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thekissofaphrodite · 5 months

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I Grew this for you, Ives.

Luke Castellan X Daughter of Demeter! Reader

Summary: Your secret meetup with your boyfriend, Luke, might have been interrupted by Percy Jackson.

Warnings: MakeUp...MAKEOUT- I MEAN. Language (Tell me if i missed one!)

Author's note: It might be kinda weird that the title doesn't match the summary but trust me, it's worth reading. + If you saw a fic from another blog the same as this i requested it and decided i wanna make the fic myself.

___

New kid, New responsibility. You were known as being motherly towards every kid that stepped in Camp Half Blood. And Maybe, Just maybe, Percy Jackson considered you as his Camp Mom, It wasn't new for older campers seeing a new 12 year old boy follow you around and look up at you with big puppy eyes along with Grover's confused look, but oh well.

Ever since your Godly Mother, Demeter has claimed you, Luke has called you Ives since then. It all happened when three years ago, you ended up in Camp Half blood after your mortal father has been killed by a chimera, much to his sacrifice, You might have offered some small offerings to your Brother In Law, Hades, to watch him in the underworld. Your first week into camp half-blood, Chiron had announced that Capture the Flag will be the first game for the day, you were teamed up with the reds (Much to your disappointment) you were near the cabin fire when two boys from the blue team had cornered you (One of them was luke) you raised you hands to cover yourself but then, Two ivy vines sprouted out the soil and blocked them, horror washed over you when one of the vines that you 'accidentally' summoned strangled one of the boys, Luke was able to escape and still..Blue team one.

While they were celebrating, The red team started ranting angrily about how you made them lose, You sat in a corner, your head leaned against an oak tree as you sobbed, then, a bright greenish-yellow light appeared with gold sickle with a few sheaths of wheat above your head, No one was there, not until a group of campers saw you, they ran and moments later, almost dozens of campers were in front of you, including chiron.

"All Hail Y/n Y/L/N, Daughter of Demeter"

Bunch of flowers started sprouting near you, The forest and plants looked much more healthier in your eyes as every one knelt down, Including Luke, Who gave you a mischievous wink.

"....And this is the mess hall, You're always designated to sit with your cabin mates but that depends, most unclaimed kids just sit with their friends" You said, Glancing at Percy, The young boy just nodded shyly and coughed,trying to hide his blushing cheeks.

"Looks like someone has a crush on you" Luke appeared behind you with a grin, Percy's eyes immediately went wide, making you chuckle.

"Crushes don't hurt, it's admiration afterall" You whispered before giving percy a light kiss on his cheeks, leaving luke shocked.

One of you halfsiblings, Althea, called you over. Apparently, another one of your half sibling's EX boyfriend from the Dionysus cabin used a lard grapevine to ruin the bathroom door inside the cabin while you sibling is showering out of rage and jealousy.

Now, As head of your cabin, It's either you spent one whole hour being lectured by Mr. D out of his favoritism or...Plead with one of the Hephaestus kids to fix it for you.

What a day.

Giving Luke and Percy one last smile, You left.

"C'mon Felix! This is the only time that i've asked for a favour out of all the favours i've done for you, You'd do it for me" You pleaded as you followed him back and forth inside his cabin's workshop.

"Look, Y/n, I love you as my friend, but i can't do it, not right now"

"What if i give you a 25$ gift card from burger king and......" You scouried your pocket hoping to find something, Your eyes lit up as you felt a bill in your palms "50 dollars...and...." You then went to pat your bra and pulled out a coin. "A Peso"

You then placed it in his soily hands, Felix's face remained calm, he then took the money.

"It's warm..." He said kinda horrified...You pulled the peso out of your bra for the gods sake!

"Take it or leave it."

He then rolled his eyes and grabbed his toolbox.

"Lead the way"

You squealed and hugged him before pulling him to your cabin.

As you watched him repair the door in silence, Felix broke the silencce by purposely dropping a hammer to the ground, the loud clattering sound made you flinch a little, he smirked "Thinking about Luke?"

You snorted, as if tho you weren't actually thinking about him, "No, i'm thinking about Percy"

"The new kid who broke Clarisse's spear? he's badass"

"mhm, Son of Poseidon"

"Speaking of, How's Luke?"

There was a moment of silence before you replied.

"Fine"

"Just 'fine' ? No ungodly things happening?"

"No" You could've bursted out laughing.

"I don't believe you, C'mon tell me some elaborate details"

You raised your brow, a mischievous glint appearing in your eyes.

"Actually, if you finished that, i'll tell you"

The Hephaestus boy huffed and went back to work

After an hour, Felix finished repairing the door and bid you a goodbye (Along with a side-eye)

It was now 11 pm, the Campfire sing-along ended almost an hour ago, and you were in your cabin, re-arranging your stuffed toys for the 5th time, (Making one plushie lay beside you will cause chaos among the plushies)

"Carrie..You go here and..Princess should be right....here, Done!"

All of your plushies were in order when you heard a knock from the window near your bunkbed. then, you saw luke, still in his usual camp shirt, unlike you who was in your rather inappropriate pajamas.

His eyes first landed on you, he then grinned before groaning and landing on your soft bunk bed.

"Hey ives-"

"Luke, what're you doing here?!" You hissed, afraid that your half siblings might caught you two.

"Can i not see you?"

"You can, but not at this time" You huffed, But he was still grinning before pulling a flower pot, with a rose.

"I grew this for you, Ives" He whispered, His eyes carefully scanning you expression before you chuckled.

"You know i can grow this in seconds?"

"Mhm, But still, I love you 'till the very last rose in this entire world wilt into ash"

A smile graced upon your lips before luke grabbed your cheeks and kissed you, the flowerpot fell into your bed, the soil staining your new bedsheet, You couldn't care less.

You deepened the kiss by pulling Luke by his neck, and a groan escaped his lips, his calloused hands then slowly went up your shorts making you moan a little, His hands became closer and closer and closer until-

"Luke?"

You two pulled away, Luke's hands were still in your inner thighs, he took a peak into your window and saw Percy, in his cute pajamas with messy blonde hair.

"Percy" Luke breathed.

"What's up?"

"The Apollo cabin seemed to be having a party, the noise is too loud and i can't sleep, i was wondering if you could go see it "

You then peaked into your window, your cheeks were pressed against luke's

"Y/n? Wait..what are you guys doing? and...why are you in her window?" Percy asked, his drowsiness seemed to have vanished.

Luke couldn't even answer percy himself, he started chuckling softly before burying his face into your neck and smothered it with kisses.

Percy then stood still before realizing, he cleared his throat, but before he could leave you called him.

"You know what? I think Luke could actually take a look at those Sun Brats" Luke immediately groaned and looked at you.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. Go help the poor boy"

"Yes Ma'am"

He then got up and just as he was about to climb down your bunk bed you stopped him.

"Nah uh, You can leave where you entered"

The dark haired boy chuckled, and and started climbing down the window, before he could jump back to the ground you kissed him one last time, But this time, the kiss was much more passionate. You could've sworn percy made a gagging face before turning around.

"I love you Ives"

" 'Till the very last rose in this entire world wilt into ash" You said, Luke's eyes soften.

You watched as he and Percy went to the Apollo cabin to resolve the chaos.

The flower potted rose sat in your bed, You took it, and glanced at the beautiful red beauty, You sniffed the fragrance before placing it near your window as you felt Hypnos' warm palm caressing you to sleep.

The next day, The first thing you did was bang into Felix's cabin, Giving him every detail from last night as Luke, along with percy watched you from afar.

A/N:

Hey Guys! I've been gone for too long and i just watched the new PJO series and i have to be honest, I fell in love with Charlie as Luke so here's a little treat for you guys while i finish my other fics, i do hope you guys like it!

#percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan x reader #charlie bushnell #percy jackson #Disney series #luke castellan

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copperbadge · 6 months

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It LOOKS like I did a lot today...

I knew that I would need containers for various things when I started cleaning this year, but I held off until I could make a list and take measurements; this isn't even all of the containers I need, but it's what I could get from Ikea. Container Store will likely provide the rest but again, I'm waiting until I have a fuller idea of what all I need.

Last year I organized my craft stuff and designated a specific drawer for fabric; that worked well but the drawer got a bit disorganized because it was "one cardboard box with no lid, and fabric shoved into and around it". So I measured the drawer and bought a pair of plastic bins for the majority of the fabric, so now I can remove the bins if need be to get a better idea of what's available. I also found out there's a store in Chicago which takes donations of crafting stuff so eventually I'll destash some of this. I've been trying to use up a lot of it on various projects in the meantime.

[ID: Three images; the first shows a bin full of folded squares of fabric, sitting on top of the shelf, while the next shows one bin of fabric and some loose fabric in a drawer, and the third image shows how the two bins fit into the drawer.]

