely, and the look that flitted across Edge’s face, a weirdly twisted configuration of confusion, was some sweet shit.

He tried a couple more, adding to the clothes and lazy insults with a coupla digs about his intellect for seasoning and this time Rus didn’t even bother with the shrug. He was a tree in the wind, bending beneath the gales, and laughing it the fuck up on the inside. Now this was entertainment.

Sans seemed to have caught on to the deal and he only settled next to a scowling Red on one of the sofas, watching as Edge stood alone in the middle of their living room, fumbling for another insult for Rus to ignore.

Blue and Papyrus were always tall and smol balls of trying to get along, and when Blue gave him a look, Rus only looked back innocently. Hey, he was following his promise to the letter, not letting Edge get to him. If Edge was gonna get worked up into a froth about it, hey, wasn’t his fault.

Blue still looked like he wanted to give him a kick in the shin, but didn’t seem like he came up with a good excuse for it. He settled for accidentally/deliberately treading on Rus’s foot even as he said, brightly, “Here we go, popcorn and drinks!”

“thanks, bro,” Rus took his bowl and immediately started crunching the salty, buttery goodness.

That seemed to be the ammo Edge was looking for and he latched on quickly, snapping out, “Always have to be first in line, don’t you. Consider leaving some for the rest of us.”

Rus had to resist the urge to scoff, that wasn’t even a good one, boo, all the judges give ones, even the Russians.

“Here you are, Edge, popcorn,” Blue said with almost desperate cheer, thrusting a bowl at him.

That seemed to be enough to call for an intermission. Edge took his bowl of popcorn without so much as a thank you and went to sit between Sans and Red. The movie was an old one they’d all seen before and Rus snuck a couple discreet glances Edge’s way. He was glowering at the screen as if that laser gaze of his might kill all the actors and spare them this nonsense. Every once in a while, Edge sullenly ate a single kernel of popcorn and holy shit, this was the funniest thing Rus had ever seen, and if he laughed out loud now, he’d never get to see the end of the show.

He managed to jerk his eye lights back to the tv and kept the glances to a minimum, the better to savor it, hell, yes. Sipped on the Edgelord’s annoyance like the fine vinegary wine that it was.

Halfway through the movie, Blue paused it and picked up the half-full popcorn bowl, holding it up to ask cheerily, “Does anyone need a drink or refill?”

“I’ll take a glass,” Edge announced. Instead of waiting for Blue to bring it, he stalked over, arms crossed over his chest as he stood waiting, glowered at absolutely nothing.

That got some looks. Edge never drank soda, he always stuck with water. Hell, he’d sneered about the soda before, what was that one, something about Rus drinking so much soda that if he dared eat a Mento, he’d probably explode.

“Oh, uh, of course!” Blue recovered admirably. He poured out a cup and handed it up to Edge. Who took it with possibly the fakest looking fumble Rus ever saw, but there wasn’t time to even wonder what the fuck because the soda was less in the glass and more dumped directly on his head.

Stunned, Rus looked up at Edge through the sticky liquid dripping into his sockets.

“Oops,” he said, blandly. His eye lights were bright, a smirk curving up the side of his mouth. “My mistake.”

“you—” Rus bit off what he was going to say hard enough that his teeth clicked together painfully. He’d fucking promised, and he was keeping his promise, no cheap pleather knockoff clone was going to stop him. He stood up, slowly, and for one long moment he faced Edge. Without his boots on, Edge was inches shorter than him, staring up defiantly, daring Rus to say something, anything. Then Rus turned away and stalked towards the kitchen.

“Papy,” Blue called anxiously as he went through the door. Rus ignored it and went right to the drawer with the towels, wiping off as much of the sticky wetness as he could, ugh.

The door swung open behind him and Rus turned enough to catch a glimpse of black and crimson, too tall to be Red.

Rus wasn’t the fighter that Edge was, but he did have two things in his side. First, the element of surprise and second, he was pretty sure Edge wouldn’t actually hurt him. Blue probably wouldn’t be very happy about having to shake Rus out of the rugs.

That anger he’d kept banked all night under his sense of humor surged and Rus reached out and took hold of Edge’s soul with his magic, turned it blue with a cheery ting and shoving him back against the cupboards. Edge didn’t even struggle or try to fight back and somehow that was even more irritating, what the fuck was wrong with this guy?

Seemed like there was only one person to ask. Rus stalked over to Edge and stood in front of him, his soda-soaked sweatshirt clinging uncomfortably as he snarled out, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Edge had no right to look as furious as he did. “Me?” he spat, “What the fuck are you trying to pull?”

“i’m trying to end all this bullshit!” Rus snapped. His anger wasn’t sustainable, hell, Rus never liked being angry, and it drained away, leaving behind exhaustion. No one else ever got treated to the weekly roast, why the hell was Edge so damned focused on him. He didn’t know and couldn’t even care, let his magic recede so that Edge came down in a controlled slide, his feet back on the floor.

Only, Rus didn’t expect the way Edge’s expression changed along with it, from cold fury to…to…it almost looked like yearning, what the fuck--

“Finally,” Edge breathed, and Rus only stared dumbly as Edge stepped in close and kissed him.

Rus’d been kissed plenty of times before by other, fleshier Monsters and wasn’t that always a learning curve. Somehow this was even worse, mostly because he was cycling through various levels of shock, hands flailing as if he were trying to fly away from this whole awful night.

A skeletal mouth was something different, hard, sharp teeth pressed almost painfully to his own. Rus was pretty sure he only opened his mouth to ask Edge what the fuck he was doing, but the moment his teeth parted, he had an extra tongue inside, long and clever, curling around his own, and for one brief, baffling moment Rus found himself leaning into it. The mouth against his own knew what it was doing, tongue dipping inside, teeth nibbling teasingly, riding the tantalizing line of pain and pleasure.

It was the slightest prickle of those sharp teeth that reminded him of who exactly he was kissing, and Rus jerked away, stumbling back and covering his mouth with a humiliatingly shaky hand. “what the…why would you…what the fuck?!”

Looking to Edge for answers only got Rus more questions. He looked bewildered more than anything, maybe even a little hurt. He reached out, his hands settling on Rus’s shoulders. “But, you said—"

“let go!” Rus tried to lurch away from those grasping hands.

Edge did immediately and Rus scrambled away from him, not looking back as he fled out the kitchen door. The others were still on the sofas, but Red was sitting next to Blue now, of course he fucking was, probably kept his bro out here to let Edge chase after him for whatever the fuck that was.

His shoes were laying jumbled together by the front door and Rus stuffed his feet into them, ignoring the way his boney feet protested the rough treatment.

“Where are you going?” Blue called, distressed.

“someplace to get my dick sucked,” Rus snarled, ignoring the way his bro sputtered at his crudeness. He slammed the door shut behind him hard enough to shake clumps of snow loose from the gutters, the Gyftmas lights swaying as Rus started off towards Muffet’s, already reaching for a cigarette.

~~*~~

Hours later, Rus was still sitting at the bar, alone. Aside from a scattering of greetings when he’d come inside, everyone took one good look at him and let him be. The place was mostly empty by now, only a few regulars clinging on, most of them sitting alone, too, or may as well be, cause this wasn’t the hour for laughter and chatting. This was the time for drinking, and everyone here was getting to the task, tout suite.

Muffet was behind the bar, endlessly wiping the glasses. Aside from refilling his glass, she’d left him alone and that suited Rus’s mood just fine. He was engaging in a particularly useful coping mechanism known as ‘trying not to think about it’ and after three honey whiskeys, he was doing a pretty good job.

Behind him, Rus heard the door open, didn’t think much of it. Until the footsteps headed his way and the stool next to him got a new occupant. Red didn’t look at him, only gestured to Muffet and soon he had a drink of his own, something vile and sour, Rus would sure, to match his shitty personality.

Red looked down at his drink, tipping the glass this way and that in his hands. “i dunno what the fuck you’re trying to pull,” Red said, coolly, “but flaunting it when you’re fucking other people is over the line.”

“who i fuck is none of your business.” Rus drained his glass and held it out silently for Muffet to refill. He hadn’t actually intended to find someone to spend the night with, but the idea was getting more tempting by the second with someone trying to stuff up his ass what he should or shouldn’t do.

The entire bar winced as sharp fingertips scraped across glass, dark liquid slopping out over Red’s hand as his grip tightened. Red finally looked at him and his eye lights were burning like coals in his sockets. “it is when you’ve been leading my brother on for months!”

Rus choked on the mouthful of whiskey he’d taken, coughing it back out. “whoa, back that shit up, what?”

The heat of that glare didn’t drop a single digit, Red glowering as he snarled, “i’ve been keeping back. if you two want to play the long game, it’s no skin off my bones, but you’re playing a little too rough!”

Okay, maybe he’d had enough to drink for now. Rus set the glass carefully on the bar top and glanced at Muffet. Who was only polishing a glass and giving a great impression of someone who wasn’t hanging on to their every word. A quick glance around the rest of the bar got him a lot of matching nonchalant expressions and wasn’t that wonderful. Rus always loved being the best gossip on any given night. “red, i have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

That fiery anger dimmed, morphing into the same bewilderment he’d seen in Edge. “but…come on, you’ve been insulting him for months.”

“So?” Rus said, defensively. “he’s been insulting me!”

“yeah, exactly!” When Rus only stared at him in confusion, Red looked even more agitated, shoving his drink away. “you’ve been getting in each other’s faces, arguing and…” He slowed and trailed off, leaning to peer disturbingly close into Rus’s face, his sockets narrowed. “you really got no idea what i’m talking about, do you.”

“no fucking clue,” His whiskey-clouded thoughts were slow to catch up, but when they did, it was like a slap across the face, sharp and stunning. “you think I’ve been flirting with him??”

Red threw up his hands, “yeah!”

Rus could only shake his head, torn between being amused and appalled. Amusement was currently in the lead, of course Underfell would do things with a weird, assholish tilt. “red, we don’t flirt like that here. ask anyone.”

Red turned to look around the bar where everyone immediately found something better to look at. But every one of them was sitting peacefully, sipping a drink and munching on pretzels.

It made Rus remember the time Red dragged him to Grillby’s in Underfell, where a fight seemed to start every two minutes, attacks constantly flying and Rus was so nervous, he barely finished a single drink. Red seemed unperturbed the whole time, slugging the shots back, business as usual for him. The next time he invited Rus out, Rus decided he had about a hundred other ways he’d rather die than sipping cheap booze in the murder café.

Red was starting to get the picture, too, in high-definition. He looked honestly upset which was probably the most real emotion he’d ever seen in Red, his sharp phalanges clattering against his skull as he scraped a hand over it, muttering out, “ah, fuck.”

“that pretty much sums it up,” Rus agreed. He took another swig of his drink, may as well not waste it, chuckling to himself, “fuck. you both thought i was flirting…and he was flirting…back.”

Oh.

That…was actually not funny. At all. If Edge thought he was flirting by insulting him and he’d been giving it right back hard, going all out until Rus had been in a goddamn rage and—

It turned everything he knew about Edge on its head, meant he hadn’t been an asshole, the exact opposite, actually, he…he’d been…

Yeah. Fuck seemed like a pretty good summation.

Processing all that through his whisky-soaked head wasn’t going so well. Rus sank down, resting his head on his folded arms and staring blurrily at the bottles lining the shelves behind the bar.

Next to him, Red shifted uncomfortably, slowly turning the glass in his hands. “look, i’ll talk to my bro about this,” Red said haltingly.

Rus nodded distractedly. “yeah, okay. that…that’d be good.” Suddenly the bar seemed too hot, claustrophobically so. “i need to go.” He dug a G out of his pocket and left in on the counter, ignoring the way the other patrons gasped in shock. To hell with them, he wasn’t about to let Red start using his tab.

He stumbled out the door, the cold stinging against his hot cheek bones. Wandered in the direction of their house and kept going, until snow faded to slush and dripping water. He was in Waterfall in the middle of the night, echo flowers everywhere ready to repeat his woes to the next person passing through.

Yeah, how about no.

Rus sidestepped into a shortcut and his head might not be on straight, but he could find that secret bench blindfolded and backwards. One of the quietest places Underground, only the soothing rush of water around him. Nice and quiet, too quiet, nothing to distract him from the tangle of his thoughts and Rus flopped down on the bench while his mind started picking at it.

Edge had given back every insult Rus had ever given him, in spades. Which run through an Underfell filter made it sound like Edge had been an adoring suitor, gah, Rus wasn’t even sure there was a name for what knowing that made him feel. A wild blender-drink of emotion turned into a smoothie of confusion.

But that was almost business as usual. He’d always been confused and maybe a little hurt by Edge’s attitude. Why was he so friendly with his brother and so cold to him? Sometimes after movie nights he’d be lying awake in bed, wondering what the fuck he’d done to make Edge hate him so much.

Only to find out now that Edge didn’t hate him. At all. Maybe even the opposite of that.

All that whiskey was settling into his magic sourly and Rus rolled to lay on his side, breathing through a wave of nausea. His thoughts seemed trapped in a circular haze, repeating over and over, worse than the most persistent echo flower, and finally, he fell asleep staring at the lapping water.

When he woke, the amount of artificial light trying to pry its way into his closed sockets told him it was morning. Rus groaned and slung an arm over his sockets, but before he could drift back off came a prickling sense of awareness.

Someone was close by.

Cautiously, Rus lifted his arm and squinted out into the day to see Edge standing in front of him. At least he thought it was Edge, Rus wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Edge in jeans and a plain t-shirt, and his boots were simple with a low heel. None of the elaborate wardrobe he usually showed up in. With a sickening jolt, Rus realized that every time Edge came over, he’d been dressing up to see him. How did that make his typical hoodie and track pants seem, was the insult of not dressing up part of the flirting? Who the fuck knew.

The clothes weren’t the only thing different about him. Gone was the arrogant Captain who marched into their house on movie nights. This skeleton’s hands were tucked into his pockets, his expression bleak, like there was a deciding battle lost and now he was trying to deal with the aftermath.

“hnng,” Rus managed, groaning as he sat up. He cleared his throat, trying to work a little moisture into his mouth as he mumbled, “um. hey.”

Edge looked past Rus at the stony wall behind him with determined focus and said stiffly, “I’ve been made aware that there has been a misunderstanding.”

“yeah, a little.” Only a fucking lot.

He nodded tiredly, “My apologies. I won’t trouble you any longer.” Edge started to turn away and that was abruptly the last thing Rus wanted.

“wait!” Rus blurted. He reached out weakly and wasn’t even sure why, but somehow seeing Edge, arrogant, asshole Edge, looking so downcast, so damned broken, it…it hurt, worse than the hangover throbbing in his skull.

He remembered Edge coming over a few weeks ago to work on cooking with his bro. So patient and understanding with Blue, who could be a little overzealous at times, okay, maybe even a lot and Edge was never anything but kind to him, as kind as he’d been vicious with Rus and if he could swap that around, change it, flip it on its head and why not, they were in Underswap.

Edge hesitated, some unnamed emotion flickering across his face, and Rus added, coaxingly, “please? sit down, okay? can we talk while we’re both on the same page?”

He looked like he was considering making a break for Underfell, even glanced in the direction of the path. But finally, he sighed heavily and sat on the opposite side of the bench, spine held so rigidly he looked like he might shatter with a single touch.

They sat there with the sound of falling water around them, Rus struggling with what to say, fuck, he didn’t even know how he felt. His head ached and Edge looked so damned sad, and he’d seen those smiles of his before, usually directed at Blue or Papyrus, but still, he knew they were in there somewhere.

Maybe…maybe Rus could find one?

“look,” Rus ran a hand over his skull, fingers clattering against the smooth bone. “um, we’ve been flirting your way for months. maybe we can try my way for a change.”

Edge jerked, his head turning Rus’s way and his sockets wide. Guess that wasn’t what he was expecting to hear. Haltingly, he said, “I’m not sure how but…I am willing to try.”

He sounded so damned hopeful. Rus’s soul twisted in his ribcage. He took a deep breath and reached over to take Edge’s hand in his, twining their fingers together. Edge’s phalanges were soothingly warm, slim and scarred.

“let’s start with this,” Rus said softly. The fingers around his own tightened cautiously, a thumb tracing down into Rus’s palm, making him shiver.

“This is nice,” Edge admitted. And there, there it was. He smiled, little more than a faint curve upward at the corners of his mouth that sent an unexpected flutter through Rus’s soul.

“yeah, it is,” Rus hesitated. Welp, in for a G, in for a bundle, “can i…?”

“Yes,” Edge said immediately. Probably didn’t even know what he was agreeing to and Rus smiled a little himself, helplessly.

They’d already had a first kiss, couldn’t get that back. Rus was hoping a second would be just as memorable, for a different reason.

He leaned in, carefully brushing his mouth over Edge’s. The teeth beneath his own parted in invitation and Rus took it, tongues gliding lightly together as Edge moaned shakily, his free hand coming up to clutch at the back of Rus’s neck, and yeah, okay. He could work with this.

One kiss became two, three, each one a little more desperate than the last and holy shit, he’d been cockteasing for months and hadn’t even known it. Or maybe some part of him had known, and Rus hated it for not cluing him in sooner because he wanted more of this, wanted to sink into Edge’s kisses, lose himself in this desperate eagerness, the urgent little noises that Edge was starting to utter.

Only, that would probably be a bad idea right out of the gate and Rus regretfully pulled away, shelved the temptation.

And almost snatched it right back up because Edge was unfairly enticing, teeth parted as he panted and a bright flush of crimson tinting his cheek bones.

Rus licked his teeth, watched as Edge’s eye lights followed that little movement. “i think, um. maybe we could go on a date. together.”

“If you can drag your lazy ass out of bed.” Slipped out, and Rus saw Edge wince, fumbling for a way to take it back. But hey, this was a language Rus thought he could learn. Maybe if they kept this up, they could both learn a thing or three.

“i can get moving when i’m properly motivated,” Rus smirked. “real question is can you get the stick out of your ass long enough to enjoy it.” Edge’s eye lights flared, nearly filling his sockets and by the Unnamed Angel, Rus must’ve been blind not to see that for what it was. Excitement, delight, eagerness, and shit, good or bad, this was going to be something, wasn’t it.

‘Enjoy it,’ Came from the solo echo flower sitting nearby, its ghostly voice encouraging.

Yeah, okay, Rus decided, cupping Edge’s face in his hands as he leaned in for another kiss. That seemed like a good enough place to start.

-fin-

[raisingsupergirl]

My Life With COVID-19: Week 1--Say Goodbye to Food

I never thought being a statistic would come with so much baggage. It's not that I thought it would never happen to me. In fact, I thought it already had happened to me. A couple of times. And maybe it did. But none of them were like this. I'm going to try to explain it as best as I can (you know, for science and future generations), but bear with me. COVID brain is definitely a thing.

I guess this story starts on 12/12/20. That's the day that my dear friend passed away. We were supposed to start a Dungeons & Dragons campaign together soon. Him, me, and three other good friends. But that Saturday, I got the text that he had passed away the previous night (not related to COVID, as far as I'm aware). Well, that following evening, those three other friends and I got together to remember him, to process some emotions, and to drink whiskey. The next day I woke up feeling… less than perfect. Of course, I thought it was from lack of sleep and too much alcohol, but it was weird. I didn't drink that much. Not to feel that bad. And there were some weird things, too. My eyeballs hurt (really bad) like I had a fever, but I didn't have a fever. And my fatigue level was through the roof. Other than that, normal body aches and lack of appetite that come with over-indulgence, so I didn't think much of it. Even when I woke up on Monday with persistent symptoms, I just assumed I was getting REALLY old and should never drink again. Yeah, I'm kind of dumb sometimes.

Monday and Tuesday could be characterized by general lack of energy, some mild congestion, and those danged achy eyeballs. And the only food that appealed to me was soup, and only in small amounts. "Just a little cold," I told myself. Even still, I had the good sense to be extra-cautious with my hand washing and mask wearing procedures. Unfortunately, I didn't have the good sense to get tested at that time. Mostly because my insurance doesn't cover testing (which is $150/swab), but also because I was in denial. I needed to work. My patients needed treatment. I was important… irreplaceable. And, of course, I didn't want to have to call my friends and tell them I'd exposed them Saturday night.

Wednesday was more of the same, but I felt even more fatigued. Then, someone else I'd come into contact with the previous week let me know that they'd tested positive. Crap. That's when the pieces started falling into place. And the last one fell as I was drinking a glass of alcohol (elderberry tincture, actually. Which I'd made myself as a COVID preventative… guess I should have started drinking it earlier…). While I sipped, I was actually hanging out with those same Saturday friends, but this time virtually. We were playing computer games. And about halfway through the glass of elderberry goodnes, I noticed that it wasn't nearly as floral or alcoholic tasting as it should have been. I assumed it was getting watered down, but suspicion started creeping up my spine. And by the end of the glass, it tasted like straight water (which tastes like nothing…). Like some infected dummy straight out of a zombie movie, I told no one and went to bed, hoping against hope that I would wake up to the smell of bacon (or anything).

When my alarm went off the next morning, I popped out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom. First thing I did? Took a long whiff of my deodorant stick. Nothing. I stuck the toothpaste up to my nose. Still nothing. Brushed my teeth. Foamy nothing. Went to the bathroom. Thankfully nothing. And then it was time to go downstairs, face my wife, and finally say it out loud. "I can't smell anything. It's completely gone." And that's the moment that it became real. No turning back. One rapid test later, and my fate was sealed. My boss started clearing my schedule for the next week, and my mind started racing with all of the people I needed to call. All the things I needed to do. What my life would look like for the next ten days. Even now, I don't know if the virus was effecting my cognition and emotions or not, but I do know that I was a mess.

