Here they are…the TURDS OF MISERY

LEFT to RIGHT: Harrison Walsh (from the Fester comics) on bass, Ink Hermann (from Hailfire) managing the group, and Acid Roland (from Acidic Monday) on guitar.

Goofy non-canon crossover art time! The universes of Acidic Monday, This is Fester and Hailfire collide to form this for some titan-forsaken reason.

Based off this terrific image of the real Turds of Misery

17 or 43 for the writing prompt? which ever you prefer!

Ehehehe

17. empty / 43. undone - Arms Outstretched

Akari had gotten used to the space she'd been given. It wasn't like she had a choice, she couldn't bargain with Arceus after accepting its deal, so she made herself get accustomed to it. She learned the pathway from her hidden home to Arceus' platform, traversing it until she could get there with her eyes full of tears closed. She rearranged the furniture, picked up sticks and twigs and pieces of grass to decorate with. She read and reread and rereread the books that remained until she could read them, did read them, with her eyes closed as she faked sleep. She got used to being alone, but she couldn't get used to how empty it all was.

She tried to fill the house with decoration, with chintz, with something to make it feel warm and homey. No matter what she did it never worked. The pretty stones sat coldly on the table. The sticks with interesting angles hung like corpses off the wall. She tried over and over and over again, always ending up throwing everything out that she'd brought in once it started to feel haunted.

She missed her dad. She missed her team. She missed Irida and Adaman, Cyllene and Laventon, Rei and Mai and Lian and Arezu and- hells, she even found herself missing Kamado. She didn't know how time passed here, or even if time passed here. She knew she wasn't aging. Her hair never got longer, she never sustained injury- a blessing and a curse. What she did know that she was alone. Even when Ingo showed up for a short time, when he dreamt, she was still alone. He didn't remember her, after all, and that had been her choice. She had made it so.

She had made it so.

Though Arceus never answered her calls, it sometimes showed up of its own will. It would float down from the skies like a helium balloon losing air and stand beside her, wherever she was. Somehow it even could get into the house.

Right now she was sitting on a stone, staring out across the lake. The sun never set, it never rose. Clouds covered the sky so thickly she wasn't even certain what time of day or night it was. She had one leg pulled to her chest, the other stretched out, doing her best to ignore the being beside her. Arceus wasn't here to discuss the weather, after all. Eventually it would break the silence. It always did.

"How does it feel, to be living this choice?" It asked.

It hurt. It ached like a bruised bone. It sat heavy in her stomach like stone, like she was trying to swim but being dragged down. It was constant suffering, loneliness and solitude and only her own voice for company. Arceus knew that.

"I'm fine." She responded. She would be fine. She had to be fine. For Ingo's sake.

"You do not seem fine."

"How do I seem?"

She knew she wasn't imagining the smugness in the voice of the god when it spoke next. It enjoyed this, after all. Watching her endeavor to keep going with no aid, with only crumbs of companionship.

"You seem as though you are preparing to come undone."

me: no hard feelings if you unfollow me :)

also me when several long time mutuals unfollow me: insert picture of that crying cat here i cannot find it

People talking shit

I previously wrote about the three miserables that I have to work with. After one got into quite a bit of trouble for her actions I thought maybe things would settle down. How wrong I was.

She got into trouble so she had to start on my friend and me. This time it was the fact that we go to lunch and breaks together which apparently pissed her off. I don't know why because she goes to lunch with one of the other miserables. More evidence of just how evil they are.

The next issue is what truly upsets me. They each decided to start talking behind our backs about how we must be lesbian lovers since we like to hang out together. I'm not upset because they called me gay, but that they try to use it as something wrong, something disgusting. I'm an ally for the lgbtq and I can't stand the fact that they would do that. Why are they allowed to get away with talking to/about others in that manner? They are ignorant.

They say that she and I can't get our work done for being up each other's asses. That's funny coming from the human centipede. They thrive off each other, they are full of shit, and they gang up on people. Fucking human centipede.

One of them is just pissed that even though she leaves me with the harder items that take longer to make at work, I'm able to get more items out versus how much she does. Plus she's there four hours before me.

