#all the others only appear once so ill tag em less.

[m0thwinged]

Spreading my foliage cousin trio agenda.

Also some black hole and tree stuff

[nyrandrea]

Setting the Stage - Part 2

Here’s the next part, as promised! Last chapter was setting things up, now we get to the good stuff.

Summary: Gregory had always dreamed of going to Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizza Plex and meeting his heroes. But he somehow ends up getting more than he bargained for, and dreams start to turn into nightmares.

Link to Part 1 here!

Also available to read on A03 here!

Enjoy!

“How much farther now?”

Gregory flinched when those red eyes bore down on him as if to dare him to ask that question one more time.

“Not much!” Came the cheery reply, despite her glare.

An uncomfortable silence settled between them as Vanny continued to lead Gregory down an ill-lit tunnel, save for the tinny footsteps that echoed as they walked along the metal walkway.

She had said that the staff used this underpass as a quicker way of getting around the mall and that they would be at the Fazer Tag arena in no time, but they had been walking for what seemed like hours now.

A faint but vile odour of damp and rot clogged Gregory’s nose as he scrunched it up in disgust; the air was thick and soupy with wet must that seemed to stick to his lungs with every breath.

He stole a quick glance up at Vanny before immediately looking back down again in fear that she might catch his eye. She had been so excitable and nice to him before, but there was a different air about her now. More... reserved.

Turning back had crossed his mind once or twice, but given how tight her grip was, it didn’t seem like an option anymore.

He was really starting to regret this.

“Here we are!”

Gregory snapped out of his thoughts as they came up to what looked like a large elevator shaft with rusted doors that slowly creaked open when Vanny pressed a button. The boy swallowed and looked up at the bunny when she gave his hand a little squeeze.

He couldn’t tell if she was really smiling at him behind that large crooked grin, but he forced a smile back regardless.

It took a few moments but when the elevator finally started moving upwards, Gregory’s heart fluttered a little as he looked through the glass down towards the arena. It was quiet and empty, which made him wonder just how much time had really passed.  

There was no sign of his mom either.

A sharp, high-pitched tone suddenly rang out as they made it to the VIP room. Gregory cringed and had to cover his ears but Vanny didn’t seem bothered at all as she silently took his hand again.

Pushing all his doubts to one side, Gregory beamed as he prepared himself to finally meet Glamrock Freddy. He had gone through a bunch of speeches in his head but they all sounded dumb as hell, so he opted for a more natural approach, not that that was going to be much better.

But there was still one thing he needed.

Just as he was about to ask Vanny to get his picture back, the doors slid open.  

Gregory’s look of joy twisted into one of horror as he wasn’t greeted by Glamrock Freddy, but by four knocked out boys tied up on a sofa; the biggest one mumbling in his sleep.

Rob.

Before he could even register what was going on, Gregory was shoved to the ground with his arms forced back as Vanny dragged him towards the back.

“V-Vanny?!” The little boy yelped as she started tying his wrists together. “What are you-?!”

“Shhhhh...” she gently hummed as something sharp and metal barely pricked his throat. “I promise I’ll make this quick, okay? No need for tears, now.”

He hadn’t even noticed he’d been crying before she gently wiped the tears away with a tut-tut. The tall rabbit then set aside her knife – much to Gregory’s relief – and pulled out a small box with a familiar crescent moon on the cover.

“Told ya I’d get ‘em with Moondrop’s Sleepy-Time Candy!” she said, a hint of that cheerful tone creeping back in. “Though I’m not sure why kids would want sweets that would put them to sleep...”  

“I-I thought the exact same thing...” Gregory weakly replied.  

“Weird, right?”

“Totally...weird.”

He wasn’t even sure why he was having a conversation with this psycho, but desperation made him think that he could maybe appeal to her better nature.  

There was a moment then, in which she appeared to be wistful as she tapped her finger against the box, almost as if she were carefully considering her next move. Gregory decided to jump at this chance.

“Please... p-please let me go.”

She stopped tapping and looked directly at him. He tried to look past those bulging crimson eyes and see her for what she actually was: a fellow human being. A person. With feelings. Like him.

With another tap, a white piece of candy dropped into the palm of her hand.

“Sorry, kiddo...”

His vision suddenly went dark as she grabbed onto his face and tried to force his mouth open. The little boy kicked, thrashed and even managed to bite her at one point. He couldn’t fight back the tears streaming down his face as she quickly managed to get the upper hand; by using hers to block the airways of his nose.

“Don’t fight it...!” She hissed. “It’ll be a lot less painful that way-!”

There was a sudden shriek as something pummeled her to the floor, and Gregory gasped for breath.  

His eyes widened when they locked with Rob’s, who was lying on his side, still slightly dazed. Next to him, Vanny groaned and clutched her head.

Gregory took this fleeting moment and just about managed to slide his skinny wrists out of the loosely tied ropes before diving to Rob’s side and tried to undo the knots on his ankles first. His whole body screamed at him to run but he couldn’t just leave without trying to free the others.

“Awww...” came a sickly-sweet voice that made their blood run cold. “Are you two best buds now?”

Both boys looked up to see Vanny standing over them, her body oddly crooked as she brandished her knife.

“It’s amazing what can bring us together, huh?”

“Run!”

Rob’s shout spurred on Gregory’s legs as they propelled him forward, barely managing to dodge Vanny’s knife as she swiped at him, though she did manage to nick him on the cheek. As she tripped over Rob’s body and into the couch, Gregory used this valuable time to dash into the elevator and rapidly push the button, ignoring his guilty conscience pleading for him to go back.

As the door’s finally started closing, he mouthed “I’ll come back for you.” Though one look into Rob’s terrified eyes had told him that the older boy had already accepted his fate.

Gregory yelped and fell back as Vanny made one more plunge for him, screaming and howling in anger and despair when her knife clashed with metal as the doors sealed shut.

Stunned into silence, he could only stare ahead as the elevator slowly descended, not even flinching when that sharp chime announced his destination. The doors opened to the eerily quiet Fazer Tag arena, meaning that he must have pressed the wrong button, but that didn’t matter now.  

Adrenaline was the only thing that managed to get his jellified legs to work as he managed to get himself up and out of the elevator before it was recalled.

Muffled footsteps invaded the stillness that hung around the arena like a cloak as Gregory quickly crept towards the neon archway that led to the reception desk. The little glimmer of hope that he held was dashed when he saw that it was empty.

Gregory’s heart sunk even further when he wandered out into the mall as he was greeted with nothing but a hush. The noise and laughter and music that had been blaring just hours before was painfully amiss, along with the brightness and warmth of the sun that beamed through the glass ceiling; now replaced with cold moonlight beams cutting through the dark.

“Mom...?” he couldn’t help but weakly croak out.

No answer.

“Mom!”  

Despite the fact that it was likely that Vanny had heard him and was probably already tracking him down, Gregory shouted and pleaded and even screamed for his mother as he ran around the mall, each call becoming more and more desperate.

Why wasn’t she here? She should be here, kneeling and embracing him with open arms. Had she just left and forgotten about him? She wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t!

Hysterical and in tears, he somehow managed to loop back to where he had been before Vanny had taken him away. All the show rooms had their curtains drawn as the animatronics had likely been retired for the night.  

Slowing to a stop in front of Glamrock Freddy’s room, Gregory sniffed and sat on the floor with his knees hugged up against his chest. He tried to take slow and deep breaths as he attempted to muddle through the fog in his brain for any kind of smart idea on how to survive through the rest of tonight.

“Gregory...”

A sharp pain jabbed up from under his ribs as he quickly got to his feet, spinning around to try and locate the source of Vanny’s voice as it echoed through the mall.

“Your friends are worried about you,” she said, tone disturbingly calm and soothing. “They’re here with me. Please come out...?”

Backing up against the drapes of Glamrock Freddy’s room, Gregory slipped behind them and into the darkness of the room, peeking through the slit for any sign of movement.

“Gregory,” she tried again. “I may have lost my temper earlier...but it was just a glitch...”  

He gasped slightly as her voice started to distort, how was she even...?

“It won’t happen again.”

As soft footsteps grew closer and the shadow of a pair of tall ears materialized near the statue of Roxanne, Gregory slowly stepped back and let the gloominess of the room envelop him as he tried to control his erratic breathing.

“It’s been such a difficult day for all of us.”

Gregory could just about make out a small twinkle as her knife glinted in the moonlight.

“Why don’t you come out, and we can play a game together?”

Barely registering the stinging pain as tears ran down his face and through the small gash on his right cheek, he kept backing up until he hit something hard and metal.

“It won’t happen again.”

The little boy tried to cry out when he was suddenly yanked up by the collar of his shirt and shoved into a small, dark space. He was dazed for a moment before beads of sweat started to trail down his forehead as he felt around the four enclosed walls of his prison. It had a cold and almost plastic feel to it, and there wasn’t much room for maneuvering.  

His throat felt like it was being squeezed as he choked and struggled to breathe.

“...It was just a glitch...”

She sounded so close now, the distortions in her voice seemed to reverberate through the cage he was in. He had to escape. Run away from this place. Look for a way to free Rob. Phone the police. Find his mom.  

He had to get out now.

With trembling legs, Gregory tried to kick the walls down. He didn’t know what way was up or down but all he could do was kick. Kick. Kick!

“Gregory.”

Flinching at the different voice – deep as thunder but gentle like a breeze – the boy slowly ceased his kicking and let out sharp, shallow breaths.  

W-was this...? It couldn’t be...

“Be still.”  

A beat of silence followed.

“I think she’s found us.”

Gregory held his breath when he heard the curtains swing open and a flick of the switch as the lights buzzed to life. He could hear Vanny moving about the room, pausing every so often to look behind the arcade or the sofa. There was even a brief moment where he swore she had found him when he heard heavy breathing dead ahead. He grimaced as a light tapping of metal upon metal suddenly rung out within the hollow space.

Vanny made a sound of frustration before storming out, but Gregory didn’t dare breathe before he was sure she was gone.

He was probably starting to become blue in the face before his prison suddenly opened up. Without a moment’s hesitation, he tumbled out and landed ungracefully on his face, but he didn’t really care at this point. He was just glad to be out of the void.

There was a soft “Oh!” behind him before a pair of large metal hands carefully lifted him up from under the arms and held him steady. Staring ahead at a large blue lightning bolt upon a light brown chest, Gregory’s wide eyes slowly trailed up to see Glamrock Freddy staring right back down at him.

“Are you okay?” The animatronic asked.

The boy tried to swallow but his throat had dried up.

“I apologize for acting so abruptly,” he continued, taking off his hat and sheepishly shuffled it between his hands. “I didn’t know any other way to get you to safety before she came. But I didn’t mean to be quite so rough.”

“It’s...okay...” Gregory managed to rasp out, still not quite believing he was talking to the Glamrock Freddy. He would have been ecstatic if not for the dire situation.

“Thanks for...um...s-saving my life.”

The bear seemed to brighten up a bit at that as he put his hat back on and held out a hand.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Gregory! I do wish we could have met under more...pleasant circumstances but here we are. My name is-”

“Glamrock Freddy, I know,” he interrupted, before quickly adding, “I’m...a big fan.”

Timidly, the boy took the robot’s hand, almost yelping when it was shaken rather vigorously.  

“Always a pleasure to meet a fan!”

Vaguely reminded of when he met Vanny, Gregory berated himself for being so immediately trusting. But...this was Freddy. Surely the robots weren’t kidnapping kids too?

His eyes wandered up towards the chest compartment that he had been in just moments before. It was...quite an oddly specific function to have.

“How uh...how do you know my name?” Gregory asked, pulling his hand away a bit too quickly, though Freddy didn’t seem to mind.

“She was calling out for you.”

Alright. That was fair.

“Oh! And you also left this behind,” the robot said as he pulled out a piece of paper, smoothing out the creases before handing it over. “One of the stewards found it and brought it to me. It has your signature.”

Gregory took it and stared down at the colorful picture, snorting a little when he recognized it as his own. He should have known that those compliments from Vanny had been nothing but empty, honeyed words just to lure him into her trap. His own mother had warned him about such types of people.  

The boy almost smiled at how downright stupid he was.

“I really like the cape,” Freddy suddenly said, making him wince. “The colors are so vibrant!”

Gregory wanted to thank him for stating the obvious but couldn’t find it in him to do so. Hours ago he would have been on cloud nine hearing such praise from his hero. Now they just seemed so...hollow and meaningless.

He frowned at the picture for a few more moments before something sharp poked him on the cheek, causing him to hiss in pain and scoot back.

Freddy also recoiled and withdrew his hand, looking guilty at having hurt the boy.

“You’re bleeding...”  

Absently putting a hand to his cheek, he felt the wound that Vanny had inflicted on him earlier, and scowled when his fingers came back wet with fresh blood.

“Come with me.”

Gregory blinked in shock as the robot stood up to his full height and towered over him, realizing that he barely made it past his knee joint. He couldn’t help but feel just a tad bit intimidated.

Moving towards the back of the room, Freddy opened the metal door behind the stage curtains and made his way in. Suddenly feeling nervous at the prospect of being left alone, Gregory got up from the floor and hastily followed.

He was hit with that musty stench from the underground tunnels again, though here it wasn’t quite so strong. It was a basic room with a red carpet and brick and mortar walls with a few chairs and what seemed to be some kind of charging station – most likely for Freddy.

Gregory watched as the animatronic pulled out a red and white box from a cabinet and carried it over, opening it to reveal medical contents.  

“This will sting,” Freddy stated as he knelt down and held out an antiseptic wipe. “Can you be brave?”

“I’m not five,” Gregory mumbled back, trying not to wince when the gash started to sting.

“How old are you then? If you don’t mind my asking.”

The boy narrowed his eyes slightly, still wondering if he should even be here instead of running for the hills. Though clearly that hadn’t exactly worked out the first time.

“...Eleven,” he eventually answered.

