#i get worried that i seem disingenuous! And i hope that i am not coming across that way!

[friendlyengie]

May I just say... Thank you for your good good lady merc designs. Like, scout's Ma was already in milf territory but you really just 😙🤌. And Quinn! Lanky awkward woman my beloved. Her and Yvainne's weird gay thing is perfect. Anyway I am spinning them around in my brain, thank you for feeding my hyperfixation.

ive actually been drawing a lot of scout’s ma today, so this is a very apt ask to get !! Thank you sm! I’m having a lot of fun drawing strange women, always very happy to see people liking them!

Heres a wip of a ma. ^_^

[goldenpinof]

Idk if it’s too much to ask, but can you elaborate by any chance on how dd was alienating? I’ve never really watched it, and I breezed through a few to try to understand, but I still don’t get it 😞😞 It kinda just seemed like a longer version of his older videos with a bigger production?? Or am I wrong??? If you, or anyone else, could help me that’d be great! If not it’s okay, hope you’re having a lovely day!

it's not too much to ask, don't worry! it's gonna be too much to read for you, though, and i'm sorry for that :)

original anon, please, come back! i would also like to know your and others' thoughts on what felt wrong with dd.

i wasn't alienated, so i can only point own differences and traits (??) that weren't balanced out right away by either Phil or Dan himself. in dd videos Dan is ruder than usual and it feels less like banter. like, he is purposefully rude, loud, mean, annoyed, and offensive in a way. and if usually, you understand that it's not real because Dan either laughs or his "collaborator" laughs genuinely or gets on board and plays along – here it wasn't like that? or it wasn't like that always. during dd he was saying stupid and harmless things but the delivery was like he was punching someone with his words. gladly, Dan is a bad actor, so it was just awkward most of the time (at least to me), and that indicated that he was just fucking around and all of these is his weird concept of satire. there was a "i don't really wanna be here" vibe sometimes. some topics of the videos were purposefully boring and their point was to show that youtube is full of recycled content and there is so little originality on the platform? (allegedly! this is one of my understandings). he definitely tried to explain the whole big concept of dd somewhere, i just don't remember where (probably in a liveshow), and video descriptions can be very telling as well. also, he was using his fandom A LOT. we were giving him content, 45% of dd is phandom-based videos. it can weird people out, i can understand that. i'm not a huge fan of all these twitter screenshots and Dan reading them out loud. but as a part of a bigger concept i can let it slide.

anyway, for me it felt a bit disingenuous. like he would rather do anything else or nothing at all than dystopia daily. but his "annoyed at everyone and everything" dd persona fit into that. so i'm not mad it exists. it's a fucking concept and a half. and it's so funny to look at it and not take it seriously. there were good, cute and genuinely funny moments. just, the whole thing still feels like it was a challenge to youtube. and like he wanted to bait people. i don't know, i haven't rewatched any of the videos. my thoughts are based on memories.

i think in the beginning Dan was like: am i doing what i want to do (and there's no budget around); am i doing what youtube algorithm wants from me?; or am i doing what the audience wants? and he tried to create a piece of content that fit all three categories, and create it very fast. and that's why dd was such a roller coaster.

i'd like to hear the original anon :)

[pixiecaps]

I remember like, the first time I saw you. I hadn’t recognized your pfp, and after seeing it a few times on my dash I decided to click. After scrolling a bit, I came to the realization I had followed you on accident (something that happens plenty to me). I usually would’ve unfollowed, but you seemed just interesting enough for me not too. A few months later, I’m surprised when you follow me back, especially since I don’t make original posts, and am not ranboo-centric.

Nowadays, you’ve managed to become one of my favorite mutuals. I always get giddy when I see you in my notifications, and 90% of the time I make note to see what post you liked and/or reblogged. It’s the “I’m getting a good grade in reblogging, something that is both possible to achieve and normal to want.”

We aren’t close mutuals, though I definitely wouldn’t mind it. I’d love to send more asks, however I’m horrific at carrying conversations and also have some social anxiety that makes me nervous. I also don’t want to intrude, as previously mentioned we aren’t close mutuals, and I don’t want to be pushy or annoying, haha. And I would start by responding to some of the posts you make that expect responses, but I don’t refresh my dashboard enough to see them in time. And I don’t know if it’d be appropriate to ask for a discord, which I’m better at checking, because I know it’s usually used for friends.

All in all though, you are funny and witty, and I often to stop and read your posts when otherwise I’d scroll. I like your opinions when you do decide to get serious, and despite some non-common interests, you present them in such a way I can easily engage in anyways. I wish you lots of love and luck, take care of yourself, and keep your chin up, king!

(P.S. sorry for the rlly long message whoops, I hope I’m not too late to send this.)

helllooo anon i think this was for the ask game:0 im sorry i didnt see this hours ago im pretty sure you sent this around the time i went to sleep but yes hii hello!!

“interesting enough” LETS FUCKING GOOO. okay! i usually follow back people i’ve seen around a lot on dash or urls i recognize in my notifs!! i must have recognized you:)

thats so sweet thank you i appreciate it😭 also wanna thank you for sticking around the idea that you’ve grown to rlly be fond of me after accidentally following me is heartwarming

ah dude don’t worry about. look i started this blog because i had horrific social anxiety and my irls were encouraging me to make new friends!! so even though i was shaking and wanted to throw up (that bad ik) i started posting and slowly but surely it wasn’t as scary anymore. it takes time so you can take your time dont feel pressured to interact if you dont want to. that being said i don’t mind if people who arent “close mutuals” send an ask or dms me. you become a close mutual by doing these things ya know😭 oh!!!! you can ask for discord too!! all mutuals are allowed to :) i however suck at holding conversations too so be aware of that lmao

AW TY!! ehehe you like my takes🤭 genuinely though i try to stay away from discourse or serious topics cus it may come off intimidating and thats the last thing i want to come off as but im glad whenever i do make a few posts like that you found it easy to engage:) i will! i am trying my best to take care of myself and for u i shall hmmm i was gonna say go outside but i already have plans to do that so it’d be disingenuous. i’ll just drink a lot of water today 👍 omg have u ever noticed theres no water bottle emoji on ios. i wait every update to see if they added one but nope. i would use that emoji so much…

anon congrats on getting the award of longest ask ever sent BAHSJD i woke up and saw this and my eyes popped in a good way

( also adding this after i posted this. i know anons dont usually like their own asks to stay hidden so i need you to know you seem lovely:D )

[andysandfordcomedy]

2022 I bid you adieu

(badass album cover by Ben Ziskind)

(me after first surgery. August 2020)

I’ll be honest with you, trusting reader: it feels pretty good to do one of these end of the year posts without the all too familiar “good riddance, this stupid ass year and hello, arbitrarily numbered upcoming year: Imma make you my BITCH!” At a certain point, the disingenuous core of that fake attitude shines through and it’s just a bit cringy. I can’t help but fall into the trap of assigning meaning to this year because it just so happens to be proof in a 3 year cup of pudding for me. 2020 was so fucking rough for me, and I was not in the mood to overcome all that bullshit (Crohn’s flare up, addiction issues, 2 surgeries, 3 months with a colostomy bag, intensely alone and depressed the whole time) just to get to a starting point of 0 for what I needed to do: build, workout, and eventually tape my best hour. I built and worked it out after moving to Atlanta in March of 2021, recorded in February 2022, and after some bullshit, finally released in November of 2022. It feels so goddam good to be able to say that. And not only that, but with all the tracks in rotation on 3 different channels on XM and an amazing jump off with 6 full album spins (meaning whole album played straight through 6 times) in week one. That’s the way to start the day right there(woo!).

I’m not one for heavy spiritual overtones, but if I hadn’t already had experience in setting goals that were just beyond the horizon and with no road map to guide me toward accomplishing those goals, I don’t know if I could have followed through with how far past the horizon and how vague the path was to get to where I hoped to get on this particular trial and tribulation. I really felt on the cusp of letting myself wither away in my room in bedstuy OR following the pull of the intuitive compass inside my chest pulling me towards Atlanta, towards the Earl, towards the people I needed to work with, and toward a very specific career path that I would be the first person I know to prove to myself it’s a viable one. I know that sounds crazy, or maybe dramatic, but I don’t know anyone that made the same plans as me, much less someone to watch pave the away ahead of me, reassuring me that it’s doable. Now I know that it’s more doable than I had initially hoped, which never fucking happens to me. 

Ok, I will try not to be vague here for the sake of others wondering what career paths are viable in stand up comedy. Of course, I think everyone should know that there truly is no set path to “making it” and I don’t even know what you have in your head as what “making it” is, but everyone should come to terms with the good and bad sides of how true that is, that there is no set path to a comedy career. On one end, you need not be discouraged if you don’t seem to fit what is often portrayed to be the path to comedy success. If you are like me and mysteriously unbookable for all supposed comedy stepping stone up & coming comedians on the rise/look out for these new faces of comedy’s future showcase festivals as decided by industry gate keepers with the power to “make” whoever they think they’ve discovered...don’t worry. Not only is it possible to have a career without being tapped by a future outted sex offender type, that whole model is completely hollow. That is all pomp and pageantry that doesn’t predict the future of comedy at all. On occasion, they happen to see the talent in a talented person that would’ve gone onto to do big things with their talent regardless, and then people reverse engineer what was causation and correlation or whatever. My point is, don’t fucking shed one tear over not getting New Faces, or wonder if you should quit because Comedy Central told you in a meeting that they just don’t know what to do with you, but hey you are funny. And yes, that’s me I am referencing there. My intuition told me to let my stubbornness take the wheel and laugh at those execs when they said that to me, because at the time Comedy Central was everything and to accept reality at that moment would mean I was just informed for sure that I had no chance at a career in comedy. Luckily, I have to do this anyway, and as it turned out, Comedy Central ain’t shit now and is only going to be less relevant to anyone in the world of stand up going forward. That’s the good part about there being no set path: you can’t know for a fact that you’re screwed. The downside is of course that you can’t be sure what is a viable approach until you know where that approach leads. And now I will stop gumflappin and explain my personal path I’ve decided to thwack through the comedy woods.

One aspect of comedy that you can bet your bottom dollar on is that you can’t really rely on shit. Everything is so precarious and quick-sandy. So many big things almost happen before the bottom falls out. Even live shows that you have already done make you nervous until that check clears. One of the only dependable sources of income in comedy for me personally has been residuals through the world of comedy audio. Over the years, my monthly sound exchange deposit has only become more and more crucial to my survival, and it’s at the heart of any possibly viable shot at making the kind of passive income where I could do more than just get by, but could actually see myself having real money to retire on and continue to grow. It took a couple albums that I worked very hard on and years of experience learning how XM and Pandora and the world of comedy audio itself works to not just be able to pay my rent and bills with my monthly deposit, but to see a path and timeline that could be very lucrative and actually doable, though not easy at all. In 2018, I released my second album and first special, Shameful Information, and my first album, Me The Whole Time, was still getting played on XM quite a bit, so for 2018/19 I was averaging an all time high for me on my monthly deposits. Well life kept happening to me as it does, and I had never had to think along the lines of any timeline beyond check to check my whole life, so yada yada, by the time pandemic hit and my deposits started to dip down some and I had no other income, and no plan or real possible way to be ready to record a next album that would be anywhere up to snuff, much less better than my last one (always my goal), I had to think about how to start gettin busy working toward my next best hour, and I knew that best case scenario, I wouldn’t have a whole grip of new tracks being added to rotation for at least a couple years. And as things tend to go, I was thrown into much worse than the best case scenario, so it’s really a miracle that I only had to suffer a more or less 5 year gap. The longest gap I will ever allow moving forward, I assure you. However, even with that damn near 5 year gap, I am still covering rent and bills with my deposit having no tracks newer than 2018. That goes to show the staying power of comedy audio if you put in the effort to make a good album. That showed me that if I can bust my ass to record a quality album every 2 to 2 and a half years, I won’t just be playing catch up, I will be stacking paper more and more with each album. 

Basket Case came out in November, and I will start getting money from those tracks in February and March, and my hope to get back to where I was in 2018/19 and then work on the next album to put me over that mark turned out to be wrong in the best way. The good news is, I will be making the money I hoped to be making in 2024/25 by February 2023. That is wonderful news, but no reason to think I added time to the clock. It’s all about keeping the quality up anyway, but that happens to be an obsession of mine that I can’t not shoot for. I’m just putting all this down on record here to let whoever needs to know that a career in comedy without fame or celebrity or the average person even knowing who you are is very possible. I am that comedian. Only comedy nerds know me, and I really don’t mind that at all. I want everyone who would love my shit to be able to find my shit and see me in person. Beyond that, everyone else can kick rocks. I don’t need em. I’ve been poor as shit most of my life, and I am about to be richer than I ever thought I would be. I feel lucky as hell that I can’t help myself from doing what some would consider an insane amount of work, but it isn’t work to me. It never will be. That’s dumb luck, ya know?

Do me a favor: Don’t follow your fucking dreams. Dreams are nonsense: follow your obsession, and figure out some way to satisfy that obsession so that it pays you well enough to not have to actually work just so that you can do that thing. If that isn’t possible in the end, turn to non-violent crime. That’s what I’d do. Anything but soul draining jobs that make other people money. Do whatever you can to have money and not let money have you. Don’t be afraid to lean toward the less safe route. Having a financial safety net won’t save you from being miserable. Do whatever ya gotta do, just don’t do what you wanna do any less. That’s all you’ll regret in the end, believe me. You heard it here: 2023 is gonna be great. Imma start dispensing rhyming wisdom, for real. 

Follow your obsession, fight off your depression.

toodles 2022!

-Andy

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Comfy, my darling, I come requesting the delight that is Jaskier as Persephone! Please and thank you 🐺🌼

HAPPY FUCKIN BIRTHDAY BABE!!!!

Ily and i’m very glad we’re interweb friends!!!

Pomegranate Seeds

I took some heavy creative liberties here and twisted the myth a little bit for the sake of the vibes. Geralt is Hades, Jask is Persephone and that’s the only character crossover bc I wanna give them all my attention. There will be more too 🥰

Warnings: ...none? jask runs away? its greek but like we got rid of the shitty bits.

______________

Geralt seethed as he stalked up the winding path through the gardens of Mt. Olympus. He liked the underworld. It was his home, his realm, and more importantly, his brothers never ventured there without warning. He grumbled about the ‘fucking humans being needy and bothering him’ as he cut through an orchard.

As he neared the largest tree, he slowed his walk, feeling his irritation melt away little by little as he heard an entrancing voice floating from its upper branches. The song was sorrowful and filled with a simmering resentment Geralt had never heard anywhere but his own thoughts. He came to stop under the tree and leaned against its trunk, listening in rapture. 

When the voice went quiet, he spoke without thinking, “That was beautiful.”

There was a yelp and a couple cracking branches before a young god dropped almost gracefully to the ground, “It’s rude to eavesdrop.”

“Is it?” Geralt chuckled, still leaning against the tree and watching the god closely as he righted himself and brushed his soft brown hair out of his eyes, “I live with the dead. They don’t talk much.” 

“Oh?” there was a flirtatious glint to the younger god’s blue eyes before he finally put two and two together, “Oh! Oh no, you’re- shit- My apolog-”

“No need,” Geralt interrupted, “I intruded on your singing,” he hummed with a sly smile as he brushed past the confused god to amble along his path to the wretched meeting he was due at. 

“I- well, yes you did! Why?” the god seemed to get his wits about him as he jogged to catch up. 