I heard a quote in a tv show or movie the other day (can't remember the title) that stuck with me. As soon as I heard it, I thought of them: "If they talk any more shit they will be shaped like turds".

"How'd you find out about being a demigod?"

Will frowns "Didn't I already tell you? You know...in. When. Uhm-"

Nico laughs, releasing Will from his misery - a rather merciful move for a child of the underworld. Will is so obviously working on being more open; efforts that are as adorable as they are painful and never fail to make Nico feel all disgustingly gooey. Will is struggling but he is trying. Because Nico asked. All his life he has taught himself to only take care of others, his every instinct begging to downplay and soothe and ignore instead of confront and acknowledge or - gods forbid - admit it out loud. But Will is never one to do things by halves; never would've been able to wrestle so many demigods from the unforgiving grips of death, otherwise; and definitely wouldn't have followed Nico into literal Tartarus. So he does it anyways. Even if he refuses to give himself the same forgiveness and grace he extends to his patients.

Will may never believe it when he tells him that he is one of the strongest demigods in Camp, but Nico means it. So what if Will isn't the strongest fighter? He doubts Clarisse could ever be so openly vulnurable without having an aneurysm or giving into the urge to stab herself with her spear. Besides, it's not like he has to be. That's what Nico is here for, after all.

"You told me that Stymphalian Birds were involved. And that there was a turd in the subway. Not exactly a very thorough account" And then, because Will is still used to thinking in black and white and extremes and has the stupid tendency to take everything as a personal failure: "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I won't be mad."

(Will is working on that, too. "I feel like this is different. From my other friendships." he'd said. "Bad different or good different?" "Good." Nico nodded, because he felt it, too. "I don't think I'm in love with you" he'd answered then, because that was probably the truth as well.

So they kissed, because they both liked it; and they cuddled, because they both needed it; and they went on dates, because dates were fun; and they were obnoxiously affectionate when it was just them and Will's siblings, because their reactions were always hilarious; and they both made an effort, because it was worth it.

And Will, who had always needed words and files and terms and diagnostics couldn't explain it in a way that made sense. Whatever they had, it wasn't black or white. Sometimes it felt like it was on a completely different color spectrum, as even shades of gray didn't seem to quite cover it. But he was learning that that was okay, too. It was good, even. Not good enough, just good.)

So this is their dynamic now: Nico trying to get Will out of his shell without being too overbearing while Will (that son of a bitch) is a stubborn asshole about it. Sometimes, when Nico needs to go and take a walk before he either strangles the son of Apollo or says something he doesn't mean, he wonders how Will could've ever fallen for him. Nico is all too aware that he was probably even worse in the beginning - sometimes the guilt of it eats him alive, now that he is on the receiving end of it. But then there are moments like these, and Nico thinks he almost gets it.

No, the irony is not lost on him. And Kayla sure finds it absolutely hilarious, all "and so the giver finally becomes the receiver" and "a taste of your own medicine, mister doctor". Still, it's all too easy to slip back into their old roles. Will's position as head medic certainly doesn't help: Nico has lost count of how many times he's seriously considered threatening the entire camp to just not get hurt for one day that really can't be that fucking hard before realizing that promising serious bodily harm would be rather counter-productive in this scenario. He would be a huge hypocrite if he said that he wasn't part of the problem, too. It's all too tempting to blame his own less-than-stellar moments on everyone around him and hide behind his person to escape the consequences. But they know that they need to learn to open up and rely on themselves and each other if they want this (whatever that is) to work, so they keep trying.

Will nods. "No". Then he frowns, shaking his head. "No, I mean. Yeah. Sure. I guess I'm just curious why you're asking"

Nico shrugs, raising a brow. Because it's you, he doesn't say, because Will isn't the only one who has trouble saying the important things out loud. Besides, judging by his flaming cheeks, the message was received anyway.

