#i forgot how to log in to it the other day so i’ll let you answer that yourself

[dear-ao3]

How do you decide what to respond to when it comes to an ask? I imagine you guys get unhinged stuff all the time. I’m sure you have generally agreed to avoid things as a group. But as individuals what makes you interested in responding or not responding to asks?

if it’s funny or i can make it funny usually

or i can use the ask to keep talking about something, if it’s generally unhinged, or invokes a story time

[straykeedz]

day 5: han + mommy kink

©straykeedz

tw: touching over clothes; nipple play (both m and f); brief handjob; brief blowjob; mention of noona kink; fingering (f receiving); cum swallowing (m); unprotected piv sex (don’t do that at home 🤨); creampie; ♡

wc: 3k♡

this is part of my kinktober masterlist. you can find my regular masterlist here (tho it will not be updated until the end of kinktober) ♡

author’s note [⚠️ friends tv series spoiler alert ⚠️]: basically i got this idea from the episode in which ross & rachel call each other ‘mommy’ and ‘daddy’ whenever they’re around emma lol;

🔖 (open): @linos-kitten ; @luneskies ; @kxcies-blog ; @idunnomanmynamewastaken ; @cessixja ; @stolasisyourparent ; @kookiesbunny ; @xoxo-xoxo-bunny ; @ivyskzsworld ; @mal-lunar-28 ; @leetaste ; @sunnykynnie ; @channiesgoodgirl ; @seonghwatoothless ; @mrsminho ; @seungminluv3 ; @jin-from-the-block ; @aaasia111 ; @sulkygyu ; @whosanaanyway ; @y-ur--I ; @vixensss ; @nightimescapes ; @freckleboilix ; @dreamingaboutjisung ; @yourbeomiebear ; ♡

to make sure i add you to the taglist, your age must be clearly visible on your profile. also, empty blogs will not be added - add at least a profile picture to your blog so that i’ll know you’re not a bot. ♡

smut below the cut, minors dni.

❈

“Is Jisue asleep?”, you ask your husband as soon as he comes back in the bedroom. 

Jisung nods, closing the door of your bedroom only halfway, so that you’ll hear if your daughter wakes up and starts crying - something she does a lot these days. 

“Yeah, I feel like I sang a million songs to help her fall asleep.” Jisung sighs defeated, practically throwing himself on the bed. “I sang Youtiful and Silent Cry and all the softest songs we recorded and what song does she fall asleep to? 3racha.”, he chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m telling you - she’s a baddie.”

“Well, isn’t she lucky?”, you place a kiss on his temple, then pull him closer for a hug. “She gets her own private concert for free - I had to pay almost a thousand bucks to hear you guys live.”, you chuckle, running one hand through his soft hair. 

“Only because you wanted those VIP tickets at all costs.” Jisung remarks with a smile. 

“Yeah, but look where my stubbornness brought us.”, you cuddle to his chest, and he puts his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “Hadn’t I bought so tickets we wouldn’t have met - and you wouldn’t have fallen for me.”, you boop his nose with the pad of your index. “And we wouldn’t have gotten married and Jisue wouldn’t be here.”

A thought Jisung doesn’t like - he doesn’t want to imagine a life without you and his daughter, the loves of his life.

“Mh, true.” Jisung nuzzles your forehead. “But don’t think I forgot you used to be biased by Changbin-hyung.”, he teases, quirking an eyebrow at you. 

“What can I say? I’m a baddie too, just like our daughter.”, you chuckle. “Speaking of whom…”, you bury your face in the crook of Jisung’s neck, then place a series of soft, chaste kisses on the skin of his neck, not missing the way it makes him get goosebumps all over his skin. “On a scale of one to ten - how asleep you think she is?”, you let one hand wander though his chest. 

“Seeping like a log.” Jisung whispers, biting on his lower lip as he feels you slipping your hand under his t-shirt. 

“Mhh, good.”, you whisper against his skin, this time placing a wet kiss on his collarbone that has him shutting his eyes closed and hold back a moan. “Because I really wanna have some fun with you tonight.”, your voice is low as you speak. At the same time, your hand makes its way under the waistband of his pajama pants, but not his boxers.  

“Oh, you- you do?” Jisung lets out a desperate sigh when he feels your hand wrapping around his clothed cock - already semi-hard and warm around your fingers, yearning to be touched properly. 

“Mh-hm.”, you hum, squeezing his length a little bit tighter, knowing it drives him crazy. Then, another kiss on his collarbone, this time you even let your tongue run over his sensitive skin, and he fists the sheets beneath him. “It’s been a while since we had some time for ourselves.”, you comment. 

“True.”, he murmurs. “I miss you.”, the hand that was resting on your hip starts to travel to your inner thigh, fingers brushing against your groin and now it’s your turn to suck in a breath. 

“Me too.”, you bite his neck gently, teeth scraping his skin. “I miss feeling you inside of me.”, you whisper in his ear, and he twitches inside his underwear. You squeeze him even tighter, but don’t show any intention of touching him properly - of slipping your hand under the waistband of his boxers and wrap your hand around his tip or his base, whichever you prefer. 

He whines in protest, hoping it’d get you to just undress him already and give him what he wants - but you don’t. You seem to be enjoying the way he’s squirming in his place, desperate. “Mhh - you can have me.” Jisung whimpers, hoping his words would convince you to stop teasing him. 

He’s a weak man and has a desperate need to feel you wrapped around him - it’s been so long since the last time you’d done it. Properly, at least. These days it’s mostly quickies, but even those rarely happened in the past weeks. Moreover, he’s pretty sure that if you keep on teasing him, he’ll cum in his boxers - and it’s not exactly what he has in mind for tonight. 

Tonight, he wants to cum in his favorite place - inside of you. 

“I know.”, you peck his lips, then smile at him. “I just want to have some fun before the real deal.”

“If you- fuck.”, he sucks in a breath when you start to jerk him off over the fabric of his underwear. “If you keep teasing me like that I’ll finish before the real deal.”, he shamelessly confesses. 

“Oh, really?”, you giggle, placing an open-mouthed kiss on his Adam apple, then down his neck, then on his collar bone, until you place your lips on top of his nipple, still covered by the thin layer of his pajama t-shirt. He lets out a choked moan when you do so, and you smirk cockily - you know it’s his weakness. Jisung loves nipple play, but he loves it even more when it’s his nipples the one being played with. Not that you’re complaining, of course, you love to suck on his nipples as you jerk him off, or brush them with the pads of your fingers as you ride him, or tease them in literally any other way. 

“I-I’m not joking.” Jisung practically whines. “You’re such a tease.”

“Yeah, but you love it.”, you whisper as you start to leave a series of kisses all over his clothed stomach and lower abdomen, stopping right before the hem of his pants. 

It’s true, he does love it. Even if sometimes he likes to pretend he doesn’t. 

You decide to end his suffering, and hook both of your thumbs on the hem of both his pants and boxers this time, and begin to slowly pull them down his thighs, finally freeing his hard cock and letting it slap on his abdomen - heavy and thick and absolutely mouthwatering. You can’t wait to wrap your lips around him, feel his pre-cum leak on your tongue as you let your tongue swirl around his tip. 

When you wrap your fingers around him, it sends a shiver down his spine, and he lets his head fall back on the soft pillow underneath him, eyes closed shut and lips parted as you begin to slowly stroke his length with your hand. This seems to be the perfect moment to surprise him by taking him into your mouth, doesn’t it? When you do, a whimper escapes from his lips as his grip on the bedsheets tightens, his other hand finding its way to your hair - not pulling it, just gently stroking it as you take him deeper. 

When you take all of him inside your mouth, his tip reaching the back of your throat, he can practically feel his brain short-circuiting. “Like that, m-mommy.”, he moans. 

You nearly choke on his cock out of surprise, releasing him from your mouth only to catch your breath, and that’s when his brain processes what he just said. He immediately props himself up on his elbows and looks at you with wide eyes. 

“I-I…”, he stutters, speechless, mortified. 

You see - this is not the first time you hear Jisung calling you ‘mommy’ - it’s the first time he does it in a sexual way, tho. You and him came up with the idea of calling each other ‘mommy’ and ‘daddy’ around your daughter, as to encourage her to say her first word, figuring it’d be easier for her. 

“Han Jisung.”, you call his name, resulting in him looking at you like an abandoned puppy. “I was well aware of your noona kink, but this…This is new.”, you chuckle. 

“Fuck, I didn’t mean to-“, he stops mid-sentence to look at you. He looks confused, eyebrows now furrowed as he looks at you. “You’re not… mad?”, he asks in a whisper. 

“Why would I be mad?”, now it’s your turn to be confused. “I called you daddy, too, one time.”

“Yeah but we weren’t doing anything remotely sexual. You were drunk and being a brat, and said it after I slapped your butt. Playfully.”, he remarks. 

“True.”, you shrug. “But really - I’m not mad.”, you promise, intertwining your fingers with his, looking him in the eye. “To be honest… I find it hot.”, you whisper, leaning in to kiss his lips. 

“You do?” Jisung isn’t really sure whether you’re being serious or making fun of him. 

“Mh-hm.”, you hum, wrapping your fingers around his cock once again, taking in the sight of him biting his lower lip, trying to hold back the sounds that threaten to escape his mouth. “Wanna feel how much I liked it?”, you rhetorically asked, because you know damn well Jisung would never turn such an offer down. 

He nods eagerly and you wrap your fingers around his wrist, guiding his hand under the waistband of your pajamas and panties. His fingers immediately find their way to your slit, wet with your arousal - you’re practically dripping. “See how wet you made mommy?”

Jisung gulps as soon as he hears your words, and nearly chokes on his own spit. Tho, he has to admit, he finds it hot - so hot his dick instantly twitches. “So wet.”, he whispers, coating his fingers in your arousal. 

“Mh, right, so wet.”, you peck his lips. “Only for you.”, you bite on his lower lip. “You wanna be a good boy for mommy?”, you look him in the eyes as you whisper those words to him. 

He nods without hesitation, fingers still touching your naked cunt. 

“Touch mommy.”, you bite your lip. “Make mommy cum on your fingers. If you’re good - mommy’s gonna let you cum in her pussy.”

Jisung gets goosebumps all over his body as he closes his eyes and bites his lip - just the thought of filling you up drives him crazy, even though he’s done it plenty of times before, the living proof of it only a room away from you, peacefully sleeping in her crib. 

He nods, letting his fingers spread your arousal all over your pussy, just how you like it, wet and messy, before the pads of his fingers tap at your entrance, ready to enter you. You moan when he pushes them inside, stretching you out gently, before slowly bending them - making it easier for him to know when he brushes against your g-spot. He finds it soon after, of course - he knows your body and he knows it well. 

You moan, kicking your head back and arching your back as he fucks you with his fingers, looking at you as he thrusts them inside of you. “Good boy.”, you praise him, and a choked sound escapes his throat. You chuckle. “Do you like being called a ‘good boy’?”, you ask him. 

“Yes.”, he answers, but it’s not enough. 

“Yes…?”, you quirk an eyebrow at him, encouraging him to say the word. 

His cheeks flush red as he breaks the eye contact, not stopping his movements, tho. “Yes, mommy.” His words come out in a whisper, but they resonate loudly in the silence of your bedroom, of your house. 

You instinctively clench around his fingers when he says the magic word, suddenly feeling on the edge of your orgasm. You cum around him not long after, when he places the pad of his thumb on your clit and starts rubbing it fast, his fingers stimulating your g-spot in the meantime. A whimper of his name leaves your mouth when you cum, releasing all over his digits, heart hammering in your chest. 

Before Jisung entered your life - you never thought sex could feel this good. 

“You’ve been so good…”, you praise him, running one hand through his hair as he retrieves his hand from your pants. Your fingers wrap around his wrist once again, as you bring his hand to his mouth. “Now suck ‘em clean.”, you demand - however your tone is gentle. 

He nods, wrapping his plump lips around his own digits, pushing his fingers deep in his mouth as he licks your release off of them with a pleased hum. Once he’s done, he releases them from his mouth and wipes them on his t-shirt to dry them. “You taste so good, mommy.”, he whimpers, looking you in the eyes. 

You should feel ashamed of how much him calling you mommy is turning you on, but right now - you don’t care. Right now, it’s okay. You’re just a young married couple who’s enjoying some free time after a long while without properly pleasuring each other. Right now, you’re allowed to feel good. 

“Fuck.”, you curse under your breath, your cheeks red as well. “It’s your turn now - you deserve it.”

You pull your t-shirt over your head, then take it off completely, revealing your naked chest to your husband. He’s seen your breasts hundreds, if not thousands, of times, but it always feels like the first time to him, and you absolutely adore the expression on his face each time his eyes take in the sight of your nipples. 

“Can I…”, he cups one of your tits with his hand. “Can I suck your tits, mommy?”

You’re, like, impossibly wet by now. Even though you’re the one who’s supposed to be in charge, it’s pretty obvious that he’s got you wrapped around his fingers, always saying the right thing at the right time. 

You don’t answer him, you simply nod and arch your back, giving him full access to your naked breasts. An obscene whine leaves your parted mouth when he wraps his lips around one of your nipples, letting his tongue swirl around it - gentle and slow, as he hums against your skin. Then, he releases your nipple - the sudden contact with the cold air makes you shiver. 

“Your tits taste good, mommy.”, he takes it back into his mouth, this time he even uses his teeth to gently scrape your skin, knowing it drives you crazy. 

You’ve had enough - you need him inside of you. Now. 

You gently push him by the shoulder, and he immediately lets go of your nipple, looking at you with a confused look. “You’ve been a good boy for mommy.”, you run your fingers through his dark hair, not missing the way he lets out a shaky breath after you praise him. “Don’t you want your reward?”, you ask. 

“Fuck- yes.”, he bites his lip. “I want it, mommy.”

He gets rid of his t-shirt at the speed of light, as you climb off his lap to pull your pajama and panties down your legs, getting rid of them completely as Jisung does the same. Seconds later, you’re back on his lap, legs spread to accommodate his body. For a couple of seconds, you take into consideration the idea of teasing him some more by maybe grinding your naked cunt against his cock, but ultimately choose not to. After all, he was a good boy to you. 

So, you take his cock and lift your hips, positioning its tip at your entrance. Jisung has one hand on your hip and the other laying flat on the mattress, and you don’t miss the way his grips on you tightens when you start to sink onto his length. The stretch his fingers provided you earlier is not comparable to how deliciously his cock is breaching you right now, filling you up completely as your walls squeeze him. 

“Oh, fuck.”, you mutter under your breath once he’s fully inside of you.

“You- you like it, mommy?”, he whimpers - his length twitching inside of you. 

You nod, placing your hands on his chest. “Yes- you’re so good. So good to mommy.”, you moan, before you slowly start to ride him just how he likes it. 

“I-I don’t think I’ll last much longer, mommy.” Jisung shamefully admits, cheeks flushing red once again.

You don’t stop riding him, and you don’t slow down either. You don’t care if he cums fast, it just means you’ll go at it again once he’s ready for round two. You lift your hips and then sink on him, repeating the motion over and over again until he’s a panting mess beneath you, the grip on your hip and the bedsheets incredibly tight. 

“Fuck, I’m so close.”, he whimpers, not taking his eyes off from where your bodies meet. 

“You can cum, baby boy.”, your words send a shiver down his spine, and he snaps his head up in your direction. You look gorgeous - lips parted as you ride him, tits bouncing at every movement. “Cum inside me, fill mommy up.”

His head fall back on the pillow as he cums hard, shooting his load inside of you with a grunt. His body lies flat on the mattress as he tries to regain his breath, eyes closed and heart beating fast in his chest. Then, he feels you cuddle up to his chest, burying your face in the crook of his neck - his softening dick still inside of you, and he can feel his cum slowly dripping out of you, leaking on his balls. It doesn’t matter, he likes it messy. 

“It was -“, he starts. 

“Amazing.”, you interrupt him, still panting. 

A smile spreads on his face, knowing you’re on the same page and that you enjoyed it as much as he did. He wraps his arms around your figure, holding you tight against his chest, nuzzling your hair with his nose as he places a series of pecks on top of your head. 

Then, the loud cry of your daughter brings you back to reality. 

Round two will have to wait. 

❈

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-> don't forget to reblog to support me if you enjoyed reading my works and to let me know your thoughts, i love reading your feedbacks! ♡

[lulublack90]

Prompt 24 - Modern AU

@wolfstarmicrofic April 23, word count 937

Sirius gripped his coffee as though it were a lifeline. It was the biggest, strongest coffee he could find, watered down with copious amounts of milk. He took little sips as he logged into his computer at work, brought up his list of tasks for the day and slowly began muddling his way through. 

He’d gone out last night with James, against his better judgement, not that it took much persuasion on James’s part. All he had to do was bat his hazels at him, and Sirius was putty in his hands. 

