#Now that I think about it that’s probably why the building was so cheap | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

petermorwood · 1 month

Text

More on pre-electricity lighting.

Interesting to see this one pop up again after nearly two years - courtesy of @dduane, too! :->

*****

After experiencing a couple more storm-related power cuts since my original post, as well as a couple of after-dark garden BBQs, I've come to the conclusion that C.J. Cherryh puts far too much emphasis on "how dark things were pre-electric light".

For one thing eyes adjust, dilating in dim light to gather whatever illumination is available. Okay, if there's none, there's none - but if there's some, human eyes can make use of it, some better or just faster than others. They're the ones with "good night vision".

Think, for instance, of how little you can see of your unlit bedroom just after you've turned off the lights, and how much more of it you can see if you wake up a couple of hours later.

There's also that business of feeling your way around, risking breaking your neck etc. People get used to their surroundings and, after a while, can feel their way around a familiar location even in total darkness with a fair amount of confidence.

Problems arise when Things Aren't Where They Should Be (or when New Things Arrive) and is when most trips, stumbles, hacked shins and stubbed toes happen, but usually - Lego bricks and upturned UK plugs aside - non-light domestic navigation is incident-free.

*****

Here are a couple of pics from one of those BBQs: one candle and a firepit early on, then the candle, firepit and an oil lamp much later, all much more obvious than DD's iPad screen.

Though I remain surprised at how well my phonecam was handling this low light, my own unassisted eyes were doing far better. For instance, that area between the table and the firepit wasn't such an impenetrable pool of darkness as it appears in the photo.

I see (hah!) no reason why those same Accustomed Eyes would have any more difficulty with candles or oil lamps as interior lighting, even without the mirrors or reflectors in my previous post.

With those, and with white interior walls, things would be even brighter. There's a reason why so many reconstructed period buildings in Folk Museums etc. are (authentically) whitewashed not just outside but inside as well. It was cheap, had disinfectant qualities, and was a reflective surface. Win, win and win.

*****

All right, there were no switches to turn on a light. But there was no need for what C.J. describes as stumbling about to reach the fire, because there were tinderboxes and, for many centuries before them, flint and steel. Since "firesteels" have been heraldic charges since the 1100s, the actual tool must have been in use for even longer.

Tinderboxes were fire-starter sets with flint, steel and "tinder" all packed into (surprise!) a box. The tinder was easily lit ignition material, often "charcloth", fabric baked in an airtight jar or tin which would now start to glow just from a spark.

They're mentioned in both "The Hobbit" and "The Lord of the Rings". Oddly enough, "Hobbit" mentions matches in a couple of places, but I suspect that's a carry-over from when it was just a children's story, not part of the main Legendarium.

Tinderboxes could be simple, just a basic flint-and-steel kit with some tinder for the sparks to fall on...

...or elaborate like this one, with a fancy striker, charcloth, kindling material and even wooden "spills" (long splinters) to transfer flame to a candle or the kindling...

This tinderbox even doubles as a candlestick, complete with a snuffer which would have been inside along with everything else.

Here's a close-up of the striker box with its inner and outer lids open:

What looks like a short pencil with an eraser is actually the striker. A bit of tinder or charcloth would have been pulled through that small hole in the outer lid, which was then closed.

There was a rough steel surface on the lid, and the striker was scraped along it, like so:

This was done for a TV show or film, so the tinder was probably made more flammable with, possibly, lighter fuel. That would be thoroughly appropriate, since a Zippo or similar lighter works on exactly the same principle.

A real-life version of any tinderbox would usually just produce glowing embers needing blown on to make a flame, which is shown sometimes in movies - especially as a will-it-light-or-won't-it? tension build - but is usually a bit slow and non-visual for screen work.

*****

There were even flintlock tinderboxes which worked with the same mechanism as those on firearms. Here's a pocket version:

Here are a couple of bedside versions, once again complete with a candlestick:

And here are three (for home defence?) with a spotlight candle lantern on one side and a double-trigger pistol on the other.

Pull one trigger to light the candle, pull the other trigger to fire the gun.

What could possibly go wrong? :-P

*****

Those pistol lanterns, magnified by lenses, weren't just to let their owner see what they were shooting at: they would also have dazzled whatever miscreant was sneaking around in the dark, irises dilated to make best use of available glimmer.

Swordsmen both good and bad knew this trick too, and various fight manuals taught how to manage a thumb-shuttered lamp encountered suddenly in a dark alley.

There's a sword-and-lantern combat in the 1973 "Three Musketeers" between Michael York (D'Artagnan) and Christopher Lee (Rochefort), which was a great idea.

Unfortunately it failed in execution because the "Hollywood Darkness" which let viewers see the action, wasn't dark enough to emphasise the hazards / advantages of snapping the lamps open and shut.

This TV screencap (can't get a better one, the DVD won't run in a computer drive) shows what I mean.

In fact, like the photos of the BBQ, this image - and entire fight - looks even brighter through "real eyes" than with the phonecam. Just as there can be too much dark in a night scene, there can also be too much light.

*****

One last thing I found when assembling pics for the post were Folding Candle-lanterns.

They were used from about the mid-1700s to the later 20th century (Swiss Army ca. 1978) as travel accessories and emergency equipment, and IMO - I've Made A Note - they'd fit right into a fantasy world whose tech level was able to make them.

The first and last are reproductions: this one is real, from about 1830.

The clear part was mica - a transparent mineral which can be split into thin flexible sheets - while others use horn / parchment, though both of these are translucent rather than transparent. Regardless, all were far less likely to break than glass.

One or two inner surfaces were usually tin, giving the lantern its own built-in reflector, and tech-level-wise, tin as a shiny or decorative finish has been used since Roman times.

I'm pretty sure that top-of-the-line models could also have been finished with their own matching, maybe even built-in, tinderboxes.

And if real ones didn't, fictional ones certainly could. :->

*****

Yet more period lighting stuff here, including flintlock alarm clocks (!)

#period lighting #tinderbox #too light too dark #social history #writer notes #research #period tech #sword vs lantern #c. j. cherryh

2K notes · View notes

letoasai · 3 months

Text

Will work for food ~ part 2

Part 1 - Master list

Tim was anxious which wasn’t an emotion he often put into use. Even on a bad day he was calculating, overly prepared, and usually ran on caffeine. He was a young genius and a hell of a detective, but nerves probably didn’t care about his resume or personality quirks.

He rubbed his thumb against the folded piece of paper kept hidden in his pocket. He’d examined it in the batcave but it held no clues of note. It was just a normal sheet of paper, and the ink could have been a pen from any local corner store. No DNA. No fingerprints. All the same, he kept it out of sight in public.

Tim had been antsy about summoning Phantom, mostly because he felt like he was disrespectfully late. When he’d first laid eyes on the living form of the Ghost King, he’d felt a familiar ache. Neglect. He didn’t know if the king had neglected himself, or if the blame lay at someone else's feet, but he just couldn’t stand it.

He’d offered food and company in an instant, the words popping out of his mouth before he could think them through. Despite that, he didn’t regret the offer. He could have done without the teasing from his siblings and teammates, but he didn’t regret the offer once.

His only remorse was with the clean up efforts. The Infinite creature, Vortex, had left quite the destruction in his wake. Even with many extended members of the League assisting with clean up, it took ages. Search and rescues were active and humanitarian groups had arrived to offer aid but some things couldn’t be done in a weekend.

The bats returning to Gotham didn’t offer much in the way of a break either. A Scarecrow outbreak with his fear toxin. Three different gangs in the middle of a turf war. A weapons smuggling ring being uncovered… It was one thing after another for a minute.

When all was said and done it had been nearly two months before Tim had the opportunity to keep his promise. He was in his civvies, standing at the mouth of an alleyway across from a little italian place that looked cheap but was actually the best tasting, most authentic italian place in all of Gotham. Little hole in the wall places often were the best.

The problem now was his ability to overthink things. Would he summon the king in a glow of green that would light up the street like a beacon? Would he arrive in his ghostly form, crown hovering above his hooded head?

Phantom looked human enough but was he? Did he come from Earth originally? There were plenty of aliens that looked human. It would be rude to assume…

What name did he use? Did he need to go full title? Why didn’t he ask more questions when he had the chance?

“King Phantom.” Tim muttered, deciding to just go for it. He still clutched the paper sigil out of sight. “Uh, Ghost King Phantom. King of the Infinite Realm. Um… Or was it High King…”

“Just Phantom is fine.”

Tim tensed, all of his hair standing on end at the voice directly behind him in the alley. He hadn’t made a sound but he needed to actively work to exhale and turn around to face his guest. There had been zero indication of his arrival, and he was thankfully, in his living form.

He was in jeans and an over sized hoodie. Tim could just barely make out a faded NASA written in the front. That was a point in the direction of him possibly being a human from Earth. He wore shoes this time, beat up looking kicks that had seen better days. His hood was also drawn over his head, likely to hide his bony appearance. Tim did spy the tail of his braid over his shoulder though, his hair black to further prove he was in his living form.

“You…scared the hell out of me.” Tim said, smiling after another hard exhale. “I am sorry it took so long, your Highness.”

“Phantom.” He corrected, looking around the street and taking it all in. Tim could clock him making note of the turns down the street and the buildings with fire escapes even with his hood up. People just had certain body language when casing an area. “I figured it would be a while, if you summoned me at all. I was not going to hold you to a whim, Red Robin.”

“I said i would…” Tim muttered. “Uh, it’s Tim, out of uniform. If you don’t mind.”

“Tim.” He repeated. That softness to his voice remained, and honestly, Tim liked the cadence of it. He liked it as much as he was sure he never wanted to hear Phantom raise his voice. “I understand.” He hesitated only a beat. “You can call me Danny. Phantom is probably a silly thing to call someone in a city like this.”

“Not if it’s your name.”

“Danny is okay.” He said, and for whatever reason, Tim noticed now how he kept his hands in his pockets, likely to hide them too. Frail, skeletal looking hands would just frighten some people. “Food? For a favor?”

“No favor involved. I invited you out.” Tim said. “I mean, maybe we can chat about stuff but you aren’t obligated to answer or anything.”

Phantom…Danny nodded, shuffling for a moment and looking around again. The height of the buildings seemed to be a mild interest of his. “Where are we eating?”

“Well, if you like Italian, we’re walking across the street.” He thought pasta and breads would be both filling and flavorful. It would also be something easily packed up for Danny to take with him.

“I’ll eat anything.” Danny informed him. “I have no preferences after all this time.” He hesitated. “Or maybe i need to rediscover them, but anything will be fine.”

“Let’s… let’s go then.” Tim said, walking with Danny at his side. He’d made a reservation which wasn’t strictly necessary at such a small place but it gave him the option of reserving a corner table to offer them a little more privacy.

They walked in, the hostess greeting them with a smile before leading them to their table and leaving them with bread, water, and menus. There were a few other full tables but it wasn’t packed the way it would be in the evening.

