#(I hope the setting makes sense with what little I've shown here)

[mewkwota]

"...Wake up... Wake up...!!!" That voice... it isn't mine...

This is very-very conceptual art, like the one before it, but with more interaction and I wouldn't even think of it as something that actually happened-- unless you want it to. Nothing else can be done about it.

[gotham-daydreams]

Not Tonight

[Platonic! Yandere! Neglectful Batfam × Gender Neutral! Sibling Reader]

[Warnings: Mentions of Neglect, Reader generally not having a good time.]

(Not proofread. Not too much Yandere shown. Mostly angst with Reader. Set up(?))

2nd chapter here. Chapter 3 Pt. 1, Pt. 2. [Series Masterlist]

๑۩۞۩๑————————————————————๑۩۞۩๑

How many times have you heard them say that? How many times have you tried to do something with them, to share your passion — or even just have some coffee with them, only to hear them say that phrase time and time again.

"Not tonight."

Well, what if you didn't ask them during the night? What if you asked them in the afternoon, or just when they were already up and about?

"Sorry! I can't right now, patrol reeeally kicked my ass last night. Besides, I have some other things that I have to get done, but maybe next time! For sure!"

Okay, right. That makes sense. Sometimes their line of work can be tough and draining, especially when someone is trying to run Gotham to the ground that night. So what if you just try to ask them when they aren't so busy? It may really limit the times you can ask... but you'd still try. Maybe it could also help if you asked for smaller things, like if they'd just like to spend a little time with you before going out again, or if you could just hang around them for a while? Nothing big, and anything was fine. Even if it was just sitting next to them, and having some small talk. Or maybe just the sitting part if talking was too much.

You'd take anything at all.

"I'm actually heading out right now, so I can't stick around. Go ask someone else."

"Can't you see that I already have enough compang with Titus here? Go bother Drake or something, I don't care."

All you could hear was snores past the door when you went to ask. So you moved onto someone else, hoping for a yes as your heart began to squeeze.

Someone had to agree eventually, right?

You begged the Gods as you traveled down the long halls. The chills of reality creeping up on you.

"Sorry, I'm going out to hang with some friends, but maybe next time!"

"..." She just looked at you before shaking her head, and taking her leave.

"I've got something to do at the moment, sorry, but hey, maybe you could ask your old man? Oh! Or maybe Alfred. That's a good idea."

Dick was out in Bludhaven, and you didn't want to bother Barbara considering how bisy she must've been the other night. So, you had no other choice. You asked, heart bleeding from how hard it squeezed.

"Not now."

Simple, to the point, and sharp.

Bruce's words were as cold as ever, and yet the echo in the cave only seemed to make the gap between you and him feel so much bigger. Even as you just nodded, eyes pointed to the floor. Taking your leave with a soft sigh that barely escaped you.

The elevator ride was longer than you remembered. The cold chill in the air grew freezing even as you stepped out, and now stood in one of the many halls in the Wayne Manor. Portraits and pictures decorated the walls, their painted and photographed eyes staring at you. Their gaze far from soft, but at least it was present. At least they, in that way, felt present.

You swore the only times they ever smiled at you that wasn't faked, or just for the sake of appearances was in those paintings and photos. Honestly, it was also probably the most times they've even looked at you too, and as sad as it is — you did say you'd take anything, right?

A 'no' or 'maybe' was part of that anything, technically. It's just not what you were hoping for.

Sighing again, you stared up at one of the portraits, eyes shinging under the lights as everything you refused to say made itself so clear for a moment. You didn't want much, and never asked for more than what you were given. You didn't think so anyway.

You always followed the rules, you did more than just excel in all your classes no matter how hard it was for you to understand certain things, and you even tried to get into things your family seemed to enjoy without pushing too hard.

You studied up on all the pets Damian had so that you could not only care for them properly, but maybe even take care of them with him some day. You played games and read reviews on games you saw Tim play just for a chance that maybe you'd get the opportunity to play with him. You picked up boxing and have even been practicing your aim with an airsoft gun, and have also been going to certain place when you could to practice using real guns and learn about them just so you'd maybe be able to have a conversation with Jason, and even connect with him in some way. You even read nearly all the books in the library just to have a sliver of hope for something, anything.

You learned sign language in three different languages and tried to find out what Cassandra was interested in, just to have some kind of interaction with her. Even writing on small note cards in serval other languages in hopes she'd give some kind of response, even if you forgot to put your initials and such more than several times. You participated in gymnastics in hopes of getting closer to Dick. You tried to find out what Barbra was into so you could also hold up a conversation with her if given the chance. You've tried to match Stephen's energy and do things she likes and have even taken up material arts as a means to maybe be a little closer with everyone!

Yet it never seems like enough.

Your schedule was so packed and filled with activities and extra lessons of all kinds, just so that you could feel like you had something in common with someone in this family. So that, when given the chance, you'd be able to form a connection with one of them and your efforts and sacrifices wouldn't be in vain. Though that still had yet to happen.

You weren't even a vigilante as you tried to persue your own passion and dreams, and yet that one single thing seemed to be keeping you away from everyone else. The one thing you were unwilling to do for them just seemed to make the gap between you and the rest of the family grow bigger. They're constant and continuous dismissals only seemed to further that point.

Just... what were you doing wrong? Was you not being a vigilante and constantly putting yourself at risk every night really putting that much of a dent in your relationships? Did your dreams really get in the way of that? Just because you didn't want to put yourself in danger? Just because you wanted to pursue music instead?

You took up art despite not being super interested in it before. You've been reading all of your life. Your stretched, ran, exercised, cooked, cleaned, organized, sang, wrote, danced, and even sculpted. You picked up almost any hobby someone could have under the sun, even if it began to feel like a chore and a job to you, just so that you could have something, anything in common with this family.

Though now you've gone through countless 'hobbies', and dropped many more since nothing seemed to be working, it... it still didn't feel like enough. Like you had to be doing something more despite having lost countless hours of sleep, just to go through the list of hobbies you had written down that you had left to try. You even took up some sports you were somewhat interested in, and yet nothing clicked.

Though is that really surprising when no one noticed how many times you snuck out for lessons and practice, or how long you were out? When you'd even forget to return to the Manor sometimes, and anyone still had yet to notice you were even gone in the first place?

... You couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped you. It was broken in every way, and yet empty all the same. Maybe you were finally taking after Bruce, but you wouldn't get your hopes up.

You looked up at the painting as if it'd give you all the answers, and yet dismiss you at the same time. The disappointment you felt was normal to you at this point, but the aching pain that came after was always the hardest part. Yet you still stared at the painted faces as if they were your real family, and the people close to them. Looked at the calculated and skilled brush strokes as if they'd give you what your family couldn't. What they refused to give you at every twist and turn, no matter how much you tried to accommodate to them. To do things for them. To just feel worthy enough to stand by their side. To be closer to them.

Though in the end, it is only that. A painting. A well crafted piece that, no matter how skilled the artist, could never truly capture how distant and vague they felt when you were the one standing to the side. No matter how much experience the painter had, they'd never be able to express and show how this poor excuse of a family felt to you, because they were only like that around you.

Maybe you'd feel special if it didn't make you feel like you were wasting your life living like this...

Eventually, you were able to tear you eyes away from the painting. The moon beginning to rise as you were sure the Manor was becoming more empty than it usually was, as more of its visitors and residents left.

The painting itself was nice even if it was one of many that didn't include you, with the number of photographs without you in them being much higher. Honestly, it used to be one of your favorites despite how bittersweet you feel about it now.

You still remember that day, but that would be implying that you forgot the others.

Regardless, you managed to pull yourself away from the spot you had been stuck in for the few moments you were trapped inside your own head. You tried to make yourself feel a little better, and give yourself some reassurance that maybe tomorrow would be different some how, and if not? Perhaps the day after, and the day after that.

Yet it all failed as you passed by more and more memories. Some were events you had participated in, sure, but the pictures made it look like you were never there in the first place. Heartwarming moments littered the halls, but you only recall seeing them from a distance — or being aware that the moment had even happened only when you saw the picture be put up.

It was like the very universe was trying to send you a sign with your constant failures and your family's persistence, intentional or not, to keep you at a distance. You didn't even know if it was appropriate to refer to them as your 'family', and maybe it wasn't considering things, but you still weren't sure.

You had been fighting for a chance to talk with any of them about anything at all for the longest time, because you wanted to be a part of this family. You wanted to spend time with them and really give this 'new life' of yours a chance, but now that 'new' part of this life had worn off. It was hard and honestly more draining than it was rewarding at this point, but you still wanted to give it a try.

Sure, it had been years at this point and now you were just about to go into college, and when you had first arrived here you weren't even middle school, yet little to no progress had been made — you never gave up. You haven't given up. So maybe you could try for a little longer? Just... a little bit, not too much this time, and figure something out?

You almost felt a little sense of hope return to you, no matter how redundant and helpless this situation felt and seemed. Yet it all came crumbling down again when you passed by one of the rooms, and saw something taped to the door.

It was a flier for your performance. One that would be happening soon.

Since your siblings began to pay less and less attention to you as time went on, with your conversations with them growing even shorter, you opted to just tape fliers of your upcoming performances on their doors. Though only the performances you'd thought they'd enjoy, and just hoped that they would show up, if they wanted to, when you stepped onto that stage and approached the instrument you'd be playing for the evening.

You tried texting and other forms of communication at first, but those quickly stopped working and so you just opted for this, and of course it was just as effective as the others.

Alfred was really the only one who listened to your music when you performed, and you only knew that because you caught him playing one of the live performances you had done on the television one day. He not only going out of his way to record the performance, but also trying to find the channel it was broadcasted on.

Ever since you've tried to give him the correct channel number when you do live performances, but that still didn't feel like enough. You loved and appreciated Alfred from the depths of your heart and soul, but what would it take for one of your siblings or close family friends to notice you like that? What would it take for your supposed father to even care to listen to your music? To watch a performance? To not turn you away?

It was only in that moment did a new emotion fuel you. Crawling it's way up your spine as you carefully took the flier in your hands, looking it over before ripping it off the door.

This. This one small thing was all you wanted from them. Over everything else, you just wanted to see one of their faces, one time when you looked out to the crowd when you performed — but every single time, all you saw were strangers.

Every charity event, every gala, every party- that's all you were surrounded by, strangers. Even when you caught small glimpses of them, they were always doing something else, and completely off in a totally different world than your own. That distance along creating a large void-like gap between you and them, and yet it only ever continued to grow. Even when they stood next to you, it was like you couldn't be further apart.

The reality of everything was crushing. Near deadly as you could feel your chest and lungs tighten, with your fingers digging into the paper enough to tear it apart, and reaching your palms as they formed crescent moons, soon drawing blood. Yet nothing could compare to the weight of your heart, and how heavy it felt to carry in your chest.

As you finally moved on from the door, your mind raced. Memories and flashbacks filling your head as every word and notion flashed before your eyes. Barely even paying attention to where you were going, but not caring enough to pay attention.

