#markers i stole from my sister

[marzipanandminutiae]

Mind you I've never read LW but i kinda enjoyed the 2019 movie, why did you hate it? (Maybe i just wanna put Timothee Ch on a leash) feel free to go off 🌷

So, the costumes sucked from a historical perspective. Which would be less Objectively Bad and more Just Not My Thing...if the designers hadn't gone ON AND ON AT LENGTH about how ~Authentic~ they tried to make everything.

Didn't claim accuracy and didn't do accuracy: meh, whatever

DID claim accuracy and didn't do accuracy, AND won an Oscar for it: urge to kill rising

the hair design was particularly egregious, with the designer at one point saying they chose [checks notes] insane flyaways and half-up hair on adult women (who would have worn their hair entirely pinned up, for practical reasons and as a cultural marker of adulthood) because that seemed "more authentic than coiffures"

MORE AUTHENTIC

THAN THE WAY ACTUAL WOMEN BACK THEN

WORE THEIR ACTUAL HAIR

AS DEMONSTRATED IN PHOTOGRAPHS- EVEN CANDIDS -AND PORTRAITS

"blee bloo they didn't have hairspray!!!" THEY HAD POMADE. HAVING YOUR HAIR VERY SMOOTH WAS THE STYLE IN THE 1860S, EVEN FOR POOR WOMEN, AND MASSIVE FLYAWAYS ARE HUGELY IMPRACTICAL, AND NOT ALL FIXATIVES ARE HAIRSPRAY YOU ABSOLUTE-

[Marzi.exe has encountered a problem. please hold]

apart from the hair, there were fit issues and at least one case of Trying To Copy the 1994 Movie, But Worse (Amy's black and white dress in Paris).

1994. the pattern is soutache, a kind of applied trim done with flat cord that was very popular throughout the mid-late 19th century

2019. You cannot tell me the choice to have her in a white dress with black floral patterning, in effectively the exact same scene, was a coincidence.

also I'm pretty sure there was one shot with an actress visibly wearing Uggs. (EDIT- thankfully I am informed that this is a set photo and the Uggs were not visible in the finished film. i had forgotten this. good to know! leaving the pic there because STUPID HAIR and HATLESSNESS)

also the Pretty Pastel Princess Dresses (with overly fluffy attempts at bertha collars) and Matching Long Gloves (wrist gloves were popular for evening back then, and they were almost always white) in the Concord ball scene.

is it a Civil War-era ball, or is it a parade of "southern belles" at Cypress Gardens in 1995? leaning towards the latter.

once again, the choice to put Meg in pink for the ball instead of her book-described blue dress is something 1994 did first, and did better IMO

also Meg's 2015 Coachella wedding look, the fact that none of these girls from a poor family seemed to wear each other's old clothes ever, and the lazy choice to dress Jo in half-menswear instead of actually looking into menswear-inspired women's clothing in the era (which was a Thing!). but more than just the costumes pissed me off

they just...didn't seem to understand the era, or want to, or care? it was a bunch of little things that served to make it all more #relatable to modern audiences but ultimately undermined the setting:

Marmee telling a random young man she's never properly met to call her Marmee, because "everyone does." her DAUGHTERS call her that. her ACTUAL CHILDREN. who the hell else would? it's not a derivative of her name; it's a variant of Mama. Laurie can graduate to Marmee when he's an actual family friend

Jo wearing some of Laurie's clothing because "she stole it when they were hanging out in his room," according to an interview. um, NO NO AND NO, they are teenagers and that would distinctly not fly on several levels even in her progressive family. I might actually buy this if it were like "he gave them some clothes for an amateur theatrical and she kept them;" the actual Alcott sisters had a costume trunk for their plays, which is still on display at their house. but these writers clearly think a teenage boy and girl could be in his bedroom together unsupervised, for long periods of time, habitually, in 1860-whatever. which is absolutely incorrect

Jo saying "okay" in refusing Laurie's proposal. this is so tiny, I know, but while that term did already exist, it was a joke phrase only. this would be like saying "lol" while turning down your best friend's proposal today. once again, it's an example of Relatability mattering more than actually understanding the world these characters lived in

there are more, but I've blocked them out. I just really, really hated it on many levels

[randomfoggytiger]

Never Again: An Intensive Essay

This post is its own project, as I felt it necessary to approach 'Never Again' with a lens divorced from my Personality Type post (found here-- more in depth and with play-by-play screenshots.)

Without further ado, here we go~

Loss of Control-- the Cause, or the Symptom?

‘Never Again’ is, on its surface, about three people losing control over their lives-- Ed Jerse has lost his family in divorce, Scully has lost herself to the quest, and Mulder is losing Scully as she questions the decisions in her life. But the truth lies one layer deeper-- why DID they lose control of their lives? What was the mechanism? And that is the episode's true, nefarious 'villain': fear.

Fear, the Disrupting Mechanism

Scully contemplates many things this episode: a rose petal left on a grave, Mulder’s nameplate on his desk, endless lines, and her life. She has given her natural loyalty and tireless devotion to a cause that could save real lives and fulfill her by the same token. The true reason for her devotion, however, was not to the cause, but to its seeker: Mulder. Every loss she has suffered, every small victory she gained, and every fear she faced was at his side and with his strength. It is not the journey that is the never-ending line, because she always gets roped back in when Mulder asks her to (this episode, Elegy, The Ghosts That Stole Christmas, Dreamland I and II, etc.) It is her relationship; particularly, that she has chosen Mulder and his quest above all things-- the respect of her peers, a life, her family, even her fertility-- but that he hasn't chosen her the same way.

In The Jersey Devil, Scully stated to her friend Ellen: “He’s a jerk. ...He's not a jerk. He’s obsessed with his work.” Since then, Mulder and she have grown undoubtedly closer-- their reassignment, her abduction, her coma and recovery, Donnie Pfaster, his father’s death, her sister’s death, his mother's stroke, and many other experiences-- and Scully has aided and abetted willingly all his schemes, teasing and flirting each step of the way. In Home, Mulder set himself up as a candidate for her Uberscullies, and even leaned into her inquiry. There was fertile ground for a more nuanced discussion of their relationship after the Peacock horrors unfolded, with a more somber Mulder and vindicated Scully.

But then The Field Where I Died happened. Scully’s unrivaled closeness to Mulder was shaken by his attachment and grief over the loss of his professed ‘soul mate.’ Equilibrium was restored by the time Mulder paid a visit to Russia, Scully was incarcerated for contempt of court, and John Lee Roche was shot in his undeserving head; but the doubt remained. Scully's priority has always been Mulder; but she's afraid he doesn't return that devotion.

Missed Signals 

Scully gazes at the rose petal on the grave because it is a physical marker of the love someone has for the deceased, conquering even death. She takes it with her, simultaneously contemplating it and the nameplate on Mulder’s desk. The realization that there is no marker of her presence in Mulder’s life leads her to question her life, this quest, her loyalty-- but not to realize, quite yet, what the true root of the problem is. That realization is after her skirmish with Jerse.

Mulder is whirring around the office in preparation for his forced vacation; but is pulled up short when Scully asks him why she doesn’t have a desk. He makes a flippant but sincere remark before redirecting her to a case to do in his absence. Scully debunks its importance, unspooling the informant’s story good-naturedly and trying to avoid her brewing emotions... until Mulder uses that ‘assignment’ word again. Scully balks at this, flinging out a remark not dissimilar to her “macho man” accusation in Syzygy.

Offended, Mulder steams that his files mean everything to him, stating: “You were just assigned here.” This affirms Scully's seed of doubt: that she was assigned and appreciated only for her value to the work (it's not until Fight the Future that this is resolved) and not for something more.

“And it’s become mine.” 

Mulder screeches to a halt, his bravado and irritation disintegrating into a puff of smoke-- "You don't want it to be?"-- so suddenly and shakily that Scully tries to soften the blow, too late. Mulder’s face crumples-- physically folding in on himself-- blindsided and fearful of what she'll say next.

Scully tries to explain that she feels like she's lost herself while everyone else has moved on: “...while my own life is… standing still.”  She gives a tight, false huff of laughter (an outward sign of the raging, internal panic) because she doesn't know what's wrong. Scully believes she knows it’s being trapped by “the endless line”; but if that were the case, she wouldn’t stick with it for as long as she has or continue to do during Never Again and the rest of her time with the FBI. The lesson she learns is that the never-ending line isn't the quest: it's her relationship with Mulder.

Mulder is a man driven by his passion for solving the endless puzzles laid out to lead him to and away from the Truth. He is also a man that has a miniscule support system, and no one else on the planet to understand him. Scully in one fell swoop sweeps his feet from under him, causing him to panic and search for the quickest solution he can find. He deduces incorrectly that maybe he’d gotten under her skin too much lately; and excuses himself from the room and her life as quickly as possible. To Scully, this is the final nail in the coffin of what she assumes is her worth in Mulder's life.

Escaping Confusion in the Arms of the Confused

Scully tries to escape from these feelings by pouring herself into the assignment. She believes her struggle is with the work, and doggedly pursues it to try to rediscover her drive for it. This leads her to Ed Jerse; and her interest is peaked when he makes obvious flirtatious overtures and invites her to dinner. She leaves the interaction feeling better without realizing it's because someone expressed interest in her rather than a job well done.

And then Mulder calls. She is genuinely happy he tracked her down; but the interactions spirals when Mulder refocuses his attentiveness to her case. When he expresses surprise and disapproval in how she wrapped it up (accidentally coming across as chastising when he was just confused and needing a reason), Scully becomes offended. Her anguished feeling has returned; but the satisfaction doubles back when Mulder jealously pokes at her having a date. She hangs up, leaving him to stew.

From here on out, Scully is pursuing that satisfying feeling. Her actions are guarded but curious as she is slowly coaxed to Ed's apartment, then to the crummy bar, then to the tattoo parlor, and finally back to Ed's apartment again. With Jerse, she believes she is finding happiness through breaking the "authority" Mulder has on her life; but what she has done is simply replace him with Ed, centering her face on Ed's reactions at each of her revelations and new experiences. Her date, meanwhile, is feeding both of their self-delusions by giving Scully too much overeager attention and sponging off the bit she gives in return.

The tattoo: Scully gets an ouroboros for obvious reasons laid out in the episode. But she gets it placed directly on her lower back where Mulder rudders and steadies her. This was intentional on her part; but it now serves two mortifying purposes: a continual reminder of her big mistake, and a reminder that she didn't know herself at all.

It's not until Ed Jerse self-destructs that Scully can see clearly her actions for the first time, and why she did them, and why they are different than Ed's. Jerse's fear of women-- how his wife destroyed his life, how Betty 'continues' to destroy it-- tore apart his mind long before the tattoo could or did. And Scully realizes the solution she had sought from him were the things she wanted from Mulder but believed she would never have: a crummy bar with Ed, a tattoo with Ed, a night with Ed. That is why, when the dust has settled and she is back to the office, that Scully is at more of a loss than she had started... because, while she could get a life, she wants Mulder to be a part of it (poking at his lack of one since The Jersey Devil; and continuing to hint about the possibilities from Home onward.)