By the time I got home, my world was spinning. I was angry, ashamed, confused, defeated, and overwhelmed. Mostly overwhelmed. I made sure my wife had pulled our daughter from school, and then I went up to my room. Not because I was quarantining from them, but because I couldn't handle being around anyone, even those whom I loved most (I mean, I'd be spending plenty of time with them over the next week anyway, right?).

Over the next hour, I felt like someone with an STD contacting all of my past… well, you know. I texted, I messaged, I called. Everyone was incredibly understanding. They all wanted to know how I was doing. And it felt almost shameful saying that I felt fine. "Just a little fatigued, eyeballs hurt a little, some congestion. And the no smell thing." It's funny how that didn't dawn on me yet. In the flurry of confusion, I hadn't stopped to consider what life without smell would be like. That revelation would come later. No, right now I was focused on the bigger things. I wouldn't be able to attend my friend's funeral this Saturday. I wouldn't be able to host Portmas (an annual Christmas celebration with those same friends) that night. I wouldn't be able to go to work for over a week. The days would feel like months… Have I mentioned that I'm a bit of a work-a-holic? Yeah, well, there was a BIG part of me right then that thought, "God did this. I wouldn't slow down. I wouldn't quit working. Even when I was sick, I was too dumb to take a step back. So God took my smell away. It's my fault for being so stubborn. And God finally stepped in." Yeah, those are some thoughts that I'll continue to unpack over the next couple of weeks, but for now it's enough to say that my thoughts and emotions were about as confused as my senses.

Speaking of which, my lovely wife made me a can of chicken-n-noodle soup for lunch. And it felt great. Warm, soothing, and satisfying. But with each bite, reality settled in the pit of my broth-laden stomach. It wasn't that I couldn't taste ANYTHING. There was something there. A touch of saltiness and a hint of umami (look it up). My tongue wasn't completely dead… but my nose was. And so, another cascade of confused emotions. More anger. More fear. Google said "most" patients got their smell back in a week or two, but for some it could take up to a year. And a small percentage never got it back. NEVER!? And at best, I didn't know if I could handle two weeks. Honestly, I didn't.

If you haven't lost your sense of smell, I'm sure you think I was overreacting. I would have, too, before it happened to me (Yes, I'm aware of the irony of my blog post a couple of weeks ago). But I want to try and explain the seriousness of this situation to you. Maybe fore some it's not so bad—those who are suffering REAL COVID symptoms. Those fighting for breath and for life. But for those of use who feel otherwise "normal," it's a panic-inducing affliction. For example, I'm a fledgling home brewer. Do you know what all beer tastes like when you have no smell? Like water with a ghost of bitterness on both sides of the tongue. Do you know what straight whiskey tastes like? Exactly the same with just a slight warmth in the chest. And so, my brewing hobby is done. Just done. And cooking? There's no point. Everything might as well be raw cucumbers and unseasoned French fries. Texture and temperature. That's literally the only variation. Well… almost literally.

In my panic, I NEEDED to know what my limits were. I needed to know if I could find any enjoyment from food. And so, I went to the extremes. Cloves, even when eaten straight, had absolutely no flavor. Straight salt registered a little on the tip and back of my tongue. Sugar felt kind of thick on my tongue, and if I tried imagining it, I thought I could taste it a little. Cayenne pepper was a little tingly in the back of my throat, but nothing more. Horseradish did nothing at first and only a little tingling on the top of my mouth afterward (mind you, I ate enough of all of these things to kill an elephant). And finally, I took a bite of a lime. Whoa! That about knocked me over. Imagine not tasting anything for 24 hours and then suddenly biting into a lime. That's exactly what it tasted like. Okay, well, I couldn't actually taste any lime characteristics, but that SOUR sensation registered off the charts. The sensation was both hopeful and frustrating, and those two emotions fit in perfectly with my general disposition.

That night, I was mean. Cranky toward my wife. She made dinner, and I was bitter about it. Airfried shrimp and tater tots with cucumbers on the side. She was TRYING to satisfy my texture and temperature requirements. And she did well. But it was still ash in my mouth, cotton balls in my stomach. And no one seemed to understand my frustration and fear.

But that night, I realized there was something I hadn't considered, too. My family is close. We hug and kiss. We cuddle. And so, there didn't seem to be any reason for me to start quarantining from them now. Besides, both of my daughters already had the sniffles, so the likelihood was high that they already had the virus. And my wife thought that she'd already had it a few weeks before. But… if she hadn't. If she was still susceptible. I wasn't worried about her safety, so much. She's healthy. She works out, eats right, and nurtures her already strong immune system. But, if she lost her smell, too…

Okay, hear me out. This isn't just about food enjoyment or fart detection (yes, my wife giggled at the dinner table because she farted right next to me without me knowing…). It's about safety. Have you ever considered how dangerous it would be to live in a house with a gas stove if no one could smell? I mean, presumably the kids might notice something, but would they understand enough to let us know? I'm honestly not sure I would take that gamble. So here's hoping my wife keeps smelling, because I really don't want to move out.

Oh, speaking of my wife smelling, there's one last revelation I had about anosmia (lack of smell). For an anosmic person to take a shower is truly a selfless act. Think about it.

Anyway, by the time I post this (12/23/20), my quarantine will officially be over. I will have spent a week at home. So I'll definitely have more to tell. But these first few days are enough for now. Stay safe, friends. And don't forget to stop and smell the hot cocoa before you miss your chance.

[too-far-yet]

-The Stuffed Royalty-

Gunther is the son of a majorly revered government official -- Malleena. Her status has put pressure on Gunther since the moment he was born. In fact, Malleena wanted him to don her title of Grand Executioner when she retired. This would not be so simple.

Mainly because he's a nineteen year old that lacks dexterity and focus. He is lazy, irreverent, rude, and can be described as many other things of that sort. Attempts have been made to train him to fight and be more proper since he was seven years old. And yet he doesn't change, as if something holds him back. Today made all of this even more clear.

He was poutily trudging to his bedroom, before softly closing the lavish door and approaching his bed. His bedsheets are rather stained and unkempt because of his own laziness. All he wanted to do was eat some shrimp in buttery noodles with some frothy beer to drink. It had been a long day he felt he deserved it. That is, until his mother's voice rang in his mind. "And again, you fail me. I had such low expectations for you this time. They were coordinated utterly fairly in order to see to it you could reach them," her near-exact words pierced him.

He was now laying in his bed and staring longingly out the window. Why couldn't he choose his own path, instead of being an executioner? Cooking always sounded like a good choice for him. Or bartending. Before he could melt any further into these hypothetical careers, a soft knock at his door made him jolt up. "Yeah?" he called awkwardly, feeling himself spike with anxiety of the potential pain a social interaction could bring for him right now. 

"It's Kala," the deep voice replied in a muffle from behind the door, bringing a wave of relief to Gunther that steadied his breathing.

"Come in," Gunther suggested, leaning against his headboard and sitting up. The door swung open to reveal his tan and tired looking friend. 

"As your bodyguard," Kala bashfully prefaced, "I thought you might need some food." Kala then slowly walked over to the bed, holding a towering plate of perfectly-textured noodles, oily vegetables, and salty seafood delicacies. Besides all of the food, there was an iced glass of whiskey, near the glass bottle that had about half remaining.

Gunther was staring stupidly at the ensemble of delicious food items before bringing his grateful gaze to meet Kala's stoney one. "Thanks, Kala," was all Gunther said, but the softness of his words still teased at Kala's heart.

"The broccoli may be too greasy. I am sorry," Kala meekly added as he handed off the tray of food plates and silverware.

Instead of complaining, Gunther grinned at Kala only to admit, "Hey, I like the vegetables to be really greasy."

And with that, Kala began to walk away. But he so wished to be able to be there with Gunther while he ate.

***

Later that night, Gunther came waddling out of his room into the castle hallway, wielding an empty tray. His breathing was uneven and hindered by his stuffed and swollen belly. Begrudgingly he continued to move towards the kitchen at the end of the hall. As he grew nearer, voices became audible in the kitchen.

Someone made the food meant for the feast tonight," one chef exclaimed furiously, digging through the contents of the kitchen cabinets and freezer room. 

This information made Gunther's eyes widen and heart beat a bit with guilt. He would've turned to leave if he hadn't heard the following voice.

"Yes, that was… me," the voice that could only be Kala's shamefully mumbled.

"Who are you --OURP! Who are you kidding? That was me!" Gunther yelled, pouncing into the kitchen and between the chefs.

One of the maids nearby rolled her eyes. This behavior wouldn't necessarily be unheard of for Gunther, so she believed it. "It is the son of Mallena, Sir Gunther." 

"That's… right…" Gunther breathed, squirming a bit to try and not hurt his aching stomach anymore. It groaned and gurgled as he writhed in place.

Kala looked over to Gunther with a look of appreciation in his eyes. Although the rest of his face remained completely unmoved; Kala had a bit of an eternal scowl going on. Their romantic stare didn't stay for long, though, as Gunther quickly brought a fist to his mouth to stifle a short, wet belch. It sounded like it hurt him a bit to release.

"Well, we can't do anything to him," the chef who'd originally uncovered the predicament acknowledged. 

"ooURP! Guess ya can't!" Gunther said with a smug expression, and humorously prideful tone. He dropped his dishes off at the counter, and started his journey back to his bedroom. Soon after, Kala strode to his side, and put a warm hand on Gunther's shoulder to alert him of his presence. "*Hic*... Kala?" he cutely hiccuped, doing his best not to burp in Kala's direction. 

"Mhm, prince, let's get you to your bed," Kala said lowly in a matter-of-fact way. He then used his other hand to peacefully rub Gunther's upset tummy, his hand making contact with the risen flesh under Gunther's shirt. But doing this immediately coaxed a large, unholy belch from Gunther.

"Did you call me -URP!" Gunther tried to say before unleashing a loud but quick burp. Kala's face grew warm with embarrassment. 

He did not answer the question. Instead he dodged it by conveniently announcing, "We're here." And inside they went. Kala ushered the slightly drunken and definitely sickly man to his bed, laying him down gently.

"Kalaaaa…" Gunther whined babyishly, rolling around on his stomach as it sizzled with the threat of oncoming gas.

"Mmm?" Kala wordlessly responded.

"You… you protect me, so I protected you," he laughed immaturely, before letting out a low growling burp. Kala felt annoyed as much as he did in love, but he simply patted Gunther on the stomach and rolled his palm around his belly button. He didn't protect me from anything. I chose to endanger myself to please him, and conveniently, he appeared. I would have been fine, Kala thought coldly, feeling that the sentiment was shallow.

"Oh no," Gunther heaved before holding his breath. Burbles of liquid and sloshing stomach acid were audible. Suddenly, he let out a rippling fart that seemed to paint the air. It lasted a good four seconds before he exhaled in pleasure, and he added a small burp for good measure. He then closed his eyes and turned himself to face the window. He would sleep this way, while his guardian watched over his body.

[langdvnshepherd]

Headcanons: Duncan Shepherd as a dad (Duncan Shepherd x fem!reader)

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: none really it’s literally all tooth-rotting fluff I’m sorry lmao, mentions of smut

A/N: Someone requested more dad!Duncan and I, uh, had to do it. Definitely message me if you ever want to hc dad!Duncan because I can do this shit all day. I’d love some feedback as well as some suggestions on what to write next!

We’ve discussed how Duncan would act before his baby is born, but what about after?

First of all, he would not be able to keep his eyes off of them

He’s in awe at all times that someone as cold as him helped create the most precious thing he had ever seen in his life

Even when he’s exhausted from taking care of them all night and changing diaper after diaper, he would opt to just watch the way their little nose twitches and their fingers flex as they sleep

Every little coo or grunt that comes out of them is the cutest thing he’s ever heard

Their cute little toes are his favorite

Loses it every time he sees how tiny their clothes are

sorry idk how to make the cut work so this line has to be here lmao my b

Also really loves watching you breastfeed because those are his two favorite people and they get to bond in this very special way

Obsessed with how their eyes get droopy and they get all sleepy after their bellies are so full of milk

Going a little off topic— I picture that this is when he’d ask you to marry him

It would be super casual

You’re cuddled into his side while you’re feeding your little bub one morning and he’s contently watching the two of you and it just dawns on him that there’s literally no other way he could/would want to picture his life being like

He wants it to be you, him and the herd of babies the two of you create for as long as he lives

He says it plainly and matter-of-fact-ly that he wants you to marry him because this is it for him and he doesn’t want anything else

“I was gonna get you flowers and a giant ass ring and take you to a fancy dinner and be dramatic and with the whole shebang, but this just felt right. We can figure the rest out later.”

I would say he takes to fatherhood fairly well

Always offers to get up in the middle of the night and rock them back to sleep

Spit up and poop doesn’t gross him out

Thinks their little burps and farts are hilarious

“Heyyyyy, impressive! Just like your daddy.”

Cherishes skin-to-skin contact

At any and all times he can be found sitting on the couch or nursery rocking chair shirtless with his baby tucked into his chest

Also does the thing where if the baby falls asleep on him he refuses to move until they wake up regardless of what position he’s in

“My leg has been asleep for an hour, but there’s no way in hell I’m moving and waking up this sweet baby.”

You have an entire photo album on your phone of him and the baby asleep in the weirdest positions looking like identical versions of each other

Duncan’s arm tucked behind his head and slumped into the corner of the couch with your baby’s chubby cheeks smushed into his chest and legs tucked into their chest like a little football

When he has to take care of them alone for the first time he feels like he’s gonna puke

He’s convinced that something bad is going to happen even though you’re just going to work for half a day

If something happens it will be his fault and he won’t be able to live with himself

He calls you to before everything he does to make sure he’s not going to accidentally hurt them

“They have a rash on their butt, is the diaper cream the blue tube or the red tube?”

“Duncan, you know which one it is. You put it on them last week.”

“Yeah, I know. I just wanted to double check.”

He measures every breath they take until you get home because he doesn’t full trust himself alone with a child

You end up coming home to a quiet house and find Duncan and the baby knocked out on the floor with an old Mickey Mouse cartoon playing softly on the tv

He was going to be perfectly fine, you tried to tell him

The first time the baby gets sick he’s so heartbroken

Usually their cries can be softened with a boob in their mouth or some gentle rocking and pats on the booty but knowing he can’t do anything to help them this time makes him feel so sad

He just hold them as close as he can and tells them he’s sorry there’s nothing he can do until they finally drift off

Duncan also probably withdrawals himself from work gradually after the baby is born

Also chills out on the shady business because now he has a kid to consider and if he gets caught he isn’t the only one that will suffer the consequences

Taking on less of a work load to he can spend time with you two but also because having a kid has made him reflect a lot

He wants to be the parent he never really had

He wants to look back and say he was able to provide for his family, but was also still present for all of the little moments

Him and his baby are best buddies and I am a firm believer in that

You can calm them down and make them laugh and they love you so much but it’s nothing compared when they see Duncan walk into the room

They’re immediately in a better mood or having a giggle fit

They love it when Duncan tickles them with his beard when he gives them kisses or blow raspberries on their tummy and they love making grabby hands at it and scratching it

He talks to the baby like they’re grown and like their little babbles are actually words and it’s hilarious

“What’s that? You thought the State of the Union was pure shit? Well that makes two of us! I couldn’t believe the hot garbage coming out of his mouth either! What an idiot.”

It only encourages the baby to mumble and speak more gibberish because they’re thriving off of the attention they’re getting from their dad even though they have no idea what the fuck he’s saying

He fake wrestles with them by pretending to choke-slam them but he just softly flips them around and gently flops them down on the couch

Walks around the house with them hugging his leg or on his shoulders while they hold onto him by his hair

Duncan is always letting them do things you don’t want them to do like crawl around butt-naked or letting them suck a tiny bit of cake frosting off of his finger when you aren’t looking

“Duncan, you can’t keep doing that! All of that sugar’s going to upset their stomach.”

“But look at them, they LOVE it. You can’t look at that face and tell me that they don’t absolutely love it.”

Their first steps are towards Duncan one day when he’s home alone with them

He’s working on his laptop while the baby was messing around on the floor with their toy piano and chewing on the ear of their stuffed elephant

For whatever reason he diverts his attention from the screen to the baby and sees that they’re fully standing on two feet and rocking back and forth and concentrating super hard on staying upright

Duncan realizes what’s about to happen and eggs them on with the bowl of dry Cheerios they had been eating for breakfast

“Come on! Oh my god oh my god, come on you’re so close you can do it!!! Come here!!!”

They make it clear across the living room and stumble right before falling but Duncan scoops them up and tosses them straight up in the air out of excitement and the baby is a squealing mess from the kisses Duncan covers them in

Their first word is “mama” and he’s honestly a little salty because he thought he was special

“After all I do for you? All the times I get yelled at by your mom for feeding you sweets and cuddling you at night when you should be sleeping in your crib? You betray me like this? I see how it is.”

He definitely finds it extremely entertaining to make them say random words like “shit” or “fuck” and 100% gets yelled at for it after they made a habit of screaming it around the house

IMAGINE their first birthday

You know Duncan spends way too much money on unnecessary things that a one-year old will never remember

A giant cake that they’re inevitably going to smash to pieces with their tiny fists

He buys so many expensive baby toys and it doesn’t even matter in the end because all the baby wants to play with is Duncan’s cell phone and try to chew on his watch

Given that babies and toddlers are a handful to say the least, the relationship between the two of you definitely changes

Not in a bad way, just different

There’s not a lot of time when it’s just the two of you, so you have to make accommodations

Quickies in the shower or cuddle sex 20 minutes before the alarm goes off in the morning

Most of the time, you’re both too exhausted to do anything so it’s a lot different from when it was just the two of you and you were constantly trying to jump each other’s bones whenever possible

Random, domestic things that the other does start to turn you on

Watching Duncan in the kitchen in his glasses and boxers on a weekend morning teaching your kid how to peel an orange

Duncan watching you frustratingly change tops for the third time because you kept leaking through the fabric

Daddy kink takes on a new meaning

You fall more in love with each other after going through the adjustments of parenthood together

When they start going to daycare, Duncan is pretty sad

His baby isn’t really a baby anymore

But he lightens up when he sees how much fun they have when he picks them up everyday

They’re so excited to show him their new friends and where they put their mat for naptime and the finger-painting they made of your family (they insist that’s what it is but it’s really just a bunch of giant blobs but Duncan refuses to acknowledge that and congratulates them on being such a talented artist and puts it on the fridge it as soon as he gets home

They also love getting into the routine of getting ready with Duncan in the morning

Duncan let’s them stand on the counter and brush their teeth beside him and they make faces at each other in the mirror

Once, they tried to go for the razor because they saw Duncan do it once and Duncan’s life flashed before his eyes

They always give him a big, fat kiss and a tight hug with their tiny arms around his neck right before they run off into their classroom

He is the dilf of the daycare and we all know it

Everyone already thought your kid was the cutest in the class, but loses their shit when they see how hot their dad is

Comes in handy when he finds out another kid was mean to his one day and pulled their hair or called them a mean name and has to bitch to the people in the office about it

They started crying as soon as they got in the car from being picked up and Duncan’s heart hurts so bad

They’re so tiny and young and there’s no reason for anyone to be mean to them

He lays with them in their toddler bed and rubs their tummy and pets their hair until they fall asleep

Tells them that sometimes people are mean for no reason and they’re not whatever name they were called and they should never do those things because that’s not how you treat people

He’s obviously still upset about it when he gets into bed with you later that night

He didn’t think his kid would be subjected to the cruel world at such a young age and he hates that he wasn’t there to protect them

“There’s only so much you can do. You did everything you could, and that’s what matters to them. That you love them, and that you’ll always be there for them to talk to.”

Duncan nods but it’s clear that he’s still beating himself up over it

“Donut, if you don’t stop moping I’m gonna have to show you how good of a dad you are by making you another one.”

“.....is that a promise?”

Ok I’m done now I think please send in more hc’s if you think of them dad!Duncan is my lifeline that’s it thanks

Some of you asked to be tagged and idk if you meant just in the sugar daddy fic or in everything so lmk what you meant lmao

@sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 ​ @langdons-rep ​ @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @venusxxlangdon

[bilgisticallykosher]

Reminder that I’m totally down to give specific warnings or descriptions or help people navigate through the video if anyone needs.

Warnings (aside from the obvious): Long post, lots of caps lock, long rambling with a large degree of incoherence. I titled this “me screaming at the new video” in docs. I was real accurate.  It took me over 2 hours to watch this thing because I kept pausing to not shut up. This is 5 pages in docs.

Okay, JUST looking at the cover, I-  are those tentacles? IS this a new side? Octoside? I can already hear all the names were going to give him. Oliver, Octavio, October wait no that’s already a Sanders shorts. Okay, intrusive thoughts, that's… Roman’s already a supplier of those. Fandom agrees, “Don’t think about your naked Aunt Patty.” So, maybe Depression? Anger? Or, is it Roman still, after all? Because I see the word Creativity there. Or tentaclereativity. So it’s still Roman, but I’m convinced that his opposite is Virgil, although I’m also sure that they implied Pride in the Halloween episode. Something about “proud of it” and then they said “let’s table that discussion for another time.”

Ugh, Roman’s been doing so wonderful on his own. He’s just been owning up to insecurities, and it’s been great. This is going to be highly related to him. Although, Patton looks like the one trying to block him out? Roman’s concerned, Logan’s miffed, Virgil is angry, and oh my god is that a MOUSTACHE OKAY I’M WATCHING. 