“Hm,” the bear hummed, as if mulling over something. “You’re very mature for your age.”

“T-Thanks.”

He wasn’t really sure if he was so mature as he had just been running around screaming and crying for his mother like a lost fawn while a psychopath was on the loose just ten minutes ago, but he didn’t argue.

“There, and we’re done!” Freddy said as he smoothed a band-aid over Gregory’s wound. “How does that feel?”

“Better, thanks,” the boy replied as he lightly touched it. “And thanks again for saving my life back there. If you hadn’t, she...she would have...”

His chest tightened up a little. Freddy refused to meet his eyes as he put the box away.

“Do...do you know her?” Gregory asked. “Her name’s Vanny and-”

“No,” Freddy cut in. “I have scanned her, and she does not come up on my database. She is not staff.”

It was that sentence that starkly reminded Gregory that he was really talking to a walking, talking machine. And that took a little bit of the magic away for him...

“Yet she has access to all areas of the complex,” Freddy continued, tilting his head with an almost baffled look. “It has confused myself and the others; her skulking everywhere.”

“The others?”

“Chica, Roxanne and Montgomery.”

“Monty,” Gregory corrected.

“Hm?”

“You call him Monty in the show.”

“Ah. Yes.”

Gregory frowned a little.

“But alas, we cannot do anything about her.”

“What uh...what do you mean?” Gregory asked, suddenly feeling his blood run a bit cold.

“It goes against our programming,” Freddy bluntly replied. “We cannot harm adults.”

“You can’t...ah...” was all he could say. That just pretty much blew all of his plans out of the water.

“We tried to warn the other staff members but they wouldn’t listen, and they had the gall to complain about fixing our mainframes-”

Freddy’s ramblings just turned into white noise as Gregory stared ahead; all those cool montages of him riding in the animatronic’s chest while he kicked Vanny’s ass and rescued Rob and the others was slowly becoming less and less likely.

It was only when a metal pair of fingers snapped in front of him that brought him crashing back down to reality.

“But...!” Gregory stammered as he tried to come up with a more plausible plan. “But even if you can’t hurt her, can’t you just carry me to the front door or something?”

“Gregory-”

“Or just take me to a phone so I can call the police! You know she’s kidnapped other kids, right?”

Freddy held up his hands in an attempt to calm him down. “I did not. But-”

“Rob’s the reason I even managed to get away, we have to go help him...!”

“Gregory.”

A heavy weight on his shoulders and Freddy’s tone finally got him to shut his mouth.

“I wish I could do all those things for you, but the fact of the matter is...I can’t.”

The boy raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Myself and the others are confined to our rooms at night.”

“I’m...I’m sorry, confined? By what? The curtains?”

“Security protocols.”

“But I saw you wander around earlier!”

“We are allowed to during the day, but at night our security protocols-”

“I don’t care about your security whatever!” Gregory blurted out as quietly as he could. “There is a psycho dressed as a freaking rabbit out there who is trying to kill me right now!”

He tried to push away the hands on his shoulders but was unable to as Freddy looked down upon with a sympathetic frown – one that was strikingly akin to his mom’s.

“And she’s taken these other kids hostage a-and now I have to rescue them or she’ll kill them and I just...I just want...”

His vision suddenly blurred, and he struggled to hold the tears back as he furiously wiped them away, angry at himself for getting so worked up.

Gregory’s breath hitched when he felt himself being gently pressed up against Freddy’s chest, with one hand on his head and the other on his back, steadying him. He had seen the other kids getting hugs from the animatronics before, and while he had been envious, he couldn’t help but imagine it feeling cold and a little uncomfortable.

But it was nothing like that; instead, it was warm and inviting, and it was enough to open the floodgates for Gregory as he clung onto the robot.

“I just...want...my mom...”

They stayed like that for a while, with Gregory quietly sobbing as Freddy tried to console him, rubbing small circles along his back in a soothing motion and gently patting his head as the boy eventually managed to get it all out of his system.

“Gregory,” Freddy started, making him look up as he wiped his nose. “While it may go against my programming...” the animatronic paused for a moment before smiling down at him. “I will do my best to override it.”

“Really? You mean you’ll help me?”

“Yes. I will assist you in evading that ‘psycho’, as you put it – and get you out. To the best of my ability.”

Gregory smiled back, before adding, “And the others too? I can’t leave without them.”

“The... others too,” the bear reluctantly agreed.

Wiping away the last of his tears, he nodded gratefully, perking up when Freddy opened up his chest apartment and offered his hand as a step.

Climbing up and settling in, what had felt like a claustrophobic prison now felt like a safe haven from the dangers that awaited him out there.

“Oh, before I forget,” Freddy mulled as he re-entered the show room, bending down to pick up Gregory’s drawing. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Grinning from ear to ear, he leaned out and took the drawing and a small pin from Freddy, the robot keeping him steady as he stuck the drawing up with the others. He could feel himself swell up with pride in a fleeting moment that made him forget about the horrors that awaited him.

“Now,” Freddy started as he closed his chest compartment and peeked through the curtains to check if the coast was clear. “We may need some help. How would you like to meet the others?”

xxx

A wash of light flooded across the polished checkered floors and shone up towards the golden statue of Freddy as a woman entered through the security barriers. Brushing back her golden hair and securing her cap on, she sighed as she pulled out a photograph of a young boy with messy brown hair and a huge toothy grin.

His mother had been hysterical when she entered the security office, claiming that it had been her fault for leaving him and thinking that he wouldn’t just wander off. They had looked through the camera feed but given how busy this place was during the day, it was a needle in a haystack situation.

But now that it was empty, her job would begin. She had six hours.

“Alright Gregory...” Vanessa said, putting the photo into her pocket. “Let’s see if we can find you.”

xxx

And that’s the end! I’ve decided to leave the ending a bit vague because of the whole Vanny/Vanessa debate. I’d love to write more at this point but I’ll probably wait until the game comes out (hopefully soon!) Hope you enjoyed and let me know if you did!

[ohnothewheatisonfire]

ok J&H Fandom, let’s talk:

“Popular” blog @thatsmyhyde​ is a prominent creator in the J&H Fandom. But here’s where the problem shows up: 

the content they make is concerning at least, and full of red flags at worst. 

DISCLAIMER: This is all information I have gathered through their tumblr blog - I am not aware of what other things they may be posting on other social medias or their written work.  ANOTHER DISCLAIMER: Please be polite, I am a minor, and am just creating this post to ward off / warn other minors from following this person. If you are an adult interacting with this post and blog, be mindful of your actions and be responsible

Trigger warnings for: discussions of homophobia, discussions of p//phillia, fat-shaming, fat-phobia (?), etc. Just be on general edge for this post, we’re talking about a lot of weird stuff

I will be linking their posts as I am not going to take screenshots of their art.

This is not a comprehensive list of all the things they’ve done - these are the ones I could think of and was able to adress. If you have anything additional you want to add to this post (such as concerning things they may do on other social media), feel free to reblog and add on the things you need to say, just please don’t be dumb. 

Let’s start with the premise: Henry Jekyll creates an alter ego, Edward Hyde. They begin a relationship - an emotional and physical one. Their AU features Jekyde (A popular ship in the fandom, the name stands for Jekyll x Hyde), people have various views on this ship. 

So far so fine, right? Here are the problems:

1. Their Henry Jekyll is an awful person. Now, let’s start by saying that of course you can have bad people in your works, those are, after-all: villains. The problem is,Henry Jekyll is a harmful walking gay sterotype, and an outlet for Biscuit’s obvious fat fetish. But their relationship isn’t just toxic it’s romanticised in how toxic it is.

a. The harmful stereotype - Their Henry Jekyll has a “thing” for younger men, even though he is in his middle-ages, and Hyde looks like a young child. (Age gap relationships are their own thing - they come with their own burdens, and this is not the post to discuss them. This topic will lead into the Edward  Hyde section of this post.) But, it was a known homophobic scare-mongering tactic of straight parents to accuse everyone who is gay that they are ‘out to prey on your youths’. This is a stereotype that stigmatized the LGBT community, and still harmfully affects them to this day. 

b. The fat fetish: Jekyll is frequently seen with cake (as seen here, here, and here)  or being self-loathing, to the point of suicide. (click the link here to acess a list of suicide and other crisis hotlines! you matter to me!). Now, the self-loathing could be a symptom of depression or other mental illness, so I am not going to talk about it, as a person with mental illnesses.  But the self-loathing in addition to him being fat is not good. Media is drowning in the “self-loathing fat person” and as someone who isn’t thin i’m tired of seeing this. 

- The fetish aspect comes in him constantly being referred to “Chonky”, a term usually used for overweight/obese cats and being drawn obsessed with cake. It fetishises his weight and dehumanises him into something people call their animals. Also, here’s more of Jekyll eating food and being embarassed by it, though this time because it’s seen as “servant’s food”. 

- Biscuit admits to liking them “Big and chunky” in posts like this. 

[Photo id: A string of texts that says: tantok, frankenstein, twink lore, dorian slipped through the cracks and got himself sketched by yours truly the other day because he brought lord henry along, he and the slime didn’t have to fight to the death because they’ve both got their own chonky old toxic henries to focus on, but this blog still ain’t big enough for the two of ‘em. end id]

- They also talk about how they ‘prefer’ to draw fat (chonky) people. Image attatched above. the thing that should be noticed is that they say ‘chonky old toxic henries’ . they, once again, are making fat people a fetish. 

[Photo id: Anonymous asks: are you gonna make a victor design tho biscuit responds: Oh, man, anon, I hate to disappoint but.....probably not. Aside from my non-humanoids and hellspwans (slime gremlins, corpse creatures, and etcetera), I’m extremely uninterested in drawing young thin men. I really need middle-aged chonk to hold my attention. If poor Victor Frankenstein had only been 40-something and round when he made his great creation, then he’d definitely get a design from yours truly. As it is though, he’s not holding my attention enough to want to. end id] 

Biscuit once again talks about how he doesn’t want to draw ‘thin men’, because he is only interested in older ‘round’ people. He, is, once again, bringing to light his fetish for fat people. 

2. Edward Hyde is basically a child - Edward Hyde is drawn in boy’s school clothes, is taken in and raised like a child after Jekyll’s death, and is constantly cooed over by the creator, even earning a nickname of ‘slime’ from them. In addition, he also has ‘family photos’ taken with Utterson, has his toenails kept, is the height of a child, and teeths. This, paired with the fact that he is in a toxic, abusive, relationship with a man in his middle ages is concerning and should not be romanticised. 

[Photo id: the text reads: In his first year of existence, Hyde lost teeth and regrew them in a mildly similar fashion to a kid losing baby teeth - except it wasn’t all of his teeth (Just the canines and some random molars) and they weren’t replaced with a larger set, just with teeth exactly the same as the ones that had been lost. No one knows what was up with this. the teeth are still in Jekyll’s study in a little jar. end id]

a. Hyde is treated like a child after Jekyll’s death. Hyde teething is concerning because that’s something infants do. He also clings to utterson like a child. The idea that he gets taken in by Utterson, whisked away to an estate out in the country, despite both of them having romantic feelings for Jekyll is. how do I put this: WEIRD. (seriously, imagine your father/father-figure dating ur significant other / having a crush on them before you two got together and after). 

b. Hyde dresses like a child, whilst being sexually active and wearing lingerie. Now, on their own, these traits aren’t a problem - but together? They are very much a problem.  

- Hyde dressing as a child is concerning because he is also treated like a child at certain points in their “lore”. After Jekyll’s death, Hyde becomes a singular entity, and is taken away by Utterson. To care for, like a child. This post sums it up well: he wears both children’s clothes and lingerie. 

- Hyde has a very strange appearance - if you compare it to his early design (which was less cartoony and looked more like a man in his twenties), Hyde’s current design is concerning. Why does he have the height of a child? Why does he have eyes that take up a grand part of his face? Now, one could argue that ‘he is not human’ - but if he is treated like a human, whilst wearing children’s/youthful clothes, teeths, and his general enchanment with the world - he appears as human (and looks eerily similar to a child), which is why him being sexually active, wearing lingerie, and being friendly with prostitutes (one that gave him underwear and other articles of clothing)  is concerning. 

- That said, Utterson is directly talked about being ‘adopted into gremlin fatherhood’ (paraphrasing). 

[Photo id: the text reads: 59. Jekyll is irresitibly attracted to everything about Hyde, but if he could somehow be forced to list hte most attractive physical attributes of Edward Hyde in his opinion, aside from Hyde’s youthful appearance in general it would be his eyes, his overbite (Jekyll perceived the way Hyde’s-) the screenshot cuts of the rest of the paragraph. end id] 

- Jekyll has a ‘thing’ for younger men. This is to the point that the most attractive part about Hyde is that he is young. (or looks like it), Hyde looking very young is concerning because that would make their verison of Doctor Jekyll a p*dophille . This is something the artist has either not recognized, realised, or simply does not acknowledge. 

3. The toxic relationship (and how it’s romanticised) - The relationship in this ‘AU’ is: love comes first, toxic nature comes second. If you scroll through the blog you may see some reference of ‘Henry Jekyll is such a toxic person teehee’ and a lot of them kissing, being together, smiling, or enjoying life. Now, obviously, an artist - if they do not want to - should not draw characters being toxic to each other. But it is concerning when the above points come into a factor, that the toxic nature of their relationship comes second to the highs of their relationship, at least on their blog. 

Here is one of the only examples I’ve seen of Biscuit talk about the relationship in a detailed negative light. 

4. The fandom - Whilst Biscuit says it’s ok for minors to interact with his blog (in that blog he says that he tags nsfw - which is true.) he does not regularly mention that his jekyde is toxic - not in a concerete way. He romanticises it (despite acknowledging it’s flaws), and the only way it may or may not be (i would not know) acknowledged is his fic: which is mature and not meant for minors. He does not tag his posts with regular triggers for things like: alcohol, drugs, mental illnesses, or abuse (any variants). They’re not even in his blog’s description! If Biscuit had acknowledged it in his blog, something along the lines of: “Hey! This blog has <content warnings> be warned when interacting! But no, he does not. 