He’d been having a great time, downing drinks, shaking his arse to the vintage jukebox and then woken up in some fit lad’s bed, hence the massive coffee and the mind-numbing hangover. He’d crept quietly out of the little flat and stumbled his way down the harsh concrete steps that smelled like weed, piss and, for some bizarre reason, hairspray. Sirius had rushed home, hopped in the shower, changed his clothes and hurried to the coffee shop on the corner. He couldn’t even remember the man’s name. He put it out of his mind, reasoning that he’d never see him again anyway. 

It took an age for the little digital clock on his computer screen to blink to 12:00 and signal lunchtime. 

Feeling the need for greasy food, he went to pull out his mobile to order a McDonald’s when he realised he didn’t have it. He checked all his pockets and his bag. It wasn’t there. The panic had just set in that it had been stolen at the bar last night when his computer alerted him to a new email on his personal account. 

‘Hi, erm, I guess Sirius. Sorry, I didn’t get your name last night 😬.

So anyway, I have your phone. You must have left it here when you snuck out this morning. (You are not sneaky, by the way! Like an elephant in size nines!) But yeah, anytime you want to come by and get it is fine. I’ll be in all day. Crap, I hope you get this email, or I’ve just got myself a new phone. It’s actually a big upgrade to mine. On second thoughts, it’s mine now, mwahaha 😈!

Thanks 

Remus Lupin.’

Sirius stared at the words for a few minutes, taking them in, before picking up the work phone from his desk and phoning himself. 

“Hello?” A voice on the other end answered. “Hi, I’m not Sirius. He left his phone at mine last night.”

“Hi, Remus. It’s me. Sirius.” He added in case he hadn’t realised.

Well, I guessed when you used my name. I highly doubt anyone in your phone book knows who I am. Especially ginger toss pot number 1. There’s more than one ginger toss pot?” Remus snickered. 

“Wait, how do you know that, and how did you get my email address? Have you hacked into my phone?!” He felt outraged. How had he even gotten in, though? It was password-protected.

“Sirius, 6969 is not a strong password. Plus, I could see where you’d jabbed at the screen to unlock it. You really need to clean your phone.” Remus went on. 

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that.” He paused for a second, trying to rein in the snarkiness. “I don’t finish work until 5. Is it alright to come over after that?”

“Sure,” Remus answered. “I’ll be in.” 

“Great, thanks.” Sirius forced a smile on his face so Remus could hear his sincerity.

“Who’s Specky Dick Nuts?  Because they’ve been blowing up your phone all morning before I woke up and found it. They seem to have stopped now, though.”

“Oh, that’s my best mate James. Oh shit, if he’s gone quiet, he’s probably tracking my phone. Er, be prepared. He probably thinks I need rescuing.” There was a loud thudding on the other end of the line. 

“Er, I think your friend might be here,” Remus whispered into the phone. 

“Put me on speaker so I can talk to him.” He heard the faint click as he was put on speaker and the sound of Remus unlocking the four locks on his door. 

“Hi, you must be James,” Remus said. 

“Where is he?!” James’s voice was stern and full of concern. 

“James, mate. I’m fine. I’m at work. I just forgot to pick up my phone this morning. This is Remus, by the way. He kindly let me know he had it.” He prayed that was enough to call off the Potter inquisition. 

“Oh, cool. Hi, Remus.” 

“Hi, James.” 

“Sorry, I thought you were some lunatic. And you were keeping him prisoner.” 

“Oh, don’t worry. Happens all the time.” The phone line was filled with laughter, and Sirius had to hold his receiver away from his head.

“Hey, James, can you take my phone, seeing as you’re there?”

“Sure thing.”

“Thanks, Remus.” He managed to say before James hung him up. He felt oddly dejected for some reason but brushed it off. 

When he came back from lunch, he found a new email, this time from Remus’s actual address.     

‘Can I take you out on a date?’ 

It said. Sirius felt a surge of joy and so replied.  

‘What do you have in mind?’

‘Dinner? Movie? Massive shagathon?’ 

Sirius choked on his own spit at Remus’s reply. He coughed as he typed back.  

‘Jesus, Remus. Are you always so forward?’

‘What can I say? You made an impression 😉.’

‘Yeah, go on then.’

And that was how Sirius found himself for the second morning in a row in Remus Lupin’s bed. But this time, he didn’t sneak out.

[inaflashimagine]

lo mejor (i)

pairing: miguel o'hara x gn!reader (can be read as reader being latine)

summary: nueva york had no shortage of places that sold empanadas. unfortunately, that didn’t equate to all of them being good.

but he continued to find himself going to your restaurant, a few of the other spider-people less than convinced that it's just for your food.

a/n: as a latina who also eats empanadas to cure their hanger, i just needed to get this off my chest. will be a multi-part fic!

3k wc. no warnings for this chapter, other than a litany of english + spanish curses

masterlist | one | two

–

“I’m in hiding. He’s angry at me…again…”

As much as the kid was growing on Jess, she sent an unimpressed look at the flickering hologram. “In other news, water is wet.”

“But seriously, how can he expect me to write a report only 5 minutes after I finish a mission? He’s worse than my AP Lit teacher, and Ms. O’Connor was—”

“Gwen, I’m gonna stop you right there. Because we’ve been through this before. You know how to fix this.”

Though her face was covered by her mask, the widening of her goggles before her shoulders sagged in defeat showed Jess that Gwen knew exactly what to do.

“But can’t you come with me? What if I mess up the order?”

“Are you kidding me right now? Didn’t you want me to ‘chill with the hovering’?”

Gwen sighed, already starting to swing her way through Nueva York to get to her destination. “I know, I know, I’ll go. Do you want anything?” 

“No need, it sounds like you might have to buy the whole store to be in his good graces again. Good luck.”

Her mentor logged off before hearing her star pupil groan in frustration—what was supposed to be an effortless day was quickly becoming a pain in her ass.

Like countless times before, Gwen quickly changed into her set of ‘futuristic’ civilian clothes to blend in with the rest of the long line at the tiny, but packed, restaurant. If it weren’t for the enticing smell of freshly baked dough, Gwen wondered if this would all be worth it. She’d have to cancel the jam session with Hobie if this plan didn’t work, lest she face the wrath of the villain of the week, Miguel O’Hara.

But when she finally saw a familiar smile and a warm pair of eyes greeting her behind the counter, she realized that Jess was right—she knew how to fix this.

Or rather, you did.

“Mi gringa favorita! It’s been a while. How many empanadas does el jefe need?”

–

Miguel was having a bad day. 

It started with the usual suspect: Peter B., un pendejo who believed that Miguel and Jess actually wanted to hear about his daughter’s bowel movements.

Not to mention the impromptu comedy club Miguel had to break down so everyone could get back to doing the jobs they forgot they signed up for. (Nothing was more irritating than being surrounded by unfunny people who genuinely thought their endless quips and corny jokes landed. Every. Single. Time.)

Then for the umpteenth time, he had to tell Gwen to turn in her reports on time. Yet that was nothing compared to her latest efforts in convincing Miguel to let Miles visit HQ and gently explain (gently because, “He doesn’t know any better!”) that he’s the biggest threat to the multi-verse. These poor attempts, unsurprisingly, fell flat. O’Hara warned Jess that the girl would be a liability, and each day he grew closer to sending the kid back to Earth-65 if she decided to pull any tricks. 

But the worst part of this dreadful day was when a nervous, slightly cowering Chef Spidey told his boss there were no more empanadas. 

“What?” Miguel’s brows furrowed in confusion, indifferent to the uncomfortable silence that enveloped the cafeteria at the sound of his incredulity. “What do you mean, there’s no more empanadas? Who ate the last one?”

“He promised me not to tell you!” 

And with that, Miguel stalked to his office where he was currently sulking in, seriously considering changing Peter B.’s portal watch to a day pass as punishment for apparently eating over a half dozen empanadas.

Just as he was about to give Lyla the command, his associate in the heart sunglasses suddenly appeared. “Gwen Stacy will be here in a minute, might want to start lowering your platform.”

“Maldita sea, didn’t I tell you to not let anyone in?” He pinched the bridge of his nose—he’d much prefer for his ears to be rattled with Peter B.‘s ramblings and even Ben Reilly’s moping over Gwen’s incessant whining about how crappy the current Spider Society establishment was. (She was spending way too much time with Hobie.)

“Hey pal, that’s not a nice word, and she comes bearing gifts that you’ll like.”

“Oh really?” he remarked dryly, arms crossed as he began his descent. “She finished the ten detailed reports she owes me?”

Yet Miguel caught the heavenly smell of beef empanadas before seeing Gwen’s sheepish face. And did he also catch a whiff of chorizo and cheese?

“Hi, Miguel. Heard you haven’t had lunch yet, sooooo…” Shaking off her nerves and avoiding that terrifying gaze, she held out the two large boxes as her apology. “And I’ll submit those reports by tonight, I promise.”

An eyebrow raised, he webbed the boxes toward himself and held them even more tightly when he saw where they came from. 

His eyes glossed over the mascot of Mama’s Empanadas, a smiling and waving empanada that almost seemed to assure him that his hanger would quickly be cured. But it was the words hurriedly scribbled at the bottom that displaced the rage he’s felt all day with a weird pang in his chest:

“Buen provecho, Jefe :)”

Miguel quickly turned away, hoping he seemed more composed than he actually felt. As the floor to his office slowly began to ascend, he said, “I’ll give you one more day to finish those reports. But don’t think it’s because this bribe worked.”

“Of course.” Gwen hoped the amusement wasn’t clear in her voice, smirking at the shoulders of the tall man lose their tension as he began eating the ‘bribe’. Would Hobie even believe her if she told him what just happened? 

“Thanks, Miguel. See you tomorrow!”

He didn’t even register her last words, eyes closed as he savored the explosive taste of smoked chorizo and finally allowed fond memories to flood his brain.

— 

Nueva York had no shortage of places that sold empanadas. Unfortunately, that didn’t equate to all of them being good.

It’s not that he didn’t know how to make them–he’s sure that he could follow his abuela’s recipes that his ma once gave him–but he just didn’t have time. After all, nothing was more convenient than cashing in the perks of the suit to cut a long line and grab free food. But once Lyla finished the goober she was working on (“It’s not a goober, Miguel, it’s a gizmo!”), he’d have even less time to do anything other than jump into different dimensions, some of which would certainly not sell empanadas.

This explained why after changing into sweats following a grueling shift, he found himself staring across the busy street at Mama’s Empanadas, the hunger in his growling stomach overwhelming. The small restaurant was engulfed by flashing neon lights and signs boasting the quality of their food in both Spanish and English. The place was always swarming with people whenever he swung by, but as closing time approached only a few stragglers remained. 

And so did you.

Miguel hoped that you were the owner of the shop rather than an overworked employee, considering that he couldn’t remember the last time someone else took your position behind the counter. But even from this distance, he could see your cheery smile while you welcomed new patrons and the regulars, almost as if you were genuinely happy to be serving them on a late Friday night. 

With all the running around he’s been doing lately, he couldn’t even remember the last time taking on the Spider-Man mantle gave him the same joy he spotted on your face miles away.

O’Hara felt his phone vibrate as he saw the latest message from Lyla illuminating his screen.

“Got some news to share! Might want to deliver the bad stuff in person though.”

“Que chingada,” Miguel cursed, rubbing tired eyes as he contemplated whether to reply. How could the news get even worse after Earth-1610 lost Peter Parker, their only Spider-Man?

Raising his head, he watched you approach the storefront to activate the electrified gates that would close the shop. 

And for reasons his brain would never be able to explain, he felt himself panic, almost as if his body jolted awake as he deftly weaved through honking cars and found himself in front of you, the only barrier being a pesky glass door that would take a millisecond for him to break.

Yet he was surprised to see you hold your ground, and even more shocked to see you flash him an annoyed look he’s never seen you give to any other customer. Shoulders tense, he was ready for you to begin berating him for being a nuisance and to leave the fuck off the premises. 

“Eres un idiota? ¡Casi te atropellan!”

Miguel blinked, not sure he heard you correctly. Sure, calling him an idiot is warranted, but he was not almost run over by those cars. Even if he did get hit–which, again, he wouldn’t–then the car would be hurt, not him. 

Instead of explaining himself without implicating his alter persona, or at the very least say something remotely coherent in English or Spanish, Miguel found himself even more gobsmacked when you opened the door and ushered him inside, frantically asking him questions in a random jumble of Spanglish as you tried inspecting a man seemingly twice your size for any injuries.

“¿No hablas español? Should I call 911, mierda, is this guy catatonic? Should I have moved him? Are you hurt?”

Feeling your hands shake his shoulders finally snapped him out of whatever funk he was in, confusion washing over him as he tried to piece together what just happened in the past minute. Heeding your obvious concern, he sighed and did his best to ignore the absolutely embarrassing predicament he put himself in.

“Estoy bien,” he assured you, his relief matching yours as you let go and immediately exhaled. “I really am fine, I just wanted to try the empanadas before closing.”

There was that exasperation again, your deadly expression sufficient in asking him ‘Are you serious?’ that your high-pitched words of “En serio?” were quite unnecessary, in his opinion.

“Was running across a congested street not serious enough?”

You scoffed before glaring at him for a few more seconds, though he could see the uncertain shift in your eyes. “This isn’t some twisted joke to rob me, right? Last thing I need is having Spider-Man beating you up and breaking my new glass counter.”

Miguel couldn’t hide the wry twist of his lips, fully aware that he could be thrown out at any minute but still curious to hear your opinion. “Not a Spider-Man fan?”

“As long as he doesn’t destroy my property, I wouldn’t even mind defending the dude on J. Jonah Jameson’s stupid podcast.“ You shrugged casually, already beginning to make your way behind the counter after deeming Miguel to be harmless, despite looking like he could crush you with his pinky. 

He didn’t know how to respond, still perplexed about why you hadn't kicked him out yet. 

He soon brushed those thoughts to the side when his mouth watered upon seeing you point at the remaining golden-brown pastries. “Well, these will be on the house, since you almost died in front of my restaurant. We only have 3 chicken left, 2 guava and cheese, and 1 chorizo with potato.”

Miguel felt his phone vibrate again–no doubt it was Lyla. 

And for the first time in a long time, he turned off his phone, not even bothering to view the message as he chose to look at you instead.

“I’ll take them all.”

–

When you first decided to take over your family’s restaurant, your tía taught you how to handle rude customers while also giving you advice on how to treat the nice ones so they always returned.

However, there was nothing in her playbook on how to treat the weird customers.

And Miguel O’Hara was the weirdest by far.

You took a light sip of your café con leche as you stole a glance at him starting his second empanada, the sight of such a quiet, large man sitting in a tiny seat and restraining his urge to inhale the food in one go quite comical. Much like how he ate the first one, he attempted to seem unaffected by the taste of the meaty filling. 

But after doing this for so many years, no one could ever hide their reaction from you. Especially the pure happiness one got from eating a toasty, savory empanada. 

And seeing the dark red-brown eyes of the intimidating man briefly widening and softening in amazement only made you want to find more ways to recapture that fleeting moment. To lengthen it and bask in its warmth, even if that meant countless hours of mincing, seasoning, kneading, and baking. 

“¿Entonces? The only thing you’ve said these past five minutes is your name. ¿Que dice el juez?” you teased, leaning back and smugly folding your arms as you already knew what his verdict would be. 

It was a choice you instantly regretted, almost falling out of your chair as he stopped looking at his half-finished empanada and focused all of his attention on you, a gaze so intense you briefly pondered if you left the oven on with the sudden swell of heat suffocating you.

He pursed his lips and rolled those impossibly broad shoulders, yet another action that made the room feel uncomfortably stuffy for no good reason. “It’s one of the best empanadas I’ve ever had in my life.”

Now it was your turn to be surprised, expecting to hear a ‘good’ or maybe even a ‘great’, but not the highest of praises. 

A pregnant pause ensued before a hearty laugh escaped you.

It was impossible to suspend your disbelief–all of this coming from one of the hottest guys you’ve ever seen enter this shop? Only when pigs fly, or as your abuela preferred to say, “Solo cuando los cerdos vuelan.”

“¡Mentiroso! Lo dices como si fuera la última Coca-Cola en el desierto.”

He had to know that his half-glare really was just him smoldering. There was no way this man was oblivious to the effects of that gaze. 

“I don’t think I’m a liar or particularly funny. Though I actually would appreciate a Coca, si la tienes.”

You desperately hoped that your immediate sigh sounded one stemming from annoyance rather than relief–having an excuse to get up and look for a can of soda rather than the brooding dude a mere foot away from you was the only way you’d stay sane through this strange night.

“I do appreciate the kind words,” you said after recollecting your composure, the cool air blasting from the fridge reminding you to retain at least some semblance of professionalism, “but these aren’t even the freshest batch. No way they’re the best you’ve had.”

Miguel raised an eyebrow as you handed him the can. “I didn’t say the best. And you don’t have any with a glass bottle?”