Another bin I bought from Ikea was a metal basket to contain all my seasonings; this worked well, and allowed me to open up a bunch of space on the shelf they used to sit on for stuff that was on the shelf above it, making it easier to see what all I do and don't have.

[ID: Two images of a white two-section basket split by a wooden handle in the middle; in the first it is sitting on the stove, freshly full of jars of spice and herbs (Marylanders take note: that red lid is indeed Old Bay). In the second image it is sitting on the spice shelf surrounded by other stuff like a box of baking soda and a spice grinder, while the shelf above it is noticeably not super cluttered.]

I also sorted through the spices, threw out some old ones, and identified the jars of stuff I hadn't used much and should use soon. I think I'm going to spend the winter making cinnamon rolls and swirl bread with the vanilla sugar, and make a shitload of taco meat with the fajita seasoning. I'll probably use the cheese powder for mac and cheese, and the Greektown for burger seasoning. Or maybe I'll try my hand at making falafel with it.

[ID: A photo of several jars and packets of seasoning, including Spiced Vanilla Sugar, Romano powder, Penzey's "Revolution" seasoning and "Fajita" seasoning, and a seasoning mix called "Greektown".]

Lastly, to get to $35 and get free shipping, I bought some Ikea "cord caddy" thingys, which you stick to a surface and run your charging cords through in order to keep them tidy. I realize neither of these LOOK tidy but compared to what they were, they very much are.

[ID: Two images; one is of a small portable table that I use for working on my laptop, and shows the caddy holding the laptop's charging cord and a phone charging cord so the table feet stop tangling them. The second image shows a caddy attached to one of the slats of my headboard, through which are threaded a power cord to some remote-control lights, another phone charging cord, and the charging cord for my sleep headphones.]

Listened to about the first forty minutes of the latest episode of Just King Things, about Wizard and Glass, and was gratified to hear many of my own complaints about it reiterated by either the hosts or people they've spoken to. I have started that book so many times and never been able to finish it because I Do Not Care about Roland getting laid as a teenager. So it's nice to get the plot and analysis in podcast form, and now I'll never HAVE to read it.

#naclyoho #national clean your home month #food

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snazzyladreal · 11 months

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Metadede headcanons

Ft. Transfem Meta and Bisexual Himbo Dedede

She sit on his shoulder/arm like a bird and uses this to cuss people out

Meta still can’t cook for shit

Dedede can barely cook but makes the sickest chocolate chip cookies this side of the galaxy

Meta can carry Dedede around and this results in the ‘mah wweifie iss sooo stroong’ cringe affect

Once Dedede got a ball of yarn out of curiosity and Meta immediately just acted like an excited kitten

Meta has (kinda reluctantly)let Kirby and Sailor do her makeup before

The statues from the ‘Sworn Partners’ fight are now in a garden under their bedroom window

Meta tried baking a cake for her hubby’s birthday once

Bandana had to drag her away from the fire that started

If anyone misgenders Meta, be prepared to be threatened by a penguin while his wife flips you off

‘Meta Knight’s Revenge’ happened before they started dating

After the Halberd crashed, the entire crew showed up on Dedede’s doorstep, drenched in water and looking slightly like sad cats

“hey, sooooooo, we need a place to stay for a bit….”

”meta what the fuck did you do”

Meta would just leave flowers on Dedede’s window sill cause she suck ass at flirting

Imagine - lil borb meta flying and carrying big ass penguin husband with one hand

she stronk

Mets just sinks into the fluff of Dedede’s robe

literally looks like the top of a grape with wings in the fluff

she can and will sleep like this

Meta’s (semi-jokingly) pissed that her husband has better boobs then her

”HIS are all natural, and I had to pay to get these motherfuvkers!”

Dedede makes sure to kiss all of Meta’s face scars whenever she takes her mask off around him

You ever seen a penguin king pet his sleeping bat wife like she was a cat?

well now you have the cute mental image

Everything is okay once you cuddle in the world’s comfiest bed with piles of blanket around

They spar as date nights sometimes

Meta’s got some jealousy issues based off insecurities

but then her husband kisses her and she feels much better

Once meta put fake lashes on her mask to try to get people to gender her correctly

she was so pissed off when it actually worked

Dedede couldn’t stop laughing

They both adopted the dee twins separately before they were married

Meta is the scariest of the entire family

you put pickles on someone’s burger when they asked for none?

prepare to have your head added to the wall above a fireplace somewhere

They also have the biggest table in the castle filled with food for eating contest dates sometimes

Dedede loves listening to his wife infodump about the stars and constellations

everyone in the kingdom thought they were oblivious idiots in love until they announced their wedding

Meta can see UV light so sometimes she actually thinks her husband is glowing when her eyes are just being like ‘ooooo pretty light’

Meta is moronsexual

they do each other’s make up

ddd is a fucking master at doing eyeliner

the queerest straights you’ll ever meet

#snazz’s headcanons #meta knight #transfem meta knight #king dedede #bandana dee #kirby series #kirby headcanons #metadede #metadede headcanons #They idiots in love #Strong ass wife #Lovable idiot husband #Best dynamic out there #Love them #anyway #enjoy lmao #snazz screams

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dira333 · 10 months

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Who am I and how many?

Midoriya Izuku x Reader

Words: 1872

Reader has a quirk that allows her to travel through different alternate Universes. She can steal from there or drop and leave people stranded there. She can go through undetected or let herself be noticed but it is very taxing on her energy.

warnings: a little bit angsty at the end

@revasserium I used the 31 AU Challenge as inspiration for this.

When you were four, you got lost in another world for three days.

You weren’t that scared, really, because you knew that world from your books, the little red hood you were wearing looked exactly how you had imagined it and even the wolf looked less scary as he lay in bed, answering your questions.

The scary part was returning home and realizing that no one had noticed you’d been gone.

When you were ten, you brought back a single white feather that was as long as your arm. You used it to write sometimes and hid it well from your grandmother who seemed to understand that your quirk wasn’t about being invisible but something else.

When you disappeared, you did it wholly.

But you did not like to tell others where you went. Or who you met with.

His name is Izuku.

In every world you visit, he is there.

Sometimes you have to look for him, and sometimes he comes looking for you, but he exists in every universe.

Izuku becomes your North Star, the light that calls for you.

No matter where you meet him, no matter how he lived, there is always a kindness to his features and words that makes you want to be the same.

There is a strength in his smile that inspires you to keep fighting.

In the fiery pit, he calls himself Ku, the only kind soul around to guide you.

He takes your hand when faceless creatures sneer down at you and something ugly and inhuman crawls towards you, talking about eating you.

“Sometimes,” he says and manages to sound wiser than his age, “Hell is the other people. But you can’t let that bring you down.”

Izuku likes everything green.

He teaches you how to fly, how dreams can lift you, how to follow the second star, and made you fall in love with being a child.

“I don’t want to go home.” You tell him and he holds you close, the two of you bound over the knowledge that sometimes, a home is not a home.

Sometimes, home is a person.

By the time you’re fourteen, you met him in so many places and have lived so many lives.

They call you quirk “wandering” and ask you to teleport. Yourself, others, things.

Your mother once asks you to get her an expensive bag, pointing at the live stream of a runway show playing on TV. “Give it to me.” She orders and you disappear, but not to the place she wants you to go.

Instead, you spend a week selling potions, living in what once used to be a school bus, and feeding parts of your dinner to a talking cat and a little green bunny that likes to cuddle with you at night.

Your mother has forgotten about her demands when you return but the warmth of the bunny in your arms never leaves your memories again. You’ve called it Izuku because it looked like him and felt like him. Sweet and unobtrusive yet bringing you a warmth that feeds the fire in your soul.

By age twenty, you’ve learned about the Izuku of your own world.

Midoriya Izuku. Deku. Hero of this world. Hero of all your worlds.

Whenever you slip into another world, you wait for him to show up, to find you, to let you find him.

He is King Midoriya.

He is the sweet boy next door.

He is a waiter in an old-fashioned roadside diner.

He is the writer and you’re his muse.

You’ve danced a ball with him, kissed him over a milkshake and a burger in a dingy roadside diner, and made love to him in the bedroom of a castle that belonged to him, high above a land that listened to his every word.

You’ve had him call you a witch and a fairy, a princess and a commoner.

You’ve seen him kill and heal, use magic and superpowers, be tiny and a giant, an idol and the boy next door.

By the time you’re twenty, you’ve learned to master your quirk.

You know where each door leads, know what steps to take and what to skip.

In the morning, you skip the morning commute in favor of walking through a world where you make coffee for a living.

You sit for a while, sip a latte you ordered from yourself and watch as your other you flirts helplessly with a flustered Izuku. He’s so cute in this world and would you have less sympathy for your other self, you’d go over there and get his number.

From the coffee shop, it’s only one step into the agency that you work in.

