#he probably would have a bone to pick with craig

[renamusing]

excited for dingle week cause i didnt think aaron would show up (which is hilarious bc he has steered clear of the place ever since he came back and will now get locked in there with all the people he cant stand atm) i just wish ed would style his hair again. i know ppl have bad hair days in soapland and our boy is angry and secretly depressed but i would sacrifice my firstborn to see his cute curls again yeah ?

[astrangetorpedo]

Julien Baker: Accomplish the Most with the Least

by Zachary Gresham | Photos by Nolan Knight

Julien Baker is more visible than ever. After her low-budget debut, Sprained Ankle, made nearly every best-of 2015 list, the 21-year-old Baker signed with Matador Records and went home to Memphis to record her next record at the legendary Ardent Studios. Turn Out the Lights was released in October of 2017 to massive acclaim from critics, and was met with extreme devotion from audiences. It is the rare record that one can wholeheartedly describe as both monastically spare and cinematically epic, putting her in the heady company of Tori Amos, Nina Simone, and Jeff Buckley. We caught up with Julien shortly after her return to Tennessee from a quick tour of Japan to talk about guitars, Ardent, Craig Silvey, reverb, and doing more with less.

Turn Out the Lights is really beautiful.

Oh, thank you!

I find it difficult to disconnect from it emotionally for a while after I've turned it off, which is the sign of a quality record.

That means a lot to hear. Thank you.

You made it at Ardent in Memphis, but you did your previous album, Sprained Ankle, at a studio in Virginia, right?

Yeah. Spacebomb Studios. Most of the songs on Sprained Ankle were recorded at Spacebomb, but there are two on there (two with percussion, "Vessels" and "Brittle Boned") that were recorded at Cody Landers' house. He's an incredible engineer.

Were you recording yourself before that?

When I was in high school, the band I was in [The Star Killers, later known as Forrister] put out a full-length [American Blues] album that we recorded entirely in Cody Landers' attic. We were all kids, and he took on this project because we were his friends. It was a labor of love, as well as a learning experience. We had no idea what to ask for and what sounded good. It's funny, looking back now on what we were trying to emulate.

What were you trying to emulate?

Well, Matthew [Gilliam] – the drummer and one of my closest friends – our biggest influences are probably Manchester Orchestra and Circa Survive. We wanted to sound big, bombastic, and theatrical, but with sinewy, reverb-y guitars. The other guitarist listened to Wilco, Guster, and folk-adult-rock. It ended up sounding half like Whiskeytown and half like Sunny Day Real Estate. Those are mixed very, very differently. Also, and this is true with youth, is that everything is more exaggerated. You want things as more drastic, colorful caricatures of themselves. I always wanted a 30-second reverb tail on my vocals. The guitars had to be super loud. Matthew had the biggest snare that was sold at the local music store, because everything had to be so powerful. A better way to put it is that it lacks taste or restraint. I learned so much every day, after school sitting in front of Cubase and crafting a record. Before I ever went to MTSU [Middle Tennessee State University], that's how I learned how automation works, why you track drums first, or why you don't want to put a whole bunch of reverb on the drum kit, even though it sounds cool as an idea.

You went to MTSU to study recording?

I did. I went to MTSU because they had a really notable and reputable recording industry program, but my thing was always live sound. There's an audio engineering major, and within that you can specialize in recording arts or live sound. I don't have the meticulous drive to pick apart a waveform in a DAW. I make my own demos, but they're simply for mapping out songs. I can't sit there and master forever. When I was a kid I learned how to use a PA, and then they would let me run the console at shows. I thought, "Well, I could do that. I know how to do simple circuits, so maybe I could work at a repair shop repairing guitars." I went to school to learn that, systems optimization, and building stages at festivals. But because we were all in the same program – all of my friends who were wearing their headphones around their neck and mixing at the campus Starbucks – those were the people who would say, "Hey, I have some extra studio time. Do you want to come in and record?" I think that it is important to keep yourself open to opportunities to gain experience.

You've got to get in there.

Hands-on experience taught me so much. I took so many classes on systems optimization, signal flow, and live sound mixing. But what taught me how to find my way in a live sound setting was doing sound for bands at venues. What taught me how to act, how to vocalize what I wanted, or the protocol inside a recording studio, was being able to spend that time. I think that's a good thing that MTSU gives you. There are resources on hand to take the theoretical knowledge from the classroom and apply it in a real setting. Otherwise, I couldn't have gotten to meet [engineer Michael] Hegner and do the first demos of what would eventually become Sprained Ankle. He was sitting in the library and asked, "Does anybody have a song they want to do? I've got a session in 30 minutes and no one to fill it." I was like, "Yeah."

Of course, you had to put the time into having a song.

I didn't think about that. Writing is always a compulsory thing, so I always have literally hundreds of voice memos.

Is that how you make your demos, just voice memos on the phone?

That's how I make the very first part; the writing process. If there's an idea while I'm playing guitar that I think is worthy of being explored, then I'll make a short little 1-minute voice demo and save it as "cool riff 85," or whatever. Then later it will be fleshed out as a song with placeholder lyrics. I finally took the plunge and got a real DAW. I use Logic now and I do those little MIDI things for keyboards. I can plug straight into a little one-input interface and have my actual guitar sounds from my pedalboard. Before that, I was using a straight-up 2005 Audacity program that I found. It was free. It looked awful. No hate on Audacity. But my version was so old.

It's a great program for cutting up samples.

Yeah. It's really limited. I guess that's how you learn. I was also using a Toshiba computer from 2006, because I held off for so long, saying, "I'm not going to buy a computer. This one works fine." It's so hard for me to give in and upgrade my gear, because I get used to working within the parameters I've become familiar with.

From that perspective, let's talk about going to Ardent Studios. Listening to the record for the first time, I kept waiting for the gigantic production to kick in. Almost all the songs have a moment where I thought, "Here it comes." But it never does.

It's really interesting to me that you say that. I felt self-conscious in the opposite way. I thought, "There're eight vocal tracks and strings, and my buddy's playing clarinet. This is so much." By comparison, it's much more expansive than Sprained Ankle. I was worried. I had this oxymoronic fear that it would be too similar to my past material and also too different, but not in the right ways. I wanted to have it be very dramatic – and have the parts that seem like soaring ballad climaxes – because I'm a sucker for that kind of dynamic. I think it's very emotive. But I also wanted to be careful that I didn't take so much of a maximalist approach that I weighed the song down, or it got to this critical mass where there's too much going on.

That's an incredibly mature perspective. I don't mean this because you're a younger person, but just in general. There are people who never get there.

Thank you. I'm going to acknowledge your compliment; I didn't take it as a thing about my age. But I agree. I think that restraint is such an important skill in music. For a long time when I was playing guitar in a band – and I think this had a lot to do with my insecurities about being a female in a male-dominated scene – but every time we played a show, I had to rip a crazy solo so that everybody knew I was "good." Still, one of my primary lurking fears about performing the material that I have today is that if I have a song that's three chords of quarter notes, everybody's going to be bored and put to sleep. But that's the challenge. Restraint is such an important thing. Just because you have every single color in your palette doesn't mean that every single color serves the painting. I think there are artists where the maximalist approach serves them well. When you think about a Bruce Springsteen record, like Born to Run. Or have you listened to Kimbra?

Yeah. A lot going on there.

Or St. Vincent. There are so many sounds; it's insane. But I think the challenge with my music is figuring out how to make it interesting while still leaving it pretty sparse. It's an interesting interplay. How many points of dynamic can you introduce into the song, as subtly as possible?

Do you go into recording feeling like you're going to do what you do live, but with a little extra?

There was this reciprocal relationship between the live and the recorded for this record. Another thing I wanted was not to say, "I don't know how I'm going to pull this off live, so I'm not going to explore this possibility." Now I do the weird play-guitar-and-piano-at-the-same-time. I decided if I wanted to have clarinet in there, then it'd be worth it to add clarinet. I think I was a lot more particular about the instrumentation on this record because I knew that it would be received in a different way. With Sprained Ankle, I was recording the songs as they had formed in my free time, using my looping pedal or whatever. With these songs, I sat down with a spiral [notebook] and mapped them out. I thought, "This song is tedious. What small embellishment can I add that will change the song enough to re-focus the listener's interest, without detracting or obscuring the totality of the song?" One of the best pieces of advice I've ever gotten was from Josh Scogin [of bands The Chariot and '68]. We were at a show, and we were talking about how The Chariot's records are so interesting. They'll have this incredibly heavy breakdown, but it'll be free with no time signature at all. Or the song will completely stop and then something from Atlanta AM radio will play, and then the song will pick back up. "How do you know to do that? Is it just a novelty, or what?" Josh said, "I think you have to think of what will make people back up the track because they missed a thing." You don't want to make a song that goes on in a predictable fashion without introducing new elements.

You got an incredible guitar sound on the record. You tour with a [Fender] Twin and Deluxe, right?

Yes. We recorded a lot of Turn Out the Lights on my little 1x12 Deluxe, but I also have a 2x12 Blues Deluxe that I took the speakers out of and replaced with Warehouse guitar speakers called Veteran 30s. I got the higher-wattage option because there's way more gain room before it breaks up. My one gripe about Fender amps is that they break up too soon.

By design. A lot of people want blues.

Exactly. I get it. With the Twin, it's fine. It's a really sparkly break up. The Deluxe amps, I like the warmness of them. But when you start to break up such a warm, midrange-y amp, it gets fuzzy really quickly. I really like those speakers in that amp. I use so many of my instruments partly because they sound the way I want them to, but also partly because it took so much work for me to get them to sound the way they do that maybe my goal and my ability met in the middle. Especially with the wiring. I have a [Fender] Telecaster that I modded, and it took so long for me to figure that out when I was 18, trying to read a circuit diagram on how to get your pickups to go in series or parallel, and add that little option with the 4-switcher. Once I finally did it, I was like, "This is what I want, for sure." Whether or not it was what I was going for, I was so committed to doing it.

Do you go back and forth between series and parallel?

No. I have the blue guitar, it's a Mexican-made Tele, and then I have an American Tele, which is the butterscotch one. I leave it on series all the time. You have to put aftermarket pickups in Fender guitars. The Telecaster has the plucky clarity that I like; but I think everybody plays them so hot and bright, because that's the Nashville sound. I thought of Telecasters as country music guitars until I saw Now, Now and Circa Survive on tour. Both the guitarists were playing Telecasters. I was like, "What is happening? How are you guys getting this sound out of a Telecaster?" Then I used my next paycheck to buy a Mexican Tele. I love it.

Were you using Fender amps already?

Yeah. The first amp that I used was this Vox digital combo that was bad news. Well, it wasn't bad news, because I think those amps that have the effects built-in are good for learning. I wasn't playing big shows, so why would I need a $700 amp? The first real amp I bought was the Fender I replaced the speakers in. I had it for a really long time. Then I bought the 1x12 on tour when the tubes of my other amp broke, and now I play through stereo amps. It's interesting that the idea to do that never occurred to me, even though I had two amps on hand. Even on Sprained Ankle, I played through one amp.

You use so much reverb and delay, it's perfect for what you're doing.

Sometimes we'll be at a festival and I'll play through one amp. The way that my looping system is totally jury-rigged, I can use it into the first and second channels on a Fender amp.

It's a wonderful, underused feature, having the two channels on those amps.

It is. So much of my musical knowledge is very de facto and functional, and it doesn't result in a logical understanding of the mechanisms I'm using. On my Deluxe, there're two input jacks. I'd say, "Oh, I always plug into input 2 because it sounds different, and I like that sound." I didn't know until October of 2017 that one of them is high gain and one of them is lower gain. I had no idea. It sounded different. Now I have two A-B-C-Y splitters on my board; I send out from those two channels a dry channel and a reverb channel on one amp, and then yet a third reverb channel into a different amp.

Is the reverb channel 100 percent saturated?

It's all the way on, all the time. The dry channel is there in case the two stereo outs of my looper go off, because I'm paranoid about my loop breaking and there being no safety net for me to play through. I was not always that wise. I have been brought low by humiliation, the great teacher. Now I have one fail-safe channel. The rest of my loops come out on different outputs.

Do you use the amp reverb?

I used to have it pulled up to quarter to two almost all the time, but now I like the flat character of the amp enough, and I have three or four different reverbs. The Strymon blueSky is always on. I forget that I have it on my board, because it stays on. It's the staple of my tone.

I read that you used a [Neumann] U 67 for recording your voice. Is that right?

Yeah.

Did you do a shootout, or did you know going in you wanted a 67?

We tried out that mic because Calvin Lauber, engineer for Turn Out the Lights] suggested it. On Sprained Ankle, I recorded part of it on a [Shure] SM7B. We used a couple of different microphones on that one. I don't remember what the other one was. With the Neumann, I'm very reluctant to use mics with so much crispness, because I think my voice has a tendency to get really nitty and bland.

I respectfully disagree, but go on.

Well, okay. Maybe I'm hyper-critical of my voice. But that vocal mic sounded really nice, especially in the room. Once we started tracking with that, I was like, "Yeah, I'm really, really happy with this vocal sound." It's an incredible microphone. It sounds like it's capturing what's happening to your ears with intense clarity. Whenever I make my little Logic demos, I go in there and notch out 2.5 to 3 kHz, because it sounds really annoying. When I started singing in a band, I wanted the vocals to be pushed all the way to the back and ‘verbed out. I was self-conscious about my voice. I never really wanted to be a singer. I wanted to play guitar. Then our first show came up, and we didn't have a lead singer, so I said, "I'll sing until we find a singer." Then I became the singer. Every single time we performed live, someone would say, "That was really good. You should sing louder!"

Did you try to change the way you sing?

By the time The Star Killers had been a band for a while, I would do the shouty scream thing. But then that became a gimmick of my voice. It was atonal. It was less about the pitch and more about the intensity and having the gang vocals part where everybody sings along. It took touring for a while as a solo musician for me to become completely comfortable with my voice as an instrument. That was also probably because I still smoked at the time we recorded Sprained Ankle. Singing was really taxing on my voice. When I had not smoked for a little over a week, the way that my vocal control and the timbre of my voice changed was amazing. I thought, "This cannot be real." That made me much more confident, and it made me take singing seriously. My voice was no longer just a vehicle for poetry that I was using to "Leonard Cohen" out my lyrics. I think that's also what made recording this record a lot different. I was more ambitious with what I could do.

How long did you have at Ardent Studios?

I booked out six days, intentionally. We ended up staying there 12 hours a day. Time flies when you're in the studio, because it's fun, and exciting, and interesting. I think I limited it that way because of that fear of overproducing the record. If I gave myself too much time, I would fall into a paralysis of option anxiety. In hindsight it might have been good to have a deadline, but also take a rest. Record for a week, take a month off, let the tracks sit, and then come back with fresh ears. Maybe I was over-restrained, like I was overcompensating for my fear of overproducing.

It sounds like discipline is a huge part of your whole process.

Oh, definitely. I talk about this with so many of my friends in music. This land of words like discipline, motivation, and obsession are all fluidly bound. For any of the players on the record, like Cam [Boucher] from Sorority Noise, or Camille [Faulkner], who tours with me, the way that those people interact with music is almost obsessive, but in a way that drives them to be the most optimal players they can be. Not in a competitive way. I really don't think that trying to be the best you can be means that you have to be obsessed with being the best musician out there, or being superior.

It's its own reward.

Exactly. I think the fact you say that discipline is a huge part of the record is because maybe it wasn't that I had to apply an effort to sit down and map out the songs in a spiral notebook, or think about them and listen to them over, and over again. It's what preoccupies my mind all the time, so the only way to abate the anxiety of creating is to be engaged with it. But, at the same time, that's why I only wanted to book out six days. It's really important to get a great raw sound. We did a lot of setting levels for what would basically be how the record sounded.

It's a huge advantage not to "fix it in post."

Exactly! Get it right the first time. This thing that Calvin and I would say to each other all the time is, "It's worth it." When I would record a vocal track and it was almost what I wanted, and I felt I could live with it, we could nudge a note, or we could comp it. But I had the time. I'm not flying out to L.A. to do a two-hour recording session and we have to comp it. We had the time to get it right, and it's worth it. We ended up tracking a whole bunch of weird piano, guitar, and keyboard tracks that didn't make it on the record. But what if it had been awesome? It's worth it. When you start with good ingredients and you do less work on the back-end to try to wrangle it into sounding good, it's so much easier. And it sounds very pure and more organic, because I think you can tell when a song has had to be manipulated.

You can. It's almost never going to be as good as it would have been.

Exactly. There are so many great records that are tracked live. That's how recording used to be. Now I'm going to sound like one of those people who thinks that antiquated methods of recording are the only way and swears by tape only. No, there are amazing things we can use Pro Tools for. But I think the ethos of old-school recording is getting a great live sound. I watched a documentary about Tom Dowd [Tom Dowd & The Language of Music]. He plays the faders like a keyboard. It's so cool. Whenever I watch those documentaries, I'm amazed at that process, because it's happening to those people in real time; it's just their job. They have this very colloquial relationship with the music. Chilling out with Aretha Franklin and not knowing that it would change history. What I think you glean from those is not that it was better in the past, and we should only record to tape, and only use old vintage equipment. I think the process is that you should be able to accomplish the most with the least. You should know how to utilize a room, or you should know when it's enough. I think sometimes the necessity of having only four tracks, or having only eight channels, or what have you, makes you be more discerning. The options aren't endless. The time is not endless. You make a leaner, refined version.

Craig Silvey mixed Turn Out the Lights?

