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redpanther23 · 4 months

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GREETINGS FROM MEOWTER SPACE.

In my travels I've come to find that I have an extremely strange family background. I'm going to be talking about it in some essays, which may contain descriptions of abuse and neglect. Here's the first one (it's long as fuck.)

On my mom's side, my great great grandmother was Creek. She was alive when I was born, and we briefly met. She was over 125 years old (nobody knows how old exactly.) The men on that side, who were all Scottish, died in their early 40s, except for my grandfather, who left when my mom was a kid. (I met him once, but my mom didn't want me to be around anyone Christian as a kid, so I never met anyone else on that side of the family.) I barely know anything about my Scottish ancestry, although growing up we called the native grapes "bullises," which is a Gaelic word for plums (they're also called muscadines, but I don't know what the truth is anymore.)

My family were subsistance farmers since before colonization, until my grandma became a schoolteacher. Our family moved to what would later be the Free State of Jones from what would later be Alabama, though I'm not sure why. During the Civil War, people in Jones county refused to fight, since nobody owned slaves in the area, and it was declared a Free State. My grandma lives in the Free State, in abject poverty with my uncle and his wife, who just scream at each other and beat their kids and neglect their 15 hoarded dogs all day. And if they have a problem with me saying so, they can eat shit and die.

My mom went to school for anthropology, and taught geology at the University of Southern Mississippi. She was extremely ashamed of how poor our background is, and I wasn't allowed to visit family much, although I wanted to very badly. I got to live with my grandma and my two adopted uncles who are around my age for a little while when we were kids, and they're some of the only positive childhood memories I have. I was extremely isolated and abused, especially by my step dad, who is currently (to my knowledge) employed as a programmer at a major video game company, as well as being a child molester starting when I was 2 or 3 years old (some of my earliest memories.) His name is Rigel Cameron Freeman. I ran away when I was 16 to live with my dad. When I told my mom what he did, she called me a liar and quit speaking to me, and that was the last I heard from her directly. So far as I know, she's been in mental hospitals pretty much since I left.

My dad's mom, whose first name was Ellen, was Ashkenazi Jewish, descended from a family who left Germany before the holocaust. She was a beatnik who was friends with Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsburg, and she had personal beef with Grace Slick over a boyfriend. My dad's first guitar was a gift from Cat Stevens, although this was something he was a little embarrassed about and only mentioned to me once. She was especially close friends with Tiny Tim. She was in California trying to break into acting, and almost got a part in the Godfather allegedly (actually all of this is alleged by my dad, I only met her once. He really didn't like her, so I don't think he would make it up.)

Then she met my grandfather, Bob Marshall, who was probably in California to do drugs (sacred family tradition.) I have reason to believe he was mostly Choctaw and possibly Irish, although on that side of the family it's traditional to claim to be "French or Italian" unless you're very drunk, and then it's okay to be Indian. They moved up to Alaska and lived on the Athabaskan reservation, where my father, Rogan Russell Marshall, was born on April 19. Later, my grandfather became a civil rights lawyer, and he defended the right for prisoners with AIDS to be desegregated (basically anyone with AIDS would die in solitary before that.)

My dad got into Emerson, dropped out because no one could afford textbooks, moved to Mississippi and started this crazy punk band, and then went ahead and wrote some movies anyway. My favorite is called the Attic Expeditions, it features Seth Green, Jeffery Combs, and Alice Cooper, and it's very trippy and fun. Unfortunately, he became disabled from the same autoimmune condition I have, ankylosing spondylitis, which, if you're born male, has much more severe symptoms (which is why I chose not to start testosterone.) AS used to be thought of as genetic, but has recently been linked to environmental pollutants, and I was likely exposed to something released by one of our many chemical factories (my uncle who abuses his kids and dogs is adopted, I mentioned earlier, grew up in my grandma's house when we were kids together, and has the same symptoms, and multiple people who lived on the same Hattiesburg street as my dad in the 90s were diagnosed.) He was living in Massachussetts in his mom's basement when he married my step mom, a public defense attourney, to get health insurance, and they lived in Miami for eight years together until she left him, shortly after I moved in.

After that, I had to drop out of high school, and I lived in hell for about seven years while I worked full time, usually multiple jobs, to take care of us, and all the cats he would bring home (as many as 13, but I ran my house like a cat ranch and it was kind of beautiful.) His physical and mental health was dogshit, he wouldn't stop doing hard drugs, and our relationship was so hopelessly abusive that I had to quit speaking to him as well. My feelings are complicated because, while I love and admire his work, and he taught me a lot of extremely valuable and positive things, the things he did to me would put him in prison if I believed in the law. I owe him everything, and at the same time, I almost wish we'd never met (I'll have to talk about that in another post as well, because it's a lot, and exremely heavy.)

My third parent, Scott Panther, I honestly don't know very well. According to local legend, and there are many about him, he's Scottish and Cherokee. He was close friends with my parents before I was born, helped start Rong (and probably came up with the best ideas for it.) He was my mom's boyfriend for a long time before I was born.

My mom met Scott and Rogan at a Rong show, I was conceived after a Rong show (Scott drove Rogan to her house), and the night I was born there was a Rong show. Scott was overdosing when my mom went into labor, and I was born at 4 AM while multiple tornadoes passed through town. Later that night, he was ready to play the show (hats off). No one told Rogan I was born, though in the full video of the show he mentions the other people in town who were born on April 18. Unfortunately, the video is probably lost - he gave all the Rong tapes to someone I don't know, and he didn't say who (he may have even been lying and threw them away.)

I inherited a lot of personality traits from Scott, as many people who know us have noticed, although I gained them not through direct teaching, or through any modern understanding of genetics. I've read that before colonization these kind of things were more common and better understood.

#red panther speaks

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onbearfeet · 3 months

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WIP Wedneday? WIP Wednesday.

Road trip with the cast of Monster Mash. Imagine these dinguses playing yellow car.

Jack Russell had never been a fan of long car rides.

He didn’t mind driving, particularly. Being a werewolf often meant living somewhere new every month, and until the advent of cheap intercontinental air travel, that had mostly meant picking a continent and moving around on it as best he could. And for the last century or so, moving around in North America had meant automobiles. He’d driven everything from Model Ts to Rolls Royces, and none of it had been particularly difficult or uncomfortable.

No, it was being a passenger that he couldn’t stand.

Perhaps it was something about werewolf reflexes; he reacted to things slightly faster than ordinary humans, even in his own human form, so if he wasn’t careful, riding shotgun in a car meant he was constantly tapping an imaginary brake or gas pedal half a second before the driver did. Or perhaps it was lingering trauma from all the times he’d been shot or netted, trussed up, and thrown into the back of something with a snarling engine. Whatever it was, he didn’t enjoy being in a moving vehicle that he didn’t control. He sometimes wondered how Ted felt about it; after all, there probably weren’t any vehicles built for someone his size.

But Elsa Bloodstone owned the van, and Elsa did not give up her keys without a good reason, so Jack had gotten used to swallowing his pride and climbing into the passenger seat—or worse, the back after Bucky Barnes won the coin toss.

There was one positive to Elsa’s driving, though. Somehow, through whatever perverse alchemy made her the most remarkable woman in the world (at least in Jack’s thoroughly biased and entirely correct opinion), he could sleep while she was at the wheel. Something about the cedar-and-sage scent of her at close quarters put his hackles down, smoothed his bristling paranoia, and let him drift off to the thrum of the engine and the whisper of her breath.

And so he was mostly asleep, slipping in and out of a pleasant dream about running through high mountain forests with nothing chasing him for once, when he heard Elsa’s voice.

“Barnes.”

“Your majesty,” Bucky drawled from behind Jack, where he was presumably still strapped into a jump seat in the cargo area.

Jack felt the smile tugging at his lips. He hoped Elsa couldn’t see it.

Elsa huffed, and Jack could hear the eyeroll in her voice. “In my infinite mercy, I’ve decided to do you a favor.”

“Golly, gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she said flatly. “I’m saving you considerable embarrassment. Not counting your years with Hydra, how long would you say you’ve been, er—?”

“Myself? Conscious? Human?”

Jack couldn’t suppress the small flinch.

“Yes. That.”

“A few years, now. I guess you can count it from 2014, if you’re going from when I got out. But it took me a couple years to, y’know, have a personality again. Why?”

“Did you spend much time catching up on history?”

“I puked for two days straight after I googled JFK, so no.”

“Right, then. There are facts you’ll need to know if you don’t want to make a complete arse of yourself.”

“If this is about Marvin Gaye, I swear to Christ—”

“Your Wikipedia page,” Elsa interrupted, “says you were raised Irish American Catholic. Is that true?”

“Near ’nough.” A faint Irish lilt drifted through Bucky’s voice. “My dad was, anyway.”

“Then you probably heard a few sermons in your day about the evils of homosexuality.”

Bucky burst out laughing.

It was loud enough that Jack gave up even pretending to sleep, opened his eyes, and sat up from where he’d been slumped against the passenger window. He stretched as somewhere behind him, Ted rumbled a question that sounded like What the hell?

“Sorry, fellas,” Bucky chuckled. “Old man laughs at history lesson, you know how it is.” He snorted.

Jack stretched and used the motion as an excuse to look back at the cargo bay. Bucky was, indeed, still in his jump seat, wiping tears from his eyes and grinning.

“Priceless,” he muttered. “Just priceless. Elsa, is this gonna be one of those ‘some people are queer now and you gotta be okay with it’ talks?”

“If by ‘okay’ you mean ‘on your best manners or I’ll stab you’, then yes, that’s what this is.” Elsa took her eyes off the road just long enough to glare daggers at Bucky.

“Ha.” Bucky scrubbed at his face with his flesh hand. “Okay, let’s save you some time. Quick show of hands—who in this van has, at some point in their life, done queer shit?”

He pulled his hand away from his face and raised it above his head.

Jack grinned and put his own hand up.

Ted urfed and raised his.

Bucky looked at Elsa and raised his eyebrows.

Grudgingly, Elsa raised her hand.

“That’s what I thought,” Bucky said. His voice gentled. “Doll, I’m from Brooklyn. Down by the Navy yard, no less. There’s not much I ain’t seen. If I use the wrong words or something, please do correct me before the ghost of my mother rises from her grave and hauls me off by my ear, but you don’t have to worry I’ll see two fellas kissing and get the vapors.”

“Good,” Elsa replied, turning her attention back to the road. “Because our client is an old friend of mine, and I’ve got barbed bolts in my crossbow.”

#wip wednesday #monster mash #werewolf by night #jack russell #elsa bloodstone #ted sallis #bucky barnes

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foap-enjoyer · 9 months

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Panic attacks | Disassociation | Seizure

Panic attacks.

‘Soap’s afraid of dogs, in the original set of games. Let's bring back that fear.’

Trigger warnings: Described past dog attack from a smaller dog. Panic attack too, of course. Ships for this prompt: Ghost and Soap are in a relationship. Gaz also makes an appearance as a brotherly figure. No Price this chapter, sorry folks!

Read it here, on AO3: Ouch. - Chapter 6 - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Call of Duty (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]

It had started in his childhood. His fear of dogs. Like most people with irrational fears, he supposed.

