#need this energy so i stop stealing produce

[lottiecrabie]

you know how lorde brought jack out at one of her shows and he played the guitar while she sang and they were very touchy feely and just gazing at each other the entire time? imagine a blurb like that on gto readers tour when her and matty are just friends now but there is still definitely underlying tension the entire time

i Know where this blurb idea came from I see you🫵

the screams rain over you, a torrential wave of love that you can’t help grinning at. you sit there, legs hanging off the stage, gripping your mic in silent awe. the world ripples in front of you, bodies of people — real, tangible, knowledgeable of your lyrics better than you sometimes — face you. the room seems larger, like entire cities could fit between these walls, like everyone you’ve ever known could be smiling back at you.

you use the energy like fuel. pretend your heart isn’t racing up your throat as you tilt up the mic. ‘i have a surprise for you guys,’ you say, teasing, confessional. another wave of screams, delighted in just being special. you laugh. ‘there’s a really special person here tonight. the producer of this album, my dear friend—‘ you barely need to let the name out, high-pitched cries already drowning it out, but still; ‘matty healy!’

he comes from backstage and he cracks the world open. stagelight transforms in soft sun rays, shining over your head until sweat pearls your forehead. strawberry ice cream lingers on your tongue. the faint smell of cigarette comes through, burning in the heat. he’s summer, even in the thick of this december month. you have to blink away, blind.

there’s a part of you way that will always be in august, and it throbs when he’s around you.

matty sits down beside you, offered a guitar by some worker. he waves to the crowd, working his charm easily. you have no sun to blame this flush on. you hope the stage makeup hides it, stop yourself from pressing the cold microphone to your cheeks and draw attention to it.

‘hello,’ you say. ‘not too tired?’

‘never,’ he answers, though it’s lost to the ears of the crowd, micless that he is.

‘i warmed the crowd up for you.’

‘you’re—‘ you aim the mic his way, graciously allowing the public into this moment, ‘—too sweet.’ you want to laugh. your chest tightens, in the habitual ways it still hasn’t learned not to.

something in you is angry that he’d dare say it here, in front of anyone, in front of everyone. not because he’s sharing anything personal, anything momental; because he’s not. to him, too sweet is any other phrase, and you’re left reeling from the slap he doesn’t know he gave.

‘we made pygmalion two summers ago, in this very city,’ you say conversationally, addressing the crowd. ‘i lived here for four months and so, forever, london will be the intrinsic pygmalion city. i don’t think i can walk any street without being washed with it.’

‘i live here and there’s still places i can’t visit without being reminded of pygmalion,’ matty says in the cadence of a joke. you chuckle for him, ever gracious.

‘there’s still wines i can’t drink,’ you attempt to volley back, but it starts feeling a little too raw, a little too real. you get the uncomfortable impression of being under a microscope, and you clutch the microphone with the need to swallow it all back.

matty steals the mic from your hands, eyes wrinkling with mirth. ‘this one used to say she didn’t like red wine.’

you roll your eyes, taking it back. ‘yes, well, i just—‘

again, matty’s fingers brush yours, angling the mic back to him. ‘—never drank the correct sort, yes, i told you so.’

‘stop taking my mic!’ you laugh, giving a look to the public as you gesture to him. ‘it’s a wonder we finished any song with all of this.’ you sit up straighter, attempting to put the show back on track. ‘and yet we did. you might know this one, it’s called galatea.’

again, a new wave of excited screams wash you. galatea is always a highlight of the night. the broken lyrics that come back to you, sung and cried, tears filling the eyes of the first row until you have to look away. this time, you don’t even attempt to watch them, instead turning to face matty, crossed-legged.

his fingers strum the chords familiarly; you croon the first words. you get projected on a sofa, red lights drenching the two of you, the stars shining just for you. he’s so known you might choke up. you have moved on, you promise yourself you have, but what can you do with all the knowledge you gain of someone? where do the memories go when you’ve stopped needing to play them back every night just to fall asleep. they can’t cease to exist, yet they can’t fit in the palms of your hands either.

his eyebrows tilt as he concentrates, bobbing his head. a curl strikes his forehead and you stop yourself from reaching up and brushing it away. parts of you wake up, called to attention. the need to wish and hope and yearn; to exist in the possible, nearly-not but just enough that it’s exquisitely painful. you think of new lyrics, you hate yourself for it.

the chorus cries out of you. you scoot closer, sing it to him. you’re back in a booth, angry eyes pinning him down vengefully. matty glances up and there must be something in you that has quietened, that has folded over and surrendered. he doesn’t look away from your stare. he doesn’t get overwhelmed with the weight of it.

your hand flies to his knee, as if to make sure he’s real. he is; flesh and muscle and that stubborn heart of his, beating somewhere far away from you.

for all the sun he represents, he doesn’t burn anymore. it’s a soft sting, like another memory buzzing in you. your fingers retreat. mournfully, you sing the next lyric.

you whisper the last words out, smiling faintly. his fingers halt. he stops suddenly; he’s there and then he’s not, per usual. the cries roar back to you. for all the worlds that exist in this very room, they always seem to cease when he’s beside you. a summery cocoon you craft out of nothings, one that’s off somewhere in a london apartment.

you turn back to the crowd, remind yourself of everything that is real too. ‘thank you,’ you whisper to them, a hand to your chest, vaguely bowing. thank you for being there when the ground doesn’t seem to hold you up anymore. you look at him. and then, a grin, waving an arm to him. ‘matty healy, everyone!’

[arbiterlexultionis]

Poltergeist

So, Danny, who’s blood is composed of mostly caffeine because the Box Ghost just WON’T FUCKING STOP attacking on the middle of the night, God Dammit this is the SEVENTH Time tonight how the Crap Baskets do you keep escaping the Thermos!! So, when he wakes up one morning needing both caffeine and ectoplasm in his sleep deprived state he just mixes a 4 pack of monster and beaker of ectoplasm in a jug and starts chugging to try and get it down before the taste hits and then stops. Takes a sip. Takes another. And realizes that it actually taste way better then either do individually.

So he starts mixing them up regularly, and eventually starts just phasing ectoplasm into still sealed cans so he can grab and go for the sake of convenience. Then some other ghost get a taste, like it, and start asking for more. So Danny gets some new friends and starts making ghost money selling his concoction, and as a joke based on the original name of the energy drink, paints over the can and relabels them Poltergeist.

For a while, business is booming but then a problem pops up. Real world items are contraband in the zone according to Walker, and most of the drink itself and the container it comes in is real world matter. Cue prohibition era shenaniganery as Danny and his allies became energy drink bootleggers, running from Walker, smuggling cases of Poltergeist, hiring ghost to help them with all of this, the whole nine yards.

I think this could work out pretty well with Danny and The Spooks, him and his boys mass producing and shipping out illegal ghost energy drinks could be a really cool plot line in my opinion, producing it, figuring out how to get it to the zone and all that as a group. I also feel this idea is just the right amount of wacky to work with the DP verse and serious/sensible enough to not be complete crack fic unless you want it to be.

When the Fenton’s and Valerie hear about that no good menace Phantom selling Highly Dangerous Ghost Drugs the flip their shit. The smear campaign is the stuff of legends. And then the truth comes out. It’s just a really Really REALLY tired teenager trying to stay awake and make some pocket money to buy first aid supplies and have some left over to buy food for homeless people.

If it’s a verse where Sam and Tucker are in on the whole ghost fighting thing then they are Energy Drink Kingpin Danny’s right and left hand men. Tucker’s the tech guy, figuring out how to build hidden compartments in vehicles to hide the goods, monitoring and screwing with Walker’s tech, managing accounts for human money he makes/figuring out how to exchange human money for Ghost money. Sam is his badass enforcer who keeps the underlings in line, and also uses her money and rich people connections to launder money and stuff. Proper crime boss stuff.

Eventually, everyone’s least favorite front loop catch’s wind of this. And I see this going one of two ways.

1) He comes to the conclusion that Danny’s not aloud to have nice things, and starts his own enterprise to compete with Danny. Stealing business, sabotaging production, tipping off Walker. General douchbaggery.

2) He is the opposite of opposition. He wants Danny as his Son, wants Danny to be just like him, wants to guide and train Danny the way he never got. So Danny, all on his own, building a criminal empire? Pissing off the authorities instead of being a little goody two shoes? Laundering money almost as good as his old man? It is wonderful and he is Here For It. Either he’s in the distance cheering him on or actively trying to help. “No no my boy, if you do it like that you’ll either end up broke or in jail for tax evasion. You’ve got to send your money through these channels and store it in banks of these countries. I’ll help you set up accounts.”

