#is it actually a shitpost or is it just something i wrote in an attempt to see if my autism coded experience is unique

[caves-is-momentarilydisabled]

me omw at 11 y/o to overthink yet another basic fact of life only to turn it into a deeply philosophical understanding of the way my experience of life is seemingly so different from all my peers:

[delusion-of-negation]

there's a letter to an ex-friend under the cut - i know that he won't know about or read it, but i've been told that expressing myself might help me find closure and support. apparently, men don't talk about our emotions enough, or some bullshit - idk, i don't read feminist literature, i'm a shitposter. note: if you do read the letter, please don't take the opportunity to insult or demean my ex-friend in the notes, you know that i'm not a fan of internet gossip culture or bandwagon insult parties, especially not when you've only heard one side, especially not when you think that you deserve more information, especially not just to be a dick.

date posted: 17/08/2023 date last edited: 20/09/2023

this is unrebloggable because i don't want private emotions circulating, but i also made playlists that express how i'm feeling (because i find that putting songs or pictures in nice orders helps me express myself, i'm autistic, and music conveys feelings better than my long-winded explanations of the reasons). initially, one was in the post itself, and another was linked, along with an update post.

the letter:

frankly, i'm not a very succinct person, and when i initially wrote this i had a lot of very complex, not-yet-fully-understood feelings that i was processing with it, and it quickly became disorganised in a flurry. i want to express the points better and have edited it to do so. you callously, knowingly ruined my entire life, on every level you could, for your own amusement. i have no opportunity to even convey to you what you've done to me, and that's why i wrote this, to understand and convey those thoughts to the void. i'm explaining that the reasons for my hurt and my ever-increasing suicidality are nuanced and complicated, historic and current, and they feed into each other, yes, but the part that you played is not to be understated. this was originally more balanced and sympathetic, more mourning and sad, as an anonymous post about a complicated, personal situation that you want to wash your hands of - but you want to wash your hands of fucking me over, not once or twice, but endlessly and cruelly for weeks. you definitely have no room to judge an anonymous post to process feelings (where nobody who knows you would even see, except anyone you sent to send me hate), which doesn't talk about a single personal thing about you, when you air deeply personal info, with god knows how much selective quoting and twisting and demonising of a conversation that happened specifically while i was incapable of an ounce of coherent thought, overdosing and drunk, to people who actually know me.

you and your buddies spew callous bullshit gossiping, twisting my words (for example, when i was talking about struggling with self-loathing and depression and dark thoughts - while i was, as mentioned, drunk, on a massive overdose of various psychotropic meds, and in the midst of a suicide attempt, wherein you decided to bait and lead the conversation, to get things to take out of context later - i said that a couple of events [ie moments of struggle with the aforementioned issues] led to me talking to my previous therapist about things; it seems this may be amongst things taken out of context, put alongside other rumours, past and current, with chronic gossips and people you went to who you knew i didn't trust [who, it should be noted, i dislike and blame more than you tbh, but this isn't to them], to imply "events" meant some kind of behavioural issue, that is not and has never been something that i've done; me having a depressive episode whilst drunk at a later date, expressing that i felt like i was becoming somebody i didn't want to be, seemingly taken to again mean a behavioural issue, not likewise about struggling with my own inner experiences and darker thoughts). even without the twisting, it's so inappropriate and risky to mockingly gossip about somebody's private situation and health issues, which they told you about in a very vulnerable state - to try to expose them to harsh and undue judgement from anyone and everyone. at least one person, possibly more, (who it seems you told about the situation, or more specifically some twisted version of it, amongst other bits of obscure personal information) sent me many awful hate messages and stalked me online. and all this immediately after somebody attempted to murder me in a hate crime, which i had messaged you about from the hospital right after it happened - you are well aware of the sort of danger i was facing generally in life at the time, and the obvious ensuing fears. at first, i thought that you merely didn't understand the risks posed by hospitals and threatening gossip and harassment, but evidence just keeps cropping up that you were always well aware, and simply didn't care.

you disregarded my every boundary and my autonomy by doing what you did that night, i received no respect or consideration at my most vulnerable, and instead it was a means to an end. everything that you said (and the ultimate reveal that any niceness was all just a lie to keep me talking, while the police came to arrest me for being suicidal, or to spin something later) played on repeat in my brain, while i lay in various hospital beds, despite breaking down at mere attempts to re-read it all (i have since, and i could talk endlessly about how nice i tried to be, while you lied and pretended you wouldn't do what you have recently even if i had died). i was listening to music, monitoring my phone battery because we weren't allowed chargers (as insignificant as it sounds in the grand scheme of things, knowing that the whole time you knew that the very next morning, while my kidneys were still failing, you would demonise me and leave; you knew how abusive and distressing hospital would be too, you knew it was dangerous, you say as much in some of the chatlogs). knowing that i had nobody else close by, and that life was about to get a whole lot worse because of you, and that i was still incredibly suicidal, you left forever with a cruel final message - it really just felt like you didn't care if i was alone, hurting, in a highly abusive environment, because of you, and time has only proven this true. and then you demonised me to everyone. and that hurt feeling stewing inside of me as a result is not just losing a friend, it's a plethora of complex feelings, all mushed up together. i obviously don't think that you're obliged to be my friend (the date that this was posted alone should tell you that this is about everything that you've done since), at most i felt that dropping people for minor slights, as you seem to, isn't healthy - but regardless, to do all of this, to make it worse, to simply not care how much it hurts, that was unnecessary and cruel.

an example of the complex interactions with past trauma would be how me and a guardian (along with others) were horrifically abused (throughout my childhood). the abuse gave us c-ptsd (amongst other things) and, as a result of it, during her emotionally abusive depressive episodes, she would say that having his dna meant that i would become an abuser like him, she would tell me to go somewhere out of the way to kill myself, as i've told you before. i was a child, it stuck in my brain and formed how i respond to being thought of as evil. that fed into how much it hurt when you demonised me, when you acted like i was dangerous when i'm not, all over me being ill. on top of that, it felt doubly unfair, considering the mild hypocrisy, considering how i comforted you when you felt demonised, when you cried about how unfair it was to have your innocence and internal experience invalidated by a presumptuous bias others forced upon you - you knew how it would feel. another example, one that conveys an aspect of how and why my life got so much worse because of what you did, would be - because of being abused, tortured, in childhood, the health issues caused by it all, other health issues, the mountains of childhood trauma (from the aforementioned people and others), homelessness, and so forth - i was hospitalised for months as a teenager; i was severely abused while there, which made being thrown back into that exact same hospital (for weeks and weeks this time) because of you an even more agonising experience than it would've otherwise been (which isn't to say that it wouldn't have been agonising and dehumanising either way, it absolutely would've been).

i was sleeping in identical beds and rooms to those that i was sexually abused in (by a staff member coming into my room at night, as reports went ignored), around every corner there was another flashback to the half-a-year of agony that i endured years ago, to incessant and unending daily violence and misery that you physically cannot escape, locked in a room, with isolation, starvation, beatings, electrocution, force feeding, and so on - whatever you didn't endure personally, you were threatened with and/or saw others endure. and while some things had changed this time, others certainly hadn't, it fucking sucked. while i was there this time, i lost almost every friend i still had, i lost every irl friend (any not gone, and any feeling of safety in this godforsaken town, are certainly gone after your gossip and rumours); i couldn't see my dying relative ever again, i never saw her again, i never will see her again, and i was only able to see my bunny, who i loved more than anything, once more, very briefly at the vets, before she died, while staying with an old friend who had decided that she wanted to get rid of her (because of being in that fucking hospital, because of you, all this shit); the local mental health service continued to (and still continues to) refuse therapy or additional meds (because nothing is or will become available); i was sexually harassed by one patient and received bigoted abuse from another, and i could go on and on with more examples of the traumatic and isolating ripple effects. in short, my whole life and any remaining joy was ruined by what you did. you had me locked back there, the worst fear of my entire adult life come true, more afraid and more lonely by the day - like the last time, alone, no support network, no visitors. and any pain, sickness, or noise that caused was twisted to also be weaponised against me.

i reached out to you that night, when i was scared and needed a friend, to ease your potential concerns and to talk to my friend (i only ever wanted my best friend, although i know that you don't believe me on that point at this point, if you ever did, and i know that all innocent intentions and happy memories will have long since been twisted and tarred in your head). i never asked or expected anything of you whatsoever, then or prior. that night, i remember no suggestion of planning to hang out tomorrow, no phone call, nothing concrete, just saying that maybe you'll see me in a year, just lies and pretend understanding and manipulation. i know that it's a complex, difficult situation to navigate, respecting boundaries and choice when you're scared of the outcome that they want, and falsely thinking that handing responsibility to abusive systems will fix it - you didn't even try to help me at all, and you achieved nothing but misery. and now all of this. i know that i spiral and overthink - i don't always trust myself to be correct when i connect the dots that you're trying to hurt me. it made sense - it does track with your consistent disregard for me, with your remarks clearly knowing that there's risks in a psych ward, with your later behaviour. but it's largely interpreting a series of confusing, conflicting events/statements. i know that you spiral too, and that however much you hated me that night, you almost certainly hate me exponentially more now - i know that you'll have talked yourself in circles with whoever you gossiped to, or even alone, until i'm barely even a human being in your mind, if i ever was. i know that, if you were to ever read this, or hear me out to any degree, in any format, every sentence would be met with petty mockery, or at best the inclination to spend more time thinking of a response than hearing how another person feels.

i know that i will never have the chance to soberly explain the things that we talked about (or anything, for that matter, i don't get to correct things, defend myself, clarify things, i don't even get to know any more than vague references in insults what's been falsely claimed, and all i know from that is that whatever it is definitely isn't fucking true), ie what was poorly conveyed or misunderstood or intentionally twisted or only you baiting responses - i was drunk and on a massive overdose of various psychotropic drugs (amongst other things), and i was in a compromised and vulnerable emotional state, i couldn't say anything how i would prefer to, i could barely think at all, i couldn't account for needing careful phraseology or anything, and now i can never clear things up, all because you want to see me in the worst way possible. that said, the more words i say, the more words you have to twist. you've been doing that for a while though - for the latter half of our friendship, so much of what i said was taken in the worst way possible. you embarrassed me around friends more than once, when i was high, over a "that's what she said" level joke that you found distasteful, or something similarly benign. you'd ignore me for weeks on end, but if i wasn't available whenever you wanted for whatever topic you wanted, it'd be an issue (you once contacted friends when i didn't reply for just a day; when i expressed some concerns, it was met with frustration that i hadn't done so earlier, despite the implicit pressure not to do so that had built over the years, despite me actually having expressed concerns in the past and getting shut down with obvious excuses, that you later said were such, and despite all of the eggshells that i was walking on, your unfounded judgements; it felt like i had to fight more and more to be treated like a human being).

it wasn't a healthy dynamic for either of us. and i'm partially (quite largely, in fact) responsible for enabling and cultivating it - for one, i was so desperate to stay friends that i would permit anything, i would ignore every uncomfortable feeling (as i've told you before, i never even wanted your phone number or discord to begin with, and only agreed after repeated pressure and running out of excuses to keep refusing them, and then our level of contact increased, because you were ill and covid was happening, despite my desire to avoid it doing so, as we once somewhat discussed; but then it only grew worse as you made me more and more afraid of your constant judgement; that's not me theorising and reading into things, you admitted that it was happening), i'd limit complaints and disagreement to as mild as possible. bringing this up isn't some "got'cha, you were the asshole all along" - you know i don't think like that, i don't play that stupid heroes and villains game, it's just me trying to explain how and why this has all fucked me up. and now i have two versions of you in my memories that couldn't possibly get along - the deeply unhealthy idealisation that i fed with the scraps that you begrudgingly provided, and the asshole who ruined my entire life on a whim and then left before having to deal with the ramifications, who knowingly sent me to one of the worst places for me, without any sympathy, and who now trots around having a happy, free life, with an occasional interlude to gossip maliciously and dubiously about my personal struggles, without a single thought to how i'm left here in the mud and the rot, having to deal alone with every single consequence of your actions (and all of the shitty things from prior, which haven't been eased, in fact they're much worse), having to deal with the risks and stressors that come with people knowing really personal stuff (or at least some twisted and demonised version of it).

as much as i've bemoaned the inability to clarify myself to you, for a while i more desperately needed you to clarify yourself to me, and yet i had to drag myself kicking and screaming into the unfortunate reality that i'll never have either of those things - all the while not knowing how long i will be forced, by circumstance (my family couldn't afford another funeral at the moment, and i'm nothing if not courteous to a fault) and the few loved ones that i have left, to live in that reality. but you weren't happy to stop making my life worse at that, you weren't happy to let me even try to live my life. everything fucking sucks. and you're responsible for a lot of that suck. and, as i've said, there's far more than i could convey in a single, simple letter. and you will never know the extent of what you did, nor will you ever care about it - i've said it before, but deep down i know that you see me as nothing more than a dodged bullet despite you being the only one who shot (on the rare occasions that you briefly deign to see me at all), and that every time i writhe in frustration, confirmation bias will turn it into further proof of that conclusion, twisting and demonisation will make it feed the narrative. you said once that you simply don't think about me when i'm not around, and i am keenly aware of how little i ever mattered to you. and yet, despite all of that, despite all of this pain, i wanted my friend back, i missed my friend, i missed the person who i thought for a short while that night actually didn't feel disgusted by me, and i missed all of the good times prior. but to you, i'm nothing but a fun thing to bitch about, no matter how much danger and suffering a few minutes of your amusement causes.

i'm stuck here with nobody to talk to, and a million confusing things bouncing around in my head, and even sicker than ever from that fucking place, and you spend moments that you're bored making it worse for your own shits and giggles. nobody is or should be oversimplifying the situation, or arguing that i'm flawless, i've never claimed to be (although i'm starting to realise i need to clarify that by this, and historically anything like it, i mean things like "i word things poorly from time to time", and not whatever horrid ways you'll twist it to imply things i've never done), but i'm a harmless dumbass who got fucked over by you. in an old update, from the day my bunny died, i said "everything fucking hurts. you fucked me over. you screwed me over. you did not save me. you have no idea how much pain you've caused. i am so fucking angry and hurt. i didn't deserve this shit. because of you, what you did, i never saw my relative again and i only saw my bunny once." when i was at her funeral, which i had posted about, you organised a random effort to inform me of how far you'd spread this shit, how much danger i was in, and i said "you're not even trying to hide gossiping and shit while i'm struggling most. you're not even going to feel guilty for any of this. you destroyed me for fucking fun, for nothing but your own entertainment, it's callous. it doesn't benefit you to ruin my life and demonise me to everyone." i spent these few weeks stupidly holding on to the false hope that you would leave me be, telling myself maybe i was overthinking all the signs, working (apparently hopelessly) towards a better life. if there's an ounce of you that ever cared, which i highly doubt, just know that twisting vulnerable moments, to falsely imply that somebody has ever done anything that they haven't or to ruin their life even more and further ongoing isolation and harm that you've already fed into, is sick; someone tried to kill me, i was actively suicidal, and you thought "i know what this calls for, even more fear." you left because it'd be "good for you", but put my health, safety, even life at risk, for fun, for no reason. is that good for me? is that what supposed friends do?

goodbye

[crockettmarcel]

this has been on my mind for a couple of days now, so I thought I'd explain why as a content creator, I don't like spam likers

I have two main blogs - the one I'm posting this on, which is the one I use for all my writing and edits, and a side blog dedicated solely to memes, funny videos, and the occasional informative post

on the side blog, spam likes are fine! you like the memes I'm reblogging? you think that dog video is funny? great, me too :) this doesn't bother me, because no effort goes into this blog, from me, or most of the people I'm reblogging from. I see a funny post, I hit reblog, and more often than not, the post already has thousands of notes

on my fandom blog though? aside from my random thoughts, or the commentary I or other people have made on the fandoms I'm in, pretty much everything I post is my own original content, which comes in the form of fics or moodboards. for other people, it might be gifsets or video edits, but the point is the same:

all of these things take TIME to create

fics require hours of planning, writing, editing, and often research as well. even the three sentence fics I often write still require all of those things, just less

the moodboards I make are very trial and error, and take a lot of attempts to get perfect. finding pictures, making sure they match, editing them, even thinking up a caption to post with them - all time and energy that I won't get back. (that's not to mention the fact that my moodboards are based on au or fic ideas, so there's all the energy that goes into creating a whole new fic)

and all of this? all of those hours of time and energy I'm putting in to my creations? I'm doing it for free. I'm not being paid a penny for it. I'm doing it because I enjoy it, which is fine! I love writing, and I love creating moodboards

but the thing is, you're all consuming this content for free. you don't have to pay for it. hell, you don't even have to fight through ads or download a vpn to access this content. it's all right there, waiting for you to see it

the main problem I have with spam liking is this:

you're liking posts so fast that there's no way you're actually taking in the content. you're telling me you read a shitpost I made, a 1000-word fic, and a meme, all in the space of five seconds? because that's the time between the notifications I'm getting

if you clearly haven't read the fic, why bother liking it? you don't know what it's about, you don't know if it's well-written - it could be the most disturbing, badly written story in existence, but how would you know?

if by chance you have read the fic, do you not think, that after the hours and hours of effort that have gone into writing it, the author deserves a comment telling them you liked it? it doesn't have to be an essay, just a sentence or two in the tags saying "this was so good!! I loved the way you wrote [x]" or "it's so cute how you made [character x] say [y]"

sure, fic writers aren't entitled to comments and feedback, but you, as readers, are in no way entitled to the fics we produce. if we spend hours writing something and we give it to you for free, the least you can do is tell us what you thought

from now on, if you spam like my blog (including fics) but don't reblog any of the content I've spent hours working on, I'm blocking you

and if you don't want to be blocked, my kofi is here, because maybe paying me for my time is easier than commenting on a fic?