The Basement Redux 

Scully's depressed and teary spirits are quickly shoved aside when Mulder arrives. She refuses to engage; and his rambling gets worse and worse as he realizes the canyon has widened. His attempts at humor-- "You look a lot better than you did in the hospital", "And congratulations for making a personal appearance in the X-Files for the second time”-- fall flat, and his anguish is visible when he turns to deliver "It's a world record." (See this post for play by play.)

He bridges the gap while reading Ed Jerse's medical diagnosis; giving Scully time to march to her chair. But in the middle of his “better late than never, huh?” he abruptly stops when she reaches for the dried-up rose petal. Launching from the chair, Mulder stretches, tenses, rolls his head, and hunches up his shoulder in another mad quest through his files for a last-minute distraction. He is finally forced to admit defeat: “All this because… because I didn’t get you a desk?”

Scully is shocked he actually asked; and her face softens at his vulnerable voice and confused, hurt expression. She explains in Mulder-speak: “Not everything is about you, Mulder. This is my life.” 

The great misunderstanding of Scully: she is NOT drawing a circle around herself, enforcing boundaries that Mulder can never cross, cutting him out and keeping him from ruining her perfect, private world. What she wants, what she needs, is for him to acknowledge that her loyalty and steadfastness and courage and faithfulness is reciprocated-- beyond the quest, beyond the Truth. That "that unspoken" she feels is felt by him, too.

She gets her acknowledgment; but there is no comfort in it.

Mulder’s unspoken “Yes, but it’s become mine” dies on his lips as Scully’s meaning dawns on him. 

Mulder freezes as he realizes two things at once: Firstly, that Scully wants them to stop circling the drain of their relationship. What she had been seeking in Jerse wasn't a rejection of him-- it was him. But secondly-- he realizes that he can’t take that next step. He at least tries to repeat his confession-- sucking air in, moving his lips-- but can't get the words out.

Scully cocks her head, queuing him to continue, wanting him to continue. But when Mulder's second attempt fails, and his mouth permanently closes, Scully realizes her two things: Mulder understands her message; and reciprocates but can't return it. At least not yet. Her gaze falls once again, her hopes crushed. For all that she has "gained", Scully is still on that endless line, looping around and around in perpetuity.

To sum this disaster up:

Scully is daily motivated by the journey. Her sense of worth to the world is why she left medicine for the FBI; and every day she makes a fulfilling difference. The never-ending line that she is trapped in befuddles her at first, wondering if she's lost herself and her motivations because of a discontent she is deeply feeling. When Mulder walks out on her, Scully misreads his intentions as abandoning her to his bidding; and resentment begins to build. Work was what fulfilled her before, so she tries to do it again; and, by solving the case Mulder "assigned" her, she runs into Jerse and his crumbling issues. Ed's problems seem to mirror hers, and she is interested and hopeful enough to try his solutions. They fall apart; Ed falls apart; and Scully's thoughts of herself and her motivations fall apart with them. She realizes what she truly needed was Mulder, and that Mulder cannot give her what she wants.

Is Leonard Betts or Memento Mori Next? 

Setting aside Morgan, Wong, and Gillian's insistence that Never Again took place before Leonard Betts and is unattached to the cancer arc, let's analyze Scully's actions to deduce a timeline.

It is appealing to place Never Again after Leonard Betts because of Scully's contemplative, dour mood after taking the flower from the gravestone. However: if Never Again were simply a joy ride to express that she'd thrown caution to the wind to LIVE, then it would prove she'd already given up. Then the message Memento Mori would have been useless; because that is when she grapples with her mortality and hopelessness and rises above it; but not before denying there's a problem and refusing to admit she's dying FIRST. Scully cannot both recklessly give up in one episode and be horrified that she is slowly dying the next. (Not to mention her real, fearful concern over the ergot poisoning she and Ed could be suffering from.)

Finally, if this episode were about Scully's reckless abandon because of her cancer (and not about her own fears and priorities), then she wouldn't have needed to be coaxed by Ed each step of the way-- her motel, his apartment, the crummy bar, the tattoo parlor, and back to his apartment. She would have simply given up and jumped on each new opportunity handed her way.

But does it make sense to place it before Leonard Betts?

Yes-- it's the perfect case to pull Scully from her doldrums. Most of Leonard Betts is brimming with medical jargon and theories; and Mulder relies heavily on her expertise to jump from one conclusion to the next while teasing her lightheartedly and taking the time to listen, proving her value. Not only that, but he's just as flummoxed through most of the episode, which gives her ample time to show off here and there. Scully feels valuable again-- which makes the ending even more tragic. She knows Mulder loves her but can't reciprocate, laying to rest the fear of The Field Where I Died; but now she is afraid of terminal cancer in lieu of her MUFON sisters. Knowing Mulder relies on her in ways that no one else can fill and would have that support ripped away (and her own life with it) is a gut punch of epic proportions.

Thanks for reading!

Enjoy!

[cha-melodius]

Hi! 15 and 20 for the ask meme?

The final one of these writer asks, thanks for your patience, and thank you for the ask!

15. Which is harder: titles or summaries (or tags)?

Titles for sure. Summaries are easy for me, just pick a snippet and then write a pithy one liner to sum it up. 😂 Titles either come to me quickly (often a song title or lyric), or I agonize over it for a while. Some of my titles I love, some I'm kinda meh about.

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

How about some meta for Class(room) Warfare (professors AU)?

First off, I am a professor, so this is one of those times when you write what's really close to your life lol. I'd written a professors AU in another fandom, but it was a long fic. This was a nice excuse to do something shorter for these two. When I was trying to dream up ridiculous ways for two professors in two different departments to get at each other's throats, not erasing the boards seemed suitable absurd but also completely plausible. FUN FACT: Last week I got to my classroom and found the board full of unerased writing, and it both 1) irritated me, and 2) made me think of this fic. In case you were wondering how common it is. 😂

(spoilers below)

As I mentioned in the author's notes, most of this was inspired by my everyday life, so I'm not going to get into all of it. Basically if you're wondering, "Do colleges really work like that?" or "Do professors really think/do that?" the answer is almost certainly yes. But here's some more trivia:

Zahra was cast in the department secretary role because every academic knows that department secretaries run fucking everything

PLSC 307, Democracy & International Relations—I think I stole this class title (but not the number, that's random) from my college's poli sci department catalog.

McQuiston College—I knew I wanted them to teach at a small liberal arts college, and I knew I didn't want it to be real (as opposed to my other academia AUs where I have used real institutions). I considered taking random last names off books on my bookshelf, but I didn't want to accidentally write about a real college either. Using Casey's last name was a stroke of inspiration that I was SO happy about.

was junior enough to be unlikely to be evaluating his tenure portfolio some day—little things like this probably mean nothing to most readers but I feel like they add that extra hit of authenticity to any academics who happen to be reading. Pissing of someone who might eventually be on the committee who decides whether or not you get to keep your job is a real fear.

always carried his own markers with him—I've literally never found a working marker already in a classroom. Always carry your own.

Sometimes he wondered—to himself, never out loud—if it was real, or if he was just trying to fit in after he found out that his sister and best friend were dating, like when he was six and decided he was super into horses only because June was.—I carry this little headcanon that in universes where Alex has had some reason to doubt his heterosexuality but still hasn't done anything with it, he worries that he's only trying to fit in with his friends/mimic his sister. Doubting how queer you really are feels very familiar to me and from what I've read seems like a pretty common bisexual experience.

He’d just ignore you, like everyone else does.”/“Hey!” Alex protests, but she ignores him.—This was actually unintentional when I first wrote it but I realized what I'd done and had to keep it.

Dr. Henry Fox-Mountwhats-his-face—This and the subsequent email greetings/sign-offs were inspired by their early emails in the book, though I had to figure out how to do names that weren't based on HRH and such. I think my favorite was "Dr. Acerbic Cocky-Disaster" because if that doesn't actually describe Alex to a T.

Halloween-in-The-Castro gay—Wanted something different than Fire Island on the Fourth of July, was very pleased with this one. If you're not familiar with the history of Halloween in The Castro, do look it up.

Then he proceeds to wrap himself around Alex from behind and hook his chin over Alex’s shoulder to look down at his cooking—Considering how frequently this exact type of moment shows up in my fics in other fandoms, I'm kind of surprised I haven't used it more frequently recently. Anyway, the "peeking over the shoulder while cooking" is definitely a calling card of mine.

He wants, to put it bluntly, to romance the shit out of him—I am only just realizing that I reused this turn of phrase recently lol. It just feels VERY Alex to me.

All right, that's it for now! Thank you again!

[grizzlyofthesea]

Dumb Vocaloid Headcanons Part 1: Internet Co.

All

Andriods/robots of various levels of human resemblance

Voicebank upgrades correspond to hardware upgrades.

Primarily made for music, but they also have combat skills.

Each one has a unique music-related weapon/ability, which I'll elaborate on in another post. (I got this idea from the manga Megu Megu Singer Song Fighter. It's...an experience. Kinda chaotic, and the translation I found isn't always the clearest, but it's cute, harmless fun focused on the first few Internet Co. Vocaloids. If you want to see himbo Gackpo in a fundoshi, this is the manga for you.)

Generally get along well with the Cryptonloids

One huge, generally happy family

Camui Gackpo (Gackpoid)

The most robotic/android-like of the bunch in terms of physical structure, but good gosh, does he have feelings

His "bodysuit" is just what his body looks like (he can morph it into a more human-looking appearance, though), and that weird glowy spot on his chest is his power core.

Can change his eye and power core colors at will

Has a whole army of eggplant horses

A chivalrous gentleman, but he has his goofy moments

An expert in hair care

Cishet ally

Dating/in love with GUMI

GUMI (Megpoid)

Huge science and sci-fi nerd

Has a visible battery gauge on each of her designs, which takes the form of a red jewel. It blinks when her battery is running low. (another idea from Megu Megu Singer Song Fighter)

BFFs with Miku, Luka, Lily, and CUL

Owns a carrot rocket equipped with missiles

Her goggles have several functions, including night vision, tracking, and looking cool.

Lives for the aesthetics of the 1960s-1980s

A little bit scatterbrained, but she tries

Hoping that everyone else (or at least Gackpo and Una) joins her on VOCALOID6 and gets an AI voicebank

Bisexual

Dating/in love with Gackpo

Lily

Beta/production name was Yuripoid (not actually, but in my headcanon). This didn't stick for multiple reasons.

Her tattoo doubles as a battery meter, "draining" from top to bottom as her power depletes.

Likes lollipops (yet another idea from Megu Megu Singer Song Fighter)

The "cool older sister" of the group

Infamous for speeding on her motorcycle

Keeps a couple of beehives, from which she harvests honey

Demi/heteroromantic asexual

Exchanges makeup tips with Gackpo

Ryuto (Gachapoid)

Obsessed with dinosaurs, to the point where he has memorized every species

Basically GUMI's little brother

His arm warmers serve to make his elbow joints slightly less obvious; his shoes do the same thing for his ankles.

