#That be ten cents instead of just two... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

deadsetobsessions · 1 year ago

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Listen, I know it’s not my usual thing, but I just re-read Dark Matter by mysterycyclone (iconic, so good, incredible, I’ve reread this at least ten times) and this newer work, Help Me, I Don’t Feel Like Myself Anymore by Astra_Nova_Kat (it’s off to a really good and fleshed out, very long start- it’s like 20k for the first chapter omg).

I just. Love?? Them??? They’re both, urg, so good. The writing style, the way the story moves, the natural progression of plot and their usage of tropes are so well done that rarely does it feel awkward. Amazing. Anyways, they inspired me to put my two cents into the proverbial offering hat and while this might not ever be a realized fanfic, here it is? This will have multiple parts.

Uh, I’m basing Peter’s personality off of the really tired millennial energy Tobey Maguire gives, the awkward but well meaning disaster vibes of Andrew Garfield, and the sassy acrobatic chaos gremlin of Tom Holland. All kind of mushed together with the hyper competence and maturity of both the PS4 spidey and pretty much most spider people. He’s 22, or something but that doesn’t really matter?? Background doesn’t really matter because I’m basically making my own spider-verse. Spider… past? Eh. New Peter!

Spider in Gotham AU- Pt.1

[Pt.2]

——

Spider-Man swung through the skyscrapers of his city, enjoying the winds and sounds of New York as he kept a sharp eye out for crime.

He remembered doing this without any of the fancy tech his suit had now, when he was dressed in less protective clothing. God, 100% cotton while crime fighting? The spandex was better but god ugly.

His spider-sense blared. Spider-man quickly shot a web to the top of the building, going towards the danger instead of away from it.

He goes in feet first, years of knocking common thugs to legitimate gods to the ground making short work of the people on the roof top. He flips out of the way, dodging a blast of crackling green energy.

“Heyyyy, common robbers! What’s up with shiny lasers, huh? Breaking and entering not doing enough for ya?”

Spider-Man dodges a couple more shots, flipping again to knee a guy in the face, gently. The man goes down in one shot.

“Stay still, you motherfucker!”

“Does that actually work for you guys?? Like I’m down to get killed but, man, I’m not gonna stay still to get downed by some two bit thugs?” Spider-Man kept his words light and mocking, webbing up a laser gun and yanking it out of the woman’s hands. He punches her in the face and knocks her out, using the laser gun like a mildly bulky baton.

“Eat shit, Spider-bitch!”

“Ouch! Oh no, my feelings! You’ve hurt them!” Spider-Man shoots a web at the lady who’d shouted and yanked, before smacking her straight down to the concrete of the rooftop. His hearing picked up two people coming up the stairway and Spider-Man tossed two web bombs, the metal mechanism attached itself to the wall, waiting for their unknowing victims.

Spider-Man ducked and weaved, downing goons as they piled on him while shooting bullets, lasers, and just charging at him with a bat or a crowbar. After eight years of pretty much this exact thing, Spider-Man had gotten the science of breaking up goon dog piles without hurting them too much to an exact measurement. He quipped at them until they got annoyed, which made them sloppy. Spider-Man sighed as another guy came at him with a crow bar and a gun that he was pretty sure was still stuck on safety. He crouched, kicking out their legs and dodging a swipe of a bat where his ribs would have been and webbed the guy to the floor. Yeah, he’ll wrap this up and end patrol. Maybe he still had Mac n’ Cheese at home, or he could stop by Angelo’s for a sub?

Huh. His options for dinner was limited.

“Take this!”

Even without the forewarning of his spidey-sense, Spider-Man would have ducked out of the way regardless.

“Shouting your sneak attacks isn’t actually all that sneaky, you know!” Spider-Man kept his voice cheery and mocking.

“Get him!”

God, why were there so many people trying to break into an insurance company? This definitely doesn’t smell like a regular B&E. With the shit he’s seen in New York, if it smells like a plot, acts like a plot, then it’s probably a villain with a tragic backstory with big, annoying plans.

Great.

Oh, speak of the devil!

“Spider-Man.” His senses blared.

He couldn’t move out of the way fast enough, not without risking the life of the goon he was currently fighting, so Spider-Man took the blast the punched the breath out of his lungs. The wide eyes of the goon made up for some of the pain.

“Ugh!” Spider-Man slammed into an HVAC, denting the metal. His suit, made special polymer blend from Wakanda that he saved for months to get, absorbed some of the shock. Shit, he hoped it didn’t tear. It would be a bitch and a half to dip into the back up stock he had in his hammer space.

The goons left standing quickly rushed him and held him down to face the new boss.

“You’ve been getting on my nerves, Spider.”

“Yeah,” Spider-Man coughed out, letting the two goons think they could hold him down on his knees as he recovered his breath. “I have that effect on people.”

“But you could be an asset, if you’d join me?”

“Uh, I don’t join or sign things without knowing what I’m joining or signing, my guy. My lawyer said so.”

The villain paused, helmeted head cocking to the side.

“You have a lawyer?”

“Yeah. Kind of? He does pro-bono work for the helpless cases. You know, like, a well meaning, crime fighting vigilante?”

“…Does he do cases against insurance companies?”

“Oh man, you too? Dude, this place sucks,” Spider-Man sighed.

“You’ve had trouble too? Then you must see why I’m doing this!”

This was a bit weird, but if there’s anything that brings people together, it’d be corrupt insurance companies. He’s almost tempted to let them break in, just to be extra petty.

“Nah, my neighbor? Sweet old lady. They’re screwing her out of her entire place. I totally get it, man. Hey, if you need a referral, you can tell my lawyer that Spider sent you. He’s real good.”

“How good?” The goons release him and Spider-Man stood up, stretching his limbs.

“Like, Dare Devil good.”

“You know Matt Murdock??”

“Sure do.”

“He… he’ll take on our cases?”

“Dang, all of you?”

“Yes. We can pool enough money to pay him for one or two.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure he’ll take you guys on for free. But it wouldn’t hurt if you all went to meet him, just so he can decide which one of you has a higher chance to win in court?”

“We will. Uh.” The villain paused sheepishly. Well, not a villain, more like an unfortunately angry and poor decision making citizen. “Sorry about… you know, the blast.”

“It’s cool. I mean,” Spider-Man gestured to the rooftop, the bodies of unconscious people kind of laying around where he knocked them down. “You guys might wanna check on them, yeah? I’ll let you go for now, but if you commit a B&E again, I’ll leave you webbed up for GCPD to find.”

“Got it. Sorry.”

Feeling good about himself, and plotting corporate espionage, Spider-Man went to help pry some people from his webs.

And of course, because Parker Luck kicks in only when Spider-Man felt like life was looking up for himself, Spider-Man’s senses blared once more as he knelt down to pull at some webbing.

“Oh, shit!” He heard, right before a cold blast of something slammed right into his head, knocking him out.

And Spider-Man

——

Larry looked at the the empty space where Spider-Man, the guy who took a hit from his boss’ blaster so he wouldn’t get hurt, used to be.

He twisted.

“Boss, what the fuck?!”

“Shit! That was accident!” Boss pulled herself up from the concrete, where she just ate dirt.

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know, Larry! That was the experimental warped mode! Crap!” His boss scrambled with the controls, desperately trying to see if the magic gun her magician friend had handed her years ago had a reverse button. It didn’t.

“Why would you bring a test weapon into the field?!”

“I gave you all of my other ones!” She threw up her hands. “Fuck, I feel so bad.”

Larry paled. “Dude, Dare Devil’s gonna kill us.”

“He doesn’t kill!” His boss hesitated. “I think.”

Larry pointed to the empty space. “Yeah? He might start with us. Spidey was a cool guy and you just disappeared him!”

“I know!”

Larry buried his head into his hands and tried not to hate himself for the entire situation.

——

Spider-man woke up, laid flat on the grimy ground of an alleyway.

“Ugh. Just my luck.” He kept his eyes closed for just a beat longer to allow himself time before having to pull his shit together. Why was his voice high? And a bit squeaky? He pulled himself together.

“Okay.” He whispered to himself, before sitting up and taking stock of the situation.

First thing that hit him was that it stunk to high heavens. Gagging, Spider-Man looked to the right and- yeah, that’ll do it. He stood up on wobbly legs to try to move away from the overflowing dumpster.

That’s when the second, more important and decidedly more troublesome, observation hit him.

He’s short. Shorter. And his suit was hanging off of him.

He could tell he still had his normal by now physiology, with the speeding heartbeat and the feeling of super strength. But he’s shorter. With a mounting sense of equal parts dread and resignation, he pulled at the hidden seam by his nape, relying on his both his enhanced senses and spidey-sense to tell if anyone was nearby or looking at him. He pulled the Spider-Man suit off, blankly folding it neatly as he stared dumbly at his hands. They’re small too. Shit. He stumbled to a nearby mud puddle and stared down, seeing his younger face in the contaminated water. Double shit.

He’s starting to loose his composure. He’d gone through a lot of bizarre things over the last eight years. But getting accidentally Detective Conan’ed by a person he just helped was a new low.

The black under layer of his suit, a slash proof and fire resistant polymer Peter had designed himself in MIT’s lab, was in a similar state.

With one hand, Peter Parker numbly rolled up his sleeves and pant hems. Great. Okay. Now what?

Ah. Shoes. He did not want to walk around in his too-big Spider-Man boots. He looked around. Well, there’s the laces of what looked to be like a pair of dumpster shoes. “Yeah, no.”

Shit. Does he still have access to his hammer space?

Peter reached into his pocket, and tried to reach for a pair of normal sneakers. His shoulder slumped as he produced a pair. Fuck yes. He still has access! And shoes! They’re ones he took off of a power line for a well off kid who didn’t want it anymore. He was going to donate them to F. E. A. S. T. but he’s thanking the stars he procrastinated a bit on swinging by the center. He put them on. They’re a bit big, but it’s better than the giant-in-comparison ones he normally wears. You know, as an adult.

He hesitated with his mask. He should at least figure out where he is. He hoped it was still in the states. His mask blinked, the HUD in his lenses informing him that it was trying to find a connection. “That’s weird.” He paused, grimacing at the sound of his voice. But it is weird, because he had his mask automatically connected to the world wide satellites Tony Stark had sent circling the globe for citizens without internet access as a back up option. So either he was somewhere even the Stark Satellites couldn’t reach or…

Peter swallowed, his mask pinging as it found a connection to piggy back on. He clicked his tongue twice to activate the voice controls.

“Connect to the local maps. Where am I?”

His masked followed the order. [Gotham. New Jersey.]

Peter stared at the words, gut churning.

Good news, he was still in the States. Bad news? He’s shrunk, in a totally different state, and possibly in a different world because he’s not connected to the Stark Satellites he knew operated in New Jersey.

Peter Parker tilted his head back and allowed himself one verbal, panic level six and up, curse word.

“Fuck.”

He took off his mask and leaned against a slightly cleaner part of the wall before hyperventilating.

——

Half an hour later, Peter smacked himself on the cheeks and pulled himself together.

“You’re Spider-Man,” he hissed to himself. “Have a mental breakdown somewhere warm, you dumbass.”

Peter Parker was a champion, world class expert at compartmentalization.

He slipped his mask back on, and pulled up his “So You’re Stuck in an Alternate Universe” list he had made with Ned so many years ago when they were high school kids and going through comic books to make contingencies because Peter was a little idiot vigilante hero.

“I didn’t think I’d actually ever need this kind of thing.” Peter muttered. He slipped his black back up gloves on to connect to his mask’s display in order to type.

“Okay,” he glanced at the side by side screens in his lenses. “Money.”

Five things.

1) The emergency cash he’d stashed on him thankfull matched the pictures of cash he’d found on this world’s internet. Yay!

2) He had $1000 tucked away. Not yay. Not if this might be a long term stay before he got back to his own dimension. Not if he wanted a place to sleep.

3) Luckily, thanks to his earlier search of where the hell he was, Peter figured out that due to the high crime rates- “Dang, that’s worse than New York on New Year’s Eve,” he had marveled- Gotham was dirt cheap and that that meant 1k dollars could actually last him a while and he could afford a room for a month on $250. A whole ass apartment for $550. Peter seriously considered staying in this universe just for the rent prices. So what if there’s rampant crimes? He’d deal with it if the rent was that cheap.

4) Problem? He’s fucking tiny. Who would rent to a person that looked like child? Not anyone upstanding, that’s for sure. He’s more likely to get mugged. Counterpoint: he’s in a city where apparently shady people are all around. Also? He doesn’t have an identity.

5) If the fact that he couldn’t connect to the Stark Satellites didn’t convince him he was either in another universe or an alternate dimension, the visual graphics of the websites he visited would. It was like looking at Windows in the early way before Stark Co. bought them out and improved the design. Nauseating.

Okay, so, money’s not too urgent of an issue. Next on Ned’s list: Places of Interest.

Namely, libraries, homeless shelters, crime hotspots, and the like.

Peter snorted when he came across an opinions article talking about how Park Row became Crime Alley. And then he frowned, because that story was not painting this place to be even remotely nice. Then again, considering the crime rates and the various Rogues this place seemed to have in spades, that wasn’t much of a surprise. Peter marks the place in his new mental map of Gotham as a potential area he could either disappear to or get a new identity at. He then marked the libraries, Gotham City Public Library and its many branches all funded by generous donations from a Bruce Wayne, the Martha Wayne foundations’ shelters and charities, two supermarkets near the library, and a coffee shop he thought looked warm and cozy from the shitty pictures they have uploaded online. He needed coffee, dammit, and he needed it hours ago. Alas, he probably wouldn’t get to go to one until he secured his finances.

Well, it’s not like he doesn’t have practice being poor.

3) Which brings him up to Ned’s next, surprisingly reasonable for a teenager hoped up on a mountain load of sugar, point. Level of Tech.

Peter hid next to the dumpster, melding in with the shadows, as he continued his research.

Tech here was… well, he probably wouldn’t have to worry. The thought of not having a Starkphone, even his older model, was painful considering the new versions of these WaynePhones were really… behind. Peter doesn’t remember the last time he had buttons on his phone or let alone a touch screen that didn’t use facial tracking and biometrics or even have a holographic display mode.

“Ugh. Okay. Not the end of the world, Parker.” Peter muttered.

Now… People of Interest.

This was underlined three times with Ned’s red pens, with extensive subcategories.

Subcategory A? Villains, because “what if they put out a warning for a known villain and you get your butt kicked because you didn’t know about them, Peter? Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?”

He had replied, half focused on the list and the other on savoring the Millennium Falcon Lego set May had saved up for months to get him for his birthday, “I feel like if I was getting my butt kicked by a villain, I’d probably have better things to worry about than my utter humiliation, Ned.”

“True that,” Ned had snicked and jotted it down anyways.

And… well, Gotham had a lot of villains. The Joker (ew, that’s a crusty man in crustier face paint. This guy could learn so much from the cool mimes busking in Central Park. Like, how to do face paint. Or how not to be a massive murderous jerk. There’s Clayface, Two-Face, a bald guy in “Metropolis” (a name Peter couldn’t help but snort at because a city named city? That’s like na’an bread being bread bread. Or chai tea being tea tea) named Lex Luthor, and Scarecrow. He tabbed all of them and marked them for further perusal at a later date. From experience, he knew villains with a prominent M.O. and themes usually did more damage. Case in point: Rhino, and the million dollars of property damage the guy did everytime he escaped the Raft. Peter was seriously considering petitioning for the Raft to be placed further out just so he could have more warning the next time some assholes decided to free the prisoners and helped them escape.

He narrowed his eyes at the screen, his mask’s lenses following the movement. He’ll have to pick up a gas mask. Apparently bio-weapons are just a regular thing here and he really didn’t want to get dosed with this “fear toxin.” It’d be dangerous for everyone involved. Maybe if he gets his hands on a sample, he could build up tolerance and see how his immune system and metabolic rates affected the normal progression of the toxin. Ah, off topic. He’s gotta focus.

Subcategory B: Local celebrities.

“Why would I need to know local celebrities?” He’d asked.

“If someone came up to you and asked “Who’s Tony Stark?”, wouldn’t you clock that as super weird? You gotta blend in, Peter. Plus, you gotta keep up with the pop culture, dude. It’s important.”

“You just want alternate universe memes,” Peter grinned.

“That too. If you ever go to an alternate universe and come back, you’d better bring me a truckload of memes or I’ll never forgive you.”

Yeah. So. Wayne? Super important. Like Tony Stark levels of important. He found threads about them and the local vigilantes and their charity works. Peter’s brain instantly catalogued the info, all but memorizing the deluge of pictures he found of Bruce Wayne and his kids. Maybe the man had an adoption problem? Conspiracy threads and memes popped up alongside his research. He tabbed one on secret societies, because as Spiderman, he had fought a disturbing amount of secret societies that, on hindsight, had been theorized about on threads he’s read on his free time. Somehow, somewhere, somewhen, a conspiracy theorist could be right. Peter’s not about to dismiss that. He also saved like thirty different memes to send to Ned when he got back. If he got back.

Peter smacked that thought away. He’ll get back to his city or die trying.

Subcategory C, underlined and starred: Other Superheroes and Vigilantes.

Yeah, Peter’s excited about this one too. After Matt stopped being Dare Devil (but did he actually ever stop?) and Wade dipping in and out of NY, Peter’s gotten lonely as Spider-Man. He missed training with them. Of course, the fantastic four were still operating, but he doesn’t actually interact with them or the Avengers at all. Miles hasn’t been cleared (by his mom) to go out as Spiderman with near as many hours as Peter cleared a night. Peter stood behind that because he remembered how horrible it was to work as Spiderman and try to balance school on top of it. Also, he was terrified of Mrs. Morales and would never endanger her son more than he already does. He did wave to Black Widow from a rooftop once, spider to spider, and that was pretty much the coolest moment of his life.

So. Uh. The amount of vigilantes and heroes in this world? Amazing. In Gotham? There’s like, a whole team of them.

Batman, Nightwing (who, Username: Draken Draken had theorized, was the first iteration of Batman’s sidekick Robin), Red Hood, Black Canary, Huntress, Red Robin, Spoiler, the “day vigilante” Signal, the current Robin, and whispers of a “Black Bat.”

And their unfortunate “No Meta” rule with the singular exception of Signal. Peter figured their term of Meta was essentially the same thing as his world’s mutants. He’s not sure which term he liked more. Eh, he’ll worry about that later.

And there’s a Justice League! Which, to Peter, is just a bigger Avengers. There’s aliens on this world too. Superman. Martian Manhunter.

Peter grinned from his place crouched next to the dumpster. Yeah, this is awesome. He quickly memorized everything he could find, cross referencing posts and picking out the nuggets of truth or at least popular truth from the posts he viewed. Like, Red Hood operated in Crime Alley and was a crime boss with morals. Cool.

He’ll go down the spiral later. He mentally thanked Ned who was the best guy in the chair a teenage vigilante could ask for. He should really text his friend when he got back.