And there really isn't much more to it. Of course he knows that most stories are rather traumatic, which is why he doesn't feel comfortable asking the other campers about it. He is somewhat aware of some of the arrivals - mainly from bragging Ares children, but he doesn't trust those as far as he can throw them. He has heard Sherman changing his story at least three times; the number of monsters chasing him magically multiplicating every time he recounts it. Either that, or they are Percy Jackson, which is its own category entirely.

Still, he can't help but feel that losing over half a century in a time-stopping casino is on a bit of a different level. Even for Percy Jackson standards. He is just so incredibly curious about what an average demigod experience is like. A curiosity that only grows as he becomes more and more aware of how his own life is definitely not that.

Will is always his go-to on that front. He never judges or laughs at Nico for asking questions, no matter how odd or stupid. It also makes it incredibly easy to mess with him, especially now that they are working extra hard on open communication and all that shit. Nico practices constraint, though. Mostly.

"Okay, so. This actually happened a few years before New York." Will's voice gets that nostalgic tone that always appears whenever he talks about his life before Camp. He's relaxed, now, all loose-limbed compared to the beginning of their conversation. Nico leans against him, own body relaxing in response. "I get these headaches sometimes, you know. Never figured out why. Ibu never worked. But one time I took Paracetamol and it just. Stopped."

Nico nods encouragingly. Will looks at him expectantly. It takes Nico a moment to realize that... that was the story. He straightens (ha, as if) up again. "Wait, that's it?" Maybe he should reassess his whole 'Will's life as the blueprint average demigod experience'-thing.

"Well, yeah." Will looks irritated, glaring at Nico and the shoulder he'd been leaning on. "Prick", Nico mutters, nontheless going back to their previous position. Will flicks at his nose in response. He doesn't have to look at Will to know he's wearing one of his stupidly triumphant smirks. "I was curious as to why paracetamol worked where ibuprofen had failed me so many times before. And do you know what I found?"

"A forgotten ancient myth about how Paracetamol was created by your dad?" Will flicks Nico's nose. Again. He can admit that it was probably deserved, though.

"No, stupid. I found out that we don't know how Paracetamol works. Isn't that insane? We take the pill. The pill works. BUT WE DON'T KNOW HOW IT DOES ITS THING!" He has a manic glint in his eyes that speaks of many sleepless nights devoted to exactly this question.

"So....you immediately went from that to greek gods are real? Just like that?"

"Obviously." Nico glares. Will has the nerve to smile at him. Fucking prick. As much as he complains about how impossible it is to know whether Nico is being sarcastic or serious, Will is infinitely worse. Especially because most people don't know to expect it.

Nico punches him, because sometimes fists speak louder than words, and Will just laughs. Nico moves away before he can get his nose flicked for a third time. It almost makes him miss the times people were still scared of him (that's a lie.)

"Okay, no." Will is still laughing, as if he hadn't just survived a blow by the Ghost King himself. Idiot. "But when Maron explained about gods and monsters and all that mess I remembered paracetamol and thought: yeah, that makes sense. Like, of course it's magic. You know?"

Nico just shakes his head fondly, once again stuck somewhere between amusement, endearment and just plain confusion. "Sure. Of course."

Yeah I have no pity for neither Toe nor Tractor either, nobody held a gun to their heads and forced them into bearding with Taylor, their own uncontrollable greed is what drove them into doing it and all the misery they've ever felt because of bearding with Taylor is/was their own fucking fault and solely their own fault.

Taylor is a human being not a miracle worker that can turn acting duds like Toe and Travis into permanent A++ list movie stars overnight and if that hurts the fragile little fee-fees of Toe and Tractor then they can both go get fucked with a chainsaw for being stupid enough to fantasize about impossible things like Taylor turning turds like themselves into diamonds and getting butthurt over it not instantly happening when they're both grown ass men in their 30s

Hi vee,

if you don't mind I'm answering to the nonnie who asked why age-gap Male/Female fics are so sexy:

It's an emotional therapy to comfort ourselves to the "dad" figure we never have. I personally gravitate myself towards age gap fics because my dad left for work when I was 6-ish and he rarely returned until i was about 13. By then, the harm was already done and I still cannot properly connect with him up till this day - he's not being the best dad in the world anyway, tearing my books in front of my face was always something I would remember when I lay awake and ask myself why the father-daughter relationship between me and him is such a huge piece of turd.