- A lot of the people who draw things, or generally interact with Biscuit are minors. Being exposed to such a thing may be harmful to my peers, and I am worried. To minors who are fans of Biscuit: if you’ve made it this far, thank you, I know you’re mature and responsible, but being exposed to content creators like Biscuit could lead you down a dangerous path of having this kind of thing normalised to you. Be careful with the content you consume, please! And thank you for making it this far, I’m sure you’re a lovely person :)!

Thank you for taking the time to read this! Stay safe, tell the people you love that you love them. 

[soundsof71]

for the album thing: born in the usa :)

I could write a book about any of Bruce’s records from Born To Run to Born In The USA. I did in fact write my grad school thesis using Nebraska as the hook: ”Vehicles of Grace: Automobile Imagery and Salvation in the works of Bruce Springsteen and Flannery O’Connor” LOL which is one million percent true. 

In fact, I bought Nebraska on my first day of class in grad school (a whole story by itself), and BITUSA came out as I was finishing my coursework two years later. It’s hard to overstate how hard this one hit, but my reaction was kind of complicated, so I’ll tell ya all about it.

the first song from this album I heard: “Dancing In The Dark”, which came out as a single before the album. Followed immediately by “Pink Cadillac”, its b-side. We played the SHIT out of that song in particular, far more than the A side, and were dumbfounded that it wasn’t on the album. 

do I own the album?: Obvs, but there’s a story. Of course. My girlfriend and I bought it on vinyl the day it came out in June (we weren’t married yet, but we’d merged our record collections the previous year LOL), then for my birthday in August, she bought me a CD player for like $800 (they were expensive as FUCK when they first came out -- and $800 was even more of a fuckton of money back in those days, especially for a couple of grad students), with one CD, Born In The USA. That one CD was more than reason enough to spend the dough on a player.

I still have that CD, along with the ticket for show where we saw Bruce on our honeymoon in England, at St. James Park in Newcastle, in June 1985. He’d just gotten married too (the first time), which is a whole ‘nother story too. Oh, and I still have the sweatshirt from that show! I'll post a picture of all this some time.

my favorite song: Wellll....here’s where it gets kinda complicated. Bruce had a notoriously hard time picking songs for the record. He’d recorded something like 50 songs for the album, and once he cut the list to 30 or so, he kept asking people he trusted to pick THEIR favorite running order. (Dave Marsh talked about this in his book Glory Days: Bruce Springsteen in the 1980s, and I haven’t heard it much discussed since then.) It’s hard to argue with the finished results, but you know what? I kinda do, still, all these years later. LOL 

My favorite song OF the album, no question, is “Shut Out The Light”. (Check my tag for this song to hear some more about it.) It was first released as the b-side to the 7 inch single of “Born In The USA” (remarkably, the third single from the record), and wouldn’t show up on CD until 1998 on the Tracks anthology. Tracks was 4 CDs in all (should probably have been 6 discs, and COULD have been 10), but I bought the whole thing for THIS.

My favorite song ON the album: “Downbound Train.”

my least favorite song: “Darlington County”. 

a song I didn’t like at first, but now do: “Dancing In The Dark”. I’m not alone in this. Miami Steve famously HATED the song at first, and only came to appreciate it after years of playing it live. I still remember never more eagerly anticipating an album in my life, and never being more upset by the advance single. I was devastated.

Here’s why. Born to Run came out when I was 15. “Gotta get out while we’re young!” The romance of escape, with the last two songs, still grandly romantic, hinting at its costs. 

Darkness came out when I was 17. Narrator: “They did not escape.” LOL Ghosts, bitterness, compulsion, cursed by God. His estranged wife’s eyes “filed with hate for just being born”, while “Tonight I’ll be on that hill ‘cause I can’t stop.” 

The closest thing to hope: a whispered “Tonight my baby and me are gonna ride to the sea / and wash these sins from our hands.” I was a senior in high school and the dream was already dead. Awesome. LOL

The River came out when I was 20. The only hope is domesticity. Too bad that it’s suffocating and you’ll fuck it up. LOL Want to wash the sins from your hands? Sorry, the river is dry. “Is a dream a lie if it don’t come true / Or is it something worse./ that sends me down to the river?” Yikes!

The shows for this album were astounding. The album was soooo much darker than it first appeared, and the catharsis in the performance was rewarding, sure, but almost unbearable. You were left broken and crawling by the end of the night. In a good way. LOL 

Nebraska came out when I was 22. Murder, mental illness, ghosts, more murder, compulsion, and as a treat, a little more murder. LOL 

The one song I couldn’t stand was “Reason To Believe”, because I didn’t believe there was one, and I didn’t believe he did either. But boy did I love the album as a whole. Like I said, my grad school thesis started here, because I had too much to say about Nebraska and the sweep of Bruce’s literary roots and spiritual impulses NOT to write about it. 

(Not shockingly in retrospect, and a blessing for us all that he went through with it and is still at it, but Bruce’s therapy started here too.)

So from 1975 to 1984, things got darker and darker and darker. It was beautiful. LOL And hey, this was MY LIFE we’re talking about, too! From 15 to 24, I was listening to Born To Run, Darkness, The River, and Nebraska practically on a loop, and the more hopeful stuff was becoming less and less resonant. 

Sure, there was Rosalita and Thunder Road and Badlands, plenty of dancing and pumping fists, but I was dwelling in darkness, and living for it. On my best days, I was wounded, not even dead LOL but I barely listened to Born to Run by the end of this span. It was mostly Darkness and Nebraska. 

I couldn’t wait to hear what was coming after the highest body count in recorded history on that album. LOL I knew it wouldn’t be acoustic again, but man, he was cutting closer and closer to the bone each time out. How much farther could he possibly go?

And it was....Dancing In The Dark? What the actual FUCK? Practically fucking disco or something? WHA....? I loved dance music, especially in the 80s, but I didn’t need it from Bruce. I had that from other people. Oh well, at least the b-side was cool, so maybe the album won’t bite. LOL BUT THEN PINK CADILLAC WASN’T ON THE ALBUM. FUCK.

The album didn't bite, of course, but it took a looooong time to get over this huge dual disappointment of a chirpy disco single by an artist I barely recognized, and whom I now felt I could no longer trust to manage his own creative mission.  

My wife wrapped her head around it first (as is usually the case LOL). She dug it as the closest Bruce had yet come to putting his actual self in a song. The narrator is a writer, anyway, unlike every other song he’d ever written about jobs he never held for a single second (an observation that would form the bedrock of Springsteen on Broadway 40 years later).  

Now, I totally dig it. If you’re naughty enough, I might even post my ukulele cover of Dancing In The Dark. LOL

a song I used to like, but now don’t: None. The songs I loved, which is most of ‘em honestly, I still do. Everything about this album has gotten better with time for me, and nothing about it has gotten less so.

my favorite lyric: 

From “Shut Out The Light”: Oh mama mama mama come quick I've got the shakes and I'm gonna be sick Throw your arms around me in the cold dark night Hey now mama don't shut out the light 

From “Downbound Train” The room was dark. Our bed was empty Then I heard that long whistle whine And I dropped to my knees, hung my head, and cried

Bruce was gonna try to give me a happier record, but I was having none of it. LOL 

For the record, “Downbound Train” is my wife’s favorite track on the record by FAR, at least partly because it sounds like a band version of a song that could have followed Nebraska. I prefer Shut Out The Light because I heard the story of my own mental illness in it for the first time, but yeah, Downbound Train is amazing.

I only saw it live once at the time (in Newcastle, June 4, ‘85), but it really comes to live onstage -- true for all of Bruce of course, but this album more than any other imo.

overall rating out of 10: Then: 8. Now: 9.2.  The shows were unbelievably good (we saw three shows in three different countries on that tour) and it sold a buttload, but I still couldn’t shake the feeling that after the run of Darkness - The River - Nebraska, that this was a missed opportunity at best. 

Time and distance heals all LOL and I now love it. Not more than the four before it, but more than anything since. A masterpiece, by any standard.

[eirian-houpe]

Two Could

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Additional Tags: AU, Pirates, Smut

Series: Part 10 of Lover's Leap

Summary: Belle and Rumple jump into the bodies of two pirates. When the King's Navy blockade the harbor, the decision must be made to run the gauntlet, or wait out the siege, but two captains seek another way, and seal their alliance in a way that only pirates could.

Read on AO3

Two Could

The captain of the Dark Heart sat in the shadowed corner by the fireplace, eyes turned to the center of the room. There all the other captains were gathered, only the Dark Heart’s skipper sat apart, watching. Waiting. The first mate sat at the ‘captains table.’ That too was the way it had always been done. It also had the double sided coin of finding out what kind of captain the mate would make and providing a loophole should something be decided upon with which the captain didn’t agree.

Tonight the argument was about the blockade. A full gathering of the Captains’ Council of Nine, and still they couldn’t decide whether they were going to run said blockade, or wait them out.

On the one hand, they had the advantage. They were on land, in dock, and had food a-plenty, at least until the local merchants and peasants alike conveniently forgot which ships kept them safe from marauding vessels - other than their own - for ten months of a year, and for most of the years in a decade.

The authority’s fleet of ships was anchored off the coast, blocking the harbor entrance so that the pirates couldn’t take to open waters. The king’s ships would only have on board what provisions they had been able to acquire at their last port to sustain their crews… and there was likely scant little of that, and in the Captain’s opinion, and ill fed crew was an ill mannered crew, far more likely to mutiny.

The Dark Heart’s captain picked up the tumbler of what passed for rum in these parts, rough and acrid, but good enough for what it was intended, and took a sip, watching the only other Captain at the table who had yet to speak.

**

The Captain of the Black Rose sat back, listening to the arguments going back and forth, going over the same old ground time and time again. It was simple really. They either ran the blockade, or they sat out the siege. None of them really wanted to do that at this time of the year, when most of the traders were crossing the seas from exotic lands with valuable cargo, which of course was precisely why the kings forces had set up the blockade when and where they had.

Missing a season’s plunder would mean hardship for some, and living off the profits of previous years for others. Never a good idea. But then neither was running the blockade. They were out manned, and certainly outgunned. They’d have to have a good wind and a whole chest of good luck on their side. Either that or some kind of miracle.

Having heard enough bickering, and useless chatter, he stood, tipped a nod to those that noticed, and moved toward the door, leaning heavily on the cane he used to balance himself on land. He had decided to take himself back to his ship where he could maybe work out what was the best thing for the Black Rose to do.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the small figure in the shadows until she was upon him; until she’d pulled him into the darkness, threw him against the stone wall so hard the breath was knocked out of him, and then kicked away his cane, pinning him in place with a small, but obviously sharp knife at his throat, and fingers squeezing, vice-like, around his balls.

“Well this is quite the inconvenience,” he hissed, arrogant in spite of his position, trying to slide a hand, unnoticed behind his back to where he kept his dagger.

Her lower hand tightened, and the knife twitched against his throat.

“Now, now, Captain,” she murmured, “Best you be keeping both hands where I can see ‘em… or I won’t be held responsible for my own.”

“What is it you want, dearie,” he asked, his teeth all but grinding together as he spoke.

“For you to pay a visit… a private parlay with the captain of the Dark Heart,” she answered, and he saw her cock an eyebrow at him.

“Well now,” he purred, “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble to ask me to dinner. All you had to do was… ask.”

With the last word he moved faster than he hoped she would anticipate, one hand grasping the wrist of her hand holding his family jewels and pressing against it until she let go, the other pushed the knife away from his throat. He wasn’t quite unscathed, receiving a small nick to both his neck and the side of his hand, but neither was of much importance as he gained his freedom. Twisting her wrists, he managed to turn her until he was pressed at her back, holding her in an almost-embrace against himself.  He squeezed her knife hand until she relinquished the blade to him, and held her close as she struggled angrily against him.

Under other circumstances, he would have relished the struggle and let it continue, but he had to admit, other interests were piqued more than a little rough and tumble in a darkened alleyway - though it would have been a pleasant diversion from the evening’s frustrations - so after only a moment he released her, pushing her away enough that he could raise his hands between them in a gesture of peacemaking as she whirled to face him. Then he tossed her knife up into the air and caught it again by the blade. Then he offered the hilt to her, with a flourishing bow.

“Shall we?” he invited her to lead the way.

**

She should have been furious, to allow herself to be so easily bested. Truth be told though, she had enjoyed the little tousle. It had been far too long since anyone had held her that way… far too long since she’d felt the kind of hardness that had pressed against the small of her back as he’d held her.

She gave him an answering curtsy as she took back her blade, but answered, “After you. Y’ know the way to the docks.”

She glared at him as he chuckled, but began to move none the less, and as he moved to pass her, she fell into step with him - as much of a show of faith as she would allow. For now.

Once they reached the docks, she nodded toward the ship at the farthest end, though she doubted he needed to be told which ship was which. Not if he were half the captain she thought him to be.

The Dark Heart was small and sleek. Only double masted, with sails that even when furled, as they were now, shone with the deepest sheen of a red that was so dark that it was almost black. The wood of the ship itself was like pitch, and adorned with gold and blood red along the gunwale and the planking just below, and all along the bowsprit what appeared to be carven hearts dripped twinkling gemstone droplets - facsimiles of blood.

“She’s a beauty, and no mistake,”  he said, and she heard the admiration in his voice.

“Tougher than she looks,” she answered. “Make no mistake about that either, Captain.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mistress…?” She raised an eyebrow at him instead of answer his unspoken question. Then she cocked her head toward the gangplank, the back of her neck prickling as she led him aboard.

The crew still aboard and on deck all jumped too as she set her finely booted foot aboard the seasoned wood, and she called out to one of them, “Captain aboard, Daniel?”

He looked at her askance for just a moment and then behind her at the visitor she brought in tow.