But unlike those with rightfully, understandably scary stories, his story was… stupid. It was stupid. Embarrassing, even.

A tiny dog. A little, old, crusty jack russell terrier. Cranky with age, yes, but an overall okay dog. He was a rescue, actually. His grandpa and grandma’s rescue dog. Their little ‘bundle of joy’, they had affectionately called him.

Bundle of joy his ass.

He’d only been five or so, a bumbling, playful little child. Clumsy, but he tried his best to get around. Toddler limbs weren’t exactly the best on the market, after all.

They had, his family, stayed over at his grandparents for Christmas. A traditional thing. This was his mum’s side, his mum’s parents. Sometimes he stayed with his dad’s parents too. They were nice. But his mum’s parents were closer, so they would go there more often, as a family. Him, his pa, his ma, and his twin sister, Allie.

Soap hadn’t always been scared of dogs. In fact, as a child, he adored dogs. On his dad’s side, they had a dog- a black and grey doodle mix of some sorts. Alfie, his name was. An old dog too, rescued from a puppy mill- a dog he adored. He liked his family friend’s dogs too, Socks and, funnily enough, Soap, two little white Scottish-terriers. Siblings, if he remembered correctly. As a young kid, he’d helped pick out Socks from the litter, he’d been a rambunctious little squirt doing cartwheels in the corner. So of course he’d caught his eye.

But this dog. This jack russell. Well, he had to change it all, didn’t he?

They had been over for Christmas- like he said. This year, they were lucky enough to spend the night before, too: Christmas eve. Soap loved spending the night. Since it meant waking up to all the presents under the tree. Even if it that meant he had to spend the night stuck top ‘n’ tailing with his sister in some creaky old single bed, he didn’t really mind.

He’d woken up, bright and early, excitedly waking his parents, too, alongside Allie, jumping up and down on the bed and yanking at his dad’s hand as he all-but dragged him down the stairs to the living room. His grandparents were already awake, and the fire was already roaring, and he had sat bubbling animatedly alongside his sister, hands out awaiting their first few gifts.

It’s strange how, despite being so happy, more happy with that Christmas than any other for years to come, he only remembered one gift. A little toy train.

He remembered it because that’s what he had been playing with for the majority of the day. Chugging along with a few ‘Choo-choo!’s here and there, shuffling around on his hands and knees dodging sofas and loveseats and whistling along tiles and in between kitchen chairs and then-

Right into the dog.

He’ll always remember the startled eyes the dog had given him. How it had reacted quickly by lunging forward, its snarling mouth latching onto his lower lip, onto his jaw. How its teeth had sunk into his skin and how he himself had screamed in agony as the dog growled and thrashed and chewed and destroyed him-

Years later. Decades later, even, and he still held the scar.

The dog, the little ‘bundle of joy’, had completely torn open his lower jaw. Ripped away strips of flesh until his teeth had shone through. Until blood was the only thing little Soap could see through the tears. His parents had been in the other room, his sister, too, and no one had answered his pleas for what felt like hours.

He never saw his grandparents again after that.

Apparently, he learnt years later, they had refused to put the dog down, at the insistence of his parents. So, they had simply all stopped speaking. All because of him and his fucking train.

He sighed from where he was sat, behind his work desk. His head rested lazily on his hand as he regarded paperwork after paperwork before him. His other hand was absentmindedly drumming a pen into the side of the wooden table. He was certain he’d created a divot in the wood by now.

A knock at his door. He sighed again. “Come in.”

It was Gaz to pop his head in.

He grinned at the sight, his aching muscles relaxing. “What can I do for you, Sergeant?”

Gaz rolled his eyes. “Shut up you dick.” He snorted, “You know I’m a higher rank than you.”

Soap tried his best to look shocked, “What?” He gasped, “Since when?”

“Since forever. Anyway-” Gaz moved to make himself look more ‘formal’... Whatever that meant. To Soap, he looked stupid, and would always look stupid, even if he was the king of England himself. Gaz mimicked opening a scroll, reading it before peering upwards once more. “Ghost humbly invites you to the rookie games, soldier.”

He curled a brow. “The fuck is the rookie games?”

“Just a little something me and the LT have been cooking up.” Gaz cackled, “Oh, Soap- John, it’s gonna be so fucking good. We’re making an Olympics out of the rookies.”

“You’re telling me Simon signed off on that?” He laughed, rolling his chair slightly backwards. He moved to stretch, everything in his body crackling and snapping. He let out a low groan. “I’ve gotta see this.”

“That you do.” Gaz was bouncing in place like an excited child, his eyes bright. “C’mon. I made popcorn.”

Ghost and Gaz had made this whole Olympics thing real official. So official they’d rented out the entire indoor gymnasium on base for it. Which, when it came to renting buildings in the military, was pretty impressive. It was amazing what strings their lieutenant could pull.

When Soap and Gaz had wandered through the large double doors, he’d been met with quite the sight. Lines upon lines of soldiers, all divided neatly into teams, shuffling and yapping excitedly, the groups wearing matching colours. Green, blue, purple, yellow, and so forth, in the form of matching vests. Ghost was up ahead, sitting on the edge of a set of collective, stacked tables. He waved him and Kyle over when his eyes caught sight of them.

“When the hell did you two plan this?” He couldn’t help but ask his lieutenant, curling a brow.

Ghost snorted, leaning back on his hands. “Ages ago. I only looped Garrick in so I didn’t have to make the teams.”

Gaz nodded. “Since I know them better and all. I separated all the couples to squeeze some drama outta this.”

“You two have major issues.” He chuckled as he hoisted himself up beside Ghost, feet dangling below. “But you brighten my day with them.”

“Anything for my favourite Sergeant. Anyway.” Ghost moved to stand on the tables, cupping his hands around his mouth, or, well, where his mouth was, under his mask. “Alright, settle down, idiots, settle down!”

The rookies instantly rocketed to attention like startled cats, making Soap chuckle. Gaz made his move to elbow his way up to sit next to Soap, curling his legs under himself. He nudged the younger man. “You’ll be amazed at how much shit Ghost made for this.”

Chuckling, Soap turned his attention back to the lieutenant who was now ordering about teams. “This first little game is what I like to call ‘hunt’. Each team will pick one of their members who will put the safety-suits on, by the door.” He gestured to said door, and Soap followed his gaze. “Then, you will be given thirty seconds to run and, or, hide before we release the dogs, who are waiting in their pen with Staff-Sergeant Lee. If they find you, and they bite you? Well,” Ghost huffed, crossing his arms, “you, and your team, are out.” With the shocked and surprised faces from the crowd, Ghost rolled his eyes. “Not out-out, you stupid bastards. Now pick your bloody player and get a move on!”

Ghost had even gotten the sniffer dogs in on this? Jesus wept, how long had this man been waiting for this moment? Was this some kind of sick fantasy he had, watching rookies squirm and squeal? He had to admit, in the funny safety-suits worn when working with the dogs, running did look a little funny, but the dogs were no laughing matter. Especially to him.

Gaz nudged him again. “You alright?”

He blinked, “What?”

“You look a little pale is all.” Gaz shrugged, “Relax. It’s not like it’s me and you out there, huh? That’d be funny.”

He tried to laugh, he really did, but only a strangled noise escaped him. The simple thought of being stuck with those mutts had his heart lurching uncomfortably. “Yeah.” He found his voice, curled up in the back of his throat like a terrified child. “It would.”

Once each team had picked their unlucky contestant, and said victim- sorry, he meant player- was suited up appropriately, the game was on.

It almost reminded him of giant inflatables, the way the rookies fumbled and fell and rolled in their plush traps of fabrics and metals. Or maybe overgrown toddlers. It’d been enough to draw a smile out of his face, quickly forming into a grin and hell, he’d even cheered a bit for one kid, before Ghost had released the dogs. Snarling, feral, aggressive dogs.

His heart had dropped to his stomach. He was certain it was still there, too.

“Choo-choo,” The wheels rumbled against tile as he tugged the toy train along with one hand, the other holding him up as he shuffled his way through the kitchen. There, he had another toy waiting, a superhero toy he had gotten. Not his favourite superhero, mind you, so now, it seems the amazing Robin clad in his typical suit, had become a loyal customer of his famous train postal service. “Here’s your delivery, sir.” He giggled, unpacking a few crumbs of a biscuit from the back of the train’s plastic body. He’d eaten most of it on his way here. “Enjoy your order!”

Now, if he checked his imaginary clipboard, he noted his final customer for the day. One of his sister’s stuffed bears she had gotten. He lived in the rocky canons of woody-tops. Which were just fancy words for the table. He lived under the table.

“Just Mr bear.” He murmured to himself as he ‘restocked’ his packages. Meaning he simply took his superhero’s parcel of crumbs and replaced it back onto the conveyor. “And his order of bourbon pieces. Off we go!”

He needed to get out of here.

If he got out of here, these memories wouldn’t come flashing back. If he could go somewhere warm, if he could sit on something fluffy, not like the hardened, plastic, outdoor chair he found himself on currently, maybe it would go away.

He felt sick.

“Soap?”

He shook his head, pushing himself up. He held his breath as the world spun around him. “I just need a drink.”

He didn’t hear what the voice said next, nor did he bother to ask for them to repeat themselves, simply beginning to push himself through chair after chair, person after person, in search of someplace safe. Someplace quiet.

Sometimes, mid-roleplay, the biscuit pieces would fall off of the train, when he hit a series of lumps in the tile, or dips where the old plates had fallen inwards to the ground. Which sucked, but he pretended it was a cool, complicated issue he had to fix-up. He liked fix-up jobs. If a hole was too steep, he’d use forks to create a little bridge over it for his train. Like a pro. He felt so smart!

He ended up back inside the gym, huddled between stacks of tables and chairs he had confidently sat on only moments ago. It was the closest building, nearest set of doors, nearest hiding spot.

He prayed that the dogs weren’t allowed in here too.

Pain.

Pain like nothing he had ever felt before. Pain that seized his body, his throat locking. He couldn’t even scream-

Breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

He wanted his mum, tried to call out for her as his head smashed into the floor. There was blood everywhere, the dog was on top of him. He could feel its teeth on him, he could hear its snarls in his ears, its drool on his skin. Where was his mum??

This was stupid. He shouldn’t be crying like a little… like a little bitch over some dogs.

But he was, he could feel the warmth on his cheeks, the way his breath hitched and choked. He was panicking. He was really panicking like a pathetic kid over this of all things? He was a fucking soldier for Christ’s sake…

There were hands on him, screams, screams that took him a while to realise were his own.

“Look what your fucking kid has done, Mary.” His grandmother snapped, “Oh sweetheart, come here.” and he watched in horror as she plucked up the still-snarling dog, pressing a kiss into his worn fur, “There we go, love, you’re okay. Did he spook you, honey?”

“Soap?”

“What my son did?” His mother roared. He flinched back, raising his hands to his face. His fingertips met blood. “That dog is fucking feral, I knew this would happen!”

His hands raised to his face slowly, pressing down on the scar that stretched over the skin of his chin and lower lip. He felt himself tremble.

“Johnny?” His dad knelt down, pulling his hands away, holding his face in his own, long, calloused fingers enclosing around him. The older man winced. “Jesus, son.”