Every dismissal and excuse thrown your way. Every head shake and blank look. Every confused look, and realization that you were standing there the entire time. Every birthday that passed with the same wish never being granted. Every celebration spent on your own. Every message left on read. Every note ignored. Every time you were forgotten. Every time you were left behind. Every time you brought yourself home, and every time they never noticed. Every night wasted, trying to come up with different things to do only for all of them to turn out fruitless. Everyday that 'maybe' never cones true. Every time you looked out to that sea of strangers, hoping to see someone you recognized, only to find none. Every hour you wasted trying to do something for them while they never once thought of you.

Maybe you'd cry if you could. Then again, maybe not.

You already had spent too many tears over failures you recovered and grew from, and hardships you faced and fought. You've already cried just a little too much during those night you just couldn't handle being so alone, in such a big place anymore. Besides, you've cried enough over people who've never once thought of you. Who never once tried to make time to even see one of your performances, or even allow you to spend a few minutes in their space.

You've given them enough, you think. Especially since after you spent years trying to just make it two thirds of the way — they couldn't even reach that one third of the gap you couldn't. They didn't even try, at least not anymore, and after you had tried to make it easy. Yet, you only hurt yourself in the end.

They never cared about you, and maybe they did once upon a time, but good does that do now when you're trying to go out of your way to make things convenient and easier for them, only for them to skip out on you anyway. No text, no call, no message, no indication, nothing. Just pure silence.

Maybe you were asking for too much, but was it really so bad to want to be loved? And by the people who are supposed to be your family no less?

Hah, who are you kidding at this point. You've just been living in a house full of strangers, and you're the only one who hasn't seen it yet. They've already long since cast you out, and it's only now have you come to truly realize it.

Especially now, as you stand in front of the foot of the door to the music room. Staring at the knob as if it'll turn itself.

You weren't surprised, honestly. Playing music had quickly become an amazing outlet for you, and you had always come here to seek out what little your family couldn't give you; comfort. So it was no wonder that as you collapsed mentally, you had subconsciously brought yourself here.

And yet, only one thought entered your head in that moment.

'They don't deserve to hear my music.'

Perhaps it was now that you decided they had lost the privilege to do so. After all, ever since you had started having performances, even ones in front of wealthy crowds, your 'family' had seemingly been avoiding them like the plague. Never daring to even attend one, for whatever reason, and sure you could understand why they didn't attend the ones you performed at night — but they couldn't use that excuse anymore. You have strictly been playing during the after noon, and at sunset at a push, for over three years now. You've been playing in front of crowds and releasing music for four.

So, you turned away, walking off to your room as your thoughts still stormed. Anger fueling you as you barely remembered storming into your room, collecting any valuables and belongings you had and stuffing them into a bag or two. Not caring about clothes, and only what you deemed important and meaningful to yourself as you just grabbed and shoved everything into a bag if you could.

You could clearly tell now that you obviously weren't wanted, and that no one here even wanted to do the smallest things with you. That even asking to just spend a few minutes with them was too much. So you were doing the only sensible thing, and getting the hell out of here. Moving so quickly that your breathing became uneven, but you didn't stop until you had packed everything you needed, or was important to you in some way.

You only really had a second thought about all this when you were at your window, just about ready to jump out until you paused for a second.

Looking back at the door to your room, you couldn't help but hesitate. There was only ever one person in this entire Manor who treated you like family, and actually put in effort to not only be with you, but to indulge themself in your passion. That met you at the half way mark, and even went a little over sometimes. Since even if everyone else had ignored you — Alfed was there, even if despite all of his efforts you still couldn’t handle this, and maybe that was also your own fault in some way.

You still didn't want to stay, you couldn't anymore, but shouldn't you at least say goodbye? Maybe? After everything... at least he tried.

...

You settled for second best.

Quickly, you grabbed a flashcard and wrote down something before pocketing it and moving back to the window. You may not have any equipment for this kind of thing, but you still managed to scale and work your way around the wall, and managed to reach the window to Alfred's room.

You took a little peak inside, and when you saw that he wasn't there, you opened up the window just a bit, place the small note on the windowsill, and closed it. Then, you skillfully and carefully made your way down, and snuck off to Gotham City. Making your way to a friend's place as you crashed there for the night.

Never once did you look back.

Nor did you ever feel inclined to.

------

Later that night, when Alfred read the note, all it said was:

I'm sorry, Alfed. - Y/n

Just with that alone, it was like he understood everything despite the little that was said. All he could wish you was luck, and that you'd be safe wherever you went.

Suddenly, just like that. The nights where melodies would lull the residence of the Manor to sleep, and bring a temporary, mellow peace to all who heard such a tune, were long gone...

Guess they'll just have to find it, and bring it back.

--------

Kind of rushed at the end there, hope it isn't too bad for a first post. There's probably a lot of mistakes, so apologies for that.

[mecachrome]

Hi k! If you feel like it, do you have any favourite Oscar facial quirks?

omgggg anon this is only my favorite topic ever!!! (kidding but also not really 🧡)

i'm a lot like oscar tbh in that i have something of a deadpan stare and usually speak in a monotone but when i DO properly react to something i am veryyy uncontrollably expressive lolol, which i feel like is the same with him and the one million things constantly going on in his face!!! 😭 he definitely has a lot of little quirks / "tics" i guess for lack of better word that i adore so much...

^ first off one of the best ones is the way he always moves his mouth to the side (see also), but i'd say my favorite overall is just his full nose + face scrunch ! as shown in MMMM DEBATABLE and the blind rankings one that i drew earlier t__t and also the 1st gif of this gifset!!! i'm guilty of constantly bunnycoding ojp and that expression is trewwlyyy on top... as well as another quirk that's quite bunnycoded which is whenever he sort of awkwardly grimaces and shows off his teeth idk if you know what i'm talking about 😭

of course another fav has to be his eyebrow raising and just overall eyebrow Mobility, it's so fun because they're very straight and slope downward when his face is resting but they ARCH perfectly when he raises them and he can also do the like 🤨 seth everman look which is iconic 2 me. tbh i like how much he enjoys Squinting at things in general LOL

i've also spoken about how the buzzfeed uk video has such a wealth of oscar facial expressions and imo part of this is the informal and relaxed setting on top of the fact that he was being forced to overthink and react to an inherently silly concept so we get the ultimate combo of CASUALLY EXPRESSIVE OSCAR!!! prema challenges have a similar vibe but imo this is still different because it's fairly removed from a motorsport setting so he's kind of just vibing... another v endearing quirk from this video is his eye twitching / blinking that you can see in a LOT of oscar content, i feel like it's a once you notice you never stop noticing it thing because he does it all the time and i find it really cute because it kind of makes him squinch his cheek too... miss cutieful....... SIMILARLY but also from the buzzfeed video this is one of my favorite examples of how much he (involuntarily imo) WIDENS his eyes (2) when talking or listening to something, here's another moment of him doing it back in f4 so you can see it's a long-ingrained habit.

sorry i'm literally giving you the most random ass deep cuts alkdfshaldsfh but i also remember watching ted's race notebook from miami and noticing oscar talking to a few mclaren employees during the team photo and something i find so endearing about him is when people call his name / try to get his attention and he does the >whips head around and widens his eyes with a polite little smile< thing like AGHHH... qt TT___TT ok i'm going off-topic now but the surprised smile he gave lando during the miami post-race debrief will haunt my memories forever because it was so Open !!!

anyway re: the grimacing he also kind of has a neck tic he does where he stretches his neck out... and i've noticed that he's also just kind of sensitive/particular with his neck in general and is always adjusting his collar where it sits on his skin, which again is off-topic but i find really cute because i can relate (sensitive to textures) hsdafhk.

let me stop talking but last but not least i'm obsessedddd with the way he pouts in the post-quali vid from canada this yr <3 and also his tendency to lick/bite his lips which always does great legwork in terms of the heart eyes piastri narrative and his apparent thirst for lando HKLFDSHLH which while i endorse wholeheartedly is definitely mostly just an unconscious habit of his... but i think rpf is fun so who cares!!! LOL i hope this makes sense idk if i described anything properly 😭🧡

[marilynthornhilllover]

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● See all the chaptered series I've done here

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❗️SERIES ❗️

Real persons i'v written on:

Adele read it here

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Chaptered Series Lay Out:

Don't be shy little one - gwendoline christie

Part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

Manners - gwen {from in fabric}

Part 1 part 2

"I see the way you look at me" - lady dimitrescu

Part 1 part 2

Cupcakes and muffins - Agatha harkness

Part 1 part2

Wanna get drunk and nasty? - brienne of tarth

Part 1 part 2

When you call my name. Do you think i'll come running? - lady dimitrescu

Part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7

I will carry you - coming soon

(Lady dimitrescu multi chapter series { WYCMN} )

{Keeping up with the dimitrescus}

{Keeping up with the Wednesdays}

{2023 KINKTOBER FICS }

{KINKMAS FANFICS & SERIES}

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[mariana-oconnor]

His Last Bow

Hey Tumblr,

I have 0 idea what happens in this story. Kind of hoping it's a bit like Curtain, the last Poirot story, because that's a bop. Well, it's very depressing, but I love the solution. Although I also really hope it isn't, because then Agatha Christie would have copied that and I really don't want that to be the case.

I also really want ACD to have done something insanely over the top and decisive to make it really clear that this time there would be no retconning. Like... idk, the world being invaded by aliens. Sherlock Holmes stealing the crown jewels and being executed for treason. Mycroft turning out to have been a double agent all along and destroying the entire British Empire.

I'm no longer feverish, although my lungs are still trying to propel themselves out of my body in a way that keeps leaving me a little asphyxiated, so that's fun. But no jellyfishifters this time I expect. Or sea turtles... Yeah, Idk either.

It was nine o'clock at night upon the second of August—the most terrible August in the history of the world.

Oh Watson, you sweet summer child. I bet I've seen worse Augusts. Even if Holmes does die in this one.

The sun had long set, but one blood-red gash like an open wound lay low in the distant west.

London... is now... a hellmouth?

Are we not in London? Is that the city from a distance. Where are we? Why is the sky split open? What is going on?

The two famous Germans stood beside the stone parapet of the garden walk...

The only two famous Germans. Ever. You know... those two.

Oh, so we're actually in the 'Sherlock is a spy' period. Weirdly I assumed that that was only going to be referenced. But no, we're actually going there.

So the red line is... the war front?

One of these was his present companion, Baron Von Herling, the chief secretary of the legation, whose huge 100-horse-power Benz car was blocking the country lane as it waited to waft its owner back to London.

Is the Baron compensating for something? Maybe.

But we're not in London and we're not near the war front, so... what is that red slash in the sky. Is it London?

This is probably not the mystery I am meant to be trying to solve. I should pay more attention to the espionage and less to the environs.

“They are not very hard to deceive,” he remarked. “A more docile, simple folk could not be imagined.”

Someone has not been down the pub when the home team is playing. Hoo boy. Docile is not a word I would use...