Four hours of work until you can take another step and find yourself in a big cafeteria.

Izuku sits at a large table with his friends.

One of them is Kachan, you’ve learned. He doesn’t like you at all.

But you’re not there to talk to them. Instead, you grab yourself lunch and take a seat at the table closest to them, content to watch them interact with each other.

The Izuku of this world is carefree and happy. It’s soothing to your soul to see him like this.

You don’t exist in this world.

Eventually, you have to get back to work. Four more hours and a round of patrol before you can make it back to your apartment.

You long to take another step, a quick detour through a world you haven’t yet experienced, but you’re drained, tired and if you’re not in control, you won’t be able to come back when you need to.

The only possible relief right now is the bright lights of a convenience store, its warmth welcoming you even at this late hour.

You walk through the aisles towards the back for a drink and a snack, anything to get you in a good enough shape to make it home.

As you stretch to reach a bottle on the upper shelves, a scarred hand takes the bottle from you.

“Here.” The voice is warm, the syllables melting together with exhaustion. You recognize his voice first and his hair second, but his eyes are what steal your breath.

“Izuku.” You whisper, a shiver moving over you as you realize where you are. This is your world. He doesn’t know you here.

“Oh, do we know each other?” He smiles and your heart flutters in sync.

Maybe it’s the late hour or your exhaustion, his appearance, or your loneliness, but you can feel a well-known pull. Your quirk is in control and not the other way around.

There is not much time and you open your mouth to tell him good bye for now, at least you hope you’ll see him again, but he must sense something, because his hands grab your shoulders and you’re a little too slow to open your mouth or a little too tired of having to leave him again and again, but there’s darkness and there’s light and Izuku blinks against the warm golden light of the morning sun.

“Where are we?” He asks, hands moving off you. You grab his shoulders instead.

“If you let go of me,” you tell him, “You will be noticed.”

“What?!” There’s a note in his voice you haven’t heard before. It’s a mix of fear and attention and something entirely new.

“Turn around. Slowly. Do not let go of me.”

You know this world well. You exist in this world.

Or rather, you once did.

Izuku is a writer here. Gifted with the terrible fate of experiencing life in all it’s vivid detail, all emotions raw and intense to him. He’s cursed to bring all of it to paper.

He married you, loved you, and built a home for you.

You died in his arms a few years ago.

When you met him, you’d stayed invisible. The pain in this world touches even the corners of your heart that have scabbed over, that are numb from the past.

Only when you’re really lonely do you travel here and keep Izuku company.

Sometimes you come to him in a dream and remind him that you loved him.

Sometimes you let him nap with his head in your lap and tell him to go out and love again.

Tonight he’s sitting at the window, gazing out into the world that’s sunkissed and lovely.

You wonder what he sees.

Izuku, your Izuku, strains for the desk and you move with him.

You don’t want to hurt any of them and them meeting cannot go over without any hurt.

“What is this?” He asks and you allow him to pick up a page. He reads quietly, his lips move as he reads.

No other Izuku moves his lips as he reads and you’re fascinated, thrilled and scared.

How do you explain to someone that you’ve met him in every world there is, in some form or another?

How do you explain to someone that you’ve loved him in a thousand different lives before?

“I’ve been waiting for you.” Izuku’s voice is deep and rich, vibrating with emotions.

You look to the window, knowing who has spoken.

“You brought me myself.” He says and gets up, tall, but beaten by life.

“Let me introduce you to my world.”

You need two days to gather enough strength to find back home.

Four days in the world of a writer and its muse, a muse so vibrant and loved that her spirit lives on even after her death.

Izuku, your Izuku, has been quiet and attentive.

He’s listened to this other version of himself, has not once urged you to hurry.

Your exhaustion must have been evident or maybe he’s too enraptured with meeting himself. He’s read through every page he could find. He has watched you with careful eyes when you fell asleep on the giant bed in the middle of the room, knowing that a different you had slept there before, knowing that a different version of him has slept there with you.

“I am sorry,” you tell him when you step back into the convenience store as if only a few minutes have passed. “I wanted to warn you. I would have been fine on my own.”

“How many of me have you met?” He asks instead.

“I have lost count.”

“Show me.” He says but he does not sound like your mother, demanding, or like your father, begging.

He asks like someone who’s going to give you the world in return if you dare to give him your hand.

You are old and grey, but Izuku recognizes you the moment you step inside his room.

Izuku, the writer, is waiting for you. He seems to not have aged a day but now you realize that he’s only ever been a little older than you, a little bit further in life and experience.

It’s not the age that made you come back for him. It’s the loss that you both now share.

He opens his arms for you, welcoming your pain, happy to ease your misery.

“I loved him.” You say and he nods into your hair, lets your tears soak his shirt.

“We loved you.”

My Kofi if you want to tip me

#my writing #bnha x reader #bnha imagine #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya izuku #my hero academia

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adultswim2021 · 4 months

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Aqua Teen Hunger Force #88: "Last Last One Forever and Ever" (aka "Live Action") | May 31, 2009 - 11:45PM | S07E10

This episode starts with the Aqua Teens all bursting into flames after finding out their water has been infected with fire. They try to warn Carl, who is currently farting in his above-ground pool with a stack of dynamite that he moved there so that the ants wouldn’t get to it. Carl ignores his neighbor’s pleas and it ends tragically, with the entire Eastern seaboard exploding.

Then: DAAAAAANG, we cut to a live-action version of the Aqua Teens’ house! it turns out this (and implicitly, every episode of the show) is a story being written by Don Shake, a man in a white jumpsuit that wears yellow dish-washing gloves. He’s played by H. Jon Benjamin. He’s at odds with his roommate, portrayed by T-Pain who vaguely resembles Frylock. T-Pain Frylock has been letting Don Shake slide on rent while he writes his awful stories, which Don promised Frylock a percentage on. Unfortunately, his stories are all bad, and they make him none money.

Shake confers with Frylock’s brownish exercise ball, who sounds like a little guy we all know and know some more. He tries and fails to give Shake guidance. The presence of a sword is established. Shake goes to his job at a bouncy castle house, run by Dr. Weird, whose voice we hear on the overhead system. We also hear Steve. It’s nice to hear from those guys again, isn’t it? Anyway, Carl tries to interfere in Shake’s creative process as well, urging him to add boobs and lesbos. Meatwad is so displeased that he advises that Shake do something to Frylock with the sword.

After a sword-related fake-out, we cut back to the cartoon reality, because Don Shake now knows how to end his story properly. The Aqua Teens are moving out of their house, and Carl is seeing them off, mostly to try and get their VCR from them. As they drive away, Carl solemnly says “truly… they were an Aqua Teen Hunger Force.”. Then he yells at them for leaving the emergency brake on in their u-haul as they screechily drive away. End of episode. End of series?

Live-action Carl was played by David Long Jr., who was selected as part of an open casting-call contest that was sponsored by Burger King. There are a couple of DVD Extras covering this, but I’m not sure if they’re on YouTube. It seems much harder to keep ATHF stuff on YouTube without getting copyright stuck. Try archive.org. I remember him appearing in promos, and I’m guessing the guy made promotional in-person appearances at Adult Swim events. Actually, now that I think of it, I am pretty sure the one promo I'm imagining with him was advertising a college tour that he was bragging about appearing at. Did David Long Jr. come to your college and give you the thrill of your life circa 2009? Please let me know. How did he smell? Better than me?

The live-action set design is wonderful. Meatwad’s room, which is actually Frylock’s exercise room in the live-action universe (he lets Shake sleep there) looks really great. It's sort-of a treat to see a real pile of sand in that closet. I don’t know why, but it is. I’m glad they didn’t chose to tidy up those elements that would make less sense in the live-action world. I would be more interested in visiting the ATHF house IRL than I would the Simpsons house, even though the Simpsons house has much more to explore. But maybe that’s just me.

After some light googling, I found out that this episode almost didn’t air on television; Mike Lazzo was so unhappy with it that it was in danger of becoming a DVD extra or a direct-to-YouTube curiosity. I’m not sure I ever knew that, and vaguely suspect that those claims are over-stated. What I did know was that the episode was actually written to be a series finale. I don’t think they were canceled, per se, but Matt and Dave seemed to be under the impression that they weren’t going to get picked up for more seasons.

I also found out that this episode isn’t very well-regarded among fans? This legitimately threw me, because I’ve always liked this one and thought fairly highly of it. I get it, I guess. It’s different, and it’s light on actual jokes. But you know I respect a St.-Elsewhere-style rug pull. It was a little undone by the fact that the show kept going. But what’re you gonna do? Stop watching cartoons?