“It hurts.” He sobbed.

The hands on him rubbed softly against his cheeks, catching his tears. “Breathe, Johnny.”

He took a stuttering breath in.

“We need to get him to the hospital, love.” His dad had turned to look at his fiery wife, hesitant whether to jump in and stop her rampage on her own parents or keep holding his kid’s bloodied face together. He could hear his sister crying in the background. “I can see his teeth.”

“My teeth?” He sobbed harder. What was wrong with his teeth?

“You’re alright, you’re okay. Your teeth are fine, Soap, shhh,”

He flexed his jaw. Still intact.

But…?

“Can you look at me, love?”

He blinked. His mother wasn’t there. His sister wasn’t crying, the dog wasn’t snarling. His dad wasn’t- his dad was Ghost. The hands holding him were Simon. He choked. “Si’?”

“Yeah.” The man’s eyes crinkled behind his mask, “It’s me.”

He sobbed again, barreling himself forwards. Simon caught him easily. “It’s alright, Johnny.” He soothed, moving to gently scratch at his spine. Up, and down, one, and two. A nice, soft pattern. “Breathe. What’s got you so worked up?”

“I hate dogs.” He hiccuped. “I fucking hate dogs.”

The hands tightened around him. A soft oh leaving the black balaclava. “I’m sorry, love.”

He shook his head, trembling as he pressed his head into Simon’s neck. “Not your fault.”

Simon huffed softly, and Soap took this moment to wind his arms around the man, clutching at the tac-vest he never seemed to rid himself of, looping his fingers in holsters, hoops, anything he could clutch onto. Ghost let him, he always let him. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

He bit his lip, thinking. It made it easier to talk when he couldn’t see those piercing eyes. “It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s not embarrassing, love.” One of the hands on his back reached up to scratch at his hair, nubbed-nails massaging wild brown locks. “It can’t be if it’s got you of all people this worked up.” A kiss, through fabric, onto his head. “You’re one of the bravest people I know.”

He sighed, a soft noise leaving his throat. “I, was… uh…”

Ghost didn’t urge him to talk faster. Instead, he settled down himself for the ride, relaxing into the tables and chairs surrounding them. A finger stroked his ear. “Take your time.”

“When I was a kid, a stupid fucking-” He cut himself off with a wheeze, scrunching his nose. Simon held him throughout. “Fuck why is this so hard? It was just a stupid fucking dog, holy shit.”

Simon shrugged against him. “Fears are stupid. At least, phobias are. Irrational, that’s the definition. Gets us all worked up.” He leaned closer, “If it makes you feel better, I don’t like snakes.”

He shook his head. “But snakes is… It makes sense. Mine doesn’t. It was a tiny little fucking rat.”

“Hey,” Simon nudged him slightly, chuckling, “I’ve seen some pretty scary rats before. You ever been to New York?”

He had, and it made him laugh softly. “Yeah.”

“And chihuahuas can be scary too. Let me guess…” His fingers tapped against his head, “Terrier of some sorts?”

“How’d you know?”

“They’re scary little dogs.” He shrugged again, “Them and chihuahuas. Always the tiny ones that get you.”

He sighed, curling up slightly in Simon’s arms. “I guess.”

“I won’t bring the dogs out again.” He heard the man promise as he closed his eyes, getting comfortable. The adrenaline was wearing off now, and he could no longer hear the snarls and barks of the dogs outside. Or the crowd of rookies, for that matter. He wondered where Gaz had gone off to.

“You don’t have to do that just for me.” He laughed softly, “It’s just a dog.”

“Hey, if we had snakes around us twenty-four seven I’d be expecting you to get rid of them for me.” He poked him, “In sickness and in health, you dick.”

Soap chuckled, squirming away. “Seriously though, you don’t have to do that.”

“Fine then, I won’t.” He stopped with his insistent prodding. “But why don’t we go down there one day? Meet one of the dogs? There’s a nice one, Julia, her name is. A total sweetheart. You’d like her.”

He bit his lip, thinking.

“You don’t have to.” Simon hurried to say, “I just thought-”

“No, no.” He smiled into the man’s neck. “I’d… I’d like that.”

Another kiss on his forehead. “I’ll see to it, then.”

Two little random facts about me: - The dog attack is based to a T on my own childhood. Except I was bitten on the cheek, have no scars, and I don't have a twin sister. - My parents are in the British military. I've never mentioned this and idk why. My mother's a Captain, and my dad's a Major, which is just above a Captain and just below a Colonel, for those wondering :) - So ig my parents are Price and König...?

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usergrantaire · 7 months

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gilded age s2e7

- feminist icon larry russell

- ah so george is still a robber baron after all

- they need to STOP putting marian in those yellows and stick to jewel tones, yellow washes her the hell out

- “i am persuaded” mmm are you tho?

- all this drama over fucking opera

- ooh is peggy gonna recruit marian to teach at sarah garnet’s school

- not agnes indirectly telling marian she wants her out of the house 💀

- “how many others went with you?” scandal!

- why is jack’s clock storyline so cute

- man stop sex baiting us make use of that hbo banner already

- old timey cameras are so charming

- flora is here!

- i knew mr mcneil was nasty

- naur is agnes reading a bible??

- it hurts to see oscar getting scammed

- sure, maud is definitely just in newport

- mrs astor ambushing bertha during tea, gotta live passive aggressive combat

- “you’ll regret it” nah the academy will have their last opera performance in 1886

- you know maud could still be a lesbian it’s just irrelevant to her scammer plot (me when im delusional)

- robber barons gonna robber baron

- yayyy john adams is back

- maud beaton, the gilded age anna delvey

- this brooklyn rooftop party looks divine

- peggy’s dress!!!!

- EMILIE KOUATCHOU????

- jesus christ everyone on broadway and their mother has been in this show but aaron

- naur not mrs astor stealing the duke from bertha 😭

- dorothy trying to set peggy up

- FEMINIST ICON LARRY RUSSELL!!!

- why are mrs bruce and mr borden cute lol

- noooo ada

- another larry and marian crumb how are we doing girls

- marian’s gonna have to marry super rich now isn’t she

#kei watches the gilded age #the gilded age #gilded age hbo

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twothpaste · 2 months

Note

I saw this post you made https://www.tumblr.com/twothpaste/748684553658515456?source=share and it reminded me of your Intermission AU fic, Hatchback, where the Chosen 4 are basically on a road trip! IIRC there's a flash forward to the future where Paula is a teacher, and she's called "Mrs. Jones" that would imply she's married. Who's she married to? And what happened with her family after she pursued education, especially considering how her mother was heavily against it? And how are the rest of the Intermission AU cast doing in the future?

Aw jeez, that's a lot of big questions! How 'bout I be a little silly and answer them in reverse order 🤸‍♂️

Future Lucas & Claus do wildlife rehab work together. If I think too hard about them tending gently to sick baby deer & mending birds with busted wings, I get teary-eyed sappy and have to sit down. Kuma refuses to settle into any particular career, genuinely happier hopping between employment and doing odd jobs she calls "freelance work". She marries a lady named Ash - based on a kinda communal headcanon about Kuma dating one of the Tittiboo waitresses - I swear I'll draw her someday. Duster becomes increasingly eccentric over time, a gracelessly aging Z-list rockstar.

Future Ness is a civil engineer, doing his small part to try and make suburbia a less hellish place to live, for his boring little family & everyone else besides. Paula starts her teaching career as a college adjunct, intending to work her way toward tenure, but derails into teaching high school for a while due to some circumstance or other. Though teaching niche college courses was always her dream, she unexpectedly realizes there's a lot of good she can do for high school kids, so she sticks with it much longer than she'd planned. By the time she does eventually get back around to becoming a college professor, she's probably in her 40's or 50's. Jeff designs rockets & satellites for the European Space Agency, while Tony jogs their jack russell terrier 5 miles a day and engages in cartoonishly daring news reporting work. Poo goes on wild anthropological surveys all around the world, and never gets into politics (much to his family's immense displeasure, but they can deal).

Future Porky probably never gets better ❤️. Picky comes out as a trans woman in her mid 20s. Tracy supports her all the way. Flint and Lighter are off having an Old Men With Pickup Trucks Slow Burn Friends To Lovers Redneck Romance in their 60s, but I'll never write it, so you'll have to fill in the blanks yourself.

I have not resolved the Paula's Mom Plotline in my head yet. As much as I'd like for her mom to chill the fuck out and let Paula be Paula, I think the hard lesson of coming to terms with a parent's faults is probably more the direction it's headed in. There's also the mess of like? Her dad supports his daughter despite everything, but he's too spineless to challenge his wife over it, and he's also dealing with some kinda debilitating illness?? The conflict might come to a head during her senior year. I've got a Paula fic idea floating around on my backburner, so I'll probably sort it out sooner than later. Regardless, our gal's gonna set firm boundaries and live her life.

As for "who is Paula married to," there is actually a possible or probable answer. The catch is: absolutely none of y'all are gonna like it ☺️. As some of you may have gathered, my funny Mother College AU is very and truly crossed over with [ my Dana's ] funny Yugioh College AU. The amount of interconnected nonsense going on offscreen would make your head spin, and this happens to be one of our silliest interconnected nonsenses.

There's this kid from Zexal named Dumon, he's canonically a tragic historical figure and a horse enthusiast and also an alien for a while, don't worry about it. Dana's college Dumon is a nerdy little butch lesbian (I mean, [ look at him ]), who - like Paula - also spends about 90% of his time at the campus library. It started as a joke <- fatal last words. They share a love of pretentious literary analysis and medieval history and quiet noontime study sessions spent over expensive lattes. Dumon's still a bit shy of her noisy bunch o' D&D friends, but maybe they'll break the ice one of these days. Paula's mom keeps forgetting his name. Paula keeps having to firmly remind her he's from Utah, not Arkansas. And that yes lesbians can use he/him pronouns, they've been doing it for decades, gosh Mom can you get with the program already.

Anyways, if things keep going the direction they're headed, my Paula might very well be marrying a Yugioh character. Thanks for asking, anon! ^_^

#long #ask tag #intermission au

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rueroyale · 1 year

Text

From The Nine Tailors, this stream of consciousness passage, annotated:

"And people may say what they like," thought Wimsey again, "about the services of the Church of England, but there was genius in the choosing of these psalms. 'That I may be certified how long I have to live'--what a terrifying prayer! Lord, let me never be certified of anything of the kind. 'A stranger with Thee and a sojourner'--that's a fact, God knows.... 'Thou hast set our misdeeds before Thee' ... very likely, and why should I, Peter Wimsey, busy myself with digging them up? I haven't got so very much to boast about myself, if it comes to that.... Oh, well!... 'world without end, Amen.' Now the lesson. I suppose we sit down for this--I'm not very well up in the book of the words.... Yes.... This is the place where the friends and relations usually begin to cry--but there's nobody here to do it--not a friend, nor a----How do I know that? I don't know it. Where's the man or woman who would have recognised that face, if the murderer hadn't taken all those pains to disfigure it?... That red-haired kid must be Hilary Thorpe ... decent of her to come ... interesting type ... I can see her making a bit of a splash in five years' time.... 'I have fought with beasts at Ephesus' ... what on earth has that got to do with it?... 'raised a spiritual body'--what does old Donne say? 'God knows in what part of the world every grain of every man's dust lies.... He whispers, he hisses, he beckons for the bodies of his saints' ... do all these people believe that? Do I? Does anybody? We all take it pretty placidly, don't we? 'In a flash, at a trumpet crash, this Jack, joke, poor potsherd, patch, matchwood, immortal diamond is--immortal diamond.' Did the old boys who made that amazing roof believe? Or did they just make those wide wings and adoring hands for fun, because they liked the pattern? At any rate, they made them look as though they believed something, and that's where they have us beat. What next? Oh, yes, out again to the grave, of course. Hymn 373 ... there must be some touch of imagination in the good Mr. Russell to have suggested this, though he looks as if he thought of nothing but having tinned salmon to his tea.... 'Man that is born of a woman ...' not very much further to go now; we're coming into the straight.... 'Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts....' I knew it, I knew it! Will Thoday's going to faint.... No, he's got hold of himself again. I shall have to have a word with that gentleman before long ... 'for any pains of death, to fall from Thee.' Damn it! that goes home. Why? Mere splendour of rhythm, I expect--there are plenty of worse pains.... 'Our dear brother here departed' ... brother ... we're all dear when we're dead, even if beforehand somebody hated us enough to tie us up and ... Great Scott, yes! What about that rope?"

