#i have to write a ff now

[causereyna-artie]

Just incase you're having a bad day, I want you to know that in some universe Fleamont Potter is probably throwing it back Desi drunk dad style at a jegulus wedding

[foldingfittedsheets]

I’ve never had a particularly strong desire to get high. Altered mind states have always been somewhat unappealing to me. The only drug I’ve ever enjoyed taking was a prescription strength muscle relaxant that loosened all my knots at once and sent me into the boneless slumber of jello. Top marks.

But I have dabbled with pot. As I’m wildly sensitive to smoke my only recourse was to try edibles and anyone could’ve predicted this was a recipe for disaster. So here’s the story of the first time I got high.

Connor was a major stoner. He was a high energy guy who loved hiking, had his shit together, and absolutely loved getting high and relaxing. One day he decided to make pot brownies. Connor was an amazing cook in his own right but he came into my life at a time when I was eating mayonnaise sandwiches and started giving me real food so I viewed him as a paragon of cookery. He made amazing desserts. And he didn’t make a batch of no pot brownies.

I’d never had one of Connor’s brownies, before, but dear god I wanted one when they came out of the oven in a waft of rich chocolatey smells. They were fudgey and perfect and all that I wanted in the world was to eat one. I watched him take a bite, burning with envy and desire.

Being high seemed like a small price to pay if only I could sink my teeth into the warm splendor of brownie. I came up to where he was sitting on the couch, slightly behind his left shoulder. “Hey. I want to try a bite,” I told him.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” I was sure as fuck that I wanted that brownie in my mouth.

Connor was sat facing the tv and held up his hand without looking so I could take a bite. I am not a creature of modest bites. And I wanted that brownie. I took a huge bite, carving into the interior of the brownie, leaving Connor with a only a rim.

He pulled his hand back and saw the brownie crime I had committed and gave a resigned chuckle. “Well this is going to be fun.”

On one other occasion in my life I’ve tried an edible and there was a brief relaxed period before things went horribly wrong that made me think, this is probably where most people stop and enjoy themselves.

But on this occasion, the massive bite of brownie didn’t drift me slowly up through layers of being high. It skyrocketed me into high space with great prejudice. I have no memory of a middle point, I wasn’t high and then I was suddenly so high I couldn’t function.

I’ve heard people talk about paranoia. I didn’t have that. Some people mention nervousness, no, none of that for me. My mind was simply gone. A thought would blip to life on one side of my brain and fail to travel through the fog to find its conclusion. I couldn’t think. I wasn’t really experiencing sensation. I was nothing in the void.

When Connor realized I’d been staring wall eyed at nothing for too long he said, “How are you doing?”

It took a long time to process the words and even longer to slur out, “I can see everything.”

I don’t remember him getting up and leaving, or waiting, or anything really. Thoughts flickered and died in my mindscape, meaningless and alone.

Then Connor put headphones on me.

I was unable to conceive of anything as wonderful as music surrounding me, and thus began the only nice part of the trip. I might have experienced ego death but at least I had the ethereal sounds of Pure Reason Revolution to wrap myself in.

I’m not sure how long the nice phase lasted. But eventually something started going wrong in my mouth. My throat became uncomfortable enough to pierce the haze I was in. It was almost numb, and impossibly dry. I drank water to no avail. Finally I conceived of the solution. “Ice cream!” I demanded of Connor.

He went to grab some and I was dismayed that when I took a bite the sensation in my throat intensified. “It made it worse,” I complained.

“Made what worse?” Connor asked, because of course I hadn’t actually told him why I’d wanted ice cream.

When I told him what was happening he said, “Oh, of course ice cream is going to make cotton mouth worse.”

“Well then why did you give it to me!” I complained. He smiled fondly at my irrational grumping and got me more water.

Finally I’d had enough. Music couldn’t erase my discomfort, I was getting frustrated I couldn’t think but I was still high as balls and I wanted the night to be over. Connor suggested I go to bed so I climbed up into my bed and lay there, uncomfortably high.

I couldn’t sleep. My throat was so cottony, a side effect I hadn’t known existed and I thoroughly loathed.

Then I thought: I could masturbate! Connor had talked about enjoying that while high. I’d give it a shot. My body however was wiser than my head and was having none of this plan. It refused to respond, stubbornly insisting that now was not the time.

I doubled down, refusing to give up on this horrible idea and in a bitter struggle, and against my body’s own wishes, I produced an orgasm that rated a 0 on the pleasure scale. Something happened but it was like a resentful flex of muscles that stopped immediately.

Furious with the overall experience of being high I buried my head in pillows and finally slept. I told Connor the next day about my attempt and he facepalmed so hard. “Why didn’t you just go to sleep! You were way too high to enjoy that.”

I grumbled and agreed that it was very stupid. I tried to weigh the single bite of brownie I had with the absolutely wretched hours of discomfort and while it didn’t quite balance it was still pretty close. It was a really good brownie.

[lale-txt]

your average Y/N on a casual Wednesday

[betweenxt-the-lines]

seeking currency chapter 29 mood

(contains SPOILERS!)

[cannibal-nightmares]

wait a second...