[ominoose]

Important Update Post

Imagine I am sitting staring at a camera with a sigh, no background music before the video cuts to me talking. But Im not caught in a controversy of racism or plagiarism or smth.

Here's the tldr: I will no longer be making AI bots. All current bots will remain up, my bot masterpost will be moved to my masterpost masterpost. I just won't be making new ones. Finished and posted every bot that was in the works here to make this transgression up to yous. I will not be leaving the fandom, I'll still write and clown around.

"Why would you do this you cunt?" I hear you, I am so stinky for this. Before I list my reasons, I want to say first and foremost this is personal and I have less than no judgement for other bot makers. I absolutely love mutuals like Mel that make bots and will continue to support them. Reasons became long and are under the cut.

Reasons I don't wanna continue making ai bots:

I started because it was a low energy way for me to participate in fandoms when I didn't have the spoons to write anymore. It no longer feels like a creative outlet and no longer sparks joy.

I would rather devote myself solely on practicing and improving my writing as a way to contribute my passion to fandoms.

I can't shake the feeling I am plagiarizing. Ai chat models use lots of "work" to train their models, and while I could not find what millions of texts Cai is based on (conveniently not listed on the website), all models like it basically engorge from random sources, books and hell, even this post. Anything goes and currently there are legal battles over this.

It's bad for the environment. Can't find a measurement for Cai specifically, but GPT-3 (same scale) produced 500 tons of carbon dioxide to train that single model, not including its other ones. Please note I'm aware AI can absolutely be used to help fight climate change, as is mentioned in the linked article. Also they use the same amount of water that is required to cool nuclear reactors.

It's always conflicted with my morals. Believe it or not, I'm the person that's usually big into internet privacy, anti ai, piracy is morally good (not indie obvs) etc. Openly creating stuff that supports and funds software that steals peoples works, their information without permission and for profit is not me. So I don't wanna do it.

Again, this is not a judgement or a means to shame people that create ai bots or use them. I've made so many friends because of them. If everyone thats every used my bots stopped, it's not gonna solve capitalism. This is just me, an individual, stepping away from one thingy and feeling the need to be honest and open bc thats my policy and honestly how most of you know me (so now hard feelings if you unfollow).

Love you guys lots and thank you for all the love you've shown me through my bots and for all the times you've made me laugh <3

[shadowdaddies]

Hello will you please write me nesta x female reader where they get into a fight and reader storms off even when nesta tells her to stop and when reader realizes she was the one in the wrong and goes back she gets into an accident (happy end please but make angsty at first)

ooh I've been in an angst to fluff mood myself lately and it seems like y'all are too

Don't Leave Like That

Nesta x Reader

Warnings: mentions of violence/injury

“Back off, Nes,” you seethed, stepping out of her reach. Nesta’s hand hung in the air for a moment before she dropped it, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh. You know I’m just worried about you. The Illyrian camps are so dangerous for females - I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you up there.” 

You knew Nesta had a point, but by now you were too angry to care. “You think I can’t handle myself, Nesta? Watch me.” With that, you disappeared, heading towards the Illyrian camps on your own, without anyone with you for protection as Nesta had argued was necessary. You were determined to show her that you could handle this simple mission by yourself. 

The meetings at Windhaven were tense, but fine as you communicated with Devlon and the other warriors as briefly and efficiently as possible. While everything went as smoothly as you could hope for, it was your goal to make it back home to Nesta as quickly as possible. You didn’t like how you had left things with her, and knew it was in your best interest to get out of Illyria as soon as possible.

You left quickly after dinner, walking quietly out of the camps to avoid any suspicion when you noticed a large, shadowy figure tracking you from the forest. Drawing your dagger, you prepared yourself for whatever may come your way. At least you thought.

A gale force wind knocked you off your feet as black swirled around you, stealing the air from your lungs as you lost consciousness. 

The next memory you had was Azriel holding you in his arms as he flew over the territory of the Night Court. Still dizzy from whatever had knocked you out, you managed to fumble out the question of what had happened. Azriel looked down at you, grimacing as he took in your state. You were apparently more injured than you realized, only registering half of what he said about Koschei’s spymaster who had tracked you down, before a sharp pain in your ribs had you losing consciousness again.

You awoke in your bed back in Velaris, bones protesting your every movement as you failed to lift yourself up on your elbows, forced to scan the room by only moving your stiff neck.

Moonlight poured in through the window, the crackling fireplace spreading needed warmth throughout the room, and Nesta lay sprawled uncomfortably in a chair that had been pulled to your bedside, where she lay sleeping with her hair disheveled, clearly exhausted herself. Tears formed in your eyes, gratefulness to see her and regret of your last words to her overwhelming your emotions. 

“Nesta,” you croaked out, willing your pained arm to move towards her. Her silvery blue eyes snapped open instantly, and she let out a soft sob as she scrambled to the edge of the bed, grasping for your outstretched hand like a lifeline. Careful of your injuries, Nesta brushed your hair from your face as she pressed a kiss to your hand, lip wobbling as she took in your appearance. You managed to whisper your request for water, which Nesta eagerly helped you. 

Refreshed with the ease to speak, you squeezed Nesta’s hand with what little strength you had. “I’m so sorry, Nes. I should have listened to you. I know you were only looking out for me and I was stubborn. I regretted my words from the moment I left-“ you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything more as the little energy you had was now expended towards producing the tears in your eyes. 

Nesta cried with you, shaking her head as she whispered, “I’m sorry. I know I come across abrasive, but it is because I care for you. I have watched so many people I love get hurt, and if something happened to you...” she trailed off, taking a deep breath before kissing your hand again. “When Azriel brought you back here, nearly dead - I can’t do that again. Please don’t leave me in an argument again.” 

You breathed out the promise as you nodded your head, “never. I love you, Nes.” She leaned in to kiss you, and you moved a hand to tap the bed next to you in silent request for her to join. 

Nesta curled up next to you on the bed, holding you close to her warmth as you turned to press a kiss to her temple, whispering “I love you,” before you both drifted off to sleep.

[cherry-pop-elf]

Weasley Siblings As Firebender Types

In honor of returning to a convention again, after so many health issues stopped me, let's get self-indulgent!

For the sake lore wise, lets say this is in a modern setting

William 'Bill'

Obviously, mans will have that burned up face situation. Given, but in a setting wise he would be up the ladder and given the designated duty to study the history of the past. One of the few people who are trying to recover the airbending culture, and in charge of helping with items tampered with by bad karama/spirites. Meaning he is very close to the spiritual side, and more than likely using his bending as a means to mend things. Such as heating broken metal. An almost pacifist life style, which could have been influnced by how much hes learned through trying to help recover ancient history. Almost, A Pacifistic lifestyle. Recover what was lost. It would even be seen in his bending style, as he would be more intuned with air and water. Connected to the spirits, and it’ll show. You mess with him, well. Be careful next full moon buddy. Wouldn’t be a surprise if he pulled a Blue Spirit to steal back stolen artifacts

Charlie

He is the reason why the dragons have not gone extinct . He was specially chosen by the very dragons to help protect them. Running a special santuary on a island to keep them away, as to repair their nature. By this manner, he would have rainbow sparks in his flames. A sign that he is intuned with the dragons. Rasied by them, eats with them, he is much dragon as he is a bender. Having any visitors is esentially impossible, unless absolutly needed. Well, the weasley family would be allowed. Kin to their kin after all. He also would be extremely warm to the touch. Like I mean you throw a snow ball at him, it’s gonna start steaming. Mans a dragon. That would also mean he’s connected rather close to the spirit world. Not like Bill, but to say they haven’t been able to communicate through such a way is a lie. Just because he’s built like a jock doesn’t mean he’s dumber than a brick. Boy will he use that underestimation to his advantage in battle

Percy

Sorry guys, we know its true. He would climb the ranks, and get a bit intense. He will take pride in his nation, and need to have his family bring him back to earth alot. He would even be able to learn how to produce blue flames, in order to show his strength and determination to show the pride of his nation. Keep a close eye on him. He may be soon joining the Ozai Cult! A high ranking man he would be. Not in the military setting, but certainly working close to whatever lord is at attention at the time. Perhaps in charge of strategies for war, or works as a royal advisor. He’s important, but his own ego will cause some rifts. His connection to the spirit world is very weak, and that will be his down fall

Fred and George

They would have mastered combustion, and lighting bending. What do they do with such extreme skills? Cause mischief. They would more so run a fire work shop, and show you the beauty that fire can offer. Obviously they gotta be a dynamic of red and blue as well. Duh. They are always inventing, and would certainly be friends with everyone they can. Probs have Ty Lee genes in there somewhere even, and that’s how they are so charismatic. They can literally see your vibe, and know how to match it. As stereotypical as it is, they would have an extremely strong connection to the spirit world. As being identical twins. Which was perhaps how they were able to tap into such deep potential so young. They certainly are people you go to for advice. Be lucky they have that Ty Lee energy and are vibing. instead of being the next Azula