Content warning, oh my gosh, they were not kidding. Does that seriously say death and blood and gore? I’m just getting more hype. I mean, intrusive thoughts, I’m sure nothing will permanently, physically happen to them.  (Goodbye Fresh.) 

Dark circles under Thomas’s eyes, implication of sleep deprivation, or something with Virgil?

“The human connection will make me feel more like a person,” I came here to have a good time and honestly I’m feeling so attacked right now. Credits! Great job everyone! I know everyone worked real hard on this. 

Okay, Thomas in his robe, very reminiscent of Excepting Anxiety. Blasé attitude, too. Hmm, trouble sleeping (tires), overstating ‘everything going wrong,’ definitely seems like Virgil’s territory. 

Woah there he is. He’s, he’s really angry? And Patton’s voice is strained. What is happening, does Patton know……whatever, or WHOever? Yeah, he’s shifty eyed. He knows. Virgil definitely knows, and it’s not him. Oh man oh man. Oh, confirmed, they’re in on trying to avoid the conversation. GREAT TEAM WORK, PAT! Doing great, buddy. 

Roman’s rhymes are amazing. Definitely misery, though. Alright, so Thomas is having thoughts that make Virgil act up, and either he’s telling Patton, or Patton knows because of emotions. 

Roman’s so much better at summoning than Logan. And Logan knows?! Ooh, sore spot for them here. Patton oh noooo. That’s easy for you to say? 

I love the idea that, 1, Logan Falsehood’d as a reaction and an example on purpose, and 2, that he’s got a limit of one per day. 

ALRIGHT! I’ve got it. They don’t want Roman to know because he’s going to, intentionally or not, expand on whatever the thoughts are. He’s Creativity and dreams, it’s what he does and he’s not going to be able to help it, intrusive thoughts, this IS Roman-centric! Poor boy. (Kraken, sushi. Those tentacles mean something. Also the tentacle represents the C, I understand the title image now.) Yeah, they don’t want him inadvertently going into daydream mode. 

I have never seen this movie. These are freaking top-notch jokes, though. WOAH, THOMAS. Not good. Really not good. I’m still hype. Oh, is that the sort of death mention that

Television: [has hands]

Me: [strangled squeaking noise] 

Okay, I’m having, okay. Okay. Okay. I’m fine. I just. I need. Okay. I’m fine. Need a moment. Freaking out, in, a good way? I just. Really unexpected, even though I saw the hands. Oh my gosh. Can the others see him????? Because they’re looking at Roman they should see him. I didn’t know I could make that noise, but apparently I can. And I can hold it. And make it slowly go higher pitched. Okay. Okay. I’m fine now. Maybe. Okay. Hypening.

OH THEY CAN okay, oh dissonant voice. What sort of overdramatic staff is this dork NO ROMAN. 

THE DUKE?! WHAT!!! Getting heavy Warfstache vibes, btw, and why does he have a grey streak? Virgil and Logan are unconcerned about Roman, so I guess he’s fine. 

Is this a song? What is his outfit, omg. His mustache is fabulous. His eyes are kinda ringed.  in purple? 

What is happening, oh my god. Oh here’s the religious commentary, I guess. This is fine, I’m okay with this. But he’s playing Adam AND Eve himself. Dramatic dork confirmed. Oooh, you lack imagination. He IS Roman’s opposite, dang. I was so sure it was Virgil. Also YES green’s my favorite color! 

Hahaaaa! Tiny little aunt Patty naked post-it! Patton’s so distressed, Virgil ANGERY. A to Z is incredible. I missed some lyrics there; I’ll catch it when I watch it with captions the next five times. I mean, uh, no, I’d never… ten times. Nice blood spatter! What is he doing to them! What’s with the size thing? Is that a thing he can do? Or creative (heh) liberty due to song? 

SNAKE how’d I not guess that from Adam and Chava SNAKE IT’S SNAKE!

I don’t get the hand image. What is that? So far kind of the same sort of vibe from Deceit and Duke- oooh, both Ds. The whole, own up to who you are, stop lying to yourself. 

“You’ve got a fiend in me!” “Squeak!”

Oh, oh no, he’s really not quite like Deceit. He’s saying that these things make Thomas evil. Definitely not a Deceit thing to do. 

EDITING PRAISE! YOU GUYS. You guys are incredible, you did such a good job. 

“I’m your Creativity!” Officially calling those things fart trumpets. 

Oh, is he actually Creativity? Okay I’ll roll with it. Oh my gosh it’s only ten minutes into it and I can’t shut up. Virgil is so uncomfortable. 

Never bring [Jeffery Dahmer] up again got a GREAT face from Duke. Oh man. Is that true about him trying to repress those thoughts?

WHITE BEAR that episode of Black Mirror might make more sense now. 

Impressive hair blowing from Virgil, that’s the hair blowing equivalent of what Dr. Horrible did with his fingers in Brand New Day. 

Patton called Roman handsome, and I knew that second most handsome prince bit in the last episode was something he’d say, not just him trying to be all lawyer-y! (Ooh, foreboding music…)

Honestly, Logan was, if anything, even more chill about lying in CLBG, and Deceit in general (his scales are quite smooth). By comparison, he’s going off on the Duke. OOH, I KNEW THAT ABOUT THE WORD DORK! 

Ohhh my gosh the costumes are opposites! I, almost realized that, about color theory, and then forgot about the sash. And those shoulder pads are massive, Duke! Did you steal Roman’s puppet chin to make those? 

Joan! Haha, I love it, definitely something they would do. Interesting, you can hear an overlay of Joan’s voice, and Duke’s voice. Why can’t the Duke do it as well as anyone else? What did Virgil realize during the twin explanation? Hey, Cayin and Hevel, more Genesis. 

Did he mention friends and family? Oh my gosh, self-immolation is terrible, I looked it up. Like, uh, suicide for a public purpose, or to make a point? 

Laugh! Dork laugh! There’s the implication of them knowing each other. 

Oh, okay, okay. So, Virgil’s anxious, because in and of itself, whatever it was that he was thinking/obsessing over was bad. His anxiety is, well, cognitive distortions. That’s why everyone’s all bothered. Yeah, point to Logan on that oh my god, what is that camera angle, I love it.

Duke is JP confirmed. Ripped off nipples. JP from Wade’s (lordminion777) circle of friends, salty boys. That’s still their official name, right? Anyway, he’s JP.

Oh, I saw dripping off of that hand. That sequence is getting longer every time. 

Who are those, I don’t recognize them? “I’m about to smash the Hulk” you guys I think I love the Duke a little bit a lot. 

Patton, no, that’s- Patton! “That’s what repression is?” Ooh, tense Virgil moment with Logan. Yet, also touching? 

“Well THAT can’t be where the bar is.” !!!

Weird Duke blink during religion talk. It’s so funny looking at this though a Jewish perspective. It’s similar, but just a little off. And we don’t do the 7 deadly sins thing. 

Figuratively! 

Wait it’s coming from Virgil?! Uh, uh, anxious about being a bad person, subconsciously projecting it onto Thomas?

Patton too?! Oh, wait, yeah, this comes back to repression that makes sense. Oh my gosh, Logan. ! Can the Duke do the Deceit silence thing oh no, no he can’t. Close. Teeth are an improvement I think. 

Hey isn’t there an incorrect quote about Virgil drinking shampoo? 

Remus?! Oh my gosh are you KIDDING me? A new side, PLUS his name? Oh, oh that’s so clever, Roman. Rome was founded by Romulus and Remus. So clever! And definitely butt trumpets, from earlier, because AVPM’s Lupin had butt trumpets. 

Oh, direct shot and reaction at Virgil not hiding anything. And okay, I’ve changed my mind like 10 times, but I think I get it now. Haha, Logan! It was like a pop quiz! And Thomas cursed!

The scream darkened the room, that was awesome. But nobody cared. Ah, secretly a Patton and Virgil arc! 

Oh my god, Patton had a look of realization when Virgil was listing off things, is he going to tell him to not skip the callback?!

[Sad poopy noises.] Logan’s on fire today! Yes! 

Oh, he’s gone? Ha, nope! Oh it got worse, haha!

Patton, control, it’s happening! Oh, wait no. 

Virgil really used to fear him? And, oh, what were those exchanged looks during “just like old times”? Logan and Patton, and maybe Roman figured it out? Does Virgil know that? 

Roman! 

Nerdy Wolverine. Ahh, cool! Dukey problem! Oooh return of “I don’t like him.”

What, brother?! So that’s an actual thing now? But okay, alright, I guess Logan’s thing from before. NOPE EVERYTHING’S FINE NEVER COMING BACK. Romaaaaan.

Dark sides? “Others.” Oh, Thomas for sure doesn’t know. Oh dear. OH MUSIC it’s swelling oh my gosh, he’s going to tell, he’s going to tell.  Gasp! He told, and oh, so sad, and oh no he’s just sinking out?! My poor baby little precious oh I immediately see why Patton had a problem with coddling him.

Oh, oh Thomas is so confuddled. There’s going to be so many angst fics. I will read them all. 

Alright, actually a hilarious ad.  Way to incorporate intrusive thoughts into it! END CARD holy- REMUS! Oh the deodorant. And again. Nice knife, he’s going to- yep, deodorant. Oh he’s done, but he’ll have another- yep. What the heck is it, actually? 

THERE’S A SNAKE IN MY BUTT! PFF that’s going to be some fics also. Officially: I love Remus. 

Final thoughts; I’m in love, I was so wrong about “they wouldn’t throw a new side or plot relevance at us with all these warnings,” everyone freaking outdid themselves, this must have happened so soon after Selfishness vs. Selflessness, I love him, I really dug a lot of that humor, my taste in music is way worse than anything Remus threw at us (ask me about that), WHAT WERE THE THOUGHTS with the dripping hand bit, S v. S part 2 is definitely the next one, and I freaking love this video. 

[toaarcan]

Sonic X, Sonic Heroes, and IDW, or: How a bad anime from 2004 spoiled a comic from 2019.

Now, I haven’t been following IDW Sonic all that closely. I get regular updates from Nemesis via Discord, and additional info from some of the Tumblrs I follow that are invested in it, but I don’t really have a desire to touch it myself. Here’s why.

There’s a multitude of reasons for this. Starting with the background of Sonic Forces wasn’t really a good place to begin from, and being based on present-day game lore in general was always going to hurt it, mainly because SEGASonic canon is currently a confusing mess of retcons brought on by Iizuka taking the J.K. Rowling approach.

Wait, no, he’s just saying stupid shit that contradicts previous canon, not trying to score woke points and hoping nobody notices the frankly terrible stereotypes and TERF tweets. Iizuka is taking the Greg Farshtey approach.

Added, as anyone that’s had experience with my opinions will tell you, I started falling out of love with Ian Flynn’s writing somewhere around Issue 200, and moved to outright dislike during Mecha Sally, and to make matters worse I started noticing that some of the flaws in the 200-247 era were also present in the 160-199 era, retroactively making those harder to go back to.

I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: I kept up with Archie for the SatAM cast. SatAM reruns back in 2004 were my Sonic, moreso than anything else, and even now I still have way more attachment to those two seasons of animation than I do to most other aspects of the franchise, warts and all. So Archie providing me with additional content for said characters was a major draw for me. I’d generally put up with a lot just to get myself more SatAM content.

That in itself is a large part of why I fell off the Archie train during Mecha Sally. The entirety of the SatAM cast were removed from the regular lineup, just leaving three SEGA characters with their personalities stunted, even if that didn’t make sense in-universe. But that’s a discussion for another day.

So being written by someone whom I no longer enjoyed the writing of, set in a mess of a canon with a thoroughly shite game as the main basis, without the cast I read the previous comics for gave me little reason to invest in IDW Sonic. It wasn’t for me, I’d just keep reading Transformers and move on.

Then MTMTE/LL ended with a heart-twister and Ex-RID ended with a giant Unicron-shaped fart, and the new comic is dull as fucking dishwater and started by killing off one of my favourites, who was also one of the franchise’s confirmed LGBT characters. So now IDW is getting none of my money. Which is good because I’m broke.

Tangents aside, my lack of interest wasn’t something set in stone. If it turned out that the comic was actually really good, then sure, I’d try it. I was up for being proven wrong. But so far, I haven’t felt compelled by the responses from the internet. If anything I’ve been more turned off.

I could talk about how zombies are really fucking boring. I could talk about how SEGA’s recent confusion over what to do with Amy has combined with Ian’s need to include a Sally-esque character to make IDW Amy into Sally Lite. I could talk about how Ian seemingly fundamentally misunderstood everything that was cool about Neo Metal Sonic and somehow managed to reduce him to a boring Eggman minion in an arc where Eggman was out of action due to amnesia… But I won’t.

Instead I’m going to talk about how the comic has done something that would legitimately make me think twice about picking it up even if the FF were to debut tomorrow.

Yeah, I would pass up a SatAM fix because of this, that’s how much this ticks me off.

Now, I presume that if you’re reading this, you have a favourite Sonic character. And you probably feel pretty strongly about how your favourite character is portrayed. If they get a bad run in a game or two then you probably get a little salty about that. Tails and Knuckles fans in particular, as of late, seem to be the ones getting the short end.

Well, my favourite character in the entire franchise is Emerl the Gizoid. I will take Gemerl as a worthy substitute, they’re basically the same character. And the comics have been doing them dirty since the Archie reboot.

(Sidenote: I will be referring to Emerl with male pronouns from this point on. The Maria-soul thing isn’t as widely known as I’d like it to be, so I’m going to compromise for the sake of keeping the focus on the actual point)

However, not everything about this can be laid at the feet of Ian Flynn. Arguably his portrayal of said character is merely a symptom of a long-running issue that has plagued Sonic storytelling for roughly 15-16 years now.

But before we get into that, let’s get into something important: Why Emerl is my favourite Sonic character.

Part 1: Emerl in Sonic Battle, or “How I learned to stop worrying and love the Gizoid”.

This game doesn’t get enough love.

Now, I totally understand why it doesn’t get enough love. There are game design choices, like the grinding and the repetitiveness of the story mode that really drag it down, and because of that, Battle can become a slow-going and tedious experience, and that’s a real shame, because the story that’s hidden in this game is a thing of beauty.

Like most Sonic games from the 2000s, this game introduces a new character to join Sonic’s list of friends. Unlike the games that aren’t SA2 and Sonic Rush, this new character is actually good (This is hyperbole, Omega, Silver, and Shade were fine too).

Emerl enters the story as a mute, barely-functional robot that doesn’t do much of anything for a while, and only seems to come to life when Sonic locates it and attacks it. However, as the robot absorbs more Chaos Emeralds, slowly a personality starts to form, largely pieced together from other characters’ traits.

Emerl, as he is dubbed, is initially childlike and naive, but as he grows he develops a sassy streak, and his speech becomes a lot more developed. Maturity sets in, as Emerl grapples with his own nature, particularly the legacy he carries from the ARK, and Shadow’s ongoing turmoil with regards to the whole “Living Weapon” deal. Ultimately he becomes a hero, following in the footsteps of his mentor, parental figure, and closest friend, Sonic.

That’s right, Sonic, not Cream, is Emerl’s closest friend. We’ll get to that.

But this heart-warming story of Sonic becoming a dad for a robot doesn’t have a happy ending. Despite Shadow and Rouge finding a way to neutralise Emerl’s destructive Gizoid programming, Eggman has a way to reactivate it anyway, driving Emerl into a berserk rampage. This is kind of the one sticking point I have with the game’s plot, Eggman shouldn’t have been able to do this after Shadow and Rouge neutralised Emerl.

Additionally, while Emerl was on the ARK getting Maria’s soul crammed into him, Gerald also added a self-destruct mechanism that would trigger if he ever went Ultimate again.

So with Emerl quite literally exploding with all the power of the Chaos Emeralds, but his destructive programming forcing him to turn Eggman’s latest Death Star knockoff on Mobius/Earth/Sonic’s World, Sonic races up to confront his mecha-child, and things take a turn for the Old Robot Yeller.

In a moment that really deserves more attention, Sonic confronts his own child on the bridge of a space station, while Emerl is running on the power of the Chaos Emeralds and outputting more energy than he can physically take, and they fight. In the space of thirty seconds, they have a ten-round knock-down, drag-out brawl, and at the end, Sonic stands triumphant. Without using a single transformation. Yeah, that’s how powerful this guy is, that’s not travel speed, that’s combat speed. Looking at you, Death Battle.

It’s not really clear whether Sonic outright defeats Ultimate Emerl, or just survives long enough for his opponent to reach his limit and self-destruct, but the end result is the same. Sonic cradles a robot that became his own child over the course of the past few weeks, someone he raised from a baby-like state into a mature and heroic individual, and Emerl looks up at him and asks “Sonic… am I going to die?” And despite Sonic desperately trying to get him to keep it together, Not only does Emerl die, but he’s aware that the end is coming, and bids farewell to all of his friends as Sonic pleads with him to hold on. Shadow is equally distraught, his only friend with a connection to the ARK, someone he can call a brother, someone who carries the soul of his deceased sister within him, is dead.

Emerl: “Sonic I don’t feel so good.”

Like it’s canon that Eggman basically murdered Sonic’s kid.

And goddamnit this ending hits me hard. It frustrates me that Eggman was able to pull a means to drive Emerl into his Ultimate freakout mode out of his arse, but other than that, it’s so gutwrenching, I love it.

Gamma’s story from SA1 gets a lot of praise on the Internet, but for me, this is even better. It’s like Gamma’s story, but if Gamma was actually central to the plot of the game and the characters other than Amy gave a shit about him, and gave a shit about him for longer than a single cutscene, after which they are never mentioned again. Hell, due to Chaos Gamma being a thing, Gamma gets more love from the other characters in Battle than he does in SA1.

But, unfortunately, it doesn’t end there.

Part 2: (Sonic) Anime was a Mistake, or: “Sonic X ruins everything.”

I’ve made my dislike of this anime quite clear in the past. The characters are flanderized, Sonic is a B-lister in his own damn show, the villains are weaksauce or boring or both, the plot is only remotely close to good when its cribbing from two videogames which told the stories in question better, and for the first two seasons the entire show actually revolves around not Sonic, but the least relatable audience surrogate ever made. The third season would continue to include him, but shove him (And everyone else) to the side in favour of a Pokemon whose only move was “Flashback”, making audiences the world over question why he was even there in the first place.

Oh, and it also near-singlehandedly destroyed the thin shreds of character development that Tails, Knuckles, Amy, and Eggman had received in Sonic Adventure 2.

All four of these characters had been significantly enriched by the then most recent console game. Eggman had been revealed to be motivated by an admiration for his grandfather, Gerald Robotnik, but in the same game learned that Gerald had lost his marbles and programmed the ARK to smash into the planet and kill everyone on it, probably including his surviving family, i.e. little baby Ivo Robotnik. Gerald betrayed Eggman posthumously, and it’s clear from Eggman’s interactions with Tails during the credits of the game that this is giving him a lot to think about.

Knuckles is a weird case because most of his characterisation in SA2 is conveyed via… the lyrics to his rap music. Yes, really. He gets minor growth through the cutscenes, most notably in his decision to shatter the Master Emerald early on. Having already reassembled it once after it was broken in SA1, he’s now confident that he can do it again, so is willing to break it to prevent Eggman or Rouge stealing it. Via the rap lyrics, however (Yes I just wrote that), we also learn that Knuckles is slowly warming up to Sonic, gaining a greater respect for him, that he is more in-touch with his history and ancestors after SA1 (Though fortunately not in a Ken Penders way), and that he’s also struggling with feelings for Rouge, a plot element that went completely out of the window after this game.

Tails and Amy, however, get it the worst, as both went through arcs in SA1 that are followed up on and expanded in SA2. Amy had come to the conclusion that she didn’t need to rely on Sonic for everything, and that she would make him respect her as a hero in her own right. And while Amy is clearly in way over her head throughout the events of SA2, she still makes a significant difference, not only freeing Sonic from his cell on Prison Island, allowing Tails’ invasion to be a distraction and stealing a keycard to facilitate it, but of course, she later saves the world by motivating Shadow to join the fight to stop the ARK drop.

Tails had a similar plot, about learning to believe in himself as a hero, without having to rely on Sonic, and in SA2 he gets to prove it, not only partaking in the same rescue operation as Amy and fighting Eggman on even footing, but effectively taking command of the heroes and becoming their new leader, and for the first time, Sonic defers to him.

And then Sonic X came along and fucked it all up.

Eggman became a clownish antagonist with no semblance of nuance, and he actually got off the easiest.

Knuckles became a loud, dimwitted loner who got tricked by Eggman constantly, which would go on to be his personality for the rest of the franchise, ultimately culminating in the travesty against all sense that was Boom Knuckles.

Tails was reduced to a wimpy taxi driver, incapable of doing anything without his giant mecha plane to sit in. This was largely exacerbated by the presence of Donut Steele, who usurped his role as Sonic’s best friend and sidekick for two seasons, a problem which only got worse in the third season when Donut Steele suddenly became a genius inventor too, encroaching even more into Tails’ territory. Tails did get himself some more focus in S3, but only to make googly eyes at the Pokemon, a role which frankly could’ve gone to literally anyone else and would have made no difference on the plot. I would say that Tails being involved in a romance story at all is weird, but given the comics and Boom the weirdest thing about this latest tragic love story for the kid is that the Pokemon was actually close to his own age, because outside of this it really does seem like Tails goes for older ladies. Though she did turn into an adult at the end so I guess that counts?

But Amy arguably got the worst of it. Not only was her crowning moment in SA2 taken away from her and given to Donut Steele, but the poor girl had her promising character arc cut short and replaced with an obsessive, unhealthy fixation on Sonic, combined with a violent temper and an eagerness to smash anything that displeased her, Sonic included, with a giant hammer. Her admiration and crush on Sonic were warped into her being a possessive, mean-spirited stalker, whom only got away with it because she was an anime girl and therefore it was cute rather than creepy.