[an0nymousghost]

my answers to simblr asks v1 because i don’t think i did a mass post like this. 

1. how big is your mods folder? 15 gb, i don’t have my giant hair folder in rn

2. how would you describe your style? maxis-match, reshade/cartoony/dof aesthetic

3. what is your favorite challenge? 100bc obviously. and those completionist ones that take 400 years to finish

4. do you make cc? if so, what kind? age conversions of hair and recolors. and once in a blue moon i convert earrings or something

5. what type of cc do you hoard? hair, always and forever. my hair folder is sooo organized but i dont keep it in my game because it is very hard to find anything; there’s literally over 1000 items in the catalogue. also this is just female hair, for kids/toddler i use my own stuff and there’s really not enough male hair for me to mass hoard

6. what default eyes and skin do you use? intoxicated v2 - i’ll use this for the rest of my life emerald eyes by forgottengrotto

7. how many urls have you had, and what are the meanings behind them?

i have had 4:

celeschul - a play on “celestial” because that’s how you pronounce it an0nymousghost - the 8th level of the criminal: oracle career stardze - relating to astrology (star daze) teauke - sounds cool i guess; also i really wanted a short name

i don’t think i’ll change my url anytime in the future because it would be very annoying with all the broken links. i personally hate it when blogs have broken links so i don’t want to add to the problem. also, an0nymousghost is such a nice simblr url, it’s actually got a connection to the actual game. it is already confusing enough with the an0nymousghost/celeschul thing, but that’s mainly just because an0nymousghost is a long url and doesn’t really fit on package titles or thumbnails

8. who is your favorite gameplay blog? i have a personal blog and on there i only follow my faves: @leafykii, solarlemonade, ratboysims, @simprising​, myshunos, @aridridge, @whimsyblue. 

9. who is your favorite storytelling blog? idk i dont follow stories

10. who is your favorite cc creator? im not super involved in cc rn but aharris00britney and clumsyalienn who does those beautiful hair strands. oh yes and myself of course 

11. how do you edit your photos? reshade + action + psd. it’s complicated but the reshade takes 0 effort and ive struggled with editing forEVER im happy with this one

12. what is the last screenshot you took? idk im on my macbook 

this is the last screenshot on my mac LUL. rip to this hair which has been a wip for 10 million years. 

13. what do you do when you are unmotivated? nothing; right now is a good example. i have a queue so you probably can’t tell, but i’m super unmotivated to do anything. like i could make cc or play ts4 but i really just don’t want to (that’s why im writing this). idk why, but either it’ll pass or my blog will be dead forever. xo

14. who is your current favorite sim? i said the fae sisters for my other post but i really like noelle’s husband claye! i think my female sims are always wayyy more attractive than my male sims, but claye might pull in front of noelle tbh. he looks much better with the emerald eyes (the cartoony ones) 

also i consider all my sims to be good people, and claye’s kindness comes from him always taking care of leila and israel because noelle is off at work and such. oh and noelle’s way more...experienced than him when it comes to relationships

15. who is your current favorite sim that is not by you? no one really comes to mind, i haven’t been focused on like one specific sim lately

16. recreate someone else’s sim in your style. nah

17. do you talk about sims with people in real life? yeah. i don’t want to keep secrets from my friends (i used to have a secret ig account and it was a cause of major stress) so i just mention it in passing. honestly if they’re not cool with me having a sims blog, we can’t be friends. none of my irl friends play sims tho :( 

18. how many of the packs do you own? 23/38 or something along those lines

19. how many posts do you have on your blog currently? 1665. i have more followers than posts, something that i never achieved ever on my old blog because i had like 4 gazillion posts

20. how many drafts do you have on your blog currently? 7, they’re all just shitposts or asks 

21. how many posts are in your queue currently? 17

22. have you ever moved blogs? 2 times. celeschul -> stardze -> an0nymousghost. also i moved my multifandom sideblog once but that url has changed soo many times

23. are you in any sims related discord servers? yeah. though, i cant stand discord for a totally-unrelated-to-sims reason

24. what are your thoughts on the most recent pack? (paranormal) this is an outdated question but i still do not care about this pack. lol

25. how many hours have you played sims? 1039 hours

26. if you play gameplay, do you play with mods? yes, a lot

27. what’s the farthest you’ve gotten in a challenge? 100bc, i got to like 56/100 kids in my first attempt. this is TECHNICALLY farther than random nightmares, which i feel like i completed more of but i only did 50% of that challenge. i wrote on my blog that i completed random nightmares but in my heart, it’s not complete until 10 generations. so i just said that to make myself feel better. i’ll do a season 2 sometime...sometime

[koalas-koalas-everywhere]

Can’t believe I wrote a fic about my shitpost. Can’t believe it’s the first thing outside of schoolwork that I’ve finished in years. Outrageous. Anyway, here’s fanboy!Matt for your enjoyment.

G-rated. Gen. 2,799 words. Follows Daredevil and Spider-Man comics continuity. If you clicked the link, you know what’s coming.

So it’s Spring of 1962 and everyone’s talking about a new sensation, some masked guy who does flips on TV. It sounds dismissive, but that’s exactly what intrigues Foggy and Matt about it the most - it sounds like gymnastics and lucha libre rolled into one, which doesn’t usually get this much attention outside of the Olympics. This guy, though. Apparently, he’d made some waves after beating a big name wrestler in an exhibition match. Well, to be honest, Matt doesn’t know how big of a wave, exactly, because he found out from his dad, who found out because he ran in those circles. It could be that the average person hadn’t known anything about this “masked wonder” or his fight, until that TV host started using it to promote his upcoming appearance at his show. 

Foggy and Matt missed it. They were on their last year of college, and had the work load to prove it. Besides, watching TV wasn’t their favorite pastime, even though Foggy had become a pro at narrating by then, and Matt’s dad had cultivated a healthy disdain for staged fights in him, which he had assumed was what the show was going to be about. So they were caught on the wrong foot the next day, when it was all anybody at campus would talk about. Apparently, there hadn’t been any fighting at all. It had been more like dancing, said some star-eyed students.  Or a circus act, said their jealous partners. Even ol’ reliable Battlin’ Murdock had verified, with a certain “well, I’ll be damned” lilt in his tone, that, if there had been any trick to it, it was good enough to fool him and worth the while for that alone. Matt ended the call, shared a “look” with Foggy (the one that they’d practiced with the intention of unsettling clients, witnesses and prosecutors alike one day, which had been Foggy’s idea once he’d noticed Matt’s uncanny ability to locate people and angle his head their way to make it look like he could actually see them) and agreed to watch this “Spider-Man’s” next appearance. Luckily for them, after his raging success, another show was scheduled a night later, so they didn’t spend much time out of the loop. Also, they’d hired a commentator to explain to the audience (and thus, further impress them with) each of the stunts that their man pulled and assure them of their difficulty, which was always a plus to a blind guy “watching” a TV show.

Matt confessed to some excitement. He liked gymnastics. He liked to do them, of course, but he also liked it when others did it, especially when it was only described to him and he had to reconstruct the image out of his own muscle memory, the remembered sensations of coiling and pushing and tight breathing and weightlessness. That is, he liked it if it was described right, which this commentator didn’t do. He’d start well enough, saying, for example, that the spider guy was doing a forward somersault, but then he’d correct himself and say it was an aerial walkover. Or that he was doing a scissors leap, but he’d change it to an aerial cartwheel but horizontal? What even was that? It didn’t sound possible! Even the commentator didn’t seem to know. Matt had to assume that he was trying to compensate for the spider guy’s sloppiness by making up stuff and that, judging by the crowd’s and Foggy’s reactions, his efforts were paying off. Maybe this Spider-Man guy had some sort of sight-based, charismatic showmanship he was missing out on, he sneered in his mind.

(What Matt didn’t know, of course, is that he was right, and “this Spider-Man guy” wouldn’t know gymnastic training  or form if it bit him in the butt. His thought process during all of it was more along the lines of “if I flip now, it’ll leave them all gagging!” And it did! Everyone except for the blind guy who couldn’t see it to believe it and thought he was at just the beginning of what promised to be a very frustrating show.)

Then it happened. Matt was sitting in disgruntled silence while Foggy described the guy’s “web”, which had aided him in his latest pirouette, thinking that everyone who’d paid to attend was getting scammed, when the commentator’s narration reached a near feverish pitch as he followed the latest string of stunts. The spider guy switched to multiple handsprings in a row, sometimes adorned with round offs or cartwheels or a random flip that was neither here nor there, but it was obvious from the change and the audience’s sudden tension that he was working up to something. Right when Mat was wondering just how long the stage was, the commentator announced a sudden leap forward into the air (twenty feet up? How could anyone buy this?). The commentator’s voice grew alarmed in a split second, screams came from the public just as Foggy’s breath caught and his heart rate accelerated. Matt returned to his previous thoughts — sloppy— a showman not a gymnast— no more space on the stage— and lunged for the remote. Like Hell were they going to watch a man get killed on TV. 

He might have made it in time, if he hadn’t had to rely on others’ reactions, so much slower than his own and oh-so-much slower than Spider-Man. As it was, a brief struggle with Foggy over the remote that ended with them falling off the couch was enough to let him hear a thud… and the crowd go wild with applause. He thought, well, that’s callous, before Foggy’s gasped out, “He landed on the!”

And he was much better at judging Foggy’s emotional state (and morals) than that of strangers on a screen, so he knew, “Wait, he’s alive?”

“He’s standing on the!”

“He’s alive?!” he repeated.

“He’s on the! He’s crouching on the! Now he’s! Oh! Oh! He’s crawling! Oh! Oh… er, I get the spider thing now. That’s creepy. He’s, ha, he’s creeping. He’s a creepy-crawly.”

“Fog, what the hell? He can’t walk?! Is there a doctor to help him?!” How could everyone be so happy with a man so hurt he was crawling? Was it the relief that he hadn’t died making them loopy?

“No, Matt.” Foggy grabbed his shoulder and shook him. “He’s crawling down the wall!”

“Do a flip!” came a shout from the TV.

“Well, no, I can’t do flips up here, Max,” came Spider-Man’s voice. Gasps. “I’ve gotta toe the line!”

“He’s only got a toe on the wall, he’s got that leg folded behind him and holding the rest of his body parallel to the wall, now,” Foggy explained, awed. Through a mind hazy from the shock, Matt recognized that it would have been a very bad pun… if Spider-Man hadn’t been defying the laws of physics as he made it.

“Wait, actually, I can!” Thud and applause. “But only once!”

The act proceeded to something very much like a talk show, if talk shows were regularly interrupted by the guest pulling stunts like pirouettes or tricks with his webbing or lifting the host’s chair, host included, with the tips of his fingers. More or less what he’d been doing all along, except now Matt believed it.

“Wow,” he said slowly. “What a showboat.” Sprawled on the floor of Foggy’s living room, he knew. He would go to one of Spider-Man’s acts in person, one day.

He pestered Foggy with questions. Asked him for details where the commentator, only there to explain the technical aspects of the stunts and not to function as a disability device, wouldn’t cut it. Asked him to describe the stage. The set-up. The audience. The man himself.

(“Uh, average? I mean, muscly, but lean, not too imposing. Average height, a bit taller than the host, maybe? Then again, I don’t know how tall the host is… Looks like a spider.”

“How can he look like a spider as tall as a man and average at the same time?!”

“Well, no, he’s dressed like a spider.”

“Like—”

“No, no, forget that, not like a spider… a spider motif! Yeah, it’s a skin tight suit with webs drawn on it, with boots and gloves like that, too. Uh, plain pants and stuff. A mask all over his head, with more webs and blank, creepy, buggy eyes! Oh, and web armpits! Sort of like a flying squirrel. Do you think he’ll fly?”

He didn’t.)

By the end, once they were already back at campus and going to bed, Foggy seemed to have gotten over the childish wonder and commented, “could’a been all smokes and mirrors, y’know. Invisible ropes.”

Matt smiled and told him that he hadn’t seen enough to form an opinion either way. Foggy grumbled a bit and said something about mimes and muscle control before falling asleep.

Matt’s smile didn’t go away. He knew. There was no smoke, no mirrors, no invisible rope beside those webs. Spider-Man was the real deal. He was like Matt.

It was very embarrassing to become the intended target of those “don’t try this at home” messages. At least, he’d confirmed the relative possibility of Spider-Man’s most ambitious gymnastics feats. That is, that some of them weren’t possible for human beings. He supposed it was a good thing that people thought he was so helpless that he could explain his sprained wrist away as the result of a simple stumble on a sidewalk, and not a failed attempt to recreate that scissors leap/horizontal aerial cartwheel. Then again, knowledge was its own kind of reward, because he’d found out that some of Spider-Man’s tricks were possible, especially for someone with Matt’s pinpoint precision, reflexes and control over his own body. He just had to let go of caution and trust his senses.

Over the next few days, he didn’t miss a single one of Spider-Man’s shows. On TV, of course. Following through on his plans to go to one live was a luxury he couldn’t afford as a Columbia law major, not on his schedule and not on his dime. He loathed the thought of asking his dad for more money when he was already putting him through college, if he’d even agree instead of urging him to forget that Spider-Man nonsense and focus on his studies. It’d be hard to justify such an expense when, as far as he knew, his son wouldn’t even be able to tell what was going on. How to explain that he’d be able to follow the act better that anyone else there? Or the sheer need to stand in front of someone and sense their otherness, the way only like can recognize like? There was no way. He’d have to wait until he had his own job and no one to question him on his expenses.

One of those plans of mice and men. Not a month later, Spider-Man was making headlines for a whole different reason. He’d caught a murderer. Apparently, a home burglary had gone wrong and in a turn of events that only the man himself understood, he’d ended up bringing the culprit to justice. People’s minds went to the Fantastic Four, naturally. What did they have to say about a new superhero? Would he join them? Would he work solo, like that one scientist who gave himself ant powers? Could he be trusted with public safety? Was it even his plan to turn to fighting crime or was it a one time thing? Would his act continue? Tabloids said no, Maxwell Shiffman, Spider-Man’s producer (the most embarrassing part of the whole affair for Matt — having learned the name of a tv personality), said yes. Matt didn’t know what to believe. Of course, the news would make that assumption without any proof. What better way to cause drama, after all? “Everything stays the same, same old, same old” wouldn’t sell. But it wasn’t like Shiffman would admit the loss of the greatest tv sensation of the decade so easily. Anyone could be lying, or wrong.

As it turned out, they were both right, after a fashion. Spider-Man took to crime fighting, but he did go back for one last show, which Matt missed because it hadn’t been advertised as such, at all. After that, though, no more. Full-time do-gooder, was he. Matt wasn’t really bitter, but he’d admit to a bit of disappointment. Oh, sure, it was for the best, he was glad there was someone out there helping people. Still. He wished he’d gotten the chance to meet the now-hero.

He wasn’t quite thinking of that missed opportunity when he decided to buy tickets to his dad’s fight soon after, but the experience had left the lingering impression that it was best to grab your chances while you had them. He definitely didn’t spare half a thought to Spider-Man in the following months. It wasn’t quite outside of the realm of possibilities, though, that maybe, just maybe, when he devised his billy club and his preferred method of travel, some part of his subconscious flashed back to Spider-Man’s webs and thought, “that’s the way to go”.

There were also other people like them running around by then. Iron Man. The X-Men. The Avengers. A wizard, or something? There were rumors about people who knew people who knew someone who’d seen a Norse God fighting rock aliens going around, but Matt was a Catholic, so whatever. 

It would figure, though, that with all that new variety, Spider-Man would still be the first other superhero he’d meet, and that it wouldn’t be as Daredevil, but as Matt Murdock, blind lawyer and seemingly attempted murder victim. It was a bit of a let down, t he way it went down. He could have dealt with those crooks. He’d wanted to. Then again, maybe it wasn’t the feat he should judge but the form - it was all over and done in a minute, and it had taken Spider-Man longer to wrap the four of them up than to take them down. That was impressive. He couldn’t help but feel a bit cheated, though.

Boy, would he change his tune not one day later. Spider-Man, in an actual circus act! It was everything he’d hoped it’d be, if he ignored the part of him that had grown a little too much in the last year to appreciate it as he might have, back then. It even distracted him from the Foggy/Karen situation for a bit. Spider-Man had a whole host of apparatuses now, which made his act even more impressive, according to Foggy. The poor guy tried to keep him on the loop, despite the noise of the frenzied crowd, but he had enough trouble keeping up himself. Spider-Man’s movements were quick and fanciful and playful. Matt was sure he was making up the routine as he went, often changing his mind mid-air. His private chuckle every time he pulled a particularly complicated stunt (which were most of them), or thought of a new joke or trick with which to drive the audience to bits made engendered a sense of rapport in Matt. He acted like there was nothing more enjoyable than hurtling himself from beam to unsteady circus beam several feet above the ground, and he got it. God, did Matt get it. He had to resist the temptation to go up and have a bit of fun on the tightrope himself.

Not for long, though. He got his chance on the stage, sure enough, as he half tried to save a hypnotized Spider-Man, half tried to escape him. Despite the advantage of a clear mind, he barely made it by the skin of his teeth. Then, Spider-Man’s sincere gratitude and kind of corny promise that “a Spider-Man never forgets!” suddenly brought home how young he was. Barely older than he’d been when he’d been blinded and got his powers. He was so caught up between this realization and an odd feeling of validation, like he’d been officially accepted into the ranks, that he almost gave his super-hearing away with a careless comment. 