Favorite meal is dino nuggies with waffle fries

Friends with Yuki and Oliver

Really wants a pet puppy

Favorite holiday is Halloween

Big fan of FNAF, even if it scares him sometimes

A little bit self-conscious about his buck teeth

Always carries a notebook and markers with him in his backpack

CUL

Huge Madoka Magica fan; cried at Sayaka's death

Doesn't always get along with her sisters, but she loves them all dearly

Gets into arguments with Gackpo over who "stole" the other's hairstyle

Her eyes double as cameras

Favorite foods are Pocky and tempura shrimp

Shops exclusively at thrift stores and Hot Topic

Knows all the jokes about her name's meaning in French; not amused at all

Lesbian; has a bit of a crush on flower

Secretly collects porcelain dolls

galaco

Huge space nerd

Loves to nerd out over space with GUMI

Has always wanted to be a princess

Has jet boots; can use them to float in place or skate around

The first one to lack any visibly robotic traits

BFFs with MAYU

Loves listening to video game soundtracks

Aroace

Plays a lot of TF2 in her spare time; mains Demoman

kokone

Kind of shy, especially around new people

Huge book nerd; favorite genre is fantasy

LOVES animals

Favorite food is raindrop cake

Surprisingly big fan of horror movies

Gets cold easily

Likes to do prank phone calls with GUMI; they switch places periodically, pretending to be the same person

Trans girl (pronouns are she/her); polysexual

Wants to write and illustrate her own manga series

Rana

Technically developed by We've Inc. as a collab with Internet Co., but since she's the only one from We've Inc, the Internet Co. crew includes her as one of their own.

Really wants to be a magical girl; has designed her own weapon and transformation device

Has a massive collection of teddy bears

Practically lives in her hoodie

Feels a bit weird about being literally 0 years old, but tries to ignore it

Sugar cookies make her life worth living

Carries a variety of glitter with her at all times

Chika

The mom friend

Has regular lunch outings with Mew and MEIKO

A talented tailor

Lives for vintage clothing

Has an entire cupboard full of various herbal teas

A little bit disappointed about her unpopularity, but she has mostly accepted it at this point

Tends a butterfly garden

Cishet ally

Really good at cooking and baking

Otomachi Una

Her hat is alive.

Views Rana as a rival; Rana doesn't really care

Looks up to GUMI

Can hold her breath for ten minutes

Tends a koi pond

Loves to experiment with different hair dyes

Sometimes wears fake glasses for the sake of fashion

Owns a swimmable mermaid tail (fades from indigo to lime green, then cotton candy pink); loves showing it off

Just beginning to question her sexuality

Will eat every piece of cheesecake in a five mile radius

ROSA

A CeVIO/upcoming SynthV vocal rather than a Vocaloid, but since she was made in collaboration with Internet Co. and CUL is her older sister, she hangs out with the Internet Co. crew often

Gets along well with Gackpo for their shared love of traditional Japanese culture

Insists that she "was born in the wrong generation"

Loves rose-flavored macarons, but her favorite food is salmon nigiri

Gets picked on by some of her older sisters, so she has learned to be a bit sassy as a defense mechanism

Genderfaer (pronouns are she/her and occasionally they/them); pansexual

In the process of collecting all of the Vocaloid Nendoroids (except the Miku ones; there are way too many)

[mackmontgomery]

😵 - Confused

"When Mac got sick, like real sick before her transplant I wanted to give her one of my kidneys but I was too young to even be tested or to understand why I was too young. So I came up with this sick plan. I stole one of my little brother's markers and drew a line where my kidney was in green Crayola and when my parents let me go to the vending machine I told a nurse I was giving my sister a kidney and showed her from where. She marched my ten year old ass back to my parents with a quickness. That's also when I found out where your lungs are located in your body. Turns out that's where I'd marked, which was my bad for doing surgical prep in a mirror. Guess it's for the best they didn't take my child lung. The fuck would I do on 420 with just one."

@macaulaymontgomery

[littlest-homie]

technical difficulties please stand by…

HELLO TODAYS FANART IS PROMPTED BY https://www.tumblr.com/remusbeingnormalwouldbeweird

thamk a lot for the prompt

i tried to tag you but i am failing miserably and my last post posted before i actually attached the art

in any case yeehaw

-Both cut their hair themselves to various degrees of success

-Kaidou tried to dye his with permanent markers (it highkey failed)

-Kaidou stole those jeans from his older sister and ripped them to make them edgy. She has not found out yet.

-Chiyo made that paper skull herself

-Chiyo is currently going through her delinquent phase. There are many more phases to come.

[schuylerpeck]

Hey, summer looks like a photo album and I love you.

We surprised an old friend by visiting after years apart. Her hands on the piano, mine and my brother's voice entwining into song just like twenty years ago, only a few octaves deeper. Hours of talking and, too soon, time to go. At the door, a request: write to me, followed by a promise: I'll answer. A picture of her between us, me sitting on the ground and my brother on a stool.

I brought the child to the water, holding his hand at first and, at his request, carrying him. He chirped happily when I lowered him to the wavelets, splashed and laughed but never let go of my arm until we came back to the beach. A picture of him in his dragon poncho, munching on a fry he stole from me.

Wandering through the cut~down wheat fields at night, the remnants stubs gleaming almost white under the moonlight, their cracking underfoot quieting for a moment the chirps of unseen insects. From beyond the empty road, the shouts and laughter of a sleepover filling the wind. A picture of the candle my father lit for me on the table when he went to bed.

Under the unforgiving heat, she asked me to braid her hair, like I used to. A picture of my vermilion ribbon bridling the sea of her golden hair.

A picture of the light peach hue in the horizon at dusk.

A picture of the fugitive gold from a shooting star.

And after weeks of sun and fire, finally, a picture of rain.

And this unfinished album is my gift for you to complete, if you wish to do so, or simply to keep, for no other reason than we're here in this world at the same time.

I hope you sleep tight, when night reaches you. I don't know you but I love you.

hey, there are pencil marks on the door frame and I love you.

this scrapbook we’re building, it’s incredible how thick the pages become, isn’t it? moments that move from my phone’s full photo album to the postcards, ticket stubs, and birthday cards taped to my bedroom wall. the high school days I’d walk from class to class with a bumblebee drawn on the side of my thumb—a pencil case of markers at the lunch table where my friends and I drew messages of love and reminders to smile for each other, as if the hallways became distant oceans once the bell would ring.

maybe we keep all the years we’ve ever been. I’ve brought all of my selves with me, but also the many stages of my friends, my siblings, any sweetheart I’ve ever loved, as they’ve carried so many versions of me. what a wild, special thing, to keep each other this way. some days, I’m walking the gravel roads with my siblings after dinner in the woods of upstate New York—our glitter sneakers, braided hair, and bug bites, whistling to a song we invent along the way, but then I remember my youngest sister leaves for college next week. my voice catches between the sharp corners of a story and my oldest friend holds me like we’re back in the bedrooms of the hometown we shared; thirteen years skittish, where our heights stagger in pencil marks up the door frame.

when I watched the sky for stars last week, I thought about how it’s all never lost; the poetry nature pens when we start to pay attention. even in space, the night wraps the same light in its arms, no matter how time ticks on. it’s the gift I’d like to give you too, if for no other reason that we’re here in this world at the same time — the chance to be held in every chapter you arrive in, loved in all your lightyears.

I hope you have sweet dreams, when night reaches you. I don’t know you, but I love you.

[jospaghettios]

ALEK

Alek had been grounded for the summer because he stole two packs of gum from the grocery store. His grandparents thought it was a little harsh, considering Alek was only a kid, but his parents thought an 8th grader should know better. Alek stayed entertained by playing board games with his sister until his family left for a road trip. His mom kissed his forehead at the door.

“Be good Alek, Sabrina will be here tomorrow. Microwave the pasta in the fridge for dinner. See you Friday!” she says. Alek mumbled he didn't need a babysitter and his family left.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Alek ran to his sister’s room– he was never allowed in her room so that was his chance. To his disappointment, there was no big secret hidden in her room. Although he couldn’t find any leverage on his sister, Alek was determined to leave with a souvenir. He took an orange marker, ripped some pages out of a new notebook, and sprinted to the living room to get started on a short comic about his favourite superheroes. He was ten minutes and three panels in when he got bored and gave up– this was going to be one long weekend. Suddenly, Alek’s lips curled upwards into a mischievous grin, as Alek remembered his parents said he wasn’t allowed to play with his friends, but nothing about making new friends. Alek also remembered seeing the moving company move a new set of furniture into the apartment down the hall. 

Alek grabbed a sheet of paper and wrote “I’m alek, your neibour. What is your name?” He took his carefully crafted note and hopped down the hallway. He sits cross legged behind his new neighbour’s door. The tall, oak door framed Alek in a way that made him appear even smaller than he already is.

(image credit: https://www.redbubble.com/i/notebook/Young-boy-in-front-of-a-door-digital-painting-by-Shirt-Touch/145728175.WX3NH)

Alek slipped the note under his neighbours door and started counting to pass the time. When he reached 73 the note was returned from under the door. He eagerly picked it up, reading the response scribbled in childish handwriting, “I’m Tony. I am going to Hart elementary school after summer. What about you? P.s. it’s neighbour.” Alek celebrates silently, finally a neighbour his age. He wrote back, “I go to Merryl elementary. Nice to meet you Tony!” He drew a tic-tac-toe grid with an “O” on the centre, and slipped the paper back. 

( audio credit: https://freesoundstock.com/products/marker-scribble-writing-sound-effect-2)

The paper was soon covered with tic-tac-toe grids and back and forth conversation between the two boys about their hobbies. An hour had passed, Alek felt pins and needles in his legs from sitting on the floor. He stood up, knocked on the door and asked softly, “Tony, can I come in please? My legs are tired.” Alek stands next to the door and cups his hands around his ear, Tony speaks. 

“No, I’m sorry Alek but my mom said I can’t talk to strangers… So our friendship can be our little secret, okay?”

Alek stumbles backwards and his eyes widen in horror as shivers run down his spine. The voice from across the door is gruff and raspy, and is one that definitely does not belong to a child.

[qwenck]

tag game - tagged by @eeveearoace

favorite time of year: there’s a week between fall and winter and another week between winter and spring where the temperature isn’t too warm but isn’t freezing cold either

comfort food: one specific brand of ready-made samosas.

do you collect stuff?: yes. i’ve got a bunch of stuff just piling up on my dresser, including:

medium sized safety pins

a piece of chalk i found next to the track one day and kept

1/4 of a ruler

one small yellow paperclip

two small ketchup packets (probably expired by now)

one small ranch packet (also probably expired)

two weird metal things i found on the road some time ago. i dunno how to describe them. you can pm me if you want pics later (for some unknown reason?) but i’m too lazy to take pictures now

an old wiry headband. it’s uncomfortable to wear.

two old, unusable cameras. one of them uses film but the film inside of it is ruined so :/

the other one is digital but i don’t know where to get the batteries for it. it did come in handy once when i had to draw a camera and google images just wasn’t cutting it (it kept cutting out where all the buttons were, even when i added “references for artists” onto the search. rude.)

did i say i had one paperclip. well i was wrong. i have three paperclips, including the first yellow one. the other two are uncolored but very shiny. one of them is charred at the end, because it was used to hold up several cheetos and knockoff oreos during a chemistry experiment where we burned snacks to see how many calories they contained. I think we were supposed to throw the paperclip out but i snuck it out of class in my hoodie pocket because,,,, shiny,,,,, i fucking love chemistry class. the other paperclip i think i stole it off a desk or something, because, again, shiny

i’ve also got this green balloon (uninflated). I don’t remember where I got it from. Maybe a goody bag or something?

the SHELLS i forgot the shells. my sister was spending time with her friends at the beach and i was just also there so me and one of the friends’ sisters went looking for shells to pass the time. one of the shells i got was one of the cool spiral ones! there was sand in my room for weeks afterward though

i do have this giftbag-looking bag there from the eye doctor that used to contain a bunch of contacts. now it contains 1) a bunch of ads for crystalize or whatever it’s called 2) yarn 3) three-ish expo markers 4) broken machanical pencils 5) a repair kit for a drone that i never fully got the hang of piloting, mainly kept because it has a screwdriver

you may be thinking “but doesn’t a collection have to have a common thread between all of them” and you may or may not be right, i don’t know. but i will answer the question anyways. the common thread is that most of these items are useless to me and i should really put them away but hoarder brain says “you will need these later” and i can’t argue with that. heck, it’s already come true for a couple of them!

favorite drink: apple juice, probably? or mango lassi

favorite song: it changes over time but recently i’ve been listening to this mashup and hell's coming with me by poor man's poison (dl pearl anyone?)

favorite fic: oh this one is hard. tie between flee your ghosts (burn your house down) and There May Be Some Collateral Damage by @/metisket.

tagging: @titsmasher69 @zzrkpfor /nf

[delightfulpiesuitcasesoul]

I’ve finished the first page in the sketchbook I got for my birthday. I was quite nervous, but with a little help from youtube I managed to start. I am also very exciting to fill this sketchbook and improve my drawing (it’s a big fixer upper). I’ll share my progress here occasionally.

