#sorry it’s not the good kush

[luckycharms1701]

just watched the movies again for the first time in a month and i can’t stop thinking about mikey and leo of all things.

look. mikey is the acrobat of the team, right? he’s known for bouncing and flipping around, always on his skateboard. it’s practically eye-roll worthy, how unnecessary some of his flipping is (i say, definitely not charmed to hell by it).

of course, the other brothers are always flipping around too, they’re ninjas after all. but only one of them flips and spins nearly as flamboyantly as mikey does.

every time i watch these movies i’m struck by how showy leo is when he flips around. he’s the leader, he always at least tries to be serious (until he doesn’t, but that’s a leo post and this is about mikey).

mikey has a big-time lack of situational awareness, but he almost always has his finger on the pulses of his brothers. he is always reacting to them.

so mikey sees how leo is acrobatically ostentatious. and leo is his Big Brother. he really strives to be like leo.

i’m sure you’re picking up what i’m saying. and it just makes me so soft, thinking about how much work mikey puts into being like his big bro.

(of course, leo is a daddy’s boy. and have you seen the way splinter flips around? so it’s really a family line, of mikey emulating leo emulating splinter. the deep love and respect they all have for each other is just… it fills a hole in my heart to see it.)

[mamawasatesttube]

superman: up in the sky #6

NO, SIR! I WILL NOT!

[housewifebuck]

ideal blunt rotation

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Mozart: Coca Cola can remove rust from metal, imagine what it’s doing to your body.

Dazai: Pfff, getting rid of the rust, idiot.

Mozart: THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS!

Arthur: Hmm... I've been drinking soda and my body's rust free... not sure where you're getting your facts from...

[thegreatyin]

Feast of the Rose has begun, Yin! Sent you some kittens. When you pass around London, send me a calling card!

aww ty i most certainly will!!!

[hxzelwallflower]

( 🌻 ) - :: Sonofabitch...

[the-moon-files]

Aaaaa, hi!! I'm the anon who sent in the fairly recent ask with the Guide!Reader ideas (martial artist mention, Dehydrated Ganon, strength possibilities, Ganon not being able to escape from Guide!Reader's voice, etc)! I'm really glad that you liked my ideas so much!! 😊 I was so pleasantly surprised to see you expand on my discombobulated thoughts, haha! Thank you so much! ^w^ I loved reading them!!

I said that I made memes for the Guide!Reader/Space Orc concept, and now I shall deliver them >:D Firstly, I'm super sorry that I took so long to share these with you!! Life decided to kick me in the shins for a hot second 😭 And secondly, I made a LOT of images for this one,, Fair warning, this is going to take up a lot of space 😭 orz

But anyway!! Here are the text memes first:

Guide!Reader: We’re playing Scrabble. It’s a nightmare.

Wars: Scrabble? Scrabble’s great.

Guide!Reader: Not when you’re playing with Zelda, it’s not. She’s out here putting in words like “ephemeral” while I’m putting in “dog.”

☆

Guide!Reader: *pointing out Magic Powder* Legend, look, it’s the good kush!

Legend: …This is the Rupee Store, how good can it be?

☆

Ravio: Hi, welcome! Are you part of our Super Savers Shoppers Club?

Guide!Reader: No, I’m not.

Ravio: :D :) :| Oh.

☆

Legend, looking into a banged-up Water Temple: …It’s trash.

☆

Time, whenever Guide!Reader uses modern slang: We need IRL subtitles. What are you even saying.

☆

Guide!Reader: My Furby died in my arms when I was a child.

Hyrule, has no clue what a Furby is: I’m so sorry for your loss.

Guide!Reader: It wasn’t a loss. I had never felt more like a god.

☆

The Chain: *getting told off by Time*

Guide!Reader in the back: …

Guide!Reader: *starts playing the ukulele* 👁👄👁 🎸

Time: 🧍

☆

Four, talking about Guide!Reader: So, I’m interested in someone…

Dot: :D Oooh! What do they look like?

Four: *slow realisation*

Four: I don’t know

Dot: Wh

Dot: What do you mean you don’t know?

☆

Guide!Reader/Ganon, about hearing Guide!Reader every dang game: The universe has a sense of humour, and I respect the commitment to the bit, but girl please.

☆

Guide!Reader, to Link once they reunite with the Chain: Now… *puts hand on his shoulder* We’re back on our bullsh*t.

☆

Guide!Reader and Wild, meeting Sidon for the first time:

Guide!Reader: …Would.

Wild: Would what?

Guide!Reader:

Wild: (Name)? Would what?

☆

Wind: When you become famous you’re called a legend because your leg ends.

Guide!Reader: What? 

Wind: Your leg. It ends.

Guide!Reader: I’m not a linguist, but I think you’ve got it wrong.

Wind: Are you saying your leg doesn’t end?

Guide!Reader: I mean, at some point it does, yes.

Wind: Then what’s the problem?

☆

The Chain, waking up at dawn to get ready:

Guide!Reader and Sky, just trying to process being alive:

☆

Guide!Reader/Time: You need to get out of bed faster than this.

Sky, struggling: I’m giving it all he’s got, boss

☆

Guide!Reader at Ganon: Your anger amuses me. Please don’t find inner peace. Please.

☆

Guide!Reader, playing through LoZ game: *at an annoying NPC* Let me ask you a very fair question. What do you do successfully? Quickly. :|

Link, trying not to laugh:

☆

Hyrule, probably: I hate it when a recipe tells me to add two cups of onions. They don’t come in cups. They come in onions.

Guide!Reader, head in hands: Please

☆

Hyrule/Twilight, looking at two NPCs: Are they lovers?

Guide!Reader, who knows the lore: Worse.

☆

The Chain, enjoying Guide!Reader’s affections:

Legend: 🚶‍♂️🚶‍♂️🚶‍♂️

☆

Legend, defending himself from the “You like him” allegations from Wind: 🤸🤸🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️

And now, onto the images- I hope you don't think the sheer amount of these memes is too excessive or anything!! 😭 /gen

Aaa and that's all the memes I've got! I hope you like them,,! orz

I'm also still pretty new to Tumblr, so I'm sorry if the format looks a bit weird,,

Oh, but also?? That last point you mentioned in your most recent post about the cultural differences between humans and Hylians on physical affection/touch?? I am VERY excited to see that,, ��� 👉👈 

U HAVE NO IDEA HOW IN LOVE W/UR BRAIN I AM RN

IM SO FUCKING ECSTATIC TO SEE THESE >>> ANYTHING IVE EVER WRITTEN U MADE MEMES??? FOR MY BS?????? DAOHGHOAKJSALKGFS;NDFKNDNFKJBDBFLN;

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

BLESS YOU, BEHEAMOTH SCREAMOTH MY BELOVED <3333

HAVE THAT HYLIANS V. HUMANS AFFECTION CULTURE POST HERE, THE ONLY PAYMENT I CAN THINK OF FOR THIS 😩😩 🛐 🛐 🛐

I LIED ITS TOO LONG, ITS GONNA BE A SEPERATE POST COME BACK AND PLS READ IT AS PAYMENT (but dont read the nsft/w if ur a minor)

