#if you have any ideas go ahead and add them in replies/reblogs :3

[zackieboyo]

Idiosyncratic Eddsworld Shipping Names(that I could think of):

EddTom = Hard Cola (Reasoning: Tom is commonly associated with alcohol, Edd is commonly associated with Cola. Alcoholic soda is typically called "hard soda".)

TordMatt = Bulletproof Glass (Reasoning: Tord is associated with guns, and therefore bullets, Matt is associated with mirrors, and glass is part of mirrors. The term implies a level of Matt and Tord being compatible because bullets(Tord's recklessness/negative attributes), shot from guns(Tord), are something bulletproof glass(Matt) deflects(handles) well.) Or you could just call them the Tisming Twosome (reasoning: aurizzm)/j

TordEdd = BaconCola (Reasoning: Bacon Cola is a product introduced in the show, Tord and Edd are both associated with bacon, Tord moreso than Edd, due to Edd being primarily associated with Cola.)

TomTord = Molotovers/Molotov Lovers (Reasoning: is a play on Molotov Cocktails- an explosive: associated with Tord, using the bottle of a drinking alcohol: associated with Tom- and the word "lovers".)

PaulTord = CigLovers (Reasoning: both are associated with smokeables, Tord more often with cigars and Paul more often with cigarettes. They both love cigs(ie: cig-lovers) and are lovers, so it has double meaning.)

Poly main 4 = Lovefools (Reasoning: main 4 are dummies, and love each other.)

Poly neighbors = Lovejerks (Reasoning: neighbors are meanies, and love each other.)

[snappedsky]

Fanatics 95.3

The Night Terrors run into a problem.

*Links to previous and next chapters in reblog*

--

Final Awakening: All or Nothing Part 3

           “…ke u…”

           “…ake up…

           “WAKE UP!”

           Zim shoots awake as Gaz smacks him across the face. He looks up at her and Pepito glaring at him disapprovingly.

           “It’s about time,” Pepito tuts, “you know, we could’ve died like five minutes ago and you would’ve had no idea.”

           Zim looks around. The three of them are in a small stone room with an open barred door.

           “Where’s everyone else?” Zim asks, rubbing his face.

           “Just outside,” Pepito replies, “come on, get up.”

           He helps Zim to his feet and they exit the cell into a hall of similar doors. All of the other Battalion members and the Night Terrors are hanging around, except Squee and Johnny.

           “You alright?” Dib asks.

           “Yeah,” Zim replies, “where’s Squee?”

           “He’s not here,” Shmee replies and looks ahead of himself. “Right?”            Zim pushes his way to head of the group to find Jimmy, Krik, Dillon, Tess, and Edgar. He immediately scowls and draws his laser guns from his PAK.

           “Take it easy, shorty,” Dillon says.

           “If we were going to kill you, we would’ve when you were all passed out,” Krik adds.

           “So why didn’t you?” D-boy asks.

           The zombies all look at Tess accusingly. She glares back at them.          

           “She thinks you can help us,” Jimmy scoffs.

           “They can,” she insists.

           “They better,” Edgar says, “cause we just disobeyed a direct order from Zoli. When she finds out…”            They all shudder.

           “We can,” Reverend Meat declares, “and we will.”

           “But first,” Shmee says, “where’s Squee and Johnny?”

           “They’ll be kept in deeper rooms,” Tess replies, “Squee is gonna become the Nightmare’s next meal. Johnny is a back-up.”

           “How long do we have?”

           “No idea.”

           Shmee spits in frustration. “Do you know your way around this place?”

           “Pretty much,” Jimmy nods.

           “Good.” He looks back at the Battalion. “You guys find a way out. We’ll go get Squee and Johnny.”

           “What? We can’t just leave,” Zim argues.

           “You have to. It’s too dangerous.”

           “We’re not afraid of danger,” Tak retorts.

           “Yeah, and we haven’t even seen the Nightmare,” Dib retorts, “isn’t that why we came here?”

           “You’ve done your part. The rest is up to us,” Nailbunny insists.

           “Rest of what?” Devi asks.

           The Night Terrors share a hesitant look.

           “What are you guys up to?”

           Reverend Meat sighs, “we might as well tell them.”

           Shmee nods. “We’re…going to destroy the Nightmare.”

           “What?” the Battalion gasp.

           “What?” the zombies gasp.

           “Is that possible?” Pepito asks.

           “Theoretically,” Shmee replies, “however, if and when we succeed, the universe will reset, like we said before. That will cause this whole place to collapse. If you die during the reset, you will not come back. That’s why you must escape before it happens.”

           “But if you’re down here, you won’t be able to escape in time either,” Dib points out.

           “Yes. But escape was never part of our plan.”

           “Why? What are you saying?” Devi demands.

           Shmee hesitates to go any further so Reverend Meat takes over.

           “The only way we can destroy the Nightmare is by expelling all of our power from within it, collapsing it from the inside out,” he explains, “that’s why we won’t have a chance to escape. Because we’ll already be dead.”

           “What!” the Battalion exclaim.

           “You can’t!” Dib argues.

           “There’s gotta be another way!” Pepito adds.

           “What about Squee?” Tenna asks.

           “Why didn’t you tell us any of this?” Devi demands.

           “Because we knew you would react exactly like this,” Shmee replies, “we’ve been planning this for months; we’ve just been waiting for the Nightmare to show itself again. We thought it would come for Squee again and then we would hunt it privately, but when this chance came, we couldn’t pass it up.”            The Battalion stammer querulously, trying to come up with a sustainable argument.

           “It’s okay,” Nailbunny says gently, interrupting them. “We all decided this together, despite the risks. If it works, it won’t be permanent but it will severely weaken the Nightmare, freeing all of you.” He glances back at the zombies. “Giving you and Squee and Johnny a chance at a peaceful life, finally. And that’s enough for us.”

           The Battalion go solemnly silent.

           “Get to the surface,” Shmee orders, “we will find Johnny and Squee and send them to you. Then we will destroy the Nightmare.”

           The Battalion hesitates but Devi nods. She turns and ushers the others to the stairwell at the end of the hall. “Come on, guys.”            The Night Terrors watch them until they all disappear up the stairs then turn to the zombies.

           “Now you lead us to the Nightmare,” Shmee orders, “if Squee and Johnny are meant to be its food, they must be near it.”

           Jimmy sniffs and shrugs. “Fine, let’s go.”

           The zombies lead them to the same stairwell and descend.

           The group walks quietly, tensely, awkwardly. They exit out of the stairwell into another corridor lined with empty rooms. Some are stained with old blood.

           They cross the hall to another stairwell and go deeper down.

           “This isn’t that different from the underground rooms in Nny’s house,” Eff comments.

           “This is the Nightmare’s nest,” Reverend Meat explains, “it creates rooms for its slaves to keep victims as future meals. Nny’s basement, though, has always been like that. The Nightmare just got lucky picking him.”

           “His house is weird,” Sickness comments.

           “So who’s the Nightmare’s newest slave?” Shmee asks.

           “Han Ki-Joo,” Tess replies, “she’s a nice girl, she just…lost her way.”

           “Does she have imagination powers?” Nailbunny asks, “like Squee or Johnny?”

           “Nah,” Jimmy scoffs, “she’s weak. The Nightmare will use her up soon.”

           “Maybe we can save her too before that happens,” Shmee says.

           They continue through another empty hall and head down another stairwell.

           “We’re almost there,” Edgar says, “just a few more floors.”            “Good. I’m sick of stairs,” D-boy grunts.

           They exit onto another floor and the zombies suddenly stop.

           “Uh oh,” Dillon croaks.

           “What?” the Night Terrors question, looking around them, and they stop too.

           “We uh…forgot to warn you guys about something,” Krik replies.

           Everyone stares ahead with surprise at the two figures ahead of them. One has deathly pale skin and is wearing a black suit beneath leather straps. His eyes are white orbs with a single horizontal line. The other has skin blacker than night and is wearing a white suit with torn sleeves. His eyes have black crosses. Both are wearing similar chef’s hats.

           “They seem familiar…” D-boy remarks.

           “They look like you,” Sickness comments, glancing at the Doughboys.

           “Very astute,” the black-suited one replies in a monotone voice.

           “You could call us the first borns,” the white-suited one says cheerily, “nice to see you again, little brothers.”

           “You two,” Eff breathes.

           “Señor Bondage and Nil,” Reverend Meat growls.

           “You remember us,” Nil smiles, “I’m touched.”

           “How are you here?” Shmee asks, “and how do you have those bodies?”

           “Do you like them?” Señor Bondage asks, “they were a gift from our master.”

           “It took pity on us,” Nil continues, “and gave us these bodies so that we could live like you.”

           “Copycats,” D-boy scoffs.

           “Well, you got your bodies,” Eff grunts, “now get out of our way, we got shit to do.”            “Yeah, right,” Nil scoffs, “you think we’re just gonna let you traitors traipse through our master’s domain?”

          “You realize that when the Nightmare leaves its nest, you two will just be sucked back into it, right?” Sickness scoffs.

           “Why would it leave, when it’s got its endless meal right here,” Señor Bondage questions.

           “You mean Squee,” Shmee growls.

           Señor Bondage nods and Nil grins.

           “We don’t have time for this,” he snarls.

           “We’re warning you, move now,” Reverend Meat demands, “you don’t stand a chance against all of us.”

           “If all we do is slow you down, then I say we’ve done a good job,” Nil retorts.

           “Fine,” Sickness spits, “let’s make this quick.”

           “Wait,” Eff argues as he and D-boy steps forward. “Like the bear said, we don’t have time.”

           “So you guys go on ahead,” D-boy adds, “we’ll handle these two.”

           “What? But-,” Reverend Meat tries to argue.

           “Don’t argue. Find Squee and Nny, make sure they’re safe,” Eff orders.

           “We’ll catch up in time to destroy the Nightmare,” D-boy declares.

           “You better,” Shmee demands, “we need all of us to do it.”

           “Yeah, yeah,” Eff grunts.

           “None of you are going anywhere,” Señor Bondage growls darkly and loosens a couple of straps from his body.        

           “There’s another hall beneath us, right?” D-boy asks.

           “Yes,” Jimmy nods.

           “Meat, can you make your own entrance?”

           “No problem,” Reverend Meat nods.

           Señor Bondage whips the straps at the Night Terrors. Eff and D-boy catch them around their arms.

           “Then go!” Eff barks.

           “No one’s going anywhere!” Nil snaps. He waves his hands forward and a blast of black energy erupts from him.

           Reverend Meat punches a hole through the floor and everyone falls through as the blast hits the Doughboys head-on.

           “Nice try, fakers,” Nil grins, “but my void blast destroys all living things caught in it.”

           “Oh, yeah?” Eff’s voice calls out as the blast disperse. Both of the Doughboys are doubled over, covering their faces. Then they look up, smirking, their Nightmare faces revealed. “Good thing we have a couple decoys.”

[roseate7]

Pens fans and Sid fans are great at holding our faves accountable - you’re probably not

If you’re inflamed by that title then this post is for you. Flouncing away from it makes you look like a clown who can’t handle criticism and correction. I’ll go ahead and preface this by saying my disability limits my usage of screens to only the absolute essentials so I won’t be back here to see if you’ve done either so please save yourself time and any huffy replies you’re bristling with. I’m not interested in returning to tumblr, trust me.

I shouldn’t be surprised considering this fandom’s selectiveness when it comes to politics and hockey but it’s still not great to get an anon message that huge swathes of fandom are now treating the topic of racism not with regards to Akim Aliu or BLM, but as a popularity contest of performative white men. Oh and their eagerness to once again remind anyone they think cares that “humph they don’t wike Sidney Cwosby and their fave is superior! Take THAT Cwosby fans!”

Again, y’all should’ve saved yourselves the trouble but fortunately I and Pens fandom have a nice history of protesting and holding our team and Sid accountable for you to learn from. Especially Caps and Blues fans recently, also anyone gross enough to be Ovechkin fans, but especially if you consciously decide to have anything to do with supporting the Blackhawks and not smacking yourself in the eye every time you type or utter the team name. Like, holy shit are we really out here on the brink of saying you can be best friends with Patrick Kane and still be... jesus christ. (Start here and work backward - any other Pens fans, rb and add your own history of it) I’ll try to keep this brief but I couldn’t really care less if anyone finds it too long lol. If you’re all willing to post about this shit then you can sit and listen.

1) If any of the gestures made by these white men has turned your head or made you think they’re better than other white men in hockey then a) you’re obviously biased towards them in the first place and are jumping on any fucking crumb cast your way, and b) you’re wrong. They do not care about you. They do not care about BLM. They have known all along when they and others have done wrong and they have done nothing until pressured to do so. They do not care about anything beyond hockey. 

2) I have watched multiple rotations of PR efforts to Make Hockey Players Seem Like Great Guys over the decades. This is the latest. They pretend to atonement. They donate. They make statements. They wear tape on their sticks. They put on special jerseys for fifteen minutes. They pose with the minority they have offended (or attend Pride parades and get nothing but praise for it and the unearned mantle of having saved gays everywhere). And yet as I am here to attest, it has never done anything. It is intended to make you like them and do exactly what you’re doing now - buy into their cultivated hierarchy of goodness that has zero relevance to real world ideas of goodness or morality. 

3) The bar is too low to call any white male hockey player a good man. “But you stan Crosby!!” Yep. Read through my blog and I absolutely go nuts with the narrative of this guy’s career and his impact or lack of action in hockey. I balance a fascination with him as a hockey player with real life criticism of him as a person. You can too! 

4) Lastly, if you think “omg my guy is SOOOOO much better than Crosby because of x, y, and z” then you are a fool. You’re playing precisely into what the NHL and it’s teams have been pushing - especially on female fans! You’ve been fed a version of a white man, you’ve been given a tamping down in terms of your expectations, and now you’re in love. You’ll take anything he throws you and carry it like a banner over the heads of any inferior hockey men! You’re the loser in this exchange.

Ironically for the latest batch of “I hate Crosby”, Sidney Crosby has in fact done far more to improve the diversity of hockey than your white faves - the Little Penguins was his baby and spread league wide as the Learn to Play program and his focus has been to push management of his teams toward making tickets and events accessible to lower income families. Most of your dudes wait for initiatives from Head Office to be handed down via PR. Here’s the kicker! that absolutely every Pens and Sid fan I know is aware of! Neither Sid’s proactive work nor most players’ going along makes them better than each other in a real world sense! Because none of them are doing a fraction of what they could easily be doing to tackle real issues in an up front and direct way! And they all know it and hide from it! They’re all white boys who don’t like to rock the boat unless enough of their brothers do it with them!

None of them spoke up for Akim Aliu in any actual supportive way!! They waited for human trash bag Evander Kane to say something and slowly trickled in!! they all waited!! They waited their whole careers and they’re gonna keep you waiting!! 

Jonathan Toews is not better than Sidney Crosby. You are the ones who are upset by that fact - we’re the ones who’ve never questioned it. Johnny being best friends with a racist and abuser (and defending him openly!) and never answering for his racist logo on his chest or his notoriously brazen racist fans DOES NOT GO AWAY just because in this instance Sidney Crosby was later than him. It does not disappear just because his fans read a silly and utterly empty, self-serving mansplaining text post and decide that he is suddenly better than Sidney Crosby’s equally empty statement days later. Judge these men intelligently!! Stop making it a teen magazine bestest boy rating!! DO NOT TELL PEOPLE TO BRUSH OFF A MAN’S FRIENDSHIP AND DEFENCE OF A RACIST ABUSER RAPIST JUST BECAUSE HE WROTE A NOTE SAYING HE’S FOUND OUT ABOUT RACISM AND BOY IT’S NOT GOOD EH.

Please, just for a second, just think of how stupid it is to take an issue like systemic racism and actually sit down and actually turn it into whose boy is better than whose. For the love of god please if nothing else stop doing that!!

THE TIME FOR STATEMENTS TO ACT AS BROWNIE POINTS IS DONE. THE TIME FOR WHITE MEN COPPING TO RACISM IN THEIR LEAGUE AND THE WORLD AS SOMETHING WORTHY OF PRAISE IS DONE. THEY ARE TOO LATE. STOP ACCEPTING SO LITTLE JUST SO YOU CAN ENGAGE IN STAN WARS. 

THE PEOPLE DOING THE WORK TO IMPROVE SYSTEMIC RACISM IS ALL YOU SHOULD CONCERN YOURSELF WITH. NOT THEIR SEEMINGLY BENEVOLENT OPPRESSORS. STOP TALKING ABOUT THEM. STOP PRAISING THEM. IF THEY REALLY MEAN WHAT THEY ARE SAYING THEY WILL CONTINUE WITHOUT PRAISE AND WE WILL SEE IT IN REALITY OVER YEARS TO COME. THEY GET NOTHING FROM US NOW. NOTHING.

NO ONE CARES THAT YOU DO NOT LIKE SIDNEY CROSBY. WE CARE THAT YOU ARE INSISTING THAT WE REDUCE OUR SOCIAL AWARENESS DOWN TO SLURPING ON ANY WHITE MAN’S EGO IN THE MIDST OF INEQUALITY AND ABUSE THAT HE - WHOEVER HE IS - HAS SILENTLY AND ACTIVELY PERPETUATED, JUST BECAUSE HE DONATED MONEY OR WROTE STUPID FUCKING WORDS IN NOTES APP. 

[always-and-forever-a-killjoy]

Chapter 3 is up!

Hey y’all! It’s time for the third and final chapter of let me be the one to save you, aka the chapter I’ve been promising will make up for all the pain! 

Chapter Title: Everything Is Going To Be Okay

Chapter Wordcount: 1588

Chapter Summary: Cherri Cola wakes up, makes some mildly ill-advised choices, and finally gets a fucking hug.

Warnings: Non-graphic descriptions of injury and stitches, hospital setting.

Taglist: @wishiwasthemoon-tonight @sleevesareforlosers @stressed-depressed-emo-mess @tasteofamnesia (message me, send an ask, or reblog/reply to one of my posts if you want to be added or removed)

AO3 Link

Chapter 1 AO3 Link

Chapter 1 Tumblr Post

Chapter 2 AO3 Link

Chapter 2 Tumblr Post

(Actual fic under the cut)

When Cherri Cola wakes up again, he’s in a room he doesn’t recognize. The walls are whitewashed and plain, and his first thought is that he was captured on the mission to Battery City. Why they didn’t simply slap a drac mask on him is anyone’s guess, but the more pressing question is if the fabulous four made it safely out with the Girl.

Which he has no way of finding out. Great.