I want to take the time at this point to stress that stalking is not okay, under any circumstances. A girl obsessively following an older guy and threatening him and everyone around him with violent assault if they ever so much as imply that he isn’t interested in her is not cute, it means it’s time for a restraining order. Sonamy is not cute.

Now that I’ve swatted that particular hornet’s nest with a cricket bat, let’s move on!

I’ve always found it ironic that, despite being the adaptation with the most oversight from SEGA and Sonic Team, and the most endorsement from them too, Sonic X had easily the worst characterisation of any of the shows at the time. But, for all its faults, I can’t blame everything that went down in the aftermath on it. It had a comrade-in-arms. Mediocrely-written arms.

Part 3: Partner in Crime, or “Sonic Heroes also ruins everything.”

Sonic Heroes has a lot to answer for. And I mean a lot. It was the beginning of the franchise’s obsession with references to the classic games, it codified the really awkward ages for certain characters, and it seemed to be dedicated to completely unpicking everything established in the Adventure duology.

Shadow’s sudden resurrection is one thing, at least they had the graces to include a means to preserve his sacrifice via having him be an android, the blame for that not taking should be laid at the feet of his own game.

But the rest of the cast? Ohhh boy. Sonic’s still fine, he didn’t change much in the Adventure games, but then there’s Tails. Despite all the development he went through in SA1, in this game he needs to turn to Sonic when Eggman returns, and honestly this whole setup could’ve been fixed if Tails sought Sonic out not for the sake of having him lead the charge, but rather simply to recruit him into the counterattack he was already planning. Nevertheless, throughout the rest of the game Tails is almost as wimpy as his X counterpart, not helped by the voicework he’s given. No offense to William Corkery, who was probably like six when he recorded his lines, but this what you get when you choose actors via nepotism, rather than talent. But at least he does something.

How about Knuckles? As the other side of his derailment, Knuckles just turns up in this game, buddy-buddy with the characters he was only just starting to warm up to before, and blatantly not caring about the Master Emerald until Rouge mentions she’s going to steal it at the end. This will combine with his becoming a dumbass in Sonic X and become basically his entire character for… ever. Even in Forces, where he’s supposed to be doing slightly better as the leader of the resistance… but he’s a dumbass, and even Ian Flynn, who kept Knuckles as competent and intelligent in the Archie comics (Making the best version of Knuckles we’ve had in forever), kept this ongoing in the IDW comic. The Forces prequel portrays him as deciding to become leader of the Resistance (To an empire that hasn’t actually formed yet) purely to be a glory hound, and then goes on to establish that he was basically a figurehead while the real work was done by Amy, of all people.

And speaking of Amy…

Yeah, poor Amy is basically her Sonic X counterpart. But worse. I didn’t think that was possible, but at least X’s Amy seems to care about her friends. In Heroes, we’re treated to an equally violent and stalkerish Amy, who ostensibly starts searching out Sonic because he’s implicated in the abduction of Cream and Big’s pets, but when they actually catch up to him, Amy clean forgets why she is looking for him in the first place and tries to force him to marry her. Despite being twelve.

Y’know when Amy said she wanted to marry Sonic in SA2, she was joking, right?

This is why I find the idea of Amy being the real leader of the Resistance frankly absurd: Because the only time she led anything, it was a team that consisted of herself, a small child, and a man less intelligent and aware of reality than said small child, and she completely forgot their actual objective the moment she set her eyes on Sonic. Add in an unfortunate stint of very poor eyesight that got less and less understandable with every instance, and we got Amy’s rough personality for the next decade.

While Knuckles mostly stagnated at the same level of stupidity during that time, Tails got worse and worse, losing all of his badass traits with every game, a factor only increased by the “Sonic only” mentality costing him playable status, until he reached his nadir in Forces, cowering in terror from Chaos 0, and crying out to Sonic to save him, despite knowing full-well that Sonic was captured already.  Amy, meanwhile, limped along at the same level until about 2014, where it seemed someone at SEGA finally realised that A) Having the only female character you regularly use be a pink-coloured gender-bent version of your male hero whose only function is lusting after said hero doesn’t and shouldn’t fly in this day and age, and B) violent stalkers aren’t cute, and dropped this trait. Unfortunately, this has been more of a lateral move than a fix, as, much like Antoine in the comics, they forgot to give her anything substantial or fitting after she lost her negative traits, leaving her a bland and dull character, and when you’ve had a character be consistent for ten years, even if they were consistently bad, then changing it without cause or warning is still going to be jarring and awkward.

Part 4: Two Wrongs Don’t Make a Right, or “Why the fuck did this happen?”

As I said in Part 2, Sonic X was made under heavy oversight from Sonic Team, and was heavily endorsed by them at the same time. There were promos for the show inserted into Sonic Adventure DX, a few episodes were released on GBA cartridges, and it received a long-running comic from Archie that ran alongside the main book, even after the show had ended. Additionally, characters that debuted in games from 2002-2004 were restricted from appearing in Archie’s main book for years afterwards (Which will become relevant later). The third season was commissioned solely off of the response to the first two, and primarily overseas response, hence why the original sub was never aired in Japan.

Sonic X was huge. And with that in mind, it’s plain to see that the portrayals of the characters in Sonic X were intended by SEGA. Yeah, all that horrible characterisation was intended as the vision for the franchise going forwards, and subsequent games were adjusted to match it.

And unfortunately, not only did this have a serious impact on the main cast of the games, but it had an even worse effect on Emerl.

Part 5: Emerl in Sonic X, or “Emerl vs. ‘Emel’”

Sonic X’s original mission statement was to adapt Sonic Adventure, Sonic Adventure 2, and Sonic Battle. Why they skipped Sonic Heroes, despite Shadow being a major player in Battle’s story, I don’t know.

For whatever reason, the show took a full season to actually get to the first game adaptation, SA1, and instead spent the first 26 episodes on bland episodic “adventures”, in some kind of strange reverse-Isekai series. However, once it got there, the adaptation work was fairly faithful to the source material, which the exception of Donut Steele’s being crammed in to the plot. However, he mostly followed Big around, and since Big was the least involved in the game’s plot, he didn’t disrupt too much.

Sidenote, after 26 episodes of filler, the actual SA1 adaptation only lasted six episodes.

SA2 was likewise only six episodes, but with the exception of Amy’s big scene, it likewise wasn’t too bad. Tails suffered this time around too, which is somewhat surprising since he was mech-dependent in the anime anyway.  

After some more filler, which introduced the Chaotix and then did nothing with them, Emerl finally made an appearance, albeit they got his name wrong.

‘Emel’ looks like Emerl, and somewhat works like Emerl, but might as well be completely  different. ‘Emel’ stays completely mute for the entire time he’s around, never advancing much beyond Emerl’s initial silent, pre-first Emerald persona. He does get better at fighting, but he’s limited to only absorbing a single skill at once (Except for when he isn’t).

Dispensing with Battle’s interesting, rich, and heart-twisting plot, Sonic X instead has ‘Emel’ linger in ensemble for three episodes, before condensing the entire game’s premise into a two episodes of really bland tournament arc, where Sonic himself doesn’t actually fight and we get two rounds of Donut Steele being a dick to his friend and his father.

‘Emel’ wins the tournament, and is given a Chaos Emerald, and just when you think it might kickstart him becoming an actual character, instead it just drives him insane and he immediately becomes a pathetically weak version of Ultimate Emerl. After kicking the crap out of the entire cast, he is defeated by Cream and Cheese, because even though he can take on Sonic, Knuckles, and Rouge at the same time and win, along with Tails, Amy, Donut Steele and everyone else, he… can’t handle two opponents at once.

This is stupid.

You’ll notice that I haven’t talked about Sonic’s relationship with ‘Emel’, and that’s because he doesn’t have one. The wonderfully-written parental bond that these two characters share in the games is completely excised, and instead the focus is put on Cream. Bare in mind, Cream is so inconsequential to the actual game that she doesn’t even get mentioned individually in Emerl’s dying speech like Sonic, Tails, Knuckles, and Shadow do. Instead she’s just grouped in with Amy.

This is also stupid.

And as a result of this, it means that what is arguable base form Sonic’s most impressive feat just doesn’t happen in the anime, instead Emerl dies because he is lightly kicked a bit by Cream. Yeah, unlike the Advance games, Sonic X’s Cream is not an unstoppable engine of destruction, she’s basically just a small child who can sometimes fly.

Instead of Emerl’s tragic speech and Sonic’s desperate attempts to keep his son alive, we get treated to a prolonged scene of Cream crying over the death of her “friend”, something that is probably meant to tug at heartstrings but doesn’t because Cream’s voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard.

And Shadow isn’t even there! He doesn’t come back until a third of the way through Season 3, and never meets ‘Emel.’

This is really stupid. And, for those keeping track, that means of Sonic X’s originally commissioned 52 episodes, and the full series run of 78 episodes, a stunning total of seventeen of them were actually adaptations of the games that the series was supposed to focus on, leaving us with 61 episodes of what might as well be filler.

And, unfortunately, that franchise-wide initiative had damning consequences for Emerl.

Part 6: Gemerl and Sonic Advance 3, or: “An incomplete resurrection.”

So, Gemerl. I know his name is apparently G-Merl now but fuck that I’m calling him Gemerl. If the comics can do it then so will I.

Gemerl is the worst thing Eggman has ever done to Sonic. Like, there is no contest. Some of his other schemes might be more destructive and generally evil, but in terms of personal pain inflicted, nothing has topped this.

Eggman salvaged Emerl’s corpse, and brought him back to life as a mindless murderbot under his control. So not only did he kill Sonic’s robo-son, but he also brought him back as a weapon.

Come the conclusion of the game, Gemerl predictably betrays Eggman, steals the Chaos Emeralds from Sonic, and goes on another rampage. I have… headcanons about this fight, but that’s something to worry about later. What’s important is that, once again, Sonic is victorious, and Gemerl’s defeated body plunges into the atmosphere.

Fortunately, Tails is able to bring Emerl back properly this time, presumably using the Chaos shard that was left over at the end of Battle’s finale. So, it’s all a happy ending, right? Sonic has his child back, Shadow has his connection to his history restored, and Emerl is alive and well, right?

Wrong.

See, the vile spectre of Sonic X rears its ugly head once more, and sabotages this conclusion. Gemerl doesn’t return to Sonic, in fact we never see him reunite with his father. Instead, Sonic X’s version has enough clout now to take precedence, so Gemerl is now Cream’s playmate.

Bear in mind that Emerl’s idea of a fun game is all-out combat against his friends, and Cream doesn’t like fighting (Even if she’s really good at it in Advance 2 and 3).

And then he never shows up again. Even when Cream is part of the game’s plot, like in Rush or Generations, he’s not there, and most egregiously, in Sonic Chronicles, where Cream is not only an active player in the plot, but so are Gizoids, the creators of said Gizoids are the main antagonists, and Emerl himself is mentioned… Gemerl is not there.

But he did make it into the comics, for better or worse. Mostly worse.

Part 7: Embargos, knock-offs, and misused tropes, or: “Ian Flynn dun goofed.”

For a long while, Emerl/Gemerl was barred from the Archie comics, due to the Sonic X embargo, and when it was lifted, he didn’t appear until the reboot. We did, however, get a suspiciously similar substitute in the form of Shard.

Shard was the original Metal Sonic, but when he was brought back and rebuilt for the Secret Freedom arc, he was given a colour scheme ostensibly derived from Metal Sonic 3.0, but one shared with Gemerl, and a personality that was a lot like a watered-down version of Emerl’s own.

On some level I can understand Ian’s decision to bring back Metal Sonic v2.5, rather than use the character that seems to have been an inspiration for this new incarnation in some way. He’d need a fully-formed Emerl, necessitating a skip over the whole story, since there wasn’t room for an adaptation during the Mecha Sally arc that the Secret Freedom story was framed within. Heck, for all we know, the similarities between them may simply be a pretty sizeable coincidence.

But then the reboot happened and Gemerl finally joined the comic cast. And to say it was underwhelming would be an understatement.

You’ll notice that I said “Gemerl” rather than “Emerl”, because his entire story was indeed skipped. The events of Sonic Battle and Sonic Advance 3 had both happened already. This wasn’t Ian’s decision, as far as we know, his intention was for the comic to start over from the beginning. However, due to the interference of Paul Kaminski, who wanted a softer reboot, Ian was forced to fill the characters’ active histories with a large chunk of the games’ stories. Battle and Advance 3 were among those that had already happened, so Emerl made cameos in both incarnations via flashback… which unfortunately led to a plot hole.

See, Advance 3 and Sonic Unleashed are rather difficult to keep in the same continuity, because both share a common plot element: The world breaking into seven pieces.

For a long while, it was generally assumed that the handheld games and console titles were only semi-canon to each other. This avoided the awkward question of “If the Gaias were already there, why didn’t they emerge when Eggman broke the planet in Advance 3?”

Ian shoved them blatantly into the same continuity, and gave no attempt to explain what was different about the Advance 3 world-break compared to the Gaia incident, which served as the backbone to the reboot’s three year long Shattered World Arc. Why didn't the Gaias wake up during Advance 3? Because that's now a question we have to ask of the comics' world.

When Gemerl finally showed up doing something other than yard work for Vanilla (Despite allegedly being Cream’s friend, Cream spends all her time with the rest of the cast, and Gemerl is basically Vanilla’s maid), it was to get effortlessly dispatched by a brainwashed Mega Man with a terrible name in the extremely lacklustre Worlds Unite event.

This one was more than a little bit of a slap in the face, considering that Emerl and Mega Man are very similar in concept- robots that can copy the abilities of other characters- but Emerl is demonstrably more powerful. Now, if Ian had established that Gemerl had been nerfed when he was rebuilt, either by Eggman or by Tails, that would be fine. But he didn’t. In fact, Gemerl is given the title bubble “Super Gizoid”, implying that he’s stronger than a regular Gizoid.

Worlds Unite is generally pretty bad for having its corrupted heroes easily curbstomp every other character around, to the point that the only thing that can stop them is each other, but in Gemerl’s case it really serves no purpose.

This is the only thing that he actually does in Worlds Unite. He shows up to get beaten up and make Mega Man look stronger. That’s it.

This is something that TV Tropes refers to as “The Worf Effect”, a trope wherein an established powerful character is defeated easily by a new character, in order to demonstrate the latter’s power. Now, there’s nothing wrong with using this trope, but please note that I said establishedpowerful character, which Gemerl wasn’t.

At the point that this comic released, Gemerl’s last appearance in any Sonic media was over ten years prior. None of the comic’s intended target audience would remember him, and they wouldn’t know why defeating him was impressive. And this was, in addition, a terrible way to introduce him to new fans. Though the worst part is easily that this was unnecessary. Mega Man had already defeated everyone else, and had established his power pretty well just on them, and he was about to get removed from play permanently in the next issue. There was really no reason to throw Gemerl under the bus for this.

He made one more appearance in the event, getting controlled by the Zeti along with every other robot, and after that he got bopped on the head and just flew away.

Later, he’d make another appearance in the Panic in the Sky arc, and while his portrayal was far from the worst thing about Panic in the Sky, it only adds to the issues caused by the previous showing.

Gemerl makes one appearance, and promptly gets pinned down by the Witchcarters and Team Hooligan. Bear in that one of those groups are the joke villains who nobody takes seriously, and the other are a gang that was defeated by Tails before he met Sonic.

Archie Gemerl was a character who only existed to lose to villains in a vain attempt to make them look better, and that’s legitimately all Ian ever did with him, which makes me wonder whether he disliked the character. And it didn’t even make the villains look good, when you think about it. For anybody that was actually the intended audience for this book, Gemerl had no significance. He was just a robot that got beat up all the time. But for anyone like me, who does remember the games he appeared in, it stands out, not as good writing, but as a blatant narrative device and misused trope.

In this situation, I would simply rather Gemerl never appeared in Archie. At all. If Ian wasn’t going to give him time to shine, or at the very least be an adequate member of the supporting cast, he shouldn’t have used him at all.

Part 8: A Fresh False Start, or: “Wait, how did this get worse?!”

And now we arrive at IDW.

The one nice thing I can say about Archie Gemerl is that at least his personality was mostly on point. He read like a generally accurate take on the character that Emerl was at the end of Battle, which is what he’s supposed to be.

The same cannot be said for IDW.

In the pages of IDW, Gemerl acts like the most generic robot. He speaks in emotionless, stilted sentences with little in the way of actual grammar, leaving him to read like a poor man’s Soundwave, or Soundwave in one of those comics where the writer can’t decide whether they want him to speak normally or adopt his speech pattern from the G1 cartoon, so they just sort of do both.

Emerl pretty much never talked like this, as far as I can recall. His speech development is much more reminiscent of a child learning words, and the only time when he did adopt a more robotic speech pattern, it was a clue that he was slipping back into his destructive programming. He only spoke like a generic robot when he was in mindless destroyer mode.

He gets thrown for a loop by a simple logic flaw, unable to reconcile “Protect Cream and Vanilla” with “Don’t kill the zombots”, and has to be talked out of killing everything around him, when the entire point of Gerald’s modifications to the Gizoid was to make him a bringer of hope rather than destruction, and give him a compassionate heart.

The part of Battle’s story where Cream imparts a pacifistic mindset doesn’t frame her as being right. In that part of the game, they are cornered and under attack by hostile but ultimately mindless drones, and when she convinces Emerl to stop fighting, he almost dies. It’s Cream that learns the lesson there, that sometimes fighting is okay.

This character is already compassionate, he shouldn’t need to be talked into not killing the zombots by a small child, nor should he need her to point out that they’re innocent people who have been made this way by Eggman, because he was made into a killing machine by Eggman twice, and the first time he did die because of it. The character that lay dying in Sonic’s arms, scared and bidding his last goodbyes to his loved ones shouldn’t be the one experiencing this struggle when Omega is also in this arc.

That’s it, really. He’s not Gemerl. He’s a second, less goofy Omega. And it boggles my mind that, despite getting Gemerl’s character, if not his combat abilities, down almost perfectly in Archie, Ian is now subjecting us to this travesty.  

Like with the Archie example above, therein lies the crux of why the steady decline of Emerl/Gemerl that began with Sonic X is pushing me away from IDW: I don’t want to read Ian’s take on this character, because, to me, No Gemerl is better than Badly-Written Gemerl,

This isn’t the first time I’ve said this, either.  Way back in 2016, when I complained about Ian’s portrayal of Gemerl in Panic in the Sky, I said that the way he handled characters that I liked tended to make them the least likeable parts of the stories he wrote. As well as stating my dislike for his handling of Gemerl, I also stated that I used to really like Fiona Fox, moreso in concept than in execution, but under Ian’s pen she was largely an insufferable antagonist, little more than a trophy to make his pet recolour look better, and almost every story she was in only added to the “List of reasons she needs to stop lying to herself and just start the redemption arc already”. Additionally, I said that I didn’t want to see him bring back Neo Metal Sonic or Mephiles in any context, and we got the former, and it was exactly as bad as I thought it would be.

So, that’s basically why I don’t want to read IDW. That’s why, even if the aspect that was a big sticking point for me back when the comic launched was to be undone soon, I still probably wouldn’t pick it up. Because I don’t want to see my favourite Sonic character continue to be written badly by a guy that should know better, and has done better in the past.

If he were simply screwing up Gemerl’s personality the first time he wrote him, I would file it away under the same category as “Emel”, but the fact that he’s done better before, in a book where he had greater restrictions on what he could do with the characters, really settles this as an interest-killer for me.

Well done, Mr. Flynn. I legitimately didn’t think you could make me actually miss SEGA’s tighter control, but you somehow managed it. I would be impressed if it weren’t so sad.

[fattygraves]

Nashville

My weekend did not have a proud start.  On my 8:30pm flight to Nashville, I was exhausted. When exhausted, I also feel frisky and cuddly. This was not helped by the fact that I was flying next to a man who was the epitome of Canadian masculinity—avid winter sportsman with rough hands and rugged opinions. What magnificent hands he had. He was married with children, but we were flirting heavily anyway. I told you– I’m not proud. There was a lot of wonderfully unnecessary leg-touching. We sat in the back of the plane and ended up creating a little foursome with a Norwegian oil-worker, an obese southern health care worker, Renee (the masculine Canadian), and me, a wide-eyed woman in finance. I landed in Nashville at 9:30pm & was ready for bed, but ended up taking an Uber with Renee to his hotel in the opposite direction of my brother’s workplace. We thought the two locations were close. And, we were having too much fun flirting to double-check. I told myself it was innocent. I’m still not sure it was.

We dropped Renee at his hotel, where he hovered, saying nothing but looking at me like I look at Pizza when I’m on a diet. Then he disappeared to his room alone. We didn’t even hug goodbye because I think we both realized we were playing with regrettable fire.  Renee didn’t seem to want to be the kind of man who’d do that to his wife. I didn’t want to be the kind of woman who would do that either. My hormones made me sullen, and my mind made me ashamed. So that’s how I felt when I went to wait for my brother at the bar of his restaurant/bar workplace, Bastion.