I suppose age gap fics assure that there's a "daddy" figure that is mostly reliable and trustworthy, unlike my own. And on the other hand, it proves that aged men could be proper fathers who could take up responsibility, very much the way I wanted my future spouse to be.

The part that age-gap fics have more fun is that having more life experience than reader/ofc does, the male character always comes in as a bit of a saviour position, whether from work, school, or other aspects of life, the traditional "damsel in distress" would oftentimes apply and it's always comforting knowing that a knight with a shiny armour is going to guide you through all the misery and to a better life.

-and the sex, of course, they know how to do it better

this was sent in last night, but to the non who had asked me about it, here’s another pov for ya

and to this nonnie, hugs. i know it’s hard when you don’t have a good relationship with your dad. or one at all. :(

Review #113: The Queen is Dead, The Smiths

Morrissey really turned out to be a disappointing and vile piece of shit, and it’s a damn shame. Went from being this quirky, pretentious, off-beat guy that you sort of tolerated because it was funny and the music was so damn good and you could let go of his holier-than-thou shit because you could never really tell if he was being totally serious, and every now and again the internet would gift you with a picture of him with a cat on his head. You were like “OH Morrissey, what are you like?!”, but over the years it got a darker and more insidious until it became abundantly clear that we weren’t dealing with some performance artist who liked to play with irony and push boundaries – we were dealing with a hateful man. The dude supports a political party that is too far right for Nigel Farage. I hand on heart did not know such a thing could exist, which is truly disturbing, but Farage himself described “For Britain” as “made up of Nazi’s and racists”. To be fair, Farage didn’t actually qualify that he thought that was a bad thing, so maybe Morrissey is still in appropriate company with that sorry excuse of a human.

Thankfully, The Smiths isn’t Morrissey, and Morrissey isn’t The Smiths. The other members have distanced themselves and made it clear that they don’t have any tolerance for anything center-right, let alone anything that flirts with fascism. One of my favorite moments in British politics is when then Prime Minister/Head Doofus David Cameron tried to be a cool dude in front of his in-bred private schoolboy cronies and said The Smiths were his favorite band. I assume he was not expecting the pure and utter humiliation of Johnny Marr, founding member and legendary guitarist of The Smiths publicly forbidding him to like The Smith’s music and instructing him to “stop saying you like it, no you don’t”. I believe I laughed for a solid 15 minutes. You can have all the power in the world (or the illusion of it), and someone can still just destroy you like that because you’re a fucking dillhole with no integrity, no spine, no chill and everybody knows it.

Anyway, we’ll get to the record and the songs in a second, but circling back to the time in life before we all had to really accept just how much of a turd Morrissey is, you know, we had this sort of whimsical Eeyore crooner type character that was pretty entertaining, truth be told. I had a friend that used to sing Happy Birthday in the style of Morrissey and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t look forward to it every year. There’s a particular delight in singing along and doing your best Morrissey impression or going all in on the “aaaah!” in This Charming Man. We’re grieving that Morrissey. But he’s gone, if he was ever really here. I actually saw him at the Ryman, and there was still some semblance of the witty weirdo that we put up with. He came on stage, took his shirt off, said in his ridiculous voice, “I wuff you!” and launched right into How Soon Is Now? It was pretty great. It really was. But still, fuck that guy, he doesn’t deserve to perform at the Mother Church ever again.

