#dustin is such a legend

[izzymalec]

two kinds of countries

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Sachertorte - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

The crew get a reporter intoxicated on more than Zaun's neon lights...

Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

Dustin, blithely self-medicated on Janna-knew-what, was proof positive.

"Want some?" He proffered his joint. "They're passing 'em out at the Expo."

"They—what?"

Through pursed lips, Dustin blew out a misshapen ring. "Brightleaf, y'know. Free samples. It's a new strain. Supposed to keep the chest clear, make the lungs less congested. The benefits are pullomo—plomo—"

"Pulmonary?" you supplied.

"That's it! So what's your poison? Brightleaf? Z-Zap? Puffcap?"

"Thank you. But I'll pass."

"Puff-puff-pass?"

"Just pass."

It wasn't that you did not appreciate a good toke. You were a child of Piltover's golden age: the days of opium dens and cannabis clubs. But Zaun was not a place to be off one's head. Their tobacco was infamous for its potency. Also, you weren't sure you wanted to swap saliva with your unsavory-looking guide. You'd not had your shots, and you'd prefer not to catch an exotic strain of flu.

Not when the interview was less than twelve hours away. 

"Your loss." Dustin threw a rubberband arm around your shoulders, and gave a squeeze. "Say, have you tried the sweets yet?"

"Sweets?"

"The sweet-shops at the Promenade. We've got a couple: Cray-Cray, Lollypop's, Mango-Splash. Best in town. The Li'l Miss goes to Lollypop's sometimes, after her gigs."

"The Li'l Miss?"

"You know. Jinx."

"Oh. Oh." You were relieved. For a moment, you'd feared being strongarmed into reviewing a strip-club. "I am told Zaun's patisseries are second-to-none."

"You can say that again!" A high-pitched cackle. "Hey, why don't we swing by a few? There's still time before the Expo. And Mister S, he won't mind. He wants you to take in the sights."

"Is the First Chancellor a fan of sweets, as well?"

"He's a fan of a lot of things. Sweet nothings. Sweet deals. Sweet cheeks." A wink. "Hey, have you tried our Sachertorte yet?"

"I—I cannot say I have."

"Wha-a-a-a-at? Lock, Ran, are you hearin' this?"

Lock was busy scraping the dregs from his bowl. Ran's reply was a laconic shrug. Their natural aptitude for indolence was beginning to strike you as the side-effect of a daily exposure to Dustin's ceaseless chatter.  You wondered at the circumstances that had thrust these individuals—each a walking stereotype of Zaunite vice—into the Chancellor's inner circle. 

Then again, you suspected their skillsets were far more specialized than the vices they seemed to represent.

"That's a shame," Dustin was saying, shaking his head. "That's a damn shame. Hey, why don't we drop by some shops? The Rack's got the best Sachertorte in town."

"Pssssh." Lock wiped his mouth. "The Rack's for the kids. All sugar. No kick."

"Well, what about the Honeypot? Punchiest opera cakes in the business."

"Too punchy," Ran hummed. "Takes a week to come down."

"Then how about the Laughing Coffin? I'm tellin' ya. They've got the meanest rum-baba."

"Bossman gave it a thumbs-down. He said, and I quote, 'Ich würde meinen größten Feind nicht an dieses Dessert verfüttern.'"

"Damn. Guess there's a reason they're going out of business."

"I say we hit the Piglet's Squeal," Lock said. "They do a decent macaroon."

Dustin grimaced. "No way, man. Too frilly. You'll catch a dose of cooties before rush hour."

"How about the Sugarplum Fairy? Eclairs to die for. Even the Bit of Ghostberry goes nuts for ‘em."

"Eh. Maybe. Hey, what do you think, Goodie?"

You'd been listening dizzily to their debate, hoping for an interlude to extricate yourself.  Zaun's gastronomic scene was an entirely untapped market. Half the names dropped sounded, to your ears, like the opening lines of a particularly bawdy tavern song. The other half, however, were clearly establishments of repute.

Perhaps you could, in good faith, venture off-script to sample a few. After all, a journalist, if they wished to report the truth, must also live the truth.

In this case, you would eat it—and your own naivety—soon enough.

The Sugarplum Fairy was a glossy establishment, complete with a wrought-iron trellis of chem-nourished wisteria and an awning of glittering pink neon. As soon as you walked in, you were treated to a sensory assault: the aromatic waft of spun sugar, gingerbread baking, and a rich, fruity tang of liqueurs. The staff were a troupe of rainbow-aproned cuties. They wore striped stockings and frou-frou skirts. Their heads were topped by tiny chef's hats; their faces painted like dolls. They were all dimpling smiles, and spoke a Zaunite dialect so rapid it might have been the language of the pixies themselves.