For now, he’ll head to the library and see if he could use their computers. He might need a card though… Peter quickly pulled up the search engine and found an Internet cafe. Ah, 24 hour internet cafes, the savior of his college days. There first, and then library, Peter decided. He memorized the instructions and pulled his mask off, tucking it away in the hammer space.

He walked out the alley and turned left, only to double take at his reflection in a shop window that was partially boarded up. Holy shit, he’s a baby. He’s like. 10!

Oh my god.

Peter twitched, tearing himself away from the window before the shop owner decided he was less curious and more potential mugger before promptly remembering that he looked less of a threat than ever. Mixed feelings.

Peter hurried his way to the internet cafe, paying the guy at the front a little extra so he’d ignore the obvious minor without a guardian thing Peter hasn’t gotten used to. Ugh. That was going to be annoying. He only paid for two hours and pulled up as many listings for a room as possible. By the end of it, he came out with $1 worth of fliers printed out and having funneled some billionaire’s offshore accounts into a new bank account he’d made by hacking into the bank servers. Does he feel bad about stealing? Yeah. But Peter’s a vigilante. He’s done worse than nabbing a monthly sum of a couple of hundreds from Lex Luthor’s off shore accounts. He’s not gonna get caught, and considering the guy’s rants on meta humans, Peter’s not feeling particularly guilty about it. He’ll do something good later to make up for it. Once he gets his footholds and can prepare his way back, he’ll even return to the rest of the money. Probably.

Peter left the cafe with his sheaf of flyers, stopping by an informational stand with free tourist maps and plucked one quickly from its plastic holder. He’ll pick something up from the food vendors on his way to the apartments. Peter began walking, taking in the sights of the gargoyles and-

“Nope!” He caught the wrist of a pickpocket. It’s a kid and he immediately felt bad.

“Lemme go. I ain’t done nothing to ya, ya Yorker tourist.”

“Okay,” Peter shrugged. “Don’t get caught the next time?”

The kid gaped at him. “Shi’, you must be really good at it. I’ve never been caught before.”

Peter wisely refrained from telling the kid it was due to his spidey-sense. He let go of the kid’s wrist and let a bit more of his accent out. “Why’d you need money anyways?”

“Food, duh.”

“Dude, I’m starving. Tell you what. You show me the best sub shop nearby and I’ll pay for your food. Deal?”

The kid stared at him, wide eyed. “You’re fuckin’ nuts. Why’re you being nice?”

“I’m hungry? Do we have a deal, kid?”

“… Fuck it. Fine. And don’t call me kid, shrimp. You’re like what, eight?”

Oh. Yeah. Peter’s a kid now. He shrugged.

“I’m older than you. I’m twelve.”

Peter blinked, frowning at how thin the kid’s wrists were.

“I’m Peter!”

“… Frank.”

He let Frank lead the way. Stranger danger doesn’t apply to him, he’s a grown ass man. In the body of a ten year old him, but still. A couple of minutes, four sandwiches and a load of chips later, Frank was watching wide eyed as he demolished three four dollar subs.

“Holy shit. Where are you packing that away? You’re a stick!”

Peter took a big bite of the sandwich as an answer. Frank looked down at his meal.

“Uh. Hey.”

Peter made a muffled noise of question, mouth stuffed full of steak and cheese.

“Sorry about. Uh. Trynna nick from ya.”

Peter chewed faster.

Frank continued, looking like he hated himself. “I wouldn’t… normally steal from shrimps like you but I was desperate and… really hungry, so. My bad.”

Peter finished chewing. “All good, dude. Eat your sandwich.”

Peter had the sudden urge to adopt Frank. Unlike Wayne, he’s not a billionaire, so he smacked that urge down. He could use a friend though. Now… how to be friends with a literal child!

“If you feel that bad about it, you could… be my friend?”

Peter took in the wide eyed gaze from the twelve year old in front of him. Abort! Abort! That was too direct!

“You’re fucking weird. But… okay.”

“That was easy.”

Frank scowled, kicking Peter’s shin.

“Ow!”

“Whatever, shrimp.”

Peter scowled. On his baby face, it came out as a pout.

Do not start beef with a twelve year old, Peter. You’re a grown ass adult.

“Hey, you know I’m new here, right?”

“Duh.” Frank took a bite of his food.

“Can you tell me which one of these are legit?” Peter handed Frank the flyers. He took them, an odd look passing his face.

“You’re looking for a place?”

“Yeah? Why?”

Frank stared at him. Looked back down. He instantly got rid of four listings out of the ten. “These are too close to the Alley. They’re probably traffickers.”

Peter hummed in agreement. Frank paused.

“You’re just gonna trust me on that?”

“Yeah? I can tell when people are lying.” Well, his spidey sense could, when he cared enough about the subject.

“What the fuck.” Frank shoved the rest the papers at him and guiltily munched on his food. “Are Yorkers all just like you?”

“Dunno? Probably not.”

“… Whatever. The rest of the places should work. They probably won’t ask questions.” Frank flapped a hand at Peter’s new situation. Yeah, the shortness was getting to him too.

Peter nodded. Obviously, they were the more expensive places, but considering the new found resources he’d… acquired during his time at the cafe, it doesn’t really matter.

“Cool! Wanna go see it with me?”

Frank immediately took on a suspicious glare. “Why?”

“I dunno? You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought since you know your way around…”

“Ugh. Fine. But if there’s anything shady, I’m fucking dipping out.”

“Okay!” Peter grinned for the first time the couple of hours he’d been trapped in this new world.

——

They’d found an apartment with a landlord that got a weird, sad face when she was talking to them about the apartment. After like, an hour of walking around and Peter’s spidey sense screaming at him not to even go near the places Frank had left in the pile of maybe’s.

“We walked all the way here. Ya not even gonna go in?”

“The vibes are off. It’s a no.”

And because Peter’s a genius idiot with no self preservation, he’d marked the places to investigate later.

Frank had blinked at him, mildly offended and nonplussed. After a while of spluttering, he just gave up. Eventually, they got here.

“I don’t normally rent to kids,” the landlord lady said. Peter immediately liked her. “But I’ll make an exception if you’ve got the cash.”

“I’d like to see the unit first, please” Peter said. He’s not stupid, and Gotham’s renting scene is both easier and harder than New York.

They toured it. Peter? He’d seen worse. He’d lived worse. Also, it had two bedroom and was $620. Yeah, Peter was really considering just staying here full time and commuting to his New York when he wanted to be a vigilante.

“I’ll take it, ma’am.” The landlord and Frank both snorted, sharing a Gothamite look.

“It’s Georgie, to you, brat. You just need the first month’s rent, since I’ll wave the deposit for you shrimps. Utilities included. Your friend stayin’?”

“No-” Frank had started.

“Yep!” Peter beamed, interrupting his new friend.

“What?” Frank turned, gaping again at this weird little kid who had enough money to rent a place and then invited a whole ass street kid he just met to live with him. “Are you stupid?! What if I rob you? Huh? I don’t need charity!”

Peter slowly looked around the empty unit.

“Uh.”

“No, that’s not the point!” Frank pointed a finger at Peter. “That’s how you get yourself killed!”

“But that’s why you should stay! I don’t know my way around Gotham so…”

Peter looked up at Frank, using his shortness for maximum devastation. “Please?”

Georgie leaned back on the heels of her feet, silently laughing. It’s not every day she sees a Gothamite street kid get out stubborned by an outsider, but she knows better than anyone that Gotham is weak to genuine kindness. And this Peter kid, the one that reminds her so much of her own? He’s practically filled with it.

“Yeah, kid,” she said to Frank, snickering. “Look at him. He’s gonna get mugged two steps into the Alley. Or anywhere.”

Frank flailed, but eventually, Peter handed over the money to an amused Georgie who gave them two keys in return and a move in gift of a pot pie.

“I gotta. Uh. Go get my stuff.” Frank had mumbled, dazed at whatever the hell just happened.

“Okay! I’ll see if I can go get furniture!”

“And lift them with your shrimpy arm? You wish.”

“I can use a cart.”

And really, he could, because Gotham had a lot of abandoned carts laying around. Like a concerning amount.

“Can you even reach the handle?”

“I’m not that short!”

Frank snorted, Georgie’s own chuckles following a beat after. Peter scowled at them.

“Be right back,” Frank promised, holding the key like it was treasure. He had been homeless for two and a half years now, so in his eyes, that key was as good as gold. He had somewhere warm to stay. Trying to pickpocket Peter was the best mistake he’s ever made in his short life. But he didn’t want to take advantage of that, well, no, he did want to, but he doesn’t want to take the genuine kindness for granted so he’ll see if there’s any street furniture he could haul back on his way.

“Okay!”

Georgie watched him go and turned to Peter.

“If you need stuff, there’s a thrift store and a grocery store that way.” She gave him the directions.

——

As soon as Frank and Georgie left, Peter immediately left his new place (and holy shit, he really didn’t expect things to be this easy. In New York, he had to spend at least a week checking out places because he had to figure out whether the problem that cause subtle twinges with his spider sense was worth living with. Here? It’s too obvious.) to buy supplies. He had $400. Until his new card came in, at least. He’d put his new address into that bank account addressed to a “Anthony Benjamin” before ordering a “replacement card.”

Peter ran to the thrift store, hurrying before the last traces of the sun dipped below the smog of Gotham. A frankly absurd amount of blankets, towels, pillows, clothes, packaged boxers, socks and shoes around his size went into the cart. To his chagrin, Peter couldn’t actually see much over the cart. Why the hell was he such a short ten year old? He blasted through the store, also guesstimating Frank’s sizes. He tossed in curtains, a used set of glow in the dark stars, and a lamp.

He also grabbed mismatched mugs, bowls, a bundle of cutlery, and a dented microwave he casually pretended to struggle getting onto the bottom part of the cart. It’s like lifting grapes for him, but he looks like a ten year old so…

He, guiltily, bought a mildly fancy camera in a set, with two separate lenses, even if one was cracked.

Not bad, for $150 total. Peter is going to definitely seriously consider commuting to New York. They didn’t even care when he walked out with the cart! Well, that might be because of the cashier who gave him a pitying glance.

He stopped by a general store on the way back, parking his cart in a rapidly shadowy alleyway. He swung by the new section of the store that reminded him of a Dollar Tree and got cleaning supplies, toiletries, and two pans and a pot. He grabbed some canned food and a couple of frozen meals in the back. Seasonings, ramen, general pantry staples went in. A role of paper towel. Nice. Venom would have loved this store. With half of his budget blown for essentials, Peter quickly cut his spending off and

He quickly gathered his stuff and went back to the apartment, using his strength a bit to lift the full cart up the stairs at the front doors and into the elevator. It creaked like the first time they used it to go see the apartment, but it worked. Peter set everything up in the living room, pillow and blanket wise, and put everything in its proper place. The lamp was put up, giving more light than the old bulb in the ceiling light.

All Peter wanted to do was pass out, but since his dumbass took in a child, he couldn’t sleep until this place was relatively fit for a kid to live in. He also wanted to wait for

So, that’s what he did. Taking a sponge and the cleaning supplies he’d picked up earlier, Peter tackled the living room, scrubbing away at old stains and spraying mildew. He marked trouble spots- like that splinter worthy piece of floor next to the doorway leading to the hall between the bedrooms. Then the kitchen. By the time Frank cautiously peeked his head in from the front door, Peter had already finished scrubbing the over.

“Hey.”

Peter turned, grime on his face but grinning. “Hey!” I bought some stuff!”

Frank snorted at his face before glancing around the living room, eyeing the cart parked neatly on the side.

“So you did. Didn’t get mugged, did ya?”

“Rude. No, of course not.”

Frank gave him a… frankly… unimpressed look and dumped his bag next to the pile of blankets and pillows Peter had piled onto the floor. Sue hi’, they didn’t have beds yet.

“Got somethin’ for ya,” Frank said neutrally before dragging in…

“A coffee table!” Peter bounced towards Frank, hugging him before lugging in the heavy wooden table in. “You’re the best! Where’d you find it?!”

The tension, anxiety about Peter’s reaction, in Frank’s shoulders relaxed and the kid grinned. “Alley. Some asshole just left it there for anyone to hit with their car so I took it.”

“Nice! We can eat on this!”

——

When they were getting ready for bed, Peter insisting on showers for both of them, Frank had reared up at the clothes Peter bought for him. Peter pretended like he didn’t see anything and shove a whole tube of toothpaste and a new toothbrush at him.

“Ew. Do I have to?” Frank asked, wrinkling his nose but taking the items anyways.

“Yeah.” Peter said seriously. Frank gave a moment to wonder why he was taking orders from an eight year old before shrugging. He could brush his teeth in exchange for a roof over his head, food, and clothes. It’s not even a fair trade, for Peter, anyways. Frank was enough of an alley rat to take advantage of that.

——

When Frank passed out, Peter couldn’t sleep. He’s exhausted, but he couldn’t sleep.

So he took his new camera and climbed the fire escape to the roof top.

An hour later, he met his first vigilante.

“Hey, kiddo. I’m gonna need you to back away from the edge.”

“Woah!” Peter startled, jolting slightly off of the ledge he was balanced on. He twisted around to see Red Robin, hand outstretched and panicked look in his eyes.

“Dude. Warn a guy!” Peter said, even though his spider sense warned him of an approaching person that was actively watching him.

Red Robin held his hands up. “My bad. Would you- uh, not be on that ledge?”

“Yeah, sure. My bad, bro.” Peter obligingly stood up and stepped away from the ledge. Red Robin relaxed then did a double take. Peter frowned. Is there something on his face?

“What are you doing up here, kiddo? It’s late.”

Peter decided to scope out the vigilante. “Couldn’t sleep,” he held up his camera. “I’m taking pictures.”

“Oh. That’s cool! Can I see?” Red Robin approached warily, but relaxed when Peter didn’t spook and try to take a shortcut to ground floor.

“Sure! It’s a new, well, not new but new to me, camera so I haven’t had all that time to mess with the specs but the pictures turned out pretty good-”

“Oh, woah. This one’s great. That composition? Amazing. You caught the light perfectly,” Red Robin complimented. Peter brightened, knowing a photography fan when he hears one.

“Photography buddy!” He cheered.

They talked for an hour after that, but Red Robin quickly sent him to bed once he remembered the time.

“Ah, shi- crap. It’s like 2AM. You’ve gotta go to bed.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry if I interrupted your patrol, Mr. Red Robin!”

“No problem, kid.” Peter slipped back down the fire escape, not caring if the vigilante saw where he lived.

——

Up on the rooftop, Red Robin pressed a hand to his comm.

“Red Robin to Nightwing.”

“What’s up, Red?”

“Do you have a kid you don’t know about?” Tim said, bluntly.

“… What?”

“Oracle, can you share my cowl footage?”

“Copy. Oh, that kid…”

“Looks exactly like Wing?” Tim said, peering down at the empty fire escape. “Yeah. Talked like him too.”

“Oh my god, he’s adorable.” Oracle said. Tim agreed. That curly hair? Baby face? Adorable. A bean. “Did you get DNA?”

“Ah, shit, I knew I forgot something.”

“Do not break into his place and nab a hair,” Nightwing reprimanded, but his voice sounded distracted.

“Holy shit, you guys nerded out about camera placement and lighting for an hour?” Hood piped up.

“Get some rest, Red Robin. You’ve been working too hard,” Batman grunted through the comms. Awkward… but he’s been getting better at communicating his worry for his kids.

“Sure thing, B. Heading back to the main cave. Red Robin out.

——

Peter: lay low and get home

Also Peter: talks to a vigilante

None of them think Peter’s Nightwing’s yet. Peter will know before them… eventually. Once this world’s version of him gives up his memories to be absorbed by AU Peter.

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gaymaramada · 26 days ago

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Rise! Boys x Reader who has lost a loved one.

NOTE: This is entirely self-indulgent; my father unexpectedly passed yesterday and this is how I’m coping. A lot of this is based on my own experience and some of the dialogue is taken directly from me and my girlfriend, who was there for me as soon as I called her.

CW: death and grieving

Leonardo

It’s about two seconds after you send the text “please come over” that the room starts to smell of ozone and a bright blue portal cuts through the air. It takes less than half that time for Leo to step through, see your tear-stained face, and swiftly cross the room to gather you into his arms.

“Hey, hey, babe, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

His gentleness nearly sets you off again, and it takes a few tries for you to choke out the news. He freezes when he hears it, his breath hitching, before his hug morphs into a fully fledged embrace as he pulls you to his plastron.

He doesn’t say anything as he lets you cry yourself out, just holds you firmly with his chin on your head as he rubs slow circles into your back. You can feel him breathing with practiced control, like he’s silently guiding you to follow.

When you’ve cried yourself out (for now), he carefully pulls back enough to meet your eyes. His expression aches with empathy and understanding, his eyes shiny and his mouth locked in a straight line like he’s fighting the long-assimilated instinct to smile and tell you it’ll all be okay.

Instead, he places his cool hands over your heated face, thumbing away a few stray tears, and asks, “Have you had something to eat?”

Leo is the quietest you’ve ever seen him as he fetches you some water and a snack, but it’s not unnerving. His eyes speak volumes; they hardly leave you unless he’s in another room, and they look about as soft and tender as you feel.

He sits with you and cuddles you to his side. He lets you take the reins on whether or not you want to talk about it. Rather than asking about what happened, he instead tells stories about his father, who had also recently passed.

“When I was, like, seven or eight, pops helped me and Raph build a lemonade stand in the lair. Raph was crushing the lemons in this big bucket, so it probably tasted more like feet than lemonade, but dad would drink it anyways. He even paid for it, too; that twenty-five cents he popped in our little jar made us feel like billionaires.”

He rambles on with stories, funny and wholesome and sad alike, and you tell some of your own. You still choke on your voice whenever your loved one’s name comes up, but Leo is relentlessly patient. Eventually, other subjects come up, and you find yourself having a more normal conversation.

Leo stays with you for the rest of the day, encouraging you to participate in a few activities. You watch movies, play games, and when you find yourself overwhelmed with grief again, he is right there by your side. He does everything in his power to keep the fragile flame of hope in your heart from being snuffed out, whether it be through a brief conversation or simply with his presence.

Donatello

When Donnie answers his phone to the sound of you crying, he’s shooting up from his chair so fast that it topples to the floor loudly.

“What happened? Are you in danger? Are you injured? If so, tell me your pain on a scale of one to ten, one being the least amount of pain and ten being the maximum amount. What’s your location? Let me see if I can—”

You have to cut him off to break the news; he’s eerily silent for a long moment before you hear him utter a soft “… oh.”

He abruptly hangs up on you, but you don’t have long to be upset about that because he’s at your window within half the time it usually takes for him to get to your place, visible heat waves rippling off of his flight shell.

You’ve cried about as much as you’re able by the time he arrives, so he finds you lying in bed with a half-empty box of tissues and an overflowing trash can at your side. Your head is pounding and part of you just wants to be left alone to your grief.