Geralt shrugged, slowing his walk, “I… appreciate the lyrics.”

“I’m Jaskier. By the way,” the singer bounced along in front of Geralt, walking backwards as he chattered, “You appreciate my mourning the loss of my autonomy? That I am forever to be singing in a garden to make things grow just because of my mother?” 

“Demeter’s Jaskier?” Geralt frowned, knowing very well how Demeter liked to control her human pets. He couldn’t imagine how… well yes. He could imagine what kind of a controlling mother she would be. Gea had been no picnic after all. 

Jaskier wrinkled his nose and nodded. 

“You don’t want to sing?”

Jaskier spun on his heel and fell into step next to Geralt, “I love to sing. But I want to do it for me. Making it a duty sullies the… the…” he trailed off for a bit, staring at the blossoms and fruits in the trees with his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. Geralt found it unreasonably endearing and waited patiently for him to find the word.

“When I sing for myself it is cleansing. When I do it for others it feels disingenuous and wrong.” Jaskier decided. Clearly, he had been spending time with the muses. 

Geralt nodded, “You want more than what you’ve been offered here.”

“Yes!”

They had, to Geralt’s dismay, come to the edge of the orchard.

Geralt stopped and faced Jaskier, a slight upturn in his lips, “Maybe you should find what pleases you.”

Jaskier smiled like the glittering diamonds embedded in the walls of Geralt’s palace, nodding fervently as Geralt turned to go. Just before he was out of reach he heard the singer whisper, “I think I just did…” 

_

Geralt paid even less attention to the discussion than usual, his mind wandering back to Jaskier. He decided, as he glared at his brother boasting of his bastard child and that bull thing he’d made, that he would find Jaskier and… and what? He wanted to whisk him away to his realm and spoil him with fine jewels and the most delicate of silks. He wanted to hear that voice and see that brilliant smile everywhere he went. 

But that was selfish.

How could someone so full of life and ambition ever be happy in the underworld? He couldn’t possibly expect Jaskier to leave the color and warmth of the surface world behind for a shadowy cave system that barely qualified as Geralt’s palace. There would only be Geralt and the Furies for an audience, for the most part, and the only trees in his courtyards were haggard at best. No child of the harvest would flourish there. 

He left the way he’d come, hoping to find Jaskier in the orchard again, but he was long gone by the time all the other gods had aired their ‘concerns’. 

Weeks passed and Geralt found himself even more withdrawn than usual. 

His time was spent glaring down at his pathetic little courtyard with the one tree still bearing fruit. He had always been resentful to have been stuck below ground, where the humans feared him and the other gods judged him for having made a home. Bitching and moaning wouldn’t make anything better, so he played the hand he was dealt and enjoyed his solitude. But now? Now he was simply bubbling with rage. Had he been made god of the sea this wouldn’t be a problem. He would pick a comfortably private but not secluded inlet, build his lovely little singer a castle, and spend all their free days wandering the beach.

Not that he’d laid awake at night thinking about it. 

He dealt with his duties with a biting tongue and vicious sneer as he pondered what to do with himself. 

Nothing seemed to satisfy.

Finally, he made a decision. He would pay Jaskier a visit and ask to hear the song one last time. Just once before he promised to leave the lively singer alone. 

When he arrived at the gates to Mt. Olympus, he expected to have to search for Jaskeir or at least search out his voice.  

Jaskier, however, was furiously charging down the path, his angry scowl turning into a feral grin when he recognized Geralt, “Oh! Hello! This is perfect! I was just coming to find you!” 

Geralt blinked, “Find me? Where would I be but home?” 

“Here. Apparently,” Jaskeir pointed out, with raised eyebrows.

“I’m here to find you,” Geralt smiled, feeling something akin to hope soothing the loneliness that had nested in his chest. 

Jaskier positively beamed, “I have chosen to find what pleases me. And now that I’ve found you, I would be eternally happy if you absconded with me to your realm.” 

If he were nervous or hesitant in the slightest, Geralt couldn’t see it even as he looked for any hint in his features. 

“You want to come with me to the underworld?” Geralt frowned, not believing his ears.

“Sounds more fun when you say it my way,” Jaskier answered, rubbing at the back of his neck, that little bit of embarrassment and worry finally showing through his facade, “but yes. That is exactly what I want.”

“I have no gardens.”

“All the better.” 

“I would be your only audience.”

“You’re the only audience I’ve cared about since I met you,” Jaskier’s tone became defiant as he puffed up his chest just enough for Geralt to think he did it unintentionally.

Geralt let himself melt a little bit more with his every reply, “The sun doesn’t warm your face in my home.”

“Are your eyes not a brilliant golden warmth enough?”

Geralt blushed for the first time in centuries, “If it is truly what you want…”

Jaskier hesitantly stepped closer, staring Geralt right in the eye, “I want you.”

[purplefair]

j.t. | all i wanted

pairing: jason todd x unrequited!reader & platonic!dick grayson x platonic!reader

a/n: dear fucking god- this hurt to write- and this is an au where all the robins are living at the manor. reader is close friends with the batboys. also “she” is the new batgirl- also, there isn’t a specific iteration of the characters that is mentioned, i left that up to your imagination. :) and i didn’t know how tf to begin this-

request: yes by @artistichoodiegirl : “i wrote a poem that reminds me of jason. can you write an angst fic based off of it?”

warnings: ANGST OMFG THE ANGST- also, i don’t know if i like the way this came out, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless. :)

you wanted to deny your feelings for him, but being as that felt physically impossible, you felt like a lost cause. crying your eyes out almost every night all because of a stupid guy. your brain tells you that you’re an adult, that you shouldn’t be so messed up over a guy, that you’re pathetic for feeling this way.

this night wasn’t any different, laying on your bed, wallowing in your own self pity.

dick walked down the hallway to your bedroom to tell you that dinner was ready, but when he heard your sniffling through the door before he was about to knock, he became concerned for his best friend. dick knocked, not giving you a chance to respond before turning the handle and opening your door to find you and your room a mess.

tissues everywhere, empty water-bottles, and and dishes on your bed-side table. he sighed before asking the same question he had been asking you for days, “are you okay?”

you turned to him, and what he saw shocked him. your hair messy and all over the place, eyes and nose red, it didn’t look like you were just sad, you looked ill.

“yeah, i’m just peachy.” you replied sarcastically, trying to deter him from being serious with you. “y/n i’m being serious. you’ve been cooped up in here for what seems like days, the boys are worried about you.” you chuckled, still trying to make it seem like you were okay.

dick walked a little bit further into your room before closing the door, knowing you didn’t like your door open. he moves to your bed, sitting across from you, “is he worried?” you asked, already thinking that this certain “he” couldn’t give less of shit about you.

“yes, jason is. he’s been wondering if you’re okay, why you’ve been avoiding him, and why you won’t even so much as look at him anymore.” you keep your eyes looking away from dick, knowing looking at him would make you sob again. “you know i can’t tell him why.”

“why not? you aren’t going to ruin his happiness with her by just talking to him about how you feel. i bet you’d even find at least some closure by talking to him!” you know he’s right, he usually is about these things. you, again, didn’t respond. opting to keep your eyes away from dicks gaze.

“if you’re not going to talk to him, fine. but at least come out and get dinner, talk to the rest of the family for a little bit, please?”

“i don’t know dick-“ “please, for me?” you shouldn’t have looked at him, his gorgeous blue eyes are impossible to say no to. “…fine. but let me get ready, i look like absolute shit right now.”

“yeah, you do.” that earned him a pillow to the face.

you closed your bedroom door before heading down the hall and to the kitchen. were you nervous, yeah. did you really want to speak to jason, no. but, you were doing this for your best friend and no one else.

and of course, the sight that you didn’t want to see the most was right in front of you, jason sitting on the couch with her in his lap, almost on top of him.

“hey, look who finally came out of hiding.” you mentally cursed tim for making it obvious. heads turned, but jason’s and hers stayed where they were, as though the couldn’t care less. you looked away from them and moved over to where damian, tim, and dick had been sitting after already getting some food.

you were 90% sure that tim knew about your feelings for jason, you didn’t know if damian knew or cared, and of course, dick being the emotional support friend, of course he knew.

you four sat in comfortable silence, occasionally hearing jason and her giggle, making you want to shiver from how uncomfortable it was. tim seemed to notice this and gave you a look of sympathy, damian lyes back on the couch and muttered to himself, “idiot…” looking at jason.

you chuckled softly, you didn’t know what it was, but damian had a way of making you feel better, even if it was unintentional. of course he knew, your moping had been kind of obvious.

making comfortable small talk with the other boys while eating, jason occasionally looked at you. ‘i should talk to her.’ he thought, before being distracted by the woman in front of him.

laying on your bed, staring at the ceiling trying not be/ feel pathetic for being upset that he didn’t even speak to you during dinner. you grabbed the pillow on the other side of your bed and pushed it over your face, and screamed.

even though jason has never slept in your bed with you, it felt…cold and lonely. he was something you craved, but knew you could never have, like god just wanted to continue to fuck you over.

there’s a knock on the door and you’re sitting up very quickly, “hey, can we talk?” it was jason.

hoping you looked okay, you gave a little huff and said to yourself, “don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…”

“come in!” jason heard through the door, turning the handle and making his way into your room. your eyes widened and tried to act normal, like his presence didn’t make your stomach do flips. he closes the door behind you and sits next to you on the bed, you of course still not looking at him.

“why have you been avoiding me? you haven’t talked to me in days, and you can barely look at me. what’s going on?”

you wanted to tell him, you really did. but you couldn’t ruin what they had, knowing it’d be awkward for you, jason, her, and the rest of the boys.

“nothing is the matter jason, i just…haven’t been in the best state of mind recently, that’s all.” you mustered enough courage to turn and look at him, automatically regretting it to find him already looking at you. his eyes full of concern, but void of love. sure, maybe an almost sibling love, but not romantic. before all of this you had tried to make it painfully obvious of how you thought of him. but after she showed up, there was nothing really you could do.

“y/n, i’m going to take your word for it, and not pry. but i still want to talk to you.” “about?”

he looked at you once again, “does it matter?”

no, it didn’t, all that mattered was that he was talking you, something you had tried to avoid but internally yearned for.

asking the most painful question, just to make it seem like you really were okay, “how’re things going between you two?” he laughed, his beautiful smile never failing to mesmerize you.

“they’re going pretty good actually, i think i want to marry her.”

why were you surprised? they had been going for awhile now and of course he’d want to marry her. she could give him everything he wanted.

you tried not to whip your head around at him, you also tried not to burst out in sobs upon hearing those words. he wanted to marry her? “oh wow, that’s…a big commitment.” you laughed, trying to seem normal.

he in turn laughed a little too, “yeah, i know, but she just makes me so happy. i finally have the chance to have the family i’ve always wanted,”

“have two kids, preferably daughters. i am definitely going to name one amber.” of course he would, he’d always loved that name.

the pain in your chest is indescribable, you had hoped that he’d be having that family with you. but , it seems as though you may have waited too long. “that sounds amazing…i’m so happy for you.”

the words sounded disingenuous, but at this point you didn’t care. it hurt too much to see the person you love the absolute most, talk about starting a family with someone other than you.

faking a yawn you stood up, “i’m pretty tired, so i’m gonna have to kick you out now.” jason gazed up at you, faking being offended. “wow, we just started talking again and you’re kicking me out? rude.”

you laughed as he stood up and walked to your door, you following not far behind. when he stood just outside your door and in the hallway, there was an awkward silence. “goodnight, jason-“

“before i leave, can i get a hug? i’ve missed you y’know.” jason held his hand between the door and the doorway.

you hated how much you loved those words, he said he missed you. “yeah, you can have a hug.”

jason pushes the door open and quickly wraps his arms around your waist, and you wrap your arms around his neck. “please never avoid me like that again.”

he muttered in your ear, sounding genuinely hurt by what you had done. “i won’t.”

it felt like minutes before he pulled away, looking down at you and smiling. “you should get some sleep, i can see your eye bags underneath your concealer.”

“shut up, asshole.” you laughed, knowing he was just teasing you. jason stepped out of your room and into the hallway, “goodnight, y/n.”

“goodnight, jason.” you both smiled at one another before he walked down the hall to his bedroom. you closed your door and suddenly everything hit you like a ton of bricks.

he was going to marry her, he wanted her children, and he’s going to name one amber.

he’s going to have the “big, happy family life”, something you knew you probably would be apart of. possibly babysitting his children.

you hated thinking about it, but, as long as he was happy. you’d do anything for him, even while suffering in silence.

now you were left to yourself, again, laying in your bed, staring at the ceiling, tears streaming down the sides of your face and soaking your hair.

“fuck, i’m pathetic.”

you cried yourself to sleep, for the 7th time that week. wishing you would have been brave enough to just tell him how you feel, but instead you’re all alone.

and who else is there to blame, but yourself?

also, here’s the poem that the requester wrote! <3

I tried to win your love but

I can't compete

when she already won

god she's so much better

you should give her that diamond ring

I was begging for

I bet she's dying for you to get down on one knee

You probably already sing her to sleep

brush her hair

like you used to do for me

now i'm alone

got no one to hold

god my bed is so cold

But I still hope she's happy

make her smile when she's lonely

and give her a home

now that I'm alone..

imagine all of the little babies

you'll have driving her crazy

You'll probably have 2 daughters

I bet you'll name one Amber

you always really liked that name

you'll be such a wonderful father

I know you had those doubts

but I know she'll even them out,

And even though we aren't together

you always have my shoulder

for when your doubts

start to make the world dark

I just hope I'll still be around

to meet all of your little ones

but for now

I'll sit here and watch you…

be happy

I bet she's feels lucky

I'm glad you have one another

to hold each other

and keep the bed warm...

I hope you're happy

and never ever feel lonely

I'm glad you found a home

now that I'm alone...

[voiceless-terror]

Oooo 16 mixed with 39 w Jon for the fluff/angst prompts?

Hello there, anon! Can you believe, that in all of my whump fics, I’ve yet to tackle the bread knife incident? High time we corrected that. The two prompts this is referencing are- “Do you need to go to the hospital?” and “If you don’t rest you won’t get any better.” Had this written for a bit, but I spruced it up and decided to post as I’m working on reconstructing chapters. Hope you like!

“Jesus Christ.”

“I-It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Admittedly, it doesn’t look great.

There’s a trail of blood following Jon to the sink, a bloody handprint or two on the counter (and probably a few door handles), and his shirt is similarly stained, the rumpled white button-up painted with red. The slice (more than a slice, probably a stab) to his arm bled more than he anticipated and is probably still bleeding under the towel he’s currently using to stifle the flow. Jon’s swaying where he stands; the loss of blood has him feeling weak, and the dizziness and dull throb in his head leftover from Michael hasn’t abated. All in all, he must look a mess.

Judging by Martin and Tim’s expressions, this is probably a fair assessment. Martin immediately goes to his side, though Jon flinches away as he tries to reach for his arm. He tamps down the guilt he feels at Martin’s look of rejection. “It’s n-nothing, really-”

“Nothing?” Tim scoffs, slowly making his way over as he dodges Jon’s mess. “We leave you alone for twenty minutes and suddenly you’re finger painting with blood. The hell happened?”

“Did you reopen one of your wounds?” Martin’s hands are hovering above his arm, like he’s trying to approach a skittish animal. “I told you not to pick at them-”

“Uh, n-no.” Jon leans against the counter- his vision’s starting to go, he should’ve sat down instead of puttering about like a fool. “It’s-it’s a new one.” Sufficiently cowed by Martin and Tim’s worried stares, he gently removes the towel with a hiss and yes, it’s still bleeding profusely. Damn. 