Yeah. We had a mixing day with Calvin; then he and I shot some mixes back and forth. I had very specific things I wanted out of the mix. It was really observable what Craig changed, but he didn't necessarily remove or add anything. I was amazed at how much he was able to add to the tracks. I think the people we involved on the record were all ones we wanted to use, either because of their prior work, or our prior history with them, indicated that they know how to be tasteful. Especially with Craig Silvey. I knew a few of the notable records that he had done, like Arcade Fire, but when I started to look at the breadth of the work he had been a part of, it was amazing.

Did you choose Craig, or did Matador say they wanted him?

Matador brought the idea. I was reluctant because I wanted the least tampering. They said, "We have this guy we think you'd really like. Give it a chance." I'll give anything a chance; but if I didn't like it, I was ready to say, "No." We sent a test mix, and when I got it back, I was like, "We should have the record mixed by this guy." It was ultimately a collaborative effort between Calvin being so personal and central to my life as a person and a friend, and knowing what I wanted, as well as Craig's expertise and impeccable ear. It made for a really special thing.

(link)

[kayleecane]

addict : a tweek tweak fic

a loud, angry smack against leather sounds throughout the room, bouncing off of the concrete walls. tweek steps back from the punching bag, raising a hand to wipe the sweat dripping down his forehead. he sighed heavily while looking at the moisture newly covering the back of his hand.

tweek wasn’t planning on coming to the gym today, but after running out of his house in frustrated tears an hour or two ago, driving here was subconscious. thinking back on it, his eyes started to burn again.

kenny had approached him in the coffee shop earlier that day, which wasn’t unusual, they had become friends in middle school. but what offset tweek was the unreadable emotions on his face. it was so unlike his normal, carefree expressions.

“hey, tweekers. can we talk?” he asked, eyebrows pulling together in a weird way when tweek chugged his tumblr full of coffee before answering.

“uh, sure man. is it anything bad-?” kenny just shrugged, so he twitched uncomfortably, setting his drink down and glancing around the shop. it was empty, so he pushed the back door open and brought kenny outside.

“wh- what’s up, ken?” he leaned against the bumpy concrete of the wall, shifting a little as it poked into his back. kenny sighed heavily.

“look, dude. this is kinda super hard for me to say, okay? so, uh.. i’m just gonna come right on out with it. you know how every monday, you come over to my house at night to pick up that bag?” kenny started, moving his weight from one leg to the other. tweek watched him, squinting a little.

“the coffee grounds? yeah, why..?” tweek crossed his arms over his stomach as he felt a wave of anxiety wash over him, that was normal for him, though.

kenny sucked it a breath. “have you.. ever thought of why you come to my house for ‘coffee grounds’?” tweek shrugged, “of course i have man.. but my dad told me not to worry about it, so..” he shook his head, “just get on with it, why are you talking about this right now?” kenny looked down.

“what you pick up every week…it’s meth. not coffee grounds.”

tweek went completely still, maybe for the first time in his life. “…what?”

“my parents make meth and sell it to your parents. your parents put it into the coffee so people will get addicted to it. you’re… y’know.”

tweek scoffed out a laugh, “this isn’t funny dude. did cartman put you up to this? go mess with butters, not me.” he turned away from kenny, moving to go back into the coffee shop.

“i’m not kidding! listen to me, tweek.” kenny pleaded, grabbing tweek’s wrist. “i couldn’t just keep it from you. i don’t.. i’m sorry i didn’t tell you earlier.” tweek looked back at the other blonde, staring into his violet eyes desperately, looking for any signs that kenny was lying.

of course there weren’t any. ken was probably the most honest kid in this town. “…i have to go home.” tweek mumbled, pulling his hand out of kenny’s hold.

kenny frowned, wringing his hands in his baggy, hand-me-down jeans. “text me if you need me, okay? i want to help however i can.” and with that, he left. tweek let out a heavy breath, sprinting back into the shop and grabbing all of his things before leaving in a rush, not even bothering to lock the front doors.

while he was driving home, his breathing quickened, what was he going to say to his parents? oh god, what would he say to craig?! surely he wouldn’t want to date an addict, unknowing or not.

tweek’s eyes widened as the word seeped into his veins, slipping into the marrow of his bones, wrapping around the mush of his brain and squeezing as hard as it can.

addict.

tweek tweak, a meth addict at the ripe old age of fifteen years old…tweek tweak, a meth addict since before he was even seven years old.

tears filled his eyes as he swerved into the driveway of his house. turning the car off, tweek didn’t even grab his phone from the passenger seat before running into the house.

the first thing he heard was humming. his mother was in the kitchen, scrubbing away at the dishes in the sink. she didn’t bother to look back as she called out, “tweek, is that you? your shift isn’t over for another four hours.”

tweek couldn’t think. “..mom, why- what’s in the bag that you make me get every week?” he mumbled, just loud enough for her to hear him.

“our special coffee grounds, tweek. you know this. why are you asking?” tweek moved into the kitchen, body drained of everything in it, he was pale, knees shaking, cheek twitching uncontrollably. tweek could feel everything going on in his knocky, too-tall, addict body.

“don’t lie to me, mom. what is it? is it really meth?” he stared at the back of his mother’s head, the humming quieted, before stopping completely. tweek waited for an answer, but it was like his mother shut down. like someone turned her off. the only thing that made tweek know that she was even still alive was the aggressive scrubbing, the sponge squeaking painfully against the poor plate that she was currently cleaning.

tweek cracked, his face contorting before he let out a weak sob. he knew it was true. that was all she had to do. this was all she ever did. “mom.” he croaked out.

“mama..” he cried in barely concealed anger, sorrow, he didn’t even know what he felt anymore. “answer me. look at me. please… look at me, mama.” he gripped the back of her dress, tears falling onto the floor in front of him.

tweek felt like he was five. tiny hands begging for his mother’s love and attention, sobbing when all she did was ignore him. seeking comfort in his plushies and pillows. tweek would surround himself in them as tightly as he could, pretending it was his parents holding him instead of his own thin arms.

fifteen year old tweek didn’t do that anymore. he pushed all of his feelings down until they erupted, and he started sobbing uncontrollably, just like this moment.

his mother just kept on scrubbing. scratch, scratch, squeak. tweek’s mind spiraled, everything blurred. he ripped the plate from his mother’s hands and threw it as hard as he could, it smashed against the wall, and along with his heart, it shattered into a hundred pieces.

helen barely even twitched. “god- fuck, what is wrong with you?! look at me! look at what you did to me!” tweek grabbed her by her shoulders, tears fully streamed down his face now, he didnt even have the will to look up at richard as he came down the stairs.

“what is going on down here? now tweek, let your mother go this instant.” richard was calm as he spoke. too calm. did he even care about what was happening?! tweek stared down at helen’s eyes, they were void, staring down at the floor. for the first time in what felt like forever, she spoke. “tweek, honey.. you’ll understand-“ tweek cut her off quickly, pulling back from her and letting out a weak laugh.

“..whatever, dude.” he shook his head, pushed past richard carelessly, and left the house.

which brought him back to this moment, sitting on the gym floor, it was strangely empty. tweek couldn’t tell if he liked that or not. he hadn’t even called craig yet, to tell him anything about what had happened.

all tweek knew was that he could not go home, there’s no way. he pulled out his phone, staring down at the picture of him and craig as his lockscreen. he blinked, smiling tiredly.

he called craig, putting the phone against his ear and standing up. as he waited for his boyfriend to answer, he lifted himself onto and off of his tiptoes repeatedly nervously.

the phone made a quiet cracking sound, and a familiar, nasally voice sounded through the speaker. “hello?” craig sounded tired. “hi. sorry, were you sleeping?” tweek spoke softly, looping the hem of his shirt around his index finger.

“napping, but it’s fine, honey. what’s up?” there was a shuffling sound on the other end of the phone, and tweek sighed quietly. “..a lot. i ran away from home.”

there was silence for a couple moments, tweek gave craig a minute to process, hell, tweek’s nowhere near close to processing it yet. he could hear craig breathe in deeply, “ok, come over.” tweek mumbled out an ‘ok’ and ended the call, gathering all of his things, getting back in his car for the fourth time that day.

craig was waiting on his porch for tweek as he got to his house. tweek was barely out of the car before he was pulled into a warm hug, craig’s arms slithered snugly around his waist. tweek leaned his head on craig’s shoulder and closed his eyes, he was too tired to cry.

craig didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to. he knew this was all tweek wanted. he gently guided the blonde boy inside, where he was met with craig’s mother. “hi.. mrs. tucker.” she smiled sadly at him, taking his hands in hers. “oh, mijo. come, come.” she gently pulled him to the couch, sitting him down.

“do you want to talk about it?” she asked tweek, still holding his hands. craig placed his hand on tweek’s knee, grounding him. tweek thought for a moment. “my-“ he paused, laura and craig waited for him, he took in a deep breath, and he told them everything. about the meth, how his mom acted like a thoughtless robot, how his dad never did anything ever.

tweek looked over to craig as he finished, and was surprised to see the boy tearing up, gripping his knee hard. craig was never one to cry, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes was the closest tweek had ever seen to it. “oh, man.. please don’t cry, craig.” he pleaded, guilt filling his heart.

craig wiped his tears, blinking them away. “i fucking hate your parents.“ was all he said, and tweek laughed weakly. laura stood up, “you must be exhausted from today, honey. come on, you can stay here as long as you need to.”

she pulled tweek up, “craig, please take him to your room.” craig nodded, wrapping an arm around tweek’s shoulder and taking him up the stairs and into his room.

craig’s room was cozy, no bright lights that blinded tweek and gave him a headache like at school. just soft yellow string lights and a galaxy protector pointed at his wall lit the room up. stripe slept comfortably in her cage. tweek and craig laid down on the bed, craig moved onto his back and pulled tweek close to him. they could hear laura and thomas speaking loudly downstairs, laura sounded like she was on the phone.

craig combed his fingers through tweek’s hair, gently untangling it. “i’ll help you through this, i promise.” and all tweek could do was hum softly before he passed out, lulled to sleep by craig’s soft but firm touches.

tweek didn’t have his plushies and pillows anymore, but craig was better than those anyway.

[lastchancevillagegreen]

Saturday, 10 December 2022:

Tonight’s The Night Neil Young (Reprise) (released in 2016 as part of NYA, Neil Young Archives; the original release of this album came out in 1975)

So, I’m at the Springfield Record “Fair.”  I like to use that word simply to debase this whole charade, that’s what it was once called when it consumed three rooms in the basement of a hotel; now it consumes one room and barely does that.  I attended because I thought perhaps I would find something cool for my brother for Christmas.  I must somehow still think of the time he and I attended and he bought a copy of The Fall’s debut Live At The Witch Trials that was pressed by IRS.  He was probably all of ten years old, maybe younger, maybe older but I recall this and I somehow think every time I attend it will still be a cool show to attend.  If there were any Fall albums to be found at this show, the Earth might have spontaneously combusted. 

The last time I attend this fair (last year or two years previous) I was buying things like Carlene Carter’s F-Beat albums, my beloved Shellyan Orphan albums and an Ellen Foley album that features Strummer and Jones.  In this entire record fair there were precisely four milk crates containing “new wave/ alternative” artists or as I like to call them artists from the 80s.  One guy, who had two bins. had the debut from Black Tape For A Blue Girl, The Rope, but it was on a label that I couldn’t place. I have checked discogs and I cannot find it there either and now I’m miffed I blew it off.  Anyhow, the other dude had in his bins lots of Elvis Costello 12 inches, bootlegs, a copy of T-Bone Burnett’s debut Truth Decay on the Takoma label but he wanted $4 for it and I didn’t want to check the vinyl condition!  All of his albums were between $1 and $5 and by this point I was more than bored.

I finally sucked up the courage to visit Craig Gonn’s booth.  He had a sealed copy of Dave Edmunds’ Information for nine buck which I wanted to pick up.  But I opted to look at the bins right where our illustrious host was sitting.  No sooner do I do that, he picks up his iPhone and hits play and begins playing The White Album.  Now I’m old, but for crying out loud, I’m not sure there was one single human being in that room who needed to hear a shitty representation of that album on an iPhone let alone ever again at a record show.  But he played only the opening track and then shut it off which I found pleasing.  But then two minutes later he plays the damn opening track for a second time.  Really?  We have to hear that song not once, but twice, on an iPhone.  But the killer moment, which had me walk away from his booth leaving poor sealed Dave Edmunds all alone, was when Dear Prudence came on an Craig Gonn began singing along.  And I don’t mean quietly.  Not one single 60+ year old man in that room needed to hear that song again in their lifetime and they sure as hell didn’t need the Craig Gonn version. 

I sulked away from his bins midway through and went to the booth in the middle of the room.  He had a typical selection of albums for this show (quite frankly, they all did) but he did have modern sealed copies of a wide variety of things.  I’m digging new pressings of old albums these days and when I discovered he had the Neil Young Archives pressing of Tonight’s The Night I opted to pick it up considering I have bought a huge amount of Neil’s NYA reissues this year and this is one of my very favorite albums of his. 

I then skulked out of the record fair dejected because I ended up buying to of the most pedestrian artists for the age group of men (there were two women in attendance and both went right to the “new wave/alternative” section) Dylan and Neil Young.  I am as bad as Craig Gonn singing Dear Prudence.  I may have attended my last Old Man Music Fair in Springfield.

Above you find the album cover, the gatefold and the back of the album.  The texture on this album remains just as it did way back in 1975 (I didn’t buy mine until 1977 but I bought it brand new and it still retained that textured cover).  The gatefold through me because it is a glossy gatefold.  I would have swore Neil changed this, although that didn’t sound like something he would do, so I dug out my original copy and sure enough, the gatefold is glossy. 

Below you will find the inner sleeve for the album.  I like that Neil is putting the album in a white stock inner sleeve and still giving us the original inner sleeve, all nice and crisp.  

Neil also ensures the original insert is still included.  This is one of my favorite inserts in any album (I am crazy for this album in many ways) as I don’t know what any of it means, but I think it is cool just the same.  The first photo shows the insert opened once, essentially the front and back of this insert.

Then you will find the inside of this two fold insert which includes a photo of Mickey Rooney of all people.

Then when you unfold the whole insert you are given a review of Neil’s Tonight The Night’s show penned appropriately in Dutch.  I’d almost bet they panned show. 

The labels are replicated from the original release.  I recall my first time seeing those black Reprise labels and I was stunned by this.  I was well aware of the album’s reputation and I thought a black label of a well known brown/orange label was just one of the coolest things I’d ever seen. The silver on this new label isn’t quite as bright as the original, but it still gives a solid effect.

The last thing I intended was of course, the only thing I did: I bought for myself and not my brother.  But then there wasn’t much there for either of us.  Hence, buying Dylan and Neil Young, as I say, two of the most pedestrian artists that group of old men could have bought. 

[darthkruge]

Hi! I've seen that in your recent post you've been trying to make characters more gender neutral which I think is awesome! I'm gonna try and make my request gender neutral as well! I was wondering if you could do a criminal minds imagine (I'll let you choose the character that you wanna write it for cus I love Morgan, Hotch, and Reid equally) where the reader was taken by the unsub but they found her right before the unsub tried to (tw) k!ll the reader. If possible can the end be kinda fluffy♡

Spencer Reid x Reader ~ Maybe

Summary: The classic kidnapping fic where the reader is taken by the unsub and Spencer finds them. Fluffy, comfort-filled ending <3

Warnings: Angst, language, violence, blood, guns, knives, torture, near-death experience, kidnapping in general, (happy ending I promise)

Words: 2.2k

A/N: Hey!! I’m so sorry, please don’t hate me for taking so long to get to this!! And thank you for making your request gender neutral, too! That’s so thoughtful and sweet! And I decided to go with Spencer, although I also love them all. And yes the end will definitely be fluffy, as the angst with a happy/fluffy ending is basically my brand at this part. Thank you for requesting and, again, I’m so sorry for making you wait, I hope you like this!

You woke up and could only register pain. Well, pain and cold. Mind numbing, cuts to your bones, pierces your brain, cold. You tried to look around and get a sense of your surroundings but it was so dark; you could barely make out the shadows in the room, let alone any defining details.  

Judging by the old, dirty smell, you guessed you were in a barn or shed somewhere. You had no idea where; the asshole must have knocked you out. You’d been working the case for weeks. The team thought they found some DNA and were tailing the guy, but it didn’t pan out and, since then, the trail had basically been cold. But then you finally figured out what number to trace, cracked his encoded router, and got a license plate and ID. George Craig. On your way to tell the team, he had messed with your car and was able to jump you. Fuck, you hated him. 

Even so, you refused to give up. You had faith in your team and, most of all, you had faith in Spencer. Your brilliant, gorgeous boyfriend. You loved him more than anything and there was no one in the world you’d want on the case more than him. You knew the team was already looking for you, as it was only 10am when he got you and it was probably at least 7pm now, judging by the temperature and darkness. 

You tried to move your arms but your shoulders screamed in protest. You felt the chains around your legs and the handcuffs binding you to a pole above you. Judging from the pain, your shoulder was almost definitely dislocated. You were sitting at an awkward angle and could already feel your joints tightening. The frigid air definitely wasn’t helping, making your muscles contract and body stiff. 

“Hello, Agent L/N”

Your entire body stilled at that moment, sheer panic running through your veins. Stay calm, Y/N, stay calm. You tried to will air into your lungs, forcing deep breaths even though the terror was screaming at you to close up. You knew this man fed on fear and, thus, your best chance of survival was to pretend you were unphased. Even so, the logic felt severely discomforting with him standing above you, knife and gun in hand. 

“George. What the fuck do you want from me?” Your voice was venomous, the pure hate for him clearly pictured on your face. You decided that if an emotion was going to show, you preferred hate to fear. 

“My, my, my, look at you! I thought you were supposed to be smart. Or is that trait left for your boyfriend. Agent Reid, was it?”