Hope to see you soon :)

[whythinktoomuch]

i. apocalypse now & then

Kara touched down, her boots meeting the earth with a metallic clunk that was promptly swallowed up in the dust and utter grayness of her surroundings. The warnings came immediately—insistent beeps, bright red numbers and figures flashing before her eyes.

“How’s it looking?” asked the tinny voice in her helmet, and Kara sighed.

“Yeah, you were right. Place is infested,” she said, studying the mess of debris and desolation that seemed to feed directly into the faint horizon in every direction. “Kryptonite readings are off the charts. There’s either a tower nearby, or mines just planted all over. Maybe even both, if i’m Iucky.”

Alex let out a harsh breath. “Look, I know you’re not going to leave until you find those people, but you better watch your fucking back out there, okay?”

“Hm… don’t I always though?”

“You ask that every single time, and every single goddamn time, I have to re-mind you of all—”

“All right, all right…” Kara said, rolling her eyes. “Just stop worrying so loudly already, jeez. I’ll keep you posted the entire time.”

“Like that was ever an option.”

“Love you too,” Kara said breezily, and she began her search.

She explored the area in proportioned sections, slipping periodically into x-ray vision, keeping her feet drifting an inch off the ground at all times. You just never knew these days. By now, Kara had stepped on enough lead-wrapped kryptonite mines for one lifetime, which coincidentally had been the same number of times it took to gray almost the entirety of Alex’s head. Or so Alex claimed anyway.

Apparently, over two decades of this sort of living could do that to a person: make them older, but also, steal away every last bit of their sense of humor. 

--

Whenever Kara happened upon a particularly extensive blind spot—jagged slabs of lead piled on top of each other—she took her time. Carefully sifted her way through all that rubble, with a spare bit of rebar or her heat vision from a safe distance. Calling out to any potential survivors that could have been trapped underneath. But as she steadily neared hour two of her search, it was starting to look like a lost cause. That whoever had sent that distress signal must have since succumbed to the environment, like so many others already had done before them.

Then Kara heard it.

Whipping her head around, Kara strained her ears to their very limit, all the while silently cursing how muffled everything sounded in this godforsaken suit of hers. It took a minute or so to hone in on it, but she finally made out the distant voice.

Help us. Save us. We’re down here.

Kara snapped into action, already hurtling full-speed toward the source of the cry. “Alex, I found them.”

“About fuckin’ time,” Alex said, but the note of relief carried through the speakers loud and clear. It always did, of course, given the scarcity of such a feeling as of late. “All right, get them out of there, and hurry your ass up. You’ve already been out there for too long.”

The voice grew louder and more distinct as Kara approached it, and eventually, she could even distinguish other people in the mix—their whispers, the muted beats of their heart seemingly punctuating every word, and all the shallow breaths of air in between. She counted at least five separate individuals, five more lives that she could potentially save from this impossible landscape.

But by the time Kara reached the point where the voice was sounding from below rather than from the distance, her excitement had all but waned, receded back into the ever present anxiety hanging in the air.

“… Fuck,” she huffed out, staring at the large swathe of broken rock and dirt and twisted metal beneath her, the letter K spray-painted all over the surface in a faded green. “Alex. They’re in a mine-rigged shelter.”

“Forget it then. Just get out of there,” Alex said, all rather predictably. “We can send an extraction team with defusers in the morning.”

“But that’ll take too long,” Kara protested. “It would take days, just for a task force to cover all that distance, and these people need help now.”

“No. I want you to put down a marker and come right the fuck back home,” Alex said. “That’s your last kryptonite filtration suit! If anything happens, if you sustain even the slightest bit of damage out there, you could—”

Kara cut the feed and swiftly locked her comms from all available channels, employing one of the few tips Winn had passed onto her before he died. Because Alex didn’t understand. How could she, when she wasn’t the one who had to listen to these desperate cries for help from people just barely out of reach.

She floated outside the presumed blast radius, planted her feet firmly to the ground, and went to work. Uncovering the buried shelter bit by bit, one sizable mass of charred rubble dug up after the other. It wasn’t easy. The kryptonite in the area, though not exposed, was much too close for comfort even through her suit. And it made the sun hotter, everything heavier, and Kara’s progress as slow as it could possibly be.

But all that—the sweat gathering on her brow, the soreness burning up her lower back—was a very small price to pay when weighed against the lives of at least five people in need. So, Kara kept going. She kept burrowing deeper into the earth with her bare hands, until the sun was but a small twinkle above her head and her fingertips were brushing against a patch of warmed metal.

And she could hear them better now. They were so close.

Kara pressed her palm against what had to be the outer wall of their shelter. “Hey, can you hear me in there?”

“Please help us!” came the frantic response, only somewhat muffled now. “Please get us out! We can’t breathe in here!”

“Okay! Okay… I’m gonna get you out, okay?” Kara shouted back, heart thumping hard in her ears. “Just… hang on.”

A quick once-over was all it took to determine that the wall before her—like most other surfaces nowadays—was naught but a few inches of commercial steel, coated in a thin layer of lead. And as such, all it would to take, of course, to break into such a structure was—THUNK!—a single punch from the Girl of Steel herself.

Kara ripped a hole in the wall, using her heat vision to melt down the edges as she tugged the entire thing apart. Eventually satisfied with her efforts, she was just about to crawl through her rather crude but functional doorway when the speakers in her helmet abruptly flipped back on.

“—him back to life, and just… throttle him for showing you that trick!” Alex was practically hollering in her ear. “Why would you ever need to do that anyway? The whole frickin’ point of the—”

“Whoa, Alex, Alex, it’s fine! I’m fine! Just shh!” Kara hastily cut her off. “I’ve pretty much got my foot in the door already, okay? So, I’m helping these people whether you like it or not.”

“Yeah, you fucking better,” Alex said with a scoff. “I want to look these people in the eye while you explain to me what was so goddamn special about them that you had to…”  

And Kara barked out a laugh, shaking her head in wonder as Alex continued to chew her out in a way that only sisters could, apparently. “Hey, you can do whatever you want, okay? Just let me bring them home first.”

“Fine. Just don’t kill the comms this time.”

“Oh, I would never.”

“Kara, I fucking swear to—”

But the rest of all that swearing quickly faded into the backdrop, as Kara finally poked her head into what should have been just another underground refuge from everything their world now had to offer. Because ten feet below from where she had burrowed her way in, was not a handful of dehydrated people waiting to be rescued—only masses upon masses of thick coils and plates of smooth black metal shifting about.

That’s when Kara realized that it’d been quite some time since she’d heard a cry for help. And soon after that was when a muted click! sounded, then somewhere down there in the midst of all that darkness and mechanical movement, came another loop of voices calling out to her.

“Oh shit…” Kara whispered, and at least ten sets of glassy eyes flicked up to stare at her. The pre-recorded voices immediately cut out, and the entire room lit up in a vibrant green as the machines all powered up with a collective hum. “Shit, shit, shit, you were right!”

“Right about what?” Alex demanded, but Kara was too busy heeding her long overdue advice of getting the fuck out there to respond.

Kara burst from the ground in a flurry of dust and clattering scrap metal, already heading for the horizon at full-speed. She needed to put as much distance as possible between her and the decoy shelter. It was nothing short of an honest-to-Rao miracle that her sudden escape hadn’t tripped any of the mines on-site, but now, it was only a matter of time.

Still hurtling away, Kara threw a glance over her shoulder just in time to see the first three drones break through the surface, already mindlessly chasing after her. Then the third and the fourth crashed right on through after them, which abruptly led to a series of rapid beeping, which abruptly led to a violent disturbance in the air that stole away all the sound from the world and knocked Kara right out of the sky.

(next part here)

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

that makes four.

story page | talk to me + join the tag list

PART 6

If sharing a glass of wine with Harry the other night didn’t make you wish things could go back to normal--whatever that was--seeing him with CeCe before bed did.

She stomped her feet in the bathroom when you brushed through her hair. “I’m not tired! I want to stay up later with Maeve!”

Maybe that was another parenting fail in the last year--giving Maeve a later bedtime. She had bargained with you long and hard. She wanted more time on her phone but you wouldn’t budge. When you had heard enough of the I’m practically a teenager, mom! you figured there probably wasn’t an easy way to tell her that in two years she’d look back at herself and laugh.

So you caved, which you were doing more of lately but only with the silly stuff: bedtime, playing outside, dessert before dinner on occasion and even a PG-13 movie at a friend’s house when Maeve really got snippy with you.

But your energy was draining. After all the shit you’d put up with, you figured that hearing a few swears or seeing a high school party wouldn’t kill your 11-year-old.

CeCe, on the other hand, might be the death of you.

She was more outspoken than her sister, if that was possible. She had lungs on her that carried her voice through the house, especially when she whined.

“I want to stay up late!”

“You can’t,” you told her firmly. “I’m sorry. You’ll thank me tomorrow when you wake up refreshed.”

She made a face at you in the bathroom mirror, she probably didn’t understand what you meant but you smiled back at her anyway.

“I don’t want to sleep.”

You didn’t reply, instead let out a sigh and ignored the way she pouted until she stomped her feet again. “I want to watch TV!”

She smacked a fist on the counter when you didn’t reply, your eyes went wide with shock. “Cecelia Rose,” you scolded. “You do not yell at mommy like that or bang your fist on the counter.”

Maeve was nowhere to be found, likely scrolling in a group chat with other pre-teens who sent too many emojis. You almost wished she’d pop her head in to intervene--sometimes she was good at talking CeCe off the ledge, even if just to distract her.

The next best thing, though, when Harry knocked on the door and peered through the crack. “Everything alright?”

“Just dandy,” you forced a smile.

“Mommy is making me sleep,” CeCe frowned up at him.

“She is?”

“She is,” she nodded. “And I’m not tired.”

“Well, mommy has good reasoning, you’ll be sleepy tomorrow if you don’t sleep now.”