I dont have the capacity to thoroughly ramble at this very moment but I just gasped with a realization and had to stop drawing to write this down

i know some of the characters (Death) refer to stein as "doctor," the fandom jokes about Stein not actually having a phd, and then NOT kind of playing devil's advocate to his supposed title but.. What if Stein's self-label as a doctor is a delusion of grandeur?

Furthermore--and something I have been thinking about and have been wanting to write an analysis post on--is when Stein suspects Medusa as a witch.. We as the audience know she is, but the characters don't. Although he was correct (and you could assume something of soul perception + he's not an idiot when he and Maka find Medusa in the alleyway), he didn't have concrete evidence until the gala. Was that a deliberate depiction of paranoia and accusation? Did he not trust himself to say anything more outright because of formed self-doubt in his past experiences with paranoia?

And, hey, while we're here, let's talk about Stein's obsession with religious imagery. In this essay I will be explaining why Professor Franken Stein from anime and manga series, "Soul Eater" is a perfect, thoroughly nuanced+covert, and respectful representation of schizophreni--

[idristardis]

And So We Meet Again

OUAT/Captain Swan - Rated very mild T

A/N: Okay, so after four years (literally) and more than a few false starts and rewrites, I have at long last finished this Captain Swan fic. I received a prompt for a fic based on an "accidental hug" around four years ago, quickly wrote the first section of this fic and then, just...nothing. Somehow a month or so ago, I got inspired again, dusted it off, and wrote (and rewrote) sections two and three...and....voila! I'm both inspired that I could do it, and afraid that I've forgotten how to write...but here goes nothin'!!

I think I tagged everyone who asked - apologies if I missed you!!

Word Count: 3,669

Read it on: AO3

“Heeeeey, hiiiiii!” The cheery shout was all the warning Killian had before a blur of red leather and long blonde hair barreled into him, knocking him back a few steps and forcing most of the air from his lungs. 

(He managed to hang onto the bag containing Liam’s birthday present as her momentum spun them nearly all the way around in a circle - but only just).

“Er, hello,” he croaked, fumbling to find his footing and regain his breath. “I think you might have the wrong person, lass. I’m new to the area and I don’t believe we’ve met.”

The unknown woman looked up at him, and Killian promptly lost his newly restored ability to speak. She was…well, there was no word for it other than stunning. Wide, jade-colored eyes set under strong brows, a gloriously riotous golden tumble of hair spilling down over her shoulders, and soft pink lips that were stretched into a mischievous grin.

“I know we haven’t,” she replied, laughter coloring her tone. She didn’t seem phased in the slightest to be standing as they were, still pressed closely together. His arm had gone around her when they’d first collided - an instinct, purely to prevent her from toppling over, of course - and his free hand was pressed to the small of her back to steady her. One of her hands was braced on his shoulder, the other on his chest - as happenstance would have it, right over his heart. The warmth of her palms seemed to sink right into his muscles where she touched him, though her words put a bit of a damper on the situation. “And I've definitely got the wrong person."

“Oi! That’s not fair, lass. We barely know each other - you didn’t have to agree that quickly,” he teased, feigning a slightly offended tone. “You’d give a lesser man a complex.”

She raised her eyebrows before executing an impressive eyeroll and Killian found himself unexpectedly captivated and charmed. "I meant you weren't who I was intending to hug.” She shrugged slightly without ever stepping away from his arms. “It wasn’t a comment on the general state of your...uh...rightness.”

He chuckled. "I was only teasing - I’d gathered as much,” he murmured, smiling down at her. “Though I have to ask why, if it was an accident, is it...uh…still going on?” He tilted his head inquiringly and continued. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

She looked up and their gazes met and locked. Her eyes bored unblinkingly into his, searching for something - perhaps trying to gauge the sincerity of his words. She must have found what she was looking for, because after a long moment her shoulders relaxed and she huffed out a wry chuckle. “It’s kind of an embarrassing story.”

Killian simply looked at her patiently. “I’m sure it can’t be that bad. Why don’t you let me decide?” He tilted his head expectantly, silently prompting her and hoping that she’d continue.

She hesitated for a moment and he smiled encouragingly. “I don’t even know your name,” she mused, but he could tell from her tone that she’d already decided to share the story with him. For some reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on, Killian was very glad that she had - he’d only just met her, and all he knew was that he wasn’t ready for her to slip back into the throngs of shoppers packing the mall on this drizzly Saturday afternoon and disappear.

“Killian Jones,” he murmured with a wink, and a slight wiggle of his eyebrows. “At your service.”

She rolled her eyes again at his antics, but this time she also smiled back at him, something warm softening her gaze as they continued to stand close, inhabiting each other’s space. Without turning around, she tilted her head and jerked it pointedly a couple of times until Killian realized she wanted him to look in the direction she was indicating. “See that guy over there in the leather jacket? About two stores back and to my right?”

Killian scanned the modest crowd milling about in the nearby section of the mall’s main concourse. It took him a moment, but then sure enough, right in front of the bookstore, he spotted the man his new acquaintance must be referring to. He was tall, with warm brown hair that curled gently and a short beard. He was wearing a leather bomber jacket and dark jeans. Once he’d gotten a good look, Killian nodded. “Yes. Your intended hug-target, I assume?”

She sighed, though it didn’t sound sad so much as resigned. “Yep. That’s my ex. He’s...look, I’m probably about to overshare, but it’s the only way to explain, well, how we,” she gestured between them for a moment before returning her hand to his shoulder, “got here.”