Your blood ran cold. “Leave him out of this.”

“Ohhh, looks like I’ve hit a nerve, haven’t I?” The man had a horrifying smirk on his face, clearly enjoying your struggle. 

You glared at him. “You never answered my question”

“Oh, yes!” George chuckled, “What the fuck do you want from me?” He said, mimicking your voice mockingly. “To kill you, of course. To take you away from Spencer, from the team. To make them feel the pain of losing someone, just like I lost-” 

He trailed off and you saw his eyes burn with anger. And under that anger, you knew there was pain. Even so, you couldn’t feel bad for this man, regardless of who he’d lost. You knew that at the slightest hint of your empathy, he’d take advantage of it and kill you on the spot. 

“You know what? Death would be too easy for you. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging me to put you out of your misery. Then, and only then, will I shoot you. I will watch the blood run out of the bullet hole and smile, knowing the pain I caused you and your precious team.”

You wanted to cry, the fear pulling at you. Once again, you pushed it down and channeled your rage. Rage because you were in this situation. Rage because this man had ended so many lives. Rage because you were powerless right now. Rage because holy fuck your shoulder hurt. Gathering the fury, you spat at him. 

George’s mouth twisted into a sneer as he brought his leg up and slammed it into your chest. You heaved, the wind knocked out of you. Before you could grasp the air you so desperately needed, George kicked you again. And again. And again. You could feel the bruises forming, your ribs throbbing painfully.

He pulled his fist up and pummeled it into your cheek. Your left cheekbone busted open on impact and your lip split as he backhanded the other side of your face. He slammed the butt of his gun into your temple and your vision swayed, body crumpling as far in on itself as it could, given the restraints. 

He kicked at your legs repeatedly, both of them twisting at painful angles. You felt yourself start to black out, the pain unbearable. Every inch of your skin was ablaze, every muscle felt like it had been sledgehammered. Your bones ached, your body numb from his onslaught, the freezing cold, and the restrictive bonds you’d been in for hours. 

Finally, he took a moment to stop. He looked at you, at your barely conscious and recognizable state. You were beaten to a pulp, your face and body bloodied and broken. You could feel yourself wanting to give in but forced yourself to stay. For yourself, for Spencer, for the team. For that future you always talked about with him. For the house you were saving for, for the dogs and cats and animals you might one day get. For the family you might decide to have. For the idea of peace, you fought. 

George picked up the gun and pointed it at your head. A shot rang free and you braced yourself, a single tear running down your cheek as you realized you would never see your love again. Your ears rang and you felt like time had slowed. You knew the bullet would hit you. Until-

“Y/N, Y/N!” Your name was being called, the gentle yet panicked voice cutting through the ringing in your head. You tentatively opened your eyes and saw George’s body on the floor, blood oozing out of him. You slowly moved your eyes around, trying to take in your surroundings. 

Everything was overwhelming. Nothing was registering properly in your brain. It was just sounds filtering in an out, vision flickering. You felt like you were floating through the ringing in your ears. Tears ran down your cheeks as you shook. You didn’t know why you were shaking. The cold. The shock, you reasoned. Both seemed likely. It was like there was an overwhelming sense of calm. Your body was shutting down. Somehow, this gave you understanding. 

You felt the handcuffs around your wrists release and your arms dropped limply. You knew you should feel pain from your dislocated shoulder but, instead, you just let your eyes closed and felt your body fall. The last thing you remembered was coming into contact with a Kevlar vest, messy brown hair, and a familiar sense of warmth. 

When you awoke, you felt yourself being gently jostled. Your eyes slowly opened and you took in him. Spencer was looking at you, concern evident on his features.

“Hi.” You said, voice hoarse. 

“Hi, angel. Let’s get you inside, alright?”

You nodded, allowing him to help support your weight as you stepped out of the car. You leaned heavily into him, your legs badly injured. Spencer wrapped his arm snug around your waist as the two of you slowly but surely made it into your shared apartment. 

He helped you sit on the couch before moving to join you. 

“I’m surprised they let you take me home. I thought I’d wake up in a hospital, for sure.”

“They did take you there, love. You were at the hospital for a few hours but you were in and out of consciousness. You’ll heal, don’t worry. A few broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, severe bruising, sprains on your legs and ankles.”

“Plus a busted face” You add drily.

 Spencer wasn’t amused by your attempt at sarcasm. Instead, he just pushed your hair behind your ear and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I should have gotten there sooner, I should have been with you! If I was there, if I was quicker-”

“Spencer, please don’t blame yourself for this! No one could have known. Besides, you saved me. And I’m not just talking about that in the literal sense. When he was beating me, when I was broken down, I thought of you.  I thought of our future, our dream. Holding onto that is the only reason I didn’t give up.”

Spencer’s eyes were filled with tears as he went to gently cup your face. He couldn’t find the words to express the love and relief he felt. “I’m just glad you’re back in my arms” 

You moved to hug him but winced. Even though the doctors had patched you up pretty well, the soreness and pain lingered and probably would continue like that for at least the next couple of days. 

“Hey, it’s alright. Let’s go to bed. I think you’ll feel better once you lay down, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.” You followed him into the room, holding his hand the entire time. Spencer noticed but didn’t mind, he knew you were just looking for comfort, exceedingly normal for what you’d just gone through. 

You laid down, settling against the pillows and fluffy blankets Spencer had prepared for you. 

“Do you need anything, baby?”

“Water?”

“Of course.” He smiled at you before moving to get up but you quickly grabbed his hand, panic overtaking you at the thought of being alone. You looked at him helplessly, hoping your gaze would convey the words that died on your tongue. 

Spencer nodded knowingly. He helped you out of bed, pulling you along with him as the two of you went to the kitchen. He wordlessly got you the drink, making sure to keep touching you the entire way. Finally, you made it back and the both of you crawled into bed. You laid on your uninjured shoulder, placing your cheek on Spencer’s chest. His arm came around you, holding you to him and drawing soothing circles into your skin. 

You closed your eyes and were immediately sent back to the shed. You tensed, pulling back. Spencer caught on and looked deeply into your eyes. “You’re safe now, Y/N. He can’t get to you anymore.”

“I know. Rationally, I know. But my brain won’t shut off. It’s like, whenever I’m not actively thinking about something else or looking at something else or hearing something else, it just comes back. Spence, I can’t- I can’t sleep. I just, I’m sure it’ll come back to me tonight.” Your voice broke, tears spilling onto your cheeks. “I don’t think I can handle reliving it and I’m so fucking exhausted. But I can’t rest because I can’t escape the nightmares.”

Spencer wanted so badly to comfort you but didn’t know what he could do. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t take the pain away. He wished he could put the trauma onto himself but, unfortunately, he was powerless. Thus, he offered understanding. He gave validation. He gave kindness and pure, nonjudgmental love. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m here for you and I know that doesn’t do much right now but I am. I’ll be here when the nightmares come and I’ll be here when the flashbacks try and drag you under. I’ll be here when the trauma starts to fade but suddenly reappears and I’ll be here 20 years from now, when the memory will still be real and painful but not all-consuming. I’ll be here forever, I’ll be here always. Please, tell me what to do to help you.” Spencer begged, hoping beyond all hope that there was something he could do to ease your suffering.

“Read to me?”

“Wha- what?”

“Read to me.” You repeated, more assured this time. “I’m thinking that if I can hear your voice, maybe it’ll drown out my brain. Or something. I don’t know. I just want to hear your voice, it’s soothing. Please?”

Spencer was taken aback. He didn’t think something so simple could help you. He didn’t know his sheer presence brought you that much serenity. “Yeah, of course. Of course! Yeah, any preference?”

“Not really. Whatever’s here?”

“Okay, love.” Spencer picked up his current read and began in the middle. You felt the rumble of his chest, the vibrations of his voice and felt more at ease. The anxiety was still there, the panic never far away. And yet, curled into him, his breath tickling your ear, his body warming yours, it suddenly felt alright. Like maybe you hadn’t gone through some life-altering trauma. Or maybe you had but your life wasn’t over because of it. Maybe you’d heal. Maybe, if you could find a moment of peace now, you’d find more later. Maybe? Yeah, You thought. You could work with maybe.

--

i just made a taglist so if you want to join, go ahead!

tags: 

@saltybreaddream

[catboycafe]

I Will Now Express Every Thought I Have About Pacific Rim: The Black 

⚠️ spoilers for the whole thing baby

I actually forgot Pacific Rim: The Black was premiering today until I saw it in an article this morning! When I first heard about it months ago, I was decidedly not sold on a Pacific Rim anime. Uprising burnt me the fuck out and I don’t have a lot of trust left in me for new entries to the franchise. But I had heard rumblings of Raleigh and Herc being referenced after going into #pacificrim and I decided I may as well check out to see what was up! I binged it in 4 hours and it sure was a whirlwind, I’ll tell ya

The Plot

I really enjoy the setting and initial concept! We’re so use to seeing Kaiju/Jaegar shenanigans play out within these major cities with helpless civilians everywhere that spending so much time in a lonesome desert and these destroyed civilizations was really cool and indicative of the changes Pacific Rim has undergone in the last few years. I also looooved the Desert Settlement from the beginning!! It seemed really homey and picturesque; I wish we’d spent more time with the other survivors and got to see more of their day to day aside from farming and sitting. 

I also found the first episode set up to be really tight and well written! I was hooked during the initial flashback, Hayley and Taylor’s fight was really poignant and well acted, and the reveal of Atlas Destroyer felt really huge and epic!!

But once we left the Desert Settlement and the plot started actually moving along, the pacing becomes suuuper rough. We spent way too long in Bogan with Shane and Mei; there’s only 7 episodes and we spent, like, 3? 4? within the confines of that camp and I felt it weighed the plot down. Boy is introduced in the 2nd episode and, because the narrative spends so much time on Shane’s evil machinations and Mei’s back story, we still don’t know anything concrete about his origins or purpose 3 episodes later! That felt frustrating to me

The story beats overall were very predictable. I was able to pick up on Mei’s backstory via her dynamic with Shane in their introductions, so her memories felt too built up and too hollow once they were revealed. The same with the reveal of Boy’s Kaiju form; he was in a big green test tube in a PPDC base - I assumed immediately he was a part-kaiju experiment and again his reveal felt hollow, especially after the glacial pace of it’s development. 

Even when events weren’t predictable, they lacked weight. The appearance of several Kaiju Breaches in “Boneyard” felt very cheap for some reason; I wasn’t scared and I didn’t feel tense about these odds mounting against the protagonists. This was just happening and I was just watching. 

The Art Direction and Animation

I’m very obsessed with all the new Kaiju we got from this; I love how Copperhead is rendered, they’re a joy to see on screen!! The Rippers are also very cute and deserve little plushies...i love these neat little dogs. Boy’s Kaiju Form is very intimidating with an interesting color palette and I loved seeing him next to Copperhead’s highly saturated design!

That’s unfortunately all that I liked however; All the human character design is unmemorable to me. Every character looks exactly like another easily identifiable anime character from a different property (Hayley looks exactly like Zero Suit Samus to me, for example. And Mei kept reminding me of both Bernadetta Fire Emblem and Motoko Kusanagi from GitS. The list goes on). 

I can sort of understand why they’re so bland? A franchise going from Live Action to something as heavily stylized as anime is probably a really difficult transition and these designs are probably meant to be more lowkey than more unique anime designs in order to help that transition. But realistically stylized designs can still be recognizable and unique! These feel uninspired and bare bones.

 I have no problem with the switch to CGI animation that modern anime is doing because I know it’s a lot cheaper to produce and it can still be really unique and striking! But The Black’s model animation felt very stilted and inconsistent. I don’t have a lot of knowledge about animating so I don’t think I can accurately describe what I disliked? Wooden is probably the best term. Character movements felt wooden and things like hair and clothes felt plastic. 

Impacts also had very little weight. The fight between Tayler/Mei and Copperhead reminded me of when you’re in a dream and trying to punch something, but you can’t punch hard. It was simply too floaty and too soft. The final showdown in “Showdown” was better, but not by much. It was very immersion breaking seeing these Giant Robots and Giant Monsters unable to throw a real solid hit!

Characters

My favorite character was unequivocally Joel Wyrick. We love Joel Wyrick in this house! Joel’s character has real charisma and charm. I love his flirtations with Loa, how his cocky disposition is juxtaposed with his drinking problem and later insecurities over his lost memories, and his genuine kindness shown to Mei, Taylor, and Boy. No one ever plays with Boy, they just run after him and drag him around...but Joel has this moment in “Escape from Bogan” where he kneels down to Boy and helps him collect rocks. It was sweet!

So of course, when Joel dies for absolutely no reason 5 minutes later - pissed! I was pissed! I yelled “COME ON” aloud in my studio apartment! I was genuinely so excited to see him interact more with the rest of cast then, poof. No More Joel.

His death felt like it was for shock value to me rather than actual narrative development. Why kill him when we still don’t fully understand his and Mei’s relationship? Why were they so close? Were they childhood friends, or just coworkers that happen to become friends? Why did he specifically know all the details of Shane’s abuse towards Mei before she did? 

What did his death accomplish? It made Mei sad...ok? She was already...very sad. Her running away from Shane already had consequences - the consequences of Shane coming after them for revenge in the future. Why did Joel have to become a causality? 

His death is ultimately tied to Mei’s character arc which is, unfortunately, my least favorite :c I find Mei to be a really one dimensional character with a personality, backstory, outlook, and motivation that I’ve seen done a million times before with a million other characters. She feels very out of place in the franchise as a whole - Pacific Rim is, at it’s core, a story about connecting with others. Her self-centric arc and lack of desire to connect outside of drifting really alienates her from the story at large and it frustrates me how long The Black’s narrative spends on her. 

Hayley and Taylor were otherwise very interesting in the pilot episode, but become similarly one dimensional at the story chugs on. Taylor’s unflinching (bordering on unhealthy) faith in their parents was really interesting next to Hayley’s complete acceptance of their parents’ death. But once the two of them make up their differences, they lack an interesting dynamic and become very passive protagonists.

 Taylor especially has no personality - how would you describe Taylor? He’s...brave. He’s the older brother. He’s a leader? He’s nice? There is nothing noteworthy about him at all, which is sad considering I think he has the potential to be a really interesting way to explore the original movie’s influence on The Black’s story.

Hayley’s grief and self-blame are more interesting than Taylor’s...nothingness, but she still falls into this one-note trope of being the naive, excitable little sister. I guess I feel abnormally frustrated about this flat character writing because Pacific Rim’s incredibly unique cast has always been an inspiration to me! It feels sad that this new iteration into the series is full of what feel like stock characters. 

Then we get to Boy. How come Boy can’t have a person name? It’s specifically written in a dialogue between Taylor and Hayley: “I’m not going to call him Chad or Barnaby or one of those names for a baby brother you wanted as a kid,”

Why?

He’s by all accounts a human child when they find him. Yes, he was found in a big green test tube - but he walks and acts just like a human child. The only difference, seemingly, is that he is non-verbal and engages in strange/annoying behavior (running off, eating bugs, etc). So he isn’t deserving of a name?? I don’t know why that makes me so mad, it just does. it’s like they refuse to treat him as a human even before they find out he’s a Kaiju  - it’s super weird! How can the story sell me on the three of them becoming found family (like they’re seemingly trying to do) if the protagonists won’t even treat this kid like a kid??

Misc. Thoughts

The callbacks to Stacker, Herc, and Raleigh were cool! I also like that Herc is a major plot point! We love Herc Hanson and it’s what he deserves. I also find Loa’s connection to Horizon Bravo very interesting...and the fact we’re getting Kaiju cultist lore! Love that! Love that!

Fucked up that the only two dark skinned characters were: 1) removed from the story 10 minutes in with no call back yet, 2) Killed after having 1 line of dialogue and fridged for the character development of the blonde white girl. I really need to know what the deal with those 4 characters leaving in the beginning was about - I absolutely thought we’d see them again by now, but no dice

I don’t know how to feel about Ajax and have no clue what their purpose in the story is. They’re cool, but whats the point? 

If Mei and Taylor are paired up together romantically, I’m putting Craig Kyle and Greg Johnson in the time out box. Very tired of seeing random hetero romance B plots in stories that can’t even get their A plots together

Overall, it’s kind of subpar! It has the foundations of a really interesting story, but the pacing and characters really took me out of it. I’m interested in Season 2! I know season 2 is already ordered and I’d love to see how things continue to develop, see if the character writing gets any better - but I’m not too hopeful unfortunately. I really really love Pacific Rim after all these years and I’m happy to still be getting content and world building! There’s just sooo much I would change about this however. At least fanfiction’s free! 

Thanks for reading all this, I have ADHD and just go on and on if u let me. hmu if You Too have thoughts about Pacific Rim: The Black and have no one to talk abt them with

[real-south-park-confessions]

Hey guys, i'm the anon who made the south park deaths post. It was until I realized, hey! i clearly could've done a better job at the writing so....

Part 1

KENNY:

I breathed in the cold, winter air as it escaped through the windows. I smiled joyfully, another great day in South Park.

I hear my mother call my name, "Kenny! Come on out here!" I quickly put on my orange parka and headed out from my room.

"We don't have anything to eat for breakfast today, so you're going to have to wait until you can eat at school." She sighed. I shrugged my shoulders in disappointment, "Okay.." My muffled voice spoke out. My mother brought up the topic of dad never getting a job and began yelling at him to stop reading playboys, and to actually do something with his pathetic life.

I grabbed my backpack and headed out the door. Maybe once I get to school It'll be better. I thought.

I. Thought.

I was walking down the sidewalk and hear someone call out my name. I looked up and saw Stan waving at me, alongside Kyle and Cartman just with arguing each other.