The cocktails were good and I quickly found these young artist-looking bucks. Amid joking with one that I really liked, two women walked between us and sat down.  They said my brother had sent them over. Food industry friends of his, apparently.  And they said “you’re welcome” for saving me from the weirdo with whom I was talking.  My face did not inch towards smiling at that comment. I liked the weirdo and his too-big glasses and greasy hair. I liked him a lot. I made a salty comment about how Alex must not know me at all to send over two women to keep me company in a room of strangers because I love strangers.  They were staying for good at this point as they had bought drinks, and I decided against being awkward or miserable. I definitely didn’t want to embarrass my brother, which is easy for me to do as we are polar opposites in almost every regard. So, I decided to enjoy being with them. Besides, everyone is interesting if you dig, I reminded myself. So I dug. And they were interesting. We talked post-baby bodies and post-baby shirt-on sex. Tracy, my favorite between the two, called herself corn-fed a couple times, which I learned is the same as calling yourself a heifer with a smile.

Alex took me to Attaboy after that. It’s a gorgeous bar. It’s secretive and stripped down and makes you want to curl into someone’s arm and swim around so deep in their gaze that you nearly drown smiling. I can tell you the cocktail I drank was a work of art and the people’s faces were flesh-colored, but that’s it. Because after the initial impression, I flopped myself over the bar and nearly fell asleep. I remember one thing—the male bartender was married to a man and had a beard. But that’s not distinguishing because in Nashville every man who can grow a beard grows his goddamn beard.  

Thursday Thursday Thursday. I woke up alone on Thursday morning on the pull-out bed of my brother’s new house. He was sleeping at his old house as his bed was still there.  He would be moving into his new home later in the day.  I called him and asked if he’d be alright to meet at 2pm because I had a whim to try out Kundalini yoga.  The opportunity for alone time seemed to be a relief for him. So, I threw on my tennis shoes and jogged at a tortoise-like pace for 6.2 miles to the nearest Kundalini yoga class.

I’ll give you two words to sum up my experience there: Asshole surgery. Unexpected, right? I thought so too. But that’s what we talked about after class. You see, Kundalini Kate (as I began to call her) was a 30-something yoga student who spent the ENTIRE yoga class talking, coughing, crying, belching, complaining about nausea, complaining about heartache, and farting.  This is not from illness. Oh no. This is how she is at every single class and how she has been at every single class FOR FOUR YEARS. This is just her spiritual journey physicalizing itself, they explained— just like a guy who had three asshole surgeries. THREE surgeries on his sphincter, and this was an apparently healthy part of healing his soul. I was dissuaded from Kundalini by this point because if being healthy means asshole surgery, bring on the refined carbs. Nonetheless, it was a beautiful thing to see the genuine acceptance of our yoga teacher who, by the way, calls herself a Catholic Mystic and could not believe more in every aspect of Catholicism and every aspect of Kundalini Yoga.  Did you know we all have ten selves and some of those selves are in love with people who we loved from other lives? I didn’t.  Apparently, we should all recognize this truth to better understand ourselves. For example, she’s married but just knows she was in the deepest of loves with a man in another life and in another self but he is, in this life, a very wise practitioner of evil black magic and also a kundalini yogi. She’s also a spiritual shapeshifter, appearing as different people depending on the circumstance. I got in my Uber at this point because I had to meet my brother to help him move some boxes, but I bet there was a whole lot more.

That night, Alex had me set up to get the tasting menu at Bastion. Eating at Bastion is more spiritual than a gospel choir. God! I didn’t realize food could be like this. It was art. Art is honestly boring a lot of the time, but then you’ll hear that one song or watch that one movie or see that one painting and it stops you… like your scarf catching in a car door. This was the night I learned that food can do that to you. Soup from a can is so depressing to me now. I keep getting hungry and eating crap like that anyway, which makes me feel a little sad and frustrated. So, I think I’ll start cooking. I mean, if it doesn’t make me feel something, if it doesn’t have some intimacy and care to it, my new Foodie religion teaches me that I should wait until I can make or find something artful.

After dinner, I went to the bar in Bastion to wait for Alex to get off work. This is when I met Joey. Oh boy. If I wanted a man who was a relationship guy, it’d be him.  He’s a good 4 inches shorter than me, slightly chubby, bearded (surprise), and he just sparkles.  He loves people, and people love him. He zipped around behind the bar, but it felt like he was strolling around instead. He lingered and peered into each person’s soul just a bit when he handed them their drinks. He listened well. He made drinks well. He felt good in every single way a person can. Almost. You know how being on the ledge of a skyscraper, holding someone’s hand makes you feel? That’s a damn good feeling, but he doesn’t feel like that.  He feels like that Attaboy bar did.  He makes me want to curl up and swim in his gaze and in his arms. He’s safe, beautifully safe.

Okay, now Friday sweet Friday. My brother and I started the day at Barista Parlor. It’s a gorgeous, open coffee shop tucked away in a big garage with high ceilings, white shelves full of records, chic yet simple design, and hipsters everywhere. The coffee was good. I mean next level good.  It’s famously ridiculed for the care it gives to its beans, its roasting, and its pour-over technique. But that coffee is the best in the nation. My brother was distant and irritable at first, as he had to deal with some personal finance stuff. So, I sat at the big hand-crafted wooden table tapping my fingers and looking around uncomfortably since he clearly didn’t want me to be there with him, but I had no escape. I turned from bitter to giddy when I realized that I could just get an Uber out of there. I suggested this with glee which offended him, so I stayed there, tapping my fingers. After he ate something and had coffee, he was all smiles. Not smiles, I suppose, more so smirks. But, he was definitely happier. He showed me this 3D wine map he created, which must have taken between a hundred and two hundred hours and was wildly impressive to say the least.

That night, we had dinner at a place called Rolf and Daughters, a rustic high class restaurant where we ordered nearly everything on the menu and tried different wines with each of the foods to see how they paired. It was really fun, actually. My brother finally sighed and said, “Okay. See, now I feel okay.” His month had been hectic and he was nobly trying his best to be present and kind, but the guy needed a break.

The meal was good. The conversation was better. My brother was honest about his perspective. He’s still upset about how distant and not nurturing our parents were and frustrated with their attempts to be close and nurturing now. Too little too late, he said. I said I wanted a relationship with them because they are fantastic people, albeit not so interested in being classic parents, and that I didn’t really care that they were reasonably absent in our childhood. He didn’t feel the same. That makes sense though.  He has trouble seeing beyond the purity of ideas—He is an idealist to his core, worshiping the thoughtful, thorough, and pure.  That means the titles “Mom” and “Dad” are more important than the individuals to whom the titles belong.  If you’re a Mom, be a mom. If you’re a Dad, be a dad. I imagine this love of purity is what causes his frequent frustration with the world. No one is pure. Pure isn’t even definable.

He also told me to slow the fuck down. As I talked about my career and how much I loved working and wanted to progress, he just said, “That’s good… but slow down.” That was it. That was the whole conversation about my work. Just “slow down.” He was right. I changed my perspective almost instantaneously. I don’t need to be staring at the future all the time. It makes me feel inadequate to not yet be there.  The stuff of life however is the right here, right now, person-to-person aliveness, isn’t it?  That’s where the best surprises are.  They’re right now, with you, right here. Smell the roses and all that.  The rest of the dinner doesn’t matter really. Except the sourdough noodles. Damn, those were good.

After dinner, we went to the LCD Soundsystem concert. This is where I met Matt.

Matt and I met because of two things: One, my brother knew and loved him already because they are both top-of-class alcohol people. (My brother, wine. Matt, cocktails and some wine.)  And two, he was dancing more wildly than anyone else at the venue, arms flailing, head banging, knees bending, eyes often closed, which drew me like a similarly flailing magnet. I stared smiling at his black skinny almost-handlebar mustache when my brother introduced us. The wonderful weirdo. Matt’s brother danced just like Matt. I joined in with them instantly, and Matt was downright amazed by this. The rest of the audience members were bobbing their heads to the ethereal rock tunes. It felt surreal, like we were floating on the eerie beats. The three of us, Matt, his brother, and I continued on with the head-banging and body-thrashing until the lights came up and the stage was cleared. I didn’t think much about his affection that night. I was not thinking about anything besides having as much fun as possible. And of course, I interspersed my flailing with scanning for Joey.

He was there too, Joey. And I only had eyes for him all night. 5 of us squeezed into a compact Uber car after the show—his short arm was forced around me and my big ass was forced on top of him. We both mentioned that we liked the arrangement. My brother was in the front seat. The Uber driver said, “Well, everybody’s squeezed in here pretty awkwardly.”  My brother replied while chuckling, “Yeah, but it’s not as awkward as one of my best friends and my sister blatantly flirting in front of me.”  This is the closest to protective I’ve ever seen him. It was surprising for us both I think.

Joey sure can hold his own in a crowd. Everyone adores him and he adores everyone.  He’s short, but refuses to stand above people when they talk to him from a chair anyway. He always squats down to get on their level. I saw him do this multiple times. He just seems inherently humble and confident. Joey is a man to fall in love with.  He’s a guy who I’d want my genes to mix with. He’s a guy who’d love well and parent kids well. He’s a partner kind of guy. I say all this after onle two days of knowing him, so I’m very likely wrong.  Why do we do that? Make all these fantasies and plans with so little foundation to base them on.

I’m not really good for people like that. I realized this fact with my traveling of late. I love adventure and freedom and opportunity and flirting. I’ve been trying to find the perfect regimen of food and sleep and exercise for my mental health. Yet, enjoying life with all its booze, calories, and people leaves me beaming for days. So does being curled around this computer alone, typing to you in darkness. There’s a balance. But balance is so annoying to try to strike. Extremes, baby. That’s where the fun lives.

There’s one more person you need to meet from Friday. He has a first name, but he lied about what it was six times in a row so I don’t know what it is, but everyone just calls him Finney.

Finney is Alex’s manic-depressive addict ex-roommate. They lived together 3 years ago, and the experience was equal parts hilarious and hellish.  Finney says more lies than truths because facts about himself (where are you from, what do you do, etc.) are not worthy of being shared in his mind. I don’t think he thinks that people actually want to know those things. Or maybe he thinks that if they do care about those things, they’re idiots because those things don’t matter.  Maybe he’s right. And maybe we only want to know those things so we can decide if someone is worth knowing more deeply. Maybe he’s afraid no one will want to know him once they see he’s just as human as they are.

He said he had been in the Navy, Law school, and about 3 other false professions I can’t remember. I can’t tell you where he’s from because he gave too many different stories to too many different people.  I can’t tell you what he does currently for work or what his musical preferences are as he pretended to both love and hate about every genre mentioned.  I can only tell you how he felt— that was the one thing he was honest about. I know he really liked a girl named Jacqueline that night and was sad that she didn’t seem to end up liking him all that much. I can tell you that he was uncomfortable when a couple people didn’t laugh at his jokes and that he was annoyed by some man’s bro vibes at the party we went to after the concert. He was so loudly himself and so relentlessly mocking of the world around him that he made almost everyone shift uncomfortably. I really liked him, hilarious hellion that he was. I really really did.

And so did my brother, funnily enough.  He likes eccentrics too, it seems. They make him smile like a dog with his head out the window.  He so thoroughly enjoys the ride.

Saturday. Okay. Buckle up.

My brother and I had brunch with Tony, the 33-year-old charming horndog and Sarah, the 22-year-old sexy bundle of substances.  Tony owns the house my brother moved out of over the weekend. That’s how we spent our daylight hours—moving my brother from Tony’s house to Jordan’s. Tony was, that very day, moving back into my brother’s old room from LA. And he brought Sarah along for the road trip because, as my brother eloquently put it, “he needed someone to keep his dick wet.”  This is maybe a heinous thing to say but it was also accurate. We picked them up at 10:30am, and she was already drunk.  She was maybe 95 pounds, glossy-haired, manicured, tanned, and scantily clad.  Her most redeeming quality was her wide flat box of a nose.

She bobbed into the car and said a slurred comment about her star sign and Nashville and how happy she was to be here. Five minutes later, I kid you not, she asked, “Hey… where are we?” Alex laughed and said, “You mean, where in Nashville?” To which she responded, “OH! We’re IN Nashville. Wow. I can’t believe I’m in Nashville. I really like you guys so much. You know that? And Tonty loves Nashville so much. Do you guys call him Tonty here too? Ton. Tee. Tonty Tonty.” She rubbed herself all over him while giggling before he put her back in her spot like a child who escaped her car seat. She went back to smiling blankly out her window.

The meal we shared with them was delicious beyond words. We went to Urban Cowboy, which is a B&B that has a restaurant considered a food industry secret—everyone worth their salt in the food industry is in love with the Urban Cowboy brunch menu. We ordered the whole menu to share. Sarah didn’t experience this lovable brunch because she only ate the grapes, which were grilled. The fact they were grilled surprised her every time she ate one. All 6 times. I know this number because she mentioned that they were too warm every time she put one in her mouth to which I would respond, “Yes, they’re grilled.” To which she would go blank for a bit and then reply, “It’s weird that they’re warm, right?” I sounded like a tired caretaker of an Alzheimer’s patient by the end of the meal, at which point she was 4 tequila shots and one cocktail in, this added to whatever she was hopped up on before the meal.

When we dropped Tony (or Tonty as Sarah was still relentlessly singing) and Sarah off, Sarah told us to maybe text later, but definitely much later, because they’d be “fucking for like four hours.” Then, she giggled and stumbled into the house on Tony’s arm.  As soon as that house door closed, my brother and I laughed the kind of uncontrollable laughs that only come when you’re making fun of someone. It’s sad that making fun of someone can be that fun, but damn, it really is. We drove off with giant guffaws, aching sides, and needle-sharp jokes.

That night, my brother and I bought prosciutto and basil pizza by-the-slice at this place called Five Points Pizza, where the chefs all had tattoos and casually flung pizza crusts in the air with cool smiles on their faces. We bought a bottle of wine, went home, and fell asleep watching Rick & Morty nestled into our individual spaces on the L-shaped couch, empty wine glasses and pizza crusts discarded around us.

I woke up at 11:30pm and asked my brother if he wanted to go to Matt’s big after-party for the fancy chef-centric event at the baseball stadium. I can’t remember what the Nashville team name is, but it was a Major League. Who cares about their name though? My brother said he’d do what I wanted and I said I’d do what he wanted and after a couple rounds of that I said, “If I wasn’t here, what would you do?”

He responded with, “I’d honestly go to bed. These last few weeks are catching up to me.”

“Perfect!” I said, “I’ll grab an Uber over and you go to sleep.” I threw the last of the pizza crusts in my mouth, gussied myself up, and ordered an Uber.

The Uber driver was a large, white, bald Iranian man who was thrilled to hear that I was visiting from Chicago because he loved the movie Chicago, the “beautiful, beautiful” movie Chicago.  He said that the movie taught him not to “mess up with Chicago women, because Chicago women are dangerous. In a good way, they are dangerous. The most dangerous women– Chicago women.“ He then told me I look like Catherine Zeta-Jones, which I very clearly do not. The compliment made me feel powerful and gorgeous anyway.

I bounded out of the car to a dwindling after-party crowd. It was five minutes past the stadium’s closure for the night (meaning, the after party was supposed to be over) and they were ushering everyone out. I plowed right past the exiting numbers with my arms flung up in the air like I was Dolly of Hello, Dolly herself.  Matt waved and sidled his way out of his conversation, but Tracy got to me first.  Yeah, you’ve read her name before. She’s the corn-fed woman my brother sent over to greet me the first night I was in Nashville. We had a witty but forgettable conversation, because both of us were too distracted by the small Filipino guy dancing intently to the DJ. He was the only one dancing. And when the DJ stopped and began to pack up, he continued dancing.  Drugs were very present this evening for him, I think.

The DJ group called themselves Sparkle City Disco and they were composed of three young men whose individual personalities had no hope of living up to the personalities of their clothes. They played disco music on vinyl only and accompanied the music with a series of flashing retro neon lights. I met all three of them but talked most with Jonas. He had a tight lil butt and high fashion overalls and gorgeous hair and thick-rimmed glasses. He talked to me slowly with his southern drawl, a crooked smile that wouldn’t quit, and the sweetest eyes. He told me about how he co-owned a pizzeria with a recovering drug addict, and I smiled at him like he was the most beautiful soul I’d ever met.  The DJ’s and the chefs packed into cars to go to Matt’s brother’s place at 1:00am or so. They were running out of space so Matt suggested I ride with him on his scooter. I adored the idea and skipped and danced my way to the two wheels of fuel-efficient freedom.

The scooter looked like a motocross bike but was under 50 cc’s and had a horn that sounded like a kid’s toy. The horn gave him so much pleasure that he could not stop giggling when he honked it, which must have been 50 times in the 15 minutes we rode. When we were climbing on, he put the only helmet on my head and tied the strap under my chin because the snap was broken.  When he did that, he kissed me on my mouth/cheek, which took me by surprise so I responded by saying “ohwoah. I didn’t realize… I would’ve…” but I stopped my sentence there because I didn’t know what I would have done.  He smiled but otherwise didn’t respond. We just climbed on and rode, the slightly drunk Matt and I. Yes, I agree that was a dumb move. What a glorious ride that was though. That was the way to see the city—in the quiet 1:00am glow, whipping through the wind with my hands around his torso, resting on the small pouch of stomach fat over his otherwise muscular body. I breathed in deeply, just to smell the warmth of him. Ah, men. Yum.

Matt made me feel good in a dangerous way, like death might be a consequence of loving him. He listens to albums from beginning to end without distraction, often on vinyl. He has a typewriter, which he frequently uses. He talked about kindness and how he tried to train clients of his restaurant to be kinder, which seemed ironically patronizing to me. He spoke of politics only from the perspective of the heart. He talked music and food and drink and people only when he loved them, and oh man did he love the things he talked about. He also had a lot of idealistic arguments about how one should live life that did not make a lot of sense. His arguments weren’t arguments really though. They were impassioned perspectives. Beautiful little flimsy boats floating along without any motors or sails, boats that I liked looking at too much to bare filling them with holes. 

He also offered me cocaine, an offer that I politely declined. Actually, I confidently and rudely declined, now that I think about it. I just laughed outright and said no without hesitation, which does retrospectively explain why he got sheepish immediately after the rejection and then said “yeah… yeah. Me either.” He then remarked, “Sometimes you want to be a nut. Sometimes you want to not be a nut. I’ve learned that when I want to be a nut, I have to tone it back.”

He was an angel-headed hipster through and through, wasn’t he? That Allen Ginsburg descriptor just rolled around and around in my mind like one of those carnival tilt-a-whirls that I almost killed myself on as a kid.  When I was 6 or something, I tried to climb out of one of those and my dad about lost his own life trying to get on and stop me from committing self-inflicted manslaughter. All I remember is feeling sick and also angry that Dad wouldn’t just walk through the metal death trap and save me like Jesus on water.  It’s so funny how confident we all were that our dads once had biblical superpowers.

During my discussion with Matt, the Sparkle City Disco DJ’s had brought in their whole set up. Flashing neon lights were transforming the white walls to lime green to blue to pink.  Old disco records spun on the vintage DJ record table and filled the crates piled around the couch.  There was plenty of room for the whole DJ setup too because Matt’s brother’s house, a large proper house, mind you, not an apartment, was nearly empty. Books were stacked here and there. A small couch sat in the middle. Otherwise, nothing.  Just a house full of disco records, bearded chefs, and me.  One of the chefs I talked to practiced Jiu Jitsu in his off time. He taught me how to choke him out and then tried to trick me into full-on knocking him out with a sleeper hold. 

I talked more with Jonas, the DJ with the tight little butt, about his pizzeria before getting swept away by Matt again, that Angel Head. But that didn’t stop Jonas from tying to kiss me at the end of the night, which I was too surprised by to even know if I’d want to return the affection.

When the clock hit 3:15am, I left the party, took an Uber to get my bag at my brother’s, and then took another Uber to the airport, boarding my plane at 4:30am.  I fell asleep immediately upon sitting down in the airplane, a smile plastered on my face.

[taz-writes]

I was scrolling through your blog and saw something about a mermaid incident in class... date I ask for the story behind that?

I will absolutely tell you the story behind that, because it is equal parts baffling and hilarious, even now an entire year later. 

It begins… with my creative writing minor. Last fall I took a class called Survey of Forms: Fiction, which was an introduction to the canon of literary fiction, as well as literary fiction writing and basic style skills like characterization, narrative voice, dialogue, et cetera. Sounds pretty typical, right? Well, my professor was a fun guy, and one of our assignments around the middle of the semester was to write a rant. What sort of rant, you may ask? Literally anything. It was an exercise in narrative voice, he wanted 2-4 pages of a first-person tirade on something that you had strong opinions about, to be read out loud in class the next week. We had the option to write as a character from our short story WIPs or to write as ourselves. 

I chose to write my rant about a subject very near and dear to my heart: mermaids. Specifically, how much I fucking hated them as a child.

A bit of backstory, so you can understand why this got me so incredibly riled: I’m all about fairies. I was the fairy kid. I literally thought I was a fairy princess from outer space until I was, like, 11 or 12 years old. I wanted to have cool magic powers and sparkly wings and all that good stuff! I wanted to fly! I wanted to live in the forest and grant wishes! But like, mermaids are and have always been way more popular. If you’re a little girl who loves mermaids, your options are everywhere. You’ve got mermaid TV shows! Mermaid movies! Mermaid book series! Mermaid-themed makeup, mermaid-themed clothing, mermaid-themed Halloween costumes and lunch boxes and merchandise, mermaid stuff is everywhere. If you’re a little girl who loves fairies… you get, uh, Winx Club? Barbie Fairytopia? And maybe some Disney stuff if you squint. This was before even those Tinkerbell movies went mainstream, and if you were (like me) the sort of tomboy to frown at pink ruffly stuff, then you had absolutely NOTHING. 