Killian shrugged slightly. “I’m not judging you, lass.” 

“Right, right,” she exhaled deeply, seeming to gather her thoughts. “Okay, so...he’s a good guy, my ex, but it just didn’t work out. We dated, on and off, for about six months...ish, before deciding that we were better as friends, and then - almost before I knew what was happening, he got a job offer and packed up and moved to Portland about four months ago.”

“You stayed in touch, I take it?” Killian asked, curious as to where this story was going.

She nodded, glancing up at him again. “We’d been friends before we dated so we stayed friends after. He’s been back a couple of times to visit and whenever we see each other, I just sorta-”

“Gently tackle him?” Killian teased, prompting his still unnamed acquaintance to slap his arm lightly with the hand that rested on his shoulder.

“Basically. It was just kind of a joke, a harmless thing we did...something we always did, as long as we’ve known each other...but this time...it’s a bit complicated.”

Just then, a flash of movement in the near-distance off to the woman’s right caught Killian’s eye. A petite brunette with a kind face, wide smile, and bright blue eyes stepped out of the bookstore. She was impeccably dressed, all the way from her tidily styled hair down to the sky high heels that had looked impossible to walk in - though somehow she managed it with grace. Objectively, Killian could admit to himself that she was quite pretty - though personally he was far more captivated by the as-yet-unnamed stunner who was still wrapped in his arms.

The brunette approached the mystery woman’s ex, curling herself into his side and stretching upwards to kiss him - perhaps just a shade too passionately for the middle of the afternoon at the Storybrooke Mall, not that that really mattered to Killian.

“Ah, yep...yes. I think I see the...complication, as it were. They seem rather cozy, don’t they?”

“Uh huh...and that’s great for Graham. I’m absolutely thrilled for him - I just don’t want his new girlfriend’s first impression of me to be as a so-called jealous ex who, quite literally, can’t keep her hands to herself. Especially when I’m not actually jealous, you know?”

Killian nodded. “Makes sense to me, lass.”

“Unfortunately, Graham neglected to mention that he was bringing her on this trip...so I only found out when I spotted her for myself just as they kissed before she ducked into the bookstore a moment or two ago - but by then it was too late, I’d already-”

“Launched yourself at him?” Killian supplied with a chuckle, causing her to narrow her eyes at him and frown - though he thought he could see amusement tugging at the edges of her mouth. He raised his eyebrows at her, a wide-eyed, innocent expression settling over his face. She glared playfully at him in return - at least he hoped it was playful.

“Yeah, something like that…then had to adjust course last minute and, well, here we are,” she murmured, a sheepish grin finally breaking over her face. “Look, I’ve taken up a good chunk of your time with my nonsense, and you’ve been really great about it. But if they’ve gone, I’ve gotta go myself - Graham, or, well, I guess, they will be looking for me down by the fountain in the atrium, which was where he and I were actually supposed to meet. I’d just spotted him early and, well…you know the rest.”

Reluctantly, Killian pulled his gaze from hers and scanned the area behind her - quickly realizing that there was no sign of this mystery blonde’s ex and his current paramour anywhere. Glancing down at her, his lips involuntarily twisted in a wry grin. “Coast is clear,” he informed her, hoping that he didn’t sound as disappointed as he felt to have their brief, odd interaction coming to an end. He stepped back from her slowly, his arms receding, fingertips trailing lightly down her sides as he moved out of her space.

Maybe he was just indulging in a bit of wishful thinking, but it seemed that she was just as loath to pull away as he was, a slightly unfocused daze clouding her brilliant green eyes and making her look just a bit entranced before she shook her head to clear it. “Thanks, Killian,” she murmured with a smile. “It was nice to meet you - even if it was a surprise.”

He nodded in agreement as she stepped a bit further away. “I agree, love.” She turned and began hurrying away down the mall’s central walkway before something occurred to him. “Wait!” he called after her. “You still didn’t tell me your name!”

She turned, and though it was hard to tell with the distance now between them, he thought she winked. Her voice was decidedly mischievous as she called back to him. “You seem like a smart guy…I’m sure you’ll figure it out sooner or later!” After that, she turned away again and disappeared into the crowd of shoppers.

Killian chuckled to himself as he watched her go. “Oh, challenge accepted love….”

~*~*~*~*~

“Swan! At last…I’ve been looking all over for you!” Emma had only a moment to look up from the bakery window where she’d been moping over the empty bear claw display and turn to brace herself for impact before the owner of the voice with the smooth-as-silk British lilt (who had fueled more than a few of her recent daydreams if she were being honest) enveloped her in an embrace, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her into his side. 

For a brief moment, she was so lulled by the very tempting smells of leather, salt, and his deeply spicy cologne as it wrapped around her that she didn’t react much to being tugged against him. She enjoyed their close proximity for a moment, taking the opportunity to sneak an inhale of his amazing scent before giving herself a mental shake and pulling back slightly. Arching an eyebrow at him, she replied teasingly. “I see you managed to figure out my name after all - I have to admit, I’m kinda impressed.”

“Ah, I’d like to think I’m fairly resourceful, Swan,” he murmured, glancing back over his shoulder briefly before turning back to her. “But not to diminish my own skills…this is a very small town. It didn’t take too long to figure out that the sheriff likes to come into Granny’s diner a few times a week for lunch, or that you,” he tapped the badge fixed to her belt with the index finger of his free hand, “were said sheriff.”