Danny kept his hood up, but it was Gotham and no one questioned the decision. They just left him in peace to not start a conflict with someone who wasn’t causing any trouble. He also kept his hands out of sight until the hostess had left. He sipped the water once and broke off only a little piece of the bread. He buttered it and ate on it while flipping open the menu.

Tim didn’t know if he was reading the English or Italian parts of the menu but it didn’t matter. Being fluent in reading an Earth language was another check mark for this being his place of origin.

“Can i…” Tim hummed, keeping in mind that he was speaking with royalty and act a little less like Bruce interrogating a suspect. “Can i ask a couple questions?”

Danny looked up at him, Tim only barely able to make out some of his features passed the unnatural shadows his hood provided. “Sure.”

Tim smiled, not even bothering with the menu since he knew what he was getting. “You’re the King of a realm, but was Earth your place of origin?”

“Yes, but not this Earth.”

Dimensions! Tim filed that away for later. “You can travel to any of them?”

“Within reason. Yes. I’m old, but not that old yet. Only eight or nine decades.” He tore another small piece of bread to eat. Tim assumed he was pacing himself. “They call me a baby Ancient still.”

“That’s cool…” Tim muttered. “Are there many other Earths?”

“The answer to that would never satisfy you.” Danny said softly. “Trust me. I am the Ancient of Space and i’m hardly satisfied with it.”

There was a new fact for Tim to latch on. “What’s the-” He stopped when the waitress appeared. Both of them ordered, and Tim was certain he’d end up ordering more halfway through the meal so Danny could take more home with him.

When the menus were taken and the waitress left again, Tim continued. “What’s the difference between being an Ancient of Space and being the Ghost King.”

“When i died, or half died, it was my fate to one day become the Ancient of Space. I am that regardless. I won the title of Ghost King.”

Tim dragged a hand down his face. “That’s…. Endlessly fascinating. I have so many questions.” He didn’t even know how to touch ‘half died’ yet.

Danny hummed once and fiddled with the end of his braid. “Do i get to ask questions too?”

“Of course.”

Danny leaned forward, sipping at his water again. “This Earth has super heroes. That’s interesting. Mine didn’t. How long have you been a hero?”

Tim nodded, figuring that would be the direction the questions would have wandered towards. They were far enough away from everyone in the restaurant that he didn’t worry about being heard. The music playing in the background also helped a great deal.

“Hero might be a debate depending on who you ask. In Gotham we’re considered vigilanties. I first suited up at thirteen but it was really more like fourteen after a great deal of training.”

Danny was quiet for a moment. “And how old are you now? I have trouble telling ages these days…”

“Eighteen.” Tim said.

“Young.” Danny muttered. “I was young too. Fourteen when i became the bridge. Sixteen before i really understood what it meant.”

“The bridge?”

“Balance. The living and the dead.”

Tim huffed softly. “You wear a lot of hats, don’t you?”

Danny made a quiet noise, and it took Tim a beat longer than normal to realize he was laughing. “I do, i wish i didn’t most of the time. It’s fine though.”

“Just fine?” Tim asked after a beat. He knew a little about expectations and high standards that could weigh you down–both his own standards and other peoples.

Danny nodded, one of his hands resting on the other. “I’ve seen things. Good things. Bad things. Things that will never happen. Things that have. It’s better i have certain powers because i have no desire to use them.”

Aah. Tim understood that. “People who want too much power are dangerous.”

“Exactly.”

“The power of ruling an entire realm…”

“Exactly.”

Tim heaved a sigh. “Damn.” Maybe he should ask something less intense. “Did you enjoy the food we gave you last time? It was just some fast food but there was some worry it wasn’t good enough.”

“It was great.” Danny said and he sounded sincere. “Nostalgic. It took me a few days to eat all of it. I know the Infinite Realm’s reputation, and it is a warranted reputation, but i’m… hard to offend. Little things are just little things.”

“I’ll put them at ease then.”

Danny was quiet for a moment, the silence not an oppressive one. “What is the difference between a hero and a vigilante?”

“How people perceive us, i guess. Superman will always be seen as a hero. Wholesome and valiant and all that. Things in Gotham are altogether… shadier. Being a vigilante isn’t exactly legal and while we have our boundaries, we break the law all the time.” Tim said. They covered their own tracks well but it was fortunate that no one looked too closely at their activities.

It didn’t bother Tim when he knew his reasons were still good.

Danny made a thoughtful kind of noise. “I’m willing to bet Superman’s business isn’t purely legal either. This seems like a nice Earth though, despite whatever troubles you have.”

“Some hero work is sanctioned by the government so it’s a fine line. Any of it could be argued.” Tim explained, and that was something Danny seemed to find fascinating.

They paused their conversation again when the waitress appeared with their food, and Tim put in a second order for them to take when they left. The eyes Tim could feel on him told him that Danny already knew what they were for.

He could hear Danny softly inhale and exhale as he looked at the plate in front of him that came accompanied with salad. He likely wouldn’t be able to eat even a fraction of it but the way he looked at it…. made Tim realize that he could see Danny’s face more clearly. The shadows that obscured his face from his hood had receded. He was still gaunt, but he eyed the food with so much joy.

The first bite of –non fast food– food nearly seemed to overwhelm him in a good way.

“You know,” Tim swung hard to change subjects. “We can do a bit of a food tour every time i summon you for lunch. Pizza. Chinese. Barbeque. There’s a great taco truck. We could get something homemade.”

“You cook?”

“Haa. No.” Tim said seriously. “But Al… my grandpa is an amazing cook and he seemed to think trading food for world saving services was very sensible but he was appalled that we offered you cheap fries and burgers. He’d honestly love to cook for you.”

Danny smiled, this shy little look that shouldn’t have fit someone with the title of Ghost King but it sure fit Danny. “That could be nice. Decent home cooked meals are kind of mythological to me.”

Tim nodded once, and knew better than to ask directly. “I didn’t have a very cuddly upbringing either. There was a lot of take-out involved.”

“Your food ever come back to life and try to eat you instead?” Danny asked and Tim just stared.

“I can’t…tell if that’s a real question or if you’re messing with me.”

Danny smiled and was that a hint of fangs? “Dead serious.”

Time groaned. “No, no you are a king. You are not making puns.”

“Thinking i’m too mature for puns is a grave mistake.” Danny said without hesitation.

“Noo.” Tim groaned, lips upturned into a smile. His brothers could never know about this. Dick would start a pun off and Jason’s morbid sense of humor about his own death…. Ugh, it would be bad.

It did bring up the interesting question of Danny’s age. He said he’d been alive for decades but how did he mature. Was he still a teenager? Did he age slowly? Asking not only sounded like a bad idea, but Raven and Zatanna had both made sure he knew it was a question to not ask.

They chatted, they ate, or well, Tim ate. Danny ate a bite every few minutes and looked thrilled about it but he was slowing down. Tim was looking forward to Danny being able to eat more with every visit.

He flagged down the waitress, gesturing for a box and got a thumbs up in return.

“You can take it with you.” Tim said when Danny was giving him a look. “It might be a couple days before i can call you again and this way you’ll have enough to eat every day.”

“I can’t deny that.” Danny said. “You don’t have to keep summoning me.”

“I promised you lunches.” Tim said firmly. “And you said it yourself, you should eat more and spend more time in a living realm. You may as well take advantage of being summoned for food.”

“Hm…” Danny played with the end of his braid again. “You do make a compelling argument. It’s nice to talk to someone without it being preceded by a brawl.”

Tim stared, “What?”

Danny just looked amused. “I’ll explain to you etiquette in the Infinite Realm sometime.”

“Yeah?”

The waitress returned with boxes for Danny to pack up his meal and the empty dishes were whisked away to make more room on the table while they waited for their to-go orders.

They were almost startled when a second waitress reappeared with a few little dishes before they could begin speaking again. Everything was set in the middle of the table, presumably for them to share. There was a piece of white peach tart, a bowl of strawberry gelato, and a slice of frozen chocolate chip meringata.

“Um…” Tim blinked. “We didn’t-”

The waitress chuckled. “It was ordered for you by another patron. Please enjoy.” She set down another set of utensils for them and walked away.

Danny made a small sound in his throat. “Well i was full but how could i say no to a couple more bites…”

“Wait.” Tim said, gaze subtly shifting around the room. Maybe he was trained to be paranoid, but it usually served him well. What he found almost instantly had his eye twitching.

Not even halfway across the room sat a poorly disgusted Dick wearing large sunglasses, a fedora, and the world's least convincing mustache. When he saw Tim looking and grinned and raised his own wine glass.

“I gotta kill my brother…”

Danny sputtered out a laugh, so genuinely amused that Tim could definitely see his fangs as he laughed.

“That would make him my problem.” Danny pointed out, reaching for a spoon to try the gelato first.

“I’m not seeing your point.” Tim said, delighted by Danny’s teasing. It was a rookie mistake to think one of his siblings wouldn’t find out about this. An absolute blunder that he hadn’t noticed Dick walking in after them at all. He’d never live it down.

“Guess i’ll have to be more careful next time.” He added.

Danny hummed again and seemed to have a fondness for the cold dessert. “I could always invite you to my realm sometime.”

“Cool.” Tim said instantly. Ha, let them try to follow him then…

#dp x dc #dc x dp crossover #danny phantom #tim drake #dead tired #cameo appearance by Dick Grayson #This is a date

2K notes · View notes

theabigailthorn · 5 months

Note

In the response to a person asking why you don't move to the US, one of your reasons for staying in Britain was "The entire US entertainment industry is about to move to Britain!". Is that a thing that's happening that I just haven't heard about? Or was it a joke?

Oh that's real. Almost everything is filmed here now. All the Marvel stuff, all the Disney stuff, Barbie, Venom, House of the Dragon, it's all done here because we have very low wages, tax breaks for production companies, and very strict anti-union laws. You've also got Europe on your doorstep, which is great for location shoots, and Romania is a cheap place to film too - Wednesday is all shot in Bucharest and Django was filmed both there and in Transylvania. The notable exception is The Last of Us - Season 2 is going to shoot in Canada 'cause they need snow. It is, no jokes, cheaper to make a British street look like Las Vegas than it is to film in Las Vegas. Pinewood Studios in London is building an extension that'll make it the biggest movie studio in the world. I think the WGA and SAG strike victories will probably accelerate this trend: they can't replace Americans with AI, so they're going to replace them with Brits!

Which might sound good in theory to Brits cause it means jobs, but not if those jobs are exploitative. The stars, director, and the bosses will be Americans, but the drivers, makeup artists, crew, caterers, background artists, supporting players, editors and so on will be underpaid, overworked Brits, and the profits will go primarily to American companies.

I talked about this on tiktok a while ago:

2K notes · View notes

seat-safety-switch · 9 months

Text

Once in awhile, you can get one over on The Man. Finally, after all these years of toiling under his rule, doing his dirty work, begging for his praise, he has well and truly fucked up. And, it turns out, your entire life has been building up to the moment that you can milk him for all he's worth.