His insights didn’t change the fact that, when the other hero benched him so he could take his pound of flesh, clever little Matthew just went back to his seat. After all, who else could say they’d gotten two live shows from the Amazing Spider-Man?

He couldn’t resist a small barb, though. “I couldn’t have done it much better myself.” Yes, the guy was cool and all, but they were peers now. No need to get mushy.

[reneejuliet]

idk if I sent the ask about save me and moonchild or not but would love to hear about them ans also all night long, danger , bliss ..if you don't mind :D

Hi yes hello! I got both of them, but I’m gonna just answer them all on this one!

As far as moonchild and danger go, I answered that here. I unfortunately don’t have too much going for either, so I can’t really give much more info or samples of those.

Save Me is my crappy attempt at a hybrid fic, focusing on the maknae line. I’m entirely unfamiliar with writing hybrids, only read a few myself, but I’ve been trying to challenge myself more by branching out of my comfort zones. It’s like a main focus of Jimin x reader, but obviously also features Taehyung and Jungkook. Undecided if the other members make an appearance or not. Here’s a very little bit:

You were almost in your car, butt nestled just on the edge of the seat, when you heard it. A clang of metal, a low hiss. Something akin to a growl. Your skin bristled, sent a shiver down your spine. But you weren’t afraid. Not yet, anyway.

Still half in your car, you waited, straining your ears. All you could hear was the grumbling of your car, the angry gurgles of the river. An occasional howl of wind as it wound through the windows of empty buildings. Nothing that should be out of the ordinary.

A gasp was torn from your lips as another breeze blew by, rippling your coat and chilling your skin. You felt the tell-tale drops of rain on your cheeks. Whatever it was you thought you heard, it was obvious you couldn’t wait around to figure it out. The weather was only going to get worse, and you had to return to the restaurant before you could go home. So you shifted your weight completely into your seat, closing the door behind you. The car groaned as you shifted gears, lights flickering for a moment before you pressed forward.

But it was only a couple feet before debris suddenly fell from above, clashing on the hood of your car before you slammed to a stop. Your eyes shot up, anger surging through your veins in preparation –

Only to be met with eyes, perched two stories above you. Three sets, all staring widely at you in shock and fear. As you stared back, you noticed the slight gleam in the nearest set. The way they seemed to refract light even in the dark. Your breath hitched in your throat.

Hybrids.

All Night Long is kind of a shitpost in my WIPs, lol. It didn’t have much focus when I was just dumping out the trash from my brain, but it ended up becoming something for Jungkook. Kinda self-indulgent, and actually the first bit of smut I ever actually wrote out, without choosing wording that just hinted at what was happening. Not sure this will turn into anything, but just in case, I’ll dump this bit here:

He'd fully intended to walk away after correcting you, but once you were in his grasp, responding eagerly to his touch - his mind went blank. He found himself beginning to guide you through the entire choreography, hovering close to you at every possible moment. And when you went into the body roll followed by the hip thrust, his eyes darkened at just how well you performed them now. Without warning, his feet stumbled him toward you until you were pinned beneath him against the mirror, chests pressed together, tension thick in the air around you as your breaths mingled in what little space still existed between the two of you.

"Don't sleep with Hoseok," he whispered under his breath, voice rough and ragged with his desire for you. He was desperate by now, shaking with the inability to control himself any longer.

His words didn't register at first through the haze surrounding you, every inch of your body focused on just breathing with him this close to you. He was intoxicating, though, especially so near that you could smell his cologne and sweat. The heat radiating from his body, so close you could feel each breath he took, could have melted you where you stood. Until the words finally did register, and a sudden awareness sparked in your eyes.

"What?" you asked, voice a whisper, but sharp. Your eyes narrowed at the younger man before you, breaths quickening in his ensuing silence. "What did you just say?"

His mistake landed with a heavy clarity on his shoulders at the way you glared at him now, his heart rising to his throat and choking off anything he could have said. He swallowed with difficulty, unable to move away from you just yet.

He didn't have to, though, as you suddenly put your hands between you and shoved him off of you. You side-stepped him to put more distance between your body and his, allowing the stuffy air of the practice room to fill your lungs and clear out the smell of him. When you spun back on your heel, accusatory look on your face, you were met with his wide-eyes, gaping mouth as he tried to find something to say. The heady look was still lingering on his face, and it panged something in your stomach, but you ignored it.

"How do you even know about that?" you hissed, hands lifting to tangle in your loose hair. "That - that was a private conversation!"

"I'm sorry," he finally muttered, the words breaking on his tongue. "I'm sorry, I - I didn't mean to overhear, I just... did, and..." His eyes turned pleading again, though they were softer this time, less desperate. "Please, though. Noona... don't sleep with Hobi."

You threw a hand out in his direction, unsure what you were even doing with it except interrupting him. "I didn't - Wh - That is none of your business, Jungkook!"

His head bowed for a moment, fully aware of how accurate your statement was. It wasn't any of his business, yet here he was anyway. "I know," he breathed, squeezing his eyes shut before turning to face you. "I know, I just-"

Bliss is, if anyone hasn’t guessed, my WIP for the second half of Ignorance is Bliss. It’s mostly outlines and research I did on brain activity, synapses, amino acids, etc., as well as main points I want to make sure I hit. Everything I’ve tried to write out yet has ended up scrapped because I haven’t liked it, but I do have this:

Bliss patches induce a certain emotion into users by releasing a chemical agent into the bloodstream that targets the synapses of the brain. The synapses then release the chemically fabricated neurotransmitters to stimulate the specific area of the hypothalamus pertaining to that emotion. Such emotions can include happiness, joy, anger, upset, or calm. Other affects, such as sleep and focus, are replicated within the brain by targeting and stimulating other areas of the hypothalamus. The affects of the pills/patches are harmless and wear off after a few hours.

Until a mutagen is introduced into the chemical makeup of Bliss patches that targets and distorts the amino acid tryptophan. The mutagen infuses into the tryptophan and corrupts its structure, causing it to deteriorate from within the body at a rapid rate. Without tryptophan, the body cannot survive. Thus a dependency upon the Bliss patches is formed, distorting the neurotransmitters within the brain and turning the user into a “junkie”.

Genetic mutation becomes further explored by developing a chemical compound that can be introduced into the bloodstream of a mother and absorbed into the nutrients passed on to her unborn child. This compound infuses with the genetic coding still forming within the child, altering the DNA to allow for sensory stimuli to be increased within the developing lobes of the brain. The mutation is experimental, thus the first few cases are both varying and unpredictable. The different lobes in the brain contract and expand at varying intervals, allowing for a concentrated amount of skill to be stimulated from within the lobes at any one time. These skills are activated by the increased focus of the neurotransmitters to the particular cells in use as the others have contracted, therefore require less communication. The mutation has been known to not remain limited to the brain, often including an accelerated rate of mending among the cells and tissues of the rest of the body, promoting a super human ability to heal. Though highly valuable among the test subjects, this mutation is very unstable and can often create an imbalance within the body.

^^Whether the science holds up or not (science is far from my forte lol), this is a more comprehensive breakdown of how Bliss works in that world, and why it’s such a slippery slope.

Hope that fed you well! 

[planetchii]

THE NICHIASA SHITPOSTING REPORT

Tropical Rouge: The girls continue their club summer fun with some scuba diving. All but one, though: Smug Fish forgot her equipment and couldn't go. Strange. She's usually so reliable. Oh well, she can participate in the next activity, which is volleyball then a festival! Also, a time where we can see Asuka beat up on children on the court. They're about 10 years too soon to be challenging her.

Meanwhile, in Lazy Town, Elda wants a vacation. And she's right, it's not fair that Numeri the Doctor and Chongire the Chonky Chef get to go on vacation. At least she gets a trophy for all of her hard work during what should have been her vacation too. That trophy is just another dark orb for another Yaraneeda. Summer homework sucks.

Mean-meanwhile, the girls are putting on their best yakutas and hearing a heartwarming story from MamaManatsu about how writing her wish on a stone gave her the love of her life. Which was an octopus.

And Elda decided that Smug Fish's super-private stone with her wish written on it was the perfect piece of homework to copy.

"You cannot fight this one! Absolutely not! And you can't fucking look at the back either!- Smug Fish, probably. Too late though. Everyone saw her wish... to learn how to swim with her human legs. G'luck Smug Fish.

Saber: "Fuck it, I'm fighting too" -Sofia, probably.

"Fuck it, I'm also forming the new Zi-O Trinity with my dead friends to help me manage this armor", Also Sofia, probably.

Meanwhile, Mei is just hanging around the bookstore, with nothing to do but fade away among the books and wedding magazines. Only to be surprised that Touma actually wrote something for that month. Maybe she'll get paid for this month after all. You know, if the world doesn't end. I mean, I guess that's better than Storious explaining his evil plan to the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future. While still avoiding the cough drops. C'mon, Storious, you're sounding like you smoke 50 packs a day, a cough drop isn't that bad.

REN IS USING BEST BOY DESAST'S THINGS. HE FOUGHT WITH HIS GHOST. REN IS HAVING A CHARACTER REDEMPTION.

I DID NOT ASK FOR THAT IN EXCHANGE FOR DAISHINJI'S LIFE HOWEVER, WHAT IN THE BLUE FRESH FUCK. DAMN IT, TOEI.

And while all of this is going on, after leaving the bookstore for some fresh air after doing some editing and bring the manuscript to the office, Mei... just finds Luna on the floor. Not a place to take a nap, Luna. I know you're an adult now, but... I'm sure there's a nice shiny bench to sit on.

Zenkaiger: The Zenkaigers take up a new hobby of bullfighting. (As ethical as possible, of course.) But at least Kaito's cape comes as a handy dandy red cloth thing. It's a shame that the Zenkaiju Gear and Gaon got into a fight about who got the last sausage: Kaito or the Gear. I mean, special gears need to eat too, Gaon. And now it ran away. Good job Gaon; just because it wasn't ACTUALLY Kaito. Or a human. Robots have feelings too, Gaon.

In an attempt to be better bullfighters, the Zenkaigers attempt to be the bull. Become the bull. At least until the Zenkaiju Gear comes out of hiding from the trash heap.

Meanwhile, Stacey eats more ice cream. He has an addiction, but he decides that this will be the last time though: He's starting to gain some weight and his uniform isn't fitting as well as it used to. (grandmas, amirite?) But Yatsude isn't letting her best customer go that easily and gives him a card for free ice cream on his next visit.

...Which Stacey graciously accepts.

[gayoperatorgunclub]

Hi, we have yet to officially meet on Discord and I wanted to say welcome to the group. I noticed that you are open for asks, so I was wondering if you could tell me about your opinion of the Rook x Doc pairing and some hcs? If it bothers you then it's okay I understand

hi!!!!! thank you so much for the warm welcome!!! ALSO thank you for respecting my personal opinion and comfort about rook x doc!!!!! since i really like the possibility for a sort of father/son relationship between them, i’ve done some hcs from this list for them. you can read it as romantic if you want, but i’m really just vibing with these ones. i hope you enjoy!!!!

How do they feel about people shorter/taller than them? - gustave is completely comfortable with his height. he’s tall enough to not get made fun of, and short enough to be able to be comfortably held by his s/o. julien, on the other hand, will threaten every operator who’s taller than him. he has leaped onto oryx’s shoulders from above, attempted to tackle sledge, decided he would only spar against amaru, and, when drunk, has tried to perform WWE moves on montagne. he is the epitome of “i will beat you the fuck up. no cap. *punching noises* bitch.” 

What are they like on social media? (What’s their username, profile pic, etc.) - gustave knows how to operate social media, and is familiar with certain niches on many of them, but doesn’t have any accounts of his own. he just doesn’t really care enough. there is a fanpage of him on instagram, courtesy of twitch and julien. speaking of, julien has an account on twitter, instagram, snapchat, and vsco, and is extremely active on all of them. here’s what he uses them for:

twitter: shitposting and venting

instagram: aesthetics and vaguely confusing/threatening updates on his life

snapchat: chaos videos of him and twitch being bastardous

vsco: aesthetics and horse pics

Their sexuality? - gustave is either gay or bi (really just depends on the mood, just understand that he is under no circumstances straight. he’s just not. don’t do him dirty like that) and julien is gay but drinks an infinite amount of respect women juice (gustave does too but he also gets pegged by his hypothetical gf so 👀👀👀) 

Preferred weather? - gustave absolutely ADORES rainy weather. people have found him lying face down on the patio during thunderstorms, just. vibing. meanwhile, julien loves it when the weather’s sunny and warm, with fluffy white clouds in the sky. his ideal date is a picnic out on a prairie where they can cloudgaze, and maybe, if they stay long enough, stargaze as well

What’s their sleeping schedule? - gustave has no sleep schedule to speak of. when he next collapses is purely up to the gods. he has slept for 72 hours straight, and he’s gone a week on several well-timed 30 minute power naps. julien, meanwhile, is a bit of a health nut, so he is very serious about his schedule, specifically, when he eats, excercises, sleeps, wakes up, everything has a specific time slot. at the same time, he can and will get up in the middle of the night for a snack, prompting gustave to set up a surveillance system with speakers so if julien tries to eat their supply of ice cream, gustave can yell at him. this has led to julien avoiding the kitchen after dark because “god resides there after-hours” 

Favorite music? - gustave likes classic and new wave rock (think the Beach Boys, Queen, The Talking Heads, David Bowie, Elton John, The B-52′s, Depeche Mode, and many others) but he also really likes music in general, so he doesn’t have a real favorite. julien will only listen to a genre he describes as “gay yearning and longing with hints of faerie and cottagecore aesthetics” so, hozier and cavetown. 

How’s their cooking? - gustave is a culinary mastermind and julien nearly burnt down the kitchen making microwave ramen

It’s movie night, what movie do they pick? - i think it was @juduseye that wrote about gustave loving Casablanca, and honestly that hc is 🔥🔥🔥. i think julien would pick a movie like Princess and the Frog, Mulan, Atlantis, and other movies from disney’s “weird” period

How would they hold up in a pillow war? - they are masters of pillow warfare. they are sworn allies, and team up against everyone else in rainbow. they win every. single. time

What’s their sleeping position? - gustave is either starfished out on his bed, or curled up around whoever he’s in bed with. julien sleeps on his stomach, cuddling with his pillow

Who do they go to for comfort? - EACHOTHER 🥺🥺🥺

Something small that they enjoy? - gustave loves his collection of plushies and fleece blankets, and julien is VERY proud of his model train collection 

How do they feel about physical contact by others? - they both welcome it with open arms. they’re built like friends. made to cuddle. certified to be huggable. in some countries, they’re actually registered therapy animals 

What is enough to bring them to tears? - for gustave: loss, death, and thinking about that one comic of a meteor with a hat that says “i heart dinos” holding a map of “dinosaur world” (earth) and looking so excited BUT IT’S THE METEOR THAT CAUSED THE EXTINCTION OF THE DINOSAURS AND IT DOESN’T KNOW THAT IT CAN’T VISIT THEM BECAUSE IT’LL CAUSE THE DINOSAURS TO DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!! (i also start crying whenever i think about that fucking comic) 

julien: same as gustave but add people having low expectations of him, making fun of how young he is, and sarah mclachlan commercials

Biggest pet peeve? - Bigotry. and chewing with your mouth open

How well do they take care of themselves? - they both claim to be self sufficient but gustave legally can’t drive and julien tried to soften butter in a microwave but ended up with an electrical fire

What’s something they like that may be surprising to others? - gustave adores fashion niches, and julien knows everything about the legend of zelda

Do they consider others family? - uhhhhhhhhh, YEAH

Any bad habits that they have? - gustave: no sleep, blames himself for everything, is lactose intolerant but eats ice cream daily 

julien: midnight snacks, yelling at the tv, fighting anyone taller than him

What’s their idea of a perfect vacation? - for gustave, either a trip to a city with a lot of historical sites and museums, or a trip to his family beach house. vibe. chill. fuck nonstop. for julien, hawaii. that is all 

Do they get lost easily? Will they ask for directions if they are? - gustave will never admit it, but he gets lost walking in a straight line. he gets distracted!! undiagnosed adhd check! julien knows where things are and how to get to them, based on other places and landmarks, but he really couldn’t tell anyone else how to get somewhere 

The strangest thing they have ever seen? - gustave once walked in on tachanka in drag. now they watch drag race together. julien is consistently the one to find gustave lying face down on the balcony during thunderstorms. it’s worrying

How well do they accept advice? - gustave is too nice to say anything to someone’s face, but unless you’re one of the very few people he trusts enough to accept advice from, he has to resist the urge to do the opposite of what you advise. meanwhile, julien is constantly receiving advice, but in reality, he’s one of the most wise people in rainbow. it’s just that he says things like “take it easy. BUT TAKE IT” that make people think he’s a hot mess

How much do they swear? - gustave will only swear in worst case scenarios (which are more common than he cares to admit), and julien likes seeing the scandalized looks on people’s faces when they hear him cuss someone out 

Do they like being in pictures? - gustave will allow like three people to photograph him, because he likes their style and knows they won’t do him dirty with angles and such. julien is self-conscious about his smile, so he usually does it to em in group pictures

Is there anything they’re bad at? - gustave is terrible at pronouncing certain words, and julien doesn’t do well with limits

What’s their morning schedule? - gustave: wake up, pray, eat, go to work

julien: wake up, hit snooze (x10), be late for work 

Any past injuries? - gustave’s terrible computer posture has finally caught up with him, and now you won’t see him without an ice pack for his lower back, and julien is too young to have any chronic injuries, but he has broken his arm during training 

Something that disgusts them? - gustave hates long hair. it’s just so stringy and it makes him gag!!! he also hates stringy cheese because it makes him think of long strands of hair and all of a sudden he’s physically nauseous. julien can’t stand holes. trypophobia ass bitch 

[recurring-polynya]

Also maybe headcanons or how renji would celebrate his birthday with His a/o

This is kinda funny to do after I wrote four separate versions of Renji celebrating his birthday over the last week. I am not used to writing about a generic s/o (I think you meant s/o?) but I will do my best.