MAIL BAG:

which of the original adult swim shows would you show to a date, if you were the dating type

Of course that depends on the date. I have an aversion to the act of sitting a potential partner down to make them watch something to make sure they also like it. BUT: I am also shallow enough to not want to be with somebody if they didn't like certain things. I guess I'd show her Minoriteam so I could find out how racist I'm allowed to be around her.

i dont get the teen vogue joke in your last article, but you seem pretty proud about it so I wonder what's the deal

It feels so long ago, so it's possible I might've even fucked up the reference-to-the-reference. But for a while there Teen Vogue got all popular for being leftist online, I think? I sorta forget exactly the nature of it, but there were lots of tweets like "TEEN VOGUE IS GOOD, ACTUALLY". But then I think they were anti-union or something and it all came crashing down.

Hello, im writing you an ASK ME ANYTHING message to let you know not to upload anything on Tuesday, for it is Tasty Tuesday and you should respect that. Happy February!

You will be pleased to see I heeded your words. Happy Februany.

If you're going to have nothing but Squidbillies for a while, does that mean you might update the 2022 blog in between to dull the monotony?

An interesting proposition but I simply do not know.

I’m enjoying your reviews of aqua teen. I don’t know when YouTube transitioned into a formula of “talk about x thing you like in depth for 7 hours” but your posts scratch that same itch I have. I like the show, dammit! I want to read some guy’s opinions of it, over and over again!

Hey! Thank you. That's nice! I am glad a handful of people read this blog and sorta like it! Plus: I love to speak my mind!!!!!

#adult swim #adultswim2021 #aqua teen hunger force

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wtnvwiki · 2 years

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RUINING 10 YEARS OF FANART IN A SINGLE BLOW

[ID: An excerpt from the transcript of WTNV 210 that reads: "the Arby’s. Except they are no longer the lights above the Arby’s. Not since Rudy Arby, owner of Arby’s Discount Shoes, which the lights floated above, closed up shop and was replaced by Burger King. Yes, Janet..." End ID]

[thanks to @princess-of-purple-prose for the transcript!]

#THIS IS SO FUNNY WE SCREAMED #wtnv #wtnv spoilers

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lilkittenofdoom · 2 months

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A sequel to my Lights over the Arbys post, I headcannon that before Strex, Desert Bluffs had a Burger King with a void above it. If you looked into it for too long, it will stare back....

#alcor talks nonsense #wtnv #lights over the arbys #welcome to nightvale #desert bluffs #wtnv kevin #strexcorp

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aparticularbandit · 1 year

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The Curse

Summary: Agnes is no medical doctor. She was quite right about that.

Not only is Agnes no medical doctor, but she has no medical experience. At all. She’s a suburban housewife, one who has lost her husband (not that she’d ever had one, but she doesn’t know that), lost her kids (not that Wanda remembers giving her kids, so that must have pulled itself in from something within Agatha, not that she wants to know), and lost her best friend to—

Well, she hasn’t lost her best friend anymore, has she?

Wandagatha Week 2023 Prompt 1: Villains

Wanda Maximoff/Agatha Harkness Rating: T.

AO3

previous chapter

Her entire body screams.

She should be used to this feeling because a part of her mind, shoved back far, far away, also constantly screams. Most of the time, she ignores it, but every now and again, she reaches out to it, checks in on it, and finds it still screaming. It’s as if the part of her that collapses just before her magic takes on a mind of its own has been locked back there, only with a little more free will. That part of her, still screaming, occasionally pounds against the walls of the corner where she’s locked it and forces her to acknowledge it, but she doesn’t dwell there. Can’t dwell there. Refuses to dwell there. Shoves it away again and forces herself forward.

(And, yes, she does call it magic now. She’s acknowledged that. Accepted it. Killed so many people with it. Became exactly what Tony Stark—)

But it’s different, her body screaming instead of just her head, pain rippling through her, with every flinch of her muscles, every furrowing of her brow, every subtle (or unsubtle) attempt at movement sending spasms under her skin, until she finally simply ceases.

Maybe this is what death feels like. An eternity of unending pain, unless she stops moving. Gives up. Gives in.

It would be easier to give in if she had something to distract her from that part of her head that’s still screaming—

“Hon, you’ve got to drink something, I don’t…. I don’t have any IVs, and I’m not a doctor, and I don’t think—”

Wanda’s entire body flinches. She tries to snap herself up and awake, but she barely moves an inch before her entire body lights on fire. The most she can do is open her eyes and glare at the woman above her.

Agnes’s brow – Agatha’s, technically, but Agatha wouldn’t care about her this much – knits together, lips pressed into a thin line, until she notices that Wanda’s eyes are open, and then her entire face lights up, lips spreading into an endearing smile. “Oh, you’re awake, good, good, here, will you just—?” She holds a cup of water in one hand – a plastic cup with a lid and an equally plastic straw (that she must have gotten from Burger King or McDonald’s or some other cheap fast food joint because it’s one of those white ones with the red and yellow and blue stripes surrounding it) – and sets the straw on Wanda’s lips. “I need you to drink something, dear. Wouldn’t want you to thirst to death.” She pauses, brow furrowing again, and licks her lips. “Is that the right phrase? Thirst to death? Like starving to death, but with water.” Her gaze flinches away. “There’s got to be an easier way to say that than die of dehydration—”

If endless pain with every movement is death, then maybe this is hell.

Lying here unmoving won’t make the woman above go away, not if she wants her to drink something, so Wanda parts her chapped, cracked, dried out lips and sucks on the straw. It hurts to drink anything at all, hurts to swallow, hurts to cough so that she doesn’t quite choke on her water (her body will absorb it, just like it would absorb chips of ice; it’s hard to choke on water) – but the water itself is cool and refreshing and she finds herself wanting more of it, no matter how hard it is to drink, how long it is for her to get any of it at all.

Water’s the one thing that doesn’t hurt.

Agnes smiles again as she drinks, and she brushes strands of Wanda’s hair back out of her face with fingertips so feather soft that it’s nearly calming. Would be calming if it wasn’t Agnes. “Good girl,” she murmurs when the straw starts to make that annoying, unsettling sound of there not being enough water to draw anything up. Then she bends down as though to do something else, hesitates, and then stands up, the now quite empty plastic cup in her hand. “I’ll be back with more, hon, don’t you worry!”

As Agnes slips out of the room, Wanda mentally reaches out – intentionally in a way that she rarely if ever does, except on that kid at Kamar-Taj, except when she needed someone to run, except when she needs people to obey her without having to argue with them – and just touches the second mind within Agnes.

The screaming in the back of her mind grows louder, angrier, echoing and reverberating in a lower tone, a mish-mash of notes that don’t quite make a harmony, make something just slightly off, setting her teeth on edge and causing her to flinch away so hard that her full body flinches again, and pain rips through her once more.

Well.

That answers that question.

(Except it doesn’t, not really, it doesn’t answer her question at all, it doesn’t answer why she’s here when she should be dead.

Maybe, if she waits long enough—)

Agnes is no medical doctor. She was quite right about that.

Well, she hasn’t lost her best friend anymore, has she?

Not only has Agnes reclaimed her lost best friend, she’s reclaimed a bit of purpose in life. She looks after Wanda the way she might have looked after one of her sons (who she only on occasion mentions, but never in the way she does anything else, never in a way that suggests she wants Wanda to ask (not that she would) or in a way where she rambles on about them the way she always does about Ralph)—

Maybe she dotes after Wanda more because she has no one else.

(This isn’t, strictly speaking, true. Wanda has heard the knocks that come to Agnes’s door, and she’s heard the whispered voices. She knows that Agnes isn’t always around, knows that sometimes she’s somewhere else, doesn’t know where she goes, doesn’t ask.)

Maybe, quite by accident, Wanda put something into Agnes that makes her—

(She refuses to think about that, refuses to think what that might say about her.)

Maybe she’s just honestly afraid that Wanda might actually die.

(Wanda wishes.)

But despite having no medical experience (other than what she must have learned in raising the boys she mentioned, other than what she might have learned for other family members that she never mentions), Agnes takes great care to help Wanda heal. She brings her water, she brings her chips of ice to make sure she can chew before giving her any food at all, she brings her smoothies and protein shakes on the days when all she can do is drink, when she cannot chew at all, and she brings her good stuff, too, not protein shakes that taste like dirt, not smoothies that have the wrong flavors mixed together, actually good stuff—

Which is probably part of the suburban nosy neighbor housewife stereotype that Wanda baked into her; Agnes probably knows all sorts of yoga tips and tricks, and the best sort of all organic non-GMO smoothies for boosting various vitamins and antioxidants, and protein shakes maybe for her lost husband or her lost sons because maybe one of them was an athlete or a body builder or—

Somewhere along the way, Wanda’s body stops screaming.

Mostly.

Agnes tries, multiple times, to scrub the inky black stains from Wanda’s fingertips. No matter what she does, they never come off. At first, she’s gentle with them the way she is with everything else; when Wanda can’t move herself, can’t bathe herself, Agnes does it for her, just the way a nurse might, careful and gentle, but when she gets to those stains….