After a moment, he notices that the bed he’s lying in creaks, and the paint of the walls is far too chipped to be Battery City. Not to mention the thin layer of dust and sand coating everything, which confirms that this must be the desert. He struggles to sit up, sending shoots of pain through what feels like a hundred small cuts and bruises. Abruptly, he remembers what happened; Poison getting shot, Jet running with Motorbaby, smashing through that glass wall with Ghoul, Dr. Death Defying coming to save them in the van, all of it comes rushing back.

Cherri pushes himself further up, since knowing what happened at the bli building still doesn’t answer the question of exactly where he is, and carefully swings his legs over the side of the bed. His jacket, mask, and ray gun are gone, making him feel strangely vulnerable, but that’s not going to stop him.

What does ultimately stop him is the fact that he gets to his feet and immediately almost passes out. His head is spinning badly enough that he has to sit right back down, making the bedsprings creak even more as he tries to catch his breath. He must have gotten hurt worse than he thought, given his inability to even stand.

After a few moments, footsteps sound in the hall and then a tall, dower-faced person wearing the symbol of a medic walks in. They look Cherri Cola up and down, pursing their lips. “You’re awake already.”

“How long has it been?”

“Only a few hours. Did you try t’ get up?”

“I have to find my friends,” Cherri defends himself.

“Your friends are safe. You’re in the hospital in Zone 2,” They add. “Your friend, DJ Dr. Death Defying, brought you an’ another kid in.”

Cherri blinks, mildly baffled at being grouped in with Fun Ghoul as a ‘kid’. “I’m twenty-eight.”

“Sorry, you an’ a teenager in.”

“Is xe okay? And what about the other members of the fab four?”

“Xe will be fine, xe’s no worse off than you were. Xyr crewmates are all fine as well, although the redhead was in critical condition for a while.” They peel off the bandages on his arm and start examining a long cut he doesn’t remember getting, which is now neatly stitched. “Your friends said your name is Cherri Cola?”

He nods and regrets the movement as his head aches. “That’s me.”

The medic nods in return. “I’m Senior Medic Dowdy, pleased t’ meet you.” Their voice is professional, but they have the rough accent of someone who either grew up in the Zones or has lived here a long while.

Cherri manages to sit quietly as they check on varying slashes, which he assumes are from throwing himself through a glass door. That really was not his smartest idea.

Finally, they’re finished, and he dares open his mouth again. “Can I see my friends?”

“Only the ones who can walk on their own, ‘m not having you up and walking just yet. You lost a lot of blood.” Their voice softens slightly. “I’ll go get them, you stay right here.”

Ten minutes later, Jet Star enters and immediately goes to throw their arms around Cherri. He winces as his varying injuries scream out, but he doesn’t even think about pushing them away. While Jet Star is by far the most open of the Fabulous Four about expressing affection verbally, they’re restrained with physical affection. They’ll return hugs, but rarely initiate them, unless they think one of their crewmates needs one. And they never hug like this, raw and scared with no warning. So even though they’re taller than him by not an insignificant amount, Cherri holds them gently and lets them fall apart for a moment as they cling to him.

“Thank you,” Jet mumbles. “Thank you for coming with us. Thank you for saving Poison. Thank you for getting hurt to save Ghoul. Thank you.”

“Of course. You’re my friends. I’m always going to try to help,” he promises, and that’s a promise he can keep.

They let out a small sniffle. “Love you, Cola.”

“Love you too, Jet.”

It ends up being another day before Poison even wakes up, and another couple after that before Cherri is healed enough to go see them. During those days, he sees the Girl, who gives him sweet, little-kid hugs and whispers “thank you, Cola”, and Newsie, who gives him a ridiculous amount of shit for almost dying but grins fondly and says “I knew you’d make it, you lucky fucker.” Show Pony somehow manages to smuggle a cherry-flavored lollipop into the hospital for him (where ey got it is anyone’s guess), and gives him almost as much shit as Newsie for almost dying. Cherri just smiles, knowing that it’s eir way of saying that ey cares.

Dr. Death Defying also comes to visit, and the first words out of his mouth as he wheels in the door are “Never do that again. You could have died!”

Cherri almost laughs at how on-brand it is for D that the first thing he does after they’re reunited is scold Cherri for nearly dying. “I love you too, you worrier.”

D sighs. “I love you, even if you gave everyone a fright.”

“I did promise I would come back.”

“I didn’t believe you.”

Cherri knows. It wasn’t a promise he was sure he could keep either, but he’s certainly glad he did.

Although everyone else is able to visit, he doesn’t get to see Fun Ghoul, Party Poison, or Kobra Kid until he can walk on his own. While Kobra is mainly uninjured, he refuses to leave Poison’s side, and Cherri understands that.

The day Cherri finally goes to visit Party Poison is also the first time he sees Ghoul since the two of them were buying the rest time to run.

Actually, xe almost runs into him outside of Poison’s hospital room. “Oh! Cola!”

“Hey, Ghoul,” Cherri offers with a smile.

Xe fiddles with xyr hands. “Thanks for. Y’know. Savin’ me and all.”

“You did just as much,” he gently reminds xem.

“Yeah, but you didn’t have t’ throw yourself through a glass door an’ use your body to shield me from the glass.”

There’s no way he can possibly express, not with any words in his vocabulary, how impossible it would have been to stand by and not do something to help xem. Instead, he just gives Ghoul another small smile and hopes that his true meaning comes across. “I was only doing my best to help.”

Ghoul shakes xyr head. “Dr. D would say you don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“D is very kind, but really I was just doing what I could.”

He swears xe rolls xyr eyes at him as he opens the door and finally gets to see the last two members of the Fabulous Four. Poison looks much smaller and much younger than normal, sprawled out on the bed, but their playful grin is firmly set on their face, and most importantly, they’re alive. The rest of the crew is already arrayed around them; Jet Star is standing next to them, Kobra Kid sits on the bed by their other side, and Motorbaby is snuggled up next to them. Dr. Death Defying is sitting next to Jet, and Newsie grins from the corner, where she’s sitting with Pony.

“Cola! Up and walking, I see.”

“Slowly, but yes.”

“So I shouldn’t tackle-hug you.”

“Not unless you want to tear some of these stitches, no.”

She laughs and comes to give him a gentle hug. “I think the venom siblings have something to say to you. Right, Poison, Kobra?”

Kobra huffs a sigh. “Sorry we were assholes to you when you offered to help.”

“Yeah, we were scared for Motorbaby, but you didn’t deserve t’ be treated like a stranger,” Poison contributes.

It’s rare to hear either of them apologize for anything, so he has a feeling that there was some convincing from Newsie and D involved, but it’s an apology nonetheless. “It’s okay. You were scared and separated from someone you love, and I’m not exactly known for being a fighter.”

“’M really glad you were there,” Poison mumbles. “Kobes says you kicked Korse’s ass.”

“Swear jar!” Jet reminds as Cherri winces.

“I don’t know about that, but I did my best.”

“That’s good enough for us,” Ghoul puts in.

Cherri isn’t supposed to stand for too long, so they let him sit on the other side of the bed from Kobra, and Ghoul perches on the foot of the bed alongside Pony as Dr. Death Defying wheels close enough for Cherri Cola to lean a little on him, and NewsAGoGo and Jet Star do their utmost to gather all seven of the rest into a hug. And even though it all still hurts a bit, and even though there’s a long fight ahead of them, for those few minutes, surrounded by the people who have become his family, it feels like everything is going to be okay.

[a-night-at-the-0pera]

Virtues Uncounted, Part 8

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7

Series Pairings: Gwilym Lee x Reader, Joe Mazzello x Reader

Chapter Summary: The year is 1820, in the charming English village of Ashwick Heath. You are a young lady of distinction, rather bored during the long summer months in your family’s country estate. The only reprieve from this boredom is the handsome, if shy, Mr. Gwilym Lee, the youngest son of the noble family living adjacent to you, and his mysterious and brash American cousin, Mr. Mazzello. Mr. and Mrs. Malek invite you on their honeymoon tour to Amsterdam, Berlin, and Paris, and despite your anxieties about leaving England for the first time, you join them, eager to escape the turmoil you have created back home. However, a surprise guest sets your mind racing once more. Will you ever be allowed to run from your problems, or must you always be forced to face the consequences? 

Chapter Warnings: mentions of seasickness, light angst

Chapter Word Count: 9.6k

Author’s Note: I say I over-research every chapter, but this one should honestly have footnotes and a bibliography. If I research and write my undergrad thesis with as much vigor, I’ll be done by November! This chapter’s storytelling style and format is a little different than the other ones, since the last third is told entirely through letters. I hope you like this little experiment! 