Have you ever seen a Dodge Caliber? They're getting sort of uncommon now, but when they were new, they were pretty hateful cars. Cheap, buzzy, surprisingly uneconomical, steering that felt like telling a funeral home operator how to sign a birthday card over the phone by long distance. And they fell apart all the time. Most cars get repaired, but these things got gleefully shovelled into the junkyard at the first chance the owners got.

Not all of them, though. This is a story about one very special Dodge Caliber. You see, my aunt needed a car. And my aunt is very nervous about owning a car. The skills of shitbox repair never made it into her genes, you see, possibly because she is not related to me by blood. So, in order to get that car, she went to the Dodge dealership, and she asked them: can you do a lifetime warranty, unlimited mileage, no questions asked, cover everything? And they said: for you, ma'am, we absolutely can charge you an obscene, eye-watering amount of money.

Once I found out about this, I was mad. And then I figured it out. You see, what my aunt did have was being insanely cheap. That's why she was a part of my degenerate family. She still is, even though my Uncle Larry exploded that one night at Arecibo. Unlimited mileage. There has never been a sweeter phrase uttered in the English language.

Now, whenever anyone we know needs to go for a long trip, we tell them: take the Caliber. Rack those miles up. Punish those stupid motherfuckers for writing such a terrible, open-ended contract. My aunt runs a taxi service consisting entirely of this vehicle, a fleet of drivers constantly rotating in and out, the thing rolling virtually 24/7. I love driving this car, because every single mile that ticks up on the odometer is more salty tears from the low-wattage pig who thought he was a big-time wheeler and dealer down at Old Time Country Dodge.

To their credit, they figured out the enormous error that they had made fairly quickly. When Aunt Hilda rolled in the thing, smoking and wheezing, for its sixth transmission replacement at eight-hundred-and-fifty-thousand kilometers, they offered to buy it from her and give her a brand new luxury SUV, just for being such a great customer. She laughed, and told them to get started overhauling the Caliber, and don't forget to take a look at the squeaking sound it started making in the back.

When things got real bad during the recession, they tried to go bankrupt, thinking that might get them out from having to maintain this economy car until the sun burns out. Ha! Death won't save you, my friend. My attorney Max picked that one up pro bono, despite hating warranty law, just for the pleasure of watching their attorney read the purchase contract. Her eyes got so big that they stuck that way. The paramedics had to use the jaws of life on her eyelids so she could blink again.

If you see me in the Caliber, make sure to honk. I probably won't stop to say hi, because we gotta keep this odometer rollin'. Rest assured, however, that I will honk back, maybe ten or fifteen times. Really get my money's worth out of that horn.

514 notes · View notes

undercoveravenger · 6 months

Text

Venomous

Pairing: Venom!Billy Hargrove x Male!Reader

Requested: Yes

Request: “venom!Billy Hargrove confusing reader (dressed as spiderman for Halloween) as actual spiderman!Steve and going after him. take it however you want to”

A/N: Happy Halloween! Here’s part 2 of your Halloween surprise (I really like this AU by the way- if anyone wants anything else in this au, please feel free to request it!)

-----

The streets of Hawkins were practically empty this late at night, especially with pretty much everyone either asleep or at one of the dozens of Halloween parties raging on across the city. Hell, you were just coming from one that Tommy H and Carol had put on and Steve had dragged you to. You’d put up with about two hours of costumed young adults dancing and partying around you before you finally managed to make your escape, the cold autumn air chilling you through the thin spandex of your cheap Spider-Man costume as you wandered down the abandoned streets in the direction of your home.

The normal sounds of the city echoed around you, distant car horns and alley cats rustling through trash and music pouring through the doors of packed clubs. Tall buildings rise on either side of you as you turn down an alleyway that you’ve used as a shortcut a million times, but today you aren’t as vigilant as you normally are, not with the slow buzz of alcohol in your veins and the edges of the eye-holes of the mask limiting your vision.

That’s probably why you’re so knocked off guard when something slams into you with all the force of a semi-truck, brick fracturing around you as you’re thrown up against the wall of some long-closed business. “Gotcha now, Spider-Man,” a massive fanged maw snarls, wide white eyes narrowing as an alien face looms before you, “And there’s no getting away from me this time.” A huge dark hand curls around your throat, the flesh shifting and flexing and crawling against your skin in a way that was certainly not human. “Today, Spider-Man, you die.”

As it speaks, you realize what must’ve happened. That this creature - Venom if you remembered the headlines of the trashy newspapers correctly - must’ve seen you walking home in your costume and mistaken you for the real hero of Hawkins. With the darkness blurring the poor quality of your suit, you must’ve looked enough like the real deal with your mask on for one of the vigilante’s foes to target you.

You squirm, trying in vain to get yourself even a fraction of breathing room only for the viscous material of Venom’s hand to follow you, keeping the pressure constant and unyielding. The edge of your vision has started going dark by the time you manage to sputter out a weak, “‘M not him-” you fight for every ragged gasp of air, “Not Spider-Man.”

Venom hesitates at that, grip loosening just enough for breathing to come easier. His head cocks to the side as he examines you, seeming to only now notice the differences between your build and Spider-Man’s - your height, your physique, everything that sets you apart from the hero he had been looking for. His hand moves then, catching against the edge of your mask and tugging it up and off then. Venom’s eyes widen as he sees you without your mask and you can’t quite tell what he is thinking before he drops you, hands flying away from where they’d been touching you as though he’d been burned.

You’re left reeling, chest heaving as you scramble to catch your breath, the towering alien pacing wildly before you. You can catch snippets of conversation, bits of growled words in Venom’s harsh tone met with something quieter, smooth and honeyed and just a little familiar. Eventually you’re able to push yourself back to your feet and you start to edge back down the alley the way you’d come, feet scuffling quietly over gravel and debris. You are almost convinced that you’ll be able to get away before a piece of glass shatters under your shoe and the hulking creature whips around to face you, wide white eyes narrowing to almost slits as he stalks toward you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Venom snarls, hand jerking forward to grab at you, only to freeze before he could touch you, like he was unable to actually touch you. You watch the oozy substance of his face waver before you, parting and falling away to reveal a face you recognize.

You’d seen Venom’s true face before- in class watching you from across the room. Studying you from the opposing team when your gym class was broken up for basketball. Looking up from his place across from your best friend, fists bruised and bloodied from splitting Steve’s lip and darkening his eyes. Between throngs of drunken and dancing people, alluring blue eyes never faltering from where they met yours, intent and fixated from where he was watching you, lips moving faintly like he was having a conversation you couldn’t hear. And now, as you’re putting together the pieces of Billy Hargrove’s secret identity, you realize that maybe he was. Maybe Venom had known just as much who you were as he had known of his enemy in Spider-Man.

The look in Billy’s eyes isn’t aggressive though, not the way they were when he looked at Steve or his step-sister Max or when someone talked a bit too loudly about Spider-Man’s heroics. His eyes are soft, warmer than you’ve ever seen them as the inky black murk of Venom retreats back into him and he steps toward you. A hand comes up to cup your face as he guides you up to face him. “Quite the costume choice,” he says, lips twisting up into a way you’d come to recognize as sarcastic. “Had both of us fooled for a minute there.”

You struggle around words for a long moment before you manage to speak, “I won’t tell anyone-” you manage to force out. “That you’re-” You swallow sharply, “I won’t say anything.”

Billy laughs and for a second you’re sure you hear an echo. “I know you won’t darlin’,” he drawls, voice like honey and eyes like oceans. “You wouldn’t believe what V thinks about you, y’know?” He snickers a little, pressing forward into your space and crowding you back against the battered brick wall behind you. “I know what I think about you isn’t always fit for polite conversation, but he takes it to an entirely different level. He’s always trying to tempt me into doing something I shouldn’t- something fun. You want to do something fun?” He hums then, ducking forward to nose against your throat and up under your jaw, and you know you should be struggling, pushing him away and running as fast as your feet can carry you, but there had always been something so alluring about Billy Hargrove and to hear that he’d felt the same about you, that the proverbial devil on his shoulder had been tempting him with thoughts about you-

Well, it was certainly an interesting revelation.

Your head tips back against the wall behind you as Billy presses closer, kissing and biting at your neck and jawline. You knew you shouldn’t- not after finding out he was a supervillain certainly, but God, the offer is beyond tempting, especially with Billy so eager against you. Almost without your bidding, your hands come up to clutch at his waist, fingers tucking through the belt loops of his jeans to pull him closer. You tell yourself that this doesn’t have to mean anything- that it doesn’t have to come with strings attached even as you feel the loose ends of the rope pulling taught around you, tying you to Billy and to Venom too. You’re sure that Steve will have a lot to say to you later about your choice in men and how you really shouldn’t make out with his alter-ego’s nemesis in dingy alleys, but with Billy’s mouth pressing aching hungry kisses to yours, you can’t really bring yourself to care.

233 notes · View notes

after-witch · 7 months

Text

Horrorfest: Party Time [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: Party Time [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: Mahito just wants you to have a nice Halloween.

For Horrorfest request: Mahito putting his darling through a House of Horrors.

Word count: 2823

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, body horror and gore, Mahito is his own warning here

Maybe it said something about your inherent ghoulishness that, when Mahito granted you the rare favor of allowing you to pick an activity to do outside the damp tunnel where he kept you, you chose this--going to a haunted house.

A cheap one, too. One of those kinds that was retrofitted into an existing building during October and then packed out like a cheap weekend carnival on November 1st. The kind that ignored safety violations and tended to hire teenagers who showed up high or drunk or both.

It was more cheesy than anything else. A series of dimmed rooms with strobe lights and spiderwebs, or people jumping out in mediocre costumes or revving up fake chainsaws. No, it wasn’t really scary… but to be fair, your definition of “really scary” had been completely upended the moment that you were kidnapped by a curse with a penchant for torturing people in ways you never thought possible before.

But it was still a tradition, damn it, and if you couldn’t get through October without at least one Halloween tradition under your belt, you might just lose your mind. Or what was left of it, considering your circumstances.

Still, did Mahito have to be a spoilsport about it? He’d been grinning at the start, one arm slung around your shoulder, even though no one else could see him. By the time you’d gotten to the third room, he was pouting. Complaining. Whining.

And now, at the end, as you walk out following one last jump scare involving an oversized doll costume, he’s rambling on and on about how these humans were terribly uncreative in their creation of a supposedly haunted house. Like you were just walking through the park and not a poorly lit room blasting spooky ambiance music as some tired teens tried to make you shriek.

“I know humans are capable of better than this,” he muses, sourly, as you make your way out of the parking lot and back onto the side streets that will eventually lead you “home.” Not your home, never your home. But the only home you’ve known since he took you, and it’s better to consider it something familiar than to fully face the reality of your situation without a gloss of comfort.

“It wasn’t that bad,” you say, lightly, blandly. “I think you’re being too harsh.”

Mahito sighs, and pulls you closer. To anyone on the street without the gift of sight, you might look a bit drunk. Stumbling now and then, leaning into nothing at all. Mahito likes this, you think, and that’s why he does it all the time on the very rare occasions that you’re allowed out.

“But I’m not wrong!” You glance at him. The almost childish expression of disappointment is stomach-turning. “You didn’t even flinch or scream or anything fun. You weren’t scared.”