Donnie won’t allow that. He pulls a cold water bottle from his battle shell and brings it to you, rifling through it some more while you open it. “Here. Crying dehydrates you. I’ve brought some light snacks in case you haven’t eaten and my hoodie that you love to steal. I also have ibuprofen, a heating pad, a cooling pad, and a few comfort movies that we could watch if you’d like. I have also contacted your work and informed them that you will be unavailable for the remainder of the week. Extended time off is doable as well.”

Donnie hates to see you cry. It makes his chest hurt and he feels utterly useless. His gut tells him to try to make you stop crying; people cry when they’re upset, so all he has to do is make you not upset. But his internal Dr. Feelings advises against that, telling him that stopping the pain isn’t the goal, but instead helping you weather through it.

He encourages you to stay hydrated, coaxing you to eat a little as well. He even has a timer that goes off routinely for some minor physical activity like stretching, all the while listing off the physical, mental, and emotional benefits of exercise of any kind.

He is at your beck and call 24/7. You need something to eat? He has an array of your favorites laid out like a buffet. You want a distraction? He’s got Studio Ghibli, Jupiter Jim, and even some absurdly bad Hallmark Christmas films. You just need to cry? He is there with a box of tissues and a weighted blanket.

Raphael

Raph is out on patrol when he gets the call from you. You can hear the pleasant exhaustion in his voice as he catches his breath from a recent tussle with some baddies. “Hey, sugar! What’s up?”

When you meet his enthusiasm with choked whimpers, his tone goes soft and gentle in an instant. “Hey, whoa, what’s wrong? You okay?”

You hear a sharp gasp when you break the news, then the distant sound of voices in the background asking questions, before Raph croaks, “I’ll be right over.”

Raph practically busts through your window, eyes wide with worry when he finds you curled up on the floor. The sight of him sets you off again, and he scoops you up into his arms like a frightened kitten, murmuring reassurances and kissing your head.

He’s a sympathetic crier; you cry, he cries. He tries to keep it together for you, to be the rock that you need, but he can’t help the way his breath hitches as a few tears leak out. He has to abandon the voiced assurances after a moment, no longer confident that it won’t crack and wobble when he speaks.

Raph will sit with you until you’re too exhausted to keep crying, and he’ll stay right by you when the next wave of grief hits. He presses your head to his plastron, and you can feel a faint rumbling beneath your temple; it’s an old turtle trick that he learned after years of comforting distressed little brothers, and even though you can’t hear the low chirps quite like they can, the gesture is touching.

Raph will ask a lot of questions: can he do anything for you? Do you need anything? Would you like him to let go or keep holding you? Whatever you want, Raph’ll handle it.

He holds you together when you fracture, keeping you close and making sure you know that he’s there, that he’s got you, that he loves you, and that you are not alone.

Michelangelo

Mikey facetimes you regularly, so he isn’t surprised to get a call from you. What does surprise him is the way you’re weeping on the other end, and he drops everything he’s doing.

His loud gasp when you tell him what happened would be comical in a less solemn situation. He’s already tearing up, stuttering through his words as he tries to wrap his head around it. “I-I don’t— what even—? A-are they— are you—? Ohmigosh, honey—“

He tells you he’s coming over, frantically rummaging around the lair for anything you may need and nearly dropping the phone multiple times in the process. He stays on with you all the way until he’s at your windowsill. The moment you let him in, he’s wrapped completely around you.

Mikey will hug the daylights out of you for hours if he can, mumbling his condolences in your ear as he runs his hands up and down your back. He’ll let you cry as much as you need, only stopping you if your breathing gets too frantic; if that happens, he’ll guide you through a few breathing exercises.

If you want to talk about it, he’ll ask several questions about them; what’s your happiest memory with them? Did you have any inside jokes? What kinds of quirks did they have? He wants to help you recall as many happy memories as you can.

If you don’t want to talk about it, he’ll spill his own thoughts to you. “I wish these kinds of things didn’t happen. It’s just not fair. And I know there’s nothing I can do to make it better for you, but I still wanna try. I promise that I got you, and my whole family’s got you, too. We love you. I love you.”

Mikey encourages you to watch funny animals or soothing ASMR videos to keep you afloat. He becomes your personal teddy bear, letting you cling to him and cry to him to your heart’s content. If you cry yourself to exhaustion, he is 100% gonna make you take a nap with him. Then he’ll bake you some cookies when you wake, savoring a tiny sample of the dough as he fully intends to let you have the whole batch to yourself.

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #hamato leonardo #hamato raphael #hamato donatello #hamato michelangelo #rottmnt x reader #rise x reader #leonardo x reader #raphael x reader #donatello x reader #michelangelo x reader #cw death #cw family death #rottmnt imagines #rottmnt headcanons

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galene-gothic · 11 hours ago

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SYDNEY SWEENEY’S BATH WATER SOAP, OBJECTIFICATION OF WOMEN, ‘MALE LONELINESS EPIDEMIC’ AND FEMINISM

I believe that most of us are aware of the Hollywood actress Sydney Sweeney selling her bath water soap in collaboration with Doctor Squatch and for those of you who weren’t, you are now. I’ve seen several opinions about it with some believing that she set feminism a thousand years back and others believing that feminists fought for the right of women to be able to choose whatever they want to with their life, and body and so she should not be receiving backlash. There has also been a lot of debate about the acceptance and embracement of female sexuality. I’ll start by saying that in a patriarchal society, there is not a lot that we benefits us as women and girls. Just a few examples that I can give from at the top of my head are as follows:

i) Dad bods are more acceptable than mom bods even though it’s women that give birth

ii) In conservative countries if a heterosexual teenage couple happen to kiss in public, it’s the girl that will get blamed

iii) Men are allowed to age while women are not. We have often seen old men working for decades in the film industry. Suppose you were an actress and happened to be the same age as your co-actor, he could work with you when you’re both young but over the years, you’ll stop getting roles while he will continue getting roles and working with younger, and younger women until he stars with your daughter. Not only that, women will get shamed by the same public that used to desire and lust after them when they were younger simply because they’ve grown older and don’t look the same

iv) Famous women are not even allowed to be pregnant because degenerate men on the internet make comments about how she’s ‘let herself go’ even though she’s literally carrying a baby in her womb

v) Dr. Caitlin Bernard was fined three thousand dollars for providing an abortion to a ten year old girl who was raped in the US in 2022

vi) If you get raped, you’re blamed. If you are abused, you’re blamed. If you get pregnant in a consensual relationship, you’re the one who is blamed and shamed for ‘spreading your legs’ even though the guy was just as engaged in the activity

I, in no way am in favour of shrinking yourself to please others and trying to live up to the unrealistic standards that are set up for women, and young girls. It’s just that with the recent rise of acceptance of female sexuality and hook up culture. I feel the need to put my two cents out there for those of you who care to understand and could use my opinions, and values to develop your own and lead a better life. Both purity culture and hook up culture are incredibly damaging to girls, and women because like I said earlier - in this patriarchal society that we live in, there’s not much that we can do as women that benefits us. Even if we think that it is, it likely isn’t. Men have been objectifying women for ages while simultaneously shaming and denying our sexuality. So yes, there needs to be an acceptance and embracement of female sexuality but when we objectify ourselves, and engage in hook up culture, we are feeding into the same structure that we are trying to break because most men want to be able to objectify and sleep with you with nothing else required of them. In fact, many of them are likely to shame you and discuss you in degrading ways with others because they don’t hold any respect for you. They shouldn’t be and it’s their fault but if we want to attain true freedom, and equality, we need to be able to move with more self and social awareness, not by shrinking but instead by refusing to give into a set system that does not benefit us and instead creating new ones that we remain firm in. I’m so glad that the world has progressed enough for us women to be able to have our own money and choose for ourselves but are we really making the most out of it? There has been a rise in topics such as: choosing celibacy, decentering men, being comfortable alone, not getting married due to societal pressure, having high standards in men and leaving after the first moment of disrespect, disregard, and deceit. The reason ‘male loneliness epidemic’ is even a thing is because we as a society haven’t expected as much of men as we should have so they’re unable to keep up, we still aren’t expecting as much of them as we should.

There still are systems and women who let them slack off but many women are awakening to the fact that they deserve better than mediocrity, and are unwilling to settle for men refusing to change, grow and do better so the entire epidemic is something of their own doing because after a certain age, you are responsible for who you are, what you do, and how you live. There is a misconception that in order to be equal to men, we have to be like them, live like them and in order to have our sexuality accepted, we have to experience, and express sexuality in the way that they do even though it is very objectifying and degrading to us. In fact, if it weren’t for the double standards and hypocrisy, it is degrading in general because while men’s behaviour is normalised, they are not known for respecting themselves. So why do we think like this? Why do we act this way? Why do we unconsciously feel the need to stoop down to their level in order to be equal to them? What are we trying to prove? The entire reason that women were suppressed for centuries was because of the power that we held and still do. They were trying to make us forget our truth, our power and unfortunately, they succeeded. Us, as women, are full of love, our souls are rich, we even have the portal of life in between our legs. There’s nothing to prove, there’s only something to accept and embrace, and that is our power. The best way to go about it is by trying to be as selective with our sexual and romantic partners as possible. Obviously, men are deceitful, people in general are and no matter how well we might vet people out, we might still face hurt, betrayal, and disappointment but it’s important to understand that with the standards that men are held to, it likely had everything to do with them and their lack than anything to do with you, your lack, and your worth. This does not go for cases in which you abuse or disrespect your partner in any way. I encourage girls and women to develop, and maintain high standards for themselves and others, and remain firm in their resolve of not settling for men and giving into a system in which they are endlessly blamed, shamed, and used. I’m not an idealistic person who’s completely out of touch with reality.

I understand that these are deep rooted issues and systems that won’t change just because I wrote this post, and a few girls and women got the message, and started living by it but I think that it is important for girls and women to understand their power as who they naturally are, and be aware of the fact that they do not need to act in low and unfulfilling ways in order to experience equality. We are incredibly powerful as we are but we have been made to forget that so we are trying to experience equality and bring about change by stooping down to their level, and doing the things that they do when it is simply a matter of realisation. We would be able to experience more fulfilment if we simply just accepted our power as we are instead of trying to be equal to them because the truth is, we are already powerful while their ways are incredibly unhealthy, and damaging. This is why, women who are married to men have lower life expectancy and men who are married to women have higher life expectancy. This is also why, women who are single are happy, look good and are healthy while men who are single go around complaining about the ‘male loneliness epidemic’, are bitter, and go around trying to fill some void. Many of them are also unable to maintain healthy and fulfilling relationships when they find them due to the lifestyle that they’ve gotten used to living, due to how empty and lacking they have become as individuals. We have got to raise the bar for humanity by starting from ourselves, by rejecting people who are not good for us, by rejecting the lifestyles that are not acceptable to us, by rejecting the system that harms and oppresses us, and simply just embracing our own desires, needs and power as women. We should not try to live their lifestyle because it is pretty clear that they are not fulfilled. All I’m saying is that it’s about time that we lived up to our own standards and waited for men to meet us there, and become equal to us while simultaneously fighting for our rights socially instead of leaning into their destructive and unhealthy ways. I’m not sure how well I got my point across because I’m no writer but it’s okay if you still want to sleep around and objectify yourself but I need you to ask yourself if this lifestyle is truly what you want, and what you find to be deeply fulfilling for you. Do not hate men, we haven’t met all of them and there might be good ones out there. This post is not supposed to be male slander but we all have to agree and come in terms with the fact that they could be doing better as a collective. Let’s not fall victim to choice feminism and instead understand the deeper repercussions of our actions. Thank you so much for reading and I’m sorry if I was unable to express things as efficiently as I wanted to. Much love and take care 🫶🏻💞.

#thought dump #thoughts #sydney sweeney #feminism #my take #pac reading #tarot pac #tarot pick a card #pick a card reading #pac

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yumeka-sxf · 1 year ago

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I try to stay away from negative topics, but after hearing talk on social media yesterday and seeing this post from @such-a-downer, I just had to give my two cents about the complaints regarding yesterday's chapter being "another short mission" and that Endo is somehow being "lazy" or whatever.

I honestly don't understand this mentality of criticizing manga-ka, or any artists really, because they aren't delivering by whatever standards you personally think are appropriate. To me, it just seems like entitlement because Endo has no obligation to cater to any specific fan's wants. This is his story to tell the way he wants, and his characters to develop at the pace he deems fit. This isn't a business contract where we're paying him to deliver content we want every two weeks without fail. If I'm consuming the fruits of someone's creative labor for free, I certainly feel no right to complain if sometimes their content isn't what I wanted or expected. I'm fine with that because 1) I know it's what they (the creator) wanted/needed at the time, and 2) even if a particular chapter wasn't my cup of tea, I know other fellow fans out there somewhere are enjoying the heck out of it, and that's cool!

We also have to remember that SxF is basically a one-man show. If Endo is busy or sick or whatever, it's not like he can have someone fill in for him to write and draw the series. That's what a hiatus is for, that's what making a short chapter instead of a longer one is for...that's how artists should be treated so they don't get burned out and stressed. Plus, art shouldn't be rushed. Any artist knows that there are times when you have trouble coming up with ideas and maybe need a little extra time to develop a more complex section of the story. To immediately jump to conclusions that he's lazy or doesn't know what he's doing is ridiculous. Maybe he didn't feel good for a few days, maybe he's been busy with other SxF events, maybe he just needed more time to get a particular future arc developed, or maybe he just has basic IRL obligations to take care of like we all do...you don't know what's going on in his life, so don't make assumptions.

Another thing to keep in mind is that it's literally impossible to please every fan. One of the comments I read for example, someone was ready to drop the series because we haven't seen much of Yor in "a while." All I could think of was "didn't she just have a pretty big role only four chapters ago when they went to the ski resort?" Plus she was the star of chapter 91, which was less than ten chapters ago. So according to this person's standards, four chapters without seeing a particular character is "too long"? What if it was only three chapters, would that be acceptable? It's not right to push our own personal standards of a series' pacing as the "correct" way: some people want to see more of character X while someone else wants to see more of subplot Y, so should both complain that the manga-ka isn't doing right whenever they focus on something else? I'm not saying you shouldn't make criticisms of a manga-ka's work, but the criticisms should come from within the narrative itself, not superficial things like chapters focusing on subplots/characters you don't want to see or not having enough "plot-advancing" content when it's not a plot-focused series.

People who have read SxF up to this point should know the general flow of the chapters: mostly slice-of-life episodic, with more plot-heavy, intense arcs once in a while, like the cruise arc and bus arc. It's an ensemble series that spends most of its chapters focused on at least one of the Forgers, but occasionally other characters here and there. That's how the series has been for years and will likely continue to be. So if you keep complaining because you only like the dramatic story arcs and not the "nothing happens" episodic chapters, then maybe the series just isn't for you. It's totally fine if that's the case, but don't act like Endo is doing something wrong because he's not providing the particular thing you want in his story.

To summarize, Endo has no obligation to cater to particular fans' standards, just as we have no obligation to keep reading his work if we don't like it. But being a fan to me means respecting the creator's pace and vision even if it's not always what I personally want. I can find something to enjoy in every chapter because I'm a fan of SxF, not a fan of one particular aspect of it. But I also will not complain every time my tastes aren't being catered to and will simply occupy myself with other things while I wait. What's the big hurry, after all? I'm in no rush for SxF to wrap up its plot and I'm glad Endo isn't rushing either.

And that's all I'm gonna say about this topic, lol. On a happier note, I'm going to finally see Code White on Thursday! 😁 More to come later~

#spy x family #sxf #spy family #spyxfamily #sxf manga #sxf manga spoilers #sxf spoilers

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innytoes · 6 months ago

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The call came in just as he was sticking more photos to his board. He was so close to cracking this case, he just needed a little more evidence. Maybe find a source willing to talk to him. Either willingly or unwittingly, at this point he didn’t even care. He wouldn’t reveal his sources anyway, and if he could just figure out where to find something damning…

“Boldheart,” he said into the phone, attention still mostly on the board. Maybe it needed some string. Or at the very least some of those flames Nimona had drawn and cut out for him to add.

“Mister Boldheart, this is Principal Conroy from Gloreth Elementary School.”

Oh no.

He didn’t quite manage to keep in his sigh.

“What happened this time?” he asked. He refused to say ‘what did she do now’, if only because Nimona usually had a reason for whatever chaos she wrought. Like trying to free the pet gerbil from ‘his stinky, tiny prison’ or punching a kid who made fun of her because ‘you couldn’t even get two normal foster parents, you ended up with two foster dads’.

Of course the school hadn’t done anything about the other kid. He was a legacy at the private school, and he’d ‘just been stating facts, after all’.

“It appears Nimona bit another child.”

Well, that was new.

“What did the other kid do?” he asked, knowing he wouldn’t get a straight answer until he talked to Nimona.

“Mister Boldheart, this school has a zero tolerance policy,” the principal started, and he pulled the phone away from his ear, mouthing along the words mockingly has he got his keys.

Part-way through her little rant, he cut her off. “I’m on my way,” he said, hanging up the phone before she could answer.

Nimona was sitting in what Ballister was coming to think of as ‘her’ chair. The one furthest away from the principal’s door. Her face was like thunder, arms crossed in front of her defensively. But it eased a little when she saw who was picking her up.

As much as he and Ambrosius tried the old Good Cop, Bad Cop routine, Nimona had very quickly learned they were both complete pushovers. And that while Ballister could be stern when it mattered, he wasn’t about to punish her for no reason. He’d always hear her out, and he’d always explain why a rule was a rule and why it shouldn’t be broken. (Or when it could be, under certain circumstances.)

Also, he was fifty per cent more likely than Ambrosius to take her out for ice-cream when she got suspended for no reason, again.

“What happened?” he asked, crouching down in front of them.

“Chad wouldn’t stop trying to poke me,” Nimona said. “I told him to keep his hands to himself or I’d bite him. It’s not my fault he didn’t believe me.”

“I never touched her!” Chad shouted from the other side of the hall. His hand was bandaged rather dramatically all the way down to his elbow. “I even said ‘I’m not touching you!’”

Ah. Ballister knew that game all too well from his own time at Gloreth Elementary. Being the scholarship kid had made him an easy target.

“Come on,” he said, putting his hand on Nimona’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“Don’t you need to talk to the Principal first?” they asked.

He did, but he really didn’t want to. Instead, he looked at the ancient secretary, who’d always had a bit of a soft spot for him when he went to this school. “How long is she suspended?”

“Just the rest of the week,” the secretary answered. It was Wednesday, so not too bad. “The Principal wants to have a serious talk with you, though.”

Ballister knew exactly what talk she wanted to have. It was the same one she’d had when they enrolled Nimona, suggesting that Gloreth Elementary had a rather rigorous curriculum, and perhaps ‘someone like Nimona’ would be better suited for a ‘less demanding environment’.