A major thank you to my beta readers @o-holynight and @rogers-sweatbands for their sharp eyes and insightful comments (and to Mic for the gorgeous moodboard!), and as always, big love to all my friends on this site (and off!) who are my sounding boards and hype squad for this fic. This is a work of fiction, and all place names and peerage titles are made up by me, for ease of writing. As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated, because they give me feedback! I love to hear your thoughts on the stories I write! Are you Team Gwilym or Team Joseph? Sound off in my inbox!

~~~~~~~~~

The sun had barely risen the next morning when Margie comes to bid you farewell, wrapped tightly in her traveling cloak to keep out the misty early morning chill. She is clutching the letters you wrote last night tightly in her hands, along with the one you addressed to your parents.

"I shall be sure that these reach the intended recipients, Miss," she says with a slight nod, tucking the letters into her pocket for safekeeping.

"Thank you, Margie," you murmur, reaching out to give the older woman a brief, tight hug, "I shall miss you dearly on my trip."

"Nonsense," she smiles, patting your cheek affectionately, "you, my dear, are about to have the journey of a lifetime. But do I approve of the fact that you are departing without consulting with your parents?"

You hang your head slightly, picking at a loose thread on the bedsheets. Margie places a hand on your shoulder, her eyes searching for yours.

"No, I do not," she continues, "but I do think that it is right for you to go. Youth is precious, Miss (Y/N). It would be a pity to languish it away in Ashwick Heath when the rest of the world is within your grasp."

She plants a swift kiss on the crown of your head, sniffling once before turning quickly to leave, determined that you do not see her cry.

"Travel safely!" you call out after her, the door closing cutting off your farewell. The sound of reins snapping and carriage wheels rolling over cobblestones a few minutes later alerts you to her departure, and for the first time in your life, you are well and truly alone. Except, you suppose, for Mrs. Phillips, who you can hear puttering around in the next room over, stripping the sheets from Margie’s bed. 

A few moments later, your bedroom door swings open with a bang, and the housekeeper walks in, shocked to see you still lying in bed. 

“My apologies, Miss Woolmere!” she gasps, “I thought you had already departed!”

“That is all right, Mrs. Phillips. In fact, I should probably be the one apologizing for not notifying you. I am to leave later this afternoon. Margie is homeward bound, and I am off to stay with Mr. and Mrs. Malek.”

“So you’ll be staying in London, then, Miss?”

“We are departing for Canterbury this afternoon, actually, so I shall be out of your hair by noon at the latest.”

“It is no trouble at all, Miss Woolmere. No trouble at all.”

After Mrs. Phillips generously offers to help you dress, you spend the rest of the morning lounging around the house, tragically devoid of any entertainment, as your father's study is locked up for the summer, and it would be rather inconsiderate to ask Mrs. Phillips to open the room for you for just a few hours. You do find an almanac in the kitchen, and after reading about crop predictions and moon phases until your eyes practically bleed, you decide to hail a hackney to take you over to Mr. Malek's townhome a little earlier than expected.

The hackney driver is a pleasant conversationalist, and you find the thirty minute ride passes quickly, the two of you chatting amusedly about the latest royal gossip. You know that your mother would frown on this behavior, especially your snide jibes about the Prince Regent's latest mistress, but as an independent woman (as least, as someone pretending to be), you can permit yourself a little impropriety for the sake of fun.

You nearly gasp pulling up outside of the Maleks’ town home. The stately red-brick abode fills nearly the entire block, the grand entryway lined with white marble columns. The blooming rose bushes, bursting with pink blossoms, perfume your arrival as the driver unloads your trunk, setting it beside you on the stoop as you fish out some coins to pay him.

"Much obliged, Miss," he smiles, tipping his hat to you, "safe travels to Dover."

"Thank you, Mr. Bourne," you reply, giving him a little curtsy, which makes him grin even wider. He swings back into the driver's seat of the hackney, waving as he snaps the reins to spur the horse down the street. Moments later, the Maleks’ door swings open and a butler ushers you inside, summoning a footman to take your trunk to the carriage house out back. The double doors to the library swing open and Rami pops his head out, beaming at you.

"Ah, Miss Woolmere! We were not expecting you for another hour at least."

"I apologize, Mr. Malek, I should have sent word."

He waves your apology off nonchalantly. "No harm done, it is of no consequence to us. Lucy is upstairs, frantically shoving nearly everything she owns into her luggage. I tried to persuade her to take just one trunk, but she won't hear of it. I think we shall be lucky if she brings only three."

"Well, you did marry the most fashionable woman in London, sir," you giggle, "one cannot expect Lucy to travel to the Continent with the meager supply of dresses only one trunk can provide."

"Very true," he nods, "would you like to join me in the library? I am trying to decide which books to bring along, and I know you are an avid reader."

"I would be delighted."

Rami beckons you beyond the mahogany doors into the library, an elegantly decorated but rather small room, considering the size of the rest of the house.

"I realize it is paltry in comparison to the library at Moorhead Park, or even your own in Ashwick Heath, but as I have been so infrequently at home until a few months ago, it seemed foolish to dedicate so much space to a library that I would never be in."

You nod, thumbing along the spines in the nearest case. "How much room do you have in your trunk?"

"Enough room for a few, I think, while still leaving space to add in any new ones we acquire along the way," he responds, eyes twinkling with excitement.

The two of you comb the shelves, accumulating a healthy stack of novels to pass the time on the long carriage rides and ship journeys ahead.

"The Monastery?" you hum with excitement, brandishing Sir Walter Scott's newest book at Rami, "I have not yet had the chance to read this!"

"It is an excellent read," he responds, "and rumor has it that a sequel is going to be published quite soon."

"And where did you learn that?"

Mr. Malek flashes you a teasing little grin. "Walter told me."

"Rami, darling, must you boast to our friend about all your connections?" Lucy's voice peals out from the doorway, sparkling with laughter and a hint of mocking indignation.

"That is why you married me, is it not, my love?" he jokes back, striding over and planting a kiss on her cheek, "that's what everyone is saying, anyways."

"And you would trust the London gossip channels over your own wife? I am astounded!" she quips, playfully attempting to squirm away from his loving grip on her waist.

"We all know it's the most reliable source of news," you tease, smiling at their clear display of affection.

"You should have told me you were here, (Y/N)! I was just finishing packing upstairs," Lucy exclaims, stepping forward to give you an enthusiastic hug.

"So you are finished then? How many trunks?" Rami asks, raising an eyebrow in amusement at his wife.

Lucy pouts at him. "Only three."

"Goodness, we might need to hire another coach just for the luggage!" you exclaim, which makes Rami burst into laughter.

"You two are impossibly mean," Lucy whines, sticking her bottom lip out even further, "Perhaps inviting you was not a good idea, after all, (Y/N). I do not know if I can stand you and Rami joining forces to tease me for these next few weeks."

"It is a little late for that now, love," her husband declares, giving her another swift kiss on the cheek before exiting the library, arms full of novels, "I shall let the footmen know that your luggage is ready, and that they should bring the carriage 'round to the front."

"Thank you, darling."

As Rami departs to the foyer, Lucy loops her arm in yours and pulls you to the parlor, flopping the two of you down on the settee with a soft grunt.

"So this is it, darling! We are soon to be off on our grand adventure! Are you as excited as I am?”

“Of course I am,” you smile, trying to force down the lump slowly creeping its way up through your throat, “I finally get to leave this little island and see the world, with good friends by my side. Why wouldn’t I be excited?”

“Because I am terrified!” Lucy giggles, quirking her eyebrows knowingly at you, but not pressing the subject further. 

Moments later, the butler arrives to usher the two of you to the front doors, where Rami is waiting, extending his arm to Lucy. You three bid the house staff farewell and bundle into the waiting carriage, the trunks strapped to the roof of the sleek yellow chaise. With a snap of the reins, the driver peels the horses away down the road, and you feel a tiny pang in your heart seeing Rami and Lucy’s eyes flicker briefly with sadness as their home fades away. 

The ride to Charing Cross is a quick one, despite the crowded streets of central London, and the three of you disembark to switch carriages to a large black stagecoach bound for Canterbury. While Rami oversees the transfer of your luggage, you and Lucy busy yourselves getting familiar with the other travellers, as you shall be spending the next several hours in close quarters. The young mother across from you is bringing her son to meet his grandparents for the first time, and Lucy eagerly dandles the infant on her lap, cooing and smiling at the little boy, who gurgles happily at her. From the corner of your eye, you catch Rami beaming at the sight, too. 

While not exactly riveting, the hours on the country highway between London and Canterbury pass more quickly than expected, with easy conversation punctuating the periods of comfortable silence between all parties in the stagecoach. You nod off after a while, your head bumping gently against the glass window of the carriage as the rolling fields of Kent pass by in a green and yellow blur. 

The three of you arrive in Canterbury around dinnertime and are graciously welcomed into the home of one of Lucy’s father’s cousins, a charming widowed woman by the name of Mrs. Matthews, who is positively gleeful to have such engaging company.

You find yourself desperate to stretch your legs after the afternoon of cramped carriage travel, so you suggest a walk through the city to the famous cathedral, but Rami and Lucy decline, leaving you in the rather unwilling hands of Mrs. Matthews' 15-year-old son Jonathan, who leads you through the lanes of Canterbury at a breakneck speed, desperate to have the trip over and done with as soon as possible. The brisk pace is of no consequence to you, and despite the lad's initial unwillingness, the two of you settle into an easy conversation about his schooling and passion for the violin.

All the descriptions you had read of the cathedral pale in comparison to the actual grandeur of the building, with its soaring stone arches and intricate stained glass windows. The fading sunbeams outside shine through the lead-paned scenes of saints and sinners, dappling the stone walls with shards of colored light. It is utterly breathtaking.

By the time Jonathan convinces you to head back to the house for dinner, the sun is low in the sky, painting the Tudor-style houses that line the streets golden. The exhaustion from the day's travels finally catches up to you over dinner, and after the meal, you opt to retire to your bedroom early, extending your apologies to Mrs. Matthews, who waves you off with a cheerful smile and wishes for a restful night of sleep.

The next morning, you wake with the sunrise. It is fortunate that you are up early, as you no longer have anyone to assist you with dressing, and the process that usually takes fifteen minutes in the morning easily takes double with you having to reach awkwardly and fumble blindly with tiny buttons. Thank goodness Margie had taught you how to properly lace up your own stays when you were a girl, or you would truly be hopeless.

After a leisurely morning of light conversation and several turns about Mrs. Matthews' orchard, the branches laden with ripening pears, the Maleks and you pack your belongings and set out for Dover, determined to reach the seaside by lunchtime. Rami's nose is buried in a novel from the moment you depart Canterbury, and Lucy promptly falls asleep on his shoulder, so you find yourself passing the time by observing the changing scenery.

Lush orchards and forests slowly give way to flat green fields and swaths of seagrass, rippling delicately in the salty ocean breeze. You catch just the slightest glimpse of the famous white cliffs before the carriage turns sharply off the seaside highway onto the main road into town. The carriage driver pulls up in front of a quaint inn at the center of the village, and the innkeeper comes out to greet you, ushering you three inside to a hearty lunch of salads and cold pies, a refreshing meal in the rapidly heating summer air. 

Upon the recommendation of another guest at the inn, the three of you spend the afternoon on a rambling hike to the Dover Castle, appreciating the sweeping ocean views from the stony ramparts. Lucy has brought along a little leatherbound sketchbook, and spends nearly an hour outlining the picturesque vista while you and Rami explore the rest of the monstrous fort, ducking in and out of nooks and crannies in the thick stone walls.

When the pages of Lucy's book are sufficiently full, the three of you head back into town, peering in shop windows. Rami purchases an iced bun to satisfy his mid-afternoon sweet tooth, and you procure a new blue hair ribbon, the seafoam-colored silk bound to serve as a memento of your visit to this idyllic town.

It is approaching dinnertime by the time you arrive back at the inn, sufficiently pleased with your tour of Dover. Rami and Lucy retire to their chamber to prepare for dinner, and you do the same, climbing the creaky wooden stairs to your room on the third floor. You have just removed your sun bonnet when the innkeeper knocks on the door.

"Miss, a letter has just arrived for you on the latest express."

Accepting the letter with a smile, you turn the parchment over in your hands to see the familiar seal and handwriting of Mr. Gwilym Lee. A jolt of anxiety courses through your body and you suddenly feel sick, sinking down onto the bed. He must have received your letter from London. What could he have to say? Is he going to tell you that your parents have sent out the Royal Army to remand you back to Ashwick Heath? With shaky fingers, you unstick the blue seal and unfold the letter.

Dear (Y/N),

I hope this letter reaches you in time. I paid the express rider double to ride through the night, so I am praying that you read this before you depart for the Continent.

Your letters from London caused quite a stir here in Ashwick Heath. Baroness Woolmere, by nature, is often a dramatic woman, as you know, but I swear on my life I have never seen such a scene as the one I witnessed upon my visit to your parents yesterday. The house was in complete disarray, with your father nervously attempting to soothe your enraged mother, who was tearing about the place, hysterically crying about familial disgrace and the like. My presence calmed her considerably, I believe, as she finally decided to sit upon the chaise and quiet her shrieks to muffled sobs.

Both sets of parents have been quite convinced that you are the sole party involved in the stalling of wedding preparations, and while they are right, I have done my utmost to assure them that it was a mutual decision between the two of us, so as to preserve both our reputations in this matter.

Upon hearing the news of your decision to depart for the Continent, Alexander threatened to mobilize his naval division to intersect your vessel. I shall paraphrase what he said, so as to not offend your sensibilities, but he said that he would "drag her back in chains, the ungrateful wench." Naturally, I leapt to the defense of your character, insisting to him that you are well within your rights to accompany a friend on a post-nuptial journey, but he, in his usual way, insisted on lampooning your virtues.

I do apologize, dearest. I know that you were not there to hear his vile accusations, but I am most embarrassed for my brother and his actions, and will be most grateful when he returns to his naval commission next week. He is to be stationed in Barbados, and I doubt we shall see him again for several years. Despite my mother's weeping and wailing for his impending departure, I think most of us here at Moorhead Park will be secretly relieved to see him go.

However, I think all of us here will miss Mr. Mazzello, who departed for Southampton yesterday around noon. We have all grown rather fond of our American cousin, despite our initial reservations about his deportment and sense of etiquette. Indeed, Joseph has become like a brother to me in these past few months, perhaps even more so than Alexander. He has been kind and forgiving of my earlier transgressions, which were acts based on unfounded jealousy and presumptions of his character, and he has invited me to come visit him in New York sometime soon, which I am most eager to take him up on.

Mr. Jones is leaving for London tomorrow afternoon, and he has finished our portrait, which is drying now in the study. He did his best to complete it, and despite you not being there to complete the final sitting, he has captured your likeness exquisitely. In truth, I am looking at it now, as I write this letter from my father's mahogany desk.

I miss you quite terribly, dear heart, in addition to being envious of the adventure you are about to embark upon. I ardently wish that you will write me letters from the Continent, and I will return some of my own with heartfelt eagerness, if you continue to permit me to do so. I pray that you come home to us safely, (Y/N), and that, when you do, you return knowing more of this great wide world, and more about who you want to be.

With love always,

Your Gwilym

You do not know when you started crying, but tears spill forth from your eyes like his emotions from the page. To know that sweet Gwilym is not angry with you, despite having every reason to be, is equally relieving as it is torturous. You do not deserve his unending devotion. You never have.

Knowing that Gwilym received your letter quickly turns your mind to Joseph. Did he leave for Southampton before or after Margie arrived back home? If she arrived too late, you will have missed your chance to say goodbye to him, and he will never read the contents of that letter.

But the alternative answer is perhaps more painful. Perhaps Joseph did receive your letter and has chosen not to respond, feeling as if there is nothing left to be said between the two of you. Your heart tightens at the thought, and you lie backwards on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Either way, you will never know the answer, and it shall surely eat away at you for the rest of your days.

You consider writing another letter to sate your curiosity, but know that it is pointless. If he never received the first letter, there would be no point of a second letter, as he is clearly already gone, and if he chose not to reply, there would be no point either, because clearly he feels differently than you do.

Another knock on the door, softer this time, rouses you from your melancholy.

"(Y/N), darling, it is time for dinner," Lucy says, "Rami and I shall be waiting down in the tavern for you."

"Of course, I will be down momentarily," you reply, folding the letter in your hands and tucking it safely in your trunk. Quickly, you strip off your walking dress and change into an evening dress, struggling again with the buttons without Margie's deft fingers, but managing.

Dinner is a chatty affair, with the Maleks discussing each point of your upcoming journey to the Netherlands with profound enthusiasm. Rami speaks a little bit of Dutch, which is a necessity due to his business connections in Holland, but you and Lucy shall be entrusted to the care of the wife of one of his associates, who he assures will entertain the two of you most cheerily while he is conducting business.

"You mean the three of us," Lucy quickly corrects, picking at her roasted chicken.

"Yes, when he is not with me," Rami adds, helping himself to another portion of squash.

"Who?" you ask, perplexed at this turn in the conversation.

"Oh, well I thought it was only fair that Rami have a companion as well, since I get you, (Y/N)! He is meeting us here for breakfast tomorrow before we depart."

You turn to Rami, burning with curiosity. "Is it your brother?"

"I wish," Rami smiles, "but no, Sami had to return to America on urgent family business."

"Perhaps he and Joseph will be on the same ship back, then," you murmur thoughtfully as you prod at the potatoes on your plate.

Rami and Lucy share a brief look before turning back to their respective meals, the table settling into silence as you finish your dinners. After a lively game of pinochle with the innkeeper, the three of you retire to your respective bedrooms to prepare for tomorrow's sea voyage.

You set out a thick petticoat, woolen shawl, and the warmest dress you brought along, knowing that the wind will likely be fierce out on the open waters. Unbuttoning your dress proves harder than fastening it, and you briefly consider calling for help when you find yourself tangled up, but eventually you are freed from the evening dress and you fold it inside the trunk, wearing just your cotton shift to bed. The moment your head touches the downy pillow, you fall into a fitful, anxious slumber.

However, you awake nearly every hour, nervousness for the impending voyage roiling in your stomach.  By three’o’clock in the morning, you are desperate for sleep. Your only solace has been squinting at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, watching the seconds tick by at an infuriatingly slow pace.

Suddenly, a new noise breaks through the sleepy silence of the inn: the clacking of carriage wheels on cobblestone. You rise from the bed and go over to the window, curious to see who could be arriving at such an odd hour of the night, but as you draw the curtains aside, you hear the opening and closing of the inn's door, the carriage's rider already inside the warm tavern below. Whoever it is, they must be as exhausted as you are.

Yawning, you crawl back beneath the sheets, burrowing tightly under the covers. Sleep comes to you hesitantly, but eventually overcomes you, and you drift off dreaming of the sweet summer blossoms in your mother's rose garden.

The next morning, you awake to birdsong, eyes flying open in anticipation. Hastily dressing in your warmest clothes, you tie your hair down as tightly as possible, adding extra pins to your bonnet as a preventative measure against the ocean breezes. You summon the innkeeper, who takes your trunk down the steep stairs with a strained smile, grimacing under the weight.

You follow behind a few minutes later, stepping into the dark tavern to see Lucy sitting alone at the breakfast table, buttering a roll and sipping tea.

"Morning," you murmur, taking a seat across from her and dolloping raspberry jam onto the bread you pick from the basket in the center of the table.

"Morning," she replies, biting into her breakfast, "Rami and his friend have headed to the harbor already with the luggage, to sort out our quarters on the ship. We should arrive in Amsterdam by tomorrow afternoon."

You nod, swallowing your mouthful of sweet, jammy toast before replying. "Are this friend and I sharing quarters?"

"Certainly not!" Lucy protests, blushing, "that would be quite improper. No, no, you both shall have your own rooms."

"Lucy, this all must be costing you a fortune," you groan, feeling as if you are taking advantage of her kindness, "please, allow me to -"

"Nonsense, darling, you are a guest! I shan't hear another word about the vulgar subject of payment! Your presence is precious enough."

The two of you finish up your breakfasts and, after packing a basket of provisions for your journey at the innkeepers behest, you hail a hackney to take you down to the harbor.

Never in your life have you felt so small in comparison to the landscape around you. Chalk-white cliffs steeply drop off into the sparkling blue sea, whose foam-capped waves batter the shore. These two unstoppable forces have been at war for millennia, and shall be long after you are buried in the earth; a terrifying and humbling thought.  

Your hackney drops you at the start of a long wooden dock. A dwindling pile of cargo is stacked haphazardly beside the gangway that leads onto the top deck of a three-masted merchant ship, bobbing slowly in the harbor tide, which is far more gentle than the waves beating against the shore outside of the jetty’s sheltering wall. The port smells of fish and salt spray, and the wooden boards of the dock are slick with sea water. 

Two of the sailors loading the cargo notice you and Mrs. Malek and hastily make their way to the two of you. Knowing the coarse reputation of men such as these from your novels, you still at their approach, fixing them with a guarded expression, but the two men bow slightly and smile, unphased by your cool reception.

“Mrs. Malek and Miss Woolmere, I presume?” one offers, removing his knit cap in a gesture of gentlemanly goodwill, “your companions told us to expect your arrival.”

The other sailor quickly mimics the gesture of his comrade. “They are waiting on the top deck with Captain Jemison.”

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Lucy says breezily, smiling graciously as she makes her way to the gangplank.

“Would you be in any need of assistance, Miss? The boards can be quite slippery,” the younger sailor offers, holding his hand out to you. 

“I would be grateful,” you shyly return, allowing him to escort you onto the ship. Once your feet are firmly on the smooth, weather-beaten deck of the ship, you take a deep breath of the salty air, the full weight of this moment dawning on you. You are leaving. England shall soon fade into the distance behind you, and the world shall unravel itself before you like a plush Turkish carpet. 

The deck is bustling with activity, the sailors rushing to and fro to prepare the ship for departure. Thick coils of rope, crusted with salt and tinged slightly green from years of lying about in sea water, are piled high by the masts, ready to be heaved away at upon the captain's orders. You are so transfixed by the infectious, anticipatory energy, you hardly notice that you are in the way of a group of crewmen attempting to adjust the sails. 　 "Pardon, Miss!" one yells down to you from his perch on the boom, "Ye'd better move, lest ye'd like to be swept overboard on accident!" 　 "My apologies!" you reply, giving the sailors a flustered wave. They nod curtly at you before turning back to their work, and you make your way towards the stern, climbing the stairs to where Rami and Lucy are chatting away with the captain. He is a tall, bewhiskered man, his face freckled from years underneath the unforgiving sun, and could appear quite fierce, if he was not beaming so brightly. "Miss Woolmere, I presume?" he asks, bowing to you, "it is a pleasure to have you on board, Miss." 　 "Thank you, sir," you return politely, curtsying, "this is my first sea voyage." 　 His eyes twinkle playfully at that comment. "Nervous, are we?"

"Perhaps a bit," you say shyly. "My crew and I promise to do our utmost to ensure the safety and comfort of your entire party as we cross the channel, you have my word." "Captain Jemison was just saying how he was enthused to have such genteel company on board," Lucy giggles, "and he invited us to dine in his cabin tonight." "A very generous offer," Rami nods, "which we would be delighted to accept." Captain Jemison grins. "I shall have the cook prepare enough for the five of us." "Speaking of the five of us," you say, craning your next around the deck, "where is the final member of our quartet, Mr. Malek?"

Rami rolls his eyes playfully, "For goodness sake, (Y/N), why do you still call me that? I insist that we call each other by our given names." "Fine," you huff, "where is your guest, Rami?"

His expression, which just moments ago was so blatant, becomes impossible to read. "Below decks, I believe." "I am starting to think he does not actually exist!" you giggle, "did you make up this character for my entertainment? How thoughtful of you."

Lucy just laughs, tugging lightly on her husband's arm. "Rami, darling, I think I would like to see our cabin. If you would excuse us, Captain Jemison..." "Of course, madam," he nods, bowing slightly to the Maleks, as they turn to descend the stairs to the main deck, "we shall be underway momentarily." "I suppose we should say goodbye to England, then," Rami teases, poking Lucy's side. "Am I supposed to be sad about the fact that we are trading this dreary little island for three of the most beautiful, exciting cities in the world?" Lucy giggles, "apologies to the Crown, but good riddance, England!"

Rami mockingly hushes his wife, but cannot contain his amusement, the two of them descending below decks, their laughter carried away on the sea breeze.

"You are welcome to stay astern with me, Miss Woolmere, but I must warn you, the mouths of sailors become quite loose when hauling away on a halyard,” the captain warns good-naturedly, checking his pocket watch.  

“Part of the reason I am on this trip is for new cultural experiences, is it not?” you chuckle, “truth be told, captain, I think I shall feel more comfortable above deck than below, since I know nothing about ships or sailing. At least I am familiar with the sky.”

Captain Jemison gives you a small smile before tucking the golden clock face in his hands back into the pocket of his coat. “I shall do my final rounds to prepare for departure, if you’ll excuse me, Miss. If you would like, you could hold the steering wheel fast, just to keep us on course.”

He winks at that last line, and you smile back at him before grabbing the heavy wooden wheel in front of you. It is obvious that the captain is humoring you, especially considering the ship is still lashed to the dock, but something about his disposition is comforting to you. His gentle wit and warm eyes remind you of your father. 

Your father. The idea of him sitting at home in his study, worried sick about you despite the assurances of your well-being, makes your breath catch in your throat. A strange, sickly guilt slithers through your body, wrapping around your heart like a serpent, determined to strangle the elation that you had felt just moments before. 

It is not too late. You could still go home. Back to Ashwick Heath. Back to the smoldering rubble of the perfect life everyone around you had worked so hard to construct, that you had burned to ashes with a few simple, devastating words. 

Because that is the only power you have been granted in this world. While others are able to create, to carve out space and weave all manners of magic, to travel freely and speak their minds and write their truest feelings, you have been condemned to a fate, in some ways, worse than the death all mortals fear; your only power is that of disappointment. 

Taking in harsh lungfuls of salty sea air, you turn your gaze to the sailors in front of you, searching for a distraction to lift you from the Charybdis of your mind. Observing the fluid, rhythmic motions of coiling rope and tying knots is oddly soothing, and you can slowly feel the guilty serpent around your heart slither back into the underbrush, surely to return, but not today. 

As you watch Captain Jemison admonish one of the younger sailors for climbing recklessly on the mast, something catches your eye, emerging from the darkened doorway to the hold.

A familiar swathe of auburn hair.

The air you had fought so desperately to take in is promptly forced right out of your lungs, and you stumble backwards from the steering wheel, in complete shock. This cannot be right. Perhaps it is a mirage. You must have read that in some book or another, of sailors becoming delusional after weeks at sea. But you have been aboard the ship for less than an hour, and this delusion knows your name. 

“Miss Woolmere!”

Mr. Mazzello, as flesh and blood as any other on the ship, strides across the main deck with singular purpose, dodging the hurried sailors that swirl around him with ease. With a few apt steps, he bounds up the salt-slick stairs to the stern, enthusiastically bowing to you with the brightest grin on his face.

Still in shock, you can only muster enough energy to blurt out the first thing on your mind. “Where did you come from?”

“Below decks,” Joseph smirks, cocking his hip to the side in his usual manner.

“Clearly you have not lost any of your infuriating cheek since we last saw each other,” you observe coolly, “I meant, more accurately, to ask why you are here. This ship is going to the Netherlands, not New York."

"Thought I ought to give New Amsterdam a rest and see the original."

You blink quizzically at him, your brain still addled by the shock of his sudden appearance. 

"New York was originally settled by the Dutch, Miss Woolmere, and named New Amsterdam," he scoffs with mock indignation, his eyes crinkling with mirth at your confusion.

"Yes, I am aware," you breathe out, "but I am still confused as to why you are here, on this exact ship."

“Mr. Malek wrote to me a few days ago, asking if I would give him and his new wife the pleasure of accompanying them on their honeymoon to the Continent,” Joseph explains, his grin turning wicked, “and as I am a man of pleasure, I thought it only right to oblige the request.”

One of the sailors working nearby snorts in laughter at the suggestive tone of Mr. Mazzello’s comment, and purely on principle you roll your eyes. Whoever thought it would be a good idea to bring this man onto a ship full of sailors, who will undoubtedly bolster his lewdness, clearly has lost their head.

“How kind of you,” you drawl, determined not to let him get the upper hand in the battle of wits.

“In truth, I am more curious as to why you are here, Miss Woolmere,” Joseph continues, nonchalantly leaning against the steering wheel, “never, in all my months of knowing you, would I imagine you to be the kind of girl to run away from home.”

“I am not running away,” you grit, “I am here for the same reason you are.”

“Companionship? Again, not the kind of woman I initially pegged you as, Miss,” Joseph whistles lowly, earning another snicker from the sailor.

“And what does that say about you, then?” you quip back.

Joseph blushes a beautiful shade of maroon, and the eavesdropping sailor positively howls with laughter.

“I do believe the lady has bested you, sir,” he cackles, clapping Joseph heartily on the shoulder, knocking a soft grunt of pain from the embarrassed gentleman. “I think you would make a fine sailor with that wit alone, Miss.”

“Perhaps I shall emerge from this journey with a career, then,” you laugh, nodding appreciatively at the sailor, who hoists a thick coil of rope over his shoulder and touches the brim of his cap to you, sauntering down the stairs to the main deck with ease.

An awkward silence settles between you and Joseph, his face remaining stubbornly scarlet as you fiddle with a button on the cuff of your dress. For the past few moments, the conversation flowed just as easily as it had flowed between you all summer, up until that moment in the hidden room in the library, your lips meeting seamlessly as the dust danced around you. But there is something lurking in the silence; a question desperate to be asked, and even more desperate to be answered. 

"Did you get my letter in Ashwick Heath? Before you left?”

"Yes. I did.” 

The silence settles again, more oppressive with anticipation than before. In your opinion, he is the one who needs to break it, to finish his sentence, to admit how he reacted to the letter, but tragically, Joseph cannot read your mind. Instead, he picks at a splinter on the ship’s wheel, his eyes darting everywhere but up. 

Across the deck, you see Captain Jemison start to head back to the stern of the ship, and if you have any hope of getting Joseph to speak further on the matters at hand, you know the paternal presence will not be helpful in the slightest. You tap your fingers gently on the worn wood next to his hand to earn his attention, gesturing for him to follow you. 

Descending the steps as gingerly as possible, to avoid slipping, you walk silently to the bow of the ship, Joseph trailing behind you like a forlorn hound. The captain nods at you as you pass by, before yelling orders to the sailors to heave away. White sails billow in the breeze before snapping taught, catching every ounce of wind available, while the anchor is raised and the ropes tethering the ship to the dock are loosed. With Captain Jemison’s hands providing sturdy guidance, you are off and away, the shoreline of Dover growing smaller by the second. 

Joseph leans over the edge of the bow slightly, his hair whipping in the steady breeze. There is a contented smile on his lips, but his eyes are harder to read, almost intentionally guarded. The idea of this chattery man so suddenly taciturn at the mention of your letter turns your stomach. Or perhaps that is just seasickness setting in. 

“Mr. Mazzello, I…”

“We should speak plainly with each other, I think, Miss Woolmere, about the contents of your letter.”

You cling tightly to the railing beside you, eyes downcast. That letter was far too bold, too intimate, and despite it ringing true, you are now deeply regretting your rashness. "I thought I would never see you again.”

“So does that change the contents?” Joseph asks, still staring out at the open ocean. 

Most desperately, you wish to say that your heart has changed, less vulnerable than it was that day in the library. You wish to convince both him and yourself of your independence, of your assuredness in this new, bold personality, and of the fact that you do still care for Gwilym, although in which manner, you do not fully know. 

But seeing him again in person, standing before you with the salty sea breeze kissing his pink-tinged cheeks, you cannot bring yourself to lie. The truth tumbles out of you faster than the ship cuts through the waves. 

“No.”

Joseph lets a shaky exhale pass his lips, his grip tightening momentarily on the railing before he steps backwards, his gaze fixed on the horizon line.

“Alright.”

And with that, Joseph turns sharply on his heel and walks quickly across the deck, his coat rippling behind him as he disappears below decks, leaving you alone to breathe in the salty spray as you hurtle towards the future, more confused than ever. 

* * *

Dear Gwilym,

Our passage from Dover to Amsterdam was indeed smooth sailing, as the saying goes. I was worried that the rolling sea would upset my stomach during the trip, but the waves rocked me to sleep like a baby in a crib...I doubt I have slept that well in years! Mr. Malek, however, did not fare as well. One would think that a man who travels for a living would have his sea legs firmly under him, but he spent most of the night hunched over the side of the ship.

Another man unfortunately passed the night pressed flat against the railing, too. Mr. Mazzello is here on the ship, and he will be joining our tour as a guest of Mr. Malek. Apparently, Mr. Malek wishes to introduce Mr. Mazzello to some of his connections on the Continent, in hopes of creating mutual business connections for your cousin, as well as enjoying his boisterous company. I wished to tell you of this, rather than conceal it, for I was unaware of this situation before I boarded the ship, but I figured you would be pleased to hear of your cousin’s health and general happiness.

The city of Amsterdam is the most charming place I have ever visited, I do believe. It is unlike any city in England, full of beautiful stone bridges that arch across the canals, snaking between the streets and quaint little houses. Mr. Malek’s business partner here in Amsterdam, Mr. Diederick Bloemendal, is the owner of several large merchant ships and expansive warehouses, and he has the most charming wife, Margaretha, who has become a fast friend of both Mrs. Malek and I. The pair have been the most gracious hosts, and they threw a lavish party two days ago which was attended by nearly 100 guests, the house decked in more flowers than one can possibly imagine. Mrs. Bloemendal bemoaned the fact that we were not there in April to see the tulips blooming, but I assured her that I would make my best efforts to return to see them one day. 

Mr. Mazzello is quite popular here, although I suppose I should no longer be surprised by his charisma. I do think his biggest fans are the two Bloemendal sons, Jan and Henrik, who squeal with delight every time your cousin swings them around, or carries them upon his back. The boys call him “paard” rather affectionately. I believe Mr. Mazzello thinks this word means “friend”, but Mrs. Bloemendal confessed that it translates to “horse”, and the Maleks and I have joined in with the name calling. I hope he never learns the truth, for it is far too funny. 

In a few days, we depart for our next destination; Berlin. I will be sorry to leave the Bloemendal’s hospitality and this beautiful city behind, but I look forward to our journey to Germany immensely. I hope all is well at home in Ashwick Heath, and I wish to hear from you soon. Please extend my warmest regards to your parents, as well as my own.

Your affectionate friend,

(Y/N) 

* * * 

My dearest (Y/N),

How fortunate you are to be gallivanting through Holland and Prussia! I am exceedingly envious, considering the past week or so here in the country has been even quieter than usual. It is almost as if the land itself is protesting your absence, and I cannot say I am surprised. Never before have I realized so acutely how boring it is without you here, darling.

The news of Mr. Mazzello joining your journey as a guest of the Maleks was quite a surprise indeed. He and Mr. Malek are quite close, it is true, but I had thought our cousin was eager to return to New York, as he never once stopped speaking of how dearly he missed his home. Admittedly, I did chuckle at the thought of him spending the night of your crossing above decks, as he touts himself to be a hearty world traveler, but seasickness can affect even the most experienced of sailors, I suppose...in any case, I hope all in your party are well-recovered.

Your parents send their regards, by the way. I had tea with them yesterday afternoon, and your father and I chatted amiably about the harvest season projections. He is expecting a fruitful crop of turnips come October, which should weather the early frosts easily. Your mother implored me to remind you to not go cavorting with Dutchmen or "those brutes in Berlin", and selfishly, I must agree with her!

I have no doubt that you are dazzling the men of Amsterdam and Berlin in the same manner as you capture hearts here in England, and I find myself rather jealous of these strangers who are graced with the pleasure of your company. Is it wrong of me to wish that I could be there to see you dance and laugh and smile again?

Do return home soon, (Y/N). I shall count the days until you do, my only solace being the letters that I pray you shall continue to send. Give my warm regards to the Maleks and my cousin, and write back to me soon, darling, please.

Yours in perpetuity, Gwilym

* * *

Dear Gwilym,

I admit the copious of flattery in your last letter were quite complimentary, though, for humility's sake, I believe it would be quite vulgar for me to claim that I have dazzled anyone on this journey so far. Indeed, I think I have done quite the opposite, especially as far as our carriage drivers have been concerned.

On our last night in Amsterdam, I became quite ill. Mr. Mazzello, who has a sensitive stomach himself where dairy is concerned, believes that I may have eaten a bad piece of Gouda. Mr. and Mrs. Malek were naturally worried for my health, but also equally nervous about our timeline, as they had urgent business to attend to in Berlin and departing early the next morning would be the only way to arrive on time. I insisted that they depart without Mr. Mazzello and I, and that the two of us would make a more leisurely paced journey to Berlin to allow my stomach to return to normalcy. The Maleks left before sun-up, determined to reach the Prussian capital by midnight, but Mr. Mazzello showed no urgency whilst planning our departure, mercifully. He insisted upon asking Mrs. Bloemendal for a blanket for me for the carriage, which I adamantly tried to refuse, but both of them are two of the most determined individuals I have met, and my protests fell on deaf ears. We ended up leaving Amsterdam with three blankets, a goose down pillow, a basket of bread and ripe fruits, and a blue glass marble, which little Jan tearfully pressed into Mr. Mazzello's hand while your cousin was bidding the boy goodbye. Mr. Bloemendal insisted on checking our carriage one last time before our departure, to ensure that neither of his sons had stowed away. 　 Mr. Mazzello requested that the driver go slower than usual, in order to not jostle the carriage, which, while sweet of him, made our progress from the Netherlands into Hanover excruciatingly tedious. You would swear his father was a doctor from the way Mr. Mazzello fussed over me. Eventually, I had to feign sleep just to allow myself some peace and quiet, and he promptly nodded off himself, his mouth gaping open slightly as he snored. 　 By nightfall, we had reached the capital city of Hanover, where we procured two fine rooms at a local guest house. It felt strange to be in a land so closely tied to England but so entirely different in language and customs. I did my best to fumble through the ordering of a meal for the two of us...much to the innkeeper's amusement, the only words in German I recognized on the menu were "Kohl" and "Schwein", so Mr. Mazzello and I ended up with three different types of cabbage and two separate roasts of pork. Your cousin did not seem to mind at all, and ate ravenously. Have you all been starving him this summer at Moorhead Park?

He insisted on fetching a tonic for me from the apothecary down the road, though how he knew what to request is beyond me. To his credit, it was soothing, and I awoke the next morning fit as a fiddle. We continued onto Berlin, chatting amicably for several hours about anything and everything, before he again fell asleep, his rhythmic snoring an oddly soothing background noise for the rest of the carriage ride. 　 I realize now how much parchment I am using for this letter, but my god, there is so much to tell. Berlin is positively the most grand city I have ever seen. Of course, like all cities, it is crowded and messy in certain places, but the palaces and gardens are spectacular. There is a park, the Tiergarten, close to the middle of the city, that is just acres of wild green forest, punctuated by small manicured gardens and elegant fountains. You would love it, Gwilym. Truly. 　 While Mr. Malek has been doing business, Mrs. Malek, Mr. Mazzello, and I have been touring the city, spending our days eating and drinking and shopping. I have bought a silver teaspoon for my mother that is engraved with a funny little saying...something about “the sausage having two ends,” according to the shop owner. Is there anything you would like me to purchase for you whilst I am away? I saw a rather handsome pair of leather riding gloves yesterday and thought of you, but I figured that you probably have more riding gloves than any one man could need. 

Besides for the sightseeing and shopping, my favorite part of our stay in Berlin has been the opera. Yesterday, Mr. Malek surprised us all with tickets to see Fidelio at the Lindenoper, and it was a glittering affair. Mrs. Malek and I spent half the day dressing, trying to twist our hair into the cosmopolitan styles of the Prussian women, and despite all the pins and pains, I do think we looked rather marvelous. 

The opera itself was breathtaking, an absolutely riveting story of faith and the pursuit of liberty. Leonore’s love for her husband is captured not only by her dedication to freeing him, but by the sweeping arias and orchestrations too, which seemed to affect us all. There was not a dry eye in the theater, and I caught Mr. Mazzello blowing his nose into his handkerchief several times throughout the performance. I am perplexed as to why Beethoven has only written this one Opera...if news ever reaches me that he has composed another, I shall drop everything and race to Vienna to witness the premiere.

This letter is turning into a novel, I’m afraid. It is well past midnight here, and tomorrow we must rise early to leave this enchanting city for far less fair surroundings...France. Mr. Mazzello insists that I will love Paris, but I am determined to hate it. Napoleon may be on Saint Helena, but I refuse to celebrate a city of tyrants, and you may tell the Prince Regent that! 

These two weeks have gone by so quickly. Give everyone in Ashwick Heath my regards, especially Ajax and all my friends at the stables. I look forward to your next letter, and I shall write to you again from Paris. 

Your affectionate friend,

(Y/N)

* * *

Dear (Y/N),

Your previous letter had already made me envious of your travels, but I am now wild with jealousy at your stories of Berlin. I would love nothing more than to ride Ajax through that park you spoke of, the Tiergarten. If only London had such an expansive natural space at the heart of the city...then perhaps, I would actually enjoy spending time there, and not feel as though I must always retreat to Moorhead Park for solace. 

The opera sounds magical, truly. I had Father pick me up the libretto of Fidelio whilst he was in Birmingham on Monday, so I could at least have a glimpse of what you and your companions saw on stage. Translating the text has been slow progress, and I doubt our German dictionary has had this much use in decades, but from what I understand of this opera, it was truly something to behold.

There is not much news in the human realm from the countryside, but our friends at the stables do have an interesting tidbit to share. There was a colt born last night, a healthy young lad with a beautiful piebald coat. The mare labored for hours, and at one point, I feared we would lose them both, but Mr. Leech worked his magic, and both creatures survived the ordeal. 

I have decided to name the colt Fidelio, as a testimony to his fearsome birth, as well as a nod to our new mutual appreciation for Mr. Beethoven’s masterpiece.  I cannot wait for you to meet him, (Y/N).

I thank you for your kind offer of a gift from abroad, but I insist you purchase me nothing. Use the money you would have set aside for me to buy something for yourself, or for your hosts. You returning home is all the present I could ask for.  And despite what you said at the beginning of your letter, I could never and will never compliment you enough, my darling. You are praiseworthy in every way. Believe it. 

As much as one can admire this staunch patriotism you have adopted, do try to enjoy Paris, if you can. I look forward to your letter, and, selfishly, I hope your time in France passes in a blur, so you will speed home to us here.  It has been far too long, dear heart. 

Give my best to the Maleks and my cousin, and as they say in France, “bon voyage!”

Eternally,

Gwilym

* * * 

Dear Gwilym,

I tried my best. Truly I did. But I have been utterly enchanted by Paris, and I have only been here one day! This letter will be much shorter than the others, considering I have not explored much of this city, but I just had to tell you, and to respond to your letter. I was shocked to find that it had arrived here before we did...please do not tell me that you have been sending all of these letters via the express. It must be costing a fortune, Gwilym, and I beg of you to spend your money more wisely than using it to send letters to silly old me.  

I was ecstatic to hear of our new friend in the stables, and I cannot wait to see him when I return home. Perhaps if I write Mr. Beethoven a letter and include a little miniature of this fine specimen, he will grace us with a visit, and bring along the entire opera company! Wouldn’t that be the finest thing? I am joking, I assure you...could you imagine my mother having to host an opera company? My goodness. 

Naturally, Mrs. Malek’s first priority for our time in Paris is exploring the best shopping streets, so tomorrow we shall stroll down the Avenue des Champs-Élysées and spend every penny in our pockets. I invited Mr. Mazzello along, but he and Mr. Malek have a business appointment with a cloth merchant in Montmartre, so I doubt we shall see them at all tomorrow. 

It is slightly tragic to me that I have not been able to spend as much time with the gentlemen on this tour as I wished, since I find both of them to be charming conversationalists and quite bright. Mr. Mazzello, of course, can use a little polishing, but he has been nothing short of a perfect gentleman in these past few weeks. Perhaps your demeanor rubbed off on him during his summer at Moorhead Park. I do truly think this world would be a better place if there were more in it like you, Gwilym. 

I digress! Paris awaits! I shall be sure to send one last letter before our departure for England, to let you all know I am safe and sound, bound for home. In a week, I shall be back in England, for better or for worse. Give Mother and Father all my love, as well as my well-wishes to your parents. 

As always, your affectionate friend,

(Y/N)