You start to answer, then stop. He’s right. A year ago you probably would have shrieked yourself silly, as simple and ridiculous as the haunted house was; but that was a year ago. That was before.

“I’m… not scared of much any more.” Your words come out slow and carefully considered. It’s a habit ingrained in you by now. Mahito did love to take your words and run with them.

“Oh?” Mahito turns his head to look at you, and you catch the last moment of a grin that he pastes over with a solemn expression as soon as he sees you looking.

“Poor thing,” is all he says.

You don’t talk much on your way home after that.

“Mahito--”

“I promise, this will be fun!”

“Mahito--”

“Don’t worry so much, you’ll get wrinkles! Not that I’d mind, but I read this book from the 1980s on beauty perception and--”

“Mahito!”

Mahito pouts, puffing his cheeks out ridiculously. When he doesn’t say anything, you sit up straighter.

“I’m just saying this isn’t necessary.” You keep your tone gentle, sweet. You don’t want him to accuse you of being ungrateful again. The last time he did that--the less said, the better. “I already got my Halloween fix at the haunted house, really. And we watched a horror movie the other day, didn’t we? And you got me a book…”

Your hand gestures ineffectually towards your nest of blankets, where a battered copy of Stephen King’s Pet Sematary lay. Mahito found it in a box of books someone threw on the curb and proudly brought it to you, like a cat bringing a dead sparrow to its owner.

Mahito’s expression turns sticky, and his voice coos to match. “Ohh, you’re being so sweet, pet! But I want to do this for you. Since you like Halloween!” He resumes setting out a small collection of large bowls, most with mismatched lids, humming a song you don’t know all the while. “I worked really hard on this, you know!”

“I…” You start to protest, but it doesn’t get far. There was never any use arguing with Mahito or even reasoning with him on most things. Curses did not have the same reason as human beings. That much you knew by now.

So you sit obediently on the ground in front of the beat-up coffee table he dragged in here not so long ago--for this very purpose, maybe?--and try to calm the writhing ball in your stomach.

“Where did you get this idea, anyway?” You ask. Your voice shakes a little, from the cold or worry, you don’t know.

Mahito hums, setting down what must be the last bowl and surveying his work. “I read it in a magazine of Halloween party ideas! Some of them look pretty fun. Bobbing for apples…” He looks up at you with an almost hungry smile. “Your hands have to be tied behind your back for that one. Humans sure get kinky on Halloween, don’t they?”

Your cheeks heat up horribly but you don’t answer. It’s smarter not to indulge Mahito in any questions related remotely to sex.

The line of bowls on the table looks like something out of a sad potluck. You wonder why he picked this idea, or anything in a book about Halloween parties.

You recognized the idea at once. It was one of those old fashioned party games where the host put food in bowls and told everyone it was something gross, like brains or eyeballs. You remember playing this game only once in your life as a child, and everyone thought it was dumb and boring even then.

Well, it was probably the easiest to do with only two of you; you’re grateful, anyway, that he decided not to go for apple bobbing, if what drew him to it was the rope.

“One final touch!” He practically skips over to you and holds out a ragged strip of black fabric. A blindfold.

Oh, no. Nope, nope and nope.

“Um, can’t we just turn off the lights?” There were a few flickering bulbs built into the walls--for service workers, you think, back when this tunnel was actually serviced--and Mahito kept a few battery powered lanterns around that he threw out and replaced whenever the batteries died.

A pout. A shift on his legs, a hand on his hips.

“It’s more fun this way. Ugh, don’t be so boring…”

Ah, boring. The most dangerous word in Mahito’s vocabulary. And you aren’t being sarcastic when you think that, which is why you sigh and blow cool air out your mouth and nod at him.

He giggles, and scampers behind you with the blindfold in tow.

“This is going to be so fun,” he says, practically trilling as he ties the blindfold around your eyes. The darkness is quick and artificial and awful. “Have you played it before?”

You hum something like assent. “Just once, when I was little.”

Mahito presses a kiss to the top of your head and you fight the urge to squirm.

“If you don’t remember the rules, it’s like this: I put your hands in each bowl, and you tell me what you think it is!”

Your heart begins to speed up, no matter how much you try to tell yourself to remain calm. It was just a blindfold, no big deal. It was just a stupid Halloween party game, no big deal.

It was just Mahito… well, uh, wait a minute. It was Mahito. You were right to worry.

But you’re trying very, very hard not to--and that was as close as you’d get to remaining calm tonight.

You hear the sound of the various tops being pulled off the bowls, accompanied by little grunts and noises as Mahito perhaps struggled with the lids.

Someone takes your hands--you jump, and Mahito laughs--and guides them to the edge of the bowl.

Something squishy and a little stiff. Wet, but only vaguely. Round, like bouncy balls. But they feel more organic than that.

“Grapes,” you say. “They’re grapes.”

Mahito makes a choking sound. Did he not think you knew the tricks of the game? Maybe the first people to play the game decades and decades ago were caught unawares, but the answers were common knowledge by now. Grapes for eyeballs, spaghetti for intestines; some people got creative and made fake brains and stuff, too.

He pulls your hands out of the bowl and sets them on the next.

Your hands plunge in and find not quite what you expected, but close enough. Instead of strings of spaghetti noodles, Mahito has chosen sausages. You suppose that was more realistic when it came to feel and size, anyway. They weren’t cold exactly, but that was nothing new--there was no fridge around here.

“Sausages.” When he doesn’t respond. “Like, a whole row of them.”

Mahito huffs.

He’s such a spoilsport, you think. Maybe you ought to start guessing around to appease him. Or would he catch on that you were lying and get more annoyed at you treating him like glass? Or would that make him feel good? It was so, so hard to tell what you were meant to do sometimes.

But he does take your hands, now a little slimy with cooking water, and set them on the next bowl.

This one is… a little different from the rest, and you couldn’t quite place it. It was soft, smooth, but almost sponge-like in texture. Like a gummy or…

”Gelatin?” You’re not quite sure for this one, and it comes through in your tone. Still, your fingers squish the mystery item. “Like, an organ?” You remembered once cooking beef liver for your dad and it had the same gummy, gelatin-like feel before it was cooked. Unpleasant and odd to touch, for sure. You didn't know if it tasted good.

“Yes!” Mahito sighs out the word, and at least he’s no longer acting like a pouty child when you guess right. It makes the ball in your stomach shrink down, just a little. Even if you’re still waiting for something to happen. Maybe he’ll try to jump scare you at the end or something.

The next bowl is liquid, and you almost jerk your fingers back out by instinct. It couldn’t be water, it wasn’t thin enough. There is even a slight smell to it, almost artificial--red dye. Mahito would dye the fake blood red just to make it more authentic, wouldn’t he?

“A smoothie, maybe? Or whole milk, or cream…”

If Mahito cares that you didn’t give a singular answer, he doesn’t let you know. He only lets out a pouty whine and you wonder which of your three guesses was right.

“Last bowl,” he says, before placing your hands on the edge of the plastic container.

What in the world?

When you put your hands inside, your fingers are immediately met with a multitude of small, firm… somethings. Your fingers fiddle with one of them, feeling over the grooves. Wood, maybe? Figurines? You’re reminded, suddenly, of when cereal used to come with toys in the box. But you very much doubt Mahito collected a few dozen old cereal figurines.

“I’m not sure,” you admit. “Really big wood chips? Figurines?”

There’s a few moments of unusually heavy silence, and then Mahito whines. Whines!

“You’re awful at this game. You only guessed one of them right! I thought you’d be better at it, since you’re into this human holiday…”

Huh?

You scoff, though you’re not offended. Just confused. And tired. And wary. Nothing new there, when you think about it.

“What do you mean? The only one I wasn’t sure about was this last one… maybe the one before it, but it’s hard to tell the difference between milk and cream or whatever.”

You feel the presence of Mahito leaning over the table, feel his fingers fiddling with the back of your blindfold, and blink as the artificial blackness drops away to reveal Mahito sitting in front of you with a pouty look on his face.

And then you look down at the mystery bowl, your hands still resting inside, and bile immediately rises into your throat when you realize two hideous truths:

One. The bowl is filled with transfigured humans. Small distorted shapes of horror. A whole bowl of them, piled high, like a candy dish on granda’s counter.

Two. Your hands are red. Not just red, but red with slick, thick gore. Blood. There was no mistaking the feel of it. The second-to-last bowl is filled halfway with blood. Real blood. Human blood.

Your neck turns slowly, like you’re a broken, mechanical doll that can’t quite complete the movement. The acidic bile in your throat reaches your mouth and you swallow, swallow, swallow. But all you can do is cough and hope the real vomit stays down.

It shouldn’t surprise you, what you see. But somehow your stupid self thought he was playing a party game, a copycat out of one of his magazines.

The bowls are not filled with peeled grapes and sausages and blobs of gelatin.

The bowls are filled with eyeballs of all different colors, most of them still trailing red optic nerves like tails; with strings of intestines, thick and slimy and pale; with livers in varying shades of brown and red.

“Oh,” Mahito says, perking up, when he catches you looking at the bowl of livers. “I wanted to show you, look at this one!” He grabs one of the livers and holds it up for you to see. “He had some kind of disease, I think… see the funny lumps?”

You’re only aware that your body is shaking when your neck jerks and twinges in pain.

“What the fuck,” you mutter. “What the fuck.”

Mahito quirks his head. You hate that you know the confusion on his face is real. He really is curious about everything, all the time. Especially human thoughts and feelings and behaviors. A mad scientist if there ever was one; but at least a mad scientist had some sort of lofty, if fucked up, end goal. Mahito just was.

“What’s the matter?” He scoots on his butt around the table, not stopping until he’s sitting next to you. You don’t fight--you can’t--when he takes your hands and holds them. He doesn’t mind the gore being smeared on his own fingers, you’re sure.

You feel like your eyebrows would fly off your head if they could.

“What’s the matter? What’s the--you… you used real human body parts--real people--for this game. That’s what’s the matter! Christ--”

Mahito’s eyebrows furrow.

“But that’s the game! You put all sorts of creepy things in bowls and people guess what it is.” He squeezes your hands. “Are you sure you aren’t just a sore loser because you stink at guessing?”

How many people are in that bowl, anyway? The thought comes and goes; it would be like playing some fucked up game of “guess how many beans are in the jar!” Only there is no knick-knack prize if you guess right. Just a solid number to the bowl of horrors sitting only inches away from you.

How many were there, how old are they, do they have family, did it hurt, did they scream--

Your lips are dry when you lick them and speak, voice shell shocked and dull. “It’s a party game. You’re supposed to use things like, like--peeled grapes for eyeballs or spaghetti for intestines. It’s a dumb party game because it’s silly and no one is really freaked out by that if they’re older than 7 years old.”

The game isn’t meant to end with you realizing that you’d been feeling up the organs of murdered people, is what you should say. But you’re not sure Mahito would recognize that for the rebuke that it is.

“Ohh,” he says, and you can see it all clicking into place in his mind. After a few beats, he grins with pride. “Well, my version is an improvement.”