Another thing he remembered all too well from his own time at this private school.

Never mind that Nimona’s grades were at the top ten per cent of her class. Well, when she remembered to hand in her homework. And it was legible between the drawings of sharks and dragons and who knew what else. But still, it wasn’t the curriculum that was bothering her.

“I’ll send Ambrosius by tomorrow morning, after his shift,” Ballister said. Because suddenly, when The Golden Boy Legacy Kid himself stopped by it was much harder to say no, or that their kid didn’t belong here.

They walked out of the school, Nimona’s fuzzy pink book bag hanging from his good shoulder, her hand clutching the wrist of his prosthetic arm. They were already too far down the hall to hear the Principal call them back, and Ballister knew she was too dignified to run after them.

“Look, I get it,” he said once they were outside, because he really, really did. “But you can’t go around biting people.”

“Why not? He deserved it,” Nimona said, sulkily kicking at a pebble.

“Because you don’t know where his hand’s been, it’s gross.” Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best argument for not biting people, but it was one that was probably most effective for this particular kid. He and Ambrosius could sit her down and explain why biting people was morally wrong some other time.

Nimona was silent for a moment, before sticking out their tongue and running her own hands over it. “Blergh, you’re right!”

See? Effective parenting.

“How do you feel about milkshakes and a stake out?” he asked.

“A stake out?” The hunched shoulders and frown disappeared, replaced by a bounce and a bright, sharp smile. “Who’re we taking down?”

“Nobody just yet,” he said. “But I could use a sidekick following one of VerdAgra’s employees.”

“Yes, boss!” Nimona cheered, all but throwing herself into the passenger’s seat. “Can I have a chocolate-peanut butter-caramel milkshake?”

“Sure thing,” he said, even though that sounded like a lot. Nimona beamed and rummaged in the dashboard console to find their Stake Out Sunglasses, handing him his own. Because you couldn’t do a stake out without them, of course.

Tonight, he’d have a talk with Ambrosius about how maybe Gloreth Elementary and Gloreth Prep weren’t the best place for Nimona. Not because she couldn’t handle the curriculum, but because the school had no interest in stopping the bullying of anyone they deemed lesser. He didn’t want her to suffer the way he had. Sure, he’d gotten into a great university at the end, but had it really been worth it?

Maybe homeschooling was an option. Or another school. Anywhere that didn’t try to crush his kid’s amazing spirit, natural curiosity, and sense of self.

“Can I tase him if he tries to run?”

“No!”

#nimona #I wrote a thing #fanfic #kid!fic #where did this come from I do not know #someone asked me months ago if I wrote for Nimona and it's been percolating ever since #of course Innybrain was like: okay what if... foster care kid fic #ballisterxambrosius #AUs are awesome #SHE'S HIS SIDEKICK #she doesn't call him dad but she does call him boss which means Ballister is winning the dad game really #ambrosius is stuck with 'the shiny one' or 'mr fancy hair'#let nimona bite people if they deserve it #ballister is an investigative journalist #he really really likes making conspiracy boards okay they help with his process #nimona 'helps'

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bigskydreaming · 12 days ago

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Okay, replacing my pinned post with latest update to our status quo....it might seem like things are never moving forward with us (certainly feels that way) but we're in a much better place than a year ago! We have secure, stable housing for the foreseeable longterm future, my ID situation is finished and dealt with, I have a steady, regular paycheck again, and basic health insurance FTW.

My current focus is paying off medical debt/rebuilding credit tanked when I spent every cent and bit of credit I had dealing with my jaw surgery and being unhoused for several years. I still have, well, no teeth, lmao, which is something I'd really like to fix because optimally I've still got a good chance at another forty years left in me and I would like to not spend all that time with ill-fitting dentures. I've never been able to not be aware of the taste of any of the different denture gums/sealants I've tried and its not super fun walking around tasting a constant awareness of that time you were gay-bashed and it blew up your life and led to longterm health complications fifteen years later that blew up your life a second time, even more thoroughly loooool. Why do I add lol there? Its not funny. Whimsy I guess. Idk I dont really get me.

POINT IS. Even if I eventually secure some better dental insurance down the road, there's no way I'm affording teeth implants without decent credit cards or loans in the future. And since jaw bone deteriorates when a tooth is absent and I have quite literally no teeth, the years since my jaw surgery mean I need mega bone grafts in my jaw before I can even think about implants, and the longer it takes to get there, the worse (and more expensive, and thus more unlikely to actually happen) it becomes.

So, as anyone who's lived below the poverty line knows, the only way to make goals like that happen is to prioritize them with every paycheck. So things like food, medication, etc, all come AFTER putting money towards "the big things," with whatever's left over. Which leaves basically zero buffer for anything else, especially the unexpected. I haven't bought a new item of clothing in over four years, etc. A few days ago we wasted a whole day just trying to find an extra freelance job online so we could get five bucks for a box of band-aids. Stuff like that.

Which is to say, five bucks here and there from people who enjoy my content when I actually AM around and would like me to be more often is hugely appreciated and makes a BIG difference, because it helps with all that "extra." For example, even just an extra $40 in a month can keep us fed for a week without having to dip into a paycheck and take money away from The Big Goals. $30 is enough to pay for my most important medication for the month. It takes me two train transfers and a bus to get to work and then the same back, but public transpo caps daily fares at $5.25, so even just an extra $21 takes care of getting me to and from work for a whole week.

A single $3 ko-fi or $5 donation might not sound like a lot to most ppl but for us it adds up quickly and just a handful of those can mean the difference between getting to apply a whole paycheck to where we NEED it to go vs it quickly getting whittled down to nothing and we end up right where we started.....or usually worse off, bc those unexpected expenses like boxes of band-aids or some Advil or little things like that add up quick too and we often start off the next month knowing we have to devote a whole paycheck to everything we couldn't get last month and we're a week in before we're even back at zero and able to start putting money back towards the Big Goals.

So if you ever see this post and think eh, what difference could $2 or $3 bucks make, please just know its VERY appreciated and makes a very big difference indeed. Sometimes an extra $3 means being able to spend a whole day off work ACTUALLY off of work instead of spending ten hours hustling to try and find and secure an extra freelance gig when literally the only thing we needed that day was an extra $3 for a box of pasta and some sauce.

My ko-fi link is here and paypal is here, and as always, anything and everything is really appreciated, even just reading this through and considering it, lol. Thanks guys!!

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gilbirda · 11 months ago

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Friendly neighborhood vigilante. Chapter 28

BatmanxDP crossover. JasonxJazz

[Read on AO3] [Read on FF.net]

Based on this post

First chapter || << Previous chapter || Next chapter >>

---

Danny landed on the rooftop without making any sound. There was soft thud and air displacement when Batman landed next to him, but Danny ignored him.

They have kept it civil because they really wanted to get this done before he was called back to the Realms, but Danny wasn’t very keen on seeing the old man’s face right now.

After all, he hurt his sister.

Jason was very open about Bruce’s involvement in the whole debacle, and explained as well who exactly was Barbara in this equation and how he could find her. Danny had given the other man a hard time during the unplanned shovel talk, but he could easily tell Jason was as pissed as he was for Bruce’s treatment of Jazz, and he respected that.

He was still on probation for the whole “making her cry and making her spill her secrets at gunpoint” business, but for now the guy was making up for it very well. The shine in his eyes as he explained in detail what exactly Danny should and could do for payback was exactly what Danny needed to feel encouraged to start an impromptu prank war on Batman, which he promptly decided to do.

Jazz arrived after work and found them still in the Batburger, plotting machinations that she disapproved of at first, but quickly caved and added her two cents with her observations about Bruce.

Jazz wasn’t a stranger to prank wars. She was a Fenton after all.

Terrorizing the old man had been fun and a great way to blow off some steam, which he desperately needed. He had slipped with his chat with Jason, and he was fearing he went too far with the whole eldritch thing, but the guy was just fine and not traumatized so it couldn’t have been that bad.

He still refused to talk to Batman if he could help it. Weird thing, the man didn’t seem surprised by the development.

Good.

He should be very aware he did something very wrong and was on thin ice.

His only saving grace was new intel Jazz shared at the Batburger — she had struck a deal with Bruce, and apparently the man was going to help her launch her reform programs that the management at Arkham kept shutting down. Of course his sister saw this as an opportunity for her work, but if it made her happy, he was fine with it.

He was still going to mess with the man for a bit longer, though, even when they were on their way to meet The Spirit.

They didn’t have a set destination, but Danny instinctively followed the flow of ectoplasm to where it was the most concentrated, and where he knew she’d be a bit more stable to have this kind of interaction.

Gotham Spirit wasn’t like your regular ghost — she was born after a dream, an idea, a concept. She had never been human and existed in every brick and every tree and every person within the city. Manifesting as a one singular form took a lot of power and ability, something that an entity as old and experienced as Gotham certainly had, but required a lot of ectoplasm.

Danny watched Red Hood land on the other side of the rooftop with his sister in his arms. He scoffed. Jazz hadn’t looked apologetic when she told him she wanted to make the trip with her boyfriend instead of flying with him as usual.

Sure. Let her live her dreams of being swept away by her knight in shining tights or whatever. By the way her face had a slight blush up to her ears, she was enjoying every minute of this.

Danny scoffed and looked away, watching Batman instead. The man was openly staring at the couple being disgustingly cute with that neutral expression of his. Batman was liminal just enough that Danny could sense the underlying sadness he had every time he looked at Jason.

He didn’t know the full story, but had guessed from context that both had a complex relationship he didn’t want to touch with a ten foot pole, thank you very much.

Batman made a grunt type of sound and finally looked away from the other. Danny glanced and found them kissing, Jazz grabbing Jason’s jacket to pull him down and he had a hand on her waist.

“When do you think The Spirit will show up?”

Danny could see the attempt to distract himself away from the happy couple, but he felt a little evil and pretended he didn’t hear him, turning to look at the city skyline.

Gotham was a beautiful city — not exactly his taste, but he could appreciate the charm of such an urban metropolis with grotesques on every other rooftop and overall dark aesthetics. Sam would love the place, for sure. Maybe he should bring her the next time he comes over for a visit.

Batman grunted again, displeased with being ignored.

Good.

“Tomorrow—”

Whatever the man wanted to call his attention for was forgotten the second a colony of bats appeared out of nowhere, screeching and screaming as they rushed in towards Jazz and Jason’s direction.

Danny knew they weren’t dealing with normal animals when the bats ripped Jazz away from her boyfriend and threw her over the edge of the rooftop.

“Jazz!” Jason screamed, running after the cloud of darkness that took the woman.

Danny flew to see what was going on, finding his sister suspended mid-air, already drawing her staff and trying to fight off the bats off her body that were biting and scratching the skin that wasn’t covered by her armor.

“HOW COULD YOU!” A disembodied voice growled, distorted with rage and tell-tale static undertones that ghosts usually had.

Gotham, the Spirit, had arrived.

“I HAD ONE RULE!”

Oh boy.

The dark cloud carried Jazz towards a nearby building, through the wall and again upwards towards the sky, landing on the roof. It was a good thing that Jazz's physical abilities were enhanced with her armor on, because blasting through brick walls really, really hurt. He knew from experience.

The Bats immediately grappled closer to the fight, but didn’t dare intervene just yet — the murderous colony of bats seemingly multiplied and flew in a storm around Jazz, making it impossible to get closer or help the woman without risking injury.

Jazz shook her head to clear the debris from her face and hair as much as she could, and started flipping her staff around in practiced moves. She knew how to move with a staff, it was her main weapon after all, so she didn’t find a lot of trouble with at least keeping the worst of it out of her personal bubble.

“Do something!”

Danny’s head whipped away from the fight. “Like what!” He shouted back at Jason.

“I don’t know! You are the King! Stop this!”

Jazz screamed in pain, and they turned to watch as the bats finally overwhelmed her, sinking their teeth on her skin and taking flight with her, body and all. Her staff was useless in the air, and the higher they flew, the more she risked falling and hurting herself.

“Danny!” Jason growled, demanding answers.

The young King wished he could do what he was asked. It was his sister fighting for her life right there, but—

“I can’t.”

“What!”

“I can’t intervene! Could be perceived as a power move and make things worse.”

“Power move? What the fuck are you talking about? It's trying to kill her!”

Did they have time to discuss the intricacies of ghost politics, haunt protocol and unspoken rules of courtesy? No, they didn’t.

“Just trust me, dude!”

Also, technically, Gotham was within her rights here. Jazz broke a promise made with a ghost more ancient than her. She was not supposed to get close to the city’s beloved crime fighters.

Jazz activated the electrical tip of her staff and shocked the cloud of bats surrounding her. She screamed, probably because she shocked herself in the process, but it served its purpose — the electrocuted bats finally let go of her and started nosediving back down, freeing her.

She didn’t waste time and repositioned her body to dive back as well, her long red hair flapping wildly on her back, eyes fixed on her objective, hands tensed around her staff.

They watched the colony recover mid descent, flying back up to meet her halfway. Jazz placed one arm forward, activating the ghost shield of her arm guards, using the opportunity to cushion her fall back to the rooftop. She landed safely and flipped backwards a good distance away from the bats to regain her breath.

“Get over here!” The voice screamed again, less distorted and more human-like.

Black smoke manifested around the bats as the cloud changed course, preparing to rush towards Jazz. She was ready for them. She had put away her collapsed staff back on her waist and lifted both arms, making a bigger shield that hopefully could withstand the onslaught of the very pissed off ancient Spirit.

When they made contact they heard Jazz gasp as she was pushed back from the sheer force of impact, but she held her ground. Her legs trembled a little bit, and one collapsed until she had one knee on the ground.

Finally, it was too much and the woman was launched again over the edge, but this time something else caught her fall.

Batman’s cape was gigantic, and Danny could understand how it became a symbol for the city. It was like Jazz had been enveloped in the night itself and nothing could go through the protecting barrier as she was carried into safety by the vigilante.

The cloud of smoke and screeching bats followed, but froze the moment they realized who exactly had their arms around their target.

The moment Jazz was on her own feet she drew her weapon again, breathing hard and glaring at the murderous cloud.

“My Knight.” The voice whispered, static gone, rage gone.

Jason had rushed towards Jazz’s side and started checking her wounds, but stopped to watch as the bats and the smoke started to coalesce into human form. It was reminiscent of the visual effect when the Bats manifested from the shadows, as if the void itself suddenly had eyes, then a shape and at last a three dimensional form.

“My Son.” Gotham, the Spirit, breathed with newly formed lips.

“Holy shit.” Jason murmured under his breath.

Danny watched as both Batman and Red Hood froze in the presence of the personification of their beloved city. It was the woman of the painting back at the Manor, Danny confirmed, so it must be the face of Bruce’s mom. She was wearing a long deep black cocktail dress, darker than a moonless sky, that hung down to her feet and blended with the shadows she was formed from, almost as if she remained tethered to the essence of the city even with her humanoid manifestation.

What was the name of Bruce’s mother? Martha? Yeah, Danny was sure the name was Martha.

He was still going to call her Spirit or Gotham, just in case. Anything else could lead to confusion.

The Spirit approached the masked vigilante and touched his face with a delicate pale hand, face contorting in what could be called a maternal worried expression.

Batman didn’t move, frozen in place, letting the strange and yet familiar woman touch him.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but hesitated, and then the moment was gone.

The Spirit withdrew her hand and turned to glare at Jazz, ignoring everyone else standing on the rooftop.

“You promised.” She growled with a static-y edge to her voice.

Jazz had regained her breath. “I know. I’m sorry.” She collapsed her staff and slowly put it on the holder at her hip.

“Tell me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you.”

Jason responded for Jazz, stepping forward to place his body between the angry ghost and his girlfriend. Danny thought it was cute.

The Spirit’s face softened at the gesture, floating closer to the pair. “My Knight.” She didn’t stop even when Jason tensed at her approach. “Would you protect her from me?”

He stood still even if it was clear he didn’t want that woman touching him. He wasn’t wearing his helmet, just a domino mask, so he was caressed on one cheek just like Bruce has been.

“Yes. Without question.”

The Spirit purred, considering. The shadows at her feet trembled and morphed as she thought, rivulets of pure darkness floating up until they dissolved like smoke.

“Very well.” Danny breathed in relief. “But you can’t expect me to be happy with you and the young King flaunting your power like this is your own haunt, girl.”

Jazz cleared her throat. “Actually, we wanted to talk about that topic.”

Gotham’s form shook and her shape blurred for a moment, her mouth curving in an impossible smile. “You dare make demands?”

“Not… Not demands,” Jazz tried to laugh the tension off. It didn’t work. “We wanted to discuss the possibility of letting me— letting us operate freely in the city—”

“HOW DARE YOU!”

The human form exploded in a cloud of bats, but this time they didn’t hurt anybody, they just flew around the group, screeching.

“If you could give me a minute—”

“You come into my city and dare—!”

“Listen to me.”

“ — prance around like it belongs to you!”

Danny and Jazz shared a look.

Jason stepped closer to Jazz, watching the flying cloud of murderous bats.

“B, do something. She likes you.”

Batman didn’t hesitate and moved closer to the pair, positioning on the other side of the young woman. Jazz ended up protected, sandwiched between the two vigilantes.

“There’s a threat coming.” The Dark Knight said. The bats slowed down, listening. “And only these two can help us. Hear what they have to say.”

The colony screeched one more time before they gathered again into the shape of Martha Wayne. She stood there observing the Princess, unblinking and unmoving, with one hand on the pearl necklace resting on her chest.

“A threat?”

“You don’t know them. They call themselves the Ghost Investigation Ward, and are after anyone that has been death touched.” The Spirit’s eyes sharpened, glowing with power. “Yes. Anyone. Including your Knights.”

“I can stop them.”

Danny intervened. “Vlad Plasmius may show up as well.”

The smoke cracked like a bonfire, and a strong smell of burning rubber and chemicals filled their noses.

“Plasmius?”

“You know him?”

She turned towards Danny, her eyes glowing red and dangerous. “I know of him. I don’t want that… man,” she twisted her mouth in distaste, “in my city.”

The siblings looked at each other and nodded. “We’ll deal with him. If—”

“No.”

“No?”

She floated away, the horrible smell followed her. “I don’t want any of you in my city either. You have caused enough harm as it is. Leave.”

She made a dismissive gesture and turned away, deeming the conversation over.

“What?” Danny heard Jason whisper.

“I’m sorry, my Lady, but I just can’t accept that.” Jazz stepped forward.

The burned rubber smell was back. Gotham looked over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised.

“You have done enough. Leave.” This time, the word had an added Command to it. Jazz stumbled but held her ground. This made the Spirit fully turn around to face her.

“No.”

The Spirit’s eyes glowed brighter as she stared down the Princess.

“Leave. My. City.”

“I won’t leave this city—” Jazz lifted her staff just in time to parry some kind of projectile Gotham threw at her. It vanished in a cloud of dark smoke that smelled like car exhaust. “I won’t leave this city, and I won’t leave its people. What’s coming is dangerous and we want to help you.”