So if I’m being completely honest, I think I’ve gotten to know The Smith’s haphazardly over the years not through their “true” albums. They put out a few compilations that could have fooled me into thinking they were albums (and did), and so I do not believe I ever listened to The Queen is Dead from start to finish until now. It really epitomizes what people mean when they’re like, ugh, The Smiths are so depressing. I’ve never really felt that. I always found them to feel very upbeat, despite the content being undeniably steeped in misery. I always found that very funny and assumed it was intentional. But a lot of these tracks are just straight-up downers (I Know It’s Over, Had No One Ever). It really takes me back to this time, where we had not lived in England too long. We didn’t know anyone yet, and weren’t all that settled – for those of you who have never moved across an ocean to another country, which I’ve now done twice – that shit is hard and it takes so much longer than you realize to feel like you have any sense of belonging or feeling of being home. I knew that even though I was three, because on Sunday we would just aimlessly drive around in my Dad’s company car and try and find a pub that welcomed children (that was not the cultural norm in England in the 90s), and that was even open on Sunday at all. Often we would just end up driving around the countryside or going to a hardware store. This is likely why I associate both Sundays and hardware stores with immense existential dread. I totally knew we were lonely and outcasts as a family unit. It was also so grey and rainy looking out the car window and The Smiths was often the soundtrack. Bleugh.

Bigmouth Strikes Again changes the pace and gets to that upbeat misery that I referred to earlier. A song can get you up and moving even when it suggests that “you should be bludgeoned in your bed”. When I still lived in East London, my friends and I used to frequent this very funny club night, dubbed “Feeling Gloomy”, that was entirely dedicated to dancing your ass off to miserable songs that were catchy as fuck and had a great beat. It was rife with moody 80s serious synth music, and to the surprise of absolutely no one, it was one of my favorite places to go and let it all out. It was my happiest place to be miserable.

Once, after a particularly heavy weekend, I was in my office alone, not getting a lot done because I was… Struggling. Physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. This wasn’t a glamorous or stable time in my life, and I did my best all told. As mentioned previously, I had some very unsympathetic and problematic upper management that imposed bans on my music habits. One of my three bosses was a half-decent human being and found my antics sort of endearing. He came in that day, and found me in a very sorry state. I was attempting to eat a banana, curled up on the floor, with There Is A Light That Never Goes Out meekly playing from my shitty laptop speakers. He laughed, shut my laptop, made me a cup of tea, and said “listen girlreviews, we’ve talked about this, you can’t listen to The Smiths when you’ve had a big weekend”. We laughed. On a separate note regarding this song. One of my closest, dearest, and oldest friends assigns this song to me, my life, and our relationship with each other:

“Take me out tonight

Oh, take me anywhere, I don't care

I don't care, I don't care

Driving in your car

I never, never want to go home

Because I haven't got one, la-di-dum

Oh, I haven't got one

And if a double-decker bus

Crashes into us

To die by your side

Is such a heavenly way to die

And if a ten-ton truck

Kills the both of us

To die by your side

Well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine”

Make of that what you will. It’s complicated, deep, and beautiful. The strings that accompany these words are complicated, deep, and beautiful as well. I don’t know what it is about this song but it captures a gratitude and a melancholy. Something that is, but also cannot be. It’s very special and I cherish it. I think it’s too easy to get stuck on the morbidity of it without realizing what it’s really saying: I’m so grateful to be here with you in this car. Even in the face of certain death, you make me feel safe. You’re the home I don’t have, and I love you. What a wild thing for two people to share. How fortunate am I to know and love someone like that, and know that they know and love me like that right back.

Shelly, why are you both ugly and mean? It's like a double dose of misery!

Why are you both fat and psychopathic, turd?

I cannot live, I cannot die, Trapped in the sun, I'm left to fry, I found a lamp one day, Rubbed it, and a genie emerged who promised me immortality, So I blindly accepted it and told the genie to shut it and leave me be, Then I worked at NASA, And they launched me directly into the heat of the sun, Now my suffering is eternal, which isn't very fun, I quickly discovered that I am immortal, but can still feel pain, I wish I could go back and experience the rain, I cannot live, I cannot die, Trapped in the heat of the Sun, I'm left to fry, Please God help me, I wish this pain could just leave me be, All this pain is driving me completely insane, I wish I could go back and experience the rain, I cannot ever leave this solar prison, The earth is something I can't go back to, The sun burns everything, even the soles of every shoe, I still cannot live, I still cannot die, Still stuck in the sun, I am left to fry, I wish I didn't have immortality, Maybe then all this pain could finally leave me be, Please help me, I crave death, I want this pain to leave me be, This heat is absurd, The sun's vapors burn more than the stench from a turd, Please set me free, I want all this pain to leave me be, I cannot live or die, And stuck in the Sun, I am left to fry, I can't even cry, All my tears turn into mist, This heat is too much, Please end my misery and such