BRO u got all the energy, and the dynamics i was pushing ilysm 🥺🫶

like the Hyrule = beloved agenda ive been pushing, bc i need more underrep links content, the way u carried the ganon eternally getting haunted by guide reader voice?? 10/10 ahdsfkhadl

AND WIND’S CONSTANT ENERGY OF A YOUNGER BROTHER LOOKIN U DEAD IN THE EYE LIKE “u kiss the homie (singular not even plural) goodnight?? Brother, that’s GAEY.”

u have no idea what this means to me, the impact, the understanding u have to have of my bs to make these, and how many posts youve read of mine?? im so sorry for ur loss w/my rough writing lmao

thats how you know youve made it tbh is if someone makes memes of smth u made, anyway day brightened, complexion clear, depression medicated, by this post

I HOPE BOTH SIDES OF UR PILLOW ARE COLD, UR PETS CUDDLE U EXTRA, U GET ALL THE GRADES/GOOD WORK SHIFTS U NEED

Peace out my beloved <3,

🌙

[omg-i-think-i-like-you]

Steve woke up to a loud noise from downstairs. He jumped out of bed, his heart pounding in his chest. He grabbed his bat, and slowly and quietly went down the stairs, only in his boxers. As he was approaching the end of the staircase, he heard the loud noise again, this time followed by soft humming. He kept walking towards the source, the kitchen, when the noise startled him again, and he jumped into the kitchen, holding the bat high and ready.

"Jesus Fucking Christ!" Eddie yelled and ducked behind the kitchen island. Steve lowered the bat, and scanned the very messy kitchen. Mixing bowls and pots were all over the place, along with ingredients that Steve couldn't think of what they can make together.

"Eddie? Did you go to war in my kitchen?" He put the bat on the floor and walked around the island, where Eddie was stretching up and standing again.

"Hi Stevie," Eddie avoided the question and kissed Steve quickly on the lips, who smiled against the kiss but kept his arms crossed on his chest.

"You scared me," He said when Eddie broke the kiss, "I thought someone broke in. Are you trying to cook something?"

"Not trying, sweetheart, I am cooking something. Baking, actually." Eddie smiled cheekily and started picking up pots from the floor.

"Then why are all the pots out?" Steve teased and Eddie stood up and released a nervous laugh, "Well, I... I didn't know exactly where you keep things, so I kinda took everything out?" He rubbed his neck and Steve laughed.

"It's okay," He started putting the pots in place, "What are you making?"

Eddie, relieved that Steve isn't mad, started clapping in excitement, "Hamantashen!"

Steve looked at him, confused, "Bless you..?"

"No!" Eddie slapped Steve's shoulder, "It's food. And it's amazing."

"I want to believe it's food," Steve teased and Eddie crossed his arms and looked at Steve seriously.

"I don't make fun of your traditional cultural food, do I?"

Steve froze in place, "No, you don't. I'm sorry. Wanna tell me what haman... what did you say, tashen, is?"

Eddie smiled, "With pleasure!" He then pulled a chair and pushed Steve onto it, who giggled to himself, knowing Eddie is about to make the explanation into a whole performance.

"It all started in the faraway kingdom of Ahasuerus," Eddie opened and his eyes lit up, "The King of The Persian Empire, who ruled from India to Kush. He was a hedonistic king who had parties and feasts almost every day," He checked on Steve, making sure he was following. Steve nodded and Eddie continued.

"One day, King Ahasuerus was having one of his many parties, when his wife, Vashti, refused to join. Ahasuerus, who had a very fragile ego, took it personally and decided to fire her, and banish her. Silly Ahasuerus, realized soon after that he misses her, and decided to look for a new wife. He sent people around the kingdom and put his eyes on Good Girl Esther, a Jewish sweetheart who was raised by her Jewish cousin, Mordechai," He checked on Steve again, who looked a little lost now, "Are you following?"

"Yes, it's just... Is all of that important for the food?" He asked carefully.

"Yes." Eddie stated, "moving on. Joining the story now, the infamous Haman. Haman was an official in the king's court, and had an order from Ahasuerus himself, that everyone who saw Haman had to bow down to him. They all did, except-" Eddie stopped to see if Steve completes him, but he only tilted his head at him and stayed silent, "Mordechai, Steve! Mordechai didn't bow down to Haman!"

Steve was invested now, "Oh shit, he probably didn't take that well, did he?"

Eddie smiled in delight, "Oh, absolutely not, Stevie, dear. Haman also had a fragile ego, even more fragile than Ahasuerus. He got so upset, that he decided it's required not to only kill Mordechai, but to execute all the Jews in the Persian Empire!"

"What?? How can he do that??" Steve was on the edge of his seat, "Did Ahasuerus agree? Wait! Isn't he married to Mordechai's cousin??"

Eddie held Steve's face, "He is, Stevie, he is." He did a little twirl and continued his lecture, "Ahasuerus is married to Esther, but he doesn't know she's Jewish. Haman came to Ahasuerus and asked him if he can kill all the Jews, and the stupid king agreed. Haman went on with his plan, and even prepared a special tree for Mordechai's hanging," He paused, enjoying Steve's curious face, and proceeded, "The rumour got spread, Haman was gonna kill all the Jews in the Empire and no one was saying a thing," Steve shook his head, "I know, terrible. Mordechai walked around wearing bags, but it didn't do a thing. That until..." He stopped again, teasing Steve.

"Until what??" Steve burst and Eddie laughed.

"Until Ahasuerus found out Mordechai saved his life. You see, Ahasuerus had these two guards who planned to assassinate him, and Mordechai uncovered their plan and saved the king's life."

"And Mordechai didn't want credit for that? How did Ahasuerus find out?" Steve asked quickly.

"He told Esther to tell Ahasuerus. The guards were executed and Mordechai got promoted, but here things get complicated." He paused again.

"How??" Steve stood up and Eddie pushed him back into his seat, giggling.

"Ahasuerus summoned Haman, and asked him, 'what is to be done for the man whom the king wishes to honor?'" Eddie finger quoted the sentence, "Haman, who thought Ahasuerus was talking about him, told him to give him a city, dress him in fancy clothes, give him a horse and have him escorted around the capital for everyone to see. Ahasuerus accepted the idea, and told Haman to do all that to Mordechai."

"Yes!" Steve jumped, "Poetic justice!"

Eddie chuckled, "Yes, but Haman was still gonna kill all the Jews. He went around the capital with Mordechai and cursed every step, having his rage and hate fueled more and more."

"So what happened? Didn't Ahasuerus realize Haman wants to kill the person who saved his life?" Steve asked.

"I remind you, Ahasuerus was very dumb," Eddie answered, "He didn't care about Jews or not Jews, and he didn't even know Mordechai and Esther were Jewish themselves. So what happened, is that as the date came close, Esther started to fast -"

"Wait, what date?" Steve cut him mid-sentence.

"Oh, right," Eddie shook his head, "I forgot that part. When Haman decided to kill the Jews, he left it to fate to set the date. He basically rolled dice, and it fell on the thirteenth day of the Hebrew month Adar, so everyone knew when the mass killing was due. We call it Pur."

"That's intense..." Steve almost whispered, "So all the Jews were just waiting for their death?"