"One's first impression is that they are entirely soft. Then one comes suddenly upon something very hard, and you know that you have reached the limit and must adapt yourself to the fact."

That is, indeed, what she said.

“Meaning British prejudice in all its queer manifestations."

Oh boy. I don't think you mean what I'd mean by those words, but yet you have still brought upon me a great sense of national shame and wincing.

"I was invited to a week-end gathering at the country house of a cabinet minister. The conversation was amazingly indiscreet.”

Given the general level of OpSec shown by government workers, bankers, and just... everyone within these stories, I cannot say that this surprises me. I'm disappointed, but not surprised. The majority of government people we have met have been entire and total imbeciles in the matter of privacy, data protection and general best practices regarding secrecy.

“No, no, don't call it a pose. A pose is an artificial thing. This is quite natural. I am a born sportsman. I enjoy it.”

Ugh, I hate this guy.

“And all the time this quiet country house of yours is the centre of half the mischief in England, and the sporting squire the most astute secret-service man in Europe. Genius, my dear Von Bork—genius!”

I will say, they're commenting on other people not being discreet, and here they are just laying out everything without even a hint of subtlety. Using people's names. confirming their identities, confirming their true purposes. Unless this, in itself, is a subterfuge... They're not at a party, at least, I suppose.

“You flatter me, Baron. But certainly I may claim my four years in this country have not been unproductive. I've never shown you my little store. Would you mind stepping in for a moment?”

This all feels very Cask of Amontillado, don't you think?

Is Van Bork Sherlock?

He then closed the door behind the bulky form which followed him and carefully adjusted the heavy curtain over the latticed window. Only when all these precautions had been taken and tested did he turn his sunburned aquiline face to his guest.

Oh. My. God. Did someone just use basic security protocols to prevent someone from listening or looking in on them? Be still my beating heart. I might faint.

I am so confused about who is speaking right now. I need more dialogue tags. I have lost track. These two have merged into one very confused spy with multiple personalities. Or maybe just two heads. I don't know.

“Out of date and waste paper. The Admiralty in some way got the alarm and every code has been changed."

If that wasn't Sherlock or Mycroft, then I don't know who it was because every time the Admiralty has been in these stories they have been incompetent to the point of deliberate treason.

Will come without fail to-night and bring new sparking plugs. — —Altamont.

Is Altamont Holmes?

“You see he poses as a motor expert and I keep a full garage. In our code everything likely to come up is named after some spare part. If he talks of a radiator it is a battleship, of an oil pump a cruiser, and so on. Sparking plugs are naval signals.”

I take back that gif from earlier. Don't tell people the code words. Good grief, man! You've just compromised all of those phrases. I get that you're providing exposition for the audience, but still. STILL.

"I assure you that our most pan-Germanic Junker is a sucking dove in his feelings towards England as compared with a real bitter Irish-American.”

Fair.

...at a touch from the Baron's chauffeur the great car shivered and chuckled.

Is the car alive? I don't like this description.

“Those are the lights of Harwich, I suppose,” said the secretary, pulling on his dust coat.

THANK YOU!

It's Harwich... No hellmouth, just Harwich. Mystery solved.

"The heavens, too, may not be quite so peaceful if all that the good Zeppelin promises us comes true."

Oh, you mean the bustle in the hedgerow? No... don't be alarmed about that. It's just a spring clean for the May Queen. Or if you're talking about the piper, he's just leading us to reason. It's really nothing to be worried about.

...beside it, seated at a table, was a dear old ruddy-faced woman in a country cap. She was bending over her knitting and stopping occasionally to stroke a large black cat upon a stool beside her. “That is Martha, the only servant I have left.” The secretary chuckled. “She might almost personify Britannia,” said he, “with her complete self-absorption and general air of comfortable somnolence."

Is Martha Holmes?

Honestly, that makes a lot of sense.

Or Holmes could be the kitty cat.

It was a new experience to him, the silence and darkness of his widespread house, for his family and household had been a large one. It was a relief to him, however, to think that they were all in safety and that, but for that one old woman who had lingered in the kitchen, he had the whole place to himself.

DANCE PARTY TIME

“You can give me the glad hand to-night, mister,” he cried. “I'm bringing home the bacon at last.”“The signals?”“Same as I said in my cable. Every last one of them, semaphore, lamp code, Marconi—a copy, mind you, not the original."

No. No. No.

This is not how you do a treasonous handover of government secrets. I don't care how empty you think the goddamned house is. You don't say the actual thing. YOU USE THE CODEWORDS. THIS IS WHY YOU HAVE CODES. YOU UTTER NUMPTIES!

Fuck you both. You're morons. What even is this? This isn't espionage. This is slapstick.

Good lord.

I... I despair.

I guess if you're this good at it, then it's no wonder that even the bloody Admiralty managed to get a clue.

Mycroft's probably been feeding you information for years, you muppets.

It's the incompetence that gets to me, it really is. If you're going to be moustache twirling evil German spies then at least have the self-respect and decency to be good at it.

This is pathetic.

The Irish-American had entered the study and stretched his long limbs from the armchair. He was a tall, gaunt man of sixty, with clear-cut features and a small goatee beard which gave him a general resemblance to the caricatures of Uncle Sam. A half-smoked, sodden cigar hung from the corner of his mouth, and as he sat down he struck a match and relit it.

Oh yeah, this is Holmes, isn't it?

You couldn't even pretend to be good at being a traitor?

“So it's not quite as simple as you thought. It was four years ago that I had it made, and what do you think I chose for the word and figures?”

O

h

m

y

g

o

d

Tell me you're not about to do what I think you're about to do.

Please.

Tell me you have one braincell in your tiny head. PLEASE. You cannot be this dumb. YOU CANNOT BE!

“Well, I chose August for the word, and 1914 for the figures, and here we are.”

And you're being dumb by trying to show off how smart you are. That's the worst kind.

“How could they have got on to Steiner?” he muttered. “That's the worst blow yet.”

You literally just told a man your safe combination. I don't know what to tell you, my dude. Maybe you're just bad at this.

Then he sat dazing for a moment in silent amazement at a small blue book which lay before him. Across the cover was printed in golden letters Practical Handbook of Bee Culture. Only for one instant did the master spy glare at this strangely irrelevant inscription. The next he was gripped at the back of his neck by a grasp of iron, and a chloroformed sponge was held in front of his writhing face.

“Another glass, Watson!” said Mr. Sherlock Holmes as he extended the bottle of Imperial Tokay. The thickset chauffeur, who had seated himself by the table, pushed forward his glass with some eagerness.

Didn't call the chauffeur being Watson. Discounted him as Holmes for being too thickset. I guess since it's indicated Watson might have written this one I should have thought about Watson as well. Genuinely didn't think he'd be in this one, though.

"There is no one in the house except old Martha, who has played her part to admiration."

So Martha was working for Holmes this whole time. I think she wins the prize for being the best spy in the story.

"I shall no doubt reappear at Claridge's to-morrow as I was before this American stunt—I beg your pardon, Watson, my well of English seems to be permanently defiled—before this American job came my way.”

Oh no! Holmes used the word 'stunt' how scandalously unEnglish of him!

"The fact is, Watson, that this gentleman upon the sofa was a bit too good for our people."

Guess the Admiralty is worse than even I gave them credit for.

The last remark was addressed to Von Bork himself, who after much gasping and blinking had lain quietly listening to Holmes's statement. He broke out now into a furious stream of German invective, his face convulsed with passion.

No... no... Holmes. You're not monologuing in front of the enemy prisoner. Don't do that. I believed in you.

"And yet I live and keep bees upon the South Downs.”

...don't tell him where you live...

I give up.

“And most of that information came through you,” he cried. “What is it worth? What have I done? It is my ruin forever!” “It is certainly a little untrustworthy,” said Holmes. “It will require some checking and you have little time to check it. Your admiral may find the new guns rather larger than he expects, and the cruisers perhaps a trifle faster.”

god fucking dammit

Why are you telling him about the misinformation? The misinformation is meant to misinform. That's why it's called misinformation. You're undoing half of the work you did.

I... guys... guys, I just can't.

“My dear sir, if you did anything so foolish you would probably enlarge the two limited titles of our village inns by giving us ‘The Dangling Prussian’ as a signpost. The Englishman is a patient creature, but at present his temper is a little inflamed, and it would be as well not to try him too far."

Did he just threaten Van Bork with hanging. By referencing a possible pub name? A+ threat, but yikes.

The two friends chatted in intimate converse for a few minutes, recalling once again the days of the past, while their prisoner vainly wriggled to undo the bonds that held him.

They just... they just left him alone.

And went and had a chat.

I don't even know why I thought they'd drive him away immediately. Why would they?

"I have a check for five hundred pounds which should be cashed early, for the drawer is quite capable of stopping it if he can.”

Such a weird line to end this on. OK then Holmes. Go cash your cheque.

And that was the last of the short stories... It didn't quite have the same poignancy as Curtain. But it certainly gave me a lot to talk about.

This has been a really fun year and I've loved writing these up - and spending far too long finding gifs and sometimes making my own memes when I couldn't find the precise thing I needed to say.

If you've read all of these, I have no idea why, but Hi! 2023 was certainly a year, wasn't it? Thanks to all of you. It's been really fun reading comments and learning things when people added to the notes to answer questions I'd asked.

I hear we're doing the novels next year. I have definitely actually read all of those. But I do get them all mixed up, and I will have forgotten a lot of them. I think I also signed up for another substack, but right now I can't even remember which one. That'll be a fun surprise.

Hope you all had a good, or at least not terrible, 2023. And I hope we all have a better 2024.

Happy (almost) New Year!

[rosielou94]

This is a pretty big request but can you do the NSFW Alphabet of Dwight Manfredi? If you don’t want to do the whole thing just pick your favorite letters! :) here’s the template.

Dwight Manfredi x Fem!Reader: NSFW Alphabet

Here you are :) I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: 18+ ONLY please, explicit content, p in v, oral (f and m receiving), masturbation, praise and oral kink.

A/N: I've only proof read this once, so there may be some mistakes!

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex): Dwight is incredibly affectionate. He’ll lightly kiss you, brushing the sweaty strands of hair away from your face as he whispers how much he loves you. He craves human contact and touch after going without it for so long, and loves wrapping his strong arms around you. the feeling of your body against his, the sound of your breath as you lie next to him fills him with such a sense of belonging, like he’s finally home. For Dwight, sex is great, but the closeness and affection that comes afterwards is just as powerful.

 B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): Dwight has a bit of a love/hate relationship with his body. On the one hand, he looks good and he knows it, but he also knows that he’s used his hands to inflict pain and suffering onto others throughout his time as a Capo. He found it hard to accept that his body could be used to make someone feel good; until you came along. While he doesn’t have a favourite part per say, you’ve shown him how to use his hands to inflict pleasure, instead of pain. He’ll never get tired of watching your expression as he slips his thick fingers inside of you.