“I don’t need—”

“Yes you do! How can I stand by and watch how they take all the death-touched that are under your protection? How can you?”

“I can protect them.”

“Can you?”

The Spirit didn’t like her comment, her body starting to lose its shape again. But didn’t respond.

“Let me help you protect them. You know I can. You know who I am.” She stepped closer to the Spirit, eyes fixed on the powerful ghost, unflinching. The fiery tips of her mask ignited with determination, fire extending to make a perfect circle of flames above her head. “You know I can protect what matters the most to us.”

Gotham’s red eyes briefly found the quiet figures of the vigilantes behind Jazz, who were watching the exchange with bated breath. Maybe they understood the importance of the situation, the gravity of what was happening. Openly challenging an ancient ghost like Gotham, in her own haunt, was a highly frowned upon offense. If the Spirit wanted to smite Jazz there was nothing Danny could do.

He watched his sister, stomping down the impulse to jump in and protect her. He had seen her square up against big threats, against a whole army, but he wasn’t used to seeing her dive headfirst into a fight she couldn’t win.

She really wanted to stay, huh.

Danny looked at Jason, the reason why they were in this mess in the first place. That man better understood how much his sister was risking with this confrontation.

“You are a child.” Danny cringed at the condescending tone. By ghost standards, it was technically true. He knew Jazz hated it almost as much as he did.

But she wasn’t fazed.

Jazz did a flourish with her staff and slammed it against the concrete roof, releasing a wave of power, her power, amplified by the magical properties of her armor. Danny and Gotham were unaffected, but he saw the vigilantes take a slight step back.

Huh. Interesting.

“I am Crown Princess Jasmine. I’ve protected the Keep against invading forces for seven days and seven nights straight. I’ve battled alongside the Ancient Pandora, and trained by the Amazons residing in the Infinite Realms.” She slammed her staff again, another wave of raw power coursing through the city skyline. Her hair was lifted by the stream of energy, flowing around her body like a fiery halo. “I’m not a mere child, my Lady, and I’m ready to risk my own life, my own blood, to protect this city. I will stay.” She marched closer, extending her hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Gotham made a face, barely giving Jazz’s hand a spared glance. Instead, she turned around and floated closer to the edge as if she was getting ready to jump.

Danny wanted to scoff. What a stubborn ghost. Just like its protectors.

“Very well,” she said, words carried by the wind. “You can stay. But,” she looked over her shoulder, “you must do one thing for me, if you are so fixated on ‘helping me’.”

“Anything.”

Danny’s eyebrows went to his hairline. That was a very, very dangerous thing to say. You just don’t promise “anything” to a ghost, even less to someone like the Gotham Spirit.

“There’s a vortex of corrupted ectoplasm hidden in my city. Find it, neutralize it, and I will be forever in your debt, Princess. Good night and—

“ — good luck.”

The last parting words were lost in the sound of flapping wings of the flurry of bats Gotham finally surrendered to. The colony flew up to the sky, vanishing among the dark clouds.

“Whew!” Jazz whistled. “That could have gone better.”

Danny turned away from the sky to look at his sister in disbelief. “What the fuck, Jazz?”

“What?

“What do you mean ‘what’?” He lifted his hands. Unbelievable. “You just— That was such— Why?”

She chuckled, her voice weak. “I… don’t know? It just happened.”

Danny wanted to get the bottom of how could his sister, always so obsessed with following protocol and rules, do a stand off with a whole freaking city just like that; but said sister was whisked away by two hundred pounds of vigilante.

Jason was laughing without caring who may listen, holding Jazz by her waist up in the air, spinning in place with her in his arms.

“That was amazing!”

Jazz laughed with him, placing her hands on his shoulders. Her cheeks were colored, probably from embarrassment at being at the center of such a spectacle.

“Oh, well.”

Jason stopped spinning and placed her on her feet, but immediately captured her and flushed her against his chest instead, reaching for a deep kiss that dipped Jazz backwards.

Danny looked away from such a cheesy moment.

Batman ignored the show and had already approached the point from where Gotham disappeared. He placed one knee on the roof and reached for the concrete, but there was nothing on it. No stain or mark that there had ever been a ghost formed from soot and smoke.

“It really was her.” He murmured under his breath.

Danny knew he wasn’t supposed to hear that, but the alternative of engaging with Batman was watching his sister exchange bodily fluids with her boyfriend and hmmm no thanks.

He sighed.

“It’s not your mother.”

“I know.” Danny didn’t flinch at the tone. “I know.”

Danny crouched beside the man. “Was she what you expected?”

He thought about the question for a second. “I don’t know. She looked like my mother, but there was nothing of her. She was hurt and distrustful. Cautious.”

Danny hoped the man could see the similarities between the city and its protector, but chose to bite his tongue and not comment on it.

“The corrupted vortex of ectoplasm.” Batman said out of the blue, standing back up. “I think I know what she was talking about.”

Just like that, the man was all business and no fun. Almost made Danny want to go back to giving him the cold shoulder and ignore him the rest of his stay in Gotham.

“What do you mean?” Jazz asked, tuning into the conversation. Her lips were swollen and her cheeks were still flushed.

“I’ve had my suspicions but I never had enough proof to investigate.”

“What?”

He looked at his son. “There’s a Lazarus Pit here, in Gotham.” He looked at Jazz. “And I think I know where it is.”

---

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#dpxdc #hardcover ship #jazz x jason #jazz/jason #dp x dc #dc x dp #batpham #friendly neighborhood vigilante #neighbors au

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theemporium · 2 years ago

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[3.3k] after a conversation with steve leaves him haunted with ideas, eddie takes it upon himself to create the perfect circumstances to live out his car sex fantasy. (smut)

based off this request

In all fairness, the date wasn’t technically based on a lie.

Between class assignments, after-school jobs and Eddie working on the latest campaign before he officially handed the club off to the younger boys, there hadn’t been much time for you two to just spend it…together.

Sure, there were the odd nights you’d head over to the trailer park or he would head over to your house, but neither of you ever stayed up late enough to enjoy the time together. Nine out of ten times, you’d both be so caught up with your own things that the first time you really got a moment alone from everything would be the minutes before you passed out in bed.

So, the idea of a random, impromptu date at the drive-in movie theatre just outside of town seemed like the perfect night you both needed after weeks of nothing. A sweet, innocent night shared together watching some trashy old movie with snacks and drinks you picked up from the 7/11 on the way—and totally nothing to do with the fantasy that had been playing over and over in his head for the last few weeks.

Honestly, it had been Steve’s fault.

He had been hanging around Family Video a couple of weeks ago when the topic was brought up. Just a simple back and forth of the best and worst places to have sex whilst Steve sorted through the x-rated videos the store had to offer. They had been debating on whether shower sex was really worth the risk or not when Steve brought it up.

“Okay but nothing beats the back of a car,” he had commented casually, not seeming to notice the way Eddie perked up in interest.

“Huh?”

“Like, when you’re fooling around with a girl and then she climbs into the back with that look on her face? It’s hot,” Steve said with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s hot in the front seat too, but it’s a little cramped up there.”

Eddie didn’t say anything in response because, truly, he couldn’t. He couldn’t put his two cents into the conversation, he couldn’t add in any opinions because it was never something he ever experienced.

There had been a few hookups in the back of the van, but that was different. The back of the van was spacious and he often had pillows and blankets down to make it a little nicer. The last time he drove a car was back when Wayne was teaching him, and even then, it only took a few weeks before he got his licence. And he didn’t drive anything again until he saved up for the van, did a little work on her and had her as his very own ever since.

Yet, there was a small part of Eddie that couldn’t help but feel like he was missing out. As Steve continued to ramble on, that pit in his stomach grew and grew into something quite like envy.

He wanted that. He wanted the silly giggles and breathless moans when he fucked some girl in the backseat of a car. He wanted the heated windows, the bodies pressed together and the clothes abandoned on the car floor. He wanted that.

He wanted that with you, with his pretty girl.

But he never said that to Steve. He never said that to you either. He didn’t say a damn word to anyone, and instead he formulated a plan in his head to get the fantasy he wanted. It was almost embarrassing how easily it worked.

He waited a couple of weeks until the conversation between Steve and himself was long forgotten. He waited until it felt like a random day when he suddenly called Steve, frantic and desperate and seemingly in need of some serious help from a friend.

“Woah, breathe! What’s wrong?”

“It’s my van,” Eddie said as he tried to sound beat down and glum about the whole thing. “I planned the perfect date, Harrington! We’ve barely been able to each other with her college classes and my shifts at the garage, and now my stupid van won’t be ready in time for the drive in I wanted to take her to. She had been raving about it to her friends.”

“Oh shit. When is the date?”

Eddie tried to bite back his grin. “Tomorrow night.”

“Just take my car!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I won’t need it tomorrow night anyways. I’ll be at Robin’s.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Harrington,” Eddie breathed out a sigh of relief, a wide smile spread across his face. “I’ll promise to get it back to you in one piece.”

And possibly dry cleaned too, Eddie added as an afterthought.

With a car secure in his possession, the rest of the plan ran as smoothly as he hoped. He drove to your house, kissing away any questions you had about the car with some muttered lies about a dodgy engine problem in his van passed between before he headed towards the drive-in.

He could barely keep his eyes off you the whole drive, but it was almost like you knew the dirty, little fantasy playing in his head. You were wearing a pretty number he swore he had never seen before, some floral dress that rests just above your knees. The straps were thinner than Eddie imagined was practically possible, and the second you shed the small cardigan off in the car, he was a fucking goner.

He was straining in his jeans by the time you pulled into the drive-in, jammed between two massive pick-up trucks and, god, Eddie had never been more grateful and convinced that a superior being existed.

Eddie tried to take it slow. He tried to let the moment come naturally. He watched as you pushed your seat all the way back, allowed himself to do the same and he tried to focus on the movie. He really, really tried. But then you had kicked your feet up on the dashboard, your skirt had ridden up just enough for him to see the pair of cotton panties you were wearing and his brain went totally blank.

“You’re staring, pretty boy.”

He blinked, taking a few seconds to realise you had actually said something to him. “What?”

It felt like someone caved his chest in when you smiled at him. “I said, you’re staring,” you repeated, looking far too amused at the clueless expression on his face. “You haven’t even looked at the screen in the last fifteen minutes.”

“Must be a pretty boring movie then,” he answered with a shrug.

You raised your brows. “So you’re watching me instead?”

“You’re pretty damn spectacular, babe,” he replied.

“Me or my legs?” You teased.

“Both,” he answered shamelessly, and you couldn’t help but let out a snort.

“Watch the movie, Eds,” you told him, shaking your head as you turned to look out the front window towards the screen again. However, your attention quickly shifted back to the boy in the driver seat when his hand landed just above your knee. “Can I help you?”

“It’s a boring movie, babe,” he said, his fingers gliding along your skin and it took everything in you to not shiver at the feather-light touches. “A waste of time, if I’m being honest. We could always get Steve to slip it to us for free for a couple of hours.”

“Hm,” you hummed, trying to act nonchalant as you focused your gaze on his face and not the way his pretty fingers looked dancing across your skin. “And what do you propose we do instead then? The movie is two hours long. You gonna entertain me, Munson?”

His lips twitched upwards. “I have some ideas on how to keep you preoccupied, baby.”

“Like staring at me?”

“Like fucking you dumb in the backseat.”

You stared at him, eyes wide and lips parted in shock at the blunt words that just left your boyfriend’s lips, and you waited. You waited for him to crack some joke. You waited for him to grin and wave it off, but he didn’t. He just kept staring at you like he was a starved man, like he wanted to fucking ravish you—and honestly, you wanted it too.

“Eddie,” you murmured, shifting in your seat as he squeezed your thigh. “We can’t.”

He raised his brows. “Why not?”

“We are surrounded by people,” you muttered, your cheeks feeling warm and heated as you glanced around at all the cars parked in the drive-in. You were completely surrounded. There was no way somebody wouldn’t catch you.

“Scared?” He teased with a grin that felt a little sadistic.

“Eddie.”

“Just a lil’ good girl, aren’t you? Not wanting to get caught…not wanting anyone to see how need you get for me,” Eddie mused, something in his eyes darkening as he continued to trace his fingers along your thigh.

Your breath hitched as he reached the hem of your skirt. “Eddie—”

“It’s a shame I don’t believe you, honey,” he murmured as his eyes snapped back up towards you, as he watched your face carefully as his fingers slid underneath your dress and lightly grazed your clothed cunt. “Not when you’re this fucking wet and I’ve barely touched you.”

“I–” You opened your mouth to speak but you couldn’t. Not when his thumb pressed down on your clit.

“You can act like a good girl all you want but I know the truth, baby,” he hummed as he watched your hand dart down to grip his wrist—but not to push him away. No, you were keeping his hand locked in place like you were scared he was going to move away. “You fucking love the idea. You fucking love the idea that anyone could see what a desperate little slut you become for my cock, hm?”

“Please,” you breathed out, your head falling back against the seat as your legs opened slightly wider.

Eddie didn’t even bother to hide his grin as he pulled his hand back, listening to the way you whined at the loss. “Take them off.”

You blinked, your heart beating wildly in your chest. “What—”

“Off. Now.”

You didn’t waste any time as your thumbs hooked on the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs and barely making it past your ankles before Eddie balled the fabric up and shoved it into his pocket. You didn’t even get a chance to comment on how quick he was before the boy was pushing your legs open once again, the fabric of your dress pooled at your hips and your pussy on display for him.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Eddie muttered, mostly to himself, before he lifted his hand to slowly trace his fingers over your soaked cunt. You shivered at the soft touches, your thighs instinctively moving to clench shut but he pushed them open again. “Nuh uh, honey, not letting you hide from me.”

“Eddie,” you whined, a little too desperate when he had barely touched you but you didn’t care. “Please. Fuck, please.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he cooed, his tone almost tipping over that line of condescending. But honestly, it just made the coil in your stomach tighten. You liked it when he was a little mean. You liked it when he knew just what you wanted. “Gonna make my girl feel good. Promise.”

One hand gripped the fabric of your dress, letting it bunch in your first as your other hand pressed against the window. You tried to keep quiet. You tried to remind yourself that cars were far from soundproof. You tried to remind yourself that you were surrounded by other movie-watchers. You tried to remind yourself that anybody could look over and see you.

But it was really hard to care about anything other than Eddie burying two fingers inside you, pumping and curling his fingers in a way that had you arching off your seat.

And Eddie couldn’t help but watch, completely enthralled.

He didn’t give two shits about the movie when he had you. The way you squirmed and wiggled in the passenger seat, your nails digging into the fabric of the seat and scratching along the car door as he continued to thrust his fingers inside you. The way you clenched around him, incoherent babbles and needy noises leaving your mouth as you reached closer and closer to your edge. The way you looked so fucking pretty with flushed cheeks and glossy eyes and he had barely fucking touched you.

This was a movie he could never get sick off. This was a movie he could never look away from even if he tried.

And fuck, the way you were far too loud when you came. The way he was so fucking sure that either patrons in the trucks beside you could have heard you, could have looked over and seen you coming around his fingers as you cried out his name. The way Eddie felt something quite like pride burst in his chest at the idea.

“Atta girl,” he cooed, his thumb brushing over your sensitive clit as your body convulsed at the burst of pleasure. “Told you I know what my pretty girl wants.”

“Eds,” you mumbled, somewhere lost between pleasure and desire as you watched him slide his fingers out of you. As you watched him bring his fingers to his lips, shamelessly sucking off the mess you made and groaning at the taste of you on his tongue. As you watched his eyes roll back as he savoured the moment.

And before you could even let yourself catch your breath, his hand slapping the inside of your thigh as he flashed you a smirk.

“Get that pretty ass in the backseat, baby.”

There was something about the way you didn’t even hesitate as you clambered into the backseat of the car, even with shaky legs and panting breaths as you tried to recover from your previous orgasm. There was something about the sight of your dress pulled up over your ass, giving him a pretty view of your pussy as you climbed into the back. There was something about the fact you were so unbothered and uncaring about patrons in the drive-in hearing or seeing you now because you only had one thought on your mind—and it was his cock.

Eddie groaned at the sight of you in the backseat, biting on your bottom lip as you looked at him with a sense of urgency. You wanted him. You needed him. And fuck, if that didn’t make blood rush down to his already painfully hard cock.

His fingers moved down to unbutton his jeans, hand slipping beneath the waistband to squeeze the bulge in his boxers for some relief but it wasn’t enough. He needed to be inside you, he needed to feel you clenching around him, he needed to have your pretty pussy wrapped around him.

The car was already reaching a point of warmth that would start to become unbearable with too many layers. With the windows already starting to fog up and a thin layer of sweat covering your skin, Eddie barely wasted any time in shedding a few layers until the boy’s flannel and shirt were thrown somewhere on the driver’s seat and his jeans and boxers were pulled down enough for him to pull his cock out, stroking the length of himself as you quickly shifted onto your hands and knees.

His head was brushing against the roof of the car, the vehicle had probably already rocked a suspicious amount to the people around you and Eddie was certain that if somebody passed right now, they would get a direct view of his ass—but he didn’t care as he gripped your hips, pulling you back until your ass was flush against his pelvis and his cock was buried deep inside you.

“Shit,” he breathed out, his chin tucked against his chest as he watched the sight of your cunt swallowing his cock. He let out a whimpering noise when your walls clenched around him, squeezing him so tight he could have sworn he would’ve come instantly if he wasn’t using every ounce of self-control to hold himself back. “Feel like fuckin’ heaven, honey.”

“Please,” you whined, pushing back against him as your nails dug into the material of the seats. “You promised.”

“I know, I know,” he cooed, that hint of the patronising tone lacing his words again and making you clench around him. “Gonna do what I promised, baby. Gonna fuck you dumb and make sure everybody in this drive-in knows it.”

It shouldn’t have turned you on so much. It shouldn’t have made your stomach dip in desire. It shouldn’t have made your head spin with a kind of dizziness only Eddie Munson could bring.

And yet, it did.

And you were absolutely fucking shameless about it. You didn’t care what your patrons thought. You didn’t care if there were people there you knew and would see. You didn’t care about anything when Eddie was pounding into you from behind, your face squished against the car seat as he kept going and going and going.

You didn’t care about drawing the attention of others as the car rocked with his movements, or the fact your hand pressed against the foggy window gave everyone a clear indication of what was happening. Not when the debauch noises of Eddie fucking you echoed through the car, the shameless sign of how much you loved this.

You didn’t care about anything other than the bruising grip on your waist as he fucked your soaking pussy, as your walls clenched around him, as you moaned his name over and over and over until you felt white spots dotting your vision as you came around his cock.

