#that production style is right up my alley

[python333]

im in love with your content omg😭 your writing style is just chefs kiss

can i req a reader with the tf141 being on a mission and hearing an enemy say something in british slang and they just go "what did they just say.." in comms? like a reader who doesnt know anything about slang like not even that bars in the uk r called pubs (if im not wrong) and just nods whenever a private talks in slang, and their brain is just trying to figure out what they just said?

its just a really silly plot with a silly reader :3

pardon? — python333

— — — —

synopsis just as the req says, you know nothing about british slang and on a mission the enemy speaks british and you dont know what theyre saying :3

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 2.6k

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note HI YES I LOVE THIS REQ!! i take every opportunity i can to make fun of british people so this is right up my alley!! tysm for the compliments hjfhdjskf recently ive been getting more praise on my works and it makes me so happy i love yall. again, sorry if this sounds a little rushed or if any parts are incoherent, i wrote this at 12/1am and im both more productive and write more nonsense at this time + this one is wayyyy shorter than ones i usually do because i didnt know what else to write for it so i apologize for that as well! this is pure fluff and humor (i like to think im funny) so enjoy!!

“—eah, and now we have to camp out here ‘cause he can’t be arsed to do it ‘imself, so I feel like we should have a chat with the others, see if they’re willing to leg it out of here with us,” An enemy soldier suggests to you, his British accent thick enough that you think it might be cockney.

You cross your arms to hide your shaking hands and nod in agreement, as if you understood anything he said, and put on the same shitty British accent you’d been using for the past five minutes you’d been talking to this guy.

“Yeah, yeah, totally,” You agree, clearing your throat before asking, “You know where the others are stationed?”

“You don’t?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you suspiciously.

“Mate, all the orders I was given went in one ear and out the other,” You sigh, holding back a wince at your desperate attempt to sound more natural using British slang, “I just know I’ve got to stand out here and shoot the enemy.”

The enemy eyes you suspiciously and he takes a moment to try and read your face before he says, “I don’t think I’ve seen you before, actually. Which would be weird, if we’re in the same platoon, don’t you—” 

You sigh and quickly pull out the small switchblade you had hanging on your belt, stabbing the enemy in the neck before he can say anything else and grabbing him before he can drop to the ground, putting a hand behind his back as you half lead half drag him into a dark alleyway beside the building he was stationed outside of. 

You quickly set him down into a sitting position and take your knife out of his throat, tucking the blade back into the handle before adjusting it to latch onto your belt once again, letting out a frustrated huff as you stare at the now dead man in front of you. 

“[c/n], how copy?” Price’s voice crackles through on your ear piece. 

You push in the PTT button and lower your voice, “Copy, I fucked up a little bit. One of the guys was onto me.”

“You were there for five bloody minutes,” Gaz’s voice rings through, his tone both disbelieving and amused, “How’d he already catch onto you?” 

“The British are smarter than I thought,” You breathe out, standing up and looking around for a ladder to climb to get to higher ground before anyone spots you. You go farther into the alley and find an old, rusty ladder with rungs that look like they’d snap if someone sneezed on them too hard—perfect for climbing up.

You wrinkle your nose as your hand makes contact with one of the rungs but don’t say anything otherwise, instead wordlessly hauling yourself up onto the ladder. 

“Reminder that there’s three British people with you, currently,” Ghost’s deadpan tone crackles, his breathing heavy, as you can tell he’s whispering into his mic, “All of which are very smart.”

“I caught you reading the instructions on a box of tea bags the other day, don’t fuckin’ talk right now,” You grumble, slowly climbing up the ladder, hating the creaking noises it makes as you do. It sounds like it’s going to snap at any minute, and you try to go up as fast as you can, but one wrong move and you’ll easily slip, some of the rust that flakes off of the ladder enough to make you slip up. 

“They were circles,” Ghost says, exasperated, “I didn’t know if that made a difference.” 

“I thought British people were supposed to know everything about tea,” You roll your eyes, putting your hand on the next rusty rung up on the ladder. 

“Yeah, L.t,” Soap agrees with you teasingly, the wind hitting his mic, making it obvious that he’s running, “Thought ye Brits were s’possed to ken everything ‘bout tea.” 

You laugh quietly to yourself as you finally make it to the top of the building, the top just high enough for you to look at the few soldiers below and hear a majority of their conversations without them noticing you.

You get to the edge of the rooftop and pull the sniper rifle you’d been carrying around off of your back, glad to finally be back in your element rather than trying to get in undercover, and set it up. 

You pull the stand out and set it on the edge of the roof, and look through the scope of the rifle, lining it up so that it’s aiming directly at one of the soldier’s heads, specifically the one that was standing directly out of the entrance you originally were meant to try and get into—but doing this didn’t change much.

Regardless of if you got in or not, he would’ve died, and the others would’ve gotten in too. You getting in first was just meant to make it more efficient.

You press down on the PTT button on your earpiece as you look through the scope of your sniper rifle, keeping the aim on the soldier in front of the entrance, “The guy in front of the entrance is just standing still, so whenever you need me to, I can shoot ‘im down.” 

“I don’t think we need to get in just yet,” Price hums, “But maybe in a minute.” “M’kay,” You hum, taking your eye away from the scope, instead just looking over at the enemy soldiers. You lay on your stomach, leaning your head down a bit to try and listen in on the enemy’s conversations easier, trying your best not to make yourself too obvious.

The conversations were pretty boring and almost the same for every soldier you’d eavesdropped on, for the most part. Enemy soldiers joking around, talking about what they’ll do once they’re on leave—like they would be able to do that after you completed your assignment—and just some general team camaraderie.

The lackluster subjects of their conversations weren’t bad at all, no, in fact, you could care less what they talk about. 

It was their stupid accents you hated. 

Are you surrounded by British people everyday? Yes. Does that stop you from hating on the British everyday? No. Okay, maybe the accents aren’t stupid, but God, they had the thickest cockney accents you’d heard in your entire life, and it was making your eavesdropping so much harder, and had almost been the reason you were given away earlier.

They used slang words that you’re certain you’ve never heard before in your life, and used analogies that didn’t even make sense—you heard one of them use the words, verbatim, ‘Don’t get stroppy’. Stroppy? Stroppy? 

You narrow your eyes down at the soldiers below you, listening to a conversation they’d just started up. 

“—eah, ‘cause he can’t be arsed to do anything about it, so now we have to camp out here and wait for somethin’ to happen,” One of the soldiers scoffs, “I’m telling you, man, if I see that skull-masked bloke runnin’ ‘round out here, I’m legging it from ‘im immediately.” 

You draw your eyebrows together in confusion, but you stay silent for now. Isn’t that exactly what the other soldier said? Are they like a hive mind or something?

“You’re legging it?” The other soldier asked, sounding almost incredulous, “What happened to you chattin’ to some of the others about your loyalty and what not?” “All that’s irrelevant when the fuckin’ grim reaper rolls around and starts murkin’ people like he’s been doing for the entirety we’ve been here, mate,” The first soldier laughs, “You think I wanna be here when he does that?” 

“Don’t act like a prat about it, man—fuckin’ talking’ like you can outrun him.” “A prat? I’m not—” You tune out the rest of their argument and instead try and figure out what they were saying.

A prat? Legging it? Can’t be arsed? What the fuck? You push the PTT button on your earpiece and as quietly as you can, you ask, “I need some help. Serious help. Life or death situation.” Immediately, Price’s voice rings through, “What? What is it? What happened?” “The soldiers are British and I can’t tell what they’re saying,” You answer, ignoring Price’s relieved sigh on his end, “I need help.” “Jesus, fuck, don’t scare me like that,” Price sighs, taking a few breaths before continuing, “Alright, what do you need help with?” 

“Figuring out what they’re saying.” This time, you hear Gaz’s voice crackle through, “Well, you’ve got three British people here—tell us what he’s saying.” 

“One of the guys was talking about ‘legging it’ if he saw Ghost heading towards him, and talked about Ghost ‘murking’ people, and then the other guy he was talking to told him he was being a ‘prat’ about it and he got all offended,” You eloquently say into the earpiece, watching as the argument gets a little more heated. You can hear an amused huff from Ghost on his end and a scoff from Soap in return. 

“They’re just saying they’re gonna run away if they see Ghost because he’s been killing a lot of their soldiers, and the other guy said he was being a prat, which I guess is like…” Gaz pauses to think of how to explain the slang term before settling on, “Someone who’s kind of full of themselves, I guess. Or ignorant. Either or.” 

“They couldn’t just say that?” You muse quietly, still staring down at the enemy soldiers. 

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that,” Price’s voice cuts through, “Go ahead and shoot the guy down. I’m ready to head in.”

“Got it,” You hum, quickly putting your eye back up to your scope and readjusting it a bit before quietly warning, “Shooting him now.” 

You pull the trigger and the enemy goes down immediately, and through your scope you can see the small twitching of his body as the other soldier starts to freak out.

You quickly aim the gun at his still-alive friend and shoot him down as well, silently congratulating yourself on your good aim and continuing to look through the scope, watching as Price runs in with Gaz and a few other soldiers. 

They struggle with the door for a moment and you sigh before pressing in the PTT button on your earpiece and quietly saying, “Price, Gaz, move away from the door for a sec.”

Wordlessly, they do as they’re told, and you take the opportunity to line up the gun’s aim with the complex electronic panel on the outside of the door and pull the trigger, shooting the most crucial part of the panel, causing it’s functions to disrupt and as a result, the doors open. 

“Thanks for that,” Gaz breathes out as Price kicks open the door, his voice cut off a bit at the end as he takes his hand off the PTT button too quickly in order to follow after Price. 

“Uh huh. Of course,” You say offhandedly, taking your eye away from the scope of your sniper rifle and listening to the loud sirens go off in the facility the others break into, and push yourself up so that you can sit up straight to properly watch it. You grunt as you sit up, stretching your arms out for a moment before letting them fall into your lap. 

“Are they in?” Soap asks, curious, his voice a little strained and breathy. There’s no loud gusts of wind coming through his mic anymore, and you look around for a moment, before your eyes catch on to him climbing up a ladder to get to the rooftop adjacent to yours.

Your lips twitch into a smile at the sight of him completely clueless to your presence and you press your PTT button to talk. 

“Yeah, they’re in,” You say, watching as he finally gets to the rooftop, “Didn’t you hear the sirens?” 

You can see Soap’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion for a moment, and he looks around for a moment before finally seeing you on the rooftop directly next to his, and he looks surprised for a moment before a grin splits across his face. You see him press the PTT button on his mic as well. 

“I did, yeah, just wanted tae be sure,” He says into his mic, looking right at you as he does, “It’s a surprise seeing you here.” 

“Imagine how I feel,” You muse, almost to yourself, before looking away from Soap and speaking up, “Ghost, you don’t wanna join us on the rooftops?” 

“Absolutely not,” He replies almost immediately, making you huff out a small laugh and Soap’s grin grow, “I’m perfectly fine on the ground.” 

“Where are you?” You ask, scanning the area around you for Ghost, “I feel like I haven’t seen you this whole time.” 

“I’m just behind the facility,” Ghost hums, voice still a low whisper, “I’m gonna be heading in once Gaz and Price make it to the second floor to clean up the first, in case there’s anyone left.” 

“You’ve been behind the facility this whole time?” Soap’s voice cuts through, surprised by the fact. 

“Mhm,” Ghost hums. 

“It’s a bit boring back there, innit?” Gaz’s voice crackles through, his voice a little breathy, “You can sweep the first floor, by the way. Should be nobody left, though. Pretty sure all the soldiers were just faffing around, not doing much.” 

“Fucking faffing around?” You ask incredulously to yourself, though apparently your voice is loud enough to make Soap chuckle. 

As if he can read your mind, Price’s voice comes through, “Faffing around is just doing nothing or doing nothing particularly productive, [c/n].” 

You sigh and push your PTT button this time, talking into your mic, “You couldn’t just say that, Gaz? You had to say something silly like faffing around?” 

“It’s not silly,” Gaz says, his frown audible, “They were faffing around.” 

“Jesus, fuck,” You breathe out, laughing lightly, “It’s totally silly.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yeah it is.”

“No it’s—” 

“I just want one day where you two don’t start up stupid arguments like this,” Price’s tired sigh comes through, “Just one day, I beg of you both.” 

“Aw, Captain, we were just faffing around,” You whine playfully, the misuse of the slang making Soap cover his mouth with his hand to muffle his laughter and you hear Ghost groan into his mic. 

“That is absolutely not how you use that,” Gaz says, though you can hear some laughter in his voice—from your very non-British accent saying British phrases, you presume, a small grin gracing your lips at the thought. 

“It sounded natural to me,” You lie straight through your teeth, shrugging even though only Soap can see you. 

“You’re insufferable,” Gaz groans, making you laugh quietly, “Never use British slang again, please.” 

“What if I get a British accent? Will that fix it?”