And for bonus points, every single one of those fairy things I mentioned? Yeah they have mermaids in them. And the mermaids got overmerchandised, while the fairy MAIN CHARACTERS were neglected. Winx Club has a whole mermaid season, Barbie Fairytopia has mermaids and got a freaking mermaid-based sequel and never did justice to the actual fairy protagonists until long after I’d outgrown Barbie media. So like, I’m salty. I literally started writing Feilan because I was tired of every story with fairies being either immature Disney shit for 5-year-olds or edgy grimdark YA novels with too much kissing and inappropriate language for baby 12/13-year-old Taz’s tastes. I wanted something in between–fairies who weren’t stupid little glittery farts, but who didn’t spend all their time being ~evil and sexy~ or whatever either. If you like mermaid stuff, you can find a zillion different interpretations of merfolk lore, but despite the vast breadth of fae lore the fiction inspired by it only has two real subgenres. Fairies just aren’t as popular. I think they’re coming back a little bit because of SJM and Holly Black, but I HATE SJM’s fae and Holly Black’s are unbearably edgy, so that’s not really a good thing? 

On top of this, I am the type of person who clings very tightly and personally to minor things that aggravate me. I’m not sure why, and I wish that wasn’t the case, but at this point I’ve accepted it as part of my personality. It’s very rare that I find something I’m quite so passionately mad about, but when I latch onto a pet peeve I take it seriously. You can’t argue with me about the meaningless petty grudges, those are my lifeblood, and the mermaid thing is one of the oldest pet peeves I have. 

Back to the topic! The rant I wrote for Survey of Forms was the above tirade, expanded over several pages with sources cited. I was pretty proud of it! I came up with some really brutal turns of phrase, I thought my ~authorial voice~ was top of the line, it was a good rant. Time rolled around for us to share our rants with the class, and I gave a fabulous dramatic reading. My comedic timing is one of my strengths as an actress. 

Everything went as normal for the next few rants… and then, one of my quieter classmates began to read his rant. It sounded fine for the first few sentences, a discussion of traditional elements and their thematic associations okay whatever… but it became increasingly obvious, as he went on, that this wasn’t what he’d written. No, he was improvising a speech on the spot, because he was SO upset that I didn’t like mermaids that he had to tell me exactly how and why I was wrong about my entire worldview. 

In public. In front of our ENTIRE CLASS. 

He explained how mermaids belong to elemental water, and they’re valuable to modern society. See, water is the element of empathy and compassion, and those things are so rare in modern American society! It was almost a year after the 2016 elections, and our politics were so vicious and divisive, and the influence of water’s empathy was dwindling and he could see it burning through society! An over-emphasis on elemental air and its transience was leading to the rise of fake news and misinformation and alternative facts, elemental fire led to rage and passion and an inability to think logically, and we needed water to balance everything! So in fact, we need more mermaid stories! Because mermaid stories teach us to feel empathy! And the lack of water’s empathy, this growing hatred of mermaids (and by extension anything water-based)–that was the reason America was falling apart! That’s why Trump was elected! Because… uh, because I don’t like mermaids? 

Yeah, this guy basically implied that I was the reason Trump became president and the media devolved into vitriolic chaos. Because I don’t like mermaids. 

I couldn’t make this shit up on my own if I tried. 

I was absolutely livid, a friend of mine in the same class told me I turned redder than my scarlet school hoodie. I’ve never had the best anger management skills, I was literally shaking in my seat, I was inches away from flipping the table I sat at. I probably would’ve done it, too, if my classmate hadn’t put her boiling hot cup of soup down on it without the lid on. One of the lovely side effects of my ADHD is that sometimes when I get upset, my brain gets so hyperfocused on that one emotion that I’m physically incapable of feeling anything else or even thinking straight, and I can’t snap myself out. Those rages are terrifying. This was one of the worst rages I’ve ever experienced in my life, and I thanked my lucky stars later that I didn’t hurt somebody. I did get to scream at the guy for a couple minutes, but I don’t remember what I actually said. It involved a few physical threats and a lot of being embarrassed in front of my peers. 

Anyways, the professor didn’t even stop this guy, because–like everyone else–he didn’t realize what was going on until it was too late. And once he realized, I guess he froze up or something? I don’t know. I lost my fucking mind about this, I went into my next class and screamed for like fifteen minutes. My poor Music History teacher was so confused. 

The Survey professor emailed me and asked me to stop by his office later, and I thought I was going to get lectured for throwing a fit in class. I used to throw a lot of tantrums in grade school and even when I grew out of that, I was always the person blamed when an argument or fight broke out with me involved, so I had some muscle memory… the professor actually wound up apologizing. He told me he just didn’t know what to do in the moment, and he was really nice about it, and by then I’d calmed down enough that I wasn’t literally frothing with rage. It was very very surreal. I felt quite validated. 

Mermaid guy wound up writing me a length apology email. I’m pretty sure the professor put him up to it. He went on to explain that he was from Singapore and he was raised right by the water and so it was really important to him, his culture has some kind of mermaid thing that he’s emotionally attached to, et cetera… He seemed very sincere about it, so I accepted the apology, but I still have no freaking clue what possessed him to derail the entire class in order to argue over my goofy childhood grudge. It’s hilarious in retrospect, I just can’t even begin to understand the logic. I still have that email saved because it was so mind-blowingly absurd. 

So yeah, that’s the Mermaid Incident. I wish I could say it went down in university history but I’m not sure if anyone remembered it longer than a week or so after it happened. Nobody ever mentioned it again. 

And despite said classmate’s best efforts, I still have a grudge against mermaids. They’re very nice in their own dedicated media, but if I see them popping up like plot cancer in stories you told me were about fey? I will come for you. 

[sphor-art]

NINJAGO CURSED AU

oof here it is finally: a little background on my cursed au

its pretty long so im going to put it under a cut

Once upon a fucking time, a few months ago, my brain shat out this idea that basically went “what would happen if ninjago actually had real world physics”. A few minutes of thinking resulted in the answer “not good, probably death”. So knowing that, here’s an entire au based off of pain and suffering :)

Presenting: the NINJAGO CURSED AU

(disclaimer: some things in this au might change cause of shenanigans, shitposting and you guys sending in ideas. So this is just a kind of general outline)

>> the “story” starts with the sad loner with an undefined name (the cursed variant of the FSM). he lived in Ninjago (the country), with a oligarchy about as fair as the american voting system. The gov consisted of the ancestors of the elemental masters we all don't really know and kind of love. The voting system was kinda messed up cause not many people really wanted to go against someone that could obliterate you and your family in a split second. So yeah, the gov stayed with the original ems ruling over Ninjago, doing a.. mediocre job. Like most oligarchies, the people weren't very happy about the way things were going-- the “FSM” included. (lets just call him something easy like uh.. Jim.) Jim was special though-- he was super salty. Y’see Jim used to be part of the gov but was being an ass to the other ems, so they just booted him out of power and hoped he didn’t come back. Jim however, comes back anyways. Because Jim doesn't care about what the ems think is or is not possible.

Before that tho, old man Jimmy here needs to figure out a Scheme™ to get back at the other ems. And what idea he formulates was probably one of the worst ideas in Ninjago history (he doesn't know that yet but i don’t think he cares either). So what he plans: 1. Find a djinn; 2. Curse the other elemental masters because curses sound cool and stuff; 3. Profit? He didn’t really think it through.

So you have this old man with a terrible plan, possessing the aid of a being of really  powerful being, barging into the congress and rubbing his little lamp, screaming his little curses. A wonderful sight to behold, honestly. As we all can tell, the first step of this little plan is already.. slightly problematic. Take a wild guess what the heck happened after jimmy here wished for all the other EMs to be cursed. well. a lot of things happened. mostly bad.

First things first: jim didn’t specify exactly what kind of curse that these ems would get. So this djinn mclittle fuck just made being an elemental master a curse (so the ems that had the power now, and those in the future would all be cursed). Which btw kind of included himself. whoops? Secondly: you just destroyed the entire governing system you little shit. Either you have to step up, find someone to step up into a dictatorship rule, or just have Ninjago fall into anarchy. Of course you would deem yourself a dictator what kind of question is that?

>> timeskip, the original EMs are fucking DEAD. The curse is transferred to either the closest blood relative or a random unfortunate person. Mr jim here is still a little bitch, but somehow got laid and now has two kids who he passed his curse onto. You probably guessed it: its wu and garmadon. This old shit’s two less shitty sons.

Sometime after fuckhands mcjim decided came to power, and present day jim; he realized his mistake of full out cursing the ems cause now you have a handful of people causing natural disasters and shit. It's bad for reputation and economy. So jim goes out and hires a bunch of people (and snakes) to go find cursed people and bring them to him. Meanwhile, he shits out some propaganda targeting against the cursed folk to make them easier to find. Now here comes the question “what the fuck do you do with these captured ems?” good question because jim didn’t really know at the time. So he went for the best option he could think of: murder. Ok well.. Not murder murder, more of-- destroying the physical form of a person and containing their powers in this cool Crystal he found. This went well until he came to the realization that he could always save a few special ems and exploit their powers individually.  He set up a testing facility, working on not-so-ethical experiments on certain ems. I could get into the specifics on this stuff in another post or else this post gonna get even longer than it already gonna be.

So, now onto the garmabros. In this au, wu is way less of a bitch than in canon. Thankfully. While garmadon still kept the same world views as jim, allowing him to co-rule ninjago, wu didn’t agree with most of the things that his bro and dad thought were fine. Jim was a shitty dad so he kicked wu out (wow sounds familiar from stuff above huh? Jim don’t you ever learn from stuff that happened in the past?). Wu is pretty salty from that so he goes into seclusion and builds a temple for himself so he could learn how to control his curse of creation. He stays in there, doing meditations and writing fanfiction or something for a few years until one day, while going shopping for stuff, a huge storm hits. Seems dramatic right? Big plot is gonna happen thats why. u would think it was some sort of Big Evil but in reality its a random fucking fart gremlin getting beat up in an alleyway and forming a tornado. Oh wait thats morro. So wu was like “holy shit kid what the fuck” and took him in as a pupil, lowkey adopted him, and taught him how to control his curse. After some time with morro, wu remembered that there are still other ems out there that need help, and became an official Cryptid Hunter. (cryptids since the ems were so excluded from society with huge governmental manipulation that they basically existed as faceless creatures that most people hated.) 

after that, wu just went around tracking down other ems and tried to convince them to join him so they dont fucking die

thats basically it tbh, if you have questions about any of the ems just send in an ask

[living-lucid-dream]

Happy 4/13!

It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything Homestuck-related. What better day to change that than today? What I’m trying to say is: here, have some random snippets from a maybe-sequel to Straw Soldiers.

> Vriska: Distress call

arachnidsGrip [AG] began trolling gallowsCalibrator [GC]

AG: Terezi!!!!!!!! AG: Thank fuck you are online 8ecause I am having a serious crisis. AG: I’m talking all hands on deck, all points 8ulletin sort of 8ullshit. AG: Terezi? AG: Come on, will you SAY SOMETHING already? AG: This is an emergency and you are my only chance at keeping everything from going to complete shit. AG: I swear to god I am not exagger8ing when I say that I am fucking dying here!!!!!!!! GC: HUH GC: TH4TS STR4NG3 GC: MY NOS3 DO3S NOT D3T3CT 3V3N TH3 F41NT3ST WH1FF OF D3C4Y1NG FL3SH GC: 1T 1S P1CK1NG UP ON3 H3FTY P1L3 OF M3LODR4M4 THOUGH >:/ AG: OK, OK. So may8e I’m not dying right this second—8ut I will 8e if you don’t do something for me, and I mean pronto. GC: UH-HUH GC: 4ND WH4T 3X4CTLY 1S TH1S 4LL3G3DLY L1F3 S4V1NG M4N3UV3R YOU 3XP3CT M3 TO DO? AG: First, I need you to answer something for me. GC: OK, SHOOT AG: How long have we known each other, exactly? GC: 1 DUNNO GC: F1V3, S1X SW33PS? GC: WHY? AG: Five or six sweeps. Practically our whole lives! AG: I mean, 8y now we’re pretty much o8lig8ed to help each other out in times of dire need and you’ve got to know that I wouldn’t ask for help with anything unless I was really, truly desper8. GC: UGH, TH3 M3LODR4M4 GC: 1T BURNS! AG: Hey, I am 8eing totally serious! AG: Geeeeeeeez, Pyrope. I come here hoping to get a little help from my lifelong 8osom 8uddy and all you can do is give me a 8unch of salty attitude. AG: If that’s the way you’re going to 8e then may8e I won’t 8other to ask you for anything after all. GC: JUST T3LL M3 WH4T YOU W4NT AG: Now that’s the spirit! AG: All right. So the thing I’m going to ask you to do may not sound like much, 8ut 8elieve me it is a very 8ig deal. AG: I need you to talk some sense into Peixes for me. GC: >:? GC: 4BOUT WH4T? AG: Somehow she got it into her pan that it would 8e a good idea to make me go all the fuck 8ack to Alternia and pick up Tav8utt and wonder clown. AG: I’ve tried reasoning with her 8ut she is 8eing a stu88orn 8rat and pulling rank on me. GC: SORRY TO S4Y 1T BUT 1 F41L TO S33 HOW 4NY OF TH4T QU4L1F13S 4S L1F3 4ND D34TH AG: Trust me, it is. GC: HOW SO? AG: 8ecause I will die of 8oredom! AG: Can you even imagine me, stuck on a ship for god knows how long with no8ody 8ut Toreasnore and Gamzee for company? AG: 8oriiiiiiiing! AG: I mean, the two of them don’t have a pair of 8rain cells 8etween them! GC: 1 4M SUR3 YOU W1LL SURV1V3 AG: What? So you’re not going to do anything at all to help me???????? AG: I’ve seen you do some pretty ruthless shit, 8ut releg8ing your good friend to dork squad shuttle service? AG: That’s cold ::::( GC: 1 4M SUR3 1T WONT B3 TH4T B4D GC: B3S1D3S 1 TH1NK 1T W1LL B3 GOOD FOR YOU GC: GR34T FOR BU1LD1NG CH4R4CT3R 4ND 4LL TH4T J4ZZ AG: “8uilding character” my ass. You just want to see me suffer. GC: ME? N3V3R >;] GC: H4V3 4 S4F3 TR1P GC: OH, 4ND DON’T TORM3NT T4VROS TOO MUCH AG: You know I will ::::p

arachnidsGrip [AG] ceased trolling gallowsCalibrator [GC]

  > Future Vriska: Distress call

arachnidsGrip [AG] opened memo EMERGENCY READ NOW!!!!!!!!

arachnidsGrip [AG] invited apocalypseArisen [AA] to memo arachnidsGrip [AG] invited twinArmageddons [TA] to memo arachnidsGrip [AG] invited carcinoGeneticist [CG] to memo arachnidsGrip [AG] invited arsenicCatnip [AC] to memo arachnidsGrip [AG] invited grimAuxiliatrix [GA] to memo arachnidsGrip [AG] invited gallowsCalibrator [GC] to memo arachnidsGrip [AG] invited centaursTesticle [CT] to memo arachnidsGrip [AG] invited caligulasAquarium [CA] to memo arachnidsGrip [AG] invited cuttlefishCuller [CC] to memo

AG: Come on, you useless 8unch of laya8outs! Get your asses in here! AG: Aaauuuuuuuugh! Where is every8ody???????? AG: Is this not getting through to any of you? AG: Fuck it, I can’t tell so I’m doing this regardless. AG: My ship has 8een attacked. AG: There have 8een losses and no, I am not detailing what those losses are right here 8ecause this is humili8ing enough as it is. AG: The long and short of it is: I’m stranded and I have no idea where the hell I am exactly 8ut I do know that I am drifting somewhere 8etween Earth and Alternia. AG: I am pretty sure I can safely classify the situ8ion as “in dire need of a relief shuttle right fucking now.” AG: Hello? AG: Is any8ody getting this???????? AG: Come on, some8ody ANSW8R ME, ALR8DY! AG: G8DDAMN 8T!!!!!!!!

arachnidsGrip [AG] left memo

  > John: Pester Dave

ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

EB: dave! EB: you there, buddy? TG: yo EB: geez, you’ve been mia for like four days now. Where the heck have you been? TG: shit dude TG: ive been laying lower than a teenage mutant ninja turtle chilling in the new york sewer TG: slinking around like the stealth phantom lovechild of batman and solid snake EB: oh. so the paparazzi are after you too, huh? TG: yeah EB: that sucks. TG: eh TG: for a while i was thinking about mooning them just to see how hard they pissed themselves trying to go all national geographic on my ass TG: then i realized that there was like an eighty billion percent certainty that my ass would just end up getting trotted out on fucking tmz or some shit TG: now national enquirer TG: i would be down with seeing my ass on the front page of such a fine publication TG: but tmz TG: no way TG: daytime tv is not ready for the strider ass TG: so me and aradia gave them the slip and they fell for it harder than bambi on ice TG: havent seen one of those fuckers in almost a week now EB: lucky! they’re all over me and karkat. EB: seriously, it’s like a freaking lightning storm every time i open the front door! EB: it was kind of funny at first but now it’s just…ugh. EB: hey, wait a sec! EB: you said you were with aradia? what are you guys doing? TG: we are going full-on magical mystery tour to find all the weird ass dead things the good old usa has to offer TG: we already hit up the mutter museum TG: it was the shit TG: never saw so many dead things in jars all in one place TG: made my collection look like some messy amateur shit TG: like their stuff is triple black diamond pucker up and kiss your ass goodbye caliber and my stuff barely even qualifies as a bunny slope for toddlers TG: oh and aradia and i pooled our cash and adopted a skull because who doesnt want to say that they are the proud daddy of a newborn 200 hundred year-old skull EB: jesus, sometimes i forget how weird you guys are. TG: hey the strider cool cocktail might not go with everything but at least its never boring TG: anyways im pretty sure we are going to be creeping around your neck of the woods in a couple of weeks TG: we should hang if you and karkat are going to be around EB: cool! EB: we’ll be here. EB: unless karkat’s got one of his pt sessions. EB: but then we’ll be back in like two hours, so yes! we’ll be here. TG: speaking of vantas TG: how is shouty mcqueen doing these days TG: that guys been more elusive than a shiny pokemon since you guys got home EB: he’s fine. EB: he just has a hard time with typing. and tying his shoes. and…lots of things, actually. TG: shit TG: i thought they said his hands were fixed EB: depends on the they you’re talking to, i guess. EB: terezi brought him a new phone, though. EB: it has voice-to-text for english and alternian. EB: jade and sollux made it for him, or at least i think that’s what terezi said when she gave it to him. EB: my alternian still sucks so i’m not sure. EB: anyways we’re about to have breakfast now so i should probably go. TG: ok TG: later ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

 > Future John: Pester Dave

ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

EB: dave! EB: are you there, buddy? EB: dave, come on. EB: this isn’t funny. EB: you’re really freaking me out here. EB: dave, please. EB: you need to answer me now! EB: jesus christ.

ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

> Future Karkat: Contact loving matesprit

carcinoGenticist [CG] began trolling gallowsCalibrator [CG]

CG: OK, YOU’VE HAD YOUR FUN. CG: NOW WIPE THAT SHIT-EATING GRIN OFF YOUR FACE AND STOP THIS BULLFUCKERY RIGHT NOW. CG: I KNOW THIS DISTANCE MATESPRITSHIP THING SUCKS HARDER THAN THE MOTHER GRUB’S SLURRY ACCEPTING ORIFICE. CG: BUT IF THIS ISN’T WORKING FOR YOU THEN YOU NEED TO TELL ME INSTEAD OF, YOU KNOW, IGNORING ME FOR TWO WEEKS. CG: JESUS FUCK, TEREZI. CG: I’D EXPECT THAT SORT OF SHIT-RINSING PISSBABY WAY OF HANDLING THINGS FROM PAST ME BECAUSE PAST ME IS A PAIL-SWILLING FUCKWIT WITH THE FANTASTIC ABILITY TO MAGICALLY LOSE HIS GLOBES WHEN SHIT GETS REAL. CG: BUT NOT FROM YOU. CG: I DON’T EVEN KNOW IF YOU OR SOLLUX ARE ALIVE BECAUSE GUESS WHAT? CG: NEITHER ONE OF YOU HAVE DEIGNED TO SEND ME SO MUCH AS A “HI, KARKAT JUST POPPING A SQUAT TO SHIT OUT THIS TURD OF A MESSAGE SO YOU CAN STOP WORRYING THAT WE BOTH DID SOMETHING PAN-NUMBINGLY STUPID LIKE DROWN IN THE LOAD GAPER; TALK TO YOU LATER YOU FART-BRAINED IGNORAMUS.” CG: THERE. CG: SEE? CG: WAS THAT SO HARD? CG: HELPFUL HINT: EVEN THE FART-BRAINED IGNORAMUS WITHOUT FUNCTIONING OPPOSABLE THUMBS MANAGED IT IN A SPHINCTER-RANKLING 60 SECONDS. CG: I GET THAT YOU AND SOLLUX ARE BUSY ON FEFERI’S FREE THE HELMSMEN CRUSADE AND YEAH, IT’S KIND OF A BIG FUCKING DEAL. CG: AND I GET THAT COMPLAINING ABOUT IT MAKES ME LOOK LIKE A SELFISH, BULGE-FLAPPING ASSHOLE. CG: BUT BEING THE PARANOID FUCKTARD WHO SEES SUPER EXCITING TORTURE FUNTIMES WITH CONDESCE AND FRIENDS ON INFINITE REPEAT EVERY FUCKING TIME I CLOSE MY EYES, I’M STARTING TO GET THIS NUB-TICKLING IDEA THAT SOMETHING MIGHT BE WRONG. CG: I KNOW IT’S STUPID AND I’M PROBABLY STOMPING INTO PALE TERRITORY WITH A PAIR OF STEEL TOE COMBAT BOOTS WITH “FUCK YOU CAPTOR” EMBLAZONED ON THE TREADS BY SAYING IT, BUT THERE IT IS. CG: THE STINKING SHIT PELLET OF TRUTH HAS DROPPED AND IT CANNOT RETURN TO THE WASTE CHUTE FROM WHENCE IT WAS PINCHED. CG: TEREZI, PLEASE. CG: JUST TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON.

CarcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling gallowsCalibrator [GC]

 > to be continued...(?)

[hunchbearing]

Yar (Something I Wrote in High School)

Looking forward, I see a giant mouth; a top blue lip of sky and a bottom blue lip of water.

Looking starboard,  I see a giant mouth; a top blue lip of sky and a bottom blue lip of water.

Looking port, I see a giant mouth; a top blue lip of sky and a bottom blue lip of water.

Looking sternwise, there’s a large ship with light gray flapping sails and dark gray paint on the hull. 

Oozing around the deck is a gaggle of limping, sunburned fools. 

My name is Tony, and I’m a pirate. 

My crew is the craftiest group of sour, salty worms to ever drift around this big blue bowl called the Atlantic. Cap’n Mutt’s crew, I should say. I am no poop deck scrubber, however. I’m the first mate. Well, the first mate when the other fifteen first mates die, anyway.

Our vessel is called the Dynamite Explosive Awesome Thrashing Hellforged Rascally Atrocious Bloody Bane of the Indian Trader. The acronym that comes to mind, DEATHRABBIT, is never used, because it was completely unintentional, not that Mutt would ever admit it. For the sake of saving time, however, I’ll use it. 

The DEATHRABBIT’s crew is what makes the British navy shiver while it sips its tea, and with very good reason. This old floating wasps’ nest has turned fifteen of those lily baskets into floating piles of lit matches just this week. Oddly enough, though, a lot of people claim to pray for us! They pray for us to sink back to hell where we belong. I know because King George left us a lovely letter on one of his many ill fated ships.

People I meet constantly ask why I do what I do. Truthfully, I ask myself the same thing in the mirror every morning. Then I see something shine in the corner of the mirror. It’s a five foot heap of doubloons on a Persian carpet with naked women laughing and playing in it. It doesn’t take long to remember at that point. 

Of course, I wasn’t always in this line of work. I was just a simple, normal butcher working my way through the Meatman’s Academy. 

Then one day, the pirates came to town.

They hurled small bombs and shot bulletholes into the buildings like freckles. While dazedly running in circles in almost total blindness, I saw through the smoke. I saw the silhouette of a man. He was like a statue of a god, just standing with his fists on his hips. A slumped, grunting chap ran up to him and dropped a jingling bag into his hand. Under the hat-man’s other arm came the gorgeous figure of a female, a woman from my own bloody town. The guy never even turned his head! My mouth was agape until the smoke cleared and I saw that the man in the hat was looking at me. Captain Mutt himself. His scarred, pocked face may as well have been a beacon of light. He nodded at me, and I followed without a thought. I left my stupid normal wife, my stupid normal house, and my stupid normal taxes behind forever, never shedding a tear over it. I was born for this stuff. 

Anyway, the action started on a typical calm morning at sea.

I had lookout duty that day. Cap’n Mutt expects us to diligently sit with the muscles of one eye socket clamped around the narrow end of an 8-foot spyglass for six consecutive hours or more. That’s rarely what occurs. One would think that pirates leap at the chance to do the ship’s one sit-down job, and one is wrong. It’s boring. Such work makes a man’s mind softer and eyes duller than a barrel o’grog. To help pass the time, us lackeys have conjured up a few games. 

One is called Butt Crack Countin’, which is self-explanatory. Another is called Hawkey, where you try to spit all the way across a side of the ship. I was playing the latter when a cliche peg-leg pirate yelled from below that white sails seemed to be coming from the starboard horizon. Grimacing as I swallowed my aborted projectile, I snapped to the eyehole of the looking glass. A smile split my face when I saw the old fart was right.

Now, an enemy ship is nothing to celebrate about for anyone, but for the man in the nest, it means you get to use the Bell. The big black, loud bell that makes the ringer feel like a bear standing over an anthill. I reached straight up into the Bell’s rusty black depths and eagerly slammed the brass ball into the side like a mountain man with a deer’s skull. Every man on deck aside from the wheel warmer (Mutt only likes to steer when ladies are watching) ran below deck to prepare the cannons.

These battles with the Brits are always the same. It’s almost sad, really. The British are an ever-gentlemanly group. They insist on taking turns, then they make the most baffled faces when we unload a dozen cannons on them at once. It’s hilarious. Of course, it’s easy to imagine that the battles can get boring, and they do. Like in the crows’ nest, we get creative.

One popular game is White Flag Pop. We withdraw our cannons, stick our white underwear out of the holes, and when they parallel their ship to ours to walk their plank over here, we bring the cannons through the deck and shoot at close range to blow their vessel into hamster cage chips. 

My personal favorite game is Copycat. We put up a British flag in lieu of our own, dress in some of their long-since fallen comrades’ uniforms, and when they start asking us questions, we repeat what they say word for word, and as soon as they get angry, we throw bags of excrement at them, then shoot them and raid their jewelry boxes. 

This time, however, we decided to wing it.

The flags drew closer and we were still out of ideas. All the men were pitching their two farthings, saying we should throw our rotten apples at them, wear masks, give them the finger, and one guy even suggested shooting our livestock out of our cannons. Annabel and Eliza, my two girlfriends, both joined in to scold me for leaving the privy lid up, and I remarked that we should launch them to a land where someone cared about their lady times. While everyone laughed (except for the women, who stomped off after slapping me), I had not realized I’d just sealed my doom.

Us boys finally reached a consensus about the attack plan, and not a moment too soon. We decided to wait until they approached, put a crucifix flag up, dress in black, and pretend to be stranded ministers. The men with big beards were okay, but those of us with stubble had to shave, and we rushed to do it before they arrived. Some of us had to use swords, since straight razors weren’t often used on the ship. Indeed, we were committed to our hijinks. 

By the time I was shaven, I went back on deck in my black suit to see most of the other men with their game faces on, in costume and frantically waving to our “rescuers”. Shortly, the British ship floated parallel to our starboard side.

“Ello, ‘oly men!” The captain of the Brit vessel greeted from his deck. Lanky with a huge goofy grin, a huge goofy nose, and skin that refused to tan despite the ruthless sun.

“And hello to you, my son.” Cap’n Mutt said in a subtle, accent-less voice with his hands dramatically clasped behind his rear. “We seem to be in some trouble.”

“We can see that, sir! Looks like a bit of a sticky wicket! What seems to be the dilemma?”

“Oh, it’s silly. I’m rather embarrassed, but...” Mutt sighed with a half-smile. “We whipped all our slaves to death.”

“Oh my! Gee, sir! I hate when that happens, so I do! Them things ain’t cheap! But you can’t exactly ask them to not do something again, now can you? Ha! Ye can’t feed ‘em salt water, either! Well, we have plenty of slaves to go ‘round! You can borrow then while we escort your holinesses back home, how’d that be?”

Ted, Frank, and Joey, our three black pirates who naturally had to sit this prank out, were cursing under their breaths below deck with their fists clenched.

“My son, that would be divine. Get it? Divine? Because I worship a deity?” The entire crews of both ships heaved with laughter in a beautiful moment of unity before the Brits boarded the DEATHRABBIT. 

Each of us had our rapiers hidden down a leg of our loose pants. Soon every Brit was aboard with ten slaves coming along. Before they got the slaves acquainted with their new quarters, we made small talk for a little while, having no idea that two women were sneaking from the DEATHRABBIT onto the white-sailed Brit ship, the Gaylord Butterworthy. 

We were supposed to stall the pale officers, so we started singing hymns (in low voices so they would mistake our gibberish for Latin). Meanwhile, Eliza and Annabel let the remaining slaves on the Gaylord know they were the new commanders of the vessel, using two of my guns to enunciate their points. 

After singing the sixteenth chorus of “Jesus Gmlsi Dffftrd God Lfdces,” a familiar voice came from the deck of the Gaylord.

“Hello, you sorry blisters of the Atlantic! This is Captain Eliza Ruth Covington! I’m here to tell you that this ship is going with me and my first mate! And as for the ‘holy men’ among you, they are nothing but filthy pirates! They have swords in their pants and they have a drape over the ship’s label! You may have heard of it! The Dynamite Explosive Awesome Thrashing Hellforged Rascally Atrocious Bloody Bane of the Indian Trader! Toodles, boys! We now have our own bathroom for our “lady times!” Oh, and I hope you can swim!”

A cannon protruded from the Gaylord’s hull and fired a massive hole into the DEATHRABBIT’s belly before the women released their sails and drifted off. 

We were silent enough to hear their laughter even when they were a hundred yards away. Finally, we all looked at our foes and destroyed the ship as well as each other in the ensuing gory battle. In the end, only Cap’n Mutt and I survived, floating on a desk.

“Well, today was bad, eh?” I at last spoke.

“Quite,” Mutt answered. “If I die trying, if I have to paddle a thousand miles, which is very likey, I will kill Eliza and Annabel. Are you with me, boy?”

“Actually,” I said as I drew my cutlass, “It’s captain now.” 

In one swing, I sliced off Mutt’s head and placed his hat on my head. I smiled, enjoying the feel. “Captain Tony Baloney. Has a nice ring to it,” I mused as I began to paddle west.

[zrtranscripts]

Season 6, Mission 29: Drop it Like it’s Hot

Collateral damage

[briefcase beeps]

SAM YAO: All right... all right. You're in the house of one of Sigrid's generals, and he's due back any minute, and you need to get a look at those invasion plans, and the briefcase is going to explode. 

But okay, I have an idea. Can't we just - get this - take the plans out of the briefcase and leave the case there? Run home with the plan, job done.

BRENT VALMONT: If we let this case be discovered here, they'll come looking for whoever tripped the security. Did you use counter-surveillance techniques getting here?

SAM YAO: Um... we might have been accompanied by a salty Scottish woman on a custom bike. There could have been a flock of sheep involved.

BRENT VALMONT: Right... and for this to be useful, you need her to think you haven't seen the plans, don't you?

SAM YAO: I mean, yeah. But look, if we take it away, won't they know we - well, you know - took it away?

BRENT VALMONT: They'll definitely know if we leave it here. Anyway, we can't let this thing go off while we're in the neighborhood. Or at least, I can't. I have a reputation to maintain.

SAM YAO: Yeah, sometimes I can believe you're married to Amelia, actually.

BRENT VALMONT: Flatterer!

SAM YAO: Right. Well, I presume ANNIE has a plan.

BRENT VALMONT: Partial one. Still working out the kinks.

SAM YAO: Where's it start?

BRENT VALMONT: Five, we need to be down in the village square by the [ompah band before they finish their next song. We'll go across the roof and climb down. Come on, run!

[oompah band music plays, audience cheers and applauds]

NADIA AL HANAKI: Five, Valmont, over here! Hide with me behind this floral float.

BRENT VALMONT: Nadia Al Hanaki, what a delight! I don't believe we've met. I'm Brent Valmont, the UK's last remaining billionaire. And may I say how lovely you're looking?

NADIA AL HANAKI: Yeah, well, my last two boyfriends got killed, so be warned before you get any ideas.

BRENT VALMONT: Fair enough. ANNIE says we're looking for one person in particular: a man in a blue hat who is with General Victory. They're both judging part of the - what's that? - the well dressing. Um, ANNIE, old girl, check that again. Oh, no, I see it over there. English people covering a well in garlands of flowers and ribbons.

NADIA AL HANAKI: What's this bloke in a blue hat to us?

BRENT VALMONT: He's senior to the general, and if we play our cards right, he'll get us over the border. But we have a few assignments! I need to shake General Victory's hand and slip something into his pocket -

NADIA AL HANAKI: I can do that.

BRENT VALMONT: Can you?

NADIA AL HANAKI: He's less likely to recognize me than he is the world's last remaining billionaire, isn't he? I'll just pretend to topple off my bike and drop that - what is it? A transmitter? - into his pocket.

BRENT VALMONT: Fair enough! Five, we need to get a clear picture of that man in a blue hat for ANNIE. The brim is blocking her satellite images. ANNIE says we have no more than four minutes to get that picture if this is going to work. Run!

[crowd applauds]

SAM YAO: [laughs] Oh, look! Someone's won the Pin the Tail on the Donkey. [sighs] I actually love all this stuff, you know. Yeah, Olde England. I mean, if the people who were into it as well weren't so awful, I could be mates with them. We could do crown green bowls and dance around a maypole and stuff. Probably really enjoy dancing around a maypole. Well, get tangled up in the ribbon, to be honest. I'd enjoy that.

Right, Five! You're in position. If you duck out from behind that fence now, he's too distracted by judging the largest marrows to notice you taking his pic. [camera clicks] That's it, got him!

BRENT VALMONT: Good. ANNIE's got the pic, now. Identified the blue hat man. It's Denton, Sigrid's current chief of staff. And Nadia's planted the transmitter in General Victory's pocket. We need to get out of this village before anyone finds the hole in the wall of the general's house. Let's rendezvous at the checkpoint into Ministry territory over that hill. We're on the clock. Run!

[motor rumbles]

NADIA AL HANAKI: Are you sure this will work, Valmont?

BRENT VALMONT: You can call me Brent, you know. And no, you can never be sure. That's what makes it so much fun! [sighs] I can't believe I haven't given you a nickname yet.

NADIA AL HANAKI: My name's Nadia. In terms of nicknames, if I were you, I'd go with Nadia.

BRENT VALMONT: Nadia "Hot Stuff" Al Hanaki! Well, uh, you've got a face on you that could down a Learjet there, uh, Hot - uh, Nadia.

NADIA AL HANAKI: That's right. Look, we're coming up on the checkpoint now. Do your thing, Mr. Smooth.

BRENT VALMONT: Did you just give me a nickname? No one ever does that!

NADIA AL HANAKI: Just get on with it.

BRENT VALMONT: Uh, hello? [taps on glass] Hello? Guardsperson? [door opens] Hello, hi, yes -

GUARD: No one gets through here without ID. This is Ministry-controlled territory.

BRENT VALMONT: Yes, only this is rather urgent. It's on the strict orders of Admiral Denton. You remember Admiral Denton? Sigrid promoted him, her chief of staff. Wears a natty blue hat. Never actually was in the Navy, but what does experience matter these days? Known for stringing up subordinates by their toes.

GUARD: I know Denton.

BRENT VALMONT: Yes, well, if you do know Denton, you'll know that his one little problem is, well... stomach trouble. [whispers] Excessive farting. [out loud] Famous for it on the parade ground, I believe.

GUARD: I've heard that, yes.

BRENT VALMONT: Well, so, look. Admiral Denton's in a bit of a sticky situation, [laughs] as it were. I'm his, uh, head of wardrobe. Lady on the bike is his housekeeper. This is his personal physician, Dr., uh, Five. 

We are - look, I'm terribly sorry, but we're on a very urgent mission. There's been a... fart and follow through situation, do you get my drift?

GUARD: [laughs] Is that true?

BRENT VALMONT: 'Fraid so.

GUARD: Ventin' Denton's crapped his pants? [laughs] Oh, bloody hell, I've got about eight people I need to tell about this right now.

BRENT VALMONT: Oh no, no, no. Please don't! That would be a breach of a sacred trust! You can't tell anyone I told you, all right?

[security system buzzes]

GUARD: I'm buzzing you through. You were never here. I won't record you on the log. But is it really true?

BRENT VALMONT: It is really true.

GUARD: [laughs] This is the best thing that had ever happened to me! Please, go where you need, just get out of here.

[motor rumbles]

NADIA AL HANAKI: That the place, Mr. Smooth?

BRENT VALMONT: You're really going for it on this nickname, aren't you?

NADIA AL HANAKI: Don't dish it out if you can't take it, Smooth. I asked you a question. Is that gray, forbidding, almost Stasi-like building at the top of this hill our target?

BRENT VALMONT: It is, yes. My intel says that the guard on the front gate is allergic to peanuts, and that there's a jar of Skippy we could pick up in the kitchen half a mile -

NADIA AL HANAKI: We've no time for that, Smooth. I've a better idea. Five, Valmont, you hide behind those bushes. [foliage rustles, motor rumbles and backfires] Excuse me! Excuse me! Could you help me, please? I think there's something wrong with my bike!

SAM YAO: Nadia, what did you do?

NADIA AL HANAKI: [whispers] Yeah, they won't be able to work it out, either. [out loud] Help! Please! Something's gone wrong with my bike! I'll be stranded here if I can't get it started again!

GUARD: Aw, we'll get it going for you. Just let me take a look.

SAM YAO: Five, Valmont, the coast's clear. There's a window open on the ground floor of that building. Run!

[door opens]

SAM YAO: All right. I haven't got many cams in that building, but I've managed to access one outside the door of that office and one inside. [sighs] I think you're okay for now. 

There are five guards trying to help Nadia fix her bike now. I think I saw her pull some little nubbin off some bit of it. Uh, yeah, nubbin's the technical term there. So yeah, might as well get it open and photograph what we can.

[briefcase opens, papers rustle, camera clicks]

BRENT VALMONT: Excellent work there, Five. Meanwhile, we do need a plausible reason that this case has been brought back here. Let's see... ooh! 

[types on keyboard] "Pit Viper assassins captured at border led me to suspect that General Victory is a traitor. I ordered the briefcase returned to sector HQ. Will investigate Gen. Victory further. Signed, Denton."

SAM YAO: But won't Denton tell Sigrid that he didn't send that message?

BRENT VALMONT: Oh, I've left a small incendiary device in Victory's house. I meant just to use it just to cover my own tracks, but uh, ANNIE? Yeah. Denton and Victory just went into the house. We blew it up. Job done.

SAM YAO: That's cold.

BRENT VALMONT: Zombie apocalypse. Also, Denton and Victory were both actual Sigrid loyalists. But now she'll find a transmitter on them, and she'll suspect one or both were traitors.

And they were going into the house alone to review the documents, so no collateral damage among staff and so on. Everyone else is at the well dressing. Win, win, win!

SAM YAO: Right. If you say so. Five, how are the photos coming? Did I see the word Moonchild? Sigrid was friends with Moonchild back in the day, wasn't she? I guess it makes sense that if she wants to get to you, then Moonchild would help her. 

[sighs] I'm sorry, Five. We will work out how to fix this for you. I know it hasn't been easy. We've all... [sighs] heard the nightmares.

BRENT VALMONT: Someone's patrolling the corridor. They're coming closer.

SAM YAO: Yeah. Five, get as many of those photos as you can, and - yeah. Okay. When I say go, you need to climb out the window and run right as fast as you can, okay? Okay... now go!

[motor rumbles]

NADIA AL HANAKI: Look! Suddenly, it's working again! Thanks, everyone! I couldn't have done it without all 11 of you!

GUARD: Bye, Nadia! Nice to meet you.

SAM YAO: Five, if you wait behind that wall for a sec, they'll catch you up.

NADIA AL HANAKI: Well, they were nice, weren't they?

BRENT VALMONT: Really nice... to you. ANNIE said at least three of them should be considered extremely dangerous.

NADIA AL HANAKI: Oh no, they were sweethearts, weren't they?

BRENT VALMONT: To you. You ever considered a career in grifting? If we just head behind that wall, ANNIE's going to arrange a transport to neutral territory for us in a couple of minutes.

[motor rumbles]

NADIA AL HANAKI: Five, you got out okay! Good work! Okay, do you have those photos? 

[camera beeps]

BRENT VALMONT: [whistles] Wow. Sigrid's intelligence is better than I, personally, expected. Look at these. She knows about the Laundry. She's planning to turn the Exmoor Militia against you. 

And this thing here - she says she already has a 'gun' inside Abel, and can pull the trigger whenever she pleases. And the word 'gun' is in inverted commas, which makes it seem even more sinister, somehow! 

Oh, look at this, Legs! You get a whole section to yourself! Apparently, data about you was found on a ship due for demolition which "indicates that Moonchild is alive within the vessel, and will work with us against Abel. We have only to await the moment to summon her, and Runner Five will be ours." 

Yeah. Guys. Sorry to tell you - these aren't plans for an invasion of Abel. These are plans for Abel's annihilation!

[chroniclesofawkwardness]

Bleeders (Them Shoes)

I.

We’re not supposed to talk openly about going to the bathroom. It’s such a sensitive subject that children have their own lexicon for describing two things every single person on the planet does (number one or number two). Even a well-known producer of toilet paper has danced around the subject by composing a song about a booty smile in an ad for their ultra-soft product. Hell, even adults sometimes get caught using euphemisms like taking a dump, dropping a duce, or recycling water. The bathroom is supposed to be one of the last vestiges of privacy in a world where privacy is almost certainly dead. Personally, I tend to be very mission-oriented in the bathroom; I’m not much of a conversationalist. Unless somebody walks in on me mid-stream, I can usually get in and out of the water closet without too much trouble. That being said, sometimes confrontation is inevitable.

I used to love working nights. More money. Fewer people. No need to set an alarm in the morning. You might say I had a higher expectation of privacy. Still, this expectation was shattered one Friday night several months ago, when I visited the same bathroom I always used during my last break before the end of my shift. We humans are nothing if not creatures of habit. 

There was no way for me to avoid him. The middle-aged man was standing directly in front of the trash can that was just inside the door. I was already in mission-mode. It wasn’t critical, but I still had to pee, so I wasn’t in the mood for exchanging pleasantries.

