#but lightly

[hazbin-apologist]

Here’s a critique of hazbin hotel’s dialogue that isn’t just “they swear a lot”:

All the characters speak with relatively the same mannerisms and slang the majority of the time despite being from a variety of places and time periods. Except for like, zestial. And that’s only barely

[bagog]

N7 Month, 2023 - Day 11: Crew

Post-war crew portrait.

++

No one wanted to be there, least of all Shepard, but it was a rare occasion where everyone was in one place again, and the air in the room reflected it. The artist was becoming panicked at how loosely the majority of the crew seemed to interpret her appointment time: Garrus was more than twenty minutes later, and entered impassive to his own tardiness. The artist tried several times to get everyone’s attention, but the old friends had taken to talking in a huddle nearby a refreshment table. She looked at Shepard helplessly.

“Alright everybody,” Shepard raised his voice over the cheerful din. “We’re all here to get this done, so let’s get started now that everybody’s here.”

“How do you want us?” Kaidan asked the artist, coming to stand beside Shepard.

It was for the official portrait—the Normandy crew—which was promised to the Smithsonian once it was completed. The majority of the crew had posed for a photograph earlier in the day, but for the Senior staff it was decided a massive painting was in order.

Hikka Haufika, the artist chosen by several planetary governments, busily arranged the reluctant aliens and humans into formation, explaining under her breath how she didn’t want to do the standard rugby line-up portrait, but wanted to create something dynamic, something that communicated more than simple likeness. All the while, a young intern stalked about the studio with a camera drone: recording the accompanying video which would be played beneath the portrait once it hung in the museum.

“I don’t understand,” Tali crossed her arms, tone threatening at boredom. “Couldn’t you just do a complete three dimensional scan of us? Then we won’t have to hold these poses for so long.”

“I’m an old fashioned painter,” Haufika declared, then quieter when the camera drone approached her face. “I’m not only trying to capture the look of your crew, but the energy.”

“Oh, you’ll get energy from this group,” Liara said cryptically as she was positioned standing at a computer console. The artist brought more laptops and data-pads and artfully strewn them about her.

“So how long is this going to take?” James asked, seeming to sink further into himself as he watched the crew members plucked out a lineup one by one to be placed in the scene

“Never thought I’d catch you afraid to hold a pose,” Steve chimed in.

“Very funny.” James rolled his eyes.

“You don’t have to stand completely still, James,” Kaidan was now standing in the scene, sleeves on his uniform rolled up, gripping a Valkyrie assault rifle awkwardly. “Nobody expects you up here holding your breath for two hours.”

“Two hours…” Javik groaned. He frowned at the artist and she returned the frown in kind, skipped over him to pose the next person instead.

“Yeah, Shepard’s not sweating about it.” Joker was seated on a stool to one side of the frame, the artist taking his hat on and off and on and off before finally leaving it on. “How many is this for you now, Shepard?”

“Two sculptures, fifteen holo-photos, but this is only my second painting.” Shepard stepped into the scene himself and took up a pose beside Kaidan.

“Commander Shepard,” Haufika tapped his shoulder. “Actually, I was hoping you would stand right over here.”

“Oh.” Shepard replied passively, but did not move. “Any way you can put me here instead?”

“I, um… it wasn’t really what I…” she stuttered as Shepard remained impassive. “Um. Sure. You can stand there. Whatever.”

This caused a chain reaction, however, that saw several people’s poses have to be recast and a few people moved around.

“You know,” Garrus droned, standing with one arm on James’ shoulder, a sniper rifle slung over his. “Whenever humans paint a turian, we always end up looking like monsters…” Haufika looked offended, but before she could speak up, Dr. Chakwas guffawed from her position.

“You’ve been on the extranet too much.”

“Miss Haufika recently opened a gallery in Cairo, and was a featured exhibit at the Volus neo-classicism museum last year.” Liara chimed in, and the artist seemed pleased. Took up sketching on her canvas again.

“Well, at least we know she knows how to paint an Evo suit,” Tali remarked dryly, a prop shotgun placed atop a fake console she was ‘reading.’

They continued to chat as Haufika set to work laying down the bones of the scene. A few people were shifted around. James was bored. Kaidan eventually leaned forward, whispered in Shepard’s ear:

“Well, is this about what you expected?”

“Javik hasn’t stormed out, yet, so it’s better than it could’ve been,” Shepard returned quietly.

“Hey there,” Tali’s voice rose, sparkling, above the rest of the chatter. “Shepard, Kaidan… if you two aren’t careful, the painting’s going to have you two whispering to each other.”