Annotations

Psalms 39.

5 Lord, let me know mine end, and the number of my days; that I may be certified how long I have to live.

…

14 For I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were.

15 O spare me a little, that I may recover my strength, before I go hence, and be no more seen.

Psalm 90:8 KJV

Thou hast set our iniquities before thee, Our secret sins in the light of thy countenance.

1 Corinthians 15:32 KJV

If after the manner of men I have fought with beasts at Ephesus, what advantageth it me, if the dead rise not? let us eat and drink; for to morrow we die.

1 Corinthians 15:44 KJV

It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body.

Donne’s Sermon LXXXI

One humour of our dead body produces worms, and those worms suck and exhaust all other humour, and then all dies, and all dries, and moulders into dust, and that dust is blown into the river, and that puddled water tumbled into the sea, and that ebbs and flows in infinite revolutions, and still, still God knows in what cabinet every seed-pearl lies, in what part of the world every grain of every man's dust lies; and sibilat populum suum, (as his prophet speaks in another case) he whispers, he hisses, he beckons for the bodies of his saints, and in the twinkling of an eye, that body that was scattered over all the elements, is sat down at[ the right hand of God, in a glorious resurrection.

That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire and of the comfort of the Resurrection, by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Flesh fade, and mortal trash

Fall to the residuary worm; | world's wildfire, leave but ash:

In a flash, at a trumpet crash,

I am all at once what Christ is, | since he was what I am, and

This Jack, joke, poor potsherd, | patch, matchwood, immortal diamond,

Is immortal diamond.

Job.14

1 Man that is born of a woman is of few days, and full of trouble.

2 He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down: he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not.

Book of Common Prayer

Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts;

Shut not thy merciful ears unto our pray'rs;

But spare us, Lord most holy, O God most mighty.

O holy and most merciful Saviour,

Thou most worthy Judge eternal,

Suffer us not at our last hour,

For any pains of death to fall away from Thee.

#lord peter wimsey #dorothy l sayers #the nine tailors #annotations

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redheadspark · 9 months

Note

9 dialog and 8 action for Jack Russell?

A/N - I would love to write this for Jack, thanks for requesting this, anon!

Tasty

Summary - Jack loved dressing up for Halloween, and he was rather good at it too

Warnings - Just some fluff :)

“Jack this might be too much for the trick or treaters?”

“Why do you say that, Amor?”

“Well, the blood for one thing,”

Jack looked down at his costume, seeing what he was wearing and looking back at you with a raised brow. You could only smile at the sight, the small sounds of the neighborhood kids right outside your window at your home were flooding your living room as the classic movie “Wolf Man” was playing in the background on the screen.

“It looks really realistic, Jack,” You said to him, seeing him chuckle as he shrugged and readjusted the collar on his massive cape.

“It’s because it is,” He explained, “I should know since I’ve handled a few in my lifetime and in my line of work.”

You rolled your eyes as you pointed to the cape and the fake teeth in his mouth, “Vampire also wear capes?”

“Just the really old ones, they thought of it as traditional and very regal. Especially the ones from Romania,” He informed in his matter-of-fact tone.

Jack loved Halloween, mostly because he was one of the monsters affiliated with the holiday. It was such a shock for you to hear that he loved the holiday and didn’t mind they glorified monsters. In fact, he would celebrate Halloween all day long if he could, and technically he did since he hunted monsters to make a living. But still, that also came with him detailing all he knew about monsters.

“This isn’t accurate, Amor. They don’t even eat like that in real life!”

“Honestly, if he was a real fairy, he would have ripped those limbs off instantly!”

“Zombies can go a bit faster, trust me.”

Now he was dressed up as a vampire, which seemed comical since he dealt with vampires the most in his hunting career and hated them all together.

“Should I be worried that you know how to replicate fake blood this well? I probably should be, right?” You asked, almost in a tease as Jack chuckled. His Vampire attire is very accurate, according to him since he was portraying a vampire from the 18th century. Not only did his costume look very precise, but so did the blood.

His own creation no doubt.

Jack reached down to take a dollop of the fake blood that was on his cheek, smearing it on his finger before offering it to you with a smirk on his face. You had to giggle, taking the dollop from his own finger to taste it. You hummed, giving him a shocked look as he grinned.

“Had to make the stuff for years just to get the right monster into my trap,” he explained, “Mixture of jelly, and a hint of berries from my own stash in my workshop,”

“It’s good,” You complimented, pausing as you said it as Jack laughed, “That sounded morbid.”

“No, it was perfect,” He replied, leaning over to peck you on the cheek as the doorbell rang. You saw his face light up in excitement, rushing over to grab the trick-or-treat bowl prepped and ready by the hallway table.

“Jack,” You said his name as he was about to open the door, “Remember, these are little kids. Don’t try to scare them, okay?”

“What made you think I will?” He asked playfully as you gave him a knowing look. He then opened the door, looking to see a handful of kids in their costumes with their bags out at the ready.

“TRICK OR TREAT!” They said in unison, all of whom were looking at Jack with wide eyes and shocked faces. You were wondering in the back of your mind if these kids were going to be scared of how Jack would appear to them. Maybe they were going to scream and freak out, or run back to their parents who were waiting on the sidewalk. Yet Jack still still, his smile on his face as a brave boy in an Astronaut costume spoke up with a big grin.

“AWESOME!” He cheered. And the rest of the night, your house became the big hit and Jack was a celebrity.

The End

Halloween Prompt Session

#jack russell x reader #jack russell x you #jack russell #jack Russell x female reader #werewolf by night fanfiction #werewolf by night #marvel cinematic universe fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe #marvel mcu #mcu fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fandom #marvel fanfic writer #mcu phase 4

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tacomanarrows · 3 months

Text

Tac's OC Ref Masterpost!

Heya everybody! I'm not sure where the thought for this came from but I wanted to make a post that just has all of my OCs' refs in it in case anyone ever needs to find them and doesn't wanna ask me for them (which ur always welcome to do btw!) or doesn't wanna go digging through their Toyhouse galleries. This will be linked in my pinned post as well, so if you ever need to find it again, it'll be there! Every character will have their Toyhouse page linked below their ref, so you'll have easy access to more in-depth info and more gallery images if needed!

All the refs are below the read more since this is going to be a really long post, so be prepared for that if you take a look lol. It's organized the same way as my Toyhouse, with sonas first, then primary, secondary and tertiary OCs (basically categorized by how much I use them and how much development they have). I'll put a little bit of information about each character and whenever I make a new ref for a character, I'll swap out the old version with the new one here!

Also feel free to ask me anything abt any of my characters ever!! I adore talking abt them <333

SONAS

(These guys are ordered by how much I use them/how representative of me they are)

Shep (Toyhouse Link)

My main sona and most complete representation of myself out of all my characters!

22 y/o asexual biromantic German Shepherd

Boyfriends with PBnJ

Lead vocalist/guitarist for Let's Get Back!

PBnJ (Toyhouse Link)

Secondary sona

Usually goes by just PB

Also Ace/Biro, Golden Retriever

Boyfriends with Shep

Bassist and backup vocalist for Let's Get Back!

Starburst (Toyhouse Link)

Main comfort sona, personal favorite OC <33

Kinsona based on Jenny from Wayside, who's my biggest comfort character!

Do not draw her without her outfit!! Also please only draw her anthro!

Second tallest of my anthro characters, slighter taller than Shep, not as tall as Wilkołak

Very friendly, adventurous and always looking to live life to the fullest!

Spatter (Toyhouse Link)

Pokesona

Move set: Dragon Pulse, Earthquake, Rain Dance and Protect. Feel free to draw him using any of these!

Has roughly equal number of purple and green splatter markings

Very squishy, loves giving/receiving hugs

Vostok (Toyhouse Link)

Main Dragon/WoF-sona

My oldest OC, I've had him since February of 2017

May look intimidating but rlly just a big soft guy

Blue and purple scales make chevron shapes (not zigzags, not checkerboards, not stripes, etc.)

PRIMARY OCS

(Characters from here going forward are listed alphabetically per section)

Agouti (Toyhouse Link)

RainWing

Relatively quiet and shy until you get to know her

Lesbian, girlfriends with Rhazz

Can feel the emotions of others very strongly (for better or worse)

Doppler (Toyhouse Link)

SeaWing/RainWing hybrid (75% Sea/25% Rain)

Weather forecaster with his wings and scales that show weather radar

Makes up a weather watching/storm chasing team with Sundial and ThunderSnow

Boyfriend of Sundial

Radar can show any kind of weather (rain/thunderstorms, hurricanes, snow storms, tornadoes, etc.)

Eejanaika (Toyhouse Link)

SkyWing/RainWing hybrid

Name pronounced Edge-a-NYE-ka

Goes by Eej as a nickname

Has issues with anxiety and self-confidence

Demisexual, girlfriend of ThunderSnow

Has a short right horn, RainWing frill spines with no membrane, a double-pointed nose spike and is missing every other spine along her back as a result of being a hybrid

Name and design based on the old color scheme for the Eejanaika roller coaster at Fuji-Q Highland in Japan

Firecracker (Toyhouse Link)

Jack Russell Terrier

Small but full of energy!

Loves 4th of July themed snacks and baked goods (his personal fav are Star Spangled Ding Dongs haha)

Friends with Starburst over their shared energetic lifestyle and red white and blue color solidarity :]

Isaac (Toyhouse Link)

Celestdog - Australian Shepherd

Nonbinary Asexual

Quiet and reserved, generally prefers to do their own thing

Very smart, loves trivia facts

Sibling to Moxie and the rest of the Celestdog family

Kwaro (Toyhouse Link)

SilkWing

Gay, boyfriends with Rutabaga (owned by @/macaronichewtoyz)

Likes to sing, but is self-conscious about singing in front of others

Generally softspoken

Kinda velvety soft rather than full scales

Luau (Toyhouse Link)

Major comfort OC

Very chill, laid back attitude

Good friends with PB and Shep

Occasionally guest vocalist for Let's Get Back! and often runs the lights/effects for their shows

Always has a flower in her hair, but can be any flower!