"Almost. They all fasted and wore simple clothes and grieved, but Esther, who was the closest to the king, took it a step further. She was having feasts where she wouldn't eat, and Ahasuerus was getting worried. He asked her why she wouldn't eat or drink, and she said an evil man wants to kill her and all her people. Ahasuerus got scared, and asked her who it is, and that he would kill him immediately." Eddie stopped.

"And?? You can't stop here! What happened?! Did all the Jews die??" Steve started pacing around in worry.

"Esther told Ahasuerus it's Haman who wants to kill all the Jews." Eddie said seriously and Steve started jumping in excitement, and Eddie smiled, "Ahasuerus, who finally found some brains, ordered to kill Haman, who was hanged on the same tree he prepared for Mordechai."

Steve clapped and hugged Eddie, "Yes! Amazing!"

Eddie laughed, "It really was. All the Jews were celebrating for days afterwards, partying and drinking, and everything was good." He hugged Steve back.

"This is such a cool story," Steve said with dreamy eyes, "But what does it have to do with the hamantashen? Wait, it has Haman's name in it??"

"Yes, but it's not like that," Eddie assured, "There are a few interpretations of the meaning of the hamantashen. Some say it symbolises his ears, some say it's his hat or his pockets, but the idea behind it is to celebrate his defeat." Eddie smiled in victory, and Steve smiled back.

"As we should!" He laughed, "But what are hamantashen anyway?"

"Oh, they're cookies. Triangular cookies with filling, traditionally it's poppyseed filling, but poppyseed is disgusting, so I'm putting chocolate." Eddie said and Steve chuckled.

"Of course you are. Can I... help you make them?"

Eddie nodded enthusiastically and the boys got to work. They kneaded the dough in turns, and put it to rest in the fridge for a few minutes. They cleaned up the counter and Steve started washing some dishes, and then closed the tap.

"What holiday is this? Like this story, and the cookies, what are we celebrating?"

Eddie beamed, "It's called Purim, from Pur, fate. We celebrate the defeat of Haman, and how we were saved by the Pur, instead of killed."

"It must be a very happy holiday then," Steve smiled, "Are there more traditions, other than eating Haman's ears?"

Eddie laughed, "Of course there are. First of all, we wear costumes. Purim is the holiday of changed fate, so like Haman was killed instead of the Jews, we symbolise that by being someone else for a few days. We also have a big feast and read the Megillah, the story I just told you," He smiled, "We also make gift baskets for each other, and donate food and money for those who need them. Another thing we do, and you're gonna like that, is to get so drunk, that we can't tell between Evil Haman and Good Mordechai," he giggled, "I know I like this one."

"Do you... Wanna do that?" Steve asked shyly and Eddie started laughing.

"I think you know the answer to that." He winked.

They took the dough out of the fridge, rolled it and cut circles into it with a glass. They then put chocolate in the middle of some, after Steve convinced Eddie to make some with strawberry jam too. They folded them into triangles and put them in the oven, and then Steve poured them newly opened wine.

"Happy Purim, Eddie," Steve clinked their glasses together.

"Happy Purim indeed, Stevie, L'Chaim," He clinked back and took a long sip.

"You made that sound again," Steve said, "Like in tuches."

Eddie started laughing so hard, he had to put his glass down, "Steve, god. Yes, it's the same sound," He kissed him wetly on the cheek, "but it's a very different word. L'Chaim means cheers in Hebrew. It translates to 'to life'. We celebrate life." He smiled, a warm feeling set in his chest. "We celebrate life." He said again, quietly, and Steve smiled at him in understanding.

"We celebrate life." Steve repeated and kissed Eddie slowly and deeply.

The oven rang a few minutes later. Eddie pulled the tray out and a warm, sweet smell filled the kitchen. He put the hamantashen on a plate and took it to the living room, and Steve followed with the already half-empty bottle of wine, and another one he found in the fridge.

Steve and Eddie spent the rest of the day feeding each other hamantashen, getting drunk out of their minds and kissing like it was their first time, again and again and again.

They both passed out on the couch, laying on top of each other, full of wine and hamantashen and love.

Celebrating Life.

[mytheoristavenue]

OP Usopp x Reader - Little Talks

This is a belated birthday gift to my dear friend, @usopps-devotee. Happy birthday Kush, I'm sorry this took so long to get out! I hope you like it!

Summary: You just wish Usopp would let you sleep.

Warning: angst, major character death, platonic!brook x reader, immortal!reader, sad, tragic!romantic!usopp x reader, survivor's guilt, death wish, clairvoyant!reader

The ship rocked feebly as the waves controlled its hull, the dingy, cartoonish lion figurehead cutting through the thick mist. You leaned against the rail, looking out to the bleak sea with somber eyes, searching for any ray of sunshine, only to find drab clouds staring back. "Come back from the railing, my dear," a calm and pitying voice called from a good distance behind. "You'll catch cold in this weather."

"I wish," you retorted coldly. "Maybe I'd get sick enough to-"

"(Y/N), please,"

You sighed, pushing away from the railing and turning to face the only companion you had. "I'm sorry, Brook. I'm just..." you trailed off, unsure what you'd intended to say.

"Lonely, I know." he soothed, pulling you into his slender and uncomforting arms. "Immortality is the loneliest privilege one can have."

"I'm not lonely," you corrected, glancing up into his void sockets. "I'm surrounded by people, but I still miss them."

His bones shifted as if to convey surprise as he withdrew slightly. "You're seeing things again?"

Your eyes widened as you violently pushed away from him, fists clenched with sudden anger. "Brook! I already told you, I'm not seeing shit! They're there!"

The man stepped back a bit, taken by your short fuse as he raised his hands defensively to disarm you. "Now, now, I didn't mean to offend you, my dear. Let's just have a cup of tea and-"

"No, Brook!" you shouted, seething, feeling unseen eyes trained on you. "Why can't you see them too, why don't you believe me?!" Hot tears streamed down your cheeks as you stared at the musician desperately, eyes occasionally darting around the ship to your other crew mates.

"I-I'm sorry, I-I-" he sputtered, hurt and unnerved by your outburst, which had begun to become a more frequent occurrence. "I wish I could see what you see-"

Unable to stand another second of Brook's excuses, you stormed off, sprinting down the rickety stairs and disappearing into the lower decks. Crossing over the threshold into the dining room, you froze in place, seeing a tall blonde man with his back to you, cigarette smoke lazily floating in the air. There was a light glow around him that you desperately tried to ignore. The chef, seemed to take notice of you as he turned around to get something, giving you a gentle smile. "(Y/N), hi."

Tears welled in your eyes as you whispered his name, crumpling as you ran to him, needing a hug now more than ever. "S-Sanji!"

"Woah there!" he laughed, smoke billowing over his luminescent teeth. "You look pale, how 'bout I fix you something to eat?"

"Yes, please! Just stay here with me!" you sobbed, stuck to his chest like a wet shirt. "Please don't go away..." You could feel his fingers ghosting over the back of your head, as he shushed you, thinking up what snack to prepare you. You become so soothed by his comfort that you hardly even noticed that he'd stopped petting your hair.

Glancing up, you found yourself totally alone, dumbfounded, and glancing around for any sign that your interaction with Sanji had been real. It had to have been; smoke still hung in the air, and the kitchen smelled distinctly of tobacco, garlic, and expensive French cologne.