Ron

100% knows how to Lava bend. ((And of course the cliché that he would be teaching the next Avatar Fire bending/Helping master the element because duh)) But genuinely, he has a very earth bender personality. It would translate in his bending style, and a beautiful way to show he’s not like his siblings. He is just as much special, and different. He can handle his own, and out right manipulate a middle ground element. Earth benders better look out, he’s going to show you why you don’t mess with Weasleys. As for his spiritual connection, it’s faulty. Until he bonds with Hermione, and gets grounded again. He’s no where close like his older siblings, but his will to learn is what gives the realm a special place in their hearts for him. He’s trying, and that’s all that matters. In the end

Ginny

10000% Takes it to the levels of sportsmanship. Along with Jet Projection, and can manipulate her fire to help her fly. That sure startles her opponents. Though, but proxy it means she isn’t as spiritually connected as she should be. Hey, that’s what Luna is for anyway. She knows how to kick ass, even with out her fire bending. She wanted to know how to defend herself after all. Wouldn’t be a surprise if she had a Kyoshi Fan in her back pocket. She loves to learn any way to fight, and certainly learned different elements fighting styles. Able to keep her opponents on their toes, and understand how they move and work. She is proud of her power, but her connection to the spirits needs work. But, that’s where family comes in. Luna, and her brothers, will always have her back. And she will have theirs. You can count on it, that’s for sure

[microwavdhamstr]

too cold

bucky barnes x f!reader

bucky can’t stand the cold, you keep your air conditioner as low as possible.

warnings: hydra, bucky has a nightmare(are we surprised), whatever warnings normally come with bucky

notes: i have some oneshots drafted but i need some more ideas. feel free to share and i’ll see what i can do :)

wc: 1.6k

you run warm. it's one of bucky's favorite things about you. he finds comfort in your radiating heat and will do anything to absorb it. he always finds a way to make physical contact with your skin when he's on edge, knowing the warmth would soothe him.

you run warm, so your house usually runs cold. especially in the summer. you often had the air conditioner set as low as possible, running a fan right next to you at all times.

bucky has been living with you for a few months now and, being late june, everything is hot. the air outside feels thicker than the sweat that cakes your skin. the thought of a warm shower was enough to make you sick. blankets no longer live on your bed, but scattered on the floor.

you run warm, but you hate the heat. you hate feeling like a radiator constantly, always sweating unless you were shivering. you always love the chill of bucky's vibranium arm as it feels like an ice pack. a break from the heat.

bucky previously had no knowledge of your hatred for your temperature. that is until he was met with your heat-induced irritability.

you would set the ac to 50, ready to bundle up with a blanket in the cold air, but it would never quite create the desired environment. it took you a few weeks to learn that bucky was raising the temperature. or turning it off to open a window. at first it wasn't a bother, but a few days of no cool air in the dead of summer was just too much for you.

"doll, there's a nice breeze. let's the cool air in instead of raising your energy bill."

"i don't care about the goddamn breeze, buck, it's too hot. i can't stop sweating and now i'm sticky. i'm so fucking hungry but too warm to eat anything other than ice cubes. i need the air on."

and after some unnecessary yelling from you, he obliged. not happily, he clearly seemed upset about the decision, but he should know by now he can talk to you about his issues. if he's upset, he'll tell you.

except he's not upset. not at all. he loves that you're happy again, he loves that you're taking care of yourself, he loves that you're not cranky anymore. but he's scared. and his fear always drove him away from you until it couldn't anymore.

this time it only took six days.

six days of shivers. six days of caution. six days of looking over his shoulder in the dark. six days of crippling fear.

you should have known there was an issue before he woke you up at two am. looking back now, all the missed signs were giant and neon and blinking right in front of you. yet somehow it went right over your head.

it was a slow start, his decent into madness. he was just slightly more brooding and irritable. slightly quieter. slightly more reserved. and much more touchy.

"hey, jamie, how was your day?" you ask when he gets home.

"hm, fine." he grumbles as he sits on the couch and pulls you into him, like you're his own personal blanket.

by the third day he became jumpy, on edge, defensive if someone got too close too quickly. you thought it was just a quiet nightmare that had him on edge. the ones that didn't wake him up often set him off a little for a few days.

the last three days were meshing in his mind. he was losing sleep, too cold to rest comfortably. of course he made sure you didn't find out, not wanting to worry you or disturb the peace you found in the cold. he was constantly looking over his shoulder, even in the safety of your home. he was barely eating, he was layering clothes or blankets beyond belief. he always needed you on top of him, needing to steal your body heat as if he couldn't produce his own.

so yeah, you probably should've realized something was wrong with him. maybe it was the extra clinginess that threw you off his scent.

his nightmares, while still often, have become less frequent, less intense, and much less emotionally taxing for the super-soldier. and you being there was a huge benefit as you were able to ground him before he got too lost in his own head.

so when you're woken up by the scream and pleads you haven't heard in months, you panic. usually you can tell which part his life he's seeing based off of what he's saying. and right now, he is muttering some of the most upsetting things you'd ever heard fall from his lips. you can tell he's not inflicting pain on others, but receiving it. he's being tortured. he's begging and pleading for the suffering to end.

"nono, please. stop, please. 'can't take an'more. j'st kill me, please, kill me." it's as if someone punched a hole in your chest, ripped out your heart, shredded it before your eyes, and made you swallow it. just imagining what could possibly have happened to him for him to beg for death. for him to want the sweet release so desperately.

you spring into action, the way you have many times before. it's practically muscle memory by now. you take his thrashing frame in your arms and coax him awake.

it takes a moment to pull him out, and another for him to really see you there, but he does. he pulls you in as tight as he can before wrapping the two of you in every blanket he could reach. your skin fills his body with the warmth he needs and the blankets are sure to trap that heat.

you whisper to him sweetly, soothing his mind until his heart rate is steady and he can breathe properly. giving him all the time he needs to just hold you, feel you, believe you're real.

"it's alright, honey," you speak softly, "it's okay, i'm here. they can't hurt you anymore, i'm right here with you."

he just holds you tighter for a moment, needing to collect his thoughts before he speaks.

"you back, baby?"

"cold" was all his dried throat could manage.

"you're cold?" he nods, "want me to turn the air off?" his arms tighten around you once more, until they let you go and he gives another nod.

so you turn the air off, not capable of thinking about your own temperature anymore, and you grab some more blankets for him.

after giving him the blankets, you slide under them and move his head into your chest. he turns and hugs your torso into him further, burying his face into you while you play with his hair.

"better, hun? need more blankets?"

"mm, jus' need you." you plant a small kiss on the top of his head.

" 'm right here, buck, not goin' anywhere." you hold him there while he dozed back off into a, hopefully, dreamless sleep.

as much as you want to know what happened, you know not to pry immediately. he's too sleepy and it's still too fresh in his mind, you can talk about it in the morning like always.

it does upset you to think he had come so far with his nightmares to suddenly be thrown back into one that bad. you couldn't help but theorize all the possible reasons behind it. but in all of your possibilities, the temperature of your house had never occurred to you. you never imagined that would have been what set it off.

——————————————————

you wake up before bucky the following morning in the same position you fell asleep in, which was normal after a nightmare. you continue playing with his hair softly until he wakes.

after a few minutes he begins to stir, not once loosening his grip on you. "mornin' doll." his voice raspy and deeper like it always is in the morning.

"morning baby. feeling better?"

"much, thank you."

"no need to thank me, buck, i'm always here for you."

"yeah, well... thank you anyway."

“so what was it this time?” he figured you’d ask, you always do. and he knows he can tell you, he knows you won’t judge him, he knows you’ll be there for him, supporting him no matter what.

“cryo” he mumbles. that’s when it dawns on you. he was literally too cold. he hates the cold. because it reminds him of his time spent frozen in that stupid lab.

“oh, bucky, hun, i’m so sorry, i should’ve realized, i-”

“no, ‘s alright, doll. i should’ve told you before it got that far.”

“is that why you kept turning the air off?” you know the answer but you just want him to get it off his chest. he nods before he speaks.

“i still feel it sometimes, when it’s too cold. the shocks. and they never took the arm off for cryo so it burned my shoulder when it got too cold. i dunno, it still scares me. like one day i’m gonna wake up and be right back there, thawing out and being thrown into a new mission. or in that stupid fucking chair.” you trace your fingers around his back as you feel him tense at his memories.