Girlfriends with Seabreeze

Moxie (Toyhouse Link)

Celestdog - Siberian Husky

Another major comfort OC

Loves to have fun, can play a little rough sometimes but always means well

A bit bigger and more stocky than Isaac

Sister to Isaac and the rest of the Celestdog family

Pebble (Toyhouse Link)

Small and fluffy with long, silky fur

Husky/Samoyed mix

Hates getting his fur dirty

Smallest of my feral dog OCs

Pumpernickel (Toyhouse Link)

Twin brother to Rye

Drummer and backup vocalist for Let's Get Back!

Easygoing and relaxed

Enjoys being outside at night

Rhazz (Toyhouse Link)

Huge comfort OC

Design and personality based around the Roaring Twenties

Super energetic and affectionate

Lesbian, girlfriends with Agouti

Stage performance partners with Foxtrot

Has a necklace, two hoop earrings on her left ear, a ring on her left horn and a feathered headdress (all are not optional when drawing her!)

Rye (Toyhouse Link)

Twin to Pumpernickel

A bit more rambunctious than his twin

Likes to strut around thinking he's cool stuff when he's really just kind of a dork

Keyboardist, backup guitarist and backup vocalist for Let's Get Back!

Seabreeze (Toyhouse Link)

Lively surfer girl

Girlfriends with Luau

Good friends with Starburst as well, as both are pretty adventurous

Always has her lucky seashell necklace

Wilkołak (Toyhouse Link)

Big scary (or at least he tries to be scary) transgender wolf guy

Name can be pronounced either Veel-koak or Will-ko-Lack (His name means Werewolf in Polish)

Tallest of my anthro OCs

Has hydrokinetic powers and his blue markings glow when he uses them

Used to be a WoF Fantribe OC named Galeforce before I redesigned him lol

SECONDARY OCS

Arroyo (Toyhouse Link)

SandWIng

Sometimes acts as an older brother figure to Rhazz

Higher-up at a gold mine in the desert

Ruff is stylized to look like messy hair

Foxtrot (Toyhouse Link)

NightWing/SilkWing hybrid

Stage performer, performance partners with Rhazz

Loves showtunes music

Feel free to simplify his design if needed lmao

Magma (Toyhouse Link)

Biggest of any of my dragon characters

Veteran of some war (he never specifically says which)

Has a scar on his tail

Adoptive older brother to Sunrise

Fits the "cool uncle who brings the kids awesome gifts at their birthdays and holidays" role

Sundial (Toyhouse Link)

IceWing/RainWing hybrid

Girlfriend of Doppler

Makes up a weather watching/storm chasing team with Doppler and ThunderSnow

Wings show what the sky outside looks like at any given time (day/night, clear/rain/snow, etc. - think like a Minecraft clock lol)

ThunderSnow (Toyhouse Link)

IceWing/SkyWing hybrid

Wavy spines are a hybrid side effect

Wings are meant to look like a blizzard, icicles and lightning, all meant to tie back to his name

Storm chaser, works with Doppler and Sundial

Boyfriend of Eejanaika

Wanderlust (Toyhouse Link)

SilkWing

Owns a safari tour business in Pantala

Sometimes wears a pith helmet at an angle as part of her tours :]

Probably has an Australian accent lol

Her catchphrase/business tagline is "Everybody needs a little more wonder in their lives!"

TERTIARY OCS

Cenote (Toyhouse Link)

PackWing (WoF Fantribe)

Name is pronounced Seh-noh-Tay)

Lives in the forest and has a lot of knowledge about herbs and plants and stuff

Spends so much time in the woods that the smell tends to follow him wherever he goes

Markings and stuff can be simplified if needed lol

Chernobyl (Toyhouse Link)

NightWing/SandWing hybrid

Used to be the king of a fantribe I had made called FissionWings, which is why he has his floaty crown

Orange stripe along his flank is highly radioactive

The spots on his wings flicker with little sparks of radiation

Generally cold and stoic, usually keeps to himself

South (Toyhouse Link)

Melanistic IceWing

Named to contrast all of the IceWing OCs named North lmao

Youngest/smallest of all my dragon OCs

Very innocent and happy since he's still pretty young

Love to play with his friends

StrangeEvidence (Toyhouse Link)

NightWing with weak future seeing powers

Based on the terrible Science Channel show of the same name [I have no shame]

Tries to interpret his visions but goes like, way overboard and sounds ridiculous in the process

When they turn out to be something totally mundane, he's just like "alright, so that's what that's about. Hm, neat" and walks away

These last two are doubled up due to Tumblr's 30 image per post limit </3

Sunrise (Toyhouse Link)

Also fairly young, but older than South (like what would be tween age in humans)

Kind of a ditz and lacks any kind of inhibition, which sometimes gets her into trouble

Adoptive younger sister to Magma, who often helps her out of the trouble she gets herself into

Tōhoku (Toyhouse Link)

SeaWing/SandWing hybrid

Lives by the beach

Loves to cook and owns a snack shack by the ocean

Very chill, would probably host a surfing contest

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racefortheironthrone · 8 months

Note

So bit of a vague question , but I’d be interested in how you feel about “the world outside your window” with marvel. Ofc it was started a lot more in line with the current happenings of the world specifically New York but these days due to a few reasons , such as the sliding timescale, to retain characters they’ve made things like the Sian Cong war, and then there’s fictional characters as presidents, street level becomes cosmic level, many events, more and more fantastical city, etc. not that it’s an issue on my end, esp since I’ve never had a connection to New York (different big city where no superheroes live :( ) so it’s always been a degree of speeratjon, but I’d be curious how you feel about it / what the heart of “outside your window” is that must be kept but other things don’t have to. Thank you!

The "World Outside Your Window" as a concept/slogan has always been a tricky thing, because it was sort of retrofitted onto the Marvel Universe from Jim Shooter's "New Universe" (an experimental brand-new comics universe which was supposed to have mirrored our universe exactly prior to the "White Event" that gave some people super-powers; the "New Universe" was also distinctive for not having a sliding timescale and being set in real time, such that the events of each comic were supposed to happen a month apart, and so forth).

The Marvel Universe had more of a complicated relationship with reality: the Fantastic Four would mention Beatlemania, but in the Marvel Universe it was the FF who was getting mobbed by young women at JFK; Sue Storm would mention Marilyn Monroe, but in the Marvel Universe it was Sue doing the famous photoshoot on a red velvet backdrop. On the other hand, there was also the original fiction that Marvel Comics existed in the Marvel Universe, with Stan and Jack making cameos that made it clear that they were working on (non-fiction) comics about America's biggest celebrities at the merry Marvel Bullpen.

It also mattered when you were talking about the Marvel Universe; the sliding timescale evolved gradually in the late 70s/early 80s and Marvel was a lot more specific about its real world references before it set in: most older men were WWII veterans, Charles Xavier fought in Korea, Tony Stark became Iron Man in a very definite Vietnam, real U.S presidents made cameos in Marvel comics and were elected (or not) in real time (people forget that the original Days of Future Past was themed around the election of Ronald Reagan; Chris Claremont pulled no punches), and characters were given definite birthdates and canon ages.

(That's right; Jean Grey is old enough to collect Social Security, although the Social Security Administration might raise a fuss about how to count missed payments when she was dead.)

But Marvel jettisoned that cultural specificity in the 80s in favor of the sliding timescale - and I think you can't have both a sliding timescale and "the world outside your window" because characters don't age and (confusingly) cultural change happens in the background without explanation. It's one of the reasons why Marvel has given Chip Zdarsky the creative freedom to do Spider-Man: Life Story (and then let Mark Russell steal the same idea for the FF).

#marvel #marvel meta #the world outside your window

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oh-saints · 2 years

Text

the holiday (p.1)

george was supposed to come home and find her sister, cara, and her family. instead, he was left with a beautiful stranger until the british grand prix. with girlfriend no longer in possession and his parents going on a long overdue vacation, it was guaranteed george would have the most interesting break.

[loosely based on the film “the holiday (2006)”]

“why is something so wrong feels so right?”

george russell x architect!OC

word count: 4.2k

tw: mentions of cheating (but not the MCs); loneliness; suggestive contents; fluff? angst?

song: dreaming of you - cigarettes after sex; distance - christina perri; almost is never enough - arianna grande (feat. nathan sykes); august - taylor swift

note: JUST BECAUSE, you know? my kind of cheering myself up after arsenal lost the day before monday. there’s also tons of inaccuracy about george’s family because i believe that’s the private side of his life so i don’t wanna dive too much to that. BUT another GR63 work because watching him racing did me wonders and this is like a bonus because my first attempt to write hit 50 notes (!!), thank you so much guys xx

wisbech.

the place where he grew up, the place where his dream of becoming f1 world champion blossomed. it had been ages since the last time he came up north—his parents had moved down to south to be closer to him as his racing journey started to pick up, his siblings would always come down to his parents’ current abode whenever george was in town (or country, whichever may be the case). his sister, cara, now inherited their old house and lived there with her husband, chris, and her son, jack.

the last time he bothered to drive a long mile to the small city was when he attended jack’s christmas play two years ago, right before the pandemic brought everyone down with it. the season had already ended that time, giving him plenty of time to travel far, and his only nephew had been begging to have him at school—probably to show off to everyone his uncle was the rookie f1 driver everyone had been talking about. but he remembered vividly the calmness of the suburban as he ran his daily 10k one morning, a striking difference to the busy life he’d been leading since he turned 16.

today, he hoped the same tranquillity would wash all over him. the last thing he wanted to have right now was everyone tailing his every move, flashing camera at his face, running mouths to gossip about him—all the jazz that came with the business. he didn’t ask for forever; at least enough amount to have him focused for the next race weekend.

and surrounding yourself with your closest ones always helped. with his parents going on a long overdue trip (thanks, covid) to malta, his sister was the first person to pop into george’s mind after everything fell apart under his nose. as much as benji’s advice never failed, he really didn’t need his brother to laugh at his face first before going full-on serious brother mode, like a typical older brother would do to his younger brother. george would even try to endure chris’ dry jokes and jack’s chatterbox personality if it means that he’d get his piece of mind.

it was already a wonder how george didn’t manage to have a mental breakdown whilst driving to the countryside. he’d been expecting himself to cry, shout, scream—anything to get this heavy rock off his chest—as soon as he was away from the spotlight but he succeeded in reaching his old place just in time as the navsat’s ETA. maybe the title of “mr. consistency” was rightfully given, after all.

well, george doubted any other driver able to finish a grand prix within the top 5 after finding your girlfriend on the bed with another dick that wasn’t yours inside of her just the night before the race. like nothing happened, like it was any other race weekend.

“cara?”

weird. nobody answered him as he continued his way inside.

“chris? jack?”

it wasn’t like cara’s place at all to be this quiet and spotless. everywhere his oldest sibling went, she’d leave a trail of sunshine along her way. this house now felt… too large to be lived in, even though george knew this house had enough of space for more than 3 people.