“Nothing can fix what you’ve said today, [c/n].”

“Well that’s dramatic,” You scoff, “I’ll learn British just for you guys.” 

“Holy shit, please stop talking,” Price’s exasperated voice interrupts the both of you, “You’re both insufferable. Drop it.” 

“… I don’t think I will,” You say defiantly, making all three British people in the same voice channel as you groan in unison, the sound sounding like some sort of middle school choir trying to sing in harmony, “I’ll use Duolingo or something to learn it.” 

“British isn’t a language you learn, you muppet,” Price grumbles, making you snort. 

“Muppet?” 

“It’s someone who’s dumb and clueless and can’t take a hint, like you,” Ghost defines, “And Soap, most of the time.” 

“Daen’t go draggin’ mae into this,” Soap’s voice quickly cuts through, “I haven’t said onything.” 

“Uh, yes you absolutely did, earlier, remember?” Gaz argues, ignoring Price’s protests for him to stop arguing, “About Ghost being stupid with the tea thing?” 

“Oh, I’ll have you all know—” 

“Ghost, don’t start—” 

You listen as the once casual, teasing conversation turns into an argument and chuckle quietly to yourself, knowing that they’d be arguing about this until you all finished your assignment.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Emil Ferris’s long-awaited “My Favorite Thing Is Monsters Book Two”

NEXT WEEKEND (June 7–9), I'm in AMHERST, NEW YORK to keynote the 25th Annual Media Ecology Association Convention and accept the Neil Postman Award for Career Achievement in Public Intellectual Activity.

Seven years ago, I was absolutely floored by My Favorite Thing Is Monsters, a wildly original, stunningly gorgeous, haunting and brilliant debut graphic novel from Emil Ferris. Every single thing about this book was amazing:

https://memex.craphound.com/2017/06/20/my-favorite-thing-is-monsters-a-haunting-diary-of-a-young-girl-as-a-dazzling-graphic-novel/

The more I found out about the book, the more amazed I became. I met Ferris at that summer's San Diego Comic Con, where I learned that she had drawn it over a while recovering from paralysis of her right – dominant – hand after a West Nile Virus infection. Each meticulously drawn and cross-hatched page had taken days of work with a pen duct-taped to her hand, a project of seven years.

The wild backstory of the book's creation was matched with a wild production story: first, Ferris's initial publisher bailed on her because the book was too long; then her new publisher's first shipment of the book was seized by the South Korean state bank, from the Panama Canal, when the shipper went bankrupt and its creditors held all its cargo to ransom.

My Favorite Thing Is Monsters told the story of Karen Reyes, a 10 year old, monster-obsessed queer girl in 1968 Chicago who lives with her working-class single mother and her older brother, Deeze, in an apartment house full of mysterious, haunted adults. There's the landlord – a gangster and his girlfriend – the one-eyed ventriloquist, and the beautiful Holocaust survivor and her jazz-drummer husband.

Karen narrates and draws the story, depicting herself as a werewolf in a detective's trenchcoat and fedora, as she tries to unravel the secrets kept by the grownups around her. Karen's life is filled with mysteries, from the identity of her father (her brother, a talented illustrator, has removed him from all the family photos and redrawn him as the Invisible Man) to the purpose of a mysterious locked door in the building's cellar.

But the most pressing mystery of all is the death of her upstairs neighbor, the beautiful Annika Silverberg, a troubled Holocaust survivor whose alleged suicide just doesn't add up, and Karen – who loved and worshiped Annika – is determined to get to the bottom of it.

Karen is tormented by the adults in her life keeping too much from her – and by their failure to shield her from life's hardest truths. The flip side of Karen's frustration with adult secrecy is her exposure to adult activity she's too young to understand. From Annika's cassette-taped oral history of her girlhood in an Weimar brothel and her escape from a Nazi concentration camp, to the sex workers she sees turning tricks in cars and alleys in her neighborhood, to the horrors of the Vietnam war, Karen's struggle to understand is characterized by too much information, and too little.

Ferris's storytelling style is dazzling, and it's matched and exceeded by her illustration style, which is grounded in the classic horror comics of the 1950s and 1960s. Characters in Karen's life – including Karen herself – are sometimes depicted in the EC horror style, and that same sinister darkness crowds around the edges of her depictions of real-world Chicago.

These monster-comic throwbacks are absolute catnip for me. I, too, was a monster-obsessed kid, and spent endless hours watching, drawing, and dreaming about this kind of monster.

But Ferris isn't just a monster-obsessive; she's also a formally trained fine artist, and she infuses her love of great painters into Deeze, Karen's womanizing petty criminal of an older brother. Deeze and Karen's visits to the Art Institute of Chicago are commemorated with loving recreations of famous paintings, which are skillfully connected to pulp monster art with a combination of Deeze's commentary and Ferris's meticulous pen-strokes.

Seven years ago, Book One of My Favorite Thing Is Monsters absolutely floored me, and I early anticipated Book Two, which was meant to conclude the story, picking up from Book One's cliff-hanger ending. Originally, that second volume was scheduled for just a few months after Book One's publication (the original manuscript for Book One ran to 700 pages, and the book had been chopped down for publication, with the intention of concluding the story in another volume).

But the book was mysteriously delayed, and then delayed again. Months stretched into years. Stranger rumors swirled about the second volume's status, compounded by the bizarre misfortunes that had befallen book one. Last winter, Bleeding Cool's Rich Johnston published an article detailing a messy lawsuit between Ferris and her publishers, Fantagraphics:

https://bleedingcool.com/comics/fantagraphics-sued-emil-ferris-over-my-favorite-thing-is-monsters/

The filings in that case go some ways toward resolve the mystery of Book Two's delay, though the contradictory claims from Ferris and her publisher are harder to sort through than the mysteries at the heart of Monsters. The one sure thing is that writer and publisher eventually settled, paving the way for the publication of the very long-awaited Book Two:

https://www.fantagraphics.com/products/my-favorite-thing-is-monsters-book-two

Book Two picks up from Book One's cliffhanger and then rockets forward. Everything brilliant about One is even better in Two – the illustrations more lush, the fine art analysis more pointed and brilliant, the storytelling more assured and propulsive, the shocks and violence more outrageous, the characters more lovable, complex and grotesque.

Everything about Two is more. The background radiation of the Vietnam War in One takes center stage with Deeze's machinations to beat the draft, and Deeze and Karen being ensnared in the Chicago Police Riots of '68. The allegories, analysis and reproductions of classical art get more pointed, grotesque and lavish. Annika's Nazi concentration camp horrors are more explicit and more explicitly connected to Karen's life. The queerness of the story takes center stage, both through Karen's first love and the introduction of a queer nightclub. The characters are more vivid, as is the racial injustice and the corruption of the adult world.

I've been staring at the spine of My Favorite Thing Is Monsters Book One on my bookshelf for seven years. Partly, that's because the book is such a gorgeous thing, truly one of the great publishing packages of the century. But mostly, it's because I couldn't let go of Ferris's story, her characters, and her stupendous art.

After seven years, it would have been hard for Book Two to live up to all that anticipation, but goddammit if Ferris didn't manage to meet and exceed everything I could have hoped for in a conclusion.

There's a lot of people on my Christmas list who'll be getting both volumes of Monsters this year – and that number will only go up if Fantagraphics does some kind of slipcased two-volume set.

In the meantime, we've got more Ferris to look forward to. Last April, she announced that she had sold a prequel to Monsters and a new standalone two-volume noir murder series to Pantheon Books:

https://twitter.com/likaluca/status/1648364225855733769

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/01/the-druid/#oh-my-papa

[pappydaddy]

sorry about the shirt (f.w.)

a/n: now that i named this fic this, now i have an idea for another fic with this as a prompt.... ugh my mind, curse my cognition! also, i have deleted this and reformatted this like six times and the title is still not saving as a god-damn title anymore. ugh. tumblr (pls don't shadowban me again)

tv show/movie: harry potter | pairing: fred weasley x fem!hufflepuff!reader

requested by the lovely @readingfan  (hope you enjoy it💛!) | my little pea-sized, fred-lane brain made this a fred x reader without me realizing it until seconds before posting this

synopsis: fred and george getting a summer job in a coffee shop where a pretty girl frequents. said pretty girl seems to have fred in a trance. what could possibly go wrong? well, fred knows what could now that an innocent shirt has been ruined.

taglist: @frederickandgeorge-weasley | @lilypad-55449 | @popeheywardssecretgf | @eichenhouseproperty | @slytherinambitious | @onyourgoddamnleft *line through you user means i could not tag you lovelies!

warnings: reader is described to wear sundresses | mentioned of negative thoughts about oneself (reader has negative thoughts about herself) | fred and george being teens (aged to be 18, idc if it's not canonically plausible) working in retail).

navigation | masterlist | taglist sign-up

- not my gif -

GIF by fgweasley

Summer was supposed to be a time of freedom, long nights, and recklessness and there was nobody else who knew this more than Fred and George. Unfortunately for them, it appears that their summer was going to be nothing but seeing the inside of that damn coffee shop. Fred and George rarely ever regretted a prank, but right now, they were starting to think that perhaps slipping Malfoy that candy that made his skin turn Gryffindor red and his hair a golden snitch gold wasn’t worth this. It also taught them that when Malfoy said his father would hear about this, he actually means it - sometimes.  

  However, no matter how funny the prank was and how much it was worth all the time they spent planning and agonizing to create the final product, it was not worth this. Not worth the wrinkled fingers that lost all feeling after wiping down every single table and counter in the cafe. Not worth the skin of the heat from the coffee machines. Not worth the horrible experience of dealing with customers. Not to mention uncomfortable uniforms. Forced to wear black jeans, black dress shirts, and a ratty old apron ten other people wore before them. 

  While George grumbled everyday, hoping and wishing for their return to Hogwarts (something nobody expected to hear), Fred’s summer was not a complete waste. He did not realize this when they applied for their job, but this coffee shop tucked into a hidden alleyway of Diagon Alley was often frequented by a rather pretty girl. In her flowing sundresses, her hair cascading down over her shoulders in soft waves. When he first saw her his knees nearly gave out. Then when she turned to leave (lemonade in hand - it was a hot day) and he caught a glimpse of the white ribbon tying her hair into a half-up, half-down style, George had to catch him because his knees did give out. She looked vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn’t exactly place her. 

  “She’s in our year, a Hufflepuff,” Hermione had told him one day when she and Ron had visited them. They were out gathering ideas for a present for Harry. “She’s quiet, likes to stick to her routine but doesn’t shy away from new opportunities. She’s in my book club and study club. She has such a beautiful voice but she thinks it's horrible - that’s why she is so quiet.” She revealed after Fred pressed her for more information. 

  Unfortunately for Fred, he has yet to hear that beautiful voice since he never seems to be on the cash when she comes in or someone beats him to it - usually George as a form of twisted amusement. “Hermione was right. She does have a beautiful voice.” George blinked after the first time he took her order. It was later discovered that the reason she hates her voice was because some Slytherins had poked fun at her in First Year, leaving her with an ugly taste in her mouth and horrible self-confidence. Fred could wring their necks, every last one of them. 

  Anytime Fred had any downtime, he found himself thinking of her. He knew nothing of her but, yet, she consumed every thought and every dream of his. Such as today. It was a horribly humid and dreadful day. Every door to the coffee shop was open, a cooling spell was placed on the shop but it was barely fighting against the stickiness, and the owner even found some muggle fans and set them up. It was slow, barely anyone wanted to leave their houses and if they did, they surely couldn’t even think about sipping on a coffee - even one of their iced ones since the ice would probably melt before they even took their first sip. 

  But here was Fred, elbows digging into the counter as he hogged one of the fans. His back was facing the entrance as he moved with the fan which was oscillating. George was in the back, doing work back there but Fred was sure he was just sitting in front of that fan. “Bloody hell.” He groaned, pinching his shirt and pulling it away from him. This was torture. 

  “Excuse me,” A soft, hesitant voice called to him over the rattling of the fan, startling him. Turning around, his eyes widened when she saw who stood at the counter. Hair pulled up into a high ponytail, bangs hanging around her face from where the shorter strands fell out of the ponytail. Even looking right at her, he saw the ribbon she usually wore in her hair. Today’s was a pretty yellow shade, matching the sundress she wore. It was a pale yellow, nothing that jumped right out at you. “Could I get a large lemonade?” She asked him, blinking sweetly as she rolled up to the balls of her white converse. That voice. He was blown away. He was never going to be the same after hearing that beautiful sound. How could he go on with his life knowing that that voice exists and he isn’t hearing it every second of everyday.  

  “Yes, of course,” He nodded, rushing to the counter, nearly tripping over himself. “George, can you make a large lemonade?” He yelled out back as he typed away on the till. Instantly, George emerged, a large lemonade in hand. 