What even is a birthday to a dead soul? We are all thinking this!! I tend to swing between two possibilities: (1) Even though souls forget almost everything, I have always assumed their names are remembered from their human lives, and I guess it’s not out of realm of possibilities that they would remember their birthday as well, or (2) It’s actually their death date, which (for most souls) is the date they entered Soul Society. My main (extremely stupid) argument for (1) is that your birthday determines your astrological sign, so your birthday is your birthday. But maybe in Soul Society, you have a more complicated horoscope, which is determined by your death date, or possibly by a combination of the two! I am extremely not an astrology person, someone please get on this! Also, I really like (2) because I feel like people in Rukongai wouldn’t even celebrate their death day, that’s kind of tasteless, especially in the high numbered districts, but then if you become a shinigami and move to the Big City, the noble souls feel bad that you don’t have a birthday, so they treat your death day like your birthday. On one hand it’s nice to have a birthday, but on the other hand, it’s also kind of a microaggression. Anyway, it absolutely fits in with everything else we know about Soul Society.

Renji works hard to avoid dwelling on the past, and he knows he has a tendency to get maudlin on his birthday, so he tries to preempt it by planning ahead. I don’t think Renji has had a whole lot of significant others over the years, so he generally counts on himself to make sure he has a nice birthday. He tries to do this in small ways, making sure his day includes his favorite activities, and a big get-together with friends in the evening.

That being said, Renji’s friends love him a lot! He gets a ton of texts and birthday greetings. He prefers it when people do stuff for him, rather than buy him presents. He always gets some misshaped baked goods from Momo, Izuru will write his One Rude Poem Per Year, and Shuuhei will sneak some shitpost-style joke into the Bulletin for him (like horrifically misspelling Byakuya’s name)

Renji’s birthday party mostly consists of everyone he knows descending on some poor Seireitei drinking establishment. Renji knows a lot of people, and generally, everyone who can will turn out for him.

Having a s/o doesn’t really change any of this all that much, if you love Renji, you have to love Renji’s friends!

That being said, when Renji is seeing someone, he definitely wants to pencil in some private time with them on his birthday. He might want to get up early to have breakfast together, or to meet up for lunch. He will definitely try to talk you into a quickie between work and drinks and he will be super smug if it goes off.

He will absolutely love any attempt his s/o makes to do any sort of birthday festivities. The worse it is, the more he will love it. Do your make-up special for him? Yes. Pack him a bento with a little Zabimaru made out of cucumber slices and toothpicks? Double yes. Don’t even attempt to handicraft him something unless you’re ready to put a ring on it, he will try.

Renji hates cake. It’s not a really a thing in Soul Society anyway, but don’t get any ideas, just because he otherwise tends to be into Living World stuff. Taiyaki is always a better option.

Renji is a classic roll-over-and-go-to-sleep guy after he’s had sex with someone he really cares about and is comfortable with, but on his birthday, he likes to stay up and cuddle and get a little sentimental. He’ll mumble a bunch of stuff about how nice his day was, and how lucky he is to have you and how much he loves you until you hit him in the face with a pillow and tell him to go to sleep, already.

[polandspringz]

Director’s Cut(?) For “I’d Rather Be Dry” Chapter 4

So the reason for the question mark is because I don’t think there is a lot to really comment on in terms of this chapter, but there were a lot of funny moments from my beta-reader again that I wanted to share! As always, my beta-reader ( @primal-shitposts​) is in pink. Here we go-

There is much to see here other than my touch starved self is being reflected in my writing and Primal is calling me out on that. Although, this entire fic I was just trying to get through so I could write this ONE Barbatos scene, so I guess it was a scene that I just put a lot of myself into once I got here.

Since I’m still in lesson 15, I still haven’t personally sat through all of the timeline stuff of lesson 16. I spoiled the game for myself a long time ago to make sure my writing was correct, but the timeline conversation in this chapter was inspired by a few posts (and I think even tiktoks?) of people discussing angst theories of the brothers in the original timeline being alone without MC. I hate that idea and it keeps me up at night with anxiety!!! So, I hinted at it here of Barbatos forever being unsure of things, despite being a ruler of time, but ultimately I’m on the side of the timelines merging. The only time travel I’ve ever been happy with in media (besides Back to the Future) would be stories like Kagepro, which treats time travel like restarting a video game in an attempt to get the good ending, and DQXI, where time travel is more “magic” than science and characters recall things from the other future but faintly, like a past life. If anything, I would love to write something of the brothers experiencing something like that, with the timelines merging, them all regaining memories of the other routes, or having faint dreams or deja vu of things, rather than them just being a “new” group of brothers.

After this, Primal began counting down to when they thought characters were going to kiss.

Luke is a baby, and I feel bad for not giving him much of his own scene in this fic. (His got swallowed by Simeon’s scene) Maybe I’ll give him and MC there own short fic soon.

I can’t explain this nickname other than it was very impulse and all of this fic after Barbatos’ scene was written today, after I had taken a nap from 9pm-11pm and then stayed up all night, eventually typing this around 6 AM. My creativity somehow worked while I was half dead, but it feels like I was channeling Howl with that line. It just felt like a good pet name for Simeon considering his whole celestial shtick and outfit. 

I have no comments on this. I sort of wish I had written something more comedic instead of almost 25k words of angst. 

Again, I was on no sleep, so I could’ve just looked in the mirror to help with the description, but I ran out of words to describe dark circles.

Here begins the kiss countdown:

For the longest time when writing this fic, I knew Solomon’s scene was going to be the scene with the angels asleep, I just didn’t realize right away how many characters I would be fitting on one bed at the time.

I didn’t intend for this line to be read in a sort of “magical girl” or frivolous voice, actually. When I wrote it, I thought of it more serious, with emphasis not on “power of love” like the “power of friendship! :D” theme but more like “the power that his love for me holds over him”. 

I think some readers might find MC’s decision to not have the demons killed controversial in a way, but I’ve read so many fics when the brothers just straight up kill a demon in front of MC or while they’re looking away. I felt like that wouldn’t be good on someone’s conscious, and some I went for a more merciful route, but that doesn’t necessarily mean MC themselves has forgiven their attackers. It was just being the bigger person.

Legitimately, this concept of the “promise” wasn’t in the fic until chapter 2, when I offhandedly decided to write MC and Mammon making a new promise. It then became a big idea I knew I needed to resolve at some point, and it was going to be at the end of chapter 3, but it worked better in chapter 4. In a way, this was my version of a more serious take on the joke of MC being the “family therapist”. They don’t want their hard work to go to waste, but its coming more from a place of love and genuine concern.

Final Kiss Countdown:

So, that’s the end of “I’d Rather Be Dry!” If It wasn’t obvious, the title for the fic came from the song of the same name. I’m not a huge fan of Lady Gaga & Ariana Grande, I just happened to be looping the song while writing chapter 1, and found part of the lyrics played in well to what I wanted to get at with the ending. (Of MC refusing to delete their pain because all that matters is that they’re alive) I did enjoy writing this fic, it was just unfortunate that my Barbatos loving brain decided to focus so hard on getting to the end of the fic in made writing the middle parts harder. Either way, I hope you enjoyed! I’ll be posting more Obey Me works soon!

[severalspoons]

Liveblog: Rewatching Trigun, Episode 14

OK, as you can probably tell, this isn’t quite real-time liveblogging. I’ve been scribbling down notes with incomplete sentences and crossouts while watching. Then I turn them into actual blog posts later.

-- The Milly Monthly! :).

Maybe write it during the day instead of staying up all night, though?

-- I wonder why Meryl doesn’t want to write home and doesn’t want to talk about it? And why does she let Milly push her into writing something anyway? I’m getting more concerned about her every episode

--Milly, you caused property damage! And Meryl, you’re not furious about it! What about your job?! What’s gotten into you?

-- Why didn’t he take the deed to City Hall sooner?

-- How does a geoplant work? Are they also powered by plant bulbs? What does Vash know about them? And does the anime ever actually revisit this?

-- What do they put in the water in Gunsmoke? I’m not just talking about the Nebraska family.

-- Milly’s gone from cowering behind Meryl in episode 1 to facing down a small army while Meryl hides in a bush. She’s really grown!

-- Meryl attempts to do what Vash would do. Bless.<3

-- Vash hiding in a can again. Vash + trash can = OTP.  

Vash is now the patron saint of trash cans. And there was much rejoicing from Tumblr.

Yeah, remember the whole free will/let people sort things out for themselves thing I talked about earlier? He practice what he preach.

-- “Walk your own path... people will live their lives through you...” Good advice, directed to the wrong person ;)

-- I wonder what Meryl ended up writing home? Have a headcanon: 

“Salutations all, I hope you’re well. Sorry it’s been a while since I last wrote. I’ve been traveling with Vash the Stampede -- for work, of course. (You do remember I work for Bernardelli Insurance Society, right?) I try to prevent him from causing property damage, which keeps me quite busy. Don’t worry, I’m fine, but I wish I could see your faces while reading this. Sincerely yours, Meryl Stryfe

Yes, even in the epistolary equivalent of a shitpost she would use a formal salutation, she wouldn’t just say “Hi guys”

Also, from now on her letters home are going to be 99% about Vash.

It’s easier than talking about herself and her feelings, especially if her family is the way I imagine it to be.

-- I know, Vash, I wish you’d appeared more in this episode, too. Feel free to break the fourth wall any time. #characters breaking the fourth wall is my kink

[dib-shit]

Zim Takes a Fuckin’ Nap

Word count: 2.9k

Pairings implied: ZaSr, TaTr (very subtle), DaGrr (Dib x Gretchen). All can be seen as platonic too.

Warnings: Quite a bit of swearing but nothing derogatory, and a quick reference to furries, courtesy of Skoodge’s fashion taste.

Characters: Zim, Skoodge, Dib, Gaz, Tak, Gretchen, and Gir

Synopsis: Zim’s feeling pretty out of it, huh? Maybe he needs sleep. Wait, Irkens don’t sleep, do they? 

A/N: I originally started this while at the DMV waiting to get my first ID. It’s way longer than it should be, especially since I only wrote it so that Zim could say one thing. Anyway, hope you like it I guess. It’s my first fanfic I’ve ever published, even if it’s a shitpost so here goes nothing. Criticisms welcome if you have ‘em! 

_________________________________________

Five years. It’s been five years since Zim came to this hell hole of a planet. Five years since Zim began his never-ending attempts to hold this planet in his grasp. Five years since Zim met his absolute worst enemy. Four years since Zim discovered he was living with his best friend. Three years since his best friend attended Skool with Zim. Two years since Tak came back to Earth. One year since Zim’s worst enemy became his worst friend… one year since Zim discovered the truth about his mission.

Zim, Skoodge, Tak, and Dib were all attending the same shit hole Skool in their Junior year. One more year after this and none of them would ever have to bother with this nonsense again. Except for Dib. Apparently, he has plans for more education after what was legally required. Zim didn’t get this. The Dib was already a moron, there was no fixing that.

Zim also didn’t understand why Tak was even bothering on coming. She even completes every assignment with flying colors. What was the point? Irkens already had their education jammed into their PAKs moments after hatching. Unknown to Zim, Tak was actually trying to distract herself with skoolwork from something that was eating away at her from the inside. But that’s a whole other story.

Zim groaned as the History teacher droned on about whatever it was he talked about. Dib had shown him in the past that human history isn’t as boring as it seems, it’s just that the education system cuts out a lot of the interesting and sometimes crucial information. So far the only thing Zim gathered from this class on “U.S. History” was that a particular breed of humans were the absolute worst of all of them. These humans had a history of taking whatever the hell they wanted from others, and then ruining those other lives as they go. Dib says that these people, which seems to be the perspective the shitty, sugarcoated textbook is going off of, are “White People”.

Zim placed his chin on his desk as the lesson drove on. He stared at the board until the words didn’t look like words anymore. His eyelids began to feel heavy for some reason. He closed his eyes. His mind seemed to fade away when suddenly he snapped back to reality. Oop there goes gravity. He jerked so hard he nearly fell off his seat. Some of the students gave him puzzled looks, but most of them have gotten used to Zim’s bullshittery.

What the FUCK was that!?!?? He thought. It felt like his body was trying to shut down or some shit. He continued to struggle with this until class let out. Fortunately, it was the last period so he quickly began his trail to the base.

As he walked, he heard footsteps coming behind him, sounding short and out of breath. Skoodge ran up behind him, having to run quite a bit to catch up to him.

“What the hell took you so long?!” He asked. Skoodge, catching his breath, answered. “Got held up with the really large muscle kid. He doesn’t like me for whatever reason”

“Did you blow him up? I would have blown him up.”

“Well no… that would cause a lot of problems. Also, that’s illegal Zim… remember what we said about trying to be normal citizens?”

“No. YOU said that. I would never agree to stupid laws.”

“I know.” Skoodge sighed.

Skoodge had actually grown fond of the Planet. It was frustrating how dumb these humans were sometimes, but life was simpler. Nicer. Not only that but the fashion in the thrift stores were perfect for Skoodge. It was all he ever wore. At the moment he was wearing a pair of very bright surf shorts, along with a shirt that said “I love chubby furries” He had no idea what that meant, he just liked the picture of the fat dog person on it. It was possible that this was the reason he got stopped by Chunk after school.

They reached the neon green house and walked inside to be greeted by a rocket zooming straight into Zim’s gut, knocking him onto the floor. The robot stood up, hugged Skoodge, and then sat on the couch in a very calm manner. Zim was able to get back onto his feet, glared at the robot for a bit as Skoodge giggled a bit, and then removed his contacts and wig. Skoodge soon followed after and they sat on the couch together to watch whatever cursed programming the robot was watching.

“How did class go for you?” Skoodge asked him.

“eh.” Zim shrugged.

There was a moment of silence, then he spoke again.

“I’ve been having trouble keeping my eyes open lately. I think I got poisoned by that demon Moose we dealt with a few days ago.” Zim said.

“Uh… what do you mean keeping your eyes open? You just… keep them open??” Skoodge said with concern in his voice.

Any further questioning would only get grunts from Zim. Skoodge then turned to him and saw that Zim’s eyes were closed, and he seemed unconscious.

“ZIM?!?” Skoodge yelled.

Zim jolted back into consciousness and screamed back “WHAT!?”

“You did the thing!”

“What thing?!?”

“You know the… oh never mind.”

Zim probably would have fallen out of consciousness again had Dib not called Zim’s phone. How Zim had a cellphone plan is beyond me but whatever.

“Hey is Skoodge there with you?” Dib asked.

“Yeh.”

“You two wanna come over or whatever? Tak came to hang out with Gaz, and Gretchen’s family stayed home for sabbath so she’s coming over too. I don’t know, it could help us bond better or whatever”

Skoodge, listening in, started nodding his head. He was actually good friends with Gretchen. He hung out with her at the library even before she got the courage to start talking to Dib again. That, and he actually got along with pretty much everyone.

Zim made a face similar to a scrunched up sea sponge, but told Dib they would come over.

“Also, please don’t bring Gir guys. There’s still damage in the walls from last time.” Dib then said goodbye and hung up.

Zim groaned and slowly slid himself off the couch, onto the floor, and then stood up. Skoodge went to the cabinet, grabbed a bunch of candy and snacks, and said he was ready to go. After arguing about whether to share their snacks with the others, and Skoodge somehow winning the argument (thanks to Gir screaming in his defense), they headed out to the human’s household.

…

Zim seemed to forget about the weird shutdowns while he was busy trying to beat Dib’s ass in Smash Bros. Zim refused to stick with one character so he had to readjust to the move sets almost every round, which really didn’t help his goal. It also didn’t help that they were also playing against Gaz, who made it very hard to survive more than a minute. After many rounds of various video games between the group, they finally decided to settle down with a Movie and then sleep over. It wasn’t like Professor Membrane would give a shit, he was never home.

The other two times they did this, the Irkens in the group would either just stay up playing more games and watching movies, or they would leave. The species wasn’t known to sleep. They are able, but there was no need. Dib compared it to the gems in Steven Universe. Zim would agree but first, he would have to admit that he watches the show along with Skoodge.

This time was going to be different.

The pull of unconsciousness was tugging at Zim again. Throughout the movie, he tried to combat it by jerking his body suddenly as to re-alert himself. Occasionally he would yell out, which quickly got on the others’ nerves.

“Zim what the fuck is your problem?!” Gaz eventually asked, although she didn’t care that much, she just wanted him to shut up.

“WELL WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?!?!” Zim screeched back at her, which he immediately regretted upon seeing Gaz’s reaction.

Before any damage could be done, Tak preemptively held Gaz’s arm back, knowing pissing Zim off would only result in a shit-fest. Dib, having previously been obsessed with Zim’s every move when they were enemies, somehow did not notice his rival was a bit off until now.

Avoiding any more interaction with Zim and risking another blowup, Dib asked Skoodge to join him in the kitchen and asked the short Irken what was going on.

“You mean the yelling? Dib, you should know that’s normal for him” Skoodge stated matter-of-factly. Dib stared at him for a second before responding.

“N-… No Skoodge, I mean the other thing… and wh- what the fuck are you wearing?”

“What, my shirt? Why?” Skoodge asked. 