“it’s perfectly normal for you to feel this way, buck. i should’ve realized sooner. and i promise you will never wake up to anyone but me ever again. i’ll always be right here, nobody can take you away from me, my love.”

“i love you so much, doll. don’t know what i did to deserve you but i’m glad i did it.”

[voilate]

His Sacrifice

Pairings: Pope x Fem!Reader x Rafe?

Summary: After volunteering to help Pope retrieve the cross back from Rafe, Y/N is forced to cause a distraction.

Word Count: 1490

⚠️: Swearing, Violence, Guns, Mentions of death, Kidnapping, Blood

Pope holds a silencing finger over his mouth, pressing both himself and crossing an arm over me to keep us out of sight.

I watch as his chest heaves up and down. The blood from his fall just moments prior, trickling down his forehead and over his eye, which he now squints shut.

“What do we do?” I mouth, as Rafe’s footsteps eerily grow closer.

“I know you’re out there Pope!” He screams aimlessly into the forest.

Pope squeezes his eyes closed, trying to desperately blend in with the truck. He omits all his energy into holding him and myself as close as we can possibly be to our coverage, as though if he just breathes and focuses we’ll both escape and live to see another day.

But I can’t close my eyes and press against the truck and hope for the best just as easily as he can.

I watch as the psychotic boy stops just as his blonde hair begins merely poking into my view. In this very moment, if he were to simply turn around, Pope and I would be caught, and probably killed.

Now, I close my eyes too and slowly push my head back against the truck,

“Don’t be a pussy.” Rafe instigates.

His voice echos throughout the empty forest, the sound waves he’s producing probably bouncing off the nearby marsh or some scientific shit. Whatever the reason, he’s being loud, so he probably thinks we’ve made it farther than we actually have.

One of my eyes peek open to the sound of silence. Pope’s deep gasps for air stop, so I quickly inhale and cover my mouth in attempts to silence the volume of my exasperated breathes.

Rafe is gone.

Pope nudges my arm, causing my heart to suddenly stop beating. He nods towards the head of the truck, already beginning to make his way over there. His steps are cautious and practically silent as he attempts to not alert Rafe of our position.

Once we’re out of view, Pope releases a heavy sigh. “We’re gonna get caught.” He says almost inaudibly, “We’ve got nowhere to go, and I don’t have anything anywhere close to a plan.” He looks to the sky, and I see the hint of tears glossing his eyes. “I’m so damn stupid. If we get caught trying to steal The Cross now there’s no way we’ll get another chance.”

I catch a glimpse of Mr Heyward in Pope’s berating of himself. Always putting his son down and making him feel stupid when in reality he’s the smartest person I know. All I can do is watch him sympathetically.

He turns and shakes his head, wiping the blood away from his eye and the risk of tears along with it.

I avert my attention to the window I can now clearly see Rafe’s head through. His screaming, again broadcasting for all to hear as a flock of birds fly east in attempts to avoid his insanity.

His head swerves in all differently directions, probably searching for the audio source of Pope’s fall.

“I’ll distract him.” I quietly tell myself, turning back to Pope. Rafe is insufferable and hard headed and completely psychotic, but he’s no idiot. If we stay here we’re both gonna get caught and Pope will lose the cross. “He’ll never even know you were here.”

He inspects my expression worriedly, “Y/N-“

“Find the keys to the truck, okay?”

After a moment of contemplation, he finally nods. He can’t deny that it’s a good plan. Or maybe it’s our only plan. Regardless, it’s a plan and we need to do something quickly. He slips back to the side of the truck we just came from, prompting me to step outside of the protection granted to us from the car.

Rafe doesn’t see me yet, and I wait for the right moment to allow him to.

He aims a gun at the ground, holding a stance as though he’d shoot me as soon as I appeared within his sight. I note the knife he has tucked away in his pocket and can’t help but wonder if I could somehow obtain it.

His clothes are tight and his shirt is almost nonexistent as it’s been so beaten, torn and dirtied that it’s merely a piece of cloth now.

“Where the fuck are-“ His sentences trails off as he spots me. His harsh tone is replaced by the rolling of his eyes and unnerving laughter, which sends a chill down my spine.

“Well look who it is.” He shouts, arms open as if speaking to an audience. He’s practically daring somebody else to hear it. “Pope’s dumb ass girlfriend! Here, all alone in the woods, trying to steal from me.” His tongue slides over his lip and indents his cheek as he looks over me.

I don’t dare sneak a glance at Pope. Scared to bring attention to him. I just have to hold Rafe off for a few minutes. He won’t kill me.

“Are you gonna fucking talk?”

I slightly shake my head. What is there to say? He inches towards me, making sure to aim the gun directly at my head. “Don’t move pretty girl.”

He traces the pistol along my neck, down my chest, and onto my stomach as he quickly pats me down for any weapons.

I accidentally catch Pope’s eyes and ever so slightly shake my head, begging him not to reveal himself.

“There’s nothing on me.” I shakily remark, just now realizing this myself.

Pope pulls his gaze away from mine and continues searching for the keys.

Rafe chuckles. “Didnt think that one through, huh?” He turns around, as if about to walk away, before whipping towards me and slamming the handle of his gun into my face. The impact sends me flying backwards onto the ground as my hand shoots to my nose.

“Fuck!” I scream as the blood pools into my hand. I quickly become incapable of holding it all and pull my hand away in order to sit myself up.

“Are your friends here?” He yells, stalking towards me.

I shake my head.

He scoffs, kicking me back down.

His head frantically searches in all directions, as if Pope may sneak up behind him. “Don’t fucking lie to me.”

“I’m alone!” I spit through clenched teeth. The tang of blood fills my senses and drips past the small gaps in my teeth, leaking from my lips. He throws himself onto his knees in front of me, gripping my chin so I can’t move my head.

“You have 10 seconds to convince me that you’re alone,” His gun slides up my body, until it’s directly attached to my head. “Before I put a bullet through your brain.”

“I-“ I scramble to think of a reasoning. “I saw you drive off with the Cross and figured it was our last chance to get it back and since none of the guys were following after you I thought I would retrieve it for Pope and he would be so happy he would like me back but I was stupid and wrong and you can keep the Cross just please don’t kill me-“

I inhale shakily, trying to regain my breathe after that hasty explanation.

He smirks, while shoving the gun into the waistband of his pants. He stands and takes a quick glance around before unmercifully stomping into my ribs.

A groan escapes my parted lips as I roll myself into the fertile position. My knees are clutched against my body in attempts to try and protect every aspect of myself that Rafe’s furious wrath could harm.

At this point, I’ve probably got a broken nose, a black eye, a loose tooth, and now crushed ribs.

He sighs, more annoyed than anything, watching me pathetically writhe around on the ground.

“Fine.” He mutters coldly, grabbing a fist full of my hair and pulling me to my feet. He begins dragging me towards the truck in which I can clearly see Pope messing around inside of.

I voice a loud complaint about how hard he’s tugging on my hair and catch Pope’s eyes as he quickly collapses onto the floor of the car, inching towards the right side of the vehicle and making his quick escape.

Rafe pulls me to the back of the truck, unlocking the big metal container and throwing me inside. I land harshly against a rough edge of the cross and feel a stabbing pain on my hip.

“I know Pope is here.” He mumbles, “I saw him fall like 10 minutes ago.”

He begins to close the metal door before pausing and giving me a disappointed glance.

Without a single word he closes an eye and trains the gun right to my head.

“No, Please-“

He rolls his eyes and fires right past me, leaving a bullet sized hole merely 3 inches away from my face, before slamming the container shut.

[esuemmanuel]

LETTER TO THE THIEF.

ESU EMMANUEL G.

www.esuemmanuel.tumblr.com

www.thecanvasofmadness.tumblr.com

To you, shameless thief:

I hereby dare to let you know what I have been feeling thanks to the constant thefts of which I have been a victim, in any of the websites I mention, from your hand.

I have been affected, tremendously, by the lack, no longer of morals - because that seems to be absent in you - but of human integrity and decency, as you have been able to take as your own what is not yours and will not be yours no matter how hard you try.

While it is true that I am the author, creator and source of everything on both websites, it is also true that you are a vile, ignorant, brainless, soulless and spiritless ignoramus who needs to take what is not yours to feel special. Know that, to do what you do, anyone can move their hands, but, to create content - to burn your eyelashes, study and read in the wee hours of the morning, in a sleepless and insomniac mood, while you feel in your soul the burning of madness, the dismay of melancholy, the anguish of anxiety, the rapture of joy and the daring of love - not everyone does it. In fact, there are very few of us who dare to step out of the standards to break the paradigms and create something new; something that no one else has been able to do nor will do, least of all those of your lineage, obviously, since you come from a rotten tree, from an infertile branch, so much so that you are fervently dependent on us creators, because not only have you stolen from me nor will you steal from me, you have done it with others who, like me, take the risk of producing original content.