Her lips press together in a firmer line, and her nose wiggles a few times as she mutters something under her breath. “Dear, it’s like you’ve burned them. I don’t think I could even get this off with bleach!”

Wanda doesn’t know how much magic she can still access right now, but she immediately reaches out and—

She can’t modify the Agnes spell, but she can add another one on top of it. That should be fine, shouldn’t it? Just another spell to make sure she doesn’t use bleach on people, which feels like it should be common sense, but when it comes to Agnes…. Well, taking care of Wanda the way she is can’t be common sense, can it? So there’s got to be a loose screw in there somewhere.

(It’s probably Agatha. Mucking everything up. Again.)

After that, Agnes ignores her fingers and cleans them the way that she cleans everything else.

It takes a few weeks of Agnes’s idle chatting – and Wanda’s body slowly healing – before Wanda reaches out to touch the mind within her again.

This time, Wanda hears no screaming, no anger, no frustration, no nothing. Her brow furrows with the barest tinge of pain, and she reaches further. Still nothing. Which is concerning.

So the next time Agnes checks in on her, Wanda forces herself to sit up as much as she can, propping herself up on her elbows and ignoring the sharp welt of pain that creeps up her spine and then settles into a low ache. “Agnes,” she says with a voice rasping with disuse.

Agnes freezes. She turns with a brightening smile – “You’re talking!” – and immediately sits herself down on the edge of Wanda’s mattress, just near the curve of her hip. As soon as she does, her smile fades, as does the light in her eyes. “Do you…do you know what happened, dear? I’ve been taking care of you for,” her gaze drops, and she starts to idly fiddle with a loose thread on her plaited skirt, “for a while now, and—”

“Hush.”

The word croaks its way through Wanda’s lips as she reaches out and places her fingertips on Agnes’s forehead. She closes her eyes as Agnes freezes much more completely than before – like a television show on pause, rather than a living breathing person unsteady and unsure of herself – and pushes more directly into Agnes’s mind, ignoring the uncertain but very definite attraction she finds on the surface (definite to her, but Agnes is uncertain, despite the many times she’d read books with this exact scenario, albeit much straighter) and looking deeper, into the murky depths: in the same corner in her own mind where she’d shoved her own screaming self, she searches for the other person who absolutely should still be there.

It takes more than a moment before she finds her, if it can even be called a moment – it’s hard to tell time when she’s swimming in someone else’s mind – but she does find her, standing just as she had when she led Wanda through her own memories, one arm crossed, her cheek resting on the other fist, bright blue eyes gazing at her inquisitively, wry smile on her lips. Like she knows more about any of this than Wanda does. Like she knows anything about any of this.

Instinctively, Wanda’s eyes narrow. “You’re supposed to be in pain.”

Agatha gives a shrug of one shoulder – she’s even still in the same outfit, that purple sweater over a purple button-up, the collar just peeking through and above the other, like she’s some sort of attractive professor and Wanda’s just…just….

“Must have done something wrong, hon. It’s all nice and cozy in here.” Agatha’s smile doesn’t drop, but her eyes wander along Wanda’s form, taking her in. “Surprised to see you, though. Agnes was having a whole Janet with Rocky affair out there.”

Wanda blinks. Twice. “What?”

Agatha groans and rubs her forehead. “Rocky Horror Picture Show. You’ve never—” She lets out a sound of disgust. “Harley and Joker? Florence Nightingale? Marty McFly and his mom?”

“Got it, got it.” Wanda winces, shudders. “And no. Gross. You’re—” She pauses, takes a second to take Agatha in, appraising her, and then shudders again. “I can’t believe you’re suggesting—”

“You’re worse than the Puritans.”

“I’m—”

Agatha waves a hand dismissively and then twists it just so, causing a pair of chairs to appear. “Sit, dear,” she says, “and tell me why you’re here.”

Wanda’s eyes narrow again as Agatha settles into one of the chairs. She doesn’t sit. “The last time I checked on you, you were screaming.”

“Intruder alert, hon.” Agatha lifts one corner of her lips in a knowing smile. “Someone breaks into your mind, first thing you want to do is yell at them. Like a stray cat. Scat!”

Wanda doesn’t believe her, but it’s hard not to when Agatha seems so…calm. She presses her lips together and then, finally, asks, “Why am I here?”

Agatha heaves a huge sigh. “Hon, I believe I just asked you—”

“Not here here,” Wanda interrupts with a growl, “but here. With Agnes. You don’t have magic. She doesn’t have magic. How am I here?”

For a moment, Agatha doesn’t answer. Instead, she conjures what looks to be a cup of tea and sips at it, considering her. Then, finally, she asks, “What happened to the Darkhold, super star?” Her tone takes on the same sort of patronizing softness and false gentility it held when she was leading Wanda through her memories.

It makes Wanda shudder again.

“It’s gone.” Wanda holds Agatha’s gaze. “Destroyed.”

“By someone else, or you would be a tub of ash.” Agatha circles her finger above her cup of tea, as though stirring it. “Did you go to Wundagore?”

Wanda’s eyes widen. “You know about Wundagore?”

Agatha just shrugs again. “Went there for a weekend trip with an old friend once. Had a roaring good time.” Her eyes meet Wanda’s briefly. “Doesn’t look like you did.”

“What do you mean?” Wanda asks hesitantly, cautiously.

“Come here, pet,” Agatha says instead, patting the chair next to her. “Sit with me a spell.”

The problem – the absolute worst problem – with Agatha Harkness is that she was very often very right. For all she pretended to be someone else, when it got down to brass tacks, when she spoke as herself, she didn’t really lie. The question would always be whether she is currently speaking as herself or if she’s trying to speak in the context of some other role she’s cast for herself.

Wanda gives a shake of her head. “No,” she says. “I’m fine here.” She crosses her arms. “I’m sure you’ve got a theory. Spill.”

“Why should I?” Agatha asks, setting her teacup to one side with another sigh. “You’ve given me no reason to help you, hon. Trapped me in here,” she raises a finger gesturing to the empty space around them, “and then barge inside to demand answers from me like you’re owed them.” She shrugs a third time. “Maybe offer me something,” she says, smile returning to her lips. “Something nice.”

Wanda’s eyes narrow again. “I’m not letting you out.”

Agatha laughs – high-pitched, mechanical – the fake sort of witch’s cackle that can’t be how she really laughs – all for show, not with any real mirth. “Oh, hon, I wouldn’t ask for that. You’d lie through your teeth and then leave me in the wash. I won’t ask for that.” She pretends to wipe a tear from her eye. “Just come visit me again,” she says, voice softening. “Not because you need anything. Just for a cup of tea. Sit by the fire.” She waves a hand and a fireplace with a roaring fire appears just behind both of their chairs. It flashes orange light around her black waves, and Wanda has to look away, missing Agatha’s expression when she murmurs, “It gets lonely in here, buttercup.”

The fire crackles and pops the same way a real one might. Wanda dismisses it with the same wave of her hand that Agatha used to create it. “What’s your theory?”

“Hm.” Agatha pulls her cup back over, gazes into her tea, and smiles. “What happened at Wundagore, Wanda?”

“I destroyed it.” Wanda clenches her hand into fists. “It needed to be destroyed.”

Now, Agatha does laugh – something real, something just as wrong as it is right – covering her head with one hand and snorting before she catches her breath. “Wanda, dear, if the person who destroyed the Darkhold got turned into ash, what did you think Wundagore would do to the person who destroyed it? Did you think it would kill you?”

Wanda doesn’t blink, just stares levelly at her.

“Ah.” Agatha’s smile fades, softens. “No, hon, Wundagore has something much more sinister in mind. Death is too easy. Just like you thought it was too easy for me.”

Wanda waits for an explanation, and when none comes, she asks, “What do you mean?”

Agatha taps her teacup with one finger. She doesn’t hesitate, just takes Wanda in again, appraises her, and sighs. “Wundagore paired you with me because I suspect I’m the person alive you hate the most.” She snorts half-heartedly. “Your own personal villain.”

My own personal— Wanda’s eyes narrow again. “You’re saying I’m here because we hate each other? Because I’m torturing you the way it wants to torture me? For destroying it?”

“Oh, Wundagore doesn’t care what I think, hon.” Agatha gestures around them with one finger. “It doesn’t matter if I hate you or not, only that you hate me. Out of anywhere you could be, this is where you least want to be. So Wundagore sent you here.”

Wanda stares at her. “So when I get better, I can just leave?”

Agatha glances up and meets her eyes. “I’m not sure it’ll be that easy, hon. Curses – if you’re in one – can take a lot to break. You might need some help.” She takes another sip of her tea. “Or not. You are the Scarlet Witch, after all. You can bend reality to your will. A simple curse should be child’s play for someone like you.”