You must look incredulous again, because he continues. “See, my version is more fitting ” He nods to himself. “I’m much better at Halloween than humans.”

For once, you can’t disagree--not even in your own thoughts.

His version is really scarier than the original

#yandere mahito #mahito x reader #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #afterwitch writes #aw horrorfest #the original title was 'it's my halloween party and I'll cry if I want to' but it was too damn long

389 notes · View notes

electraslight · 6 months

Text

people often complain about how Ben seems to have gotten weaker and clumsier from uaf to omniverse, and I get that's an annoying writing decision, but id like to posit a theory.

Ben used to be an athlete, a star one at that, and he used to be a pretty physically fit and healthy guy, visibly being muscular while still having a smaller build. in omniverse, it seems all that muscle is pretty much gone, as he seems to have trouble carrying things, being balanced, and even doing routine workouts that he supposedly regularly did when he was younger. he's even kind of shrunk.

but the thing is: this is proven to extend to his aliens too.

back when Ben was physically fit, wildvine's entire power set was based on grip and strength, using his vines to swing on things or bring enemies or objects closer to him, which required strength.and now he just can't. just like Ben.

which kind of brings us to the question of why Ben is deteriorating in this fashion? he still leads a very active lifestyle, doesn't seem to have any diseases. why's he going so downhill? (the answer to this question writing wise is a different thing, I am trying to rationalize the world he lives in instead of the world the writers do). the answer probably lies in food. in ogs and uaf, Ben had a pretty diverse diet, at least by kid standards. he ate a lot of junk in ogs, but that's just because what else are you gonna eat on a road trip, and as previously stated, af/uaf Ben is an athlete, who seems to actually like a lot of vegetables, eats dinner with his family, only has fast food on patrol. around the time Gwen and Kevin left, though, things changed.

Ben has kind of an obsession with smoothies in omniverse. they're usually the only thing he's seen consuming besides the occasional chili fries, he thinks about them all the time, the comtumellia literally take the form of them. which, yes, flanderization, haha aketchi pancake think blah blah blah, but the thing is, that flanderization kind of recharacterizes his degredation.

Ben had to drop out in uaf, so now his full time job is working for the plumbers, in am environment where everyone expects him to be an ubermensch who never shows a single flaw, and when he messes up in a normal way, he's the stupidest motherfucker alive, even though he's got more experience than anyone combined. plus, he's got to go on patrol all day long, fight a universe ending threat, and then conk out at 3 and wake up at 5 to do it all again. no family dinners, no time to cram an apple in his bag for later, and the only quick easy and cheap thing for him is smoothies. junk food. quick energy boosts. and it seems like he can't stop thinking about them (although I acknowledge what a copout that was lol), can't stop thinking about food. and consuming only liquid processed baby food for all your meals and getting zero hours of sleep isn't good for your body, and the aliens you inhabit are reflections of your person, so you degrade,they degrade, making b grade villains a slog and lifting over 30 pounds even more of one.

not particularly going in an eating disorder direction with this? still tagged it that though just in case. just wanted to share something I don't rlly see people try to come up w an in universe explanation for. I'm personally leaning more toward an ARFID angle, but I'd be interested to see other's takes

#ben 10 #ben 10 omniverse #ben 10 alien force #ben tennyson #ben 10 ultimate alien #ben 10 classic #ben ten #eating disorder #tw ed #tw eating disorder

202 notes · View notes

markantonys · 7 months

Text

i already made a joke post about it but genuinely, the whole "wot s1 sucked, which was 100% the show's fault and not the source material's, but now s2 is so much better! shocking! who could've seen that coming!" narrative is SO annoying

like, the eye of the world is boring as shit! it's generic as shit! of COURSE an entire season based on it is not going to be the most groundbreaking or thrilling fantasy television you've ever seen in your life! how on EARTH can the readers who've been saying for decades that the books don't start to hit their stride until book 2 or 3 or 4 fail to grasp the correlation with season 2 being better than season 1? but even so, s1 alone IS more groundbreaking and thrilling than book 1 alone, because the showrunners knew that book 1 is boring and generic as shit and did their absolute damnedest to pull in as many unique elements from later books as they could conceivably fit in this early on.

second, s1 had to do a HUGE amount of heavy lifting in terms of setting up characters, relationships, lore, and worldbuilding. s1 did all this groundwork so that s2 could have the payoff you're enjoying so much, s1 constructed the basic building blocks so that s2 could explore the more advanced concepts you're gushing over. s1 ran so that s2 could soar! put some respect on its name!

third, stakes tend to get higher, characters to get deeper, and plotlines to get more exciting as you go along in a story. this is how stories work. why are you shocked that s1 only built the basic foundation of the story and s2 has the space to grow and deepen that story? that's how stories work, that's how TV works, and that's most certainly how the WOT books work.

fourth, practical constraints s1 had that s2 had less of

budget: s1 was starting from scratch, whereas s2 had more budget to spare since some things could be reused from s1 AND it got a bigger budget than s1 in the first place.

experience: second seasons almost universally tend to be better than pilot seasons, simply because everyone involved in making the show has gotten into the groove and solidified how they want to do this thing. this is how television works.

covid: it should go without saying that s1 would have been One Million Times more difficult and expensive to make than s2 due to covid stuff. whatever effect we may think covid had on s1, the true effect was probably astronomically higher than what we imagine. the majority of "looks too cheap" "looks too empty" complaints likely come down to this (notice that most of those complaints are about episodes 6-8 and not the early episodes; 6 was filmed pre-covid, yes, but i wouldn't be surprised if some covid-related restrictions were starting to rear their heads before production was officially shut down).

the worst part is the people who end their above-mentioned take with "they must have listened to audience criticism of s1 and made changes accordingly." [moiraine voice] the arrogance. s2 had already been written and filming was WELL underway (if not finished or close to finished?) by the time s1 even started airing. if you're impressed by what a great season they've delivered, the credit for that lies entirely with the people who made the show, not your stupid ass.

#justice for s1!! 'every single viewer found it boring and a disappointment' your experiences are not universal!!!#will i deny that s2 is better quality in just about every respect? certainly not #but s1 did a damn good job with the job it was supposed to do even if that job is not as ~exciting~ as s2's job #and THE big difference is that THE SOURCE MATERIAL FOR S2 IS BETTER!!!!!#WHY are any readers shocked that a TGH&TDR-based season is better than an EOTW-based season. make it make sense #wot

217 notes · View notes

mslowlife · 1 year

Note

would it be so cool if we got a mutual pining yandere ethan fic🤭🤭🤭🤭

Yesss omg i love this idea 😍 I’m thinking of making this into parts so here is part 1!! it’s very brief and basic right now but there will be more

Mad(e) For You - Part I

Pairings: Yandere! Ethan Landry x Yandere! Reader

Warnings: None for now

Summary: You lived your life fine without him. So why now did you need him to live?

Word Count: 916

C/M = College Major

You can recall the exact moment you saw him for the first time. It was a cold night, the grounds were sprinkled with a thin layer of snow and the sky was fading into an orange pink haze. You sat in Sam’s dorm room, there wasn’t anything particularly interesting going on, everyone just sat around the television having their own conversations while you glanced from the television to the window in order to resolve some boredom. Suddenly, the door clicked, and Chad trodded in, holding a few plastic bags on his arms, but the cheap Chinese takeout didn’t catch your eye, it was the person behind him. The person trailed behind Chad like a lost puppy, his eyes stayed glued to whatever was in front of him. Chad had a new roommate. Everyone else had met him, except you.

“Y/N meet Ethan, my new roomie” Chad announced, a big smile plastered on his face.

You offered Ethan a soft smile and a hello, but were too fixated on him to let any other words escape. He gave a quick awkward wave as his eyes scanned the room, he looked at Quinn, Sam and Tara, then Mindy to Anika, then to you.

You see at the time, you didn’t really know it, though you had a lingering suspicion, but Ethan was different. He was special. His brown doe eyes and his curly chocolate coloured locks that fell in front of his eyes, sure he was pretty to look at. But there was something about him that you wanted. During dinner, you couldn’t stop looking at him. What about him was so addicting? You didn’t even know who he was thirty minutes ago, so why now did you feel so addicted?

As the clock etched closer to midnight, a wave of exhaustion and sleepiness swept over you. The girls had already fallen asleep on the couch and you were about to as well.

“I think we might head off” Chad whispered, poking your shoulder.

“Uh-yeah, okay.” You yawned, watching as Ethan once again stood shyly behind Chad.

“You know I might walk with you, I live near you guys anyways” You mumbled, holding eye contact with Ethan.

“Mhm, good idea, probably better so you don’t have to walk alone” Chad answered, pulling his coat on.

Stepping outside on the snow covered steps, the night air was fresh and chilly which made you tug onto your coat just a bit tighter.

“So how far do you live from us?” Ethan allured

“Jus’ down the street, two or three minutes walk”

Ethan hummed in response, turning his face slightly to yours as you wiped the snow from the front of your hair.

“You want me to walk you back? Just so you’re not alone” He asked, nervously fidgeting his fingers.

You nodded, “thank you”

Chad walked ahead urgently, desperate to get home and out of the cold.

“Chad! I’m gonna walk Y/N home” He yelled out ahead.

“Yeah aight. Seeya tomorrow Y/N.” Chad called back, pushing open the door into the dormitory building.

You gave Chad a wave before the pair of you walked past him.

The first half of the walk filled with silence, well silence from you too at least. New York was never silent, the city never slept. So instead on focusing on the awkward silence you two emitted, you listened out for the lost sirens that echoed through the city and the sounds of distant voices, until, Ethan broke the silence.

“What do you study?” Ethan asked, stepping closer to you to close the distance.

“It’s boring, but C/M” You said somewhat embarrassed.

“Don’t say it’s boring, I think that’s pretty cool.” He spoke up

“Really?”

“Yeah. You should enjoy what you do. Plus, you’re the only person I know who does that now, so I think it’s pretty cool.” He remarked.

“I know I’m trying too, but it does get boring sometimes.”

“What do you study?” You simpered

“Economics.”

“Economics, nice. So you’re like good with numbers yeah?” You suggested.

“Uhh, well I wouldn’t say I’m good with numbers to be exact. I’d say I’m ‘okay’” He joked

“Well you’re probably heaps better than me” You kidded back.

The two of you conversed for another few minutes until you wound up on the steps of your dormitory building.

You pushed the hood of your coat off before locking eyes with Ethan, whose eyes were already glued to yours. Your heart began to pound in your chest, his voice was so soft and sweet and the way he looked at you made you obsessed. You wanted to make him yours and you wanted to be his.

“Want me to walk you inside?” He questioned, inches from your cold face.

Inside you wanted to scream yes, you wanted to take him back to your room and have him and make him yours. But, of course, he was probably just being friendly. He didn’t feel this intense obsession like you were feeling, right?

“It’s okay. I’m alright from here” You assured

“Alright. Well I should see you tomorrow?”

“Mhm yeah. After class with the others” You spoke, playing with the fingertips of your gloves.