Their shop was, you were told, a favorite haunt of Jinx. You could imagine the blue-haired firecracker skipping in, then sauntering out, leaving a trail of candy hearts and sugar-spun dreams in her wake.

You were also told that the First Chancellor patronized the shop once a year.

"It's true," a server gushed, her cheeks fetchingly a-glow. "Jinx enlisted our services to bake his fortieth birthday cake! He had a slice—oh, it was such an honor—and so the tradition began!"

"Tradition?"

"Every year, on the Day of Ash, he orders a special cake!"

"What kind of cake?"

"Plain bundt. No decoration. No icing. No candles."

"Whatever for?"

"Who can say?" She giggled. "Some say he's paying his respects to the fallen. Some say he's commemorating the days of rationing, when flour was as precious as gold. Some say he's simply a plain-Jane fellow at heart. Whatever the case, we're honored to be his purveyors. He tips very well."

Curiousor and curiouser, you thought.

The larger-than-life persona you'd collated from reports clashed with glimpses of this quieter, more private man.  Perhaps his proclivity for austerity was the legacy of a childhood spent in the Sumps? Perhaps his taste for the simpler things reflected a deeper sense of humility? Perhaps it was a reminder of his roots, and a pledge to never forget them?

Or, perhaps, he simply enjoyed a good bundt cake.

The Sugarplum Fairy were as generous as their reputed patron. Each sampling was on the house. Their confectionary creations were a symphony of sugar and spice. Piltover has always prided itself on its sophisticated palate. Our desserts are inspired by the classics: soufflés, angelcakes, jam tarts. Zaun, conversely, was an untamed frontier: every flavor from the far-flung corners of Runeterra was distilled into a pot of bubbling sugar and set to simmer. The result was an extravaganza of culinary hybrids: Nazumah honey drizzled over Zhyunian strawberries; Bilgewater rum soaked into Bahrl's black-bean cakes; Demacian almond paste blended with spongy, melt-in-the-mouth Noxian pears.

Each mouthful was a journey across Zaun's variegated landscape. Some melted like liquid bliss on the tongue. Others exploded across the palate in a joyous expletive. By the end, your senses were reeling.

Then came the coup-de-grace.

The servers brought in four slices of decadently-rich double chocolate cake. The first layer was a dark fudgy delight; the second a velvety-smooth ganache; the third, a creamy milk chocolate mousse. The base was a hazelnut praline with a sprinkling of chopped pecans. Topped off with a swirl of vanilla cream and a dusting of icing sugar, the cake was as gorgeous as it was sinful. 

"On the house," the servers cooed.

Ran's eyes lit up like an excited child. Lock rubbed his massive hands together. Dustin danced from foot to foot. Their effusive glee was contagious. In retrospect, you ought to have realized: there were a few too many winks and nudges. A pitch too high, a skip too fast, in their voices. A sense of something secret, something scandalous, afoot.

But you, babe in the woods, were too entranced by the sugar-coated charm. Too dazzled by the culinary wizardry.

Too stupid to spot the trap.

Four golden forks were presented. You each drove one into a glistening chocolate wedge and stuffed it in your mouths. Ran's eyes were closed. Dustin's head swayed back and forth on a gyre of glee. Lock grinned from ear-to-ear as he chewed.  Like them, you could only marvel at the skill that had gone into making the perfect bite: the smoothness of the chocolate, the light crunch of the nuts, the airiness of the whipped cream.

This cake slid down your gullet with a sensation that made your shiver. It felt nearly lubricious. It felt—wicked.

"Merciful Janna," you sighed. "What is this?"

"The Sachertorte," they chorused.

"I've never tasted anything like it."

"You wouldn't." The server tittered. "It's a secret recipe. Passed down for generations. All I can say is: it's got a little bit of this and a little bit of that."

"This, and that, what?"

"Oh, you know." She batted her eyelashes. "A pinch of sugar, a dollop of honey, a dash of spice..."

"And?"

She put a finger to her lips. "And everything that makes Zaun oh-so-nice."

The edges of the shop began to ripple. Your head grew light. Butterflies—silky soft butterflies—danced in the pit of your belly. The sensation spread, in slow-motion, through every extremity, down to the tips of your fingers, up to the roots of your hair. You couldn't help but giggle. This was the feeling. The one you'd been chasing. The one you'd been after, since the days of youth, when you'd snuck your first taste of illicit fruit.

The euphoria. The bliss. The freedom.

In another minute, the body-stone was in full effect.

A word of advice, fair reader. Zaun's desserts are as deadly as its dead-ends.

To requote their favorite aphorism:

"Look out for yourself."