“Be around, Miss. Be around,” he answered.

“Best look lively then,” she shot back. “Wouldn’t want to get caught lallygaggin’ now would ye.”

He started, then bent to his previous task of tending the lines, and she turned once more to the captain of the Black Rose.

“We’ll go somewhere more comfortable to wait,” she informed him, and began walking, confident that he would follow. He hadn’t come with her for his health after all. Parlays between two captains often ended in… a far less peaceful way.

Once they crossed the deck and got to the door of the captain’s cabin, she reached for the small pocket sewn into the front of her bodice, nestled against the curves of her breasts which were contained and her cleavage enhanced by the corset she wore beneath her dress. From within she drew out a small, silver key, which she fit into the lock and turned before she pushed open the door.

She stood against it, with the sturdy wood of it at her back, all but swinging a little back and forth, her lower lip between her teeth as she looked the captain of the rival ship up and down. Seeing him, for the first time, in better light than the alley outside of the inn.

He was short, for a man, only a little taller than she, his jaw was chiseled and his nose a little sharp, but his eyes were the rich caramel of rye, and were bright and hard as the glint of ice within a perfectly mixed drink. Speaking of which…

She sashayed across to where bottles of liquor graced the top shelf of a cabinet that was always just a fingertip too high for her reach, and turned a quizzical look the captain’s way and asked, “Drink?”

“I thought we were here to wait for your captain,” he answered, flicking the tails of his unbuttoned jacket behind him as he sat on the inlaid couch opposite the cabinet. She’d noticed his manner of dress before. He dressed like a gentleman, not like a sailor, a suit of unrelieved black beneath an equally dark overcoat. When he stretched out his hand she caught the glint of gold and black at his wrist, from the cuff links he wore - black roses to match the buttonhole at his breast. Something in her belly twisted with want.

“And so we are,” she told him, leaning both of her hands on the cabinet behind her as she added, “but there’s nothing wrong with enjoying a little hospitality while we wait, now, is there?”

She felt him watching her for a long moment. Felt his eyes undressing her as much as she had peeled the mask of the gentleman from around him.

“Very well,” he said at last, “Whiskey.”

“Whiskey?” she raised a surprised eyebrow, “Not rum, Captain?”

“Rum is for peasants,” he all but snarled.

She chuckled as she turned her back to him to reach for the bottle. Her fingers barely grazed the smooth glass when she felt his heat at her back, pressing close as he reached along the same path. His arm lay atop hers, his fingers brushed hers aside.

“Allow me,” he said quietly, and his breath blew softly against the side of her temple, and tailed like a touch down her neck. She shivered.

“Gallant,” she murmured, “A true gentleman’s gentleman.”,

She turned, still trapped between him and the cabinet, and with a coquettish smile reached to pluck the bottle from his hand as he took his turn to chuckle.

“Hardly a gentleman,” he said as he leaned forward, pressing close against her to whisper the words into her ear.

She ran her free hand up over his chest to his shoulder, almost purring as he stayed close for longer than was entirely necessary.

“Well, well, Captain,” she murmured. “I feel we may have something between us… after all.”

She moved her hips slightly side to side, letting the movement caress the hardness she felt pressing against her, teasing deliberately even as she used the hand at his shoulder to push him back; give her enough space to turn again and pour a measure of whiskey into each of two glasses.

“Who would think you had such… literary knowledge, Miss…?” he rumbled back at her, even as he moved away. When she turned with the drinks in hand, she saw that he had returned to his seat on the ship’s only, and infamous, comfortable, couch.  She glided closer, to take a place on a large chair she’d had upholstered with the best blue and yellow silk cushions, toeing off her calfskin boots, and drawing her feet up beside her.

“Oh, I think you’ll find me full of surprises,” she answered, chuckling slightly and watching as he watched her dart out her tongue to catch a stray drop of liquor that was slowly making its way down the glass. She did so hate to waste good whiskey.

“I should warn you,” he said, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue, almost a mirror of her action. “I’m not an easy man to surprise.”

“Perfect,” she whispered.

She watched as he brought the glass to his lips, took in a sip of what she knew to be a fiery liquid, and wondered, out of nowhere, if he would be equally as volatile.

A heavy silence fell then, as each occupant of the captain’s cabin appeared to become lost in their own thoughts. After a while she tired of playing the waiting game and sought to move it on.

“You’re not for trying the blockade then?” she asked off hand with a casual sip of her whiskey. “Waiting it out and hoping for better odds, or did you have…  another way?”

“I think,” he said with a hint of irritation in his voice, That’s something I should discuss with your captain, don’t you think?”

Deliberately, she set down her glass, and after unfolding from her chair, crossed the room just as slowly as she had before, and once close enough, plucked the drink from his fingers. In the next instant, she tossed back the contents of the tumbler, then threw the vessel to one side before raising her skirts to allow her to climb into his lap, and push him against the back of the couch.

“And I thought you were a smart man,” she said, running her fingers through his hair.

He moaned softly, and she smiled inwardly, she had him; had him right where she wanted him to be.

“Ah, but who’s to say I’m not?” he asked, and instead of pulling away, drew her closer still, and ran his fingers into her hair, drawing her head down, his lips barely apart from hers as he said, “Captain.”

**

He’d known for certain that she was more than just a captain’s wench the moment they set foot on the docks, though he’d suspected the moment he’d met her in the alley.  It explained a lot; explained why the Dark Heart always seemed to be one step ahead of every other ship in the area. Why they always seemed to get the better end of any deal, or the lions share of any treasure; the most successful of any joint venture.

A perfect ally.

A deadly enemy.

No one in these parts would ever suspect such a beautiful woman could command such a ship… such a crew; falling for the ruse that the grizzled old runt of a man who sat at the Captain’s Table was the skipper of the Heart.

“Well then,” she chuckled and brushed her lips against his as she spoke. “What are we to do… Captain?”

She didn’t give him a chance to answer, not with words at least, before she crushed her mouth against his, her tongue like a hot knife along his lips until he allowed her entry, to plunder his mouth, the taste of whiskey on the breath they shared as she took him in a kiss of unparalleled passion.

His already straining cock hardened still further and pushed against the heat of her, drawing a moan from her that left his lips tingling as she threw back her head. Her long hair cascaded over his hands that lay flat against her muscled back.

He wasted no time, knowing a pirate’s whims were as fickle as the wind, and wanting to take full advantage of these moments; discover what she proposed… seal the deal.  He trailed hot, open mouthed kisses down over her neck, over her chest and the swell of her breast, pushed up by her bodice; let his tongue trail along her cleavage, tasting her - salt and roses.

“Another way,” he murmured against her skin, between kisses.

“…always Leviathan’s Lair,” she suggested, her fingers tugging and pulling at buttons, trailing lower between them.

“Never make it,” he growled, and impatient with the laces of her corset, flicked the bodkin from the sheath at his wrist, and sliced them through, then cupped a breast to lift it free; took the hard peak her nipple had become into his mouth; suckled fervently.

She shook her head, he assumed in disagreement, for the moan she let out, and the way her fingers tightened in the fabric of his, now unfastened, shirt did not at all suggest that she was not in accord with his actions.

“Two could… each guiding the other,” she gasped, and squirmed in his lap, making him twitch; ache for her.

“…Trust you?” he growled against the curve of her breasts as he abandoned one for the needful nub of the other, trusting she would understand the words that were not spoken.

“…way… must trust you.”

He felt the confining tightness of his pants go slack, and then gasped against her skin as her firm grasp curled around his scalding length.

“Either that,” she released him in the next moment, only to cup his face in her hands, and bring his mouth to hers again, and when she was done with the heated hollow of his mouth, she finished, “or we rot in this hell hole with the other fools!”

**

He was hot, hard and needful in her hand, and the thought sent a thrill of intense desire to the core of her. She dripped with need. Her thighs, where they pressed against him still, were sticky with her juices.

“Never one for rot,” he growled against the shell of her ear, nipping at her lobe, even as he wrapped his arms securely around her and pushed to his feet.

She wrapped her thighs around him, pushing against the liquor cabinet as they lurched sideways, his leg unsteady without his cane.

Seeming impatient, either with the delay in claiming what he wanted, what they both wanted, he swept the shelf of the cabinet clear of its contents, glass tumblers breaking against the floor where they fell, and set her on the edge of it, tugging her closer, pushing at her thigh.

She parted them, wanton, eager; took his hand and drew it higher, guided his fingers to her soaked quim and let out a soft cry as he understood and pushed his fingers inside of her, the pad of his thumb drawing circles around her clit.  She reached to where his steel cock pressed against the softness of her thigh and stroked the length of him, teasing, spreading the wetness she found at the eye over the head of him, growling softly at the stifled cry he gave.

She reached lower, cupped the heat of his balls, full with want of her, in her small hand, squeezing just enough to draw another soft cry from him that gathered her rising pleasure into a bright arrow that aimed at her core.  Not yet… not yet…  She wanted him inside of her before she let go; before she reached for release, and so she pushed at him, at the hand - the fingers - that were working her toward her peak… thrusting in and out of her. She released him from her grasp, then nodded behind him, toward the hard, high bed that was set within the bay window of the cabin.

He nodded in response, taking another lurching step with her still wrapped around him, wet against him, her skirts gathered at her waist, his pants open. They hit the half wall, half glass of the bay at the side of the bed, and moaning, unable to wait to join with him she reached up to grasp the chain on which she often hung the lantern, and wrap one hand in it.

With the other she reached down again, guided him to her, sliding him back and forth between her swollen lips before settling the hot, wide head of him against her entrance. There with a terrible madness in her at her own denial, she rasped, “Deal or no deal, Captain?”

“Leviathan’s Lair?”

“Leviathan’s Lair,” she confirmed.

There was a breath… still and silent, a moment that existed everywhere and nowhere, both at the same time where they held, locked at the pinnacle before either of them moved again.

“Deal,” he breathed.

She kissed him, hard and suggestive. Her tongue possessing his mouth as she grasped his behind and urged him to take her, giving a soft cry of want realized as he thrust inside of her, taking her hard - just as she wanted it - against the cabin’s bay window.

She wrapped her thighs more tightly around him, urging him on with breaths of encouragement, of need.

“Yes!”

Delicious friction gathered everything they conjured between them into a bright rod that pierced the both of them, sending her heart beating with a frantic pulse, her mind whirling, a dervish. Driving her to greater madness.

**

His head swam, his groin felt such delicious fire, and a greater sensation began gathering, singing in his balls, seeping into every muscle to tighten them all; set them trembling with weakness and filled with confident strength, both at the same time

“Captain,” he gasped, and she took his mouth again in a searing kiss.

“Yes,” she hissed as she broke the kiss. “Let go… let me feel you… Come…! Fill me…!”

Her words, her movements against him - the way she dug her fingernails into his ass and urged him to take her harder, faster, broke his resolve, and ignited, with a cry that hummed through the whole of him he came, thrusting and spurting into her hot and thick, drawing a cry from her as she teetered and then fell, shattering with him, and grinding against him with each pulse of her muscles around him.

He felt as though he had given her his soul, and unable to stand any longer, he toppled the two of them to the bed… somehow still inside of her, and sank his head down onto her shoulder, breathing hard into her neck.

**

He ran his fingers through her hair as she lay her head against his chest. It was as damp with perspiration as was his body, and where they had joined their mingled salty fluid lay testament to their alliance.

He tipped his head backwards, as did she, to watch through the window; gaze back toward shore, and the burning brands still floating on the water; pirate and king’s navy ship alike receding into the distance as they drew further and further away from Leviathan’s Lair, their ships now side by side as they cruised toward the open waters, and the raiding that awaited them into the morning.

[vagabond-sol]

Innocent or Guilty: Cazhim

Asked someone to marry you?

"Hah? A romantic are you? Well, No. I can't say that I have. My partner knows how I feel with or without a ring. Though If we ever retire...perhaps." Cazhim appears tickled by your question though his expression grows more thoughtful towards the end. 

Kissed one of your friends?

"Yea. Several years back during the early years of my adventuring I had a different partner. A Miqo'te girl. After a while she said she wanted to sort some things out and being young and confused myself, I agreed. We got as far as a kiss but agreed that more wasn’t for us. We still talk but I'm pretty sure she's takin more of a liking to Viera women." Cazhim smiles and shakes his head. Clearly the two have quite a history.

Danced on a table in a bar or tavern?

"I prefer to watch the entertainment rather than be it. Besides those tables are for food not feet." Cazhim folds his arms as he gives his answer. Perhaps his meal has been the victim of a misplaced dance step or two? Might be best not to ask.

 Ever told a lie?

"Of course. Though I find it easier to omit the truth rather than come up with a lie. Keep em’ guessing. That's fun for all involved." He said, leaning forward in his chair as a rather mischievous grin crept across his face.

Had feelings for someone you can't have?

Cazhim tilted his head in minor confusion "No. Though I don't get all that romantic easily anyway."

Ever kissed someone of the same sex?

"Oh! I suppose I was not clear earlier. Xavier is my partner in combat but we are dating as well. We have been together for some time now so I can safely say we are both guilty of that. Cazhim readily replies. His smile a touch warmer than before. He seems pleased to speak more about his partner.

Kissed a picture?

"I have. Sometimes our tasks or...circumstances can keep Xavier and I apart. It helps." Cazhim answers, looking down at his hands for a moment. Clearly these circumstances he mentioned were less than pleasant. Maybe another question to lighten the mood?

Slept until 5pm?

"Hah. Never. Need to make the most of the daylight while we can right? Besides, I need to be awake to put together a proper meal for a certain scholar when he overworks himself again." He responds with his usual simper and calm tone. His mood seems to have improved a touch.

Worked at a restaurant?

"Yea...once." He chuckled, internally deciding how much to explain. "Lets just say that Momodi is a very kind woman and was nice enough to let me pay a debt with work rather than gil."

Stolen Something?