~~~~~~~~~

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[convxction]

/ / can MUTUALS answer these questions and send them via submit  or discord if we are mutual? ? i feel like recently people are drifting away from plotting and i wanna know what each of you like so i can work with you. ofc this is optional, not forcing you to answer; just so i know how to interact with you better. wink wonk.

1. OOC wise, what do think of muns chats?

I like chatting with my mutuals. im fine with it.

I’m okay with it but i may not respond fast.

I’m not good at it so I may take longer to respond.

Not really, I am not good at chat so no.

[insert another answer]

2. Which do you prefer MOST of the time?

Plotting; to think of how the thread is going to unfold 

Wing it; no prior discussion about the idea

[insert another answer]

3. Are you okay with multiple asks from me? Like, I send multiple prompts from the same meme or the memes you have reblogged.

Yes, do send all.

Sure, but try not to send more than [insert number of asks you limit e.g. 3]

I am not comfortable with many asks but I can work on them slowly.

No, please do not do this. 

[insert another answer]

4. Answering asks, are you okay with me replying to them in a new thread/reblog if they were in thread format?

Yes, I am very okay with this.

Sure, but please tell me beforehand.

Not really, it is just one time thing. 

[insert another answer]

5. Relationship[all types] wise, how to approach you about it?

Straight up talk to me about it because there is a high chance i want it too.

I am ok in general but I prefer if we had some background going on.

Unless our muses interacted before, please do not talk about it.

I have problems connecting with people so give me time to think. 

I can’t see our muses having any sort of relationship so not really.

I have a certain way/method/ thing before i start a relationship between our muses [please write it down]

[insert another answer]

6. Multiple threads?

Very ok with this. I love threads!

They are nice, but only [insert number e.g. 3].

I would love but I can’t due to life/work/other threads i own.

Not really, I prefer one on-going thread to focus on.

[insert another answer]

If you have anything you want to add when you submit this, go ahead!!!!! remember, no pressure to answer this. i just wanna know what people prefer nowadays. i will reblog this a couple of time then pin this. remember only mutuals respond to this. 

[amydancepants-peralta]

10 Writer Questions

I was tagged by the lovely @feeisamarshmallow and @b99peraltiago and I’m actually really late with replying but my days kinda just disappeared for a hot minute!

(Under the cut because turns out I talk a lot when it comes to writing)

1. What’s your favourite genre to write?

All of the above!  Each time I think about it, I come up with a different answer.  I love the notion of some fluff to warm the soul, some angst to tug at the heart strings, and some smut because, well ... 🙈

2. Do you pull inspiration from real life, or do you pull things from other books/fanfiction you’ve read?

Oh gosh it’s a bit of everything.  Sometimes you can see it in the familiarities of friends and lovers, and there’s that tangible togetherness that you just can’t help but want to try to capture.  I do have a tendency to find a line in a song lyric and base ideas off of it.  