I made my way to cross the sidewalk, but halfway, I heard a truck honking.. I could hear Stan screaming, Kyle and Cartman still yelling at each other but louder this time, and feel my whole body shiver.

I felt the tip of the truck touch my parka, as if it was in slow motion.. then it all came crashing down on me. I could hear my bones cracking, feeling my limbs be torn apart by the impact. When I was about to cry, I died. Again.

I thought it'd get better.

I thought.

Why does this happen?

Why does god never let me be happy?

I then felt my body again, and this time I wasn't in pain. I was back, again, and It happened, AGAIN.

I woke up and proceeded to finally cross a sidewalk without dying this time. But something felt wrong. Stan looked like shit, as if someone important just died. Right in front of him. So was Kyle and Cartman, but they weren't as bad as him. Cartman seemed more confused than sad, and Kyle seemed more shocked than depressed. "Hey Kenny." Stan croaked. "You're back."

CRAIG:

What a great day to wake up to. My now, EX-BOYFRIEND just broke up with me because of "personal reasons" and that it just "didn't feel right." What a fucking asshole. I've been dealing with your freakouts just for it to come to this? Thanks, Tweek.

I didn't want to talk to anybody today. I'm just so pissed off right now.

I've never felt so horrible in my life. And i've been through stuff, if you know what I mean. I felt worthless, I hated myself. Why can't I be better? No, there's no point to that.

I slammed my locker in anger. It was so annoyingly loud that It gave me a headache. Of course. I felt someone send a glare over my shoulder. I couldn't care less though, I don't care about anything anymore. Except Stripe of course.

Just as I took my first step, I hear the front doors to the school bust open. It was a redneck. He was shouting in such a heavy Southern accent I couldn't even make out what he was saying. It sounded like gibberish almost. I then noticed the shotgun he was carrying. I began panicking and I stared at him like a deer in the head lights. I finally snapped back to reality when he fired his gun.

5. I turned around and started running.

4. I began crying.

3. I felt useless.

2. I felt scared.

1. I felt...

"Oh."

CLYDE:

I cried my eyes out. I've never felt more sad in my life. My throat burned, my heart throbbed, and I lost.. him.

I threw my fists up into the air, immediately slamming them back down again. "That fucking a-asshole!" Snot began dripping from my nose. "I HATE HIM!" I cried out. "IT WAS ALL HIS FAULT, I K-K-KNOW IT! TH-THAT BASTARD!" I started hiccuping.

"You're worthless."

"You're a piece of shit, Tweek."

"You ruined him."

"You can't even button up your shirt correctly! How dumb can you be?"

"He was better without you."

"He was happier."

"He cou-

"Just stop!" Tweek yelled at me. What was his problem? "Listen, I know I wasn't the best, I know I-I could've done better, and I'm sorry, Clyde!" Tweek sighed. "And you've been sh-shitting on me every day because of it, and I want you t-to stop!" I crossed my arms and puffed out my chest.

"And what are you gonna do about it, fuck face?"

"W-Well, I was wondering if we could talk about it at my place. And hopefully, we can resolve our problems."

At first, I thought hell no! I'm not forgiving this asshole so quickly. But then I had an idea.

I'll just kill him.

I applauded myself in my mind for such a great idea. "Fine." I rolled my eyes. "Th-thank you, it'll be at 8 by the way." Tweek quickly left.

After school was over I began running to my house, running through the newly covered snow. I ran through the front door, and closed the door. "Welcome home, Clyde!" My dad smiled. I ignored hus greeting and ran upstairs. Hearing my dad mutter "You must be in a rush..." His voice slowly faded out as I ran into my room. "Time to prepare." I grinned as I pulled out my laptop.

Time skip brought to you by Kyle's great ass.

I began walking to Tweek's house. I hid my butcher knife in my coat. He'll never notice! I glanced up and saw it. It. I noticed I began to sweat, no need to sweat Donovan! You'll just have to carry his body far out to the forest and no one would notice! Then you'll just leave, easy peasy! Tweek's parents were out on a date, so it was just me and Tweek. All. Alone. Together.

I knocked on the door, and it was opened immediately. "Welcome." Tweek's voice was unnervingly calm. "I've got you your favorite drink, Clyde. Why don't you head up stairs so we can talk?" He smiled. "Okay..." I got a bad feeling. I don't know why but.. I did. Something was totally off. Probably because I was going to kill Tweek and my nerves were just getting to me. So I set that stupid feeling aside.

I walked inside Tweek's room, legos were scattered across the floor. "Oh, don't mind that." I jumped. Tweek was so.. close. Wtf. "I was hoping we could try and build something.." He walked over to his desk and set our drinks down. I sat down next to him.

He held up his drink and said "Cheers?" Tweek smiled. I picked up my drink and returned the gesture, "Cheers." I began to chug my drink. Wow, it sure did taste odd.

I set my drink down along with Tweek. But as soon as I did, I felt my stomach explode. I fell to the floor gripping my stomach. I immediately started to throwing up. "WHAT THE FUCK!?!" I began sobbing. Tweek immediately ran over to me, grabbing my hair and shoving me onto the floor. "S-Shut up!" He growled.

"H-HELP!"

I began coughing blood.

"HELP M-ME PLE-PLEASE!"

I started to sob.

"I'M SORRY!"

I felt extremely light headed.

I started to throw up blood.

I felt like my brain was going to explode.

I just wanted justice.

I just wanted to help him.

Somehow.

But I couldn't.

I-

.

.

.

.

I failed.

okay

[finsterhund]

Hey I fucking broke my ankle lmao

“I could really use a break right now” I say as I struggle with my dog having terminal cancer, my roommate pushing my limits, my money being nonexistent, and barely getting one meal a day.

A finger on the monkey’s paw that is me ever wanting anything in life curls again. Must have been a pretty fucked up monkey because there’s a lot of fingers on this thing by now.

So yeah, life thought I wasn’t going through enough already so it added broken fucking ankle to the list of Finsterhund suffering hours.

“I wish I wasn’t broke” is another good one. “here have a different broke then lol. go fuck yourself you rotting corpse of a victorian boy piece of shit”

here’s the goods. Got ex roommate to take photo of the screen. Doctor did not let me email the high res version to myself.

I did not go “waaaiii” on the way down, unfortunately. Life just isn’t like a video game. Probably didn’t look funny either. In reality I am a silent faller/injurer/whatever. Survival instincts of child abuse survivor I land and stay there as quiet as possible. I “grew out of” signals for help before teenage years. Which is a blessing in disguise because I don’t like people looking at me when I am hurt. it’s the “baby deer waiting for mom to come back instinct” I hide from predators.

My brain didn’t really process it when it happened. I just fell and heard a SNAP. If I had watched a video of it happening to someone else I would have found it gross but fortunately my brain just let me ignore it.

I was mostly immediately scared that I had somehow damaged the FIFTY DOLLAR dog calming aid that I got for Cazza in the pet store. I needed something like it for her and just seeing it in person and not having to pay 30 dollar shipping I was like “yeah. getting it here” fortunately the only fragile part is a little plastic capsule that imitates a heartbeat, which was packaged inside the toy inside the box. I hope. I have not opened it.

But the reason I fell is because I was also carrying giant bag of dog food. You see my vet recommended I switch out her food in light of the potential heart disease link. So I got the biggest bag of the best chicken stuff they had. My roommate might try saying that it was because the bag was too heavy. It wasn’t. I could lift that shit just fine. Bag was impossible for my impaired depth perception cringe fail line of vision to see around. The same visual impairment that prevents me from being able to drive a car made me think that I could put my foot down on the curb of the sidewalk. Dumb ass thought I was stepping OVER the curb.

Fortunately the bag of dog food broke my fall. Otherwise I’d have probably smashed my nose and teeth on the pavement. I really hope the expensive puppy calming toy is unharmed :( I say as I have a fucking broken leg.

So yeah. If you’ve seen labyrinth where David Bowie playing Jareth the Goblin King walks over all those weird ass fucked up stairs and ledges that are all a manner of odd angles? Specifically where he just takes steps that are at an angle that you cannot actually walk? Yeah I fucked up Jareth platform stairs walked over the fucking curb and snapp my legs

yes, I said legs.

Only my left is technically broken. It’s a Webber A something or other. I have a sick as hell photo if you wanna see. It’s included in this post.

But my right foot also got fucking fucked up. That one it snapped a tendon or a ligament or whatever the fuck. Get this, it snapped off a small piece of the gottamn bone. It’s not a break but it’s like it came off like a splinter. I made a joke in the hospital about how it’s like when you throw a sticky hand at the wall and when you pull it back a piece of the paint comes off with it. That was really fucking funny but nobody laughed. My friend’s group chat thought it was funny though. I did not get a photo of that foot and the tiny cringe sticky hand paint sliver bone.

I am on pain meds better than my normal pain meds. I can barely feel the legs in bed now.

So back to the parking lot. I landed on the dog food bag. I am hoping the calmeroos puppy is not broken or damaged in any way, I heard the snap but my brain is not registering the snap. This hurts “like a normal fall” I think at first. It hurts a lot of course, but I have the pain tolerance of a truck (thanks for this one Will) and a “heartwarming” story from my youth is that my mom didn’t believe my arm was broken both times it happened because I wasn’t “in pain enough” so I’ve got the firsthand experience to back that up.

Yeah then I try to fucking move my goddamn legs. Left one, broken one, there’s noises. Like cracking pop sounds. And pain. God fuck. It feels like the foot is loose and it’s only connected by fleshy flesh and muscle and skin. Aka like how my dislocated shoulder (that my mom also dismissed because I didn’t scream enough... after the lifeguard had alreayd put it back in...) had felt when I was 12.

So I’m like “oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck I can’t get up or move” yeah my first response was “how the fuck am I going to escape?” I attempted to better myself to get up but absolutely not. Right foot feels like when I roll the damn thing which happens a lot. That *WAS* my bad ankle. sidkfjsdkfjskdf not anymore!!!!!

So an important note is that I’m technically better about my severe agoraphobia that my roommate can let me go into a store by myself provided he’s no more than a couple stores away. So while I’m waiting for a predator to pick my weak ass off outside the petstore he’s in the dollar store next door where I was supposed to meet him after putting the dog food in the car. The car I am now sitting next to. I have no way to get his attention because my phone is dead and also in my bedroom because it’s useless when not plugged into the wall.

Luckily the people parked next to us come out the store and see Mr fuck leg the fucked leg boy sitting on his bag of dog food between the cars and bless this family they help me out. By trying to get roommate out of the dollar store. Which doesn’t work. So they get the dollar store manager. Who then gets roommate out of the store. I was probably sitting there for 10 minutes or so. They had kids so I’m really trying not to let them see how fucked up the rapidly growing ankle balloon is.

But yeah. Eventually roommate come out the dollar store. And get this, he does the same shit my mom did every time anything ever fucking happened to me and is all “okay if it were really broken you’d be screaming right now” as I’m finally able to prop myself up enough to get into the car. That fucking triggered me real bad and I had a breakdown in the car while he went back into the dollar store to continue shopping.

Then we went to get food.

Then we went to costco.

He said that he would take me home and then if it was “still bad tomorrow” he’d take me to the ER.

So he tries to help me out of the car to the house.

I cannot put weight on the right leg either. It is agony. He’s trying to support the bad leg but the other leg need support too. A weaker man would have screamed but I just dropped to the parking lot ground and cried.

Made an attempt to crawl to the house but the gravel on my knees was just too much on top of everything else.

So FINALLY the ER is back on the menu. Ex roommate comes out because I need someone to support each foot. And they take me to their car and they drive me to the ER and I’m trying to eat a baconator while my foot is reminding me that we should have stayed as tiktaalik. you know, not fucking biped I want semi aquatic too please please please youre nothing

The wheelchairs in the ER are designed to offer full body support but the damn things are so hard to maneuver around and cannot be user operated. So I was sitting there having to get pushed around feeling like a dumb fuck because I hate needing assistance to move I hate it I hate it I hate it. I kept reaching down expecting to find the wheel handles but they weren’t there.

ER was... fun. There was a cool cartoon I’ve never seen before “Craig of the Creek” playing on the TV. I really want to see more of it I really liked it. But a fucking anti vax guy (YEAH REALLY) was swearing and bitching because there were kids shows on the TV This show was the only comfort I fucking had. Craig was spoonfeeding me comfort with his little freeze to death without your winter clothes adventure (RIP to him but I’m different)

But yeah. Once being treated it was all really nice. My ability to make constant jokes about fucked up injury death and suffering is a really good stress relief. Shout out to the xray tech who totally understood I use dark humor to cope and in response to my joke about how if I was a horse they'd just shoot me that I would “make wonderful glue” the other people were also very kind but I kinda felt they were intimidated by how “jovial” I was about the whole thing. Like yeah. I’m “handling it well” because that’s my whole strategy. Inside I’m screaming “please not the plates please not the plates please not the plates” (I am scared of having metal plates and screws.) Fortunately the stupid little cringe bone broke just low enough on the bone that I don’t have to get the plates and screws. I was literally begging Spot and she answered.

In my moment of weakness I decided that the true nature of the “Spot Power” is that she makes it so that when I’m going through shit I’m always “being so brave about it”

I kept thinking about how Cazza thought I had abandoned her though and while roommate did give her her evening walkies she was stressed and puked on the walk. Which fucking ruined my life and I cried more hearing that than the fucking leg.

So yeah. In canada crutches and the foot boot actually cost money. I’m out like 100 dollars. Plus like 30 because roommate wanted gas. I’m just used to it by now. I definitely need to plug Cazza’s gofundme again now though. Have no clue how I’m even going to take her to her appointments. I am hesitant to hope that roommate will give her as good walks as she needs.

There were more tears over the fact that I was going to fail Cazza than that I actually broke my fucking ankle.

This shouldn’t be a shock. I knew that eventually my visual impairment and my physical disability were going to team up on me and fuck up my body even worse somehow. Always thought it was going to be stairs though. A small comfort is apparently the x ray department has had four other people come in about the exact same curb. Yeah I kid you not. The curb between the redacted dollar store and the redacted pet store confirmed for Heart of Darkness 2: Andy Ankle Adventure

They were supposed to give me more pain meds but I guess I didn’t pick them up or they forgot or something. My brain is fried so i have no idea at all.

Crutches are a massive learning curve for someone with depth issues and balance issues. I almost fell face first on the goddamn crutches several times. If I wasn’t broke and you know, if I couldn’t fucking not leg broken walk leg I would go to hardware store and make a wheeling seat thing like those scooters in gym class and then I’d have Cazza pull me on walks. That would work.

Big issue is in and out of our place is fucking stairs. Yeah. I crawled up them on hands and knees. No way in hell with my already fucking broken mobility could I go crutches up them. I have to hold onto railing or I fall down stairs so crawling it was.

I can technically take the boot off to sleep but the tightness makes it so much better so fuck that. Wish I had the rolling elementary school gym class scooter so I could drag myself around the house.

Cazza doted on me like nothing else. She tried to brace me going up the stairs but she’s not big enough for what I’d need with this fucking leg problem. She helped me change out of my clothes though. Even though she’ll never be certified she’s still my everything.

The she cuddled close to me until I had calmed down and now she’s fast asleep in her bed. I am so glad I ended up giving her her bath before going out.

I am going to attempt to make it to my bloodwork appointment tomorrow. I have rescheduled that due to chemo appointments too many times.

I can’t remember if I’m forgetting anything else. Honestly my roommate telling me the exact same shit my mom did just fucking hurt so bad. I think I know my own body better than you do. Like I’ve told him about how she didn’t believe me and I had to beg her to take me to the hospital and he ended up doing the exact same shit. All because I didn’t outwardly exhibit being in enough pain apparently.

I just hate how being disabled you always have to fucking prove you’re disabled. Like I was expected to somehow walk back to the house and up the stairs but when I got to go to the ER yeah fucking broken lol.

I just wish I had parents. I need taking care of. I always did and I never got it.

I’m scared for the future. I don’t know how I’m going to manage or how I’m going to provide for Cazza.

I wish breaking my ankle could have made Cazza’s cancer go away

[leglesstv]

THE DARK DAYS BACK– 2021

 I have been struggling with how to start this piece. I guess I should tell you a little about myself.

What I do for a living is not who I am, yeah, I get to blow shit up and its super fun but it’s not what defines me.

I have been a water baby all my life from growing up on the beach to commercial diver.

The ocean or the ocean’s rhythm ebbs and flows within me.

Surfing has been the biggest part of my life for longer than I care to remember. For sure I have been out the water for extended periods before while working on projects overseas. Always with the knowledge that I will be getting wet again, sometime soon. I have never before been concerned that surfing will not be an option. I have always just figured I would surf till the day I die.

 October 2019 we were still basking in the glory of a once in a lifetime trip to the Ments. 10 Kneelos on a boat sailing around the Mentawai’s. Absolutely what dreams are made of. Red, Giggs, Lester, Larry, Craig, Steve, Johan, Andrew and myself. Jason the skipper of Switchfoot made it 10 chargers in total.

We had also had a run of solid swell at the local, which for me was all time as my new Kneeon that Nick had shaped for me had arrived. Nick and I had chatted over the phone, had a few video calls and bam!! this magic carpet arrives. Oh my sack, I have never been happier with a stick. My surfing went up in leaps and bounds. Never been happier in my life.

 Around this time, I started to get pains in my left hip which radiated down the leg. Initially it wasn’t too bad but it got progressively worse. It got to a stage where I literally couldn’t walk anymore. Thinking it’s got to be the hip, off I went to the hip specialist. Had some photos taken of the hip, back to the clever guy’s office and this is where things started to go south.

Mate, as hips go, yours look beautiful but I recommend you go see a neurosurgeon.

Your spine doesn’t look good at all.