When it comes to your body, there isn’t a part that Dwight doesn’t like. Every single inch of you is like a gift from heaven. He especially loves your breasts; the way they look in a nice dress, or in the new set of lingerie he treated you to. He loves watching them bounce as you ride his cock, and can’t resist the sound you make when he runs his thumbs over your hard nipples, pinching them gently between his thumb and forefinger.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person): Dwight loves cumming inside of you. He takes sex with you very seriously, seeing it as an act of love, how he shows you just how much you mean to him. The feeling of him cumming inside of you lets him know that he’s yours, and you’re his. And to Dwight, there’s no better feeling.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): Dwight loves it when you take control. He’s so used to being the one to order people around, to tell them what to do and where to be. He loves it when you tell him what you want and how he can please you, the fact he can surrender all his control to you.

When he’s busy working and you casually come up behind him, wrap your arms around his shoulders and tell him you want nothing more than for him to bend you over the table and eat you out, he’ll stand to attention quicker than any solider.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?): Dwight is experienced, having been with quite a few women in the 80’s and 90’s, before he went to prison. But 25 years of unintentional celibacy has left him… a little rusty. He’s unsure at first, wondering whether sex has changed since he’s been inside. However, once you show him what you like, and you spend a few nights together, Dwight starts to feel more confident. He gains experience by finding out what feels good for you, and that’s the most important thing to him. There’s no fancy tricks, or complicated positions; it’s all about the passion, the chemistry and the intimacy, and you have all three of those.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual): Dwight is old-school in most things, and that includes his favourite sex position. He loves missionary, because your bodies are pressed up against each other and he can feel every inch of you. it drives him crazy when you wrap your legs around him, allowing to push as deep inside you as he possibly can.

He also loves you being on top, watching his cock slide in and out of you as you moan and tweak your nipples between your thumb and forefingers. This position also makes it easier for him to rub your clit, and he gets to watch your pleasure mount, gets to watch the exact moment you orgasm, walls tightening around his shaft.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): As stated above, Dwight takes sex very seriously. It’s the ultimate act of love to him, and it’s not something to be taken lightly. He cherishes every single moment with you, because he has a lot of lost time to make up for.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.): Dwight doesn’t really trim his hair, as it was never something that was fashion in the 80’s and 90’s. if you asked him to trim it, he absolutely would, but for him it’s not a big deal.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…): Dwight is a huge romantic. Your pleasure is the only thing that matters to him. He won’t even think about his own orgasm until you’ve had one. He’ll kiss you softly, making his way down your neck, breasts, stomach and thighs. He’s desperate for as much contact with your body as possible, after being alone for so long. The soft sounds of your moans are what drives him, the need to make you feel good far outweighing his own pleasure.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon): Dwight doesn’t really masturbate. He didn’t get much privacy in prison (not that he had much of a sex drive anyway), and he’d much prefer to save himself for you.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks):

Praise: Dwight has a definite praise kink. He loves it when you tell him how good he makes you feel, or how he feels inside you. He craves the soft whimpers of pleasure as he slips his fingers inside you, and he can’t help moaning when you tell him things like, “that’s it, right there,” “please don’t stop, it feels so good.” Hearing how good he makes you feel really turns him on.

Oral: Dwight loves going down on you. it feels so intimate, being between your legs, using his tongue and fingers to make you cum over and over again. He can’t get enough of your taste, it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever had.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do): Dwight prefers doing it in bed. There’s plenty of room, it’s private and he can take his time. He wouldn’t want anyone walking in, so he wouldn’t do it anywhere that you could be caught. As he’s so broad and muscular, small, tight spaces like the shower aren’t the best place for him either, but he’ll never no if you ask.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going): What turns Dwight on is your pleasure. Watching your eyes roll back, and your mouth hang slightly open as you moan, your head tilting back into the pillows as you arch your hips and back into him drives him crazy. As said earlier, Dwight won’t entertain the idea of fucking you until you’ve had an orgasm. The sight of you coming undone before him is the most beautiful thing in the world.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): Anything that would hurt you. Dwight has spent way too long hurting others, and he would never want to do anything to you to cause pain.

Dwight would also never engage in semi-public or public sex. He fully believes that sex is a private, intimate act that should only be shared between the two of you.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc): As Dwight has an oral kink, he absolutely loves going down on you. It’s his favourite way to make you cum, and he loves circling his tongue slowly around your clit as you buck your hips into him. He can never get enough.

Dwight likes receiving oral, and would never say so if you dropped to your knees in front of him. He loves looking at the pleasure and love in your eyes as you look up him, lips straining around his girth.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.): Dwight prefers slow and sensual. He likes taking his time, feeling every inch of you. He has lots of lost time to make up for, and would never hurry sex with you. He wants to prolong your pleasure for as long as he can, he wants to make your most intimate moments last a lifetime.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.): Dwight prefers proper sex, as opposed to quickies. He doesn’t feel that quickies give him enough time to show you and your body the attention it truly deserves.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.): Dwight lets you take the lead on this. If there’s something you want to try, he’ll more than happy to try it, just so long as it wouldn’t risk hurting you.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…): Dwight may be an older man, but he could happily go for round after round, hour after hour with you. He cant get enough of you, and he’ll happily pleasure you for as long as you’re able to take it. sometimes, you have to tap out and take a break. Dwight is more than happy to wait until you’re ready again, using the down time to play with your hair, massage your back and shoulders or cuddle you tightly until you’re ready.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?): Dwight has zero experience when it comes to sex toys. But he’s intrigued by the ones you own, and was eager to learn how to use them on you. He loves incorporating them while he goes down on you, using your vibrator on your clit, while his tongue slides back and forth across your slick folds. He even bought a cock ring for you to try while you ride him and knowing that it makes your orgasm all the more stronger, it’s now something you frequently use.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): Dwight likes to tease, but only because he knows the build up makes your orgasm so much stronger. He would never withhold an orgasm from you because he lives to please you.

He loves teasing you with his fingers, sliding just the tips into your wet centre, and brushing his thumb against your clit until you’re begging him to slide his thick digits all the way in and press his thumb against your sensitive nub. He would never hold out on your for too long because he can’t resist your moans.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make): Dwight isn’t loud, preferring to whisper sweet nothings in your ear as you fuck. He loves telling you how good you feel, and hearing you say it back. When he’s getting close, a deep rumbling growl erupts from his chest as he grips the sheets, culminating in a hoarse moan as he spills his seed inside of you.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Sexting: This is something completely new to Dwight (as are cell phones as a whole). He almost fell off his chair when he opened a text from you one day to find a picture of you completely naked, phone angled down at the vibrator inside of you. He didn’t know how to respond, and after receiving a few more explicit photos and a video, he attempted to nonchalantly ask Tyson what you would do if someone sent a photo of an… intimate nature. Tyson immediately caught on and told him he should let you know how the photos make you feel. You then received several paragraphs detailing just how happy he was that you sent him those pictures. It took him a couple of tries, but he eventually got the hang of dirty talk over texts, even attempting a few photos himself.

Now, if he’s caught working long hours, you’ll always exchange a few steamy texts and pictures until you can be together again.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words): Dwight is about 6 ½ inches, but he’s very thick.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?): When it comes to you, Dwight can never get enough. His sex drive is incredibly high, because he’s so attracted to you and he’s gone so long without sex. he would have you every night if he could, and multiple times during the day.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): Dwight finds it hard to sleep much these days, his mind whirling with thoughts of his past. You help him take his mind off of the those thoughts however, and in the moment he is completely focused on you. after sex, he likes to talk, to hold you until you’re breathing softly and slowly next to him. he still finds it hard to drift off, but the sound of you sleeping so contently next to him makes it that little bit easier.

[be-my-ally]

Splashing Around Ch. 2.

Chapter one can be found here.

So hello, welcome back to my lil cute, OC inspired a lot by Arlene (but also by my 50s dreams) cute kissing haven. I have to apologise for how short this is - it was taking me forever to finish the next section, so I've decided to break up what was one loooong chapter into two teeny tiny ones so his draft notice, army el, arguments and more kissing (basically all the good stuff I can't wait to share) to come very very soon!!!! 

I am, for those waiting on smut, cooking up a few things but I've been very, very, very, busy the past few weeks and can barely think about like, making a cup of tea, let alone putting words together in a way that makes sense so hang tight, it's coming.

wc: 3k.

sorry it's so short & so late - I think I've been promising *something* for like a month now, @whositmcwhatsit @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24 @vintageshanny @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love but hey, here's something! I'm hoping it'll set me off writing and posting again.

shirtless elvis 1957 inspo pic:

c. July 16th - August/September 1957.

Elvis grabs a covered plate from the kitchen island, still dripping wet, before whisking it up the staircase to the side, depositing them both in his bedroom. Louise hadn’t been up this way yet, she’d briefly been shown around when he’d wanted to show off to her and the other girls; they’d all ended up piled onto his bed, stroking his hair and talking, but somehow the intimacy of going up these stairs, with him alone, made her feel like it was her first time witnessing this private space. 

“Right, it’s uh,” He looks up and down at where she’s dripping onto the carpet, “probably for the  best if you go on through there again.” He points through to the dressing room, “there’s uh, there’s towels and uhh, soap and all of them things in the bathroom there if you want a shower or anything.” 

The storm crackles outside, but in the cushioned sound of the bedroom and dressing room it's almost impossible to tell, and Louise quickly busies herself, uncertain of how long Elvis would be preoccupied, and not wanting to keep him waiting. She does, however, take a little longer in the shower than she usually would - marvelling at the amount of hot water available that meant both of them could shower at the same time.

She’s carefully trying to roll her hair in her fingers, concentrating on her reflection in the mirror,  when Elvis pokes his head in, sidling around the door until she waves him in fully. She immediately regrets it, realising she’s only half-dressed, sat in her underwear and her blouse on but unbuttoned. 

“Oh - uh, Elvis! I’m not, quite, um ready for yo-” She watches him as he looks her over, he’s barely dressed himself, pants slung low on his hips, unbuttoned, and shirtless - but he’s entirely unself-conscious, holding the plate out to her, unlike the blush spreading across her body. She cringes a little, skittish, and he snaps himself out of it when he notices her nerves. He frowns, looking her over, and Louise feels the panic suddenly rising - is she not what he expected? He saw her in her swimsuit earlier…but it just feels different somehow now - maybe now, fresh-faced, she’s just not pretty enough? But he makes no comment on her body other than an attempt to ease her mind. 

“Thought I told you girls to settle, ain’t no-one gonna do anything you don’t want, sweetheart - won’t touch ya, I swear it.” She swallows, she hadn’t been scared quite in that way, but she would be lying if she said his words hadn’t reassured her. Louise nods, slowly, uncertain of what to say next, but Elvis takes care of it - striding over to place the plate on the dressing table, whisking the cover off the top. “There’s cookies there. Help yourself, I’ve already had a dozen waitin’ for you to get outta the shower.” 