Dib looked like he was somehow holding a stroke.

“… Nevermind. Back to the issue at hand. It looks almost like he’s… falling asleep or something?? Did Zim eat something bad or??…” Dib trailed off, not really sure how he was going to finish that sentence.

“Falling… asleep? I never really considered that. But we don’t sleep, our PAKs sorta recharge as they go.” Skoodge said.

Dib sighed. “I know. you guys have explained this multiple times, but what if something happened and now-” Dib stopped for a moment. Something clicked in his head. His eyes widened.

“Skoodge… how much does Zim remember the demon moose incident?”

“I don’t know… he knows it happened and he knows it did something to him” Skoodge responded.

“The kick. The moose kicked him and it hit his PAK… Zim’s PAK must’ve gotten damaged. I bet that’s what’s happening.” Dib told him.

“What???” Skoodge was confused.

“The demon moose fucked up Zim’s PAK so now he doesn’t recharge very well. That’s why he’s so tired. He needs sleep.” Dib explained. He was also beginning to realize what was going to have to come next.

They needed to get Zim to go to sleep. It was going to be hard, but the little shit needed a nap. It was going to be like trying to put a gremlin to sleep.

The movie was over. Zim had passed out again. Dib gathered everyone else in the kitchen and explained what was going on.

“Why can’t we just leave him there?” Gaz said.

“Because he’s going to wake up again and try to avoid going to sleep. He needs to know what’s going on so he can get proper rest.” Skoodge responded. It’s an absolute mystery how Zim was able to get by at all without him for some time.

“We could always tase him and just throw a blanket on him.” Tak proposed. She still had some bitterness towards him for ruining her life plans.

“We’re not doing that Tak,” Skoodge stated.

Gretchen spoke up, “Why don’t we just… tell Zim? Explain to him, and then help him get to sleep?”

The others stared at her for a moment, unwilling to admit they were overthinking this a little. It couldn’t be that hard, could it? They were about to get an answer.

Waking up Zim was a mistake. Naturally, he screamed and ended up slapping Dib as a “reflex” although he had to turn around and reach for Dib and Skoodge was the one that actually shook him awake. Skoodge tried to start his explanation but Zim was NOT having it. He got enough bullshit already about being a “defective” so another layer on top of that, to have a PAK that needed him to sleep every now and then, that did not sound fun.

“Zim, listen, it’s okay. You just need to let yourself sleep. you’re already doing it bit by bit but you need to fall all the way.” Skoodge told his friend.

“Yeah, but not on our couch,” Gaz added.

“I can get a sleeping bag. Skoodge is welcome to stay too. I know Tak already is ‘cuz she’s got some project she’s working on with Gaz or something.” Dib said, before leaving the room. When he got the sleeping bag, he decided to grab another for Skoodge… maybe he could try sleeping too? It would be awkward just sitting there all night, and he knew the two of them enough that if Zim was doing something that involved letting his guard down, there was no way Skoodge was leaving his side. Dib would have liked it better if this was done at their base and not in his living room but with Gir there, it probably wouldn’t work out very well.

By the time Dib returned, Gaz and Tak were in the backyard working on Tak’s ship (which Dib had reluctantly returned to her). He could hear faint static from the communicator again. Tak must still be trying to connect to whoever she’s looking for on Meekrob again. Gretchen was sitting on the couch looking at memes on her phone. Skoodge was sitting by Zim on the other side of the couch, still trying to coax him into sleeping, with Zim still refusing.

“Zim isn’t budging… but Skoodge is getting somewhere I think.” Gretchen updated Dib. “By the way, Gaz agreed to let me sleep in her room since the living room will be occupied, and your room would be a little awkward.” Suddenly she remembered that she had to text Keef… her parents thought she was staying at his house for the night, not the Membranes’. As she got up to talk on the phone in private in another room, Dib took her place on the couch.

Dib unrolled both sleeping bags, then stood there awkwardly watching Zim and Skoodge argue. There was no way Zim was going to agree to this with their current tactic. So he proposed to them his earlier idea of Skoodge also sleeping, hoping that would make Zim more comfortable. Upon hearing this, Zim was silent for a bit, looked at Skoodge, then Dib, back to Skoodge, then the floor.

“Wait… Gir!” Zim finally spoke.

“Don’t change the subject dude, you need to fucking sleep!! Gir is fine!” Dib yelled at him.

Just then there was a loud single knock on the door. But really it sounded like someone crashed into the door, followed by multiple little knocks.

“Who could that be knockin’ at my door?!” Dib said in a song-like tune, but also nervous because it was like, 2 in the morning. Seriously who the hell…

“Go away. Don’t come here no more…” Dib finished the lyric under his breath as he answered.

Dib was greeted by a small green dog who looked up at him silently, called Dib a bitch, then walked inside. Dib didn’t even react… by this point he was used to this sort of thing.

“GIR, NO SWEaRiNg!!!” Zim yelled as Dib shut the door behind the robot.

The commotion brought Gretchen back into the room. She took one look at Gir and already picked up on what was going on. Wherever Zim and Gir are together, screaming is sure to follow. She walked over to the little robot to pat his head and scooped him up like a baby.

“What are you doing here Gir? We told you to stay at home.” Skoodge asked, hoping this wasn’t going to make the argument with Zim more difficult.

Gir gave puppy dog eyes more than he normally did, ears drooping and everything. “The pig left… and I was looooonely,” Gir replied with tears in his voice, then suddenly perked up and happily said, “SO I cAMe HERE!!!.”

“Hey Gir, do want to take a nap? Zim is going to try to sleep.” Gretchen calmly told him, still carrying him like a toddler on her hip.

“Yeah!! Sleepytime!! I’ll help get Zim to sleep!” Gir then pulled out a hammer and held it up like he was going to hit Zim with it.

“NO NO NO NO!! GIR DON’T!!” Everyone else screamed. Gir looked at them with a smile still, as Skoodge carefully took the hammer from Gir, and set it in the kitchen. Maybe it was time to talk to him about what’s possible in cartoons… and not in real life.

“Damn, I thought Gir would be on my side… he usually hates having to rest,” Zim grumbled. Dib rolled his eyes and wondered if Zim had actually contacted Gir at some point to get him out of this.

There was a silence for a while. Skoodge looked at Zim and simply said “please… it’ll help. I promise.”

“eeeeeeUGaAAaaaaHHHHGH… FINE!! I’ll take a fuckin’ nap or whatever.” Zim loudly complied. “But only if Skoodge stays. I still don’t trust any of you.” Skoodge nodded in understanding as everyone gave a sigh of relief

God… took long enough, Dib thought. He was surprised it didn’t involve more damage to his house. Whatever. The green bastard was going to finally sleep. Wait… did he know how to sleep? Eh, he’ll figure it out, he’s basically been doing it already, he just had to let it happen.

The two Irkens got settled into the sleeping bags, and Dib tossed them some pillows. Gretchen set Gir between the bags, as he curled up and immediately passed out. They finally got comfortable, Dib turned out the lights, and Gretchen said goodnight. The two humans were about to make their way upstairs when they heard a “Hm.” from Zim.

“What is it?” Skoodge whispered.

Zim made a smirk with his eyes still closed, as he was snuggled up in the poofy sleeping bag. “I’m a warm little bitch.”

The End 

[missmeikakuna]

The Girl Who Cried Gay

Rated: T-M (It's something I can see a teenager reading and enjoying but could be given a more mature rating due to the swearing and the edgy jokes the characters make.) Fandom: Original story Relationship type: F/F Description: Edgy teenager Jimena's idea of a joke is coming out to her classmates every day. The thing is, she actually is gay but is too chicken to come out for real, playing off her numerous attempts as a joke. But this time she's going to tell the truth and confess to her best friend, the equally edgy rebel Vinciane. Her plan? Write an entire song in two weeks and perform it in front of everyone. Should be easy, right?

Right? Notes:

I want to thank Tyler, the Creator for inspiring this story. Your numerous jokes about you being into dudes before coming out for real was a source of fascination for me, which is why I wrote this story. Also, Igor is a great album. Congrats on the Grammy.

For my readers, keep in mind that my opinions do not always match those of the characters. These girls say things I never would. I hope you find them entertaining.

CONTENT WARNING: There is a mention of suicide but no actual suicide, just the characters being edgelords and joking about the topic.

Jimena picked her teeth with one of the spikes on her boots, which she had shaken off as the school day drew to a close. Before that afternoon’s teacher had the chance to chastise her for her choice in outfit… again… she stood on top of the table. 

‘I’ve got something to tell you all. I…’ She wobbled a little on the table. ‘Woah, this is pretty difficult.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m gay.’

Everyone, the teacher included, rolled their eyes and resumed their in-class tasks. Vinciane leaned back in her seat as she looked up at Jimena. She watched this grand reveal with a smirk on her face that would make a lawyered-up business mogul jealous. 

Her short, dyed red hair in a sidecut was a constant source of frustration for the teachers. Jimena tried to copy it with her black hair but settled on a faux sidecut with braids. In fact, she tried to copy every aspect of her appearance, a feat made difficult by their differing body types, with Jimena being tall and thin and Vinciane being short and curvy. Both wore dark and heavy makeup, also causing a stir among the teachers. 

Vinciane almost dropped her smirk when she saw Jimena’s hands turn into trembling fists. Almost.

There was little point in being concerned since it wasn’t long before Jimena laughed and applauded herself.

‘You should have seen the looks on your faces! Get wrecked!’ She plopped back down off the table and nudged Vinciane in the ribs. ‘Lezzies for life, Vinny?’ she said, holding out her pinky finger and rivalling her smirk with her own. ‘We’ll get our own U-Haul and argue over who makes the sandwiches.’

Vinciane tied her pinky around Jimena’s. ‘Wouldn’t have it any other way. By the way, I’m making the sandwiches.’ Her accent was lightly French.

The two laughed loud enough to cause another quick lecture on manners from the teacher. Then it was Jimena’s turn to roll her eyes. Being the rebellious girl she was, she flipped the bird at her teacher… under the table.

That night, Jimena held her pillow in between her chest and her knees, slouching against her bedframe. She lifted her pinky and stared at it before bringing it to her lips in a gentle kiss. She looked at the acoustic guitar at the other end of the room, romantic lyrics flittering in her head.

The punk text tone on her bedside table sent lightning up Jimena’s spine. It was Vinciane’s favourite song. The text was accompanied by a poorly shot photo.

I put a gold bath bomb in and now the bathwater looks like piss. FML. Gonna kill myself, brb.

Jimena responded a little later than she had hoped, taking time to craft her text.

Is that a toaster in your bathtub or are you happy to see me?

Vinciane’s next text pushed Jimena’s heart up to her throat.

¿Por qué no los dos? Btw, you almost had me fooled today. Almost convinced me your verbal coming out shitpost was real. Excellent job, my love 😉

Oh, yeah. Shitpost. 

Jimena pulled her numerous blankets on top of her body and rolled around until she was caved in by warmth. It did little to bring a smile back to her face, but at least she could bury herself and perhaps never come out.

The pity party was crashed by her mother calling her to the dinner table. She had no choice but to crawl out of her blanket cocoon and enjoy a nice meal of… supermarket tacos.

Two thoughts battled for prominence in Jimena’s mind. The first was wondering how her parents could have possibly come from Mexico when they had the most Americanised tastes. 

The second was the reopening of the recent wound caused by her friend.

¿Por qué no los dos?

Her mother heard her sigh and asked her how school was. Jimena shrugged, using the beef and lettuce in her mouth as an excuse not to talk. Her mother didn’t buy it. Not that she ever could, what with Jimena resting her feet on the table and scowling at no one in particular.

After lecturing her on keeping the table clean, she asked, ‘Why must you always wear those shoes? Is this because of that girl?’

As Jimena managed to prove, swallowing food in an unambiguously angry way was something humans could do. A light clink hit everyone’s ears as she kicked the salt shaker, causing it to collide with her mother’s plate.

‘Leave her out of this,’ Jimena said in the clipped voice of someone who wanted to yell but knew she would receive a yell in return.

Her father tried to speak calmly. Emphasis on ‘tried’.‘We’re just a little concerned that you’ve, well, been acting differently since befriending her. You used to be such a bright girl. And why won’t you wear the dresses I made you?’ His voice cracked a little at the question.

‘Well, maybe you should make clothes that I actually want to wear.’

‘I don’t appreciate that tone, young lady,’ her mother chastised her, raising her voice even louder. There it was: the yell.

‘Well, you’re going to hear that tone a lot longer if you don’t shut the hell up!’ 

Jimena shouted, getting out of her seat and storming off to her room. She then went back into the dining room to retrieve her tacos and brought them to her room. 

She took her phone out and texted with one hand while holding one taco in the other.

My parents can step in dog shit while stuck in a time loop. Shit on their shoes for all eternity.

After a few minutes that felt more like fifty, Vinciane responded in an almost insultingly short text.

Mood

Rather than take the length as an insult, Jimena held her phone to her chest and giggled. She was unsure whether it was the heat from the phone or something else that made her heart feel so warm.

That sensation didn’t last long when she remembered that Vinciane lived with her aunt. She immediately texted an apology. She didn’t have to wait long before getting a message back.

Don’t sweat it. If I lived under their house, I would have to live under their rules. My aunt gets me better anyway. She’s even okay with my nose ring.

The two continued texting through the night, and not once did Jimena admit to looking forward to going to school the next day. 

The day that followed involved Vinciane skipping class and, without even asking her, being followed by Jimena. Vinciane sat by the pond, a place students weren’t allowed to be within ten feet of, and took out a cigarette. Upon seeing the horrified look on Jimena’s face, she chuckled and lowered her eyelids until they were half-closed.

‘You worried these will turn me from a dyke to a fag?’ she asked in a strong Cockney accent. ‘Don’t worry, love, I would never leave you.’ She took a drag of the cigarette and opened her eyes fully, returning to her original accent. ‘Oh, speaking of which, any guys you think are cute?’

‘None as cute as you,’ Jimena murmured, then gulped when she saw that Vinciane heard her. The stone she was sitting on started feeling mighty uncomfy.

‘No, but seriously. No one? There’s a guy who’s got my eye- what’s wrong?’

Jimena was looking down, focusing her eyes on the hem of her plaid skirt as she fiddled with it. Anything to stop tears from falling.

‘I’m gay.’ A laugh came from Jimena’s mouth out of habit. 

Vinciane joined in. ‘Yeah, yeah. So which guy do you like?’

Jimena shrugged. ‘No one at this stupid school.’

‘Fair point.’ Some of the smoke reached Jimena, who couldn’t help but cough. This earned a snicker from Vinciane. Jimena pouted and reached for the other girl’s cigarette packet. Vinciane guarded it with her free hand. ‘I don’t think you’re ready for that. Wait ‘til you stop sounding like you’re dying of tuberculosis.’

‘No way. If I’m going out, it’s gonna be human mad cow disease that takes me down.’

‘Or AIDs.’

Jimena smiled and gave Vinciane a finger gun. ‘Or AIDS.’ The two were silent for a moment as Vinciane finished her cigarette. She squished the butt into the ground and stood up, stretching her arms and yawning. 

‘Um, why exactly do you go to school anyway if you’re going to skip class?’ Jimena eventually asked.

Vinciane brushed her fingers through her hair. The sight took Jimena’s breath from her. ‘I mean, you’re here. And where else am I going to go?’

Jimena didn’t know how to respond to that, not that her airless lungs would have allowed her to respond at all. All she could really do was look away from Vinciane’s plump lips and pray that she would soon be able to breathe properly again.

A decision managed to get air pumping through her veins again. She was going to come out for real, and she was going to make it as convincing as possible.

At home that night, she jotted down ideas for this ceremony onto her notes app. The following morning, she gave Vinciane vague details about an announcement she planned to make and a song she would use to do it.

‘Is this another one of your coming out ceremonies? This might be your most over the top one yet. Looking forward to it.’

‘No, no, it’s quite different. Okay, so for the announcement song, I will sing it to you and you’ll sit there all surprised.’

‘What will you be announcing?’

‘I have to make sure you look surprised.’

‘You saying I can’t act?’ Vinciane asked as she crossed her arms.

‘That’s not what I mean! I just want the song to be a surprise to everyone, including you. I may dance around you, by the way, so don’t be surprised by that. Focus on the content.’

‘So where are you going to say… er, sing this announcement?’

‘The cafeteria at lunch, two weeks for now. That should be long enough to write and rehearse a song, right?’

‘I guess. So are you going to play the song on your acoustic guitar?’

‘I was thinking of asking the music department to borrow one of their electric guitars. I think the song would be cool with a punk edge.’

‘Good luck getting one in two weeks. And an electric guitar kind of needs a band with it, so you’ll be spending a lot of those two weeks trying to get bandmates. Won’t the song be more, I don’t know, sincere sounding if it’s acoustic?’

‘You think so? You sure it wouldn’t be fake deep? I don’t want to sound like some hipster dude trying to pick up a girl at a coffee shop.’

‘If the lyrics are sincere, an acoustic guitar will highlight them. I doubt you’ll sound pretentious.’ 

Jimena took a deep breath and put her fist in her other hand as she exhaled. ‘Okay, I’ve got this.’

Vinciane stroked Jimena’s hair, not noticing the warmth radiating from the other’s cheeks. ‘I know you do.’ 

Instead of hanging out with Vinciane, Jimena spent lunchtime putting lyrics into her phone. Vinciane kept walking up to her and trying to sneak a glance, but Jimena’s screen-covering reflexes were way too good.

At home, Jimena continued typing on her phone, even during dinner. Cue the nagging from both her parents, whom she ignored.

