#this piece made the brain rot worse ;v;

[gunslingerorchid]

Listen, I know I just posted a bunch of commisions that I bought, but this is too good not to share! Again, this is by @momotowan (I can't say this enough, go give him a follow! The guy is a beast when it comes to drawing.)

@tripleyeeet has totally been benefiting from my brain rot xD

[sharonisthebettercarter]

I need the Gen-v kids and writers to fold Billy's ass because they're not like Maeve, Kimiko, Ryan, nor Starlight to take the disrespect from Billy. I need the to go off on his monkey ass because he not finna disrespect them, like he disrespects the former. Fuck around and find out.

oooohhhh i wish. but i can't picture it honestly, i get the feeling he will absolutely trick and hurt them as per that usual game of his

billy's been fucking awful from the get go and very good at it, it's only now that his team is getting fed up with his bullshit but that was a long time coming. i love this motherfucker to death in all the wrong ways but i ain't fittin' to turn a blind eye to all the shit he pulls and how grossly manipulative he is, even with hughie

ESPECIALLY with hughie. AND STARLIGHT.

like it's very concrete clear *what* he is from the start, something a certain darling mentioned to me was that billy technically never actually lies about who he is to the reader/viewer (don't get me wrong, there is a bit of deception and the build up and showcase is also def there, rather i should say, he lies to those around him and this is made clear to the reader/viewer)

he is awful, makes it clear he's going to be awful, and then does awful things that line up perfectly with the total piece of shit he is

but it is SUPER consistently clear.

*it's the characters around him that don't see the truth in what he is, give him the benefit of the doubt, or at the time being, don't see through the lies he gives them*

astonishingly enough, even when he's *actually* honest with them.

mallory said it perfectly

"you're only here because you're desperate and fucked and you want something!"

mmmmmmmmmmhmmmmmm~<3 mah FAVORITE kinda billy bean<3<3<3

and mallory in both settings is one of the few people able to see through butcher's lies but i have big doubts those poor kids are gonna be on mallory or starlight's level, or even kimiko, because they just don't have that experience with him or what he brings to the table, especially if he starts promising 'jUsTiCe' for them. (it's not, it's never about justice, it's just straight up revenge porn. billy bean is a revenge porn addict--)

but hell, he drags mm back into that whole mess and mm won't blame him, but i sure as hell will because *mm has ocd* and butcher fucking *took advantage of that fact*, AND THEN--even mm says it

"always about becca with you." and "you are so hot for homelander right now"

LEIK--... i'm not gonna go into mah regular trash butchlander rhetoric (hey~<3) but leik, homelander literally does not give a damn about this man, there is always a legit *reason* or bargain that is *the* reason he *lets* the mofo live.

first time was becca cutting a deal with him, next time was blackmail, but like this mofo DID NOT hesitate to try to kill butcher when they met at herogasm which just shows how thin that ice is or how flimsy the 'scorched urf' deal was and how he's itching to be done with butcher, third time was RYAN. who got his attention and pulled him away before he could kill butcher when he very clearly wanted to, and now we're gonna get the euthanasia offering??? OOH--

yeah, homelander gives no shits about butcher beyond him being an inconvenience and it's pretty clear the main reason he hasn't bothered killing him is because he still doesn't perceive billy as any sort of threat to him... but butcher?

butcher is OBSESSED and yeah leik i know i say it every goddamn time but like he's really REALLY obsessed to the point where his brain rot for homie is 1000x WORSE than anything ANY of the girlies in fandom *COULD* have for homie--

oops look at that accidentally threw in a little more butchlander garbage lmao

there's def always a part of me that blames fandom misogyny for giving this boi a free pass half the time (motherfucker spends all his time shitting on becca's memory for his revenge porn fantasy+the way he treats all our lovely lady supes--)

amazingly, the framing is actually really well done because even though we know billy is fuckin' awful beyond any reasonable doubt or redeemability, it's still enough in what the characters around him believe to lead people astray and have them wishing for him to do the right thing even when we know he won't (with the rare few exceptions it's something that benefits him...)

altho deep down i think they know billy will just disappoint them because his whole ass job in the story is to make things HURT lmao.

the boi does know better... he just *chooses* to do *worse*...

i do think that because these kids have less experience with billy and aren't completely alone for him to be a vulture about, it also means they might be quicker to learn especially if they get help from starlight or the others. but unfortunately, i don't picture these kids being able to handle this crafty slimeball. maybe make the attempt but...

gawd, i do not have high hopes for these poor youngins...

[wandas-sunshine]

The Muse’s Dance - Part 1

Summary: Steve is a fine arts major, (Y/N) is a dance major. Their meeting wasn’t supposed to be anything big, but Steve is sure he’s found his new muse, and (Y/N) is suddenly convinced that maybe she doesn’t have to choose between her career and a relationship.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 4497

Warnings: Nude modeling, this is sickeningly sweet, tooth rotting fluff. Smut in the next chapter

A/N: This is gonna be a little mini-series for you guys. Three parts plus an Epilogue. Song and dance inspo for the girls’ showcase piece is here. Please please please tell me what you guys think because I am seriously in love with this concept.

Classes had ended a couple hours earlier, but students were still milling about the academy hallways. Steve had been in one of the art studios in the visual arts building, desperately trying to finish part of his project for the big winter showcase coming up. He was almost getting somewhere, but his progress was cut short since he’d promised Nat to meet her before dinner at her and Bucky’s place.

That’s how he found himself wandering the dance wing, side stepping out of the way of a few girls strutting down the hall like they owned the place. Around the next corner, there was a pair of girls showing each other complicated foot work that would have had Steve tripping over himself. He glanced down at his phone once more.

‘Meet me in studio 22B’ The text from Natasha read. He was already running late, and he’d most certainly left early. But eventually he found the dance studio she’d told him to come to. He slipped quietly through the door. Music filled the small room as the trio of girls danced in front of a wall of mirrors. He tucked himself into the corner like his presence would disrupt their rehearsal.

He watched curiously. He’d seen Natasha dance a million times, she was amazing. The girl opposite her in their little v-formation, one Maria Hill, was easily as good. She’d been dancing with Nat since they were pre-teens. But the dancer between them was a mystery. A stunning, seductive, completely enchanting mystery.

She moved with such grace, such sensuality, that he almost felt like he should look away. But he didn’t dare. There was no way he’d ever forgive himself if he stopped watching her. She had him blushing to the tips of his ears, and his heart was damn near beating out of his chest. Even as the music stopped, Steve struggled to look away. She could’ve been a supermodel, a goddess even. Her skin was flushed, and her hair was slipping into her face. And the smirk on her lips was downright sinful. She was his new favorite work of art.

“Enjoy the show, Stevie?” Maria teased, grabbing her water bottle and taking a long drink. Steve’s crystal blue eyes snapped away from the girl and over to Maria, and he cleared his throat like he’d been caught in the midst of something absolutely awful. He was sure his cheeks were flaring as red as Nat’s hair, Then the musical giggle from the mystery girl’s mouth nearly turned his knees to jelly.

“Yeah! That was...wow, I mean...you guys were…” He stammered before sheepishly nodding and praying to whatever god may be that his point had gotten across so they didn’t ask him to clarify. His eyes wandered back towards the girl. Her hands were on her hips, and her smile was bright enough to light up an entire auditorium. Then that smile tugged into a critical pout. Even so, she was stunning.

“I need to emote more,” She turned and picked up her towel, wiping away the sweat that clung to her skin. “I have to keep working on it.”

“We’ve been working on it for hours.” Maria scoffed. Natasha sighed and glanced at the time. She was already leaving twenty minutes later than she’d planned. She crouched down at her bag, putting her things away and lifting it onto her shoulder.

“I really have to go. We promised Bucky we’d be home for dinner.” She explained, nodding towards Steve. Maria had already started her cool down stretches.

“I have a date in a few hours. Have to get cleaned up.” Maria announced, twisting herself into positions that had Steve flinching. “Sorry, babe. You’re on your own.”

(Y/N) huffed softly. So much for friends. She was never going to make it in the real world if she couldn’t get her stupid routine right for the end of semester showcase.

“That’s alright. I’ll work on my own for a bit.” She insisted with a smile. Steve hardly knew her, but he had a feeling she’d work herself half to death if they left her there alone. He wasn’t big on the idea. 

“You better be out of here by dark.” Nat warned, giving her the dangerous glare that Steve had been on the receiving end of one too many times. 

“Yes ma’am.” (Y/N) agreed quickly. Before Steve and Natasha were out of the room, she’d started the music up again.

As he walked alongside Natasha, Steve fidgeted with the pencil he’d tucked behind his ear. Nat didn’t say anything, just waiting for him to ask the question she knew was coming.

“Hey, Tasha, who was that girl back there with you and Hill?” He asked finally. Natasha smiled knowingly. There was no way to miss the way he looked at her, like he just wanted to look at her for the rest of his life.

“That’s (Y/N). She’s majoring in dance too. She’s really good, but she just doesn’t see it.” Natasha explained. “She’s also super single. And perfect for you.”

Steve rolled his eyes. It wasn’t like the redhead ever managed to keep her nose out of his love life. She was even worse than Bucky. She’d tried to hook him up with half of her classmates at one point or another.