Tim hurriedly pressed the towel back down, leading him over to a chair as Martin lets out one of his disbelieving squeaks. Tim’s always been good in a crisis and Jon wants to lean into the touch but something in the back of his mind rebels against it, whispering paranoid nothings in his ear. Wrong wrong wrong. There’s something wrong, something bad. Find out. So instead he flinches out of his hold as soon as he’s sat down, ignoring the exasperated look this gets him and putting pressure on the wound himself. 

“What did you do?” he asks but Jon doesn’t meet his eyes, instead looking down at his lap. “How’d you get that?”

“A-A sandwich.” He can feel Tim’s stare, practically hears Martin’s fretting. “I-I was-”

“A sandwich,” Tim repeats, his voice deadpan. “A ham and cheese stabbed you.”

“No!” Words aren’t making sense, they’re hard to put together. He wants to lay down, he wants to sleep, he wants to be far away from these people and what they’ve done and what they might still do to him. “I cut myself...making a sandwich. W-With a knife. A bread knife.”

“A bread knife.” Martin’s talking now, his voice high-pitched and concerned. “A bread knife did that.”

“Where is it, then?” He wishes Tim would let up, would just take the story and leave him be, let him bleed.

“I-I put it back. I cleaned it and I put it back.”

“Let me get this straight-”

“For God’s sake, Tim- that doesn’t matter right now!” Now Martin’s at his side, hauling him up out of his seat with a steady hand that takes the brunt of his weight as he lists to the side. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“I-”

“Why am I even asking? Of course you do.” Martin’s muttering, already dragging him halfway out the door. “I’ll get us a cab. You two will just bicker the whole way. Take care of all this will you, Tim?” He gestures with one free hand to the mess Jon’s made and Tim just sighs wearily, nodding his head. He throws Jon one last glare but it’s weak and more worried than anything. He feels the guilt bubble up again. He should apologize for the inconvenience, tell them what happened, who visited. But then the voice creeps up, starting its chorus in the back of his mind.

He stays silent. He doesn’t speak as Martin takes more and more of his weight and the world tilts around him. He’s in a cab. Martin’s hand is warm and should be comforting but it isn’t. His arm stings and Helen’s gone and Michael’s laughter echoes and he can feel the worms burrowing back in, and over this cacophony of pain is the miserable choir singing wrong, wrong, something’s wrong someone’s there someone’s watching, waiting until they’ve got you alone-

He struggles in Martin’s hold but its weak and must seem more like a squirm of discomfort, for Martin doesn’t let go, just keeps up his murmured reassurances and his touches that sting like a thousand tiny needles.

He doesn’t know how long they’re at the A & E for. He barely registers Martin dragging him inside or talking to the nurses. He watches dispassionately as the wound’s stitched up, his other scabs disinfected from constant picking. Nobody lectures him or says much of anything- one mention of the Magnus Institute shut them right up. Jon is as much thankful as he is discouraged. He really is alone. He feels it even as he’s shoved back into Martin’s arms with a disingenuous smile and a ‘get well soon!’ 

Martin’s eyeing him critically as they wait for the cab; Jon’s too tired to fight at the probing hands that inspect the bandages. “Still your story, then?”

“Hm?” The world is hazy, but Michael’s laughter is starting to fade.

“Bread knife.”

“Oh...yes, yes it is.” He tries for some defiance but his voice is small and weary. Martin sighs in turn.

“You know you can tell me about these things, right? Me o-or Tim, maybe Sasha-”

Jon snorts. “Tell you when I’m making lunch?”

Martin’s face remains serious.  “If that’s what you want to call it, sure.”

Jon doesn’t want to have this conversation so he nods in a clear dismissal, sighing in relief as a cab pulls up outside. Martin reaches for the car door, helping him in before hurrying to the other side. Jon’s about to tell the driver to take them back to work when Martin interrupts in a no-nonsense tone, rattling off an address with a please and thank you.

It’s Jon’s address.

How does he know my address? Has he been following me? He is the one who found Gertrude’s body, after all. What if- what if-

“I can see your mind going a mile a minute, Jon. What’s wrong?” He startles, moving as far away from Martin as possible and hitting the car door with a wince. Martin continues, his eyes betraying nothing but concern as Jon’s mind spirals. “You’re not going back to work. You just got stitches-”

“How do you know my address?” The words are meant to be an accusation, but they just sound like the bark of a small dog. Martin seems to agree with this assessment because he rolls his eyes, running a hand through his hair. It takes him a moment to gather himself, and every second makes Jon’s heart beat faster until it’s rabbiting in his chest. What does he know, what did he do?

“You don’t remember, do you?” Martin sounds sad, disappointed. It hurts more than Jon would like to admit.

“R-Remember what?”

“You don’t remember the three times I had to do this, back when you were supposed to be on sick leave?” Jon blinks.

He doesn’t remember much of that time. He remembers the pain, the paranoia, the fear- all of it tuned up to a fever-pitch. Trying to go back to work and being promptly shooed out by Martin, who took one look at his limp and still-bleeding wounds and shoved him back in a cab. Was he covering his tracks? Is that why he didn’t want me around? He has the faintest memory of arms scooping him unceremoniously from the trap door to the tunnels at night, this time accompanying him in the cab and making sure he got home, since Jon had exited the cab early and snuck back several times before. It’s embarrassing and disconcerting, these gaps in his memory. Gaps that Martin has to fill. Martin, who he can’t trust. Martin, who’s talking right now. 

“- really, Jon- if you don’t rest, you won’t get any better. Tim tells me you’ve been skipping physical therapy, skulking about-”

“I don’t skulk-”

“Well, it’s sure as hell not sneaking if you leave a trail of blood wherever you go!” Martin’s voice raises in frustration, though it immediately quiets as Jon flinches, again. He heaves a massive sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose as if fighting off a headache. “We’re worried, Jon. We’re all worried. About you, about Gertrude, this whole mess- but you’ve got to talk to us. You’ve got to let the police do their job. And for the love of god, let us help you. Because-” he swallows, his next words earnest and spent. “-because we’re scared too. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Martin’s worried. Martin’s scared. Martin found Gertrude’s body. Martin’s always outside his office. Tim’s tired, Tim’s getting angry. Sasha smiles when she shouldn’t smile. Elias is up in his office, telling him everything’s fine and to rest but something’s watching, something’s wrong, Gertrude’s dead and someone killed her and someone’s coming for you next-

The next thing he knows he’s standing outside the door to his flat, Martin at his side. The door looks like a normal door, but Helen went through a door and didn’t come out. She didn’t come out, and Michael laughed, and there’s a war coming and he’s so stupid, so ignorant-

“Are you going to be okay?”

Jon takes the key from his coat pocket with shaking hands, shoving it in the lock. He doesn’t want to go in but he can’t stay out here, not with Martin who found Gertrude, who knows where he lives. “Y-Yes. You can go. Thank you.”

He’s inside before Martin can protest any further, slamming the door shut and leaning against it wearily. It looks like his flat, he hopes it’s his flat. Martin’s talking on the other side, asking him to call if he needs anything. Jon’s not going to do that, of course. He waits for the inevitable sigh, listens until Martin’s footsteps fade away. He’s safe, for now.

He locks the deadbolt.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28073586

[bethchapelsbonnet]

I say No 55

HOURMAN AND DR MIT NITE Reunite after she is Rescued with Dr McNider ofcours during battle and Rick just cant wait until after the battle .He even Stars By her side the whole time

I hope thats ok

Okay. Firstly, I'm going to answer your closing concern of "I hope that's ok." The short answer is no. No, that's not okay, Love. Please remember that whenever you send these prompts into others, this is a request for free labor and we're merely asking you to select from the list so that we can freely practice our craft. It's not a custom order.

Furthermore, this may or may not be something that I might write, but I would doubtfully write it in this way. So, I will take your prompt #55 and write something of my own for this particular prompt, and hopefully you can find content that writes the very specific prompt that you're eager to see. 🙂

"I missed you... a lot."

"I missed you" is something that can be so personal. So deep and connected, with the right person, and yet can be so empty and shallow from the wrong one.

Rick wasn't always great with words. That being understood, his loved ones knew that when he said something, he meant it. Maybe not some of his pep talks, that were more to support you than emote for himself, but things like, "I'm sorry." "I understand." "I love you." "I care." "I'm here." Things like, "I miss you." Those would never be an exaggeration, and you'd do well to appreciate that they weren't common.

Beth always knew. Sometimes, he didn't have to even say the thing, but she was the type to be clear, so he would, just so she knew that he was serious and willing to do what it took. They weren't together the entire time.

They took a break, when Beth entered a work-school program at an elite institution, and decided that Rick shouldn't come along with her.

Rick looked like his next step would be to punch down another tree. There was no light in his features and he didn't feel any of the warmth that he generally associated with her. That was all because his heart was breaking.

His first response to this blatant and gross betrayal, this abandonment that she had promised would NEVER happen was anger. He didn't express it. She could just tell.

"Rick, you know that it's best for both of us right now, right?" He grimaced. "Maybe not best, but it's the most sensible way for us to both do what we need to do and not have to…"

"What? Not have to WHAT, Beth? Because the last time I checked, there was NOTHING that we weren't willing to do for each other! And now, what? You don't want to have to put up with me and my issues?" He clenched his fist and she started crying.

Rick shook his head and pulled her to himself, "I'm sorry." She sobbed into his jacket. "This is why, isn't it? It's because I'm like this.."

"It's because it's what's best right now…"

"For you. Because I keep fucking up."

She cupped his face, "I want you to have everything that you deserve, Rick Tyler, and you deserve so much more than this world has given you… more than I'm able to give right now. I have to focus on my studies and I don't want you to follow me. I don't believe that I will be available as needed and I think that pretending to would make it harder on both of us and it would be disingenuous of me.." she whimpered, "I still love you."

That hurt him more, but nothing that she said was irrational or untrue and he couldn't force her not to break up with him if it was. "I understand." He said, miserably sad. He wanted to simply die. He didn't want to think about returning to a life after being left behind again, by her this time.

.

He made it alright. They did different hero stints in different groups and stuff, him mostly with the JSA, her with other teams and heroes. It scared him, to think about her out there, not having him to have her back. Sure, she had teammates, but did any of them care about her like he had? Did she have new best friends? A new lover? Was there somebody right now, warming her bed and being her shield in a fight?

The call was late and unfortunately, some guy answered. "Umm… sorry to call so late. Is Beth available?"

"She's working on something pretty important.."

"Okay. Yeah. Of course. I'm, if you could tell her Rick called…"

"Rick.." the person said, "Will she need anything else or just Rick?"

"Rick?" He heard her say in the background and the man was going to relay the message, but she wound up with the phone, "Rick? What's happening? Is everything ok? Do you need me?"

His heart wasn't prepared for this. He wanted to say yes. Of course he needed her. He loved her. He always would need her. "I'm sorry. I just was thinking about you…" there was a long pause and a relieved sigh. Then she said something to someone in the background. "I didn't mean to scare you," he attempted, "I was having some kind of anxiety. I guess I just… regressed to needing to talk to you."

"I'm the regression, huh?" She teased, then chuckled. "It's okay. But, why did you call this line? Did you delete my cell or something?"

"I…" he glanced at his own phone and plain as day it said Beth WORK. "Must've hit the wrong entry."

"Okay. Well, if you need to talk longer, call me on my cell, okay?"

"No.. it's fine. I'll let you go."

"Okay…" another pause, "you'd still tell me if you needed something, right?"

"I'd." He bit his lip and was grateful that she wasn't there to see his face. She would know that he just wanted her so badly. "I'd try." She sighed. He grabbed the bridge of his nose, "I love you."

"Rick... I have to go." And she hung up. A moment later she sent a text: I love you too. Please take care of yourself. 🙏🏾

.

Rick walked into the JSA headquarters and was startled to see Hootie there. Why would Hootie be here? "Court?" He called and only then realized that some conversation died down. He went towards the silence and saw The Green Lantern, speaking with Courtney and Yolanda. "Jennie! What's good?"

"It's not good," Courtney said, sadly. Rick looked worried and it only intensified when Yolanda took his hand.

"What is it?"

Jennie cut to the chase. "It's Beth." Rick nearly collapsed JUST from that much. "She's alive, but… she's been injured very badly and she's unconscious and.."

"Where is she?" He asked.

"I can bring you. Just you. I know everyone cares about her, but Rick is the only person listed for this type of… situation."

"WHAT TYPE OF SITUATION IS IT?" Rick asked, on the verge of tears.

"Life or death. We have to leave immediately."

"Yeah, we do!" Rick said. Yolanda and Courtney tried hugging him but he really didn't want to be touched. He couldn't handle that.

.

She looked so frail in the hospital bed. Her head and face were wrapped up, almost completely. Her nose and mouth though… while not seemingly damaged, were the only thing that seemed not to be with those wraps.

Her current team was already preparing the cover story for her death. Her death? She wasn't going to die. She couldn't die. Please, don't die, Beth. I couldn't take it. He couldn't find any words on his tongue. "I care…" was all he could mutter and he held her hand, lifeless and soft.

Some of her current teammates talked to him, trying to explain what happened and what may happen next. He couldn't really take in everything. Unless Beth got up, there was no "next" happening. He would be here until she got better or until she left forever. "I'm here." He kissed her hand.

They could use his help on a mission. Without Beth's fighting skills, they were disadvantaged. He shook his head. He'd have liked to apologize and explain that there was no way that he left Beth and risk her not being there when he returned. Still speechless. For days. For weeks. "I miss you," he pleaded. Please, wake up.

Her hand began to move and he called for help. Hopefully, he wasn't losing it. Doctors came in, he was moved aside while they checked things. He was overwhelmed, but refused to step out.

After a while, she had been unwrapped and helped to sit up. It was a lot to process. She been blasted with a ray, and knocked unconscious from a head injury. She could have been paralyzed. They were shocked that she wasn't… but she was blind.

Sure, she still had her goggles, but it was… going to be quite a life change, and she still had healing to do. "You're not alone," she heard Rick say and she gasped and reflexively turned in his direction. She absolutely couldn't see him, but he made his way to her side, and her hands found his.

"I missed you… a lot," Beth said.

"Here I am." And she wasn't going to get rid of him.

"I can never see your face again," she said in the softest voice ever, hoarse from her down time. "I mean.. not like it is.. not like I remember it.."

He took her hands and placed them on his face, "You'll learn it. I'm never letting you go that far away from me again."

"I'm not your responsibility."

"You never were my responsibility. I should have been clearer. I never felt obligated to protect you or forced to defend you. It was always out of love."

"That hasn't changed?"

"Kidding? I would have hitchhiked here, if I had to just to sit at your side for all of these weeks."

"I don't know what to say…"

"Do… do you still love me?"

"As much as I did the first time I told you."

"We don't have to say anything else, for now."

[wnnbdarklord]

The (hopefully) last thing I’m gonna say about all this Discourse around the Loki series is that I find people complaining that “the series isn’t even out yet so shut the fuck up about any negativity” are being disingenuous as fuck. Sure, the trailers are misleading and everyone involved seems to be having a grand old time, but people are allowed to say they don’t like what they’ve seen so far. That is literally the POINT of having trailers and spoilers and stuff before the show comes out - to decide whether you’ll like it or not, or want to see it.