“Okay, well, goodnight Y/N”

“Goodnight Ethan”

The moment you walked inside you ran straight to your laptop, scrambling to search his name on every piece of social media possible. You went through Chad’s followers and until you found the only Ethan that matched your Ethan. Ethan Landry.

You were going to make him yours.

#scream #scream 6 #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #scream ethan landry #scream x reader #imagines #series #ghostface #scream vi

449 notes · View notes

rose-tinted-glasses671 · 10 months

Text

Echo Chambers Inside A Neighborhood (ch. 1)

read the rest: masterlist

a/n: thank you to the beautiful @junosbugs for giving me a stellar idea for a forced proximity fic. ily.

They say distance makes the heart grow fonder.

Fucking bullshit. Distance was turning your heart sour.

By the end of the day, he would be back on your couch, probably smelling of cheap liquor and even cheaper cologne. Maybe his hair would be disheveled, as if someone ran their hands through it, or maybe he’d have a lipstick stain on the collar of his hideous grey button-up.

But this was Ethan you were talking about. If anything, he’d go to lengths to cover up his tracks. Try to manipulate you into thinking it was all in your head, as if you didn’t have the proof sitting in front of you.

You happened upon the texts so innocently, yet you weren’t surprised that this had happened at all. And it wasn’t sadness that overcame you at the betrayal, but rather annoyance that you’d put with his bullshit for so long.

“Fuck.” You picked your phone up to see a couple of messages from friends but none from Ethan. But why would he text you? He didn’t think anything was wrong.

You were tired of everything. Your shitty job, your shitty flat, your shitty boyfriend. You couldn’t even muster up the strength to get yourself out of bed this morning, let alone bring yourself to care about how you were gonna pay for said shitty flat once you kicked Ethan out.

But you wanted to be done with him. Here and now. So you reluctantly rolled out of bed and in a split-second decision, started gathering up every one of Ethan’s belongings; clothes, shoes, socks, underwear, his stupid guitar that he didn’t even know how to play, and you dumped that shit on the sidewalk downstairs. Fuck it. People could take whatever they wanted; it wasn’t your problem anymore.

Another few trips up and down the building and now your closet was half empty and you felt a lot better. You sent the incriminating screenshots and a picture you took of Ethan’s stuff on the dirty sidewalk to him, the words ‘It’s over’ trailing along in the next message. You wouldn’t let him explain himself. It wasn’t worth it.

Half an hour later, with your phone blowing up with messages and calls, you sat at your windowsill with a cup of coffee in your hands, staring out at the street below you, quietly observing. You had anticipated Ethan coming back, and as you watched a familiar head of moppy brown hair in an ill-fitting suit charge down the street and into the building, you realized that this was all well and truly over.

The knock on your door a couple minutes later was aggressive, the voice calling out your name and demanding you open the door even more so.

Without haste, you set your mug down on dining table next to you and approached the door, opening it so that only your face could peek through.

“Hey stranger,” you smiled, peering at Ethan’s red face.

“What the fuck, babe!?” he shouted, an octave you recognized well.

“You’re gonna want to keep your voice down, babe. The neighbors might complain.”

“Fuck the fucking neighbors. Why the fuck is all my shit out on the road!?”

You really did try to hold back your laugh. Honestly. But the incredulity of his question stunned you, and you didn’t know how else to respond.

“Am I stupid?” you asked after your fit of laughter died down.

“Huh?”

“Am. I. Stupid?” you reiterated.

“No?” Ethan stood up stalk straight, confused at your line of questioning.

“Ok,” you nodded. “So why the fuck did you think you could make a fool out of me?”

Ethan scrambled for a response, then decided to pull the dumbest one out of his ass. “No, babe. You’ve got it all wrong. That’s not me. I didn’t send those texts.”

“Right, and I’m assuming you didn’t send those videos of you jerking off your shriveled dick to those girls either?”

Ethan’s face paled, a heavy silence sitting in the air as he stared at you. He tried forming words, but you watched as they died a quick death on his tongue.

“I put up with your shit for a long time because I thought I loved you. But let me tell you something.” You leaned your head out the door a little further, as if you were about to let him in on a secret. “Even your parents knew when to cut you loose before you ruined their lives.”

You knew you’d hit the mark when Ethan’s face turned from anguish to fury. His parents cutting ties with him was a sore spot that he still didn’t know how to deal with. And you wanted to twist the knife until it hurt.

“Oh, and I’m keeping the X-Box. I paid for it anyway.” With those final words, you snatched the key Ethan was still holding in his hand and slammed the door in his face. You heard the faint voice of your neighbor echoing in the hallway, to which Ethan said something about everything being fine. And yes, everything would be fine. As soon as the tears stopped falling.

---

‘Room for rent. Urgently need a flatmate. Pls contact.’

You read over the ad to make sure all the pertinent information was listed since you hadn’t gotten any calls about it yet. It’d been up for a week now, and you’d been taking more shifts to hopefully cover the rent for next month in case you weren’t able to find someone to rent the extra room out. That also meant you had less time to spend on school, but finishing your masters was seeming less daunting than keeping a roof over your head. All for a better future, you told yourself as you took a drag of your cigarette.

“’Ey,” Sammy called out to you in his thick Scottish accent as he exited into the back alley where you were taking your break. “Busy day.”

“Understatement of the century. It’s a fucking fish market in there.” With the holidays approaching, it seemed like every family in the city wanted to frequent the restaurant you waitressed at. That meant more work, but hey, it also meant more tip money in your pocket.

“Can I bum off you?” Sammy questioned, holding out his hand for your cigarette.

“Smoke your own.” You reared back. “I’m broke and this is the only luxury I allow myself.”

Sammy chuckled and shook his head, pulling out his own pack. You watched the cloud of smoke exiting your lungs, taking solace in the shapes it formed as it dissipated in the air.

“Oi, by the way,” Sammy interjected after a few minutes of silence. “My cousin’s son ‘as a colleague who’s looking fer a new living arrangement in the city. Passed on yer number to the lad.”

"Really?” A sudden rush of relief coursed through you. You seldom felt so stressed out, even when you were working your way through undergrad. But now, it was starting to feel like if you didn’t get your shit straight, you’d have to drop out of school and move back home. And you couldn’t do that.

You had contemplated calling your mom a few times, but you doubted she had any money herself. It all probably went to the liquor and pills anyways.

“Thank you. You’re a life saver.”

“Sure. And just so ya know, the offer still stands.”

You shook your head. “Thank you, Sammy. But I can’t take your money.”

“It’s just a loan,” Sammy shrugged, taking a pull of his Marlboro.

“I know.” You dropped the remainder of your cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out with your shoe. “But I don’t like owing people anything.”

Sammy chuckled again, but thankfully dropped the subject. You couldn’t even bring yourself to borrow money from your mother, let alone a coworker.

Checking the time on your phone, you let out a long groan. “I’ll see you back in there.” You headed back into the restaurant, the warm air surrounding you like a blanket and the smell of steak making your stomach grumble. You should’ve opted for a snack instead of a smoke.

The rest of your shift was a lot of the same, all fake smiles and rancidly sweet customer service voices. Running back and forth and back and forth, putting on your best act so you could get a decent tip. It was exhausting. You hated every second of it, but you weren’t in a particularly good mood these days.

When it finally came time to close, the Maître d’ allowed you to leave early per your generous request to be there bright and early next morning to help set up.

The walk home was frigid, the December air chilling you to the bone and turning your nose pink. It wasn’t a long walk back to the flat, but you were always cautious of your surroundings, holding your purse tight to your body and keeping a fast pace.

In your rush to get back to your bed, you almost didn’t notice your phone buzzing in your pocket. Against your better judgement, you took it out and saw an unfamiliar number flashing across the screen.

“Hello?” you said into the phone. The person on the line didn’t reply, so you pulled your phone away to see if the call had connected.

“Yes, sorry.” A gruff voice finally spoke up as you brought the device back to your ear. “My name is Simon Riley. I got this number from John. Said you were looking to rent out your room?”

“Oh, yeah. Hi.” You didn’t know why your voice was coming out flustered. “It’s still available, if you’re interested.”

“I am. Very much.”

You chuckled at the bored tone of his voice. He sounded anything but.

“Um, okay. Did you want to come see the place or something? See if it’s the right fit?” You suggested it to be polite, but really, you wanted to see this man to gauge whether he was the right fit. You could deal with messy, noisy roommates, but you would not let an unknown man share a space with you before deciding you were comfortable with him.

“Sure. Tomorrow?”

“Sounds good. I’ll text you the address.”

“Alright then.” With that, the line went dead.

#simon riley #cod modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty #ghost #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x fem reader #simon ghost riley x fem reader #modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #cod #mw2 #x female reader #x fem reader #forced proximity #roommates #slow burn

305 notes · View notes

a-nemoiia · 3 months

Text

「 Purr-fect Companion 」

・Robert Fischer x Reader・

Plot: "In a twist of fate, Robert finds himself a new friend, which leads to an unexpected encounter. "

Word count: 1.3k

Warning: None (English isn't my first language so I apologise in advance for any mistakes)

The sound of rustling sheets could be heard all over the tiny apartment, of course the heir of Fischer Morrow, a man of wealth and privilege found no comfort sleeping on these cheap sheets, and scratchy linens.

The poor bed squeaked under his shifting form, trying to get comfortable in such a small bed was almost impossible 'How could people sleep in these?' he wondered. After all, Robert knew nothing but mansions and luxury hotels his whole life... That was until a few days ago.

luck wasn't on Robert's side, dark clouds gathered in the now green sky, no longer clear as the heavy rain started to fall, following the angry storm.

Robert stood in the airport, watching, as all departures got postponed, indeed, no airplanes would be willing to take off in such harsh weather.

No hotel room reservations were made in advance, since Robert had planned to travel back home on the same day once he was done with his buissness meeting, and to his surprise, every hotel and motel in the small town was completely booked.

With no place left to stay, the conflicted man had no choice but to accept the offer of the nice elderly lady who took pity on him. Feeling bad for him, she gave him the key to her daughter's spare apartment, "You can stay as long as you need", she said, kindly.

It's been 3 days now, the storm was getting fiercer by the hour, but at least Robert wasn't alone...

The restless man felt a little paw batting at his hair "stop that" he murmured, and the little furry creature meowed as if protesting.

With a loud sigh Robert pulled himself upright, leaning his back against the old bed's wooden headboard, he looked at the little cat now curled in his lap, probably seeking warmth or attention... Or maybe both.

"OPEN THE DOOR!" , A voice yelled from outside, banging loudly on the apartment door, which startled Robert "I can hear him in there! open up!!" the angry voice demanded.

Quickly, The confused man hurried towards the door, and with a twist of the knob, he opened it to find a woman standing there, her palm still up in the air as if to continue banging on the door.

With anger drawn all over her features, before he could speak, she shoved him a side and stormed into his small apartment "Mimi!" she called out loud.

Robert was taken back by her audacity "Hey! What do you think you're doing?" he asked, stunned by her bold behaviour, he looked at her as she made her way to the little living room.