I read in a book one time that if you think someone is planning on attacking you, it’s a good idea to attempt to throw them off by asking an innocuous question such as, “What time is it?” The hope is that they’ll be so startled that they won’t carry out whatever devious plot had been dancing in their head. For a split second, I thought about asking this man that question, but I remembered I was wearing a watch. All I could manage was a weak, “How’s it going?” 

I got an answer I neither expected nor wanted:

Man, I blew my nose and it just started bleeding.

Trying to contain my shock, I quickly thought of another innocuous question to attempt to defuse the situation:

Um… Do you need medical attention? I can call security. 

I knew some people got really bad nosebleeds. I’d woken up with a few as a kid, so the last thing I wanted was another just-a-flesh-wound situation from Monty Python unfolding right there on the blue and white tile floor. In response, the man said something else that caught me totally by surprise:

No. It’s okay. It happens to all of us. Everyone in my family; we’re all bleeders. 

He just walked away.

I felt an aneurysm coming on, what comedian Lewis Black said you might experience upon hearing the words, “If it weren’t for my horse, I wouldn’t have spent that year in college.” Fortunately, before the room started spinning, I came to my senses and remembered that I had to get back to work. My break should only last fifteen minutes. I chalked the encounter up to the randomness that I seem to attract on a regular basis and thought that was the end of the story. 

I was wrong. 

Fast forward about two months to approximately 9:00 P.M. on a Friday night in the dead of winter. You might wonder why I chose to go to the same bathroom again. I wouldn’t say the release was as cathartic as the one A Rumor of War author Phillip Caputo describes upon returning to Saigon, but like Caputo, I refused to let myself be defined by a bad experience. I went back to that bathroom because I had to. I had to know that I’d be okay, that I could experience my own literal release without the soundtrack of a stranger’s medical history to keep me company or make me sick to my stomach. 

I was standing at the sink washing my hands that night when who should appear in the bathroom but the man with the spontaneously bleeding nose. This time, his problem was at the other end. I barely had time to think before he launched into another bodily proclamation:

If I were you, I’d get out of here. Sorry for oversharing… It’s all this fiber.

Okay.

I went back to my desk wondering why I hadn’t just waited until I’d made it home to use the bathroom. There’s just something about the comfort of one’s home bowl. The freedom from judgment and the freedom of movement it affords are unmatched. I can stand as close to, or as far away from the toilet as I want, and I never have to hold it in, acting like everything is fine, when in reality I’m about to explode. What’s more, I certainly have more privacy than in a building with over ten thousand employees, and a housekeeping staff that clearly doesn’t give a fuck who they walk in on when they start their nightly tasks of cleaning toilets, occasionally emptying trash cans, and pretending to vacuum floors.

I haven’t seen the man with the penchant for nosebleeds and fiber consumption since the last of these two incidents, though I think of him whenever I spot a bottle of Metamucil on the shelf at my Kroger pharmacy.

Wherever he is, I hope he got the help he needed and left me out of it. 

II.

I don’t know why, but I’ve always had trouble getting shoes on and off my right foot. I could use a shoehorn, but I wonder if I’m too old to learn a new trick. When I was very young, I had a pair of braces for my legs, much like the ones a young Forrest Gump wore when he taught a young Elvis how to dance.

Unlike Forrest, if I’m going somewhere, I’m usually walking. Thanks to my pedestrian existence, I go through shoes pretty quickly, but I don’t always replace them in a timely manner when holes appear, or rocks get stuck in them. I’ve never been a big fan of spending money on myself unless it’s absolutely necessary, but this strategy sometimes comes back to bite me in the ass. A wholesale warehouse like Costco could be just the place to support my feet without breaking my bank. If I could be strong enough not lead myself into temptations all around, and wise enough to find my way without having to Hansel and Gretel that shit back to the entrance.  

Until recently, it had been years since I’d visited Costco. I hadn’t had a membership, so my only exposure to the Costco experience was in their bakery when a friend of mine and I went there to pick up a cake for a co-worker who was transferring to another department. My friend wasn’t happy with me during and after our trip because he was convinced I’d blown his chance to stalk the head coach of the local National Hockey League franchise throughout the store. All because I couldn’t find a pen to fill out the order form for the cake. 

I know it was him. The team is off tonight. We could’ve followed him around and gotten autographs, but SOMEBODY couldn’t find a pen. This is all your fault.

How can you be sure? All we could see was the back of the man’s head. Besides, if it was, the last thing he needs is a bunch of grown-ass, wannabe-Canucks fawning over him like teenage girls over Justin Bieber. Let’s just move on. I’m sure finding 500 ft. of aluminum foil or a 128 oz. jar of mayonnaise on sale will cheer you up.

I think my friend is still salty about the incident. 

Anyway, my mom had been talking up Costco for weeks prior to our visit. You’d think we were going to a place that held the promise of the Disneyworld of my youth, or a Barry Manilow concert of hers. It was so beautiful, she’d say, so full of the spoils of hollow, American excess (You won’t have to buy paper towels for six months. Isn’t that just wonderful?) that nothing could reverse the magnetic attraction to it that its patrons would naturally feel. Once we’d made our way through the massive sliding doors of this consumerist-culture theme park, a little old lady stopped us at the entrance and asked to see the membership cards we didn’t have. We could’ve easily overpowered her and run amok up and down the aisles, but we decided to play by the rules like blissful, ignorant cattle being led to slaughter, and stand in line for proof that we belonged.

Maybe the cattle secretly knew their lives would never be the same after they slipped inside the slaughterhouse. Maybe we knew our lives would change forever after we slipped inside Costco. We were just too excited about the possibility of buying whole peaches (whole fucking peaches!) in jars to care. I wish I’d asked the little old lady to take off her politeness mask so I could see who she really was. I feel the same way about Disney characters. What I wouldn’t give to be in the break room at Disneyworld on a Tuesday afternoon in the heat of July. I’d pay to see Mickey and Minnie Mouse without their costume heads, smoking cigarettes, carelessly farting, and dropping f-bombs like normal human beings. That’s a Disney fantasy I could buy into.

I first saw them after I’d selected ninety-six pencils for four dollars, and forty-four bags of popcorn for nine. Snow tracks. They were pieces of rubber speckled with spikes that remind you of the bottoms of golf shoes. They were supposed to provide enhanced traction on snow and ice. I hadn’t yet bought myself a pair of winter boots this season, so I needed something to combat the unpredictable Ohio weather in the meantime. The snow tracks cost about five dollars and seemed they’d be a good fit until my boots came in the mail. I should’ve paid more attention to the actual fit. The package said they were for shoe sizes 3.5 to 7.5. I wear a size 8. Close enough, I thought.

I was wrong (again).

When I got the pencils, popcorn, and snow tracks home, I ripped the snow tracks from their packaging like a kid opening presents on Christmas morning. I was convinced I’d found an inexpensive, long-lasting solution to a transportation problem I’ve faced every winter. If cars could have snow tires, the snow tracks were supposed to be my pedestrian equivalent, my way of telling Mother Nature to suck it.

III.

Sex.

  Now that I have your attention, keep reading. 

I’m hardly the first person to point out that we live in the age of toxicity. Toxic femininity. Toxic masculinity. If you boy into those ideas, you’d have to behave as if you were walking on eggshells everywhere you went. When you’d go about your daily life, you’d have to be careful. In many scenarios standards (whatever those are) of conduct, language, and presentation (to name a few) have gradually shifted from what a reasonable person would consider acceptable, to what the most sensitive among us can tolerate. We’ve been invited to neuter ourselves because someone, somewhere might be offended by something we say or do. God help us if we were cross that arbitrary, ever-shifting line into the offensive. Our lives could easily be ripped to shreds on social media, or dissected for all to see in the court of public opinion without so much as a word spoken in our defense.

What does supposed gender toxicity have to do with bleeding noses, impromptu descriptions of impending bowel movements, shoes, Costco, and sex?

Keep reading.

The first day I wore the snow tracks to work, they were unnecessary. But I  wanted to try them out before the weather got nasty. After I put them on and started walking somewhere other than the carpeted floor of my apartment, I felt like a dog or cat that seriously needed its nails clipped. I felt like I could tip over at any moment. You could even say the clickety-klack sound the snow tracks made as I walked was reminiscent of a newborn pony taking its first steps. In a way, I was learning to walk all over again. I probably looked as awkward if not more so than a newborn pony, whose difficulty with steps could be easily explained, if not expected. Mine, on the other hand, was caused by an invention so questionable it belonged on a Saturday afternoon infomercial (the playground of the gullible) or in heavy rotation on QVC (the playground of the elderly). 

I was really wobbling by the time I got to work. I had to walk on a tile floor until I got to the set of stairs that meant I was mere feet away from the relative stability of carpeting. When I made it to the stairs without tipping over, I felt triumphant in my badassery. Not only had I told Mother Nature what she could go do to herself, I’d subjugated my favorite flight of stairs. For the briefest of moments, there was nothing I couldn’t do.

Each morning, like clockwork, I’d feed my coffee addiction by making the short trek down the hall to one of the break rooms on my floor. I went from being off-balance on the tile to feeling like my feet were stuck in quicksand on the carpet. I felt like Marv (Daniel Stern) in Home Alone as he got his feet repeatedly stuck in what looked like tar as he trudged up the steps into what he hoped would be a final confrontation with Kevin McCallister. I didn’t have traction where I needed it and had too much where I didn’t. I got my coffee just fine, but noticed a problem when I got back to my desk. 

Fuck. One of the snow tracks came off one of my shoes. Now I’ve gotta Hansel and Gretel that shit back to the break room, and hope no one picked it up. In that case, I’d have only one, which won’t do me much good since I’ve got two shoes.

This was my first indication that the masculine drive I’d displayed by trying to fit something on the bottom of my shoe that wasn’t designed to fit there may have been misdirected. Fortunately, the solitary snow track was right where it had fallen off, twisted and sad, outside the entrance to the break room. I picked it up and carried it back to my desk. I was relieved, yet slightly terrified at not knowing who among my thousands of colleagues had seen what, or when.  

Whole again, I decided to remove the snow track from my other shoe, lock them in one of my desk drawers, and thank my lucky stars that a hyper-sensitive person hadn’t found it. If they had, so went my worst nightmare, they could’ve easily mistaken it for a medieval torture device, a sex toy, or both. This could have triggered a massive HR manhunt. I was the only person I’d ever seen wearing snow tracks so it wouldn’t take security too long to figure out whose it was. I mean, seriously, how often do you really look at a man’s shoes? Even though I had the snow tracks under lock and key, I’d already been peacocking to my co-workers about conquering Mother Nature that morning. I assumed one of them would cave, and point the finger at me as soon as one of our woke-up-like-this, my-uniform-is-three-sizes-too-big security guards applied even the tiniest bit of investigative pressure.

I didn’t think about the snow tracks until I could feel safe trying to put them on again, shortly after 5:30 PM that evening. I couldn’t risk being seen in the workplace wearing socks without shoes, so I decided to visit the same bathroom where I’d encountered Mr. Nosebleed, aka The Kellogg’s Cracklin’ Oat Bran Man. I refused to let him get the best of me, even if the competition between us was playing out exclusively in my head. I know now that should’ve just risked being accosted by an everything-is-a-trigger-warning coworker by sitting out in the open to take my shoes off and attach the snow tracks to them. Against the better angels of my nature, I opted for the blue and white tile of old familiar. For the first time in this nearly seven-year stint with my employer, I went into a bathroom stall. I chose one that was handicapable accessible at that because I knew I’d need a fair amount of room to maneuver. 

If one’s home bowl provides an unparalleled level of comfort, I don’t know why I expected the toilet in this unfamiliar, reasonably public bathroom to have a lid. As far as I knew, I’d taken a dump in a public toilet but once in my entire life. Avoiding stalls in public bathrooms had become one of my personal rules after seeing far too many movies and television shows where the hero inconveniently finds himself seconds away from a for-a-good time-call-Charlie invitation scrawled in expectant Sharpie on one of the stall walls. The exception that disproved my rule was only brought about by the extenuating circumstance of my having been on a plane for 8+ hours, trying desperately not to pass gas in a closed cabin full of strangers and recycled air. When the time came for me to finally let loose, it was dark. My mission-oriented self couldn’t see much in 2011, so 2019 me had no earthly idea what to expect from the moment the stall door slammed home.

I sat on the toilet to take off my shoes, only to be betrayed yet again by my right foot. I had to bend and contort my body into several unnatural positions just to take off my right shoe. Even if I’d returned to the practice of yoga as I’ve been telling myself to do for years, it wouldn’t have done any good. By the time I managed to pry my foot free, I was bent over on the toilet seat, face red, and gasping for air as if I’d just been through a CrossFit workout. Extracting my foot from my left shoe wasn’t any easier. I was thankful I hadn’t fallen in the toilet the first time, and I decided not to risk doing so again. I sat on the floor of the stall among crumpled up toilet seat covers with my back against a wall. I succeeded in removing my left shoe, but it was a Pyrrhic victory that left me sucking air again five minutes later.

I thought the hard part was over, but I soon realized that I hadn’t really accomplished anything. I still had to get the snow tracks on my shoes. I decided to try putting the snow track on my left shoe first since I always put my left shoe on first anyway. I didn’t have nearly as much trouble as I’d anticipated. This only served to imbue me with a false sense of confidence as I entered the battle on my right side. Standing now, in stockinged feet, I twisted and pulled that infernal rubber contraption every way I knew how. It wasn’t long before the confrontation reached a tipping point. In the heat of the moment, I looked down at my shoe and saw that the toe was bent in in a position from which it might never recover. 

Uh oh.

While admiring the shoe’s brush with death, I got so caught up in wondering how the hell I hadn’t destroyed it that I forgot to release the tension on the snow track caused by my desperate attempts to fit it over the bottom. Consequences be dammed, I kept pulling, and sure enough the shoe went flying out of my hand. I let out a simultaneous: 

dammit!  

as it flipped like a coin through the air. Even the staunch atheist in me prayed it wouldn’t land outside the stall. If someone had walked in to find my solitary shoe on the floor, I’d have had some serious explaining to do. Fortunately, it came to rest within the stall, right in the space between the floor and the bottom of one of the walls. It would’ve been easily visible to anyone who happened by. I scrambled to pick it up, and somehow managed to finally put the snow track on without losing a shoe, or an eye, in the process. Another Pyrrhic victory in hand, I did the clickety-klack catlike walk out of the building and homeward, praying I wouldn’t tip over like a little teapot along the way.

IV.

Education.

Not many things in this world make me truly happy. Whatever I’m doing, I’m often consumed by the notion that I’m wasting my time, and I should be doing something else. One exception is volunteering. I like to think that whenever I get out to give back to the community, I’m spending my time wisely, that my actions make even the smallest difference in someone’s day. Those feelings, those moments, are what make life worth living. That’s why I jumped at the chance to volunteer at a local shelter for youth in crisis.

I’d heard snow was in the forecast for that Saturday, so I put the snow tracks on my shoes, and called for a Lyft to take me where I needed to go. Upon arriving, my driver insisted that I get in the back seat. I complied. He said he was familiar with where I was going, and I babbled on about why I enjoy volunteering so much. I’ve given the same speech to two dozen or more Lyft and Uber drivers over the years. I don’t always mean to say the same things over and over, but at this point, I’ve got a streak going. 

As we pulled up to the shelter, my driver said something that caught me by surprise:

God bless you and your ministry.

Okay.

I don’t know why he thought I was religious, but I decided it wasn’t worth fighting about since so few things in this world really are. As I got out of his car and stepped onto the sidewalk, I felt the same naked feeling I had when walking back to my desk with a coffee a few days before. I looked down at my feet, and instantly knew what was missing:

Shit! My snow tracks came off again. They’re in the back of a stranger’s car, and he’s pulling away from the curb… 

I waved to the driver in a half-hearted attempt to get his attention. He probably thought I was waving goodbye, so he didn’t stop. I was dejected over the loss of my spikey companions, but I had a job to do. Need knows no season, after all. As the leader of our group for this particular event, I was the first to arrive. I asked our host to tell me more about the facility. Turns out, it’s a shelter where kids can go when their parents may have kicked them out of their homes, ripped up their birth certificates, or under any number of undesirable circumstances.  Typically teenagers, the kids there are in tough spots. I remember hating life as a teenager, but I was incredibly fortunate to never lose my home or my support system. I’ll never forget that. How could I complain about losing a set of bougie spikes I’d bought at a club where I was a member in the back of a Lyft that I paid to ride in by just tapping on my smartphone? The short answer is, I couldn’t.

But that doesn’t mean shit couldn’t still get awkward.

If I’m mission-oriented in the bathroom, I’m also a mission-oriented volunteer. I was so excited to get started that I didn’t even wait for more people to show up. I started attacking the living room almost immediately. I found several intermingled decks of cards and resolved to make each one whole again. After working my way through a few decks, I made my way to an end table in search of rogue Kings and Queens. The table had so many board games on it that I almost didn’t see the circular object on the floor beneath it. I thought it was a fallen game piece at first. I reasoned that if decks could lose their cards, games could lose their pieces. No matter how hard I try, a part of me will always be a leave-it-better than-you-found-it Eagle Scout, so I bent down to pick up the fallen piece. But it wasn’t a game piece at all.

It was a used condom.

I jerked my hand away as if I’d touched a hot stove, but I quickly realized that the damage had already been done. In one motion, I picked it up and threw it in the closest trash can. Inside, I was disgusted. Outside, I knew I had to remain emotionally unmoved. How could I expect a house full of teenagers and my fellow volunteers to keep their cool if I couldn’t? The short answer is, I couldn’t.

As the color of my face slowly returned to normal, I returned to my quest for prodigal cards. Along the way, I picked up a canister of Lysol and a rag and started disinfecting. In the midst of organizing the cards and board games, I came across at least five different remotes that had either been left to their own devices on the end table, or fallen between the cushions of the couch next to it. I picked up a random remote to examine it; I couldn’t believe it had just one button. In that instant, I felt technology had come full circle. I simultaneously felt longing for the days of A, B, Select, Start, and a directional pad on a Nintendo controller from the 80s, and gratitude that I wasn’t overwhelmed by the option paralysis of my first and only X-Box controller from the early 2000s.  

Somehow, in the midst of my button daydreams, I managed to turn on the television. I panicked, though not as intensely as before.

Great. This is the last thing we need… If the volunteer coordinator catches us with the TV on, we’re screwed. I don’t want anyone thinking we were being lazy, even if turning on the TV was an accident.

I looked out the window through the falling snow for signs of any important-looking adults. Once satisfied there were none on the horizon, I decided to turn off the TV with the same one-button remote I’d used to accidentally turn it on. I messed around with the button for a few seconds, and though I couldn’t get the TV to turn off, I did manage to jack the volume up to 60. To make matters worse, Netflix soon followed with its unmistakable Dum-Dum opening sound.

Fuck me. It’s bad enough that I turned the TV on, but now it sounds like I’m making myself at home surrounded by kids who don’t have one. I’ve already seen at least one Children’s Services worker in the house today to check on one of the kids. If I don’t turn off this damn TV right now, this could get ugly. No one wants to hear Maude Flanders scream “Won’t someone please think of the children” in a place where they’re supposed to be safe.

Since I couldn’t get the TV to turn off, or at least make a selection in time, Netflix did what Netflix does, and started playing the trailer of its featured show. As luck would have it, the feature that Saturday was Sex Education. I’d seen the trailer myself that morning, at home. But thinking of the hormonally-charged residents of the house, and my all-too-recent close call with a condom, I considered seeing it here to be the mother of all ironies. It’s a show about teenagers’ discovery of their sexuality, exacerbated by the fact that one of the teens’ mothers is a sex therapist. I knew this, of course, but I wasn’t horrified until the therapist spoke the trailer’s first words, to her son, which sent the following blaring throughout the house at volume level 60 in a British accent. 

I'VE NOTICED YOU’RE PRETENDING TO MASTURBATE, AND I WAS WONDERING IF YOU WANTED TO TALK ABOUT IT.

As she (unintentionally) bellowed that call to puberty to anyone within earshot, my entire time as a volunteer flashed before my eyes. Everything from my first event sorting food at the Homeless Families Foundation, to having an Uber driver tell me his GPS said I was in the middle of the highway, came washing over me. I was convinced that a hyper-sensitive adult, or some freshly-minted preteen who’d only recently embarked down the path of life’s most awkward phase, would ruin it all for me. I tried feverishly to turn the volume down as she spoke, but my fingers wouldn’t follow my commands. They just blindly grouped that stupid, singular button.

Shit…. Shit…. Shit….. No… No…. No…. Nooooooooo!!! We’re fucked now, for sure! They’ll never ask us to come back! Great job, Mr. Leader. 

Somehow, after a minute that might as well have lasted three years, I managed to turn off the television. I looked outside at the intensifying snowfall, and remembered my snow tracks were long gone. I was pissed off for a second, but I remembered that all I needed to do was ask someone for a ride in real life instead of just tapping a button on my phone. It’s redundancies that save you. 

I had some unexpectedly good (some might say bougie) French toast, coffee, and conversation at a place called The Crest after sprucing up the house and locking down the TV. At the conclusion of our meal, I called for a Lyft to take me home, and I managed not to fall in my own parking lot once I got there. 

My winter boots came in the mail on January 14, 2019, twenty-six years to the day my dear uncle Dave died. I’m not sure where or when he is, and I miss him like crazy sometimes. But I like to think that if he watched my struggles against Mother Nature and Father Time that weekend, he was laughing his ass off.

That’s another fantasy I could buy into.