You can imagine, I’m thinking “what the fuck, are you sure you’re looking at the right X-rays.”

So, at least by this time I was on crutches to help me get around and waddled off to see Dave. Dave is a neurosurgeon that had done some work on my spine before.

Same sort of story, pain in my shoulder, radiating down my right arm.

True as nuts, I had gone to the shoulder clever guy who had told me exactly what the hip guy had just told me. Anyway, a long story short, Dave did a decompression on the C7 and T1 vertebrae.

I was booked on a boat trip to the Maldives with my good mate Guy. He is a stand up but I love him anyway. I manage to get on the plane without really having tested the neck or having had time for rehab of any sorts. Probably not my brightest move. We had solid swell the whole trip, but truth be told, I was in constant pain.

Once back in SA, I was off to see Dave again. X-rays and CT scans followed, and Dave said unfortunately we going to have to fuse the C7 and T1 but we will go in through the front this time.

Absolutely no problems whatsoever and I was back in the water 3 months later.

Dave, howzit I’m back. More scans and X-rays (starting to know everyone by their first names by now) followed. Yip, pretty much the same story, crumbling, degeneration of the spine.

I was booked in for a decompression on the L4 and L5. The procedure was pretty standard and uneventful. Unfortunately, just as with the neck, the decompression was not successful. A week later, I was booked in for a multistage fusion, L4, L5 and S1.

So, they going to open me up again along the same incision line, not feeling great about that but hey, there are worse things in life. Waking up from this op was a rude awakening. Fuck me this shit hurts. Trying to move was pretty tender for sure. Anyhow the drugs did their thing and a few days later I was able to get out of bed and lose the dreaded catheter. Walking was fair interesting to say the least, I had to laugh at myself as I looked like a mummy.

Little shuffles with my hands out front but hey, I was mobile. The day they let me out rolled around. Crap balls I felt like shit and was fair tender. It felt like someone was taking a mallet to my head.

I remember battling to get into the wheelchair to get me to the car. The nausea was just incredible, I thought I was going to throw up all over the place. Between the porter and Jo (my wife) they managed to get me into the car.

The ride home is not too far but I was deteriorating at a rapid rate of knots. Got home, Jo managed to get me onto her “throne” where I just passed out.

Through the rest of the day and night I remember fleeting moments of being awake. Couldn’t move, didn’t know what was going on. Basically, a vegetable on the couch.

The next morning Jo realized that this wasn’t good. Somehow or other she managed to bundle me into the car. I have a memory of the gardener holding the car door open with a look of concern on his face. The next thing I was on a gurney at the hospital with Debbie staring at me. Debbie is Jo’s business partner and one of my best friends.

Tests and more tests.

Somehow or other I had picked up Bacterial Meningitis.

Jo had literally just saved my life. A few hours later and it wouldn’t have turned out well.

Some serious antibiotics and medication I can’t even pronounce later, my infection levels started coming down, but the headaches wouldn’t go away. Back into the noisy tube for some more scans. Was good to see all the guys and gals in radiology again.

Crap balls I had a rupture in the thecal sac. Basically, it’s a sac that runs up your spine and over the brain. The sac contains cerebrospinal fluid. When leaking the sac “collapses” on the brain causing insane headaches, headaches that are just next level. Think migraine on steroids.

Back into theatre to patch up the leak.

Once again, they opened me up on the same incision. Success at last, once again freedom day arrived and was bundled into the wheelchair again and back into the car.

Was great to be home with the animals for sure. Jo had made a bed for me in the lounge as walking at this point just really wasn’t an option. To say I was tender would be a bit of an understatement.

A day later, I got this incredible pain down my left leg. Kinda like being hit with a cattle prodder. I remember screaming as the first one hit. Absolute agony, pain like I had never felt. It would last for about 30 seconds but in that time, I couldn’t move a finger for fear of escalating the pain. I just screamed and screamed. Over the next two days, it got worse and more frequent.

This was an incredible low point. I remember crying like a baby. I was emotionally drained by this time. I remember thinking I just want to be normal again. Remember, I can hardly walk, can’t even get down on the toilet to take a dump. I hadn’t had a shit for as long as I can remember.

My wife was washing me and dressing me. It was taking its toll.

This carried on for two days until it got to a point where I just couldn’t move.

An ambulance and crew had to come and peel me off the couch eventually. They dosed me up, got a stretcher underneath me and carried me out to the ambulance.

Jesus, what the fuck!! But hey, could be worse…right?

Back to my favorite people with the noisy machine. Hi everyone, true as nuts I’m back. Another scan revealed that the crushed bone material that they place between your vertebrae was leaking out and catching the nerve going down my leg.

Another twirl in theatre to clean up the debris, by this time the clock on the wall and I were good friends. I used to watch the seconds tick by as the anesthetic started kicking in. I woke up from here being wheeled into high care. Now I have to tell you this was by far my worst experience.

The following morning two nurses came to wash me. I was in absolute agony and they kept moving me and turning me. I was screaming in absolute agony, but they wouldn’t stop and no-one came to help me. To this day I can’t understand it.

Couldn’t wait to get out of there and back on to a ward. Or so I thought…

From there they wheeled me into an isolation ward. Apparently, I had picked up the dreaded hospital Super bug. My infection count was in the 400’s (8 being normal) and to make matters worse, the headaches were back. I had sprung another fucking leak in my Thecal sack. FUCK!!!

Back to my old friend on the wall with the ticking second hand. Again, opening me up on the same line. This time I wasn’t friends with the clock on the wall.

Dave patched me up as best they could.

What the actual…

My new home turned out to be a glass box in the ICU. In isolation in intensive care. Jesus, this isn’t good.

Nurse and doctors were putting gear on to come into the glass box. “What’s going on???”

Machines were everywhere beeping and hissing. “Fuck me, this isn’t good.”

Waking up at 4am with people sticking needles into you to draw blood loses its shine after a while. I think all I ate for the two weeks was watermelon in the morning that Debbie used to bring me with a cup of coffee. When I say bring, I really mean bribe the porter.

 Now you must remember I have basically been bedridden for 6 weeks and not had an appetite at all.

I could see the concern on peoples face when they came to visit, as much as they tried to hide it, it was there.

Nights were the worst and the tears used to flow. So as not to let the pressure in the Thecal sac become too great, they drained it every few hours. This as I’ve said to you before brings on insane headaches.

Morphine and I were no longer friends. It made me incredibly sad and depressed.

I came off the morphine by choice and gritted the teeth. Absolutely worth the pain.

 Lester and Marco organized a live feed for me for the warmup session before the SA Kneeboarding Champs. What legends.

Once again, I cried like a baby, but these were tears of joy. It was so good to watch my mates surfing and everyone saying “hi” on the feed made me feel like a million bucks. The brotherhood is strong here in Cape Town. Love these boys.

 At this point I was literally skin and bone, but my infection levels were coming down and I had managed to get out of bed and make the few steps to the toilet. The sun was definitely coming up for me. For the first time in a long time, I thought I was going to make it.

Fuck, the thought of dying in that glass box haunted me every night there.

Freedom day was like no other. Getting out of there into the sunshine and colors and breeze was a sensory overload, but hey, I was out and feeling good…ish.

 My mates, Debbie and Sian had kept me going. Sian is my office manager and best friend.

She tried to feed me all the way through to no avail, true as nuts she used to arrive with bags of food.

 God it was good to be home.

Reality starts to kick in pretty quickly. Fuck me am I ever going to be able to surf again, am I ever going to be able to sit on the toilet again (it’s the little things hahaha…)

Time to reset the mind from “fuck me, I don’t want to die in here to I need to get in the water again”.

 Enter the amazing Lara, the physio that is a gift from the angels. I remember that late December day shuffling and shaking my way into her office. By this time, all my muscles had wasted away and just holding my frame up was as much as I could muster. I could do about 2 minutes before all my muscles started shaking from fatigue and I was still shuffling like a mummy.

The question Lara asked me off the bat was “what do you want to get out of this.”

“Just get me back in the water please,” was my response.

At this point it was a fantasy I had to believe in, physically I was a mess, but I think mentally I was scarred and the mental trauma was real. But fuck it, if I could survive that, I can achieve anything. The will to get back in the water was incredible and became all consuming.

 Walking around the house became my exercise routine initially and braai tongs my best friend (in case I dropped stuff as bending was not an option). I had to hold on to everything at first as I walked along, eventually I could skip the kitchen counter on the way to the TV room and skip the chairs on the way to my room, and so it went on until I could just about walk the whole house without holding or resting.

 Lara had given me gentle low impact stuff to do, just to tone the muscles and stretches to get some life back in the buggers. Everything hurt. This was a continuous process that I did all day every day for a few weeks. I was starting to feel more stable on my feet which did wonders for my mental wellbeing. Progress was gradual but I started noticing results which made me feel like a million dollars.

 Getting behind the wheel again was a massive boost for me. My buddy Kante who is a running coach, walked with me from my local to St James, what a joy being next to the ocean again, mind surfing every bump that came through. I steadily built this up over time. Eventually I could make it to Muizenberg and back (5 kms). Everything ached at this point and the thought of shortening every walk was ever present. 4am wake ups every day can be a challenge and for sure there were mornings I couldn’t bear the thought of getting up. Sore back, sore hips, it’s dark and it’s cold, fuck this shit. On the odd occasion that I didn’t manage to get going, that feeling of worthlessness would set in. What the fuck is wrong with you, don’t you want to get back in the water? That’s not a cool feeling. I have probably missed 3 days in the six months I have been rehabbing. A 45-minute 5km walk followed by an hour of rehab back at home. I can’t begin to count the many lonely hours I have spent in the dark, walking and processing thoughts and priorities.

 My weekly visits to Lara are always a highlight. My flexibility is measured as well as my strength. Some weeks just like some days are better than others. Lately there are a few moments of some days that I am totally pain free. These can quickly be followed by days and moments of crappy pain, but I will take the good ones for sure. Setbacks some and it’s natural to be bummed by them. Thinking “end goal” always helps. Watching Billy Kemper’s story after that crazy injury in Morocco has inspired me tremendously and there is a kinship that forms in adversity.

To keep the spirits up, I have ordered me a new board from Nick (Kneeon) which should arrive any day.

Jedd has also shaped me a 5’4 twinny that looks more like something that should be flying in space rather than the water. Can’t wait to get these beauties wet.

 The daily grind continues relentlessly and it’s not always easy to appreciate the reasons for the dark hours one spends with oneself on the rehab trail. I want the prize now. Sheesh, it’s a constant battle upstairs. Here’s the weird thing, the closer I get to the end of April (paddle out day…hopefully), the more fearful I become. Will I be able to, and can I still?

All this and more just keeps swimming in the head and there’s the self-doubt.

Fuck it’s terrifying.

I have gone over it a million times in my head, do I just paddle out at a gentle beach break and see how it goes. Na, that scares me more. Soft waves are hard work and the amount of torque on the spine terrifies me. What if the nuts and bolts pop out?

There is no way in hell I am going back to that building with the big red cross on it. This drives me harder for sure back on the road, back to the floor and core exercises.

Lara assures me the hyperextension of the back I have obtained through this time will definitely be fine for paddling.

The torque and pressure on the lower back coming off the bottom and turning off the top, is what scares the crap out of me. The reef and I are intimate, god knows I have bounced and scraped along her so many times. I have certainly paid my dues.  

Wiping out doesn’t scare me, it’s that word again “TORQUE”.

Perhaps I will just go straight on the first few. That in itself presents a bit of a problem at the local, but that’s where my head is.

I know you will all understand this, “what if a section just presents itself, just asking to be slapped”.

It is so ingrained in each and every one of us, that muscle memory just takes over. Going to have to be ever vigilant.

I have swum out to the peak just to be out there with the guys. The first time was not great. It took me so long just to get to the water. Jumping off the railway line so not an option. Doing the walk around and trying to get over the rocks was tricky to say the least.

Feeling the water over my feet was an absolute delight, but crap balls, had the water got colder since the last time? As soon as I laid in the water, it dawned on me that this is going to be quite the journey.

I couldn’t swim on my stomach as the pain was intense, but fuck it, I was going out. I swam on my side and back. Eventually I made it, the guys cheered and whooped, I felt like I had just won the lottery.

It was so good to be part of the conversation out there again, it was so good to hear how stoked the guys were for me, life was good.

I fed off this like I had been starved of life for ages.

 Today being the Saturday before the Wednesday that I go back to Dave (the surgeon), brings turmoil to my emotions.

I’m not sure what I am scared of more, being told you aren’t ready or yeah, go get in the water. I am so scared of not surfing to my full potential again. Every day closer brings more panic. I just want it to be over now.

 Wednesday morning dawned (but not really), up at 4am and back on the road. Usually, I am thinking about the workday ahead but this morning not so much.

My head is swimming with what ifs. What if there is still something wrong, what if I can’t anymore, what if, what if…

On the drive to see Dave, the surgeon, my heart is beating at a million beats/minute.

It’s good to see Dave again in a weird type of way, he really is a very cool guy.

Anyhow, he sends me off for some more pictures of the spine. Gotta say I was staring at the radiologist for some clues, but nothing.

The stress is killing me, and I feel like my heart is going to jump out of my chest.

So, back up to Dave with the thumping heart, I can hear it in my ears.

It all looks brilliant mate. What… I could not believe what I was hearing. He took me through the X-rays explaining what he was looking for and everything was just right.

There’s no use putting off the inevitable he says to me, go get in the water…but don’t be stupid. I wanted to scream it to the world!

Obviously, the doubts started kicking in hard right about now, but hey, I had gotten the green light.

Thursday morning I was off to Lara for physio. I couldn’t wait to tell her the good news. The muscles on the left side of my back had been in spasm for two weeks now, so as thrilled as she was, there was the don’t be stupid again.

I had coached myself in my mind for months now, high tide, small waves and just go straight…right.

 Friday morning and the reports started coming in. There’s a bit of a wave at the local.

“It’s go time.” With my heart in my mouth, I started packing the car.

Sweet Lord, it had been a while, I had to keep double checking I had everything packed.

I don’t think I noticed any other cars on the way, I was mind surfing all the way through to the local.

I got there a few hours before the high just to get my head straight and check the lineup.

There were some chunky 4 footers coming through, but I wanted some more water on the rock. I watched my mate Dave paddle out and get some screamers.

Steve finally arrived, “I thought you would be in your suit already” he says.

This is it, heart in the throat again, off we went.

Sheesh it was so good to feel the waves crashing over my feet and legs again.

Jumped on my board and started paddling.

Woooohoooo absolutely no pain. Got out to the takeoff zone and everyone was cheering and welcoming me back. How humbling.

Mickey Duffus, a local big wave legend was out. Everybody back off he bellowed, this man hasn’t surfed for 6 months.

For some reason, this made me relax and just enjoy the moment.

Something started standing up out the back, Steve was sitting in the channel waiting for me to have my first ride.

“You going Mick?” I heard someone ask.

Yip I heard coming out my mouth, I spun and went.

Muscle memory and familiarity with the wave kicked in. I made the drop…Fuck I couldn’t believe it came around the section and just flopped off my board.

Steve and Dave had the biggest smile on their faces. The emotion of the occasion just swept over me like a wave, and the tears started flowing. All I kept thinking about was lying in ICU thinking fuck, I don’t want to die in here to taking off on the first wave.

Well, for the rest of the session, I absolutely sent it, trying to take off as deep as possible on the gnarliest set waves. All the coaching I had done in my head for the last few months went straight out the window.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

 Damn, I felt so alive, without a doubt, the happiest man on the planet. When I got back to the car park, all of the Kneelo crew were in the car park and boy were they happy for me.

Sean Thompson was there too, shooting my waves and recording the moment.

How blessed am I. Nothing was getting the smile off my face.

 When I lay in bed that night, I kept thinking of the months of rehab and hard work I had gone through. The many lonely dark hours of the mornings, but I had done it.

 The next morning, we were on it at first light with the Westside boys coming through as well. The Kneelo brotherhood in Cape Town is tight. I am so humbled by all the good wishes and thoughts from everyone.

Just want to mention Lester, who kept me sane in the last two months. We chatted every day for the last while, sometimes a few times in a day. He kept me motivated and hungry and for this I will be forever grateful.

There are so many people to thank for getting me through this period. I think you know who you are, and I will get to everyone individually.

It’s good to get wet again.

I started writing this piece to help anyone in similar circumstances.

Stick with your plan and give it everything no matter how hopeless your situation may seem.

At the end of the day this was such a therapeutic exercise for me. Something I didn’t expect.

The trauma was and is real and this has certainly helped me face it and deal with it.

If this helps even one person get over and through a rough period of hopelessness, its job done.

Mickey Kirsten

Legless Contributor

SA Kneelos

[sinnerburrito]

Jeremy's Companion Dialogue

It could have more stuff but i think it's big enough already.

- Can you tell me about yourself?

If you are up to listen the three hour long narrative of how I bravely explore the wasteland, sure why not?

I'm a courier, just like you, minus the whole "shot in the head" ordeal, used to be a prostitute too, a very good one, now I just deliver packages, read fortunes, steal, ya know, the usual.

- Fortunes?

Call it what you want, magic, lucky, madness. I know and see things... sometimes.

- And what do you see? (Answer differs based on karma/ affiliation)

You're a odd one, the cards you have is always shifting, but right now I see ...

Independent: a bright light smiles to you, thousands of wheels will guide you to freedom out a hill. The Bull don't know what's under its roves.

Legion: Blood paint the crosses, be careful with the fox, 83 is a large number and the man in gold will be not be followed.

NCR: Old laws of the old world has no place here, Shady, Sands, everything is corrupted. To others live some has to die.

MR. House: An delayed delivery, seven went and six came back, are you ready to bet all your caps in a platinum dream?