“She’s really talented.” He mumbled, his brain replaying the routine they’d been doing. He only sort of recognized the song. It was from Burlesque if he remembered right. Bucky’s sister loved that movie. “Is that for the Showcase?”

She nodded, walking ahead of him like she was worried that they’d be too late and Bucky would slaughter them. Steve took a few long strides to catch up once they made it to the apartment complex just off campus.

“How’s your piece going?” She asked as she unlocked the door and called out to Bucky that she was home. Steve scrunched up his nose.

“It’s coming along.” He answered, taking his jacket off and setting his bag down. “I have to find another model though. Hope bailed on me. That alone is going to take me another year.”

Bucky laughed from the kitchen where he was working on the meal. The three of them had these little ‘family dinners’ about once a month or so. Steve rolled his eyes and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

“I’m serious! Everyone’s so busy with their own projects that nobody has the time.” He took a drink and leaned back against the counter.

“You could ask (Y/N).” Natasha suggested with a smirk. She watched proudly as he blushed a bright shade of pink. Usually Steve was completely professional when it came to his art, but the idea of asking (Y/N) to be a nude model for him had him flustered.

“I’m sure she’s busy with her own stuff. I’ll figure something out.” He insisted. But there was absolutely no way that Natasha was going to let it go that easily. She had a plan.

By the time (Y/N) got home, it was well past dark. She was exhausted, and sweaty, and still felt like she wasn’t  doing her number justice. Part of her was wondering if she was just lacking the confidence. She had heard it a million times growing up, that she had the technique down pat, but that it would never be outstanding until she was confident that it could be. She was never very good at that part.

When she made it into her dorm, her roommate Wanda was running lines, as she most often was. (Y/N) did her best not to distract her, setting all of her things down and plugging her phone in. She was in desperate need of a shower, her skin still sticky with dried sweat.

“Hey, how’s your number coming along?” Wanda asked with her usual cheery, sweet tone. Truthfully, Wanda was the only thing keeping her sane with the showcase just a month away. (Y/N) groaned dramatically.

“The number is going to be the death of me.” She sat on the edge of her bed and ran her fingers through her hair. “Not to mention that I haven’t made any progress whatsoever these past few hours. All because Nat’s hunky friend had to come in and be all cute. Threw off my groove.” She crossed her arms and huffed.

“Maybe you’re just stressing yourself out too much. You probably just need a little break.” Wanda had never stopped saying that to her, and she never seemed to tire of reminding her constantly that she worked too hard.

“You know I can’t just...stop practicing.” She grabbed her shower bag and a change of clothes. “Practice makes perfect.”

“Passion makes perfect.” Wanda corrected as her roommate headed for the showers. (Y/N) rolled her eyes. How many times had she heard that?

The shower did nothing to ease (Y/N)’s anxiety, though it did wonders for her sore muscles. She returned to her dorm with every intention to listen to Welcome To Burlesque on repeat and run the choreo in her head until she fell asleep. However, a few new texts changed those plans. She swiped them open and felt her nerves build again.

‘Hey, remember when you had to bail on Pietro’s dance and I covered for you? And you said that you owed me one?’ Natasha had sent. (Y/N) definitely remember. She’d caught some awful virus that had her puking her guts out every half hour and she’d promised Pietro that she’d be his dance partner for a choreographing class he was taking. Natasha had saved the day and stepped in. The next text made her eyes go wide.

‘How do you feel about nude modeling?’

She bit down on her lip. This was not going to end well and she knew it. But Nat had been there every time she needed someone to save the day, and she really did owe her big time. Not to mention she could use a good confidence boost. What did she have to lose? Besides maybe a few hours of rehearsal.

‘Nat, what are you getting at?’ She questioned, curling up on her bed.

‘I have a friend that needs a model for his showcase project. Thought maybe you could help him out.’ Her answer came quickly and (Y/N) hesitated. What the hell was she getting herself into?

‘Send me the info and I’ll be there’ She decided before she had a chance to back out. She’d never modeled for anyone before, and definitely never in the nude. And for something as important as the showcase? But if she could dance in front of hundreds of people, she could do this too.

The next day felt like it crept on almost painfully slow as she sat through her classes. She was supposed to meet this guy on the other side of campus 20 minutes after her last class. She shoved her things into her bag quickly, still in her workout clothes from her jazz class.

Truthfully, she’d only been in the visual arts building once before, and that was during her freshman campus tour. She wandered the halls, searching until she found the right door. One glance at the time and her worry set in. Shit, she was late. She pushed the door open, startling the man working intently inside. She flinched and dropped her bag.

“Shit, sorry. Did I make you mess up?” She asked frantically. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I couldn’t find…” Her words trailed off as she finally looked up at the man she was modeling for. And Steve was staring right back. “Oh, hi again.”

“Hey, hi...you’re...you’re my model?” He asked nervously. She felt her heart sink and her stomach twist into knots. She knew this was an awful idea. Nervous thoughts began swirling through her head. What if she wasn’t good enough for his vision? What if she was going to ruin his piece? What if he just hated her and didn’t want to waste his time drawing her?

“You alright, doll?” He quirked an eyebrow at her and she jerked out of her thoughts, nodding stiffly.

“Yeah. I’m just a little bit nervous. I’ve never been someone’s model before.” She confessed with a smile that had Steve’s stomach in a tizzy. “But I owed Nat for all the times she’s saved my ass.”

Steve nodded and returned a smile that would have knocked her right off her feet if she’d dared to look at him straight on. He was so handsome...not that she had much time for pretty boys and their big blue eyes. She had a career to focus on.

“It’s alright. We’ll go at your pace. You won’t be very much fun to draw if you aren’t comfortable.” He stated sincerely, motioning her over. She ventured forward and he nodded towards a pale pink robe. “You can change into that and I can show you my concept for the piece.”

It wasn’t an order, simply an offer. She nodded and picked up the robe, stepping just out of his sight to strip down and change. Like the true gentleman he was, Steve made no attempt to peek at her as she changed.

Once she had put the robe on and folded her clothes into a neat little pile, she pulled up a stool beside him. He had been working on a piece that had her stunned into silence. He had clearly put a lot of effort into the image. It showed a naked girl draped elegantly over a chair. It was so beautiful that it was hard to look away.

“Like it?” Steve asked. She turned to glance at him, a nervous smile nudging the corners of her lips.

“It’s incredible. You know, I had been worried about being drawn by someone, but you just might manage to make me look beautiful.” She nudged his shoulder and giggled quietly.

“Making you look beautiful is easy.” He barely whispered the words, and she expected him to be teasing her. When her eyes met his, her stomach did a somersault. There was nothing but sincerity and admiration behind the ocean blue of his eyes. Her cheeks burned how.

“Thanks, Steve.” She murmured. There was a long quiet moment before she spoke again. “So, how about you show me that concept?” That seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he had fallen into. He reached for his sketchbook, carefully turning pages. She caught short glimpses of several sketches. One of a young woman she didn’t recognize holding a baby, then one of Natasha and her boyfriend curled up with smiles lighting up their faces. One showed just Bucky, then Maria’s boyfriend Sam (not that either of them admitted they were together). Then, much to her surprise, she noticed a small sketch of her doodled into the corner of a page. One more page was flipped, and Steve offered it to her.

He showed her how the five pieces would come together. An overarching theme of head vs heart ran through them each.

“See, it starts almost completely black and white when she’s caught up too much in her head. Then when she gives in to her heart, she’s in full color. I want that to be you.” He turned his head to look at her with a grin.

Ever since she had come into the picture, Steve’s idea had really come together. It was becoming something he thought he could be proud of. Almost like she was his muse, the missing piece. She was the heart he needed to win against his anxious head. 

“No pressure,” She scoffed playfully. She was beyond honored to be the star of his masterpiece. She wasn’t even sure she deserved it. “Do you wanna...get started then?” She glanced at the table sitting in the middle of the room and shyly twirled the tie of her robe around her finger.

“Yeah, sure, yeah. I’m ready whenever you are.” He stammered quickly. He’d been staring at her again. Had she noticed? Not that people didn’t regularly stare at her. She was a dancer, and an absolutely breathtaking person to begin with. He figured she had people throwing themselves at her feet.

“Steve? How do you want me to…” She vaguely motioned towards the sheet covered table. Steve quickly snapped back into reality. His stunning blue eyes met hers for a second before he slipped into artist mode. He didn’t look at her like she was an object there for his pleasure, didn’t appraise her naked form. That was always something that had plagued her mind when she thought about nude modeling. Instead he let his eyes wander over every inch of her before making his decision. He stood up and walked over with a sort of confidence she hadn’t seen in him before.

“Go ahead and lay down on your back.” He instructed gently. She nodded and lifted herself onto the table, laying back and looking over at Steve. His eyebrows were knit together, leaving a cute little crease between them as he examined her once more. For a split second, he was chewing on his lip, and her mind was wandering in totally unprofessional ways.

“Here, bend this leg up, and go ahead and twist your hips just…” He tapped her knee, then her hip, doing as much as he could to position her without putting his hands on her. She did as he said, propping her leg up and angling her hips away from him. “Then stretch your far arm up like you’re grabbing something out of the air.”

She looked over at him again before doing as he said, stretching for some imaginary object that was just out of her reach. He rested his hands on his hips before nodding a little.