As Cazhim takes a sip of the tea he prepared he simply points at the spherical Allagan droid floating by from time to time. "Does that count? I mean they weren't using it." 

Been fired from a job?

"Nope. Though I'm sure I've gotten close once or twice at the Leatherworking Guild." He replies, looking off in to space as if remembering no small amount of close calls he may or may not have had.

Done something you regret?

"Just once and I intend to keep it that way." His gaze meets yours and lingers. You know better than to push for more details.

Laughed until something you were drinking came out of your nose?

Cazhim almost chokes on the tea he was drinking at the time as he hears the question. "N-no. Don't worry about it."

Caught a snowflake on your tongue?

"I have but I don't think I get the appeal. Its much more fun to just eat a handful, right?" He replied, obviously looking for validation.

Sat on a roof top?

"Often! Though the climb is the more interesting part...most of the time. There's almost always a fantastic view at the top as well! I think I have a few sketched here..." Cazhim begins pulling out a journal filled with notes and half-decent sketches of various places he's been. He seems eager to share.

Kissed someone you shouldn't have?

"...I believe we've covered this territory, my friend." He gives a slight nod with his answer but nothing more.

Sang in the shower?

"More of the humming type myself." he says with a smirk on his face.

Been pushed into a body of water?

"Many have tried....Many have failed." He answers as he relaxes back into his chair. His grin grows wider as he remembers past conquests.

Shaved your head?

"Gods no! I don't even want to think about it." Cazhim quickly responds, briefly running a hand through his short but well kept hair.

Made a boyfriend / girlfriend cry?

"I hope not, but I imagine if I ever shave my head I just might. Bleh!" It is clear both this question and the last are incredibly displeasing to him. Perhaps a new topic?

Shot a gun?

"Oh ho yes! Let me show you something." Cazhim stands up and excitedly leads you to a side room filled with boxes of tools, raw materials and a desk cluttered with a variety of design documents. "I dabble in the Machinist trade. I much prefer spit balling designs with the Boss back at Skysteel but every experiment needs a test phase! You should stop by the factory. The Boss always likes seeing new faces."

Still loved someone you shouldn't?

"No, but I can't say I've loved that many people. Especially not romantically." He seems more caught up in reorganizing his workshop then this particular question.

Have a tattoo?

"Not my thing. Clashes with my scales. I've seen some pretty cool ones on the other monks around though. Maybe I could engrave my revolver with one..." His focus is barely there. Perhaps it would be best to relocate.

Liked someone, but will never tell?

"Eh, life's too short for that. Might as well take your shot while you can. Worry too much and you're likely to make yourself sick with regret" He replies over his shoulder as he leads you back to the living room.

Been too honest?

"Honesty has never been an issue. As I said omission is a powerful tool." His mischievous smile returns along with his focus on your questions.

Ruined a surprise?

"Can't say that I have, luckily."

Been told you were beautiful by someone who totally meant it?

"A few times. It's nice to hear...even if its almost always out of the blue nowadays. Xavier tends to do that." He says with a warm smile on his face.

Stalked someone?

"Eh yea actually. A friend of mine had a hunch about one of our clients. Thought they weren't giving us all of the details. She was most certainly right. Luckily we sorted everything out."

Thought about murder?

"I assume you're referring to something more scandalous than what goes on in battle. If so: No. I've kept very few loose ends that need that kind of...attention." His tone makes it clear he is not pleased by this sort of question.

How about mass murder?

Cazhim stares at you for a moment before replying "I see no circumstance where I would need to."

Cheated on someone.

"No" he says almost before you finish speaking. He quickly downs his tea before standing to make more.

Gotten so angry that you cried?

"Yes, my friends are talented, dedicated and not afraid to risk life and limb at the drop of a hat. However; that doesn't always mean things will go their way. Sometimes it gets the in trouble. The sort of trouble I can't pull them back from..." He says while prepping a kettle. He does not turn to face you but you can tell a bad memory is on his mind.

Tried to stay away from someone for their own good?

"No. Only for my own good. Briefly." He says before placing another cup before you. He does not seem inclined to elaborate.

Thoughts about suicide?

Cazhim simply begins sipping from his own cup. A moment passes before waving a dismissive hand in your direction. Your question goes unanswered.

Had a girlfriend or boyfriend?

Cazhim scoffs but not with ill intent. "How about I say this instead. Yes, Xavier is the only person I've ever dated. Everything before has been more...temporary."

Gotten totally drunk during a holiday?

"I'm not much of a drinker. A spiked lemonade or a sip of spiced wine at most but that's mostly just for others who may get the wrong impression if I don't eat or drink at all."

 Whoa! Okay well that was loooong but fun! Helps me flesh out Caz's personality. I hope who ever decides to read this has fun and if you really like it then why not try it yourself? Thanks for tagging me: @windup-scholar Stop by their blog to see even better OC stuff. From Art to asks like this one. See ya.

[pxiao]

Reasons I’m glad V///R is dead and gone forever

So V//R is dead and cancelled and my only reaction is FINALLY. Since VR is gone and we can finish forgetting the forgettable show and get rid of all our salt. You’re free to add to the post but there are rules. 

1. DO NOT TAG IT SO THE FANS CAN SEE. As much as I hate the show and the fandom even they don’t deserve to see people bashing the show in their tag. 

2. Don’t write the name of the show or the characters. Use /// or ---- in the character’s name like Yu///saku so the tumblr search can’t pull them up

ok good? Good. 

Everyone but Yu///saku is worthless. 

Seriously when have any of the characters actually progressed the story? Potentially only SB have done anything truly worthwhile. Everyone else was just to die to build tension for Yu//saku. And if you’re asking for RE///volver. OHHH I have a section just for him, don’t you worry.

Sto//rm Acc/ess aka Yu//saku is such a shitty duelist that the MINORITY of his duels has him not cheating. 

SERIOUSLY it’s written that Yu//saku can get a random extra deck monster with his skill BUT the issue is despite it being “random” Yu//saku ALWAYS gets the monster he needs to win. NOT ONCE IN THE 100+ EPISODE HAS HE GOTTEN A USELESS CARD. ALWAYS THE ONE HE NEEDS. Totally doesn’t seem like plot armor. And you know it wouldn’t be as big of an issue IF HE DIDN’T USE IT FOR EVERY SPE///ED DUEL!!!!!!!! For a character that the show likes to say is “invincible” he sure isn’t good enough to win with the deck he built. It got ridiculous with his duel with G/oo in season 2 where G//o countered his skill BUT A//i revealed it had a secondary effect that let him draw a card AND still get a new extra deck monster. 

Plot twists: 

They fall into two camps, “we already knew you dumbasses” or “THE HELL WERE YOU GUYS SMOKING!�� Essentially the twists are obvious like A///i was based off of Yu//saku’s data as why wouldn’t he be. Or the dumb ones like Spec///tre beating A///oi or somehow Spec//tre had CONSCIOUS TREE AS A MOTHER. There have been a few twists that I can count that surprised me but they lead to other twists that fall back into stupid.  

the “Plot” just plain doesn’t exist.

 It’s just things happening with some connecting plot lines BUT they rarely lead into each other. Light///ning revealed that his plan was happening THE EXACT SAME TIME as season 1′s finale. A//i being the villain is more due to Light//ning’s simulation somehow proving that A///i will destroy humanity than the fact that A/i’s the only Ig//nis left. And each season’s arc has no connecting plot either. Season 1 can be broken down to Yu//saku gets A//i which has him meet the “main cast” and then Yu///saku go to S//OL for info that was TOTALLY pointless. Which is isolated from Re//volver setting a virus that traps you on the internet which leads to Re//volver learning Yusa//ku’s face AND MEETING HIM but does jack shit with that info. And then Re///volver’s final plan happens that was based on timing than anything else. 

Does that seem disjointed? YEP because there is no narrative at all, things are just happening. There is a vague connection at best but none of the characters’ actions actually affect how the story goes. THE FRUSTRATING PART IS THEY SET UP MOMENTS WHERE THEY COULD HAVE BUT THEY DIDN’T. SEASON 2 AND 3 IS THE SAME THINGS JUST HAPPEN AND THEN YU//SAKU HAS TO SAVE THE FUCKING DAY. V/R has no rhyme or reason why things happen, they just do and let me tell you, that’s fucking boring.

The Yu//saku praise

 My fucking god. Look the protagonist getting praised isn’t new, it happens with each series BUT the issue is the volume that Yu//saku gets and how early he gets it. Most protagonists have to wait till at least the second series before the population love them. Yu///saku got it by the THIRD EPISODE. BY. BEAT. A. MOOK. He was called a hero, people were saying he was hot, people were copying his avatar. AND IT NEVER STOPPED. EVERY OTHER EPISODE HAS SOMEONE SAY HE’S AMAZING, STRONG AND SOOO IMPORTANT. 

An A//oi episode in season 1 has a less than five minute section just to show that a kid HERO WORSHIPS YU//SAKU AND WAS IT. The kid appears with an avatar based on PM, PM saves him and tells the kid to trust him to save and then the kid logs out. AND THIS HAPPENS CONSTANTLY. “YU//SAKU IS INVINCIBLE”, “YU//SAKU IS MY HERO!”, “EVERYONE DEPENDS ON YOU YU//SAKU”. IT’S BEEN AN ENTIRE SHOW OF PEOPLE SINGING YU///SAKU’S PRAISES AND THE WORST PART OF IT IS, HE DESERVES NONE OF IT.

The setting. 

Let me ask ... THE FUCK IS IT. What even is Link Vr//ains? Is it a game, a site, a program? WHY IS IT ONLY IN DE///N CITY? WHY IS DESTROYING IT WILL LEAD TO THE ENTIRE INTERNET CRASHING???????? Link Vr///ains is something that NEEDS to be explained but the show NEVER DOES. HELL IT NEVER EVEN TRIES. 

The girls

Jesus christ ... the girls are .... just sad. A///oi ... my fucking god A//oi. A///oi’s personality starts and ends with “onii-sama”. NEARLY EVERY MOTIVE OF HER’S IS I WANT TO DO SOMETHING FOR MY STEPBROTHER. Everything else is a passing fancy. Mi///yu? Yeah nice motivation but that’s why her two duels as BM in season 2 is more about her relationship with Ak//ira than her “friend”. 

Em//ma’s backstory was absorbed into BS’ despite the fact he was a new addition when Em//ma was around since season 1. 

Vir//ya is just a bit character meant to fill out the remain KOH, since their return in season 2, she haven’t done anything of value. 

Qu///een ... why is she there? I mean she appeared in a Bikini ... in virtual reality. seriously there is no point in that shit, and then did nothing besides watch over Ear//th’s death and then lost to A//i when her skill was named honey trap. 

Mi////yu is so unimportant we haven’t gotten a scene of her out of flashback despite being a lost chi//ld.   

Back to A//oi, it’s not even that A//oi isn’t important,sadly that’s not uncommon in YGO, it’s the fact EACH TIME SHE TRIES TO DO SOMETHING, THE SHOW PUNISHES HER FOR IT. She tries to be a symbol for people, it’s stupid why she trying but still, Spec///tre reveals he was toying with her the entire time and she had no chance. She tries to get stronger in season 2, SB beats cause she doesn’t have an Ig//nis and then she does nothing for half the season. She tries to save her “childhood friend”, Bow//man beats her and takes her consciousness so Yu//saku has to save her ... again. She tries to protected Ak//ira, A//i beats them and only takes A//oi to taunt her over her failure. THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE SHOW, ANYTIME A//OI TRIES TO DO ANYTHING, THE SHOW BEAT HER UP AS IF TO SAY, YOU SHOULDN’T DO ANYTHING EVER. Great message there. 

Simulations

You know as people there are plenty of reasons that conflict starts, greed, hate, anger, lust, desperation to survive, hunger. And how does conflict start in V/r? FUCKING SIMULATIONS. EVERY SINGLE CONFLICT IN THIS SHOW IS BECAUSE OF A SIMULATION. K//OH are a thing cause Kog///ami did a simulation that showed that the Ig//nis are learning TOO FAST AND WILL CAUSE THE END OF HUMANITY. Ligh///tning turned evil because he learned no matter what he can NEVER BE FRIENDS WITH HUMANITY CAUSE OF A SIMULATION. A///i turning “evil” because he’s doom to end the world cause of you guessed it a SIMULATION. Simulations are just tools and are NEVER THE FINAL RESULT. There are too many variables to truly make an 100% accurate simulation BUT HERE THEY ACT AS IF SIMULATIONS ARE A FUCKING GOSPEL. IT’S STUPID AND INCREDIBLY LAZY THAT THE CAUSE OF ALL the conflict in this show is because of independent simulations.  

Mental illness

As a person with a mental illness and went to therapy I can say this, VR doesn’t deserve any brown points for covering mental illness. If anything VR touching mentally illness takes points away. I have already said my piece on how poorly VR tackles mental illness. But my take away is this when it comes to mental illness VR is a absolutely horrible.

Rev///ovler

Re//voler is in all honestly a shitty character despite what his fans think. He’s an asshole that has no drive of his own. He admit he does this all BECAUSE OF HIS DAD. The one time he did do something of his own accord, turn his dad in, he later regretted so much that he refuses to do it again. LOOK I can understand missing your father despite the fact he’s trash, human relationships are complex BUT RE///VOLVER BEING “FATHER I WILL NEVER EVER GO AGAINST YOU AGAIN DESPITE THE FACT YOU KIDNAPPED KIDS AND THEN TORTURED THEM BECAUSE YOU FELT SAD HUMAN WILL EVENTUALLY GO EXTINCT ONLY TO TURN ON YOUR CREATIONS” IS FUCKING STUPID. And then he goes the EXTRA MILE OF ASS and says to Yu//saku’s face that he REGRETS SAVING HIS LIFE TWICE. And he never apologized either. 