[forestmossling]

so, uhm, yeah. well. i mean- uh. so, anyway-

this is sooooo amazing and cool and stunning and wonderful. the characterization, the narrative, the plot line, the relationships, the spirit, the EVERYTHING. i just love this a lot.

i was initially kinda bummed about eddie not being an actual seer or whatever, because i get all hot and bothered over supernatural aus like a freak, but then i read the author’s note which basically says that eddie may or may not be an actual seer, so i thought okay, if eddie was an actual seer he would’ve probably started suspecting that in any way or there would be at least some kind of intention behind his prophecies and his gift would have occurred later on in other situations. so now i’m just rolling with the idea that fate or destiny or whatever other higher power ships steddie and just forced all of eddie’s predictions to come true so these two idiots would finally get together.

but even without anything actually supernatural going on, the sheer ✨vibes✨had me blown away. oh how i wish to be a blade of grass on the field before eddie’s tent when steve comes to him in the king costume with robin playing an actual fanfare (holY SHIT that was legendary) and dustin being all dorky with his scroll. the way i giggled all the way through this, oh my god, and THIS

had me CACKLING. i just love love love love love everything about this au and this fic.

also, the miscommunication almost killed me (oh my god how i hate people just not fucking talking to each other properly, i’m too autistic for this shit), but the sweet sweet pain of relatively easily solvable angst brought me back. i was eating that shit up.

in conclusion, absolutely magical. @just-my-latest-hyperfixation, thank you so so much for this treasure, i’m gonna go read all of your fics i haven’t read yet. 789257929092784510/10, am recommending

[alphacomicsvol2]

Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic #28 Cover Art by Dustin Weaver

[smashpages]

Spirit World #1 (DC, May 2023) variant cover by Dustin Nguyen. Part of DC’s “We Are Legends” line.

[hawkyon-days]

Actually, you know why season 4 ended as badly as it did?

Because He wasn't in it

[mazojo]

The way Eleven dumped her boyfriend and got a girlfriend all in the span of 15 minutes, iconic

[moonchildreads]

been thinking about this since yesterday and i need to put it out there so bear with me:

modern!eddie na lcs au - eddie and the hellfire club are a league of legends team trying to go pro back in like 2013 (yes this is heavily inspired by cloud9's history as an org because i am, in fact, a c9ner)

unnamed freak (i always call him donny because that's the name i gave him in my other fic - shameless plug, read small town here!) is a top, eddie is the jungler, gareth is mid, jeff is bot and they've recently lost their support so they need to find someone to sub in for support in their promotion match, in comes: steve harrington who learned to play the game because robin needed a lane partner (she's also a bot laner) OR here's a wild thought: i make this x reader and make her robin's second bestie and add the storyline of "oooh first female player in the league, gotta prove her worth to all these nerds"

nancy and steve as their team managers!!!! robin as their coach (she enlists erica as their data analyst and dustin as her assistant coach), murray and hop as the org owners, joyce is the team mom ofc. jonathan and argyle are their biggest supporters, argyle and will do merch and jonathan takes care of social media and marketing. i'm losing my mind someone stop me i need to finish writing small town ch13 NOT GET ANOTHER WIP

[pinkrose1422]

So I just noticed something.

I just saw this point from ArcaneDaily and noticed something in the Enemy by Imagine Dragon music video; you can see this clip.

Now look at the character on the right side.

You can see Ran (cannon name) and Feathers (not cannon name. Name is unknown). You can also see Deckard (the one who ends up working for Silco and fighting Vi and the gang in the ally way).

Ran

Dustin (not the main focus) and Feathers (not real name)

And of course Deckard.

They were all friends. They hanged out and goofed around together. They were friends. They also seem to be around the same age so they all were in their teens, which is weird cause Sevika doesn’t seem that older than Vi in act 2 and 3 so now I think Sevika is just slightly older than Vi in Act 1, which means she was probably 17-19 cause Vi is 16-18 in act 1 (vi age was confirmed on twitter. Apologies, I don’t have the twitter link on hand).

This is mine blowing to me. They were friends. Sevika is only slightly older than Vi. They all knew each other.. they knew powder as powder before she was jinx. My mind is fucking blown.

[heliumcake]

the never ending story moment was cute you guys are just haters

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - The Saber of Revolution - Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO

Silco and the crew get the Piltovan welcome...

Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

Before Zaun is allowed to rub shoulders with Piltover, they must endure a full-body search.

A squad of Enforcers wait at the checkpoint. Each one dons hypoallergenic white gloves, as if touching radioactive waste. It's equal parts precaution and power-trip. Zaun may be have won independence, but in the eyes of the Councilors, it remains a volatile ghetto. The riffraff must prove their worth through a series of underhanded gauntlet-runs before sharing the same air as their betters.

Hubris by tradition. Humiliation by design.