- Uh... Prostitute?

Look we all did things we are not proud of. It kept me alive and I'm thankful for that, but I'm out of this business.

-(Confirmed Bachelor) Maybe I can change your mind?

Maybe. But i think it would cost you 100 caps to try.

- Nice Tattoo.

Hey thanks. Is a family thing. And it actually goes around my body so if you're nice, I might show you one day.

-What's your thoughts on the Legion?

You're really asking me that? For real?

Okay I'll let that pass cause you got shot in the head but I'm a tribal and then a Legion slave some years ago. What the fuck you think it's my opinion.

-You don't look like a tribal.

Can't blame you. I only dance wearing my feathered headdress with paint in my body in very special occasions.

-Whats your thoughts on the BoS?

Same as the Legion, but not that bad.

I say i wouldn't beat the living shit of a Brotherhood member if they stood in a 1km radius near me.

- What's your thoughts on the White Glove Society?

They have quiet a....refined taste. Just stay away from them, trust me, better not try our luck to see if the rumors are true.

I know them seem polite but don't get fooled, I'm a fool myself and even I can can see what's up.

-What's your thoughts on the Omertas?

Oh, I'm going to be honest with you, they have a special place on my heart, there's not a single day I don't think about them what they did and keep doing.

I don't think they're a suitable sacrifice but this won't stop me to throwing every and single one of them into The Pit.

- Looks like you have something personal against them.

Is that obvious? Well, I do, and no, I won't elaborate.

- What's your thoughts on Mr. House?

Dude's a mineral and somehow still kicking everyone in the guts.

He's not so different from the Brotherhood. He only has more power.

- What's your thoughts on The Followers of the Apocalypse?

I'm on the fence about them. They're good but also not, kinda hypocritical if you want me to be honest, I think they sometimes act like everyone else is just poor lost stupid souls.

And for an anarchist group they depends an awfully lot on the NCR.

But you see, I have a talent to break bones, mine specifically, I don't know where I would be without their help. Probably alone in a shallow grave.

Oh fuck, sorry.

- What do you know about Benny?

The guys at The Tops? Head of the Chairman ? Checked train wreck?

A whole fucking lot.

If I could write it would be a hell of a book. He's an asshole as much he's ambitious.A compulsive backstabber too beautiful for his own good.

Don't underestimate him, if he have a plan for that chip of yours: Listen.

After his personal quest is completed

- So the Vipers are your family?

No No, I came out of a egg.

Yeah I guess so, I guess Ma still alive, somehow. I heard I had a sister once, ironically she didn't woke up after the Great Awakening but this was before I born.

My father....I have no idea, he was a missionary, whatever that means, i think he was sacrificed. That's all I know.

And you? Do you remember anything before the shooting?

- Yes/ No/ Just few things.

Well, maybe it's for the best, a opportunity to a fresh start.

- Let's talk about your tatics.

Constructive criticism only.

- Use a ranged weapon.

I was afraid you would say that./ Keep your distance just to be safe.

- Use a melee weapon.

No need to ask twice. / I'm already using? /Stab stab stab.

- Be agressive

Like that ever worked/ Have you noticed I'm not really an intimidating person?/ Like...angry?

- Be passive

For you? Always./ Anything for you, dear. /Oh,l I like your style.

- Wait here.

I'm not responsible for my actions from now on. / Okay I'll wait here...by myself...in this dangerous place. / Don't be long.

- let's trade equipment

These pockets are not just for Aesthetic. / If I find anything interesting I'll keep. / Be my guest.

- Overburdened

Okay, maybe it's better if my pockets just compliments my fashion sense. / Do i look like a damn Brahmin? / I knew you would break me in half but this is ridiculous.

- I would like you to go the Lucky 38.

(If his quest is not completed) The casino? At The Strip? Sorry, but I will wait for you at Freeside wandering aimlessly like a vagabond. / All those lights make me dizzy but okay / will try not steal anything there.

- Why don't go the The Strip?

Why don't you mind your own business? Sorry, it's not your fault. I just want to avoid conflict, that's all.

* In Courier's iron sight*

Do you have a death wish?/There's easier ways to get rid of me, ya know? / Of all the thing you could shove in my face, why the gun?

*Courier lays mine*

Uh...I feel like I should keep my distance./ It's a honor seeing such tatical magnificent working. / Full recovery my ass.

- It's time for us to part ways.

Awn fuck, I'm terrible with goodbyes./ I thought we had a great thing going on./ Okay, I'll go then. All by myself. In the big bad Wasteland.

*Player steals items or pickpocket*

Go, steal from the rich. / I could show you a tricky or two. / Just keep your hands off my stuff.

*Injured*

Have you seen my kidney by any chance? /Is this blood mine or yours? Nevermind. / I don't get paid enough for this.

*Crippled limb*

Quick question, bones are supposed to be inside the body, right? / It's ok, it's ok, I'm not going to cry. Not in front the mailman. / I don't think this sound is a good sign.

*Dying*

*Incomprehensible mumble* / See you in the other side. / Run...

Location

-Goodsprings

So peaceful, you can even hear the cazadores buzzing around./ Do you hear...never mind" (close to the cemitery) / Is it too much to ask to see your shallow grave?

Would you freak out if i told you never really left this grave? (By the Courier's shallow grave)

-The Strip

Can you believe a guy like *him* runs a place called The Tops?/ This place reeks of cheap cologne and bad sex. / Ugh, this lights will give me a migraine.

- Gomorrah ( unlocks completing his quest and let him in charge)

Welcome back! Thirsty? Hungry? Horny? We got you covered. / Hey if it isn't our Or Royal Highness of Vegas / Don't look in the backroom.

(If the player enter former's Clanden's secret filming room, after picking a Very Hard Lock, Claden himself will be tied up to a chair with a camera set up right before him. It's impossible to either free or kill him).

- Gomorrah / The Fort ( unlocks selling him back to The Omertas or to the Legion)

* Yawns* / Next time give me something to work with. / Already? (After the Player has sex with him in the Fort or Gomorrah)

How the hell do you still alive? / Enjoying the view, asshole? / Told you, you never left that grave.

-The Tops

Do i look presentable? / I know why we here, don't kill him, please. / I regret giving Benny that fucking gun.

- Companions

Craig Boone, why I feel a bitter taste whenever he's around?( When Boone is nearby)

Bad knees my ass, I saw him running from a cazador (when Raul is nearby)

How Grandma Lily can stand Leo? Guy's an asshole. (When Lily is nearby)

Think I have any chance? (When Arcade is nearby)

*Hums Heartaches by the Number* ( When Cass is nearby)

Don't you have to steal a child's Pib-Boy or something? (When Veronica is nearby)

[themangledsans0508]

Grasping at Control

Allie can suck my wee if she’s reading this you bitch.

TW: Self-Harm

Tweek Tweak considered himself the most fucked-up person in the entirety of South Park, which was quite an achievement considering he went to school with actual sociopaths, murderers, and drug dealers.

Yet here he was, a cocktail of addiction, anxiety, ADHD, and depression. He felt pretty alone, despite all the years he had to make friends and come to terms with himself. One of two kids out as gay, and very few adults in their town understanding, much less out themselves; he had no one to talk to. 

Just thinking about it made him want to curl up into a ball and suffocate.

And he tried.

He wrapped himself up in blankets and cried.

He cried for what felt like ages before he got sick of feeling miserable from the stale air that had just enough oxygen in it to keep him alive. 

He crawled out and sat, shaking violently. Why did he want this to happen? Why didn’t he want to be alive?

Mr Mackey had lectured them many, many times on what to do if you or someone you knew felt like they wanted to kill themselves, and Tweek wouldn’t hesitate to act if someone else felt the same way he did.

So why didn’t he care about himself?

He thought back to fourth grade when Kim Jong Un marked him as a possible target if war were to break out and Craig brought him to an amusement park.

“Well, I’m sorry that I’m actually in control of my goddamn emotions, you baby!”

That exchange had only been a minute long, but Tweek had never forgotten it. Craig was right, he wasn’t in control of his emotions. For fuck’s sake, he wasn’t even in control of his movements.

He wasn’t in control of anything. He snapped back to the present from the pain of his hair being torn out by himself, and he tried to stop himself.

His movements were involuntary, even when putting his force against them he couldn’t stop himself.

He screamed in frustration. He didn’t care if anyone heard him, because he knew from experience that nobody would do anything even if he was being murdered. His own parents didn’t care for him. The only reason his dad kept him was because having a kid helped his coffee shop.  As he got older, his dad also got free labour out of him as the form of “chores.”

His hands flew from his hair to his arms, tearing up his skin to the point he bled. He looked down to see the mess and rushed to the bathroom to prevent his room from turning into a crime scene.

He stared at himself in the mirror. Small patches of hair missing from his scalp, large bags under his eyes that served to highlight the tears running down his face. There were scratches down his cheeks from his nails dragging down his face and when he raised his hand to feel them, his arms showed a nightmare of red lines intersecting so much that they looked like a terrible map. 

He reached for the bandages under the counter and felt a flash of pain from a tear dropping onto an open wound on his arm. He bit back a yelp of pain and a horrible idea came to him. He reached for a razor in the cabinet.

Maybe there was something he could control.

~

Craig Tucker liked to call himself a “good boyfriend.”

Sure, he wasn’t perfect, nobody was. He still had spats with his lover just as everyone else did. However, as they aged and matured, those spats stopped being physical very quickly as they aged and by eleven they were purely verbal. 

They didn’t have them frequently either, and they didn’t last very long. 

So, as a good boyfriend would be, he was concerned when Tweek didn’t come to school. He tried texting him, then calling him to no avail. He didn’t like that, Tweek would usually tell him if he was sick, or pick up the phone when Craig called. 

“Craig, dude,” Token said, “maybe he’s asleep or something.” 

“He doesn’t sleep Token. He breathes coffee,” Craig sighed.

“Okay, maybe he left his phone somewhere,” Clyde offered. Craig nodded.

“Probably.” Craig could hear the static noise of his friends talking about girls, football, or other things he would usually be amused by.

Concerned was not something that people would normally think Craig Tucker was capable of being. Once upon a time, they were probably right. Tweek taught him how to comprehend emotions instead of pretending they didn’t exist, even if he still preferred not to express them.

Tweek brought out the best in him. Craig helped him find his center. They balanced each other out pretty well. 

Craig would be lying, however, if he said he didn’t keep secrets from Tweek. His secrets weren’t anything terrible like he murdered someone or he was cheating on Tweek, but that he had anxiety himself.

He never told Tweek because he decided early on he could deal with it himself. He was constantly worried that something would happen to Tweek or any of his other friends. With the town that they lived in and the fact that he had actually been kidnapped and dragged to Peru once, he felt those fears were justified.  

While he would never claim his anxiety was as bad or even worse than Tweek’s, it had given him his fair share of sleepless nights and long days.

Situations like this had happened a few times before and never failed to set off his anxiety.

Perhaps his friends were onto his lies, or maybe they could simply tell that this was bothering him more than he would let on, but they gave him some space.

He appreciated that.

~

Tweek sat on his bed, staring at his arm. His room was littered with lego bricks, empty coffee cups, and bandage wrappers.

While he was in general rather prone to accidentally hurting himself,  the sheer amount of fresh wounds dancing down his arms exposed what actually occurred.

He couldn’t risk anyone finding out about it, especially Craig. 

He loved Craig too much for him to have the burden of this on his shoulders. He couldn’t imagine what he would say when he found out.

If he found out.

Tweek had no intention of telling him, and he wouldn’t let him see either. 

But he couldn’t skip school forever. 

He sighed in frustration. He didn’t know what he was feeling. Anger, sadness, frustration, regret, or maybe a mix of it all.

He felt lost

~

Craig inserted his copy of Tweek’s house key into the lock.

They both had a key to each other’s house, and they had for a long time. Since they began dating to be exact. They respected each other’s privacy though, and if Tweek told him to leave, he would. 

He opened the door and poked his head in. The house was dark, which didn’t really surprise him since both the matriarch and the patriarch of the family were working in the coffee shop.

“Tweek? Are you in here?” he called

The house was still, yet Craig went in anyways. He shut the door behind him and flicked on the light. There was no one downstairs, so he swiftly moved to the second floor and approached Tweek’s room. He knocked on the door gently.

“Tweek?” Craig listened for a response. He heard nothing but quiet breathing on the other side. “Tweek, is it alright if I come in?”

The boy on the other side remained silent.

“Tweek?” 

“Go away, Craig.” His voice was sad and quiet, and the promise Craig had made got lost in the wind.

“What’s wrong Tweek?” Craig couldn’t stop the worry from flowing out in his voice, even though he tried.

“I’m sick Craig. Just go away. I don’t want to see you right now.” Tweek’s voice shook as he spoke, along with small jitters and whimpers. Craig could sense something was wrong and turned the doorknob.

He gently pushed against the door and to his surprise, it didn’t open. There was a weight against the door. It wasn’t heavy, well he wasn’t heavy. Craig knew exactly who was against the door. Tweek was never heavy, not even when they were little. He had gotten scrawnier and scrawnier as they aged since sometimes his anxiety made him just not be hungry, or even scared to eat. He would also forget, or be full from drinking so much coffee even though he drank far less than he used to. 

Craig stopped pushing and heard the door quickly snap back into its place with a click. He wasn’t going to force the door open and possibly hurt Tweek, he wouldn’t risk that.

“Craig, please. Just-” he heard his voice break, “Please.” His voice broke, along with Craig’s last straw. 

He silently went back down the stairs and out the house, turning to look up at Tweek’s window. The shades were drawn and the room behind them was dark. 

Craig turned to look at the twin pines that grew next to the house. They had been there for longer than either boy had been alive, and had grown past the height of the window.

He walked over to the lush green plant and grabbed a hold of it’s lower branches, hoisting himself up. He repeated the movement multiple times until he was at the tip of the tree. The entire tip shuddered with his every breath and threatened to snap with his every movement. 

The tree leaned over slightly, allowing Craig to reach over and tap the window. It flew open and Tweek pulled open that shade.

“Craig! What the hell are you doing?”

“Hanging out. Can I come in?”

Tweek cursed under his breath and reached his hands out. Craig accepted them and jumped into the window, cutting his legs on the branches of the tree. He tumbled through the window, landing on top of Tweek with an “oof.” He felt the stinging in his leg and light wetness and realised trying to climb into a window from a pine tree was a terrible idea.

“Tweek-”

“Craig, what the fuck?” Tweek panted. “Why did you fucking do that?”

Craig looked at the blonde boy underneath him. He was skin and bones, the bags under his eyes were huge. His face was tear-stained and scratched. 

“Tweek, I know something’s wrong.” Craig pushed himself off Tweek and offered to help him up. Tweek simply stared at him, mouth slightly agape.

“You’re an idiot, Craig. Why don’t you ever just listen to me?”

Tweek let out a quiet sob and looked up at Craig. 

“Craig, I’m a mess. What the hell do you want from me?” Craig lowered himself down to the floor and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Tweek, I want to know what’s wrong. We have to work together through these things, remember? Beat them together, expectations, resentment, all of it.” Tweek pushed Craig’s hand off him and jumped up.

“You want to know what’s wrong? What’s wrong is the fact that no matter what I do, I have no control over my life! Something that only I should control! Me and me alone! Everyone else controls it! I never became a knight or a queen, I’m still just a pawn in someone else’s fucking game! And guess what, pawns are expendable! I’m expendable. I’m not needed. That’s what’s wrong! I’m only a fucking tool for the entire world to use.” 

Tweek waved his hands, exasperated. His voice shuddered with every word he said, tears ran down his cheeks. He twitched and whimpered every few seconds. His hands tore across his body, flying from his arms to his shirt to his hair.

Craig stepped forward and embraced him. He pulled him tight against his body and felt him tense up and wince slightly. Tweek pushed against him slightly in a poor attempt to break free of his grip, before he simply caved in and buried his face into Craig’s shoulder. 

“I-I’m just replaceable Craig. My parents didn’t have to sell me into slavery because I’m already a slave to them. They control me, Craig.” 

“What can we do about that, Tweek? There has to be something.” Craig tangled one of his hands in Tweek’s hair and had the other one rub circles into his back. His voice was not sarcastic or mocking, but gentle and genuine.

“I don’t know Craig. I’ve tried so many things, so many things. Nothing works, Craig. Nothing.”

“Let’s try something else then. Something together. You don’t have to do this alone, Tweek.” Craig lowered them down to the floor, sitting with his legs crossed and Tweek in his lap. “We can run away together. Get our own house.”

“We can’t do that. Your sister needs you. She’s only thirteen.” 

“Fine. I’ll take you home with me then. You can live in my room.” Tweek shook his head.

“No, no. All these things put stress on you too. I want to deal with it myself,” he scolded. Craig sighed.

“I won’t let you do that. The whole point of a relationship is to deal with things together. If I can’t help you directly, then I want to be able to at least support you.”

“Where were you when I needed you? Why aren’t you ever here when I need you?” Tweek pushed himself out of Craig’s grip and stood up. “Why the fuck does everything go the shit when I’m not with you?” He shouted.

“What do you mean Tweek?” Craig slowly stood up and put his hands into his pockets.

“I mean why am I even more of a fucking mess without you?” Tweek’s hands flew up to his hair, causing his sleeves to slip down. 

Craig didn’t miss the small movement, he had become very perceptive since they had started dating. He noticed the red lines and scabs weaving down his arms. He reached his hand over to intertwine their fingers and grab his attention.

“Tweek, what happened to your arms?”

“Huh?” Tweek looked down to the subject of Craig’s curiosity. When he realised what it was he attempted to pull himself out of Craig’s grip. “It’s nothing! I just fell!” 