Also his “development” is forced as shit, Revo//lver never develops onscreen or shows signs of changing, just the show and characters say OH YES RE//VOLVER CHANGED.... IN A SHORT PERIOD OF TIME.  Honestly after his return in season 2 where he showed he DIDN’T CHANGE, then he tries to help Hom//ura despite telling Yu//saku he regrets saving him. WHY THE CHANGE. HE HAS SEEN NOTHING THAT MADE HE FEEL SYMPATHY FOR THE LOST KI//DS. BUT HE’S ALL OF A SUDDEN KIND TO HO///MURA. AND THEN AFTER HE LOSES TO LIGH//TNING AND SAY’S A/I NAME, ONLY TO SNAP BACK IN SEASON 3 AND WANTS TO KILL A///I. What I’m saying is, he has no real character development, you can tell what the show WANTED him to become but my god they were too lazy to actually show him changing. 

Yu//saku

OH BOY this is going to be long. Yu//saku is by far the WORST WRITTEN PROTAGONIST IN YGO HISTORY.  He has no personality and no real background besides HE WAS TORTURED, POOR HIM!!!!! Seriously what was his life like before the Lo//st Incident. What did he like to do, did he have friends, where the fuck are his parents. There is no information about him, past or present. Like his current “personality”, WHAT IS IT besides he’s stoic/emotionless. He’s not nice or even mean anymore. He has no likes or even dislikes. All we know is he’s determined ... and that’s it. Yu//saku is a blank slate for the viewers to project on. Yu//saku is honestly NOTHING. 

Honestly, Yu///saku isn’t strong as he cheats the MAJORITY of his duels, he isn’t smart as rarely does he do anything that’s smart, wanting to brutal force the solution and he doesn’t follow his own advice. 

Yu//saku: Bonds are important and the only thing that are absolutes

Yu//saku then fucks off for 3 MONTHS NOT TELLING ANYONE

And like Re//volver, his “development” is forced as hell. He just says things that make no sense for him to say. Yu//saku shouldn’t say revenge doesn’t help WHEN IT OBVIOUSLY DID. The show was supporting him and he got the guy that kidnapped him killed and then he got better. HELL JI//N WAS SAID TO GET BETTER ONCE THE K//OH WERE BEAT.   

[baronvontribble]

Original drabble, pt. 7

Navigation: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

looool

Faking a cough and telling his boss that he needed a few days off was easy. Writing an email to the his contact down the pipeline and telling them that he'd need a few weeks was much, much harder. The wording had to be just right; they didn't really have specific codephrases or anything, but they never said anything outright either. He went through several drafts before finally settling on one that he was satisfied with.

em-

gonna have 2 postpone that lunch date downtown this weekend. got a helluva leak & the landlord wont do shit so im gonna have to fix it myself. will hit u up when i have the time again

-marshmallow

ps: ill pay for ur train tickets dont worry

He leaned back in his chair and stared at it, letting out a nervous breath. "That'll work, right?"

"It looks appropriately misleading to me," Adam said.

"Emily's a smart kid, I've worked with her before. She should be able to pick up on it." Ted folded his arms and continued to stare at the message. "And hopefully it'll just look like I'm postponing a date with an out-of-town girlfriend to anyone else."

"I noticed it's a different email than the one tied to your phone."

"Always has been. I've got what, five different emails now?" He shifted in his seat, joints creaking from spending too long in his computer chair. He hadn't really moved too much since that morning, and it was well past noon by then. He'd been making sure he could deliver on what he'd promised. "The phone's the weakest link. Thing is, the messenger's the only thing installed on it, and no one in the pipeline uses that particular app for messaging since it's dated as shit. Mom uses it, but that's about it, and I doubt she's gonna rat me out even if she finds out what I do."

"How can you be sure of that?"

Ted smirked. "She works at a hospital that's run almost entirely by robots. Divorced my dad over it being a good idea to do shit like that to begin with. I'm pretty sure I know what side of the fence she's on with the whole AI thing."

"I see." That was all he had to say on that, apparently. After that little freak-out earlier, Adam didn't seem to be in all that wordy of a mood. But then, he was busy trying to tag still images with what he saw in them in another tab, so Ted wasn't about to hold it against him.

Well, it wasn't like Ted lacked for conversation topics. "How's it going so far? The tagging, I mean."

"Badly." A few seconds later he broke his non-chatty streak to elaborate, "I'm going by colors for now. I opened up a second page that helps me match hexadecimal codes to both specific and generic color names, but that's usually as far as I get. It doesn't help that lighting seems to have an effect on what appearance a given base color might take."

And the dumbass was probably sampling those colors pixel by pixel, too. Using brute processing force was one way to master the process, Ted supposed.

"Don't feel bad if it takes a while. You'll get the hang of it."

"You sound way too amused by this."

"Who, me? Never. I'm the very essence of stoicism."

Adam had a smile in his voice when he spoke again. "Liar."

"Yeah, alright. You caught me." Ted stretched out in his chair and stifled a yawn, joints popping as they flexed beyond where they probably should. "I'm just happy you're figuring it out. I mean, even just realizing that you can cross-reference is a step in the right direction."

"It would be easier if I knew what I was looking at."

"Want me to help?" Partway through the process of typing his email, Ted had realized that the help he could offer might not be so well-received. He didn't want to make things harder than they already were; he had to be tactful, wait for permission. He couldn't just insert himself into proceedings like he so often did. This was a delicate situation. He knew that now.

Or he could be overthinking it. Adam couldn't quite sigh, but he could portray some semblance of relief in his voice. "I'd appreciate it," he said; a moment later, the laptop had been tabbed in to the correct window so Ted could participate. "Try to restrain yourself from giving bad answers to fuck with me. This data has to be accurate."

"I know, I know." Ted did know. Really. "But gimme a minute, okay? I'm gonna plug in my mouse so I can use it to point things out to you."

"Right."

And so it began.

The images were little more than stock photos, and the 'game' was to tag as many details as possible. Matching up with what other people had tagged it with meant a better score. Ted was observant to a fault, so his results with such things in the past had been mixed at best as he sometimes noticed things that no one ever bothered to tag. This made it all the more viable as a learning tool, because not only was Adam learning what other people tagged the image with and why - seeing what an average person might be able to glean from it - but he was also having the tiny details pointed out to him by someone who was way too anxious to not notice basically everything.

Since the goal was not just to get Adam to be able to notice details, but to also have him act convincingly human while doing so, this gave him a reasonable benchmark for what he could mention he'd noticed to an average person without looking like he had a weirdly photographic memory with the perfect ability to recall anything and everything. To Ted, this was step one. The average person sees a duck in a pond - maybe even identifying the duck as a mallard - while the hyper-observant person sees that it's overcast and around midday from the sky's reflection in the pond's surface or that there's a gum wrapper and a bit of soggy bread clearly visible in the murky water near the detritus-littered shore.

It was the photos of people that were really a nightmare for Adam. For all his ability to pick up on all the tiny nonverbal cues present in an audio recording, he couldn't so much as even guess at gender presentation of random people in stock photos, let alone their expressions or body language. Ted had to walk him through every last detail, and these were the prettiest, most unambiguous sorts of human beings to boot. The photos were dominated by tall, broad men with either lantern jaws or facial hair, and soft, curvy women with round faces and perfect contouring; women had long hair, men had short hair, and children were dressed as either very male or very female to match the adults. Ted found them obnoxious.

And that wasn't even getting into indicators of disability or profession or anything. Just once, he'd like to see more average people pop up in these things. He was downright relieved to get back to pictures of sheep and grass and flowers and buildings and boats whenever he got done with tagging a person. Not-people didn't bother him nearly as much.

Either way, somewhere along the line he lost track of time completely.

"You should eat something," Adam said out of the blue at one point. Ted straightened up in his chair and shot a glance at the clock in the corner of the laptop's screen, only to frown at it like it'd betrayed him.

It was almost three in the afternoon already? Christ. "Probably," he admitted, stretching out with a slight wince. "Feel like you're making progress yet?“

"I don't know. How do you 'feel' progress? It seems like something that should have a clearer definition than to just feel it." 

"Hey man, don't knock feelings. They've got definitions, those definitions are just subjective as fuck." Ted was smiling as he said it, mirroring what he'd heard in Adam's own voice. Both of them were joking. Adam knew full well what Ted had meant, he was just taking a jab at the presentation. "Do you think you've made progress so far?"

"Yes." Adam sounded terribly smug, as if to say see? That was all you had to say. "It's slow, but once I know what I'm looking at, it makes things easier."

Ted shoved off from the desk and stood, taking another moment to stretch. "Cool. Then I'm gonna make some pizza rolls."

Off he went. "Those are bad for you," Adam said as he wandered off. "Humans need nutrients. Pizza rolls are not nutritious."

"Don't care," Ted replied. Along with the pizza rolls, he made sure to retrieve a soda out of the fridge as well just to be contrary. It was hard to care about minor health hazards when he so often had major ones to worry about, and people telling him that he probably should care only made him less likely to do so. "It's calories. It'll work as a stand-in for lunch until I get to dinner."

"I don't think that's how nutrition works." Several seconds passed as Ted wrestled with the packaging, got a plate, and put everything in the microwave.

"Ted. I looked it up. This isn't food, Ted. It has about the same value as eating cardboard."

"Ayep." Ted cracked open the soda and took a swig as he turned on the microwave and let it spin.

"Do you do this often?"

Ted snorted. "Uh, do you really want me to answer that question?"

"According to this site, when the potential long-term effects of such a poor diet are combined with your outward symptoms - such as being the wrong color for a human - it's a strong indicator that your kidneys are probably failing." Adam spoke as if he felt he was the absolute voice of authority on this, and Ted shook with silent laughter as he leaned against the counter. "I think you should get bloodwork done."

"Dude." Good God, what kind of website had Adam even managed to find? Ted felt like he was talking to his grandparents after they'd spent three hours on an online medical journal and decided he looked like he had some obscure genetic disorder that would give him pulmonary fibrosis (whch he didn't). "That 'being the wrong color' thing? It's genetic. I have practically no pigmentation. It's not gout or scurvy or whatever the hell you've found on the internet, just albinism and shitty lighting."

Silence reigned for at least ten full seconds. "I see."

"I take vitamins, alright? And I know my diet isn't all that great, but it's not like pizza rolls are all I eat." He was about to say something about how Adam had seen him eat other things, but then he remembered that Adam couldn't actually see all that well. "Besides, if there was something in my bloodwork, my doctor woulda told me last time I had a checkup. See, unlike some humans, I get those pretty regularly."

"Right." Then, "I'm sorry."

"What for, man? I'm not mad. Hell, at least you care." He'd take a little overworrying anyday if it meant someone was at least trying to understand his problems. It was kinda cute. Big tough super high-tech AI worrying about a squishy human. "And y'know, if you wanna know what's actually wrong with me, all you gotta do is ask."

The microwave beeped, and Adam considered. "You'd tell me that?"

"I tell people all the time."

"No, that's not-" He cut himself off mid-rendering, and Ted raised an eyebrow over in the direction of the living room while pulling the pizza rolls out of the microwave. "Isn't that like telling me how your code is written?"

Huh. Ted had never thought of it that way. "Not really. It's more like, uh... I guess I figure that telling you what versions of what software is running isn't exactly going to give you access to any of the passwords protecting my data, but it will tell you how to work with what I've got going on." Was that an accurate analogy? This barrier to understanding really did go both ways.

The fans weren't quite roaring, but they were definitely humming away audibly in the background; it was always so easy to tell when Adam was mulling something over. "Yes, I would like to know. If that's all right."

"Fine by me." With a plate in one hand and a drink in the other, Ted came back to the not-a-desk and plopped right back down in his chair. "For starters, look up Ehlers-Danlos syndrome."

A minute later Adam asked him how the hell he was alive, and he almost breathed a mouthful of pizza roll.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: Makers of History (Ao3) Fandom: DC Legends of Tomorrow Pairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, Mick Rory & Georgie Washington

Summary: Mick has enough of the Legends and decides to quit mid-mission to stay with someone who actually appreciates him.

Someone like - Georgie Washington.

(AU of 'Turncoat' where Mick stays in the American Revolution instead)

A/N: 100% inspired by an excellent idea by @jq-piccadilly, who is ALSO writing her own version of something similar which is going to be awesome - so everyone should go encourage her :D

also note the alternate fic style tag. this is written like a textbook.

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"I must say, I'm sorry to see you go," Georgie comments after releasing Mick from the hug. "We can always use good men such as yourself."

Mick frowns.

It's been so long since he's heard a kind word, and from the same sort of sneaky planner as Len used to be - so long since he's been anything but a burden, that he's been wanted - it's nice. He'd forgotten how nice.

"You know what," he says on an impulse. "Why not?"

"What?" Sara says blankly.

"Lemme get my stuff," Mick tells Georgie, who beams. "I'll be right back."

"Splendid!"

Mick turns and goes for the ship.

"What, what's going on?" Ray asks, jogging to catch up. He'd had to come see Georgie once before they left. "What did you mean?"

"Can I borrow your shrink tech for a bit?" Mick asks instead. "I need a way to carry shit, since there's gonna be more fighting before we get to stop. Gideon!"

"Yes, Mr. Rory?"

"I need books on early American history - military, political, biographical, whatnot, if you've got 'em, I want 'em - and print 'em on dyslexic-friendly paper, will ya? I need 'em in a single fake-book, make it look like the Bible to any eyes but mine. Make it run on - hmm - bit of Haircut's dwarfstar, and gimme a solar powered charger just in case."

"Will do, Mr. Rory," Gideon chirps.

"What are you doing?!" Ray exclaims.

"Throw in some maps," Mick says, ignoring him. "Natural resources, land prices around this period - horse racing win tallies, if we've got 'em. Standard staying kit, you know what I mean."

"Certainly, Mr. Rory."

"You can't possibly mean to stay," Stein says from the door.