“Would you be able to arch your back a little more and hold it for me?” He asked. She adjusted her post, arching off the table. It wasn’t the most naturally comfortable pose, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. Steve had the brightest smile on his lips, like everything was finally falling into place the way he’d hoped it would. And oh what she wouldn’t give to make him smile like that every single day.

“Do you want me to turn on some music? Sometimes it makes people more comfortable.” He asked. She shrugged a tiny bit.

“Sure, anything you’d like is fine.” She agreed. Steve quickly pulled up a playlist and started the music. She didn’t bother prying her eyes away from him as he set to work.

He was beautiful, truly exquisite. She couldn’t help the thought that it was almost disappointing that Steve was the artist and not the subject. The way his lips pursed as he worked had her fantasizing. Nothing filthy, but that was almost worse. She imagined curling up beside him and watching him draw, or looking over to him after running a number and seeing his precious little pout while he worked on whatever his newest project happened to be.

“You’re really passionate about your art, huh?” She observed quietly. He looked up and flashed her a little half-smile. Her heart fluttered dangerously.

“Art has gotten me through a lot of rough times.” He admitted. “I was a real sickly kid. Couldn’t usually go out and do much. So I got good at art.” He was quiet for a second, seeming to zone in on a particular part of the piece. It was strange for her to imagine the hulking mass of muscle before her being small and frail as a boy.

“You’re incredible, really. It’s an honor to model for your showcase piece. I know it’s probably really important for you.” She talked, letting him focus his energy on his art. But she noticed the smile beginning to curl onto his lips.

“Honestly, I think you’re the prettiest model I’ve ever drawn.” He told her, a pale pink crawling up his neck. “I mean, with your clothes on too.” She bit her lip to fight off her giggle. A hint of the flustered guy from the day before threatened to break through his calm and collected professional demeanor.

“Thanks, Steve. That’s sweet.” She mumbled. God, did he have to be so damn charming? Relationships were supposed to be the last thing on her mind. Especially with her next big performance just around the corner.

“You know, you’re really talented too.” Steve spoke after a few beats of silence. He remembered what Nat had said about her not believing she was a good dancer. (Y/N) sighed softly.

“You really think so? I know everybody says this, but I feel like I’ll never be good enough to make it in the big leagues.” She confessed. Steve paused his work. He tried his hardest to hide the disbelief that hit him.

“I really think so. Don’t tell Tasha, but I think you might be the best dancer I’ve ever seen.” His words eased her worries for a moment and set her cheeks aflame.

“Thanks. You’re really really kind. It’s sort of nice just talking to someone. I’m always so preoccupied with rehearsals, and classes, and auditions. I guess I never really take the time to slow down anymore.” She had been hearing the same thing since she decided in elementary school that she was going to make a living being a dancer. But being there with Steve gave her a new perspective. She really sort of liked the clarity he brought her.

“Maybe what you need — you can relax the arm — is someone to help you out. You know, remind you to take a breather every now and then.” He didn’t look up. His eyebrows furrowed together again as he tried to get the muscle definition of her thigh just right. She hummed thoughtfully.

“Yeah, maybe.” She was always wary of letting people into her life. Too many people meant a whole slew of distractions. But if slowing down always felt so nice… “Maybe you can help reel me in sometimes.”

Steve beamed, suddenly overwhelmed with pride at her willingness to let him into her little world. Then he nodded.

“I’d be happy to try.”

The two didn’t talk much after that, just continued their slow, drawn out conversations with replies every few minutes until the sun had gone down and Steve was satisfied with his progress. He set to packing his things up, and (Y/N) stood up and put her clothes back on.

“Thank you for doing this.” He turned to look at her as she pulled her shirt and sweater back on. Suddenly he wasn’t in professional mode. He was just Steve Rogers, a man alone with an intimidatingly beautiful woman. He fiddled with one of his pencils, sending her another glance. “I think you saved my ass on this one.:

She flashed a blinding smile and let out a bubby laugh that nearly melted him. She was incredible, and Steve was beginning to regret that one time that he’d told Bucky that he didn’t believe in love at first sight.

“I’m sure that’s not true. You’re a talented artist, you would have figured something out.” She argued, crouching to tie her shoes and doing her best not to meet his gaze for fear that she wouldn’t be able to make herself look away.

“Maybe, but you made it a hell of a lot easier.” He agreed as she finished with her laces.

“Happy to help. But it’s late, I should get back before my roommate starts to worry.” She told him reluctantly. He nodded his understanding and picked up her bag, swinging it onto his broad shoulder. She tipped her head and lifted an eyebrow in response.

“You said you needed to get home. And my ma woulda had my head if I ever let a lady walk alone in the dark. I’m not gonna let her down now.” He explained, clicking off lights around the room. She smiled and tipped her head down so that maybe her blushing wouldn’t be noticed. She needed to get a grip. He was just a guy! A handsome, talented, charmingly chivalrous guy.

“Alright, but only because I wouldn’t want you getting in trouble with your mom.” She gave in, but Steve had already known she would. He flicked off the last light as they headed out the door.

The walk to the dorms wasn’t a particularly long one, and a comfortable silence fell over the pair, both of them lost in their own thoughts. (Y/N) gave up on trying to keep her mind from wandering. She imagined Steve walking her home after her performances, or after a nice dinner date. Then she was imagining him kissing her goodnight slow and sweet before she went inside. She looked over at him only to find him already looking her way.

He’d put his backpack on properly, her bag hiked up on his shoulder, and his hands tucked into the front pockets of his paint stained jeans. He hadn’t even noticed the way he was simply staring at her. He was too busy thinking about the way she carried herself. Even when she was just walking, she was so graceful, each step was taken with such conviction that it was clear she was a dancer. She made existing look like a flawless performance. He wouldn’t mind doing this more often. Walking her to wherever she needed to go, carrying her bag just so she wouldn’t have to be bothered.

When they reached her building, (Y/N) led the way to the elevator. She pressed the button for her floor, and neither of them spoke. Despite all the open space, they stayed close to one another, their arms brushing with every movement. He let her lead the way to her door where he reluctantly passed her bag back to her. She settled it on her shoulder and looked up at him.

“Do you live off campus?” She asked, pulling out her keys. Steve nodded and she held out her hand. “Let me give you my number. If I can’t walk you home I can at least make sure you get there safe.”

Steve didn’t dare argue with her. He simply handed over his phone and watched her plug in her number. She lifted the device, snapping a picture of him and texting it to herself before giving it back.

“Text me as soon as you get in, understand?” She threatened playfully, poking her finger into his very...very firm chest.

“Yes, ma’am.” A chuckle rumbled from his chest, and she appeared satisfied with the answer. She unlocked her door and nudged it open.

“Goodnight, Steve.”

“Night, (Y/N). I’ll talk to you when I get back home.” He promised. She nodded and closed the door behind her before he caught sight of her lovestruck smile.

Oh, she was in deep.

[dragimal]

Rot thoughts

I’m gonna do a quick n dirty meta abt the ways Rot relates to other Fears b/c I just think Rot is neato and I don’t need to explain myself further. I’m also using far more flattering/positive interpretations of the Fears than any of them prolly deserve, and I want to make it clear I’m v aware of that and I’m not trying to erase the horrific parts. I just think Gerry could’ve benefitted from some positive perspective on the Fears. anyways here we go

Eye: neither the Eye nor Rot has ANY sense of privacy or boundaries. you think you can hide any secrets from your hive-mates? the hive-mates that live in your brain and share your thoughts?? fool, it’s like living in a nosy small town but worse

Flesh: deterioration of self-identity for the use/sustenance of another-- “to be consumed by what you love”. very fine line b/t these two here, and I think it comes down to willingness. Rot rejoices in the loss of self-- there’s a real kinship and celebration to the consumption, and a *joining* between the consumer and the consumed. with Flesh there’s obviously a heavy layer of objectification to it all-- no matter what the subject may have wanted before, they are simply a slab of meat to be used by the consumer

Vast: then jumping off THAT, the idea that your individual experience is insignificant compared to vastness of existence and/or the hive. the fine line here, I think, is in the reaction to that revelation. Vast sees that and reacts selfishly, “nothing matters, so I can do what I like with my small, insignificant slice of time on Earth!” where Rot sees that and thinks, “alone I am nothing, thus I must work alongside my kin to make any sizable mark on the world”

Web: actions controlled by others, for the good of a collective? lack of autonomy in general? there ya go

Hunt: I honestly wouldn’t have had much to say here before, but then s5 gave us Blood Ties, and now I’m thinking abt the comparisons to be made b/t hives and packs (as described in-canon), and their subsequent ingroup/outgroup biases. also solidarity over media just NOT knowing how social animals and their groupings function 🤝

Extinction, Desolation: tbh I think of both Extinction/Desolation as slightly different takes on the idea of destruction ushering forth renewal. extinction plays a huge role in evolution and life as we know it, fires are a natural part of certain ecological cycles which are necessary to wipe out old/overgrown areas, and u could argue the “destroy the past which holds you back” angle for Desolation as well. Rot, of course, plays a critical role in ecological systems across the planet, cycling out nutrients/resources for all life