  “Here ya go, Y/N. I knew you would be wanting one of these today. Made it once I heard your voice.” He winked at her and Fred contemplated murdering him right there. He actually considered it when she giggled at his twin, but the sound made him stop. Everybody said her voice was the most beautiful sound, which he could agree with all his heart on now that he heard it, but her giggle. Just thinking about making her laugh made him want to lay on his stomach on his bed and kick his feet like Ginny does whenever Harry says hi to her. 

  “Thank you, George,” She smiled thankfully, holding out her hand. Almost as if under a spell, Fred reached his hand out, palm facing up. With her sweet smile turning to Fred, she dropped a handful of sickles in his palm. Her fingers brushed against the palm of his hand, sending shivers and sparks running through his nerves. “That’s enough for the lemonade and ten sickles for you guys to split for a tip. Thank you, Fred.” 

  The shock sent to Fred’s system was immense when she said his name. She knew his name. She knew his name. He opened and closed his mouth as she turned on her heel, her skirt flaring up adorably, her ponytail and ribbon flaring up as well and off she went into the dreadful heat, making Fred’s day so much better. 

____

  It was a rush. Possibly the biggest rush Fred and George have ever experienced at the shop. The queue was running out of the door. Perhaps everyone just now realized that summer was coming to a close and just now decided to emerge from their lazy, hazy, summer daze to enjoy the days. This, of course, made Fred miserable. 

  Instead of enjoying their time, patrons were making their lives a living hell. And for what? Amusement? What was the reason he had to get yelled at by a man because his coffee was too hot to drink? He questioned if it was possible that these people got some sort of happiness from throwing adult hissyfits and yelling at underpaid, overworked employees. Did they have some sort of odd kink? Did it fill a missing void? Whatever it was, Fred quite frankly did not want to be part of it.  

  However, when he saw that shining face in the queue, her nose buried in her book as she read so intently. She wore her hair down aside from two locks of hair tied back into a braid, secured by a light blue ribbon today. When he saw her, he froze for a moment. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The way the sun burned through the dirty windows (that seemed to have fingerprint smudged permanently tattooed on it) and hit her like a golden spotlight. The way her finger absentmindedly stroked the cover of her book as she read. 

  “Excuse me,” The customer in front of him barked. He jolted back to reality. Frankly, he already was in reality since Y/N was completely gorgeous. There was no fantasy about that. She was perfect. The fantasy was that she had feelings for him or at least thought he was cute. “Did you get my order?” The man, a short, plump man with an angry red nose despite the beautiful summer day they were having, grumbled. 

  “One medium coffee. Would you like that iced or with anything in it?” Fred asked the normal questions, bracing himself for the normal response he usually received from people with certain mannerisms. 

  The man’s nose seemed to get even more red. “Of course I don’t. If I wanted it another way, I would have ordered it another way. What do I look like? An idiot? Rowena, you kids these days, needing to have things iced and sweetened. Whatever happened to the good British taste? Black coffee. That is what I want-”

  “That will be 3 sickles, Sir.” Fred read the total off, noticing how Y/N glanced up, rolling onto her tiptoes to take note of what was taking so long. He wanted to get this nasty old man out of his line so that she could get on with her day. Her day shouldn’t be wasted in this shop waiting in line. 

  “Here, keep the change.” The man basically tossed the sickles at Fred. Four sickles. 

  “Some change,” Fred whispered under his breath, putting three sickles in the till and dropping one in the communal tip jar. That naked a total of five sickles in tips. “Have a nice day, sir,” Fred faked a smile as the man waddled off to the pick-up area, barking at George to hurry up. “I can help whoever is next.” “Two people until her.” Fred thought. 

  “Hi, could we get two lemonades? Mediums please,” The teen girl giggled, eyes staring up at Fred sweetly. Fred nodded, writing the order down and sliding it along the counter. Harrison, the manager, grabbed it to start making it. “So, we’ll be seeing you at Hogwarts in a couple of weeks, right, George?” She asked with a bat of her eyelashes, still getting his name wrong despite his name tag being basically eye level with her. He could see Y/N look up from her book, snickering slightly behind her book. 

  “I’m actually Fred. And yes. That will be seven sickles today.” Fred read off their total, holding his hand out for their money. 

  “Oh, sorry. You both are so handsome, it’s hard to tell you apart.” She flirted with a wink, dropping exactly seven sickles in his hand. 

  “Have a nice day,” He nodded to them as they wandered off with linked arms to bother George. “Next please!” He just needed to take care of this one customer and then she would be at his cash. Evidently, she noticed this as she was tucking her book into her bag and pulling out her coin wallet. He watched her intently, somehow managing to take the customer’s order and recite the amount of money he needed. 

  He watched as she counted the sickles she had pulled out before pulling out two more coins before doing some math in her head. He could tell since her eyes flicked around and she used her free hand to wiggle her fingers as if counting on them. “Have a nice day.” He wasn’t even sure what that customer ordered, but he must have done it right. 

  And up stepped the person he was waiting for. Y/N stepped up with a bounce, smiling brightly at him. He wanted to faint right there. There she was, standing there and it overwhelmed him so much that his nervous system was going haywire on him. “Hi, Freddie!” She seemed to have gotten much more comfortable. She was more bubbly and talkative with him and his brother. She even started to call them by nicknames. It warmed Fred’s heart to the point it might burst. 

  “Hi, Y/N, what can I get for you today?” He asked, trying to calm his racing heart and malfunctioning nervous system. He was in fight-or-flight with the secret third option: faint. 

  “Just a large iced coffee. I am trying to finish off the last book on my book club’s summer reading list and I decided I might as well change up the scenery.” She explained, her voice much more even and comfortable. Not the same reluctant, soft voice she had when she first talked to him. And if he thought that voice was beautiful, then this voice was perfect. Alluring. Charming. Cute. Marvelous. Dazzling. Delicate. Stunning. Splendid. Gorgeous. Lovely. Any synonym there was for beautiful because this voice was so much better. 

  Before he could even tell her the total, she handed him the sickles she had counted out prior to the interaction. She always did it. “Three sickles for the iced coffee and how many for the tip?” He asked, knowing exactly how she worked things. 

  “Fifteen. Five for everyone who worked today,” She smiled as she rolled up to the balls of her feet - something he found that she did often. The line was gone aside from her and part of Fred wished it would stay away so she could stand there talking to him, but unfortunately someone walked in. “I’ll leave you to it, Fred.” She smiled at him. It appeared sad and part of him hoped that she felt upset about having to part from him. 

  He watched her walk over to George who held her coffee out to her. Sharing pleasantries, she headed off to one of the many tables. Taking her normal table by the window. “Alright boys. I am heading out, I’ll be back in two hours to close it down.” Harrison told them. That was most likely the last rush of the day. People didn’t tend to frequent the coffee shop near close. They gave him nods as he left. 

  Thirty minutes and they hadn’t stopped. Anytime they saw a lull coming, once they served one customer, two more would come. Just as Fred turned his back, taking a deep breath as the attack stopped, he heard the approaching footsteps of someone. He wanted to roll his eyes and outwardly show the resentment he had felt, but he didn’t feel the same hostility he had felt with the last few customers. Part of him should have known why before he turned around, but sometimes he isn’t always on the ball. 

  As he turned around, he was pleasantly shocked to see Y/N standing there at the counter again, her head down as she inspected the wet patch on her blue sundress. After a few seconds of silence, she looked up, hand hovering over the patch on the center of her torso. “Hey, Fred, again,” She smiled, a bit awkwardly as she didn’t usually come up after she got her order unless it was to say bye to the boys (something rather new after she got comfortable with them). “Do you think I could get a napkin? That last customer who left kind of knocked into me a bit and I got the last bit of iced coffee on me-” She cut herself off as Fred reacted without thinking, grabbing the back of his brother’s black shirt and ripping it off of him.

  “Here you go, Y/N.” He handed it to her. Shocked, she took it from him. George just stood there, blinking at his brother as if he had gone completely mad. Fred considered this a sign that perhaps, working nearly every single day of the summer had made him cracked in the head. Slowly, looking at the face Y/N was making, he came back into his body. It was as if seeing Y/N in need made him go into autopilot, doing whatever he needed to to resolve the issue Y/N was facing. 

  “Fred, what in Godric's name?” George questioned, still a bit shocked that his brother completely ripped the back of his shirt off, leaving just his sleeves and the front. It was silent as the three of them all looked at each other, trying to make sense of the situation. Fred couldn’t even remember his brain telling him to do that, let alone any thought of ripping his brother’s shirt. 

  The silence was broken by the sweet giggles of Y/N. Fred nearly gave himself whiplash turning his head to look at her. There she stood, on the other side of the counter, one hand holding the tattered shreds of George’s shirt, the other one hovering over her mouth as her giggled turned into laughter, eyes crinkling closed. “Oh my Helga,” She pressed her lips together, her purely magnetic eyes opening and meeting Fred’s with a zing being sent through Fred’s body like electricity (which this summer, he discovered was pretty dangerous). “I needed that, Freddie. That guy who bumped my arm as a complete arse-” Fred blinked, that might have been the most foul he had ever heard her talk, though Hermione had told him she had said much worse about some of the guys in their year. “You know exactly what to do to make people laugh, it’s an amazing gift,” She nodded at him, a large smile hanging off her lips. “Thank you, see you at Hogwarts if I am not in next week.” She whispered as she rolled onto the balls of her feet. 

  Before Fred could react, she was pressing her lips against his cheek. Her sweet looking lips felt even sweeter against the now burning flesh of his freckled cheeks. He knew that now he felt her lips, he wasn’t going to be able to stop thinking about how they would feel against his own lips, but right now his brain was empty. He couldn’t function as she pulled away, heels crashing to the ground. A bashful smile stayed on her lips as she waved to the pair of them, Fred so far gone he barely even registered the fact that her lips were no longer touching him - probably due to the fact that the tingling he felt was still there.    When he finally came back into his body again, Y/N and her bashfulness had left with her book tucked under her arm for almost five minutes. Blinking around, Fred saw the basically empty shop, the only person lingering being someone who had been there for two hours now. Looking to his side, he felt George’s “what the hell” look before he saw it. Winching, nervous about his brother’s wrath. “Sorry about the shirt, George.”

[setzappersto-pew]

15 Years of StarKid

I'm 29 years old...nearly half of my life has been spent with this group of insane creatives. I always like to tell the story of me finding AVPM in late 2009, just a few months after they went viral. Browsing MuggleNet articles was a favorite pastime; while HP is not on my radar much anymore, it was a huge part of my life, so seeing an article about an HP parody musical was right up my alley. I was quickly hooked, enough for me to subscribe and eagerly await AVPS when they put up the trailer. While HP is why I started watching StarKid, all these years I've stayed and been ready for their next project. I have fallen in love with their writing style--both of book and score--their humor, their low-budget but still fantastic designs, their dedication...just them as people. All of them: Nick and Matt and all their collaborators. While I wish I had been able to see them live more (only Firebringer and StarKid Homecoming), I am grateful to be apart of these projects from the groundup through the Kickstarters and for the opportunity to see the finished products any time on YouTube. They've made it their mission to create accessible musical theater and other creative projects, and I can tell how passionate all of them are.

Unlike a lot of people, StarKid hasn't helped me make friends or brought me closer to someone. I share excitement with my sister and occasionally my mom, but that's about it. I don't interact with a lot of fans online on a personal level, but I still appreciate the community--both new and old, so don't worry about me being a purist (I looove Hatchetfield too, of course!). Regardless, StarKid has been something special for me all throughout high school, college, grad school, and beyond into my adult years. I'll treasure the journey here and how I and many others have stuck around, and I look forward to all the new adventures into the Lands That Are, SK Labs, and who knows what else!

So. 15 years, huh? As Nick Lang says nearly every livestream, "You all have never looked better!"

💙💙💙

[vbsvartalf]

Audio Drama Sunday, 12/4/22

Yesterday was a long, big, busy Sunday, filled with some amazing audio dramas that I must share with all of you.

Dead Air, by Realm Media (created by Gwenda Bond) - If you like the true crime genre of podcasts, then a fictional version might just be up your alley. It's suspenseful, emotional, and filled with dark, dry humor. I've been devouring it recently, stopping just short of binging the entire thing in a single setting. I'm not a true crime fan, but I'm still hooked. If you liked Arden, I think you'll like this show.

Greater Boston, by Alexander Danner and Jeff Van Dreason - Humor, surrealism, quiet drama are all at the heart of Greater Boston. I know it's been around for a while and has a huge fandom but I'm excited that I get to experience this show for the first time six years after it started. Once I finish, I have a feeling I'll start the series over again without missing a beat.

A Ninth World Journal, by David S. Dear - The ultimate actual play turned audio drama, A Ninth World Journal episodes might be short but they are packed to the gills with content and keep you guessing as to what is going to happen next. David S. Dear is a fantastic narrator I've heard on several other shows at this point and it's wonderful to see him shine as the star.