3. Do you tend to write one-shots, short stories, or longer things?

Lately it’s been a lot of one-shots, but my second ever fic for B99 was a 15 chapter love story and I hold it dear to my heart.  I do enjoy writing longer sagas, and I have one in the works that I truly, truly hope you will love.  

4. Do you prefer to write description or dialogue?

Descriptions, I think ... when I read, I need to be able to visualise the scene in my head, and follow the characters movements as they go along, so if something seems out of place when I'm reading it always, always jars me.  So I’m allll about making sure the imagery makes sense.  In saying that, I do love a good back & forth dialogue, especially when you can almost hear them saying it.

5. Favorite fic/book of all time?

After You’d Gone - Maggie O’Farrell, All The Light We Cannot See - Anthony Doerr, The Messenger - Marcus Zusak, The Night Circus - Erin Morgenstern, 13029830 other books who's titles escape me right now.  

Fic wise, honestly ... where to begin?  I almost feel like I’m going to do a disservice by not mentioning someone’s story here, because there are so many great options, that I just recommend you try the majority under the b99 tag on AO3.  We’ve been blessed with some amazing writers, y’all.

6. Favorite trope?

I’m a sucker for most/any/all tropes.  Friends to lovers in any situation is going to be a winner.  

7. Are you the kind of person to work on more than one WIP?

I’m not exaggerating when I say there are 7 tabs open on my Pages app on my laptop.  I cannot be saved.  But!  I bounce my ideas around, see what works where, and (I think?) the process works.

8. How long have you been writing?

Since my first scribble in a notepad somewhere about my two favourite stuffed animals going to a party haha.  I write to express, to entertain, to escape - and I hope that in some way I’m able to afford you that with what I present.  

Prior to B99 I only did the occasional fic for a long gone fandom, but I’m so grateful that I stumbled upon AO3 one day, because I’ve loved opening up that avenue again.  (And here on Tumblr as well!  I appreciate you all so much!)

9. Do you tend to write more in the morning, afternoon, or evening?

Late afternoon with a view to the evening .. I’m way more likely to see myself writing into the early hours of the morning (when you’re on a roll, you’re on a roll!) than I am to actually start writing in the morning.  My brain needs to wake up first. 

10. Do you prefer to post and update your WIP chapter by chapter or wait until it’s 100% complete before sharing it?

In a perfect world, I would absolutely wait until I've finished a chaptered WIP before I start posting, but we all know that this world ain’t perfect.  🤷‍♀️  The next one I write, I do hope to be ahead at least a couple of chapters before I post, purely to give myself a head start.  But who knows?

♥️ (Let me just add real quickly that I’m so, so grateful to anyone that likes/reblogs my fics on here.  I am a very smol account compared to many others, and the notion that you enjoyed something that I created, so much so that you want to share it?  Gives me galaxy brain every time!  So thank you, from the bottom of my heart.) ♥️

I’m going to leave the tag option open to anybody who wants to give this a go, as I feel I'm already horrendously late and therefore would only be tagging people who have already done it! 😅

[human-zim]

ok but like serious question umm? i rlly wanna be/make a zim-related rp blog but i dont exactly know how to start? uh sorry for the dumb question dude but do yall got any advice for me..?

You Cannot BE A ZIM unless you ARE ZIM! Seeing as I am ZIM myself, you CANNOT BE. Unless of course you are a LIAR. To each his own.

Now, ZIM-RELATED you say, is also impossible, as I have no relatives. Unless, of course, I am a LIAR. To each my own.

———————————

(((First of all I don’t want you to be afraid of NOTHIN that comes your way, not fear for the unknown nor fear of interacting with others in a pleasant manner. NOTHING matters if you’re not looking out for the number ONE (you). My advice is to JUST DO IT. That aside, I only got some basic shit to say but HOPEFULLY it will help you to organize your thoughts. This is gonna be long my bad

(1) Personally I think it’s a good idea to start by gathering the general aesthetics you want. Also personally, I tend to leave a lot of that TBD (to be discovered). But while that route offers flexibility, it can also lead to some momentary pursuits that you may regret later. Even the job description “loud and chaotic” has some guidelines.

(2) Idea: Think about how you want to go about characterizing your character. List some vocab words or concepts that reflect your intentions. Ex: Loud or passive? Sexy? Keeps-to-themselves, or assertive? If so, in what affairs? Naive? Pugnacious? Capable? Wordy, or laconic? Do they interact with others, or not much at all? Just keep that in mind as you do what you do.

(3) Idea: Think about what role YOU are going to play. For example, are you gonna break character a lot (y’know in those double parenthesis that people do when they’re just talkin as themselves), in the tags or otherwise? Or are you going to remain gloriously hidden behind the shroud of the screen, making your puppet appear the puppetmaster? The latter was my goal for this blog, I never wanted to get personally involved at all. I hate breaking character in these parenthesis because this is ZIM’S BLOG GODDAMNIT…but i still do it and that’s on me

Also: as it is your blog, think about your limits. If you have any, and if you want to be open about the fact that you exist, then feel free to list them in the bio or just keep them near. One good role that You play if you grant yourself a presence is the ability to moderate how others interact with you, by just lettin them know in the bio or the tags what’s what.

(4) Idea: Get your aesthetics in place! What kind of posts will you reblog - Productive or Puzzling? Visuals or texts? Does it matter? What will YOU post - words, pictures, stories, what? What would your character like? For example, I originally wanted this blog to reblog relevant posts, sometimes about aliens, but nothing good ever came up back then. Nowadays, ZIM here enjoys reblogging weird and out of context things (also Golden Girls) and making solitary textposts that serve as brief glimpses into the life of what must be a maniac. There is some continuity, but most things are said and then forgotten as the ferris wheel of his life whips him around for another go-around. Mostly, there is no logic to the madness. Think about what kind of vibe you want your characterization to give off, and let it develop over time.

(5) Idea: Decorate your blog! Think about what you want to convey. 

Ex: this blog is a HARSH red and purple and a simple, yet awful, icon. The header image is just what it is. the title and whatnot is bullshit. This effect (whatever it is) was better put together when the autoplay (an instrumental of Oingo Boingo’s “Weird Science,” aptly titled “ZIM’s Theme” on here) was functioning, but the youtube audio that I had used got taken down and this stupid idiot asshole website wouldn’t let me edit the autoplay with the replacement vid back into the html bc it “wasnt compatible” so eat my ass i guess…sorry y’all I miss it too

Note: see a busted ass autoplay could potentially serve a purpose, had i wanted the aesthetic to follow a more twisted, broken, dismissive route, but ZIM here is Cocksure and Loud and SEXY and he’s not broken it is YOU who is the bastard…so yeah don’t be afraid to get metaphorical if you want

(6) Idea: ask others more qualified than I. I’ve seen everybody do it differently. Some people keep a very organized tag system with who they interact with. Others have a specific way that they handle replies (reblogs, start a new post and @ them, reblogs but have a cut-off point…?). Maybe you’d like some extra input on that. Go ahead and ask. They’ll be happy to answer, they’re RPers, it’s their job to reply. Personally, my only limit is to stop the reblog chain when it becomes a burden to scroll past. Then ZIM @’s them if he wants to keep the arguementConversation going.

Note: I never considered this blog an RP blog - in my words, it’s a “shitpost blog” - so I’m sure that there are things (customs, norms, taboos maybe) that I just flat don’t know about, but, maybe not. Regardless, if you’re uncertain, just follow others’ examples. Human-zim counts as an example bc it’s a free internet (for now) and you can do what you want

(7) Idea: Hopefully you know what your intentions (or motives, or reasons) are. If not then find them now I guess. Also, hopefully one or all of them is to HAVE FUN. just show up one day and do shit and make others deal with you. Get comfy while one ancient purple-hued blog with a strenuously grinning icon and a busted autoplay scrolls past all that nonsense on their dash real quick while wondering whether they, too, should make a post that day or not..

also remember that it’ll be rough at the beginning as you’re trying to get a foothold on the blog/character, but you’re free to go in any direction you choose as time progresses. So don’t worry if you hate how you start out, it happens to the best of us.

 thanks for asking and I hope this helped xoxo….if anyone else has any input then don’t be afraid to add-on)))

[rk800isalive]

hey, if you follow me please read my rules. I don’t have them for shits and giggles. They are there for a reason!  But you know if you can’t find them for any damn reason even though I’ve posted them like so many damn places I’ll post them under read more. 

Hey there dear! Here is all you need to know about this rper/ask blog!

updated: Aug 7,2019

 About the blog:

-I’ve wrote this a few times now on the blog but I am Semi-Selective and Mutuals only. I have a lot of anxiety or rping with to many people. I do open up to more people in time. Again, I rp for fun and as a stress release I don’t want to start making rping stressful.

-If I’m following you and you follow back. How do you know it’s me?? I send geckos and danger noodles. I’m very shy when first interacting so I send geckos on anon. It’s a way for me to 1) judge your muse and how they handle things. 2) It makes me feel better as a starter to say hello.

-This blog is a nsfw/sfw blog.

-I don’t rp with minors. I’m literally over 21+ I don’t feel personally comfortable with minors interacting or rping with me. Nothing against ya, I’m just not comfy with it. Other reasons are because I rp a lot of adult/dark themes and I don’t feel comfy with minors being around that.

-I’ll pretty much rp anything except anything NSFW with minors or anything NSFW with minor muses.

-I will unfollow if I feel like pretty wiggy about your blog. By this I mean, let’s say you post a canon call. Then you make a post complaining about people liking said canon call. I mean this like you do this a lot. I’m old and I don’t care and it comes off as wiggy to me.

-I do not accept or acknowledge hate to anyone of any kind on my blog, thank you. If I see it on my blog I’m going to delete it. This means I do not condone sending or receiving hate of any kind to others or myself.

-I also will add a side note to this because I can’t believe I have to do this. If I don’t accept of acknowledge hate that also means I will not send hate. I have not and will never do such actions.

-Muse =/= Mun. This means the Mun and Muse do not always share the same feeling or would act the same way. We are two different people.

-I do not rp with blogs that do not have at least an about and/or a rules page. I feel much more comfortable seeing those. I don’t care if your blog is fancy or if you have icons. Just these two things at least is important to me.

-I write to have fun! Rping is a hobby of mine and really helps destress me. Enjoy what you do and have fun with it! Don’t worry about replying right away, I’m chill with waiting.

-I don’t own any of the icons or art you see me use unless I have stated otherwise.

-Highly Selective to OC’s. I explain why further down in my rules.

Dos and Don’ts rules:

-Don’t take control of my character please.

-Please no GodMods.

-Do not guilt trip me into responding to you. I will block you.

-Also please be aware if you reblog rp with thislovelylady/ alannasroleplaymemes, or really any of this person’s blogs I will unfollow and block you. This is non-negotiable.

-Do not follow me if you follow any blogs connected to sinsofexcalibur/ giseinohana or really any of their blogs. If you do follow or interact with said person I will unfollow and block you. Nothing against you, I really don’t want to get into why this person makes me uncomfortable just understand this is one of my rules. This too is non-negotiable

-Don’t guilt me for calling you senpai. I say it in an I think you’re cool and want to be friends. Again I’m old. I literally remember when yaoi paddles were a thing. Not that I ever had one, but man oh man, do I remember them.

-Don’t come at me with hating on ships. You can like or dislike what you want. I just don’t want to hear it.

-If I don’t answer your threads or starters either tumblr ate it or I haven’t had time to get to it.

-Feel free to remind me to reply. Life happens and I’m also just ADHD so my attention span is crap at times. Just don’t spam me about it.

-I do not start drama, I do not like getting into drama, and as such I ask you not to tag me in drama. I like living my life as drama free as possible.

-If you are a personal blog and you reblog my threads you are not apart of I will block you. It’s rude don’t do it.

-Do not reblog ooc posts outside of posts that can say you can reblog. Or are posts like followers forever. Just…. literally think about it. If it looks like you are unsure you can message me. Just use common sense.

-Do not ask me why I have not followed you yet. Like that’s some guilt trip bull. If I haven’t followed you yet, I either a) didn’t see the notification. b) Saw you followed checked out your blog and you don’t have a muse, or rule page and didn’t follow c) felt wiggy about your blog d) I just didn’t notice you followed and haven’t seen your blog yet.

-Just because I’m not following you doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me. I’m chill if you send anons.

-I always cut my posts. Please cut yours. It’s not too hard to do there are like a million tutorials showing how to do so. If you don’t trim your posts I’m most likely going to unfollow you. There really isn’t any excuse as to why you can’t trim your posts. On mobile there is a giant X you can press. This is true on desktop as well.

-Do not reblog my threads unless you are apart of them. If you do I will block you.

-I’m not an rp meme blog, if you are not a mutual please don’t reblog the memes. Reblog it from the sources.

Triggers:

-The only triggers I have is Sharks (Realistic Images or video of them) and IV Needles. I just ask that you please tag them. It’s cool if you forget it happens.  Mostly it’s the needle bit that is the worst trigger. I have other trigger they are just very rare and very hard to hit. I’ll let ya know if you ever hit them.

-If you need something tagged just let me know.

-I will tag things if you need it tagged. I’m also an idiot and forget sometimes. Just slap me with a friendly reminder message and I’ll tag it for ya. When I tag things I always forget to tag things with ‘tw’ at the end.  Example rather then writing ‘gore tw’ I write ‘gore’. Again, I do this mostly because I forget to put ‘tw’ at the end.

Shipping / writing:

-I’ll just slide this in here too. I ship chemistry, if I feel the two muses are getting along and you wanna ship them I’m down. I don’t ship with minors. If you wanna have a family bond connection with my muse, smack dat message button and hit me up. I’m down for chatting about it and plotting it out!

-I ship Connor/Hank personally but this doesn’t mean every Hank my muse meets will want to jump their bones. Again I can’t stress enough how I ship chemistry. I won’t ship with anyone right off the bat unless you talk to me ahead of time and want to plot something out.

-If your Hank only sees Connor as a son, I’m totally cool with that too. Again I do not ship anything unless you’ve messaged me before hand. I just like chemistry between muses first.

-I will ship hate pairings, crack pairings, and just because pairings.

-If you want to ship with my Connor, hit me up. Again this is normally after we’ve been rping for a while. I’m for the most part chill about shipping.

-I have my own NTP I’m chill with talking about them. I’m also over all a very chill but weenie of new peeps person. Again I’ve been around a while.

-If you have a ship you wanna try out with my Connor slap that message button and I’m more than happy to chat it out. We can come up with an idea. But again I prefer chemistry first over shipping.

-I love to plot things out. If you have an AU you would like to try out I’m totally open for it.

-If you see mistakes in my grammar and spelling I am sorry. I tend to type fast and sometimes aren’t able to catch all my mistakes. Please bare with me on that and I’ll most likely edit my posts. Or more commonly I’ll respond with like little to no sleep in me and don’t realize I messed up spelling or used the wrong words or grammar till like the next day or when I post my reply and reread it. Again I have insomnia… most days I’m up till like 3-4 am. Not even lying there. Some days I sleep for like… 14 hours. There is little to no in between.

-I can and will rp dark themes. I love rping angst or pretty much anything. That being said, just be aware of my fear of needles. I will rp sharks just because I can’t physically see them. Writing about that doesn’t bother me just anything to do with blood work just … yeah.

-I write rather large posts when I role play. Don’t feel intimidated because you don’t have to match my post size. It’s just my thing I do. I only ask that if I reply with let’s say a paragraph I wish for at least a paragraph back. This doesn’t apply if it’s a crack thread. Those are just up in the air and fun.

-If your muse is an OC, from a different fandom, or if he never met you in the game and your  beginning message/thread/starter is acting like he knows you right from the get go and he doesn’t I might not answer the ask or thread. Just because sometimes it makes me uncomfortable unless it just fits or you have messaged me ahead of time.

-I also love the idea of my Connor viewing any of the Rk series as family. If you don’t see it that way hit me up and I’m chill with it.

-If the post is long or nsfw based I put them under read more.

Just things I didn’t really know where else to put:

-I am SUPER shy online. In person I’m a loudmouth who isn’t afraid of anything. So it takes me a good long time to message people to rp.

-I am one whole weenie. If you get geckos/ danger noodles (snakes) in your anon box. -dabs- dat be me. Trying to get over being a weenie one gecko at a time. I don’t what it is I’m just very very shy online.

-I call new peeps who follow me senpais till I feel comfortable to be not nervous.

-If I follow you 99.9% I probably want to rp with you. I’m also a weenie so I’m probably intimidated to message you if you wanna thread or rp. I has the anxiety…

-I’ve been rping for 9+ years off tumblr, +6 on tumblr, and about +4 years on discord.

-I tend to update my blog a lot because I want my blog to be the best that it can be in my eyes. Your blog doesn’t have to be this detailed or fancy looking I just hold my blog to a stupid standard in my head.

-Mun is 21+ and pretty much only feels comfortable rping with 18+ muns.

-I have Major Depression, ADHD, PTSD, Anxiety, and DID. I do have a blog for my system they probably won’t interact on this blog.  Please be aware of this as there are days I just… struggle.

-I am always tired, if I’m not tired I’m hyper as fuck.

-I read the rules and about everyone’s blog I ever follow. I feel more comfortable and more likely to rp with you when I see the rules and about pages. I will read about the mun pages too. This allows me to get a peak into not only your muse but who you are.

-OCs I’m so sorry I’m a bit picky at times. If I can’t picture my muse interacting with them I sort of just… Don’t bother. It’s nothing against your oc. I promise you that. I am just a little picky after being burned a few times.

-I do not have a password system mostly because I would forget my own password. But if you are reading all this and got all the way here, thanks!!

-I’m just here to have fun. I want to rp as a way to help my own stress of life. If you like my Connor, great! Thank you for liking him! If you don’t, cool, you don’t have to. I like all sorts of ships. I don’t really care about gender mostly because I myself am pan but I just don’t care. If two characters mingle well and feelings start to arise I’m more likely to ship it. You don’t have to like the ship. It’s cool.

-I am 28. I’ve been rping for a stupid ass long time. I’ve seen shit in fandoms come and go. I don’t care about drama, I don’t want your drama, I’m just here to have some fun. Cool. That’s gonna come off as mean… Sorry.

-I have the right to follow and unfollow who I wish. I also have the right to rp with whom I wish and whom I don’t wish. ( Though if I am already following you, I’m 100% willing to rp with you.)

-It takes me a while to respond to things. Again I want to make this clear, I have a lot of mental illnesses that just make me struggle most of the time. I deal with heavy insomnia. Sometimes I’m lightning fast with threads other times it takes me a bit. Or tumblr just decided to fucking yeet my god damn drafts again. In which case hit me up on dms like if I haven’t gotten to the thread after like two weeks. Most likely tumblr fucking ate it.