Stranger: now Stranger gives us an interesting mix of what I said abt both Flesh and Extinction/Desolation. on the Flesh side, neither Rot nor Stranger seem to have much love for individuality or self-identity. on the Ext/Des side, both Rot and Stranger take something apart (self-identity) to build something new (a horrifying Something Else amalgam)

Lonely: I’ve actually seen a ton of ppl make connections b/t the Lonely and Rot via Prentiss’ fixation on Martin so that’s interesting. anyways they both target lonely ppl, but rather than revel in it, Rot tries to ‘cure’ loneliness

Buried: now it may seem weird to say that Rot can share traits w/ two fears as diametrically opposed as Vast AND Buried but listen. I think there’s something to the idea of a community fully surrounding you. but also a community holding you back-- suffocating you in mind, body, and spirit. also worms! 👏 love! 👏 dirt!! 👏 👏

ok that’s all I’ve got

MY CONCLUSION: the defining traits of Rot-- and where Rot intersects most distinctly with other Fears-- are as follows: 1) lack of autonomy/individuality/privacy, 2) serving others/a community, and 3) destroying the current iteration of a thing to build a new thing with the pieces

I don’t know where I was going with this I just think it’s. neat

[lucarioisinthevoid]

swap personalities au. Jeremy is to be feared and puppet is an uwu. mike is soft no cuss man. Henry has a lorge soul and feels all emotions v much. thats all i got lol

Okay, this escalated into half an AU, so I’ll put a read more, because this really is long as hell. Tldr though, Jeremy is a horrible sadistic cunt using religion to justify his hatred for others and his bad treatment of them, Mike is constantly unsure of himself and tries to be nice but is fairly miserable, Phoney is the happiest guy on earth who LOVES life, Dave is a sociopath, but a well-adjusted, serious one, Marion is an innocent being constantly crying in his little box- And Henry has done a lot of mistakes in his life and is now stuck in his suit, his fear of life turned into nothing but mourning, while being tortured by one of his victims for all eternity. Frankly though, I’m still trying to figure out if their goals and moral stances would still stay the same if their personality switched, HMMMM- I’m having fun with this, this might become an actual AU. I just wrote out a segment as a writing exercise, heh. -

Fredbear’s was Jeremy’s favorite place. It wasn’t as much the attractions there, as it were the employees he worked with. Though, then again, there was one attraction he was REALLY fond of. Comfortable he sat on the music box, the melody being accompanied by loud and agonized sobs. They wouldn’t let him sleep. The box’s mechanism needed electricity to work, using the crank charged it all up, causing the soul inside immense pain. It was his favorite attraction, because the sound always reminded him of his father, back in his childhood. It was familiar. Nice. Comforting. “It’s not because I hate you.” He causally told the box, drawing another muffled howl from within it. “It is more because I’m bored. I want to listen to music. It is not my fault you are in there, you see? Not my fault at all.” Slowly he winded it up one more time, smiling to himself as he heard footsteps approaching. Not the Phone Guy, no. He was too prone to mind his own business. There was only one person who could step up like this. Hesitant, despite already being here. “What is it.” Jeremy finally asked, cold and snappy, suppressing another smile at the wince coming from the other employee. “I- I think you might- well- if you could- you know- I-“ “Hurry the fuck up. I don’t have all day.” Sharply Mike sucked in the air through his teeth, close to tears, but trying to force a smile. “H-hey, maybe you should- not- wind the box?” “Oh? Why?” “B-because the crying, it’s- I-“ He took a shaky breath. “Idon’tlikeit-“ “You don’t?” Pretending to be surprised, Jeremy put his hand in front of his mouth, “I’m SO sorry! You see, crying is actually quite the nice sound. It is the sound of being needed! But of course, a cruel man as you yourself would not understand how wonderful it is to bring comfort to other beings. And it is not like anyone is getting hurt. You are not trying to say the machines have REAL feelings right? Don’t be stupid.” “N-no, not-“ “See? Nothing wrong with that.” “But-“ “What is it with you? Why are you still trying to bother me about this? Are you having an episode again? Are you going to try to hurt me? I know there is a small part within you that just wants to HURT people. You disgust me.” Mike opened his mouth, but was incapable of saying anything. “Yes, that “demon”, that sometimes causes you to black out and wake up surrounded by nothing but agony. You are delusional with your talk about it being Fredbear. Maybe you should just accept that you are horrible and a danger to be around. Maybe you should just leave. Never come back. This world is better off without dangerous sinners like you.” Finally it was enough for Mike and he turned on the spot running off. Jeremy watched after him, disinterested. He wouldn’t do anything more exciting than that. Too much of a coward to take the last step. Though then again, he would tattle on him. Groaning the boy stepped off the box, looking back at it. The sobs have quieted down. The foolish soul inside still trying to keep ahold of its optimism really intrigued Jeremy. Sure, he did god’s work, trying to convince the soul to leave by any means possible- after all, nobody was allowed to hide from the fires of hell- but it was so utterly stubborn. Despite nothing being left, no inkling of a motivation, he stuck around. God must really hate him. Everyone in this restaurant really. But before he could think about it any further, from behind there was a small cough. He turned around, facing the owner of the location. It always took a second for Jeremy to remember it weren’t the man’s glasses that shined, but the eyes behind it. The Purple Guy looked down at him expressionless. “Did you harass Mike again.” It wasn’t even a question, he knew the answer. “No.” Fully confident he said. “But I would not expect a sociopath to understand the difference between harassment and a normal talk.” “… sociopathy is not depriving me of being able to understand and listen to my employees, Mr. Fitzgerald. Nor does it take my morals. I can still recognize your behavior as abhorrent. Why did I even hire you?” “Because you’re into small boys?” He grinned widely, then shrugged as though he hadn’t just leveled an abhorrent accusation at him. “Because I’m the only one willing to deal with Henry?” “… how about you do what you do what you were hired for then. Mr. Fitzgerald.” “Sure, sure. Oh, but maybe you should shortly check behind you, slightly to the right, where Phoney is putting a stack of party hats on fire and trying to put them onto his head?” He started laughing as William quickly turned and rushed off to save the wild Phone-headed man from probably damage, potential death. No way in hell that Jerry would tell him he was the one constantly smuggling in the lighters, since the grumpy guy at the price corner refused to do so. Instead he sneaked into the saferoom of the location, though he probably didn’t have to. Inside there only really was one thing. An old, slowly rotting golden suit. But that never fooled Jeremy. He might was surrounded by idiots, but so far the brain rot hadn’t hit him. “Well, Henry, how are we doing today?” The suit didn’t react. “Aw. Another day of no attention? What is it? Cannot even give me the littlest bit of appreciation for keeping you from breaking into pieces and making your existence even more painful?” Nothing came back. “… well then again, you probably think you deserve it. Which you absolutely do. Not even hell wants you. Nobody wants a child murder.” The suit’s clawed paw twitched, making Jeremy giggle in delight. “That NEVER fails. Fantastic. But is that all I am getting?” He proceeded to grab a bucket from the side, filling it with warm water and soap. “It’s really pathetic. You made that suit as your protection. Your shield from the world you cared too much about. You used the suit to play the big man, to tell people off, Fredbear was a rude bastard and it was the only way you could protect anything you loved. And now? The least you could do would be to go out there and bite all of these heathen’s heads off. But you won’t. Because Fredbear was just a suit and you’re just a coward.” Bemused he started to sprinkle water on the unresponsive suit. Washing, oiling, keeping it in check. “Too bad. I guess I have to wait until the locust descend to feast on their flesh during the end of days.” There was still nothing. Finally Jeremy quieted down, uncomfortable. Just wash it and get done with it. “… bad people deserve bad things. And bad things happen to bad people.” He quietly mumbled. “I’m not wrong with this. I’m not even that bad towards them. They would fucking kill me or worse if that would profit them. They are heathens without any sort of moral compass pretending to be all harmless and nice.” He hadn’t noticed Fredbear’s head slowly moving to the side to be able to look at him in his position. The chuckle made him snap up however. “… projecting… won’t protect you… from your shame…” “You- YOU-“ The boy squeezed the rag, soapy liquid running down his arm. Then he laughed, abruptly and harshly. “Oh NOW you are talking. To accuse me of NONSENSE. Meanwhile your friend William is broken up about your passing and you just sit here- like you COULDN’T if you WANTED. Shows how much you care. Just move on to the afterlife and take your punishment.” Once more there was nothing. Jeremy gritted his teeth, trying to control his temper. “You will NOT make me act in wrath. You will NOT drag me down. You will burn on your own, you creature lower than DIRT.” Outside Mike had finally calmed down, staying around Simon for a bit really had lifted his spirits again. There was just something about his unbridled joy about being alive that nobody could escape. But there was something he had to do. The customers had cleared out, so he could allow himself to sit down next to the box, without feeling bad about putting more pressure onto the other dayshift workers. “… h-hey. Can you… can you hear me? I’m- hey, how about- I might could take you out of there if you- if you would like to-“ The crying had subsided, but the lid stayed firmly on. “Nobody would mind! I think. I mean, I’m sure. Yes. Please, you… don’t have to be alone in there.” A weak voice sounded, muffled. “… no thank you.” “Ah- s-sorry. I just- I hate what is happening to you. I- I wish I could do something. I’m so sorry.” “… it’s not your fault.” “It sure feels like it though.” Gently Mike sighed. “Hey… I could… tell you a story maybe? I really want you to feel better…” There was hesitation from inside. “… can I tell you a story instead?” “Is- is it a nice one…?” “… no.” There was a short break. “But I hope you will listen to it anyways…” “O-okay. No problem. Not- not at all!” He quieted down to listen. From the distance, Old Sport leaned against the wall, watching on. Phone Guy attempted to sneak up, but was quickly frozen in place by a glare. It softened up however and he waved him over. “Phoney. Still alive?” “Alive and well and wouldn’t want it any different!” Happily the man agreed. “What about you?” “Eh. Neither truly happy nor truly alive, but still optimistic.” “What’cha looking at?” “… Mike. Kinda worry for him. He seems so unsure about everything.” “Oh, I’m sure he’s just nervous about this new job. We’ll get him out of that shell, and if we have to drag him!” “That… sounded like a threat.” “Oh. Oh no! I didn’t mean that!” Quietly Old Sport chuckled and patted his pal on the head. “I know. Just wanted to give you a heads up. I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.” “Trouble? I don’t want any trouble, that’s true! But a lot of so called “trouble” is just an adventure waiting to happen!” “… sometimes. Not in this case though.” “Awww, that’s too bad.” Both of them looked onto the tormented smile on Mike’s face in the distance. Again Old Sport sighed and looked at Phone Guy. “Do me a favor and look after him, alright? I worry for him.” “Everything will work out. I promise! I’m the manager, it’s my job to take care of everyone! Even Jeremy. Especially Jeremy. Poor boy has some issues too. But nothing that can’t be fixed with patience and love!” “I take your word for it.”