You could barely comprehend the world around as his fingers slipped into your mouth to muffle the whimpering moans you let out, to keep them just for himself as he thrusted one, two, three more times until he finally let himself go. You barely cared about anything else as you lazily sucked on his fingers, a low groan of appreciation sounding through the car as you felt him hunch over you, cooing at how well you did for him.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured as he pressed chaste kisses to your cheek, watching the way you blinked up at him as your tongue wrapped around his digits in your mouth. “God, you’re a fucking dream, baby.”

“Hmmm,” you hummed, pleased with his response.

You let out a huff of annoyance when he pulled his fingers from your mouth, but seemed happy enough that he showed no signs of moving from his spot just yet. Something about the weight of his body on top of you and his cock still buried deep inside you was oddly calming, and it wasn’t something you were willing to give up just yet.

“What are the chances Harrington never finds out we fucked in his car?” Eddie wondered out loud after a few beats of silence, causing you to let out a snort in response.

“Very, very low,” you murmured as you turned your head to the side so you could look up at your boyfriend. “I would recommend getting it dry cleaned. Maybe blessed by a priest.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “That’s a tad dramatic.”

“I can feel your cum dripping down my leg and onto the seats,” you bluntly pointed out, but your lips were still twitched upwards in a smirk. “I’d hardly say that’s me being dramatic.”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie groaned as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, leaving soft kisses between words. “I’ll get it dry cleaned.”

“Good.”

“After a few more rounds.”

“Eddie!”

“What, baby? I have a few more fantasies I wanna play out and that dress isn’t helping,” he murmured, though you could feel his smirk against your skin. “If anything this is your fault.”

“Really?” You deadpanned.

But the boy just flashed you an innocent smile, one that looked so sweet but you knew held a million untold, dirty promises in it.

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #stranger things fic #stranger things one shot #stranger things smut

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afirewiel · 1 year ago

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I've been seeing a lot of discourse about Rose and Tentoo on my dash lately and I thought I'd add my two cents. I have never been a fan of that ending for Rose. "He's Ten but human! He has Ten's memories!" That argument would hold a lot more weight if it weren't for the fact that earlier in the same season there was a clone of Martha who had Martha's memories and yet acted completely differently than Martha, showing that she was in fact not Martha but her own person. In the "Almost People" arc in season 6, we get a copy of Eleven with his memories, who again acts unlike Eleven and is his own person. In one of the new specials, we get copies of Fourteen and Donna, who also have their memories but are not them. So this whole "memories are what make the person" argument in Tentoo's favor just falls flat.

He had Ten's memories and yet still committed genocide. An act Ten was enraged at him for. So clearly they are in disagreement here, so Ten's memories didn't seem to do him any good as he still chose to do something Ten did not approve of. And why would anyone, least of all the Doctor, leave the woman he loves with a man who had just committed genocide!? It makes no sense to me for him to do that. If anything, one would have thought the Doctor would want to keep Rose as far away from Tentoo as possible after that.

"You changed me. You made me better. Now you can change him." Excuse me, Doctor, but it is not Rose's job to change him! She doesn't owe it to you, to him, or to anyone else to make make him better. She made you better by influence, not because she actively went "I can fix him." And expecting her to, is just wrong and that is not the healthy basis for a relationship.

The biggest reason, however, that I don't like this ending is that Rose wasn't given a choice. Ten didn't let her choose between him and Tentoo. He didn't tell her that Tentoo was human and then asked her if she wanted to stay and live her life with Tentoo. Nope. He told she was going to. "But she kissed Tentoo!" Only because he was the one who told her how he felt about her. Ten purposefully avoided answering her. And even after she kissed Tentoo and realized that Tardis was leaving with Ten and Donna in tow, she chased after them and looked heartbroken when she realized they were gone. Even RTD and Billie Piper have said that the ending was a cope out and that Rose wasn't given a choice. That if she had been, she would have chosen to return to the Tardis with Ten and Donna.

Perhaps if we had gotten a spin-off show about Rose and Tentoo's life, I could have warmed up to this ending, but we didn't. Instead all we got was Ten losing her again (this time of his own choosing) and then immediately losing Donna afterward and him being all alone. So yeah, not a happy ending in my book. If you like it, that's fine. I for one just cannot.

#doctor who #rose tyler #ten #anti tentoo x rose #anti tentoo

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stargatesg-1obsessed · 5 months ago

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I want to write an S/J preschool (nursery, daycare, whatevs I’m js British) AU, but idk if it would have the vibes? Like I know very roughly what I want to happen, it’d be an AU where Jack has Charlie, Charlie is like three years old and going to preschool, maybe Jack and Sara will be divorced but on good terms? Sam’s working at the preschool, and Charlie LOVES her, because she talks about Space all the time and Charlie is obsessed with space. Normally Sara picks Charlie up, but she’s having to work late so Jack is picking him up instead (the starting point of the fic) and he and Sam meet, and you know, he adores her almost straight away.

I mean, obviously our favs would still all be in it. Teal’c, Daniel, Vala, Janet(with toddler Cassie), Cam, Jacob, General Hammond, etc. I’d fit them in.

I don’t know I’m coming up with ideas as I type.

I could do it, but i feel like I’d need help sorting certain things about it out. Like the situation between Jack and Sara, the timeline of it all, all that jazz.

Like Jack and Sara are divorced on good terms but who does Charlie live with?? Does he just alternate between the two? Because I don’t want to make it an AU where Sara’s just dead, but idk how I’d do it.

If anyone has any ideas and would like to help me out, please reach out, because I wanna do this as I can’t get it out my head but I don’t know where to start.

I know me and @ten-cent-sleuth were chatting about it a while back.. if you’re still interested in the idea lmk

#stargate sg1 #stargate #samantha carter #sg1 #jack o'neill #sam carter #stargate sg-1 #sam/jack #stargate ao3 #I’m getting so many little things abt it popping into my head #if anyone wants to know pls lmk #so I can spam all my ideas to you

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bellesdreamyprofile · 2 months ago

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chapter 21 - 1954

previous part

CECE MARTIN

After twenty minutes we picked up Bill and Scotty, whose excitement matched ours. It was a relief seeing someone be so happy as I was still feeling uneasy on leaving my mama. Elvis and I talked about that before the boys joined the car ride, and it surprised me how alike our thoughts and concerns were.

"It's just— daddy ain't as sensitive as mama, you know?", Elvis tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to conceal his anxiety, although he failed miserably. "When mama is worried, she drinks. When she's stressed, she drinks. I just—", he sighed stressfully.

Just in his sigh I could sense the tension he was feeling. Although my own mama drank only for special occasions, I knew what he was talking about. Having been the man of the house at a young age, Elvis still felt like he needed to protect and care for Gladys like a partner would do.

My honey was forced to grow up way too quickly.

"I know, baby.", I let my finger graze his cheek, not overdoing it as I didn't want to distract him. "You can't control the way she reacts to stress, honey. Each of us got our own way.", I trailed off as my thoughts were wandering elsewhere.

Elvis remained silent at my words. "I know you worry, but my mama is there too. They will... Hold each other accountable.", I said in a convincing tone, letting out a little chuckle.

"You ain't worried about 'Dora?", he asked instead. I sighed and moved my gaze out of the window.

"You don't think I hear her cry herself to sleep every night?", I said, my voice cracking a little. "There's just— All my actions have brought her some sort of pain—"

"Stop blaming yourself for something you had no control over, Cece."

"I know, Elvis, I know... You've mentioned it once or twice before.", I rolled my eyes and looked down, releasing a shaky breath. "Of course I worry too. I was gone for almost a decade and once I was back all I thought of was if she still loved me. Not for one second have I wondered if she had been doing okay.", I sensed his comfort as he took hold of my hand.

"We never talked about what happened. Properly at least.", I said honestly. "I'm scared that... If this turns into something serious that— that she's gonna lose me again and that this time she won't react well."

Silence followed. I glanced at Elvis and noticed his hand shifted to his lips, something he did whenever he was deep in thought.

"My sweet Cece Flora.", his sweet, caring tone filled the car. "If we're lucky enough that this turns into something big, our mothers are going to be the Belles of the ball.", he gripped my hand again and gave it a squeeze. "Besides, I don't think it's even a possibility."

"What?"

"Losing ourselves into something we love so much.", he said in confidence.

I moved my gaze on his hand, a small, bedazzled ring on his finger. "You think?"

Elvis smiled my way. "I know."

"I'm sorry for making this about me, E. It's just that I never know what to say and I turn the conversation around.", I told him, frustrated with myself that I wasn't able to comfort him.

"You're kidding, right?", Elvis looked at me for a split second. "You always know what to say. My smart girl.", and he sealed the deal with a kiss on the back of my hand.

I rolled my eyes as a blush started spreading on my cheeks. "Always a charmer."

He started nibbling at my hand until he reached my knuckles. I swatted him away, laughing.

"Elvis!"

"Still a charmer?"

"I thought we could open our performance with a new song.", I said, moving on my seat so that my back was against the car door. I slipped my journal out of my backpack and flipped some pages.

"Oh, hell yeah.", Bill said excitedly.

"I thought we were set on Mama and Kentucky.", Scotty asked with a raised eyebrow.

"If she wants to add ten more songs, you don't question that—", Elvis added his two cents into the conversation, making me internally groan at the possible debate that was gonna start.

"Alright, alright.", I raised my hands in the air towards both directions. "It's an easy song, don't worry. Besides, I think folks wanna listen to more than one song, don't you think? We've had That's Alright and Blue Moon of Kentucky for so long now... It's time for something new — for something unexpected."

"I like your way of thinking. We do need some new songs after all. What better way to show them off than at the Louisiana Hayride?", Bill said with a small smile. I wanted to hug him real tight for the support he was giving.

"I guess.", Scotty muttered under his breath, avoiding eye contact.

"Speak up, son.", Elvis said on purpose, making me roll my eyes.

"Like I said before, it's not a good idea dating in a band.", Bill patted Scotty's back. I looked at Elvis and noticed a small grin growing on his lips.

Son of a—

"Why don't you sing the song for us, honey?"

"Ow! Watch out, man.", Bill pulled out the guitar from behind, hitting Scotty in the head. Bill withheld a laugh and nodded at me.

"Whenever you want, Cece."

ELVIS PRESLEY

"Ten minutes and we're up.", Scotty informed us. I nodded, my head hung low as a sudden swirl of anxiety started forming in my stomach. I looked up and noticed Cece rapidly moving towards me, a Pepsi in her hold.

"Here, you'll feel better.", she handed it to me and I accepted it gratefully.

"Thanks honey.", she smoothed out her blazer and sat down next to me, I felt her curious gaze on her face.

"We've done this before, baby.", she said lowly, not wanting others to hear. "Why is it so different now?", I shrugged, not able to give her a plausible answer.

"I guess it just feels so... Real.", I looked at her and then back down on my shoes. "These ain't no rowdy men no more. This is a real crowd.", Cece laughed and bumped her body against mine.

"Rowdy men?", she raised an eyebrow playfully.

"You know what I mean.", I said lowly. "At the Bon Air Club. Boy, were they screaming.", she laughed again.

"They loved us.", Cece intertwined our arms and rested her head on my shoulder. My heart skipped a beat at her sweet action.

"They loved you, honey.", I corrected her, earning a smack on my arm from her.

"Hey—"

"Don't tell me you're doubting yourself, E.", Cece lifted up her head to look at me. "You can't doubt your skills over a crowd's reaction, honey.", she told me with sincerity. "There will be times where they'll only cheer for you. Times where they'll only cheer for me. And also times where no is gonna do or say anything."

"You're right.", I muttered under my breath.

"Speak up, son.", she said jokingly, making me bump my shoulder against hers.

"You're so funny, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. I was supposed to be a stand-up comedian actually. But some dork talked me into this music thing.", I held back a laugh at her words.

"Must be some dork, huh?", my face inched closer to hers, her eyes looking into mine with nothing but love. Her hands moved to my neck, playing with the little hairs.

"A dork. A handsome one and he's got the voice of an angel, you know the type.", Cece smiled a little as her eyes gently fluttered shut. I smiled at her words and was about to finally press my lips on hers, when a voice made us abruptly separate.

"Guys— Whoops.", I looked to my left and noticed it was only Bill. I left the Pepsi on the floor and stood up, extending my hand to Cece.

"A word about this and you're dead.", I pointed a finger at him, but the son of a bitch smiled the biggest smile I had ever seen.

"Sure thing, boss.", he saluted playfully. "Two minutes and we're on. Oh, and your families are here.", he winked and walked away. I suppressed a smile as I shook my head. I looked down at Cece, who was blushing furiously.

"Ain't nothing to be embarrassed about, little one.", I elbowed her. She rolled her eyes and spared me a glance.

"Please. Like I'm the one whose ears are all red.", I immediately went to touch my ears and felt they were warm.

"It ain't my fault—"

"Booby! Oh thank goodness! Cece, darling!", I heard my mama call. We looked ahead as the whole family rushed to us. Mama pulled me in a hug, kissing both of my cheeks and then moved on to Cece, giving her the same treatment.

"I'm here too!", Pandora rushed towards us, panting.

"EP, Cece, one minute!"

"I helped Vernon and Grandma find their seats.", Pandora said and then moved her gaze on Cece, rapidly pulling her in a tight hug. "My little girl. You go out there and rock that crowd—"

"Mama...", Cece said, the familiar blush appearing on her cheeks. Pandora pinched them and then placed a kiss on each cheek. She then leaned over and whispered something in her ear, as my own mama was smoothing out the wrinkles of my pink jacket. Cece made eye contact with me and then smiled a little.

What were they being so secretive about?

"C'mon, now, Booby.", mama caressed my cheek. "Jesse's shining bright tonight.", I pulled her in a hug and gazed up the dark sky from her shoulder. There was one star that shone particularly brighter than any other — my mama told me it was my twin brother. Jesse died at birth — that was the only thing that my mama let me know, being it obviously a topic still painful to her and my daddy. But gazing at the stars in the clear night sky brought me an inexplainable peace inside.

"Here we go!", Scotty yelled out, clearly very excited about tonight's performance. Bill patted him on the back with a big smile on his face. "My mama said she's in the audience with her new boyfriend.", he commented.

"How young is your mama, Scotty?", Bill asked him teasingly.

"Don't you dare—"

"Alrighty.", Pandora grasped my mama's arm and quickly kissed my cheek. "Good luck, you guys. We'll go find our seats.", mama gave me a nod and then moved away with Pandora.

Bill wrapped an arm around Cece, making her nervously sigh.

"You ain't got nothing to worry about. That song of yours rocks, Cece. Though I'd like to know if the song is about Scotty.", he asked with humor laced in his voice, making the girl roll her eyes at him.

"I don't know if I would wanna play house with that guy.", Bill pointed at Scotty one more time as he was brushing his hair with his comb.

"She'd be hella lucky.", he said in response, making my blood boil.

"I almost did play house with you and look where it got us.", Cece said, releasing a chuckle. "Me writing a song about it.", she dropped the words and quickly moved away.

"That girl...", Scotty shook his head. Bill laughed, patting his back.

"I done told you, man.", he said, hinting at what he had said in the car. "Now, let's go.", they both walked up the stairs with their guitars in their hold. I sighed and reluctantly followed their lead.

"Now, before we move on to our next performers—"

"Remember folks, we're just clowning around.", Bill remarked and I could only imagine Cece's reaction.

"We start on with the new song, move on to Mama and Kentucky?", I heard Scotty say.

"That was the plan anyways, yeah.", Cece replies then her gaze moved on me. "You okay?", she asked once I had approached them.

"Goddamn I'm nervous.", I said. But there was something in the back of my head that was nagging at me. I couldn't tell her what it was since I had no idea either.

Cece smiled and then winked at me. "It'll be okay.", and before I could reply to her playful action, Frank Page's voice boomed from inside.

"Just a few weeks ago a young woman and a young man from Memphis, Tennessee, recorded a song on the Sun label and, in just a matter of weeks, that record has skyrocketed up the charts. It's really doing well all over the country. They're only seventeen and nineteen years old. They have a new, distinctive style - Elvis and Cecilia Presley."

Cece glared at Bill, who raised his hands in innocence. "It wasn't me, I swear."

"Let's give them a nice hand.", at the sound of the applause we all walked in and goddamn was it bright out there. I was fighting the urge to cover my eyes.

As soon as I noticed two mics on the stage, my hands started trembling as the adrenaline started taking over my body. I moved in front of the microphone to the right side of the stage, whereas Cece stayed on my left. I glanced at her, only to find out that her gaze was already on me.

She felt it too.

"Cecilia, Elvis, how are you this evening?", but all I could hear was the heavy stare from the crowd. The jaws moving up and down as they chewed on their gum — these folks were bored.

"Just fine, how are you, sir?"

"All good, thank you. You all geared up with your band?"

Cece leaned into the mic to answer. "We're all geared up!", she glanced at me and nodded.

"Uh, well, I'd like to say how happy we are to be out here.", I remarked nervously. "It's a real honor for us to have— get a chance to appear on the Louisiana Hayride. And we're going to do a song for you. You got anything else to say, sir?", I glanced over to Frank, who seemed surprised at the sudden words.

"No, I'm ready.", he said and smiled at the crowd, before he moved his eyes back on us.

"We're gonna do a song for you we got on the Sun Record, it goes something like this...", I let my hand make contact with the mic handle, adjusting it to my height. My eyes on the crowd, wandering among unknown faces until they turn to rest on a familiar one.

My Cece.

She looked at me and nodded, a small smile painted on her lips. I shut my eyes and started singing the words she had been repeating the whole day.

"Baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby..."

"C'mon baby I wanna play house with you.", Cece leaned in.

"Get a haircut, fairy!"

I sighed in annoyance.

"Well, you may go to college, you may go to school—"

"You may have a pink Cadillac, but don't you be nobody's fool."

And my hips were moving, but lord, so were hers. Our voices molded in one and suddenly everything we were practicing for made sense. My muscles remembered everything they had done at the Bon Air Club — my shoes started violently tapping against the floor and my knees shook at the rhythm.

"C'mon back baby, I wanna play house with you."

Endless cheers followed up until our last verse, a melodic sound to my ears. I opened my eyes and sighed, looking at Cece, whose face showed bliss. A man walked up on stage and handed my girl her guitar, who quickly adjusted it on her body. She looked at me and smiled brightly, before she started That's Alright the way we were used to.

Like I had done before, I moved closer to her mic and sang along with her, giddy smiles exchanged all along the performance of the next two songs.

But then I really looked at her. At her soft hair and bright, shiny eyes. And that pink suit.

That pink suit.

The dream I had finally became reality.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this week's chapter xx thank you for waiting on me! lots of love to all of you <3

index chapter 22

#fanfiction #imagine #elvis presley #elvis x reader #elvis 2022 #elvis presley x reader #60s elvis #the presleys #elvis x y/n #50s elvis

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spacetimewithstuartgary · 13 days ago

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New SpaceTime out Monday

SpaceTime 20250526 Series 28 Episode 63

The universe to end sooner than thought

A new study claims the universe could end in ten to the power of 78 years – that’s a 1 with 78 zeros – and much sooner than previously thought.