So one section of fans complaining that another isn’t happy about what they’re seeing can get really condescending really fast, especially when the (minority of) unhappy ones are doing their best to tag their posts so the (vast majority) of happy fans don’t have to see them.

Why so threatened over people not liking what they’re being shown? Why resort to trying to convince people it’s fine just cause Hiddleston seems to be happy with it? Like, I respect him as an actor and all, but beyond vaguely wishing him all the best, I don’t give a shit about his opinion. Or frankly, the opinion of anyone else involved in the series. They’re not me, their opinions aren’t my own. Just cause they say something is amazing, doesn’t mean I have to believe it. That just means that they think it is. And I am free to agree or disagree. This doesn’t make me a fake fan or someone who doesn’t care about the MCU. If I didn’t care about this stupid franchise, I wouldn’t be on here writing this post out. I wouldn’t be so desperately both dreading and anticipating the series.

Do I hope the series will be good? Of course I do! But I’m not wrong to want certain things from it or to be disappointed if the characterization isn’t what I would’ve liked or the plot or, frankly, anything. (and wow, all the condescension over people wanting to see thor1/avengers/tdw Loki in the series is truly something else. like fuck yes, that’s the Loki I want to see and given the timeline is logically the only Loki I should be seeing. the fact I have to worry it’s not is the problem here)

I’ve been in this fandom for a long, long time and telling me to stick to fanfiction is patronizing as fuck. Part of how I resolve my feelings over potential disappointment in the series is going to be talking about it and reblogging things on Tumblr, finding other people who feel the same.

Y’all trying to gatekeep people out of the fandom for not being 100% positive over it? Makes you the assholes.

[dearamericaroyaldiaries]

Get In Losers. We’re Going Witch Hunting

I Walk in Dread- 1691(-1692), Deliverance Trembly

By Lisa Rowe Fraustino

Don’t judge the picture. Google had no images that I felt comfortable using license wise so I took a (bad) picture of my copy.

Age of Protagonist: 12

#ReadingThoughts

-Before I even start I am digging the Puritan names. First Remember Patience and now Deliverance (and I would come to find ANOTHER MEM!!).

-My edition looses points or not having a ribbon even though it’s hardcover. This negatively impacts my reading experience for Reasons.

-Hold it. Is her uncles’ name really Razor Strap? I know Puritans were big on using random phrases from the Bible for their naming, but is that really a phrase in the Bible? Also, Sister Mem had me confused it was Mem from the last book for a hot second.

-SO do Mem and Deliverance just live with their uncle? Just the three of them? (The answer I quickly found was yes.)

-I appreciate the lesson on town politics. That's important for the Salem area in 1692ish.

-I am confused by what’s happening with the year. Why is it Dec 31, 1691, then Jan. 1, 1691, and then Jan. 2, 1691/2. There is a bullshit explanation in the about the author section. If you’re worried about Accuracy when it comes to the Julian vs Gregorian calendar, put something in the text. You’re average grade schooler isn’t going to jump to that . If I remember correctly, there’s something about the Gregorian calendar differing from the Julian calendar in the Anastasia book that is handled better. Liv explains other things to the reader, why not this?

-Why is a 12 year old more responsible than a 17 year old? Especially in 1692. Mem should at least have a higher opinion of herself in the family hierarchy and be preparing to keep her own house as a wife.

-Again, I feel Mem should be more mature than Liv.

-Liv can use her sister’s boy-craziness to her advantage. Mem is willing to shovel shit if there are attractive members of the opposite sex in the vicinity.

-Allergies=Witchcraft. That explains so much about me and my life. Though I suppose it makes sense from a 17th century Puritan POV.

-Mem wants to be a stepmom to 9 kids all of whom are most likely closer to her age than she would be to the potential husband?  The last part might not be a big concern in the time period but good gracious that’s too many kids for my liking.

-Age update- some of the kids would be older than her or her age.

-I feel the average target reader would need an explanation of what “God’s Elect” means. Most 12 year olds don’t have a strong grasp on post-Reformation Protestant Theology.

-Poor Liv. She wants to fit un but is failing spectacularly.

-Is Liv going to be among the accused? She’s not on the best of terms with the accusers and has been or will be associated with at least three people who were accused and killed.

- They used the strong trick for loose teeth in the 17th century? I have no evidence or data to argue one side or the other but I am suspicious. Somewhat amused, but suspicious.

-I find the tithing man hilarious. I want a stick with a fuzzy rabbit foot on one end and a knob for whacking people on the other. Also, he deserved getting thumped back by the one guy,

-I am calling bullshit on Goody Corey sniffing out only girl scent. Either it’s a bit or she’s a witch, not her husband. (Spoilers: He’s accused and refuses to confess so the town can’t take his land and is pressed to death while trying to get a confession. Post reading note: I totally forgot/didn’t know that Goody Corey was also accused and killed.)

-I don’t know really anything about the real Goody Corey, but she seems like a stand-in for an enlightened modern person, above the provincial notions of witchcraft and the commonplace racism toward Amer Indians. I’m not saying everyone thought they were the devil, but a majority thought that they were superior to the indigenous peoples of the American colonies.

-Mr. Cooper’s letter is too vague! We need deets!

-Because this is told through Livs’ eyes everyone asking about their uncle and checking in on them comes off as invasive and nosy but as an adult, a twelve year old and a seventeen year old have been left on a farm by themselves for almost two months at this point is an issue. Is he ever coming back?

-WHAT!? Goody Corey has a bi-racial son born when she was estranged from her first husband? Prepare for a wikipedia tangent because I had to a a google to corroborate this. Wikepedia backs this up but what it doesn’t back up is the timeline. I read her as in her 40s or 50s in the book. According to wikepedia (don’t judge me, it’s good for basic facts and a starting point) she was 72ish in 1692 and this biracial son was her first child who would have been 50ish at this point and was born before Martha Corey was ever married. *End Tangent* Good for her though if she did indeed five her husband an earful after Liv left.

-Hold on. Mr. Cooper wants to talk to Uncle Razor Strap about Mem marrying Darcy, not him. Mem is gonna be devastated.

-Would electricity have been a concept a) known in 1692 and b) be well enough known that a random 12 year old in the colonies with little formal schooling would be comfortable enough using the phrase “electrical lightning.” No, I will not be googling this. Googling historical facts is one thing, googling sciencey things is another thing entirely,

-Did the girls hear the stories and then claim to have witnessed ZYX or did they independently corroborate the stories? One is much less suspect than the other.

-At this point I wonder will we ever meet Uncle Razor Strap? Is he dead? Is he trying to get back to Salem? Is he abandoning them?

-I feel the leap to “Am I a witch?” after having a weird dream about nursing a baby Sarah Goode is sensible as someone who has been about to call the Vatican several times when their period was late. In those cases clearly the only explanation was pregnancy, even when physically impossible just as being a witch is Livs’ conclusion here. 

-Hopefully the girls can just get out of the Salem area soon and the landlord giving them to the end of the month is a neat enough excuse.

-So Mem thinks that Goody Corey is a witch but is okay with Liv going over there?

-How scary it would be to worry that the one family member you have in the area, who should be protecting you because you’re 12, might accuse you of witchcraft.

-I am delighted the the horse can act as a chaperone. Really? Okay.

-How does the horse give permission to whisk a fainted person into the house? It’s a horse.

-So now Mem is forcing Liv to read her diary to her. Rude.

Thoughts on the Afterward

Meh. Mem marries Darcy but dies young so Liv gets her man. They return to Salem. They don’t go West like they talked about. Liv has a gagillion great grands. No one ever fount her journal. Meh. I’m happy she was happy and all but meh.

Overall Thoughts After Reading

It took almost 200 pages to get through four months. I think I just don’t care for the author. I should have liked this book. It ticks multiple boxes that should be my jam but something about it just... is a no for me. Maybe it’s because I have zero nostalgia for this book. It took me about 4.5 months to get through this book and finding it boring is one of them. No one seems like a well rounded character who has any growth. Last book Mem had a whole arc where she came to terms with losing her mother  but this time Liv didn’t really seem to change or grow.

I had high hopes. This book came out right as I was aging out of Dear America but I remember the hype around it on the Scholastic website. (Yes I was a wee nerd who hung out on the Scholastic website.) Sadly I was disappointed.

Also, we nope out of the actual trials. The first trial wasn’t held until JUNE. The book ends on April 30. Yes, we get to see the initial hysteria and flurry of accusations and arrests, but this was just the beginning. This seems like a cop-out.

Rating: 3/10 Sisterly Cat-Fights

Other contenders included False Accusations (this one seemed unfair because while I believe no one who was accused of witchcraft during the Salem Witch Hysteria was actually practicing witchcraft, I can’t say with confidence that the accusers were all lying. They may have believed honestly that they were afflicted by witches so calling them false accusations seem disingenuous.) and Bible Verses because Puritans. In the end, I had to honor the brutal way Mem and Live went after each other. Apparently in addition to being sickly, Mem was also small because how else could a 12 year old take her 17 year old sister like that. 

[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Pt. 10 - Father Dearest

Title: Irreverent Pt. 10 - Father Dearest Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: R  Words: 2841

Content Warnings: Mentions of suicide

Irreverent Series Masterlist

"That's your dad?"

You were still reeling in shock as you watched Strauss and your father climb up the stairs towards the offices. Spencer, Emily, and Derek were all watching you. You think the question had come from Spencer but with the ringing in your ears, you couldn't be positive.

What was he doing here? Why was he with Strauss? This was supposed to be your place. Away from them. Away from him. So how on earth was he there, chatting with Strauss as if they were old friends. You must not have schooled your face too well, because Emily was asking you if you were okay. Her voice was lost in the din as you watched Strauss knock on Hotch's door and then draw both him and Rossi into the room with your father.

"Hey, hey, Y/N, look at me!" It was Emily again, trying to get your attention. You blinked and tried to focus on her - her voice - hoping it would ground you. She was holding you by your shoulders and she looked really worried. Both Derek and Spencer were right beside her looking equally bewildered by your reaction.

You had to get in there. You had to know why he was here. If he was here it was for nothing good, of that you were absolutely certain. You tried to give Emily a reassuring smile but it might've just been a grimace at best, because she didn't look reassured in the least. It's okay. You'd explain later. Right now you had to get to Hotch's office before he…before he did or said something that was...something. You weren't sure what. But you knew you had to stop him.

Before you knew it, your legs had carried you up the stairs, leaving your team to look at you worriedly. They'd had no choice but to let you go or risk causing a scene.

You knocked quickly but didn't wait for an answer as you normally would, but simply entered Hotch's office. You were being rude. You'd apologize later for your behavior. But not now. Show no weakness. This was your home, your office, your team.

"Agent L/N, may we help you?" Strauss asked, looking annoyed by your sudden interruption. It was against protocol and in her eyes it was insubordination - the worst of the deadly sins as far as she was concerned. Hotch and Rossi both looked at you curiously. It seemed you'd interrupted them in the middle of introductions though of course Rossi recognized your father. Maybe Hotch did too, who knew.

"I'm sorry, Chief Strauss. Please excuse me, I know I've overstepped. Why are you here?" The last part was directed at your father whose schooled poker face revealed nothing. No surprise at your intrusion. He looked at you with the same look he used to give you when you'd asked a particularly stupid question at the dinner table. The look designed to make you feel small and guilty.

"Agent L/N." It was Strauss again. Your father had chosen to ignore your question it seemed. "This is highly irregular, for you to interrupt a closed door meeting that you were not invited to."

"it's alright Erin. My daughter and I haven't seen one another in some time. Curiosity was a skill I ingrained in all my children. She took to it a little too well it seems," he laughed a bit disingenuously, gesturing to the surroundings. He was trying to defuse the situation but you couldn't be sure why yet.

"Actually Erin," he continued, "since you've assured me that this team is the right team for the job, maybe it would be alright if Y/N joined us?" He was asking, but he wasn't really. He had a way of doing that. "Please everyone, sit. Let's not all be so stiff. Darling, come sit by Papa." He motioned you over to him as he made himself comfortable on Hotch's couch. For some reason unknown to you, you followed and sat down on the cushion next to his, leaning just slightly away from him. You tried to revert your face back to neutral but there was no way Hotch and Rossi couldn't sense your complete unease.

Hotch's guard had already been up when Strauss had strolled into his office with the man, whom he now knew to be your father. Now, watching how you held yourself around him and seemed so electrifyingly confrontational, had every single one of his senses on red alert. He met Rossi's eye and knew that the older agent had caught on to the same - not that it was too hard to do, as you had barged in and demanded to know what the man was doing, daring to step foot in Quantico.

"As we were about to say," Strauss continued, looking thoroughly perturbed by your interruption. "Mr. L/N was contacted recently in his capacity as liaison between us and the Eastern Europeans, with some very disturbing news which he felt it imperative to share with us. The Director has already spoken with me about this, but Mr. L/N was contacted by a concerned citizen who has identified the presence of a serial killer who seems to be hunting American citizens up and down the East Coast for the past several decades."

"What about his role makes him the best contact regarding a tip about serial killers." You could've kissed Hotch for seeing through the bullshit. That's what it was. Complete and utter bullshit. Bureaucratic bullshit that you had been trained to see your entire life. Your father leaned closer and put his arm nearest you at the back of the couch, and then moved it down to be around your shoulders. You just wanted to fling yourself across the room and stand next to Hotch. Behind Hotch. Anywhere but seated near this man.

"I am a trusted figure in these communities. Often these people do not trust law enforcement to be on their side." He was trying to explain his job, his duty as he called it. The entire thing was revolting.

"So what do you have for us, then?" It was Rossi who asked this time, fixing your father with a firm look.

"Oh David, it has been such a long time since we last saw one another. Your directness. Always something I've admired." Ugh. He was trying to be charming. Rossi had to see through it.

Strauss chose to be the one to take Rossi's question. "Mr. L/N has compiled a lot of information on this case. I have already passed it along to both Agents Garcia and Jareau and the BAU will be prioritizing this over any other case." Her tone left little room for argument and you knew you were already on thin ice due to your earlier interruption.

Hotch was fuming on the inside. Strauss was dictating which cases his team did for some political agenda. And your father was at the middle of it for some bizarre reason. You seemed frightened. That was a sobering thought for him. He made sure his face revealed nothing as he simply nodded, knowing he would rant to Rossi about this as soon as Strauss was out of earshot.

The wheels in your head were spinning trying to make sense of it. Strauss wanted the team to take a case to hunt down a serial killer that your father had identified. Why? Who was this man? Why was your father trying to get him caught?

"Darling, why don't we let Agents Hotchner and David here get started and you can join me for dinner?" He was asking you to share a meal with him. Un-fucking-believable.

"Oh Papa, you know I would love to. But as you and Chief Strauss have emphasized, this case is of the utmost importance. I'm sure the whole team will be brought in and we will probably have to fly out tonight." You looked to Hotch for confirmation and he nodded.

"Yes, sir. Agent L/N is correct. We'll be bringing in the whole team and starting right away." Oh that perfect, smart, beautiful man. He was about to get free babysitting for Jack for life.

"Well, in that case, I suppose I'll leave you to it. Chief Strauss, thank you. Agents. Y/N, escort your Papa back to the elevators at the very least and perhaps the two of us can plan something for when you've wrapped up this little nuisance." You wanted to refuse but of course you couldn't. You faked a smile, and as he shook everyone's hands and exited the room, he pulled you in closer, tucking your hand into the crook of his elbow as you walked out together, with Strauss at your heels.

"So, that was Y/N's dad," Hotch found himself feeling a mixture of revulsion and pity as he watched the man force you to walk him to the elevators. Your posture was stiff the entire way.