Exoplanetary, by C. Christopher Heart - Managing to weave half a dozen sci-fi stories together in a nonlinear fashion without getting things too confusing is no easy task, but Exoplanetary as not only done just that, but thrived at it and keeps me coming back for new stories and new angles. It's filled with heart and emotion that stay with you long after the episodes is finished. From robotic love to colonialism to time travel, this show has it all.

Among the Stars and Bones, by Ungodly Hour Productions - Technically this will be my third listen but each time I get something more out of it, I feel more for the characters and understand their motivations. Telling a story from 8 or 9 limited viewpoints is a great way to employ the unreliable narrator, or as it happens, 8 or 9 unreliable narrators. I've seen recently that they are casting for season 2 and I cannot contain my excitement!

Old Gods of Appalachia, by DeepNerd Media - Folk horror, when done right, is better than any subgenre of any genre of literature, bar none. I will live and die on this hill. Old Gods does folk horror the right way. There's mood and atmosphere, a sense of place and a sense of dread. The show will have you jumping at shadows and creepy noises down by the creek at the witching hour.

The Town Whispers, by Cole Weavers - While similar to Old Gods of Appalachia, The Town Whispers takes cosmic horror and turns it up to 11 alongside all the folk horror that creeps around the edges of the Fort. The story telling is sharp and a sense of doom and dread purvey every word Mr. Weavers speaks. It's beautiful and chilling and leaves me needing more.

Malevolent, by Harlan Guthrie - It's a simple premise, guy wakes up unable to see with a creepy voice in his head that is not his own. Oh also there's a dead body, also there are monsters running around, oh also lots of creepy books, oh also it's set in the heart of Lovecraft Country. What could go wrong? I'm late to the party on the fandom for this show but as I work through the episodes I see why the fandom has exploded Hannibal style all over Tumblr.

Hi Nay, by Motzi Dapul - What if the Magnus Archives were less focused on Eurocentric monsters and fears and entities? What if there was a less organized group of people going after them? What if all of it was recorded lo-fi and given a health dose of Filipino folklore? Well, you'd have Hi Nay and you'd sweep the internets with a new, obsession worthy podcast that teaches as much as it entertains. Also they are working on getting 1000 subs on Youtube so get on that people!

The Kingmaker Histories, by Meg Molloy Tuten - Made by the same geniuses that brought us Less is Morgue, this audio drama gives us a glimpse at a steampunk world filled with magic. I enjoyed the first episode immensely. The acting, the script, the sound design are all top notch. Have to say I love this Ariadne character, she seems nice.

Moonbase Theta, Out, by D.J. Sylvis - Dystopian futures, corrupt governments, sinister warnings about the moon. Sounds like a typical day in 2022, right? Moonbase Theta, Out was and is ahead of its time in terms of storytelling, narratives, and characters. It's really a who's who in the world of audio drama with "famous" voices popping in and out to voice characters that will make you do the Leo pointing meme at least twice and episode.

WOE.BEGONE, by Dylan Griggs - Part surrealist sci-fi, part existential horror, WOE.BEGONE is a show that makes me want to run away screaming whilst at the same time binging more and more episodes. How deep does this creepy, deadly game go? What is the point of it all? Will Mike just be able to relax and have a nice time? I need to know!!!

And 195, by Guendalina Cilli - I just found out about this audio drama yesterday and I'm already a fan. I'm a runner with a bad sense of direction myself so the basis of the show is very, very familiar to me (aside from getting lost in other dimensions, that's not familiar but you never know in these days).

We Fix Space Junk, by Battle Bird Productions - Dystopian space dramas are a trope for a reason, but We Fix Space Junk manages to avoid the pitfalls and enjoy all the benefits of said trope. It's fresh, fun, and exciting. I've decided it was time for a re-listen to see what things I missed out on in the beginning that are integral parts of the show by the end. I'm already having a blast!

Care & Feeding of Werewolves, by Brenna Anderson-Dowd - What if True Blood were a sitcom, but far better than the sum of those two parts? What if it were funny and informative, silly and meaningful? You'd have Care & Feeding of Werewolves and you'd enjoy every single episode of this weird little show, and I do mean that endearingly. If it weren't weird, it wouldn't be nearly as fun.

[jonathanbiers]

some argyle and steve besties/hair thoughts: similarly to steve, argyle takes Very good care of his hair. the process isnt as extensive as steve, but hes careful with it. its his baby. so, steve and argyle start hair care buddies, eventually starting a tradition of picking a day every month thats reserved for hanging out and doing hair care, or trying out new styles on each other (these days also include other spa activities like face masks and nice robes). sometimes eddie joins them if he can be convinced (which isnt that often fjhbd) and afterwards they get high and watch stupid movies, just de-stressing and enjoying each others company

i saw this while i was at work and it made me smile so big i can't even tell you!! this is so fucking cute. i think steve and argyle would be GREAT friends this is so far up my alley okay i have some things to add though

steve is the one who introduces argyle to skincare past the basic 'just wash your face.' the moisturizers, the masks, all of that. and argyle's got pretty good skin already but this makes it so soft and smooth

argyle in turn introduces steve to hair oils! argyle's hair is so long that at a certain point just conditioning doesn't cut it, it's really hard to keep it from getting dry, so he started using them. when steve complains about some of the styling products he uses drying out the ends of his hair, argyle is like listen man i got you

it's widely accepted among the lot of us that steve is touch-starved, right? well this is such a great way for him to just. receive some platonic physical affection. he'll brush argyle's hair and then argyle will comb his, one time argyle gave him a hot oil scalp massage, they'll joke around and nudge each other around, argyle catches on to how much steve likes just being touched and he always greets him with a hug now. if he notices steve's particularly stressed or down, they'll cuddle while they watch whatever movie.

they end up coming out to each other and confiding about their crushes on eddie and jonathan, and reassuring each other that no, they do have a chance and should totally go for it!

they try out new styles on each other, yes, but a lot of them are silly! one time, argyle gives steve liberty spikes, and steve teases argyle's hair and tells him he looks like one of the guys from the metal bands eddie likes

one day steve is braiding argyle's hair and he just seems kinda down. argyle asks him what's wrong, and steve wistfully explains that he wishes eddie would let him braid his hair like this. the very next time they're able to convince eddie to join them, argyle all but bullies him into letting steve do just that. and if steve doesn't notice the way eddie blushes when steve's hands are in his hair, argyle sure does, and he tells steve next time he sees him alone that he's got to make a move already!

no matter what else they've got going on, no matter what plans have to be moved around, hair day is sacred bro time to them, and they never ever cancel it. at most, it might get pushed back a few days.

[khalewren]

Sonic character music HCs

 I’ve been obsessed with both the Sonic the hedgehog series and Music in general for over a year now, so i figured i could combine those interests in a fun way. I’m gonna describe what kind of music i personally think the characters would like/listen to. And just so you know, this is just my thoughts on it, i’m not saying im right or anything. And while i am trying to match these genuinely, it’s also not something i’m taking fully seriously. I’m just doin this for fun :)

I also suggest looking up some of the terms/artists/genres i use here if you’re not already familiar with them! Might help you understand my reasoning a bit more, and who knows, you might even find a new favourite artist 👀

Oh, and one more thing. While i am of course going to go off of music i’m familiar with, i’ll try to avoid assigning characters music that i like just because its music that i like. That being said, i will of course, be just a tad bit biased. Anyways, time to start with the blue boy himself!!

Sonic

Sonic is somewhat easy. Seeing as how his main thing is standing up against tyranny, i imagine he’d definitely be a fan of punk. At first i thought of pop punk specifically, due to its high energy, but i feel like Sonic would find it a bit too commercial. Same thing with skate punk. I feel like anarcho-punk could be a little more up his alley? Maybe something like chumbawumba.

Oh, and personal bias time: I think he would like King gizzard and the Lizard wizard due to the themes of enviromentalism.

Example of Sonic’s music taste

Tails

Now, i’m completely split between two different paths here. The first option is EDM. Just overall music that sounds electronic, maybe dance, i dunno. The second option however, is one that i personally prefer: Just like, music with weirdass time signatures and polyrhythms n shit. Math rock, Prog, that kinda stuff. Specific bands i’m thinking about is Tool, King crimson, Black midi, maybe even KGLW (again, personal bias). Tails would think music theory is fucking dope and would be OBSESSED with this kinda music lmao.

Example of Tails’ music taste

Knuckles

Now, this is the rare instance that i feel justified in being biased, because his level themes in sa2 make me believe that knuckles is a hiphop head. Specifically, instrumental hip hop. I think he’d be a big fan of J Dilla’s style of hip hop production in general, with the soft fuzzy feel of songs like The light. Otherwise i feel like he likes some boom bap, like Illmatic.

Example of Knuckles’ music taste

Amy

I honestly feel like Amy is the kinda person who enjoys like, any type of music? Like this gal will listen to some chill folk music and then go directly to hardcore industrial rock lmao. I think her favourite genre is pop though. First artist that pops into mind is Carly rae jepsen, not only because she makes great pop music, but also since her songs are often about love, which i feel fits Amy pretty well. She’d probably like something more off-kilter like art pop too. She LOVES Björk, i feel confident in saying that.

Example of Amy’s music taste

Shadow

I’ve noticed that this one is quite varied (and if you’re curious, i don’t really mind the whole taylor swift thing, but i also don’t really care for it either), but i want to bring up a genre that i haven’t seen anyone else suggest Shadow being a fan of: Shoegaze. I think he would find the whole noisy, dreamlike, nearly overwhelming feeling of shoegaze calming. I don’t know, there’s just something about Shoegaze that makes me feel like it fits shadow perfectly. Only bands i really know are Slowdive and My bloody valentine, but i still feel confident in my opinion.

I also feel like the idea of him enjoying indie folk (something like the mountain goats) but would not be caught DEAD listening to it is really funny. The day that rouge finds out will not be a happy day for anyone in a ten mile radius.

Example of Shadow’s music taste

Rouge

Now, there’s a very easy answer here. Jazz. But i feel like rouge would also enjoy stuff like Soul and funk. She’d also check out music Shadow listens to, both to annoy him and out of genuine interest. Not much else i have to say here tbh.

Example of Rouge’s music taste

Omega

Harsh noise.

Silver

Similarly to Amy, i think Silver enjoys practically anything and everything, and is also super open to trying new stuff. If he has a preference though, i think he enjoys dance music? Or just electronic stuff in general. Daft punk comes to mind, specifically Discovery.

Example of Silver’s music taste

Blaze

I feel like Blaze is someone who simply hasn’t been able to listen to a lot of music yet? Her friends (particularly Silver and Amy) have given her a bunch of recommendations, and while she doesn’t have a preference yet, she has enjoyed some of the stuff that they have played.

Vector

On the complete contrary to Blaze, Vector is a supreme Music nerd. You name an artist or album, he is at the very least aware of them. He’s the kinda guy who will talk about some super obscure folk album from the 70′s and refer to it as if its some kind of holy grail. It’s great. He would have a vinyl collection, but due to the chaotix’s financial situation, he settles for CDs instead. Again, he enjoys practically anything, but i feel like his favourite genre is progrock. He also remixes music for fun.

And thats it!! I’ll try to think of more that i can add in a reblog, but for now, this is all that i can think of. Again, this is just my opinion, but i’d love to hear some of yalls thoughts!! why you think im correct or wrong or however!!

[louisupdates]

Louis Tomlinson Mows Down MGM Music Hall at Fenway with Giant Rooks

BY KENZIE MAGNAN [also photos] 08/01/2023

Louis Tomlinson performed two back-to-back sold-out nights at Boston’s MGM Music Hall at Fenway this Monday and Tuesday. These were some of the last chances to see the former One Direction star before he heads out to continue his “Faith in the Future World Tour” in Europe next month. It appeared many of his fans attended both nights as several concertgoers walked in with their new merch from the previous show. The crowd was what you would expect from this heartthrob: lots of teenage girls with ear-piercing screams hoping to be noticed by young Louis.

I arrived for Louis’ second opener, Giant Rooks, a German band who I had previously heard on TikTok when they, along with AnnenMayKantereit, put out their own flavor of “Tom’s Diner” by Suzanne Vega. I had never heard their other music before, but it was right up my alley. I listened to them the whole way home after the show. Their lead singer, Frederik Rabe, was incredibly energetic, covering every inch of the stage with his presence. His crew matched his style in all-black outfits, each different than the next but all with a “cool guy” flair. The group seemed to be having as much fun as their audience. They threw guitar picks at the attendees, who threw them bracelets and other small gifts and even encouraged the exchange. I came away from the experience with a slew of songs to add to my playlists.