Craig’s grip strengthened just enough to keep a hold on Tweek but not enough to hurt him.

“Tweek, those weren’t from a fall.” Craig locked his own green eyes with Tweek’s blue ones. “Tell me the truth, Tweek. What are they from.” 

“What the fuck do you think they are from? You aren’t dumb,” he snapped. Craig lurched forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Tweek. He pressed his full weight into him. For the first time in perhaps ever, he had no control over himself.

They toppled backwards onto Tweek’s bed. Craig manoeuvred them so they weren’t at risk of falling off the bed and rested his head so his ear was directly above Tweek’s heart.

“Dude, what the hell?”

“What were you thinking?” Craig’s voice was different. It wasn’t monotone or bland, it was raw and emotional and occasionally breaking. “Why would you do that?”

“I was in control. I knew what I was doing. Nobody was in charge of me.”

“Yeah, well, you could have fucking died! Those could have gotten infected. They could have gone too deep and cut a vein! Is a brief relief really worth that risk?” Craig let out a quiet sob and gripped Tweek’s shirt.

Everything hit Tweek suddenly. He wiggled out from under Craig to lay beside him instead. He placed his hands on his cheeks and pressed their foreheads together.

“Hey, hey, I know it was stupid, okay? I’m not going to do it again.” Tweek whispered.

“You better not,” Craig muttered.

“And if I’m feeling like shit,” Tweek continued, “I’ll call you or text you to come over.”

“Or you can come over to my place,” Craig countered.

“Yeah, that’s true.”

Craig rolled Tweek over and pulled him against his body. He moved his arms from his shirt to his waist and pulled him down so he could rest his chin on his head.

“Well, I’m tired,” he yawned. “Text my mom and tell her I’m staying here tonight.”

“Why can’t you do it?” Tweek asked.

“Well, because I’m about to take a nap.”

“Wait, right now?”

“Yep.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Tweek said, “I have stuff I need to do.”

“Not anymore you don’t” Craig grumbled. “All you need to do is stay right here. I’m not moving until it’s time for school.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Well, we’ll have a terrible marriage then.”

There's gonna be a part two the angst isn't over my dears

[crimsonbluemoon]

OoOOoh! Fun! Fun! Fun! I love these, heheheh. How 'bout Celebrity!au, childhood friends, "Are you sure this is legal?" and/or "It's been so long since we did this.", and Minicat. :3 also don't mind if i reblog the game... no one ever asks me to do one but they're fun to do when i got the time. XD Hope ya have fun with all the asks ya get!

Aww I’m sure people will message you! And I’m slowly but surely getting through these. I’m hoping to get one or two done a day. ^.^ But enjoy this one for now!

AU: CelebrityTrope: Childhood friendsPrompt:  "Are you sure this is legal?“ and/or "It’s been so long since we did this.”

Pairing: Minicat

“Are you sure this is legal?” Even drunk, Craig felt like something was off about the ‘no trespassing after sunset’ sign that hung on the lifeguard post they were walking by. His feet felt light, though he was sure it was the shots he’d taken at his party. Well, it had been labelled his party, though he didn’t know most of the people his manager invited. The house’s music was pumping in the distance, but Mini was dragged further away by… someone. “What’s your name again?” 

“Hunter.” The guy seemed annoyed by the question, and Craig wondered if he’d asked it before. To be fair, he’d had to get to know a lot of people’s names that night, and alcohol didn’t help matters. Also, he really didn’t know where he was at the moment. 

Well, he knew the city at least. L.A was still the same as it’d been twenty years ago, when he’d thought he ran the streets on his bike or his surfboard. Now, after winning the NASL cup and being crowned MVP, he really did own the city. That was why he was having the dumb party with those people he didn’t know or care for. Why some guy with a stupid name was dragging him like a two year old’s ratty blanket, no care or concern for his well being. But really, did anyone these days? When was the last time that someone actually talked to Craig about something other than money, fame, or what he could do for them?   

His eyes closed slowly while he was dragged along, hearing the waves of the ocean crashing into the shore. His feet had lost their shoes, maybe along the walk to the sand, and his toes dug in with a familiar joy. This felt like home, not that stuffy expensive house that overlooked the city. The salty air, the water, all of it was so reminiscent of his childhood. How many nights had he spent on a beach like this? Searching for shells, building bonfires, finding the constellations and trying to figure out his place in the world. That had been some of the best years of his life, staring at the endless sky to remind himself that he was just so small in the grand scheme of things. 

But the best part he remembered was him. The boy with grubby cheeks and a scowl who turned into the teen with rough hands and angry blue eyes. The one person who asked him for nothing. Nothing but his company. When Craig thought he had nothing, he gave Mini everything he needed to reach his dream. Craig wished he could have done the same back then. 

Maybe now, too, if his drunk heart had anything to say about it.

“Freeze.” The voice that called out the command sounded familiar, but Mini’s brain was too sloshed to fully grasp from where. The hand that had been wrapped around his wrist was gone in an instant. It took Craig a moment to open his eyes again, and he caught a glimpse of the back of the man (Henry? Harold?) who had brought him to the beach running out of sight. It took a moment for his body to realize it was on its own, and then the world started to tilt. His arms tried to stabilize him by flailing out on either side, but it was the firm wall that his back bumped into that kept him from falling. Slowly, Mini blinked, letting gravity pull his head back to gaze up at the owner of the chest keeping his upright. His eyes were blurred a bit, partly from alcohol and the slant of his glasses, but even with the smeared vision, he picked up on some of the man’s features. 

Why’d this officer have to have blue eyes like him, too?

“You’re…really pretty.” His words fell out without any chance of filter stopping them, but he was too drunk to mind. Everything was just right for a moment; the music in the background was lower now, and the warmth on his back felt like a comforting blanket. The ocean breeze had chilled him, and while his first companion hadn’t hesitated to leave him cold and alone, this stranger seemed fine with Mini pressed against him. Hands that might have grasped his hips to keep him standing were the right side of rough, large and just so familiar-

“Craig?” 

“That is…is totally my name.” He laughed at his own answer, head fluffy with memories and booze. He didn’t mind slipping deeper into his daydream, letting the water and cold of night sooth his wounded soul. He knew this wasn’t him; the police officer’s badge dug into his shoulder blade, and he could see the flashing lights from the cop car parked somewhere behind them.  He wasn’t that lucky. But the cop was built just like him; tall and scruffy, but soft despite the large body. Prickly, if he got any hints from the scoff that brushed his ear. But he hadn’t dropped Craig, which meant he was probably just as caring and kind on the inside as…Mini squeezed his eyes tighter, leaning back into the officer holding him. But when he spoke, it was for someone who was miles away. “God, I missed you.” 

“What are you doing out here?”

“Iunno. Some guy dragged me out here for something,” he murmured, hearing a growl of annoyance that made him smile.

“You idiot, what kind of answer-”

“It’s been so long since…since we’ve done this.” He didn’t care if his pathetic mumbling was spilled to a reporter and plastered on a tabloid next week; he just needed to let it out. Years of longing, being alone in a crowd of thousands, searching for his breaking point. Decades of just not knowing where his life was headed, or when he’d stop spinning so high, when he’d crash and burn into the ground. Who would stand by Mini in the wreckage? 

He would have, probably. Because he had given Craig his nights and attention before anyone even knew his stupid name. What would he think of Mini, now? 

The decade of radio silence gave the answer he didn’t want to hear. 

“Everything okay down there? Need me to come help haul him to the car?” The call of another officer from the beach’s side road threatened to break the dream-like state of Craig’s moment, and he groaned in protest before pressing closer to his source of warmth. 

“Nah, I’ve got him. No need to call it in.” But just like his old friend would have done, this officer, this stranger, had protected Mini.

“Do ya now? This one’s special to ya, is he?” There was a tease somewhere in the tone, but Mini didn’t open his eyes to investigate. 

“Shut up, Hanby.  Take a drive down the rest of the road and see if anyone else is around. If you can find the punk who bailed when we pulled up, cuff him. I know where this idiot lives.”

“How are you planning on getting home after helping your new friend out?” 

“I was off the clock ten minutes ago; I don’t gotta tell you shit. Now get moving.” The banter was swimming in Craig’s ears, but the thumb that brushed against his hip bone melted his brain too much to butt in.  

“Oh, there’s definitely a story here. Be ready to share it with Fong and Del over coffee tomorrow. Can’t wait, buddy.” A warm laugh echoed against the night sky when the other officer moved away, and Craig’s ear picked up on the rocks shifting under the car’s tires when it pulled away. 

“Fuck, he’s almost as big of a pain as you.” The words were sharp and warm against Craig’s ear, and he felt his body shudder from something deeper than the cold. 

“God.” This cop even sounded like him. His eyes burned behind closed lids as he let out a wet laugh, nuzzling his nose into the collar of the officer. Maybe it’d get him arrested for indecent behavior in public, but he smelt like smoked wood, motor oil, and him. Or what he’d smelt like as a teenager, maybe. The details were so fuzzy now; was he just blending this person with his past to make himself feel better? Mini’s mind sloshed over new thoughts like waves, barreling into the shore of his reality with no intention to break. 

“Let’s get you home.” But before he could take a step, before the stranger could finally break the final thread of Mini’s mirage of happiness, he spoke.

“I miss him.” A sob pushed out over his laugh, head useless against the tense shoulder behind him. “I miss us, how we…sat at the ocean, talked and…and…I just felt loved, maybe. Not like now. I don’t know if he ever felt…it’s been so long since…since I’ve been happy. You just feel like love, mr…mr. officer-sir-man. You feel like Tyler, and it’s…been so long since I’ve seen him. Since I’ve had him by my side. My whole side’s missing, it’s…he’s gone. And here I am, drunk and probably arrested and in love with a ghost. Tyler would hate me now-”

“Shit.” The grip around his waist tightened for a moment, but Mini didn’t mind the squeeze. It grounded him in a way nobody had in years. The alcohol was doing a bang up job of messing with his head, as it tried to convince him the officer’s next words were mumbled against his forehead. “Brock’s gonna be impossible to deal with when he finds out he was right. Fuck.” 

“Hey, I…I have a Brock, too.” Craig laughed and then slumped, a crest of fatigue finally rolling into him. “He’s always right, good guy. He’d make a good wife for me.” 

“Wait, what-”

“Cept can’t marry him when I love Tyler. Life would probably…be easier if I just forgot him. But, I can’t.” He yawned and accepted he’d end up in the cell by the morning, giving all his weight to the officer holding him. “I’m gonna pass out now. Thanks for…being here.” 

“I should have been here before, idiot, I-.”  Whatever else came next, Craig didn’t hear, his mind slipping into sleep. 

He didn’t know that Officer Tyler Wine carried him home. Not to the house with strangers, but to his mother’s house three miles away. The one right across the street from the house Tyler himself had bought from his parents three years ago. He didn’t know Tyler was still in his city, still driving their streets, still sitting on their beaches, reminiscing. He didn’t know Tyler had refused to reach out in case Craig no longer needed a local boy that didn’t shine in the limelight. That he’d ignored their friend’s advice, kept his nose in his work, pretended he wasn’t missing a part of himself. 

And Mini didn’t know that he’d still be there when Craig woke up the next morning. 

[sunaddicted]

Me, Myself and... You (00q)

Q shifted uncomfortably on his chair as the silence between himself and James stretched, filling the office with the kind of atmosphere that made the air almost unbreathable - how much longer could it take the man to fill in a stupid piece of paperwork? Suddenly, Q was regretting very much having bullied James into sitting down, brandishing a pen and, for once in his career, actually fill in the form for the equipment he had lost on his last mission; really, if it hadn’t been another car lost to James’ recklessness, Q would have closed both of his eyes and let the paperwork pile up in a dusty corner, in the hopes that one day the agent would be bored enough to pick some of it up and actually do the boring part of the job.

He crossed and uncrossed his legs, well aware of the fact that James was taking in every single movement and twitch of a muscle, categorizing it all away for future reference and reflexion; the other’s focus had always made Q feel… strange - torn between discomfort and pleasure at the idea of being seen so clearly by those azure eyes.

In that moment, it was the most negative of the two emotions that prevailed.

Q blamed it on the row they had had a few days prior and from which they hadn’t exactly recovered yet - kind of hard to, when James spent more time in MI6 training rooms and Q himself did his damn best to avoid the man. Was it childish? Probably. Yes. But as long as work wasn’t put in jeopardy because of their personal problems, Q knew that nobody actually would come and tell them to get their act together and act like the adults they were supposed to be - and even if someone dared to, Q already had a sharp retort tucked away in the corner of his mouth, ready to slide down his tongue like a poisonous dart.

It really wasn’t anyone’s business, whether he and Bond were on speaking terms outside of the comms.

“Are you quite done?”

James didn’t even raise his eyes from the sheet of paper in front of him, pen purposefully running along every single word as he took his sweet time reading them “You were the one who asked me to do this”

“ Ordered ”

“You were the one who ordered me to do this, then”

Q repressed a huff and crossed his arms, forcing himself not to rub at his eyes: he didn’t want James to know yet just how tired he was - tired with the situation, with the bickering, with the lack of communication that seemed to speak in bigger volumes than words ever could. And of course, on top of all that, there was the fact that he currently was on his 30th hour of a three-day long shift and he was quite ready to get back home where he could take a bath, drink a glass of wine and cuddle with his cats until he inevitably fell asleep before dinnertime.

“Can you please just… speed it up?”

“Why, are you busy?”

“You know very well that I am”

Fair, James knew that: afterall, Q hadn’t been home in days and he had been left alone to fend off the cats who seemed to be perfectly alright with taking any food he dished out but when it came to James trying to pet them for a little comfort, the only result he got ws a generous dose of scratching and biting - not that he was going to complain about that to Q, though: the younger man always was on the beasts’ side anyway “I want to do this only once so, I’m taking my time to do it right”

“It’s not that complicated”

It really wasn’t but James had never claimed he couldn’t be petty.

He hummed in answer and just made himself even more comfortable on the chair, despite how hard it was to do that: he wasn’t sure if the choice to pick the most uncomfortable furniture possible for visitors had been intentional on Q’s part in order to cut his meetings short, the only thing he knew was that the metal was digging into muscle and bone, slowly torturing him with the kind of dull ache that spread numbness across your body.

James had been sat on plenty devices of torture, he could recognise one instinctively when his ass came in contact with it.

Maybe he should have grabbed the paperwork and sprawled on the couch pressed up against the wall; it was a little busted by Q spending far too many nights in the office but at least he wouldn’t have gotten up from it with every single muscle in his body screaming for sweet, sweet relief.

Plus, it would have probably annoyed Q even more.

Which, thinking about it, was the exact reason why James hadn’t opted for it: he might have been pissed at his partner, but he didn’t have any intentions of making the situation worse than it already was.

Suddenly, the lights briefly turned down to let a red one above the door shine brighter and a buzzing sound filled the air, making James’ hair stand up in alert on his forearms “What’s that?” he inquired, hand sliding under the lapel of his jacket to take a hold of the gun resting comfortably beneath his armpit “Q?”

“I-Im checking” Q stammered, pushing his glasses up his nose as he turned to look at his computers - only to be faced by a rather loud and bright alert “Oh, fuck ”

(Continues on ao3)

[charmandhex]

Inspired by @herbgerblin ‘s wonderful Taakitz art

For those that live perpetually on call in Faerun, contacting them can go a couple different ways. If you’ve got their frequency, some are easily reachable by Stone of Farspeech. If you’re offering some sort of brief, stunt-filled adventure to three less-than-retired saviors of the multiverse, a letter will suffice. And, of course, all else failing, anything from a posting for a serving job at the local tavern to one preceding a multiverse-saving adventure may be posted to Craig’s List.

But for the agents of her Majesty the Raven Queen, goddess of the natural order of life and death, ruler of the Astral Plane, it’s more a feeling: a chill gracefully sweeping up the bones, feathers subtly rising in anticipation, and the certainty that something so much larger than you is watching, that if you were to look over your shoulder, a pair of deep brown eyes would meet yours.

It’s to such a feeling that Kravitz wakes up this morning. And that’s morning only in the technical sense of the term, as the softly ticking clock on the wall indicates that it is 3:16. Again, in the morning.

Kravitz immediately closes his eyes again, pushing down the brush of frustration. First, despite Kravitz’s semi-return to the land of the living, he is still very much dead and in the Raven Queen’s employ. Though She certainly respects Kravitz’s newfound work-life balance, necromancy never sleeps. At least not at reasonable hours.

Second, there’s Taako. Kravitz opens his eyes again and tilts his head to look at his sleeping boyfriend, somehow sprawled across half of the bed and most of Kravitz, tangled up in blankets, hair spread across the pillow. Beautiful, ethereal, gorgeous. Also drooling slightly.

A smile crosses Kravitz’s face before he looks to the clock again. The feeling heightens, a sense of urgency tracing through Kravitz’s recently back in use veins. It has to be something serious then.

Kravitz slowly extricates himself from Taako’s hold, trying not to wake him. Faint moonlight peeking through the curtains paints Kravitz’s shadow across the wall as he rises, a cat hopping off the bed and trotting noiselessly across the room as he does.

Kravitz follows just as noiselessly, and his hand is on the doorknob when he hears a sleepy, “Babe?” Kravitz looks over his shoulder. Taako slowly pushes himself up to sitting, still under enough blankets to be more fabric than elf. Taako peers at him for a moment, blinking sleep out of his eyes, then says, “Shit. Call from bird mom?”

“Yes,” Kravitz answers, turning around fully. “I can’t believe those two got you to call her that.”

“Shit.” Taako mumbles again, or half mumbles as the word turns into a yawn. “S’like... fuck o’clock.”

“You can go back to sleep. I’ll be-“ Kravitz stops. “It won’t take long.”