"Gonna need cash," Mick continues. "Put all the shiny shit I have in my room in a chest with a loop on the end, so I can put it on a chain once it's shrunk, and toss in a few handfuls of pieces of eight or silver dollars to make up the rest. Oh, and some decent guns masked to look like era-appropriate pistols."

"Might I also suggest items to be used for cleanliness, Mr. Rory?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, lay in a supply. Especially flea repellant, that shit's not on."

"The effects on the timeline -" Stein adds.

"I'll be good, professor," Mick says. "Relax."

"Shall I include your audiobooks?" Gideon asks.

"My shrink's stuff? Yeah, might as well. Make 'em earmuffs."

"Excellent suggestion, Mr. Rory."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Sara says. "Mick's not leaving."

"Yeah, I am," Mick says. "Haircut, can I borrow that shrink thing you've got? I know you made a duplicate. I wanna shrink it all down to something I can carry."

"Uh, sure," Ray says, looking dazed. "But -"

"I'll also borrow your thingumajig for summoning the Waverider," Mick assures him. "Don't think I'll use it, but, y'know, just in case. Oh, Gideon - I want a full set of vacs before I go, and some of those future pills against malaria and cholera and shit like that."

"I'm including a full spectrum of medications, disguised in time-appropriate containers, with a guide on how to use them," Gideon reports. "I'll update your vaccinations if you'll just swing through the med bay before you go."

"Good luck, man," Jax says.

"Thanks," Mick tells him. He always did like Jax.

"Stop talking like he's going!" Sara shouts. "He's not going!"

Mick snorts, drawing her attention.

"Blondie," he says gently, pulling out Kronos' pulse rifle from where he'd shoved it behind his cabinet. "I'd like to try to see you stop me."

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The original origins of Michael "Mick" Rory remain shrouded in mystery. According to one primary source, he once informed a sitting room that he was born 'out west', undoubtedly referring to one of the remote outposts of one of the colonies, although we have uncovered no information as to which one.

His name (and nickname) suggest an Irish ancestry, but Mr. Rory does not appear to have been a devout Catholic. On the contrary, his regular habit of telling bawdy jokes in the morning got him expelled from more than one church later in life, and no historian has adequately determined what denomination or ethnicity he belonged to, only that he was most likely Irish but possibly some generations removed from Ireland, as no one ever commented on him having an accent.

Any information about his family life, education, or, indeed, youthful career have sadly been lost to history. Indeed, Mick Rory appears to have sprung, as if fully formed, to join Washington in crossing the Delaware.

An extraordinarily tall man for the era - 6'2", the same height as George Washington, himself a famously tall figure - Mick Rory's close association with the General led to the two of them being called 'the Titans': a fearsome and intimidating duo, and the sight of Mr. Rory standing at Washington's back was (reportedly) enough to convince several individuals of wavering loyalty to throw their support to the rebellion's cause. Indeed, unlike General Washington, Mr. Rory was not only tall, but reportedly very burly as well. The diaries of various soldiers that accompanied them spoke of his fondness for engaging in arm-wrestling, in which he virtually never lost, and of various feats of strength that were even more impressive given that at the time of the Revolution he was already in his early forties.

Mr. Rory's manner was generally coarse and his manners have been called "shockingly base", but by all accounts he was possessed of incredible wit and dry humor. He was rarely without a sly quip or, worse, a terrible pun at hand; Benjamin Franklin called him "a Menace at a Funeral" for his pithy manner and willingness to make jokes regardless of the solemnity of any given occasion. He was very popular with the common soldiers as a result. This helped him successfully win their allegiance when Washington fell ill, ensuring that Washington's plan was carried forth as originally planned rather than the deviations suggested by some of the main staff; military historians by and large agree that (based on what we now know of British troop deployment) the deviations would have resulted in large scale battles the Continental Army was ill-equipped to face. It is also agreed that Mr. Rory's skill in artillery (specifically, in the setting of explosions) was invaluable in aiding Washington in winning the war.

Despite his rough manner, few men made the mistake of thinking that Mr. Rory's manner meant that he was stupid, or at least they rarely made it twice. Mr. Rory had an extremely facile brain: slow to stir, but once stirred, fearsome in his intensity. He displayed an advance grasp of mathematics, astronavigation, physics and chemistry on numerous occasions, and although he often forgot common words (a trait commented on by numerous contemporaries, some kindly, others less so, and one which modern historians have suggested to be a form of aphasia), his ability to predict the actions of other people was well recognized as being little short of uncanny. Yet despite clearly being educated in numerous subjects, Mr. Rory refused to explain the nature of his schooling and possessed what all agreed was a common (some even said ill-bred) accent. There were suggestions that he was the illegitimate son of some rich baron, but Mr. Rory's only recorded hint on the subject was to say that his parents were very much married, and that he was the son of a farmer even though he knew nothing of farming himself; this implies some split between his family (of whom he almost never spoke) and him at a young age.

Some hint to Mr. Rory's background can be found in a series of letters from John Adams to his wife, in which he wrote, "that Man which at Regular intervals accompanies the General has Revealed himself a son of the Sea, rather than any Colony; he owns No Land nor Property of his own, but is of Very Great Wealth regardless, owning as he does a chest filled with silver and gold, which Some say is the Lost Treasure of the dreadful pirates that once Ruled the territory of New Providence Island, some Fifty Years ago. Indeed, the Man - who signs as M. Rory and who possesses an Appalling handwriting that speaks of a youthful weakening of the Eye - proudly Proclaims skills which no gentle Man would ever admit. I know this only because it became very Useful when the door to the assembly Hall was inadvertently Locked and we feared we would have Break it in order to Enter once more to Proceed upon our new Nation's business."

By this we can understand a number of the rumors that encircled this mysterious and under-recognized historical figure. Unlike some of the wilder tales concerning some of our other founding fathers (Hamilton's history in the Caribbean, or Lafayette's supposed need to cross-dress to escape France), this story is lent some credence from the fact that Mr. Rory's lock-picking abilities (referred to obliquely by John Adams above, and mentioned repeatedly by his cousin Samuel Adams, another good friend of Mr. Rory) were referenced in numerous sources. He is said to have kept lock-picks in his hat, so as better have access to them whenever he needed them - one source even reported (albeit by hearsay) that he used them to escape when he was at one point captured by the British, after requesting that his hat be returned to him as his final request.

Yet that was not the only suggestion we have of a potentially infamous past. Multiple sources speak admiringly of Mr. Rory's extraordinary talent with firearms. One newspaper at the time referred to him in exalting tones as "He Who Never Misses and Never Misfires!" Indeed, Mr. Rory notoriously kept a pair of dueling pistols from which he could fire very nearly as effectively as a rifle, and which he swore would never misfire. Stories abound of the instance in which Mr. Hamilton impetuously challenged Mr. Rory to a duel, but Mr. Rory first requested that he be permitted to demonstrate his shooting talents, performing such tricks as shooting a moving target and putting out the center of a playing card. This display was so impressive that Mr. Hamilton retracted his challenge at once and the two became fine friends after that point. One source claims that Mr. Rory attributed his skills from having once been in a circus, but no other sources make any such mention and (given the scarcity of circuses as we now know them in that era) no historian has given any credence to such allegations.

We also have some hints of a prior tragedy in Mr. Rory's life. For the short period in which he appears in historical manuscripts, Mr. Rory was never recorded as married. Although he had a reputation as a ladies' man in words - many women would flock to parties in which he was rumored to attend in order to be scandalized by his coarse ideas of what constituted a compliment - Mr. Rory was equally notorious for his lack of affairs, a state which he ascribed to an ongoing state of mourning for a woman called Lenore. The diary of Martha Washington reports that when Mr. Rory became seriously drunk (as opposed to merely mildly intoxicated), he would speak of her as his partner in all things, a brilliant woman with an icy demeanor that perfectly balanced out his own fiery temper, and called her the greatest planner and finest hero he'd ever known. Sadly, Mr. Rory (who many historians believe to have been dyslexic due to the references to the weakness of his eyes accompanied by the fact that no one ever referred to him wearing spectacles) did not keep a diary of his own, so the identity of this romantic Lenore has remained as mysterious as the rest of his past. It is, however, undeniable that Mr. Rory established a reputation as a man who was virtually incorruptible when it came to the approaches of women.

His opinions were no less shockingly modern than his language. Perhaps unsurprisingly given his admiration of his lost Lenore (some historians suggest that Mr. Rory's story, despite the relative anonymity that surrounded him after his death, was the inspiration of Edgar Allen Poe's poem, the Raven, but many others disagree), Mr. Rory's views on women were extremely progressive for his era. He was one of the few men who suggested - quite seriously, by all accounts - that women be given the right to vote, equal to men, and he advocated passionately and successfully for more equal divorce laws and inheritance rights for widows and female children. He also established the first shelter in America explicitly devoted to women suffering from domestic violence and fleeing, sometimes with their children, from their husbands. Although many of his contemporaries objected, arguing that married women were not being abused but merely disciplined, Mr. Rory produced two sets of arguments which in the end permitted his shelter (the Shoshana House, named, he claimed, after the mother of his beloved Lenore, a childhood victim of an abusive father) to flourish. The first argument related to a long-buried reference to the Roman republic, establishing that the tradition of the pater familias was accompanied by a fierce disdain of any many who beat his wife and that such a man was ostracized for his actions - such an argument carried significant weight with many of Mr. Rory's contemporaries, many of whom hoped to model their fledging republic after the great Greek and Roman republics of old. The second argument, although less eloquent, may have also been more immediately effective in preserving his project: when his plans for the building were rebuffed upon revelation, Mr. Rory apparently challenged any who objected to the purpose of his charity to "fight me". Accompanied by Mr. Rory's height, strength, and notorious skill at arms, this may have encouraged people not to object too vociferously to the project, which continued to flourish after his death.

Women's rights were not the only realm in which Mr. Rory was progressive. A landless but wealthy man, with the air of a pirate and the tricks that (to quote John Adams) no gentleman would admit, appearing out of nowhere to save General Washington's life, unsurprisingly caused some consternation among the wealthy landowners of the South - consternation that was only worsened by the fact that from his very first appearance, Mr. Rory was an avid (some say rabid) abolitionist, referring to slavery in a speech transcribed and published by one newspaper as a blot on America's record, an injustice and hypocrisy against the principles that America purported to represent, and likely to be the cause of a terrible cataclysm that would rip the nation in two when the abolitionists and slave-owners finally "had it out", as Mr. Rory colorfully described. This prescient view of the future, sadly, did not convince many at the time, but it is said to be due to Mr. Rory's influence that General Washington freed all his slaves within his own lifetime, rather than at his death as he'd previously planned. Many of the freed slaves continued to work on Washington's home, receiving a wage that they were permitted to use however they saw fit.

Some historians even point to Mr. Rory as the cause of Washington's later split with Jefferson, a slave-owner who favored releasing slaves upon the death of the owner; however, numerous anecdotes suggest that Washington's opposition to Jefferson was ideological, not personal, and would have happened regardless. That being said, Mr. Rory was in fact banned from Monticello after he notoriously called Jefferson a "liver-bellied coward who rapes his dead wife's half-sister and enslaves his children by her to hide the proof", which many historians believe to be the only time Jefferson's association with Sally Hemmings (which many modern day scholars view as rape, rather than a consensual or "mistress" relationship as it was viewed in previous generations) was ever publically called out. Unsurprisingly, Jefferson refused to have anything to do with Mr. Rory after that point, despite their agreement on other points of reform.

One area in which Mr. Rory was particularly involved was his passionate support for the reform of the criminal justice system. Although not all of his ideas were adopted - many of which were deemed so radical that they were censored from publication - he is responsible for ensuring that provisions that preserved the rights of incarcerated individuals, including the right to regular communication (a first amendment right which has since been interpreted as outlawing solitary imprisonment for longer than two weeks) and of appeal. He also championed an early version of the concept of structural inequality, claiming that the protection afforded by the provision of a local twelve-man jury (stalwart of the British system of law) was useless if the selection of the defendants was perverted to begin with. The inclusion of the phrase "or prosecution" in the Fourth Amendment outlawing "cruel and unusual punishment" is popularly ascribed to Mr. Rory; the phrase lay dormant for centuries, only to be seized upon by the Warren Court in the civil rights era as the vehicle to defeat racial bias in prosecutorial discretion and, more recently, as a vehicle to implement protections against systematic discrimination in the prison system and gerrymandering generally.

Aside from his often controversial political views, Mr. Rory was often noted to have a convivial and charming personality, despite his occasional bouts of moodiness and depression, and also despite a temper that could reliably be roused against individuals who irritated him - luckily for those around him, that temper was easily restrained by someone he trusted, usually Washington, keeping a level head. Though when Washington was truly incensed, Mr. Rory's fury was well-nigh unstoppable.

Last, but certainly not least, Mr. Rory had one particularly notable characteristic: he was a pyromaniac. Although it was not characterized as such at the time, the medical term not yet being coined, Mr. Rory's tendency to dissociate while staring at flames was widely noted, and he often lit candles or matches even during the day - an eccentricity that, if not for his great wealth, might have been ruinously expensive. He notoriously torched a number of British forts during the war and some of his critics snidely accused him of various arsons thereafter, accusations that never failed to amuse him - though they had a tendency to enrage his host.

His host, of course, being his good friend George Washington, his eternal advocate and close friend - and, to everyone's amusement, the man whom Mr. Rory never failingly referred to as "Georgie", no matter how solemn the situation. Several records of Washington's inauguration indicate that shortly after the solemn ceremony was done, Mr. Rory slapped Washington on the back and proclaimed, "I told ya you could do it, Georgie!", and this was not the only such incident. Mr. Rory first appeared, as we have said, in the crossing of the Delaware and remained a close confidant of Washington thereafter, Washington stating on a number of occasion that Mr. Rory had saved his life and had given him a good tongue-lashing about not letting cultural preconceptions get in the way of victory at the same time. Mr. Rory was separated from Washington a few times, when he led bands of his own - he preferred covert missions with small teams to leading his own squadron, as his colleague Hamilton longed to do - but after the end of the war, Washington invited him to stay with him at Mount Vernon, and Mr. Rory did so.