"Come back, godddamnit!" you screamed, folding to the floorboards, weeping in an ugly way. Your fist hit the wood as you spilt your woes to an empty ship, only silenced by cloven footsteps.

You didn't even see him, at first, but you could hear him getting closer, feel the frigidness in the kitchen giving way to a hospitable warmth. Suddenly, the presence spoke.

"You better get up off the floor, (Y/N)," the voice was echoey and childlike, and filled with true concern. "You're gonna get all dirty and covered with germs!"

You couldn't even force your vocal cords to make a sound, but you still silently called out to him with arms outstretched. "Oh, Chopper..." you cried, pulling the plush boy close, tears wetting his furry shoulder. "I miss you so much..."

"Miss me?" he asked, befuddled. "I'm right here! We've been out to sea for weeks, I couldn't have possibly gone anywhere!" His cheery tone did nothing for you, only reminded you of the aching truth, and what you had to do to hide it from him.

"I'm sorry, Chopper, I misspoke. I just mean that I've been feeling down and in need of a hug from you. I haven't seen you since breakfast, and I was starting-" you bit back a sob before finishing. "To miss you."

"Oh," the doctor responded, a bit confused by your sudden clinginess. "Well, if that's all-!" The reindeer leaned forward, giving you what should have been a very warm hug, and a peck on the cheek. "I'll give you a kiss too, to speed up your healing! I hope your day gets better!"

Silently, you stood, having no more tears left to shed, and walked past the silver figure. "Thank you, Chopper, you truly were-" you paused for a moment, not even daring to look back to see if he was even still present. "Are- the best doctor on the Grand Line."

-----

Aimlessly, you wandered through the Sunny, passing many crewmates on the way to your room. You passed Zoro, napping on the floor with his back against a wall, and Robin sharing her thoughts on the novel she'd been reading with Frankie in the lounge. They both smiled and waved at you, but you ignored them, spying on them from around the corner. You admired how they both had smiles that lit up a room, and the way that they looked at one another when the other laughed. You used to look at Usopp that way. Now you only wished he'd go away.

Rounding the corner to the dormitories, you ran into Nami, nose buried in a map and ranting to Luffy that he'd steered the ship in the wrong direction. You stood there, stunned as you stared at them.

"(Y/N), look at this, tell him we're going the wrong way, because he won't listen to me!" the ginger raved, shoving a glowing piece of parchment into your face.

"Now listen, it's not about the destination, it's the journey!" the captain argued optimistically. "It'll be fine, (Y/N), tell her!" You simply kept quiet, tearing up with lip trembling. "Hey, what's with you?"

Finally breaking back down, you blew past them, knocking them to the side as you darted to your bedroom. The one you'd shared with your boyfriend. With Usopp.

The moment you crossed the threshold, you winced, recognizing that familiar bite of cold that came with being in a confined space with one of your nakama. In the corner was a small, cluttered desk you'd never been able to bring yourself to clear. It was illuminated by the amber glow of an oil lamp that you'd desperately kept fed, lest the flame extinguish. None of those things bothered you as much as the man sitting at the desk, though.

Once lovely ochre skin had now a tinge of translucent blue, and soft puffs of onyx coils were now little than plumes of white smoke that lacked the substance to even hold together the ends. The worst, however, were his eyes, still shiny and dark and sparkling at the sight of you. Gazing into his eyes, the only original part of him left sent chills up your spine as he turned away from his work to greet you.

"Hey, cutie, headin' to bed already?" he smiled warmly. "It's only six thirty-five." Glancing at the clock confirmed your suspicions. Usopp was wrong, it was nearly four in the morning.

"Just tired." you mumbled halfheartedly. "Mind going to your workshop 'til you get tired? I'd like to be alone to sleep."

"Nonsense, baby!" he dismissed cheerily. "I've been missing you lately, how about I snuggle up with you and we can watch a movie or somethin'?" Without a second thought, he stood, kicking out of his shoes and sliding one of his overall straps down.

"N-no," you protested weakly, tears beginning to prick your eyes. "I-I really just want to be alone, Usopp." You rolled over, back to him and huffed.

"Well..." he began. "Did I do something to make you mad? I'm sorry, whatever it is, just tell me and we can-"

"Usopp, just go away!" you sobbed, the dam finally breaking and unable to contain your grief any longer. "You're dead, don't you get that?! I need you to go, I can't handle seeing you like this!" You continued to berate him, weeping and tugging at your hair for any feeling of control. "And it's not six thirty, and it's not May 12th. It's three fifty-seven in the morning on November 17th. It's been over six months, please just-!"

Throwing yourself back towards him, you opened your glossy and aching eyes to find yourself without company and in the dark. The desk was still messy, sure, and the chair pulled out, but the oil lamp was snuffed out, a light billow of smoke floating above it before disappearing entirely. You'd gotten your wish. Usopp was gone.

But at what cost?

"You're gone, gone, gone away. I watched you disappear. All that's left is the ghost of you. Now we're torn, torn, torn apart, there's nothing we can do. Just let me go, we'll meet again soon."

[bullet-prooflove]

Botany: Angel Reyes x Reader

Tagging: @witches-unruly-heart @annetje @infinity-mars @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @the-wandering-lunatic @anime-weeb-4-life @vannabanana1995 @multifandomloversworld @camelia35 @harperdoodle @queeniesdiary @laylasbunbunny @est1887 @briefpersonenemy @lilvampirina @creativitybeware @genius2050 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @spaghettificationandpretzels @nu1freakshow @oureternalbond  @rubes2323

Angel always washes his sheets when he knows you’re coming over, there’s something about being surrounded by the scent of fresh laundry and you that completely ruins him. He finds he sleeps better in clean linen, and it becomes a weekly thing instead of fortnightly, even when the two of you haven’t made plans.

He drinks less these days, his fridge actually full of food instead of orange juice and beer because he likes to make you breakfast in the aftermath, sometimes you like to cook when you come over. He enjoys having you around, he looks forward to the nights where you’re his and only his.

There’s a domesticity to the relationship, one that he’s never allowed himself to have before. The women he’s been with since Luisa are fast and fleeting, a place to drown himself when the world becomes too much to bear, and he needs to lose himself.

It’s when he comes home to you, wrist deep in dirt, pulling weeds from the flower beds that line the front of his house that he realises how serious shit has got between the two of you.

“Sorry.” You tell him, using the back of your hand to brush a strand of your hair away from your face. “It’s been bothering me for a while.”

“Yea, no it’s fine.” He tells you, kneeling down and taking up residence next to you. He looks at you wearing one of his shirts thrown over a strap top and those Levi’s that fit you just right. You’re completely in your element, your face streaked with soil, hair tied back as you work. His lover, the kush farmer, the gardener, the botanist.

“We need to prep the soil.” You tell him, letting the gritty, dry earth slip through your fingers. “All of this is devoid of nutrients, I’ll get some compost from the farm, maybe some manure from the horses up by Riz’s place, dig it out and liven it up a bit. Is that ok with you?”

“What will you grow?” His voice rough as he speaks because he’s never had someone so invested. He thinks it means that you’re here to stay because you know, he sure as shit has no fucking idea how to keep something other than himself alive.