Louis Tomlinson came out to extravagant stage lighting with several differently oriented screens above him, each sharing abstract graphics. The stage was covered in smoke illuminated by the lights around the singer. He started the set off with “The Greatest” while hundreds of fans screamed every word. My only complaint would be that the crowd was almost too loud to hear the man himself, but I suppose, as an artist, that would be a true compliment. The crowd only got louder throughout the night, reaching its apex with his cover of “Night Changes” from his former band, One Direction. I personally enjoyed his mid-set cover of “505” by one of my favorite bands, the Arctic Monkeys. The stage remained dynamic throughout his set, with different light fixtures dropping in and pyrotechnics lighting up here and there. Louis ended the night with an encore of “Saturdays,” “Where Do Broken Hearts Go,” and “Silver Tongues.”

I’m not a huge fan of the typical “boy band” artists, but Louis has proven me completely wrong. The production value was fantastic, and the performance was spectacular. This is a show I would see again without a doubt.

V13 PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

Louis Tomlinson, FITFWT23: Boston2

[ccorinthian]

Ignacio; it shall become yours

Poetically inspired work I’ve been editing for the past few months. Sketching the life of Nacho growing up transgender. I wanted to capture flashes of memory and emotion, challenging myself in form and style. 1225 words. References to sketchy medical procedures, violence, etc.

Bruised knee, scraped elbow. Pulled hair, tiny fists.

Pain. Blood.

A milky white tooth.

Taste of metal. Spit.

Hot sand, rocks against spine, blinding sun in a deep blue sky;

Head hits ground, hair full of sand, scorching heat.

A large, hard rock finds its way to a small, soft hand.

Dull thud. Rock meets skull.

Screaming. Like a wounded animal.

Topple the boy. Stand up.

Brush grime off your dress.

Blue fabric, torn.

Broken action figure in the dunes.

Its arm has come off.

Pick it up.

Taste of metal. Spit.

Torn plastic held safely in the hand of a child, passed to another; back to its rightful owner.

Frightened, grateful eyes meet a gaze of fire; veiled by long, greasy hair.

Bruised hand reaches out to hold the soft.

Two pairs of feet walking away.

Let the thief scream and writhe alone under the blistering midday sun.

—

Tiles covering the walls: cold, hard, mint green. Carpet beneath bare feet: Red, round, soft.

Products on shelves of wire: shampoo. Bodywash. Deodorant.

Mirror concealed behind white condensation; dense, hot air.

Buzzing.

White porcelain. Cold water. Hissing tap.

Hair wet and heavy; tickling thin, bruised shoulders.

Buzzing.

Quivering hand clenches a small, vibrating machine. Sharp blades slice air.

Taste of metal.

Split.

Dark strands hit the porcelain sink.

Buzzing.

Scent of soap and heat; children laughing through the foggy window; a sliver of warm afternoon sun strikes across lips, nose, eyes – golden with light, molten. Holy.

Strands fall rapidly, the buzzing must not cease, what has been started shall be finished.

Knocking at the door.

The buzzing shall not cease.

Taste of metal. Spit.

Knocking at the door.

The buzzing will not cease.

Voice of the father. It calls a distant name.

Disconnected, wrong.

Knocking at the door.

Final strands fall, taste of metal, spit, open door.

Eyes of the father.

Fear, disappointment, shock.

“Mija…”

—

St. Ignatius of Antioch, Syria.

Born around year 69, sentenced to death in 107.

Torn apart by beasts in Rome.

Travelled through continents to die.

Holy martyrdom.

Ignatius was not fearful of death; it was welcomed.

Fire, cross, struggles with wild beasts, wrenching of bones, mangling of limbs-let them come to me, provided only I make my way to Jesus Christ.

—

Lanky. Thin. Body of a teenager. Anxious. Clad in a hood, striving for anonymity.

Amateur.

Dry, cold air.

Straighten your back, observe:

Deep shadows, high walls, black asphalt;

Ambulance in the distance, barking dogs, late night drivers.

Wide stanced stranger. Pocketed hands. Expressionless. Experienced. Back straight, observing.

Approach.

Buzzing from fluorescent lights on the alley wall, the stranger camouflaged in shade cast from a dumpster.

Breathe.

Do it scared.

Nervous shifting; quivering hand produces bills from the grey hoodie pocket. It briefly touches unfamiliar skin: warm, confident;

Hair rising on the neck, heart pounding in ears, sweat collecting on face and palms, jaw clenching, blood itching.

This could become a grave.

Route of exit, points of weakness.

Choose wisely: fight or flight. Never freeze.

Small bag of packed plastic held lightly in the warm hand, exchanged with paper.

No words.

One pair of feet hastes away.

Taste of metal.

Spit.

Clench your fists.

Breathe.

Ignacio; fear not the wrenching of bones.

—

Tiles covering the walls.

Soft carpet beneath bare feet.

Products on shelves.

Steam on the mirror.

Skull vibrates, children laughing in the evening glow, the sun strikes a beam onto two faces: young and old.

Molten gold.

Holy.

Buzzing air.

Head is held firmly; gentle and calloused working hands kissing smooth, young skin.

Itching shirt, antsy body, buzzing in ear, in neck, in bones.

Eye contact with dad, look away, glance back.

Look.

He’s smiling.

Firm grasp on shoulder, buzzing stops, run a hand across your hair.

It’s perfect.

Voice of the father; whispering a name, familiar, yours.

Connect your eyes again, smile, listen:

“Mijo.”

Ignacio; fear not the cross.

—-

Small glass vials and long needles, soft flesh and hard muscle, quivering hands and gritted white teeth.

Red walls with posters, piles of laundry, cassette tapes.

Alcoholic swabs on a tray of plastic.

Shelf on the wall. Doll in a blue dress. Fine layer of dust shimmering. Ray of light from a crack between gently blowing curtains.

The doll glows.

Green plastic eyes. Staring.

Metal pierces rubber, viscous liquid slowly drained from its vial.

Look.

Rising sun. Light catches in the fluid; molten, golden flame.

Breathe.

Taste of metal.

Swallow.

Replace the needle with another, dispose of the first.

Cold skin, evaporated alcohol.

Breathe. Do it scared.

Metal pierces flesh, slowly;

Breathe.

You can barely feel it. You’ve had worse.

Feel the fire in your veins. Glow from within.

Let it enter your body. May it fill you, may it warm you, may it make you whole.

Creaking from the bed, lay your body down, rest.

Breathe.

Ignacio; fear not the fire.

—

Bruised knee, scraped elbow. Taste of gravel, firm fists.

Blood.

Taste of metal. Spit it in the face of your aggressor.

Hot asphalt, empty beer cans crumpling under his spine. Cast your shadow over him.

Bloodied shirt held by its collar, knees digging into asphalt, rapid breathing underneath you;

Skull against pavement, once, twice.

Silence. Limp body. Release it.

Straighten your back, rise.

Bloody hand reaching out for another.

An old friend, bruised, hurt.

Protected.

Your body employed for good.

Fire burning within.

Follow him home, leave the limp body behind.

Two pairs of feet walk away.

Ignacio; fear not the struggles with wild beasts.

—

Fluorescents. Buzzing.

Tiles.

Shelves. Products. Medicine.

Animals.

Antiseptic and blood in the air. It burns the nose, packs itself tightly around exposed flesh laid on a table of cold steel.

Eyes on the ceiling, focus on the shimmering lights, tighten your hands on the edge of the metal.

White paper screen blocking the view of your body.

Metal scrapes against bone. Against ribs. Vibrations reverberate through flesh and blood.

A distant voice speaks, inaudible through the haze of medical grade tranquiliser and analgesia.

Your mouth is insatiable.

Taste the metal. Taste.

Feel the metal. Feel.

Sharp, cold, hard. Cutting through flesh: smooth, warm, soft.

Fluorescent lights. Buzzing.

Foreign tools scraping.

Gaze upward. Let light burn your eyes. It is as bright as the sun.

Cold, harsh, clinical. Round.

Stare at your artificial sun, watch the hazy edges blur. Observe: clad in white, he leans towards you.

Fire, metal, blades, needles.

Gold.

Head engulfed in light, sunlight radiating from behind. Stare, observe, reach out your shivering hand, attempt. Touch the untouchable.

Your hand shivers in the fluorescent air; its metallic tinge draws bruises upon your flesh;

It cannot be reached; it pulls away.

Weep.

Taste the metal.

Feel the metal scrape against your bones.

It lasts hours.

It lasts years.

What has been started must be finished.

Fluorescent lights. Buzzing.

Do it scared.

Tighten your fists, wrap your bruised fingers around cold, stainless steel;

Flesh transpierced, this is holy, this is the creation of man.

Ignacio; fear not the mangling of limbs.

–

The strong, muscular body of a young man. Confidence. Clad in a red shirt, recognisable. Experienced.

Back already straightened, eyes already observing;

Dry, cold air. Long shadows, high walls, silent ambiance;

Ambulance in the distance, barking dogs, late night drivers.

Money already in hand, effortlessly trading for familiar packed plastic.

A nod from the familiar stranger.

“See ya next month, Nacho.”

[uselesssomebody]

𝕗𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕪 𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕤 - eddie munson x sex worker!reader (nsfw)

complete masterlist | stranger things masterlist | eddie munson masterlist

“𝕚 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕟 𝕒 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕙𝕖𝕣” - her | chase atlantic

words || 𝟞𝕜

summary || in which eddie spends a night with a woman of the night - who's also his ex best friend

a/n || it is so embarrassing that a white man has a chokehold on me like this. you're a special breed, joe quinn, you are. god put some garam masala in you for sure. also this is kinda dogshit hahaha. more eddie tho, so strap in ➵ ! allusions to smut ! , making in 18+ content. please do NOT interact if you are under 18 ➵ not yet proofread ➵ send me requests if you have ‘em. enjoy!

warnings || fluff/smutty for like a minute/angst ➵ like super non-descriptive smut for a minute (though it is still 18+ babe, don't try anything, minors)➵ !disclaimer! reader's a sex worker, so some things about that are mentioned. this is not a glamorous take on the life style, and it also bounded by the norms of the 80s. the opinions of the characters on sex work are not my own: it is a totally normal, real job that should be respected. understand that this is through a certain lens for the point of storytelling

her hands absentmindedly fiddled with the hem of the skirt she was wearing. it wasn’t exactly like the pristine, white and green clothes that the cheerleaders wore, though it was just as short. no, it was a dark navy, and it didn’t exactly have attached athletic shorts.

similarly, the tank-top she was wearing wasn’t exactly made for the september weather, with the occasional smattering of goosebumps appearing on her arms, even in the warmer classroom. she didn’t make any attempt to cover herself though; instead, she was reminded to stick her chest out just a little bit further and to fix her posture.

she could feel several pairs of eyes looking at her, and she placed a look of innocent focus on her face, staring up at the teacher, though she could not care less about what he was saying. finally, she turned her head just a slightest bit to see the guy next to her staring at her tits almost unashamedly, and, when he caught her eye, she tried to return his bright smile. gross.

but she supposed this was all part of it - the job. advertise the goods, reel in customers, get ‘em to really stick. it worked well enough, and she usually had the ability to rake in a solid income of 30 to 50 dollars on most days. it was enough to pay the bills anyways.

she heard the bell ring, and she was out of her seat smoothly. knowing the guy behind her had been ogling all lesson, she bent over slightly as she gathered the rest of her things, walking out of the room with a forced but subtle sway to her hips. just routine, really.

she reaches her locker with just a few glances thrown in her direction, and she almost immediately notices the upside-down envelope at the bottom of her locker. she doesn’t look at it right away, though, knowing its contents already, as she instead focuses on putting her notebook away.

finally, she flips the paper over, being careful to make sure it can’t be seen by any particularly curious passer-bys. the front’s also blank, so she slips her fingers into the unsealed opening, fumbling until she feels three separate pieces of paper. pulling them out, she realizes she’s holding two 5 dollar bills, and a note.

down payment. boiler room alleyway. - c.r.

it was from a regular, and she pressed her newly acquired 10 bucks into the bottom of her hand bag. the small mirror she had hung on the door of her locker was what she then used to fix her appearance, tousling her hair so that it fell better over her face, reapplying a thick layer of mascara to her eyes, and applying a darker shade of red to her lips. the product transferred easily - which was actually preferable for her, as guys adored seeing those red stains.

she had a slight headache as she walks towards the back alley between the school building and the boiler room. no one ever came in there, and it had become the base of most of her operations.

chase was waiting for her there, with a smile that screamed that he was just a little too excited. she placed her handbag down as she neared him, and let out a small ‘oomph!’ as he pulled her into a hug. he was always one of the more touchy ones, but she could hear the crinkle of bills in his pocket, so she breathed a sigh of relief as she let his hands travel from their conservative hold of her waist and down to cup her ass. she lets out a fake, playful gasp, as if he didn’t do this every time.

he ate it up, though.

he’d handed her the money as soon as he’d let her go, tapping his foot rather impatiently as she placed the remaining 30 dollars into her bag.

he’s always a little rough with her after that, not even pulling his trousers down past his ass and not doing much more than letting her unbutton the top two of her blouse, pulling her tits so that they rested over the constricting fabric. her knees hit the gravelly pavement with some force, knowing her tights would, at best, be quite dusty when she stood back up.

she knew his type, only paying for a blowjob and rushing his way through it, leaving her chin glossy and her jaw sore, with a lopsided, though satisfied, grin on his face. he worried almost as much about someone seeing them and his reputation being ruined as he did about actually getting his rocks off.

she had a packet of tissues in her bag that she reached for as he zipped himself back up, taking another moment to collect himself.