"Yes, however I've never seen him with Y/N before," Rossi confided as the two of them started to dig into the files that Strauss had left on Hotch's desk.

"Did she seem-"

"Scared?"

Hotch nodded grimly.

"Yes."

*------------*

As the elevator doors closed, hiding his face from view, you knew you had to face the team again. They were bound to have questions. You just weren't sure how honest you were prepared to be with them quite yet.

As you turned to walk back, you saw Rossi summoning everyone to the conference room. He was waiting for you outside, after having ushered everyone else in.

"You okay kiddo?" Rossi actually looked really worried, and you reminded yourself that this was a man who might actually have some idea of who your father truly was.

"Not even in the slightest." You let out a breath that you had likely been holding since you'd heard his voice again.

"Alright, come on in then. We might as well all talk it out," he said, urging you in to join the rest of the team. They all look so worried. Emily made eye contact and you could physically feel her suppressing a what-the-fuck-was-that-y/n? You couldn't look at her too long - any of them. You turned to look at Hotch standing at the head of the table. He still looked calm. A little worried, but he was maintaining the calm overlay and that helped. Hotch was here. Hotch could handle anything.

You knew they were all waiting for you to go first. It seemed Garcia and JJ had filled everyone else in while you'd been in Hotch's office, as they all had a copy of the case file in front of them. You took a deep breath, bracing yourself, not quite knowing what was about to come out of your mouth.

"So…that was my father." You looked around, trying in vain to maybe just laugh it off, but they all looked so concerned still. This was mortifying.

Steeling yourself, you decided to just go for it. "Look, Hotch, whatever he says, whatever he does, don't trust him. This case, there's no way he just came across someone who handed him a file on a serial killer we knew nothing about. Isn't that suspicious to anyone? How did he possibly convince Strauss and the Director!" You had blurted out more than you'd actually meant to. You must look crazy.

They were all suspiciously quiet. It appeared they were deferring to Hotch and Rossi.

"Y/N," Hotch's voice was soft and cajoling, your name always sounded so nice in his mouth. "Why are you afraid of your father?"

Of course he'd pick up on that. You released another deep breath. You could hear the wall clock ticking as they all looked at you still. "My father is not a good man," you began, stifling the part of you screaming at you to trust no one. "Rossi, you know him. You know his reputation. He's not like your mom, Em. He's not an ambassador like her. He makes shady backroom deals and he's a liaison which is really just code for government-approved mob bosses. If he wants something from us, it's part of a larger plan and we won't know what it is until we're in too deep."

You hadn't realized you were shaking as badly as you were, but JJ had come around the table to sit next to you and her warm hand was truly the only thing keeping you mentally in the room instead of in a dark room inside your mind, screaming your head off.

"Okay, but Y/N, that doesn't answer my question. Why are you afraid of him?"

You had to just get it out. They would believe you, even if no one else would.

"I don't know if you guys know this, but I have two older brothers," you started to disclose.

"Yes, older one is Dominic - he works under your father. Your younger brother, the middle child, Julian, is deceased - mugging victim." Reid's recall from your background file sure came in handy.

"Yeah," you gave Spencer a shaky smile for filling in some of the details. You weren't sure how you were going to get this out entirely. JJ's hand was still clasped in yours and Hotch's brow was furrowed in worry, his lips a thin line. "I can't prove this," you said, shaking your head a bit, "but I'm confident that my father had Julian killed."

Penelope gasped, barely audibly.

"Y/N, sweetheart," JJ's voice broke out into the silence. "Why would you think that?"

"Julian was - he was not who my father expected a son of his to be. My father is a traditional man, and he cannot stand anyone contradicting him. Going against what he's ordered them to do. In my last year at Harvard, Julian was seeing someone. He had told me around the holidays and was going to introduce us at graduation. He died the month before. At graduation, a close friend - someone who has been around for me and my family since before I was born - confided in me that he suspected that Julian's death was not a suicide. You see, my father had a business deal he wanted to seal and he was pressuring Julian to date this girl while Julian was in his other relationship."

"Your brother was gay," Rossi asked but it wasn't a question. They all knew by the way you'd described your father.

"Yes. But I didn't know. Like I said, old school, traditional family with a reputation to hold. I only found out afterwards because my friend had Julian's journal from his final days. In it he was going to go public with his relationship and wrote about an argument he had had with my father when he refused to date that girl to seal the deal. My father knew then that Julian was gay."

"But, you really think he would kill his own son?" Derek was standing now, the incredulity evident on his face.

"I know he did. In his final days Julian was scared. My father has a lot of contacts that are seedy at best. Hiring a hit to avoid the embarrassment to the family of having a gay son - that is something that he would do. I grew up with the man, and there isn't a doubt in my mind that he's capable of it."

"Y/N," Emily had finally spoken. She looked at you and you knew that she wanted to believe you but her inner investigator needed more. "Is it possible that Julian committed suicide?"

"Yeah, it is," you admitted. "In which case my father drove him to it and then made it seem like a mugging to avoid the embarrassment of a gay son who committed suicide."

JJ's touch was reminding you too much of how good of a person she was and the crap family that you were associated with. You withdrew your hand from hers and stood to go lean against the wall as they all processed everything you'd revealed. Penelope brought over a glass of water for you and made sure you drank it, petting your hair to help calm you down. You hadn't realized you were still trembling.

After a few minutes, it appeared Rossi and Hotch had come to some sort of nonverbal decision, because Hotch had walked over to stand in front of you. You looked up to meet his eyes - his warm brown eyes which seemed lit with fire - rage and anger on your behalf. "Okay, then we'll work the case. But there's two cases. One is the case we've been handed. The other is figuring out why."

His declaration was directed just at you but it was obviously meant for the whole team. As you looked around the room, you could tell there were people in here who believed you with no proof at all. They'd simply accepted that he was evil and there was a larger plot afoot, just because you'd said so. All they'd needed was your word.

[pinapple-qween]

Too Good to be True

Relationship: Batfam x Reader, Tim Drake x Reader

Summary: hey, i saw that you take requests and thought could you maybe (only when you feel like it, no pressure or something) write something sad where reader is good friends with the Batkids maybe is in tims age (and in love with him) but one day she is not with them anymore like she lost her scholarship on Gotham Academy but didn’t tell anybody because she doesn’t want to bother them because they always habe their batstuff to do ?

Key: Y/N= your name, L/N= your last name, italics= phone text

---------------------------------------------------

“Tim, hey!” You adjusted the backpack on your back and ran across the quad to your best friend Tim Drake. 

“Y/N, what’s up?”

“I need your help,” you watched as Tim began to groan. “Before you ‘uughh’ you promised you’d help me with your super research skills for my super boring research paper.”

“Oh yeah, I did.” You watched as Tim’s face fell and you knew right away he was going to come up with an excuse. “I would love to-”

“But,” you interrupted, “you have to ‘work’ with your family tonight. Again.” You shook your head and laughed to yourself. It wasn’t unusual for Tim to have to excuse himself from hanging out with you to be with his family. Well, you knew what he did at night.

“I’m really, really sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” Tim wrapped his arm around you and gave you a side hug. The touch made your heart flutter, but you forced yourself to not react.

“Yeah, yeah,” you pulled away and started backwards walking in front of him, “how about you buy me lunch and we’ll see if that fixes things.”

Tim chuckled, “Okay, but Damian’s gonna be joining us.”

“Yes! Damian is hilarious!”

“Damian would kill you if you said that to his face.”

You sat at your desk after school and stared at a blank computer screen. The cursor flashed, awaiting your words, and all you could do was spin your pen in your fingers. You sighed and closed out the window. Maybe if you took a break, you’d come back with fresh eyes.

You pulled up Twitter and scrolled through your feed. It wasn’t all too exciting, but then you pulled up the “Batman” tag and scrolled through its recent posts.

Just saw Red Robin on Killer Croc’s back riding him like a bull #onlyingotham #batman

You laughed at the image of Tim being bucked around on Croc’s back that formed in your head. You saw a couple similar posts and then some talking about spotting Dick and Damian before you closed out the tab.

It wasn’t that you were jealous of Tim, you thought it was amazing that he was a superhero, but it was frustrating that he never had time to hang out with you anymore. You used to go over to Wayne Manor every day after school to do homework with Tim and you loved it. Wayne Manor was always full of life with all of his brother. All of whom had taken to you and basically claimed you as a sister. Recently, however, Tim and his brothers were busier than ever and he didn’t tell you why, beyond “Bat things”. 

You pulled up your blank research report and began to write.

“Miss L/N, I need you to stay after class.” Your teacher caught you just before you left the classroom. You groan internally and turned around to face him.

“Yes, Mr. Toffer?” 

He gestured to the desk in front of his and you sat across from him. After you sat down, he handed you your paper. 

“A ‘C’?” You couldn’t believe it. 

“Yes Miss L/N, a ‘C’. I’m sorry to tell you this, but you are in danger of losing your scholarship. If you keep slipping in my class, the board will have no choice but to pull it.” He said it all so matter of fact-ly, but his eyes gave him away. You saw the sadness and the slight regret as he told you about this.

“Is-is there anything I can do? Could I rewrite this paper? Or do extra credit?”

“You know my extra credit policy. It would be disingenuous to the other students I have to give you what I don’t extend to them.” You could feel the disappointment burrow onto your face. “All I can say is you need to study hard for the upcoming final and if you get anything less than a 90%, your scholarship will be revoked.” 

You walked out that room dazed. You couldn’t believe you were in danger of losing your scholarship. Your mom was so proud of you for getting into Gotham Academy, especially on academic scholarship. You couldn’t bare to think about telling her you might lose it.

While mulling this over, you literally ran into Tim. “Woah there! Y/N, you good?”

“Uh, yeah. Just a little distracted,” you put on a smile and looked up at Tim. “Homework party tonight?”

“I’d love to, but...”

You sighed, “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“Oh yeah, by the way, Dick wants to know if you still had his CD player. He needs it for sometime that I wasn’t paying attention to.”

You perked up, “I can bring it over sometime this week?”

“Nah, if you just bring it here, I’ll take it home after school.” He obviously didn’t see how much that hurt to hear, but you just nodded and the two of you walked the halls till you got to your next class.

One last night before your test and studying was getting you nowhere. You couldn’t focus. You were so afraid of failing this test, of losing your scholarship, and the fact that you seemed to be losing Tim. You looked at you phone and thought about texting him, even though you knew fully well that he was on patrol.

Hey, Tim. We good?

You sent it with no expectation of a response, but you needed to get at least one thing off your chest tonight. You set down your phone and looked back at your textbook, hoping to actually retain some information. You barely read one paragraph before you saw your phone light up.

Yeah! Why? Is something up?

You were shocked to see it was from Tim. You were so unprepared to get a response you didn’t know how to respond.

No! Nothing. Just wondering if Damian knew I called him hilarious and was getting back at me through keeping you busy.

You knew that wasn’t the truth, but you couldn’t tell him that it was because you thought he didn’t like you anymore. That you thought his family didn’t want to see you again.

Haha, no Damian still likes you, which is an amazing feat

I gotta go, Joker ou t, t al k l8r

And with that you knew he was gone. You turned back to your textbook, but you knew there was no way you’d be able to focus.

The next time you looked at your phone, it was 6 am and you hadn’t slept all night.

The next week flew by. Tim started ditching you at school, not just after. That made it easier when you got a 88% on your final and you had to meet with the board about your scholarship. They confirmed what Mr. Toffer had told you and revoked your scholarship. They politely informed you that you would not be returning the next semester.

You couldn’t face any of your friends. You closed yourself off, started finding all kinds of ways to avoid Tim and Damian, and waited out the end of the semester. 

As you walked out on your last day, you decided to pretend Gotham Academy was a dream. A wonderful dream. You walked away, ready to forget Tim and your feelings. You knew it all had to be too good to be true.

---------------------------------------------------

The winter break came and went. Tim walked into the Gotham Academy quad, Damian hot on his heels.

“Drake! You have yet to tell me why Y/N didn’t come over during our break.” Damian demanded as he finally caught up. 

Tim didn’t want to respond, mostly because he didn’t even know. He waited all break to get a message from you, but it never came. It didn’t help the Mr. Freeze was incredibly problematic for most of the break and Tim was a little too distracted.

“She was probably busy Damian. Don’t worry, you’ll see her today I’m sure.”

“It’s already been ten minutes past eight, she’s never this late.”

Damian was right, Y/N was never late to meet them. “Damian, please. I have to get to homeroom. I’ll text you the moment I see her okay?” Tim looked Damian in the eyes as he said this, to reassure him that he was being honest.

“Tt-tt, okay. I will see you at lunch.” Damian walked off towards his class.

Tim nodded, then his head shot up after, “Wait what.”

The end of the school day came and went. Tim never saw you once. Damian approached him as they waited for Alfred to pick them up. Tim was grateful for the 31 seconds of peace before Damian spoke.

“You never saw Y/N today, did you?”

It wasn’t accusatory. Damian actually sounded...sad. Tim didn’t know how to react at first. He opened his mouth and closed it a couple times, looking for the words. Eventually, he just said, “No.”

Damian looked up at him. “Will you text her?”

Tim looked into the boy’s sad eyes, an unusual sight, and sighed while pulling out his phone.

Hey Y/N, you good? Didn’t see you at school today

Tim didn’t have to wait long until his phone buzzed.

We’re sorry but the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected or is no longer in service.

Tim stared at his phone dumbfounded.

Damian cut through his daze with his voice, “Well? Anything?”

Just then, Alfred pulled up, waiting for the two boys get in. “Uh, no. Don’t worry about it.”

When Tim got back to his room, he tried various ways to get in contact with Y/N. Everything failed. Eventually he gave up on conventional means and started using his hacking skills.

“...no”

The first thing he found was the removal of her scholarship eligibility. The next was her enrollment in the Gotham public school system. 

“God, no.” 

When did this happen? Why did this happen?

Why didn’t he ever reach out to you?

[nagitoandkokichioneshots]

Hello! I just found this blog and I absolutely adore your writings aaahh qwq Can I request a oneshot perhaps of Hana meeting an older Monaca (since she was technically raised by Nagito too), aaah I hope this is ok :'D

Mod Mikan: Two things. First: Thank you for your kind words! It really warms my heart that you adore my writings, despite my lack of confidence in them. Secondly, at first I was going to politely decline this request since I didn’t really know how to go about writing this and I’m not the fondest of Monaca’s character (I also don’t know how to write her since we don’t really see her that much aside from UDG), but I really wanted to take as shot at writing this, since this does seem like an interesting concept to me. So instead of a drabble, I decided to make headcanons! I really hope this is to your liking, darling! Enjoy! 

-It all started with you and Nagito wanting to go on a long, much needed date night! 