“Remember, this is for posterity,” Steve rejoined. “This is going to be the image of the Normandy crew to future generations.” His tone was tinged with irony, but Shepard smiled all the same.

He had never wanted to be the sort of person who was ‘remembered’ as a hero, or anything other than a friend. Whatever ‘energy’ it was Hikka Haufika captured, he hoped the image the future would remember would be one of him, surrounded by friends.

[greenbeany]

Sketches from school!!!

Penny off the shits, Ciel appreciation hours, and Wattscar.

[animentality]

Female characters in shonen be talking vaginas that don't actually talk until it's time for the protagonist to admit he's in love with them and then poof, their special ability is offspring.

[cannibalisticshadows]

Working on returning to the world of the living after closing off all contact from friends but now I’m--

PANICING BECAUSE I’VE JUST BEEN BITTEN BY A VIOLENT URGE TO WRITE A GOLEM!RUMPLE STORY BASED OFF THE GOLEM OF PRAGUE AND AAAAAAAAAAAAH

(how would you guys feel about a Jewish!Belle, too?)

[belligerentbagel]

yfw emerging from a no-hope-zone cavern and seeing something you love 

[likeshipsonthesea]

Emergency Dance Party

         Nursey walks into the Haus to a familiar, but still strange, occurrence. Loud music is being blasted from somewhere within the Haus, and typically, during kegsters or when Bitty is baking, this would make sense. But it’s six in the afternoon on a Tuesday and Bitty is visiting Jack in an impromptu I-need-cuddles-from-my-boyfriend trip. So there is, logically, no reason for incredibly loud music to be playing right now.

         Nursey follows the sound of Adam Levine’s voice singing about sugar up the first flight of stairs to the attic. He knocks several times, but the music is too loud, so he assumes that nothing obscene is happening behind the door. He really doesn’t think that Ransom would allow Holster to put on Maroon 5 when they fuck, so he hopes it’s safe (of course, that’s also assuming that they’re fucking, but like half of Nursey’s life is based on assumptions so).

         When he pushes open the door he finds a sight he never could have dreamed of. All the dirty laundry, discarded papers, and stray objects in the attic have been pushed to the outskirts of the room to create, what seems to be, a dance floor. And utilizing that floor is none other than Ransom and… Dex.

         A dance party has broken out in the Haus attic, including Ransom, the typical stressed out ecosystem who definitely has a test tomorrow, and Dex, resident poindexter. Like, literally. And not only that, but the playlist seems to consists of mostly fast-beat pop songs and angry teen music. He’s pretty sure he heard some Black Parade on when he first walked into the Haus. Now he’s drifting into thoughts of Dex wearing eyeliner and ripped black jeans and… what was happening?

         Oh yeah, freak event dance party.

         “What the hell?” he yells over the music. Only Ransom seems to hear him, or notice him, as Dex is currently yelling along with Train about driving by at the attic windows, which don’t face the door.

         Ransom doesn’t stop dancing, just considers Nursey for a moment before yelling, “Join in or get out!” over the music. Nursey weighs his options and then steps into the room, closing the door behind him.

         The effect is immediate. With the door closed, the vibrations have nowhere to go but in, making the attic rattle with the sound. Ransom seems to have borrowed Holster’s beautifully large speakers for the party, and they make it so loud that Nursey almost feels like he can see the music. Like that episode of Magic School Bus when Ms. Frizz gave all the kids those glasses that let them see sound.

         Nursey is a good dancer, okay, he grew up in New York and his parents were sure to sign him up for every dance lesson they could to further integrate him into the socialite scene, so he knows everything from bachata to ballroom. He is, without a doubt, a good dancer, but every bit of his experience, his upbringing and training, seems to disappear the moment that Harry Styles croons out the first words to Midnight Memories. He starts bopping and jumping, like some teen version of Jersey Shore, and he moves his hips the way one of those figure hula dancers that truckers have on their dash boards do.

         They go through so many songs that he recognizes, but never liked enough to download. Carly Rae Jepson laments her silent cell phone, baby is said so many times that it loses meaning by the time Justin’s done, Don’t Ed warns them over and over again, Hot Chelle Rae comes back for three minutes and eight seconds to tell them that they like it like that. Talk Dirty to Me gets significant attention, as they all do the Egyptian dance and wiggle their hips like a snake being hypnotized by a flute moves its body.