“Oh! uh, I didn’t mean to keep you, I mean you could’ve just called - I didn’t mean to take -” She panics all over again, and he holds his hands up in an attempt to calm her,  

“No, no, honey, re-lax, just meant I was waiting for you to be done s’all.” He shakes his head,  “I promised you a blow-dry didn’t I?” He twists a strand of her hair in his fingers, “... how about I do yours and you do mine?” 

“Uh, yeah,” She swallows, “yeah that works.” 

His deft hands style her hair, but the whole time she can hardly breathe feeling his fingers against her scalp, finger-combing and gently twirling and twisting the strands of hair into some semblance of a do. She can’t take her eyes off of him in the mirror, a look of complete concentration on his face; almost a pout, with a slight furrow of his brow and his lips pushing forward as he focuses on his actions. 

The dryer prevents all attempts at conversation - which is lucky, because she wasn’t sure she’d be able to pay attention to a word he said, too focussed on trying to memorise the feel of his rings catching on a tangle - the tug somehow not feeling the same as when she brushes it, the sting making her shift in her seat, a dizzying feeling flooding through her body. 

“There.” Elvis finishes with the blow-dryer, fluffing her hair like she’s at the salon, looking back at her in the mirror. Miraculously, for all the ridiculous ways he was twisting and turning to do it, he’s managed to achieve a fairly respectable blow-out. “There we are. Now, look how pretty you look. Oughta do it for you everyday - could be my new career.” He puffs out his chest, clearly proud of himself and Louise laughs, 

“Hmm, I’m not sure all the other girls in the world would be pleased with that.” 

“Well I ain’t worried ‘bout any of them other girls, only you, baby.” He’s looking a little bashful, folding his arms across his bare chest. She can’t stop the blush, or the grin, from overtaking her face. She takes a second to respond, struggling to think of a reply, something that would make him feel as giddy as she does, when she’s suddenly knocked half off of the bench. Elvis sat down, bumping her with his hip. “Ok, my turn!” Louise obediently hops up, smiling at his playfulness, 

“Uh, ok - but I gotta warn you,” She nervously brings her hands up to touch his still-damp hair, it’s darker wet, but she can see where the dirty blonde is starting to shimmer through, “I haven’t ever dried a boy’s hair before, so, I might not do it very well and -” 

“You’ll do fine, doll,” He shakes his head at her, 

“Well, you might have to direct me,” His own smile grows wider, as if he’d expected she did this every weekend, and the knowledge that it was all new to her pleased him. 

“S’ok honey, I trust you.” She does her best, fingers pulling gently to hold the hair this way and that, as he constantly wiggles around in the chair; but she can’t help but get a little distracted by his expression in the mirror. By the way he seems to be practising posing, as if unaware she’s watching the whole time. His pouty lips going from a half-smile to a scowl to a lip raised in quick succession.

Louise thinks back to it, sat with her legs across Elvis’, on his new couch that he had been oh-so-proud to show off a week or so ago, of how lucky she was to be chosen like this, to be able to have thread her fingers through his hair, or watch him carefully comb it into place after it was dry; to be so close to him that she could see the acne across his neck, the remnants of a shaving rash on his lower jaw. How many girls could say they’d gotten to do this? But with that thought comes the sobering reality that it has to end at some point, and she’d rather not outstay her welcome…it’s probably time for him to get ready for dinner, or for entertaining whoever he’d invited tonight. 

“I’ve had a lovely day…thank you Elvis, it’s been really special…” She’s inching around the subject, she doesn’t want to leave, or for Elvis to say it’s time for her to go, but if he is she wants it to be from her prompting. She wants him to like her, desperately so, but she’s seen enough to know that she also doesn’t want to act too desperate, she wants to seem cool, and older than her years make her, mature about it all - aloof. She’s not though, and the relief she feels when he responds, 

“You ain’t thinkin’ about leavin’ me now are you?” while tucking her further under his arm and against his chest, is immeasurable. She’s safely cocooned against his torso, his freshly showered scent; shaving lotion, laundry detergent, and underneath it all him, the smell of all of it, along with the sound of the rumble of his voice in his chest, his heartbeat all mingling to solidify this memory in her head. Louise knows she won’t ever be able to smell any of the scents again, or hear another’s rumble or heart without picturing this moment in her mind. 

She spends the rest of the evening with his hand on her, on her thigh, her arm, her stomach - curled together and whispering to each other.  Even when some of the boys stop by - albeit briefly, no-one seems to be staying for dinner - he has a hand on her at all times, and no-one seems to blink twice at it. His lack of awareness of personal space, or perhaps of his lack of care about public physical affection completely understood. So, none of them question, even if Louise wasn’t Anita, why she was curled in his lap all evening, 

The other girls hadn’t materialised, some girls had, but not the girls. and Louise worried that it was intentional - that he was ashamed of her or something - was she meant to keep the day a secret? Worse to her than being kept a secret though was the thought that he might not consider her secret-worthy, and the fear that he might laugh her off is enough for her to keep her mouth shut from questioning him. So that night when she leaves, finally, long past midnight, despite her desire to, she doesn’t wait the last few hours until daylight and immediately call them, doesn’t get asked to be dropped off at Frances’ house, or stand beneath Heidi’s window waiting to be let in before crawling into bed with her - girl talk until the sun comes up. She wants to - god she wants to, wants to shout about it - wants to tell everyone that she’s just been on an honest-to-god date with Elvis Presley, that she’d kissed him. With tongues! But despite this desire, she’s almost too nervous to burst the bubble, the special bubble where only she knows; instead having to content herself with whispering the story to the stuffed bear tucked under her pillow - she’s much too old for him to be sat out in the open - or recounting it in as much detail as she dared to her journal.

She’d been sent home with the promise that he’d take her out for dinner the following night - but there’s a call about a change of plans; they’re all going to the cinema instead, Loving You was on the agenda,  and she arrives at Graceland that evening just in time for everyone to be piling into their cars, just barely making it in time for Elvis to smile at her, looking handsome as ever, captain’s hat on his head again and grab her wrist, pulling her into the back of his Cadillac with him. Louise tries her best to enjoy it as she might have done in the past, but she’s so worried about how to behave - if anyone can tell, worried about the other girls’ reaction; is she going to turn into some sort of social pariah? Ruin her chances for friends over a boy? Even if that boy were the only thing any of them truly had in common? And if that boy wasn’t just a boy, but a man, and Elvis at that. She can’t work out if it being Elvis makes it better or worse, so she sits there, primly, worrying her cuticles with her nails and her lips with her teeth. She watches as a tiny well of blood starts to form from where she’d pulled the skin a bit too hard and a bit too far - right to the quick, and she jumps as he covers her hand with his, pulling it out of her lap and onto his. He tuts at her, pulling out a handkerchief to rub at it, 

“Look at the mess you’ve made of that, stop picking at yerself darling. You’ll be sore for days.” She cringes, the desire is only made stronger by his holding of her hand, the worry that the others in the car might notice. They were sitting right there. But she complies, and is eventually soothed by the repetitive motion of his thumb on her palm. He lets go as they pull in, clambering out of the car almost before it’s even fully parked, seemingly anxious to get into the closed theatre. She tries not to be too disappointed at watching him run off with the boys without her, instead waiting for the other girls to climb out of the other cars, joining them in their excited giggling and chatting as they go in. Louise again has to remind herself to act normally, to join in their gossiping about how lucky she was, how excited they were for the film, and pretend she wasn’t a little upset watching him sit three rows ahead of them all. 

By the time the film is over they don’t bother staying for the double feature that had been set up for them, Elvis whisking the group away with the suggestion that even though it was dark out, it was still hot, and did they want to go for a splash in the pool? The night continues in that manner, Louise being seemingly steadfastly ignored, although she succeeds some of the time to forget about it. 

She’s not fretting in the shadows, she was just… taking a minute. He’d paid her no attention in the theatre, and the past half hour had been spent pretending not to be eavesdropping into the boys’ conversation, discussing Anita, singing their praises for her - as much as Elvis would allow - for her figure and face, and very briefly - her personality, before moving onto other girls; who from Hollywood they all wished Elvis would invite over, say, did you hear about that Venetia Stevenson girl coming in a couple of weeks? So on her way back out from the bathroom Louise felt like she was entitled to spend a moment or two in the shadowy corner by the back door. Taking a deep breath as she tried to remind herself not to compare, that maybe they spoke about them like that when they weren’t around. That sure, Anita might be a tiny little thing, but even she probably had to breathe in to button up her skirt - even if it was a smaller size. That, if nothing else, she wasn’t here with them all. 

She wouldn’t deny having had a good time, the film was wonderful, and the night as jolly as any, but still, she couldn’t help but wonder what had gone on that he’d decided to ignore her completely. She’s just getting to the point where she’s ready to return, a smile plastered on her face when suddenly, from the door, an arm reached out and pulled her back against the open door frame. Tugging her against someone’s warm body. She relaxes as soon as she recognises the smell and feel of him and he laughs as she stumbles against him, hands gripping both of her arms. He leans down, pressing a kiss to her cheek, open-mouthed, breathing on her as much as kissing her, before trailing his lips to meet hers. One of the boys shouts for Elvis, something about fireworks, and the next second he’s gone, barely a grin at her dazed expression, before he’s running off again. She can hear the way that the boys tease him about the lipstick smeared across his face, and his tight-lipped response. It makes her smile to herself, the way she has to try and catch her breath, still hidden in her shadowy corner, but no longer feeling invisible. And, though she wishes he’d pull her onto his lap or kiss her in front of everyone, she figures maybe it’s ok to keep it just for herself for the moment too. 

She doesn’t get the chance to see him alone again for a while, there are parties, and gatherings, and then he’s gone again - off on tour and to California for a long couple of months. Louise really tries to accept it all, even though the pictures appearing in the papers, and some of the stories that get relayed back (although never directly by Elvis) makes her heart hurt. It’s difficult, when he seems to look so happy in them, and so do the girls surrounding him - and who is she to judge another girl for feeling herself glow just by standing next to him. A little of his light reflecting onto them. 

One particularly brutal evening, after he’d promised to call but never did, she can’t help but cry into her pillow. This is why he goes for girls like Anita, ones that are a year or two older, they can cope with it. Louise shakes her head to herself - she can cope with it, she’s sure. She can deal. She can be mature, and deal with him out and about and kissing other girls. If Anita can, she can. Accept him inviting the starlets over, that’s fine, they’re only the toy of the moment, and eventually they have to go back to their own glitzy lives. They’re not like her, they don’t have an open invitation to his bedroom or to sit with his mother. But then, they do get private calls with him, and she knows Anita’s been telling anyone who’ll listen about the “just darling notes” he sends her.  Louise doesn’t get notes, sometimes he doesn’t even refer to her by name; simply just as part of the ‘girls’ he seems to always want to talk to as a group - all of them crowded around the receiver at Heidi’s house or Graceland. But then, rarely, sometimes, he slips into the conversation a little check-in, “How’s my lil’ Lou? Bein’ good for me doll?” and it makes Frances look at her in a calculating way, but her heart stutters every-time, every-time she responds

“Of course Elvis! Just waiting for you to come home. I can’t wait to see you.” He never replies the same way, it’s either

“Ah, who could miss this ol’ ugly mug,” or worst of all, “Uh-huh, looking forward to seeing the whole gang again soon.” On one occasion though, it was “Of course, honey, I’ll be seeing you re-eal soon,” and that was enough to give her hope all over again.