“Well done, Jones,” she smiled at him again. “Although, I do have to ask…what’s up with, uh, this?” she swept her hand back and forth between them in a gesture that encompassed where the two of them were nestled together. “It seems we’ve found ourselves in a familiar position.”

As she indicated the lack of space between them, Killian sighed heavily and turned them so that they were facing the wide picture window on the front of All You Knead, but he wasn’t looking down at the remaining pastries the bakery had to offer. Instead, his eyes flickered up and to their left. He tilted his head closer to her, murmuring softly. “D’you see the two women across the street and down by the clothing shop?”

Emma forced away the cascade of goosebumps that started to skitter down her arm at the sensation of his breath washing over her ear and neck - get a grip, Emma! - and focused on the women he’d indicated. They were a bit far away, a couple of blocks or so, but the perfectly-arranged, designer black hat perched atop an artfully upswept tangle of red curls was unmistakable, as were the jagged, black-and-white asymmetrical locks that passed for an avant garde hairstyle in sleepy Storybrooke. “Oh…I see. You’ve met some members of our so-called local coven, have you?” she joked, a grin pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Zelena Mills and Cruella DeVille - and yes, if you can believe it, those are their real names.”

In turn, his lips pulled into a frustrated scowl. That should not be so sexy - stop it, stop it, Emma! “Bloody hell,” he muttered, “are they always so…so…”

“Invasive? Pushy? Disturbingly thirsty?” Emma supplied, her grin growing wider as she watched a pink flush spread down Killian’s neck and disappear beneath the collar of his button down.

“Yes, yes, and bloody damn-it-all, yes.” He shot a look at her out of the corner of his eye before returning his gaze to the window and keeping an eye on the other women in the glass. “I’ve run into them once or twice since my brother Liam and I moved here…usually when I’m in Granny’s or somewhere where there were more people about, but today…well,” he hesitated, “...they were a bit more…overt than they’ve ever been before.”

Emma tilted her head inquisitively and caught his eye in their window reflection. She wanted to return the favor of the kindness he’d shown her a few months ago when she’d gotten into a silly predicament with Graham and his new girlfriend. Echoing what Killian had said to her then, she nodded at him to continue. “I promise, you can tell me and I won’t judge.”

Killian glanced again at the women’s progress in the window and turned a bit, moving Emma along with him and starting to walk slowly down the street away from them. “I was in the clothing shop just a bit ago…looking for a few new shirts, mainly. Well, I was in the changing room and…” he trailed off for a moment and swallowed hard before continuing, “...the changing room walls are unfortunately very thin and sound carries rather easily from the main sales floor, which I suspect they might have known. They were not making any effort to hide what they were saying - and most of it was about me. Let’s just say that I’ve caught their attention in a way I never sought to, and their, er, carnal imaginations are rather vivid.”

“Oh my God, that is….well, that’s just awful.” Emma involuntarily shuddered a bit as she sympathized with Killian’s discomfort, but was still a bit puzzled as to how that led to her sharing the current moment with him. “But then why did you come sweep me up like you did?”

He chuckled slightly, and his free hand reached up and scratched at a spot just behind his right ear. “Well, that is both a happy accident and a bit embarrassing,” he said, looking down at her as they walked. “Er, I was so eager to get out of the shop and away from where those women were lying in wait that I just, well I guess you could say I bolted and headed right out the door. You just happened to be in my eyeline as soon as I left the shop…luckily for me. But honestly, Swan, I’d been hoping to run into you again for a while, so I was very glad it was you.”

“Well, I’m glad I could return the favor and help you out of a jam, even if it is a kinda ridiculous one,” she said with enough of a smile to let him know she was teasing. But then something caught her eye and she stopped in her tracks. “Uh, Killian, did you say that you ran out of the shop immediately?”

“Yes, why?” he shot her a confused look. 

“Uh, well, I hate to tell you this, but I think we have to go back there right away,” she turned around and his arm dropped from around her waist, but she caught his hand and before she could think too hard about what she was doing, she’d laced their fingers together and gently tugged so he’d fall back in step with her. 

“What? No! Swan, did you not hear the tale of my escape from perilous circumstances?” Killian protested. “You’re leading me right back towards the lion’s den, as it were,” he kept his voice low as they were once again pulling even with where Zelena and Cruella were headed towards them on the opposite side of the street. 

“A bit overdramatic, huh?” Emma laughed. “Seriously though, I did hear what you said…but I also saw this,” she thumbed at a tag that she’d noticed a moment ago, pinned to the edge of the pocket of the shirt Killian had on. “I’m guessing that in your haste to escape those perilous circumstances, paying for this shirt might’ve slipped your mind?”

Killian looked down at the tag and then at her with a chagrined expression. “Shite,” was all he muttered, before nodding. “Lead on, Swan, let me rectify my accidental misdemeanor before you have to take me back to the station with you.”

“Oh buddy, if you stole something from Mabel Tuffet - even accidentally - it’s not me you have to look out for,” she smirked at Killian as he let out a pained noise. “But don’t worry - I’ll help you explain it, or at least I’ll try.”