You rolled your eyes before plopping back into your seat. “If I did, I would’ve hit you in the head with it quite a while ago. And especially now, after your challenge.”

“It’s not meant to be taken as a challenge–”

“Ah, but I’ll take it as one because my family’s reputation is riding on this. Or else mi abuela, que en paz descanse”–you pointed to the framed picture of the sweet, old lady right above the cash register–“lanzará sus chanclas poderosas, and I don’t want to get hit by those, they’re stronger than that car that was about to run you over.”

The roll of his eyes was obnoxiously overt, but you barely caught a glimpse of the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, masterfully hidden by taking a sip of his coke. 

“How would this so-called challenge even work?”

“You’re asking the wrong question because that’s an easy answer. The next time you come, I’ll bake you a fresh batch of your favorite empanadas, no matter what kind and even if you come 5 minutes before closing.” Listing the types with each finger, it’s hard to contain your excitement. “Baked, fried, sweet, savory, you name it.”

“¿Y si no me gustan?”

“¡No seas tonto! Yet another dumb question, because you’ll not only like them, you’ll fucking love them. The right question is whether you’d think they’re the best.”

You swore he inched closer, the once faint smell of sandalwood from his cologne now overpowering your already-fried senses. “And what if they’re not the best?”

“I’ll get two more attempts afterward. If they still don’t meet your palate’s expectations, which honestly isn’t a worry of mine, then you’ll get free empanadas for the year.” It’s said without hesitation, with confidence you have no idea how you mustered all of a sudden. 

Out of all moments to be driven by pride, you choose to do so while tightrope walking on a straight razor.

And you wondered if Miguel read your mind because, for the first time, you heard his laugh. It’s a sardonic one, but its deep timbre was as attractive as his face and meshed well with his incredibly dry sense of humor.

Maybe the walk wouldn’t be as bad as you imagined.

“You’re either extremely arrogant in thinking you’ll win, or too trustful in people to believe they wouldn’t scam you with this deal.”

“But you’re not just some normal person,” you reply simply, amused to see his shoulders slightly stiffened, “and I believe you when you said you’re not a liar. Call it a gut feeling.”

“What do you even get out of this?” he asked, puzzled at how you just weren’t setting yourself up for failure. He didn’t need Lyla for him to visualize the thousands of ways you could lose.   

Your wolfish grin showed a lot more than your words. “Nothing, other than making my family proud. Anddd perhaps receiving a five-star review on Yelp wouldn’t hurt either.”

Running a hand through his hair, he shrugged before lifting his soda can toward you. “That’s the least I could do. But don’t think I’ll make this easy for you.” 

You gently clinked his can with your cup of coffee as your eyes locked with his, wondering what the hell you just got yourself into.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

–

translations (please lmk if you need more):

Mi gringa favorita - my favorite white girl

El jefe - the boss

Un pendejo - a dumbass

Maldita sea - goddamn it

Buen provecho, Jefe - Enjoy your meal, boss

Que chingada - what bullshit/wtf

Eres un idiota? ¡Casi te atropellan! - Are you an idiot? They almost ran you over!

No hablas espanol? - You don't speak Spanish

Estoy bien - I'm fine

Que dice el juez - What does the judge say?

¡Mentiroso! Lo dices como si fuera la última Coca-Cola en el desierto - Liar! You say it as if it was the last coca-cola in the desert

Una coca - A Coca Cola

Si la tienes - If you have it

Que en paza descanse - may she rip

Lanzarla las chanclas poderosas - she'll release her powerful flip-flops

Y si no me gustan? - And if I don't like it?

No seas tonto - Don't be silly/dumb

[unformula1]

you’ll stay? (LS2 x OP81)

logan’s life is hard but he’s got oscar. w/c: 651 day 29 of loscar posts until we get a loscar podium (series masterlist) masterlist

Logan has never felt more alone. He sits on his bed, the cold embrace of his blanket enveloping him. His tears slowly flow out, tracing his cheekbones, clinging onto his chin before falling onto the bed. His head is tucked between his two knees, soft sobs echo in his hotel room. 

He’s alone. 

A knock on his door forces Logan to sit up and wipe his tears off. As he walks toward the door, he checks the mirror, cleaning off any trace of him crying from his face. Logan takes a deep breath and puts on a smile.

He opens the door and comes face to face with Oscar.

“Hi Logs.” Oscar waves, he’s holding a bag.

“Hi Oscar.” Logan says after clearing out his throat, his voice comes out more hoarse than expected.

“I didn’t see you at the party. Alex was there!” Oscar says.

The party. Logan forgot if he got invited but he wasn’t planning on going anyway.

“I crashed.” Logan deadpans, “I’m not gonna go to a party.”

“Yea… my bad.” Oscar says before he lifts up the bag, “I brought some pastries, my grandmother made them. Thought you might be hungry.”

Logan stares blankly before taking the bag from Oscar, “Thank you.”

“Mind if I come in?” Oscar asks.

Logan looks back into his room and hesitates.

“I mean if you don’t want me to then I won’t…” Oscar’s voice trails off.

“Come in.” Logan says.

“Oh. Cool!” Oscar walks into the room and takes a seat on one of the chairs.

Logan closes the door and places the bag on the table before sitting down opposite Oscar on the edge of the bed.

“How have you been?” Oscar asks, then instantly regrets it, “Sorry, stupid question.”

“It’s okay.” Logan says, he doesn’t exactly want to converse right now, he sort of just wants to cry.

“So… life’s rough?” Oscar says, “Sorry. Stupid again, I’m not very good at this whole… conversing thing.” 

“It’s fine.” Logan says.

“Do you want me to help you with… anything? You could talk to me right now.” Oscar says.

Logan sighs, “I just need to cry right now.” He says before flopping back first onto his bed.

“Oh… are you okay if I stay?” 

Logan nods, not sure if Oscar could see but Oscar stayed where he was, so Logan assumed he saw the nod.

“If you want me to leave anytime just tell me.” Oscar says before sitting next to where Logan was lying down.

Logan usually would never cry in the presence of someone else, he had a facade to keep up. However, right now, Logan couldn’t care less.

When he crashed, the only faces he saw were disappointed ones. They only got more disappointed in him when Alex scored points. All of them shot Logan with wary eyes. Alex was disappointed in him. James was disappointed in him. All of them were.

He tried his best, he really did everything he could to get better but nothing paid off. His dreams were like flashing before his very eyes.

Logan stares into the ceiling.

“Are you disappointed in me?” Logan asks.

Oscar shakes his head, “No. I would never be.”

Logan lets out a soft scoff, “Sure…”

“Hey! I would never be disappointed in you.” Oscar says, patting Logan’s thigh, “I’m always proud of you.”

“I literally crashed today.” Logan says.

“Everyone makes mistakes.” Oscar shrugs.

“Clearly I make more than others.” Logan scoffs, mostly at himself.

“Well, I believe in you then, I believe that you’ll get better.” Oscar says.

Logan lets out another scoff disguised as a chuckle.

“Yea…right…” Logan says, as he feels his tears slowly filling his eyes.

“Shut up mate.” Oscar says, “You’re an amazing driver, you will get better.”

Logan smiles slightly but the tears continue to flow.

“I’ll stay with you, every step of the way. Okay.”

“Promise you’ll stay?”

“Promise.”

[remediesremedy]

🍏 anon!!! Thinking about the qsmp. That's it. That's the ask /j

-qsmp!reader being an egg protector/egg-babysitter, kinda like badboyhalo, but they're much more..violent about how they protect the eggs/kids.

>Quackity's trying to get Tallulah again? Qsmp!reader has fucking spidey sense from halfway across the island and is by Tallulah's side in three seconds top.

>Maybe they're super protective over the kids because they never got to have one of their own, or their kid got unfairly killed by the binary codes or something. Just anything to give them that fire to fight for the kids?!

>Even for some drama, the reader has been known to be able to kill the binary codes (source: just trust me) They're known to be a fucking menace if anything/anyone dare tries to hurt the kids 🧑‍🔧

anon i could litwrally kiss you this is so good, such a good concept for like a fic or story. i’ll do some bullet points of headcanons and maybe a short story, may also revisit this in the future!

QSMP!Reader

- the angst from having lost their own egg would be gut wrenching. and i know exactly how it would’ve happened. they weren’t able to take care of their egg for a day, and had asked everyone on the server to take care of them. to do their tasks. except that an event happened, perhaps the new arrivals, or an argument or affair. and your poor little baby was forgotten. tucked into a bed they would never wake up from.

-you can image the grief, logging on to clean up the house and to wake up your little sunshine. only to find they are not moving, they are stone cold, no sign of life emits from them. and you wonder, what went wrong? how could someone be so selfish, so horrible, to let a defenceless baby die? it must’ve been hours that you sat there, with shaky arms to gather your dead child. you held them for hours, praying for a miracle, a heartbeat to reappear, a breath to escape them. but no matter how long you waited, heaving with sobs as the egg in your arms stayed deadly still, they never woke up.

-resentment was the most prominent emotion you felt, in fact, it didn’t wash away or falter for months. everyone forgot. they could’ve been saved, helped, so easily, if people weren’t so wrapped up in each other. you refused to speak to anyone who was active that day.

-months seemed to rot away, time was a fickle thing, and in your own distorted realm of time, your bed became your resting place. lack of eating and drinking, nothing had much of a purpose anymore, that was until there was a visitor at your door. not many did visit, considering a lot of them weren’t allowed near your home after what happened. with a huff you had descended down your stairs, not seeing anyone when you glanced through your door peep hole. cautiously you had opened the door, and the breath got knocked out of you. hot burning grief punched you in the stomach at the sight before you. a little egg, who was clearly lost.

-your instincts had kicked in, you could control this, you could help. with not much thought you knelt down, eye level with the small child, “hey kid, looks like you’re lost, is that right?” you spoke gently, even though your head was screaming and your heart felt like it had been ripped out your chest for the second time. at the girl’s nod, you offered your hand. “we’d better fix that, who are your parents..?” you finished the sentence, realising you hadn’t even asked for the kid’s name.

-the kid hastily scribbled “wilbur” onto a notepad.

-Ah, the kid was tallulah, you remembered her pretty well because of how bitter you felt at her arrival. a kid just randomly found? and for a father who didn’t even want her at first. But as she stood in front with you, your throat clogged up with regret, you could never hate or resent the girl. “i know wilbur, that’s fine.” you reassured with an affirmative nod, “how about you get on my shoulders and we look for him?” you offered, surprised at how trusting tallulah was as she went into your arms, it made your heart ache. as you set her comfortably on your shoulders, you started walking towards the area you knew wilbur resided in.

-Tallulah was pretty far out. “hey tallulah?” you began curiously, at her nod, you asked the question that had been practically burning you. “how’d you get so lost? it’s pretty far.”

-Tallulah hastily wrote on her notepad, you waited patiently, in fact, the scratching of pencil was familiar and brought comfort. you collected the paper with one hand, the other still firm, but gently keeping ahold of tallulah’s leg. me and pa found this pretty place, i accidentally stepped on a warp plate and i was then near you, pa probably didn’t notice the warp plate.

-the lump in your throat somehow got bigger, oh, you knew what that warp plate was. it was your kid’s favourite place, they had demanded a warp there because they loved it so much. tears welled up in your eyes, and you had to choke them back, not here, not in front of tallulah. “you’re, you’re dad must be worried then.” you rushed out, trying to clear your watery vision.

-after a couple of hours of walking, you had made it near wilbur’s house, and it was no surprise that you could see multiple people yelling out the girl’s name. anger flourished in your gut briefly, of course, of course everyone on the server would put their lives and time on the line to save an egg, any egg but yours. “we’re close now, seems like everyone’s been looking for you.” you spoke softly, and then realised tallulah had been asleep for a while, softly snoring into your hair, one hand gently wrapped in your curls and the other dangling from your shoulder. you had missed this. you had missed it so much.

-as you approached, a couple of faces recognised you, their eyes immediately cast to the ground in shame, but their double takes of seeing tallulah made them call for wilbur. The tall man emerged from his house, looking dishevelled and frantic, you had felt that way too. his eyes locked on Tallulah and he practically ran, “darling? is that you? what did you to her, i swear if she’s hurt.” you scoffed, patting tallulah so she’d wake up, groggily she did. the nerve of this guy, he clearly didn’t know you would never do what the rest of the server did.

-“she’s fine. maybe keep better watch of your kid before you blame me.” you spat, feverishly taking her off your shoulders and passing her to wilbur, he was taken aback by your words, but his eyes softened at the sight of his daughter unharmed. tallulah had grabbed at her father’s face in delight, shortly taking a second to write on her paper once again. pa, they saved me! they kept me safe <3

-with confirmation from his daughter, he nodded gratefully at the stranger, his eyes apologising for assuming the worst. as you went to walk away, he called after you, “wait. i know i can trust you, if i’m ever gone and can’t take care of her, could you?”

-it was a stab in the gut, and you couldn’t help the tears that fell from your eyes, maybe it was strange to him, but this felt like a second chance and a mockery at the same time. with a choked voice, you muttered a “yes.” and warped home, where you had cried endlessly until the morning.

-after a while, it seemed the server had labelled you a protector of some sorts. if anyone went exploring with their egg, you went, sometimes just lurking in the background in case things went wrong. When parents couldn’t be there for their kids, you took on the role of almost a god parent, coddling the babies happily.

-and everyday you thought of what could’ve been. things were mostly peaceful on the island, but one day the air shifted. a wonderful egg called bobby had lost a life to a monster, a monster made of numericals. the island was no longer safe, and if they were going to attack with monsters and ghouls and otherworldly creatures, you wanted to make them wish they never stepped foot on the island.

-you had set up warps to each main location, some near houses that were far away. you had given each member and egg a walkie-talkie, being stern that if ever they were in trouble, you would be there. the island grew dark, and the eggs were scared, but you wouldn’t let them feel that way for long.

-the next time the monster of code attacked, you were babysitting a few of the eggs, chayanne, tallulah and leonarda. you were stargazing, sat on a red and white picnic blanket while the kids tried (and failed) to name constellations. you had heard static, and your eyes sharpened, focusing in on a green light in the forest ahead. quietly you had gotten the children’s attention, swiftly handing them all totems and golden apples, you had kept your eyes trained on the beast coming out from the trees. “if anything goes wrong, you warp to my place okay kids? no arguments.” you instructed, they had hesitantly nodded, finally noticing the problem before them.

suddenly the binary code had dove in, targeting Leo and Tallulah. you saw red, hot fury coated your limbs, with seemingly little effort you had pulled the code off of them. “in your dying breaths i want you to realise, you never stood a chance.”

you deflected it’s attacked with uncontrolled rage, it’s fighting began to get frantic, realising your onslaught would not stop until you dropped dead on the ground from exhaustion. it moved to fly away, but you lurched forward and clenched your fist around a wing, sadistically ripping it off. with the binary caught off guard, you plunged your sword through its chest, blood spurting everywhere, and a crazed look in your eyes. with relief, with the satisfaction of winning, you spat on the dying thing.

-silently, you wiped the blood off you, turning to the kids that had their mouths open in shock. they had cheered and went to hug your legs, “nope nope, you might get blood on you and your dads will not be happy with me if that happens.” you smiled, gesturing for them to teleport to your house, so you could get changed and tuck them into bed, they were having a sleepover after all.

“Quackity.” your voice was deadly, you had a feeling, it was the dead of night and you had bolted to wilbur’s house. “get away from that bed or i swear i will kill you as many times as it takes for you to disappear permanently.” you had growled, pouncing forward before he could use his weapon on the sleeping girl, he was now pressed up against the wall, your axe held snugly against his bare throat.

“woah woah! i wasn’t actually going to do it i swear.” he breathed in a panic, putting his hands up in surrender, his weapon clanking on the floor. you kicked the sword away, eyes slit as you watched the pathetic man cornered.

“i’ll be real with you Quackity.” you started firmly, opting to try and change his view. “my kid, i trusted that someone would take care of them too. i understand the anger, how dare everyone still be happy right?”

he nodded, trails of tears streaming down his face silently. “right. and it hurts so much, because it wasn’t your fault, you trusted people and they failed you. and you can get mad at people all you want, you can fight them, kill them.” you affirmed, starting to release the grip on him. “but the kids are innocent. they are defenceless, and tilin, or even my baby, would never want us to hurt their siblings in revenge.” your watery eyes looked into his brown ones, you let him go, storing your axe in your backpack.

Quackity had sat in the chair, close to where he’d been held. “Tilin would never forgive me if i killed his family.” he cried, “i can’t believe i almost did that, im such a terrible person i’m so-“

you reached out, clasping his shoulder. “don’t.” you offered your hand, walking him out of the house before giving him a tight hug. “grief makes us do things, bad things, weird things. grief can change you.” you pulled back from the embrace, relief flooding you as you saw the maliciousness dissipate from his body. “it’ll be okay one day.”

but as you said that, the both of you said nothing as your own tears ran down. maybe it wouldn’t be.

but you had a purpose.