If you finished reading and you would like to know more about the Mun and the muse here you are!

The mun just click here. My muse click here.

[yensidwinters]

Dallas’ Breakdown of the Frozen 2 Trailer

It’s finally here, you guys! After waiting for five and half years, we have a trailer for Frozen 2. And Disney certainly did not disappoint! A lot of things have already started circulating around here, and definitely a lot of points out there to give some thought, but for right now I intend to do a FULL breakdown of the trailer and give the initial thoughts I had when I first watched the trailer, expanding on certain thoughts or points, and including a few things I’ve seen and my take on them. So, get comfortable! This is going to be a lot. I don’t plan to go into TOO much detail with some things, as those will be saved for other later posts!

There is A LOT going on in the introduction/opening scene right off the bat. With Elsa looking out over a storming, raging sea and seemingly completely alone on a shoreline.

Now, I know many people have speculated that this could be her training and pushing herself, but my initial thought was: She’s trying to get somewhere/ to someone. And my thought on that still stands. The shore type is not at all anything we’ve seen in Arendelle. And, while yes, she could be somewhere else to do said training, I don’t believe she’d travel far enough for that sort of change to happen. Not to mention she seems rather ill-prepared for any sort of training, and not planning ahead is typically just not Elsa’s style.

And, seeing as she’s also with no one else on that shore, her goal being to get to someone (possibly Anna) to help them I feel is a more likely scenario. Now, the HOW and the WHY she’s there to begin with, not the slightest idea. Regardless, it’s clear she’s determined as all fuck to get through, and isn’t about to stop until she either gets where she needs to go, or dies trying. Although, even then, Elsa might not accept death as an option in the first place.

But, she’s definitely going through a process of trial and error. When climbing over the waves didn’t work, she went through it. And, when she was encountered a far larger wave, she tried going through it again, only this time with magic. Which, clearly didn’t work out.

I’ve seen a few people commenting on how it seems like her magic is weaker or not at it’s full potential as she could just ‘freeze the whole wave/ocean’. And, as a friend had pointed out to me, no. No, she couldn’t. Not because of a weakening of power, but rather simply a lack of power to go against the raw force of nature. Oceans during storms are insanely powerful, and how ice freezes on running water is FAR different than freezing calmer waters. But, its clear Elsa is sure as hell going to try to anyway.

The clip then cuts to Anna coming out to a balcony, in her nightgown, with...we’re going to call them Ice Floaties until further notice.

They seem to be almost literally everywhere. Outside, at least. And, just judging by the few near Anna, they don’t seem to be incredibly big. I can only guess what they are at this point, but they all seem to hold one of four symbols, which can be seen on the most recently released poster for the film.

My own thoughts were, if they do relate to the theme that seems to be continuing on in this trailer, they are referring to the elements; Air, Water, Earth and Fire. As to which is which, I couldn’t say. But, we’ve already been introduced to the water element from the very beginning, of course, being the storm and the ocean. We’ll touch upon the others as we go. Another small detail I noticed and thought was interesting is they seem to shimmer in a wave pattern, starting from the left side of the screen and moving across to the right side. Not sure if that’s anything important right now, or just the reflection of the moon, but I thought it was worth noting.

Next, of course, we get an awesome shot of Kristoff and Sven at the head of a reindeer herd. A true, valiant, pungent reindeer king. Now, from what we have seen, they do appear to be in whatever valley/new land/etc. the group seems to find themselves in. And, given that both of their expressions seem to be very similar/parallel to their expressions when they were retruning to Arendelle to help Anna at the climax of the first film, I can only imagine they’re again either racing towards something or someone important, or potentially charging towards an adversary. With a whole herd of reindeer to whoop ass.

There isn’t much more to take from this scene, however. The location itself isn’t ENTIRELY clear, and with no other context, it’s hard to take anything else away from it. Other than the fact that Kristoff seems to be sporting some sort of brown fur undershirt.

Once again cutting right on over to Anna! I’ve heard some people state she’s in a cave, but from what I can see here, I believe she might in fact be on a shore as well. The water on the left is far calmer than what we’ve seen, but the texture of the floor seems to be made up of those same rocks that we saw at the beginning. Which, if Elsa IS in fact trying to reach Anna, would make sense for her to be in a similar environment. I’m not sure what she’s currently holding in her hands but my guess would be a book, or perhaps the satchel she has in the next clip. Regardless of what it is, I believe inside it is what potentially could be what started this whole thing. Information, perhaps, they were either looking for or that they had used to bring them here in the first place.

Which brings us to Anna climbing up to a cave. Something I have found interesting at this point, is that with each of these clips, each of the characters have been shown alone. Whether it so happens to just be the shot angles or simply a brief moment where they are alone before another comes in, the fact that they are singled out and seemingly going against things on their own is rather interesting. Were the separated on purpose, or was it more a thing of bad luck that had they end up as they are?

It’s here, though, that I again bring up elements. As we saw with Elsa we had water, and here, we have Anna climbing a mountain, or as one could look at it, overcoming earth. A trail again made of an elemental force. It could be I’m reading too far into this idea, but worth prodding at every possibility. But, again, we have Anna still just as determined as the others to accomplish her task. And, I now also have to wonder the urgency of all that is happening, and what would have prompted this to begin with.

We now turn to yet another example of an element. Although, it’s clear this fire is no regular fire. Not just by it’s bright shade of pink and purple, but from the fact that it completely negates Elsa’s powers. The moment her ice touches that barrier of fire it melts, it evaporates. Which, at that current time and era, could not simply come from any fire. Which has me wonder further if perhaps there are other people who posses the ability to control certain elements. Which, if the themeing is truly a hint to us, is a strong possibility.

Especially when taking this scene into consideration, where air/wind seems to make a direct path to this boy and tosses him up into the air. Not much more to say on that aspect as now all four elements have been shown in one way or another in the trailer, but who the hell are these kids?

Is this a flashback for someone? Are these perhaps kids who are related to, or at least companions to other elementals? Are they perhaps just kids that happen to run into the group during their travelling? WHOMST?! That said, they are definitely kids. If anything, they seem to both be around the age of 14-17, so I don’t believe it’ll be anyone we know, nor will be related to anyone we know.

And then we have this beautiful scene. From their expressions and where they stand, my guess is this is the first time they may be looking over what they have to cross in order to get to whatever destination they’re aiming for. A look of amazement, and perhaps shock from Elsa, and something more of a determined, stoic expression from both Anna and Kristoff. We see Olaf with them here as well, which, given that we’ve only seen him twice in the trailer, there’s a nice question of where the hell is he during everything else? We see him only with Elsa in the fire, and no where else. Did he get taken? Did something else happen to him? Istfg Disney, if you melt this snowman there will be cONSEQUENCES!

Then, of course, we have this ending gem. Again, we don’t see Olaf, and oddly enough we seen nothing of Sven either. Are they perhaps together, then? Those two separate from these three? Or, perhaps are they just trotting up ahead before Anna happens to see...whatever is behind them. I don’t have much more thought on what it could possibly be, though. I know some have thrown around the idea that it could be Hans, but the only thing I could think of if it is him, is that he happened to follow them and is there to ‘offer’ his help. Not that I believe any would be very trusting nor excited for his ‘help’. But, who knows. What Anna is striking out at is as good a guess as anyone’s.

So, there are my overall general thoughts and wonderings on the trailer! As I said, I won’t go too into depth as of now with all points, but I wanted to get my thoughts out. Send an ask or reply, or even a reblog if you’d like to add anything or if I perhaps missed something! Thank you for taking the time to read this monster post, though! Stay lovely, snowflakes. <3

[snappedsky]

Borderlands: Skies the Bodyguard 3

Skies and the crew arrive to a mysterious island.

*Links to previous and next chapter in reblog*

--

Chapter 17

           “Y’know, I spent most of my life traveling through space on an old, rickety ship,” Skies says, “there was a lot of turbulence and whenever I had to go to a planet, I was always worried it would break apart in the atmosphere. But it still never made me as queasy as this ride.”

           She hugs her stomach as she doubles over, moaning lightly.

           “Yeah, this feels more like a paint shaker than a ship,” August agrees.

           “I’m more worried about crashing than throwing up,” Vaughn comments.

           Timothy doesn’t say anything from where he’s curled up in his seat, eyes squeezed shut. Athena doesn’t either; just remains perfectly stoic.

           “This is why humans are fundamentally flawed,” Loader Bot comments.

           “Yeah, this is fun,” Gortys adds.            

           “I’d enjoy it more if I could stand up,” Claptrap says and tries to lift himself up, but the constant shaking causes him to topple over again.

           “Would you all quit your complaining!” Sasha snaps from the driver’s seat. “We’re almost there.”

           “Ugh, thank Jack,” Skies groans.

           They near an island in the middle of the ocean, almost completely covered by thick trees. Sasha lands the caravan on the nearest coast, the only part not full of foliage. Everyone immediately dives out the door in relief.

           “Oh, sweet, sweet ground,” Timothy cries, burying his face in the sand.

           Skies eyes the thick trees ahead of them curiously. “What is this place?”

           “No idea,” Sasha replies.

           “Let’s go,” Athena orders, “everyone, stay close.”

           The group gathers together and step into the trees. They have to duck under branches and step over thick roots as they progress. It’s eerily quiet; no sound of wildlife or any kind of life. It’s actually more unsettling than the alternative.

           “Ugh, more silence,” Skies groans, pressing her hands into her ears.

           “Why would Rhys and Fiona get sent here?” August asks, “is there even anything here?”            “We don’t know yet,” Athena points out, “we just got here ourselves.”          

           “I don’t know what’s here,” Skies says, “but something big definitely happened at some point. I can feel it.”

           “That’s creepy,” Sasha comments.

           They continue on, carefully watching the shadows for anything. After a couple minutes, Skies takes a step and stops, noticing the ground suddenly feels different. She looks down and drags around her foot.

           “Cement,” she says.

           Everyone looks up and sees, almost hidden away in all the trees, a large sign. Most of the faded letters have faded away, but just enough still remain to read what it used to say.

           “At…las…Go-something…Research Facility,” Timothy reads.

           “This island was an Atlas facility?” Sasha questions.            

           “I never knew about it,” Athena remarks.

           “Well, something happened here that made it abandoned,” Skies muses as they pass the sign.

           As they follow the old, broken path, it’s quite clear that this facility has been abandoned for a while. There are metal buildings on either side of them, all covered in moss and vines from the overgrown trees. Some of the windows are even smashed from the branches. But whatever caused the Atlas workers to leave is not apparent.

           “Jeez, this is…kind of spooky,” Vaughn comments, chuckling warily.

           “Relax. There doesn’t seem to be anything alive here,” August says.

           “Except for Rhys and Fiona,” Sasha argues.

           “Hopefully.”            As they pass a nearby building, Skies gets a sudden chill down her spine. She spins around and spots a security camera on the wall. It’s looking at them but it doesn’t appear to be working. Still, it makes her feel like someone is watching.

           “What’s wrong?” Timothy asks.

           “I don’t know,” she replies, “probably something.”

           “It’s always something,” Athena grunts.

           “Let’s just find Fiona and Rhys already and get out of here,” Sasha demands.

           “How?” They could be anywhere,” Vaughn points out.

           “Let’s split up,” Skies suggests, “one group can cover the north side of the island, the other group can do the south.”            “Fine,” Athena nods.

           “How do we decide the groups?” August asks.

           Everyone considers the question for a second.

           “Oh, oh I know!” Gortys chimes, “let’s all pick numbers between 1 through 10. Whoever chooses 1 to 5 is in the first group and 6 to 10 is in the second group.”

           “Good idea, Gortys,” Skies comments.

           “Okay, everyone, type your number on your ECHO device,” Athena orders, “then hand them to me and I’ll sort the groups.”

           Everyone does so and Athena quickly goes through them before handing everyone back their ECHO.

           “Okay, group one is me, Sasha, Vaughn, and Loader Bot,” she explains, “group two is Skies, Timothy, August, Gortys, and Claptrap.”

           “Wow, that worked out pretty well,” Skies comments, playfully nudging Timothy.

           “Yeah!” Claptrap cheers, wrapping his arms around their waists.

           “Kind of,” Timothy adds drily.

           “Okay, if anyone sees anything, call immediately on your communicators,” Athena orders. “Otherwise, meet back here at sunset.”            Everyone nods and the two groups split up.

           Skies and her team head down a side path. They examine the buildings as they walk by curiously. If there was ever any indication what each one was for, they’re long gone now.

           Everyone’s quiet and tense as they walk. They’re not sure what they’re waiting for- if anything- but the silence has them all unsettled, even the usually bouncy Gortys.

           A green leaf suddenly drifts down onto the path. Gortys and Claptrap pay it no mind as they pass, but Skies, Timothy, and August glare at it. They suspiciously eye the surrounding branches, hands resting on their guns.

           Something big flies across the path behind them. It’s subtle, but Skies senses it, her eyes narrowing.

           It charges them from behind, quick and quiet. However, before it can strike, Skies whips around and slams her metal face into its face, knocking it to the side.

           “What the hell is that?” August exclaims as the creature hops onto its feet. It’s tall and insect-like, a mix between mechanical and organic. More emerge from the shadows, surrounding them.

           “Guardians,” Skies and Timothy hiss.

           Meanwhile, Athena and her group march steadily down the opposite path. Athena and Loader Bot stare ahead, unperturbed, but Sasha and Vaughn look around anxiously.

           “There are so many buildings,” Vaughn comments, “what were they doing here?”

           “Probably live experiments or something equally evil and disgusting,” Athena replies scornfully.

           “Right. I forgot how much you hate Atlas.”

           “Yes. Which is why I don’t understand how I didn’t know about this place.”

           “Well, even if you didn’t massacre them,” Sasha says, “something must’ve wiped them out.”

          Athena’s ECHO communicator suddenly goes off, startling Sasha and Vaughn. “Ugh-ack! Uh, Athena, you copy?” Skies asks.

           “Go ahead,” she replies.

           “So uh- shit! I got good news and bad news. The good news is this place definitely has something to do with the Vaults, so Rhys and Fiona are here somewhere. The bad news is-ah! Um the-the bad news is-.”

           “Guardians,” Athena snarls as she draws her pistol.

           “Y-yeah. Uh, how’d you know?”

           Loader Bot grabs his rifle and Sasha and Vaughn watch in terror as the insectoid creatures emerge from the trees.

           Athena scowls. “Intuition.”

[echoedfates-archive]

Hey guys, I’ve been meaning to do this for months but I’ve finally updated my rules. I’ll be copying and pasting this to my other blogs eventually but even before I do so, they do apply. Most of the changes are pretty obvious stuff, though the main one it my stance on non-mutuals.

Everything’s under the cut if you want to skim it. Realistically, these have been in place for a while but I feel like people have been taking advantage of how lax some of them are and not listening to common sense/courtesy. It doesn’t help that my rules were a massive chunk, so there are now 3 temporary categories for until I know how to fix this.

New/edited rules are in italics.

General RP:

Starters, inbox calls and threads are mutuals only. My inbox is open to anybody, however.

Muses that are available in multiple routes and/or games will be open to be interacted with in all verse. Any special, AU verses can be found on this page.

Mun is of legal age in her country

The usual no godmodding etc. stuff. You all know the drill.

If you are a child muse that mine can be a parent to - or vice versa, go ahead! Just make sure it’s obvious if you intend for your muses to be related.

I am somewhat selective with muses from other fandoms as well as OCs. This isn't because I have anything against them, but after being an FE rper for over 5 years, I've started noticing that I tend to drop things much quicker than with canon FE muses. I'm not against those kind of interactions, but it's more a heads up for you guys. People I'm already good friends with will probably have more luck, if I'm being honest.

Please specify which muse you’d like if you send me an ask. Unless it’s something obvious e.g. Odin saying "My daughter!" and meaning Ophelia.

Shipping, Doubles and Exlcusivity:

Don’t assume romantic relationships. More than anything, I ship chemistry, so it doesn’t matter if I’ve mentioned something being a bias of mine. So if we have never interacted and you come along assuming our muses to be in a relationship, don’t be surprised if you’re ignored. Characters having a one-sided crush are fine.

The only exception to that rule will be if we’ve discussed it in advance or perhaps if it’s a crack thread.

Whilst I do have mains that just come naturally from who’ve I’ve interacted with the most, I prefer not to do mains calls/outright state who they are on the dash as I know that can deter people from interacting.

In that respect, I don’t practice exclusivity. Unless we’re in a ship - then I might be willing to discuss it but unless I am told that you’re not comfortable with me shipping with another version of your muse, I’ll most likely assume you’re fine with it. In this regard, we probably need to be close friends as I really don’t like the concept of exclusivity.

Doubles are allowed, but I’m unlikely to interact with you with my matching muse. Unless you initiate the interaction, or we’ve agreed to do twins.

Blog:

Do not reblog from me if we are not mutuals. Point blank. Memes, art or threads: don't. Mutuals may, but don't use me as a meme resource.

Tag tw: panic attack and tw: dog attack/dog bite please!

If there’s something you think I should add a trigger warning to, please tell me. If it’s not one of the default ones, I won’t know unless you tell me or perhaps I just forgot in an instance or two. Please don’t be scared of coming into my ask box about this - I’d rather spend 5 seconds to tag something than set off a person.

I know some people will disagree with me here, but ships are something I won’t tag. There’s a difference between disliking a ship and being actually triggered. If there is a relationship I portray that has triggering content, said content will be what is tagged.

Don’t ever vague about something I’m doing. Vague about a ship I’ve left untagged, and I’ll go reblog some art of it. Vague about a slightly inappropriate joke I’ve made, and I’ll keep making it. That may seem petty, but I don’t appreciate somebody complaining about me publically before even attempting to approach me about it: dm me and we can have a healthy conversation. Even if I refuse to tag something, I’ll explain why and you’re welcome to continue the discussion with no hard feelings. Actually, I’ll be more likely to do as you ask this way. Sorry if this seems odd, but there have been multiple accounts of people vagueing my content.

Muses may be dropped or added at any time. I’ll most likely make a post about it, however.

Whilst you can ask whether or not I’ve dropped a thread, please don’t pressure me for replies. The muses I have on individual blogs take priority over this, as most of the characters here are experimental.

With that in mind, if I find I have a lot of muse for a specific character/they gain more interest than the others, I may move them to their own blog.