Killian shot her a genuine grin and a gaze whose warmth was so unexpected in that moment that Emma felt her face flushing again. “Well Swan, it would seem I’m doubly in your debt. How can I ever repay you?”

Emma grinned back at him, but hers was a bit more knowing around the edges. “I’m sure I can think of something.”

~*~*~*~*~

Nearly two years later…

“Hello love, fancy meeting you here,” Killian stepped up behind Emma and slid his arms around her waist. A low, pleased hum instinctively escaped him when she immediately leaned back against him. Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head and heard her sigh happily in response. “I’ve been looking for you since I finished up at the pub and handed off the dinner service to Liam.”

“Hm, I dunno,” he heard her say, her voice soft and gently teasing. “I would’ve thought this would be the first place you’d look.” She kept her face turned to the harbor as she spoke, and he could understand why. The pastel pinks and deepening purples of the twilight sky spread out before them over the pearlescent sheen of the water, boats and ships of all shapes and sizes bobbing and swaying on the slow rise and fall of the waves generated by a passing tugboat. Somewhere a dog was barking, but the sound was muted and echoed a bit, as if it were coming from further off down the shore.

It was, in a word, idyllic.

“You’re quite right, it should have been,” he murmured in her ear and pulled her closer to him. “I’m sorry t’have kept you waiting, love.”

Emma turned in his arms to face him then, smiling up at him with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. The waning light was just bright enough to lend a bit of luster to the rings that adorned her left hand as she slid her palms up the lapels of his jacket - that soft gleam was a sight Killian found he wasn’t yet tired of after two months. And it’s doubtful I will be after fifty years, he smiled to himself at the thought. Emma’s hands had continued up over his shoulders while he’d been lost in his musings, before anchoring themselves in the soft leather of his collar. “It’s alright…today was just a long day at the station, and waiting for you here gave me a nice chance to relax and unwind. Also, I got to thinking…”

“Oh? Should I be worried?” he teased, his own arms sliding around her waist and settling at the small of her back, feeling the cool press of his own ring against his other hand as he laced his fingers together. “Just what schemes are unfurling in that brilliant mind of yours, love?”

Instead of replying verbally, Emma smiled brilliantly at him before stretching upwards while tugging gently down on his neck, bringing their mouths together in a kiss that started out playful, but quickly turned sensuous…and definitely not appropriate for the very public Storybrooke waterfront park. Killian found he was having difficulty caring much though, particularly when Emma’s hands tugged on his hair and she nipped lightly at his bottom lip before pulling back and blinking up at him, her cheeks flushed, her hair mussed, and her eyes hazy but happy.

“...I was thinking that David has the overnight patrol and Liam’s got things covered at the pub, so you should take me home, we should turn off our phones, and, uhhm…” she fumbled her words a bit when one of his hands slipped into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled her impossibly closer, “...do a lot more of this…and perhaps a few…mmm…other things as well…” she murmured as he bent his head again, dragging his lips up the side of her neck until they were pressed against the shell of her ear.

“I have to say, love, I like the way you think.”

~*~*~*~*~ THE END ~*~*~*~*~

Tag List: @spartanguard, @hollyethecurious, @wingedlioness, @lenfaz, @shady-swan-jones, @teamhook, @bluestarburst1217, @lfh1226-linda

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

me: okay time to go to bed now

my brain: do you mean time to write 1,500 words of milex smut

[it-may-be-dull-but-im-determined]

is Farscape the sort of thing that takes a few episodes to find its groove? should i be patient if we're not besties right away?

(i'm prone to snap judgements and don't want to make a mistake here)

Ahhhh so Farscape can be a WILDLY interesting study in complete contradictions. I agree with everything Cat Valente says is brilliant about it in this thread and this very long and detailed essay about why you should watch Farscape and yet also I will sit there fast-forwarding great chunks of season one especially because the quality control from episode to episode is so wildly variable. When I say variable, I mean some episodes feel embarrassingly amateur at times, especially after twenty something years of higher budget, vaguely more evolved TV SF. Occasionally it doesn't know what show it's trying to be, or what show it was the previous episode. It has a terrible weakness for bad puns in episode titles. It can be trite. It can feel weirdly childish, for a show that is frequently about aliens fucking. It's really really very silly on occasion and I have a particularly very low tolerance for second hand embarrassment. Farscape can be frequently embarrassing, but the fact I'm still flailing about it after twenty something years despite that is kind of significant.

Because when it's good, it's so incredibly fucking high quality excellent. It's got all the chemistry, all the high stakes heists and the high melodrama sacrifice, all the dealing with grief and trauma and how do you deal with a legacy of repeated genocide and fascism. Everyone is a space criminal on a stolen sentient prison ship. What the fuck even is the greater good. How do you deal with being a parent. Most of the cast are emoting through inch thick layers of foam latex and the other half are wearing fetish gear (OR THEY'RE PUPPETS. OR CGI ORGANIC SENTIENT SPACESHIPS), but they're really fucking good at said emoting and it's still heartbreaking. It's been twenty years and I will still start crying if I so much as hear the season three version of the theme tune (oh god the theme song evolution).

The silly episodes throughout season one are even weirder because it does pretty much find its feet straightaway with the pilot ep - it's snappy and emotional and charming and clever, and yes the tropes are there but the tropes didn't have quite the same level of tired significance back in 1999? I watched that first ep and was cackling over how fucking fantastic it was. It was such a refreshing change in 1999 that it sailed me through any of the occasionally dodgy stuff that followed.