A/N (author’s note): i feel like i put my whole ass into this piece goddamn. i really enjoyed this concept and it’s not often i find myself getting lost in writing, a lot of the time writing is so hard for me, but this one flowed really well :)

as always, my green apple anon delivers wonderful stuff, and thank you so much for the support anon, and all my anons and people who boost my posts.

reason why they couldn’t just teleport back is because in my head, warping can really tire people, and can especially tire eggs, so tallulah might’ve been at risk if she had teleported back, and the fact she was with a stranger and not a parent, you need to feel certain when warping.

i didn’t want to give the egg a name just in case i never continued this, but i’m naming it anyway, the egg was called otto. and their accessory/trademark would’ve been a flower crown yesyes.

[skyalent]

Witches Can Be Good | Supernatural x Scarlet Witch! Reader - Part 3

Warning: Angst

Happy New Year everyone… although kinda late. I’m not gonna lie I totally forgot about this until I finally logged into Quotev and got notifications on people commenting for part 3. I’m so sorry TwT RisaIceCreamPudding and Arabella from Quotev… but also thank you for reminding me <3

Also do you guys want me to make a masterlist? I don't expect this series to be too long, but if you'd like it, I can make it. Or a taglist. Just let me know with a comment!

Part 1 *~* Part 2 *~* Part 3 (You are here) *~* Part 4???

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Part 3: ...Goodbye?

The brothers were acting strange and Y/n knew it. She didn’t know why because she didn’t want to pry into their minds, but she did make subtle attempts to make them open up to her. Nothing was working so far. 

Meanwhile the brothers were full of all kinds of thoughts. After Sam deemed the DVDs safe and normal they watched the movies together while they sent Y/n out on a solo ghost hunt. 

Dean’s mind was blown over and over again. One, Y/n’s real name was Wanda and was part of the avengers!? Which was pretty damn cool especially with how hot she looked back then (and she only got hotter as she got older). But then both him and Sam found out about Y/n lover. Vision, a robot, but he reminded them of Castiel, as both were learning how to act human. 

While watching they felt like they were intruding in that moment. The way the two confided to each other… Dean wasn’t one for chick flick moments but he could tell that these two were utterly in love with each other. 

But then they witnessed the pain Y/n went through, practically losing everything. She lost her brother, her twin- a mute scream emphasizing her pain. Dean and Sam could relate, having lost each other more times than they could count.

She lost Vision to Thanos, the ugly wrinkled grape that both brothers just wanted to beat up in order to never see Y/n look that upset again. 

Then she herself died, her face oddly calm as she dusted away. But Sam understood. At that point, Y/n thought she had lost everything and had nothing left to live for. Her thoughts were probably along the lines of, at least I’ll be with my brother and Vision.

Coming back to life 5 years later, Y/n was understandably angry as she unleashed her anger on Thanos. But after that Y/n was lost. 

Her brother, gone. Her lover, gone. And as she came back to life she learned that her sister figure, Natasha, was gone too. 

Maybe that’s why they could only sympathize and understand as they watched WandaVision that for once in her life Y/n just wanted to be normal and happy. 

It was quite weird to watch Y/n magically give birth to two twin boys, but they couldn’t deny the amount of love Y/n had for her family. 

And then… 

“Dean isn’t that the witch that gave us the DVDs?” 

Agatha Harkness. Now the brothers knew that the witch could not be trusted based on the way she treated Y/n. 

The next time they see her, Dean isn’t going to hesitate in shooting his gun. 

But then onto Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness… 

“LIKE DUDE WHAT THE F*CK!?” 

First off, Y/n was hot. As in, slay b!tch, get it kinda hot. And she was kinda evil. 

“But think about it.” Sam pointed out, “She just lost her children, who she had for like, a couple days, she lost her husband- although I can see that she’s accepted his death by now. At this point Y/n is just desperate for her family, for love, for normality.” 

Sam wasn’t ashamed to say he was balling tears by the end of the movie. Obviously, Y/n wasn’t dead, but she had gone through so much that it left one question in their minds. 

Does Y/n… still want that normality? 

Because even if the Winchester brothers hated the thought of getting rid of Y/n from their lives, Y/n would never get to live a normal life while being friends with them. She would be stuck in a hunter’s life.  

“We should let her go…” Dean said blankly after a few minutes of silence. 

“Dean-”

“No, I’ve thought this through. That life she wanted. Sam, she’ll never be able to get that with us. Didn’t you see how happy she was with her family? I admit it was kinda f*cked up, but now she has another chance at it again. We can give her that chance again.”

Sam contemplated it, though Dean could see his resolve breaking. 

The Winchester brothers were going to let Y/n go.  

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The brothers had driven Y/n far from the bunker after telling her they were going on a trip. After parking into a driveway, they stepped out, a confused Y/n following after.

“Wait, what’s going on? Why-” 

“Y/n what we do is extremely dangerous, and it’s only going to get more dangerous from here on out.”

“Dean, I know that already. Why do you think I’m here? To protect you guys because-” Y/n attempted to explain but was cut off by Sam. 

“We can’t be associated with witches Y/n. All the hunters know who we are. Once they figure out what you are, even more people will be out to kill us, on top of the supernatural.” 

“Alright I’m calling BS-”

“Sorry, Y/n. But please, this will be so much better for you. We even paid for this house and everything. Don’t worry about it, please.” Dean opened the trunk and took out Y/n’s suitcase, rolling it to the door and passing the house keys to Y/n.

“But guys you’d be even safer if-”

“If you stayed here.” Dean sternly said to Y/n, looking directly into her eyes. She swallowed, her mouth feeling dry. “We don’t need a witch helping us.” 

Frozen, Y/n could only watch as the brothers got back into the Impala and drove away into the distance. Heart broken, tears uncontrollably ran down her face as she wept.

“...but you guys are my family…”

So... Part 4???

< Previous *~* Next >

[sandinthepipes]

Hello fellow dyslexic/adhd/others who would like to enjoy fanfics through their ears, I just spent the entire day testing android apps to find one that doesn’t suck as much.

TL;DR - these two T2S, Audify

I feel like I need to share this because 90% the apps don’t even allow a web page as a source, let alone get past the log in page, and I cant be the only one who doesn’t want to download every single fic.

“Oh, but doesn’t android have a built-in text-to-speech function in the accessibility settings?” I hear you ask. Yes, but it sucks ass very badly. Firstly it only reads in the system language, so it doesn’t really work. Second, you need to highlight all that you want it to read, and seeing that I read a minimum of 15k words in a sitting, I’m not gonna do that.

Also I’m broke, I imagine you are too, but even if I wasn’t I’m not paying for this, if I did I wouldn’t even be supporting a human being, so no.

I’ll immediately break your trust with the first point, but it’s what I’ve been doing until now, and now that I know what the android mobile experience is like, I feel the need to include this. The best solution I’ve had so far (which works wonders, let me tell you) is letting Siri read them on the iPad. It’s only doable when I’m at home and it’s still an apple product, so that’s why I began the research. However the positive points are INCREDIBLE so I’m going to ads it to the list because I said so.

First of all it’s built-in and SO EASY to access, you literally just swipe with two fingers and it stars to read. It reads the punctuation, you might think that’s a given and so did I, but no. A question sounds like a question, an exclamation point does why its supposed to do, short sentences sound what they’re supposed to sound like. In apparently all the apps ever created, you won’t find any of it, just flat, monotone voices with flat little pauses. Overall excellent experience 10/10.

Cons: it’s on apple, I consider apple the same as Disney, I would love to not give them more money so that they can make the market increasingly worse. Every now and then a system update will fuck with the tts function and it will be unusable for a while. Sometimes it doesn’t like the text format on some fics. It’s not portable.

Now that we got that out of the way let us get to the meet.

Speechify - it sucks bad. At least the free version, but seen as it costs almost 10€ a month I’m not even going to consider the premium version. Fuck that. You can’t increase the speed, and as somebody who hasn’t watched a single YouTube video on normal speed since they added the function I can’t do that, too slow, I forgot what we were talking about once we get to the end of the sentence. Also you can only use those weird very robotic voices, and they’re not even that many. Don’t recommend. I felt like I had to include it since it was one of the few who allowed browser navigation and well, it’s speechify. Also you can’t t have saved more than 3 “files” per time. Doesn’t have sleep mode.

Audify - works exactly the same as T2S, but it saves the history and has a bit more customisation for how it reads and what it reads (which you don’t really need for ao3, but if you wanted to read, say, Wikipedia with all the notes and stuff, now you know). Has the sleep mode. - EDIT: the double tap to start reading works slightly better than T2S on websites with weird formatting. But unlike T2S you can only have one tab open

T2S - cute. It works. Again, no emotions, but it reads what it has to, nice voice selections, easy to use. The premium version adds literally nothing, they’re a good app, what they have, they give. Also you can customise the interface colour if you want. Has the sleep mode. - EDIT: this app allows you to have multiple tabs open at the same time, unlike Audify.

That’s all folks. Now go and be free of your reading impediment, or be free in your multitasking, or whatever you want to do. I’m done, I’ve given my datas to all kinds of shady apps, I need to go do damage control

[karatekels]

Silver Seduction - Part 2

Okay okay okay, I lied – this is going to be a 3-parter, but I’m almost done the last part, I promise! Because of the way the request was worded, I wasn’t sure if the person who submitted the prompt wanted it to be a darker encounter (Terry taking the reader against her will), so I settled for something on the edge of dubious consent. If that is not something you are comfortable reading, PLEASE stop now! (Part 1 | Part 3)

Tw: Dubious consent; Kidnapping

---

“I promise, I’m all healed up, and Mr. Miyagi has really been putting me through it with his training! I know I can beat Barnes at the tournament!” Daniel explains confidently, practicing his crane kick as he balances on the log you’re sitting on. You’re at the beach, trying to relax after the events of a couple days ago, but it isn’t working.

Still, you smile up at him, but inside you feel terrible. While you had also fallen for Terry’s lies, you couldn’t help but feel guilty, like you’d been an accomplice in his plan to hurt Danny. You’d been beating yourself up since everything had happened, feeling so stupid for letting yourself be tricked.

“I’m sure you’ll be great, Danny,” you say absent-mindedly, your chin resting on your hands. Daniel leaps off the piece of driftwood and on to the sand, coming to stand in front of you.

“Hey, are you okay, Y/N?” he asks, and you look up at him, his eyes shining with concern. “I promise, I’m not gonna let Mr. Silver anywhere near you, okay?”

You nod at him, smiling in a way you hope his convincing – the boy needed a boost to his confidence – but you aren’t so sure. The way that Terry seemed to have organized everything scared you. How could one person put together such a messed up scheme? Ugh, you were sick of spending all of your time and energy thinking about what had happened, and decided that enough was enough.

“Okay, Danny,” you agree, standing up and giving him a friendly hug. He squeezes you extra tight, and as you look over his shoulder, you think you see someone standing in the distance. You blink, and there’s no one there. It must have just been the waves reflecting the setting sun, you reason, and shake your head, looking back at Daniel. “We should celebrate your upcoming win!” you say enthusiastically, gesturing to the ice cream shop just down the boardwalk. “Ice cream?” you suggest, and he nods, and the two of you start to head down the beach together.

“Oh, hang on, I forgot my bag!” you say, “head on over, they’re going to close soon. I’ll catch up!” You return to grab your tote bag, slinging it over your shoulder, and cut across the beach to get to the boardwalk more quickly.

Suddenly, you feel a tingle down your spine, and you can feel eyes on you. Glancing over your shoulder in your peripheral vision, you see three figures following you at a distance. Panicking, you speed up, reaching the sidewalk quickly and feeling safer. Nothing was going to happen to you with witnesses and people driving around, right?”

“Hey, Andrews,” calls one of the men from behind you, and you turn automatically.

It was Mike Barnes, flanked by two other boys you didn’t recognize. You freeze.

“What the hell do you want?” you demand, trying not to let your fear show. Had they been watching you and Daniel? For how long? And why?

“Mr. Silver needs to talk to you,” Barnes says nonchalantly, his arms crossed. He looks like he doesn’t really want to be here, like he’s passing on the message because he was told to. The boy was the same age as Daniel, he was too young to be some lunatic’s errand boy. Did Terry had the nerve to bully some kid into sending her a message? You feel yourself suddenly getting angry, upset that Silver seemed to be meddling in the lives of every boy in the valley.

“Oh, does he?” you say angrily, fists clenched. “Well I believe I told Mr. Silver to stay the hell away from me, so beat it!”

Barnes sighs deeply, a regretful frown twisting his face. He looks resigned, turning to each of the boys beside him and nodding towards you. The immediately crack their knuckles and walk towards you, quickly closing the distance. You step back, and turn to run, but before you can your arms are grabbed and you’re dragged to the curb. You hear tires screech to a sudden stop nearby, and before you can scream, the door to a dark limousine is opened and you find yourself thrown inside, landing on someone’s lap. You try to lunge for the door, but the car takes off, knocking you off balance, so you settle for scrambling off of the person you’re sat on and dive into the other seat, turning to face your abductor.

“Hello, Y/N,” Terry says cordially, exhaling cigar smoke out the partially-opened window to his left. “Have a fun beach day?” he asks innocently.

“T-Terry?” you stammer, mouth dry. “Were you spying on us?” you ask incredulously, and his eyes darken, an angry expression flitting across his face. He takes another puff of his cigar, and by the time the smoke clears, his face is devoid of emotion once more.

“Maybe,” he says, casually. “I gotta tell you though, Y/N, I didn’t take you for the kind of girl who would go after a younger guy.” You bark out a humourless laugh – this guy must be really insecure if he was threatened by you hugging a friend.

“What are you talking about? I gave Daniel a hug, because he was trying to make me feel better about what you did to us!” you exclaim, before you make a sudden realization. “Oh my God, Daniel! He’s going to be looking for me! Let me out!” you demand, lunging for the door, but Terry blocks you with an arm, reaching across the limo for a bottle of champagne, effectively blocking your exit.

“Drink?” he asks calmly, as if he hasn’t just kidnapped you from a busy public boardwalk.

“Are you crazy?” you shout, utterly baffled by how calm he’s being, but he looks at you, waiting for you to answer his question. “No, you psycho! Now let me out of here, or I swear I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Terry asks, bemused. You open your mouth, trying to come up with an answer, but you can’t come up with anything, and your jaw snaps shut. He smirks, pouring himself a glass of champagne. “That’s what I thought,” he says smugly, sipping the bubbly beverage. “And don’t worry your pretty little head. I told Dennis and Snake to tell Danny Boy that you had agreed to come with me to talk,” he explains, as if that makes any of this okay.

“You want to talk?” you ask incredulously, “about what? I have nothing to say to you,” you spit out, crossing your arms over your chest and pointedly looking out the window.

“Yes. I want to explain myself, and apologize to you,” he says smoothly. You refuse to look at him, scoffing.

“You want to apologize? And you think kidnapping me was a good way to do that?” You roll your eyes and look out the window, trying to figure out where you were. You were quickly leaving the city limits, winding your way up to where the big, fancy houses were located. “And where the hell are you taking me?”

“We’re going to my home,” he states, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I figured we could talk over dinner,” he says, giving you a charming smile.

“Like hell we will,” you growl, trying to find a way to open your window, but it’s locked. The only way out was to get past Terry, and you knew that the odds of accomplishing that were unlikely.

“C’mon, Y/N, just give me a chance. We had a good thing going, you and me!”

“You must take me for an idiot if you think I’m going to sit with you and listen to you make up some bullshit excuses. You and me have nothing, got it? There is no you and me!”

“Are you saying that because you really believe it, or out of loyalty to that little prick?” he asks cockily, his arms spread along the back seat of the limo and his legs crossed, looking like the picture of ease as he surveys you. You gape at him.

“You lied to me! You beat up a kid!” you exclaim, shocked that he would have the audacity to even ask that, like he didn’t know the answer. He sighs, his piercing eyes locked with yours from across the limo, and then stands up. Stooped over – he was so tall! – he comes over to sit beside you. You lean away from him, moving as far away as possible, and glare at him. He gives you a comforting smile.

“I was as honest with you as I could be,” he says, sounding sincere. But how could you believe anything this man said? “I had to keep up the lies about Cobra Kai so Danny wouldn’t get wise, but everything else, the time I spent with you, that was all real, I promise.”

“How can you possibly expect me to believe that?” you snap at him, scowling. In response, he grabs you by the wrist and pulls you closer to him, laying your hand over his heart. You feel it thumping against your palm hard and fast, and your breath hitches.