-You two haven’t gone out on a proper date night since the birth of Hana. While the Komeada’s cherish the time they spend doting over their lil’ ultimate ballerina, way too many bedwets and cries from their daughter signaled that the parents needed some time to themselves 

-”No problem, angel! I’ll call Hajime and see if he can babysit her tonight,” Nagito offered, already pulling out his phone from his back pocket. You were already applying some lipgloss to accompany the (F/C) dress you put on tonight, when you heard a sigh of discontent a few minutes later

-”Naggie, what happened?” You asked your husband, going up to him. He frowned, crossing his arms

-”Hajime can’t watch Hana. He and Chiaki are in Florida on vacation at the moment,” I let out a long exhale myself, about to reluctantly call off mine and Nagito’s longly yearned for date night. Before I could utter the depressing sentence, Nagito’s eyes shone again, as if he thought of a solution 

-”Oh! Maybe Monaca can babysit our flower!” He exclaimed, getting out his phone again. I widen my eyes, carefully placing my hands on his phone, supposedly trying to stop him from making the phone call

-”Nagito, hold on! Umm...maybe we can reschedule next week when Hajime and Chiaki come back!” I suggested, forcing a grin to ease him. However, my white haired husband was no fool. He sighed, bringing a cold hand to gently caress my cheek

-”Love...” He started, making me lock my (E/C) orbs into his ghostly green ones. He smiled softly at me, kissing my forehead in attempt to soothe me. With his thumb stroking my cheek, he continued with what he was going to say 

-”I know Monaca has the reputation as being....devious, but she changed. I promise,” He assured me. Instead of earning an equally tender smile from his spouse, I tilted my head challengingly at him

-”Oh really?” I asked him, conflicted with what to agree with. On one hand, the idea of me and Nagito having at least a couple of romantic hours alone, getting lost in a lover’s chat, gazing into each other’s eyes as we feast upon our favorite foods together--just the two of us.....it gave me the idea of what I was really craving for....a proper date between me and my husband

-On the other hand, I’ve heard stories that Nagito told me about Monaca. Albeit for a short time, Nagito technically raised the lil’ ultimate Homeroom. She claimed he “made her into an adult” in a way, getting her now known cynical, pessimistic personality from him. However, the reputation she has gotten before that matched the one of a sociopath--manipulative, guileful, sly, and downright disingenuous. There was no way I’d leave my daughter with someone like that 

-”Nagito.....you still have contact with her? How can you even be so sure?” I asked him a follow up question, making his gentle smile turn into a light smirk. He began to unlock his phone, as he answered my questions with a calm, yet soothing voice 

-”We never talked after she kinda...left. I guess overtime she turned kinda....indifferent, especially due to our different values and beliefs. But it’s safe to say that we grew closer as time went on,” He explained, pressing his phone to his ear. I let out another sigh, but this one carried a softer tone than my previous depressed one

-”Alright. I guess a few hours with Monaca won’t hurt. I’ll inform Hana,” I smiled, pressing a pappy peck onto Nagito’s cheek, as I made my way into Hana’s room. I could’ve sworn I saw a light pink hue dust over Nagito’s cheek before I left the room 

***********************************************************************************************

-”You’re his daughter? Geez, I’m sorry,” The green haired girl told the toddler, as she sat down on the couch. The little ballerina frowned, fumbling with a red playing block she was holding in her hands

-It’s been a few minutes since Monaca came to our house and greeted both me and Nagito. She simply just waved at the guy she called her ‘Big brother’ when she was younger. She had a bit more cheerful expression when she saw me, expressing a passionless “Hello (Y/N)” and neutral looking smile. To anyone, it would’ve looked like she couldn’t care less. But to anyone that actually knew Monaca, it was considered showing more emotion that usual

-After we had a brief introduction between Hana and Monaca, we said our goodbyes as me and Nagito made our way to our car. We drove off, the thought of finally having a night-out to ourselves kicking out any worry or concern I had in the back of my mind

-Everything was going to be perfect.........right? 

(Third person’s POV)

-”I like Papa’s hope rants. I think they’re interesting!” Hana exclaimed, flashing a toothy grin at her babysitter. Monaca cocked a brow, watching the three year old girl stack her building blocks onto the wooden living room floor. Someone....actually likes his rants about hope and despair? 

-”Oh you poor thing. What did that guy do to your innocent mind?” Monaca asked her, snatching the TV remote from the glass coffee table. She flipped through the channels, stopping at the comedy movie, Ballerina. The remote was lazily tossed beside Monaca, hitting the fuzzy material with a low “thud”. Hana’s (E/C) eyes shot up from her blocks, staring at the screen with intensity 

-”I guess it makes sense.....spend enough time with that guy...you’d become as cheery as him....creepy even....” The older woman commented under her breath, keeping her gaze on the toddler’s eyes glued to the TV 

-”Do you like this movie?” Monaca asked her, making the blond haired girl nod with excitement. She turned back to her with a wide smile on her face

-”Papa and I watch it ALL the time! It in-inspired me to be a ballerina!” She cheered, crawling towards her babysitter. She stopped at her feet, tilting her head up to lock her (E/C) orbs into Monaca’s pickle green ones. The older girl furrowed her brow, but before she could offer the toddler to sit on the couch with her, Hana stood up and tug on Monaca’s dress skirt 

-”Papa always tells me with enough hope and de-deter--determina--” The pale skinned girl huffed at trying to say the long word, rephrasing her words with easier ones that she understood better

-”Papa always tells me with enough hope and desire, I can make my dreams come true. He says after bad luck and despair, good things will come. Despair never wins, no matter how tough it may seem. Because if it seems very VERY bad at first, it will b-balance out with the good that will come! Now that is where hope comes in! Papa says that--” Before Hana could finish her own adorable hope ramble (another trait she got from her Papa, alongside his hair, love for bagels, admiration for (Y/N), and aloofness), Monaca plugged her ears shut with her hands pressing harshly against them 

-”Stop, Stop, STOP! Not another ‘hope this’ ‘despair that’ ramble! Monaca can’t take it!” She grunted in frustration, being reminded of the exact same thing that drove her away in the first place. This made Hana jerk back, biting her lip in regret and humiliation 

-”I....I’m sorry, Miss. Monaca. I....I didn’t know Papa annoyed you that much...” She sniffled, failing to stop the tears from breaking the barrier between her brain and eyes. Salty teardrops began to swell in her (E/C) hues, blurring her field of vision. As more tears began to prick, rolling down her pink colored cheeks, the green haired teenager’s mouth formed into a sorrow scorn 

-”Hey, I never said that. While.....that is true, there are some things I do like about him,” Monaca crouched down to Hana’s height, resting her arm down to her knee. In the first time in years Monaca’s lips curved into a bright....smile? Smile? Monaca rarely offered a cheerful smile since childhood 

-However this uncommon occurrence made Hana sniffle, wiping the flood of watery fluid that poured down from her eyes. She looked up at her babysitter, feeling a soft cloth being applied to her tear stained cheeks. She noticed Monaca was wiping her face with a handkerchief, making the toddler feel even more at ease

-”You....you really mean that? What do you like about Papa?” Hana asked her, a gentle smile forming onto her own small pink mouth. Monaca kept her warm smile, as she lifted Hana from the floor, peaceful putting her on her lap. She tucked her handkerchief back into her dress pocket, turning back to the little girl 

-”Well.....your Papa made me into an adult....in a way....I may not like his rambles the way you do, but...it shaped me into who I am today,” She started to elucidated her thought process, intriguing Hana into her explanation even more. This silently hinted the green-haired teenager to keep going, as she quickly thought of what else to say to back up her statement

-”Monaca became...mature and grown-up because of your Papa. He only raised me for a short time, but it was enough for me to know exactly my desires and dreams for the future. Like how that movie you and your Papa watch made you into a ballerina,” She compared her intentions with Hana’s, making the little girl nod understandingly. Before the teen could go on, the toddler interrupted her with a joyous toned question 

-”That’s so cool Papa in-inspired you too, Miss. Monaca! What happened after you grew up and left Papa’s care? What exactly did he make you want to do?” She asked. Monaca’s atypical smile was replaced with her usual seldom, bored expression as she truthfully told Hana

-”He made me give up despair and hope all together. It came to the point were one day....I just didn’t know what I wanted anymore. So I decided that I was done with everything and wanted to live in space for a while. It was where I was actually before your Papa called me to watch you,” She let out an exasperated sigh, turning to stare at the floor in disbelief “Remind me to change my phone number once I’m done here, okay kid?” She asked the toddler, making her furrow her brow. However, Hana just flashed her normal optimistic grin and nodded 

-”Okay, Miss. Monaca. Now come on! I want to watch the movie! And later let’s play with my blocks together! I’m making a castle!” She shouted with delight and amusement. This just made the regularly cynical girl curve her lips into another infrequent smile, but this time a lot less noticeable. She got on her knees with Hana, playing with her building blocks as the movie kept flashing on the TV screen 

*****************************************************************************************************

(Y/N’s POV)

-”Thank you for watching her, Monaca! We really appreciate it,” I thanked the now 18 year old girl. Me and Nagito just came home from our dinner and found Hana sound asleep on the couch, one of the couch pillows tucked messily underneath her head, a navy blanket lazily place over her body as it rose up and down from her deep breaths

-”It was no problem at all, (Y/N). Hana is actually....really nice,” Monaca admitted, almost making me choke on my own saliva. Monaca.....expressing positive feelings? I guess she really had changed from her time in space. Monaca turned to Nagito, his arm still wrapped around my waist, stroking my left hip with comfort

-”You have a good one....don’t screw her up,” Was all she said before she made her way out the door. However, Nagito didn’t seem fazed by her subtle insult towards him, as he kept a merry smile on his face--the same one that was a dead ringer of his daughter’s

-”Thank you again!” My husband waved at the green-haired girl, making her stop in her tracks and turn back at us. I cocked my brow, thinking she forgot to tell us something. My thoughts were quickly put to ease, as she began to speak one last time 

-”Oh, one more thing. If you ever need a babysitter....please don’t call me. Okay, thanks! See you never!” She waved back at us, making her way out of the house. My skepticism was brushed off by the wave of relief when Monaca didn’t want to come back, in spite of confessing that Hana was a good kid

-My pale skinned husband shut the door softly, not wanting to wake our sleeping daughter from the couch she was passed out on. He lifted her into a princess carry in a mild manner, the blanket still providing her a light heat source. He turned to me, walking towards the bedrooms with me

-”I’ll put our little hope in bed. You go get comfy in our room. You seem a bit tired yourself, my angel,” He told me in a hushed tone. I nodded sleepily, backing up his observation with a fatigued yawn. I gave my sleeping daughter a soft kiss on her temple, as I made my way to mine and Nagito’s shared bedroom. I fumbled with the back off my dress, feeling the cool metal of my dress zipper, peeling it off from my body

-After throwing on one of Nagito’s oversized T shirts and brushing my teeth, my marshmallow haired husband came in our room, throwing his white blazer onto a nearby chair. As he began to strip from his tuxedo, he turned to me, his calm, positive expression never leaving his face 

-”See (Y/N)? Everything is fine. We had our date night and Hana was safe and happy,” He informed me, alleviating me even more than I already was when we got home. I nodded in agreement, crawling into our shared bed

-”I know, Naggie. I know. I guess.....I was worried about losing Hana....our Hana....” I disclosed, earning a confused look from Nagito

-”Hm? I’m not sure I follow, (Y/N),” He told me, nodding his head as an unspoken way for me to describe what I was feeling. I sighed, shifting my weight on the bed so I was sitting upright

-”Monaca became....gloomy....depressed....jaded. It’s stupid to worry about this but....I thought if she told Hana her perspective about growing up with you....Hana would become like her...” I turned to Nagito, a seed of worry was blooming onto my face, filling it with trouble “Hana really loves you, Nagito. Your desire to bring hope out....your enthusiasm and passion...I don’t want Hana to lose avidness she got from you,” I reached to stroke his arm. He stayed silent for a while, processing what I just told him. After a few moments of racking his brain, Nagito smiled once again, sitting down with me, stripped to his boxers 

-”(Y/N), I’ve only raised Monaca for such a short time. It was on her to leave and abandon the ideas that I raved about. I did nothing but be myself around her. Forget about Monaca, love. Hana is our daughter--our precious flower of hope. As her parents, we’ll support her no matter what she wants to do. But for now...it seems like she wants to bring out the hope that sleep inside of her...” He held me close, bringing me towards his body by my waist. He stroked my arm in a tender manner, resting his cheek on top of my head

-”You really mean that, Naggie?” I asked him, feeling a nod against the crown of my head. He tilted his head down at me, gently kissing my forehead

-”I really do, my sunshine. Besides...” He motioned for me to lay down with, patting the space next to him on the white bedsheets. I snuggled against him, signaling for him to turn off the lights in our room. Before our room was engulfed the the darkness of the night, I could’ve sworn that I saw Nagito’s smile turn into a collected smirk as he held me close 

-”You think I’d really help out someone that supported despair?” 

[brave-clarice]

“Clarice” Liveblog: Episode 1

Here are my extremely unfashionably late takes! They’re long, so strap in if you want.

okay, I genuinely thought the scenes in Gumb’s basement were ripped from the film for a second. extremely well done.

I both appreciate that they’re acknowledging the Bureau-mandated psych eval Clarice would have to go through (not sure she’d have to have another one a year later?)...

...but I sure wish they hadn’t chosen to open this show in a therapy-like session. it’s going to be subject to enough NBC comparisons as it is.

gosh, Rebecca Breeds is so pretty, and in the same almost, idk, elfin kind of way Jodie Foster is.

“Bride of Frankenstein”! a novel reference! and a Hannibal Lecter reference even though they can’t use his name! I’m excited

I was afraid of this part, though--everyone’s going to call her “Clarice” aren’t they?

it’s very significant that in the books, Hannibal is virtually alone in using her first name to address her; even Ardelia calls her “Starling.” but of course this series chose “Clarice” as its title, so...

“the checkout lady at the Safeway asked me to autograph a melon” omg

so Clarice has supposedly been “mandated” to see an FBI therapist for an entire year? hmm.

tbh, this feels kind of like a proxy for Hannibal’s scenes in the movie, especially with the therapist calling her “Clarice.” not sure if I dig it.

“...given that your last therapist was an inmate” Hannibal reference #2!

they’re explicitly talking about Hannibal without being able to name him and it’s hilarious, frustrating, and immensely satisfying all at once.

there’s no way to avoid talking about him altogether without being disingenuous to Clarice’s eventual character arc, so I’m glad they’re ripping off the band-aid early

“you let that relationship be intimate”  Yeah, Clarice and Hannibal’s relationship IS intimate and YOU! SHOULD! SAY IT!!!

it’s kind of ridiculous for this guy/the show not to acknowledge that little trainee Clarice was sent to see Hannibal by someone who should’ve known better. That Crawford was doing it with the intention to save lives doesn’t mean he didn’t use the shit out of Clarice.

that’s not to take away her agency or minimize the choices she made after she met Hannibal. She wouldn’t have been in a position to make those choices if Crawford hadn’t arranged it, though.

even if they don’t have the rights to Crawford’s name, either (I have to assume that’s the case) couldn’t they at least mention this??

“hasn’t seen her own family in years” Are they actually going to address Clarice’s maybe-dead-maybe-not mother (depending on the canon they adopt, book or film) and possible siblings??? Please tell me they are!

Clarice’s “egregious” PTSD doesn’t have much to do with Buffalo Bill ofc, and this therapist seems to be making excuses to be the first in a long line of men getting in the way of Clarice’s career goals...

...which she recognizes and confronts him about. Call him out!!!

*Anthony Hopkins voice* That’s my girl.

the way she’s been written in this scene gives me a lot of hope going forward! she’s funny, she doesn’t take any sexist bullshit, she’s calm and polite but you get a glimpse of the rage underneath. 

wow, they promoted Senator Martin to Attorney General!

the opening credits (if you can even call them that) are a let-down, though

she has her beads!

can anyone who’s not Hannibal please stop calling her Clarice

wonder if they’re going to touch on any of the extreme tension that existed between Senator Martin and Clarice in the novel? they didn’t interact in the movie, but in the book, Martin is under intense stress, and it doesn’t go smoothly.

of course in “Hannibal,” Martin invites her to “ride horses,” so they obviously reconciled after Catherine’s rescue and kept in some kind of touch.

and speak of the devil: horses! (and Catherine)

“I can’t have a reputation, I’ve only done it once” Thank you for being the voice of reason, Clarice.