         Dex doesn’t seem to notice Nursey’s presence. It’s weird, and improbable, as the attic is fairly small and none of them seem too preoccupied with where their limbs are going, but his eyes are closed and he mostly just stays in his part of the room, shaking his head and dancing like an uncaring, drunk Sim.

It’s not until Mr. Brightside pokes his head out that Dex opens his eyes. When he does, his sees Nursey, pauses for a moment, and then turns to Ransom without any acknowledgement. He and Ransom begin jumping in earnest, in time with the beat, and start screaming SWIMMING THROUGH SICK LULLABIES, CHOKING ON YOUR ALIBIS with all the force of Cameron Diaz in The Holiday, drunk and emotional, and they don’t seem to be either. They’re jumping in sync, two large defensive hockey players, and Nursey half-expects the floor to crumble out from under them. It’s intoxicating, magnetic, and Nursey moves closer so they form a pseudo-triangle-circle-thing and they jump together, screaming.

         Nothing matters for that time. It might be on repeat, for all Nursey knows. He feels like he yells Mr. Brightside so many times that the words have carved canyons into his throat with how they scratched their way out. Nursey might be sweating, even though it’s December and the Haus heating is absolute shit, especially in the attic. He can’t feel his feet or his mouth or his hands. All he feels is the music against his skin, he can taste it, touch it. It’s no longer coming from the speakers; it’s coming from inside him. He swallowed a speaker and now he will forever be consumed with it was only a kiss, it was only a kiss.

         The song ends, abruptly, painfully, viscerally. It seems to be the end of the playlist. The three of them stand there, breathing heavily as their own mortality returns as well as the need for oxygen. Nursey’s whole body aches, like after suicides. He could sleep for a year, sleep through the essay deadline that’s been haunting him for a week. Similar emotions cross over Ransom’s and Dex’s faces. It might be why they did this, Nursey thinks.

         Finally, Dex breaks the atmosphere of breathing, only breathing. He walks over to the desk that Ransom and Holster share- how they do, Nursey will never know, as they have very different organization styles- and picks up his backpack. He salutes Ransom, says “Thanks,”, and walks out of the attic, leaving the door open. Nursey wishes he wouldn’t; all the music is escaping and he can feel the buzz leaving his skin.

         “What was that?” Nursey asks after a minute, his voice shredded like curtains a cat has used as a toy. He’s never had a cat. Not that it’s relevant. Maybe the Haus should get a cat.

         “Emergency Dance Party,” Ransom says, sitting down on the bottom bunk. Nursey has always wondered about that bunk. It seems entirely impractical for two large hockey bros to cuddle on one twin bed when they could easily fit a queen up here. Again, that’s assuming that they cuddle up here on a regular basis.

         “Does that happen a lot?” Nursey asks, also wanting to sit down, but not willing to make it seem like he’s going to stay. He has stuff to do, he came here to write his essay and dig into the gingerbread cookies Bitty left in the kitchen. He can’t stay here any longer than he has. He suddenly realizes that he has no idea what time it is.

         “Somewhat regularly,” Ransom says, leaning back against the wall. “We both get stressed a lot. It helps.”

         It answers maybe 1% of Nursey’s questions, this simplistic answer. Who started it? Where did whoever started it learn about this? Did Holster have a hand in this? Does Holster know that his precious coral reef seems to actually have a de-stressing process and it doesn’t involve him? Is Holster okay with this? Is Nursey okay with this? Why wouldn’t Nursey be okay with this? Is it because Nursey’s interest in Dex has evolved passed the begrudging friendship? Is this whole thing making him confront feelings he thought he could avoid?

         But he doesn’t ask any of these questions, sort of because he doesn’t think Ransom would have the answers to most of them, but mostly because he’s still buzzing. It’s like Pop Rocks, but on his skin. He likes this feeling too much to let it go right now, so he nods and heads downstairs. He finds Dex sitting in the kitchen, working on something on his laptop. He’s got a plate of gingerbread cookies half-unwrapped next to him. He doesn’t look up when Nursey plops down next to him.

         When Nursey’s set up his laptop, the outline for the essay and a blank document prepped and ready, Dex slides the plate closer to Nursey without looking. Nursey glances at him, surprised, and grins, biting into the arm of a poor, innocent gingerbread person.

         The buzz is still on his skin, Bitty’s baking’s on his tongue, and the words of his introduction are coming to his mind like water through a river. It’s the closest he’s ever been to chill, he thinks.

[go-my-psiioniic-warriiors]

Jesus h Dick I need to put Cronus in another scene