[clotpolesonly]

ok i didn't wanna reblog that whole long post just for one little bit, so @aspirationallyeldritch hope you don't mind me making a new post

i just really wanted to address this directly, cuz it's a sentiment i've seen a couple of times since that ep aired, and (completely respectfully) it's really been rubbing me the wrong way. now i'm not gonna sit here and try to armchair diagnose Persephone with anything specific, but the treatment of Persephone as a person with some kind of mental illness has been pretty consistent, whether it's an actual "normal" (?? non-psychic-related) mental illness or something related to/caused by her above average connection to the spiritual realm doesn't really matter, functionally it presents much the same. she is still shown to have some support needs -- we see Maura helping to manage her schedule for her because she can't keep track of time and her memory is unreliable, we get Calla reminding her to eat and drink and take care of bodily functions, Jimi is always checking on her and cleaning up her space for her and reminding her to smudge her space (the psychic equivalent of "take your meds" i feel like 😂). we even get an indication that Persephone has gotten lost before (in the literal physical sense, like she wandered off) (a nice little parallel, i think, with Adam's fugue state tbh, i liked that), with all the ladies distressed but immediately ready to mobilize when Blue said she couldn't find her. the whole community of that household contributes to Persephone's care and it's clear that she needs it and would struggle to live alone.

HOWEVER, none of that disqualifies Persephone from making informed decisions over her own life and the activities she engages in, and it's ableist to claim otherwise. it's like the popular assertion that adults with developmental disorders can never consent to sex because they're "mentally children", or that people with stigmatized mental illnesses shouldn't enter into romantic relationships until their "healed" because they can't possibly be a good partner until they're fixed. ya know what i mean??

Persephone may have support needs, and she relies on the other fox way ladies in order to function fully within a society that's not set up to include her, but she's still a grown adult woman and an extremely capable psychic who has a solid grasp of her own abilities and limits within her sphere of expertise. she deserves the same amount of respect and autonomy that Maura and Calla are offered, and i for one am so so glad that she was offered that within the narrative and her friends/family/partners didn't try to hold her back or speak over her to make her decisions for her. disabled people have a right to take risks too, if they want.

[hotwaterandmilk]

Just another one of those posts where I do a bit of a general update on a few things. This time opening with an edited scan of Maomao from Nekokurage's Kusuriya no Hitorigoto manga adaptation to get your attention. Boo!

I've been reading the Kusuriya no Hitorigoto light novels and enjoying them in the sense that I think preteen me would have liked them. I started reading the LNs earlier this year (as they're great for reading in waiting rooms and the like thanks to their short format) and I think the LNs are definitely my preferred version of the story. The anime has a nice OP theme but is fairly middling otherwise and I don't go much on the art in either mang adaptation (though Nekokurage's art has improved recently and Maomao looks less like a giant-headed baby doll in the Animate bonus cards per my scan above). Maomao is the real draw in all versions so obviously I preordered her Nendo the first moment I could — bring on May 2024!

Speaking of translated light novels you can buy right now, the first part of the Oguni no Koushaku Reijō wa Tekikoku nite Kakusei Suru light novel was just released as A Young Lady Finds Her True Calling Living with the Enemy Volume #1 by Cross Infinite World (see here). It's a solid story that doesn't overstay its welcome and Bertine's business acumen is just *chefs kiss* for those after a competent heroine.

Once the second and final part of this is out, I'd love to see Cross Infinite World pick up another short (but unrelated) PASH! Books publication, Shiitagerareta Shuusai Reijou to Ringoku no Haraguro Kenkyuusha-sama no Amayaka na Yakusou Jikkenshitsu. The web novel version was quite solid but I haven't read the printed version yet. Yeah I like science ladies, what can I say? It would be so good to keep seeing interesting titles for girls and women being picked up for English release because I tire of isekai villainess stories (which imho peaked years ago with Watashi no Oshi wa Akuyaku Reijou) and there are some great little tales out there that do things a bit differently & just need to be shown to the right audience.

I'm so excited for Metallic Rouge in early January! While it used to be that getting an original property from BONES was always exciting, it has been a while since they've created anything I've really cared about but I'm hoping this will break the drought. If a show has Izubuchi, Kawamoto, Yamada contributing then you know I've got to be there. Plus a couple of lady leads in a SF setting? Trailers with some great action and music? I'm trying not to get my hopes up too much but I'm keen to give it a shot. If it isn't for me at least I can say I've given it a chance, right?

I've been terrible at sharing the latest about this year's Silent Möbius anniversary, but I'm not a news blogger and frankly very few people care so eh y'know, whatever. BUT I figured I should say something about FAIRYTALE PARFUM releasing scents for the key members of AMP this month (though Mana has been totally forgotten, it seems). You can check out the range here, there will be a launch event on the 10th of December in Shinjuku too.

Asamiya drew new artwork for the bottles and while I'd love to get Kiddy's perfume that nods towards her bodily acceptance in its notes, importing that stuff is just too much of a pain so I've settled for a tiny acrylic stand of Kiddy instead. Sadly there's no option to buy a set of stands so I just went "whatever" and grabbed just my best girl. Anyway, if you'd like a tiny acrylic stand of an AMP girl with extra weird proportions then make sure you check out the FAIRYTALE PARFUM website.

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Bad Day - A "Kissing You" Drabble

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Rating: No warnings that I know of, just a bunch of fluff with the briefest of mentions about other enjoyable activities with our boy

Word Count: 800

Prompt #5 : Intertwining fingers

a/n: Okay, so I've been working on something for a while, and this is not that something, but rather a small piece of a different something that I'm really trying to convince myself to share. But for now, here's a small piece of that thing that I want to share for @browneyes-issac. I'm so sorry you had a horrible day at work and my brain wouldn't stop until I wrote this in hopes that it might help, even just a little. This is also my first ever released Frankie fic, and also my first time writing f!reader, and also the first thing I've written and shared on Tumblr in literal YEARS, so go easy on me. And if you like it, tell me to post the other ones that may or may not be sitting in my folders.

Masterlist | Next Drabble

Your day has been nothing short of miserable. 

As if a broken water heater hadn’t been enough, the standstill traffic on your way to work and the blown tire just two blocks from the restaurant gave you pause. And then you’d been foolish enough to believe that maybe, at least, work would be tolerable for once. 

But it hadn’t been, and now you're alone in an empty restaurant with a room full of tables still yet to be cleaned. Your coworkers had been no help, piling onto your load with table after table, nevermind your lack of a break. And then they’d left, all citing important events that they needed to attend while you stood, glancing at your watch as it told you your shift should be ending in ten minutes. Keyword, should.

A flash of headlights from outside brightens the empty room, and with a sigh, you head toward the front door, unlocking the deadbolt as Frankie appears on the other side. He’d agreed to pick you up when you’d called him about your blown tire, and he was, of course, on time. 

You're willing yourself not to lose it entirely when you breathe in his familiar scent, but it only takes a second for his wide smile to fade into genuine concern. “What’s wrong?” 

Saying nothing, you turn and walk back into the dining room, gesturing to the tables still stacked high with dishes. “There’s more in the kitchen,” you sigh, eyes falling to the ground in front of you, trying to hide your frustrated tears. 

Slowly, he takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together and raises them to press a kiss to the back of your hand. “I’ll help.”

A laugh escapes you as you finally glance up at him, “You can’t.” 

Frankie’s eyebrows raise quickly, “and why not?” 

“For starters, you don’t work here. And you wouldn’t get paid. And it’s my job. You probably shouldn’t even be in here like this and you really can’t go in the kitchen and…” 

His grip on your hand tightens, causing you to stop your rambling. Without missing a beat, he counters your concerns with a plan. “How about you wash and I collect the dishes and bring them back to you? Then I can wipe down all the tables and rearrange everything out here while you finish up.” 

“Let me help you, Querida,” he continues when he notices you biting your lip, eyes flickering over the piles of work, and you feel him kiss your hand once more. You have to admit that his plan makes a lot of sense, and it would probably allow the two of you to be out of here long before you would if you did everything on your own. 

“Okay,” you agree after a long breath.

Frankie looks pleased, almost excited, and kisses your forehead quickly before rushing off in the direction of the nearest table. He picks up a stack of dishes and follows as you lead him toward the kitchen. Once you’ve shown him where to set things, you head toward the sink to begin the cleaning process. 

He appears every minute or so as he clears the dining room, stopping in between each trip to kiss you. Sometimes on your forehead, sometimes your shoulder or your nose. Whatever part of you he can reasonably reach, and with each passing moment you feel the weight of the day become a little lighter. A smile here and there, a laugh when he kisses you in the crook of your neck before rushing back into the dining room once more.

Methodically, you scrub away at the dirty plates, working as quickly as you can. Frankie is gone for a while, probably cleaning the tables, and soon the pile dwindles down to nothing.

Strong arms wind around your waist as you rinse off the plate in your hands, a warm chest at your back, and he presses a kiss to the side of your head. “Almost done?” 

You nod, pressing into him as you place the last dish on the rack. “Done.” You turn in his arms, and he doesn’t protest when your wet hands wind around his neck to bring him down for a proper kiss. It’s soft and warm, and you hum when you pull away to find Frankie smiling at you. “Thank you,” you whisper. 

“Anytime,” he returns, hugging you a bit tighter. “Now, are you ready to go home? Because I think I have the perfect remedy for your bad day.” 

His contagious smile finally transfers to your own face, “Is that so?”

Frankie nods eagerly, and you know the spark in his eyes well, so without another word you lace your fingers through his and tug him in the direction of the door. 

And later, when you’re laying in his arms, feeling sated and so very loved, your bad day is nothing more than a forgotten memory. 

Masterlist | Next Drabble

[vitospaghetta]

re: about Leon's emotions and feelings towards Ada and vice versa. This is my little attempt to break it down and offer a perspective that evidently not many in this fandom have and here's how: it's been romanticised to hell and back, I wouldn't be surprised if one day the division at Capcom reveals a big "well actually it was never about love between them, but rather a plethora of events that attached them to each other"

Because it can't be about love, it's just too ludicrous. It's not love. It's trauma bond, and like you said it's a sense of comfort and familiarity. But people in our society are too simple minded and once again viewing things through such short sighted romanticised lens to ever be objective about the reality of it. Nothing that Leon and Ada have is written in stone to set some "relationship" to flourish because it's not that, it's a situationship and nothing more.