“Paul Krendler” *ugly screaming commences*

“you don’t have any people, Clarice” Aaand that’s the plot of the Hannibal novel!

looks like they even gave her the ring Jodie’s Clarice wears!

oh yeah, this Krendler looks like a sumbitch if I ever saw one. No one will ever be as perfectly cast as the dude in Silence imo, but a much better fit than Ray Liotta. 

“small carat, but it’s a sweet ring” A very in-character observation probably directly informed by her comments about nail polish in Silence.

she mentions this victim’s nail polish (!) being “tasteful,” and I shrieked a little again.

I understand it’s necessary for Krendler to be a douche, but there’s not even going to be any payoff for the audience (or Clarice) when Hannibal eats him, so boo.

wait...wait, why aren’t Clarice and Ardelia in their Alexandria duplex? They’re not just best friends, they’re roommates! For the entire seven-year story! GIVE ME THE DUPLEX!!!

BUT points for Ardelia bringing Clarice a treat, since she was always leaving her candy bars in the Silence book!

Clarice interacting with the washer/dryer is a nice nod to the books, too.

speaking of... “What did we learn in the laundry room back at Quantico?” For some reason this line made me actually cry, I guess because this whole episode has been such a love letter to something I love so dearly, and it’s making me emotional.

FIRST PRINCIPLES!

DESPERATELY RANDOM!!!

wow, the men in Clarice’s new office giving her lotion as a hazing “welcome” gift is awful, and now I’m just mad (which is the point of the scene ofc).

so this ex-military OC is the John Brigham stand-in, I take it?

if that means John Brigham won’t be here, No Thanks.

Clarice telling him she’ll drive...a tribute to Dana “Why Do You Always Have to Drive?” Scully, perhaps (who was herself inspired by Clarice) as well as a nod to Clarice’s love of cars?

“Why do they call you the bride of Frankenstein?” Sorry, I don’t have the legal rights to tell you about my last intimate relationship.

“Already on my way to West Virginia Granny Witch” Look, this show could crash and burn from this scene on, and it would still have been worth it just for these first 25 minutes.

I like that Clarice is shown wanting to help people, and the scene of her with the baby is a nice call-back to the eventual shoot-out at the beginning of “Hannibal”...but I hope they don’t try to domesticate her too much. Clarice needs her hard edges. To be tough (reasonably so)--a cub growing into its big cat’s claws.

also, somehow I doubt that Miss Valedictorian spent her six years in the Lutheran home “changing a lot of diapers,” but sure, okay. If her siblings are alive in this, she might have changed their diapers!

even though Krendler’s a real dickwad so far, he’s not slimy enough for me. Needs more grease.

“I got a call from your therapist who’s concerned that you might genuinely flip out” I really do not like this subplot Sam-I-Am. Aren’t the huge glass ceiling/Boys’ Club obstacles enough?

seriously, though, I know Hannibal tells her that the metaphorical lambs will come back--at the end of Silence, though, she’s at some kind of temporary peace, not in danger of “flipping out” any time soon.

if Esquivel really is our Brigham stand-in, I’ve got...problems with that. He was Clarice’s teacher and became her friend, not some Krendler double-agent. (Also worried they’re setting him up as a love interest for her which...eesh, no thanks.)

and sorry, I actually hate that Catherine kept Precious the dog in this.

I have no problem with Catherine being a character, or with her interacting with Clarice...that said, I don’t know if her being shown as severely traumatized and reaching out to Clarice as a form of emotional lifeline is...a good idea?

I understand the symbolism of Catherine’s smashed mirror, but...smashed mirrors are already a Thing in this series (albeit not Clarice’s chapter in it), and that’s all I can think of here.

Catherine’s a victim of unthinkable trauma. Nevertheless...she’s talking to the woman who saved her life. Who risked death to do it. I just don’t like the way this scene is written. Apparently, in this show’s canon, Catherine hasn’t gotten the help she needs. But Clarice isn’t her therapist, and it’s upsetting to have Catherine being all “I’ll never be safe and neither will you.”

how does Catherine remember “the mannequins, the autopsy table”?? And why is she throwing them in Clarice’s face?

I’m going to stop talking about this scene now because it’s making me angry and a little upset, which is maybe the point? I just don’t think it’s written well. If Catherine’s going to be a recurring character, I hope she’s shown getting professional, medical help.

Clarice finding the victim’s papers in the box of pads is a direct callback to her finding the photos in the jewelry box in Silence. Nice.

let’s agree that Hannibal and Crawford are both in Ardelia’s (too-cutesy-for-me) book

another nice little X-Files homage?

I have some qualms about that big climax, but...meh. It was capital-F Fine.

Yikes, this is a full week late. Thanks for reading this entirely-too-long post through to the end, if you’re still here! 

To sum up my thoughts...

The Good: 

the visual connections to the Silence film (that green coat/blue knit scarf combo in particular)

Rebecca Breeds’ performance overall so far

Clarice’s strong writing/characterization

her sense of humor and her inclination to call out bullshit

maybe it was just me, but I also got a sense of Hannibal’s influence on her in some of her dialogue--her blunt observations--and I love it

Ardelia Mapp

the repeated in-your-face references to Hannibal Lecter

the respectful, non-exploitative way the victims were treated by the narrative.

let’s just say, not all Harris-inspired shows managed to do this. :)

the many, many allusions to the novel

“you let that relationship be INTIMATE” !!!

The Bad: 

the near-constant implication that all Clarice’s trauma stems from her experiences in Gumb’s basement

I just don’t understand this one...it’s not supported by the text imo

the “Clarice-is-a-psychological-loose-canon” subplot

almost everyone calling her “Clarice”

NO DUPLEX IN ALEXANDRIA! Boo!

Esquivel maybe replacing Brigham

the narrative choices they’ve made surrounding Catherine so far.

Seriously: please let Catherine seek/get help instead of screaming “HELP ME” at Clarice, who after all risked her own life to save Catherine’s, over the phone.

The Ugly: Paul Krendler, lol. Confession time: I also don’t care for the way they’ve styled her hair. Not sure why it bugs me, it just...does.

Overall, I’m thrilled to death with this. I was so afraid it would be disappointing, so even if it’s not a five-star episode (and pilots rarely are), it’s a great beginning! It’s beyond amazing to see our girl on the screen again. Just this hour-long episode did her character way more justice than the entire Hannibal film. Despite its shortcomings, it’s such a loving homage to characters and a story that mean a lot to me, and I love it just for that.

Going forward, I’d like to see more of Clarice as a person. Her hobbies and interests--cars, sharpshooting, running, fashion magazines stuffed under her bed, horseback riding, her total inability to cook...anything would do. I of course want to see more of her with Ardelia. I want to hear more about her backstory and find out which version of it (truly orphaned when her father dies or sent away by her mother) they’ll choose to explore. And while we all agree that this show is about Clarice and she don’t need no man, I won’t lie: I’d gobble up more sly references to Hannibal. He’s her endgame, after all.

I’d also like to really see the warrior underneath. There are flashes of her in the last twenty minutes of this episode. But Clarice Starling is a big cat, she’s a warrior, she’s between iron and silver. I’d hate for her to spend most of this show doe-eyed and traumatized. I want her to be ferocious, to see the woman who’s a match for the monster.

Krendler needs to get nastier. He should make us feel like we need to shower. In the novels, he wants to use Clarice--only for her body. And when she won’t allow him to, he takes his revenge. That’s what makes him so particularly awful. Let’s amp him up here.

And finally...maybe I’ll appreciate Catherine’s scene more on a second watch. Maybe I’m not being sensitive enough to her trauma, her struggles. But I didn’t like the way that scene was staged or scripted, and I didn’t like the suggestion that she just hasn’t gotten help after a year and is subsequently taking her pain out on Clarice on some level. I hope future episodes handle this subplot, and her character, a bit better.

Please let me know if you guys would like me to do another of these monstrosities for the next episode. (I promise it won’t take me an entire week this time!) And thank you again for reading!!! 

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Worth (PT 1) - Nik

[Yeah, I couldn’t dump this all in one piece... but no worries! Part II is already queued for tomorrow!]

CW: public humiliation, magical whumpee, magical exhaustion, collared whumpee + leash, intimate whumper (nothing overtly sexual but Ramona’s got some themes) noncon touch, food, implication of attempted Starvation, fainting, it as a pronoun, dehumanization.

Word count ~ 2,000

Previous ~ Masterlist ~ Next

Nik looked in the mirror, seeing a melancholy smile on his face.

He had thought about this ever since he was little. Ever since he was young and first found that spark of joy in learning and wanted to share it with others. He had dreamt of this day, of seeing the regalia that he earned.

He just never thought it would be like this.

He never thought that he would make them, using bits of magic to transform the cloth and stiches into the badges that he had earned. Never thought that his robes would be salvaged from some human’s wardrobe, not made by his people.

None of it was presented to him, but it had all been earned.

It had been earned over years of dedication and effort. Of focus and determination, keeping this moment in his mind when the work seemed overwhelming or impossible.

He may have made them, but he had earned each one. He wouldn’t disgrace them by giving himself an honor unearned.

The badges where symbols of esteem and knowledge. They were hard earned, the committee known for being ruthless towards young applicants. The interrogations had lasted hours, one even was halted and resumed the next day. But Nik had made it. He had answered their every question and posed his own back to them.

They, strung across his sash and on his chest, were his armor. They were his accomplishments and his prestige. They were physical proof when his mind told him he wasn’t smart enough, good enough.

Or at least, his badges at home were.

These were nothing but fabric and magic. They meant nothing to the humans that would see them. They would look past the symbols and never bother to try and understand their meaning. To understand what he went through to earn each one.

He didn’t care.

They were his. He had earned them, and he was proud of them. Even when everything else was stripped away, he could remind himself that he was more than what they used him for.

Nik took a deep breath and check again for any last details. He had braided his hair again, nearly forgetting where he was in the familiar process. The braid was like a crown on his head, leaves weaved through. Kia used to tease him that he looked like a prince, but he never minded. It was a familiar comfort, to be able to look in the mirror and recognize the figure in it.

He held onto the parts he could recognize, even if his own face seemed unfamiliar.

He was pale, now. Pale and thin looking. His eyes were dulled, cheeks more hollowed than what he was used to. Even his hair was weaker, looking faded against the bright green leaves.

He looked away.

It was close, but it wasn’t real. Like his cage; just an illusion of the world outside. The world he would never see again.

He rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand, the other running a thumb over a badge.

I’m worth more than this, I’ve done more than this, I am more than this. I’ve got to be.

“Don’t you look dashing?”

He turned quickly, daring a small step back. The Sorcerer, dressed in his own ornate robes, simply scoffed and strode up to him.

Nik found himself holding his breath. What if he knows? That this isn’t really formal dress? The Sorcerer could be so temperamental; possessively claiming Nik as his own one moment and leaving him alone for days the next.

But the Sorcerer simply look him up and down, eyes settling on the crown of leaves.

“Where did you get that?”

“I, I grew it,” Nik answered, eyes locked on the man in front of him. “Simple spell – weak one! The spell is a weak one.” Nik swallowed and risked another miniscule step back. Using magic without permission was the fastest way to send the Sorcerer into a rage, but he had had permission for this. Right? He had had permission to transform anything here, and he had found the seed here.

The Sorcerer shrugged and turned as he reached for something. Nik let out a silent sigh of relief, shoulder sagging a bit with it. His breath froze again, however, when he saw what was in the Sorcerer’s hands.

A collar.

A gold collar, thick with designs etched into it. They weren’t the runes imbedded in the cuffs, these only decorative. There was a hoop in the front that could have a lead attached to it.

His eyes widened at the sight and he drew his hands up to his chest protectively.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” he said quickly, eyes fix firmly on the thing. The Sorcerer gave him a hard stare; waiting.

Nik bit his lip and tried to calm his breathing. He took a moment to compose himself and swallowed, tentatively taking a step forward. Then another. There was no point in fighting back, no point in making this harder on himself.

He trembled against his will as the man clasped the metal around his neck. The man drew out a thin leather lead and Nik’s fingers found the edge of his sash once again. I’m worth more than this, I’m more than this, I’m worth more than this.

The man gave it a test, and Nik jerked forward with a squeak pathetic even to his own ears. Grinning, the Sorcerer reeled him in and grabbed the collar.

“You are going to behave. You will be obedient and quiet. If you aren’t, I will drain you and leave you in the dark so long you forget your own name.” Nik’s eyes went wide with terror, but the man wasn’t finished.

“I’ve pulled you out from there before, and I will do it again. And the moment you recover, I will drain you and put you back again. Do not cross me tonight.” Nik nodded furiously, forgetting how to breathe.

~ He tried to stand tall. He wanted to stand tall. He wanted to remain dignified, but it felt nearly impossible with the collar around his neck and the short lead. The eyes of the room were on him constantly, and he could feel them bore into his skin. Their stares were daggers, digging deep into him. Judging and seizing and jealous.

He took a deep breath, letting his resolve harden. To see him, they had to look past his accomplishments. Nik told himself that they saw them, they recognized them, they knew what they meant.

Even if they didn’t.

“Argamon!” cried a woman’s voice. The Sorcerer turned his head, and Nik realized for the first time he had never heard the man’s name. He only referred to him as the man, the Sorcerer, or the vampire. It was strange, to know that this man had a name. He had a name and a family and life. All of the things that he had taken from Nik, he got to enjoy himself.

He didn’t know Nik’s name. He had never asked. He never would.

“Ramona, my dear. How good to see you,” the Sorcerer greeted warmly, kissing the woman’s hand. She had long black hair, laying over her open shoulders in a crushed velvet dress. She looked dead into Nik’s eyes, and he suppressed a shudder.

Her eyes were just as invasive and searching as the man’s.

“Why look here! You found one,” she said, raising Nik’s chin with her hand. “Wherever was it?”

Nik straightened, letting a smirk rest on his face. He had such little power now, nearly none, but he had this. He waited, seeing the Sorcerer’s disingenuous smile.

“Oh, I could never tell. You know how I am.”

Nik huffed silently. A lie, relying on his reputation to keep him from telling the embarrassing truth; he had taken a vow to never say. He could never lead another monster to Nik’s people. It was the slightest of balm on Nik’s wounds, but it was more than he had had before.

“Well, fine then. Keep your secrets. But tell me, is it as intoxicating as presumed?”

Her hand was still holding his chin, keeping their eyes locked. Nik hated it. Hated the feeling on being consumed by eyes, again and again and again.

“See for yourself.”

Her hand dropped, picking up the Sorcerer’s instead. Nik locked his jaw and looked to the floor.

I’m more than this, I’m more than this. I am worth more than they use me for.

He felt the buzzing around his wrists first as he always did. The slow, numbing feeling of grains like sand underneath his skin pull towards the cuffs. His teeth ground together, and he found himself pressing the edge of his sash so firmly he was sure his fingertips were turning white.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long. The numbness had only crept a few inches away from the golden cuffs before it stopped. Nik took a deep breath, trying to steel himself for whatever was coming next.

He didn’t except a moan.