“I was thinking we could choose something together.” You say, nudging your shoulder with his. “Play into your vibe, probably some succulents and cacti. I don’t think you’re a lilacs kinda guy, although they are a great pollinator, you’d probably end up with some butterflies and bees. They’re pretty good at smothering weeds too and the smell when summer hits…” You trail off, your cheeks colouring as you tilt your head to meet his gaze. “Sorry I’m getting ahead of myself. Your garden, your rules.”

Fuck you’re captivating to watch. He doesn’t know anything about this horticulture shit but for you it’s a passion, you light up when you talk about it, you’re in your element with your fingers in the earth. He doesn’t know what the hell he did to deserve you.

“I love you.” He blurts out suddenly and he expects you to be taken aback, to reel away from the force of the words that leave his mouth.

“I know,” You tell him, a smile gracing your features as you take in his surprised expression. “You think I don’t see it?”

He’s got nothing to say to that, he really hasn’t. He knows he’s not the most forthcoming of men, he plays his cards close to his chest when it comes to his feelings because he’s been burned before. However, he is impulsive, emotion driven, he feels deeply. He’s not surprised that it bleeds into his physical actions.

“The shit you do for me, it means the world. Making sure I eat in the morning, when you know I’m about to spend a day in the fields, giving me a ride home when I’m too tired to function, running a bath when you know I’m sore. I’ve never been with someone so attuned to me. So, yea, I love you too, and this…” you point at the flowerbed. “is my way of showing it. I’m just really shit at expressing myself, hence why I’m letting you pick the plants instead of just throwing myself into it.”

He laughs because what you don’t realise is that all of these things you’ve listed reflect the shit you do for him. The nights you hold him close in the darkness after he’s had a nightmare, hands soothing over his back as you whisper in his ear, the fact you know he always needs physical reassurance when the two of you are together. You never judge him for it, you never make him feel needy or clingy.

“C’mere.” He mutters, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and drawing you close. You smell like fresh earth, musky and rich, he buries his face in your hair, the contours of your body fitting perfectly against him.  “I love you and you can plant whatever the fuck you want.”

Love Angel? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[peterbythewayi]

Being human

What if the team of guys on a mission had a sixth person - a female Marine from intelligence?

from the author: so guys, this work is a rewrite of the plot of the film, which features my original female character [she looks like Blanca Soler]. also my English not so good, I'm sorry.

Part I

"...you need five guys and a pilot. In total, six,” Tom estimated offhand, voicing his thoughts out loud.

Hearing that they would need one more person, Santiago stopped, looking at his friend with a poorly hidden smile.

“Six,” the man repeated, grinning. "It seems I have a little man in mind."

Tom furrowed his dark eyebrows. It seems that Santiago's sly smile did not bode well.

* * *

"Girl, Santi, are you mad?"

"Calm down, Tom, she works in the US Marine Corps."

"She barely crossed the threshold of eighteen years old, she’s not even an adult!"

"She can be useful to us!"

“I don’t deny it, but damn it, Pope, I don’t want to be responsible for her.”

Garcia exhaled tiredly, closing his eyes and running his hand over his face. For a quarter of an hour they had been arguing about the young girl whom Santiago had offered to take on the mission. Tom was categorical and flatly refused, arguing that she was too young and inexperienced. Despite all the respect for his friend, the man began to be angry at his prejudiced attitude towards her.

“Chill, both of you,” William intervened, having previously silently listened to the squabble between his friends. The next question was addressed personally to Santiago: "How did she even find you?"

* * *

Four days ago.

“Santiago Garcia,” a tall, strong man in uniform approaches him and salutes him. "US Marine Corps Major James Robertson."

"How can I help you?" - Santiago asks, carefully looking into the guest’s eyes.

"Meet Staff Sergeant of the US Marine Corps Anna Kushing, she works in the intelligence department. She came to you on orders from management."

Only now did Garcia notice the girl standing behind him. She was wearing a Marine Corps uniform - trousers with ironed creases, a jacket tightly belted, shirt, tie, shoes, cap - everything was indecently perfect and the man instinctively ran his hand through his hair, pursing his lips.

Her boss, citing important matters, hurriedly left, nodding to the girl lastly. She followed him with her gaze and discreetly licked her lips, finally turning to the gloomy Garcia.

“Santiago,” he nodded, holding out his palm to her out of politeness.

Anna carefully shook his rough hand with hers; Santiago noted that her hands were too soft for a scout (although maybe it seems to him, who knows). He continued to openly stare at her while she stared back at him.

* * *

"She was appointed as my... I don’t know, intern or something. Recently we were on a mission, the one from which I returned with news about Lorea, and there,” Santiago made an expressive pause, looking around at everyone present, “she showed herself.

"What, she was afraid of the first shot?" Tom said lazily.

Santiago looked at him with dissatisfaction and rolled his eyes.

"She knows her stuff. Plus she works in Marine Corps intelligence and has some experience."

“And plus she’s pretty good,” responded Benny, who had been silent until then, inserting his own comment about her. Frankie, who was sitting next to him, looked at him and grinned.

Santiago glanced at William. He looked very tense; Apparently, he was thinking whether it was worth violating all his moral principles for the sake of one mission.

Finally Tom, exhaling heavily, said: "Alright. Fine. But,” he interrupted the joyful smile spreading on Garcia’s lips and continued more seriously: "The responsibility for her is on you. I'm too old for this shit."

Santiago couldn’t hold back a happy laugh and patted the gloomy Davis on the shoulder, after which he quickly disappeared out the door and returned with the girl.

As Tom said, she was young and inexperienced, she looked about eighteen to nineteen years old. She had her hands tucked into the pockets of her beige jeans, over which she was wearing a black long-sleeve shirt and shoes. William could tell with certainty that she was a pedant just by her appearance, while his brother was more interested in looking at the girl herself than at her personality.

“Guys, Anna,” Santiago introduced her and, putting his hand on her shoulder, began pointing at the guys in turn, introducing her to them: “Meet Tom Redfly, Frankie Catfish, Benny and William Ironhead. Everyone has their own call sign, well, except for Benny, we just shortened his name.”

"Or someone just isn't cool enough to have a nickname," Frankie said with a grin, causing William to smile, to which Ben rolled his eyes.

“Now I’m not the youngest one on the team,” he snorted, folding his arms over his chest.

"My call sign is Edith."

Benny blinked; it seemed to him that he had misheard.

"When recruited into intelligence, I was given this pseudonym. The guy clearly understood literature,” Anna snorted and only William understood the reference. She notices his soft smile and barely noticeably twitches the corner of his lips.

Ben rolled his eyes a second time and shook his head. This time he really looked offended.

Anna turned to Santiago, who patted her on the shoulders and smiled encouragingly. Looking around the team, he said: "Departure is on Thursday."

[fw00shy]

Another Halloween

Draco was already having a bad day when Harry Potter showed up at Pansy’s flat. Draco loved Pansy but she could be a pandering swot when it came to wanting people to like her. “I’m tired of fighting,” Pansy said when Draco accused her of selling out to the golden Gryffindicks. Then she said, “Ron does have a rather nice cock,” and fluttered her falsies at the oafish freckle from across the room.