[fallout-snippets]

Hello it me again, I L O V E your longer reacts and ur writing is just amazing. I would die if u did the interested! companions (+Deacon) reacting to sole almost dying but barely surviving like they get knocked out or have a really bad injury and go into surgery and wake up alright (totally up to u!) And it just being real angsty and sad. Sorry if this is a lil confusing I hope you have fun with this prompt and thank u for reading anyway. 💕

(sorry if im taking too many liberties and artistic choices with the replies but i want to make them unique, also kinda lost wind at the end cause theyre kinda long)

Cait is a furious mess in the waiting room, refusing to leave until she can see Sole again. It had just been a lucky shot by a lucking fucking raider but it’s enough to turn everything upside down and Cait wishes she hadn’t had to pick up Sole and run the hell out of there and instead could give that raider the beating of a lifetime. To soothe her nerve she plans out how to track them down and imagines what she’ll do to them.

It takes a few hours of silence from the operating room until the doctor finally emerges and she’s close to wrestling the poor guy down to ask what took so long but she keeps her cool, the way Sole told her to. It seems that Sole will recover without any lasting injuries but he requests that she lets them rest which she scoffs at, and pushes back the man so she can see them.

The doctor obviously can’t convince her to leave and instead resigns to at least getting her a chair. Cait spends the rest of the night and day sitting next to Sole, sobbing into their sheets when she knows they won’t notice. She holds their hand, feels their warmth and lets that be the thing that calms her down.

Once Sole wakes up though, she won’t be so vulnerable. They’re going to get an earful from her about being so careless and she’ll make sure they know that’s not going to fucking happen again.

Curie regrets becoming a human when she’s alone in the field with a Sole that might be bleeding out infront of her. She hates how her hands shake, how sickly cold she feels and how warm their blood feels on her hands as she tries to put pressure on the wound.

Her brain switches from a logical approach to a terrified one, between what she can do and has to do and what might happen if she does it wrong and she wishes she still had a stone cold approach to an injured patient. Instead it’s Sole. She might lose them for real and she feels a lump in her throat grow.

Thankfully Sole has passed out, for better or worse, and Curie puts a cloth over their face to make them anonymous. She brings out an emergency toolkit and some stimpaks and forces a deep breath. It takes a great mental strength to force her fear away so that she can get to work but soon she focuses only on the wound. She makes sure it’s clean, nothings stuck inside and she carefully administers the stimpak inside to out, letting the cellular regeneration slowly close the wound from inside.

Once she’s done she sits down, removes the cloth from their face to wipe her hands but she can’t bring herself to move. She feels sick and nauseous, something she never thought she’d feel doing something as natural as that. When Sole wakes up she’ll force herself to come back but for now she just sits and tries not to think about her hands inside Soles abdomen with their life hanging on a thread.

Danse doesn’t notice anything wrong at first. He’s been trained to take the situation seriously and never celebrate until they’re safe home again but it’s been a while since he’s been a soldier and it’s hard not to celebrate around Sole. So he doesn’t notice that not everyone is dead.

Sole makes a remark about the awful outfit the dead man infront of them has on and Danse chuckles and turns around to relieve the other man of his ammunition. He doesn’t hear the grunts of a survivor and he doesn’t hear them approaching but he hears the crunch of a blunt object connecting with Soles scalp. It echoes for weeks afterwards.

He quickly eliminates the threat but Sole has already slumped together on the floor, blood quickly pooling beneath them and he has never been this scared before. He does what he can to… keep the pieces together and he picks them up to bring them back somewhere safe. They don’t wake up for a while.

It’s not until Sole slowly blinks their eyes open in the safety of their home that he finally allows himself to cry. He sobs through an apology, begs them to please forgive him, while they softly comb his hair with their fingers, waiting to figure out what happened.

Deacon is the king of pranking and is pleased to have finally found a worthy opponent in Sole. It can range from placing a whopee cushion under their seat to staging a lovers spat in a full bar and he is living for it. So when Sole is dramatically complaining about the burning heat he just laughs and tells them to cool off.

With a smirk they toss him their jacket and pack and dive into the waters they’ve been travelling next to and he laughs louder for the sheer drama of it. What a match made in heaven. He waits for Sole to reemerge to splash him down but they dont and instead the surface grows still. Until their body slowly floats to the surface and he prays it’s just another prank.

It could be. Sole knows how to get under his skin. But there’s red leaking into the water from their head and he takes a look into the murky water and finds it filled with large rocks hidden just below. Quickly he throws himself in to pull them out, dragging them onto the dusty road.

The cut on their head isn’t deep and won’t be lethal but they’re unconscious and he’s struggling with what to do. He vaguely remembers how to do CPR and gets started, trying not to lose his shit in the process. He ends up getting water spat in his face but Sole coughing is music to his ears. He allows himself to hold on to their shoulder for a second longer than he needs to before he forces out a laugh.

“Did you cool down?”

Hancock likes being a little reckless, it’s good for the soul. Gets you out of your comfort zone and helps you sharpen up. Plus it’s fun. So Hancock’s not exactly complaining when he takes up with Sole who isn’t afraid of a fight, on the contrary; he downright loves it.

It can range from switching from guns to a fistfight just for the hell of it or batting baseball grenades into a super mutan stronghold just because they can. So when Sole suggests a shortcut from the roof of a three story building to the bus below he doesn’t think much of it. He declines it himself, knowing he doesn’t have it in him to do it but Sole has survived much worse with barely a scratch.

Except he sees them get ready and they leap like a bird ready to take flight but instead of a thud of them landing on the roof he hears glass breaking. He hurries to the ledge and finds Sole in a pile of broken glass and blood, staring at their bloodsoaked hands in shock. Somehow they landed on the sunroof window and fell through the bus.

Suddenly he can’t breathe and he feels ants crawling all over him and he doesn’t care that it’s not even reckless, it’s just stupid, but he throws himself off the edge onto the bus as well. Luckily the wounds are only superficial and Sole recovers quickly with carefully placed stimpaks but he shakes for hours afterwards with the image of a slashed Sole below him. It could’ve been worse, it looked worse, and sometimes he can’t shake the feeling that it was worse and he’s living in a comfort high to cope with it.

MacCready has always been afraid of ferals, even before that happened. It’s knowing they used to be people that terrifies him the most, the idea that there used to be a person inside and now there’s nothing but rot. That they’re just creatures, full of rage and hunger.

Usually when there’s a group of them Sole allows him to fall back and let them deal with it, much to his relief. The sounds they make, the shuffling of their feet on their ground. Everything comes back in vivid detail and he feels sick to his stomach. But this time it’s different. Maybe there’s one too many or maybe Sole is having an off day but they overwhelm them.

He hears Sole screaming as they’re wrestled to the ground, ferals biting and scratching through their clothes to get to their skin. He barely remembers what comes next, in his mind he’s trapped back with Lucy trying to save Duncan but when he comes to again his hands are bloody and torn.

The whole thing comes flooding back and he assumes the worst, reliving his nightmare again but he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder. Sole is behind him, standing behind the couch he’s suddenly in, and they’re clearly wounded but alright. He sees bitemarks on them and fights the urge to cry but the tears come anyway. At least this time he could save Sole before they got them.

Piper knows she’s not winning any popularity contests in Diamond City but she’s surprised at how many people seem opposed to Sole specifically. On a good night they’ll be left alone, maybe swap some stories with some random passerby, but more often than not someone has to voice their opinion.

Sole is used to it by now and tries to take it in stride. Theres plenty of drunk idiots at the Dugout Inn and there’s no reason to deal with all of them. This time, however, it doesn’t seem to be enough. Sole turns around to ask them to please leave but the person in question brings out a knife and stabs them in the abdomen.