“Great.” Wanda doesn’t mention that she’s never broken a curse before, doesn’t feel like revealing any of that information to her nemesis. She turns away. “Thanks for the information, Agatha. I’ll be back for our cup of tea eventually.” She hesitates, one lip curling with her own personal amusement. “Maybe after I break the curse.”

She leaves before she can hear Agatha’s response, not wanting to hear anything witty or pithy or the expected you say that now, but just wait – like if she needed Agatha now, then she’ll need her again in the future. None of that matters. She has her answer; all she has to do now is focus on getting better. She can test things out more after that.

Wanda pulls back out of Agnes’s mind, not even noting the attraction she had on the way in, and collapses back on her pillows and mattress, exhausted by the exertion of her magic. She stares at Agnes – who, perhaps, she does not hate and would not hate if not for the woman trapped inside her – and lets out a little huff before reaching over, placing a hand over Agnes’s, and murmuring, “It’s okay. You can breathe.”

All at once, Agnes takes a deep breath in, coughs twice, spluttering, and places a hand on her chest. Her eyes widen, and she licks her lips twice before she turns back to Wanda. “Sorry, dear,” she says with a look of chagrin. “Sudden coughing spat. I’m not sick!” She turns her other hand over under Wanda’s and gives her a little smile. “I’m glad I could hear your voice again.”

Wanda just stares up at her, opens her mouth as though to speak, thinks better of it, and then gives a tired nod.

#bandit fic #wundagore punishment with wanda and agatha #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #agatha harkness #agnes bohner #wandavision #mcu #wandagatha #wagatha #harximoff #wanda maximoff x agatha harkness #agatha harkness x wanda maximoff #wandagatha week 2023 #consider this chapter one

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neonpaperlanterns · 10 months

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Going to Burger King

“Do it.” Escargoon hesitated, his palms felt clammy as his finger hovered over the trigger. Swallowing around the lump in his throat he turned to look at his King.

“But Sire-” He was cut off as Dedede slammed his hammer onto the ground. The snail felt his shoulders stiffen as his Majesty loomed above him.

“I said take the SHOT!” Shrinking beneath Dedede’s rage, Escargoon turned back to what he had to do.

“Yes Sire.” Sending a silent prayer to any gods above he readied himself. The Burger king stepped out of his car. The plastered smile on his face made the right hand man cringe. His crown caught the light making the snail squint as it reflected off his scope. His finger squeezed against the trigger.

“I’m sorry for what I am about to do. Forgive me.”

BANG!

“There’s only room for one king.”

#king dedede #escargoon #kirby nintendo #shitposting at the speed of light #my partner asked for this #well not exactly #they just said write dedede going to get fast food #and then this happened #assassination #burger king #burger king gets shot #shitty artwork #i can't draw

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princess-of-purple-prose · 2 years

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"Except they are no longer the lights above the Arby’s. Not since Rudy Arby, owner of Arby’s Discount Shoes, which the lights floated above, closed up shop and was replaced by Burger King." Biggest reveal of this ep was that it wasn't even a real fucking Arby's

#losing it tbh #wtnv #wtnv spoilers #kay talks #my posts

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pennydontwannabeahero · 2 years

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Just a Hero, 4 years of work and an teaser of its opening

Pre ramble, I've been working on a world to set my stories in for about 4 years now, in that time ive done alot of details that im slowly noting down, ive made literal hundreds of characters many of them background with to much detail, and during it all ive also been planning a bunch of diffrent stories, and recently ive even started writing the first of them, im about 10 pages of a likely 50+ down, but due to a lacking social media presence ive not been able to get others thoughts on the story, so having recently made tumbler i figured i should try sharing it on here and seeing if i can acctual build a following for it, thank you to anyone who interacts with this cause its a big ass project and i want to go beyond just something ive written, even if its just a couple people. Ramble over and quick warning the story is written with a target age of 16 to 18+, its got swearing, light nudity, sex reference, substance abuse, violence, mild gore, and honestly alot of other stuff im probobly forgetting, theres little to none of these in the following excerpt just its worth giving for future warning beyond this is the opening to Just A Hero, thanks again to anyone that reads and im sorry for any formatting or spelling issues its copy pasted off the google doc i write it in

The world of Astera has many stories. Some about monsters, Some about gods, Some about kings, Some about villains and some about heroes and this one is about a hero, Technically.

The great steam city of Hektalia floating above the Eidelon plains was often noted for its mighty steam and clockwork machines, It was also known for legendary adventurers dressed in fine clothes and augmented with polished brass prosthetics and intricate transforming weapons. However there was something far more infamous from Hektalia. Its thieves and on this night through clear skies one runs down a street chased by a middle aged gentleman. Darting between the crowds of reveling drunkards a small girl no older than 6, She has short messy black hair with red highlights and atop her head a pair of fox ears as opposed to normal human ones, She wears a tattered black dress with some red adornments and from her lower hip comes four black fox tails, Her left forearm is in a badly made cast and sling, Her boots are light, Dirty and damp from where she ran through puddles, Across her shoulder a worn strap that leads to a satchel that klinks slightly from the objects inside it. From behind her shouts a commanding voice.

“STOP THIEF, PICKPOCKET.” The drunks don’t do much despite the shouts though a few accidentally get in the way of the gentleman bumping into him and breaking his line of sight of the girl. As it was with Hektalia if something was stolen no one much cared who owned it, Just who was more skilled in keeping it and to drunkards in this part of town a rich man didn’t need to keep it, After all he could always buy more.

Despite that the chase continued into back alleys away from the lights of the street, Small vents of steam make the ground damp and humid and tricky to see. The girl slips around corners doing her best to lose her pursuer. She ducks around one last corner into a dead end but with no sign of the man behind her she takes a breath and leans against the wall opening her stachel to examine what she stole. A wallet containing a few hundred shards, An ID card that she tossed away, A worn photo of what seemed to be the owner's family that she tossed onto the floor and ground into the dirt with her heel while scowling and a VIP card for the Hektalian servants market this too she tossed away. On top of the shards the wallet made of fine Astilian leather would sell for a couple hundred more enough to buy one of the nice burgers from the Byzantium style diner in the entertainment district. She put the wallet back in her satchel and pulled out the rest of her loot, A ring made of silver with a flawless ruby encrusted into it. This she slipped onto her finger despite its value. She liked red things and preferred to keep them. Lastly was the watch a golden and brass master work, The skeletal design showed the beauty of the clockwork that ticked and tocked in an almost relaxing way tracking the seconds that were passing in an ever moving world. Such things sold for a good number of shards, This one though seemed special the girl observed that it only tracked seconds not minutes or hours nor days or months just seconds ever passing. Her head tilted to stare deep into the clockwork distracted by the beautiful metal that reflected her red and light blue heterochromic eyes .

“Ah found you, You little thief.” The voice of the man she had stolen from who was now standing in the entrance to the alley. The girl almost jumped while tightening her grip on the watch before thrusting it back into her satchel and backing off deeper into the dead end.

“There’s no running any more you little brat, Give me back my things and I won’t call the police.” He held his hand out while looking down at her. In a gut reaction she tightened her grip on her satchel. She had defended her prize before but only against other children, Never an adult.

The man’s eyes locked with her own and he offered a soft false smile.

“You can keep the cheap jewelry and money, Just give me back my watch and I’ll let you go.” His voice was far softer now and the girl recognised the trick. Other adults had tried it to sound soft to make her feel safer than she was. She glanced around and saw an external staircase on the side of one of the buildings. Far too high up to reach for most people but she had a plan.

“Fine.” She looked down at the floor as she walked forwards slowly. Reaching into her satchel she pulled the watch out holding it tight in her fist.

“Stupid kid.” The man lunged for her and she swung her arm partly opening her hand to toss the dirt she had taken from her satchel into his eyes while dodging to the side. In the same motion as he fell to the floor she jumped up onto his back and from there with a deep breath she leaped up to the staircase jumping much higher than a normal person. She had always had an easy time jumping and leaping, Even falling as she didn’t feel the impact, Always landing softly no matter what, Though she never knew why it was a very useful ability.

“Damn it where did you go you little shit?” The man rubbed the dirt out of his eyes and looked around, Unable to spot her.

“I’m up here dummy!” The girl waved down as she danced around on the steps giggling at him.

“When I catch you I’m going to wring your dirty little neck, You filthy little piece of vermin waste.” He growled at her and began to run around to the entrance of the building.

“Good luck with that, Run run run as fast as you can old man, I may not be made of gingerbread but you’ll never catch me.” She called out as she leapt from rooftop to rooftop running along the rooves before jumping back down into the street and climbing through a window into the orphanage she called home.

“Been sneaking out again have you? You know if you keep doing silly things your arm is never going to heal.” The voice of a young woman was a comforting thing for her. The assistant matron, A nice lady who did her best to look after all the children there.