“I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of, Y/N,” he says, a glassy, far-off look in his eyes. He shakes his head, snapping out of it. “I don’t feel guilty for a lot of them,” he continues, staring into your eyes. You find yourself leaning closer to him, feeling hypnotized by his icy blue eyes. He certainly seemed to be telling the truth. “But I feel guilty for lying to you. I liked you the minute I saw you, and if you hadn’t been with LaRusso at the time, I never would have lied to you. C’mon, can you honestly tell me that you don’t feel anything for me?”

You swallow past the lump in your throat, biting your lip as you think over his question. Your hand is still on his chest, and you can’t deny that you feel drawn to him.

“I did feel something for you,” you admit shakily, emphasizing the past, “but I can’t trust you.”

“Give me a chance, Y/N,” he says, his voice low, and you find yourself leaning closer to him to hear. “Let me make it up to you, let me prove to you that you can trust me…” he cups the side of your face with one of his large, warm hands, and your eyes flutter closed at the contact.

The next thing you know, his lips are on yours, kissing you heatedly. Your eyes fly open in surprise and you gasp, inhaling his cologne. Your whole body felt like it was on fire, and it was… intoxicating. Without thinking, you give in, acting on instinct, kissing him back passionately, your hand traveling up his chest around his neck, pulling him closer. You feel him smile against your lips, pleased, and his hands wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against his firm chest. You moan into the kiss, feeling dizzy and overwhelmed by the sensations, and he growls in return, pulling you onto his lap. You’re losing yourself in the kiss, wanting to get even closer to him, when you suddenly realize what you’re doing. Your eyes snap open, and you push his chest with both hands, shoving yourself off of him with a cry, and moving back into the other seat, across the limo from him.

His eyes open lazily, looking over at you, running his tongue over his lower lip. You feel something in your belly clench in response to the action.

“What’s wrong, doll?” he asks, “You can’t tell me you weren’t having a good time just now,” he leers, giving you a wicked grin. You try to calm your breathing before responding to him.

“Look, even if you weren’t a lying jerk, I’m not the kind of girl that… that does this sort of thing!” you exclaimed, frazzled, your hands on your burning cheeks.

“Come on, haven’t you done anything risky before, just because it felt good while you were doing it?” he asks, sliding back into the seat beside you and toying with a lock of your hair. You pull away; you couldn’t think straight when he was touching you.

You shake your head, looking down at the floor, embarrassed. “I’ve…I’ve never done any of this before,” you admit in a quiet voice.

“Oh, baby girl” he croons, lifting your chin with a finger to turn your head back to look at him. “I wish you had said something! Forgive me for assuming; I just can’t believe someone who kisses like that doesn’t have any experience.” He laughs, and you hate how much you love the sound of it.

“R-Really?” you ask, surprised. He nods, giving you a warm smile.

“Are you kidding? That was incredible!” he exclaims, taking one of your hands into both of his. “But if you need to go slow, Y/N, I’m happy to do so. Let me take care of you, show you a good time…” he trails off, kissing the spot below your ear. You tilt your head to the side to give him better access without even thinking about it.

“But…but it’s wrong,” you emphasize, and your words sound hollow to your own ears. “What if someone found out?” you ask, nibbling your lower lip nervously. What if Danny found out?

“Oh, is that all you’re worried about?” Terry asks. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about that, doll. We’re heading up to my place, and no one there would dare say anything about it if I say so. It’ll be our little secret,” he says, winking at you. You blush despite yourself, and he grins, feeling you giving in.

“Let me make you feel good, Y/N, and give you what you deserve,” he murmurs in your ear, running a hand up your leg. You shudder at the contact, and the limo slows to a stop. You had arrived. Terry slides down to the seat by the door, looking back at you and offering you a hand.

---

Alright, Part 3, coming right up - nobody kill me!

[princess-of-the-corner]

Toontown: Corporate Clash Recap: The Estate

Let me start by listing off the friend request rejections generic Cogs will make, as you requested:

“[Cog] says, "We’re just not meant to be, Toon.”

“[Cog] says, "I’ll bring it up in the next meeting.”

“[Cog] says, "I’d rather volunteer to visit the chop shop.”

“[Cog] stares blankly at you: "No.”

“[Cog] says, "We both know there are no good intentions here, Toon.”

“[Cog] looks at you, mumbles some Cog-like words, and resumes its activities.

”[Cog] says, “Get some real friends, Toon.”

“[Cog] says, "Hand over your gags and laff and we have a deal.”

“[Cog] says, "I’m not looking for anything more serious than what we already have.”

“[Cog] said yes! …Not really though, unfortunately…”

“[Cog] points to their watch, saying, "I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

Additionally, I forgot to mention that Cogs have visual indicators for how much health they have separate from the battle interface. Their badge that starts out depicting their department symbol (Bar Graph for Sellbots, Dollar Sign for Cashbots, Gavel for Lawbots, Tie for Bossbots, and a “Stonks Arrow” I can’t remember the actual name of for the Boardbots) turns into a light that indicates how much HP a Cog has left. Green is healthy, yellow is injured, orange is very injured, red is critical condition, and flashing red is almost destroyed. There are two other light colors specific to certain boss encounters.

Also, I forgot to mention this: If you leave a Club you’re the owner of, ownership automatically transfers to the next highest ranked, most senior member, so the only way to disband a Club is to leave when you’re the only member. Club names, much like Toon names, don’t have to be unique.

But now, for the Estate.

Your Toon’s Estate can be accessed at any point via the “Go Home” button or using the /home command in your chatbox.

Every account has an Estate attached to it, and each estate has 6 houses (1 for every Toon you can make). The houses are color coded to the Pick a Toon panels. There are Ice Cream Bars that restore 2 Laff when picked up, but Toons don’t passively regain HP.

You can visit another Toon’s Estate if they’re on your friends list, or one of your friends is visiting their friend’s Estate, since you can TP to them via the “Go to” button on their Profile.

Estates have mailboxes in front of them, when you have an item in the mail, the flag will be up. You can delete items in your mailbox, but there’s really no point to it.

Your Toon’s house is customizable. When in your house, the attic button is available, allowing you to move furniture from the attic and onto your house to display them.

There are two special furniture items: An old-timey telephone (as in, REALLY old timey. Think like the EARLIEST phone model, where you had to hold those bell-looking things up to your mouth and ear to use them). The other is your Jellybean bank, looking like one of those candy dispenser machines with the glass bowl on top, with a decorative piggy bank pig being placed on top of the “lid”.

If you collect any Jellybeans while your jar is full, they’ll spill over into your Jellybean Bank. If any Jellybeans spill over into your bank when IT is full, they’re lost. As such, you’ll want to go and purchase larger Jellybean Banks every now and again to make sure you’re not losing Jellybeans.

To do this, you can use the “Cattlelog” (formerly known as “Clarabelle’s Cattlelog” back in the Disney’s Toontown Online days. Yes, it’s spelled like that because it’s SUPPOSED to be a pun, but since Clarabelle was removed to avoid invoking Disney’s wrath, and the change-logs call it the “Catalog”, I’m guessing they just never got around to correcting the in-game spelling), to order an upgrade to your Jellybean Bank. The bigger Bank will automatically replace the one in your house when you remove it from your Mailbox, with all of your Beans from the old one getting poured into the new one.

The largest Jellybean Bank can hold 100,000 Beans.

You can also order new chat phrases, clothing, accessories, furniture, window views, wallpapers, carpets, posters, and other decorative items.

The Cattlelog has two categories: “New” and “Backorder”.

“New” items hold newly available items in your Cattlelog and Seasonal Items, while “Backorder” holds select Estate Items, Emotions, and Jellybean Banks from previous issues.

Backorder items are more expensive than new items.

You receive a new Cattlelog Issue whenever you log in at least week after you received your last issue. It CAN arrive partway through a play session, but it’s designed this way so you don’t have to worry about “missing” an issue.

There are 7 series, each one with 13 issues, with the exception of Series 5, which only has 5 issues. After Series 7 Issue 13, the game cycles back to Series 1 Issue 1.

You get Achievements for purchasing 1 item from the Cattlelog, purchasing 10 items from the Cattlelog, purchasing 50 items from the Cattlelog, and purchasing 100 items from the Cattlelog.

Also, each Estate has a Fishing Pond and Picnic Tables, meaning you can play Picnic Games (same as the Minigame Area Picnic Games) and go fishing here. However, you CANNOT make groups in your Estate (not even PRIVATE Groups, for some reason), so you’ll have to invite your friends over via whisper if you want go fishing or play Picnic Games with them. The Estate pond has special fish species that CAN’T be found anywhere else in Toontown.

Also, you an swim in the river that goes through your estate AND in your fishing pond, as it is one of the few bodies fo water in the game that are deep enough for you to swim in.

And I believe that’s everything that can be said about Estates. What’d you like to hear about next?

Trolley Games

Minigame Area

Estate

Fishing

Cogs and Buildings

Social Activity

G.U.M.B.A.L.L. Machine

Toon Levels

-

Oh I love the wordplay. ‘Cattlelog’.

Hm. Let’s roll with levels next!

[ahdriking]

So, Blue Blood is finished. And,,,, I have a lot of feelings about it. 

Let me tell you a story! Six months ago, I decided to open up and engage with tumblr for the first time in almost three years. It was a random evening, I was bored and had nothing to do, so I decided to see what was going on in the world that had once consumed my life, but which had been absent from it for quite some time. Almost immediately (a testament to how well past me curated my blog) I came across a gifset from Kinnporsche. Can’t remember what it was of, but it appealed to me enough that I hunted the show down on a whim and put it on.

And then my entire life changed.

I’m not being dramatic, I’m genuinely serious. I used to waste my days playing phone games and watching TV because I had gotten out of using my computer and accessing fandom, but after I watched Kinnporsche, I literally put down my phone and forgot about it so hard I literally broke it accidentally and have gone without one for five months. I reactivated my tumblr from its longtime slumber, I created a twitter for the first time ever, I logged into ao3 for the first time in almost two years, and I stepped into fandom with the burning passion of a woman who’s entire life had been consumed. Because this show made me feel more than any show I have ever watched has made me feel, more than any other piece of media has ever made me feel. I have never been so emotionally enraptured by a fictional relationship, one which was enriched by the most sensual and stimulating sex scenes I’ve ever seen captured on film, one which played into all of my interests like it had been tailor made for me. I have never been so intrigued by the potential of a plot or world. I didn’t even know such a thing was possible. I could never ever in a million years have prepared myself for it; to hope for something even close to a pale shade of what we got would have felt unreasonable before. And yet, Kinnporsche exists. Despite all reason, logic and odds, Kinn and Porsche exist. And I found it, while it was still airing at that, and got to participate in one of the most exciting and enrapturing tv show experiences I’ll probably ever have in my life.

Maybe it was in part due to the euphoria of the impossible happening, or maybe it was simply the novelty of experiencing passion for a creative IP for the first time in years, or maybe it was the enthusiasm of the community I found and the ability to connect with people again, but something fundamentally shifted in me because of this show, and not just in what I did in my spare time. A creative spirit I had not felt in years came roaring to life in me with an unholy vengeance the likes of which I have truly never experienced before. My generally poor mental health, which had numbed me for so long, was drowned out for days at a time by the most intense and compelling feelings of excitement and anticipation and adoration and obsession and fixation I’ve felt probably ever felt, a literally perfect cocktail of emotions that reactivated something long dormant in my mind. It left me inspired, more than I have ever been in my life– my ao3 can serve as proof! My greatest achievement before had been writing 50,000 words in a single year. I wrote that much within the first month and a half of watching the show. I went from averaging 12,000 words over 3 years to 200,000 in 6 months.

My point is, Kinnporsche was entirely unprecedented in my life, and it changed me down to my marrow. It made me capable of writing in a way I have never, ever been able to before. And that was why I found myself in the position of entertaining the idea of a longfic for the first time in *years*.

Some important context: I have never finished anything. I’ve been writing creatively since I was old enough to hold a pencil, dreaming about the stories I would one day tell, but the idea of ever being able to actually finish one? That sort of achievement felt out of reach all of my life. I just wasn’t good enough, and I was certain that I never would be. So thinking about writing a longfic so soon after taking up writing again really felt like a risky, no good idea. I promised myself I wouldn’t, not unless the idea was so good it just HAD to be attempted. Something genuinely exceptional.

It was a series of cascading coincidences that led me to Blue Blood. First, a particular photo of Apo with eyeliner. Then, a series of meta posts investigating the potential darkness of Kinn’s character. Finally, joining a discord server of people who were excited by and receptive of the initial ideas that intrigued me: fighter!porsche and dark mafia!Kinn. It was a perfect storm. And fuck me if it didn’t make me feel really, really excited by it. So I did the improbable: I started to plan.

One of my problems has always been that I start something without knowing how to finish it. I set off before I have the destination in mind, hoping to somehow figure it out along the way, but inevitably run out of steam and, without an ending in sight, the process feels hopeless. But I was determined not to do this for Blue Blood. So I comprehensively planned out the entire arc of the fic, and gave myself as much structure as I could (as I’ve told a few people, Blue Blood boils down to a 5+1 fic in structure. It’s 5 fights plus the final boss showdown(altho I only had to write 5 total cos I did a cheeky). And I really, really fucking liked it. It felt really fucking tangible. Writing the first chapter, after that, was the easiest thing in the world. Genuinely, chapter one was one of the most fun writing experiences I’ve ever had, it just fucking poured out of me. And the reception to it was amazing; the number of people who took a chance on the first chapter of a WIP, on a dark fic one at that, truly thrilled and excited me. So we were off to a good start.

But Blue Blood wouldn’t remain mine alone.

I picked up @kissporsche sometime after the first chapter, but before the second. We had exchanged a few random messages on tumblr, and they seemed like a really cool person, so when I wanted someone to take a look at my work I thought of them. All I wanted, initially, was someone to beta what I’d written and maybe give me a few encouraging comments. I sent her the doc, and waited to hear back. And what I got blew me the fuck away. I’ve had beta’s before, but never one who so comprehensively attacked the editing process, in such a way that I genuinely felt was perfectly targeted to identifying my weaknesses and expanding on my strengths. And not just that, but she was excited to just *talk* to me about it, she was excited for me to bounce ideas off of her and explore difficulties with her and just generally bitch about whatever with her. And she was more than open to the idea of working on the next chapter. And maybe the one after that.

Before I knew it my usually solitary and isolated experience writing fic was just a thing of the past. I suddenly had someone who would not only listen to my every random thought or concern I had, but who would genuinely encourage them and do the same right back at me. It was fucking INCREDIBLE. As a person who lives for feedback, I found myself writing things just to be able to send them to kissporsche for her edits and reactions. I found myself driven, almost supernaturally, to produce content just so we could pour over it together and explore it. It changed everything. It *was* everything.

Kissporsche is responsible for so many, many parts of this fic. From being instrumental in determining key plot factors, to being the reason for the switching POV’s, to being the saving grace of Porsche’s characterisation, to instigating and perpetuating the presence of Vegaspete, to fixing up my many grammatical errors and word repetitions, to encouraging me through hard times, to cheering for me through easy times, to being a voice of reason during the dark times. For being a friend when I needed one, a voice of love and support, one that cut through and silenced the worst of my insecurities. For being someone I could turn to for whatever I needed, for being someone who made me feel competent and capable, for being someone who I could rely on. For being someone who opened up to me and let me in and gave me nothing but love and acceptance and validation in return. There aren’t many people out there in the world like you, and I want you to know that I appreciate that fact. I know how lucky I am.

There were times when it was fucking hard and I struggled, and I thought very bleakly about the future of this fic. But never once, not even for a second, did I truly feel that I was going to abandon it. I couldn’t. I had someone waiting for me, with genuine and loud excitement, to carry on. And so I did. I carried on and I carried on and I carried on and then, all of a sudden, it was almost over. And I had nearly done it. *We* had nearly done it.

These last few weeks have been truly fucking insane. We’ve spent a lot of time losing our shit over the fact that it’s getting closer and closer to it being over. To it being finished. And now we’re finally here, we’re actually fucking finally here, at the final page. At the end. And it just feels surreal! It feels like a dream. It’s finished. 

Blue Blood is finished.

I’m proud of us! I’m proud of myself. I’m damn fucking proud of myself for writing this fic. I’m proud of the plot, I’m proud of the characters, I’m proud of the world, and I’m fucking proud of finishing it. I’ve proven to myself that it’s possible, that I’m capable, and it feels like an entire world of possibility has opened up as a result. Who knows what I might write next?

I know this was a lot, but it feels important to me to mark this event with such an introspective post, because I want to remember everything about this. I want to come back years from now and re-read this and remember exactly what it was like, exactly how it felt. And I want all of you to know what it meant. This fic has changed my life, as dramatic as that sounds. It has fundamentally changed me in more ways than I can really express. It will always be my first.