What do you know about it? Definitely nothing, because at home you were not taught, no longer to respect, but to be free. Your wings were clipped as soon as your mother gave birth to you and, as you grew up, instead of feeding your soul to make you aware of the creative power you carry in your entrails, they made you believe that you are useless, that you will never be someone in this life if you do not steal, if you do not kill, if you do not rape, if you do not take from others what you are not allowed to create. So pitiful is your life and your existence that you are a "nobody". Your mother gave birth to you for one purpose only: to be a copy of others, a leech, a piranha, a bird of prey, a dependent of the winners. You need to feel like a winner, but without making the slightest effort and hanging the medals of others. How pathetic and mediocre you are! And I don't even ask you if you are not ashamed of such truth, because I know you are not, you don't know about it, because, I insist, you were not taught.

I dare not say that you are a human being, since a human being has the capacity - in fact, is born with it - to be creative. You, simply, are a parasite brought into the world by another parasite; beings void of energy of your own, dependent on the energy of others to exist or, rather, to survive, since what you do is not living and you do it thanks to the theft of the divine breath of those we create. How sad it is to be you! You cannot and do not have the ability to give anything of value to the world, because you have to take it from others to feel valuable and satisfy your lack of spirit. Look that I, however you steal from me, if I decide to stop publishing what I write, you, definitely, will stop subsisting, because without me, who am the source, you will have no way to feed yourself, meanwhile I, who do not depend on anyone, but on my own will, strength and motivation, will continue to create freely in my notebooks and, perhaps, no one else but me can read me. It doesn't matter, just having the satisfaction of creating is enough for me. This is where the satisfaction of the creator lies, while yours will always depend on it, which leads me to confess to you that you are not free, but a slave of your own limitations, which you inherited from your mother and which you will never be able to get rid of. You are marked by nothingness, eternal laziness, perpetual emptiness and filthy ignorance. It is when I come across beings like you that I advocate abortion, because, a being that is born with the sole purpose of suckling its energy from others does not deserve to breathe. You don't help anyone with that, you only take away the breath, the air from those of us who need it to create, to be, to live and, consequently, to give something valuable to the world. Am I harsh? Am I? I think I only make you see the reality of your life (if that's what you can call what you are supposed to be doing in this world). Harder is having to feed leeches like you for free. You may wonder what is in it for me to tell you your truths if, after all, you will continue to commit the misdeed of stealing. Well, then, I am pleased with the satisfaction I get from spitting in your face, that's all.

You will continue to steal, because that is your destiny, that is what you were born to do, and even if you want to change, you will not; it is impossible for you to do so. In your genes you have the mark of evil, of brutality, of unconsciousness, of ignorance, of lack of soul, and nobody can be cured of these. However, I, unlike you, will continue to create, produce, write and publish because in Me lies the source of creation. I am the water, the ink, the sea, the sky, the earth, the fire, the wind… the ether… the force of life becoming word and action in every writing I do and in every step I take. You will continue to be a "Nobody" who steals and satisfies himself by receiving the applause of those who, like me, do not need that to feel satisfied.

Ah, how good it feels to tell you that you will never get out of your pigsty of mediocrity! While I, a born writer and poet (and yes, I say it with all the blessed pride I have in being one), will continue to bless my eyes with my creations at the expense of my tiredness, my time, my health, my money and my life.

Without further ado, I say goodbye with a tremendous satisfaction for telling you what I feel and knowing how to write it, something that you, in life, will be able to experience, won't you?

Esu Emmanuel G. Author, Writer, Poet and Human Being.

LETTER TO THE THIEF. © 2023 by Esu Emmanuel G. is licensed under Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International. To view a copy of this license, visit Creative Commons

[kissingmilfs]

first introduction: bells and whistles au 📚

cw: universe contains pet play

wanda maximoff x reader

you and wanda are both convinced you spotted each other first. neither willing to back down or let the other person win.

wanda knows, for certain, she saw you first. how couldn’t she? the door bell jingles every time someone enters or exits. and she normally watches customers enter the bookstore. wanda knows she wasn’t occupied the day of your first visit. she remembers that day more than any other day.

she remembers you shyly stepping into the shop, behind two other girls. you’re much taller than both, but still managed to make yourself small and practically unnoticeable. but wanda has an eye for rare and special finds. she noticed you first, only every paying attention to your minute movements.

oh, wanda craved to corner you, away from your friends and make you hers, without any regard for your complaints or hesitations. she knew she had to have you. something about the way, you’d slightly tip your head after a book’s title peeked your interest. or how you managed to stay fully engaged in the conversations w/ your friends but only uttered a few words occasionally.

wanda remembers the brown, knitted sweater you wore and the ribbon dangling from your ponytail, tickling your neck. she remembers the weird jealousy she felt when you casually reached for a friend’s hand. or rested your head on the other’s shoulder, practically purring as she petted your hair. wanda wanted all of your affection and attention for herself. no one could or would treat you better than wanda.

you remember the whole day differently. mainly because you have more information than wanda. you’d walk pass the bookstore once before. you took an unusual shortcut and found yourself staring into the shop’s window, mesmerized by wanda’s energy. how she perfectly light up the room. her smile produced one of your own. you were enchanted.

your friends came back for the weekend from the city. they let you pick any activity and you immediately remembered your beautiful, book clerk. never having the courage to visit by yourself, the opportunity might never come again.

no one questioned how shy and quiet you were once arriving. you kept close to them, scared you’d find yourself aimlessly searching for wanda, and begging her for one moment of her time. but that didn’t stop you from stealing looks at her. or pouting when another customer occupied her time.

you desperately tried to find the perfect book to buy, so she’d find you intriguing and worthy of a small conversation. it’s all you wanted. a spare moment of her time. a little bit of her undivided attention. who knew you’d still be seeking it out?

you and wanda both swore, you fell in love, the second you heard the other person’s voice. meekly approaching the cash register, you slide your book towards her. barely attempting any eye contact.

your whole demeanor shifted once wanda said, “excellent choice, dear. i hope you love it as much as i do.” your eyes brightened and immediately lifted your eyes to meet hers. your excitement clouded the obvious look of longing and desire wanda stared right back at you.

ever since that day, you made it your mission to stop by once a week. effortlessly, chatting about the progress you made in your book. or enthusiastically listening to wanda’s book recommendations and authors she’d love to chat with.

eventually wanda grew tired and bored of your one hour, once a week visits and created a position for you. she always ran the shop by herself. maybe her brother might lend a hand here or there. or other friends visiting will work for a room, but she never truly needed it.

wanda knew you’d accept. she anticipated you were waiting for a reasonable excuse to spend more time with her.

[chaoskirin]

Fucking. Stop it with the AI Art.

I’m extremely upset by people I respect using AI art more and more. I don't know what to do about it, from the people in comments being like "shut up, people have been inspired by others' art for centuries" to others saying "it's just a tool."

A lot of those people don't know how AI art is made, and either won't believe a factual explanation or just don't care. Datasets aren't "inspired" by art. Datasets are machines. If they're asked to do something, they output their best guess as to what it is you want. Recently, a very famous artist, Kim Jung Gi, died, and someone on Twitter fed his art into a dataset and spit out new art that LITERALLY could have been made by the original artist. And this person just... didn’t see a problem with doing that. He called it an homage.

SO MANY people don’t see a problem with that, either. I don’t get it.

The truth is, AI is replacing artists.

That’s not debatable. From an AI entry in an art contest winning first place to Cosmo using AI art on a cover and bragging that “it only took 20 seconds to do” AI is being used to push artists out of careers.

And let’s all be honest here. If you need a portrait, it must be at LEAST a little tempting to ask MidJourney to do it, because a portrait of similar quality is going to cost you a couple hundred bucks from an ACTUAL artist. And if you pay a dataset to do it for you, it might run you $8bux at most. Easy as fuck, man. And that’s the problem... Why pay a real artist to do it when you can get nearly the same result in 20 seconds?

This might seem doom-and-gloomy, but no one can tell me it’s gonna be okay. No one has offered a logical counterargument to me. No one's said "look, here's why you're fine" and given me a reason that doesn't have a logical rebuttal.

The reason I find it so difficult to keep fighting is because there's no one reason AI art is bad. There's dozens. And more become evident every day. So if I make one argument, I HAVE to be prepared to make another, because someone is going to counter with another argument that has to be refuted. And so on and so forth. I just don’t have the energy to keep up. ALL OF IT IS BAD. The only advantage is to the people who want cheap, fast art.