She didn’t seem to care, she crossed her arms over her chest once you finished the braid at the base of her neck and clapped her on the shoulder. “I won’t be tired.”

“Do you want to read together?”

She looked up at him with narrowed eyes, almost like she was waiting for the catch. When he smiled again, she let out a hefty sigh but headed for the door. “Fine.”

Harry smiled over his shoulder at you and followed behind her, trailing her down the hall until she took the left turn into her bedroom with a butterfly carpet. She walked over the bookshelf, picked out The Big Book of Bedtime Stories, and pulled the sheets back.

You were in the doorway, watching as she fluffed her own pillow and then looked up at Harry. “Are you coming?”

She patted the spot next to her, gesturing for him to get close enough for her to fall asleep on his shoulder. He hesitated, stole a glance in your direction and then did as she said. He adjusted the pillow behind his head and CeCe wriggled beside him until she was comfortable. When she was, she nestled right into him, looked up at you and then said: “are you coming?”

You paused, parted your lips to let her down gently, but then something in you tugged your torso towards his. He was surprised by this, too, shifted in the tiny bed to make room for you to crawl over and squish yourself between CeCe and the wall.

Harry, with a smirk on his lips, looked over at you when he opened the book to CeCe’s favorite story. “Comfortable?”

“Go ahead,” you rolled your eyes, ignoring the silliness of the moment but somehow wishing it was routine.

You put a hand on her pajama pants, petting her mindlessly as you listened to Harry’s voice when he thumbed through the pages. You’d had moments like these with Luke, when Maeve was tiny and CeCe was barely a thought. It’d been a while since you laid in bed with another adult, your child between you as she let out sleepy sighs and fluttered her eyelashes against her cheek.

The lights were dim now, you watched as his fingers pulled each page and tried to forget the way they pulled moans from your mouth.

He stopped halfway through, looked over at you and smirked when her breathing got heavier, but he kept going. He’d learned: if you stop too soon, she’d bolt awake and tell you she’d never fallen asleep to begin with.

He carried on like that for a while, glancing over to see if her eyes were open, sometimes catching your gaze but looking away quickly. Timid, like he was just as unsure as you were.

He finished a story and started a new one, and for a moment you wondered if he kept reading just to not disturb the scene: the two of you with your daughter sandwiched between. If someone looked in on it from the outside, they’d think you were a family.

Eventually he cut himself off mid sentence, derailed the story of the princess and the pea to ask you: “should I keep going?”

“No,” you laughed a little. “She’s out. We’re fine.”

He shut the book and pulled away from her gently. You lifted her head a little and tugged your arm out from the sheets and he placed the book on the desk to the right of her bed. He stuck his hand out to help you climb over her quietly. She stirred, opened her eyes and looked up at the two of you.

“Love you mommy,” she said, you bent down to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Love you too, sweetie.”

“Love you, Harry,” she said through a sigh, eyes already closing when you turned around to leave. His eyes locked on yours, caught off guard and unsure of how to reply, but he looked down at her, lips in a small smile.

“Love you too, CeCe.”

And just like that, your life turned to a personally targeted and especially cruel single-mom hell. It was already there, practically. He played outside with your kids? He drove Maeve to play dates and picked CeCe up from ballet? He cooked dinner and poured you wine and tucked deep inside your memory were images of his head between your legs and his fingers laced with yours.

And now he said he loved one of them? You made a beeline for your bedroom, shut the door and didn’t say goodnight because you knew it would only get worse from here.

You were right. It was torture. Daydream, fairytale level torture when he helped Maeve with her homework the next night and even more painful when CeCe fell asleep with her head in his lap after a movie.

Maybe the worst part, though, was when you sat beside him on the patio a few nights later. The sun had set and you had a glass of crisp rosé in your hand when he turned to you.

“Look what CeCe brought home the other day,” he moved his phone to show you the screen. A drawing of stick figures, red and green and blue under a yellow house. He pinched the screen to zoom in, the actual artwork was nowhere to be found.

“What is it?” You tilted your head to the side and let out a quiet laugh. Her drawing needed work, but the color choices were bright and vibrant, just like her.

“Well, it’s us I think.”

“Us?” You looked up at him for a moment, CeCe hit the tennis ball into the pool and Maeve let out a frustrated groan.

“That’s her, with the tutu obviously. That’s Maeve and you right there--I’m assuming, by the way. This is all interpretation.”

You let out a laugh but watched when he zoomed in on the other stick figure.

“And that’s me, I think,” he tilted his head sideways now, looked at it closer. "With the guitar." You reached out your hand, brought his phone closer when he let you have it.

“When did she give this to you?”

“Monday--no, Tuesday, I think.”

“What did she say?”

He shrugged when you looked up. Maeve had gotten the leaf skimmer and CeCe clapped when the tennis ball was back on dry land.

“She said she drew ‘home.’”

“Home?”

He nodded, looked back over at you with raised eyebrows, a sense of nonchalance when he held his palm out to retrieve his phone. “Cute, right?”

It was cute, obviously. It was sweet and endearing and then you asked: “where’s the actual drawing?”

“On my nightstand.” He watched as CeCe tugged a hoola hoop from a bucket of toys. “Might frame it and show her, she’d be so excited.”

“She would be,” you nodded. “She’d love that.”

He left it alone, showed Maeve how to swing the bat better before you eventually decided it was too dark to sit outside. They sat at the island and ate ice cream, cherries and sprinkles and Harry even doused his in chocolate sauce.

Your heart ached for the family that CeCe drew: one with less complexity and one where age differences didn’t mean a thing. One where there was no such thing as death or divorce. Just four stick figures beneath a triangular roof with grass scribbled around the edges of paper.

You wished, desperately, that the four of you could be the stick figure family with no worries and no problems. You wished time could freeze and Harry’s house wouldn’t be ready in another 10 days. In a way you wished that Luke didn’t exist, you wished that your life was as simple as it looked on 8 x 11 inch paper with scribbled marker.

**

Zoey stood in your bedroom, lips pushed out in thought when you held up a different necklace. “This one is chunkier which I can’t tell if I like.”

She thought on it for a second, already dressed and ready to go like the timely human she was.

“I like the first one,” she nodded. “It’s more I’m the boss than that one.”

You laughed at her reasoning, held it up to your neck when CeCe burst through the doors with a scowl on her face. “Mommy, Maeve said I’m being stupid and annoying.”

You frowned at her but clasped the necklace around your neck, “that’s not very nice of her. Why’d she say that?”

“Because I was asking her to push me on the swing but she was too busy texting someone.”

You let out a sigh and made a face at Zoey in the mirror. Buying Maeve a cell phone was something you’d thought long and hard about. She begged and begged for one at her birthday, but something felt wrong about handing over a thousand dollar piece of technology to someone who was barely old enough to watch TV unsupervised.

Harry and Luke’s punching incident is what did you in, though. What if Maeve was at a friend’s house and something like that happened? You needed her to be able to contact you in case she felt unsafe or uncomfortable.

You also figured it would be a good way to distract her from what was really going on under your roof: mom fell for the guy who stayed in our guest suite and now it’s a hot mess.

“You’re not stupid or annoying,” Zoey reassured her. “Maeve just thinks she’s too cool for everyone now that she has a phone.”

CeCe let out a dramatic sigh. “You can say that again.”

A knock on the door, she turned around to see Harry. “Maeve said I’m stupid and annoying.”

Harry frowned and knelt in front of her. “That’s not true.”

“Oh I know,” she shrugged. “I just think that’s stupid and annoying of her to say that.”

You bit back a laugh when he looked up at you, shocked by her attitude and her wit before she ran off to her bedroom down the hall.

Harry stood back up and greeted Zoey. “Hi--how’re Shawn and Benny?”

“They’re great, and they’re on their own tonight which I am so grateful for.” She’d been dying for another night out of the house, she talked for weeks about what she wanted to wear and what she was going to drink. “You two should meet, you and Shawn. He’s not a musician by any means but he’s a killer steering wheel drummer when we have the classic rock hits on.”

Harry laughed, looked over to you quickly before nodding in Zoey’s direction. “I’d love that, maybe we could all have dinner.”

You nodded at the suggestion, hooked an earring into place before Harry remembered why he came in.

“Speaking of dinner, I have a meeting with my stylist but I’ll be there tonight, obviously. Probably around 7:15 though, is that alright?”

“Totally fine,” you nodded. He told you a few days earlier that you’d have to drive separately, quelling your anxiety about showing up together and going home together. Your living situation was no one’s business, but having Harry at the launch party to begin with was sure to stir up enough chatter, even if it was mostly from Tristan or Jeff.

You’d been trying to hide your anxiety. This was your biggest launch to date, arguably a step outside your comfort zone and feeling so uncertain about things at home left you feeling more nervous to have your employees and your friends in the same spot. The girls were headed to Shelli’s, a movie night and arts and crafts, she promised.

But it was setting in now, questions and thoughts and worries were bouncing around in your head like a pinball machine.

Would Maeve and CeCe behave for Shelli? Would they get along with each other? Would the launch party go well? Would Tristan bring a date? Would people like the body wash? Would Harry sit next to you at dinner? Would things ever feel normal between the two of you again or would he move out and fade out of your life like he’d never even entered it at all?

Zoey had stepped out into the hallway, phone pressed to her ear as Shawn asked a question about formula.

“You alright?”

Harry was still in the doorway, suit pants on and a white button down as he waited for your answer.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Just nervous.”

“Hey,” he took a step towards you. “It’s going to be great. You’re going to be great.” He placed a hand on your shoulder and then withdrew it. “You are great.”

You smiled, appreciative of his kindness but already overthinking the way he pulled his hand away, like your skin was too hot to touch or like your bodies coming into contact was suddenly forbidden.

“I just want the body wash to do well and I want the dinner to go smoothly. Tristan always goes overboard with these events and I just hope that the food is good, I mean, I’ve never eaten here before--”

He laughed, “hey, it’s going to be fine. I might be a bit late but I’ll get there and Jeff and I can do something stupid to make you laugh and forget about the stress of it all. Everyone wins.”

You nodded, reassured by his words but also caught off guard by how easy it was to admit: “I’m really glad you’re coming.”

“Me too,” he nodded. “Kind of feels like we haven’t seen each other much lately.”

You lifted your eyebrows at that, a week since Luke’s surprise visit and a week since Harry had so much as looked your way for more than ten seconds. You hadn’t told him to stop, you never said you didn’t want to keep sleeping with him or anything of the sort, but he took your words on the patio to mean that, apparently.

How were you supposed to backtrack? How were you supposed to have a conversation with him about it when there’d never been one in the first place?

If you hadn’t defined it originally, how were you supposed to quantify the change that had occurred as the bruise on his skin faded to a pale yellow?

“Okay,” Zoey laughed, a shake of her head when she ended the call and came back into the master suite. “How hard is it to find the bottle brush in the drawer where it’s literally been for the entirety of Benny’s short life?” She cut herself off when she looked up from her phone to see how close Harry stood to you.

He backed up. “Good luck, you’re going to kill it. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

You nodded. “Yes, right. Thanks.”

He turned on his heel and offered a smile to Zoey, whose eyes immediately flew to yours once he was descending the stairs. You briefed her over lunch shortly after Luke had shown up on your doorstep, but Zoey was decidedly team Harry and had a hard time even admitting that he shouldn't have gotten involved.