This is why they resort to trying to use what the devs say and conveniently put words in their mouths to try and justify their biased perspectives. Just because they won't change their dynamic of the usual Ada being one step ahead of Leon and always leaving him in the dark and being a weakness of his, does not mean that it's love. Because it isn't, that's not what they're doing and it's emotionally inept to think so. Because everything they've done has shown the exact opposite. Leon's character was never about Ada and Capcom removing the "romance" from their dynamic isn't what's gonna alter the entire plot, it's the nature of their typical two steps ahead alienation that would wreck it and that's why they'll keep the core of it. But it was never romance.

Hope all this makes sense lol, if you got anything to add, please do :)

"Leon's character was never about Ada"

Everything you said here is 100% correct but I think that specifically stands out a lot, because I think a big issue with hardcore Aeon shippers is that they see Ada as an extension of Leon and vice versa. Like you can't have Leon without Ada, and Leon can never have feelings for anyone else because Ada is such an integral part of his story or whatever. Ada is no more significant to Leon's narrative than Claire or Sherry; the only difference is that he developed feelings for Ada, but having feelings for someone does not equate to love.

I've said this before, but I understand shipping from the perspective of 'these two characters look good together/have a dynamic I like to explore through fanon.' When it extends to taking developer comments out of context to prove canonization of a relationship dynamic that obviously doesn't exist, foregoing common sense and any understanding of nuance? That's touchgrass behavior.

Yes, the only canon longstanding love interest Leon has ever had in the franchise is Ada. This is a fact. However, love is something that is developed over time, and Leon and Ada barely know each other. A loving romantic relationship is not what has been established between them. It's very clear that they both have feelings for one another in the original continuity, but any chance of a normal romantic relationship is ruined by the complexity of their personal situations and moral standing. That's the interesting part about their dynamic, which is literally why they're written that way. That dynamic doesn't even entirely change in the remakes; it's tweaked and built upon, like everything else. Whether or not Leon has feelings for Ada, his story doesn't change, and neither does the foundation of their relationship.

[velvet-vox]

The dark side of Steampunk: Nox (Part 2)

Milien spent the entire night obsessively analysing the artifact, instead of sleeping with his wife, and in the morning, he was forced to face the consequences.

Fully immersed by the possibilities given to him by the Cube, Milien is already at work to capitalise on them in order to get out of the vicious cycle he's gotten into by borrowing money to keep himself afloat.

Here's where the milk gets finally spilled and the truth starts to knock on the door. Milien's ego, up to this point, was only the fruit of an inferiority complex set by the inability of his inventions to catch popularity; but now, it's finally revealed that Nox's obsession for the cube and it's constant need for validation from his family is also a result of Milien's antisocial behaviour probably rooted from a societal lack of care for individuality and creativity.

Ironic, since, by this very statement, Nox undermines other people's individuality and creativity to place his own higher. This is a major extreme of Steampunk, when either the society or the industry reigns over the other, the outcome can only be disastrous, as true balance can only be found when the two sides support and complement each other.

This isn't too much of a major flaw for Milien, as long as it gets addressed, it's pretty common for his archetype and it's often overcome by the end of the story.

Ah. S##t. He doesn't overcome it.

These GIFs speak for themselves; the ego boost given to him by the artifact allows for the insanity to take place, even his wife, who he has been shown capable of repressing his negative traits for, can't calm him down anymore; the next time she visits him, Galanthe tries to get Milien to throw away the Cube and go back to his family, but in response, Nox shuts her out of the door, since what she is suggesting would rekindle his inferiority complex and bring him back to square one.

Briefly touching on this particular moment, Noximilien knows the Cube's real name, despite the fact that he apparently shouldn't know what it was right until his confrontation with Grougaloragran 200 years later.

It could just be a continuity error, but I want to give tot the benefit of the doubt this time and assume it's instead intentional; back when we had only season 1, the Eliacube was this mysterious, corrupting entity whose origins were never made fully clear. So, for us to not be able to find any sense behind this discovery of his, leads us to be unnerved by the eldritch horror vibes that were originally backed into the Eliacube's concept.

As time goes by, Galanthe decides to take away her family from her husband, in hope that this will force him to get rid of the Eliacube and go back to them.

And for a brief moment, her plan almost works. Milien is taking the situation seriously, and it's about to abandon everything to go join his wife, but then... Nox doesn't.

I don't really know the meaning behind that owl shot with one weird eye, but by judging the fact that the very next shot is Noximilien's laboratory emitting smog into the air, I'll interpret it as a metaphor for pollution brought by the industrialization of Nox's operation, mindlessly destroying the planet without a person's notice.

I really like how the ticking sound of clocks gets faster before turning into knocks at the door, it makes it feel like an unfathomable amount of time has passed.

As for the reason why the beggar decides to check up on Nox and inform him of his family, I've actually come up with a way better explanation than just simply "the beggar was actually a good person, just a little short tempered and grumpy", which works well enough, but it could be much more compelling;

You see, in the previous part I've said that the beggar is the representation of the strict Victorian society and Milien the freeing Industrial revolution, their clash and tension is what gives Steampunk its meaning and charm; so here, it's almost like the beggar is saying "Bro, WTF? Shouldn't we clash against each other? I haven't seen you in months? What happened?" since, if the clockmaker doesn't want to free himself from the claustrophobic expectations of society, then... what is his purpose in the narrative?

As the rage, regret, and madness of the ensuing moment unfolds, the Steampunk narrative is completely shattered:

No longer Noxy wants to advance society to the next level of evolution; now, he just wants to bring everything back to how it was.

No longer Nox is going to use his inventions to bring wonder and joy to the world; now, he's going to use them to destroy lives in order to restore his own.

Steampunk is dead, and its rotting corpse is now being used as a vessel for the Eldritch Horror narrative that is about to ensure.

Milien is dead; a legend is born.

A terror is born.

NOX.

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[jungle-angel]

Heyyy I have a request! Rooster and readers son has career day at his school and he wants rooster and pilot!reader to come to his school in there uniform and talk about flying for the navy and he’s like 7 and it’s a bunch of fluff :). I really hope this made sense! Thank you for reading this have a good day!! <3

AAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHH!!!!! SO CUTE I'M SCREAMING!!!! You got it dude!!!

"I don't think I can do this," Rooster groaned as you two pulled into the parking lot of the school.

"Rooster it'll be ok," you assured him. "It's not like you're speaking at a VA convention."

"Yeah but what if they make fun of us?"

"You think a bunch of second graders are gonna make fun of us?" you chuckled. "They probably won't even know about half the shit we're talking about."

Rooster still wasn't so sure. He felt like a dork being in his flight suit, but he kept telling himself that you and him were doing it for Nicky. Besides, your son hardly ever asked for anything, so why was it such a big deal? Rooster turned the key and shut the truck off as soon as you were parked.

"Alright (y/n)," he said. "Ready?"

"Like I've never been before," you said, smiling at your husband.

The two of you walked down the halls to Nicky's classroom, the both of you surprised at how many parents had shown up for career day. You were even happier to know that in a place like Great Ocean Steiner School, the kids were thriving too with most of them being from Navy and Marine families. One kid in the first grade class walked with his father down the hall, the tall, broad shouldered giant in a set of neat dress blues that made you and Rooster a little bit jealous.

You met Nicky right outside his classroom, the both of you scooping him right up and spinning him around as he giggled. "You ready for Mommy and Daddy to come to class with you?" Rooster asked, hoisting Nicky onto his hip.

"YEAAAAAH!!!!" Nicky shouted excitedly, holding up his little hands to form a pair of little devil horns.

You and Rooster couldn't help but laugh at your son's excitement. All week he had talked endlessly to his teacher and friends at school about his mom and dad and how amazing they were. Even Miss Leslie, his teacher, was excited to meet the two of them.

"You must be Mr. and Mrs. Bradshaw," she remarked happily as she stepped out of the classroom. "Leslie Newman, I'm Nicky's teacher."

You and Rooster gladly introduced yourselves, shaking hands with Nicky's teacher. "Looks like Nicky's all excited for the afternoon," Rooster remarked.

"Oh God, he's talked all week about you two!" Leslie informed them, just as excitedly as Nicky had been. "I was hoping I'd get to meet you both. You know, a few of our teachers here are also former military."

"Really?" Rooster asked her.

"Oh yes, one of our high school teachers," Miss Leslie explained. "He was a Marine, our soccer coach I believe was an Air Force officer and I believe our baseball coach was an Army Ranger."

"Holy crow," Rooster chuckled.

"Here, come on in," Miss Leslie said to the both of you. "We're about to start.

Each of the kids in the class introduced their parents, letting them talk about their careers. Some were doctors, others worked in construction while a few worked the blue collar trades. When it was time for you and Rooster to go up, you were both nervous and excited all at once.

The kids asked all manner of questions. Did you fly planes? Yes. Did you fix planes? Sort of. One little redheaded girl in the front row raised her hand.

"Did you ever shoot any bad guys?" she asked.

You and Rooster looked at each other with a smile on your faces. "Well, we did once," Rooster told her.

The kids were wide eyed with awe when you and Rooster told them the entire story of the Uranium Plant Mission. None of them could believe it. A few of them even blurted out that they wanted to be pilots too, even Nicky who proudly proclaimed that he had the best Mommy and Daddy in the world. You and Rooster were secretly high-fiving, the nerves gone and proud that you had both come to career day.

[jzbnee]

Hi jezebunny 🪐 can you choose a 500 word snippet from one of your published fics or wips and give us some director's commentary / insight into what you were thinking when you wrote it?

have my unposted wip about joey going back to live with the titans in the "modern" era while reconciling post-crisis era stuff :)

i wanted to try to find a way for a like post deathstroke 2016 joey wilson to like... cope with what went down at the end of that comic (especially given slade and rose both fucked off pretty immediately while joey has been in limbo). however, i really like the elements of post-crisis joey's various disasters with the titans & the way the titans would want to support him (and still be ready just in case)? i understand that joey's various villain arcs aren't 100% character-kosher but we're trying to make it work.

i also have been thinking about how he is not shown having like. any hobbies in deathstroke 2016, as opposed to his constant hobby stuff in NTT and NT, so i wanted that to be something the other titans noticed hehe. i ALSO wanted to examine the subvocal mic that priest used to avoid friction as opposed to the titans, who all learned ASL in the wolfman run

this fic will be finished... eventually. she is 5k rn (all characters tagged are in this snippet!)

"Let me wash the dishes," he said as he noticed Donna finishing off her food.

"Oh, you're a guest, so—"

"No he ain't!" Gar laughed. "He should have dish duty!"

"You're just saying that because it's your turn." Vic nudged at Gar, who laughed and squirmed away.

"He's right, I'm not a guest. Or I'd prefer not to be treated as one, at least." Joey reached out for Donna's plate after she'd finished and took it, stacking it on top of his. He proceeded around the table, though he paused with the last one in hand.

"But first—" he cut a glance at Donna, laden with meaning, before continuing once he saw understanding in her eyes. "I want to be monitored while I'm here. I was hoping to be tracked or have restricted access to the tower."