It's also very very... Aussie, which to me covers a lot of the humour and the sheer demented glee of what the creators wanted to run with? The cast has chemistry, in spades, and the characters flirt and fuck (and... one of them is a hot blue zen plant priestess who orgasms in bright light. Obviously.) and everything is just a little bit.. extra. It has an episode where everyone is a loony tunes cartoon. It has an episode inspired by A Clockwork Orange. It has small stabby robots. It's squelchy and makes fart jokes ALL THE TIME (mostly because one of the main puppets is a former emperor who farts helium and okay yep it's pretty funny. The other puppet is wise and kind and troubled and possibly complicit in war crimes. This fucking show I can't even).

...I'm just going to apologise for this essay, and say probably go read the Cat Valente thing because it includes much more key whether you should in fact watch Farscape information such as:

“They’re all gonna be Australian or Kiwi! Except for one guy! It’s basically gonna be a tour of Sydney’s underground club scene, even for the smallest parts! And I mean that, everyone is going to be wearing leather BDSM gear 24/7, even the heroes. I’M TELLIN’ YA WE GOT MAGDA SZUBANSKI! THIS THING IS GOLD! Literally, the whole color palette is like really gold. With most of a Crayola box taped on top of it. SPACE IS AUSTRALIAN NOW. ALL OF IT. DEAL WITH IT.”

there will be an almost unbelievable amount of goo involved. Like if there is a Goo Department, and anyone is left over after Nickelodeon’s job fair last week, we need all the goo.”

“Because of all the sex and violence that just barely doesn’t cross the decency lines we’re still kind of feeling out right now?”

“That, too. But mostly because we need all the makeup and then after we’re done turning regular humans a TON of nutbar colors, everything else is going to be just…dripping. All the time. Just drenched in slime. Good slime, bad slime, it will constantly be hard to say. But it’s like Coco Chanel always said, before you leave the house, look in the mirror and upend a bucket of colorful sludge over your head.”

[pendinganchor]

Billy was sitting at the kitchen table— one hand being used to hold open the book he was skimming for the fifth time, the other trapped in a loose thumb war with Steve. He wasn’t sure what Steve was doing— but he started winning any time it distracted him. He wasn’t sure when he had stopped worrying about his father coming home— but he’d pay for that later.

Hushed whispers sounded in the doorway. Billy tensed for half a second before relaxing when he saw Max and El out the corner of his eye. Then he heard the all too familiar sound of Max’s polaroid camera going off.

“I bought that for you two months ago and I’m already regretting it,” Billy groaned, placing his bookmark— that was actually just an old receipt— into his book then letting it fall shut.

“Come on, Billy,” El teased. “You look pretty!”

“Well then, let’s see it.”

Max reached out with the photo in hand. Billy abandoned his thumb war with Steve to grab it— which caused Steve to realize other people were in the room with them. “See what?” he asked, using his now free hand to push up his glasses.

Billy looked at the photo— his face forming into a slight frown. “Why do I look like that?”

Max raised an eyebrow at him. “Happy?”

[sirendeepity]

I've seen a couple of videos on TikTok "explaining" how SJM is not-so-subtly stating her position on the Israel-Palestine situation through her Crescent City books, with the Bryce vs Asteri fight (I believe we all know who is supposed to represent who). And, despite how their discourse would make sense, to some extent, it still doesn't sit right with me. What's happening in Gaza right now is genocide. Not war, not self-defense. Genocide. The Palestinians have suffered systematic oppression for the past 75 years (and counting). It's not a story, or a parallel for a book. More than 30,000 innocent civilians of all genders and ages have died since October. There's no magic pot to bring them back, no "power of love" to fix this. So why the hell is she burying her voice in a fucking book? She has 1.6 MILLION followers on Instagram, and she's staying quiet. Willingly. Because the people (generalizing) who do read her books don't really give that much weight to the rumors that have been going around for quite some time now, or, anyway, they're not reading her books looking for that "deeper meaning", but rather a story to pass the time, a distraction from the outside world. For fun. A hobby, as reading is. While the people who don't read her books listen to those same rumors she's doing absolutely nothing to prove wrong. And they sure as hell are not going to read three books of 800+ pages just to "contextually" understand if she's a Zionist or if hers is one of the many voices screaming free Palestine (they would and ARE basing their assumptions on that one article of, what, 7 years ago now? Not to say anything on that cover reveal post that is still up and unedited on her public profile, despite quite literally everything.)

Sarah Janet Maas is a grown woman of almost 40 years now, with two kids (yes, it does matter) and 16 books under her name where ALL her heroes are fighting injustices, standing up for what is right, and using their voices against oppression. While she. is. not.

I'm sorry (not really), but if you want to do backflips just to prove yourself? that SJM is who you want her to be, then by all means, go ahead. But I refuse to give her a voice she is not using the way she should be, and I refuse to make excuses for her lack of actions. I'm disappointed.

This is not the time to hide between the pages of a book.