Please do not ask the question “would you like to rp"or just a random “How are you”, unless for the latter it’s because you’re actually concerned about me. I find the questions awkward as opposed to conversational starters. Instead, if you want to interact just do it. Or say “I’ve been wanting to send an ask but I can’t think of an idea” in which case I might help, or if you want to plot, tell me that. Of course I want to rp, that’s the point of the blog, and you don’t need to ease into a conversation before telling me what you want to say.

Feel free to come into my ask to rp/plot or just tag me in a starter!

I accept M!As people have made up; not just ones from a meme I’ve reblogged.

[livingthroughchoices-blog]

The Marshmallow Chronicles (Ch. 17: Lady in Waiting)

Prev | Next

Author’s notes: Hi! Sorry this took FOREVER but, since it’s so short bc the Coronation is split into 3 chapters, I decided to do a double post! Yay! I hope the wait was worth it.

Thank you as always to all who like, reblog and/or comment, idk if I’d still be going without you! Huuuuge thanks to @starstruckzonkoperatorbat, @notoriouscs, @simplyaiden-blog, @snyggflicka, @asprankle, @speedyoperarascalparty, @mirivalencia, @mymandrake, @asobigokoro2018, @krisnicjack and @fabi-en-ciel for asking me to tag them! Please let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged (:

I love y'all!

Rating: T

Pairing: Drake x MC

Words: 1,259

Drake woke up with less of a headache than he deserved. His mouth, however, was so dry it felt like paper. He lumbered out of bed and got himself a glass of water, which he promptly gulped down. He went back to bed, intending only to muster enough energy to take a shower, and fell back asleep. 

He shook awake several hours later and felt around his bedside table for his phone. It was midday. With a groan he remembered he was supposed to meet Liam and Bastien at the royal hangar at 11 o’clock. Drake briefly thought about getting up and rushing there, but he figured it was much too late for that.

Thus, he allowed himself a few minutes to parse through his muddled memories of the day before. Everything was quite clear up until Truth or Dare – at least, in comparison with the rest of the night. 

Okay, so after Truth or Dare, I walked with Addams... Crap, I went to her room, right. And then she told me about... her brother. And then...

That was where it got complicated. He vaguely recalled going back downstairs and drinking himself into a stupor, but he had a nagging feeling there was something he was forgetting.

Scratching his neck, he glanced at the door to his room and noticed his pants and underwear lying there in a crumpled heap. 

Oh no.

It all came back to him in a flash; he’d tried to hook up with Kiara and had proceeded to – literally – dump her almost immediately, only to come upstairs and touch himself thinking of Riley.

Shit. I’m such an asshole. God, Kiara must hate me. And I can’t believe I did... that, thinking of Addams. That’s a line I shouldn’t have crossed.

It would be much, much harder to resist now that he’d done it once. He shook his head at that, dismissing the thought before it could reach his groin. Knowing this would lead nowhere good, he decided to focus on the practical for now. Since he’d woken up so late, he had no idea how he was getting back to the palace, which meant step one was getting ready and finding out.

He did everything on autopilot, doing his best to focus on the small ache pulsing through his head, both to distract himself and as merited punishment for the night before.

As he was gathering his things and dumping them in his bag, Bastien entered his room unannounced. 

“So, had a fun night, did we?” The question was lighthearted but there was an undercurrent of disapproval.

“I know, I overslept. I’m sorry,” muttered Drake, still busy putting everything away.

“It was certainly not ideal, but I suppose there’s no harm done. Prince Liam went on ahead; he can’t afford to be late to his own Coronation, after all. You and I will have to drive.”

“What!” His hangover was not too bad, but he knew he’d be in for an uncomfortable car ride anyway, to say the least. “Why? Why can’t we take the other plane?”

“I’m afraid the Beaumont brothers borrowed it.” After a small pause, Bastien addded, “Lady Riley must be punctual, too.”

Drake’s hands froze for a moment, holding his toothpaste over his bag. He forced himself to let go of it and recover. “Right. Can’t be late to her own engagement.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Drake. I’m... truly sorry.” 

Bastien’s hand slid off as Drake stooped down to grab his now-full bag. The older man was looking at him with disproportionate concern. He shrugged as nonchalantly as he could.

“I’m fine. Got no one to blame but myself. Let’s go.”

Once he’d loaded his luggage into the limo, he settled in for a long car ride he was bound to spend breathing deeply in order to stave off vomiting. He was desperate to avoid talking, partly because he felt even opening his mouth was risky in his state, and partly due to the event they were driving to. So he closed his eyes and, although sleep wouldn’t come – he’d slept far too much already, and the nausea wouldn’t allow it anyway – he didn’t speak a word until they’d reached the palace.

By the time they got there, the entrance was deserted; the suitors were now dining with the King and Queen and Liam must be in his room getting ready. It was too early for any other guests to have arrived.

Having dropped off his things in his room, he sat down in the main hall, unwilling to go into the ballroom and face tonight’s ceremony yet. After last night, the last thing his body wanted was alcohol, but he didn’t think he could survive this night without a drink. His hand went to his inside pocket and closed around his flask. 

You can’t start drinking your emergency whiskey now! It hasn’t even started!

Yeah and it already sucks.

He was in the middle of this internal debate, when a tearful Hana came out of the dining room where the suitors were having dinner with the King and Queen. 

“Hana?”

Hana’s wiped her tears hastily before she even turned to see who’d called her.

“Oh, Drake. It’s you.” She gave him a small smile and went to sit down next to him. “I always seem to run into you when I’m distraught.” She blushed a little.

“Maybe I’m bad luck,” said Drake, only half joking.

“Don’t say that! You’ve been so kind to me, even when we weren’t friends.”

Drake bit his tongue before he could reply with, “Who says we’re friends now?” He did actually consider her his friend, but old habits die hard. 

He asked instead, “So what’s up?”

“My parents are... disappointed with my performance in court. I am to return home as soon as the Coronation is over.”

“What the hell? I... don’t know what to say, that sucks.”

Hana sighed. “It does, doesn’t it? I’ve been so free here, and I’ve made friends... I’ll probably never see Riley again.” 

A teardrop fell on her dress, making the silver fabric appear dark grey. Drake patted her back, saying nothing.

In between quiet sobs, Hana said, “And now she’ll never know how I feel...”

Drake turned to look at her. “Why?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why wouldn’t she know how you feel about her? If you want her to know before you go, you can choose to tell her, Hana. And if you’re leaving tomorrow then you’ve got nothing to lose, right?”

She met his gaze. Her lips were trembling and she was sniffling, but she seemed calmer. She wiped her tears, being careful not to ruin her makeup.

“Is it obvious I’ve been crying?”

Surprisingly, there was only the faintest hint of pink to her nose and the red in her eyes was rapidly fading. Leave it to Hana to cry prettily. Drake smiled softly.

“Nah, you’re good. So you’re telling her?”

“I’m... not sure yet, but you’ve given me a lot to think about. Thank you... again, Drake. I said I was going to the ladies’ room so I should return to the dining room before I’m missed.” She gave him a quick, grateful peck on the cheek before going back through the door she came from.

Drake was left to ponder the fact that he’d just encouraged someone to confess their feelings for the same girl for whom he himself was head over heels. 

Off to a good start. 

He took a swig of his flask.

[butmemostly]

Girlsies Week Day 2: Modern Era | @girlsiesweek

The Newsies in high school participate in the National Student Walkout despite their principal’s wishes. 

reblog & support me on ao3 if you enjoy!

• • •

The number of students that showed up to the walkout meeting was incredible. Miss Larkin, though technically not allowed to help them, allowed a band of students to use her classroom if they wanted to organize a student walkout. In all honesty, Katherine only expected it to be her and her close friends but was shocked when she entered the room to see nearly every seat filled. Kids from every grade level sat in the room, chatting amongst themselves. Katherine went and sat next to Sarah.

“Thanks for saving me a seat,” Katherine said, smiling. She dumped her bag on the floor and sat down.

“No problem,” Sarah replied. “How’s your speech going?” Katherine inhaled through her teeth, and Sarah laughed. “Not good?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Katherine waved her off, “I’m just nervous.”

“Don’t be, you’ll be fine,” Sarah said.

Before Katherine could reply, Miss Larkin stood up and got everyone’s attention.

“Hello, children! My, what a lovely bunch we have here!” She grinned from ear to ear and scanned the room. “I see we’ve got Jack with us, and Davey, and Hannah, and – oh, and is that Romeo back there?” She laughed jovially. “And I see plenty of new faces, as well!” Her eyes swept over the room, taking in all the familiar and unfamiliar students she hosted. “Well, regardless of whether you know me or not, you all know Mr. Pulitzer’s stance on this event, don’t you?”

Many students nodded, some solemn, some angry. A couple of the rowdier kids shouted out insults.

“Well, this little meeting is between us, alright?” She said. She stared at them all, making sure they got the point stuck in their head. “This is a student-led organization – I’m not involved what-so-ev-er, I’m just letting you use my room. Got it?”

“Yes, Miss Larkin!”

“Alright. Why don’t we start by throwing around ideas?”

The kids in the room all began to share their vision for the walkout. Miss Larkin let Hannah use her desktop to list out the ideas on a document, which was then shared with all the other kids. Ideas were thrown left and right, and It was clear in their eyes that they were passionate, that they were willing to face any punishment they were threatened with.

At some point, they got on the topic of guest speakers. Miss Larkin asked if anyone was interested in speaking, and Katherine slowly raised her hand.

“Ah, Miss Katherine!” Miss Larkin clapped her hands together. “You would like to speak?”

“Yes ma’am,” Katherine replied. “I have a rough draft, actually, would you like me to read it?”

“Of course!” She said. She gestured in a go right ahead motion, and Katherine opened up her notebook to her speech. Katherine took a deep breath, then began to read. The room was quiet, listening to her words forged out of anger and impatience. The speech was short, only a few paragraphs, and she finished before she knew it. The classroom applauded, some giving various shouts of approval.

Katherine smiled, very modest, and thanked the room. Sarah gave her a bump on the shoulder that translated to good job! As the others gave suggestions for her speech, she wrote them down in her notebook and bounced back ideas off of the suggestions. It worked rather well, and by the time they were done, Katherine had a plethora of things to add to her draft.

The next meeting was exactly a week later. Katherine, Sarah, and Hannah met up as soon as they were dismissed and walked to the drama room together. There weren’t as many kids this time – all the less passionate ones had been weeded out. Now they were left with mostly the theatre kids, SGA kids, chorus kids, yearbook kids, and some others; all fired up and ready to take on the world.

Once the meeting started, the students began to narrow down all their ideas, and focus on which they wanted to do and how it was going to be done. Ideas were still all over the place, but they were getting there.

Katherine began to take charge. She stood up and read a revised version of her speech, and listened to any remaining suggestions her peers had to offer. Then, as they continued along, she gave suggestions on what to change and how to organize things. She started a big group chat with all of them in it, and then they could plan even when they weren’t in a meeting.

Everyone spread the word on social media: Walkout on March 14th, 10:00 am at the front gate. They told their friends and posted it on Snapchat, Instagram, and Twitter. If they wanted to prove to Mr. Pulitzer that they mean business, they needed as many kids on board as possible.

The next meeting was on the Friday before the walkout. The meeting began as usual, and the group started to form a schedule for the walkout. Sarah stood at the whiteboard, listing off the events: introduction, 3 minutes; honoring the victims followed by a moment of silence, 3 minutes; Katherine’s speech, 5 minutes; chanting, 6 minutes. Jack, a theatre techie, planned on getting a mic and speaker to hook up beforehand – and, as the Junior Class President, was willing to present the introductory speech at the start of the walkout (written by Davey, the Junior Class VP, of course). Katherine told all her friends in yearbook to be there with their cameras, and Sarah helped Katherine finish her speech. They were getting everything figured out and ready for Wednesday.

Suddenly, the door swung open.

The kids didn’t bother at first, assuming it was just Miss Larkin coming back from the restroom, but then a deep voice boomed across the room.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

Everyone froze. There in the doorway stood the principal, Mr. Pulitzer.

He stepped slowly into the room, taking a good look at each student. Everyone stood silently, brewing in their anger, hatred, and fear – it radiated off their bodies like heat, changing the very atmosphere of the room. Mr. Pulitzer either didn’t notice it or didn’t care (probably the latter). He put one hand on his hip and leaned the other against a desk, with a very menacing smile plastered on his face.

After a horrible, horrible moment of silence, he finally spoke. “I told you all that events of these kinds will not be permitted at this school,” he said. His eyes swept over the room, looking at each student to make sure his point was clear. “Unless you children want to be suspended, I suggest you disband this at once.”

“How’d you find out?”

Everyone turned towards the voice – Sarah Jacobs. She stood tall, making fierce eye contact with the principal.

Mr. Pulitzer smiled as if he expected the question to arise (he did, of course). “You kids and your social media,” he said, shaking his head with a laugh. “You think that an old man like me doesn’t know how your brains work? Our deans have their eyes all over your profiles – your Snapchats, your Tweets, everything.”

Their eyes widened, and the silence continued. All their hearts beat collectively; a quick, pounding sound in their ears.

“You can’t stop us now,” Jack said, “Word’s already out.”

“Oh, no, I can’t stop you,” Mr. Pulitzer said, “But you can.”

The kids blinked at him questioningly. He cleared his throat and continued.

“You kids go back onto your Snapchats, and your Instagrams,” he said, “and tell all your friends that the walkout is off.”

"Yeah, and what if we don’t?”

“Then your colleges will see a three-day suspension for insubordination on your permanent record.”

No one said anything to this. Any remaining fear in the room had long since burned into hatred. Mr. Pulitzer seemed quite satisfied with the looks on their faces.

Jack took a step forward, full of rage. “You can’t just be quiet about this! Kids are dying in schools, a place where we come to learn! That just ain’t right! You’re trying to silence us for wanting the right to be safe?”

“I will not allow this school to become involved in this political scheme!” Pulitzer yelled. Everyone flinched. “We are tightening security, we are doing monthly searches, we are doing active shooter drills. I am doing what I can to make this school safer.”

“That ain’t enough!”

Mr. Pulitzer regained his composure, and his unsettling smile returned. “Ah, Mr. Jack Kelly. Suspended for fighting and encouraging delinquent behavior,” he began to pace around the room, and Jack had a terrible look on his face. The principal stopped again and faced the boy. “If you’re planning on adding this to your record as well, I might as well have you expelled!”

“They was bullies!” Jack yelled. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Them stupid brothers, beating up on… on–“ Jack shook the thought out of his head and looked back up at Mr. Pulitzer. “They was bullies,” he repeated, “and you ain’t no better.”

Everyone stood, shocked, quiet. Mr. Pulitzer’s casually wicked smile was gone, now replaced with disgust and malice. He looked up at the rest of the students.

“Tell all your friends that the walkout is canceled,” he said. “Otherwise, you will suffer the consequences.”

Silence. Not a breath, heartbeat, or pin-drop.

Sarah stepped forward.

“Alright,” she said. All heads turned towards her, mouths agape. “We’ll do it.”

“Sarah–“ Davey started.

“No,” she interrupted. She turned around and faced all of her classmates, back to Pulitzer. “We’re going to college soon, and we don’t want this to be the thing that denies us our chance of getting into our dream schools.” Sarah stared at each kid, eyes wide and screaming what words could not. Go with it, they said, trust me. “Right guys?”

One by one, the students reluctantly nodded. Eventually, Mr. Pulitzer seemed satisfied.

“Alright, children. Out we go,” he said, holding the door open. The kids sluggishly gathered their things and walked out the door. Mr. Pulitzer made sure they all made it out the front gate, then let them go. As soon as they were all out, Sarah motioned for them all to gather ‘round.

“We’re not actually canceling this, are we?” Hannah asked.

“No, no, of course not,” Sarah replied. “I got a plan… though I don’t have all of it.”

“Well, let’s hear it, and we’ll fill in the rest,” Katherine said with a smile. Sarah smiled back.

“Alright, well here’s what I’m thinking…”

• • •

On Monday evening, after all the teachers had headed home, the gang met up at a side entrance to the school. At 5:00 pm, a janitor opened the door for the kids, right on schedule. They made their way to the yearbook room.

“Is he okay with this?” One of the boys asked. “Ain’t he gonna get fired if they catch him?”

“He put in his two-weeks’ notice eleven days ago,” Katherine said with confidence. “I heard my dad talking about it just last Sunday. Trust me, it’s nothing.”

They got to the room, flicked the lights on, and turned on one of the computers. Katherine stuck her flash drive in, opened up a document, and turned on the printer. “I’ll get these going,” she said, “Jack, you go get supplies for the banner from drama and bring them back here. When you’re back, we’ll let you know the setup plan.”

“Got it,” Jack said. He tipped his hat then ran out the door.

Katherine pulled up a map of the school on the computer and motioned for the group to gather around. She grabbed her pencil from behind her ear. “Okay, you all heard Mr. Pulitzer’s announcement yesterday, right?”

“Yeah, he said he’d suspend anyone that went to the walkout!”

Katherine took her pencil and pointed at the front gate on the map. “This is where we had the walkout planned before. So, Pulitzer’s probably going to have that area on watch to catch anyone that shows up. With administration’s attention over there, we’ll have the walkout over here.” She tapped on a space between two of the buildings. “Pulitzer’s office is in building one, right here. So, we take our walkout to this courtyard, right outside his window.”

“Wait, why would we do that? Won’t he suspend us?”

“Not if there’s enough of us,” Katherine said. “Think about it – if we get the whole school involved in this, what’s he going to do about it? Suspend ninety percent of the student population? I don’t think so.”

“But how’re we gonna tell people to go there if they look at our social media?”

“Then we don’t use social media,” Sarah stepped in. “That’s why I wrote this,” she motioned to the document that Katherine pulled up. “Fellow Students,” she read, “Mr. Pulitzer has denied us our right to stay safe, to speak up for ourselves, unaffiliated with the employees of this school. Our lives are in danger due to the apathy and selfishness of adults. We joke that school feels like a jail now, but wait until we build larger gates, hire more police officers, and have mandatory backpack searches every other week. We are not addressing the problem, we are hiding from it. That is why we urge you to join us, on March 14th at 10:00 am at the courtyard, to stand up for yourself and for your safety. If enough of us come, we surely can change this school for the better.”

There was a stunned silence, then a burst of applause.

“Whoa, that was really good!”

“With this, and Jack’s banner, and Katherine’s speech, we will surely win!” Hannah said. Everyone cheered again.

Katherine cracked her knuckles. “Alright,” she said, determined, “let’s get started.”