“You’re disgusting,” Draco said. He readjusted his peridot jewel circlet and pointedly did not look five inches to Weasley’s left, at you-know-who. Not You-Know-Who, but you know who, that giant pillock who vanquished You-Know — oh never mind.

(Side note: isn’t it rather funny how vanquished is a euphemism for killed? As if utterly destroy the existence of something terrible was more palpable than simply killing it, though either would accomplish the task equally well.)

Pansy bristled, sneering. “I’m not the one pandering to Granger in the house-elf costume—”

“I’m not a house-elf, I’m a hot fantasy Tolkien elf!”

“—but you don’t see me shaming you for it. Be a pal for once, slap on a smile and help me get laid.” She said the final words behind gritted teeth, as the Golden Gryffinduo had begun ambling over.

“Nice party,” Weasley said. He was wearing a 100% polyester red M&M costume, except he’d flipped the costume upside down so the M was a W. Clever, for a Weasley. Clever particularly when standing next to Potter, who was dressed in the same vampire costume he had worn to Blaise’s party last year. Not that Draco kept tabs on what Potter wore. Merlin, no. Draco was about to say something snide just to accentuate the point (to himself), but then he noticed Potter was also looking at him. Rather intensely.

“What is it,” Draco said, tucking a nervous strand of hair behind his artificially pointy ears. “Have I got something—”

“Your ears are as pointy as your chin,” Potter said. Then he blushed. Which was so surprising that even human motormouth Pansy paused in what she was saying to Weasley (something about she’d bought every last plastic cauldron from Tesco’s). After a beat, she abruptly grabbed a freckled arm and said, “Come, let’s have you buy me a drink.”

“But they’re your punch cauldrons,” Weasley said, pointing to the plastic cauldrons that Draco and Pansy had filled only an hour earlier with promises of a good time (fruit punch and patron).

“You can Venmo me,” Pansy said. She led the man away with an exasperated glance back at Draco, who smirked at her until he realised she’d left him alone. With Potter. Who was still determinedly staring at Draco with a bewildered expression on his face.

“Are you high?” Draco asked. Harry—sorry, Potter—certainly looked high, but that could be from the red lights strobing over his face . The entire flat was lit up like a club, which was to say, not very lit at all (Pansy had read somewhere that red lighting not only diminished the appearance of pimples but also stoked libidos).

“I can’t get high,” Potter said.

“What?”

“Yeah, I know, it’s a weird side effect of dying and coming back to life. Something about the resurrection stone counters all poisons, and most drugs are unfortunately a form of poison—”

—but Draco was thinking about last Halloween, when they’d been drunk and Draco had blown him in Blaise’s bathroom, or the time when they’d smoked so much pink kush, Potter had said he loved Draco, but of course that couldn’t be true, because Harry (sorry, Potter) had been high, except he couldn’t get high because of course he couldn’t, he was Harry bloody Potter—

“I’m too sober for this conversation,” Draco said.

Potter smiled back, a little dumbly, mostly sad. That made Draco sad too, which was also sad.

“You sure you can’t get.. uh, intoxicated?” Draco asked.

“Not really, no.”

“Then why do you come to these things?”

Potter stared at Draco just long enough for Draco to realise he was a fool for asking. But Draco still couldn’t really believe that Harry would be interested in him. Then he thought — fuck it, it was Halloween. He’d believe anything once. So he said, “Want to get out of here?”

[boxboxlewis]

41, dealer's choice on pairing

for my beloved tee we are kicking it old-school with some DRARRY! tee i hope you enjoy 💓

The Smiths, I want the one I can't have.

Five years after the war.

Haz— 

I had another idea for our divorce party. BEER KEGS! They’re an American thing, they’re like beer barrels but you do handstands on them while you drink and your friends hold your legs up. Eh?!! We’ll have to stop my mum from trying it, though, her back’s been playing up.

Love Ginny xxxx

P.S. It is very very crass to ask for presents so don’t tell Aunt Ermintrude I’m doing this, but, as a divorce present, do you want to get me a new set of stationery? I have REAMS of this ‘From the office of Ms. Ginevra Weasley-Potter’ stuff,  I thought we could do a bonfire with it at the party, but!! then I won’t have anything to send letters with. Let me know. Flourish & Blotts have a sale on…… 

Hazzer—

Sorry to bombard you but had another thought: should we have party favours? Should we have party favours that are COMMEMORATIVE TEA TOWELS WITH OUR FACES ON THEM AND THE DATES OF OUR MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. I’m so glad you agree I have ordered them. DON’T make that face it will be very funny.

Love Ginny xxxx

Hazzest—

GREAT NEWS Seamus has a friend who can get us the kegs!! Don’t worry he says it is 100% nearly legal but also can you just check if we’re inviting anyone from Customs & Excise. Thanks a million babe, love youuu.

Love Ginny xxxx

Dear Gin,

No problem re the stationery.

No problem re the kegs, although any chance we could go for ones that’ve been imported legally? Does the smuggling make the beer taste better? Perhaps Seamus can advise.

Please, please tell me you are joking about the tea towels.

Love, 

H.

Haz—

What smuggling?? So glad you understand about the kegs. And the tea towels are definitely a joke….. 

A joke that we will be giving to our lucky friends and family, heyaaaaa!!

Love Ginny xxxx

*****

It’s a good party. They have it at the Burrow, in the garden, fairy lights twinkling overhead, but it reminds Harry of parties in 8th year. There’s the same giddy tone to it, and Neville has brought his specialty (“primo kush,” Seamus insists on calling it, having gone worryingly Californian after a two-week holiday in New York), and there’s the taste of butterbeer and firewhiskey, and the smell of bonfire and the stars bright and cold overhead. Harry loops an arm around Ron’s shoulders. He wouldn’t have done that, in the war, but he touches his friends all the time now. “Does this remind you of,” he says, and Ron finishes “8th year, yeah,” lazy and happy. 

It’s a good party, and when Harry runs into Ginny by the snack table he grins at her and says “Fine.”

“‘Thank you Ginny, this was a brilliant idea, and I was wrong to doubt you,” she says, in a growly mock-Harry voice.

He smiles, pulls a face at her. “I should never have doubted you, Gin.” After a beat he adds, “Should never have married you either, mind,” and Ginny says “Oi!” and elbows him. 

The crisp bowl is running dangerously low and Harry feels a duty to the party to refill it. Also, possibly, he wants a moment to himself out of the heart of things. Sometimes he enjoys things more that way; it’s probably the war trauma.

The door from the garden into the kitchen is jammed, which is a bit odd. He’s never known it to stick before. He rattles it, then sets his shoulder against it, and shoves with his magic too. It yields suddenly and Harry stumbles across the threshold. And—Draco Malfoy is in the kitchen, leaning back against the countertop, face flushed, trousers round his knees, one hand clutching the hair of the man kneeling before him. Harry blinks, shakes his head, but the scene doesn’t change. “Er,” he says.

“The door was locked, Harry,” Draco says. He is staring with great focus at the ceiling.

Harry looks frantically away from Draco’s face. “No, I, just, I,” he says. Oh Christ, the man on his knees in front of Draco is Charlie Weasley. Harry has died and gone to absurdist hell. “Aaahh?” he says, and flees back into the garden.