“Oh, Argamon,” Ramona gasped, and Nik wanted to shrink away. The lilt of her voice turned his stomach and made his face red. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of this but that no longer mattered. Nothing that he wanted mattered to anyone. They took. They took for themselves, they took and gave parts of him to others. The Sorcerer had collared him and put him on a leash to show off to all his awful, revolting friends.

Nik could do nothing. He could do nothing to stop the man, and he could do nothing to stop the graceful hand that cupped around his cheek again.

He flinched away, but the hand followed.

“How could you tease a lady like that?” she crooned, stroking a thumb across Nik’s cheek. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut. No, no please stop. Please please please don’t.

The man only laughed. “Oh, you think that was teasing?”

The snap of the Sorcerer’s fingers caught Nik’s attention, and he felt himself looking up to the sound. Ramona laughed and pulled her hand away.

“Oh! You have it so well trained!”

Nik’s face burned even hotter. I’m not trained! That, that’s not, I didn’t, it just got my attention. I’m on edge and it got my attention. I’m not trained.

He hoped he wasn’t lying to himself.

Gold eyes begged the man. To help him, to stop her, to take him away to not face this humiliation anymore. Even if he caught the pleas, the man wouldn’t have acted on them. No, he had other plans.

The man pulled something from the pocket of his robe and Nik’s eyes went wide with surprise. He could feel his breath hitch for a moment, hopefulness and desire marred by shame at such a strong reaction for such a common thing.

A nectarine.

The Sorcerer fed him; seemingly more than necessary, really. Nik had assumed humans must eat quite frequently, judging on bread and rations that were delivered every day. He had eaten more in the workshop, away from the trees and sun, but now that he was in his cage he simply needed less of the human’s food.

The back of Nik’s mind recalled that there had been less provided lately. Less, and never anything fresh or uncooked. Distantly, he knew he was playing right into the man’s hand, but he didn’t care.

He wanted even the smallest amount of comfort. Even if he had to be forced to view it as comfort.

Nik’s eyes flicked from the small fruit to the Sorcerer’s face, asking silently for permission. Asking if it was joke. Hoping not to be punished for falling into the possible trap.

The Sorcerer held it out to him and tipped his head, gesturing for Nik to take it.

Somehow this, this gratefulness for the smallest act of kindness overcame the shame and hopelessness. He felt those hanging off his skin every day. Every time the Sorcerer looked at him with such hungry eyes or he saw through the illusion of his enchanted cage, the shame and humiliation crept into him and stayed until he was too numb from loss to remember it.

For just a moment, one moment in a forest of bad ones, he wanted to feel this as comfort.

He reached for it, and forcefully ignored the buzz underneath his skin.

It was faint, but the echo of life outside was still there. Distant, disconnected from the tree it was grown from, but faintly there. He could still feel it, still trace the lines that connected it. The smell alone made his eyes water. It was such a small thing, so insignificant to everyone else in the room, but it was the closest to freedom that Nik would ever know again.

Even if he was to be brought outside, it would only be to repair his broken mind.

He blinked heavily and winced. His head, the side of his head throbbed. Nik cleared his eyes and tried to adjust to such a sudden change. He was laying on the ground, head throbbing and body feeling numb. He couldn’t remember how he got there. Did he fall? How long ago? What happened? Nik tried to sit up, tried to rise onto his elbows, but a wave of dizziness kept him down. He lulled his head to the side, seeing a distant, out of reach orange ball.

A laugh rung through the air.

“Ramona!” The Sorcerer scolded, laughing as he did so, “You can’t draw so much! I know you indulge yourself, but this isn’t yours to play with.”

He crouched down and laid a hand on Nik’s chest, letting some of the magic flow back into him. While the dizziness and some of the weakness receded, it was still an awful feeling. There was a certain lack of control, a certain lack of bodily autonomy that would sit with him long after the Sorcerer’s hands left his skin.

Nik breathed through the waves that sunk deep into his bones. After a moment, he stood. His legs still felt shaky and unsteady, but he wouldn’t remain on the floor. He could stand, and he would stand.

He wanted to brush off his clothes. The rid them of the wrinkles and the dusk, to straighten the sash and run his fingers along the badges, but they didn’t feel the same now.

No matter what he was truly worth, in their eyes he would only ever be worth this.

~

[I also wanted to say thank you to the messages that i’ve got about Nik’s story. I can’t even explain how encouraging it is to know that people love him as much as I do.] 

@welcome-to-the-whumpfest @ohmywhump @thehopelessopus @luminouswhump @lonesome--hunter @pepperonyscience @insanitywishes @redstainedsocks

[If you would like to be added or removed, please let me know!]

[mageicalwishes]

Read on AO3: Here

Rating: Teen & Up

Chapter: 1/? (More chapters to come a little later in Dec + Early Jan!) 

Summary: A loose crossover between Carry On and parts of I'll Give You The Sun. "He’s haloed under the streetlights, and I’m trying not to stare. But, it’s hard. His face is celestial - The sunshine of his soul peeking through his features. I want to say more, just so that he doesn’t leave. Our houses are right there but, I feel so ... multicoloured."

Carry On Countdown, Day 10 - Crossover @carryon-countdown​

Tags: Fluff, Getting Together, Meet-Cute, Social Anxiety, Crossover, Pining Baz, Artist Baz, Space Enthusiast Simon, Star Gazing, Anxious Thoughts,  Carry On Countdown 2020 Day 10

Words: 2,145

Baz

I need to stop thinking about grey, slippery roads and black shrouds. About the purple under my Father’s dull eyes, and the red of my Aunt’s anger. I need to stop thinking about me - About my life. My head is too loud. Too noxious. I need someone else to take my mind for a while. I need to see. To paint. And so, I search for a subject. 

Dragging my binoculars across the bleak, colourless houses, I search, desperately, for even a glimpse of a hue. But the colours are slipping from the world again. They always do when I’m trapped in my head.

And then I see them - The movers - so far from colourless that I’m dizzied. They’re great work horses, both of them - One chestnut, and one palomino - Hulking a grandfather clock up the house-next-door’s stairs. I’m zooming in, before I have time to reconsider - Into the stretch of navy against the flex of their arms, the rose flush of their foreheads, the tan swath of smooth stomach revealed each time they lift their arms. And then ... Shit. 

I drop the binoculars onto the floor, my body following swiftly behind them. Because, on the roof of the house, there’s a boy pointing a telescope directly at me. Fucking Hell. How long has he even been there?

I risk a glance over the top of my windowsill. He’s wearing a tatty purple jumper, and there’s a mess of bronze curls tangled atop his head. Even without the binoculars, I can see that he’s grinning at me. Is he laughing at me, already? Does he know what I was doing? That I was watching the movers? Does he think that I’m ...? He must. Why else would I be ogling them. God. I feel the dread pinching at my throat, and try to tether my mind, so that it doesn’t get away from me again. Maybe he’s just a smiley person. Maybe he thinks I was looking at his clock. That’s equally as plausible, surely? And, I mean, he has a telescope. Dickheads don’t tend to have telescopes, do they?

Tugging at the ends of my hair, I stand. When he sees me he waves, but before I have a chance to reciprocate, he’s reaching into his pocket, drawing his arms backwards, and lobbing something straight at me. (Maybe he is a dickhead, after all). 

On reflex, I stick out my hand. The unknown object slapping hard against my skin, as I close my fingers around it. 

“Nice catch!” He yells. His voice deep and bright, with a definite Northern tinge. I decide that I like it. It suits him. 

But, I don’t know what to say back. So, I don’t. Instead, I examine his potentially dangerous ‘gift’ - Spinning the rock around in the palm of my hand. It’s small (About the size of a pound coin) and covered in irregular lightening-like cracks. What am I supposed to do with it? Do I throw it back? Why did he even throw it at me, in the first place? I don’t know, but I slip it into my back pocket for safe-keeping, anyway. 

When I look back at him, hoping for some kind of explanation, he’s turned himself back towards the sky. Too focused on looking through his telescope to notice me. Which, to be honest, is odd. I mean, it’s daytime. What could he possibly be looking at? 

Even though I’m curious, I don’t stick around to find out. I’m worryingly off-kilter, and I need to rebalance. I hadn’t prepared myself for meeting a new person. I wasn’t ready. And so, I run to the place that I know best, to recuperate - The Art Institute. Where I can carry out further recon on the studio. 

-------------------

It was a good, productive sketch session. Nobody caught me peeping through the window, and I was able to get a few decent body references down. But … I don’t feel my usual post-art calm. My mind is still racing (Although, with a different genre of thought than earlier). 

Every over time I have visited, the models have been women. Posing demurely, with a bowl of fruit or silks. Arms placed, to partially protect their modesty. I’m used to that. I’m prepared for that. But today … it was a bloke. 

I don’t have a problem with that (Not really). There’s nothing wrong with blokes. And there’s nothing wrong with naked blokes, either. I’m mature enough to handle that. A body is a body. A sketch is a sketch. And I’m an artist first, queer person second. I just … hadn’t expected it. And I don’t like to be caught off guard. So, I’m feeling slightly rattled. I just need to get home, and get back to normality. To safe things - Like a beach scene, or a self-portrait. Familiar things. No more surprises.

And yet, a few steps into my walk back home, I see the guy from the roof leaning against a nearby tree, the same lopsided-grin aimed over at me. I blink, confirming his existence, and then he’s talking. Stood, barely 3 metres in front of me, in the dirt. 

“How was class?” 

He says it like it isn’t the strangest thing in the world that he’s here, with me, where he really has no reason to be. Like it isn’t only just slightly beaten in its absurdity by me, sketching propped-up on a wall outside, rather than inside, the studio. Like we aren’t complete strangers (Because, no matter how much he may be smiling at me, we don’t even know each other's names yet).

‘Yeah, sorry, I kinda’ followed you. I wanted to check out the woods, but I wasn’t sure of the way. So … I just tagged along. Figured you wouldn’t mind. Don’t worry though, I wasn’t watching you the whole time. I was busy with my own stuff.” 

He points to an open suitcase filled to the brim with ... rocks? As if that’s normal. 

“My meteorite bag’s all packed.”

I nod like that explains something, but it really doesn’t. Meteorites? I thought those were in the sky, not on the ground. And what does that even mean? He just carries around pieces of infinity. For what?

I look at him more closely, studying his face for any sign of disingenuity. For any sign that he’s just having me on. But I find nothing. Nothing … bad, anyway. Just a deep dimple accompanying his crooked smile, and miles of tawny skin, speckled with moles. He exists in shades of orange and gold. He’s the sun. And I can’t look away.

“Stare much?” 

I drop my gaze, embarrassed - Staring down at his scuffed Nikes, as my neck prickles with heat. I don’t talk. What am I even supposed to say to that? Yes? 

“Well ... you’re probably just used to it from staring at that bloke for so long. You know … for your drawing.” I look up - Grey meeting blue. He’s eyeing my pad curiously. “He was naked?” He breathes in as he says it, like the words stole his oxygen. It makes my stomach plummet, but I try to keep my face calm. I think about him watching me, watching the movers. How he watched me, watching the model. He must know. And ... I don’t know how I feel about that, just yet. 

He looks down at my pad again. I don’t understand why. Does he want me to show him the drawings of the model bloke? It seems like he does. And some disturbed part of me wants to. But I doubt it. ‘Hey stranger, wanna’ see how I draw dicks?’ said no sane person ever. My stomach twists tight, and I’m out of control - My brain hazy amongst the moment’s tension.

“Look, man,” he sighs, half-smiling as he scrubs at the back of his neck. “I legit’ have no idea how to get home. I tried, but I just ended up back here. I’ve been waiting for you to lead the way. You don’t mind do you?”

I don’t think I mind. Do I? I don’t know. I shake my head, anyway, and point him in the right direction. 

-------------------

It’s a long way home, and we walk the majority of it in silence (Well, near-silence. The bumping of his suitcase creating a constant accompaniment to our steps). I try and resist the urge to look back at him. The urge to ask him all of my ‘Why?’s - Why did you follow me? Why are you still following me? Why are you collecting meteorites? Why were you looking at the stars in daylight? Why were you looking at me in the daylight? It would only make me more muddled. So, rather than relent, I take out my invisible brushes and start to paint behind my eyes. 

And, after a while, I feel myself settling back into my skin. The dancing trees and setting sun relaxing me, in spite of the moment’s unsteadiness. Or ... maybe it was him. He’s an alarmingly relaxed person (I mean, I don’t know anybody else who would just follow a stranger around, with zero self-consciousness), so it wouldn’t surprise me if he had some sort of ‘Realm of Calm’ thing going on around him. 

When we emerge from the woods, returning to our familiar concrete-laden pavements, he spins around and jumps in front of me. Ecstatic. 

“Holy shit! That is like ... the longest I’ve ever gone without talking in my life! I was holding my breath just trying to keep the words in. How do you even do that? Are you always like this?”

He’s a mile a minute, and I’m lagging behind.

“Like what?”

And then he’s laughing at me. I can tell that he’s a person who laughs a lot, from the way he lets it take him over so easily - His whole being lightening up, as the sides of his eyes crinkle, joyfully. But it’s alright, I don’t mind. It’s not a mean laugh. It just makes me feel a little bit fizzy inside (In a good way. I think). 

“Dude! Are you kidding? You do know those are the first words you’ve said all day, right?”

I didn’t, actually. But I don’t tell him that. He’d probably just think that I’m more strange than he, no doubt, already does. 

He’s properly cracking up now (Although, I don’t know what, exactly, I did that was quite so funny). “And then you’re all just like ‘What?’”. </p>

He makes an absolutely atrocious attempt at imitating my accent (Which leaves him sounding like some kind of drunken Prince Charles impersonator), and before I can stop it, I’m laughing outright, alongside him. Both of us hunched-over cackling, wholeheartedly, probably looking more than a little mad. 

Once we’ve calmed down, he starts staring at my pad again. Jesus Christ. I really wish he wouldn’t. I’m not going to show him my sketches. Not even if he begs. I’d never survive the embarrassment.

“So ... lemme’ guess. You do most of your talking in there?” He points down at my pad, and I feel the tips of my ears flood scarlet. 

“Yeah. Something like that.” My voice comes out mumbled and gruff. I didn’t mean for it to. He probably thinks I did it on purpose, though. 

He’s haloed under the streetlights, and I’m trying not to stare. But, it’s hard. His face is celestial - The sunshine of his soul peeking through his features. I want to say more, just so that he doesn’t leave. Our houses are right there but, I feel so ... multicoloured.

“I paint in my head sometimes,” I blurt. Dumb. So unbelievably dumb. “That’s why I was so quiet, I was painting.”

“Oh that’s cool. Saves paper, I suppose. Better for the trees, and that.” Stalling. He’s stalling. I’ve made it weird. I always make it weird. “So ... were you painting anything specific?”

“You.” Oh, fucking hell! I’ve ruined it - I’ve smeared on that last glob of un-erasable acrylic and ruined the painting. I shouldn’t have said it. I didn’t even mean to say it, it just ... popped out. And now he’s stood, gawping, eyes wide and face flushed. I’ve embarrassed him. I’ve gone and dumped all my greedy keenness on him, completely uninvited, and now he’s drowning in it.

Everything feels tight. The air, suddenly too humid to swallow. I’m gasping - Waves of breath crashing, loudly, in my ears. Panic. I’m panicking. I need to - I have to go.

So, for the second time today, I run. Spinning on my heels and darting back towards my house, without as much as a ‘Goodbye”. Away from him. Away from humiliation. Back to my room, where I pull the blinds shut and open up my pad - Briskly skipping over today’s work. A blank page. A fresh start. I really am no good at talking the normal way.