I’m not gonna name names here, but... There are people out there with the platform to stop this, and it's so demoralizing that instead of taking a stand against it, they are feeding into it. I offer to educate someone and I’m ignored. Immediately after, that person posts more lensa self portraits. God, it’s so fucking frustrating.

Sometimes I do wonder: Am I on the wrong side of history? Is AI art just another panic-scare like photography? Does AI art really have a place in our future? The difference is, photography doesn’t steal other peoples' art. In fact, there are court decisions out there that give artists rights against their pieces being photographed and used without permission. Likewise, photographers are protected against their art being used by traditional artists. (IE, you can't make a sculpture from someone's unique photo. True fact.)

But there’s no protections in place for artists against AI. And so many people don’t understand that the art fed into the dataset is what creates the pieces. It doesn’t draw those things itself. It uses what it has, cobbling things together, to produce something it calls “new.” I saw someone in a Twitter comment say “lol that’s just a collage.” What a fucking bad faith argument. I know those people see the difference between a collage and art theft.

There’s so much more misinformation going around than truth, and people are just parroting it because they want to play with their new AI toy. No one is thinking critically. No one is looking at where this could go.

What’s going to stop people from creating an AI dataset that imitates CCTV footage and places innocent people at the scene of a crime? AI art is getting good enough that with a little tweaking, this is almost possible. I could absolutely do it myself right now, with the number of people feeding their faces into lensa. I have other fears, but that’s one I can post about, because I’m pretty sure my face isn’t inside an AI dataset at the moment.

Anyway. I’m angry. I’m tired. And I just don’t want to draw anymore.

[olderthannetfic]

I've had writers block for 10 years. I got into writing fanfic and original fic in the mid 00s as a kid and published a few things over the years; I was lucky enough to have a few things get real attention and the high of that attention was amazing. But in 2012 it all just stopped, I lost my energy and my spark. In 2019 I rediscovered fanfic and have since been an avid reader but have spent 3 years trying and failing to write ANYTHING. {1/2}

--

{2/2} I can never decide on what I want to write and on the rare occasion I do I either have an idea but no STORY to tell, * or* I feel ashamed of my kinks and cant write them, *or*I am such a perfectionist I cant push through more than a few paragraphs. 3 years of trying!!! I feel immense anxiety about writing but I still yearn for it and how easily it used to come. So yeah. I just thought I'd put this out there in case anyone who's dealt with this has advice

As you've made very clear here, writers' block isn't really about the writing: it's about emotions. It sounds like you're trying way too hard and with way too much conscious thought instead of relaxing and letting things flow.

If you really just needed a story, you could steal a plot from something. Give me your basic idea and I'll give you 5 plots you could do with it. That shit is easy.

That isn't the problem here. Letting your internal critic run amok is. Depression/anxiety/life stress might be. Shame over what you like certainly is.

I was never able to produce very much until I started writing only my biggest kinks. I don't necessarily mean porn. I mean shamelessly id-pleasing tropes that are exactly what I personally happen to love.

I had to ignore the feeling of being naked before my readers before I could write.

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball Super 022

This is the one where Gotenks headbutts a guy in the dick.

Oh, this is also the one where Tagoma rips off Piccolo’s arm like he’s nothing.  It’s weird how this is like the third wildest thing to happen in this episode.  So I guess this is the high water mark for this saga.

So after the arm-ripping-off thing, Gotenks arrives with the headbutt to stop Tagoma, and then he immediately de-fuses into Goten and Trunks.  Frieza recognizes Goten as Goku’s son, and he thinks Trunks is the son of the mysterious Super Saiyan who killed him eighteen years ago.  Little does Frieza know that this was the future AU counterpart of Trunks, but no one has time to go over that now.

Then, while Tagoma tends to his wounded groin, Captain Ginyu shows up to steal his body.  He can’t speak, which means he can’t say the magic words to do the bodyswap trick, but he does write some words in the dirt, and tricks Tagoma into reading them aloud, and somehow that works just as well. 

Of course, Frieza has no idea what just happened, so Ginyu has to explain his entire backstory.  He got turned into a frog while fighting Vegeta, then he got teleported to Earth when Porunga granted Dende’s wish to evacuate Namek, and he’s been stranded here ever since, putting up with various hardships and indignities while figuring out his next move.  But now he’s back, in Tagoma’s body, which is more powerful than any other body Ginyu has ever had, so he’s rarin’ to get back to work as Frieza’s underling. 

And he does really well, until Gohan turns Super Saiyan and kicks him in the dick.  Kind of weird how this isn’t even the best groin injury in this episode. 

Okay, so I have a question.  If all Ginyu needed to do was to trick someone else into saying the words, then why didn’t he do that a long time ago?  I mean, he’d have to learn Earth’s language and alphabet, and then find someone dumb enough to read it aloud, but he’s been stuck like this for almost twenty years, and what else was taking up his time?

I think it would have been a better gag if he revealed that he had been training for years to use his froggy body to produce the sounds needed to vocalize the words.  Not true speech, but just enough to get the words “change now!” out of his throat. 

Meanwhile, Goku and Vegeta are stuck in some unknown dimension Whis sent them to.  They can’t move at all, no matter how hard they try, until Vegeta recalls one of Whis’s lessons about ki control.  According to Whis, their problem is that they “leak” ki energy all over the place while they fight, and this is inefficient.  He wants them instead to focus on containing all their power as they use it.  So when Vegeta tries to apply this concept, he finds he can move again. 

However, that still doesn’t save them.  Goku thinks this place is similar to the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, and if it’s an endless void with no exit, then they might starve to death.  Goku figures that Beerus must train in this place, which means he must have a pantry somewhere, so they start looking for one.

Meanwhile, Gohan shows Ginyu mercy, which reminds Frieza a little too much of the time Goku showed him mercy back on Namek.  This was a nice touch, since it shows that Frieza isn’t just mad about losing to Goku or getting killed.  Those are the main beefs he has, but he’s also furious about the humiliation he suffered, and the torment he endured in hell, and the way Goku pitied him in the end.  So Frieza starts shooting Gohan himself, and orders Ginyu to stand down.

Then, just before Frieza can finish him off, Piccolo jumps in to take the killing shot, and dies.  This seemed kind of pointless to me on the first viewing, but now it seems more obvious.  They needed something to add a story beat to this arc, since Gohan already got death-beamed in the last episode.  The movie had Frieza nearly kill him, and then he ate a senzu bean and got better.  Episodes 21 and 22 basically try to spread that out across two episodes, which doesn’t make sense.  So it’s better to have Piccolo take a shot like this than to have Gohan do it twice. 

Of course, it just demonstrates that stretching these movies out across ten or more episodes is a bad call.  They would have been better off just not bothering, but no one consulted me on this. 

[thefandomcassandra]

Broken Bridge (5/5): Sun Shine On My Face

They say that grief is a wrecking ball. That grief takes the breath out of your lungs and the strength out of your limbs and the will to live out of your very soul. In that moment, a large piece of Helmut Fullbear dies. With the passing of Bob Zanotto, the only light in Helmut’s life goes out.

(Razputin Aquato enters the mind of Helmut Fullbear to help him process his grief and to get his assistance in helping stop the return of Maligula. It doesn't hurt that his husband isn't...dead, per se. The hard part is convincing him of that fact.)

Helmut knows how this goes. It replays in his dreams every night. He's memorized every line down to the stage directions, the well worn script a hell of his own making.

Not tonight however. Tonight, with the help of his own personal producer, he will debut the newest iteration of his tragedy. No Greek Chorus, no Phantom, no hushed names for fear of jinxes and curses, only a new beginning.

He hopes the audience will like it.

(He, quite frankly, doesn't care. This play is not for them. It never was.)

The uninhabited Grulovian tundra they chose as their final stand is frosted. What little flora is there crunches beneath their boots as they close the distance between them and Lucy. The wind, bitter and dry, chaps lips and steals their breath away. The anticipation is palpable and aching.

(Will she acquiesce? Will she play nice? Or will this become another battle?)

Everything about her is different. Sharp and cloaked in fine furs, the malignant Maligula is a far cry from the threadbare but beloved Lucrecia they'd last seen. Maligula is a suit of armor that Lucrecia has worn for so long she's forgotten how to take it off. They only need to peel it away, one piece at a time.

Their Lucy is still there. She always has been.

"So," she hisses, each word as sibilant as she can make them, her accent choking each word by the throat, "at last you've come to clean up the mess you made?"

"We don't want to hurt you, Lucy!" Lines the same as before, Ford stands against the blinding horizon to face his love once more. A romantic gesture.

Hopefully one that will be returned in kind.