At the sound of the familiar name, the little cat padded into the room, purring and meowing upon seeing the woman standing there. Scooping him into her arms "Oh my little baby, did that bad man kidnap you?" she cooed, as if the little animal could answer her.

Her words stung Robert's bride, and he found himself quickly closing the apartment door and rushing to stand before her, "I didn't kidnap him, I found him near the park by the building" he stated firmly.

"liar!" the woman said, glaring back into his eyes with her angry ones, she continued "He wasn't lost, he went out to do his business"

Robert rolled his eyes "Well, how was I supposed to know that?" he retorted. "He has a collar with my number, why didn't you reach out?", the woman said, not backing down.

The man with blue eyes opened his mouth then closed it again, "I... I didn't think about it alright?", of course that was a lie.

The truth is Robert had seen the collar...

That night when he found the little guy sitting in the park he could tell from the collar that he belonged to someone nearby, after he took him to his apartment he noticed the tag in the dim light, Robert was about to reach for the owner... but then a selfish thought stopped him.

Loneliness wasn't something new to Robert, he was always lonely, no matter how many people were around him, but that rainy night it felt heavier than usual.

"Wanna stay?" he asked his new little friend, 'Just one night' Robert told himself. but everytime he pulled out his cellphone to call the number on the collar, his new companion would weave between his ankles, seeking attention, or crawl into his lap for a nap, the cat seemed to be asking him to stay a while longer... To him at least.

Robert found warmth in the cat's company, so he kept postponing the call, and that's why there's now an angry women standing before him in fluffy slippers, as she cuddled the cat to her chest.

The woman scoffed "That's a dumb excuse" she remaked. Robert, offended, replied sharply "No it's not! And What kind of name is even that? "Mimi"? For a male cat? "

With a gasp, the young lady gently put the cat down and raised her finger in the man's face "How dare you?? it fits him perfectly, Mr..." she paused, when she realised she didn't even know that man's name.

"Robert" he said, finishing her sentence for her. "Well Robert, neither Mimi nor I appreciate your feedback and we will be leaving now"

Something suddenly made Robert panic, "No!" he said, a little louder than he intended. Why was he so upset? Perhaps because for the first time in days he had someone to talk to? Perhaps because she was so pretty he wanted to know her name? Was he just upset she was taking his little friend with her or was it something else!

Now both her and the cat were peering back at him, surprised, she waited for an explanation, "Um... It's just... I already bought too much cat food and...treats, might as well let him stay a little longer..." he said, pointing gingerly to the piles he bought without a second thought.

Robert knew he didn't make sense, after all it was her cat, however, what he didn't realise is that the woman standing infront of him could easily see through his attempts to hide the loneliness he felt.

Not once did she witness him leave the apartment or even share a word with the neighbours around. The owner had already told her he wasn't from around her, why else would he steal a cat that wasn't his if not just to keep his company.

She tilted her head as if thinking, and looked into his eyes "Well... there's no good in letting that go to waste..." she could see him trying to hold back the little smile tugging on his lips, his hopeful blue eyes gazing back into hers "... Don't close your door, I'll let him come back" she said before she turned on her heels to leave, missing the smile of relief that broke accross his face.

With her hand on the door knob, she paused at the doorway, taking a second too long as she bit her lip in thought, she then turned around to look at Robert, with blushing cheeks, she spoke again "I too seem to have made too much food, could never measure spaghetti correctly... Care to join me for dinner?" she suggested.

"YES!" Robert answered, a little too eagerly for his liking, which made her bite back a smile, clearing his throat, he responded slower this time. "I mean, yes..yes I'd love to come over for dinner"

"See you in 10 minutes then" the young lady said, twisting the door knob, while holding her cat in the other arm, she opened the door ready to leave until his voice called again. "Wait!" he called over from where he stood, "I didn't get your name"

"I'll tell you over dinner, Robbie" she said, smiling, while making her away to her little apartment across from his.

#cillian murphy #inception #robert fischer #robert fischer x reader #robert fischer imagine #robert fischer fic #inception fanfiction #robert fischer x y/n #cillian murphy fanfiction #robert fischer x you #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x y/n

89 notes · View notes

okay-j-hannah · 1 year

Text

Blacksmith’s Hands

Pirates of the Caribbean : Fic

Will Turner x Reader

Word Count: 1419

Warnings: drunken bar fight... a bit of a jealous Will... blood and handholding

Request: “This is me absolutely begging and foaming at the mouth for you to write a Will Turner x reader. I’m fine with fluff or smut lmao. I have a couple ideas if you also want to write multiple (or blend them into 1), you totally don’t have to though. 2. Fluff about Will’s hands - It’s mentioned in Curse of The Black Pearl how Will has “Blacksmith’s hands”. Personally, I find the contrast of his rough hands and caring demeanor really adorable. Plus bar fights in Tortugan pub” @gingerdissapointment

A/N: While visiting Tortuga, you find yourself injured and in the capable hands of a shy Will Turner

Will shoved his way through the pub, attempting to be polite as others fell drunkenly around him. It was hot and stuffy and smelled of fruity wine and burning rum. It stank of salty sailors and sweaty drunkards and the cheap perfume of the ladies of the night.

Women brushed up against him and men sloshed their drink in front of him. He grimaced as an elderly man fainted and grazed his shoulder.

Gibbs was against the wall, laughing heartily as Jack made attempts to hide behind potted plants.

“What’s Jack doing?” Will yelled – the noise of the pub was overwhelming. He handed a tankard to Gibbs.

“Trying to hide from past mistresses. It’s all broken promises and hazy nights with Jack.”

Will pursed his lips and took a sip of his ale, scanning the room, “Please tell me we’ll be leaving here soon.”

“Not until Jack finds a suitable spy.” Gibbs grumbled as he gulped his drink, “But I agree, Mr. Turner. The sooner we’re out of this stinking shithole the better. I’ve got a dozen crates of rum to get on our ship.”

Will laughed, thinking how quickly that supply will drain while out at sea. He flitted his bored gaze towards the bar and choked on his ale.

“What’s (Y/N) doing here?”

The lovely and unattainable (Y/N) was the close friend – and Port Royal spy – of Jack’s. She was sweet and cordial and not at all meant to roughhouse with pirates and drunken low lives. She was raised by a commodore in Port Royal and frequently dined with the governor, which made her the perfect spy.

Now she journeyed with the Black Pearl to become acquainted with new spies working for Jack. But she could’ve done that on the ship. Why was she in the pub?

“She may live near the sea, but her tolerance of sailing is limited,” Gibbs barked, “She probably wanted to rest on dry land for a couple hours.”

“Then she should’ve stayed on the docks,” Will ground out, “She doesn’t belong in here.”

Gibbs held his hands up, his ale slipping down the tankard, “Then tell her, by all means. Or… wait a moment…” The whiskery man winked at him, “I don’t think you’ve ever said more than two words to the girl.”

Will scowled at him, but he couldn’t hide the blush creeping up his neck. “I can talk to her.”

“Seeing is believing.”

If truth be told, Will was so infatuated with the woman it seemed impossible for him to say anything coherent in her presence. But in that pub, with the scum of the earth eyeing her like a tasty piece of meat, something began to broil in his stomach.

She seemed to shrink in on herself as the bartender gave her a glass of wine. She thanked him and sipped, ignoring her surroundings like they bothered her. Like they scared her.

Will swallowed hard, the ale adding to the boiling of his stomach, igniting something dangerous in his chest. He watched (Y/N) drink and play with a tray of cheese and bread.

It wasn’t until a large man approached her that Will stirred from his place against the wall.

It was some drunken buffoon swaying on his feet. He leaned against the bar and spoke in her face. She was clearly uncomfortable, her nose wrinkling from the smell of him.

Gibbs gulped his drink, interested to see how the game would pan out. He could see the anger and anticipation building in Will. He was going to explode soon.

(Y/N) waved her hand and wished the hulking man well, but he only got closer. He nearly grabbed her face, and she stumbled out of her chair to get away. She was flushed and scared in the way she ordered the man to leave.

Instinctually Will shoved his tankard into Gibbs’ chest, storming towards the bar.

“Hey! I believe the lady asked for you to leave.”

The drunkard turned, bloodshot eyes finding Will as he slurred, “Keep your nose where it belongs. Out of my business.”

(Y/N) looked to Will with genuine fear in her pleading gaze. The glass of wine in her hand was quivering with her fear.

“Please leave before I throw you out.” Will’s voice darkened, his fists clenching.

The man laughed, “How polite. Polite like this beauty here.” And he grabbed (Y/N)’s arm, shoving her roughly by his side.

She flailed, getting pushed into the bar and breaking her wine glass against the counter.

She hissed as the glass cut her hand. The drunkard held her roughly and laughed with his yellow teeth and red cheeks. That was until Will shoved his fist deep into the man’s cheekbone.

He heard something crack as he threw another punch, the drunkard stumbling. Blood was quick to appear in the split on his cheek. It wouldn’t be surprising if a few of those tobacco stained teeth were knocked out.

(Y/N) screamed as Will threw one last fist, bruising the man’s eye. He was breathing heavy as the drunkard fell away, clutching his face.

“God, Will,” she mumbled, “Are you all right?” Her voice wavered as she approached Will.

He was panting, full of adrenaline as he attempted to uncurl his fists. (Y/N) was suddenly at his side, holding his arm with her unharmed hand.

He blinked, “(Y/N). Let me see your hand.” He tried to even his breathing as he gently held her injured arm. There was a clear cut along her palm, glass shattered everywhere.

“Mine? Look at yours.” She gave a breathy laugh, but it was strained with nerves.

“Let’s find someplace quiet,” he muttered. “Bandage that hand.” He was so gentle as he led her outside, a few fingers light as a feather on her shoulder.

They sat on a nearby porch outside a trading post. There was light from torches around them, enough to see the damage.

Will inspected her hand, ensuring that no glass was stuck in the cut. Then he found his water pouch kept on his hip while sailing. He poured some water on her hand, washing the blood away. He was trying very hard not to look at her face – he could feel her eyes on him.

She was staring at his hands. The way they worked. Those blacksmith hands.

His nails short and out of the way. The knuckles rough and worked. The palm callused and hard. They were strong and capable.

She eyed the scrapes that bloodied his knuckles. The hands that shaped metal and stoked fires. Those same hands defended her. Those same hands were holding her with such gentleness now. He was barely touching her, lightly grazing around the wound.

How could hands so strong have a presence so gentle?

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He flickered his eyes to hers, “Are you all right?”

She nodded and watched him rip a piece of fabric from his undershirt. The veins on his hands stood out as he gripped the shirt.

“This is the best we can do until we find some clean cloth.” He tied it slowly around her hand, encasing it with his own, “We’ll check on it tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” she said again, “For saving me, I mean.”

Will gave a soft smile, “You should’ve come in with me.”

“Oh, well I thought…” she pulled her hand out of his, “I thought you didn’t like me.”

She watched as he closed his hands without hers to occupy them.

“That’s impossible.”

She smiled, “Let’s take care of your hands now.”