"Why is that?" Vic asked.

He certainly knew why, but Joey understood that it was his duty to explain.

"The last time I had unrestricted access to the tower, the Titans were forced to play a game of mafia with incredibly high stakes. No one knew where I was or who I was, and it was incredibly dangerous."

"But you're better now, right?" Gar asked.

Raven reached out and placed her hand on top of Joey's. Her palm was warm and soft against his skin. Joey smiled tightly at her.

"I'd like to think so, but I'd prefer that some safeguards were in place. For my safety, too. I don't want to lose it again. And if I did, I don't want to hurt anybody. I've never wanted that, not really."

"I understand," Raven said, thumb rubbing at Joey's hand. She did, undoubtedly, given her own past. She wasn't as easy to restrict as Joey was, either. He couldn't imagine how she lived like that. He admired her strength.

"If it'll make you more comfortable..." Donna trailed off.

"I can set something up," Vic continued for her. "How about we set it to expire after a probationary period. That seems fair to me."

"I trust you," Kory said quietly. "And if something were to happen, you know we could handle it."

"Yes. But I'd rather stop it from happening in the first place." Joey flipped his hand over slowly, letting Raven's hand slide into his. He sighed tiredly, thinking of the events of the last year. "I'm not... Things haven't been going well for me lately. I don't think anything is broken, exactly, in my head, but I never notice until it's too late."

"Do you want me to look?" Raven asked, grip tightening slightly.

"Later," Joey agreed, though the thought was a little unnerving after all this time. Before, he'd known what Raven would sense from him. Now... he wasn't sure. He was a worse person now than he'd been before, even discounting his betrayals of the Titans.  His fingers curled around the plates, and he slowly pulled his other hand free of Raven's.

[juhbebbie]

Okayyyyy so City of the Dead thoughts for anyone who cares

Was I disappointed? My expectations weren't super high so I guess not, but the super overdramatic self pitying narration threw me off quite a bit. Like okay man chill out a bit. Kind of expected to not see Layla until the end so I guess there I was disappointed but not surprised. Fingers crossed she will be a central character from here on out and not a one and done thing in the series.

Okay elephant in the room time. I know a lot of people have been saying they REALLY did not like it and I really cannot blame them, but also I'm trying to stay hopeful because it just the first issue. I'm hesitant to get pissed off over the total lack of Jake and Steven just yet, when in Mackay's series neither made an appearance until like a year into the run. Yes this series isn't going to be nearly as long, but still. That being said, no I definitely don't expect Moon Knight to really be shown as a system, but I'm gonna give Prepose a couple more issues to prove me wrong (the bar is on the floor). Mainly just because I feel like it would be hypocritical of me to denounce Prepose for not including them and then praise Mackay when it took him 12 issues to really acknowledge that they are a system. I'm going to give Prepose a chance since he wrote a pretty good Black, White, and Blood story that did have them shown as a system in a pretty cool way imo.

All this to say that I'm not trying to undermine anyone else's concerns, this is just my own opinion and trust me, based on what little interviews I've read I fully expect Jake and Steven to be completely ignored and if (and when) that happens I will be right there with the rest of yall lol. I will say that it's already very clear that the set up so far was not written with the intention of having a place for Steven or Jake, which is very disappointing.

Okay positive things! I enjoyed seeing Dr Badr a lot and i didn't have much of an issue with how he and Marc's relationship was portrayed. Yes in the main run they're closer now, but they are still very much at odds but willing to work together towards a common goal, which is exactly what we see here in this issue.

I also liked where the thing with the kid is going. The detail of him being kicked out after his brother's death definitely makes me think he's going to be a reflection of Marc, which would be a cool parallel to have.

And the art for the most part was really gorgeous! I don't know what the hell was going on with Layla there at the end (otherwise great male artists not knowing how to draw women), but other than that I REALLY loved how the actual city looked.

And the Egyptian mythology was actually a lot more accurate than it usually is, which, as someone who has always been a total nerd about that stuff, actually made me really happy. There are several specific things I wanted to point out but this post is long enough as is.

Also. "I don't care if I burn" that was badass as shit come on. One of the (admittedly several!) moments of overdramatic writing that came off very well kind of like how it does in the Mackay run (don't wanna compare this too much to the Mackay run though because I understand it's obviously going to be different and that's fine)

But yeah. The overall feel and tone was very... off. I was on board with the general plot and Marc's motivations but everything around the basic plot structure just seemed like Prepose was trying to do a weird Huston run thing and it wasn't working (I don't think it worked in the Huston run either but I digress).

I've seen people saying that they didn't like how Marc was an enthusiastic follower of Khonshu, but that wasn't really the vibe I got at all? If anything it was pretty clear how much he hated everything he was doing. Which also kinda felt off. Having him say that everything was "punishment" over and over just kind of felt like I was getting hit on the head with a theme that didn't even make sense for the character, at least not at this point. Don't get me wrong, self punishment is absolutely a big part of Marc Spector's character, but there is an important distinction between doing things to right your past wrongs and doing them because you feel like you deserve it. And it seemed like Prepose understood that at first, but then later into the issue I was like Marc PLEASE shut the fuck up about punishment lol.

People more knowledgeable than myself have said things about how this looks from the standpoint that this is also a Jewish character, but all I'm going to say as a general statement for all of Moon Knight's runs is that I wish they would let him be explicitly Jewish more often. It's mentioned in Mackay's run the clash between Marc's service to Khonshu and his Judaism, but I think that that is such an interesting part of his character that needs to be discussed WAY more!

Anyway, to make a long story short, definitely not the strongest first issue, but it absolutely had some great moments and I'm going to go forward with my expectations still pretty low, but willing to give it a shot for Layla's sake. But the fact that a run featuring Layla is already not turning out to be very good is a little bit heartbreaking for me I'm not gonna lie lol. I was going to go and buy myself a copy of this issue, but after actually reading it I didn't really want it anymore. So 😬 fingers crossed for the next issue I guess?

[analviel]

ATLA NETFLIX, some of the thoughts I wrote down while watching:

The costumes!!!!!!

Fire. Bending.

The bending in general but FIRE bending and the way it left the victims.

Gasp! Oh, oh, oh! Help was sent to the earth kingdoms, maybe not the best fighters but still a lot of them, that's why the air nomads were wiped out and the southern water was devastated while the Earth kingdom stood the strongest. I like the way they set this up.

AAAAAAANG!!!

AIR NOMADS!!!!

Monk Gyatso!!!

Kinda bummed that Katara didn't break the ice by getting angry but I'm gonna be optimistic.

Hoooooo Sokka and Zuko exceed my expectations! "His destiny". "Repeating it doesn't help".

Although, the face burn is a bit underwhelming especially with what we just saw of the previous fire victims.

Sooooo excited for all the bending!!!

THE COSTUMES! THE TATTOO, ESPECIALLY THE WAY IT'S PLACED AROUND HIS ARMS!!!

Idk why maybe bcs Katara is my favourite so I'm watching her but she feels so.... Hmmm. Quiet. What happened to her lines at the beginning, for someone who's words are the first we hear in the OG.

When Sokka said "Before you kill someone", I expected at least a "Sokka!".

I do love the actress with the lines she's been given tho. With the rant to Sokka on the Air Temple. Gets that hopeful glint Katara has.

Zuko flipping out yes! He's so... Spazzy, does that make sense?

I'm not too young, I just haven't seen the world yet- Suki

Suki and Sokka are sooooooooo awkward I LOVE IT!!! Also that Mulan make-up remover. Asians are just built different I guess.

AANG AND KYOSHI!

Katara standing in Zuko's way- I can't wait until Zuko offers to kill her mother's killer with her!

We got Azula!!! Oh I love those first lines delievered like that!

Did I mention I love how Zuko is visibly falling apart, barely able to keep himself together, because I do, I really do!

Okay I'm gonna say it, Katara feels like she's just being dragged around everywhere. No- no initiative.

I....

Do not like that.

Feels like she's not getting riled up enough by Sokka maybe.

Mai is SO Mai, you can hear it so well!

They did Jet's intro good!

My Cabbages! The most passion so far!

Ooooh! Oh I do adore the secret tunnel scene in this!!!!

The Bumi actor is so good.

A friend. A friend! The direct Aang/Zuko and Gyatso/Iroh parallels.

The Zuko redemption storyline is living up to itself so far.

As for Azula, I really wished they left the breaking down era a little bit later. Like yeah, Azula wasn't right in the head from the beginning but that was shown more in how terrifyingly aloof and unstoppable she was in the earlier episode I believe but, well.

There's already a bond between Aang and Zuko but I've yet to see anything half like OG Katara and Aang!

Hmmm, actually, regarding Azula..... Ozai is, weirdly, invested in Zuko in a way we could've said OG Ozai would never say that. Which explains Azula here.

I love the avatar state glowy effects!

The sexism against Katara doubled and coated with genuine concern and real-life reasons that makes it hard to counter argue is making me lean in, in anticipation of how it will make my Katara blow up.

...... So no plan?..... I'm working on it, Uncle.

Sokka rushing towards Katara to 'convince her'.

Azula and Katara in the same episode is foreshadowing parallels.

Excited to have Katara's bending to visibly improve, like in the OG. And by that I meant how organically her water whip evolved smoother and faster in the animation. Like, you could see it.

........ Pakku vs Katara. Love the action, the effects. It could've been so good in regards to catharsis if Katara had just raged...... I'm just. Not going to.

Getting rid of their machine controls renders the fire army sitting ducks in the middle of ocean. Which makes me think of that reverse AU where the water tribe conquers the world.

If the water benders all work together, they can just have a giant tsunami turn them all over.

Master? Master Katara?...... That's so.... It's surprising rather than something you'd anticipate and cheer when we finally gain it.

Not a single waterbending training montage with Pakku. I'm still not sure if Pakku trained her or just gave her the title.

I like that I can tell that they know what they want to do with Sokka.

Not so much with Katara.

I gasped when all the Northern Tribe female waterbenders stepped forward like that.

So. There's a lot of stuff that they removed and added that I didn't like- less 'added', and more 'rushed'. Things that should've built up gradually, that could've been revealed in little bits were just immediately shown to us- my example here is Azula. When I first saw Azula, she was terrifying, her and her group were both my dream group and incited fear and awe in younger me, I didn't think she was insecure, I didn't think she was scared, she was practically the damn terminator with that epic episode of tracking the gaang slowly but steadily and driving them to exhaustion.

Is she actually insecure and batshit insane and scared? Yes. Was that what you were supposed to be able to tell with a single glance? No.

At first I thought maybe I was just biased with Katara, but I also feel like a lot of stuff they did with Azula was just.....

They did Sokka good, which was actually who I was concerned about the most. Zuko- I really love his portrayal. My moments of doubt with Aang are actually closely tied with Katara, which makes sense because hello, their friendship and bond was very important to the whole thing. Would've been a wonderful contrast to his Past bond with Gyatso and his Future bond with Katara.

I do think it's good.

Let me marinate on this.