But not my last 😏

[alittleghostwhoeatsbread]

As Safe As Houses

Like that of footsteps on foot soldier leaves felled from trees during the annual orange war, the arm rustled as it was drawn back, but there was no sound at all as it was thrown, soaring in a flat arc with the gay grey grace of a pigeon before deciding that it wouldn’t be silenced and letting out a ping! as it bounced harmlessly off my breastplate, the it of it being a pebble- or small stone depending how large loose rock has to be for you to promote it from pebble to small stone- and so doing only a ping! amount of damage. Through my visor, I watched the mouth attached to the throwing arm get maniacal as its owner, a boy with sausage roll type thumbs, bent and picked up another hunk of rock, one which nobody, no matter what their opinion in the pebble/stone debate, would not consider a STONE- capitalized for the danger its sharp mineral edges posed- hurling that at me too with a further rustling like that of a packet of crisps being domestically abused, this STONE not soaring with any gayness or grace but zipping, almost invisibly, with the speed of a rock whose life motto was its ore or nothing, colliding with my breastplate with a clang!

“Why are you standing there? Here?” the sausage roll thumb boy asked as quick as lickety once did the splits, another STONE already in hand ready to let fly. “You should be at a castle or something. Are you a weirdo? Something else?”

I was about to spin a yarn so tight around him he’d know for sure that I wasn’t a weirdo but very normal and that my armour was also normal and merely a precaution, like the inflatable suits those who’ve been hit by cars wear to prevent any other damn car intending to hit them from hurting them again, and that he shouldn’t throw rocks at me because that really devalued my precaution, but just then Beth came out of the coffee shop with our drinks, saw the patch of dirt the STONE had left on my breastplate, and made the boy leave me alone by doing what Beth did so well, which was toss her temper in some easily lost in woods in such a spectacular way that she didn’t have to say anything to make people deeply regret doing the something that'd made her temper be tossed, her face going as red as the belly of the beast who’d forgot their sun cream, her body contorting, wiggling like a slab of heated butter being struck with a tenderiser. At seeing such a sight, the sausage roll thumb boy fled into the day, leaving me with already spun yarn to swallow and gratitude to express as Beth, satisfied but still red faced, smiled and handed me my coffee specially equipped with a twisty visor accessible straw, grabbing my free gauntlet before I could express anything and dragging me towards the park and the point in the park we went every Sunday, Intervention Point, a point living beneath a fat, rather squat, tree that's trunk had been so shrouded by its own overhanging branches it resembled an upside down mop we entered by pushing said overhanging branches apart and revealing a circular space invisible from the outside, filled with logs and other such woodenry for Beth and me to sit on.

“It’s been four years today, Delroy. Do you or do you don’t think you’re finally ready to step out of that armour, feel the air?”

“Beth, not today or possibly ever, I'm not ready, and it's because I just don't need to feel that. I can feel the air, it runs through my joints sometimes and is oh-so rejuvenating when it does, and most importantly, I feel safe.”

“But being clad from head to toe, still, it's just unnecessary. Isn't it?"

“True... if I take the un from unnecessary and toss it in a blender to make the word I think you know it makes but which I’ll say anyway. Necessary. Look at this dirt on my breastplate, Beth. If I hadn’t been cladded from at least torso to toe, I could have been mildly hurt, mildly!”

“But you wouldn’t have had rocks tossed at you if you hadn’t been wearing armour!” Beth gripped some of the hanging branches that hung into the space of Intervention Point, wrapping them gently around her fist and rubbing the green leaves on her cheek, clearly preparing to say what she was always going to say, all the while knowing that what she was preparing to say would exasperate me to no ends. “It’s the solution to the problem it causes.”

“Don’t get therapeutic on me. You know I hate it when you get therapeutic. You’re supposed to be my friend and support me, not give me know-it-all advice with no thought for how I would advise if I wanted to advise myself. The armour isn’t a problem and most of the time I forget I’m in it at all.”

“Don’t get defensive, Delroy. Remember, you’re not a coconut tree so stop dropping spiky balls on me. Also, don’t pretend that I don’t also know what it’s like to be in armour. I was more than half clad in metal myself when we met.”

I put my helmet in hand and sighed, looking around at the fragments of yellowish light that filtered in through the Intervention Point tree’s dense leaves and lived as butterflies- swirling hand in hand with smaller fragments of dust when young and bright before abruptly discarding childish things such as swirling and being hand in hand, settling down in patches on the same leaves Beth had rubbed up on her face and fading to black-enjoying how said light, while swirling at least, glinted off the armour I’d conditioned in the bath that very morning so it would act like a prize poodle and shine for this meeting with Beth. I fingered the patch of metal residing directly above the space below where my bellybutton resided with my other free hand as I looked, my bellybutton below that was mottled, puckered, and wholly unlike a normal bellybutton because when Beth and I had met I’d still been with I-Won’t-Say-Their-Name-Because-They’re-An-Asshole and not wearing armour, and Beth, who was not only wearing armour at the time but also going by the name of Arbalist and carrying round a crossbow to keep people at bay, had let loose a bolt in my belly.

“I know you remember,” Beth continued. “With that mottle that used to be a bellybutton you don’t certainly need reminding. But you do seem to need reminding that I used to say, insist even, that I often forgot I was wearing armour or shooting bolts at people. So, I know it isn’t true. I also know what you will know today if today is the day, and that is that it was a load removed when I finally did just that.”

No armour is complete without a weapon and mine was a sword, tucked as snug as a bug in a leather sheaf on my side, unused against other swords or weaponry in the five years I’d carried it- my instinct in any situation that might have required weaponry or sword swinging, which without a doubt was a situation that lay way past the last chance saloon, being to flee as soon as any situation approached I’m-getting-close-to-getting-angry mountain- but used whenever Beth milled my nerves, drawing it from its sheaf and raising it in the air with a ‘Hiyaaaa!’, swinging it aimlessly at any straggler hanging branches that didn’t have the function of hiding us beneath the Intervention Point tree but had the function of getting in the way whenever we tried to walk around.

“Delroy, every week with the slicing and hiyaaas. Stop slicing. Stop Hiyaaing. Look at me. This situation is getting silly enough for the others in town who know you like I know you to think that it’s been way too long now since it happened with I-Won’t-Say-Their-Name-But-They’re-An-Asshole to justify you still wearing armour without it being weird.”

“... others are thinking that?”

"Others are talking about that."

"Are you thinking and talking about that with them?”

“I’ve talked of course, it would've been strange if I’d been around and hadn’t. But what I’ve talked about is beside the point. What the point is really is that more often than not the others who don’t really know you but have seen you around join the others who do really know you when the others who do really know you are talking and comparing you to weird persons such as Mary-Who-Lives-Under-The-Bridge-Even-Though-She-Has-A-Beautiful-House.”

Obscuredly I dropped my jaw but visibly I swung my sword, not at branches or leaves, but in a general circle, my armour making the cartoonish sound of chattering teeth as the many times I’d partook in the talking and making of not very nice comments about Mary-Who-Lives-Under-The-Bridge-Even-Though-She-Has-A-Beautiful-House, usually when Mary had been in hearing distance and just buying a coffee or sandwich to take back under her bridge, ran through my head alongside the still but familiar image of Mary- who’d forsaken clothes along with her beautiful house and so stood naked and exposed to the world because, as she shrugged answeringly when questioned, ‘What have you got to hide under a bridge?’- smiling at all the talking and not very nice comments and tipping an imaginary bowler hat to those of us that had made them, her body language clearly signalling the start of a sauntering off that would certainly be done with the fantabulous energy of a potato that knows the pot is a waiting but also that it has at least five damn minutes left to live like a potato with nothing to lose. I knew I wouldn't be able to take the hearing of any not very nice comments quite as in my stride- which even before the armour had been the self-conscious stride of a newly legged trout- as she, and that my armour would soon resemble a flaky painting of a muddy sunset from all the salty tears I would shed within it, salty tears that would be shed regardless even of hearing as just knowing comments were being made was scary enough to induce moisture, that knowing made doubly scary- you know double scariness? That feeling when you’re in an old easily broken down car on a dark night in a dark wood and that car has done its dues and broken down just when a fog as thick as a curious French brie is settling on the surrounding dark trees and just when a shadow darker than the rest of the shadowy darkness moves in the same surrounding trees in a lurching manner so that not only does the frightful fog settling afear you but the lurching shadow does as well- by also knowing that to stop the comments I’d have to cast my precaution to the wind and invite all the hurt and pain of all the hurt and pain varieties to have free rein over my fragile body.

“I’m nothing like Mary-Who-Lives-Under-The-Bridge-Even-Though-She-Has-A-Beautiful-House,” I cried as Mary crawled beneath my general sword swing to grab my gauntlets and stop them sword swinging in general. “I don’t live under a bridge though I have a delightful converted four-bed warehouse home to go to or go about laughing at those who want some protection with her exposed belly and shoulders which by being exposed say me? Need protection? Pishaw that stuffs for wimps. She doesn’t and has never engaged in the making of not very nice comments or talking, but I have and do! I engage with talking and commenting whenever I’m allowed or around. I’m completely normal if you do what I do and forget I’m wearing armour.”

“It isn’t just engaging with talking and the making of comments that make you normal, Delroy, it’s being like the rest of us and you can’t be like the rest of us because you don’t look like the rest of us. You’re a walking talking suit of armour and nobody, not even you so don’t lie, can forget that.” Beth paused here before saying something further with the out-of-the-side-of-the-mouth whispering of a war photographer perpetually puffing on their wartime smoking pipe and asking photographic permission without wanting the asking of photographic permission to be heard. “Sometimes when all the others are talking and commenting not very nice things and I’m there too Mary-Who-Lives-Under-The-Bridge-Even-Though-She-Has-A-Beautiful-House isn’t even mentioned, sometimes she’s skipped over and they go straight to comparing you to Mark-Who-Believes-He’s-A-Nuclear-Bomb-And-That-Only-By-Kissing-The-Most-Handsome-Men-On-The-Mouths-In-A-Surprise-Kiss-Attack-Will-He-Save-The-World-By-Not-Going-Off.”

Mark-Who-Believes-He’s-A-Nuclear-Bomb-And-That-Only-By-Kissing-The-Most-Handsome-Men-On-The-Mouths-In-A-Surprise-Kiss-Attack-Will-He-Save-The-World-By-Not-Going-Off was the worst person to be compared to if you wanted to wear armour but for everyone to treat you normally- him being the epitome of social avoidance, there often being town meetings that I often went to all about how we could convince him there was nobody left to prevent him going off, plans such as all of us collectively leaving the town for several days, leaving him having to wander so far in search of handsome men to sneak kisses on that he would eventually wander right into a different town or city- and, upon hearing the comparison had been done, I did what life calls everybody who wears armour to do at some point after being cornered by those wishing them to take it off, become defensive and attack those doing the cornering, pulling my gauntlets from the grasp to point a finger at Beth’s face.

“You were wearing armour and shooting bolts for over two years at least after being hurt and not once were you compared Mary-Who-Lives-Under-The-Bridge-Even-Though-She-Has-A-Beautiful-House or Mark-Who-Believes-He’s-A-Nuclear-Bomb-And-That-Only-By-Kissing-The-Most-Handsome-Men-On-The-Mouths-In-A-Surprise-Kiss-Attack-Will-He-Save-The-World-By-Not-Going-Off. Not once. So I’m starting that maybe nobody in town is saying this. I’m starting to think that maybe I should start thinking that it's maybe just you who’s saying this and that you’re simply saying it because you want me to take it off so you can steal it for yourself.”

My attacking voice, which had been used barely once a year since I was four and which had certainly never been used on my friend, made Beth flinch like a love-lorn leviathan coming upon their love entangled with another and reach almost instinctively for her handbag- which like most bags, or personal objects of concealment in the town, held a small portion of armour for those moments in life when protection really is required, her small piece being in fact not that small and in fact being the quite large crossbow from her Arbalist days- her face turning tomato as her temper, which as mentioned before was a large angry dog held in the garden only by a threadbare lead that could be snapped at the dropping of a hat if the hat that dropped happened to drop on that lead, was let loose. Beth, who had always taken great care in not losing her temper with me because she was a sweetheart and knew that even before my armour I could only take so much shouting and that after I’d donned it could take even less, forgot her care, barked while slobbering like an Igor impersonating a dog, and jumped on my breastplate, denting the plate covering my breast and pushing me backwards so that I fell, also backwards, and rolled on the floor with the elegance of a mechanical elephant whose trunk has taken it upon itself to both trip it and lasso its legs together midfall- that is with a great clanging and a Damn-I-Have-A-Tripwire/Lasso-Rather-Than-A-Trunk type roar, picture a metal bin making love to waste compressor and you’ll get the sound- right out of Intervention Point and back into the park, but not stopping there, going further with the roll, Beth still on top of me and rolling too to make it so we were both a part of the most aggressive roly-poly the world had ever seen.

We roly-polypunched right into the Fighting Point- earmarked as that by Beth and I years before with it’ll-never-happen-but-just-in-case deep bellied chuckles- that, rather than a peaceful circular space hidden beneath a tree, was a deep dark pit resembling the bear fighting pits of bygone years when pits were still dug to accommodate such things as bear fights, so close to the edge of the park you could, if you were inclined, theoretically say that where the pit sat wasn’t park at all but the town and was only still considered park because some trees shaded it, though a large clothing store did too, and because it had a dirt floor that was not soft but hard enough to take both Beth’s and my own breath away. So that for several moments after we roly-polypunched alllllllllll the way down to the bottom of it, we were entirely breathless, held close by the dirt that'd taken our breath and desperately sought more, its soughting being unfruitful for the several moments we lay in its arms, gasping with the quiet desperation of mushrooms with mouths but no respiratory system, these several moments prefacing further several moments during which all members of the town in seeable and hearable distance came to look down into the pit and watch us abruptly evolve into mushrooms with lungs, air flooding back as Beth and I crawled away each other and stood, me drawing my sword on my friend and her drawing her crossbow on hers.

“Look, it’s Delroy. Urgh, and still armoured from head to toe…” the town members said while gathered as they were around the lip of the pit, their voices loud and echoing down to my ears. “…he’s definitely more unusual then Mary-Who-Lives-Under-The-Bridge-Even-Though-She-Has-A-Beautiful-House now… equal I’d say to Mark-Who-Believes-He’s-A-Nuclear-Bomb-And-That-Only-By-Kissing-The-Most-Handsome-Men-On-The-Mouths-In-A-Surprise-Kiss-Attack-Will-He-Save-The-World-By-Not-Going-Off…worse? No that’s too much… could get there… definitely getting there… I for one say he's arrived at his destination... look at all that protection… how obscene and strange… been way too long since it happened… it makes me feel like the small piece I carry for just in case isn’t enough… a small piece is more than enough… it’s Delroy who's overprepared… he's not a knight.... weirdo… freak… GET HIM BETH.”

Hearing that talk and not very nice comments really were being made about me not having removed my protection or yet got over the solidified ball of acidic pain slowly corroding my heart that I-Won’t-Say-Their-Name-But-They’re-An-Asshole had planted made my anger towards Beth fade but seemingly did the opposite to her as she let out a shriek and a bolt as soon as the suggestion she get me was given, so quickly that I barely parried the zooming bolt away, leaving it stuck, quivering, in the dirt side of the pit. You’d think it was but it wasn’t the loosening of the bolt that brightened my anger again, rather it was the appearance, sudden and as light as the light of the Lord when they said with a snapping that light should be let, of I-Won’t-Say-Their-Name-But-They’re-An-Asshole leaning with the other town-folk over the lip of the pit, looking with the satisfaction of a serial whistler doing their serial duty at my armour, and shouting, ‘YEAH, GET HIM BETH,’ that made that anger rise right back up and make me return something for the loosening of the bolt- that return being a short sprint followed by a short swing.

“Five years of my life, Delroy, five of them,” Beth, who just managed to dodge that short swing with the agility of a particularly dexterous dolphin or someone not wearing full metal body armour, snarled. “1, 2, 3, 4, 5. All of them spent being your friend, interventioning, only occasionally when I really wanted to do it more joining in with the talking and not very nice comment making about you, and you accuse me of simply wanting your armour? J’accuse! Auf der hut!”

 Here Beth did a fashionable roll I suspected was just for the watchers, who supportively let out a cheer to let her know they still were, while simultaneously re-loading, sending another bolt my way as soon as she rightened in such a smooth combative transition that I failed to notice a bolt had been loaded and released until that released bolt went clean through my armour, missing my flesh by somehow finding a gap between my shoulder and the shoulder of my casing but causing a hole that curious air swiftly flowed through to explore nonetheless.

“Look at you, Beth, clutching a crossbow, AKA a piece of armour. Oh hypocrisy, come and lap from my frigid breast for your mother lies milkless before me!”

“Look up and then also look around, Delroy. Look at the people, your township, they’re all, ALL, clutching pieces of armour. Ipso facto there’s nothing wrong with a little clutch every now and then, to feel safe.”

“But if there’s nothing wrong with a clutch now and then, why is there something wrong with a clad?”