Piper can’t help but to scream and rush to catch Sole who clutches their stomach and stumbles backwards with blood gushing out from their fingers. The person quickly scatters in the crowd but Piper doesn’t care. She screams for help and luckily people may dislike Sole but not that many dislike them enough to want to see them dead and someone gets a cloth to press on the wound.

Soles spends a few weeks in bed, resting and moaning everytime they turn around in bed and everytime Piper feels a sickening guilt spill over. It could’ve been worse. A knife in your stomach is more often than not lethal. She has to pay more attention, she owes that to Sole. Piper keeps thinking what life would be like if Sole died and everytime it makes her sob into her scarf.

Preston believes in the best of people and that no one is above another. Luckily Sole believes the same. They almost feel like a reward for all the horrible things he’s had to endure and he can’t tell them enough how glad he is they’re with him.

He doesn’t want to imagine the place he’d be in if it hadn’t been for them saving him. But when Sole neglects to tend to a minor wound that ends up infected, it’s all he thinks about. What if this is it? What if the universe is taking back his one good thing, the one glowing ember in the ashes?

Preston doesn’t know how to act. Things seem to move on in the rest of the world, people take care of themselves in the settlements that Sole built, but for Preston nothing is moving. He barely breathes. He sits by their bed and wipes the feversweat from their forehead, he talks to them when they’re in such deep sleep it looks like death.

Will he sit by their grave like this too?

Gage has seen Sole do some pretty fucked up things and come out of it more or less unharmed. It seems like nothing really cuts them deep enough to make a dent which seems perfect for a troublemaker.

Who would’ve known a simple antbite would be enough to make them fall deathly ill and lie in bed for several weeks? Their leg swells up to twice its size and it turns an awful purple shade while a fever rages in their body, making him think for sure that’s that. No coming back from that one.

He doesn’t really know how to feel about it. He hasn’t really cared enough about someone else before and the way he’s feeling now he doesn’t think he ever will. Gage is more angry than anything, but not at Sole. He’s furious that something as inane as a bugbite might take them out when they’ve done so many incredible things normal humans shouldn’t be able to.

But more than that he’s angry to think he might end up alone again. As pathetic as it makes him sound, he needs them. Their comfort, their company… their laughter. He sits outside their room most of the time, unable to face them but unable to leave. All he can do is hope that the chems he’s scavenged are enough.

[sarcasticbabywhispererjess]

The movie “Secret Obsession” opens with the main character Jennifer being chased through a rest stop bathroom by a knife wielding maniac. She escapes out into the rain (very dramatic), gets hit by a car and is subsequently brought to the hospital. 

The following happens in the hallway of the hospital and OR...

Bagging patient randomly off and on.

“She’s going into v-fib.” (closed captioning says v-tach)

No compressions are started.

“She’s unstable.” (no shit)

No one starts compressions… way to fail ACLS step 1. Get on the chest!

“We need to start compressions.” Yes, please!

No one actually starts compressions, but someone does listen to her with a stethoscope.

“Miss can you hear me?” She’s in v-fib and you’re not doing compressions, her brain isn’t being perfused… she ain’t gonna answer you, doc.

“She’s unresponsive.” Ya think?

“I’m losing a pulse.” She’s been in v-fib, but had a pulse this whole time? I think your monitor is faulty. Also, why start compressions if there’s a pulse… not that they have done any compressions so far.

Still no compressions.

Shocks with 300 joules… with paddles that we don’t ever use anymore. (You don’t shock with 300 joules on any defibrillators, 120-200 on biphasic, or 360 on monophasic… yes I looked this up.)

“Bradycardia. 30… 90/50.”

Patient is in an organized rhythm and has a pretty good BP.

“Charge to 360”  What?! Why?! Shocks her again. 

WTF?! Why did you shock her? You don’t shock bradycardia.

“Get another amp of epi”… shocks again. 

That was three shocks in like a minute… never any compressions.

Pulse is now 75… they call it a success and say they can start surgery.

That was a DISASTER of a code. I get that it’s a movie, but codes are exciting when you follow actual ACLS guidelines (less defibrillating though), they didn’t need to do this. Plus, just edit and reorder some of those lines and it would have made more sense. Also... 

DO SOME FUCKING COMPRESSIONS!

Ok, below I continue with a play by play and commentary on the rest of the movie... warning, spoilers ahead.

Jennifer is in a hospital bed, extubated after surgery, but hadn’t regained consciousness after surgery. No, we don’t do that. 

Leg is in a brace and sling. Huh? Why?

Has Coban, but no gauze wrapped around her head like a headband (not sure where her injury is… somewhere near her hippocampus since that is where her brain injury is according to the doctor when he is explaining about how her memory is going to be affected by her brain injury) and random pieces of white tape on her nose and fingers. ???

Jennifer is in the hospital for several weeks it seems after the montage of memory card games and learning to push her own wheelchair. All of her facial abrasions are healed as she’s being discharged which also denotes the passing of time. I’m not quite sure why they kept her so long. 

She is standing at the counter and is told by the nurse discharging her (who also was there the night she was admitted) that her CT results came back and is given a vague update. Nurse gives her prescription bags… I mean, I guess it’s a nurse, she’s not wearing a badge but is wearing a stethoscope around her neck  (confirmed later, she’s a nurse). She gives Jenn a cane to walk with when she gets home… 2-3mins a day (That’s like no time at all). Jenn is given no instruction of how to use it, I’ve only ever seen her use a wheelchair.

Jennifer is sent home with a wheelchair. Her leg brace is gone. So can she not walk because of her brain injury, not her leg injury?

Man, this nurse works a lot… she seems to be there every day/night. And she’s in charge of follow-up calls/appointments. They’re in California, so at least she probably makes pretty good money since she runs the whole damn hospital.

OK, cane/wheelchair is because of her leg. Why the fuck doesn’t she just have crutches? That’s dumb. I guess it’s to make her more helpless.

God damn, her skin is so nice. 

Russell and Jenn start to get intimate, Jenn has a scary memory flash and rebukes his advances. Russell doesn’t take it well. He roughly grabs her arm. He starts talking about how much he has done for her and how he’s her husband (is he though?), so he deserves better. Twat. Jenn is freaked out both by her memory and Russell’s behavior, but just turns off the light, rolls over away from him, and goes to bed. I would have left. 

Damn, nurse Masters is still at work? She literally works 24/7 in this ED. Jenn still has an active chart? There are doctor’s notes in it? This place hasn’t switched to EMR yet? But they have high res security cameras that hospital security can pull up and email files within minutes? Impressive. Do a lot of crimes happen in this hospital? So those are their priorities? Weird.

Wtf is a heritage tattoo? That’s how the detective figured out her maiden name? Seems far fetched, but I’m not looking it up.

The detective enters Jennifer’s home that she shared with her parents according to records… and he keeps touching things without gloves on. You’re a shit detective, dude. How have her parents been dead this whole time and no one has looked for them? They didn’t have jobs? Were they hermits?

Russell leaves and Jenn hears a lock sound from the bedroom door. She jiggles the door handle and can’t get it open, “Did he just lock it?” Well he didn’t unlock it ya dumb bitch.  Well apparently she was some kind of criminal in her past life, so she can open locks with a bobby pin. Really? The password on Russell’s computer is Jennifer’s maiden name. FFS. This is the most unrealistic thing in the movie. 

Why would he cut the cord for the internet? Just to be dramatic. He could just as easily have just unplugged the cord and taken it with him. Did he not want to use the internet anymore either? Anyway, he planned far ahead enough to disable the internet just in case she got into the computer, but didn’t delete all the pictures pre-photoshopping off his computer? Idiot.

Who just swallows a pill that someone puts in their mouth just because they also forced water into your mouth? You’re not a dog, Jennifer. 

Russell uses a chain and lock that he happens to have in his pocket to chain her to the bed. Pretty sure she can get that chain off of her ankle if she wanted to. It’s not that tight.

Oh my goodness, nurse Masters isn’t at work! Russell is super weird to her and then speeds away from the store where he bought lye.

The chain is much tighter suddenly… but loose enough that Jenn could get it off. Ok, wtf is wrong with her leg… she can’t seem to straighten it from like 30 degrees… they should’ve kept that brace on her from the beginning of the movie and also done more ROM exercises with her while she was in the hospital for all those weeks. She apparently used to be some kind of medic? Duct tape as an ace bandage ankle wrap? Probably not the most effective, but could be worse. Though I imagine she’d only have some soft tissue injury from that chain, I don’t know if she needs to wrap her ankle.

Jenn gets into the garage where she acts like it smells bad.. like a dead body, maybe? She hides in her car that is in the garage when fake Russell gets home. He also acts like the garage reeks. Why does he open the trunk to see the real Russell’s dead body? Like, he knows that it’s in there and he could already smell the decomposing body… he just wanted a better whiff? Also, why hasn’t he buried the body yet? He buried that witness the day he killed him. Well, semi-buried… it was a really shallow grave that Jenn tripped onto and touched the dude’s hand.  Honestly, he did a piss-poor job at hiding the body. Also, now that I’m thinking about it, real Russell’s body isn’t very decomposed for having been in the trunk of a car in a hot garage for several weeks (unless the garage has A/C, but there would still be a lot more rotting of the flesh after such a long time). Jennifer’s parents bodies decomp was much more progressed even though it seems they’ve all been dead the same amount of times.