As she lay in bed, she tried to continue typing away but the claws of doubt picked at her brain. She sat on her side, listening to the scarce sounds surrounding her. Her ears picked up the whir of a sewing machine, a sound that pulled her up like the strings of a marionette. After listening for a while with her eyes closed, the familiarity of the sound lulled her back down onto the bed.

She knew exactly what was going on and was tempted to tell her father not to bother, but the sound softened the pillow she lay on. She let it play in the background like an ambient album full of rain sounds.

Before she could fall asleep, and boy was she tempted to, an idea popped into her head. She sat up again and grabbed her guitar, playing riffs in time with her father’s sewing. The plucking of her guitar mirrored the sound of the needle.

She made a new note on her phone and wrote new lyrics referencing the sewing terms she could remember her father mentioning. Half an hour later, she put the phone down and got into her pajamas. 

The first thing Jimena saw when she woke up was a finished dress hanging from the doorknob. A piece of paper was taped to the hanger, saying, ‘For when you perform your next song’. She smiled until she received a text from Vinciane. She pictured Vinciane scrunching her nose at her and tossed the dress next to the bin tucked in the corner of her room.

The following lunchtime, it was Take Two for Vinciane’s attempts to uncover Jimena’s lyrics. Once again, she failed.

‘Come on, can’t you show me a little bit?’

‘For the last time, no!’

A pout stayed on Vinciane’s lips for the rest of the day. 

When she dropped her backpack by her bed, Jimena saw the dress her father had made neatly folded on the bed. She sighed and threw it back towards the bin, narrowly missing it. The next few days were a pattern of the dress appearing folded on the bed and her throwing it in the bin. Each day, her father’s shoulders drooped further and further until he looked like a caveman with depression.

During those days Vinciane didn’t pry any longer and instead spent the time sitting next to Jimena and offering words of encouragement as the girl silently edited her own lyrics. She reached for Jimena’s free hand but Jimena wriggled out of her grasp to start typing with two hands.

Once again, Vinciane pouted for the remainder of the day.

Jimena practised over and over again at home, at least until her mother yelled at her to knock it off. The ‘knock it off’ point was at 10 o’clock at night. She gave her mother the middle finger but did indeed knock it off.

However, she continued adjusting the sheet music and playing the song in her head well into the night. Naturally, this led to her coming to school with bags under her eyes and little patience for Vinciane’s gestures of friendliness. Apparently a quick, non-invasive question about how the song was going was enough to set off an atomic bomb.

‘Shut it, Vinny!’

Vinciane blinked and stepped back. ‘Sorry.’

Jimena almost apologised too but couldn’t bring the words out. Vinciane made sure not to bother her until the two weeks were up.

Having her muse not by her side made it both easier and more difficult to practice the song. On the one hand, more time to herself without worrying about the secret getting out. On the other, no words of support and no one to look at when she needed a boost of inspiration. Doubt’s claws scratched at her psyche again.

That night, she sat in the dark, Vinciane’s verging-on-tears face playing over and over in her head like a scratched CD. 

The morning of the performance day was the same as usual, complete with the neatly folded dress on the bed. Jimena groaned as she shoved the dress into her backpack.

Vinciane didn’t show up at class. Alarms rang in Jimena’s ears. What if the most important audience member wasn’t there for the performance?

After changing at the beginning of lunch, she wasted valuable rehearsal time searching the school for Vinciane. She wasn’t at the pond nor behind the gardener’s shed where the druggies usually hung out. 

It was five minutes before the end of lunch by the time she found Vinciane in a classroom. The same classroom Vinciane would have been in that morning had she not skipped class.

Vinciane’s eyes popped out of their sockets upon seeing Jimena in the dress. Its colour was not unfamiliar- black, as always. However, it was frilly and lacy and buoyant, paired with knee-high socks and a little bonnet. It was utterly adorable.

As soon as the shock wore off, she glared at her. ‘Come to tell me to shut it?’ Jimena tightened her grip on her acoustic guitar. ‘Or maybe you want to take me to the cafeteria so everyone can hear the song you refused to show me.’

Jimena stepped closer and began playing the guitar. She breathed in, then out, then in again. 

‘You pull me in... like a thread caught in a sewing machine.’ She pronounced the last syllable of ‘machine’ pretty weakly to get it to rhyme with ‘in’.

She continued. ‘I don’t know where this is going. This sin.... gives me pins and needles, you’re giving me the feels. Now I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.’

She strummed the guitar rapidly, sending a warm sound to a smiling Vinciane. ‘I’m really sorry if I’m bursting at the seams. It’s so hard standing next to the girl of my dreams. When you’re edgy, I keep folding like a hem. It’s so hard to admit that you’re my favourite femme.’

Vinciane’s cheeks went red while Jimena’s playing slowed down. ‘Your jokes leave me in stitches but my foot’s in my mouth. I want to tell you how I feel but I don’t know how.’

Jimena circled around Vinciane’s chair, speeding up her strumming. Her heart was beating faster than the song but, for the first time, she wasn’t going to back out now.

She returned to the tune she started with. ‘Well, I’m as straight... as the hem of a big swing skirt. Don’t hate, I’m not looking to get hurt. A date... would be wonderful, don’t judge. My feelings simply won’t budge and I feel like this might as well be fate.’

It was time for the outro. ‘No, this is no joke. No this is no prank. I’m gay as fuck and with some luck, I got you in my ranks. This is the real me and yes, my heart is true. I’m not that tough, it’s all a bluff. Just know that I like you.’

Vinciane looked into Jimena’s eyes and saw the sincerity in them. She stood up and whispered in her ear, sending tingles down her spine.

‘You didn’t need to act tough, you know. I’d have liked you either way.’

‘Um, so about that guy you have your eye on-’ Jimena asked.

‘Oh, that?’ Vinciane’s smirk returned as she put her index finger against her own lips. ‘That was a lie. Just wanted to test the waters, plus I didn’t know how to tell you. You won’t get mad at me for that, right?’

Jimena shook her head and then rubbed the back of her neck. ‘So, uh, how does a date sound?’

‘Make it two. Then we can get a U-Haul. I’m still making the sandwiches, by the way. I’ve seen you in Home Ec and you kind of suck in the kitchen.’

Jimena giggled and grabbed her hand as the two walked out of the classroom. ‘Sounds like a plan. But for now, we should just focus on how to convince everyone else that we’re a couple for real this time.’

Vinciane shrugged. ‘Does it matter? I know and you know. Who cares what the others think?’

The bell rang and Vinciane followed Jimena into another classroom. During class, they spent less time listening to the teacher and more times sneaking glances at each other. Vinciane played with the ribbon attached to Jimena’s bonnet, twirling the pretty fabric around her finger. Jimena ran her kitten-heeled shoe over the spikes on Vinciane’s boot, smiling at the rough sound.

[a-deadly-serenade]

The Shield and the Sword: Chapter 5: Whispers in the Garden [Alucard/Reader]

You’re a witch that is skilled in herbology, one that has been persecuted by the church for practically your entire life. In spite of this, moving throughout different towns has allowed you to pick up some chatter about a woman in a village called Lupu. She is supposed to be a wonder when it comes to medicine, and this immediately perks up your interest. So after plucking up some courage, you’ve made it to her door… hoping that she takes you as her apprentice.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16724856?view_full_work=true

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tag list: @pastelteabubbles, @2-many-fandoms-2-count, @theotakufairy, @top-notch-shitposting, @illiniana, @heartwards

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The following weeks were filled with diligent study in the medical library, which was beginning to feel more and more as an extension of your bedroom. You had filled up so many rolls of parchment that you had trouble keeping a tab on all of the notes that you wrote down. It was becoming particularly difficult for you to find specific information as well, since your desk drawers were packed to the absolute brim with parchment.

Lisa, never one to leave such problems unnoticed, went ahead and purchased you a basket full of thick, soft brown leather journals, and a pile of fresh, new quills. It had honestly been a blessing, and being able to take notes within the safe, organized confines of a journal gave you time to organized the mess of scrolls that you had sort of neglected for a few days.

Not only were you hard at work studying with Lisa, but you spent a few hours every night with Adrian, assisting him in his studies on magic. It quickly became apparent that he had a very basic understanding of what magic entailed, knowing that, at the very least, it required the caster to have intent.

“What is so important about this “intent”?” he had a hint of annoyance in his tone. “I heard several Speakers that my father has invited over discuss this whole concept of intent. It does not sound very scientific.”

“That’s because it isn’t,” you counter. “The idea of intent… it’s less of an idea, as it is a sensation. You feel it in the very marrow of your bones, in the very center of your being. You carry belief, and the strength necessary to make this vision come to fruition. Therefore, with the proper amount of intent, any kind of magic is possible. However, you need to be able to have belief in this intent in order for it to do its job.”

Adrian was silent during your whole explanation, and a few moments passed before he nodded in understanding. “I see… so, I need to approach this less logically?”

“Yes!” you cried out triumphantly. “It is good and well to have this… strong, scientific curiosity that can only be satiated by reading and learning and experimenting. But, you need to take your head out of the lab and understand that there are forces that even science cannot explain,” you close your eyes and press your hand to his chest.

Nothing seemed to be happening, but then a warm, yellow light started to emanate from your palm. You hear Adrian gasp quietly in shock, a small smile on your lips as you remove your hand, a cheeky expression on your face.

“What was that?” he sputtered out.

“That was a glimpse of your aura,” you said. “I could sense it very faintly between the very tips of my fingers,” you look down at your hand and wiggle said digits. “It was warm, but a little reluctant to come out. I could feel that it was yellow… but just a hint darker…” you mutter to yourself.

“Does that mean something?” he questioned.

“Yellow usually has a connection to the source of all your bodies energy, and it appears that all of your energy is being honed in on studies.”

Adrian blinks, slight disbelief written across his visage before he folds his arms across his chest in a slight huff. “Well that is just plainly obvious, anyone that saw me as much as you do could guess that I have been spending a lot of time reading.”

You flushed, angry that he had reacted so defensively to your reading. “I… I mean, yes, you could say that but the dark I had picked up,” you began, before he cut you off abruptly.

“What of it?”

You bristled, getting more and more annoyed with this sudden attitude of his by the minute. “There are feelings of…” your eyebrows furrowed, confused as to why you sensed negative emotions. “Being under pressure, as though you have been pushing yourself to some extremes in order to improve…” you glance over at Adrian, concern flashing in your eyes for a brief moment as he stared at you.

He cleared his throat, looking away from you as he started to pack up his things. “I think that should be enough for today,” he said, and stood up out of his chair.

You nodded, still in a daze after what you had just said. You bid him goodnight, and once your door had been shut, you let out a long exhale.

“What was that about?” you whispered, slipping off your clothes to put on a much softer nightgown.

You snapped your fingers to light a honey and peppermint scented candle, as you crawled into bed and snuggled into the blankets.

He’s hiding something, you thought. It’s as though he’s feeling… inadequate. Why could that be?  

You took a deep breath in an attempt to clear your head, as you closed your eyes and tried to fall asleep.

The next morning began like every other, with you being woken up by Lisa coming into your room and announcing that it was time to get up. Quickly getting ready and dressed for the day, you ate breakfast with the rest of the Tepes family, although, you had to admit, that you were a little nervous to sit next to Adrian after what had happened last night.

As you sat there, sipping on your tea, and munching on a piece of buttered bread coated in raspberry jelly, you either suspected that he had forgotten the incident, or decided to ignore it, as he carried on an amicable conversation with his mother and father. You were frankly relieved, not wanting to have been the cause of drama between the family that had so graciously welcomed you into their home.

Once everyone had finished their breakfast, you helped Lisa wash and put away the dish ware as you always did. Drying your hands on a dish towel, you leaned against the counter as Lisa put away the final forks and knives into their appropriate drawers.

“So, do you just want to meet me at the library?” you asked her. “I finally know how to get there on my own without getting horribly lost.” you joked.

She chuckled and gave you a smile. “Now you can come and go whenever you please!” she exclaimed, as she continued to laugh. “However, we will not be going to the library today.”

“Oh?”

Lisa gave you a wink and bopped the tip of your nose. “I’m going to take you somewhere special today.”

A burst of excitement surged through your veins as she said this, with just a hint of intrigue creeping in as your mind attempted to try and solve the exact nature of this mystery location.

When Lisa wrapped up everything in the kitchen, she told you to follow her and she made quick haste to lead you around hallways in the castle you never even knew existed. The journey, however, was not very long, and you soon found yourself exiting the echoing halls of Castlevania and entering a magnificent outdoor garden.

There were so many different flowers and other species of plants that it was honestly a little overwhelming. A multitude of roses dotted the landscape, either in big, bristly bushes, or entangling themselves up large, white trellises. There were pink roses, red roses, white roses, and even black roses. There were lilac trees and wildflowers and even a couple fruit trees. Apple blossoms fell from a nearby tree, their smell drifting in the wind as the two of you made your way deeper into the garden.

A large hedge maze stood several feet away, green ivy sprouting from its crevices with birds chirping from their nests amongst all of the leaves. A cobblestone pathway led from the patio all the way to the entrance, which was surrounded by several small gurgling fountains as water shout out from the creative spouts of fish and tiny cupid angels.  

Large pots filled with tulips, daisies, and dog roses lined the walkway, and you let out an elated gasp as a flock of white doves cooed and chirped as the two of you passed by. The birds seemed intrigued by your presence, but appeared more inclined to flock around Lisa.

“I don’t have have food!” she cried out and waved her hands at the doves. “Go on, shoo!” she clapped loudly several times and the perturbed birds flew back in surprise, hooting and cooing as they bobbed their heads in search of lunch elsewhere.

“Don’t get in the habit of giving them any sort of seeds,” Lisa grumbled. “They came last spring when I was being more generous with feeding the wildlife, and they haven’t left the garden since.”

You giggled. “I’m sure they’re just grateful that they’ve found such a lovely home.”

The both of you rounded a corner and were now walking down a grassy path, wild berry bushes and wild plants blooming all around you. This appeared to be an area that was less used by humans, and you soon found out the reason why.

A large, ornate greenhouse stood a little ways away. It was made of wood, humble in its size, it look no bigger than a common shed. Nevertheless, it was a thing of beauty. All of the windows were covered in beautiful stained glass designs, a motif that followed it from its towering gothic cousin.

The doors especially took your breath away. A glittering, glass monarch butterfly design, with its wings spread out wide, decorated the very top of the pointed entrance. Meanwhile, opulent windows surrounded the actual doorway, covered in clear flowers and vibrant crystals, colored in bright blues and purples.

“This place is beautiful,” your voice is filled with wonder and awe, feeling like a kid in a candy store as you walk in and are completely enveloped by nature.

Large stone tiles served as the walkway within the greenhouse, otherwise, you’d threaten to step on the herbs and flowers that grew in every available nook and cranny. You noticed that there was quite a sophisticated irrigation system, with a long trough surrounding the perimeter of the room, making it easy for water to flow freely to all of the plants.

A small pond was in one corner, lily pads blooming with lotuses had large, green bullfrogs hopping from leaf to leaf. Dragonflies skied across the clear surface of the water, occasionally flying by a cattail and clinging to the reed instead as turtles made their way from the bottom to bask on rocks surrounded by pickerel and arrowhead flowers.

Lisa directed your attention to the large wooden tables that held most of the other plants, and you realized that these pots were filled with almost every medically relevant flora you had ever seen.

“Is this where you get your medicine stock from?” you wondered, as you gingerly stroked the thick leaves of an aloe vera plant.

Lisa nodded her head. “Yes. My husband quickly picked up on how much I enjoyed gardening, so he built me this greenhouse so that I could have the freshest of ingredients for my tonics.”

“I’m not exaggerating in the slightest when I say that this would be what my personal Heaven would look like,” you confessed.

A genuine blush rose to Lisa’s cheeks when you said this, and her flustered hands almost dropped a pair of clippers that she had brought to cut off leaf stems. “Oh you are too kind,” she whispered.

“It’s wonderful that you were able to accomplish so much, Lisa. The amount of progress that you have been able to make is astonishing,” your eyes glittered with excitement as you ran over and to grab a hold of her hands. “I never believed that the teachings of my ancestors would ever become reality. The fact that you were able to help keep all of this rich history alive… it… it invigorates me!” you laugh, a radiant sound that bounces off the glass walls. “And that you’re human no less. I always knew that there would always be some particularly gifted non-magical folk out there in the world, but…” you leaned in, and brushed away a stray hair of hers. “I never believed I would ever meet one.”

Lisa’s big, bright blue eyes blink at you in surprise. “What….what’s that supposed to mean?”

You back away, realizing you may have startled her a bit. “Oh… I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to get so overzealous… it’s just… it’s as if my clan were still alive,” you said, in a steady voice, not trying to guilt her in any sort of fashion. “I know Vlad helped out a lot too it’s just… I dunno… it makes me really happy that you’re here--”

Your voice cuts off as Lisa brings you into a very tight hug, her chin resting on the top of your head. Her arms are wrapped around you, some fingers going through your hair and others scratching soothing lines down your back. “It’s alright, little one,” she cooed, echoing the nickname that Vlad had given to you. “I’m so thankful that you were able to find me. You’re your families survivor, the one that can keep their traditions alive. You will never forget all those that fell, so you pursuing your dream means that they did not die in vain.”

Your bottom lip trembled as she said this to you, her wave of blue emotions washing over you as the two of you stood in the tight embrace. You rubbed the big, globs of tears that slid down your cheeks with the back of your hand, confused as to why you were so upset.

Were you more sensitive to emotions after that reading you had given Adrian last night?

If that’s the case, you thought to yourself, this is going to be a rough day.