Silco and his crew give no quarter. They've endured this rigmarole before, and take it in stride. Some are stoic, their features insensate to even the most invasive probings. Others see it as a chance to flex, their bodies a tribute to lifetime of crime and combat.

Dustin hops into the line of Enforcers with a devil-may-care grin. Off comes his jacket. He twirls over his head like a floor-show at the Last Drop—to the Enforcers' deep displeasure. His body is all whipcord sinew and pockmarked scar. Catching the eye of a particularly dour Enforcer, he blows him a kiss.

The Enforcer's expression sours further.

Lock and Ran play along. They crack deadpan jokes about Dustin's affinity for strip-searches, and speculate as to what pestilence might be squirming inside his boots. They even start a bet on whether or not his skivvies are clean.

At Silco's side, Jinx is a shadow. Her fingers twitch once: nerves, temper. But she doesn't give away an inch.

Silco says, too low for any but her ears to catch: "Remember. It's just a dance."

She nods, once.

"You know the steps."

Jinx's shoulders roll. She steps forward.

The search is a typical tedium. Every pocket is emptied; every sock turned inside-out. Dustin's boots—a heavy-duty reinforced version of miner's galoshes—are sent to a specialist to have the insoles inspected for explosives. Ran's piercings, climbing the tongue in concentric rings of small, smaller, smallest, are unscrewed for contraband. Lock's elaborate tattoos are scrutinized with ultraviolet pens in case they are toxic.

One Enforcer unzips Sevika's coat and frisks her from armpits to ankles, taking his time, enjoying the view. Sevika watches him implacably. She doesn't even bat an eyelid when his hand slips dangerously close to a breast en route to her prosthetic arm. Perhaps he believes Fissure females have electric prods concealed in their nipples.

Then again, death isn't without appeal when it's an Amazon staring you down.

"Anything that isn't heavy-duty on you, sweetheart?" he drawls.

A common habit of their lot. Always denying Trenchers the courtesy of a formal address. It's always Sweetheart, Buddy, Boy. Everything stripped of respect and spoken with the wrong syllable and wrong intonation.

Sevika gives him a flat stare. "Just my patience."

Leering, the Enforcer lets her pass. She stalks off smoothly, a lioness with an unruffled pelt.

His colleague is having less luck with Jinx.

The pat-down is perfectly proper. But Jinx's smile grows more unsettling as his lingers. A fine tremor runs through the Enforcer's fingers. His eyes keep darting to her hands, then away, as if she might whip a machine gun out of nowhere. Jinx knows this, too, and does nothing to ease his tension. She lets her lashes dip down as if shy, then brings them up slowly—too slowly—to fix him in her crosshairs.

The Enforcer swallows. He's not one to give in to intimidation, but the little brat is getting to him. With every second, he is no longer a man taking pleasure in his job, but a human barometer; his sweat is the dial of his fate.

And it says: Hot as hell and ready to blow.

Abruptly, Jinx's demeanor shifts from incendiary to innocent.

"Careful," she lisps. "I'm ticklish."

The Enforcer swallows again. His pat-down concludes with alacrity. Hooking his thumb over his shoulder, he mutters, "All clear."

Jinx, all sunny smiles, twirls on a heel.

And—

"Catch!"

A silver arc zings. It hits the wall by the Enforcer's head—a composite blade, so well-concealed it went completely unnoticed.

The Enforcer's jaw drops. Jinx winks and sashays off.

Silco is given the most cautious rifling of all. His cufflinks may be deadly alloy; his pocketwatch an explosive capsule. The Enforcers anticipate an arsenal and fan out accordingly. Each one is sorely disappointed. Unlike Jinx, Silco has no steel on his person, beyond a cold crux of prudence. Even his bad eye, inspected at length, is revealed to be no sorcerer's orb, but an ordinary deformity.

And his scars are only scars.

After a minute or two of prying, one Enforcer removes a fountain pen from Silco's breast pocket. He eyes it dubiously, as if expecting it to fire rockets.

The Zaunite Chancellor's half-lidded smile troubles him further.

Privately, Silco marvels at the absurdity. A lifetime of blood, sweat and spite to achieve the unachievable, and Piltover's finest believe he'd bother to come all this way just to slash open the Council's jugulars with a writing implement.

Ironic, too, given that's exactly what he intends.

"The mighty saber of revolution, hm?" Silco mocks.

Bemused, the Enforcer hands the pen back. Silco makes a Ta gesture, and walks on.

[bluestarz420]

I'm simping

[alphacomicsvol2]

Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic #26 Cover Art by Dustin Weaver

[smallandangry24]

Rip Eddie Munson you would have loved Nine Inch Nails

[baddawg94]

The Rock

Goldust

Booker T

July 2002’s WWE Raw

[sparrowin]

if you think about it, dustin and suzie kind of invented edating