“Are you all right, Harry?” Hermione asks, touching his arm, concerned but keeping her voice private. 

“Yes! Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Really feeling the need to, er, to play some beer pong though! Partner me?”

“....sure,” she says, and he knows she knows something is wrong and he’s not off the hook, but all the same they trounce everyone: Ginny and Lee, and Ron and Neville, and Blaise and Luna.

“Re-rack!” demands Blaise, voice high with outrage, “I demand a re-rack!” and Hermione says, in her most serious Senior Magister voice, “With respect to my learned friend, I believe he will find that, pursuant to subsection 88b.1 of the Code of Sporting Practice, only one re-rack is permitted per round.”

Blaise points at her and yelps “You invented that! You have entirely made that up!” and Hermione smiles toothily at him and says “Yes, yes I did,” and it’s not entirely surprising when Harry spots them later making out against a tree.

“I just can’t believe Draco got off with Charlie at my divorce party,” Harry says, several nights later. It possibly isn’t the first time that evening he’s said it. Ron and Hermione exchange looks.

“No, yeah, I definitely hear you, mate,” Ron says. “But, um, forgive me for asking again, I’m sure it’s obvious and I’m just missing a trick, but, uh. Why exactly. Is it a problem that Draco got off with Charlie?” 

Hermione is staring studiously into her beer.

“It’s not—it’s not the hooking up that’s the problem,” Harry says. What was the problem? “It’s doing it at someone else’s divorce party! It’s like… like getting engaged in the middle of someone’s wedding reception.”

Ron coughs and takes another sip of his lager. “Mmm. Is it, though?” He raises his eyebrows at Harry. “Pretty sure there aren’t really many hard-and-fast rules of etiquette governing people’s conduct at divorce parties. Not really a huge fixture of the traditional pureblood social engagement calendar, are they.”

“But—”

“You know,  Blaise and I hooked up at the party too,” Hermione interrupts, looking up at him. “But you haven’t mentioned that at all.”

Harry shifts uncomfortably under her gaze. “Well, I didn’t walk in on you and Blaise in the kitchen,” he says defensively. Charlie had been on his knees, Malfoy leaning back against the countertop, eyes closed, one hand in Charlie’s hair. His cheeks had been flushed, his breath stuttering as he thrust into Charlie’s mouth, Charlie’s eyes closed too, his hands clamped on Malfoy’s hips. “I know what Malfoy looks like when he’s about to come! Tell me that’s not rude.”

Ron sighs. “Mate.” 

“What?”

Ron looks at Hermione. “Do you want to take this one, or shall I?”

Hermione raises her glass. “All yours, Ronald. Go with god.”

“Ok. Harry.” Ron draws in a deep breath. “Do you think. That maybe. You want to get off with Malfoy, and that’s why Charlie doing it made you so upset.”

Harry stares at Ron.

“Er. Some kind of response… would be great.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“And the penny has dropped.”

*****

Hi Draco,

Are you dating Charlie Weasley now?

Yours,

H.P.

Potter— 

Lovely to hear from you as ever. Ah, I hear you saying, but I haven’t written to or indeed spoken to Draco for years, and I avoid him at social gatherings! You are correct, but I implore you to think nothing of it. I positively adore being brusquely interrogated about my romantic life, particularly by casual acquaintances.

I’m not dating Charlie Weasley, but we are fucking. Enthusiastically, at length, and often. I hope that answers your query but please do let me know if you need further details. I shall be delighted to oblige.

I beg to remain, Sir, yr most obt. servant

Draco Malfoy

P.S. You can call me Malfoy.

Draco, I didn’t

Dear Draco, I am very sorry

Draco,

[spotsupstuff]

I wanna learn more about Blessing / Boreas. What’s up with all the bat flies with him? What’s his city like?

-rubs my hands together like a fly- uuuuuu boy, time to shake my blatantly favorite child Hell yeah huhuhuhuhuuu

the batflies enter the scene a good while after the Mass Ascension- they are his coping mechanism after Zephyr collapses and goes dark!

from the comic where they talk about Euros' n Sparrows' relationship, one can probably guess how close these two are. Boreas might be the big scary dog of the whole Eo family that punches things in the face rather than take any miniscule amount of shit, but when it comes to Zephyr he is very open and sweet. she's the only person who can actually influence his opinions and ideas greatly, because he loves and trusts her enough to allow her to do so. so when she collapses, he takes it the worst out of everyone. in a very quiet way. his pain if for him to keep, nobody else can know he's hurting

bear witness to Ňuňu

this lil shit was basically Boreas' therapy dog. just.. very very feckin teeny

child...

she is as smart as your typical bat, but the thing was that when she accidentally made her way into his chamber, he didn't have much will in himself to send the animal to eeby deeby so she got to flutter about. and as animals do, girlie used the empathy trap card to figure out this person who doesn't seem to be posing any danger is Sad. so she landed on his head, crawled up to look into his eyes and chirped

n that was the straw that broke the camel's back and Boreas had his first grief-inflicted breakdown ever. Ňuňu stayed during it and even after it, so emotionally-empty-feeling Boreas decided to take her in. hardly can replace Zephyr, but at least he isn't alone

Ňuňu later brought friends and Bee decided that he will look after them then. even after Ňuňu passes away, he still houses and raises them. the younglings like sleeping on his antennas so he has to watch himself to not move them too much sometimes. Euros has a folder full of photos like that

to his city- the name kush is:

originally from me looking for latin words for Rage. ended up going with Desaevio, because Bee is indeed positioned in a fitting place for the word

and the storm connection plus the last two are the main reasons why the Ancients called the city as such. after project Abet Zephyr ended in such a failure, they had to vent some stuff out. and we are going to claim that it is anger because that isn't as pitiful as shame or embarrassment

(the fact that almost every translator i put it into gives me "i'm sorry" works wonderfully, too. because what else will ultimately Boreas do, but quietly mutter to himself a mantra of apologies when he'll be lying in his chamber 30 seconds from his death, drowning in his regrets and mistakes?)

Desaevio was capable of comfortably supporting over 5 million people (no other Iterator city ever reaches that far- the max is ambitious Gen 3 cities that only ever reached around an estimate of 2.7 million) but at times housed over 6-7 million. despite lying close to the geographical location of Bergen in real life, Desaevio is very far from reaching such nice vibes (the old towns Boreas' structure overshadows come close, though). it is way closer to New York, but more dystopian. if u look up dystopian city on google images u get to see pretty closely what it looked like. combine it with Coruscant from star wars for bonus authencity with the layering

made up of skyscrapers, with endless layered bridges for means of transport (most commonly expres trains), with what little decoration of the buildings chipped away by time without anybody caring enough to restore the beauty- the grey, gloomy expanse of Desaevio is as majestic to witness as it is absolutely harrowing

with it being a layered city and one with Boreas' consciousness/structure, some wonder when does one truly leaves the borders of the city and enters the giant's actual insides. it's hard to tell, with old models of Iterators not being all that enclosed and isolated like Five Pebbles is. there is no karma gate to tell you when exactly the walls turn from homes for people to homes for wires, tubes and alien-like organic life of a colossal Hivemind

despite the whole "Iterators are above the cloud level" thing, i like to imagine that it rains in Desaevio either way. at least- some levels are just straight up Wet like after rain. but it'd be those normal rains like we have, not the annihilating ones that the old towns need to bear with down below. or maybe it's just the upper layers' waste water seeping through the ceilings

most of light of the lower levels comes from streetlights, neon signs and Boreas' own systems once deep enough

cameras and such security systems litter all the streets and every public room- and the private homes are still accessable by overseers- and All of that feeds directly into Boreas' memory cache

this omnipresence is why Boreas later suffers with the fuckin

nobody is as unhappy with Boreas' omnipresence as Boreas himself. no wonder he's always ticked off, imagine being a witness to All of New York's road rage 24/7

[wgc-productions]

The Magnus Archives 1 Angler Fish Liveblog

I have two deep confessions to lay bare here, on this public Tumblr.