Lisa pulls away when she notices you struggling to fight back tears, and hands you one of the clean towels she keeps in a large wicker basket. “Are you alright?” she asked, as she helped you wipe them away.

“Yeah… yeah I think so, I think I’m just a little bit more sensitive to emotions today,” you explain, blowing your nose into the towel.

“Well, that took a turn for the sappy, I suppose,” Lisa muttered, before the both of you burst into a fit of giggles.

“At least I know that I’ve finally found my true purpose in life,” you replied. “It was destiny that you and I should meet.”

Lisa nodded her head in agreement. “Indeed it was.”

The rest of the day was spent in the greenhouse, with Lisa showing you how to properly take care of and document the plants inside. You needed to know all the plants in there like the back of your hand, and know the proper ingredients necessary to make the most popular and simple remedies.

You got familiar with the layout, and the plants as well. Humming and singing soft tunes as you hopped across the stones, occasionally reaching out to a couple hands that stretched out for attention; the hoya carnosas being especially needy. It was important to let them know you meant no harm, and were someone they could trust. If plants did not respect you, they could refuse to grow or even shrivel away due to the lack of incentive to stay.

Most of the herbs instantly craved your attention, having easily picked up on your years of experience raising and pampering their specific genus. The aloe were a bit fussy at first, some of the more exotic species especially having an attitude, alongside the ferns. Honestly, you get big and bushy and are used in so many remedies, and suddenly they think they’re better than most other plants.

It was rather amusing, seeing these strange little dichotomies that had developed within the greenhouse. You picked up that all of the plants loved Lisa, she was their mother, some of them going so far as to hold her in a similar reverence to Gaia. Vlad was also held in high regard, the lavender cooing about how in love he and Lisa were, they thought it was adorable. A couple stems of peppermint echoed the sentiments, saying that Lisa glows whenever he is around her, and she adds just a dash… of, well, they don’t exactly know what it is, but they call it “the light”, to their care.

All of this brought a smile to your lips, and you almost cackled when they shifted their focus to Adrian. Several basil plants complained that when he was little, he would always run amuck through the little plants, like the mosses and tiny spurs that grew alongside the pond.

Oh! But a bundle of hawthorn added. Even as he grew older, and expressed interest in working alongside his mother, he was a clumsy mess, spilling fresh dirt everywhere, or spilling water onto those who didn’t need it! It was a good day when Lisa finally decided it would be best if he remained in the castle to complete his studies.

You laughed quietly, but a high pitched chorus of giggles caught your attention, and you turned your head to find a patch of hibiscus flowers. They were a rainbow of colors, some were orange, others a bright yellow, some a startling white with fushia patches at the edge of their petals, and others were the classic deep red.

You furrowed your brow, and gave them a small glare. What are they laughing about?

Hibiscus were tricky flowers, gossipy little things that would prattle on about love and matchmaking.

Oh, she hears us, the white one giggled.

Really? an orange exclaimed.

Little girl, one said in a much older voice. It was a gorgeous hibiscus, a light pink that had hues of magenta and a rich blue pallet around the stigma. I know the true feelings that lay in your heart.

What? you think.

Playing dumb does not suit you my dear, she groaned. The one with the beautiful golden hair, the prince of darkness--

You look away, a dark red blush on your face as you stomp off to leave the greenhouse, the flowers giggling behind your back as you refrained from slamming the door shut.

Your breaths came out in puffs in front of you, embarrassed and on edge after that rather confrontational conversation. Wiping a bead of sweat off of your brow, you felt a calm settle over you as you gazed up at the moon in the sky.

It was practically time for you and Adrian to meet up again, and albeit, you were a tad bit nervous.

You sincerely hoped that he did not feel uncomfortable around you after that stunt you pulled earlier. It had been hard garnering even a bit of trust with him when it came to Adrian finally listening to you. He had been insanely stubborn the first few days of tutoring, and you had almost threw in the towel before Lisa intervened and spoke to each of you individually.

You had no idea what she said to Adrian, but she told you to see if you could find a different approach to getting him to understand magic. Use what you knew about his learning style to see if you could use other techniques to get it to stick.

After some brainstorming, you noticed that Adrian was a much more traditional student, as he enjoyed reading thick tomes and taking diligent notes, not too far off from what you had been doing the first couple weeks. But now that you were fairly confident about your knowledge on the human body and known ailments, you had begun the more hands-on aspects of working in the greenhouse with Lisa. That is the way that you preferred learning, being able to literally sink your hands into what it is you’re researching.

So you decided that making some form of lecture would benefit Adrian the most, similar to the classes that you had taken when you were much younger. You would come up with test questions, or make him practice a particular magical technique in front of you. Things started to go more smoothly after that, and he would even start talking about himself once in awhile.

You let out a shaky breath as you sat in your desk chair, voice getting trapped in your throat when you hear a knock on the door. “Come,” your voice sounds rough and strained, and you cough to clear it up. “Come in.”

Adrian walks in, a perplexed expression on his face. “Are you alright?” he asked.

You pour yourself a glass of water and take a sip. After swallowing the big gulp, you nod your head. “Yeah, sorry,”

He gets situated in the chair next to you, pulling out his own journal, quill, and book from a large messenger bag his father had loaned him. “From where we left off last night, then?”

You froze, but quickly shrugged off the feeling. “Yes, intent…” you quickly reached for the notes you had prepared days earlier, thanking the goddesses that you had some sort of map to rely on in terms of discussion topics.

To your surprise (and honest relief) the night went off just fine. Your approach was really paying off, and the questions that the both of you exchanged had led to very rich discussions. Adrian appeared very pleased, a smile on his face as he waved his quill over the page to help the ink dry faster.

“Tonight was very enjoyable,” he said, and put it down once the words were set.

“I’m glad. I’m actually surprised by how much we were able to cover,” you replied. Your eyes widened at the sudden surprise of a bright blue bundle of sparkling stars, and Adrian turned his head to see what you were looking at.

“Oh, that’s just Aria,” he said, and raised his hand up, as one would for a small bird, before the stars shedded from her like snake’s skin and disappeared from sight. She fluttered onto his outstretched index finger and gave a rather dramatic yawn.

“Seems as though she’s just awoken from her nap,” he said. He gave her a delicate scratch with his long nails, and she gave a delighted hum in response.

A question you had asked yourself long ago suddenly popped back in your head and you let out a quiet, “Oh!”

“Adrian?” you began. “Why does Aria stay in the castle? I know she claims you’re her “Master”, but, how did she end up here?”

He was quiet for a moment, a somber expression on his face before it quickly washed away. “When I had been fairly young, my father and I had been walking around the woods you see before you,” his golden eyes gazed out of the window, upon the pine trees that stretched on for miles into the dark night. “It had been a day where we had gone looking for some local insects, mostly butterflies and beetles. But, that’s when we heard tiny cries for help.”

Aria finally opened her eyes, her bright blue orbs widening in sadness as she heard what he was talking about.

“A group of fairies,” Adrian said, eyes narrowing. “Had been captured, by a group of greedy humans. They used traps to secure their capture, and would then sell off their wings and eventually even their bones for use in dark spells.”

You looked over at Aria, whose wings had lowered, and she had brought her legs up to her chest, tiny tears sticking to her long eyelashes like dewdrops. “Why would they do that?” you cried out. “Fairies are such peaceful, beautiful, giving creatures. What good would that bring them?”

“Profit.” Adrian spat. “Father knew what was going on, and was thankfully able to scare them away. Even as a child I thought they deserved more than just a good fright, but the fairies were saved.”

Aria nodded her head. “Yup!” she cried out, rubbing the last few tears away on her arm. “The rest of my sisters and cousins and friends live inside the garden now,” she fluttered over to you. “You… well, I visit there sometimes, and they often tell me how kind you are to all the plants. And even… well, the new fairy gardens that you added have been a really nice addition too…” her face was flushed a cute pink, eyes downcast and her hands behind her back in bashfulness.

You gave her a kind smile. “You’re welcome, small lady.”

She blushed, and she covered her face before zipping back to where Adrian sat to hide behind his shoulder.

You giggled, but feeling eyes on you, you turned your attention to Adrian, who immediately turned his head away from your gaze. Confused, you peered at him, and thought you had seen things when you noticed a pink flush to his face--

“Add to the fact,” he suddenly blurted out. “She’s also my familiar.”

“What?!” you exclaimed. “She’s your familiar?” you were dumbfounded. How did he have a familiar, and not you? You were a witch for crying out loud!

“Yes? Why is that so surprising?”

“It… it just is!”

“I have five, what is so surprising about one--”

“Five?!”

“That’s what I said--”

“Five familiars?!” you shouted, letting out a melodramatic moan as you collapsed back into your chair. “That’s not fair, I don’t even have one--”

“Would you like to see them?”

You silenced your groaning at that, and you were immediately back up on your feet. “Really?” you said excitedly. “You would do that?”

Adrian nodded, and gave you a smile. “Of course. I’m sure they would be delighted to meet you.”

[fragiledewdrop]

High school Newspaper Shenanigans

I don't have a lot of good memories about high school, but today I found a dusty copy of what passed for a "newspaper" in my school and it brought me back to when I was 16.

The girl who had been running the school newspaper for as long as I could remember was graduating that year, so she had to prepare for the final exam and university and she did not have time to edit anymore. My friends B., C., and I, in what was probably a fit of madness, decided to try our hand at it. And so I found myself co-editor of a newspaper. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but it would be one hell of an adventure.

The paper was called "Up!", after the Disney movie, for...some very creative reason I cannot remember. The first thing we did was change the title to "Up patriots to arms!"

One of the first things we had to cover was a very important, popular, yearly student strike,which would have been fairly easy, if not for the freaking tension between the two student organizations in our city. The biggest one, the "Rete" , was basically left wing - although many people didn't know or care about their affiliations- and they constantly butted heads with the student block, a group of self proclaimed neofascists who dressed in all black, used smoke bombs during protests and were always surrounded by the police.

We decided it would be a grand idea to interview the respective leaders to get both opinions on the matter.

The president of the "Rete" came to meet us after school. The highlight of the interview was when he said that his was a "non political organization", at which point we looked at each other in disbelief and asked him:"Really?"

The answer was "Yeas, although of course many of us are registered in different parties along the whole spectrum, such as..." and he started listing all left wing parties in the country, from communists to centrists, because apparently that's what he meant by "variety". Anyway.

It was time to interview the leader of the Block. He told us to wait in a square until someone would come get us.

B. and I were getting very nervous.

A guy with a shaved head and a black leather jacket came towards us. "You the journalists? Follow me"

We followed him to the lair. I mean headquarters.

(By the way, we realized we knew this guy. He was a lamb. I had no clue what he was doing there.)

The headquarters' walls were legit covered in swastikas and pictures of Mussolini. Yikes.

The leader was also very nice. Didn't stop me wanting to throttle him when he said that poor Mussolini was just misunderstood.

I had to ACTUALLY stop B. from doing something rash. No picking fights with the fascist dudes in he fascists's lair, please.

They straight up told us, I shit you not, that they were a brotherhood and, as a very effective bonding experience, they put on music and danced in a circle while whipping each other with leather belts. I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP. Maybe they were, but it didn't seem so. That didn't make it into the article, but it's forever etched into my brain.

I was shaken, but the double interview turned out great. #journalism

A while later we were sitting at a school assembly in the local movie theater. Everybody was complaining about the fact that our gym's roof had collapsed the year before and nobody was doing anything about it. We were taking the bus every week to a public gym, but we had to pay for it and were Officially Not Happy About It.

It was then that B. went : "You know what would be great? If we could interview the mayor about this"

I lit up. "Oh my god! We could ask him so many things! And not just about our school, but about the Linguistic High school that had to be evacuated and about [all the other schools that were literally falling to pieces. You know, Italian things]"

But the consensus was that, while we could try, it would be almost impossible for us to get an interview. So we sighed and sat back.

C.cleared her throat. "Guys." "Yes?" "You know how the mayor is a lawyer?" ".... Yes?" "Well, my dad is a lawyer. He knows him."

We dragged her to the bathroom

"We are not leaving here until your dad gets us an appointment" (poor guy)

He did

For that same night. At the town hall. At 8 pm.

We cleared our afternoon to come up with pertinent questions and practice and freak out.

At 8 we were at the town hall.

There was a red banner on the balcony with a slogan on it, that would be there for months afterwards, because...

... that same night a group of workers had occupied the town hall to demand better pay and better working conditions

Good for them

Bad for us

We were about to leave, but they assured us the mayor would be with us shortly

We waited three whole hours

During which, obviously, an old council member came to talk to us about how, if we wanted to do some real journalism, we should investigate the presence of the Illuminati in our town

Not gonna lie, we were kinda interested at that point

Around 11, the mayor called us in

I am going to concede that he must have been tired

But he was still a slimy son of a bitch

Extremely condescending

When we brought up our problems, he told us our schools were the Province's responsibility

(the Province would of course later tell us we were the Mayor's responsibility)

It was a train wreck

But eye opening

The article we wrote was extremely passive aggressive

He told C.'s father that he really liked it

I don't know if he was impermeable to sarcasm or just a politician.

Fast forward a few months. While our math teacher was talking, a giant piece of plaster fell from the ceiling, missed her by millimeters and crashed on the floor. We went on, business as usual, but that was kinda scary. And it was not the first incident of that kind to happen in our school.

We decided to do a reportage

Armed with notebooks and a camera, we went from classroom to classroom, asking students and teachers about problems with the building.

It was like opening a can of worms.

We got everything from "Oh yes, don't you see those huge holes in the ceiling and in the floor?" to "Yes, every time it rains the classroom gets flooded" to "See this giant wooden piece of tent rod? It fell on my shoulder last week. We don’t even have tents!"

Everyone had something to complain about. The teachers. The janitors. It was scary, to be honest. Especially considering we were repeatedly told ours was the safest school structure in town (what with having been standing since the end of WWI and all)

One day, while we were trying to get on the roof to evaluate its conditions, the headmistress called us in her office.

She said that she had gotten wind of what we were doing (duh)

And she hoped that we wouldn't give a bad impression of her "to parents and important people"

Because after all her hands were tied

It was the responsibility of the Mayor and the Province

(Just who the fuck was responsible for us?)

She smiled sweetly, leaned in towards us and whispered "You'll be careful now, won't you?"

She looked at me and said my name

Hoping I'd be the responsible/most easily intimidated one

(I had beef with that woman, mmmkay? But that's a story for another day)

I smiled and I told her: "Of course. We are just taking pictures of what we see. We'll let the truth speak for itself"

We did

No commentary

Just very objective descriptions and pictures

We really felt like heroes of the free press and free speech, at the service of the people despite the threat of power. (Yes, it sounds dramatic. It's because we were teenagers)

And then there were the other, less momentous adventures:

That one time when, after days of editing, we had to fill a little blank space at the bottom of the last page and nothing fit. We were frantically searching through our notes, the articles other students had sent us, drawings, everything, and we were slowly losing hope, until B. unearthed one of my notebooks and said : "What is this? 'Requiem. In memoriam termosifoni malati, ego ista verba pronuntio..." I was horrified. "NO" I yelled. "That's just a joke. We are NOT publishing that. NO WAY!" It was really a silly thing, you see. There was a radiator in our classroom that didn't work very well. Sometimes it was scorching hot, sometimes (on the coldest days, obviously) it was icy. So my friend E. and I had decided that the radiator was "sick", and we wrote its last will, its epitaph, parodies of famous poems like "La fontana malata" (The sick fountain) by Palazzeschi or "All'amica risanata" (To the healed friend) by Foscolo (can't find translations, sorry). It was fun. B.had found my silly attempt to write a "Requiem" in...kinda dog Latin I guess? But the grammar was correct. In any case, IT WAS NOT MEANT TO SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY. But we were desperate, so I relented. On one condition: it had to be ANONYMOUS. And that was the best decision I ever made in my entire life, because when we distributed the newspaper I saw a bunch of Latin teachers analising the fucking thing in front of their classes. "Mmmmhhh I am not sure an accusative was the best choice here. I would have gone with a dative." Then write your own pastiche poem, Marta! One of them had even copied it on the blackboard and was trying to figure out the metric! That was the equivalent of a 3am shitpost, not fucking Catullus, people! I have never been so embarrassed in my life! At least my friends were having a field day with it. Oh, and my Latin and Greek teacher figured it out. She read it and told me : "This was you, wasn't it?" I wanted to disappear. But she said it was funny, and that was the end of it.

All the times we had to edit what other students gave us and it was WILD, you guys. The grammar alone...The choice of topics....We got quite a few articles about UFO sightings over our town, so that was a thing. (We got to see a lot of really interesting and creative stuff, though)

The times we absolutely lost our cool, because it was hard work, okay? "Federica, your Isabel Allende analysis is a bit too long. Maybe if we cut the Scheherazade comparison..." "YOU ARE NOT CUTTING THE SCHEHERAZADE COMPARISON, B." "But.." "That is the backbone of the whole thing. The structure would collapse without it." "It's only a metaphor!" "No! I won't sell myself and my principles for a chance to be published" "Guys! CALM DOWN! It's just...essentially a book report." "SHUT UP C."[........] "I think we need to eat something" "Yeah. Should I make pancakes? With chocolate chips or without, B.? "

The time we got stuck at school because it was snowing, and C. wrote a beautiful piece called "The agonizing mesmerism of snow", and our friend P.,who was a wizard with a pencil, made an earie and amazing drawing for it that almost made me cry. Coincidentally, it was the day pope Ratzinger resigned. We thought it was a joke while still at school, then later on agreed that it was the reason it had been snowing in the first place. None of us wanted to write about the pope, so we asked the guy who was always sending us articles about the occult and arcane symbols hidden in churches. It turned out great.