“anybody home?”

just as george finished the sentence, the typical english cold air swept by him. he turned his head to the direction of the wind, his body went rigid at the thought someone had broken in the house and killed everyone in it like those thriller films, his fists ready to punch anyone who dared to have a go at him. but instead of a robber, his surprise came in another, entirely different form.

an alien woman was certainly not on the list of people who could shock him at that moment.

george was so shell-shocked that he didn’t know which one to digest first. the fact that there was a woman that wasn’t cara at all in cara’s pride of a backyard garden or the fact that the woman was still cantily clad in her sleepwear on a rainy english summer afternoon.

what the fuck is going on?

did he arrive on the wrong address? had cara moved from this house and he didn’t know? did something happen to cara, one that he didn’t know? with george being away so long and so often, his mother would’ve shared things with him so he didn’t feel so left out whenever all of them gathered around.

he was so torn between needing to find out the truth and needing to sit this entire thing down first.

fuck. george cursed himself for not calculating things thoroughly. knowing the press would soon get a sniff of the bombastic breaking news, george immediately texted cara his plans on seeking shelter at her house the day after he landed and turned off his phone right away for (a) safety measures as the mercedes private jet about to take off, and (b) he didn’t have the energy to entertain the badgering from his publicist as soon as he made it on the front page of daily mail.

“well, yes, richard,” the woman-in-question’s voice broke george’s reverie. she sounded so exhausted and angry at the same time. she sounded like him. “i’ve resketched the house from scratch, just as you instructed. what more do you want?”

if george wasn’t so perplexed, he’d definitely give her brownie points. there was something about established women earning off from what her brain was capable of that always nailed george in the heart. no offense to all the models he’d been involved with or all of his fellow f1 drivers’ girlfriend, though.

“with the upcoming deadline, that kind of radical change—you know what, have it your way, richard. demolish everything for all i care. i’m not going to let you ruin my holiday. have a good day.”

this time, the woman-in-question seemed like the one surprised as she turned around, only to find george’s presence looming over the glass door to the backyard. cat got her tongue for a full thirty seconds before she took a deep breath and said, “i’m sorry i didn’t see you there. i take it you must be george, cara’s brother?”

thank god she started to speak because george could feel his brain was having a shortcut circuit error. her back profile, as alluring as it was with all the gentle wind blowing her hair, didn’t do any justice to her front profile. she was breathtaking that george even missed the fact she knew who he was, the fact she might be waiting for him, and the fact that she knew cara (of which should relieve him).

“cara said you texted her you’d be coming when she already departed but couldn’t get a hold of you back, so i should be expecting you sometime today,” george was used to being complimented for having clearest eyes amongst the current f1 drivers but hers far surpassed his. if he wasn’t busy digesting the reality thrown at him, he wouldn’t mind swimming in the pool of her eye colour. “i’m raline, by the way. i’m currently on a house exchange with cara.”

everything was happening at the same time simultaneously and confusingly that george wanted to throw up. was this how aomame of IQ84 felt when she lived through two parallel universes?

“what the hell is house exchange?”

“well, for the next two weeks, she gets to live in my house back in LA, i get to live here. she said she’d try to be at the silverstone, though.”

“why?”

“because we all need some break from normalcy, i suppose?” raline shrugged nonchalantly, as if it was the most obvious answer. “i mean, our respective long-time partner cheated on us—”

“wait, what?” george’s head hit all-time worst migraine. “cara got cheated on?”

“oh, shit. please don’t tell her it came from my mouth.”

george didn’t know what happened to him the next 10 seconds. all the sudden he was already sitting on the barstool, a glass of water perching on the countertop in front of him. “you’re turning pale. are you sick? can i get you anything else?”

“is there any beer in the fridge?”

“or do you fancy a glass of whiskey?”

“now you speak my language.”

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

“i see you’re back on the grid.”

george plopped his body on his old bed that was now too small for him. but he didn’t mind one bit, for the bed was a legendary, silent witness of his childhood dream and the suffering he endured alone behind the 4 walls in order to achieve the life he was currently living.

“i see you didn’t tell anyone of your problem and set off to LA.”

“did ral—”

“she didn’t say anything, i presumed much,” george cut his sister off because even if raline didn’t slip off of her tongue, he’d gathered as much. going on a house exchange trip was beyond cara’s character. “what were you thinking, cara?”

“i know, i wasn’t thinking,” his sister sighed deeply over the phone. “but i know i need to get away from wisbech as soon as possible. you know, to think about everything and what i should do next.”

“like myself, in a sense,” cara agreed to george’s statement right away. her youngest brother had always found a way to conclude things simply for everyone to understand since he was a child and she immediately knew he was meant for big and good things ahead. “you know you can always talk to me, right?”

“i know. i just don’t think i can right now,” cara answered and george sensed she wasn’t saying that to dodge his initial question. “you’ll be the first to know about every single thing when i’m ready.”

“promise me?”

“i promise you, giant. but don’t tell mum anything until i do, okay?” cara didn’t need george to say anything because she knew he was nodding somewhere behind the line. “now, what happened to you?”

george managed to chug the entire whiskey contained in his glass and poured some more for the next turn. “well, my girlfriend cheated on me so now she’s my ex and that’s that.”

“oh, giant. i’m sorry to hear that,” cara took a shaky breath and if it wasn’t because of her previous plead of not going there, george would’ve insisted her to talk about it. “i wish i can share my favourite whiskey with you now.”

“you could, you know?”

“george…”

“i know, it’s why i open the bottle myself. do you mind?”

“just left some for me, yeah?” jack’s voice was heard screaming to his mum he was home. “and share some with raline. i think she needs companion as much as you do.”

“right, about ral—”

“she’s of no harm, george. i can assure you that,” jack’s voice was getting louder each passing second. “but i’m sure you don’t have that much of energy to face jack now so i’m going to call you back, okay?”

the phone call went dead before george managed to let out a response and he was, once again, back friends with silence.

he looked around, waiting for the familiar sense of pride this room used to bring—his karting trophies, junior championship photos, the likes. he rubbed his face for how suffocating it felt this time, like it burnt his lungs every time he inhaled the air around him, and he felt like screaming for help. but he knew nobody could, not when the only one he felt like he could talk to was thousands of miles away enjoying LA sun, and it frustrated him beyond belief that it strained his chest. his hands went up to the painful part of his body, grabbed a hold of it so tightly in hope it eased the pain, but all was futile.

before george realized, tears had run down his face.

and for the first time since he cried in this very room after his homeroom teacher laughed at his face for thinking his dream of becoming an f1 driver ridiculous 10 years ago, mr. consistency helplessly broke down into the abyss of despair.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

if george was any other person doing any other job than being an f1 driver, he surely would’ve missed the gentle caress raline called knocking.

“george?”

her weak attempt was enough to alert george, who’d been trained to react the fastest at everything thrown at him, awake. he knew he could jump straight up and open the door but he didn’t want to open the door looking like an absolute wrecking titanic. and the definite explanations that followed from raline.

“it’s way past dinner time,” raline continued, voice still as gentle as she was the afternoon but the information relied on was enough to make george shoot up from his bed. he turned to the clock beside his favourite lewis hamilton’s biography and it read 9:30. “your food’s getting cold.”

he held back a groan. aleix would definitely kill him for not reporting any of post-races exercise he should be doing, on top of not being contactable for almost the past 24 hours or so. not to mention his nutritionist, his team, his parents—oh god, his head hurt from the turn of events. he didn’t expect he would be knocked out cold for god knows how long. the exhaustion must’ve taken its toll physically and mentally, for the last time he over rested was the first race of his f1 career back in abu dhabi in 2019.

but fuck it, he still had another day to explain himself.

george rummaged through his closet and picked up the thick-rimmed glasses he wore once a dozen halloweens ago, when he tried to channel theodore from alvin and the chipmunk. he could only hope it did the trick this time against raline so he didn’t have to undergo the ever complex question of “are you alright?”.

“i hope you don’t mind pasta,” raline started speaking before he could reach the last flight of the stairs. “it seems like cara didn’t have a chance to do some groceries.”

“pasta sounds great,” george pulled up the high stool across the marble countertop where she was behind. “thank you so much. remind me to go to the market tomorrow.”

“i’m heating up your plate,” raline only acknowledged his previous sentence with a nod, then moved around the kitchen with cold precision, like she didn’t like to waste another second around the premise, and it scared him to be honest. “do you want some wine?”

if raline had noticed his swollen eyes and worn-out skin tone, she surely was damn good at hiding it. what she was doing now could rival angelina jolie’s the kitchen scene in mr. & mrs. smith.

“eh, sure,” raline shot him another question of white or red? before he could continue anything else. “i’ll have what you have. i don’t think my famished stomach can complain about anything that’s already served and ready to eat anyway.”

just in time, his stomach grumbled. george shot her an apologetic look at the same time she shot him a what is that? look, and the weird interaction made her laugh. george’s body warmed at the sight, not because he managed to emanate a genuine reaction out of her that was 180 completely different to his impression of her by far, but because she looked stunningly radiating. as if he’d just unlocked the laugh she kept away for so long.

as if she’d been liberated.

only then he realized he was going to share his sanctuary with someone as beautiful and confusing as raline for the next two weeks.

life really had a way to fuck you up, didn’t he?

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

next day, raline still didn’t confront him about the swell that didn’t seem to disperse from his eyes. instead, she greeted him “good morning, george!” with a sleepy smile and her gentle voice before she poured some coffee to his favourite cup, just as he walked in the kitchen after his daily cycling routine.

with her messy bun left some strands framing her facial features, a deadly combination if george had to say. so deadly he failed to notice how she could know it was him before he pulled himself up.

“i hope you don’t mind coffee in the morning,” raline put his cup in front of him, her fingers dainty and her movement seemed calculated. george found himself becoming more and more intrigued at the hot-and-cold contrast she was displaying. “or are you that stereotypical brit that drinks english breakfast tea in the morning?”

george genuinely was curious as to how raline looked like she was smiling without actually smiling. like her face was expressionless and rather cold but she radiated warm, friendly, welcoming persona he didn’t want to look away from. heck, george thought he couldn’t do so if he’d wanted to. was it her eyes? was it her pursed lips?

in fact, raline exuded an aura that only made george want to spill everything that had been wrenching his mind and heart to the table. unfiltered, uncensored. the f1 driver didn’t think he could hold himself altogether any longer and frankly, he didn’t want to anymore.

the revelation horrified him, however, for he had never encountered such a feeling towards a stranger he’d only met less than two days. towards a stranger he’d only met several days after he found his ex-girlfriend cheated on him. towards a stranger he’d only met when the wound was still fresh open. towards a stranger who shared the same kind of experience with him. towards a stranger who escaped her own pain back home. towards a stranger who also had too much already on a plate.

his heart clenched more at the thought he’d only impose more disturbances to her healing process. the meanest thing one can do to others, for him, is to impose more on other people than they can receive. the meanest thing george can do to raline was to impose her with his selfish desire that he couldn’t control in the first place.

“coffee’s wonderful,” george pulled himself away from his reverie, realising raline was waiting for his response. he reciprocated her small smile, however his was bittersweet and his insides churned at the guilt because he knew she didn’t deserve his half-hearted ass attempt to conceal his feelings. “is there milk in the fridge?”

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

“where have you been?”