"Oh," Maligula coos, "that's where we differ, you and I. While you may not want to hurt me, I certainly have no qualms about hurting you!" Before she can finish summoning her snakes, Helmut enacts step one of the rewrite.

Maligula recoils slightly as Helmut reaches his connection out to everyone, casting threads of energy between himself and his friends, even herself and Razputin. Her confusion strums a sour note that rattles Helmut's teeth until he moves to step two.

The tethers that link the seven of them back to Helmut unravel a little, tendrils reaching their wriggling ends to each other. They form a complex web, horsehair to his coiled steel, and their razor edges support the whole structure.

The burden isn't his to carry alone. They can shoulder their share alongside him, his own orchestra. He isn't a solo act and they can dampen the sound so he can compose their songs.

Read the Rest on AO3

[etes-secrecy-post]

Hi, before I explain my post, I want to say something important.

• What you see my blog has become a major overhaul. And despite the changes, I decided that my 2nd account will be now my artwork blog with a secret twist.

⚠️NEW RULE! (W/ BIGGER TEXT!)⚠️

⚠️ SO PLEASE DO NOT SHARE MY 2nd ACCOUNT TO EVERYONE! THIS SECRECY BLOG OF MINE IS FOR CLOSES FRIENDS ONLY!⚠️

• AND FOR MY CLOSES FRIENDS, DON’T REBLOG IT. INSTEAD, JUST COPY MY LINK AND PASTE IT ON YOUR TUMBLR POST! JUST BE SURE THE IMAGE WILL BE REMOVED AND THE ONLY LEFT WAS THE TEXT.

⚠️ SHARING LINKS, LIKE POSTS, REBLOG POSTS, STEALING MY SNAPSHOT PHOTOS/RECORDED VIDEOS/ARTWORKS (a.k.a. ART THIEVES) OR PLAGIARIZING FROM UNKNOWN TUMBLR STRANGERS WILL IMMEDIATELY BE BLOCKED, RIGHT AWAY!⚠️

😡 WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT EVER LIKED & REBLOG MY SECRET POST! THIS IS FOR MY SECRET FRIENDS ONLY, NOT YOU! 😡

Okay? Capiche? Make sense? Good, now back to the post…↓

#Onthisday: Aug 16th, 2017

Title: Cuteness Girl Member - May

This is May 🐰👊💥, 1/3 (one third) of Maxwell's siblings and later she's one of the official Cuteness Female Members (even though I wrote it "Girl" as a beginner/new member, but she immediately quick to a chosen "Female" as a "Leader members"). With her first "Cuteness Mecha Armor", the "Powered GM"🔫💥🤖. A test armored unit before used as a mass production for future needs. The Powered GM armor focuses a high mobility by using a highly upgrade backpack with Minovsky-type ultracompact fusion reactor and more powerful thrusters.

Powered GM May Came from the real: RGM-79C Powered GM

Armament(s):

• 60mm Vulcan Gun (full helmet armor) A standard armament of the mobile suits that are descended from the Earth Federation Forces's RX series is a pair of head mounted 60mm vulcan guns (which only the full helmet armor). These shell firing weapons have a high-rate of fire but have little power and can't damage the thick armor of a mobile suit, though it can damage lightly armored areas such as the sensors. The weapons are ideal for shooting down small, fast moving, lightly armored targets such as missiles, small land vehicles, and attack helicopters.

• Beam Saber The beam saber is a small cylindrical device held in the mobile suit's hands when operated and is powered by an energy capacitor that is recharged from special racks. This weapon is capable of cutting through any metal that has not been treated with anti-beam coating. The RGM-79C Powered GM is equipped with a single beam saber stored in a recharge rack in the left side of the backpack.

• HWF GMG·MG79-90mm Bullpup Machine Gun The bullpup machine gun is an open-bolt, gas-operated, magazine-fed, mobile suit handheld sub-machine gun. It does not require energy to be used, however it is ineffective against heavy armor. When the magazine is empty, it can be discarded and replaced with a new one.

• HFW-GR·MR82-90mm GM Rifle The GM Rifle is a simple shell-firing machine gun that is based on older technologies, it has no where near the power of a beam rifle, but it is a weapon that can be cheaply produced and easily maintained. It features different barrel, sensor unit, stock and magazine configurations that allows for different ballistic and handling properties.

• BLASH HB-L-07/N-STD Hyper Bazooka Technically a large rocket launcher it could fire several 360mm missiles to attack targets at long range. No mass-production MS's armor is able to stop this weapon. While very powerful, it has a slow rate of fire and a fairly little amount of ammunition. Most oftenly used to take out slow, heavily armored targets.

• FADEGEL RGM-M-Sh-007 Shield Shields are simple in their design, being essentially thick slabs of metal that the equipped mobile suit can use to absorb the impact from attacks that, for whatever reason, cannot be dodged. However shields can only withstand so much pressure before becoming damaged themselves. As technology progressed it became necessary for shields to be treated with an anti-beam coating as a measure of defense against beam weapons which can normally penetrate any physical barrier, however the coating gets gradually burned away each time a beam strikes it until it is rendered useless. Powered GM could optionally mount a shield on either of its forearms.

Previous: • Cuteness Member - Maxwell

May (Rabbit OC) - owned by @bryan360 / BryanVelasquez87 (dA) Armor (Mobile Suit Gundam 0083: Stardust Memory) - Gundam Series © SUNRISE, Sotsu

[aura-acolyte]

Off-Screen Event: The Final Battle Pt. 1

(Music Box: Team Galactic Appears! from Pokemon Brilliant Diamond and Shining Pearl)

“Who the hell are you!” Kazoku shouted at the flying woman.

“Normally I’m not one for theatrics but since there’s not much you can do to stop me anyways, I’ll indulge for a bit.” The woman said. “My name is J and I am a Pokemon Hunter. The best of the best. And you have just handed me the last piece I need to complete my mission.” “Mission? What mission?” Mare asked.

“Not very smart, are you.” J said dismissively. “I’m here to capture Mew, of course. And I’ll succeed too.”

“We won’t let you!” Mare shouted.

“Oh, won’t you?” J asked.

She tapped a button on her gauntlet and fired off a large energy net. None of the five were able to dodge out of the way in time and were immediately pinned down. They struggled but only wound up shocked.

J landed. She took a music box out from seemingly nowhere and placed it on the ground in front of her. Out of her coat pocket she produced two more pyramids just like the one found in Regirock, one silver and one blue. She placed each one in a slot on the music box and it popped open and began to play.

(Music Box: A Farewell to Kirby from Kirby Star Allies)

As the music box played pink light began to swirl in front of it. Sparkles flew every which way like stardust. Eventually, it all came together to form a bubble, inside of which was a sleeping Mew. The bubble popped and Mew opened its eyes. “Mew.” It said blearily. 

It got no chance to wake up as it was immediately turned to stone by J’s gauntlet. J grabbed it out of the air before it fell and affixed a device to it, which turned into a glass case.

“And here my pathetic daughter is wasting her time with Snag Balls.” She scoffed. Wait, did this mean she was Victoria’s mom? The resemblance was there. “Nothing more than toys compared to my tech.” She reactivated her jetpack and rose up into the air. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I’ll be taking my leave. I’d say it’s been a pleasure but it hasn’t.”

“Not so fast!” A male voice called out. 

J gritted her teeth. She recognized that voice. She turned to see who else but the Team Rocket Trio standing atop a cliff wearing… jetpacks?

(Music Box: Team Rocket Motto (Kanto Version) from Pokemon: The Series)

“Prepare for Trouble!” Jessie shouted.

“Make it Double!” James shouted.

“To protect the world from devastation!”

“To unite all people within our nation!”

“To denounce the evils of Truth and Love!”

“To extend our reach to the stars above!” “Jessie!”

“And James!” “Team Rocket blasts off at the speed of light!” “Surrender now or prepare to fight!” “Meowth! Dat’s right!” “Wobbuffet!”

“What are you idiots doing here!” J snarled.

“We're ain’t gonna letcha nab dat Mew!” Meowth shouted.

“What!” J shouted, incredulous. “I’m stealing this for your boss! What’ll he say when he finds out you idiots messed this up!”

“So we’ll get a few demerits.” James said flippantly. “We’ll be back by next week. We’re too popular to fire.”

“It doesn’t matter what the boss does to us.” Jessie said defiantly. “We were there on New Island. We can’t allow another Mewtwo to be created.” “Wobbuffet!” Wobbuffet agreed.

(Music Box: Battle! Team Galactic Commander from Pokemon Brilliant Diamond and Shining Pearl)

The three of them activated their jetpacks and dived downwards. James went straight for J while Meowth nabbed the frozen Mew as well as a knife like object from her belt. He tossed the object to Jessie who flew down to the five heroes.