This is a revamp of an old poem I typed

my life is a creepypasta

i think? idrk. this some scp shit i don’t even. okay so.

someone may remember, back in august i received the first two packages of my belongings from my mother’s house. i asked in the tags of the post i made about it to guess how many spiders were in the package. i was confident there would be some, probably dead, bc most of the items i asked for were stored in the garage and i saw with my own eyes how much the spiders liked my boxes so i figured there would be something. but no, that time the only items i received were stored upstairs so no spiders. 

well i received two more packages this week, and most of that stuff was kept upstairs too so i wasn’t expecting any spiders and i did not see any.

but there was something strange. in the first of the most recent two boxes, the one with all my socks and random other clothing items, there was a cheap necklace set with earrings. it came in a tattered black box with no lid. it was noteworthy bc i did not ask for anything like that, nor had i ever seen the jewelry before. so i examined it a little closer. i pulled the foam with the jewelry attached to it out of the box and found a strange object. the only thing that i could think to compare it to was a mouse turd. but it was noticeably not a mouse turd. it was about the same shape and size but smooth and somewhat shiny and a warm brown color. my first thought was wtf is this bitch smuggling into these packages is this anthrax is she still trying to kill me even tho i’m now thousands of miles away? these are my immediate reactions. then i figured it must have been some sort of strange bead or a mouse turd or something. 

i replaced the foam back into the box with the strange brown bead (?) still inside and sat it on my dresser. i wrote off the necklace as a weird way for her to try to compensate for trying to kill me by giving me a gift. idfc i was just going to see if anyone else in the house wanted it. now i don’t really know what to do.

so i’ve been exhausted all day today. woke up at 1p and i barely left my bed until 6. i left my room and ate with june when i got up at like 2 but was so exhausted i went back to bed. and i kept hearing this scratching sound. at first i thought it was like a squirrel or something scratching around in the grass under my window bc the window was open. then i realized it was definitely inside my room so i thought it was a mouse. i looked in the general area where the sound was coming from and decided i was not going to find whatever it was and laid back down. 

so i got up at 6, went and did shit, and then came back to my room after watching the sunset to take my meds. and i heard it. and i decided i was awake enough to investigate further. i realized the sound was definitely coming from on top of my dresser. i leaned in. it sounded like it was coming from under the painting that an old friend gave me (another item i received in a package from my mother, but one of the first two). i looked under it and realized that it was hanging off the edge so a large bug could have gotten up under there, or even a lizard bc they come inside sometimes. i was kind of wary of what it could be so i gently and slowly lifted the painting. nothing. i put it back. heard scratching. leaned in. that jewelry box! whatever it was was trapped in the jewelry box. 

i got some items to pry it open with. i didn’t know wtf was in there and didn’t want to touch it with my bare hands on accident. got it open. a fly. wtf. the mfer did not look good. he was certainly on his last legs. i figure it’s because, the bugs and small creatures that get in this building do not survive for long (i assume whatever’s in the shit the bug guy sprays works very well). alarms were going off in my head. the alarms say bioweapon and i’m not trying to find out where this weirdness is heading. i dump the contents of the box so i can put the mfer out of his misery (he wasn’t going to survive very long anyway) and i noticed. that little brown bead? the shit was empty. 

that thing i had no frame of reference for that looked like a mouse turd and i ultimately decided was a strange bead. was. a fucking. MAGGOT (at one point. i do not know enough about fly life stages to know what to call that stage of its life if anyone knows feel free to comment). AND THE MFER HATCHED LIKE A FUCKING SCIENCE EXPERIMENT. WTF WHY DID THAT BITCH SEND ME THAT!?!?!?!?

idk what to do with this anomaly i have received. my brain is still stuck on bioweapons and i really don’t know what to make of this occurrence. i picked up the dead fly in a tissue along with his empty casing and put it back in the box to keep as evidence in case i die. 

if there are anymore noteworthy updates to this story i will provide them (if i survive a potential update to this story) and if anyone is wondering or can provide advice, the fly looked pretty normal. the markings on its back were gray and black stripes. it was laying in (what i assume to be) its own questionable goo.