“Nuh-uh.” Taako wiggles off the bed, taking the blankets with him and sending two more cats running. A far lumpier shadow crosses the wall as Taako crosses the room. “Ugh. Fuck o’clock. Coffee first?”

Kravitz considers, reaching out to ask, and the watched feeling softens, the hairs on the back of his neck settle. Urgent, important, but not Magnus Burnsides level of needing to rush. Coffee first then.

Neither bothers with the lights as they head downstairs, because neither needs them. Taako bats Kravitz’s hands away from the coffee maker in the kitchen and sets to work himself. Kravitz, for his part, concludes he’d be better suited, both figuratively and literally, if he were wearing work attire instead of pajama bottoms, and materializes his suit and cloak. There’s a soft, almost squeaking meow near his feet before Cat Angus starts determinedly climbing his pant leg.

“Why not send Lup?” Taako whines as he works.

“Your sister is probably going too.” Kravitz answers.

“So send Barold with her.”

“Your brother is probably going with both of us. This one... feels like a big one.” Taako’s ear twitches, and his shoulders tense. “It’ll be fine. We’ll be safe, and I’ll be back by dinner.” Kravitz rushes to say, reaching out to put a hand on Taako’s shoulder. Or what he is 90% sure is Taako’s shoulder. It’s hard to tell with all the blankets. There’s another meow from somewhere near his hipbone and a swift tug of his cape as Cat Angus jumps.

“Mmmrmph.” Taako lets out a truly dissatisfied noise before turning around, two mugs in hand. Kravitz he gives the official Raven and Ram racing mug, while Taako himself keeps a mug emblazoned with the word, “beanjuice.”

“You don’t have to stay up,” Kravitz says, gesturing to Taako’s mug even as he takes a sip from his own. The bitter taste of the coffee is tempered by just the right amount of cream and sugar. As always, Taako is an expert in the kitchen, and Kravitz is especially grateful for that (and caffeine) right now. “You could go back to bed, get some more sleep. It is-“ Kravitz breaks into a yawn. “-Very early.” He finishes.

Taako shakes his head and takes a sip of his own coffee. “Nope. Gonna hold you to that one, rabbit. You, Lulu, and Barold all back safe and sound by dinner.”

“Taako-“

“Nope!” Taako shakes his head. “You gotta be a good Grim Reaper, I’m gonna be a supportive boyfriend. So, family dinner, tonight. No negotiations here, babe.”

“Taako, I-“ It’d be nice to have something to look forward to at work today. And a reason to push off paperwork until tomorrow. “Okay. Family dinner, tonight.” Kravitz nods.

“Cool. Gonna have you ‘n Lup ‘n Barry ‘n Maggie ‘n Ango ‘n Merle ‘n Ren and-“ Taako breaks into another yawn. “And everyone.” He says decidedly. “Family dinner means everyone. So you three-“ He gently pokes a finger into Kravitz’s chest. “Have gotta show up.” The hand raises to hold Kravitz’s cheek.

“Promise. Cross my heart and hope to revivify.” Kravitz winks, work accent popping in.

Taako snorts. “Fuckin’ necromancers.” He leans in to kiss Kravitz. Only to pause when there is a thoroughly indignant squeak, as Kravitz’s own movement jostles a certain kitten that has reached Kravitz’s shoulders. “You little shit.” Taako directs to the kitten, pulling back.

“He wants attention.” Kravitz says. Cat Angus gently bats at one of Kravitz’s braids.

“Yeah, and he coulda had it now, but he picked you as his favorite.” A purple Mage Hand carefully picks the kitten up off Kravitz’s shoulder and deposits him on the floor. Cat Angus, for his part, meows his displeasure before stalking off, tail pointing straight upward.

“I think Angus is his actual favorite.”

“Lucky Agnes.” Taako huffs.

“You’re my favorite.”

“Damn right.” And Taako leans in to kiss Kravitz. They aren’t interrupted by the kitten this time. “Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Oh, and can you pick up fabric softener while you’re out?”

“Of course. Fabric softener, family dinner tonight.” Kravitz smiles.

Being summoned at 3:16 might be harder now, but what he’s going back to? It’s worth it.

[cobwebsaint]

may i ask... for you to tell us more about domestic nightmares 🥺 ramble as much as you want

ANON I WOULD HAPPILY KILL AND/OR DIE FOR YOU 

okay idk how far off the chain i am bound to go here cuz these are my stupid baby gremlin children and i also have links and stuff to provide and also y’know. ion feel like getting hate so all the idiocy goes under the cut.

ALRIGHT so it all began when I got this awful idea for the beloved spit fic (aka BIG MOUTH, read here) back when The Gang and I were on.... That Bullshit. I love putting depth into stories and characters and developing them as people and the universes they reside in and all that (read: i have the too much gene something fierce) and I wound up working on that fic for a hooooot minute so I wound up falling in love with that dynamic and building on all these stupid little quirks and starting to create a whole world out of one dumb little fic I got roped into writing.

It actually started as two separate things. For Big Mouth I was just like I need me a long hair Corey and that’s it. Then I was watching that one TERRIBLE fuckin’ 1996 Stone Sour bootleg and I was like OH SMALL???? And they wound up smushed together. Now I Am Here. 

SO DN is the terrible little infant baby children of 1996 brought into this, the year of our lord 2020. I’ve put out a little bit of Official Canon Lore in my quarantine notfic (aka oh my god, they were quarantined, read here) but that’s just scratching the surface. 

Corey and Paul have been friends fooooor fucking ever. They became attached at the hip in middle school and have been wreaking havoc ever since. Paul’s a bartender and certified Baby and he’s basically the angel to Corey’s demon. The yin to his yang. The “don’t feed after midnight” to his fucking terrible gremlin. Corey’s a genderfucked himbo workaholic. He works nights at the porn shop and also does Fridays and Saturdays dancing at the local gay club and he’s also got an onlyfans and shit. He’s terrible and my life has not known peace since he made himself known. 

Those two have lived together on and off since they were like 16ish cuz Corey got bounced around a lot but now they’ve got an apartment together behind the movie theater and it’s a disaster. 

Also Chris is the manager at PetSmart and got Corey a job there once upon a time. Corey kept it for a couple years and promptly quit at 18 to pursue thottery. Also Joey works at Hot Topic.

Now Jim works at the little family owned guitar shop in town (Craig owns the place) and he’s just a simple creecher y’know. He’s just tryna live his life and play guitar and work on his shitty little beater pickup and hang out with his friends and daydream about asses and bikes and getting ripshit with Sid when he gets home from work and Vibe. He’s got a townhouse on the shitty side of town with Sid and Mick which is a fucking chaos pit of its own. 

Mick probably does some trade job and he’s definitely the family cryptid here. Nobody’s entirely sure what he does when he doesn’t Make It Known but he’s quiet and contributes and he’s a bro. He’s also a vulture and is the reason there are bones and pelts and shit Everywhere and a whole fucking maceration area on their goddamn patio which the neighbors love to complain about but nobody ever does anything about it so whatever. Also neither Jim nor Sid would have any fucking idea what a succulent is, were it not for him. 

Sid’s...... Sid. He is the babiest baby clocking in at barely 20. He works at the fuckin’ grocery store stocking shelves and when he is not causing every possible problem within his capabilities he’s hotboxing his room and chillin with his transformers and making sick alien beats like the horrible little cave creecher he is. 

Shawn’s the sketchy, ambiguously old weirdo that everyone knows but probably shouldn’t. Corey knows him cuz he’s a bouncer at one of the clubs he works and the three stooges know him cuz of Mick. He lives in some fuckoff location in the middle of the woods off all the major roads and they all tend to hang out there. Jim works on cars and whatever “projects” he’s got going along with Mick (who keeps most of his vulture shit at Shawn’s) and Sid just sits there and vibes and steals all of Shawn’s beer in the process. Everybody else starts hanging around when Jim and Corey get together cuz they’re BOYFRIENDS.

But yeah, it’s basically just a bunch of little dumbasses living their lives and having fun and being one big terrible family together. I love them all dearly. 

I’ve got at least a billion current WIPs in this universe. Some are little one off PWP type things like big mouth, but I’m also putting my time into building up the proper timeline for yall which I’ll prob wind up firing off in bits and pieces as they come, y’know. Lil nugs to keep the dopamine moving. I really hope y’all fall in love with these dumbasses like I have. Lotsa content to come, I hope! :D

Also FTR I love talkin’ shit bout worldbuilding and stuff and I have SO MANY IDEAS TO SHARE so if you or anybody else ever wants to come pick my brain, DMs and asks always brighten up my day! I’m friendly, I promise sdfbgskjdf 

Thank you for coming to my tedtalk this made me very happy and god this is all just baseline stuff. I have lots of Feelings okay djfbvksd

[salmonthestoryteller]

Anything For You

Animal Kingdom Fanfic (Post s04e07)

Adrian took a deep breath as he let himself into Smurf's house.  Deran hadn't been happy about this part of the plan, not that he was, but in the end they needed to cover up their actions somehow. Pope knew he'd gone to his sister's and Deran had tried to claim he had an affair. No way any of that seemed normal.

"Adrian? Is that you?" He hadn't made it far when an unexpected voice called out.

Adrian stared at the woman who'd come out of the house in confusion. "Angela?"

"Well, look at you all grown up." Angela smiled, coming forward to embrace him.

Adrian knew his return hug was stiff, but he was still reeling from the sight of Julia's old friend. Deran and him clearly still needed to communicate better. "This is a surprise. What are you doing at Smurf's place?"

"Pope's letting me stay here for a bit."

"That's nice of him."

"What about you? Craig and Deran don't live here anymore and I didn't hear about a party."

"I actually wanted to talk to Pope about something. Do you know where he is?"

"Probably his room or the workshop. What gives? Everything okay?" She latched onto his arm as he moved toward the house.

"It's kind of personal."

"And your choice of who to tell your troubles to is Pope? I would think Deran-"

"It's about Deran."

"What about him?"

"Nothing I want to tell you." Adrian gave up on being polite as they made it inside.

"No need to be rude. I was just trying to be a friendly ear."

"Yeah, I remember how that went with you.  How the wrong person always seemed to find out the stuff you were a friendly ear for."

"Jesus, is this still about that summer?" Angela crossed her arms. "I would think holding onto teenage grudges was Deran's thing not yours."

Adrian ignored the comment. "Do I need your permission to see Pope or something?"

"No. Of course not."

"Great." He moved further into the house. The conversation with Angela hadn't helped make him less nervous.  The door was open and he could see Pope sitting on his bed inside, still as a rock.  He knocked anyway.

"What?" He didn't even glance his way.

"Is this a bad time?" Adrian asked.

Pope turned then, confused. "Adrian? Why are you here? Did something happen to Deran?"

He rose to his feet, coming around the bed and Adrian fought down the instinct to step back. "No, I just…" He glanced back, feeling very aware of Angela's presence in the rooms behind them. "Well, actually, I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? You still staying at your sister's?"

"No, no. Deran came and we worked things out.  Kind of." When Pope said nothing, only looked at him expectantly, Adrian forced himself to keep going. He moved farther into the room as he began to talk. "Look, that night - the night before I went to my sister's - Deran didn't get home until really late and..."

Pope held up a hand, and Adrian instantly trailed off. When he stepped around him to shut the door, he felt himself break into a sweat. "What about that night?" There was something dark in his tone.

"Deran seemed upset like… I don't even know." That was the truth. He still wasn't sure what had upset Deran that night. All Deran had said was tying everything into that night would make this easier.

Pope glanced away, his body tensed before he looked back at him. "What are you asking?"

"I tried to get him to tell me what was wrong, but he wouldn't budge. Then he spat out this bullshit about an affair."

Pope relaxed. "An affair? That dumbass. Wait, did you actually believe him?"

"No. Yes. I don't know." He turned away to run his hand through his hair, before turning back.  "He left after that and he wouldn't pick up my calls and suddenly I remembered this thing Craig had said-"

"Craig? You're taking relationship advice from Craig? Jesus, you've had a front row seat to his track record." Pope no longer seemed tense, though he was looking at him like he was an idiot. Technically that was the plan, but Adrian found himself crossing his arms over his chest defensively anyhow.

"I just talked myself into going to Jess. That maybe we both needed space. Deran showed up, though, and he said he'd just been mad at my pushing. Said he'd lied about having an affair. He was lying about that, right?"

"Of course he lied about having an affair. You two are living together now - he's not going to screw that up."

Adrian forced his shoulders to lower, and dropped his arms back to his side. As if he'd really been concerned about it. "So why-"

"Look, Adrian, you've been around our family your whole life. Rented from Smurf. And you've been with Deran for a while. You're not stupid." Pope's hand came to rest where his shoulder met his neck and Adrian tried and failed to not tense up. "You should know better than to push Deran for answers he doesn't want to give you." He squeezed slightly, and Adrian couldn't help but swallow nervously.

"I've never seen him like I saw him that night." Those words weren't part of the plan, but they slipped out anyhow. They weren't a lie, either. Deran had been so quiet. There had been such pain in his eyes, even as he told him he loved him...

Pope glanced away, a shadow falling over his face. "Yeah, I know." He turned back to him. "Look, he's going through some shit right now.  The last thing he needs is any added stress. So don't fight with him, okay?"

Adrian felt himself nodding, even as the words piled onto the guilt he felt. He was definitely adding to the stress Deran was under. "Okay."

Pope gave his shoulder and neck a squeeze again, before backing away to open the door. Adrian took the hint and headed out of the room, only to be drawn up short by Pope's voice. "Hey, Adrian - has Colby been coming around lately? Bothering Deran?"

"Colby?" Adrian frowned, confused but not worried. If he'd asked about Jack or Ox he would have thought he knew something. But Colby wasn't involved with the drug bust, nor was it him who had been found dead in Mexico and that Pearce was trying to connect to Deran. "I know he dropped by the house a few weeks ago. He and Deran were talking outside, but he didn't stick around."

"Did it look like they were arguing?"

"Things seemed kinda tense, now that you mention it. I offered Colby to come in but Deran kinda shut it down."

Pope nodded as if that was the answer he expected. "Thanks."

"Sure." Confused, but not pushing his luck, Adrian headed for the front gate. Angela was nowhere to be seen, apparently having made herself scarce. At least he didn't have to deal with her twice. He'd thought he would feel relieved this part was over, and seemed to have gone well. He didn't, though. Reassuring Pope nothing was going on was just the start of things. So much could still go wrong.

As if to underline the thought, the front gate opened just as he got there and Smurf entered. The universe hated him, he decided. There was no other explanation.

"Adrian. My son here?"

"Deran isn't here, no. I just… had something to talk to Pope about."

"Really." Smurf studied him. "With Pope?"

Fuck. This wasn't in the plan, but he had to stick to the story. "Deran and I had a fight and I just… I thought Pope might be able to give me some insight."

"You asked Pope for relationship advice?" Smurf sounded doubtful.

"Better than Craig, right?" Adrian offered her.  Smurf returned his words with a smile that sat somewhere between annoyed and amused. "It was less relationship advice and more… Cody advice."

"Well, you always could have come to me. Nobody knows my boys better than I do."

"Maybe I'll do that next time." He offered her, and promptly promised himself to never take her up on that particular offer.

"You know, I never would have expected Deran of being the one to settle down first." Smurf mentioned.

"Settle down?" He repeated.

"Well, that's what it looks like.  His own business, his own house. You two living together. I saw your laundry basket. You even do laundry together."

"I guess I really didn't think about it in quite those terms." He'd been too busy feeling an unevenness in their relationship. Even before he'd messed things up by letting Jack turn his head with his talk of simple runs and easy money. His own money, not Deran's.

"You know, the only other one of my boys to ever settle down was Baz." Smurf latched onto his arm, and he wondered why everyone was in such a damn touchy mood today. Was it something in the water? "Cath was always so moody though. Never really seemed to want to be part of the family. Only ever came to the parties if Baz demanded it."

"Well, I've always loved your parties." Adrian felt uncomfortable with this sudden turn of conversation.

"That's right, you did. Used to always come hang out with Deran and Craig. Even when Deran dropped out of school, and then the tour. You never stopped hanging out. Aways so inseparable. Maybe I should have suspected it, really. I mean, Cath was always following Pope and Baz around. Just like you were following Craig and Deran. Looks like in the end, though, you turned out to be far more dedicated."

"I'm not sure I'm really following you."

"You and I should hang out sometime, when the boys are working. Just the two of us."

"Yeah, sure." Deran was going to freak out about that particular promise, but Adrian was pretty sure he wasn't escaping this conversation without giving it.

"You really do love my son, don't you?" Smurf asked next.

Adrian found himself unable to reply. Just like he had when Pearce had thrown it out there, as well.  He hadn't even found the courage to say the words to Deran yet. He'd really appreciate it if other people stopped saying it to him like the words were tattooed on his forehead.

Smurf ignored his lack of reply, and leaned closer. "Would you do anything for my son, Adrian?"

"Of course I would." He replied instantly. Despite it being the complete truth, or maybe because it was, the smile Smurf gave him chilled him to the bone.

She rested a hand on his cheek, and leaned in. "That was the right answer." She told him.  Then she let him go, and sauntered off to the house.

Even later, as he pulled into Deran and his house, he wasn't certain whether her reply had been an approval or a warning.

FIni

Because I live for random character interactions.

I totally believe Angela is the snitch, especially after last episode. Plus, nobody seems to actually like her (except Pope).  So I’m thinking that says a lot about her.  And, technically, Smurf hasn’t been wrong about who is dangerous to have around.  Yes, there’s usually a grudge involved that is at least 50% her fault, but she’s still usually right.

I actually like Pope a lot, and his plot this season makes me sad.  I mean, that’s pretty much par for the course with his plotlines, but still.