The detective is at “their” house, he knows Russell isn’t Russell and there’s something nefarious afoot. This detective needs to go back to detective school. Stop touching potential evidence without gloves on. Why would fake Russell just cover up an old sign that has his actual last name on it? Just get a new sign, you nut job. Well, the shitty detective isn’t aware of his surroundings and doesn’t have his gun drawn, so of course fake Russell/Ryan is able to sneak up behind him and hit him over the head. He’s dead… actually probably just unconscious in an ice chest since fake Russell is only good at killing people most of the time. Also, I have a feeling we’re going to need the detective later to help save Jenn.

Uh oh, glasses are off… I guess he’s not Russell anymore. He’s crazy, obsessive Ryan.

Yes, take time to watch that video on your phone, Jenn… get sentimental while you’re trying to run for your life. 

Why is this dude so hyper focused on this chick? He’s hot. He could have his pick of plenty of girls. I suppose it’s hard to think in rational/logical terms with a sociopath no matter what he looks like. 

Oh good… he’s doing the villain speech where he explains his backstory. Apparently he had to light a single taper for it. I have a feeling the candlestick holder might come into play later… in Jennifer’s benefit. No, wait... he left the lighter and tied her up with flammable rope.  But she knocked it on the floor… moron.

Oh good, the detective is alive. He’ll save them both even if he’s also an idiot. Since all women need saving. 

Wait, she got herself out. Why hit him with the vase? The solid metal candle holder would’ve been a better choice. Solid work falling down the stairs, Jenn

The detective is out of the ice chest. And he’s using the Babe from Kill Bill incentive… yelling at himself to make his brain/muscles work. He at the very least has a concussion/TBI from being knocked unconscious, yelling at yourself doesn’t fix that.

Jennifer! Why are you going into the woods? You have his keys and there are so many cars on the property, you probably have a key that will work on at least one of them. Even if you didn’t have the keys, if you can pick a lock, can’t you hotwire a car too?  Why do you think you’d get better signal in the mother fucking woods? Yes, try to hit him with a heavy log that you can barely lift. You’ll get good momentum and swing. Just use one of those rocks you just threw to distract him. Idiot.

Ok, she shot fake Russell/Ryan in the back while he was wrestling with the detective. The first shot was fairly high in the chest and had a pretty good chance of hitting his lung or something important, but he’s still able to come at her. Her second shot got him in the upper right abdomen, so probably the liver and he just goes down... dead. FFS. At least have shot him in the heart area, that would’ve been slightly more believable. Oh well, I guess that’s that. A little follow up with the detective and Jenn. She’s moving back to San Jose (hopefully she’s getting a new place since her parents were murdered in her old house) and the detective is moving to AZ even though he never found his daughter that had gone missing as a child many years ago (a part of his backstory that brought nothing to the story and was never resolved).

Guys, this was not a great movie. I did kind of enjoy tearing it apart though.

[marril96]

Smokescreen

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: Rowena’s attempt at a surprise goes up in flames.

A/N: @angel-e-v-a and @rowenaisfabulous liked a backstory bit I mentioned in my fanfic Fluffs, so I decided to write it. It is not necessary to read that fic to understand this one, though. The two are totally separate.

Editor: @oswinthestrange

You couldn't have been gone for more than an hour. It was a quick run to the post office, a trip you'd made countless times. It was impossible for something to happen, for something to go horribly, terribly wrong in that amount of time. This was a small town. Aside from a few quarrels between neighbors, nothing ever happened here. Nothing sinister. Nothing remarkable.

Or so you'd thought until two minutes ago when the taxi had dropped you off in front of your house.

In front of your house, whose wide-open windows bled smoke like gaping wounds, while firefighters, scattered around your yard like crimson ants, rushed in and out, left and right, a flurry of movement and pounding feet and raised voices.

Heart stopping dead in its tracks, you started running toward it. The smoke, thick, dark, seeped out in gallons. Your house, shiny white, was tinted grey as if someone had wrapped a cloud of mist around it. What happened? How big was the damage? Had someone — a hunter, a demon, an unfriendly witch — attacked Rowena while you were away?

Where was Rowena?

Your blood ran cold, followed by a chilly cascade of shivers sliding down your spine. You looked around frantically, desperate, pleading to every deity you could think of that she was okay, that she was safe and unharmed and far away from danger. Please, you begged. Please, be okay. Please, be okay, Please be okay.

A rush of images flooded your brain. Tossed furniture. Blood-smeared walls. A charred skeleton lying in the middle of the room with a phone on its chest. A lock of hair on the bed, as crimson as blood on the walls, neatly folded, a souvenir of what had gone on. A prize. Pieces of scalp still clinging to it, staining the sheets underneath it.

The smell, as fresh as the day you'd first felt it, flared up your nostrils, burning like acid. The smell of burnt flesh, of death, of everything good forever gone, never to return again. Never to be the same again.

No!

You shook the thoughts away. It hadn't happened again. It couldn't have! Lucifer was dead, rotting in the Empty forever. Hunters, rogue witches, and everything and everyone else Rowena could handle.

Right?

Just as another horrible stream of thoughts flashed in your mind, you saw her. In the corner of the yard, behind a couple of firemen who were discussing something amongst themselves, Rowena stood tall (well, as tall as she could manage at her height) and proud. Her head was held high, lips a firm line that betrayed nothing, face equally blank. No emotion, all business. If the incident affected her (and you were certain it did), she didn't show it. These people, these strangers didn't get to see her weak. They didn't get to see her hurt.

"Rowena!" you called, relief washing over you. She was okay, you told yourself. She was safe. You had nothing to worry about.

She turned to you, and a small flicker of a smile grazed her mouth. "Y/N!"

You headed for the yard, only to be stopped by a firefighter. "Ma'am, you can't go in there," he said in that professional tone cops usually used. Polite, but firm. A tad friendly around the edges for a better effect.

"I live here," you told him. Gesturing to Rowena, you said, "That's my girlfriend over there!"

"Alright," he conceded. "But go no further than the yard. The house has still not been cleared."

You gave a nod and went in. Rowena met you halfway. As soon as you were near her, you threw your arms around her, wrapping her in a tight, bone-crushing hug. She smelled like smoke, but other than that she appeared fine. She stood still as a statue, frozen in place; she let you hold her, let you pull her in and feel her, bask in her presence. She was alive. She was safe. Nothing else mattered.

"Honey, are you okay?" you asked, pulling back and looking her over.

"I'm fine," she said, more tired than distressed.

Her hands were on her stomach, one clasped over the other. On first glance it appeared to be nothing more than a nervous gesture, but as you looked more closely, you could make out dark, reddish markings sprawled over her lower hand.

"What's this?"

Before she could utter a response, your hands were on hers, gently pulling it free to look it over. Aside from a defeated sigh, Rowena made no protests. It was useless to fight you. A losing battle she'd stopped engaging in a long time ago.

The top of her pale hand was red. The stain was sprawled over it like a crimson bruise, deep, dark, painful to even look at, let alone bear. You stared at it, shocked, mouth agape, then your eyes met Rowena's once again and you got a sudden urge to hug her again. No wonder she hadn't hugged you back.

"Its nothing," she said nonchalantly, but you could tell by her expression it was anything but. It hurt. Not only that, it probably reminded her of the last time she'd been burned.

The time when it wasn't just her hand — her entire body had been burned to a crisp.

You shook the unpleasant memories away, willing them to stay in the back of your mind where they belonged. Twice in one day was enough. You didn't need to remember it. You didn't want to remember it. You wished there was a way to erase the horrifying images out of your head for good.

"It's not nothing. You're hurt!" you said. "You need to get that looked at."

"I do not!" Rowena insisted. "It's just a wee burn. I've had worse." She shot you a meaningful look as she said it, a wordless reminder that you were there, that you'd seen it, felt it, smelled it right alongside her. That you'd held her hand and talked to her, even when she couldn't answer, when her throat and mouth hadn't regenerated yet, for hours on end. She'd survived that, and she would survive a mere second degree wound on her hand.

You were about to tell her it didn't matter, that she was still hurt, when one of the firefighters standing nearby said, "We offered to call for an ambulance, but she refused."

"She's good considering the entire kitchen was on fire," the firefighter next to him said. "That, and she wouldn't let us into the house."

You shot Rowena a pointed glare, a (you hoped) perfect replica of her murderous one. She rolled her eyes dramatically.

"Because I'm fine," she said, exasperated. "I had everything under control until these red bampots shows up!"

"Rowena!" you hissed warningly, cheeks flaming with shame. A small smile bloomed up on your mouth, fake but polite. "She didn't mean that. She's in shock."

The firefighters didn't appear convinced, but, with tight smiles and curt nods, they let it go.

Rowena gave another roll of her eyes, equally dramatic as the first one. You swore she had to have practiced them in the mirror.

"What happened?" you asked.

"Just a wee accident."

You looked to the small streaks of smoke still seeping out the windows and back to her. Your eyebrow shot up, suspicious, disbelieving. "A wee accident?"

"Yes!" Rowena exclaimed. She turned her head to the side, suddenly finding the fence interesting. Desperate to avoid your eyes, your suspicion, your accusation. Giving a sigh, she said in a voice that was barely above a whisper, "I was trying to cook."