#writers #women writers #female writers #writers on tumblr #creative writing #origonal work #original character #fmlispent4yearsdesigningaworldandcharacters #amature writer

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not-alien-girl-v · 2 years

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Angel (lrh)

warning: language, violence, mature content

note: starting a new project. hope you guys like this as much as i do

Luke had never been so sweaty in his life. Los Angeles, winter, 2016, and salty liquid pooled in the crevices of his skin. He was feeling sticky and over all gross, at least he would be feeling so, had he been sober enough to care about such a thing. If he thought about it, really thought, he could probably trace back his drunken stupor to one drink, the first of many that started all of this, but he had not the time nor the mind to do so.

Him and his band finished a set at a smaller venue, somewhat underground, one of a few shows before a hiatus of band activity. Which sort of meant, in this case, a few more nights of being young and stupid before going about his newly found adult life, and he intended to make the most of it, even if the night ended in getting his stomach pumped in the ER.

“You okay mate?” Ashton’s face seemed close enough to breathe on Luke, yet far enough away for his voice to sound distant. The room was spinning a bit, then a little bit more, then Luke made the wise decision to sit down, letting himself fall back blindly, and luckily, collapsing onto a couch backstage. The stupid itchy beige pattern on it made his skin crawl and bile rise in his throat so he sat back up as the room promptly returned to normal. He dug his fingers into his weary eyes and got up again.

“Hey, you wanna go to a party with me and Ash tonight?” Michael entered the room reading something on his phone.

Luke nodded, though he knew it obviously was a bad choice to make, seeing how wasted he already was. You only live once, YOLO, or whatever young people say nowadays, he should know anyway, he was only 20.

“Yeah, let’s do it,” he grumbled and his legs threatened to collapse beneath him, but he found the strength to crawl into the back of Michael’s brand new SUV. A perk of being famous of course, and the ‘new car smell’ settled his stomach in an odd sort of a way. He had no idea where the car was driving to, or how exactly he would make it home to the place he was staying at with his bandmates but he didn’t let either thoughts pollute his mind, leaning against the glass window.

The party was raging, truly, raging, music pumping loud enough to blow an eardrum, floor sticky under his black Converse shoes from spilled liquor or other liquids he didn’t want to think about, and it was packed. Wall to wall, there were people, partygoers, general no-good evil doers with lowered inhibitions.

He stumbled to the kitchen, seeing Michael and some chick in a near fistfight for the last slice of pizza, no, wait, the girl swung at him, it was a real fistfight, now.

Ashton pushed Luke aside quickly to break them up, sending Luke hurdling out the door, and he just accepted his fate, walking out now, seeing where else he could take himself tonight.

Passing a few partygoers outside, he was met with flowers, beds of flowers on front lawns, worms on the pavement and apple cores scattered, just missing trash cans.

Then, like the gates of heaven opening upon him, a glowing red light emerged in the distance, like a feast to a starving man, a den to a wounded and weary creature, crimson in the night sky like an atmospheric blush.

The sun had far set, and the sky was pitch black like a gaping mouth above him, ready to swallow him whole if he confronted it for too long, as he walked down the strip of road which included a Burger King, a CVS, and, as he approached, the name became clear as day in front of him, ‘Les Belles Femmes.’

Slowly, he made his drunken steps to the club, one foot in front of another, only every few steps did he lay his foot wrong on the pavement, uncomfortably rolling his ankles but he kept his gait anyway.

Luke immediately felt out of place here. Every man in this room, hell, even some women, had a sense of belonging here, as if they could not find another place in the world to be. Perhaps Luke did feel out of place in life every now and then, but not to the extent that these individuals did. There was something desparate about them, their eyes hungry and hands feather like through the air. Luke joined them in their desperation, as everybody was looking for something, in one way or another.

He dropped himself into a leather lounge chair somewhat close to the stage and slumped back into the chair, only now feeling the burning sensation behind his eyelids everytime he blinked. But every thought in his mind dissipated to dust the moment he lay eyes on her.

Her, with her silky hair. Her, with her sultry eyes. Her, with skin softer and smoother than the rim of a glass cup, and she reflected like one too, as the heavy LEDs touched the highs of her cheekbones, the curves of her breasts and hips, the highlights in her hair.

Luke had never known much of love, never cared to know anything about what it would feel like to see someone and just know, know, know that they were the one, but if he didn’t know any better, he would say this feels good, whatever it is that he’s experiencing right now as he gazed hungrily at this woman.

She was a woman, for lack of a better word, and there was nothing childlike or girlish about her, down to her mature frame and set expression on her face. It made him wonder how long she had been doing this for, this job, since she had no doubts about her performance, her appearance, even the opinions or expressions coming from her audience, she didn’t doubt herself and she wasn’t unsure of what she was doing. That was something Luke could never have.

It’s not easy being known. People know you for one thing, you can’t be another. Luke could lie about it all day: he is a grown man, and he doesn’t need the opinions of his audience to dictate his feelings. He could tell it to himself as he fell asleep at night, looking at himself in the mirror, he could write it down on paper, speak it into existence, repeat and repeat to himself before going out on stage, sharing a portion of his existence with everyone who cared enough to look, but he couldn’t hide the way he felt. Even if he did, it wouldn’t stop it. He couldn’t run from the truth, even when the gun fired in the air and he felt the air push past him as everyone else did so, the truth would weigh him down like a ball and chain for the rest of his existence, he supposed.

Her eyes scanned the room the moment she entered and he knew she had a plan all set up in her mind. She gravitated towards one man in particular. Past his prime, but not one foot in the grave, he had a tattoo of an eagle on his tricep and that told Luke all he needed to know about this brown haired man, and if it didn’t, the crusted yellow stains on his gray wife-beater would have done it just as well.

‘Slob’ was the word that came to mind, though Luke wasn’t sure he was much better, covered in sweat and wearing dirty clothes.

He didn’t mean to stare so hard but once he realized he was, it was far too late to stop it now as the woman now sauntered his way. He gulped.

She lay a hand on his shoulder and let it wander as she came into contact with him, “what’s your name?” Her voice was resonant and low in the space of the club, like she was whispering a secret only to him.

“Luke, what’s yours?” He almost stuttered like an idiot but he caught himself. Her laugh was alluring as she smoothly moved closer.

“You can call me Angel,” she spoke to him softly.

Though it wasn’t unnoticed by all. He didn’t pretend he wasn’t looking at all, the man she was previously with. Carrying no shame, he stared down the tall blond boy like nobody’s business, though he was about to make it everybody’s problem. He balled up his hand into a fist by his lap.

In establishments such as this, there’s typically several guards there to prevent things like this from occurring, though tonight, there was only one. Steve McAdams, that was his name. Just by the looks of him, one could easily assume that he played football or did wrestling in his youth, simply by his build and the expression he never let depart from his face.

He stood nearly 6’5, a true giant of sorts at 300 lbs and he only noticed this fight at the second punch, thrown by Luke, after a quick regroup in thought due to the first blow to his own face, right in the jaw, or it would have been, had this other man have been sober.

Steve went for Luke first, gripping the top of his tricep and yanking him forcefully when Angel intervened. “No! No, he didn’t do anything!” She stepped in between the three men and blocked a bloody faced Luke from Steve’s wrath.

It was Steve’s job to protect these girls, this establishment, and to believe them over a customer’s word, so that’s what he did. He yanked the other man away, much more forcefully than he had attempted to do with Luke, and dragged him away.

Angel’s glamour dissipated quickly as she watched in horror as Jason, her regular (and favorite) customer was escorted out of the club, likely the last she’d ever see of him. It’s not that she had grown an emotional connection to him, more to his money. Their relationship went both ways: he was her favorite and she was his. Meaning he tipped well, most importantly.

When she turned back to face Luke, he was still on the ground, hands and knees scraped the floor and blood dripped from his nose. He expected Angel to run to his aid, show some compassion, anything, but she just sighed. With ache, he lifted his head to see her walking away with no care at all.

He didn’t move from that position, until he felt a hand on his arm. It was Angel, she had returned. With no smile or word for comfort, she helped him back onto his feet. He leaned his weight onto her as she led him outside.

She sat him down on a cement planter outside and he slumped over a bit. “Let me see,” she demanded and took his face into her hands to lift it up, inspecting it.

Luke never thought he’d meet an angel. Ironic, since he was in the city of angels itself, but something about the pale moonlight illuminating from behind this woman changed his faith, even for just a moment. “You’re so pretty,” he slurred.

“I know. How are you getting home tonight?” She was crazy, she knew it. She wasn’t supposed to get involved in things like this, customer’s lives and whatnot, but she already was involved, not by her choice, of course, so she couldn’t help but feel guilty. After all, if it wasn’t for her, he’d still be fine right now. He’d be wasted, but he’d be fine.