The weird wild gravity of the asteroid Bennu

Scientists have examined the weird Alice in Wonderland-like physics that govern gravity near the surface of the asteroid Bennu.

India to undertake its first manned space flight within two years The Indian Space Research Organisation ISRO says it will attempt to launch its first manned space mission in early 2027.

The Science Report

Cold sores may have a key role in the development of Alzheimer's.

Archaeologists excavating the ancient Iraqi city of Nineveh have discovered a royal throne room.

Study shows Native Australian bees living near European honey bees have a higher death rate.

Skeptics guide to why people love pseudoscience

SpaceTime covers the latest news in astronomy & space sciences.

The show is available every Monday, Wednesday and Friday through your favourite podcast download provider or from www.spacetimewithstuartgary.com

SpaceTime is also broadcast through the National Science Foundation on Science Zone Radio and on both i-heart Radio and Tune-In Radio.

SpaceTime daily news blog: http://spacetimewithstuartgary.tumblr.com/

SpaceTime facebook: www.facebook.com/spacetimewithstuartgary

SpaceTime Instagram @spacetimewithstuartgary

SpaceTime twitter feed @stuartgary

SpaceTime YouTube: @SpaceTimewithStuartGary

SpaceTime -- A brief history

SpaceTime is Australia’s most popular and respected astronomy and space science news program – averaging over two million downloads every year. We’re also number five in the United States. The show reports on the latest stories and discoveries making news in astronomy, space flight, and science. SpaceTime features weekly interviews with leading Australian scientists about their research. The show began life in 1995 as ‘StarStuff’ on the Australian Broadcasting Corporation’s (ABC) NewsRadio network. Award winning investigative reporter Stuart Gary created the program during more than fifteen years as NewsRadio’s evening anchor and Science Editor. Gary’s always loved science. He was the dorky school kid who spent his weekends at the Australian Museum. He studied astronomy at university and was invited to undertake a PHD in astrophysics, but instead focused on a career in journalism and radio broadcasting. Gary’s radio career stretches back some 34 years including 26 at the ABC. His first gigs were spent as an announcer and music DJ in commercial radio, before becoming a journalist, and eventually joining ABC News and Current Affairs. He was part of the team that set up ABC NewsRadio and became one of its first on air presenters. When asked to put his science background to use, Gary developed StarStuff which he wrote, produced and hosted, consistently achieving 9 per cent of the national Australian radio audience based on the ABC’s Nielsen ratings survey figures for the five major Australian metro markets: Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Adelaide, and Perth. That compares to the ABC’s overall radio listenership of just 5.6 per cent. The StarStuff podcast was published on line by ABC Science -- achieving over 1.3 million downloads annually. However, after some 20 years, the show finally wrapped up in December 2015 following ABC funding cuts, and a redirection of available finances to increase sports and horse racing coverage. Rather than continue with the ABC, Gary resigned so that he could keep the show going independently. StarStuff was rebranded as “SpaceTime”, with the first episode being broadcast in February 2016. Over the years, SpaceTime has grown, more than doubling its former ABC audience numbers and expanding to include new segments such as the Science Report -- which provides a wrap of general science news, weekly skeptical science features, special reports looking at the latest computer and technology news, and Skywatch – which provides a monthly guide to the night skies. The show is published three times weekly (every Monday, Wednesday and Friday) and available from the United States National Science Foundation on Science Zone Radio, and through both i-heart Radio and Tune-In Radio.

#science #space #astronomy #physics #news #nasa #astrophysics #esa #spacetimewithstuartgary #starstuff #spacetime #hubble telescope #hubble space telescope #hubble

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foundtherightwords · 9 months ago

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As the Sun Will Rise - Chapter 1

Pairing: Grunauer (Overlord) x OFC, Beauty & the Beast retelling

Summary: After losing most of his unit in a disastrous D-Day mission, Derwin Grunauer returns to his hometown near Miami, body riddled with scars and heart heavy with guilt, only to find his neighbors shunning him due to his German name. He retreats into his family mansion and remains there, unwilling to rejoin the living, until the day Alba Reyes turns up at his door with a basket full of warm bread. As the daughter of a Cuban immigrant, Alba knows something of being an outsider, and when she offers to work for Derwin as his housekeeper, it is not only to pay off her father's debt to the Grunauers, but also because she feels some connection to the reclusive young man. When that connection develops into something more, they must overcome both the town's prejudice and their own doubts to find happiness.

A/N: My inspiration for this came from these lovely artworks that reimagine Beauty and the Beast in a 1950s setting. The idea of making the Beast a World War II veteran jumped out at me, and given that "Overlord" is a World War II movie, I immediately knew I'd write this for Grunauer. I based this on the original screenplay more than the movie itself (Grunauer's full name and the fact that he's from Miami are both in the script), since Grunauer actually survives in that. The title is, of course, a lyric from "Beauty and the Beast".

Warnings: period-typical attitudes (sexism, racism, prejudice), PTSD, some violence, non-explicit smut

Chapter warnings: period-typical sexism and prejudice

Chapter word count: 5.2k

Chapter 1

"I'm so glad the sugar ration is over, aren't you?" Mrs. McLeish said, peering at the rows and rows of cakes and pastries behind the glass.

"We all are, Mrs. McLeish," replied Alba, handing the gray-haired lady her purchase neatly wrapped in paper bags. "That'll be a dollar and sixty-three cents."

"Are you sure, dear?" Mrs. McLeish felt the bags, trying to remember what she'd bought.

"Of course. Ninety cents for half a dozen loaves of bread, fifty-two cents for ten ham croquetas, and twenty-one cents for three cheese pasteles," counted Alba. There had been no mistake—Alba knew this was only Mrs. McLeish's way to weasel some discount out of her.

Mrs. McLeish started counting out her money with excruciating slowness. "My Ted has been so looking forward to your bakes ever since he came back from the Pacific, you know."

Alba smiled and reached into the display case again. "Well, here's a slice of tres leches cake, to thank Ted for his service. On the house," she quickly added. Mrs. McLeish's wrinkles immediately relaxed, just as Alba knew they would. Papi wouldn't like it, but they couldn't afford to alienate a customer now.

Mrs. McLeish was barely out of the door when the cheerful chime of the shop bell was drowned out by an obnoxious roar. Alba looked up to see a bright red Aston Martin screech to a halt across the street.

"¡Mierda!" she muttered under her breath. This bit of profanity earned her a stern look from the statue of La Cachita, the patroness of Cuba, on her altar set in a corner of the bakery. "Sorry," Alba mumbled to the statue. She tried to dip behind the counter, but it was too late. The driver, a tall, broad-shouldered man with raven hair slicked back, wearing a leather flight jacket that was too heavy for Miami in late June, was already striding toward the door. He pushed it open with unnecessary force, making the bell chime furiously in protest.

"Allie!" he declared, flashing a grin that showed his white teeth to perfection. "Just the girl I want to see."

Alba tried to pull her lips into the semblance of a smile and ended up with something more like a grimace instead. "Mr. Grant, good morning," she said. "What can I get you today?"

"Call me Gastin, dearest Allie," replied Grant, leaning against the counter. "How many times do I have to ask you again?"

"As many times as I've asked you to call me Alba, not Allie, Mr. Grant," Alba said smoothly. Grant's smile faltered, but only for a moment, before returning to full blast.

"But Allie sounds so much nicer! Allie Grant. Just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?"

Ignoring his suggestive leer, Alba repeated, "What can I get you today? A pastelito, perhaps, or some croquetas?"

Grant shuddered. "God, no. Do you have any idea how fattening those can be, with all that cheese and butter and frying oil?"

It was on the tip of Alba's tongue to snap that he was in a shop that thrived on cheese and butter and frying oil, but she bit back the retort and simply said, a little impatiently now, "Then what do you want?"

"You know what I want, my dear Allie." Grant was now leaning so far over the counter that a bystander may think he was trying to reach into the till. "A date with you."

"I'm afraid I'm very busy at the moment," Alba said automatically.

Grant let out a derisive laugh. "Busy with what?" He gestured around the empty bakery. It was after eight; the first waves of customers had gone, which meant Grant had timed his visit to catch her specifically. He certainly hadn't driven all the way here from his swanky family mansion on Millionaire's Row for one of La Perla del Sur's pasteles.

Mierda.

"Come now, Allie," Grant continued, seizing her hand in a tight grip. "I don't understand why you keep working in this dump. When we're married, you'll have the biggest mansion on Miami Beach and never have to deal with all this misery..."

Alba's face tightened. For six months now, Grant had been hovering around the neighborhood and pestering her into going out with him, despite her making it clear that she had no time for him. She knew she was the minority in this. Most people would consider him a great catch. A war hero and the heir to a real estate empire, courting the daughter of a lowly baker, a Cuban immigrant at that? She should have been over the moon. It was true that she had been flattered by his attention at first. But she wasn't interested in finding a boyfriend, and she'd treated him the same way she did all customers, polite and friendly. Only when Grant started harping on about marriage, as if they were already engaged, that she firmly shut it down. Even then, he couldn't seem to take a hint, whether because he was too arrogant or too dim, Alba wasn't sure. So her politeness had turned into grudging tolerance and finally into barely concealed dislike. Still, he refused to leave her alone.

"Maybe I like the misery," she bit out.

Grant opened his mouth, but before he could come up with a response, an angry voice rose from the street. It was Mr. Olson, whose grocery store was across the street from the bakery, and whose front door was currently being blocked by Grant's monster of a vehicle.

"Who's the schmuck that parked his car in front of my store?" Mr. Olson shouted, waving his broom. "Move it before I smash your headlights in!"

Grant flung Alba's hand aside and ran out of the bakery without another word. Seizing the opportunity, Alba ducked through the swinging door that separated the front of the bakery from the sweltering back room, where two enormous ovens were constantly belching out steam and heat. She almost collided with her younger sister, Beatriz.

"Alba!" Beatriz exclaimed. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I need you to man the counter for me," Alba said.

"Why?"

"He's here."

"Who?"

"You know who. Señor Slick." Alba's lips curled in distaste.

"Really?" Beatriz craned her neck to look through the curtain. Alba glanced behind her. Grant was busy arguing with Mr. Olson, but she grabbed Beatriz's shoulders and positioned herself so Beatriz would hide her from view anyway.

Alba couldn't understand why Grant was so determined to woo her. She definitely wasn't as pretty as Beatriz, though they shared the same features and coloring. The same hazel eyes on Beatriz were bright and clear, while Alba's eyes couldn't seem to decide which color they wanted to be and ended up as a sort of muddy brownish green. The same dark curls on Beatriz were glossy and bouncing with her steps, while Alba's had a tendency to frizz maddeningly in the humid Florida air, so she mostly kept it under a headscarf. Beatriz's figure was all soft curves, while Alba's was straight and flat as a pond cypress.

And most of all, Beatriz, like other girls in their neighborhood, was always making sheep's eyes at Grant. He never paid attention to any of them though. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps he only set his sights on Alba because he liked a conquest.

But Alba had no time to dwell on all of that now. "Yes," she told Beatriz, "and you can ogle him to your heart's content if you man the counter for me."

Beatriz's face fell. "But Papi told me to make the delivery." She gestured to a basket, packed with loaves of bread in paper bags, a box of ham and cheese croquetas, and a box of pasteles filled with guava jam, still warm from the oven.

"Delivery? Where to?" La Perla del Sur Bakery did not do deliveries. Those who knew of their bread and pastries would line up outside its door before the opening time of six o'clock, come rain or shine.

"The Grunauer place," said Beatriz.

Alba smacked her forehead. Of course. How could she forget?

The late Dr. Grunauer had been their landlord. When they first arrived in Miami from Cuba thirteen years ago, Alba's parents, Mauricio and Ana, had found a nearly dead town, brought to its knees by two great hurricanes and the Great Depression. They had rebuilt their lives alongside the city. They had found this place for cheap, and Dr. Grunauer, a professor at the university, had only been too glad to let them have it after the crash of the land boom. Mauricio had traded his suit and tie for an apron and worked tirelessly next to his wife to open this bakery. But it was difficult to curb the ambition of a high-ranking government official, even if the coup d'état of 1933 had stripped him of his power. Mauricio had borrowed from Dr. Grunauer to buy a vacant beachfront store, hoping to open another La Perla, to be run by Alba's older brother, Rafael. Then came the war, and Rafael joined the Air Force and never came back from the Pacific, and Ana soon followed him, so that was the end of that. The beachfront property was left to languish through the war, and in the end, Mauricio had to cut his loss and sell it for cheap.

Dr. Grunauer, too, had passed away a year before the end of the war. Mauricio was not one to ever forget a debt, and although Dr. Grunauer's only son, who had come home last year, never mentioned it, Mauricio had been sending him bread and pastries and even fresh fruits sometimes, hoping that he would not call in the debt any time soon.

Now Alba snatched the basket out of Beatriz's hand. "I'll go," she said. "You man the counter."

"But—but—" Beatriz glanced at the back, where Mauricio and the assistant baker, young Frank, were busy loading trays of shaped dough into the ovens. Alba knew Papi didn't like Beatriz to be at the front alone, despite the fact that she always drew a crowd, mostly of young men—or perhaps precisely because of that.

"Bea's too busy flirting," he'd once said to Alba. "She'll mistake flan for croquetas and sell her own shoes as pastelitos next. I need you there, to keep an eye on the till and tell me when we're running low on things." And so Alba had no choice but to grin and bear it, though she didn't have Beatriz's natural charm and ease with the customers, and a day working at the till always left her with crescents of sweat under her arms, sore cheeks from having to stretch them into unnatural smiles for so long, and a raging headache.

"The breakfast rush's over, you'll be fine," Alba assured her sister. "I'll be back before lunch." She rushed out the side door before Beatriz could raise further protest and draw Papi's attention.

"Be careful," Beatriz called after her. Alba wondered if the warning was meant to be about Grant or the Grunauer place.

As she wheeled her bicycle out the back gate and down the lane, Alba saw her best friend, Claudia Barron, watering her garden, the hose curving over her pregnant belly. Claudia had spent her whole life in their neighborhood of Cypress Grove. She'd grown up down the street, dated a literal boy next door, Marty, and after Marty came back from the war, they had gotten married and moved into a house on the same street. Sometimes Alba thought she would go crazy if she were Claudia, never going further than a few miles from where she grew up. Other times, she envied Claudia her straightforward life.

"How's Marty Junior?" Alba nodded at Claudia's belly.

"Kicking up a storm last night. It's this heat, I don't think he likes it." Claudia raised a quizzical eyebrow at the bread basket. "Where are you going with those?"

"Delivery to the Grunauer place."

"Some sweetener for Gruesome Grunauer, eh?"

"Don't call him that," Alba said, rolling her eyes.

"It fits him, though. Like father, like son. He's been back for what, a year? Yet nobody's seen him. He's locked himself away in that mansion with all those snakes and gators." Claudia shuddered. "I wonder at your dad, letting you go there alone. Why can't he or Frank go?"

"They're busy," Alba said shortly. "I have to go now."

Without waiting for Claudia's goodbye, she got on her bike and rode away. Claudia was a good friend, but she could be an awful gossip sometimes. "Gruesome Grunauer", indeed! Yes, it was true that Dr. Grunauer had always been rather strange. With his balding head, owlish eyes, and quiet, mumbling voice, he reminded Alba of a mad scientist, like Victor Frankenstein or Dr. Jekyll, and she, like the rest of the neighborhood kids, had been slightly afraid of him. The nickname had started when they found out he raised snakes and other reptiles on his land, and it stuck. There was a rumor that he even kept an alligator. Every Halloween, the kids always dared each other to go to the Grunauer place to get a glimpse of this alligator.

And then there was Mrs. Grunauer too. Apparently she had been bedridden, and nobody had ever seen her. When she passed away, shortly after Alba's family moved to Cypress Grove, people had whispered that Dr. Grunauer had poisoned his wife.

During the war, those childish rumors had persisted and taken on a more malicious tinge. The war hadn't been easy for Dr. Grunauer with his German name and German accent, and some people had even turned against the Reyes for their association with him. And now, with the old man dead and his son back at the mansion, more rumors had surfaced. They said young Grunauer had been badly injured in the war, and those injuries had left him disfigured. It didn't help that he never set foot outside of his home.

Alba never subscribed to the local rumor mill, but she couldn't help feeling a slight sense of trepidation as she rode her bike down the back lane that followed along the Tamiami Trail. Alba preferred this shortcut, which ran right through the cypress swamp west of the city. She had always loved the swamp, loved seeing the bald cypresses rising from it like majestic giants, their trunks dripping with ferns and orchids, loved watching the herons and egrets that waded amongst their roots, loved the thrill of sighting an alligator floating lazily over the dark water. Even with the occasional blare of a truck horn from the interstate in the distance, it still provided a quiet spot in the busy city.

This morning, though, Alba paid no attention to the beauty of nature. Leaning on the pedals, she only hoped that she'd made enough of a head start that Grant wouldn't be able to follow her in his car. She wondered how the Grunauer place had changed. She knew where it was, of course, though she'd been too much of a wimp to come right up to its gate. In her childhood memory, it was the grandest house she'd ever seen, as grand as the Palacio del Valle in her hometown of Cienfuegos back in Cuba. She also wondered what young Mr. Grunauer would be like. Though they were roughly the same age, young Grunauer had never been a part of the Cypress Grove gang—he had been sent to a boarding school in Jacksonville even before Alba arrived, and none of the kids in the neighborhood knew him.

Soon, the lane branched off into two even smaller trails, little more than footpaths lined by willow and cocoplum bushes. Rolling her bike down the right trail, Alba finally came to a clearing. The willows and cocoplums gave way to magnificent oaks covered in Spanish moss that stood on either side of the path like sentinels, guarding the mansion of her memories. It stood back from the path, a little aloof, a little wary, a queen surveying her empire, its white walls shining like a mirage against the dark canopies of the trees surrounding it. A porch held up by tall columns ran around the house, shielding it from the sun and prying eyes. A beautiful frangipani stood in the back, its branches, dotted with star-like blooms, reaching toward the house as if in adoration. If those oaks were the sentinels, then the frangipani was an attendant bowing down to the queen.

Alba shook her head. Such flights of fancy were usually Beatriz's purview; Alba herself was more likely to notice that the yard was overgrown, the porch needed sweeping, one of the window shutters was sagging, and the paint was chipping. A swing full of dead leaves creaked on rusty chains on the porch, adding to the overall abandoned air of the place. As she drew closer, she also saw a sign hanging crooked on one of the oaks, with "BEWARE OF DOG" scrawled across it. This mundane little detail dispelled any fanciful impression she had of the house, and instead of the palace of her childhood, now she only saw a sad, neglected place.