No way! You had to have heard it wrong. "You were what?"

She glared at you as if you'd just killed her entire family. "I was trying to cook!"

Before you could try to hold it back, a snort escaped you. Then another, and another, and soon your were laughing heartily as if you'd just heard the funniest joke of your life.

Rowena had tried to cook. Not only that, but she'd almost burned the house down while she'd been at it. If someone had told you that, you wouldn't have believed them.

Rowena never cooked. Never. She made potions and tea and various other beverages, but she never, ever cooked. She refused, and you respected that. The restaurant food the two of you ordered was more than excellent. There was no need for either her or you to cook.

As it turned out, there was a reason she never did.

"You're horrible!" she whined, cradling her burned hand to her chest. Her lower lip popped out in a pout. "Laughing at an injured woman."

"Sory," you said in-between fits of laughter. You took a breath, one, two, three deep ones, to regain your composure. "It's just… you never cook."

"I wanted to today," she said petulantly. A bratty little thing she was.

Your bratty little thing. You loved her exactly as she was.

"It was supposed to be a surprise."

You cocked up an eyebrow. "A surprise?"

"Aye." Her cheeks burned red, embarrassed, awkward. Adorable. "I wanted to make your favorite food."

The admission made you melt like an ice sculpture hit by bright, warm sun rays. She wanted to do something nice for you, wanted to surprise you, and had gotten hurt in the process. You couldn't be mad at her for that, couldn't laugh and poke fun. She had nothing but the best intentions at heart.

"You're adorable, you know that?" you said.

Rowena's eyes locked right with yours, defiant. "Am not."

"Are, too," you insisted. "My precious little cupcake."

"Y/N!" she warned, not at all appreciative of the nickname, especially surrounded by strangers.

You grinned. "You are! And I love you for it. So much." You grabbed her healthy hand in both of yours and gave it a squeeze. "But I beg of you, never try to cook again."

"I don't intend to," she said with a scowl.

"Good. One fire was enough."

A snort, and then a chuckle, accompanied your words.

Rowena rolled her eyes. "You will never let me live this down, will you?"

"Nope," you said, popping the p.

"That's what I get for trying to be nice."

"Uh huh. No good deed goes unpunished."

"Rude."

"Always, honey." You pecked her on the cheek, a swift brush of lips over warm, flushed skin. Your eyes trailed down to her injured hand. "You really should get that taken care of."

"I will, when we're allowed back in," Rowena said.

"I volunteer to be your nurse," you said.

She smirked. "Naughty."

"Pervert," you retorted, laughing.

"You started it," she said nonchalantly.

"It's not my fault you sexualize everything," you teased.

"Sure."

"It's not!"

"Keep telling yourself that, dear."

The banter lasted for a good few minutes, until the firefighters announced the house was safe to go back in. The smell of smoke would linger for a while, they warned, and gave a few tips on how to make it go away. You listened intently, even though the advice was useless to you; Rowena already had a spell ready. A few Latin words, and your house would smell as good as new.

And, once you made a call to the restaurant, it would smell like your favorite food.

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @victoriasagittariablack @rowenaswife @dropsofpetrichor @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @1-800ahs @darkhumorsblog @wayward-kaia @angel7376 @rowenaisfabulous @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a

[magic5ball]

Nature Trail to Hell Arc V: Back into Hell (V)

Chapter 5: From Beneath it Lurks

           The basement. Every ten year old’s worst fear outside of Barney the Dinosaur. Or the Underworld. Or Tako Shak. Or your evil corporate shill self. 

You know, after all the crap I’d been through over the summer, the basement was penny beans all considered. Anyway, no one knows why the basement became such a dreaded place among children the world over, though its’ close proximity to the underworld might have something to do with it. And really, who was to say the low moaning from below was the furnace and not, say, Al-biblibop, Vivisector of Souls? Certainly not my parents, that’s for sure.

           Funny thing is, the basement probably wasn’t even that long, though when your only light source is a birthday cake candle clenched in your fist, the darkness seems to go on forever. Not to mention every stray gust from old Jack Frost felt like some sort of monster breathing. But worst had to be the walls. Whoever had dug this tunnel had dug it in a way that made the walls fold in on each other like some sort of giant black intestine, with gross streaks of pink where the Salisbury Steak had cut roots through the place. Once, back in 1st Grade, I’d gotten lost on the way back from the tinkle room and waltzed right into a high school health class right in the middle of watching a colonoscopy video. Walking through that tunnel felt like reliving that nightmare all over again.

Shatner, funny enough, actually seemed amused by this comparison, like I’d just told him a good joke.

           This didn’t exactly calm my nerves, though. We kept our cleaver at the ready, itching to slice a monster at a moment’s notice. But you know what’s worse than a monster lunging out of the darkness at you? When no monster lunges out of the darkness at you. Because that means wherever you are, even child-eaten cretins want nothing to do with it. And why would monsters not want to be around?

Better to not know the answer to that, let me tell ya!

Ten feet we endured this. Ten long, tedious feet before we saw something. Or somethings, to be exact. They were black. They were green. They were orange and blue and every color in between. And they covered the walls like scribbly little snakes!

“Cave paintings!” gasped Shatner.

Indeed they were, the sorts you’d find tacked to the refrigerator door. An dif there’s one thing little me knew about cave paintings, it’s that just like with picture books, illustrations tell 90% of the story! This particular one involved a mysterious race of creatures that looked like men, but with only four fingers (and they most certainly were four fingered creatures; not ‘poorly drawn stick figures’ as a certain partner of mine likes to claim. Anybody with a brain could tell you those pencil thin bodies were a stylistic choice! Stylistic!) Things got right eerie, though, when we realized the stick figures looked a bit too much like us and Hilda (with four fingers, of course. And in my case, too fat). The drawing started out with the three stick figures living as servants to some scribbly black cloud, until one day they summoned what I can only call the most butt-ugly depiction of a poop I had ever seen. Remember that one kid in kindergarten (you know the one) who’d take all the crayons and just go wild all over the walls? Now imagine giving that kid six lattes and free reign over your house. Somehow the thing looked even nastier than that! And for those of you wondering if it’s possible to make a crayon drawing so terrifying it can make a guy wet his pants in five seconds flat, let’s just say Shat’s drawers weren’t exactly the cleanest after he laid eyes on the picture.

“B-b-bob Sardoth!” he sputtered, all over the walls “Bob-Sardoth!”

“Whozat?”

“I envy your ignorance of the dark secrets man was not meant to know.” Shatner spoke all serious-like.

I rolled my eyes. It was the same thing my Dad told me whenever I asked if the Easter Bunny crapped chocolate eggs.

           As for the painting story, it went on to show that dark cloud, Bob Sardoth or whatever, got into the kid’s mean ol’ master. First things seemed hunky dory in happy funtime land, with them all hopping through a field of white flowers Shatner told me were mountain laurels while a rainbow arched above them. (Relatively hunky dory. In my book, that’s what Hell looks like.) But after that, things really took a dive: lots of violent scribbles everywhere and hundreds of people toiling at… something while the demon-possessed master and the one that looked like Hilda laughed menacingly on a hill, like they were villains who’d just jumped out of one of my Saturday morning cartoons. Things got even more messy when the stick figures rose up and started beating the crap outta the Master. If there was one thing I wished the paintings showed, it was the whole fight, but the artist must have gotten lazy, because what followed were a bunch of swirly dark clouds before cutting to the aftermath.

           The stick figures, triumphant (I think) held hands in a circle around some giant star, looking up at the sky with large round Os in the middle of their heads. At the center of this circle was that Bob-Sardoth guy, getting sucked into this cute little animal with whiskers and a sausage body.

“Freddie!” gasped Shatner.

There was no mistaking it. The stick figures might have looked a tad like us, but that poorly drawn weiner schnitzel was undeniably Fred. And just when I thought the whole thing couldn’t get any wilder, Shatner pointed out something else beneath the whole thing.

“P-primitive writing! I-I think I can decipher it!” he sounded like he was about to faint.

“Really? So those scribbles are in some ancient language or something?”

“Actually, cursive. Very, very poor cursive. Whoever wrote this should be absolutely ashamed of their penmanship.”

The cave shuddered, pieces of rock clipping against the floor.

“A-anyhow, it reads ‘This is the chaunt by which the people sealed Bob Sardoth: Eye-‘“

           Well, it must have been the Jack Frost’s birthday because he chose right that moment to blow our cake candle right out! Only to take back his wish, because five horrifying seconds later, the light came back on. Except now, there were only muddy black walls when art had once been. In their place, at the end of the tunnel, was a ring of light surrounding a little square door that should have rotted away when my Grandma was a kid.

“No,” whispered Shatner “Nonononononono…”

“C’mon.” I told him “we’re here. I think. Let’s get this over with before we freeze to death!”

Together, we opened the door- nice and slow, like two kids sneaking on Santa.

                                                    .   .   .

(Author’s Note: For those reading, the next few chapters are gonna need quite a bit of polishing up, so I’m afraid this story will be going on hiatus for another month so I can clean them up. Thank you for sticking with this story all this time, it means a lot to me, and I promise I’ll do my best to make these next chapters truly great.)