1. I didn't like Waiting To Exhale and I think it is a bad movie.

2. I have never listened to The Magnus Archives which is a cardinal sin for me as a person who makes audio dramas. I plan to rectify this here and now! I want to listen to a lot more the seminal audiodramas so I can be a better student of my craft, and by blogging it I'm likely to get other people's input and thoughts which is also super helpful to me as an artist. So, see? Win win.

You can read my liveblogging thoughts below the cut.

00:00- I think the same thing when I listen to WTNV (which is like One Piece in my opinion) but it's also so, not necessarily strange, but particular when shows that you know didn't have ads initially have ads now. It's sort of like being a post-witness to growth. It'd be like finding Egyptian influence on Kush Artifacts. You just know that it looked different and that there had to be such a seismic shift to get to the change you know must have happened, because it doesn't make sense for it to have started in the state that you are currently experiencing.

04:10- Oh! It's one of the "we have a reason we're recording" shows! Those are fun.

04:39- It's nice to have a voice to go with all the Johnathan Sims fanart I've seen.

05:15- I will say when I was living out in LA for a couple of months in college, I did try listening to TMA but I didn't get into it. So, I do vaguely remember this 1st episode plot though that was about 5 years ago (which is crazy to think! Darn you COVID!)

06:40- Well God forbid Martin has some struggles. Please Johnathan where's your compassion?

09:16- I'm glad he knows I am but an American who knows nothing of Edinburgh.

12:18 Johnathan please. You can't just stare at people on the street. What happened to manners.

13:05- Give the man a bum, John. It's the sporting thing to do! Who cares if he's a little different. We all have our addictions.

14:59 Wait! John is reading a case this isn't his behavior. Oh, for shame. I have been slandering his good name. Sorry, Johnathan.

17:20- I'll be honest if I saw some truly bizarre phenomena that just screamed unexplained horror I would not investigate. There is already too much truly horrifying phenom that's hard to explain. I don't need to pursue the horrors. I'm a Black American, the horrors pursue me.

18:58 It's a shame audio dramas typically don't have characters with thick accented brogues. Could you imagine someone with a thick backwoods Irish or Scottish accent doing this. Think of the texture it would ad.

19:00- I know that all of these stories eventually connect so I'm excited to see how they all blend into a cohesive plot.

That's that on that. I'll keep doing these because I want to and I also think it'll be fun to, once I finish TMA, be able to go back and read through and relive the experience.

[sloelimbs]

Babe I'm gonna give you total creative freedom bc I trust you completely, BUT if you want a prompt, let's go with 'pineapple.'

since i'm down to my last two requests (i know it's taking me forever, i'm sorry, i have medical shit going down) i'm just going to pop in here that my askbox is open and i take requests! now, the story:

The line comes to him with the same kind of flash of inspiration as a riff, or a brilliant lyric, several years into his employment at the Hideout. He still plays on Tuesdays, because he and the guys could never give up on the double Cs, but more or less every other night of the week he’s in there serving drinks and cleaning glasses. It’s not without resentment that Eddie acknowledges he’s met more girls with a cocktail shaker in his hand (because Fridays are ladies nights, so cocktails are on the menu) than with his guitar.

Of course, that was before Chrissy Cunningham started working with him. Okay, so she doesn’t exactly work with him but she’s in the goddamn bar, ain’t she? It doesn’t matter that she’s also, you know, on the bar. He wouldn’t let anyone actually touch her (and nor would the other girls, for that matter) but God what do they do to the cheerleaders in this town to make them so consistently hot? It’s clearly not the uniform (he’d been worried about that), so what? The natural rhythm she has, moving so that her skin lights up like she’s covered in scales, hipbones glowing beneath low riding shorts, and how (even covered in sweat with her hair dark and curling from it) beautifully alive she is with the music replacing the blood in her veins? He knows she feels that too. Music is a living thing that takes a person over; this he knows because he makes it. Eddie suspects Chrissy was born with it.

Anyway, the line he comes up with smacks him clear between the eyes - a chord progression, a bridge appearing from nowhere - just as the last stragglers are being shooed out of the door and Chrissy is drying her hair perched on a table. It’s beyond fucking genius, he just knows it. He’s about to pick her up with the smoothest shit that’ll ever leave his mouth and he’s extra fucking cocky about swaggering up to her with a towel over his shoulder and his arms crossed over his chest. He’s always grateful that his work clothes are flattering but tonight he’s seriously considering thanking a God he doesn’t really believe in for his luck. She looks up at him quizzically, then smiles a smile so big that actually he thinks his smoothness might have a little pulp in it after all. Shit. Fuck. It’s too late, he’s already opening his mouth, and what falls out of it is;

“If you were a fruit, you’d be a fine-apple.” What that fuck was that, Munson, you enormous fucking clowncar of a man? Smooth his fucking foot oh God he’s going to run his own head over with his van. The fuck is he talking about? What is this nonsense?

Why can’t Chrissy be as easy to talk to as the bimbos that come in here with their bachelorette parties?

“Wow.” But she’s laughing! That’s a good sign! It’s not even polite laughter - it’s a hideous little giggle that he immediately wants to find again, grin immediate on his mouth, watching the gaps between her teeth. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Normally I’m much better than this.”

“You realise that makes you sound like a womanising jerk, right?” Chrissy crosses one long bare leg over the other and brushes the rhinestones hanging against her collarbone over her shoulder, raises her eyebrows and puckers her mouth at him. Sweet baby Jesus. That’s not true, not really, not from his perspective but if this is a game and this is how she wants the rules to be then he can do that. He sits at the table and folds his arms on the top.

“Maybe you should make an honest man of me, Cunningham. What time do you get off?”

“Same time as you, obviously.”

“I have some kush back at my trailer, if you felt like joining me.” The smile on her face grows, and her eyes flick from his own to his mouth, and it doesn’t matter that the pick up line ended up being the most embarrassing thing he could ever say because she leans down over him and slots her fingers along the bone of his jaw. Now he knows how all the heroines feel when the hero finally catches up with them. It’s a very strange place to be. Worth it, though. Oh God, so worth it, because she parts her lips against his and her tongue is coated in sugar and cinnamon from shots of cherry sours and Big Red bubblegum. When she pulls back, that tongue lingers for a second between his teeth and with a shiver he starts to laugh. He can’t help it. “It’s pineapple. The kush.”

“Wow. I can’t believe I’m going home with you and you’re this much of an idiot.”

“Chrissy, what can I say? I’m a talented guy.”