It's The Man They Call Brian and The Turds of Misery

I could argue, yes, Jug’s been truly in love only once.....with Tabitha, not Slizzy, which was a toxic, spiraling mess and he was a child, who inexplicably idealized him. 

Plus if he really meant Slizzy----I don’t think he’d be telling that to Tabs.

No, he died ONCE....and was fine with it. Whole point is that he’s serene and selfless, dullard.

He didn’t write the book about Slizzy, tho....he wrote a book about being a gang leader with a snotty, bourgeois bitch of a GF. Who didn’t appreciate him.

I fell in love with Tabitha, which got me over all my endless self loathing/destructive leanings, the crippling sense of betrayal I felt and made me not just whole, but eternally serene and optimistic about everything, in every way. 

I wrote a book (five years earlier) about my misery and betrayal by my ex and my supposed “friends”, that my love for Tabitha has freed me from.

Because of this, I’m completely at peace, don’t mourn me----we’ll be together soon for all eternity, my one true love. 

Who isn’t Slizzy.

FP didn’t kick him out, he chose to leave----and they subsequently fully reconciled. That said, yes, Izzy, make fun of Jughead for being able to move past his childhood trauma and find happiness as an adult, on the level of being truly okay with dying if it helps others.

You really are a disgusting little turd, aren’t you?

From Miu Iruma's Self-Demonstrating page on TV Tropes: "So the little jackass behind the shithouse misery inflicted on me has his own page?! Get my stomping heels. It will be messy but SOOOOO worth it turning that little turd into the skidmark that he is..." YES WE STAN YOU QUEEN!!!

I had no idea that TVTropes had this "self-demonstrating" category until now. And now that I've looked into it, it feels super weird. How long has this been a thing??

TVTropes has always been — to me — like a pop culture-centric Wikipedia wherein you can go down an entire chain of tabs and get lost for hours, learning about fandom terms and works that follow similar concepts and so on. But now it's got this weird fanfic element to it that... huh. It's not unpleasant, of course. It can be fun to read! But it also feels really out of place for the site's mission to me.

Sorry, I know your ask wasn't meant to be telling me "Self-Demonstrating is a thing that exists on TVTropes" but my gast is legit flabbered by this.

But yeah, I can't really fault her for her feelings on Kokichi having a page. (I do like the fact that his page contains a notation near the top that is just her telling him off. Lol.) It seems pretty plausible for her character, IMO.

Honestly, it seems to me that writing a page of Kokichi speaking in the first person has got to be incredibly hard. It's relatively easy for me to look at his page and find statements that don't feel like they suit the character ("Surrounded by Idiots" sticks out, for one). That's partly due to differing interpretations of the character, of course, but... differing interpretations of Kokichi in particular seem like an inevitability. The character is written to be fundamentally unknowable, "the very embodiment of a lie," so any attempts to sincerely know him/explore him from a first-person POV have to take creative license by embracing specific angles. And since TVTropes is meant to be a bias-free resource (which is why the "YMMV" pages exist), this is yet another reason why "Self-Demonstrating" doesn't sit right with me; it's going to provide a biased perspective on PLENTY of characters.

JOHNNY WON ❤❤❤

I'm so proud to never had doubted him, even a second. Remember saying "No, there's no way in hell a man become a beater just one day after YEARS of love and sweetness. No way in hell a man that take on his personnal time to put on his Captain Jack Sparrow and make sicks children smile done such things !" Hope he will get better and found solace on people who really love him ❤ he deserves BIG ASS apologizes from Disney and WB and all the medias who portrayed him as a monster without any proofs. I'll boycott them until this as much as all the futurs Amber Turd movies. Let her crash herself in misery.

#JusticeForJohnny #IStandWithJohnny