“goddamn, that was money well spent.” she smiled, but it didn’t really feel like a compliment.

“duly noted, chase. you know i have other options, right?” she did, with different rates for different acts. he never seemed to differ from this one, though.

“next thursday?” he ignored her prompt, and she pursed her lips at his response.

“if you bring the cash.”

when she was 5 years old, she wanted to be a fairy princess. she would prance around, swaddled in her blankets to mimic a ballgown, with a spoon in her hand to mimic a wand, and with a thick hoop-shaped toy from when she was a little younger balanced precariously on her head, to mimic a crown. her father would play with her as she pretended to enchant him, as her mother would add decorations to her adorable ensemble.

when she was 12, she wanted to be an astronaut, with galaxy-themed pictures littered all over her room. she’d read every book the library had to offer on space, and had watched vhs after vhs about the moon landings. she had just the ittiest, bittiest little crush on neil armstrong, but she found him more to be cool that anything else. her mother would walk her to the library to rent out the books, and her dad would go to family video to find movies centered on sci-fi and space, and they’d all watch star-trek reruns on the weekend.

when she was 14, she wanted to be a teacher, as she’d begun to tutor some younger kids. her mother worried for her, but she worried more for herself. her father didn’t care where she’d been. he didn’t care about anything except his younger colleagues anymore.

when she was 16, she wanted to graduate. she wanted to get into college, maybe travel and visit california, before settling down somewhere that felt like home, a small town just like hawkins - as long as it wasn’t hawkins. her mother would work late nights and curse at her as she tried to clean up the deteriorating house. her father had stopped calling a year ago.

when she turned 18, she’d been kicked out of her house with just a suitcase and 100 bucks to her name.

it wasn’t too bad, though, enough for rent for a few months in a house on the outskirts of town as she tried to figure out what she could do to work. she’d debated finding a minimum wage job - maybe a clerk, or a fast-food employee, or baby-sitting. that had been until she read about something in a rather taboo magazine - sex work.

she was, frankly, disgusted by the notion, until she realized how much it paid. if you had an audience - that is - and, unfortunately, she did. she was subject to hoots and whistles anytime she’d walk past her male classmates, her assets drawing the attention of every shitty guy in a mile radius.

that’s where it had started - teasing guys until they’d be willing to pay to have sex with her. word traveled fast, and her small business had become successful over the past few months. her clients included regulars, guys who wanted to lose their virginity, guys with frigid girlfriends, guys with no game, and guys who had a lot of money to blow.

the women of hawkins high hated her. the men degraded her. she clutched the bills in her hand a little tighter, remembering what it was all for, as the cold air sliced into her arms once again. her eyes prickled as she thought of that sweet 5 year old she once was, sighing softly.

being a fairy princess is overrated anyways.

eddie could tell she was cold.

he could tell that no one else was noticing that - and why would they? they were admiring her beauty, as he had done so many times before. he supposed it was different, though, as he knew their appreciation was one only interested in the superficial: the swell of her tits and the curve of her ass. he liked to think his was just a little bit more intimate, as he thought about how nice the slightly crude flower nail art was on her nails, or how her pencil was definitely tapping along to the rhythm of crazy little thing called love.

how did he know that?

well, because it had somehow remained a song that she loved for the past 6 years. impressive, he knows, but he gets it. queen does have that effect on people. he still remembers handing her the cassette with that song as the first track, watching her face morph from slight unsure to excitement as the song continued playing. she’d given him a big hug after that, joyously telling him that she couldn’t wait to hear the rest of it.

sure, they hadn’t talked for nearly 3 years now, but that wasn’t really anyone’s fault. some people just drift apart, you know?

she and eddie had never exactly been attached at the hip, but they did talk a lot in middle school. he’d been two grades above her, and he’d always acted as more of a guide than anything when they’d first met. feeling decidedly lost in one of the school hallways, he had been the one to help her back to class. when feeling unsure what exactly to look for in the library, he’d given her a ton of suggestions. and when she had sat on the hill behind the recess playground, crying because of a bully, he had tentatively put an arm around his shoulder, trying to console her with soft words and light jokes.

they had become close friends - as close as you could be in middle school, when you didn’t share classes. she remembered being heartbroken when he’d gotten a buzzcut, already missing his long, wavy locks. he remembered her, very poorly trying to play guitar, and him helping her to learn her first chord just as she was about to give up.

eddie sometimes wondered who the girl in his history class was, considering how different she was from his middle-school friend. she’d stopped speaking to him when he was about 16, and she was 14, and he’d noticed her coming to school with sullen faces, and ever-present, faint black mascara streaks on her cheeks. she stopped speaking to - well - everyone by then, and, to the rest of hawkins high, she’d sort of just faded into the wall.

not for him, though. he’d always wonder if she was alright, but she never gave him the chance to ask.

then, as she finally stepped up to join him as a senior, the student body collectively found a renewed interest in her. at first, he attributed it to her sudden change in style and behavior, but, through word-of-mouth, he was quick to realize that that was only a small, small part of it.

he had been shocked by the career choice, as he never really imagined the girl he knew - the girl that so badly wanted to be an astronaut - to make it. he didn’t really care, though - figuring it was her choice, until he realized - nay, remembered - just how sad she seemed all the time.

he remembered the genuine smile she’d beamed when he’d given her a small saturn keychain to her on her 13th birthday. he wished he’d see it again.

care to meet an old friend? you’ll find me at the forest clearing behind the football field, 3:30.

the note’s eccentric, and the handwriting’s a little erratic. she could tell this wasn’t one of her regulars, as they always tended to be more direct with their messages, and almost always made sure to include a down payment. this note had neither, and it ended up infiltrating her thoughts constantly through the rest of the day.

finally, when the clock had struck 3:00, she found a little bit of a bounce in her step as she made her way to her locker. she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something about the note screamed fun, exciting. she hadn’t had that in ages. and - to be quite frank - there was something childish about it all. she knew it was a little odd to think, considering what the she figured the note-writer would want from her, but she clung on to that innocence as she slung her bag over her shoulder.

without too much attention to her surroundings, she slowly - discreetly - made her way to the football field, around its fence, and to the small trail that led into the woods behind it. she listened to the soft crunch of leaves behind her feet, listening to the small melodies of birds in the distance.

finally, she finds the spot - a secluded, as described in the note, forest clearing with a bench at the center of it. she looks around and, seeing no one, places her bag down, sitting at the edge of the bench. she glances down at her nails, picking nervously at a hangnail. she cringes a little at the splotchy daisy design that she had attempted to make on them. when she’d finally finished it over the weekend, she’d been real proud of it, but as the days continued, she found herself hating it.

she’d spaced out, so she doesn’t have much time for a reaction between hearing footsteps behind her and whipping around. so, instead, her mystery guest places a light hand on her shoulder to guide her look at them.

she gasps in shock at the sudden touch, but she wished she’d saved it for when she’d actually seen them, as her jaw hung open at the face staring back at her.

his black, curly hair was the same as how it had been in middle school, and the smile lines around his smirk was something she still remembered. though, since then, he had grown quite a few inches, and he had just the slightest fuzz of facial hair on his obviously-not-shaved face.

“eddie?” it escapes her in a whisper, but it cuts like a foghorn through the silence.

she gulps, realizing that the job had finally caught up to her. as she looked into his big, doe eyes - the same eyes that she looked into whenever she needed guidance, help, or consolation - and she knew she couldn’t treat him like everyone else.

she couldn’t casually give him a blowjob, or have sex with him. it would hurt her heart too much.

“yeah, hi! how’re you doing?” oh, god, he was talking as if they were good friends, like they’d remained speaking for the past 3 years, like he wasn’t here simply to fulfill his needs. she felt her jaw clench just slightly, in the hopes of not letting a tear escape her.

“i’m fine. my rates are -” as she’s ready to list her regular prices, he stops her by a sudden gesture of reaching and digging into the front pocket of his jeans. he procures a very crumpled note that he’s then pressing into her hand. she looks down in shock, seeing a crinkly 50 dollar bill in her palm.

“uh, i hope that’s enough - i didn’t really know, uh-” she shakes her head, clearing her mind as she pulled her hair into a shallow bun as she reached to unclasp the buttons of her blouse.

“it’s enough, you’re fine.” she knows she’s being far too forward and - honestly - a little pushy, but she wants to just get it over with so that she doesn’t cry in front of him.

“wait - wait, stop.” he lightly grabs at her hands, that were making their way down to her skirt, and he’s got a look of shock on his face when he looks back up at her. his eyes are trained harshly on her hands, as if he’s trying very hard not to let his gaze wander to her chest, “you don’t have to do that.” her mouth falls open a bit in confusion.

“it’s - it’s what you paid for, munson.” he cringes at the use of his last name, the formality of her sentence making the air around them just a little bit more frigid.

“no, i don’t want to do that.” he finally lets go of her hands, gesturing that she can re-button her blouse, as he looks away, threading his fingers through his hair, “i’m paying you that money for your time.”

“my - my what?”

“your time. i just wanna spend some time with you.” the last part’s a little fumbled, and she knows why: this was far out of the realm of what she usually offered.

“spend some time with me? munson, i don’t know-”

“eddie, and you’re fine. i just need ya for a night.” she looked down at the bill in her hand, before shaking her head.

“i - uh, i can’t take this, please just-” she pressed it back into his hand but he didn’t grip it.

“how much will it be? because i really can’t afford over 70-”

“no, no - i can’t charge you for spending time with you! i’m not even giving you anything.”

“you don’t need to-”

“eddie-” he smiled at the switch of moniker, “you’re not paying for anything.” she tried to reason with him, not wanting to look at his face for fear of that soft, understanding expression being on it.

“i am.” she closed her eyes, sucking in a sharp breath.

“look, i’ll spend the evening with you. but you are not paying me.” she curled his fingers around the bill, moving back before he had a chance to give it back to her, “alright?” he looked at her with a small smile, before nodding.

“deal.”

he’d driven them out of the school lot after that, as she fiddled with her sleeves. they weren’t talking much - well, he was trying to start conversation: about his hobbies, about things to do together, about how she was doing. her answers were curt, as a bubble was growing in her throat, and she really didn’t want to cry in front of him.

but how could she stop it? she’d had the biggest crush on the senior since they’d met all those years ago, thinking that he was the kindest, funniest, most talented person in their school. he’d let her ramble and ramble about her various interests, he’d introduced her to good music, he’d entertained her as she, transfixedly, watched him play guitar. he’d been there when she’d been hurting - and even at the very beginning of her parent’s split, letting her stay at his place, or do things with him during those first few months of arguing.

but it was too much. when the arguments had happened once or twice a month, she wasn’t too guilty about sharing the burden with her close friend. but, when they started becoming a weekly (and then a daily) occurrence, she couldn’t continue exploiting his kindness. she couldn’t bear exploiting anyone, owing to her sudden seclusion.

the tape he’d given her - made by yours truly, as he put it - was what she’d listen to all the time, finding the music on the player give her a sense of soothing in her otherwise tumultuous life. it wasn’t as good as the sense of soothing he gave her but, once again, it felt like she was imposing on him.

and did it become so damn hard to see him in the school hallways, pretending she hadn’t seen him and, even if she had, that she didn’t care? it was the worst thing in the world, especially as she saw that the small greetings and waves he through her way fading until his only acknowledgement of her was the occasional glance in her direction. and she couldn’t even complain, as it was all her own fault.

“how’s your mom?” the question takes her out of her thoughts, as it rings out over the soft melody on the radio. when eddie had heard of her father’s initial actions, he’d tried to help her out, which included become acquainted enough with her mother in order to convince the older woman that he wanted to help her daughter. it had worked - which is why her mother had entertained the friendship for that long - and he was always asking to make sure both women were alright. of course, he didn’t know who her mother had become.

“i - uh, i don’t know.” her voice is quiet, and her words are mumbled. out of her peripheral, she can see a look of confusion wash over his face and, out of his peripheral, he can see that she’d become significantly more uncomfortable and upset, and he dropped the subject immediately. instead, he stopped his van in front of the middle of town, a little establishment she’d been previously familiar with in front of her.