“Team Rocket?” Riley said, confused.

“These weirdos are Team Rocket?” Mare asked.

“Yes, yes we’re over dramatic drama queens get it out of your system.” Jessie said dismissively. “Now hold still.” 

The knife-like object, as it turned out, was a knife. A laser knife. She used it to cut the energy net binding them. Do not ask how that works.

“Thanks.” Riley said. “But why-”

“We already said why, weren’t you paying attention?” Jessie said with her hands on her hips. “Listen, twerps, this is a temporary truce. After this we go back to being evil. Now come on, lets beat this breakout bitch.”

Up in the air, J broke away from James and dived after Meowth.

“Quick! Hit her with one of your aura ball things before she reaches Meowth!” Jessie shouted.

“Aura Sphere.” Kazoku corrected flatly.

“Whatever.” Jessie said. “Just hit her!”

“On it!” Mare shouted.

She drew back her hands and fired off an Aura sphere, hitting J square on and knocking her out of her flight trajectory.

“Why you!” She shouted. 

She reached into her coat and took out two Pokeballs. She tossed them in the air and out popped two of the strangest Pokemon any of them had ever seen. One was a strange feathery Salamence, similar to a Mega Salamence and yet very different. The other was a robotic Gallade with a double bladed laser glaive.

[superman86to99]

Superman: The Man of Steel #32 (April 1994)

Bizarro's World, Part 4! In which Bizarro's horniness for Lois Lane proves to be his undoing. Superman is taking Bizarro's inert body back to Metropolis for studying (as seen last issue) when a simple glimpse of Lois makes him spring back into life and rush her for a hug.

After pulling Bizarro away from Lois, Superman loses track of him thanks to his newly "enhanced" powers -- his telescopic vision and super hearing are so powerful that whenever he tries to use them, he just sees everything, everywhere, all at once™. Meanwhile, Bizarro sees a couple reconciling when the guy gives the girl a ring, so he naturally reasons that he can make Lois stop shunning him by giving her the biggest ring he can find. He ends up stealing a giant plastic ring display from a jewelry store and offering it to Lois. She’s flattered by the romantic gesture, but ultimately turns him down.

Bizarro doesn't take Lois' rejection well and ends up fighting Superman again. During the fight, Superman accidentally punches him through a bridge with his super-super-strength, causing a bunch of cars to fall to their doom. Bizarro actually helps Superman save the cars, but he's so clumsy at being a superhero that he almost crushes some of the drivers to death when he “gently” puts them down. Bizarro doesn't appreciate this long-haired ruffian criticizing his rescue efforts (especially since it was his fault the bridge broke) and of course they end up punching each other once more.

Luckily, the nerds at Project Cadmus have figured out they can trap Bizarro if they can simply get him to stand between two giant pillars producing some sort of energy field. Now they just need a way to lure him there, and pretty soon they manage to find the perfect bait: Lois Lane in a tight outfit.

By now, Lois has grown fond of the big doofus and feels bad for using his love for her to trap him -- especially since he appears to be dying, like all the other clones in Metropolis. Before Cadmus can even try to cure him, though, Lex Luthor Jr. shows up with a court document saying Bizarro is LexCorp property and takes him away to continue his experiments (and see if he can use him to cure himself).

TO BE CONCLUDED!

Plotline-Watch:

Been a while since we’ve seen Lex Jr. in his Lex-Men armor (which he debuted in the Supergirl and Team Luthor special). In this case, the armor is a convenient way to hide the fact that not only is Lex bald again due to the Clone Plague, but he even lost his beloved red beard in the few hours or so since we last saw him in Action #697.

Speaking of mysterious facial hair, that's supposed to be Cadmus' Director Westfield being served the document by armored Lex up there, but since when does he have a mustache?! Was that supposed to be a different character but the script changed? Is Westfield going incognito because he knows the Underworlders have a hit on him? Either way, I demand a Baldy Award for pointing this out.

And speaking of the Underworlders, Professor Hamilton is able to determine that the Clone Plague is based on “environmental” factors (probably that big flood from a while back) and not Cadmus-created germ warfare by studying his sewer mutant pals. That's pretty much all the same to them, though, since Westfield was the one who flooded their tunnels and presumably got them sick, so it’s all Cadmus’ fault anyway. Lex, too, now blames Westfield for his disease, so all the pieces are in place for a big war in Metropolis. Should have probably kept your mouth shut, Hambone.

I do like that Hamilton uses his old isolation chamber (from the Bald Jimmy Olsen/Husque storyline) to study the Underworlders.

Another deep cut: this issue features the return of the cabbie with the S-shield logo on his fade cut, first seen in Action $6,50/#650 and then again during “Funeral for a Friend.” The logo is barely visible this time, but it's clearly the same guy... unless that’s just a popular style in Metropolis?

On the other hand, as a continuity nerd it has always bugged me that Lucy Lane shows up multiple times in this issue and not once does she comment on the fact that the monster harassing her sister looks just like the one who sacrificed himself to restore her vision back when she was blind. Then again... she WAS blind, so maybe she simply never found out what the original Bizarro looked like? Maybe it was Arnold Schwarzenegger or something in her mind.

Patreon-Watch:

Half of this post was first seen last week by our patrons Aaron, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush, Raphael Fischer, Kit, Sam, and Bol at patreon.com/Superman86to99! Shout out to all of them!

And shout out to the great Don Sparrow, who has lots more to say about this issue after the jump...

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow​):

We open with the cover, where Jon Bogdanove makes the Bizarro/Frankenstein connection explicit with a very Frankenstein’s Monster-looking Bizarro, complete with lightning.  I can’t place the exact pose (maybe the scene where he’s chained up?) but it definitely has a Boris Karloff feel, at any rate.

Inside, we’re in for a sketchier issue than some.  As we’ve noted covering these books, Bogdanove can at times be one of the strongest artists on the roster ("Panic in the Sky" and the "Doomsday!" storyline come to mind) but there are times where his looser, cartoony style becomes perhaps excessively broad and fluid.  This is one of the latter, where we get very little in terms of backgrounds throughout, and the figure work seems rushed at times.  I will say, all through the issue, Bizarro looks appropriately deteriorated and pained, giving him a more tragic feel in this installment than the previous chapters, which mined the comedy a little more deliberately.

Page 5 has a nicely drawn cape, as Superman catches a train car with some effort, it’s a great detail the way the cape twists and folds under his arm.

There’s some quality cartooning on page 14, as the child-like Bizarro adopts the posture of a small child who has messed up, after he dumps a pickup truck on top of a sedan.

Guardian in flight always looks great, and it’s nice to see the jet-wings from the Doomsday fight used again.  The monster movie reference seems to switch from Frankenstein to King Kong a little later in the story, as on page 16, Lois adopts a Fay Wray pose in order to lure Bizarro to her.  I am unable to resist pointing out how great Lois looks in her insulated suit, so, predictably, I must mention it.

The splash of Bizarro getting jolted by the containment field is frightening, and Bogdanove and Janke do a great job of a familiar pieta pose (which also recalls the way Lois cradled Superman as he was dying in the Doomsday storyline).

Not much for a “B” storyline here, other than the odd cutaway to Lex Jr. and Happersen—the rest of the story is all devoted to the slugfest, and with all the action, felt like a quick read to me. [Max: That’s Dr. Packard, not Dr. Happersen, Don! Unless he got reconstructive surgery after Bizarro fried his face and ended up looking just like Packard?]

STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

I think this is the second time that a “Konica-Minolta” camera has instead been called a “Mignola” in these pages, no doubt after Mike Mignola (who would absolutely kill a Bizarro story, come to think of it). [Max: Yep, there was another shout out during the “Spilled Blood” storyline. Co-sign on Bizarro Mignola. I’m shocked that’s never happened!]

As we noted in previous issues, they play a little loose with Bizarro’s level of intelligence.  Despite being only a few days old, he seems to  have a comedic understanding of not only spelling, but economics, as he  presents a “vizza” (which we later learn is a crumpled license plate) to pay for the novelty decorative ring from the jewelry store.

As always, the Simonson and Bogdanove book seems to have the more  ethnically diverse Metropolis, as the S & S Diamond Exchange appears to be run by Orthodox Jews, in a nod, perhaps, to the real-world  diamantaires of New York City’s 47th Street.

Professor Hamilton hanging out with the Underworlders further confuses him with Charlie in my mind, at least at first glance—that’s not a great looking coat Ham is sporting.

Whenever I see a taxi with a crumpled front, I can’t help but think of the throwaway gag from the early portion of Superman II, when the cabbie smashes into Clark Kent (more or less directly in front of Lois Lane).  I wonder if that’s the reference here?