He shrugged lazily and she groaned, knowing this would be her responsibility. “Alright, I’ll take you home,” she started her lead to her car, a small, gray, Toyota hatchback. He inspected her closer now, and noticed she had a bag of things with her, a purse, though he couldn’t remember the word, and dug out her car keys from the depths of it. Once she did, she opened the passenger’s side door and promptly pushed him into it.

She settled herself into the driver’s seat and took a deep breath. “If you try anything, I’ve got a stun gun you’ll have the pleasure of meeting the wrong end of,” she threatened lowly, just as a precaution, he was still a strange man. He put his hands up in surrender. She shoved her phone his way. “Put in your address.”

#luke hemmings #luke hemming imagines #luke hemmings fanfiction #5sos #5 seconds of summer #ashton irwin #michael clifford #5sosfam #fanfiction

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sinnershavesoulstoo · 2 years

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Hello soon to be friends 👋 🫂

I'm looking for more mutuals!

Here are a few things about me! And some things I like!

I am:

Too old to be in this app, but here I am (late 20s 😵‍💫)

Riddled with anxiety

Super awkward

A squishmallow fiend collector

I like (to watch/listen to) :

Dead End (Netflix)

Euphoria (HBOMax)

Pretty much all Disney movies

Cooking shows

Gilmore Girls

Friends (the show lol)

Hemlock Grove

Bob's Burgers

King of the Hill

Disenchanted

Light horror (I get scared easily)

Scared to Death podcast

Timesuck (same host as above)

The Brohio Podcast

Stranger Things

Steven Universe

Law and Order SVU

Supernatural

I like (to) :

Cook and bake, we can trade recipes!

Art, mostly painting - even though I'm not a professional level artist

Hang out with my cat - I'll share pictures of him!

Learn new things - mostly random facts

Go on hikes

Tell and hear dad jokes

And so much more! Follow me, I'll follow you. We can chitty chat, we can have a fun time!

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motownfiction · 2 years

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boxcar

Steph doesn’t like doing anything the same way twice, and she hates clichés. When she graduated from high school, she and her mother arranged a Cliché Celebration for her party. Everyone would write a different cliché in their card to Steph, and whichever example made her scream in the loudest agony would win a prize (an oversized chocolate bar, which, unbeknownst to the guests, the Armstrong women had been trying to find a use for since Christmas). Three years later, she remembers who won the contest (Lucy Callaghan, who wrote in her messiest cursive, “Education is not a destination, but a journey”), but she also remembers the cliché that almost took home the prize. It was from Lucy’s husband, Will.

You can’t go home again.

Steph still remembers how she felt when she read that one. It did nearly make her scream but not because she hated it. She wanted to scream because she couldn’t figure out what it meant. Sure, she’d heard it before, but there was something about it in the card that seemed different, there, in Will’s all-caps printing. You can’t go home again. Steph used to think that was so stupid. Of course you can go home again. She goes home after school everyday. It’s always there, always the same, even if Steph takes a different route on Monday than she did last Friday. Even the first two summers she came home from college, it felt the same as it always did. Can’t go home again? Steph goes home again all the time. She goes home again so often it’s boring.

But now, during her third summer back from college, she thinks she finally knows what it meant. She arrives back at her mother’s house, like always, but the walls in her room are a different color. From blue to green. She asks Mom about it, and she says that it was just too painful to keep Steph’s room the way it was. A reminder that you’re not always around, she says, and Steph just has to live with that.

When she walks around the neighborhood, it’s different, too. Sadie and Daniel are getting married, so even when she bumps into them at the gas station, they’re too preoccupied to even halfheartedly suggest they meet up again sometime. She saw Lucy and Will across the street in the parking lot at 7-Eleven, sharing Slurpees and potato chips with four-year-old Elenore, but they did not see her standing there. When she runs into Sam at the music store, he’s with another girl. Steph doesn’t ask if she’s more than a friend. Too afraid to find out. Too afraid to admit what she’s always known: These people – the very ones she grew up with – are not her friends anymore. Maybe they never were.

And so she finds herself alone in her car, with a bag of Burger King riding shotgun, stopped at a red light on Outer Drive with Billy Preston on the radio. Nothin’ from nothin’ bleeds nothin’, she sings and smacks her hand against the steering wheel. For the first time in a long time, she mourns that nobody is there to correct her on the lyrics. Nothin’ from nothin’ leaves nothin’. She snorts. No shit.

Steph looks up at the train passing on the tracks above her. Her eyes fixate on the boxcar, and God help her, she smiles. Ever since she was little, she’s wanted to hop inside a boxcar. Something about the way they look. Like they were designed for adventures (or for hiding, or for both). Whenever she watches a movie, and the stars jump into boxcars, her heart leaps with a little jealousy. She wants to hop in this one right now. After all, she can’t go home again. Might as well let the boxcar take her away. Far away. Maybe to a place in the country that doesn’t exist.

The light turns green, and she drives right on the same old roads. Eventually, she arrives back at her mother’s house, but it is not how she left it this morning.

You can’t go home again.

(part of @nosebleedclub october challenge -- day xxvii!)

#drabble #ch: steph armstrong #year: 1988

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light-imperfected · 2 years

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the gaping wound in the hollow of his chest

Gabriel has never died before. He’s no stranger to death, certainly. He judged Hell alone; he was there when mankind went extinct; he used to live in the enormous dead husk of a king; he’s seen machines lay waste to even the already-dead. But doing it himself:

Well, that’s new.

He touches his chest, where the mortal had run him through. Though he hasn’t felt it all too often, he knows the pain of the flames of Hell, the still-brighter white fire of God’s the Council’s judgement, whatever the machine had brought to their fights (shotgun pellets punched into an explosion? gunshots ricocheting off coins? nails?). It only stokes his determination to at least match the other in a fight. The red of blood gone from the wound—honestly, that was the most unsettling part. Death, in his experience, was never sterile, always messy. None of that, here.

This isn’t Hell. It’s not full, for one thing. The buildings look like those of the city above, and the streets are foreign to him. But it’s enough to feel even vaguely familiar. The creeping shadows, the monsters creaking in the corners.

…home sweet home.

Glimpses of the world above flash by through silver reflections. (Mortal lives flourishing. A scrap of scarlet. Someone else’s feathered wings.) There are street signs, but he goes wandering around instead, choosing to ignore them. Why should he hurry his return to the upper layer? This is fine. The whispers following behind him are noticed, but not acted against. He trusts he’ll be able to defend himself should they prove hostile. His hand flinches to his chest again—maybe he shouldn’t.

He brushes off his uncertainty and keeps to the light.

Eventually he’s standing in front of a diner, greeted by a crooked neon sign naming it Burgatory. Someone sitting at the counter looks up as he approaches, eyes wide, and ushers him inside. Gabriel ducks through the door.

“Welcome to Burgatory, what can I get you?” says the mortal, their eyes only leaving the door when it swings shut behind him. Unphased, Gabriel surveys the menu and makes a selection.

“You seem new,” they say, with a nod at his still-unworn swords. “We don’t see a lot of people at this establishment. Beginner’s luck that you made it?”

“What you call luck is the divine will of the Father, mortal.” Gabriel takes the offered cheeseburger and a few packets of ketchup, wings gently swinging back and forth as he contemplates how much of the condiment he wants on his patty.

“Jeez, just asking,” they mumble, and leave him alone. “Are you even going to take off that helmet before you eat…?”

He eats the cheeseburger as he leaves the building. He hasn’t had one in a long time, since any living being who could cook, let alone make a burger, had died. His helm betrays no emotion as he thinks. He takes another contemplative bite.

What is this place?

A different kind of Hell. One that’s empty, or at least mostly so. It’s not a feeling unfamiliar to Gabriel. He’s been alone for a very long time, the sole angel who deigned to step foot in Hell. He’s never been alone. The layers of Hell were wretched and miserable but at least they were alive.

(and you were the one who let its citizens suffer, says the part of him that’s getting rather bloated with guilt.) Right. He had wanted to save them from his own sins. This is beginning to look less and less feasible.

Who is he?

The whispers following him fill his ears (THE HISS OF GOSPEL IN PRAISE OF GOD.) and he shakes his head to dispell him. His hand to his swords again. The Council is no longer. He won’t let them choose what he does any longer.

At some point the streets turn to hallways lit by soft gallery lighting. Hung up on the walls, paintings, all starring himself. A frame shows him poised, triumphant, over the corpse of the King of Lust, gold-light spear thrust through Minos’s chest. He stops looking. The angel folds his wings forward to block his view of the gallery and walks back toward the living.

#cw: death #cw: gore #ask to tag #drabble #closed #hi everyone welcome to my abyss arrival glitchless (no hole/mists) any% speedrun #aaaaand time.

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