“what movies you like? you still a fan of e.t.?” even after her astronaut phase, e.t. had been a comforting classic that he’d been kind enough to go watch with her in theaters. he doesn’t miss the fraction of a smile that graces her lips, nor does he miss the way her eyes light up. he’s quick to get out of his seat, walking over to her side and helping her out in his common, gentlemanly manner. he leads her into the building, ducking his head as he walks in.

immediately, he greets the two clerks, both of whom had been obviously goofing off just a few seconds earlier. there’s no one in there except the four of them, and he’s already striking up a conversation with them. for a moment, she zones out, looking around at the lined shelves of movie rentals.

“- and this is my friend-” he gestured to her, and then individually pointed out the two clerks, introducing them to her. they both smile widely at her, and she’s a little confused. she wasn’t used to positive reactions to her - and she knew that at least the blonde, robin, knew about her, as they shared a history class together.

nonetheless, the girl didn’t say anything, didn’t give any backhanded compliments, didn’t have any look of judgement that was present in her eyes.

“anything you guys’re looking for in particular?” eddie nods, placing his fists lightly on the counter as he tapped it along to the song playing over the speakers in the ceiling.

“yeah, can we rent e.t.? and, oh, do you guys have any suggestions for space or sci-fi movies?” as steve rung up his first request, robin began listing off movies like she was an encyclopedia. as she wrapped up, eddie looked back at her.

“whad’ya wanna watch? i’m personally leaning towards star wars, you watched it before?” she doesn’t say anything, shaking her head. the first movie had always been on her list, but she’d been just a little too young to watch it when it’d come out, “alright, we’ll take a new hope too.” robin nods happily, grabbing a copy.

soon, the two of them were back comfortably in the two front seats of his van, with her holding the two rentals and his hands on the wheel. at least she’s smiling now, even though she’s not saying much, and eddie feels like it’s been a success so far.

he takes her back to his place, knowing wayne won’t be coming back until the afternoon on the next day. he, once again, opens the door for her and helps her out of his car, and similarly helps her into his house.

not much has changed since the last time she was there, nearly 4 years ago. there’s still very basic - yet homey - decorations on the walls, and the kitchen and living room look the same. eddie’s room’s door is slightly ajar, and the multitude of rock band posters were still on his walls, though they were slightly more dusty now, and they were peeling at the corners.

he offered her a drink, which she declined, before lowering down to his haunches in front of the chunky t.v. box in front of the couch. she stands, rather awkwardly, at the front entrance, while he sets up the movie. finally, noticing her lack of movement, he’s quick to usher her in, offering her a drink on her way to the couch.

“no, i’m - uh, that’s alright.” shrugging, he nods, letting her find a semi-comfortable seat on the end of the couch and, realizing her hesitation, he sits down a small distance from her, propping his feet on the table in front of them and his elbow on the arm rest. he presses the on switch for the remote, and, in just a few moments, the opening scenes of e.t. start playing. he looks at her out of the corner of his eyes.

she’s got a bright smile on her face and, in that moment, she looked just like his old friend.

it hadn’t been too late when they’d finally finished the movie and, for the first half of it, they’d both been eerily quiet - her enjoying the movie and him being too worried about saying something to take her out of that joy. then, midway through, she’d let an off-handed comment slip about one of the events and, soon, they were maintaining a semi-frequent dialogue about their opinions on the actions, characters or special effects - the both of them occasionally gasping at or scolding character’s actions in unison. it made her chuckle, and that made him laugh along with her.

now, though, she felt her eyes prickle lightly from a new - yet lesser - wave of tears that overtook her as she remembered the ending they’d just watched. sure, she’d watched the movie tens of times before, but that didn’t stop her from choking up as the extraterrestrial said goodbye.

a thin white object appeared in front of her and, through he blurry eyes, she couldn’t exactly tell what it was. she took it off eddie - who was trying to hand it to her - anyways, and realized that it was a tissue.

“oh my god,” she grins, but the act of her closing her eyes makes her tear slip, and she can hear eddie chuckle slightly as she used the tissue to dab at the corners of her eyes.

“hey, at least you’re better than last time.” by last time, he was referring to when she’d bawled her eyes out in the middle of the theater, clutching his shoulder tightly to find some grounding in her misery. she didn’t know why she was so keen to watch movies that made her cry, but - then again - a lot of movies made her cry.

eddie didn’t think about it like that - he also knew that many movies made her laugh, made her excited, content, scared, or anxious. movies made her feel, and he was happy that he was bearing witness to that once more, as it reminded him of her all that time ago.

she went to reach for the next movie - as a silence had grown between them, and eddie also got up, offering her something to eat. she snorted at that, and he whipped his head around, confused by her reaction.

“i know we haven’t talked much, but i can guarantee you’re still a shit cook.” he scoffed in a playful indignance, waving his hand at her.

“hey, hey, hey! i make a mean tinned macaroni, i’ll have you know.”

“that’s not cooking! that’s just as bad as you saying you can fry an egg and call it a meal.” it’d been something he said when she’d come to him, looking for support from her parents, and he had decided to make her some comfort food. it seemed like a fantastic idea until, of course, he realized he couldn’t cook. so, instead, he’d fried her an egg, plated it, and had sprinkled some pepper on and hoped for the best.

she had loved it. of course, she teased him to hell and back for the lack of a meal in his meal, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t appreciated the effort.

she’s rolling her eyes at the memory as she’s coming down from her giggle, and she looks to see eddie smiling fondly at her. she couldn’t hold his gaze - knowing exactly why he had a look of familiarity in his eyes, and she didn’t want to address it. luckily - or maybe unluckily for her, he did.

“we don’t talk much anymore, huh?” he said it like it was a recent revelation. it was not, “why don’t we?” she didn’t look at him, finding herself more invested in the threads of her skirt.

“i - um, i don’t know why, ed.” that was a nickname she hadn’t used in a while, and it made him want to turn back time - to get back those years that he’d spent without her. after a moment, he moved closer to her: close enough to take her hand in his; close enough to pull her chin to look at him. her eyes were so pretty - so bright, so hopeful and so playful - but the deep sadness in them caused an overcast on his heart.

“i - i liked talking to you.” he sighed, unsure of a poetic way to say it, “i wish i could just do it more.” sure - it was direct, but it got his point across. she gulped, suddenly breaking away from him.

“no - no you don’t.” he looked at her retraction in shock.

“why not?” she looked ready to pack up and leave, but he found himself unable to understand if he’d done anything to provoke it.

“i - i’m not the kind of person you wanna be friends with. i’m - i’m too fucked up.” the last sentence is a whisper and, for a moment he can’t process it.

“you - what’re you talking about?” she crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly wildly self-conscious of the attire she’d chosen for her job.

“i’m - god, eddie - i can’t do this. i need to go home, i’m sorry.” she’d started taking her things, and he restrains himself from trying to stop her. before she reached the door, though, he spoke again.

“will you at least tell me why?” she looked at him with a pained gaze. she looked at the mess of hair in his head that she wanted to pet, she looked at the big doe eyes she could sink into, she looked at the full lips that she wanted to kiss so badly.

“i - i can’t be your friend.” her voice cracked, and she looked away, the bubble from earlier bursting and a tear falling down her cheek. he sprang up, careful not to come to close to her, but heartbroken to see her cry.

“oh, god - please don’t cry. look, i don’t - fuck, how do i say this - i don’t want to be your friend.” it sounded harsh, and he realizes it through her look of incredulity, “i - i mean, i don’t want to be just friends.” she blinks up at him, the saline in her eyes being slowly replaced by confusion.

“ed? i don’t-”

“fuck, look. just, you’re so pretty, and you’re funny, and hard-working - you have great taste in music and movies and you can be a little stubborn sometimes but - but goddamn. i like you.” the confession leaves her mouth ajar, as his face drops, hair covering his concerned eyes as he shook his head at his own stupidity, “fuck, i shouldn’t have said that, i’m sorry, i -”

“’re you serious, ed?” she looks at him with earnest - and he interprets - hope.

“as a heart attack.” it’s a whisper, as he’s anticipating her response.

“i - i don’t think you’re being serious.” she can’t believe him.

“why not?”

“because i don’t deserve that, i don’t deserve you.” it’s rushed, like it’s a sudden revelation, but the incredulity of the statement makes eddie tentatively approach her. He held out a hand slowly, and he threads his fingers through hers, until he finds a comfortable hold on her palm. he brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face, before smiling a wide, genuine smile at her.

“can i kiss you?” she looked at his eyes, and at his lips, and she nods - and he leans down to find her lips with his. hers are a little chapped, a byproduct of the cold weather, and she’s got a distinct cherry lip gloss on, the red on it smearing on his own lips and skin. she breaks away from his face, but not his body, her other hand clutching tightly at his forearm, as if it would be detrimental for her to let go.

“you can’t kiss me like that.” it’s almost playful, her sentence, but there’s a serious undertone to it. he looks at her in worry, scared he’d taken it too far, before she clarifies, “i’m the whore of hawkins high, nobody should kiss me like that.” he felt a deep sadness at her diminishing words.

“you - god, you are not a whore.” she laughs at the attempt to cheer her up, but he doesn’t let that falter him, “do you want to keep doing this?” he gestures to her outfit. she thinks about it for a moment.

“no. but, ed - i can’t pay the bills-”

“we’ll figure it out.”

“ed, you can’t just say-”

“i’m being serious. we’ll work something out. we’ll find jobs - i’ll find a job, and then we’ll get out of this hellhole. you and me.”

“just like old times?”

“just like ‘em.” she goes silent for a moment, pondering the idea. finally, she nods lightly, and he sighs in content.

“can you kiss me like that again?” she whispers it, and he obliges, kissing her with the fervor of passion.

it made her feel beautiful, feel elated, feel loved. it made her feel like she was wandering the moon and the stars.

it made her feel like a fairy princess.

[elvenbeard]

Elven goes Comic Park Artist Alley 2023

Here it is, the post I threatened to make! It's gonna be long and full of ramblings, but I wanted to write everything down and idk, maybe you'll find it interesting to read! xD

So, this was my first time tabling at an artist alley. I had applied to another con near-ish me a couple of times in the past but never got accepted, so I was quite floored when it worked here at first try this time around xD I was hella nervous all the way up until the day I actually had to go and leave for some reason. Beforehand, I gathered some inspo at other cons for table setups and invested a little bit in one of those wire-shelf thingies, cause since it's very modular I would have also been able to make good use of it if it turns out artist alleys aren't my thing after all. I got a small collection of prints printed, I wanted to stick with a theme (namely, my original fantasy stuff, since fanart is a legal grey area and I wanted to be on the safe side - also, themes are nice!).

I managed to fit everything I needed for the table into two big Ikea bags and left on Friday noon for the con (we were allowed to set up starting at 2pm that day, the actual con starting on Saturday at 9am). I also set up two small shelf units for putting on the table upfront to save some time!

My cat was not impressed.

Setup and everything worked out without problems, the helpers were all super kind and welcoming. The only thing that was kinda chaotic was that the con organizers and the owners of the location (the artist alleay was in a whole new building, and the location overall is insanely pretty) seemed to kinda work against each other in a way xD Communication didn't quite work, and I think if we as artists and our helpers had received at least some kinda document or ID or a little coloured wristband that said "exhibitor" or something, it would have prevented a lot of arguments and delays. But alas, maybe next year!

Since I had a quite long drive and didn't wanna do that twice every day, I stayed at a hotel nearby. It felt a little like a mini vacation, which was nice xD Cost-wise, I would have ended up paying the same amount in gas that I paid in hotel fees.

As I said, as soon as my table was set up, all nervousness from before had kinda vanished and despite my days starting super early and ending very late, I had a blast overall xD Only thing is, I didn't sleep well (but I rarely do when I know I have to get up early, the anxiety of missing my alarm haunts me in my dreams).

My view for the weekend xD I love how creative some of the other artists' setup was, let alone how amazing their art was! There was a huge variety of styles and products, from prints to pins to handmade jewelry and plushies, and I didn't even get the chance to see it all xD

I guess this being my first table and the fear of accidentally missing out on a conversation with someone who likes my stuff I kinda didn't dare to venture very far from my table xD So I didn't see much of the rest of the con, but thankfully a lot of people found their way to the artist alley anyway! My personal highlight was having the ultimate, first-hand V experience. I randomly look to the right, and suddenly:

Johnny fucking Silverhand! Including an ominous duffle bag that might have said NUKE... or NIKE, not sure... (find him on instagram @_iggyizzy_). Had a short convo with him both days, he was absolutely living his role, and yes xD Best quote that'll stay with me: "Don't make me laugh, or my beard is gonna come off!" Cosplay problems, I relate so hard :D

Some other highlights:

Explaining my dark fantasy world and setting with the target group "21+" to some very enthusiastic young kids who liked the pretty pictures xD

Talking to other creative people and seeing their projects - also loved the fact that there were several others tabling for the first time, and they all had different approaches that I all loved!