[fuckedupcleric]

Triggers

I love suffering, don't you? Inspired by this art by @sarathrwizard

---

Donnie stared at the screen with a slack jaw, eyes glued to the You died! message that had popped up. His latest Minecraft build was absolutely destroyed. He could see the remains in the background of the death screen. He'd been almost finished! Just the last few bits of decoration had been left! And now… hours upon hours of work. Gone in an instant.

A long, frustrated groan escaped him and he tossed the controller to the side, prompting Leo to glance up from his phone and take in the words on the screen, as well.

“Wait,” Leo said. “What happened?” 

Donnie pursed his lips. “...Nothing.”

Leo smirked, putting away his phone and leaning closer. “Oooooh it’s embarrassing, isn’t it? Tell me. Tell meeeeeeeee.” 

Ugh. Here we go. “Drop it, Nardo.” 

“Come on, Don-Tron.” The amusement in his tone made Donnie cluck his tongue, and he pointedly ignored his brother. Leo leaned closer, practically draping himself across Donnie’s right side before he was irritably shoved away, only to start repeating “tell me” over and over, poking Donnie in his side with each utterance of the phrase. Donnie reached for his tech bo just to have something to squeeze that wasn’t Leo’s neck and shot him the nastiest look he could manage. It did nothing whatsoever to deter Leo, though, who was still smirking and poking and being an annoying goddamn menace. “Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, t-”

“Oh would you - Kassinove! Fine!” 

Leo sat back, giving Donnie a smile that somehow managed to look both completely innocent and infuriatingly smug at the same time. Donnie sighed and looked at the screen again. You died! still stared back at him. He shook his head, looking anywhere but at Leo, his mouth twisting into a grimace as a noticeable blush crept up his neck. “I was trying to fix the lighting system and… I placed down a block of TNT instead of a block of redstone… and…”

He glanced back at Leo, whose eyes widened. “Wait, so you killed yourself AND blew up your house? With your own TNT?”

“...I forgot it was in my hotbar.”

Leo was still for a moment, and then he burst into hysterical laughter, bending forward and clutching at his stomach. “PFFFFFFFT oh my GOD!”

Donnie just scowled, watching with growing self-consciousness as Leo continued to lose his absolute shit at what was apparently the funniest thing he'd heard all week. He waited for the laughter to die down, but each time he thought it would, Leo suddenly dissolved into renewed giggles once more. 

As the laughter dragged, on and on and on, Donnie found himself getting more and more annoyed. He'd put a lot of time and effort into this stupid build. Leo knew that - he'd been hanging out here a lot over the last two weeks, just chilling while Donnie worked, so he'd actually seen most of the progress in real-time. 

Donnie heaved an enormous sigh as Leo continued laughing, smacking his knee obnoxiously. 

Okay, enough. It wasn’t that funny.

Leo swiped a finger under his eye before wheezing out, “Donnie, that was so dumb of you!”

Donnie bristled, feeling the embarrassment and annoyance spill over. He let out a harsh breath, snarling, “Oh just- wipe that grin off your face!”

A sudden choking sound had ice shooting through Donnie's veins, his irritation instantly disappearing. Leo was still as stone, his expression of mirth replaced by wide-eyed terror. His eyes held a faraway look, and for a long, terrible moment it seemed like he couldn’t quite manage to inhale. 

Donnie felt his brows furrow. He reached out but left his hand hovering in the air between them, hesitant. “Leo?”

Leo didn’t answer, but he did finally start to breathe. Short, rasping breaths stuttered out of him, and he blinked rapidly a few times, clutching at the fabric of his hoodie over his chest. Leo was shaking, Donnie realized, and then Leo let out a high-pitched whine and Donnie started to panic.

“Leo, what’s wrong? How can I help?”

He still didn’t answer. 

Donnie clenched and unclenched his fists uselessly, floundering. Not wanting to make things worse and unsure what he could do to make things better. He didn’t know what was even - didn’t know what had - maybe a scan would tell him? - but when Donnie lowered his goggles, Leo jerked away from him so hard he fell onto the floor. Donnie watched, horrified, as Leo scrambled backward until his shell hit the wall hard, his eyes never leaving Donnie’s face. His entire body was trembling, little, terrified sounds slipping out of him that made Donnie’s chest tighten and his stomach drop, and now Donnie was really fucking panicking. 

He stood and took a step toward Leo, but that made Leo flinch violently again, his hand raising as if to shield himself and his shell making an unpleasant scraping noise as he pressed himself further against the wall. Donnie stayed still. Unsure and panicking and useless useless useless.

An agonized sound clawed out of Leo’s throat. There was a slight shake of his head, his eyes still glued to Donnie, before he started to whimper. “No, no, no. No, I - I escaped from - this isn’t - you’re not real, you’re not-”

A box popped up in the interface of his goggles, pulling Donnie’s focus. NO MEDICAL ANOMALIES IDENTIFIED. PHYSICAL SYMPTOMS CORRELATE WITH EMOTIONAL DISTRESS. PRIMARY CONCLUSION: PANIC ATTACK.

Fuck. Fuck. Okay. 

Donnie swallowed and licked his lips, thinking. Should he call Mikey or Raph? Would more people make it worse? What was he supposed to do? He pushed his goggles back up, still trying to think think think, and Leo’s babbling abruptly cut off. 