Her eyes were wide, lips set in a frown as if she’d just witnessed the most adorable thing. “He likes you so much.”

“No, Zoey, stop.”

“I leave the room for one second and you're having a heart to heart?”

“We weren't having a heart to heart,” you rolled your eyes. “He was just offering some encouragement.”

Partially true. His words were encouraging and that seemed to be the point of him coming up here. But you couldn’t admit to Zoey that part of your anxiety about the night was related to him. It felt stupid to admit that pulling back made you miss him, made you feel like something was missing.

Those feelings left your heart and your head a mess, unsure about what you needed and wanted and even more confused about what was right for everyone.

You turned back to the mirror to put your other earring in place. Zoey didn’t say more, she didn’t need to. She smiled at your reflection and you both knew that your words didn’t even begin to capture the complexity of it all. But you had a launch party to get to.

Your champagne flute was filled when you walked in, which was a great step towards quelling the nerves. Tristan was already working the crowd with grace and poise, smile plastered on his face when he bragged about all of the hard work your team had put in on this.

Zoey was excited to pump and dump in the bathroom, your employees were already plucking hors d'oeuvres from silver platters, and you just tried to ignore the gnawing feeling in your chest of wishing your dad was here. He’d be proud, no doubt, he’d be excited for you and he’d be cracking jokes with Irv in the corner as Jeff tried to keep them under control.

The emptiness that he left in your life was something you’d live with forever, you were sure of this until suddenly there was a man in your house with a dimpled smile and patience for your children that you never saw coming.

Another look around the room, balloons in the corner, high heels and lipstick on the women that made your team what it was. A moment of excitement, of celebration, and yet your heartbeat picked up when you realized that you were here, alone.

You plucked your phone out to check the time, 7:24pm. He’d said 7:15--he clasped his hands on your shoulders like he meant it and you wondered where he was. Tristan pulled you over to another friendly face before you could sink too far down that rabbit hole.

Zoey had Shawn, Shelli had Irv, Jeff always had someone. Even Tristan had Tinder dates for the nights that he got lonely. You had the girls, of course, you had a life that you loved and a job you were proud of. But what did that matter if you didn’t have someone to share it with, to whisper to in the mornings when sun streamed through the windows and you were woken up too early by daughters that begged for adventures?

You’d grown used to feeling that way. Your marriage was over long before the papers were signed, but your father’s sudden decline left you reeling and unsure which way was up.

You’d never admit it aloud, but Harry showing up brought you back down to earth and kept you tethered to a life that felt manageable and doable and somehow possible.

Another glance at the time, 7:32pm. Tristan asked when you wanted to make a toast and thank everyone for coming to celebrate, you made an excuse and tried to buy yourself time like his absence was currency.

You wanted him here, you wanted his arm around your shoulders and you wanted to introduce him to your team--take a bite of his dinner and then bring him home like that was where he belonged.

How embarrassing, though, you talked yourself up enough to let him come and introduce him to the rest of the girls at work, only to be stood up or forgotten or altogether abandoned. Your fantasy of being with him felt even more stupid and naive when you realized that it’d probably never be like that.

Your glass was refilled at 7:49pm, Zoey laughed when your head of marketing recounted the embarrassing moment when a picture of Maeve ended up on the company instagram story.

Frustration, anger, maybe both when the clock struck 8pm. Forty-five minutes late without a text message? But those emotions were drowned out by the judgment: why do you care, he’s not your boyfriend, this doesn’t mean anything.

You answered too quickly when he called, phone pressed to your face: where are you?

Pulling up, down the street, I’m so sorry.

You handed your drink to Tristan, pushed out to the parking lot to find him jogging towards the door in the dark sky.

“Hi, hey, why are you out here?” his smile faded when he could see you were upset.

“I had no clue where you were and you didn’t even bother to text me--” you were stopped dead on the sidewalk, the sky was a light purple and he grabbed your hand to tug you back towards the entrance.

“I’m sorry, I know, my meeting went late and the traffic was terrible, I didn’t want to bother you--”

“You said you’d be here at 7:15 and I’ve been in there by myself--”

He didn’t understand, his eyebrows dipped on his forehead in confusion and he pulled at your arm again. “I know, I’m sorry, but let’s get back in there so you can--”

“No, Harry,” you yanked your hand out of his grasp. A deep breath, a twinkling light above the horizon, a plane on final approach to LAX. “Just give me a minute.”

He sighed, looked over his shoulder to the big windows that allowed a peek into the party. He didn’t say anything, waited for you to speak when the light at the intersection across the street turned green.

“I was stupid for thinking this would be a good idea,” you said aloud, arms crossed in the parking lot. “But it’s fine, it’s not a big deal.”

“It’s obviously a big deal,” he held a hand out, gesturing to the emotion in your voice. “I fucked up, I get that. I’m sorry--but I tried to call you and tell you I was going to be late, something’s wrong with my phone.”

Happy couples strolled out of the restaurant, arms linked with to-go boxes in hand. The air was still warm, streetlights illuminated the wrinkle in his forehead when he took a step forward. “Is this about more than the party?”

You rolled your eyes, annoyed by his ability to read you and sense the real tension beneath the surface. So you lied: “No.”

“Y/N,” he said your name like he knew your words weren’t true. “What’s going on?”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should break the silence that you’d both been living in for weeks. Unspoken, so far--the feelings and the sex and the uncertainty of what it meant had been woven into your life and now you were about to tug the thread and see if it unraveled.

“We’ve been kidding ourselves, Harry, don’t you think?” When he tilted his head to the side, you took it as a cue to continue. “We’ve been acting like a couple and you’ve been acting like the father of my children and we can’t do that.”

His lips parted and your heart seemed to stop when he didn’t say anything. He licked his lips, hands in his pockets when he said: “okay.”

“Okay?”

An incredulous tone in your voice put him on the defense.

“What do you want me to say?” His shoulders lifted to his ears, a shake of his head when he dropped your gaze. “Living with you and spending time with the girls has been the greatest thing I’ve had all year, I mean that. But it’s your house, they’re your children. It’s your family.”

He was right, but it didn’t mean the words didn’t sting like salt in a wound when he asked: “Do you want me to move out?”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

He scoffed, upset or bothered or maybe both. “I was never trying to overstep any boundaries.”

“I know you weren’t,” you said quickly. “That’s the problem, all of this happened so naturally and you fit into our lives so well and the girls fell in love with you and I--”

You cut yourself off, clamped your mouth together as if the words would pry their way out.

“You what?”

“I don’t want them to get hurt again.”

He pointed a finger to his chest, anger on his face. “By me? You think I would do something to hurt them?”

“Not intentionally, Harry,” you let your arms flail against your sides. “But that doesn’t mean that you won’t. Their dad left, their grandfather died, and then you moved in and suddenly it’s like you’re the missing piece they never had but that’s not realistic!”

“Why not?!” He was bothered now, more emotion in his eyes when his hands went up to run through his hair.

“Because you’re you. You’re a musician. You’re recording an album and going on tour and you’re not really able to be present. You couldn’t even show up tonight!”

“I’m not Luke,” he shook his head.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then why does it bother you that I was late? Why does that matter if I’m here now?”

“Because if you’d do it to me you’d do it to them. We don’t need to be left by another man this year.”

You didn’t mean for the words to come off so biting and harsh. He nodded slowly, chest deflated before he brought his eyes back up to you. “Fine. I can get my stuff and stay at Jeff’s.”

The shift in his demeanor felt heavy, his shoulders angled away and suddenly the magnetic pull between your chests was no longer there, like the thread had been snipped altogether and your words had been the scissors.

“I--I’m not trying to be a dick.”

“It’s fine, Y/N. I understand.”

“I just don’t want them to get hurt.”

“Or do you not want to get hurt?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Forget it,” he said, a few steps towards you when his face softened. “Tell everyone I say hi. I’ll go get my things before the girls are home and I’ll be out of your hair.”

He let his arm snake around your waist, a kiss to the side of your head before you could stop him--not that you would have.

He left you there in the parking lot, alone again for the third time this year, walked out on and deserted when your eyes welled with tears. You turned on your heels to head inside, hoping that Tristan had kept things together and hoping that the champagne was still flowing.

Jeff found you first, hand on your elbow when he spotted you in the hallway near the bathroom, mascara on your cheeks when you tried to soak up tears with a folded napkin. “Hey--where have you been?”

“Harry’s moving out,” you said it quickly. “He’s going to--uh--he’ll stay at your place, I think, for now.”

He looked over his shoulder and back at the gathering behind you. “Is he here?”

“I found him in the parking lot--he left, though.”

“What happened?”

Where did you start? When was the line crossed? Was it when he started playing with the girls in the backyard? Was it when he carried CeCe up to her bed after Maeve’s sleepover? Or was it all the way back when he came to your birthday party and kissed you at the top of the stairs in an empty house?

“Nothing, it’s just time for him to move out,” you shook your head, embarrassed by the emotion streaming down your cheeks. You tried to laugh it off, shook your head and blotted your face again. Now wasn’t the time for this conversation and it certainly wasn’t the time for the tears.

“Y/N, stop. You’re letting him walk out of your life just like that?”

You looked up at him, thrown off by his question. “You don’t even know what happened. I’m fine, it’s all fine.”

“No--I don’t know, but I also know that I’ve never seen you as happy as you are with him and the girls.”

“He’s twenty-four, Jeff.”

“So what? That’s going to stop you from doing what’s right for you?”

“How is it right for me? He can’t be the type of person that Maeve and CeCe need.”

“Can he actually not be, or is the age thing getting in the way?”

“I can’t talk to you about this right now,” you pulled away from him, bothered by his strong opinions and his know-it-all attitude. Some things never changed.

“Don’t ruin something good just because you don’t know how it will end.”

You gave him the finger as you walked away, forced out a laugh and tried to flip the switch: happy, grateful, excited and ready for another glass of champagne.

He dropped it then, you left him with no choice but to follow you back out to the party. He ate mini cheesecakes before the crowd started to disperse and drove you home, a kiss on the cheek before you climbed out. Call me in the morning, he said. Translation: I hope you change your mind overnight.

Harry’s car was gone, and if you had to guess, the bed upstairs was made and the drawers were empty. His keys weren’t on the hook by the back door and when Shelli dropped off the girls and they raced inside, Maeve’s face fell.

“Where’s Harry?”

“Oh,” you hadn’t thought this far ahead, still numb from the whiplash of emotions. “He’s at Uncle Jeff’s--he’s gonna stay there from now on, I think.”

“Wait, so he moved out?”

“Harry’s gone?” CeCe asked.

“Not forever, no, no--he’s just not going to live here.”

“Why not?”

“He has to work,” you spit out quickly. “He’s busy.” What were you supposed to tell them? Mommy’s an idiot.

“Why does that mean he can’t live here?”

“Because he just can’t,” you said, a sigh when you knew the answer wasn’t good enough for Maeve. She must have sensed the emotion in your voice, though, because she didn’t push it.

“Can you bring your sister upstairs and start getting ready for bed, please?”

Shelli was at the island, quiet and observant when Maeve let out a reluctant sigh but ushered CeCe forward. They climbed in silence, and when the faucet was turned on, all bets were off.

“What on earth happened?”

“He can’t stay here, Shelli. We can’t do whatever it was we were doing.”