There was only a second of hesitance before Will gave his hands willingly. He missed holding hers.

She borrowed his hip pouch of water and dabbed at his knuckles, savoring how warm his hold was. “Why don’t you ever talk to me?” she asked quietly, “If you do like me.”

“I just become lost for words when you’re near.”

“Well, isn’t that sweet.” She smiled, “I’ve always liked sweet.”

Will was watching her now, taking in her face as she worked, “You make my chest burn.”

“What?”

“You make my heart ache. It’s always what stops me from talking to you. I don’t… I don’t want to ruin my chances with you.”

(Y/N) bit her lip, hiding how wide her smile was, “I’d say your chances are looking pretty good.”

Will grinned in disbelief, “Really?”

She very slowly raised his bruised knuckles to her lips, kissing them better. “Just keep your hand in mine.” She reveled in the astonishment of his gaze, “And I’m yours.”

~~~

Tag List:

@caswinchester2000 @aria253264 @bippity-boppity-boopa @kaqua @cameleonfrenzy @shyposttree

Remember to check out my tag list so you’re updated when a fic you like is posted on my blog! Tag List

#pirates will turner #pirates will #the pirates of the caribbean #pirates of the caribbean #pirates #will turner x y/n #will turner x you #will turner x reader #William Turner #will turner #pirates of the caribbean will #pirates of the caribbean will turner

445 notes · View notes

ravenalla · 1 year

Text

Please correct me if I’m wrong but from what I know Helluva Boss is written by only three people right? That being Viv, Brandon, and Adam. And while I’m sure ideas are bounced around here and there with the team, the way this season is going is begging for an actual writers room with more experienced people. Not saying those three don’t have any experience, but it’s clear they don’t know how to mesh the comedy and serious moments together well at this point. Part of writing is knowing when you need to omit stuff because it doesn’t fit the tone or story progession that you have established, even if you very badly want to include it. The writing for Helluva Boss in contrast feels they are forgoing any sense of coherence so they can stuff in whatever they like even if it goes against previously established plot points and try desperately to get to you pity these awful characters instead of letting them learn from their mistakes and grow as people naturally. Again, if this had stayed a dark comedy, that would have been passable, but now they are trying to tell a serialized dramatic story with arcs and emotion, and it’s just failing because that is not these writers expertise. This is complete speculation, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Viv’s aversion to any form of criticism is affecting it.

How many times must we see something terrible happen to Stolas because the show wants you to keep crying and pitying over without having these characters actually navigating it themselves? How many times will Blitz acknowledge he’s an awful person but not actively try to change his behavior in anyway and revert to the exact same character the next episode? How many times will Moxxie have to learn confidence because it’s the only arc they can think to do with him while Millie is a walking prop and Loona flip flops between liking her dad and physically abusing him for no reason? To the people who keep saying “just wait the shows not over yet!” we are basically halfway through season 2, there is no damn reason why Millie shouldn’t have had ANYTHING on her own yet or why Blitz and Stolas should be repeating the same “uwu he doesn’t love me” scene over and over again. If you give us what should be moments of character development but never actual show it through their actions or behaviors after the fact, it’s not character development at all, it’s cheap scenes you threw in cause you wanted the guise of something serious without actually taking the screentime to commit to it. And yes, the Stolas Blitzo stuff is probably going to pay off eventually, but it’s annoying for the audience to watch this will they won’t they game in almost every single episode just waiting for when the characters will finally change or have at least SOME type of acknowledgement of all they’ve been through instead of just keeping the status quo of another “Stolas looks sadly at his phone,” “Blitzo doesn’t really care about him until there’s one millisecond showing maybe he does 🥺.” Unless your a hardcore shipper, people won’t stick around with that forever.

The show wants to have world-building, quirky characters who are bad people, tons of villains, funny sex jokes, emotional investment, and a complicated romance, but there’s a reason lots of media fails when it tries to be everything at once. The Stolitz plot behind every episode now is sabotaging parts of the show that promised wacky demon assassin adventures, and the less serious moments like the Loona doctor B plot in turn ruins the atmosphere of the dramatic scenes associated with the Stolitz plot. They wanted to show a serious abusive arranged relationship through Stella, but they also wanted her to have be a campy bad guy so Stolas could have a reason to cheat on her so he wouldn’t look like the bad guy. This leaves us with confusing contradictions like Stella written as being legit mad about him cheating and wanting him dead while hinting at them having at least a positive public image as a family once through the background paintings, to suddenly her not having ever cared about him and seeking him out “cause she likes tormenting him” while she also now didn’t want him killed I guess because she’s opposed to the divorce because the Goetia want them together??, but then wanting him killed AGAIN after even though the Goetia probably always wanted that guy alive and her brother has to come in for no reason to make her look like an absolute dumbass.

Same with Loona. They try to give her development with Blitz, but they never do anything with it and by the next episode she’ll be beating the shit out of him again. “She’s a moody teenager!” She’s a woman in her twenties and I don’t care about her sometimes finding appreciation for her dad when she’ll just kick him in the nuts right after because physical abuse against a spouse is serious but with a daughter it’s funny I guess. And again, the entire argument fans have to justify this constant loop of creating and forgetting about character development is “just wait they probably have a plan.” Nah bro I’m pretty sure they just still wanted to throw edgy dark comedy in there and to do that they had to ignore any positive character changes it seemed like happened until a future episode specifically is written to continue that arc. Also the world building and class system in general is just bad when they actually choose to acknowledge it, which is rarely. It’s still so unclear whether hellhounds are seen as actually sentient autonomous people or pets, and it just makes scenes with Loona super weird sometimes. Same with imps, for an apparent underclass they sure seem to be able to go wherever they want and do whatever they want without too much trouble, and until the latest episode we’ve never seen any imp discrimination be a major factor besides comments from Stolas (which we are now choosing to ignore because Stolas can’t be a bigot that has to learn to be a better person, Stolas is perfect 🙃)

Yikes this got longer than I meant it to but overall Helluva Boss just could really benefit from some more inputs in the writing, not just ideas for story or jokes but someone who actually knows how to properly balance and structure this kind of stuff into an episode. As is it feels very disjointed, especially this season. I don’t think this show would ever be perfectly for me, just because I don’t find the humor at all funny and that’s kind of what makes the show, but at the very least it’d be nice if the actual plots and world these characters navigate was fun to watch, but most of the time it’s just not anymore, because you don’t get to actually see most characters interact or what their relationships are, and if you do they hardly ever change from what they were until suddenly it’s relevant for the plot. Blitz is uncomfortable around Stolas and is tired about being treated like a play thing, wait no now he’s turned on by Stolas’s flirting even though we’ve never seen that before and this is right after they literally had a huge fight, wait nevermind now Blitz doesn’t care again. Moxxie is always weak and sensitive when an episode is about him but suddenly super strong and has no problems killing in any other episode (“We’re not going up there just to massacre we need clients! -S1E3, exactly what he and Millie do to an entire audience of innocent bystanders in the Cherub episode and they don’t care). Stolas is super perverted and sees Blitz as an object, wait nevermind we’re just gonna change his entire fucking backstory so his behavior will look justified even though that man would literally have to be a the dumbest person in Hell to not see Blitz did not care and was actively repulsed by him all throughout season 1, yet continued to act that way to his supposed “first friend” because..he thought it was a sexy game or something they were playing? Even as a retcon for an excuse it’s still bad. Helluva Boss has no rules it sticks to, no jokes or character behaviors it refrains from even if it harms the quality, it’s just a badly written fanfic with pretty animation.

#helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss critique #long post #rant

165 notes · View notes

thenixkat · 1 month

Text

Mundane AU!Laios thoughts

Note:

Probably contains spoilers

Mundane au= no magic and no fantasy 'races' (like... little people are a thing, they exist in reality, some people just have dwarfism. The elves are just skinny racist and xenophobic Europeans like? And there's already parralells made with the demi humans so if I do anything the orcs are Afro Native and Kobolds are somewhere African or Arab. And for the ogres... gigantism is a thing that exists in real like and totally a teen girl would just wear some horns.)

Thoughts:

The Toudens are European-born. From somewhere cold as hell, really isolated and conservative, that's close to some mountains, that's racist towards the local indigenous people.

(The sibs, but especially Laios got chewed out about some shit and has been trying to be better, slips up every now and then but takes criticism well so long as folks tell him what he did/said wrong).

Local weird kids put off vibes that the rest of the village didn't like, Laios and Falin grew up bullied and ostracized. Falin got sent off to schooling in the big city and later to a university in Italy where she met Marcille.

Laios dropped out of high school and joined the military as soon as he was able to b/c he wanted to get the hell out of dodge. Served for a few shitty years b4 just... deserting and backpacking across Europe just straight up homeless and working whatever odd jobs he could find. Man was going through it. Wound up in the same city where Falin was studying at a university in and decided to visit her. She took one look at him and refused to let him just go back to what he was doing, so Laios started couch surfing with her (very much against dorm rules but he looked terrible and Falin wasn't about to let anyone stop her from making sure her brother has a roof over his head and food).

Eventually, she takes him with her when she does a work-study in the USA for her ecology degree and they ended up staying/Falin kinda maybe sorta dropped out and got a job with a vet near where she was doing her work-study.

Laios and Falin are technically illegal immigrants but they're white so no one really questions their citizenship (their working on getting citizenship/papers)

Laios gets a GED. Does some self-study from Falin's textbooks and online stuff but that's about it for his schooling.

Laios definitely, like, lives in Falin's basement. Falin is the primary breadwinner in this household, Laios is aware of this and has learned to accept it even tho he would like to take care of his baby sister and sometimes feels bad about not being able to. They used to share a room in a cheap apartment but after building up enough savings they managed to buy a suspiciously cheap house in a rural town bordering a reservation and not far from a national park.

Laios still works odd jobs, mostly physical labor and stuff where they won't ask for a degree. Has worked retail, where his customer service was trash but he's darn good at just stocking and shelving shit.

Met Chilchuck while working retail, Chilchuck introduced him to the concept of a union which Laios thinks is really neat.

The town where the Touden's moved has a sizable population of people with dwarfism, Chilchuck is a notable member of the little person community in the area. The Touden's go to Chilchuck for help with paperwork (they pay him a small fee) and he doesn't ask too many questions about why they don't have this or that piece of documentation.

Laios enjoys doing citizen science and bird watching. During the tourist season, he runs a small wilderness guide giving campers and hikers tours in the local national park.

There's a hermit that lives in the national park illegally (Senshi) that Laios and Falin made friends with. They love his cooking.

Laios is active in the online furry community. He does commissions, mostly of digital and physical art or people's fursonas and vore stuff. He does great ferals, and decent anthros, but his human art is not good (he's working on it).

Laios is decidedly chubby in this, his weight goes up and down depending on the season and how much physical activity he's doing. But ever since he reunited with Falin, she's been making sure he doesn't skip meals if they can afford to eat. And ever since he met Senshi he's gotten heftier since he loves that man's cooking.

#nix meows #dungeon meshi #laios touden #mundane au #just a few thoughts

24 notes · View notes