Alba looked around cautiously. There was no sign or sound of the dog she should beware of. Emboldened, she wheeled her bike past the rank of oaks and leaned it against the porch. The front door had no bell—Dr. Grunauer probably had gotten rid of it after the kids played too many games of ding dong ditch, and nobody came out here now—so she knocked instead.

No answer. She knocked again, louder, calling out, "Hello? Anybody home?" From somewhere deep inside the house, there was a bark. Although it was deep and rumbling, it wasn't the bark of a dog one should beware of. It was not ferocious or angry, only rather annoyed, like that of a dog that had been wakened up from a nap.

Alba reached for the door handle. It turned with some protest. She pushed the door open and stepped into a cool, dark front hall. Something crunched under her foot, and Alba looked down to find more dead leaves strewn across a hardwood floor that hadn't been swept in God knew how long. A door on her left was ajar, showing what looked like a living room overlooking the oak-lined drive. Next to this door was a staircase, its top disappearing into the dimness of the second floor. On the top of the stairs were some strange, pale shapes that looked like logs or a rolled-up carpet that somebody forgot to put away. Sunlight from the open door behind Alba couldn't penetrate the gloom, and thoughts of snakes and gators swirled around her head, making her hesitant to step beyond the little patch of light.

"Hello?" she called out again, her voice lost in the profound stillness of the house. "I'm from the bakery. Is there anybody here?"

There was that bark again, more excited than annoyed this time. In the hallway beyond the staircase, a huge shape emerged, silhouetted against the darkness. It was a dog, she could see that. The biggest dog she'd ever seen.

Alba stood rooted to the spot. She only had the presence of mind not to scream. Screaming would only agitate it further.

The shape came into view. It was a great boarhound, so dark and glossy that it appeared little more than patches of shininess in the dark. It stalked toward her on paws as big as dinner plates, eyes glinting, nose sniffing, tail lifted in alert.

Then, slowly, that tail moved side to side.

Alba couldn't believe her eyes.

The huge dog was wagging his tail. He'd stopped by the bottom of the staircase, seemingly trying to make up his mind about her, but clearly he didn't see her as a threat.

"Here, boy," Alba said shakily, reaching out a hand.

The dog ran to her and almost bowled her over in his eagerness to sniff the bread basket she was carrying. She tried to lift the basket out of reach, but it was quite difficult—when stood on his hind legs, the dog could easily reach her shoulders. "Down, boy," she said. The dog sat and looked up expectantly at her with his liquid black eyes. Alba gave him her hand. He licked it. "Oh, you're just a big softy, aren't you?" she said, laughing in relief and kneeling to rub his ears.

"He's an idiot," said a voice above her.

Startled, Alba looked up. What she'd thought was a roll-up carpet turned out to be a leg encased in khaki pants, and the logs were the arms. A person was lying on the top of the staircase.

"Who are you?" he said. She couldn't see his face, but she could hear the scowl in his voice.

"Alba Reyes," she replied. "I'm from La Perla del Sur."

"La what?"

"The bakery. I'm Mauricio Reyes' daughter. We rent your store in Cypress Grove?"

There was a groan, and the shapes moved. The man was sitting up. The dog gave a little woof and bounded up the stairs to join him. Alba involuntarily craned her neck, trying to get a better look. His face was still half-hidden in the gloom, and in the light shining through the window at the landing, she could just make out a shock of sandy brown curls and a pair of dark, dark eyes. There was no sign of those disfiguring injuries that she could see.

As those eyes met hers, fragments of memories flitted through her mind—a pair of brown eyes, schoolyard noises, the sudden, bright pain of a split lip, and a voice, asking, Where did you learn to punch like that?

Before she could grasp it, the memory was gone, like the reflection on the surface of a pond being broken up by a pebble. The eyes on the top of the stairs were scowling at her again.

"Good morning," she said uncertainly.

***

Derwin Grunauer was not having a good morning.

He'd woken at five, as usual. Even though he could now sleep in as late as he wanted, the habit developed after eight years of boarding school and three years in the army was hard to shake. He hadn't gotten up though. What would be the point? He had nowhere to be, nobody to see, nothing to do.

But Otto, who seemed to have a sixth sense of when his master was awake, had scratched at the door and whined, demanding to be let out, so Derwin had reluctantly gone downstairs, opened the door, and gave the dog his breakfast. For himself, he hadn't wanted any. His pantry had been empty since the day before, but he loathed picking up the phone to call the grocer. He knew he had to, eventually. Either that or starve to death, and Derwin didn't think he was brave enough or desperate enough for that. And so he'd made himself a cup of coffee with the dregs left in the pot and gone upstairs to mentally prepare himself, otherwise he would start panicking and stammering on the phone like an idiot.

Then his treacherous leg had tripped at the top of the stairs, making the cane fly out of his hand and sending him sprawling face-first across the steps. The fall hadn't hurt that bad—he'd been climbing as fast as his leg allowed, which was not very fast at all—but it had drained him of whatever energy he had, and left him angry and despondent. Angry at himself, at his throbbing leg, at the world in general. And despondent at life. He'd turned over and remained there, ignoring Otto's attempts to pull him to his feet. There was no point in getting up. There was no point to anything. He wished he could have stayed there until he melted in the heat and dissolved into the floor. Eventually, Otto had given up and returned to the kitchen to clean up the remnants of his breakfast.

He hadn't heard the knocks.

It was the smells that hit him first. The heavenly, warm, yeasty smell of freshly baked bread, the rich, savory smell of fried ham, and the buttery, sugary smell of pastries. His stomach growled.

Great. He was so hungry that he'd started hallucinating.

Then he heard the voice. Olfactory and audio hallucinations might be a bit much, so he cracked open an eye and looked for the source of the sound.

Somebody was standing in the front hall. No, not just somebody. A young woman. Wearing a sleeveless blouse and a sensible pair of slacks and sandals, with strands of her dark hair falling out of her headscarf. Sunlight was streaming in through the open door behind her, framing her like a halo as she looked up at him, her mouth falling open in surprise. She was too far away for him to make out the color of her eyes, but he could see that they were light and bright, fixed on him with none of the suspicion and hostility he was used to from other people, only curiosity.

Otto was licking her hand too. Traitor.

Still, Derwin refused to let himself be taken in. A lack of animosity didn't necessarily mean kindness. When he came home last year, after several months in St. Mary's Hospital in Portsmouth and a longer stint at the VA Hospital up in Bay Pines, where they'd tried and failed to get his leg back to working conditions, Derwin hadn't expected much. His father was gone, killed by the strain and loneliness of the war, and they had never been popular in town to begin with. He'd only hoped to settle down and have a quiet life. Yet somehow, what he found was even less than what he'd expected. People turned their backs on him in stores and restaurants, whispering to each other and pulling their children close wherever he went past, calling him Kraut and Jerry and worse. All because he had the misfortune of bearing a German name.

This young woman, whoever she was, probably hadn't heard much about him. The moment she did, she would turn and run, like all the others. And when she said she was renting the old store in Cypress Grove, it fell into place. She was his tenant. No wonder she was friendly. She couldn't afford not to.

"My father asked me to bring you some bread," she was saying.

Derwin's stomach growled again, so loudly that he was sure the young woman heard it from all the way at the bottom of the stairs. He grimaced, mortified.

The bakery... yes, he remembered now. In the past few months, he'd been finding bread and pastries outside his front door with a note saying "Compliments of La Perla del Sur Bakery". He'd been wary, but then he'd come across the name on his monthly bank statements and realized they were just trying to be nice to their landlord. The bread was good, and the pastries were phenomenal. Plus, it saved him from having to go to the store. They had tried knocking at first, and when he never answered them, they just left everything on the porch, like a silent offering to some faceless deity. Once, he hadn't found it until days afterward, when the bread had gone soggy in the humidity and the pastries stale. He'd eaten them anyway.

His love for pastries didn't stop him from feeling annoyed with this young woman for invading his space, however.

"Are you OK?" she asked after a while, when he didn't say anything or make any move. "Do you need help getting up?"

He grunted a refusal.

"Should I bring these into the kitchen for you?" she continued, lifting a wicker basket to show him. The mouthwatering smell intensified.

"No need," he mumbled. "Just set them down there."

"Where?" The woman looked around the front hall. There was no place to put anything, except for a side table piled high with mail that Derwin couldn't bring himself to open.

"Anywhere."

"Your dog may get into them."

"I don't care."

"I'm going to put them in the kitchen," she said in a voice that invited no further argument, and before he could stop her, she was walking briskly down the corridor. She tossed a piece of pastry to Otto, and he immediately followed her, tail wagging. Traitor.

Grumbling under his breath, Derwin pulled himself up by the banister and limped his way downstairs. If he didn't catch her in time, this woman may go through the entire house, and he couldn't have that.

He stumbled off the last step and almost ran straight into the woman, who was coming back from the kitchen.

"Sorry!" she exclaimed, catching his arms and helping him stand up straight.

Their eyes met, and Derwin found his breath caught in his throat for a moment. He'd been right—her eyes were light, bright green, gleaming like a forest pool in the shade, where the leafy canopy above is reflected in the quiet depth of the water.

Those eyes flicked briefly to the scar on his left cheek, before turning away, not out of disgust as Derwin had expected, but rather of embarrassment. She took a step back and let go of his arms.

"I've put the bread in your bread box," she said (I have a bread box? though Derwin). "I'm not sure when you want the pastries, so I've put them in your fridge. Heat them in the oven before you eat them, they'll taste better. The guava pastries will go great with some coffee."

That was probably the most anybody had ever said to him in over a year. Derwin stared at the young woman, not knowing what to say. She gave him a smile—quick and uncertain, but a smile nonetheless—and walked out with that same brisk, graceful stride, still followed by Otto, who was gazing at her adoringly.

"Otto, stay," Derwin said sternly when the dog looked like he wanted to follow the woman out the door. Otto reluctantly obeyed.

"Oh and, don't set the oven higher than two hundred degrees when you warm the pastries, or they'll get burned," the woman said over her shoulder, before closing the door behind her. A moment later, Derwin heard her bike rattling down the drive.

He glanced at Otto, who met his eyes with a wistful, reproachful look. "Don't look at me like that," Derwin said. "I didn't chase her off."

Leaving Otto in the front hall to whine and watch the figure on the bike disappear behind the oaks, Derwin limped into the kitchen to retrieve the pastries. She was right; they tasted much better warm, though he wouldn't offend them by pairing them with his dishwater coffee. Otto soon gave up his vigil and came into the kitchen as well, looking inconsolable. Derwin took pity on the dog and shared the ham croquettes with him.

"Just because she gave you pastries doesn't mean that she's your friend," he told the dog.

Otto always fell in love with anyone who showed him the smallest bit of attention. It was a terrible habit.

Chapter 2

So here's the Grunauer fic that I promised! It's my longest to date (82k, 20 chapters plus an epilogue), so I'm going to post it twice a week. If you want to be tagged when I update it, let me know, or you can just check back here every Tuesday and Saturday!

#joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic #grunauer #grunauer overlord #overlord 2018 #grunauer x ofc

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thedinanshiral · 9 months ago

Text

On the choices we make

This week we got the last article in IGN First series for The Veilguard, and many are not happy.

Here's the article, feel free to read it whenever, at your own risk tho

SPOILER WARNING & DISCLAIMER: I'll mention some spoilers for the character creator options for the Inquisitor. And i have not really read the IGN article, just looked through it vaguely but Twitter made sure i knew what it was about. I also got these spoilers earlier when the embargo on the preview event was lifted, so it wasn't really news to me.

In short, the shocking part of the article people are upset about is basically most choices from previous games don't carry into The Veilguard in any significative way. This news caused a lot of people to despair, become disappointed, sad, and even angry. So here's my two cents explaining why the devs decision to trim down the ever growing tree of possible outcomes from all past decisions was a smart and necessary move.

First let's talk about the Warden. It's been fifteen years since DAO, the Warden has served their purpose. Expecting them to still keep on the spotlight forever just isn't realistic. Particularly lore-wise, they're tainted, they're getting their calling eventually, they can even die in DAO. Even if in some worldstates the Hero of Ferelden is alive, searching for a cure, enjoying family bliss with Morrigan somewhere, this is not their game anymore, hasn't been for fifteen years. And it makes absolutely every sense that Rook doesn't get to casually ask Morrigan of all people about her personal life and her partner. Considering the different origins as well it also makes sense if the Warden is simply referred to as the Hero of Ferelden in codices instead of specifying if they're Cousland or Mahariel, that way all origins are contemplated without the need to select which one we chose, yes i'll say it again, fifteen years ago. Please, play DAO again if you must, but just, please, move on. It's time.

Then let's be real here, DA2 is pretty much self-contained. We see the direct consequences of the DA2 events early into DAI. There isn't much to talk about DA2 choices after that.

And now, about DAI...people were left in the Fade, people drank from a well, Divines were chosen. And The Veilguard is not about that. Sorry, but that also makes sense.

The Fade choice: it's pretty much decided that whoever stays in the Fade during Here lies the abyss didn't make it. They're gone. Sad, i know, but it's also been ten years in game as well and Hawke, Alistair, Stroud and Loghain are only human, they can't survive that. The thread many hang on for hope is Flemeth's words to Hawke "We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment... and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly" , is not a hint towards them surviving the Fade, it's precisely about them jumping into it. Which is what happens in that quest. There's nothing in those lines about making it out alive, or out at all. It's "whether you can fly", not "that you can fly". People always want these games to be DARK FANTASY full of DIFFICULT CHOICES and CONSEQUENCES that CARRY OVER, but when they choose a loved character to make a sacrifice and potentially die suddenly they expect them to have plot armor and return like nothing happened and nothing was lost? That loss was a consequence of that choice, and we all have to live with it and move on.

The Well choice: Solas' reaction to the Inquisitor drinking from the well is a strong one, but the consequence of that was already shown in DAI, in worldstates where OG Kieran exists we can see Flemeth control the Inquisitor to restrain Morrigan when she's trying to stop Flemeth. There's no confirmation on this but it's possible this power is gone once Solas petrifies Flemeth in the epilogue scene. From there we can only headcanon what happened with that power to control whoever drank from the Well of Sorrows; did the power vanish once Flemeth died? Did Solas inherit it when he absorbed her powers? Did Solas decided to only absorb her energy but avoided taking that particular ability with him? Remember, he's against slavery, servitude, and controling others. He's more into killing people in their dreams, petrifying his enemies and blowing up dear old friends' favourite stuff with his insane mind powers for extra emotional damage. If Morrigan is who drank from the well, it could also be she found a way to nullify that binding to Mythal; we don't know it yet but seeing as she appears in The Veilguard with a headpiece similar to Flemeth's it could even be she eventually accepted Mythal's deal. Anyway, the protagonist this time is Rook, and whoever drank from the Well of Sorrows is not something that affects them, or the main events of the game surrounding the Veil and a double Blight. The Well was drank, let's move on from that too.

The Divine choice: honestly? Not geopolitically relevant this time. The Veilguard takes place in Northern Thedas where the main power is Tevinter, which has its own Chantry and its own Divine. We're apparently not going south of the Waking Sea, so who rules Orlais or Ferelden and who sits on the Sunburst throne ruling over the southern Chantry is of no consequence to the regions we'll visit and the people we'll meet as Rook in this new game. Also, it's been ten years since all of that went down, whatever we made happen with the Inquisition could easily have been changed with a rebellion or two throughout the years.

The choices from previous games that affect The Veilguard are all from DAI, because that's the one game directly connected to The Veilguard; whatever happened in DAO and DA2 happened then and there and we've already seen the effects of those choices, sometimes in the same games they were made on. And the choices from DAI that carry on are limited to just three: Who the Inquisitor romanced, if the Inquisition remained or was disbanded, if the Inquisitor vowed to save or stop Solas. These are the choices that directly affect and are pertinent to The Veilguard events. DIRECTLY.

Now this has gotten some people bitter, like the game is serving Solavellans and dropping everyone else in the Amaranthine to die like their worldstates don't matter, but that's not it. Those two last choices are there even if your Inquisitor is not Lavellan, even if your Lavellan did not romance Solas. Remember, the Inquisitor and Solas can be friends too. They can even despise each other. I guess some could argue the romance option is there to cater to Solavellans too but i ask -rhethorically-, is it not relevant if the man set on destroying the world to return to a past long gone has a romantic history with the hero advisor of our new protagonist? Is it not relevant that this particular relationship was his only weakness, capable of changing his mind and stopping his hand??? Better yet, try to explain how it's not relevant. Considering who Solas is, what he intends to do, his role in determining the fate of all Thedas in the past as he is about to do now, Solavellan is very much relevant. A friend Inquisitor is also very relevant. An Inquisitor that wants his head on a platter i bet has much to say about Solas' role in this new stage too. As for the fate of the Inquisition i imagine it might affect how the Inquisitor can play their role as advisor to Rook, if they still hold the title and have some support from the Chantry maybe they can offer different resources or intel than if they're acting independently.

Every game so far has had many different options available, worldstates abound, paths can fork in so many ways and places it's insane to pretend it all carries on and on and on in every following game, when each game presents a new protagonist, a new institution, and its own theme and conflicts to deal with and resolve. In The Veilguard we'll be dealing with blighted ancient elvhen gods set on destroying the world. What is Hawke got to do about it? What could a senior, dying Warden do to save the world now? Even the Inquisitor can only contribute from the sidelines, maybe, we don't know yet.

Apocalyptic events will not wait for what was to come back to soothe our nostalgia. This time it's the Veilguard and Rook's time to save the world, and i'd say we let them. And let's give ourselves a new chance to make new, differenct choices, with different stakes and consequences we'll likely see soon enough probably backfiring on us. The devs worked on this game with the intention of giving us a full game, avoiding a repeat of previous questionable moves (like the main story truly ending in a dlc rather than the base game). In order to achieve that they had to focus, a lot, on how to carry the narrative forward and develop all these new characters, and let's be honest 100% now, that's pretty difficult to do if they're permanently looking back and dwelling on old characters and events. We can't move forward by looking over our shoulders to what was.

I strongly suggest everyone we give The Veilguard the opportunity it deserves, to be its own game as all the previous games were. For many players including myself their first Dragon Age was Inquisition so previous choices were not registered, we had no idea and still had a great time playing DAI and got so invested in it many went back to play DAO and DA2, and dive into the novels and comics, even Redemption, and that CGI Cassandra movie. So past choices not carrying over to newer games isn't the catastrophe some people are complaining over. Also please don't be arses to the devs over things like this, they worked hard all these years to give us their best, they deserve respect.

Lastly, i'd like to share a phrase in my language, "quién te quita lo bailado", which translates to something like "who can take away from what you've already enjoyed?" (the answer is nobody btw). If you already played previous games and enjoyed them, loved them, and played them 50 times over, that's yours, your experience, and nobody can take that away from you; the characters you built, your headcanons, that's all yours, for life.

Can't wait for October 31st so we can keep enjoying this world that for many of us feels like home.

#veilguard spoilers #dragon age the veilguard #spoilers

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