“Which was...”

“Pretending that he was their dad or something and me pretending that sleeping with him was normal.”

“And where does being happy factor into this nonsense equation?”

“It doesn’t.” You busied yourself at the sink, grabbed for the sponge and wiped invisible crumbs from the granite to keep your hands busy. “After Luke and my dad, I was just stupid, okay? It was poor judgment.”

She set her purse down on a stool and watched you closely. “Why does your happiness always come last, Y/N?”

“Because! My happiness doesn’t matter if the decision is stupid. Me plus Harry just doesn’t make sense!” You whispered at her, voice wrought with emotion. “He’s so young and busy and he’s in the industry and--”

“Is that what this is about?”

“Which part?”

“The industry, him being a musician.”

You waved her off like she wasn’t sniffing the truth out of you with ease. “It’s just a piece of it.”

“Y/N, just because your parents’ marriage didn’t work doesn’t mean you’re destined for the same future.”

You stopped wiping at that. “Really? Cause I’m thirty-two and already divorced.”

“But that’s because Luke is an asshole,” she reasoned, “not because of you or the girls.”

A sigh from between your lips, fervent wiping again with the tough side of the sponge, you were sure you felt something sticky. “Well, I doubt Harry would ever be the kind to settle down. That’s unrealistic. He’s famous and busy and he probably is sick of being on carpool duty anyway--probably wants to get back to snorting cocaine off of someone’s tits.”

She let out a quick laugh, shook her head. “You are really in love with him, aren’t you?”

“No,” you looked up at her again and then back at the counter. “I’m just being honest.”

“I don’t think he was ever snorting cocaine off of anyone’s anything. I might not know him as well as Jeffrey does, but, he seems pretty happy here with you three.”

“The girls loved having him here,” you said the thought aloud, it escaped into the air before you could realize Shelli didn’t need anymore ammunition.

“And did you?”

“I mean, I don’t know,” you moved back to the sink, wrung out the sponge and then turned to face her. “It was nice, I guess.”

“Well, then I guess that makes four.”

“Four what?”

“Four people who were all happy with the way things were going. Before you went and turned it upside down out of fear.”

“Okay,” you held up your hands, hoping to end the conversation. It was too late and you were tired--the final glass of champagne had your eyes heavy in the passenger seat of Jeff’s car. “I need to sleep.”

She let out a sigh and picked up her purse, moved around the counter to come and wrap her arms around you. “Don’t let your past ruin your future.”

“Goodnight,” you said sweetly, hoping that your tone would usher her out of the house and into her car, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

She laughed, called over her shoulder when she made her way for the door. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite!”

story page | talk to me + join the tag list

AN: one word, yikes.

tag list: @sunflowerryvol6 @haute-romance-quotidienne @trulymadlykiki @kaybee87 @thurhomish @tpwkhoney @70s-harry @la-cey @sing-me-a-song-harry @morethanamelodyy @theresnooneheretosave @ihearthemcallingforyou @sunfloweratheart @g0bl1nqueen @millennial-teenybopper @rainbowparadiseharry @justsaying20 @andwhenshesays @harryinsweatersandbandanas @harrys-cherriesss @harrys-cherrry @cronias13 @burberryharold @15christyxoxo @stepping-into-the-light @mvaldez7821 @barnestann @styles217 @fineelineee @ursamajor603 @tayrenea @hayyyayy @mellamolayla @lovelylemonadaddict @harrystyle-ish @harryspirate @apples2019 @rainbowbutterflyboy @goldeng1rl8 @elisassblog @staceystoleyourheart @themonsterheloved @greatestview @splendidsunsetsx @awomanindeniall @bequietdee @greeneyesandtea @sonofabitchstyles @sunsetcurve-h @dangerousdelusiondreamland @hsfics @abundanceofsoph @golden-asoab @giveyourheartabreak-xx @poguestyleskye @sabnstyles @call1800coochie

[hood-ex]

How’s Future State Dick different than current Dick? I didn’t read Future State

Future State Dick is the leader of the mask resistance, so right off the bat, he's already in charge and clearly respected. He inspires the people fighting under the resistance, and they're willing to jump in the line of fire for him.

He's very perceptive and reads people's body language to understand their intentions. He's able to sneak up on the sniper that shot him, disarm him, and intimidate him all in one scene. Then when the sniper makes a comment about Bruce, Dick casually breaks the dude's femur and jumps out of sight.

He does all this shit on his own with no one in his ear because he knows what he's doing. His moves are calculated and intentional.

His guilt complex/fear of failure is there as well in the form of feeling like he let Bruce down.

When he's trying to relax in the shower, he is still perceptive of his surroundings. He's able to anticipate his attacker (Tim Fox), and he gets the upper hand on Tim by using a voice command to shock him into unconsciousness. He gets Tim tied up and then he does some computer work to do his own investigation on Tim.

Dick reveals that he knows the bullet the sniper shot him with has nanotech in it that's going to lead the magistrate to his secret hideout. So not only is Dick knowledgeable about the tech being used in the war against heroes, he intentionally crafts a plan so that the magistrate will be able to find him.

This shows that Dick is a planner and is smart about tech. Like I said, he knows what he's doing.

We see that when Dick interrogates a magistrate soldier. He asks him some questions that Tim thinks are unnecessary. Dick responds with, "I have my reasons."

One thing that I love about Post-Crisis Dick is that he creates his own gadgets, modifies his vehicles, and has even built his own car from scratch. Future State Dick carries this trait. He modifies his own car and also creates his own tech. He creates nano-swarm cameras that he uses to secretly record the magistrate so he can release the damning footage to the public.

This is another moment where we see that Dick plans ahead because he says that if he had died, the footage on the nano cameras would have been automatically released to the public and that all the information on Dick's personal computer systems would have been wiped clean.

He also doesn't trust people easily. Even though Tim helps him with the magistrate, Dick doesn't fully trust him. This is indicated when Tim asks if he's part of Dick's club now, and Dick says, "You're not out. Let's start there."

To sum all of that up, Future State Dick is clearly a leader who plans ahead. He's very perceptive, meticulous, and he can be intimidating. He is highly computer savvy, and he's also great at creating his own tech. He clearly knows what he's doing and acts like the experienced vigilante he is.

Taylor's Dick has got some of these things to a degree. Dick is able to tell that someone is in his apartment so, y'know, there are some perceptive skills there. But then Dick gets his wallet stolen by a kid which brings that perception level to zero.

While he's talking to Tim, he mentions tracking the kid who stole his wallet. Tracking. Cool. But it becomes less cool when you realize it's just Babs tracking the wallet on her computer and relaying the information to Dick's earpiece about where Dick should go.

A positive thing I'll say is that Dick's good at working with teams, and we can see that by how he works with Babs and Tim in Taylor's run. Some of the leader aspect is there. Dick gives instructions to Babs and Tim. He also decides to ask for help by contacting the ships to save the kids, and I've always liked how Dick is willing to ask for people's help when it makes sense to do so.

But Dick's research and gadget skills get kicked to the curb since Babs fills those roles for him (if Dick made his own escrima sticks then I'll give him more props since his escrimas are highly functional and multi-purposeful.) She makes his new mask so she can see what he sees. She does the research on Melinda Zucco and attempts to hack her files. Her role makes it so that Dick doesn't really have to do as much of the planning on his own.

In general, Taylor's Dick lacks competence. Babs throwing him across his apartment. Getting his wallet stolen. (Conveniently getting knocked upside the head so many times that he blacks out.) Getting unmasked four issues in.

With the way Taylor is writing, he has to make Dick incompetent in order to unfold his plot. Getting his wallet stolen leads Dick to the homeless kid campsite where the fight with Heartless goes down. Getting knocked upside the head over and over gives Taylor a reason to not have Dick kick everyone's ass as well as sets Dick up to be unmasked for the Melinda sister reveal. I feel like there are ways to still hit the plot markers on the storyline map without all of that.

So yeah. Those are basically the differences I see between the two. If you ask why I prefer Future State Dick it's simple. He's badass and encapsulates the traits you would expect in someone who's Batman's equal. Also, all that stuff I mentioned about Future State Dick? All of that occurred in two issues. Two issues. Meanwhile, Taylor's had four issues so far and hasn't really delivered on the Dick Grayson he talked up.

[tink27]

What if John and Sherlock met as kids? (short fluff)

No one in the Holmes household noticed when the young Sherlock Holmes went missing out the back gate, clutching nothing but a cleaned out empty jam jar in his hands, which were not yet big enough to fit all the way around.  

His excellent plan (if he did say so himself) was to collect samples of local bugs and to examine the rate at which they would decompose. His new nanny (vegetarian, going off the hemp tote bag, and the small scrunched up expression she pulls as she makes his ham sandwiches) seemed completely opposed to the idea, so sneaking off was necessary.  

Thankfully, there was plenty of data to find, with his house located on the edge of town with plenty of woodland area a short walk away (even when walking with child-sized legs). Speed however was imperative, he had approximately 25 minutes before the nanny realised it was not sherlock ‘playing’ with his microscope that she could see, peering into his room. But rather a stack of pillows wearing a jacket and a curly black costume wig, with a tape looping his voice including all of his latest deductions, of which he had recorded the day before.  

When you are 9, any plan that takes more than one day of planning feels astronomically important, even for the mature William Sherlock Scott Holmes, and succeeding was paramount. Because of this, Sherlock was running fast as he could, nothing on his mind but finding soil damp enough for worms, and rocks large enough to cover up significant family of woodlice. Therefore, he wasn’t able to notice the tangle of his undone shoe laces, making the little boy fall rather quickly, not even able to catch himself as both small hands were occupied with the all-important jar for his specimens.

Now, those who knew Sherlock Holmes rarely saw the little boy cry, even at age 9 he had decided it was weak and unbecoming (subconsciously copying his stiff and repressed older brother), so he was immensely grateful that no one was there to see the large tears that forced themselves from his eyes, stinging the rather large graze he has gotten across his cheek.  

��Hello”  

The soft voice startled the tearful boy, and for a moment all he could do was stare. There in front of him stood a boy, maybe slightly older than himself dressed in jeans, a muddy blue and white rugby top and dirty shoes that were once white and pink, with black marker smudged over the pink in an attempt to cover it, if sherlock was not so destressed he would have deduced that he was a poor boy, wearing his older sister's hand-me-downs, and is embarrassed about it.  

As Sherlock stared the boy got closer, choosing to sit with his legs crossed in front of him, pulling a crumpled packet of tissues out of his pocket, holding one out to Sherlock. This interaction snapped the crying boy out of his shock and he clambered to his feet, adamantly rubbing his tears away on his t shirt, feeling quite angry that this boy had walked in on his moment of weakness.  

The boy did not appear to be judging Sherlock though, he was not laughing at him or smirking. Still, he had little trust for people his age, and did not like to risk being made a fool. So, he held his head high and walked past the boy, aware of the time he lost to his fall and the questions he would need to answer upon returning home.  

“Wait!” the boy said, shocked at the cold reaction, and yet not deterred. No boy his age had ever acted like this boy, and the small John Watson knew he had to be his friend. Using all of his 10 years of knowledge in making friends, he decided the best course of action was to introduce himself.

“My name is John” he declared, walking quickly to fall into step with the dark-haired boy, and upon realised he was not getting an answer asked “what's your name?”