“Because no one else is clad! Why should you be that safe? No one else is, no one else even wants to be except for directly and then for a reasonable amount of time after being severely hurt. Being that safe this long after being hurt is weird, not to mention unhealthy.”

Here my temper- which had already flared up by the sight and sound of I-Won’t-Say-Their-Name-But-They’re-An-Asshole looking smug and cheering Beth on, and been made worse by the amount of air flowing into my armour through the hole, which was too much air to merely be rejuvenating and was actually rather exposing- flared even more and aided my speed of attack to no end, so that with a dart and a dash I burst toward Beth, the sound effects of SHING! And TING! being the ones my blade let out as I blocked two bolts somehow sent my dashing way before a KACHING! rollicked out as my sword, which had been falling with an executioner's precision towards the crook of Beth’s ostrich neck, came in contact instead with the side of her crossbow, raised just in time to block me.

‘PHUT, PFFT,’ were the bullish snorts falling with white puffs of hot air down into the Fighting Point, echoing around to make things feel Caligulian as Beth and I freely traded blows, the sun, which didn’t dare shine into the pit though it illuminated the town in a picturesque glow metres away, illuminated also the folk doing the snorting, highlighting the moment Mary-Who-Lives-Under-The-Bridge-Even-Though-She-Has-A-Beautiful-House, breasts and chin thrust proudly up to the sky in her pride at not needing protection at all, oil and other living-under-a-bridge liquids smeared on her flesh, joined them along with Mark-Who-Believes-He’s-A-Nuclear-Bomb-And-That-Only-By-Kissing-The-Most-Handsome-Men-On-The-Mouths-In-A-Surprise-Kiss-Attack-Will-He-Save-The-World-By-Not-Going-Off- slyly kissing all the men he could on their mouths as he crept along- neither of them joining in with the cheering but watching all the same, Beth tipping her invisible hat at the sky as if saying she’d never cared about the not very nice comments being made about her but that my word was it nice to stand in a big ol’ crowd and not have them be about her.

“Be a good girl and hit him harder, Beth,” howled the familiar voice of my mother, who had never approved of my armour even when it’d only been a week after what happened with I-Won’t-Say-Their-Name-But-They’re-An-Asshole, and who shoved her way to the very lip of the pit to wave her walking stick in the air in the erratic fashion of a conductor conducting not a symphony but a mass spanking of not just the ass but the whole body of me. “Hit that bleedin’ armour right off him.”

The sound of my mom’s voice, familiar and oh so supportive, spurred Beth on, and with a duck only the truly supported can manage, she lowered her knees and dodged my next swing completely, the weight of said swing not encountering any opposition at all dragging me in a half circle that got my boots tangled tantalisingly, for Beth anyway, and left me wide open for the bolt that suddenly entered my armour at thigh height, going through it and said thigh with the cleanliness of a dentist’s dogs dentures and making me fall, arms jellyfish wiggling as I did so that quite by accident my blade nicked the knee of Beth, the tip digging in and then digging out a portion of flesh, eliciting a swearing from her as she also fell that would make a kakologophobic kooky.

“Shit, shit, shit, twat, my fucking knee, Delroy, you cunt. You’ve taken a fucking chunk out of it.”

“Ohh,” I moaned, my voice doing a breaking, a snapping, like that of a twig person in gloom, loud enough for the watchers high above to all hear, letting me know they'd heard by laughing loudly, and for Beth, much closer, to hear as well, her eyes widening. “Ohhhhhh I'm hurt. I'm not safe, I'm hurt.”

It happened as my arms wrapped around my leg, as if by swaddling it I could revert it to its unhurt childhood, and as I began to rock back and forth on the hard dirt below, tears dripping from my eyes and making the soft cymbal sounds of gentle rain on a tin roof as the droplets formed arms and drummed on and pooled in my helmet, in a flash it happened, the end of the fight. Because while Beth lost her temper easily, a fact that could easily be carved into the side of the town’s little mount rushmore if the town had such a thing and not be disputed by anyone or anything who knew her, it was also a fact that Beth found her temper in whatever enclave or grove it’d been tossed in just as soon as tears of any kind made their way into a situation, those watery incentives quickly drowning her anger in a puddle of themselves before making it bob to the surface as a severely sorry corpse. At the sight of my tears and the hearing of my broken voice, Beth did as she did, calmed, and crawled, as well as someone with a chunk missing from their knee could, to me, stroking the beak of my helmet- which I don’t think I’ve mentioned was of the armet variety and so had a pointy metal growth stretching out from where my nose was, and which was what Beth often affectionately, but usually mockingly, called a beak. The sight of the stroking of me, a weirdo, by a Beth, who was still considered one of them and normal, did not please the watching town folk, who jostled with anger as they watched, at all, as they knew that if one of them was willing to do a stroking, all of them would have to be willing and to prevent having to be willing to do that, the watchers instead began considering that maybe it wasn’t just me who was weird and not one of them but maybe Beth as well, because let’s not forget, they murmured loudly from above, she’d also worn full armour after being hurt, for two years as well, which wasn't that long but was still a period of time that passed in which armour was worn and that maybe two years was just long enough for the wearer to be considered weird even if the armour was no longer around, and that, maybe, if they formed a hoard and spilt over the lip of the pit towards Beth and me, they could, maybe, make the Fighting Point worth its name again, and even rename it, if they could, as Victorious-Point-Where-The-Armour-Was-Finally-Removed-And-Delroy-And-Maybe-Beth-Too-Were-Made-To-Realise-How-Weird-They-Are-And-Banished-From-Town.

“Beth, we hate to say it, but we’re starting to think that maybe you’re an oddball and a weirdo too. We’re starting to think that you don’t really belong with the rest of us and so should be treated like Delroy,” was the prevailing thought process of the town, who had the kindness to also chant it out loud so I'd know it, and once knowing it could disagree completely with the way they were turning on someone who’d interventioned me every Sunday just to get me back in with them and who’d warned me of their growing lack of patience with me and my armour.

“Beth,” I whispered, tapping her shoulder. “Get off me, get away. You aren't a weirdo, you're lovely and don't deserve that label. Go up to them, I'll stay down here. Maybe they'll leave me alone then. Surely they can't be mad about my armour if I also live in a pit.”

Beth didn't say anything in reply, simply stopped stroking my beak to look at me, balls meeting slit, those balls moistening as she assuredly felt what I felt in that moment, which was the feeling of being a baby goose being cradled in the warm crotch of a friendly giant who took goose babies in and loved them endlessly, our mouths suddenly revving the throttle and playing the roles in a major motion picture of two siblings coming together after struggling out of heaven and hell respectively to meet each other in the middle, apologies spilling out simultaneously so it was as if our voices were trains racing to get through a single tunnel.

“I should never have cut a chunk from your knee.”

“I should never have joined in with comparing you to Mary-Who-Lives-Under-The-Bridge-Even-Though-She-Has-A-Beautiful-House.”

“I should never have called you hypocrisy’s mother.”

“I also should never have told you about the Mark-Who-Believes-He’s-A-Nuclear-Bomb-And-That-Only-By-Kissing-The-Most-Handsome-Men-On-The-Mouths-In-A-Surprise-Kiss-Attack-Will-He-Save-The-World-By-Not-Going-Off comparison.”

“I should never have let us roly-polypunch into the Fighting Point and more should be able to say I-Won’t-Say-Their-Name-But-They’re-An-Asshole’s name and you should be able to too. They don’t deserve us not saying their name.”

“They deserve more. They deserve for their name to be legally changed to Asshole-Who-Hurts-People-Enough-To-Not-Be Called-Anything-Other-Than-Asshole. Just Asshole for short.”

The town folk who’d been ready to form a hoard, had all frozen in their forming at the outburst of our emotion and hadn't yet unfrozen by the time we got to the point in the major motion picture when the two siblings collide in the middle, sparks and flashes abound, the familiar smell of their mother's vegetable patties filling the air, reminding them of their childhood and causing them to fall into each other's arms and hug away all the mistakes they'd made to have gone to a different afterlife than the other, hugging the paradise and the torture from each other's bodies, the force of Beth's flesh on my armour as we enacted this giving me the courage to do something I hadn't dared to do in four years, pointing up over her shoulder.

“Hey, Asshole”, I called, receiving the recipient of my call’s eyes on my visor at the calling, their eyes that were no longer smug but sightly averted, shamed- the eyes of a hurricane with barely any wind left revisiting a place it had ruthlessly hurricaned in the days of when it’d been full of wind. “Yeah, Asshole. You look, that’s your name now, and don’t you forget it. If I hear you say differently, remember I have a sword.”

[fell-court]

Yesterday and possibly the day before’s gameplay progress because I forgot to make a post yesterday and I’m not sure if I made one the day before:

I made it to level 90 as a summoner!!! And also scholar, technically, but it’s not as if I’ve ever actually played as that. Due to having gotten so many pieces of level 90 gear from my retainers going on quick explorations, I’m already at an average item level of 560 as both classes, which is second only to the 565 I have as a dancer (and the 620 as a weaver, technically, but that one isn’t a combat class)! Not bad considering I don’t have access to any level 90 content yet, haha =P

I now only have black mage and reaper left to level out of the main classes I’ve been focusing on (I think they’re both level 88, perhaps even approaching 89), and I can still use the main story to level both of them quite effectively, which is both exciting and somewhat unfortunate in terms of feeling like I’m wasting that story quest experience once I do get to the level cap.

Now that I’ve reached level 90 as a caster class, though, I can finally wear my ornate rinascita jacket of casting that I’ve had for literal months thanks to Wondrous Tails certificates! This inspired me to make a fancier summoner glamour - but I’m still very attached to the demon skirt + caller’s sandals combination that I’ve been wearing as a summoner for so long now, so I ended up spending a long time in glamour hell trying things out to reach a happy medium.

This is what i eventually ended up going with - I like to think it still works as a top half that can be worn with the bottom half! I think I’ll save the rinascita coat for when I reach level 90 as a black mage, since it fits Lorenza’s princess/royalty theme very well, but I am at least still wearing it right now as far as others see in the game, which is neat.

Anyway, where were we?

Regarding the story, I’m currently at the first level 86 quest, and part of me is tempted to try and make a lot of progress over this weekend, so I can get through it in bigger chunks. I think I might be able to do it all in one weekend if my Shadowbringers progression was anything to go by, but it would be very dependent on cutscene length - I’m just quite aware of how the story will start to pick up the pace, and so I don’t want to have to stop playing due to time constraints at a point where it doesn’t feel right to pause the plot, if that makes sense.

I really need to start bringing red mage up through the levels as well, I’ve realised. And maybe machinist, but I don’t really remember how to play as that at this point, even if it is level 70. In theory it might make sense to try and push to level 86 as a red mage and then let the story bring it the rest of the way, but that would mean both a lot of level grinding and also having to delay story progression. If nothing else, at least I can use it for levelling up the Trust avatars, since I haven’t really touched that system yet!

In terms of weekly things.. I’m still working on my Wondrous Tails for this week, and I went to the Doman enclave to hand in donations only to get completely distracted by glamour stuff (as you can see by where I’m standing in that screenshot from before), so.. I need to actually sort that next time I log on, haha.

[moon-ursidae]

ALRIGHT YA’LL KNOW THE DRILL HERE

there will be spoilers for all of the last of us part 1 and all of the last of us part 2 under the cut!!

i’ll be sharing my notes and thoughts as i play each session!!

again SPOILERS ARE UNDER THE CUT SO IF YOU DO NOT WANT SPOILERS DO NOT SELECT READ MORE

PLAY SESSION 1 (i am horrified)

i just want to start by saying that i already know a decent amount about this game. i never thought that i, myself, would be playing these games, so i watched playthroughs when they first came out. since then, spoilers have been plastered all over the internet. so. yknow. i’m aware of what i’m getting myself into. ANYWAY to the session log!

total play time: 6 and a half hours

HERE WE GO YA’LL

i haven’t opened the game yet AHH

i know the music is gonna ruin me

my heart is beating so fast

i’m configuring settings and i hear water oh god

FUCK IT’S THE BOAT

AHHHH

OKAY THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING

I HIT START AHHHHH

C H I L L S down my body just seeing the neck of the fucking guitar

i’m already tearing up from joel telling the story to tommy

THAT’S PEDRO PASCAL

THAT IS PEDRO PASCAL BITCH

IN THE CAR WHEN HE LOOKS TO THE SIDE BC ELLIE STARTED STIRRING AWAKE??

THAT IS JUST AN OLDER PEDRO BRO

ANYWAY sorry i just understand very much why they offered him this role

STOP THE CUT TO THE LAST CUTSCENE WHEN THE FIRST GAME ENDS I’M CRYING

AND THE MUSIC

FUCK YOU

this looks fucking amazing.

the fucking music. GUSTAVO. GENIUS BRO.

this is fucking gorgeous. i am taking my fuckin T I M E

STARRING ASHLEY JOHNSON TROY BAKER AND LAURA BAILEY I KNOW THAT’S RIGHT

WOOOO

THAT SHOT?? HIM WALKIN INTO TOWN?? JESUS F U C K

ARE WE ALREADY AT THE FUTURE DAYS CUTSCENE????

omg omg she’s listening to the song she sings in the trailer i think A H H

and the bandages on her arm where her scar is 🥺

the way that joel tucks his shirt in now omg such a dad

THE SAVAGE STARLIGHT POSTER🥹

THE STANCE™️

THE WAY THAT MY DAD DOES THIS SAME FUCKING THING WHERE HE’LL GO TO TELL ME A JOKE HE HEARD AND FORGOT IT

I’M GONNA C R Y LATER

HIS AWKWARD LIL STEPS TO THE DOOR TO GET THE GUITAR STOP

“you wanna hear sumn” JOEL PLEASE I’M GONNA SOB

troy has such a nice voice! and also to voice act while singing simultaneously?? crazy

THEY ARE SO-

UUGGGHHHHHH🥺🥺🥺

it’s always in the prologue that they showcase Joel being a dad and i’m like damn this is how me and my dad are and they’re like “would be a shame if something bad happened” and i SOB

“you kissed dina?” TEA

THE WAY SHE’S LIKE 😶

okay i already very much like jesse he seems like such a nice guy!

again i know what happens just let me have this goddamnit

ELLIE HAS A PS3 THAT’S WHAT’S UP BRO WHAT GAMES YOU GOT??

JAK AND DAXTER SLAY

UNCHARTED 1 & 2 SLAY

this taylor guitar is gorgeous bro AH

the pictures on her corkboard above the bed🥺

i wish we got to see and know more about cat she looks like a cool ass character

is that the toy she stole for sam?? i thought she left that at his grave? so it may be a new one to remember him by? i dunno

DINNER BREAK BEFORE I CONTINUE

okayyyy to the outside… where it’s snowing…. and ellie is wearing this outfit…

and joel and tommy are out scouting…

FUCK

i love how slowly through the environment it tells you how jackson survives. through community. it’s gorgeous worldbuilding.

FIRST CARD HELL YEA

IS THAT BUCKLEY??? AHHHH

AND GUSTAVO!!!!!!! OH MY GOD!!!!!!!

HE’S PLAYING A VERSION OF THE LAST OF US THEME AHHHHHHH

I HEAR MARISHA RAY AND MATT MERCER?? AHHHHHHH CRITICAL ROLE CAST COME THROOUUUGGGHHHH

it’s also really wonderful to see kids being kids during this. especially for their age. they’re too young to deal with the bullshit that comes along with an apocalypse world

PEOPLE ARE SHIT TALKING ELLIE BRO THEY LITERALLY STARTING HUSHING EACH OTHER AS I APPROACHED LMAOOOOO

there are so many people at the bar at fucking 6:30am ya’ll

“i don’t wanna hear what that bigot has to say” as you fucking should ellie

also maria is so pretty!!!!

and dina is patroling w ellie?

sooooo many great signs here 🥲

“bigot sandwiches” SHE’S SO FUNNY

CARD #2 BRO YEEEAAAA

“we’re fine” BC THEY HAD THE TALK ON THE PORCH AND 😭😭😭😭😭😭

DIIIINNNNAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!

“i’m not even playing!” THERE SHE IS FERAL ELLIE

“i hate this kid so much” okay and i love ellie

“you wanna fuck em up?” THEY’RE SO MADE FOR EACH OTHER YOU’RE JOKING

THE SNOWBALL FIGHT WAS SO FUCKING CUTE AHHHHH

DINA IS SO GOOD W KIDS 🥹

THE SPARKLES IN THE SNOW?? GODDAMN

DO I HEAR KHARY PAYTON AT THESE STABLES??

they even included the detail of farriers dude there is someone cleaning this horse’s hoof

AND YURI LOWENTHAL WOOOOOO

shimmer acquired ✅

I DON’T WANNA LEAVE JACKSON DUDE

and the music seems so ominous like HSKAHSKAHSOS

FUCK IT’S THE CABIN

I SAW MEL

I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT IS HAPPENING

THIS EARLY?????