In general being told my art is good by complete strangers who know nothing about it was a huge ego and morale boost xD And being able to talk about a very dear-to-me project I'm passionate about in general was awesome

Talking to likeminded people who got inspired what I was doing <3

Nerding about my favourite video games with people

People really liking my inktober stuff a lot, which I wouldn't have expected

Ending the con with a long conversation with two cosplayers/gamers/creative people discussing tabletop games, Dragon Age, and Cyberpunk for about half an hour :D Was such a nice note to end the weekend on!

As I said, upfront I read up on some random resources online, some dos and donts and useful tips for artist alleys. Some of the tips really paid off ("pack a little emergency bag containing all sorts of materials to improvise if need be") which was useful to adjust some price tags and stuff! Others didn't quite turn out to be as accurate, with my most expensive item selling best in comparison to more affordable ones. I also hadn't planned on offering doodle commissions (which I'd seen people do at other cons) but I will definitely do if I ever get a table spot again, cause they were quite popular. And they made me realize once more why I miss doing commissions and will get back into them soon here, too!

Kinda negative things that come to mind regarding the whole experience are really minor actually, as I mentioned already the slightly chaotic organization here and there, but overall there were always good workarounds to that available, too. And I think/hope next time will work out better! A personal annoyance (but that is just my life in general xD) was getting misgendered quite a bit cause I'm not really passing, and me being too scared of irl confrontation in that reagard to correct people XD But I'm working on it. On the other hand, also had a really nice convo with a fellow queer dude about the abundance of pride flags and stuff, which was fun xD

And what I also learned is that the majority of people who do this regularly work Monday-Friday jobs... which makes sense, that enables you to go to cons on weekends, cause you always have the weekend off. Me, I get one weekend off per month at random (I could request specific days, but they're never guaranteed). So yeh... time to find a better dayjob I guess, if I wanna do this professionally xD Or luck out with my day off requests.

Anyway though... my personal takeaway and what I'd do differently next time:

I enjoyed the whole thing a lot more than I would have guessed

I'd make my stand more visibly lgbtq+ themed, to get people interested in queer fantasy art and writings that would walk past generic-looking dark elves

Also I'd add somewhere that this is an original project I'm working on, cause most people I got talking to assumed "oh this is just dnd stuff" and were pleasantly surprised when they learned "no, this is actually a whole setting and story"

I'm gonna wear a name tag with my pronouns on it (I wanted to do it this time but chickened out at the last moment, cause I'm just with one toe out of the closet irl and got too scared XD one challenge at a time)

I did like how my table was set up overall though and apart from some minor tweaks would set it up like this again

I would like to try to walk around more and get talking to other artists more, but I was too glued to my seat and table and everything (also, mild social anxiety, but everyone that I did talk to was so kind, so yeh XD one challenge at a time!!)

So yes. So much to my report on being at an artist alley the first time XD Would love to try it again some time, cause I had a blast, and cause of the stuff I'd like to improve on.

I still have a bunch of leftovers, too, posters, postcards, and a few booklets... But for now I'm gonna set up a Ko-Fi-Shop (which I'd wanted to do for a while) and put some things there for the time being. Once it's up and running a post will follow!

And if you read this far: thanks for reading ♥ xD

[5-pp-man]

Shuumatsu Train Doko e Iku? ep.1 thoughts

It started off very fast, but promising. I actually got pretty excited by the possibilities of what this show could pan out to be be during the op. But after it ended and the episode actually started, i quickly noticed that they. never. stop. talking. there is absolutely 0 room to breathe.

And idk if that's just a product of it being the first episode, or if this'll be a problem in the long run. The pacing is very reminiscent of Saiki K (which works for that show because its a gag comedy) But this show is obviously going for a story, so if this pacing is something that'll continue to be the norm, then i already know that I'll have a hard time continuing it. But, for now, I'll give them the benefit of the doubt. First episodes are rarely representative of the show as a whole, and I noticed that they had a lot of information to go through. Maybe it would've been better to have split this into 2 episodes, or they could've utilised show-dont-tell a bit more, or cut back on the dialogue... but ah well.

Because I do actually really like the selection of female va's here. They all talk much more naturally than the art style would lead you to believe, which I appreciate immensely. Their character dynamics are also fun so far, especially the two girls who are always bickering with each other. The slapstick-y humour is also right up my alley, and the general strangeness and behaviour of the characters is giving me Ikuhara vibes... just a little bit though. Not only that, but the wordbuilding intrigues me so far. I'm a big fan of these kinds of post-apocalyptic society settings, where there's still remnants of the old world that influence the new (sabikui bisco & zanki zero, f.e.)

The op is cute n all, but I rlly dig the ed...

Mal score; 7.05 (i think? its april fools so i cant tell.) My score; 7

[isfjmel-phleg]

June 2023 Books

The War Librarian by Addison Armstrong

The concept, regrettably, was more compelling than the execution. It was one of those historical fictional novels that feel more like contemporary people in costume than anything actually reflecting the times. And I had to skip a scene. However, I am interested in learning more about actual WWI librarians if given the chance, so that's something.

Peter Pan and Wendy by J. M. Barrie (reread)

Reread on a whim. It's so good. It gets better every time I reread it, and I've been rereading since I was about eight.

A Natural History of Dragons by Marie Brennan

Oddly enough, this book captured the tone of historical fiction better than actual historical fiction. It's technically fantasy, but really more like an alternate Victorian Era but with dragons, told as a memoir by a scientist in her old age. There were a few content things I didn't love, and sometimes the narrative dragged a bit for me, but the protagonist was a striking character, and I appreciated her relationship with her husband.

Why Didn't They Ask Evans? by Agatha Christie

Riveting in the usual Christie way. I need to catch up to the miniseries one of these days.

Dark Lord of Derkholm by Diana Wynne Jones

Jones being satirical about fantasy is of course hilarious. Not a quick and easy read, but worth the effort. I wish a scene with an implied SA had been handled differently (introducing this topic at all felt jarring with the tone of this book), but on the whole, I enjoyed it!

Midnight for Charlie Bone by Jenny Nimmo

Forgive me, everyone, I wasn't particularly captivated by this one and don't feel especially inclined to finish the series. Not exactly sure why.

A Crown of Chains by Erin Phillips

This is the Esther-but-with-fairies retelling. You already know how I feel about it.

The Secret of Nightingale Wood by Lucy Strange

Middle-grade historical fiction of the mysterious house and family secrets variety, so naturally that was right up my alley!

The Creeping Shadow and The Empty Grave by Jonathan Stroud

I don't have anything intelligent to say about this series, but I did enjoy it a lot more than I expected to. Stroud's style is a joy to read. (And the series itself has much less of a focus on Romance than I was expecting, judging from how it's talked about around here--yes, it's there, but it's not The Focal Point, and I appreciated that, because the protagonists' platonic bonds were pretty fantastic already.)

Mirror of Danger by Pamela Sykes (reread)

I'm on a reread-the-haunting-mid-twentieth-century-children's-book kick. Bear with me. This one's a ghost story, but it's also about clinging to sameness in the face of loss, to an unhealthy degree, and about the cultural clash between a protagonist who was raised in isolation by a very Victorian elderly woman, and her cousins, who are very much products of the story's present (the 1970s)--which I find fascinating.

Comics

Mercury Falling by Todd Dezago (reread)

See recent posts. You all know how I feel about this one.

Stargirl: The Lost Children by Geoff Johns

I liked this one more than I expected! Goodness knows I have Issues with Johns and what he did to the YJ kids, but here he's writing a protagonist whom he created and handles well, and the entire series reads like a love letter to Golden Age comics and forgotten child characters in general. I'm very curious to see what happens next with these characters, especially now that Secret is back (reunite her with her friends!).

[springsaladgaming]

hihi!!! i just wanted to say i really like ninelives! i hope to see it continue to get updated! the line "charon wont let me on his damn boat" was a real good one and i really enjoy the writing style and humor!!!! :D

Hi, anon! I'm glad you're enjoying Ninelives!

😂 Honestly that line really gets me too, but I'm not 100% sure I'll keep it in the final product. I wouldn't say that I'm a literature and mythology snob by any stretch of the word, but I did major in English when I went to uni, so references like that are right up my alley personally, but I'm not sure I like it as a reference made in this story. (If anyone was going to make that kind of reference, though, it would really be Ansel.) Maybe I will keep it? Who knows. Mostly I wrote that as a placeholder for the general feeling that the statement makes.

But I'm glad you enjoyed it regardless! And thank you so much for the compliments!

I know I've been quiet and updates come very slowly, but I'm still working on it!

Hope you have a wonderful day, anon!

[damistrolls]

masumiiiiii

what's up w u these days, how's it going?

"Hi stranger. Things are going well for me."

"Though everyone's all in a twist about Fansia Izuumi, as you can imagine. It's really a shame, I always looked up to her as an actress. The style of films she was usually in, though a little old-fashioned, was always SUPER up my alley. I'm kind of sad I never got to perform with her, I think we could have made something really beautiful.

I'm sure they'll keep using her likeness anyways, though. It's hard to imagine the Empire didn't make her sign off on some postmortem rights. I even heard whisperings that a biopic was already being written."

"At least I'll have a shot for a role in the biopic. I doubt I could play Fansia myself, since I'm sure they'd prefer someone with a more similar body type to her, but who knows? Maybe they'll just stick a whole lot of makeup on me and change the rest in post-production. We've done that sort of thing before. And I do an amazing impression of her, so it's not impossible, even if unlikely. But the most probable outcome is that I'll just get a smaller role."

[sardonic-sprite]

I'm Back!

Wow, so Lent is over now, so my tumblr fast is also over and I'm still a little in shock, lol. I had hoped the past six weeks? I don't know, Time is weird, would be more productive but at least I got SOME stuff written/posted. Anyway, I have one more month of school and then fucking FINALS so expect sporadic updates at idiot-o-clock hours of the night, and maybe yell at me to sleep, eat, study, or drink water whenever i do post 😅

I am up to SO EFFING MANY wips rn on so many different fronts you guys have no freaking idea 😭 so here's a status report for EVERYTHING on or going on sardonic_sprite. (Its gonna be a monster post, y'all, bear with me)

in absolutely no particular order:

Wayne4Ham: We have a LONG way to go with this one, so just be patient and I'll slowly but steadily plug on through. Aaron Burr, Sir, should theoretically take me no longer than end of april

Wayne-Crazy: there's like 4 specific requests on it, plus a few 'series' i started, but after those, say 6-7, i'll probably mark as complete and only re-open if someone offers me an idea

Batman Beginners: i'll tell y'all up front, this one will take me forever. i don't even know what all I intend to cover, but know that i'm halfway done with the DITF arc, and it'll probably come out in the next two months

Just A Kid: this was my shits-and-giggles fic that got like 3000 notes in a weekend lmao. it's something i do intend to continue bc its so fun and i enjoy the concepts in it, but i don't have plans to actively write more of it in the immediate future.

Rev Wayne: just gave y'all Jason's fic, so the next probably won't come until late in summer, extrapolating from my few data points. if anyone has ideas for timmy's intro, let me know, i'd love some inspiration

Celeb Batwaynes: reported separate from wayne-crazy for reasons. i think theres like 12 specific requests plus 2 ideas of my own. i may put out a poll for the next one to write, but not until after school's out, because these fics are HUGE time-eaters for me. speaking of, are non-tumblr-users able to vote on polls?

Welcome to Gotham U: this was again, me doing shit bc why not. will probably add more in the style that i first posted, but i doubt i will write any prose for it. if you would like to give it a try, please reach out, i'd love to see what you write!

One Diamond: every time i touch this i make the cliffhanger worse lmao. i finally do have a direction, but execution is gonna have to wait a while.

The Young, Innocent, and Righteous: this is mostly just for me anyway, but i'm just gonna say that i'm waiting until i finish watching miraculous season 5 before i go any further

AS you wish: i have 5 more requests to do and i am so sorry to everyone waiting you do not deserve this lmao. i promise im trying, i love your ideas, it just takes me a really long time to fill in the rest and then actually write it. the next one on my list is particularly hard to pin down and so it's halting the ones behind it to. if not before, then after finals i will sit and bang my head on the keyboard until something good comes out

Light Isn't Fadin': soooooo many people have asked me about this one oof. SOMEDAY, i swear. right now its a huge, nebulous, hulking monster and im sorry it's just not happening yet.

A christmas carol: wait until december. please

Father's Day: june.

A Little Problem: over the summer, i will watch marvel movies until they once again hijack my brain and fuel this to completion. maybe.

easter eggs: how the fuck did i forget this lmao. i'm doing as much as i can in april, but when the month is done, i'm sorry, we'll all be waiting until next lenten season. hopefully it won't come to that.

aaaaand i THINK that's finally it. there's also a bunch of random paragraphs in word and google docs that may appear, not to mention ideas that kidnap me in dark alleys. but i also have like a good half dozen other wips for other places that im trying to attend to, so please be forgiving if it seems like its taking a while to post something as sprite.

as always, i love questions, comments, concerns, even some complaints, so feel free to interact.

See ya when I see ya!

sprite