For a long moment, both brothers were frozen. Staring at one another. And then something in Leo’s eyes changed and he took in a sudden, shuddering breath before lowering his arm and clutching at his hoodie again with a trembling hand. He swiped his other hand across his face, and when it dropped he was no longer looking at Donnie. He stared at the floor, his face perfectly, completely blank, and the silence was so, so loud. 

Donnie wrung his hands and watched his twin, still afraid to advance. “Leo? Are you-”

“I’m fine,” he said flatly.

That was very much a fucking lie, but before Donnie could say anything Leo pushed himself unsteadily to his feet and stumbled out of the room. Donnie blinked in shock, his mouth hanging open and his brows furrowed. He watched Leo retreat until he disappeared around the corner, then pressed his lips into a thin line.

He should go after him. Right? He should… find out what the fuck just happened. And why. And whether it had happened before. 

Donnie sat down, twisting his fingers in his lap and trying to keep his breaths steady. He needed to go talk to Leo. He needed to go talk to Leo. He needed to go talk to Leo.

Why wasn’t he moving?

…Donnie would go to him. He would. He just… needed to do some research first. He needed to be prepared. In case it happened again. Just some research. Some preparation. And then they would… talk.

(Right?)

[atanx]

I see people bringing up Nishiki slapping Reina so fucking often and I'm so fucking tired of it.

Let's get this out of the way first: was it good of Nishiki to hit Reina? Should he have done it? OF FUCKING COURSE NOT. While violence is the answer to a not negligible amount of problems, here, it WASN'T.

HOWEVER.

People tend to act as though Reina was a poor uwu victim who didn't do anything wrong. So lemme explain the situation here:

1) Nishiki just saw someone he cares about A LOT get sexually assaulted or even raped.

2) Nishiki just brutally killed his boss because of an emotional / trauma reaction to witnessing said assault and was very shaken up by it, having collapsed to his knees when Kiryu arrives.

3) His brother just took the fall for it and will have to go to prison for a very long time.

4) Sawamura disappears from the hospital, leaving Nishiki with most of his support network gone in the blink of a fucking eye.

5) He goes to update Reina on the situation and she starts screaming at him, accusing him of being weak and useless, of failing her by not being able to protect Sawamura and Kiryu.

Great fucking reaction on her part, isn't it? He's just lost two of his siblings at once and she is telling him that it's his fault. Yes, Reina probably didn't mean it like that, but she still says it. And when Nishiki interrogates her on it, she doesn't retract it.

It's not helping that Nishiki's mental stability is already shot to shit because of various pressures, such as an important surgery for Yuko coming up, Kazama's clear favouritism, Kashiwagi's distance.

I reiterate: NISHIKI GETTING VIOLENT WAS BAD. HE SHOULDN'T HAVE DONE THAT.

And he apparently does slap her quite hard. But he also immediately regrets it, looking at his hand with shock. As someone who not only has a lot more physical strength than Reina and is in organised crime and is thus the stronger party in the power imbalance, it was his responsibility to try and counteract the power imbalance by restraining himself. And he failed at that.

My point is that Reina said what I consider to be unforgivable things, even if she didn't mean them. And she knows this because when Nishiki confronts her, she is scared. She knows she fucked up. Yet she doesn't try to retract her accusations or to reformulate what she feels.

They're both horrible in this interaction and this is why I don't like them as a pairing. Reina clearly is way over her head in the Yakuza world. Which is perfectly fine, not everyone can deal with it, in fact I'd wager that most people can't, yet she both involves herself in it and is involved in it by others. And then she deals with being exposed to the dark sides of the yakuza world by toxically unleashing it, here on Nishiki.

Another thing I don't like is the "he hit a woman because she hurt his feelings he isn't an uwu baby". Oh, so it would have been fine if Reina had been a man? No it wouldn't have. Why bring gender into this? Either say that no one deserves to be hurt or say that everyone deserves to get slapped every once in a while.

Let all genders be slapped and let all genders slap. All or nothing, cmon.

[nateriverswife]

I know it's unimportant, because fiction doesn't have to coincide with reality, but I found the right place where I think the wammy's house should be (at least in my fanfiction lol).

Littleton, Winchester.

If I place it there, it's isolated, but not completely removed from civilation. The land is pretty big.

To get to the recreational ground (for the older kids, 13+) and the tennis club (got to consider L's short career as a tennis player) is like 13 minutes by foot.

There is also a small church next to it, where A's funeral is going to take place and where he's going to be buried.

I feel like it's perfect.

[pixiedust-poppers]

If you would’ve told my younger self there were more Jizzy non-shippers now she would’ve been ecstatic and then promptly disappointed as to the reasonings of why lol.

[criminal-sen]

And one of the million billion reasons I like Mayuri is cuz, while we don't know his exact age, he's by rote a bit older than what I like to call the 'young generation' aka renji, rukia, uhhh izuru akon byakuya jfc you get what I mean. I like that he was an adult in turn back the pendulum whereas a lot of these other guys were kids. Even though everyone is like. At least a century old? I don't really find myself identifying with the 'younger' crowd, I think cuz they are supposed to mirror teenagers in a lot kf respects and be a comparison for ichigo n Co. They are still figuring shit out! We literally see them mature over the course of the manga! And I love them all to bits but goddamn I am almost 40.. gimme a guy who's irritable and cranky and overworked and probably tells kids to get off his lawn (and also. probably murders them lmfao)

[white-poppie]

.