PLAYING AS HER?? THIS EARLY???

THE FABRIC ANIMATION ON HER SLEEPING BAG??? INSANE

listen i have nothing but raging and wholesome love for laura bailey but this one is gonna be difficult

her performance is phenomenal don’t get me wrong. this is just gonna be hard

THIS EARLY??

also they all start exiting a garage

joel rode the horse out of the garage

ellie lives in a remodeled garage/shed

and abby walks out of the garage w owen

idk if that’s a connection at all but just something i noticed i guess

owen also gives me weird vibes idk

this feels wrong being on the stick as abby

yooooooo that’s a really cool camera trick to convey her perception of heights and her fear

the snow and scenery look fucking gorgeous oh my god

FUCK of course he wanted to show her JACKSON

FUCKIN HELL

AND OF COURSE HE SAW JOEL AND TOMMY GO ON PATROL

MOTHERFUCKERRRRRRR

“assuming he’s in there, how do we get to him?”

I KNOW WHO THE FUCK THEY’RE TALKING ABOUT AND I’M SICK TO MY FUCKING STOMACH

AND NOW I HAVE TO LEAD HER TO JOEL???

F U C K DUDE I’M KAVSKABSKSH

i genuinely am so fucking anxious dude

like my hands are sweating and my stomach is turning over and i’m gonna vom bro

this is ALOT of dead folks oh my god

DODGE?? fuck yea

OH MY GOD THE WAY SHE STOMPED ITS HEAD AHHHH

this game is definitely more brutal damn

GOD THE INFECTED ARE SO MUCH SCARIER

“where’s the patrol?” NO WHERE. LONG GONE. SOOOOOOOOO GONE.

ellie and dina are so cute together

THE BONG💀

honestly eugene sounded pretty fuckin awesome i would wanna go out like him too

GOD I LOVE SNOWY ENVIRONMENTS

“i was thinking of inviting joel over for a movie” i- wh- 😭😭😭😭😭

cheesy 80s action movies??? MY KIND OF GUY BRO!

ALSO PLEASE NAUGHTY DOG STOP GIVING HIM MORE HUMANITYYYY AND GRAVITAS IT HUURTS

“you wanna meet up after?” “uhh.. okay. i’ll play guitar for you.” ELLIEEEEEEEEEE I SEE YOU

ANUTHA CARD BABYYYYY

i was wondering when we would see infected

dina worried about ellie dying bc of infection and ellie’s like “deal.” 😶

oh shit this storm is picking up HELLA

EUGENE WAS A FIREFLY

i wish so badly for them to go more into joel and tommy’s time after outbreak day jfc

ANUTHA CARD

ANUTHA PS3

damn i wish we had a ps3 in the library

i love the new weapons upgrade system

like you physically see the gun change and add shit onto it

so dope

DAMN! eugene had WEED bro

but this also means….

it’s super close now..

“smash bradi’s cooch” BRO NOT THE PLAY ON NAUGHTY DOG GAME TITLES

omg plz the way she breaks the joint jar

THERE WAS SOMETHING ELSE I MEANT TO LOOK AT BEFORE THIS CUTSCENE GODDAMNIT

their chemistry is CRAZZYYYYY dude i feel like i’m intruding on their time

THE WAY ELLIE LOOKS AT HEEERRRRRRR

THE WAY THEY LOOK AT EACH OTHERRRRRRRR

THE WAY SHE FLICKS THE JOINT AND GRABS HER FACE WAS SMOOOOOOTH AS FUCK

oh no. ohhhhh no. i am now abby. oh fuck.

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

A HORDE???? THIS IS HORRIFYING OH MY GOD

THE FENCE IS GONNA CRUSH MEEEEEEEEE

i have to pause. it’s joel. i-

FUUUUUCK

FUCK. HER REACTION WHEN TOMMY TELLS HER ITS JOEL. FUCK.

LAURA BAILEY IS SO GOOD

AND THE WAY HER VOICE GETS SHAKY?

LAUUURRRRAAAAAAAAAA

TELLING THEM WHERE HER FRIENDS ARE AND THAT’S GONNA LEAD THEM TO THE CABIN AND FUUUUUUUUUUUCK MAN.

GOOODDD LAURA’S ACTING. JESUS.

AND THEN CUT TO ELLIE AND DINA AHHH

WAIT I THOUGHT SHE TOLD DINA SHE WAS IMMUNE LATER???? IS SHE GOING TO RN??

SHE IS. OH MY GOD.

i’m lowkey glad she doesn’t believe it

“tommy and joel didn’t show up”

NOT PREPARED

FUCK FUCK FUCK THEY’RE INSIDE THE HOUSE NOW

i literally feel sick to my stomach i’m so worried for him and tommy and ellie bro

tommy’s being so nice to them offering them supplies and everything too GOOOOODDDDDD

FUUUUUCK THE WAY THEY ALL LOOK UP AT HIM WHEN HE INTRODUCES HIMSELF AS JOEL

FUUUUUCK THE SHOTGUN

when i tell you that i am so close to losing my dinner i am not joking

THE EMOTION IN HIS EYES WHEN HE LOOKED AT ELLIE

HE LOOKED SO TIRED BUT SO SCARED FOR ELLIE

i am pausing. jesus fucking christ. (stopped for a good while here bc obvious reasons)

it hurts me knowing that ellie didn’t even have the strength to even stand up when dina found her and joel and tommy.

tommy coming to check on her😭

she looks about as bad as i do rn

my poor sweet ellie🥺

tommy’s so awkward bc he’s probably like “does joel want me to treat her like a daughter? do i carry on what he started? do i try to forge this relationship with her?” and struggling to tell ellie that they may not be able to afford going to seattle if it means that ALL of jackson would be vulnerable. bc he doesn’t like it either. he wants to go for abby too.

FUCK man.

THE HUG.

F U C K

THE HEADSTONE STOP

the lil chair and wind chimes outside🥹

all the flowers out front??????

he really had an impact on jackson🥺

her hand shaking at the door FUCK

HE HAD A COWBOY HAAATTTT😭😭😭😭

HIS OWL MUG 😭

IS THIS PAGE OF HER JOURNAL WET WITH TEARS?? AND/ OR TEAR STAINED???

THE MUSEUM PAMPHLET A H H

her drawing of him oh my god i’m C R Y I N G

you can tell he loved her so much. there’s pieces of her all over the house.

HE NEVER FINISHED HIS CARPENTRY PROJECT

THE MIRROR IN THE UPSTAIRS BATHROOM IS OFF THE WALL AND COVERED. JOEEELLLL.😭😭😭😭😭

it looks broken as well. maybe i’m reading too much into it. maybe not

THE PICTURE OF HIM AND SARAH IN A WHITE FUCKING FRAME I’M GONNA LOSE MY MIND

AND A PICTURE OF HIM AND ELLIE NEXT TO IT

no one look at me. no one talk to me. no one perceive me. oh my fucking god.

his jacket and how ellie just stays there. oh my god.

THE WATCH.

THE MUSIC.

I’M FUCKING DONE DUDE.

is that his fucking shirt from the night he lost sarah. i fuckin-

NAUGHTY DOOOOGGGGGGGG

the idiots guide to space book and readers on the bedside table😭😭 SO HE COULD TALK TO ELLIE ABOUT SPAAAACE

bless maria’s heart dude. i love her

SEATTLE DAY 1

omg she’s telling dina the story about the hunter that tried to drown joel in the hotel

alright i’m stopping here before going forward bc i’m fucking exhausted emotionally and physically haha

jesus fucking christ is how i would summarize that first session. jesus fucking christ.

[strangekindaerin]

Deep Purple Imagines #2- Holliday Edition

Jon Lord- You and Jon spend the whole day baking cookies and other treats for family and the band. You are carrying batter when you trip on something and end up covering yourself in batter (like that scene in 2 Broke Girls where Caroline broke her pearl necklace and trips on them and ends up covered in batter). Jon was too busy mixing the cookie dough that he didn’t see you. “Jon...” You said meekly like a child. Jon turns around not expecting you to be covered head to toe in cake batter. His mouth opens in shock then he starts laughing hysterically. “It’s not funny Jon!!!” You shouted embarrassed. “Go take a shower and I’ll finish everything.” He said still very amused. So you do just that. After your shower (which took a long ass time since you had to get batter out of your hair which required many uses of shampoo and conditioner), you got dressed and dried your hair. When you came down, everything was finished. “Sorry I took so long. The batter was a pain to get out.” You giggled. “Why don’t we just relax and watch something on the telly.” He suggested. You nod in agreement. You both end up falling asleep on each other. 

Ritchie Blackmore- You and Ritchie planned to celebrate the Winter Solstice. “Do we got everything we need?” You asked him. “I think so.” He grumbled. Well it turns out he forgot something... The Yule Log. “Well let’s get everything set up so we can stay up all night.” You decorated the place before going to make Wassail. “BLOODY HELL!!! I FORGOT TO GET THE YULE LOG!!!” you heard him yell loudly. You then heard the door shut and Ritchie was gone. You giggled while stirring the spiced beverage while thinking about the past year. A few hours later, Ritchie returned. He was more grumpy than usual. “There were no bloody logs left.” He grumbled to you. “Don’t worry! We can light candles.” You said cheerfully. “Okay...” he sighed in defeat. Soon it was time to celebrate. You drank the Wassail and wrote what you wanted to let go of on small sheets of paper before burning them in the candles. You felt tired but were determined to stay up all night with Ritchie by your side. You thought about how you met Ritchie this past year. His success with his band (and the many fights he had with Ian Gillan). You soon heard snoring and noticed Ritchie sleeping. You smiled at him before falling asleep yourself. So much for staying up all night. 

Ian Gillan-You and Ian were good friends. You also had a major crush on him. You called him over to your place and asked if he wanted to decorate a ginger bread house with him. The challenge? You both were going to do it drunk. “Okay so here’s the challenge. We’re gonna do this drunk!!” You said getting out a bottle of whiskey. Ian got excited. He enjoyed drinking. A lot. So you got everything out. Gramm crackers, frosting,  candy, ect. You both took a swig of whiskey. “Ready?” “Yes.” He said eagerly like a child. You were setting up the foundation when you noticed Ian was eating the candy. “Ian!” You sighed annoyed. He froze and looked up at you like a dear in headlights. “Sorry he said sheepishly. “Start frosting the house please.” You said while taking another swig of whiskey (or 5). You were feeling the effects of the whiskey and so was Ian. He was frosting the house when the structure fell. “OH FUCK!!!” He shouted. You looked at the now broken house. “It’s cool man!! We can pretend that the gingerbread men’s house burned down by an arsonist that’s wanted by government officials!” You said happily. “OR THE MONTREUX CASINO!!” He said laughing. You also laughed which caused him to laugh harder. Soon you two had tears in your eyes. You calmed down and looked at Ian then back at the leftover frosting. “Hey Ian?” You said trying not to laugh. “Yes?” He said. You scooped up some frosting before smearing it on his face. “Y/N!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!?!” He said shocked. You just cracked up laughing at his expression not noticing that the singer taking some frosting in his hand and doing the same to you. “Hey!!” You cried. “It’s only fair.” He chuckled darkly. You then wiped the frosting off your face before eating it. He did the same but there was still a bit left on his lips. “Hey you still got frosting on you.” “I do?” “Yeah let me get it for you.” You got closer to him until your lips touched his. Ian’s eyes widened in shock for about  seconds before kissing you back. You made out for about a good 2 minutes or so until he finally pulled away. “I um... Um....” you stammered fearing his reaction. “How long had you had feelings for me?” He asked taking your chin in his hand so you could look into his blue eyes. “For as long as I can remember.” You sighed. Ian looked into your E/C eyes for a second before kissing you again. “Man I’m one smooth motherfucker.” You thought to yourself.

Ian Paice (Paicey)- “Do you wanna build a snowman?” (I just had to okay) you asked your BF Ian Paice or as he was called in his band, Paicey. “Yeah!! Do we have carrots?” You went to the kitchen and looked in the fridge. “Got them!!” You said happily. You two then put on your jackets and you noticed something. “Hey did Ritchie leave his Pilgrim hat here?” You asked Paicey. “Oh he did!!” You looked at your boyfriend smirking. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” “Yeah. Snow Ritchie!” he laughed. You two bolted out into the fresh white snow. Paicey rolled the 1st ball while you did the second one. You also looked for branches and rocks for the face. “Found some rocks and a sticks!!” You called out to him as he was finishing putting the body together. You added the eyes and made the mouth into a frown since it was going to be Ritchie and that motherfucker is always in a bad mood. “Do you got the nose?” “Yeah.” Paicey replied. “Um your glasses are fogging up.” “I can see that. Actually I can’t.” he giggled taking them off his face and wiping them with his scarf. He then put on the snow Ritchie’s nose. “Now the eyebrows!” you giggled making them into angry brows. “Arms!” Paicey chirped putting on the arms so they looked like they were crossed (or an attempt to look cross). “Now... the hat.” You said laughing putting on the hat. You two both stepped back and admired your work. “It’s fucking beautiful.” You giggled. Soon a car pulled up in front of Paicey’s house. “Hey is that...” You see Ritchie get out and walk towards the two of you. “Paice did I leave my...” He then saw the snowman. He just stared at it for a few seconds then back to you two. “Who’s idea was this?” He said kinda annoyed. “Um both of ours.” You said looking at the ground. “And why did you make me into a snowman?” He questioned Paicey. “Thought it would be cute.” He said sheepishly. Ritchie then just went up to the snowman and grabbed his hat before going back to the car and driving away. “Now what?” You asked Paicey. “Wanna get hot coco?” “You bet your sweet ass I do!” 

Roger Glover- “I’m so glad you’re doing this with me Y/N. Toffee making, or how’s it pronounced in Welsh “Noson Gyflath” is a very important tradition to us.” He said smiling. “I never made toffee before. What if I mess it up?” “You won’t Y/N. Just follow my lead.” Roger then poured in the ingredients in the pan before stirring it. “Now let me take it out and you can help me twist it. It has to be gold. It’s pretty tricky not going to lie. “Ready?” He said getting the molten sugar out of the pan. “Now just twist and pull at it.” You obeyed looking to Roger for help. “Am I doing it right?” “Yeah. Just like that.” You smiled continuing to twist and pull at the molten sugar as it was starting to turn into a golden color. “Y/N your a natural at this!” Roger smiled. “I am?” “Yeah! It’s like the perfect gold color.” So you allowed the toffee to cool before having some. 

[corvusashen]

sangonomiya’s grief .

part of #mimiweek2022 day 4, angst prompt.

tw / suicide

the lone sangonomiya sat on a rock. cool air blew through her hair as she sobbed. the pink haired girl was going through as she would say, one of her moments. she was just sitting down when suddenly she was hit by a truck of realization.

she was most likely stuck here forever. it’s been so long since she got trapped in this place, she has no idea how long it’s been. if she was to guess, it’d be about ten years? twelve? hell maybe even twenty. unless some miracle happens, she might not be able to roam the lands of inazuma ever again. she won’t be able to walk around watatsumi island looking for pearls, or pet those little foxes that roam around the island occasionally.

often times, she’d think of her situation as a punishment. that this was her punishment for something. even she couldn’t wrap her head around what her little self, the small bubbly child from watatsumi had done to deserve such a punishment.

sometimes she wished that she didn’t sacrifice herself for the sake of her little sister. she felt disgusting everytime she even had a slight thought such as that. how selfish, perhaps she does deserve this.

speaking of kokomi, it had dawned upon her that she couldn’t even remember what the other sangonomiya had looked like.

her eyes widens as she tries to rack her memory, desperately trying to find some sort of clue as to what little kokomi looked like.

nothing, absolutely nothing came in mind.

at this moment, sangonomiya mimi felt absolutely lost. the thought of kokomi enjoying her life on the surface was always the thing keeping her going, but what about now? when she couldn’t even remember what kokomi looks like? what now? she was distraught, her mind was foggy and she wasn’t thinking straight.

right in front of her was a void that separated the islands of enkanomiya. she had thought of jumping a couple of times but she always had something holding her back. but alas, now there’s nothing holding her back.

the moment she forgot what kokomi looked like was the moment that she realizes that’s she’s been stuck here for far too long. she could simply just end it right here right now. no one would know she died, especially by killing herself. no one would be able to find her body, so they’d just guess that somehow she didn’t make it, she was just a child when she fell into this place after all, it makes sense.

with slow steps she began making her way to the void. just a little bit more and she’d be free from this stupid life. she blames the archons for not even bothering to save her even after she prayed to them. she was done with hoping. she had hoped for years that someone would save her, yet even now, she’s still stuck here. perhaps in the next live, the archons would let her live normally.

a/n : i’m not really a writer so i apologize for the crappy writing and cliché storyline! there’s definitely a lot i need to work on but i do hope you enjoy this piece ^^ i’ll also be publishing this on ao3 (once i can log in, that is).