“what the fuck!” george jumped in his place at raline’s voice, almost closing the fridge door on his fingers. “can you stop being creepy?!”

“you’d hear me asking you three times already if your airpods wasn’t blocking my voice.”

raline shrugged from where she sat on the floor, her body leaning towards the coffee table in the middle of the living room as she scribbled down something. she looked nonchalant doing so, but george could see a glint of mischief on her eyes as she did so. three days later, and he could figure out she entertained herself by surprising george whenever she could—god knows how she could know when and where he was coming from. george was almost convinced she was actually a psychic devouring a woman’s body as a disguise.

“well the other time we were in the market, i wasn’t wearing anything in my ears and you still snuck up on me,” george opened up the fridge again, remembering what he was planning to grab a bottle of water before raline scared his wits. “care to explain that?”

“you were busy with your fans, were you not?” suddenly raline sounded angry and george couldn’t help but turn around his body, afraid of what he said might be perceived wrong. she didn’t even spare a look at him as she crumpled away the paper she was scribbling on earlier before she threw it away with full force. the poor paper hit the wall before it crippled away lifelessly on the ground, joining a dozen of other papers who’d faced her earlier wrath. “anyway, where were you?”

the return of her normal, gentle voice sent george into a whirlwind. was this woman possessed or something? if he was, he’d nail the coffin on his raline-is-a- psychic theory. “i was out running. need to do my daily 10k, that’s all.”

“10k? impressive,” raline looked up from the blank white sheet to look at george. her eyes went wider and rounder as she realized he was only wearing tight biker suits. george managed to catch her turning slightly pink before she turned away, choosing the boring paper was a better view than his running attire. “how do you that daily without passing out?”

“well, i’m an athlete,” the blush wasn’t fading out anytime soon, george could conclude as much, so he decided it was payback time. he settled down right beside her on the floor, so close their knees were touching and she could silently feel his breath on the back of her ear, overlooking what she was doing. “i’ve been doing that since i was a kid.”

the drop on george’s baritone sent shivers all over raline’s body so she decided to distract herself by drawing some more architecture designs. “what kind of athlete are you?”

“f1 driver,” no, no, no, please don’t get any closer. but as they said, the more you wished for it, the more God wouldn’t have it your way. raline could feel his skin—or what she thought was his skin—brushing featherly against the shell of her ear. “what kind of artist are you?”

“i—um—i’m no artist,” raline had to gulp down her nerves before she choked on it. unluckily, while doing so, the scent of his body odour protruded her sense and she had to close her eyes to gather herself. a mix of sweat, English cold wind and morning sun, his cologne, and his natural body odour. since when he could affect her like this? “i’m an architect, actually.”

“an architect? impressive,” she could feel the tip of george’s nose moving along to the hairs towards the back of her neck and she had to grip the pencil on her hand so she could focus on something. “how does it feel to have a brain as sexy as you?”

shit. george really went to nuzzle back towards her collarbone, tracing the long horizontal bone, ever so painstakingly slowly. “how does it feel to ride a car as sexy as you?”

oh, how much george loved a banter. he chuckled against the soft skin, discreetly inhaling the Chanel hair mist she sprayed on while feeling the hairs standing up all over her body at the sensation his teeth gave as they grazed the skin. “i bet you it’s sexier when you ride me on instead.”

she released a shaky breath as george planted a hand on her exposed thigh at the end of his sentence, thanks to the oversized sweater she always wore to sleep. “george…”

as much as george enjoyed getting his payback, he didn’t expect he enjoyed enticing these kinds of reactions out of raline. she was always beautiful since the first time he laid his eyes on her but nothing beat the prettiest sight of raline aroused and gaping lightly for air under his hands’ demonstration. it didn’t help to his pride that getting this out of her only from his nose and hands, imagine how she’d be when he poured his all in.

fuck. raline was turning more and more like an addictive aphrodisiac on him.

fuck. this was why he tried to stay out of the house whenever he could. he ran 10k, he set milestones on his biking distance, he drove back and forth to the mercedes training centre down south, he trained in the local gym, he ate his lunch—ironically, the one raline always managed to pack the night before he went out to the mercedes building in the morning—at random parks on the way home. hell, he even tended cara’s plants and flowers on the backyard even though he had the shittiest hands out of all his family, just minimize his interaction to raline.

raline, in one way or another, was cara’s guest, hence he should treat a guest with outmost respect. and his father taught him to treat woman as they’re their worth.

but jesus christ, may the lord help him.

it’s because george knew raline was worth golden, it was very difficult for him to hold back. not when he knew now she could be puny under his hands, not when he knew now how her body reacted to him, not when he knew now that while she didn’t exactly say no, she was more than welcoming of his advances.

to top it all off, not when he knew in the first place he was worthy of her.

it’s always the forbidden fruit that’s so tempting, no?

but maybe, he hadn’t been selfish enough all his life for everything he truly wanted.

just as george was about to channel his inner adam, his phone’s ringtone splashed a tsunami to their faces. george pulled away and dashed out of the house as if his life depended on it.

well, maybe not his life, but certainly for his inner peace and sanity.

#george russell #gr63 #george russell imagine #george russell fic #george russell one shot #george russell fanfic #george russell x reader #george russell fluff #george russell smut #george russell angst #george russell drabble #george russell x you #oh-saints writes

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lesbiangummybearmafia · 7 months

Text

Gilded Age, 02x06, Warning Shots. My thoughts...

Turner can go fuck herself! Seriously her revenge doesn't go the way she wants it to, so her next is to steal Bertha box at Met. By getting some getting some old money people to go to new opera house she has some cojones. Hoe I don't think so! I love that George set everything right again, don't mess with his wife! Good man! Can someone, but Bertha please expose Turner for who she really is, a two bit hoe lady's maid that tryed pathetically to get her bosses husband to sleep with her. She'll be dropped out of high society on her ear!

The word frenemies should of been invented to describe Bertha and Mrs. Astor's "friendship". I swear the moment Gladys said 'I thought you were friends' to Bertha, frenemies started flashing in my head in neon red lol.

Omg Marian, I felt so horrible for her put on spot like that in front of everyone. He didn't even court her or anything! Oscar at least kissed the girl he's trying to convince. He's gay for crying out loud, can't imagine kissing a woman high on list of things to do but he did damn it! Marian and Dashiell haven't even done that, let alone gone a true date or anything. I do like him, it just feels like he's jump the gun alot. It seems like he's looking more for a mother for his daughter than an actual wife. Which isn't cool dude! I do like how Marian got around saying yes, that was creative.

How cruel to do that to Aunt Ada and Luke. It's just evil! I just bust into tears. She finally finds her person only to have this happen. Aunt Ada has the purest of hearts she and Luke don't deserve this!! All I know is there better be a goddamn miracle happen and he lives!!! When Aunt Ada comes down stairs and Aunt Agnes is waiting for her just being her big sister. I couldn't take it, I started sobbing right along with Aunt Ada. Because not matter what Aunt Agnes said or does she loves her little sister.

I really don't like what their doing with Peggy and her boss! This week I'm liking she's all get away you're married. Just hope it stays that way. Because other wise it's just going to come off as badly for both characters. I really don't like her boss! Beyond he's already married! All I know is if I heard the line my wife doesn't understand me like you do. I might scream!

Ok I'm so confused what Oscar is up with the investment. I am glad he moved in direction that might lead to something more then friendship. I do like them together.

Can George please be a good man to his workers. He's such a good man in so many other respects. When he was in the head of labor union house it was easy to see he cared. Especially the fact that son worked at the plant or that the children didn't go school or have one to go to. He's not like the guy that works for him. George isn't a heartless, unfeeling, subhuman who would of gladly killed all those men and not even blinked an eye. So I'm hoping we'll see George do the right by working with the labor union to come with deal that works with for both sides. Also see build a school, George Russell is a fictional character after all why not make him like say Milton Hershey who really champion for his workers, build them homes, schools, a hospital and everything else in Hershey, Pennsylvania so they could work more easily at his plant. Because it's like we can him wanting do that. He stop those soldiers from shooting on the striking workers, where the other dude would of been happy with countless die and wouldn't of cared, he'd all been price of doing business he's just subhuman!

I think it so amazing what Jack did with clock! I definitely don't think he shouldn't give up. Love how everyone in the house expects one believe in him and gave him the money to go to patton office.

Can we take a minute to talk about Armstrong. They show us how horrible her mother is ok I can get that, but there are people with horrible parents that don't become that. I'm living proof of that! So what else is her deal!?! Because she's one dimensional at this point, even after them showing us her mother it's still impossible to have any empathy or simple care for her. She's just the most bitter, jaded, miserable character of the whole series. If anyone would be entitled to feel that way it would be Peggy's, her baby son died but she's nothing like that. So I hope they give us more on Armstrong character. Because I'm so tried of her being a buzz kill, shit Aunt Agnes isn't that bad!! When she said that stuff when Jack's patton get approved, truthfully I just really wanted to slap her. Because being cruel and horrible is a choice, it's abusive. It's not because of how she was raised with her mother if that was case she's be like to everyone. She's not, if she was like that with say Aunt Agnes her ass would of been fired by now. She's selective on who she's abusive too.

I'm over Mr. McAllister playing both side! I feel he needs to be loyal to one side now. I of course I want it to Bertha's. personally find Mrs. Astor too arrogant, overblown, way too many people been kissing her ass for so long that thinks she just be a bitch to everyone. Or that her personality because outside her daughter we haven't seen her be truly nice to anyway not ever Mr. McAllister. It's she walks in a room she just expects them all just to kiss her ass. Where Bertha generally nice to people, especially her staff. Which is one of things I do really love about her. I do wish be less shape with Gladys. She keep Gladys in a golden box than snap at her when she doesn't understand something. It's like Bertha you only have yourself to blame if Gladys doesn't understand these things. Chill woman! Gladys looked so hurt by Bertha words and tone. I understand that feeling very well. I would really love to see a scene where Gladys stands up to Bertha when she snaps at her and Bertha realize what she's doing. And they have a moment where Bertha said she's going to stop doing that. Because we have seen it in her Bertha way she does truly love both her children deeply.

I do have to say I want more Bertha in last two episodes she's been seriously lacking. Or at least it felt lacking to me. I know there are bunch of other story lines going on and need they need equal attention but I still want more Bertha!!

#the gilded age #the gilded age spoilers #the gilded age season 2 #02x06 #warning shots #bertha russell #george russell #gladys russell #marian brook #anges van rhijn #ada brook #oscar van rhijn #dashiell montgomery #maude beaton #jack tga #armstrong tga #turner tga #i #my thoughts

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dream-beyond-the-fantasy · 1 year

Text

OC Masterlist as of 10/8/2023

My OCs (main):

Julie Kristina Lawrence

Fandom: The Karate Kid/Cobra Kai

(Primary) Story: Is This Love?

FC: Alyssa Milano (mainly 80s and 90s era)

Julie is the younger sister of Johnny Lawrence, Cobra Kai's star student. She has been in love with his friend Jimmy since she was a kid. As her senior year of high school comes to an end, something changes between them.