The time a bunch of our more "troublesome" classmates started making hilarious dirty jokes based on Catullus' double entendres and B. promised them we would publish them (anonymously) if they wrote them down. They did, and the result was a page titled "Surrealism" full of the dirtiest "poetic" stuff in existence that made everybody laugh themselves unconscious, with the exception of some teachers who somehow didn't get the jokes.

The time we interviewed our student representative (a classmate of ours), whom B. had always thought was too full of himself and needed to be brought down a notch. So we "accidentally" misspelled his name in the article. Nobody noticed except him. He was fuming and it was glorious (not my proudest moment, but what can you do)

The time another brilliant classmate wrote a piece called "The pathologic mysoginist" that absolutely enraged some of the guys in our school. I stan her to this day.

That time I wrote a long article for Woman's day about the abuse and mistreatment of women in our country and across the world. I thought it was nothing special, really, but then Maria the janitor (the sweetest lady in existence) stopped me in the corridor and teared up a bit and said that she hadn't known about a lot of the things I had discussed, but she thought it was important to talk about them and that she felt represented as a woman and that she wanted to bring the paper home to read it to her husband. It touched me so deeply I still get emotional when I think about it.

Anyway, all of this and more happened in one year. Then we, too, had to worry about university admissions and exams and we passed the burden on to "aliens and occult" guy (who was amazing too)

But I remember the passion we poured into it, the willingness to take risks, the feeling of defying authority for the "greater good". We were idealists, all of us, and so full of hope and a will to change things in every way we could. Maybe a high school newspaper means nothing in the great scheme of things, but it meant something to us. It made us brave when we didn't think we were. It made us defiant. I wonder if that part of me is still sleeping, somewhere deep inside.

[tastycitrus]

The Powerpuff Girls (SRW) get their souls trapped in dolls and then stranded on Dr. Quandary’s Secret Island

Or, Meme Dwellers play The Secret Island of Dr. Quandary (except not really, I never wrote anything more for this). A joke story I wrote for some reason like two years ago that I’m now putting on here for some reason? It’s just a shitpost, lol.

Who thought it was a good idea to force the Steel Dragons to attend a carnival? The only culprit that came to mind was Excellen, but as crafty as she was there was no way she could’ve convinced the higher-ups to turn a carnival trip into a “mandatory team-building exercise” for the Steel Dragons and their associates.

Now, normally being forced to attend a carnival wasn’t the worst thing ever. But this carnival was really something else. I mean…really something else.

It was clear at first glance that the people behind this horrible place pretending to be a fun carnival didn’t care a single bit for their patrons’ safety. They also probably cared even less about making it actually fun.

The Ferris wheel was stopped for what had to be the fifteenth time that day, leaving the unfortunate victims who were dumb enough to get on trapped inside until the maintenance workers could get it moving again. The bathrooms smelled like rotten ass and probably had seventeen different STDs infesting the seats. The food was tasteless at best and looked like they had failed every bit of health inspection out there. All the games looked uninteresting and were probably rigged anyway.

To top it all off, even the atmosphere itself seemed to be as bleak and gloomy as this parody of a carnival. How the hell did this place manage to stay in business?

Katia, Melua, and Tenia thought long and hard about that question as they wandered around this travesty that called itself a carnival.

“Where’s Touya, Calvina, and the bland twins?” Tenia asked. “How’d we lose them in this place? I mean—I can understand losing Akimi and Akemi, but Touya and Calvina are pretty distinct, you know?”

Melua glanced around. “Yeah, usually Calvina’s the one who loses us, not the other way around.”

“You’d think we’d be able to keep track of the four people we were supposed to be exploring this ‘carnival’ with.” Katia scanned the premises for a familiar face. “Also, where the heck is anybody else? This place can’t be that big.”

She sighed, pulling out her phone. “You know what, why don’t we just try calling Calvina instead of wandering around like lost kids—”

Suddenly, a carny shouted very loudly in their direction, “Step right up! Have a try at this game! It’s free!”

Katia coughed after a moment. “Well, I’ll call—”

“Come on, don’t be shy! Try your hand at Troggle Shoot! You win a prize every time!”

“…I’ll call—”

“And yes, I am talking to you, trio of girls who look like lost children and whose color schemes are blatantly ripping off the Powerpuff Girls. Come here and play Troggle Shoot!”

The three girls sighed and turned to look at the carny shouting at them. He was a man dressed in purple robes and a funny hat manning a stand that no one seemed to be paying much attention to. His stand was evidently his game of Troggle Shoot, judging by his earlier shouting and also the flashing neon pink sign that said “Troggle Shoot” on top of the stand.

The three exchanged glances.

“What if it’s a kidnapping attempt?” Katia asked.

“Surprisingly, we haven’t run into that in this carnival yet,” Melua replied. “I don’t see any of the others, but if we shout loud enough someone should come running…”

“He doesn’t look so tough.” Tenia glanced at the carny. “He looks old and scrawny. I bet even we could beat him up. And he did go through all the trouble of calling us out.”

Katia sighed. “I swear, you two are going to land us in a shallow grave out on the side of a road one day.”

They reluctantly headed over to the carny’s stand, because he was a creepy old man being incredibly insistent on having three girls play his probably terrible game. He gave them what was likely supposed to be a disarming smile as they approached. Unfortunately, it just made him look creepier.

“Welcome, girls! I am the ingenious Dr. Quandary, the quintessential quizmaster! But you may call me Doctor Q.”

Oh great, alliteration. How wonderful—I absolutely adore the amazing appeal of alliteration. It’s immensely impressive to implement.

“You must be so happy,” Katia whispered to Melua. “You’ve finally found kin.”

“Shut up, Katia.”

Doctor Q continued on. “It’s your lucky day! I am offering you three a free game of Troggle Shoot! If you win, you can have these three dolls.”

He gestured to three dolls sitting atop a shelf in the stand. One was of a babyish blond child dressed in blue overalls. Another was a pink-skinned…person dressed in blinding yellow clothes. The last was aptly described as a horrific pumpkin-headed mutant wearing a popped-collar shirt and Hawaiian shorts.

“Excuse me, did I say dolls? I meant to say…Lifelike Action Figures!”

“…Just call them dolls, dude.” Tenia gave him her best impression of Calvina’s “what the fuck is this shit” face. “We’re not even boys—trying to play to that stereotype doesn’t make any sense!”

“Also these dolls are the ugliest things I’ve ever seen,” Katia added.

Melua grimaced. “Trying to offer them as prizes just makes me want to play this game even less!”

Doctor Q waved his hands. “Hey, hey, don’t be like that. Who knows? Maybe you’ll grow to like these precious faces!”

“I doubt that,” the three girls said in unison.

“…Look, it’s a free game and you get free stuff. Didn’t your parents teach you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?”

“Our parents are dead.”

“…Well, why not distract yourself from the grief and sadness with a little game of Troggle Shoot! It’s free! See that Troggle in the box marked TARGET?”

“We don’t want to—”

He pointed insistently at an LCD screen built into the side of the stand that showed an image that was probably supposed to be that Troggle thing he was talking about.

“Shoot as many of them as you can.” He set three BB guns on the table. “You each have 20 bullets. You can start firing whenever you’re ready.”

The three girls sighed. What a pushy guy. Seeing as he probably wasn’t going to leave them alone until they played his crappy game, they took the guns he offered them. Doctor Q’s smile widened as he stepped aside to activate the game. In the back of the stand, Troggles of all shapes and sizes began to roll across the shooting gallery’s three rows, but the girls were aiming for only one type.

One such Troggle came out first from the right on the middle row. Katia aimed and fired first. However, she aimed where it was instead of where it was going to be, so the Troggle rolled onward unharmed while her bullet looked stupid as it hit nothing.

“Oops. Well, at least Calvina isn’t here to complain about how much I suck at shooting.”

At least her mistake taught Tenia and Melua that they should aim slightly ahead of the Troggles to hit them. With that lesson learned, the girls began to shoot down Troggle after Troggle with relative ease. The game was surprisingly simple with no bullshit rigging involved, and they each had some experience in shooting because during their little venture in space Calvina decided to give them lessons since they had nothing else to do most of the time.

Once they used up their 20 bullets, their total Troggles shot came up to 53. Doctor Q shut off the machine and applauded them.

“Bravo, girls! Nice shooting! You’ve won your prizes.” He paused. “Though I must warn you; the prize you choose may have a dramatic effect on your future. These are not your ordinary Lifelike Action Figures. In fact, you might even swear they were alive sometimes!” He let out a deep laugh.

“Are you seriously still calling them Lifelike Action Figures?” asked Tenia. “And why does this sound incredibly foreboding?”

Doctor Q ignored her. “Let me tell you about them.”

He first gestured to the babyish one on the far left. “This is B. Ginner. It’s harmless, mostly.”

He moved on to the pink one on the far right. “This is O. D. Nary. A nice, middle of the road fellow.”

Finally, he motioned to the tan one with the pumpkin head. “And this is D. Fee Cult. It can be a real pain in the posterior. Which one will you take?”

“What’s with the punny names?” Katia asked. “And also the foreboding descriptions? Everything about this whole setup is incredibly suspicious and I don’t think we should accept these dolls.”

“Even if this whole thing didn’t scream danger, I still wouldn’t want these things,” Melua muttered. “They’re all so freaky.”

Doctor Q slammed his fist on the stand, making the girls jump. “You’ll accept these Lifelike Action Figures and you’ll like it!”

“Okay, fine! We’ll take the stupid dolls!” Melua turned to the others. “I’m…going with B. Ginner. It’s the least freaky of the bunch.”

Katia shrugged. “Alright, I’ll go with O. D. Nary then.”

“Wait, but that leaves me with D. Fee Cult!” Tenia whined. “It’s so freaky with that swollen pumpkin head!”

“Too late, Tenia. At least it looks like the ultimate dudebro with that outfit.”

She groaned. “Fine. Maybe I can freak Touya out by sticking it in his room…”

The three girls reluctantly accepted their prizes. God, they were so freaky and ugly.

As they studied their freaky prizes, the dolls decided to make themselves more horrifying by suddenly opening their eyes.

“AHH! WHAT THE FU—”

The dolls began to glow, blotting out their view with bright technicolor light. The girls heard Doctor Q laugh maniacally before they blacked out.

__________________

Katia awoke with a splitting headache. She rolled onto her side and pushed herself off the sand, rubbing her head with a groan. Thankfully, her ears didn’t get any sand in them—they were however filled with the sound of the ocean’s grey waves, destined to seek life beyond the shore just out of reach. Er, wait—I mean she heard the ocean lapping against the shore.

…Wait, when the hell did she get to the beach?

Katia looked up and nearly fell over when the first thing she saw were two of those freaky dolls she, Tenia, and Melua had been given moving around like they were alive. Also, they had somehow become as big as she was.

“AHH, HOLY SHIT!”

Her outburst drew the attention of the dolls, who also startled back and screamed. Their voices sounded an awful lot like—

…Wait.

“Tenia? Melua?” Katia asked tentatively as she looked down at herself. The clothes she was wearing certainly weren’t those she had on at the carnival. And her skin was definitely not pink before.

The only thing she knew that had this ungodly pallor and disgustingly bright set of clothes was…that doll…

Looking back up, she saw that the other two seemed to have drawn the same conclusion as her. Their expressions slowly shifted into that of surprise and growing horror. Faced with this terrible realization, the girls reacted the only way they knew how:

By screaming about it.

“NOOOOO! THE LAST THING I WANTED WAS TO BECOME THIS FREAKY PUMPKIN-HEAD DOLL!”

“Dammit, I knew we were going to wind up in some crazy situation one day!”

“This is the last time I play crappy carnival games or accept ugly dolls from strangers!”

Their freak-out session was interrupted by a bottle washing up on the shore. Inside was a rolled-up paper. The three girls looked at it and then at each other.

Tenia walked over to the bottle, uncorking it and pulling out the paper inside. She unfurled it as the other two came over to read the message written on it.

Dear suckers:

Ha! You have fallen into my trap! I have implanted your minds into these DOLLS and transported you to my Secret Island! Unless you can solve all my puzzles and meet all my challenges, you’ll never see your bodies again! You’ll be real nobodies! Get it? NO BODIES! Ha ha ha ha ha

Yours Q-ly,

Doctor Quandary

“…Well, that explains how we got in this situation,” Tenia muttered.

“What the heck is wrong with this guy? Who the hell thinks ‘I’m going to go trap random kids into ugly dolls for shits and giggles’? Literally what does he stand to gain from doing any of this?”

“…Katia, I think we should be more concerned about possibly losing our bodies forever at the moment,” Melua said.

“Yeah, but how are we supposed to get our bodies back? What, is he going to make us make some fixer elixir by completing his stupid challenges?”

As Katia spoke, Tenia walked over to the recycling bin that was conveniently placed nearby and dropped the message inside. Recycling was a habit she gained after Calvina got really angry at her for littering. Surprisingly, Calvina cared a lot about the environment.

Much to her surprise, a receipt popped out after she recycled the message.

“Wait, what? I got a receipt for recycling?” She picked it up and read the big words printed on the top. “…Doctor Q’s Fixer Elixir?”

Katia stared at her. “Are you kidding me.”

She and Melua went over to read the list with Tenia. They went through the entire list in silence.

“…What kind of an ingredient list is this?” Tenia asked. “What do you mean, ‘under-the-table decoration’? Who writes a recipe in riddles?”

Melua pointed at the directions. “The directions aren’t better. ‘Heat it up until it’s too hot to drink’? ‘Drink it’? Screw you too, Doctor Q.”

Tenia groaned. “This is gonna suck. We’re gonna need some major help with this one.”

She pulled out her phone from…somewhere and dialed a number. Katia stared at her pocketless shorts.

“…Where did you get your phone from?”

__________________

The Ferris wheel had been stopped for a whole ten minutes with no signs of moving yet. Heck, the maintenance workers hadn’t even shown up. Trapped in one of the compartments at the top were Calvina, Touya, and the Akatsuki twins. Calvina glared at everyone else as they all sat in awkward silence.

“I told you this thing would break down.”

Touya looked at the floor while Akimi and Akemi stared out of opposite windows.

“…Worth it.”

“Was it? Was it really?”

“…A little.”

Calvina sighed. “This is almost as bad as that time we were stuck in that escape shuttle meant for only two people at best.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s that bad,” Touya replied. “At least this time we have breathing room and you don’t have to steer with Akimi’s ass in your face.”

Akimi coughed. “Yeah, this…is a lot better than that.”

“And we also don’t have any space malaria to worry about.” Akemi frowned. “How did we even get into that situation to begin with?”

Akimi shrugged. “Beats me. We just kinda…woke up like that. Anyway, I hope the ride starts again soon. Don’t freak out yet, but I kinda have to pee.”

The others stared at him.

“…I hope they get the ride fixed soon,” Touya muttered.

“I’ll beat the shit out of you if you piss yourself,” Calvina said flatly.

Akimi lowered his head. “Uh…got it…”

Akemi patted him on the shoulder. “If it comes down to it, you can probably pop open the compartment door and pee out there.”

“Ew, I’m not going to do that.”

Suddenly, Calvina’s phone rang.

“…Really, Calvina? Your ringtone is Megalovania?”

“Shut up, Touya.” She took out her phone and checked the caller ID before taking it. “What is it, Tenia?”

“Calvina, we need your help. Some old fart named Dr. Quandary forced us to play his crappy game and then stuffed our souls into these ugly ass dolls. Now we’re stranded on his secret island and he’s making us solve a bunch of puzzles to gather ingredients to make what sounds like a very unappetizing drink to cure our dollness. We gotta do it, because otherwise we’ll be stuck like this forever and I don’t want to be an ugly ass pumpkin-head dudebro forever, this doll is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. So can you please help us solve these puzzles when we get to them?”

“…What?”

“What did Tenia get into?” Touya asked.

“Apparently she, Katia, and Melua played a suspicious carnival game in the ten minutes we were separated and then the guy running the stand stuffed their souls into some dolls. Or something.”

“…What?” the other three said at the same time.

“Yeah…” Calvina frowned. “Wait, if you three are stuck in dolls without your bodies how do you still have your phone?”

In the background, she heard Katia shout, “That’s what I asked!” Tenia on the other hand was silent.

“…I don’t know, but it’s convenient, shut up. Are you going to help us or not?”

Calvina rubbed her forehead. “I mean, I guess…it’s not like the four of us are going anywhere, since these idiots wanted to ride the Ferris wheel so damn badly.” She glared at the others once again.

“What? But that thing was obviously going to break down!”

“Yeah, that’s what I said! But nooo, we just had to ride it. Look, I’m putting you on speaker now so everyone can hear what you’re saying.”

She did exactly that before setting her phone on her leg. “Okay, what are we dealing with? Where are you right now?”

“Uh, we’re on a beach. I got a message in a bottle and recycled it to get a recipe for this ‘Fixer Elixir’ which is probably the thing that’s supposed to turn us back to normal. The recipe is weird as shit though. Here, I’ll send Touya a pic.”

Touya’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out. A moment later he held out his phone to show Tenia’s pic. Everyone leaned in to read.

“…What the hell is ‘under-the-table decoration’ supposed to mean?” Akimi asked.

“That’s what I want to know!”

“Well…this seems like the start of a whole bunch of ‘what the hell is this shit’ shenanigans,” Akemi muttered as she went over the list. “Maybe we’ll get a better idea what the heck any of this is supposed to be once you start getting things.”

“I guess…I see a forest nearby so we’re going to head there first. Come on guys, let’s go.”

Calvina sighed. “This is going to be a long day…”