Now, weather John knew this or not he had just introduced Sherlock with a difficult question. At their age, insults were uncreative and simple, and yet one thing kids their age seemed to know was that Sherlock’s name was ‘weird’. He was therefore expecting the same reaction from this normal looking boy, and steeled himself as he plainly said “Sherlock Holmes”  

Sherlock had avoided eye contact as he declared his name, but if he had been looking at John he would have seen the amazement on his face “Wow!” he exclaimed, grinning “you sound like you’re from a book!”

This was.... new for Sherlock, something almost like a compliment, before he could figure out how to respond, John took his silence as a sign to carry on.

“really, you should take the tissue, if you let that cut get dirty you could get an infection, your face would swell up and get all gross” he sounded perversely pleased as he said this, the same way many little boys did when mentioning something ‘icky’.  

Sherlock was not one of those little boys and at the implication that his face could “get all gross” was not fun, and he promptly snatched the tissue that was still in johns fist and rubbed at the graze on his cheek.  

“no! Not like that!” john said, sounding rather alarmed as he stole the tissue back and to sherlocks horror spat on it, rubbing it onto sherlocks face to get rid of the grime. John did not see an issue with this, he saw plenty of mothers outside the school gates licking at their thumbs to rub dirt from their children's cheeks, this was no different, and it couldn’t be dirty if mums did it.  

“what on earth do you think you're doing?” Sherlock asked with horror at having a stranger's saliva on his face

“cleaning your cut, now stay still and stop talking like the queen” John said, with no malice, he had simply never heard anyone in real life talk the way Sherlock did, especially kids, and the queen was the poshest person he could think of.  

Sherlock wanted to reply, but as John wiped his face with one hand and held his chin still with the other, he felt oddly little need to protest. He felt... cared for.  

As John pulled away he smiled a big toothy grin at Sherlock, showing off a missing front tooth

“all better” he declared affectionately, stepping back “why were you running so fast with a jam jar anyways?”

Sherlock suddenly remembered his all-important task, and took off with a surprisingly serious expression for someone so young “I am looking for bugs, I want to keep them and then observe the rate at which they decompose”

Sherlock though this was bound to disgust his new companion, but was pleasantly surprised when the golden boy grinned and asked “can I help?”

[monsoonblooms12]

Hi there! This week’s newlywed’s round will be a short one (but hopefully a fun one). This week we’re playing:

What Would They Rather?

Note: The setting is back to Ethan x MC being married/together. They have to guess what their partner would choose from the options. Dialogue is entirely up to you!

MC, what would Ethan rather?

Beer or Wine

A Cruise or Camping

Horror Movie or Chick Flick

Stay at home or Go out in the rain

Get up early or Stay up late

Ethan, what would MC rather?

Cook dinner or Do the dishes

Diamonds or Pearls

Live in the city or Live in the country

Walk on the beach or Dance in the club

Travel overseas or Explore locally

Lovely Bree💕! (@jamespotterthefirst) Thank you so much for these fun questions. I had an amazing time answering them❤❤

Week 1 I Week 2 I Week 3 I Week 4 I Week 5

Pooja, what would Ethan rather?

‌Beer or Wine

Pooja bursts out laughing

Ethan: What's so funny?

Pooja: I was just thinking about that time when you drank beer. That ONE time.

Ethan: I didn't drink it because I wanted to, I drank it because the people offering it were my friends and my girlfriend was giving me puppy eyes.

Pooja: (Giggles) Ethan would rather dies that drink beer. Honestly, he doesn't even drink wine. It's just scotch, all time, every time.

Ethan: Just say that I have taste.

Pooja: Says the man who whined about the drink all his way back home.

Ethan: I did NOT whine.

Pooja: Suureeee.

‌A Cruise or Camping

Pooja: Just imagine. You, on a cruise. With people. Actual, walking, talking people. Having to socialize.

Ethan: (suffers in silence)

Pooja: Tell me, can you imagine? (looks at him) Because I seriously can't.

Ethan: (still suffering in silence)

Pooja: Taking your silence as my cue, I will say camping. Becase A. It has memories associated to when he asked me to move in with him B. He cannot bear people and C. Camping has a tranquility and calm that nothing else can provide (Pauses) You know, if I think about it, we both are quite similar when it comes to socializing (giggles)

The only difference I can think of is that I don't downright hate people, I just can't bring myself to socialize, whereas he just hates them.

Ethan: If you had not made the comment, i would have did it on my own.

Pooja: Is it revenge that you were planning on, Ramsey?

Ethan: You will see.

Horror Movie or Chick Flick

Pooja: Honestly, no comments on horror movies. Mostly because I cannot watch them to save my life, because it is sure that I won't sleep and I won't be able to go anywhere alone, and I have never asked if he watches them alone when I am not around.

(looks at Ethan expectantly)

Ethan: Those so called investigators in those movies are stupid.

Pooja: (shakes her head, humored) Of course, how can I not expect you to do your own detectiving when you watch those?

Ethan: Did you just make up a new word?

Pooja: Yes

(whispers) I stole it from the Professor.

Ethan: So your answer is?

Pooja: Chick flicks.

Ethan: You're wrong,

Pooja: Look into my eyes and tell me that they are absolute rubbish and you can't bear a single second of them.

(Ethan doesn't)

Pooja: Come on, do it!

Ethan: (a long sigh) ...Fine. They are not... totally terrible.

Stay at home or Go out in the rain

Pooja: It took me 84 years to convince him to go outside during the rains.

Ethan: Why weren't you named Drama when you were born?

Pooja: I have no idea! (thinks for a while) It would have been an interesting name, by the way. Whenever someone would announce my arrival, they would be like "Here comes Drama!"

Ethan: (Rolls his eyes) And to correct you, I still prefer staying at home when it rains...

Pooja: ...when you are alone. Which is rare.

Ethan: That's only because you ask me to, not because I want to.

Pooja: And also because you get to dance with me.

Ethan: ...That can be considered.

Get up early or Stay up late

Pooja: Early bird. (To herself) I will never understand how people can wake at 4 in the morning and still function like normal humans.

Ethan: And what I cannot comprehend is someone, who cannot wake up at six, like normal, function humans, works at three in the morning like she is ready to take down the world.

Pooja: You're the early bird to my night owl, we are the perfect pair.

Ethan: (Gives a radiant smile) That we are.

Ethan, what would Pooja rather?

Cook dinner or Do the dishes

Ethan: Dishes, only because she gets to play with the soap bubbles.

Pooja: Have made it a motto to find fun on the most mundane things.

Ethan: A skill I will never have.

Pooja: Don't worry, love. You have me.

Ethan: And I am definitely grateful for that.

Diamonds or Pearls

Ethan: Diamonds. Because they are elegant and timeless, according to her.

Pooja: They are.

Ethan: I still remember that diamond bracelet you wore to Miami.

Pooja: (Smiles) Yaa, it's an heirloom. My mother got it made when my sister and me were born. It has twelve stones, as a marker of our date of birth. According to her, we made her life as radiant and beautiful like a diamond.

(Wipes a tear from the corner of the eye while Ethan puts his hand around her shoulder) Just... more reasons to love it.

Live in the city or Live in the country

Ethan: Somewhere in the country, but close enough to the city. A balance between the quiet and the hustle.

Pooja: (Looks at him, enamoured) You know me better than I know myself.

Ethan: (Gives her a kiss on the cheek) Isn't that why you are marrying me?

Pooja: (Returns the cheek kiss) It sure is.

Walk on the beach or Dance in the club

Ethan: Walk on the beach. Even though she prefers mountains over seas (Looks at Pooja)

Pooja: Don't look at me like that! I never said I hate seas. I like them. But if given an option between mountains and seas, I will pick mountains.

Ethan: She will always pick nature. Always.

Pooja: I always look for an escape, a calm. And nothing calms me as much as the nature.

Ethan: (Looks at her adoringly, with a smile on his face)

Travel overseas or Explore locally

Ethan: A bit of both.

Pooja: There's a joy in both, and I am not missing out on any.

(Ethan sits quiet, probably planning to take her on a local exploration on their next day off)

----

Pooja: (Turning towards Ethan) I remember you said you would take your revenge?

Ethan: Maybe I will, Maybe I won't. You will never know until I do it.

Pooja: I will be on my lookout Mister. You can't fool me.

Ethan: We will see that.

----

Did Ethan take his revenge? Did he not? We will never know.

[squidkiddoesstuff]

Random headcanons about my squid OCs I’m bored:

Aleena/ Agent 3

Major sensory issues. What’s taking off headphones? They’re attached to her. They hold a super long charge cause agent work but like every two days there’s this period where she has to take them off and charge them and she covers her ears the whole time and paces around her room.

Her DJ Sango persona started because she was listening to a song and running around her room stimming and she was like “this is the best feeling ever I want everyone to feel this”

Occasionally gets zoomies. Like a cat. Cuttlefish used to just set her loose in the more empty and open areas of octo valley so she could run around.

Huge fan of music. It’s constantly playing in her headphones. Most of the time it’s just looping Maritime Memory or Splattack.

Lost her ability to fight after the hijacking thing. Also lost her emotional regulation abilities. Was not a fun few months for anyone as that stabilized, and she’s still trying to figure that out.

Tries to help with Squidbeak’s emotional problems, despite this. It’s not the best help out there, but she tries.

Agent 8/Libby

Great at suppressing her true feelings- became the de facto “prodigy” of squidbeak after the metro due to Aleena’s absence

Genuinely doesn’t know how to process distress/sadness- it comes out as anger.

Enjoys high heels, actually- it’s really fun to try and balance in them, and she wants to be really good at balancing (no particular reason why, she just thinks it would be cool to be able to balance on anything)

Sensitive to lights- they give her a headache and make it hard for her to process things. Her shades back in octo canyon were actually treated for this because Octavio isn’t a total monster and understands that sometimes people’s brains just cannot handle certain things.

Trying to take up singing. She wants to be like Marina, and Aleena’s offered to feature her in some of her DJ tracks- but the two aren’t on the best terms, so Libby refused.

Handles most of the groups finances/budget- good with numbers and genuinely enjoys figuring out math problems.

Four/Four

Old OC I stole the name from because I can’t kill OCs even if they’re borderline triggers.

Used to have anxiety when she was younger, but grew out of it. (sort of?)

Makes sure the agents practice self care by any means necessary. Once locked Libby in cuttlefish cabin because she was trying to do patrol while she was incredibly tired.

Little sister of Aleena. They have parents but they just got bored with them IG I have no freaking idea.

Likes bright colors and will frequently just put stickers on her face for the hell of it.

Callie says that she’s basically the inkling version of Bomb Rush Blush with how she dresses and acts.

Had a phase where she played the drums. She had to stop because Aleena would go into sensory overload even with her headphones on- Marie lets her keep the drums in the outpost though, so she sometimes practices there.

Freaking short. Possibly smaller than Pearl.

Constantly climbing on things, jumping off of said things- generally just using her environment as a jungle jim because it’s fine and who’s gonna stop her? The government?

Only wears oversized/loose clothing. Everything else makes her want to scream.

Hands are constantly stained by markers. No one ever sees her drawing.

Genuinely just loves looking at colors. She thinks they’re neat as hell.

Accidentally walks into a screen door at least 6 times a year.