Alyssa Riley Morgan-Parker

Fandom: The Karate Kid/Cobra Kai

(Primary) Story: Never Knew

FC: Molly Jackson

Alyssa is the teenage daughter that Jimmy didn't know that he had. She comes to live with him and his family after losing the only stable adult in her life. Alyssa learns how to be a part of a family and gets caught up in the Valley's karate dojo wars.

Molly Alexandra Yates

Fandom: Doctor Who/The Sarah Jane Adventures

FC: Madeleine McGraw

Story: currently working on this title-less WIP

Molly is the granddaughter of Mike Yates, companion of the Third Doctor and former member of UNIT. She was raised in San Francisco by a single father. When she was a few months shy of turning fourteen, her dad moved them to his homeland of England. Molly makes fast friends with the other new girl in their Ealing neighborhood, Maria Jackson, and finds a mentor and mother figure in her grandfather's old friend, Sarah Jane Smith. Molly investigates alien and strange occurrences in and around Ealing with the rest of the Bannerman Road gang, while trying to unravel her own, personal mystery.

My OCs (supporting):

Rebecca Nicole "Becca" Brown

FC: Staci Keanan

The younger sister of Bobby Brown. Best friend of Julie Lawrence. Becca is an outspoken girl who doesn't back down, whether challenging Dutch or defending Julie.

Jenny, Jordan, Josh, Jesse, and Jayden Parker

FC: Khrystyne Haje (Jenny), Jimmy Deschler (Jordan), Grayson Russell (Josh), Jack Gore (Jesse), and Iain Armitage (Jayden)

Jenny is Jimmy's wife in canon, yet has never been seen, only referred to onscreen in one episode. My Jenny is a calm, loving, and level-headed woman, partner, and mother.

Jordan and Josh are Jimmy and Jenny's eldest sons, fraternal twins. Jordan is the athlete and Josh is the sensitive musician. They are each other's best friends. Jesse is/was the troublesome middle child, always getting into mischief. Jayden is the innocent baby of the family, only eight years old. Jenny and Josh were the first ones to welcome Alyssa into their family.

David Alexander Franklin Yates

FC: Jamie Bamber

The son Mike Yates didn't know he had until David was an adult. David is an architect who spent years working abroad in the States. He does the best he can as a single father. David is unaware of his father's past work with UNIT or much of what his daughter gets into with Sarah Jane.

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Most of my fics are WIPs and I do have OCs, both main and supporting, that I don't have listed because they haven't appeared enough to warrant it or I haven't written them yet.

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galactigoos · 1 year

Text

What Happened Last Night Pt.3 - Jack Russell x Reader

Summary: Lycanthropy, much like periods, turn out to be a multi-day monthly annoyance.

Warnings: Some injury, being grumpy, retail jobs (the horror!), and only a little bit of Jack. :( Sorry. You both need space after you called him a monster. You did, not me, don’t blame me.

Word Count: ~1.7k

A/N: lol hi. its been months and idk if anyone cares about this anymore other than the sweet souls who pushed me to publish another chapter. I would like to write more. I’m fairly certain this is going to be less than ten parts total, and that seems like something I can finish.

In other news im fucking obsessed with Red Dead Redemption II so lowkey might write something for that once this is over.

Oh also I changed my url from @ / ABitGryffindorky to @galactigoos. I wanted to make my AO3 and tumblr match, make them different than my other socials so fanfic doesn’t come up when a job searches me, and JKRowling is a terf bitch. Oh and I had a stalker so thats really what prompted the change lol.

Cross-posted on AO3, as always.

Part 1, Part 2

Perhaps you hadn’t really thought through this whole running away thing. It only took about two minutes for your broken ankle to really catch up to you. Pain radiated through your ankle, spiking with every step, no matter how light it was.

But you wouldn’t go back. Not to him. So you soldiered on, picking up a large stick to serve as a cane along the way. By sheer luck, you successfully wandered back to your house.

Your poor house. The one-story little shack had its back door ripped off the hinges. A few of your dining chairs had given their lives in service of your moon-induced freakout last night. Your bedroom door had slammed against the wall so forcefully the knob was stuck in the drywall.

Leaving most of the carnage for a better day, you placed the back door into its rightful place so no animals would get in. Well, no other animal besides yourself. The thought brought a humorless laugh forward. The absurdity of the situation, the sheer isolation you now faced, piled onto you, forcing you to the floor in a fit of delirious laughter.

You kept laughing. Past when your lungs tired, past when your laugh became more of a shaking wheeze, past the tears that had accompanied your anguish. You couldn’t stop. You laughed until your tired, broken body could no longer handle the strain, and you succumbed to the gentle relief of unconsciousness.

…

At least this time when you woke up naked in the forest, you weren’t caught in any traps. You were alone and relatively unharmed aside from a long gash ripping up your torso.

You groaned as you hauled yourself to your feet. When you stood, your ankle made its presence known. But it was not the scream for attention you faced yesterday, but more of a soft yell. It felt much, much better, but still carried enough pain to force you to limp.

Was this going to happen every fucking night?

…

After calling into work and once again resetting your back door (thankfully your only damage this time), you decided you needed a plan. If this was going to keep happening, you could not keep running into the woods stark naked. You were out of sick days at work and were already well past your skill level in home repairs.

So you spent the day modifying the leaky, cold cellar beneath your house. It couldn’t be called a basement. The cottage you had inherited was old. Like so old, the best way to deal with flooding was to build a cobblestone wall under your house with a space for water to run through. The cellar had now been reinforced with concrete, but the drain structure remained the same. The space was unused by you, given the room was designed to flood. So you didn’t have to clear anything out; what you did have to do was secure it.

The cellar was entered through a door in your kitchen. Down a short flight of stairs, there was another door, this one metal, to keep out a draft. You dug through junk drawers and your shed to find every lock you could, and set to work securing them all to the door from the stairs. You even hauled your mattress to be propped up against the door for some added weight. After triple checking the locks, you grabbed a bottle of NyQuil and went outside.

There, you were able to remove the mesh that normally protected your cellar from debris, and squeezed yourself through the drain opening. Thank god the old motherfuckers that built this shack left a big enough hole.

By now, it was the middle of the afternoon. You did everything you could to stay awake, despite the exhaustion of the previous two days threatening to pull you under. You talked to yourself, you sang, you worked out. Anything.

And when it started to get darker, you paced anxiously. You removed your clothes (no point in destroying another outfit) and prayed that the werewolf would not be able to fit through the gap to the outside world. At the last second you could bear to wait, you chugged the NyQuil. Hopefully, a tired werewolf was a less destructive one. And hopefully you didn’t just overdose on NyQuil.

…

You’ve never been so happy to wake up on a cold slab of concrete. Apparently, a tired werewolf was unable to claw through your defenses. There were scratches along the cellar walls and the doorknob had been bitten into a shape resembling a crumbled wad of paper, but you were still in your house. You redressed and crawled out of your night’s sanctuary.

You had sustained a rather ugly cut across your face, going over the bridge of your nose, narrowly missing your eyes. You pictured the wolf trying to rub the sleep from its tired, drugged eyes, which was… slightly endearing? As you were otherwise unharmed, you went about your normal morning routine, with about ten times your regularly required caffeine.

It wasn’t until you were stumbling off your bike in the parking lot of the tavern that you realized your ankle didn’t hurt. You were limping still, but there was no pain. And addressing the rest of your body quickly, you noticed that most of your wounds had healed. The gash on your stomach was still tender, but even your ear had repaired itself, leaving just an angry scar and a knick on the outside edge of your cartilage where you must’ve taken a chunk clean off. All things considered, you weren’t doing too bad.

Your boss ignored your haggard state, not that you had expected him to give a shit. Mr. Glendon was always too caught up in tending to the lush garden beside the pub to notice much about his employees. As long as you did your job well enough that he didn’t have to do his, he was happy.

In a zombified state you went through the motions of customer service, serving coffee, pancakes, and toast with a smile. Internally, you were cursing this stupid fucking establishment for being open from 6AM-2AM and requiring you to drag yourself to a goddamn pub for a breakfast shift. You were so tired you hadn’t read the name on the DoorDash order you packaged. You could not as easily ignore the man who walked in to pick it up.

When the bell above the door rang, you smiled and automatically started a welcoming comment, but froze mid-sentence when your eyes met Jack’s. He froze too, halfway through the door, glancing behind him like he was ready to forget the mediocre waffles sitting behind the counter.

“Come on,” you grumbled, gesturing him inside.

“Lo siento. I was just grabbing us breakfast before we leave town. You won’t have to see me again. I had no clue you work-”

“Waffles, Jack,” you said, cutting him off and shoving the bag at him.

“Right, waffles,” he replied, grabbing the bag and getting out his wallet, and shoving five dollars into the tip jar before you could stop him. “Okay. I’m sorry. Goodbye, y/n.”

He spun to leave. You wanted to let him. He was dangerous and had likely gotten you into this mess. But at the same time, he was the only one who could help you through it. So you had to stop him. He was almost out the door when you called his name. Well, more accurately you whispered it, as part of you was hoping he wouldn’t hear you and you wouldn’t have to keep him in your life. His werewolf senses threw a wrench in your plan, and he spun on his heel and came back to you. He didn’t say anything, just looked at you. His eyebrows were knit with worry, and he tilted his head slightly like the stupid fucking dog he was.

“How much longer? I can’t keep,” you looked around and lowered your voice, “transforming every night.”

Jack let out a breath he was holding, apparently relieved you weren’t about to continue your name-calling of your previous encounter.

“You’re done for this month, cariño. Three days a month. It’s manageable,” he said with a reassuring smile. He looked tired, even more so than you did. You wondered what he had been doing while you were having a meltdown and playing Doomsday Preppers: Werewolf Edition.

You nodded, relieved in the knowledge that you would have a reprieve now.

Jack cleared his throat. “I know you do not want me around, but perhaps I could put you in contact with some others like us? It’s tough to figure out all on your own.”

“You want me to tell more people? Absolutely not!”

He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Alright, I wanted to offer. Best of luck, y/n. I won’t bother you again. If you need anything,” he said, ripping the receipt from his bag and snatching a pen from a cup on the hostess station, “Here’s my number.”

You stared at the scrap of paper offered to you, and hesitated before taking it.

“I’m not trying to impose on your life. I just want you to have help if you need it. No strings attached,” Jack said, filling the silence. You took the paper and shoved it into your back pocket. Jack gave you a tight smile and a nod, and left.

You weren’t given much time to ponder the interaction as the demands of your job quickly stole your focus away from Jack.

…

After work, after your commute home, and after your door fell out of its frame when you tried to enter your own home (you had forgotten it was no longer on its hinges), you were staring dumbly at your mattress-less bed frame. It took you a full minute to remember that your mattress was shoved against your basement door. You huffed, making your way to your couch, as there was no way you were going to bother with lugging your mattress up a flight of stairs after an 8 hour shift.

This was unsustainable. Your house was in shambles, your body scarred, and you were alone and ill equipped to handle any of this. You texted Jack before you could think better of it.

*Cue werewolf training montage*

Also cue Jack jumping up in down at excitement at getting a text.

“See, Ted? I knew she would text! I’m glad we stayed an extra night :D”

Feedback, criticism, comments, reblogs, and likes are all always appreciated. Please tell me what you think! I apparently forget about fics unless you guys hound (pun intended) me about them.

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