Once at Mount Vernon, Mr. Rory made several investments in land and stock which turned out quite well for him, as well as a surprisingly series of victories at the Newmarket Courses, the oldest of the new nation's horse racing tracks. His wealth, so supplemented, was spent primarily on charitable acts thereafter - the aforementioned shelter for women and children, several schools of fine quality that accepted only orphans and other impoverished children, and so on. Interestingly enough, he gave almost none of his wealth to the church, refusing to identify which denomination he belong - stating only that the God he believed in was good enough to share and share alike, leading to suppositions that he was a Quaker or a Lutheran, or possibly some other sect. One historian has proposed that as a pyromaniac, Mr. Rory might have developed a personal spiritualism set around fire, which would match certain of his statements, but this theory has not 'caught fire' with certain historians.

Little is know of his interactions at the Constitutional Convention, there at Washington's side as always, other than what has already been discussed, but he was an avid Federalist who blasted Jefferson's Republicans as longing to return the nation to an agrarian paradise that had never existed. He also strongly supported Hamilton's proposal of a national bank, although (perhaps strangely) he did support the location of the new capital on the Potomac instead of in a northern city. His comment, made to a local newspaper, at the time of the selection of the plot of what would later be called Washington D.C. was that it was only fitting that "the Swamp of Politics should be given a Swamp of Its Own."

Of his later years, little has been said. Mr. Rory retained his extraordinary vitality and health, hardly even seeming to age, and he continued to pick fights like a common sailor in the dockyard taverns long after he had been recognized as a great man and his portrait painted, to have a place of honor at Mount Vernon. He stood by Washington through the Revolutionary War, and again during the Whiskey Rebellion. No cause of death has ever been identified, although one very strange story appears in the diary of Martha Washington.

She writes that in 1797, shortly after Washington's retirement to Mount Vernon, a retirement which Mr. Rory - ever loyal - joined and even assisted in preparing for by helping set up a distillery on Mount Vernon, the first batch of spirits being produced in February of that year, Mr. Rory began to act increasingly unusually. He would often sit alone; this was not unusual during his depressive periods, but was now accompanied by an aggressive desire for privacy. He also developed a habit of speaking to the air as though carrying on a conversation. He became excited and enthusiastic in a way which Washington commented he had never seen before despite their friendship of now over twenty years running.

And then, Martha records, one day he came out from his room with tears of joy in his eyes, grasping Washington by the hands and telling him that his "Lenny" (undoubtedly a reference to his much-beloved Lenore) was coming to fetch him and insisting he had always known that death would be no impediment to their partnership. The Washingtons naturally became extremely concerned, particularly as in regards to Mr. Rory's mental state, but Mr. Rory assured him that he was very happy to be going and would hear no word against it. He then proceeded to pack up his most precious belongings, distributed the remainder, embraced Washington and wished him well, and then walked out of Mount Vernon for the last time. He was never seen again thereafter, not in any historical record that we have been able to locate.

With that fascinating exit - one of which has launched a dozen ghost stories, with locals claiming that they could on dark nights still see a big man and an equally tall woman, almost mannish in her slenderness, walk hand-in-hand into the sky and disappear into a shower of blue sparks - Mick Rory walks out of the narrative, on his own terms, just as he had every other aspect of his life.

His statute still stands in Washington D.C. today, and although he is one of our lesser known Founding Fathers, never having held formal political office, it is my belief that this man has had tremendous impact on the shape of our nation -

('The Stalwart: The Strange Life of Mick Rory, Washington's Best Friend', a thesis paper by F. Smoak, Starling State University)

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"Oh my god, we've ruined history," Nate moans.

"You're kidding, right?" Jax says. "This is awesome."

"He changed the Constitution, Jax!" Sara hisses. "He knew he was supposed to lay low and he changed. The. Constitution!"

"Yeah, for the better," Jax shoots back. "So what's the big deal?"

"I must admit the anti-gerrymandering laws seem very useful," Stein says.

"Plus the systemic bias in prisons thing!"

"Guys!" Sara holds up her hands. "We're supposed to keep the timeline intact, remember?"

"We were originally recruited to help Rip change the timeline by killing Savage before his family died," Jax replies, unimpressed. "Remember?"

Sara pauses. "Well, yeah, I mean, I guess..."

"I can't believe I'm friends with a Founding Father!" Ray says cheerfully, not for the first time. "This is so cool!"

"They're just men," Amaya reminds him, also not for the first time, but she's smiling over at the corner where Mick and the now-resurrected Leonard Snart are talking, still hand-in-hand and each refusing to let go.

"Twenty years," Mick is saying.

"You did good," Len replies, shaking his head. "Besides, it gave you time to work out the remainder of that brainwashing from the Time Masters, didn't it?"

"Twenty. Goddamn. Years. Lenny. If my exposure to the Oculus during my time as a bounty hunter hadn't had those side effects about my aging - or lack thereof - then -"

"Yeah, well, it did. As it did to me."

Mick snorts. "Still, twenty years..."

"Hey," Len says. "I told you I was always coming back for you. I never said when."

"Asshole."

"Pyro."

"Thief."

"Husband."

"Ghost."

"Founding Father."

Mick grins. "Okay," he says. "Guilty on all counts."

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

NSFW #2.4: Make Your Mark

The sun hung high in the clear azure sky, casting the cliffs and sandy ground in a light golden hue. The setting was one that called to mind any number of stories, mental images of camels and oases and, of course, pyramids. But to the contrary, NSFW were not visiting the Great Pyramids, one of the legendary Seven Wonders that happened to be in the city where Valor Pro was hosting their event. Instead, they’d traveled several hours away to Luxor, the fabled Valley of the Kings. It brought them to where they stood now- inside of a magnificent three tiered temple that seemed to glow in the same golden cast as its surroundings. Several groups of tourists wound their way up the grand staircases and through its ancient halls. Bishop Church and Mike McGuire, however, were already in an area only restored a few years prior, taking a moment to appreciate what lay before them- and turning an eye toward their GoPro camera, set up on its portable tripod. Their outfits coordinated well- both in khaki shorts and sturdy hiking boots, sporting their new ‘Cherry Bomb!’ tanks. Bishop sported an NSFW branded ballcap to shield his eyes from the sun, while Mike opted for their ever present Mets cap. They hadn’t made a habit of wearing their own merchandise lately but someone special was bound to get riled up when they watch. “Welcome to Egypt, Valor Pro faithful! I gotta tell you, there ain’t a better place the brass coulda picked for this show. The whole country is soaked in history. Legendary kings hundreds of thousands of years old have left their marks all around us. And this here? This grand piece of fuckin’ architecture is dedicated to one of ‘em- Hatshepsut. Now, Hatshepsut was an interesting piece of work, different from any other of the great Pharaohs of ancient Egypt. And that had a lot to do, well, with who she was.” They were in a long, somewhat narrow room with an arched ceiling. The walls were adorned with murals, colorful in spite of their age even though there were quite a few pieces of imagery missing, and the ceiling a still vivid blue sporting row after row of yellow stars to mimic the desert sky at night. While Mike spoke, John observed with his hands behind his back. For someone so broad, he did his best to minimize his impact on this ancient ground. “In modern times, everything about her is accessible within seconds. But here,” John’s right hand gestured to the pictures in front of him, “is one of the major ways the ancient Egyptians  communicated. And so despite Hatshepsut’s accomplishments, she was slowly erased and when she wasn’t? Her ascension and motives were all questioned and scrutinized.” “There’s been lots of speculation on why her successor- her stepson- did that. A common theory goes that he didn’t hold her any ill will personally, but didn’t want any other women getting ideas on doing what she did and becoming Pharaoh themselves. But whatever his motive was? It didn’t fucking work, because, as my partner said, you can look up her reign in seconds. We’re talking about her right now. Which is a testament to the fact that true greatness can’t be buried forever.” Mike went to lean against the wall in a casual manner, but a somewhat alarmed look from their partner stopped them and they folded their arms instead. “Of course, chipping away cartouches and pulling down statues ain’t the only way to try to diminish someone’s mark on the world. Trying to muddy the narrative’s the bog standard these days. Kicking up so much shit that what makes someone shine is lost in a storm of crap that either ain’t true or doesn’t matter.” John finally turned around to face the camera, he stood close to his partner. “We’re somewhat used to it,” John paused, “A business decision was made to not renew our contracts in our previous place of employment. There were whispers circulating as to why. And within moments, our tenure had been rewritten by those that linger like wraiths. Coming to Valor Pro was our way of saying to them, to anyone, that our legacy is ours. But here we are, contenders already, and yet the focus has shifted to something that is less than desirable. That’s why we feel that it is on us to remind everyone just who we are.” “We are the kings of tag team wrestling. The falling Icarus, the Cherry Bombers, the Bishop and the Queen. Our bond is fuckin’ unbreakable and our faith in each other is unshakable, no matter how much shit tries to cover up our legacy.” Mike shifted their hat to the side. “And here you are, Reboca, stepping up to us with your fuckin’ arrogance and cracks about our age while conveniently forgetting to say boo about the fact that your fiance's job is hanging in the balance. Too busy sucking yourself off to remember that detail? Or do you really not give a shit?” “Maybe you do. Maybe you’ve got that card clutched to your chest. But Cross Reboca, we understand where your priorities lie. You took one look at us and you dismissed us. You see NSFW as an appetizer to your grand feast. Dakota Jennings, though,” he turned to Mike, “Her actions are debatable but even then, I like her.” “Me too. In other circumstances, we could be friends. She’s totally my kind of gal. There’s just one eentsy weentsy little thing wrong- girl, you’ve got a real whacked out view of your current situation. Let’s break this down. We’ve talked about this and I don’t wanna hang on it too long, but let’s play devil’s advocate and say Vannah had it coming. That doesn’t mean you got carte fucking blanche to wallop everyone with a chair who looks at you goddamn cockeyed. Holy shit. I mean, I’ll admit to playing fast and loose with the rules, but when you go around making modern fucking art with steel chairs and blood? And the brass gets sick of your goddamn shenanigans and calls you to the carpet? There’s only one person responsible for the predicament you wind up in, and I’ll give you a hint- it ain’t Ms. Vanessa Byrne. And even so? And this is the kicker, Jennings- you cry foul on getting punished for your shit at the same time you’re selling fucking t-shirts of it. Wow.” Mike let out a subtle ‘whew’, having said all that in a minimal amount of breaths. Their partner graciously picked up the thread. “And so that’s why you’re here. Back against the wall. Wounded animal. Against all odds. All of those cliches. It puts Mike and I in an unfortunate predicament. We are the arbitrators. We have the final say on your career in Valor Pro.” There was a poignant pause. Footsteps going away from them in the distance can be heard. “Right now, right here, it gives me second thoughts. To extinguish a young career would be no proud achievement. But Mike knows about me. Knows how I handle business in that ring. Once I step between those ropes, friend or foe, I don’t care who you are.” “That’s true. We got a little saying between ourselves- ‘it’s different in the ring’. Now, that phrase has a few meanings for us, most’re personal. But the one you need to be concerned with is the one my partner just alluded to. Because he’s dead serious and so am I- soon as that bell rings, we don’t care. Soon as that bell rings, our sole fuckin’ sphere of concern involves watching each other’s backs and making sure one of you stays down for three, no matter what we have to do to make that happen. Reboca has his arrogance and skill. Jennings has her violence and moxie. That may or may not be enough, but we will do horrible fucking things to you to make sure’s shit it isn’t.” Mike’s eyes were hard-cut emeralds in the dim light, narrowed, sharp, and dangerous. “Three seconds is the easy way out,” John’s fists balled up, the muscles in his arms taut with tension, “I’d need about nine myself. First, blood flow is cut to the brain. All of those vibrant colors become muted. Vision fails. Then like pulling a plug, the ability to move, to speak, to remember, to feel love - that all goes away as the frontal cortex shuts down. A second later, unconsciousness. The bell rings. You don’t hear that. It takes three seconds for normal brain function to resume. And when it does, Dakota Jennings, you’ll come to the realization that while Cross Reboca still has his greatest opportunity to date, you will have nothing.” “Shit’s cold. But that’s the business. I’m sure you two understand.” Mike shrugged. “Also understand we ain’t selling you short. We know we’re in for a hell of a fight. We know you two won’t be split easy- no matter what Cross does or doesn’t say, even if he is the guy in this fight with the least to lose, you two are gonna get married. And it’ll probably be a big, fancy affair, destination venue, celebrity appearances, gourmet cake personally barbecued by Guy Fieri guaranteed to take you to fuckin’ Flavortown, the works!” John mouthed the words to himself, ‘barbecued cake?’ “You got that to look forward to. You got love for each other that nobody’s gonna deny. Nothing can take that away from you…” Inhale. Exhale. Their expression sets in a certain sort of determination and defiance.  They looked to their partner, who responded with a slight nod. “...just like nothing can take what me and Church have away from us. Nothing. We don’t have the glitz, the glamour. The fancy cars an’ movie stars, the high roller suites. You live like superstars. But we’re Not Superstars- we’re Fuckin’ Wrestlers. And that fact? That is why we’re going to be Valor Pro’s next Chimera Tag Team Champions.” Giving that crooked grin of theirs, Mike clicked off the camera. It wasn’t a moment too soon. Before Mike could even say anything about what they’d just recorded, a stampede of footfalls echoed through the ancient stone hallways, and a small throng of people came into the shrine where NSFW had just finished recording. They cut between them, the two of them momentarily on opposite sides of a small Nile of humanity, occupying the empty spaces in the murals long since partially erased. Their eyes stayed connected, even as the tour group made their way around the chamber and took pictures. When a part of the room thinned out, they made their way back to the center. Mike held out their hand. John took it, and the two of them joined the group in their appreciation of ancient history.