She began to print hundreds of the fliers. As they printed, Katherine grabbed a stack of about 20 sheets at a time and handed them to one of the runners, who took the fliers and shoved them in lockers all down the halls and taped them onto the insides of bathroom stalls. Eventually, Jack came back to the yearbook room, lugging a bucket of paint supplies in one hand and a huge roll of paper over his shoulder. He set it down, rolled out a long banner across the floor, and got to work. Katherine monitored the printer’s paper and ink levels, while a few members of the gang kept watch just in case an administrator was still at school. The rest of the team used poster boards from the classroom and Jack’s paint supplies to create picket signs for the walkout. For an hour they danced through this routine until the last of the runners came back saying they finished. Katherine printed at least five more per person to hand out the next day, and everyone gathered their things to leave. A parade of kids helped carry Jack’s still-wet banner out the door, while everyone else got the signs. Outside the school, they bid each other good luck, and went their separate ways, ready for tomorrow.

• • •

The walkout hardly followed the plan they’d drafted on Friday: just before ten, a plethora of students walked out of their class. That morning, everyone opened their locker to find Sarah’s flier on their books. Students whispered about it all morning, and word got around. At 9:55 am, all the student organizers made posts on social media en masse – enough time to warn any oblivious students, and not enough time for the administration to see and get a grip. The students congregated in the courtyard, where Jack had set up the mic and speakers, and where Katherine, Sarah, Hannah, Jack, Davey, Race, Romeo, Crutchie, Jojo, Smalls, Sniper, Albert, Henry, Specs, and so many others held the banner together. They faced the building at Mr. Pulitzer’s office.

Mr. Pulitzer and the administrators, deans, and counselors were stationed near the front gate, waiting to see if any foolish students would even try. A minute or so passed, and they seemed proud of themselves – until they heard the loud voice of one Jack Kelly coming from somewhere inside the school.

They ran inside. A teacher came running down the hall towards them. “M-Mr. Pulitzer! The students!”

“What about them? Where are they?” He demanded.

“Look out your window!”

Mr. Pulitzer rushed into his office, to the window, and raised the blinds. Outside in the courtyard, nearly the entire population of the school faced him – in front, the students held a large banner that donned big crimson letters that read: We Will Find A Way.

Mr. Pulitzer’s attention then whipped to the gate surrounding the school – uninterested kids were using this event as a chance to hop the fence and leave school! He spun around in his office and faced the administration that gawked out the window behind him.

“Go catch those students!”

As a herd of deans ran out the office, Mr. Pulitzer looked back out the window.

At this point in their schedule, they were meant to have an introductory speech and list the names of the victims, but now, with their change of plans, the students stood, heads held high, and chanted. The minutes dragged on, and Mr. Pulitzer stared at the kids in disbelief, leaning heavily on the windowsill. The kids chanted, and chanted, and chanted.

After a while, Jack spoke into the microphone. “Okay, alright, looks like the old man’s getting tired of this. We don’t blame ya, Joe. That is why I’m handing the mic over to Katherine, here, to deliver a speech.” The sea of students clapped and cheered, and Katherine nervously took the microphone from Jack.

“Thank you, thank you,” she said. The cheers eventually quieted down, and Katherine looked between the crowd of students and her father in the window. She took a deep breath, unfolded her speech, and began to speak.

Still. That’s the best description of the air as Katherine spoke. Still. The students were quiet, the wind died down, and the only things that existed in that moment were Katherine’s words. She started off slow, and a bit quiet, but as she went on, her voice grew stronger and more confident. Passion, heart, anger, and hope lay behind her words. Her voice turned to spears, spears that struck the hearts and heads of the students that listened, that changed the very atmosphere of their school.

When she finished, the silence exploded into noise – cheers, claps, shouts, whistling; all sorts of noise exploded into the blank canvas of silence, engulfing Katherine in their ecstasy. She smiled, she smiled so wide, and spoke her thanks into the microphone. She looked over her shoulder, at her father in the window, and saw his expression – softer, thoughtful, almost… proud? Katherine grinned and turned back towards the students.

“Now, I would like to ask all of you for a moment of silence, to honor and remember the seventeen victims that died last month.” She said. The noise once again dialed down, and the canvas was wiped clean again.

Silence. Not a breath, heartbeat, or pin-drop.

Sadness, and fear. That was what everyone felt in that minute of silence. One day they were teenagers, trying to live the best years of their life, trying to get into school, trying to ignore the shitty world around them and enjoy themselves for as long as possible. Then, one day, the shitty world came to them, and they were forced to do something now. They were forced to stand up now. They were forced to open their eyes and accept the shitty world for how it is, and told not to do anything about it. Well, now they’re tired, tired of the shitty world being thrown in their face. It’s about time they do something about it.

The minute lasted a lifetime. Katherine’s voice into the microphone, thanking them for the time, was forced and unnatural. It was an awkward break to the silence that pulled them together.

But then, their voices began to rise. They once again chanted, demanding their voices to be heard because no one would listen to them otherwise. Together, their voices sang as one. Their hearts beat as one.

Mr. Pulitzer stood, one versus one.

Even as the clock ticked past 10:17, the students continued to stand. The teachers couldn’t do jack shit about it, and they didn’t try – they were shocked, dumbfounded, completely thrown off by the entire event. The students continued to chant, angry voices and signs demanded Pulitzer do something.

“Mr. Pulitzer, you have to do something!” One of the administrators said. Mr. Pulitzer slowly nodded, then motioned for the cluster of staff around him to back up. He opened the window and Katherine approached him.

“Katherine, dear, hand me the microphone, please.”

Katherine looked back at the students, then to her father, and hesitantly gave it to him. He cleared his throat, then spoke. He addressed the students; the hardworking, determined, stubborn students. He addressed their dedication, bravery, and possibly even stupidity to do what they did just now. But – he said – he had a change of mind. Seeing this, and hearing his daughter’s speech, he reconsidered the situation. He announced that he would not suspend all of them, for he had no means to do so, but they still had to make up their class time at some point since it was not a school-organized event. Overall, he was fair, but still remained the same old man that he was known to be.

“With Katherine’s words, I’ve changed my mind,” he said. He gave his daughter a small smile. “Not completely, but… enough.”

The students erupted into cheers. After the chaos died down, and the event adjourned, students were herded back to their classrooms. Even though they had to go back to class, and didn’t exactly do anything impactful or whatever, Katherine’s riveting speech still lingered in their minds. Her last words grabbed their hearts, touched their minds, and took them all by the hands and led them to the starting line.

We are the generation that inherits the future. What will you do to protect it?

[themesxtest]

Everything starts with rules and here are ours!

Out of Character:

No OOC drama! We don’t like it, and neither does anyone else. IC drama is perfectly fine, but no OOC drama. When it is brought to our attention, the admin team will address this issue right away and you will receive a warning. Please send screenshots in order to help us iron out issues. We hate having to ask for it, but it’s for our own benefit. If you have an issue with another player, please address us off-anon. We will keep your identity private and anything you say to us will stay between us.

We will have a three-strike activity policy. You get two warnings and the third warning, we will ask you to leave for now. However, you are always more than welcome to rejoin unless you’ve broken some cardinal rules.

Respect everyone! We are all human, which means we all deserve respect. We want the Lakeview environment to be fun-loving and easygoing and by doing that, we all must respect each other.

Do not send hate to the main or any of the characters. One, it’s not nice, and two, that isn’t what the roleplay is about. Hate will not be tolerated at all.

Reserves last for 24 hours from the time that we receive the message and acknowledge it. If you need more time, just shoot a message to the main and we will extend it. Reserves must be made off anon, but all accounts asked from will be kept secret.

This is a mature roleplay, so please do not lie about your age, we require everyone to be 21+. Please put your real age on the app, but we will keep your real age a secret and simply add “21+” to the OOC page, if desired. There is no maximum age, we welcome everyone.

Please place triggering self-posts and smut under “read more” with a tag of NSFW.

Do not racebend, whitewash, or genderwash. While it’s okay to have a cis face as nonbinary, we will not accept a nonbinary FC as cis

NO GODMODDING! No one likes it at all. So just don’t do it. If you do not know what godmodding is feel free to contact the main and we will discuss it with you. If you do end up godmodding, you will be given a warning, and if it happens again we will ask you to leave.

No metagaming. Metagaming is when you use OOC knowledge to reflect IC interactions. It’s a form of godmodding and it’s just really not cool.

Activity & Hiatuses:

Activity checks will be done every other Sunday and will be at 5pm EST! And then from there you have 48 hours to get your character active before the unfollowed is posted.

Self-paras, chats, replies,and paras count as activity. Posting photos, musing post, and music do not count as activity. Please do not reblog a bunch of photos in one day, it clogs up the dash.

We do allow hiatuses, if you are going out of town or work has been stressful or something shot us a message stating that you need a hiatus and when you will return. All hiatuses must have a return date.

Do not message an admin for a hiatus or an extension, as we cannot read each other’s DMs. If it’s an emergency, please message the main and assume we’ve gotten it. We will be sure to send you a message somehow!

If you need a semi-hiatus because life is becoming a bit busy, go ahead and shoot us a message of when you will return. We understand that life gets busy, we all have lives even us.

Solid activity counts as threads with at least three different muns.

Please post more than once a week, if we see that you are only posting once a week or so we will talk to you about it. Figure out what we can do to help, if it continues we will give you a warning.

In Character & Face Claims:

IC drama is more than welcome!

Stick to your character. In Lakeview, they are yours, so you created them. So just stick to your guns when it comes to them. Asking for permission is one thing.

Your face claim can be five years younger or five years older than their actual age.

Any major plots much like pregnancy, death, engagements, marriages, etc, must be ran through the main first. With pregnancy, we will only allow three at once. With major plots, we ask one per mun.

Interact with everyone! No bubble roleplaying. Please include everyone! If you are bubble roleplaying, you will be given a warning. If it happens again, you will be given another warning. If it happens one more time, you will be asked to leave the roleplay.

You are allowed to post 2 starters a week but you must answer 3 starters before posting your own. This makes sure that everyone is included, if you are caught violating this rule, you will receive a warning. Try to shoot for the starters that have the least notes. This is also case by case we’ll waive it every now and then if starters aren’t being posted.

Make sure once you get accepted to post your own starter and then reply to a couple.

Face claim changes are allowed but limited to three. We will allow one FC trial per mun which can last for a week.

Third person, no first person please. In example: ‘He walked into the bar, looking around for a moment before sitting down.’ VS ‘I walked into the bar, and I looked around before I decided to sit down.’ So please, third person all the way, not first person. Present tense is okay, but please have it written para-style and not with *actions*.

Multi-Characters:

You are allowed up to 30 characters. And we love diversity here so please make some POC or NB. 25% of each muns muses should be people of color. If you aren’t sure your faceclaim is a POC, please message the main and we will help you out with that.

You are allowed to apply for ten characters right off the bat and you can have as many characters that you think you can handle. If you choose just to apply for one character, you can apply for the second right away. Five must be white and the other five must be POC.

Your first character must be your primary blog, and then the rest can be sideblogs. Or you are allowed to use mumu since we have no character limit.

You may apply for the rest after your first activity check. We also reserve the right to deny any additional characters if we feel the activity isn’t matching up.

Activity must be steady on all characters. If we feel like your activity is slacking or see you favoring one character over the others, then you will not be allowed to pick up another character till the activity picks up on all of your characters.

You must have a POC and a non-binary character, if you have two white muses your third, fourth or fifth must be a POC and a non-binary. Please be aware of your face claim’s ethnicity, gender identity, and sexual orientation. Do not disrespect your face claim by not knowing how they identify.

We love younger muses but we also love older muses. Give us some  35 + muses! Try to make some of your muses 35+ please! The youngest for muses that we will go is 22 years old.

Discord: 

We do have a discord! We will not just be using this for OOC chats but also some in character activity.

This does count as activity as well. This group is going to be half and half. half on tumblr and half on discord. As long as you are active in one and we can see you active it counts as activity.

Misc:

The gossip page is intended to be for entertainment purposes only and information posted should not be considered fact. Feel free to send stuff in, but do not use it as a way to bully members/characters.

Tasks will come, but these aren’t mandatory at all. These are just for fun and for you to fill out for your characters when you are able to do so or have the muse for it. We recommend them because they’re truly a fantastic tool to get to know your muse/s.

Events, much like tasks, will come from time to time. Once again, these aren’t always mandatory, but they are a fun way for characters to interact with other characters. If you have an idea for an event, we would love to hear it!

We will be incorporating small little events, such as turtle hatchings and business openings. Hurricanes will also be a plot drop, so stay tuned!

Last rule is have fun! That is what we want, is for everyone to have fun!

[the-alchemical-key]

A Brief Q & A with Luke

;; Okay, since I’m apparently becoming more popular than I expected I would because I am honestly garbage, it has been brought to my attention that I should write up a sort of.. Q & A post, to help people understand me, and how to interact with me, just a little bit better. So here goes.

1. Are you a selective rper?

Not intentionally. I can be a little bit sometimes, but I honestly do my best to at least give everyone a fair chance before saying, ‘hey, you know what, our styles don’t seem to be matching up too well, and it’s just not working for me’. By no means is this a way of saying I don’t want to still be friends, though. I don’t like to exclude anybody, but it does happen sometimes on account of my own personal preferences and comfort level. I have social anxiety, so it does happen sometimes, but I do not ever mean to be selective.

2. Do you rp with self-insert muses?

This right here, is a bit more of an interesting question, because.. Yes, and no. See, this is where some personal preferences come in, and so.. I don’t really rp full, lengthy threads with self-insert muses. However, I would absolutely love to receive in-character asks from your self-insert, and have some fun, short conversations that way. Maybe build up some interaction through the inbox, before getting comfortable enough to try a thread. Again, I don’t like to exclude anybody, so I would of course give you a chance.

3. Can I ask your muse about canon events?

Um, hell fucking YES!! Please do! Ask Varian about the science expo! Ask him about how he felt when Rapunzel ‘broke’ her promise to him! Ask him anything about canon events, I love these kinds of asks!

4. Am I allowed to ask about a thread I liked reading?

OF COURSE!! It’s not canon events, technically, but it goes along the same lines. If you want to ask Varian about the events of a particular thread, or ask him things in a particular verse, you can absolutely just go for it!

5. I saw you made a design for the Moondrop Flower, and it looks so pretty! Can I use it in a fanart I’m making?

Holy carp. If you want to do this, I would honestly be honored that you even ask. My Moondrop flower design is absolutely free for anyone to use in fanart regarding @ghosta-r‘s Moon Theory. All I ask is just a little note of credit for the design and we’re all good.

6. I really like the _____ thread you’re doing with ______! Can I draw fanart of your thread?

I admit no one has asked me this yet, but.. OH MY GOD. If someone wanted to illustrate one of my threads, I would probably scream, and cry, and want to hug you for the rest of eternity, because holy carp, that would mean so much to me. I love getting asks, and feedback on my threads, but getting art is like, such a high honor! If you want to illustrate one of my threads, you don’t even have to ask, just go for it!

7. Do you have any other blogs?

Yes. Like a million of them. Too many to list here, I’m pretty spread out across a lot of fandoms, sometimes with multiple blogs in a fandom. But.. If you want some of my OCs, I can put those here at least. Arsene, Jasper, the Ascension Crew, Kaelan, Joker, Krampus, Artimaes, Darrow, and my Lion King OCs are the main ones I can think to add for this.

8. Do you have any other blogs for ______ fandom?

Regarding other fandoms besides this one, it’s always a good idea to ask about a specific fandom you’re looking for, since there is certainly a possibility I have a blog in that fandom too. As for the Tangled fandom in particular, I do actually have a few other blogs and they’re actually all sideblogs on this one, so yeah! Those are Maximus, Quirin, Varian’s mother (who I’m calling Isabela), an OC named Kaspar (Old Man) Jenkins, and Owl.

9. Can I draw fanart of your OC?

Yes, please. Like I’ve already said, I love getting gift art. So if you want to draw Old Man Jenkins, or any of my other OCs as linked above, please feel free to do so.

10. Your threads and ask replies are all so well written! It’s like I’m actually watching an episode of the series!

Not really a question, but it’s been a consistent compliment I’ve received a few times now, and it still just makes me really happy to get compliments like this. I, like Varian, often crave praise, so yeah. Your compliments are always welcome.

11. I’ve seen you mention that you’re a novelist in your free time. Is there anywhere I could read one of your novels?

If anyone were to actually ask me this, I would die. I am certainly a novelist in my spare time, and if anyone is interested in reading my books, and if you don’t mind that they’re mostly unfinished/currently being heavily edited, then just ask me and I can toss a link your way!

12. I’m not actually an rp blog, but can I rp with you anyway?

Um.. No? I mean, you can send asks and things like that, but if you don’t actually have a muse, it’s very difficult for me to have a thread with a personal blog. Personal blogs are different than self-insert muses, and this goes for sending me rp prompt asks too. If you don’t actually have any sort of muse, please don’t send these.. The symbols and things for my muse to react too.. Can’t be reacted to without another muse there to react to.

13. Are you an exclusive rper?

Not really? I may give priority to people who I consider my mains for a certain muse, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to rp with someone else with the same muse as another mun I rp with.

14. Do you rp with duplicates of your muse? I have the same muse and I would like to thread with you.

Sorry, but I don’t do duplicate rps. I just can’t logically wrap my head around these kinds of threads, so for my own comfort, I just don’t do those. Nothing against you, of course, I love that there are other people who love my muse just as much as I do, and everyone’s portrayal is certainly unique! You’re of course allowed to send asks and stuff and make friends with me, but.. Just not in character, please.

15. Have you been ignoring my asks? I haven’t seen you respond and I’ve sent them several times.

Please don’t ask me this.. I will never intentionally ignore anyone, unless they start acting like this. Don’t send me repeat asks just because I didn’t get to you over the course of a few hours. Jeez.. And it’s no excuse to be a brat about it either, by the way. I am a busy adult with other things to do in my day, so just because I didn’t answer at the speed of light, it doesn’t mean I’m ignoring you.

16. I saw you posted an open starter? Can I reply to it?

Sure! Just remember to check my tags first, and if it’s tagged as mutuals only, and we aren’t mutuals, then don’t reply to it, and maybe check my blog for a starter that isn’t tagged that way.

17. I really like this thread you’re writing with _____! Can I reblog it?

Sorry, but are you my partner on that particular thread? If the answer is no, then please don’t reblog it. This especially goes for personal blogs. It’s just proper tumblr rp etiquette. If you aren’t involved in a thread, don’t reblog it. This goes for an rper’s headcanon posts and ramblings as well. Please don’t.

18. You made/reblogged such awesome art! Can I reblog it from you?

Sure, go right ahead. Art is different than a thread or headcanon post. It’s fair game for reblogging. Always. Whether it’s my art or someone else’s. Just don’t steal credit, okay?

;; And I think that should cover the important stuff? Thanks for sticking with me for this long stupid post, guys! I hope this clears some things up for some people! Thank you!

- Luke