#oops this ended up really long

[wyllzel]

but what are your bridgerton opinions? share share

AAHHH 🫣 ty for asking omg! opinions time 😏

my big thing is that i'm annoyed whenever people complain about the lack of historical accuracy in the clothing, or when people complain that it all looks over the top... i firmly believe that bridgerton as a series of works has no interest in historicity (see rants A and B)!! so i think it's much more interesting for the costuming department to be able to construct these really interesting, elaborate gowns instead of painstakingly trying to recreate clothing from 200 years ago :^) plus they get to use modern visual language to emphasize characters' roles!!! like we know cressida and the featheringtons are trying too hard bc the patterns/materials they wear are what we associate with tacky/costume-y sort of looks 👀

i haven't seen many people talk about this - but i really wish the show had stuck with the 10 year time skip before colin's book... penelope is 28 years old during her book romance! both her maturity and her having to reckon with being "old" while never having been kissed/romanced is a big part of why her story resonated w me ;; it doesn't quite hit the same in the show, where she's probably in her early 20s still...

probably the worst decision the show has made for the polin romance is having colin keep an erotic diary rather than what he has in the novel, which is a travel journal 😭 i'll put this below the readmore since it's a pretty big spoiler haha

^ anyway cressida's gowns are everything 😔🫡

spoilers ahead for colin's weird erotic diary!!!

basically, the polin romance works so well bc they both respect one another as writers! so far, we only have one comment from penelope about colin's writing, which is right when she reads his diary and he finds her snooping :(

throughout colin's novel, we see him as really insecure bc his brothers have achieved some measure of success (anthony is respected as the viscount bridgerton and benedict is a renowned artist) while he's just kind of traveling the european continent lol... so when colin discovers that penelope is lady whistledown, he freaks out A) because she has haters and he has to "protect" her (LMAO) and B) because she's a successful writer and he wants to publish his travel journals, but he's insecure as an amateur writer...

and basically colin has to grow from:

not understanding why penelope is so proud of her gossip column, to

understanding why penelope is so proud of her gossip column (it's her life's work and is a valid literary artform), to

overcoming his jealousy of penelope's success, to

being actively proud of penelope's success and her talents

which is so fascinating!!! i can't think of many other romances/works that feature a male romantic partner who's jealous of his female romantic partner's abilities!! dude overcame his toxic masculinity and basically spends the rest of the bridgerton saga telling anyone who listens how much he loves his wife :') it's great stuff

anyway... i'm not super sure how the bridgerton show is going to tackle the whole "colin is jealous of penelope's talents as a writer" thing... because if he's writing erotica, how is he going to get published??? is he going to be regency nicholas sparks????? also, not everything has to be about sex/romance!!! his travel journals were perfectly fine as they were!!

plus so far the only hint we have that colin's insecure is his weird playboy era, but even that... i'm not super sure if that's supposed to be evidence of his insecurity, or if the show is hastily establishing his "rake reputation" that all the bridgerton men have LMAO

[lovedtogekiss-art]

i really do think that this song fits them so well

[sysig]

Heck yeah, Requestober!! Thanks for doing this again, it's always so much fun! I've got two TPoH ideas to choose from if that's alright, whichever you're more in the mood for. Either Dial annoying RGB, as he does, or Dial and Click being an awful chaos duo? Either would be great!

Day 17 - Boundaries, Dial

[blackjackkent]

So... I was already going to write something about Hector and Karlach, and Hector being forcibly reminded that Karlach would rather die free than go back to Avernus and live, and Karlach laughing it off in the dryad's vision, and Hector feeling like shit about it.

And then this happened when I went back to camp:

"Ngh. Soldier... my engine. It hurts... I think this might be it. Soon. Thing's burning hotter than I knew it could."

"But look - we've just about made it to the city. That'll do me. Let's go protect it. Whatever happens after that is between me and the so-called gods."

"You don't think we'll find you a cure?"

"With this heat going, I can't spare the energy to think. I just want to enjoy whatever's left of this life of mine. Anyway, it could be worse. I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. With who I'm meant to be with. How many people can say that?"

-------

She laughs again, grins and shakes it off, and suddenly he can't take it anymore.

"Damn it, no!" he snaps. "Stop that! Stop laughing about it, as if it doesn't matter!"

She blinks, draws back a little, startled. Hector very rarely loses his temper; the last time she saw it was in the House of Healing against Malus's terrible cruelty. Not here, not in camp, where they're safe and they're together. "Soldier--"

"Don't 'Soldier' me." Hector's jaw works and then he looks away from her abruptly, staring down at the ground. "This isn't funny, Karlach. It isn't a joke. You heard what Dammon said. If we don't find a cure, you'll die."

Karlach's smile fades. "You think I don't know what death means, Hec?" she says more sharply. "I've seen way more of it than you have. I know what Dammon said, and I also know what I said. I'm not going back, not ever. Not even to save my life."

"I know. Believe me, I heard every word when you told me." Hector's lips draw into a tight line. "I'm not talking about that."

She hesitates, puzzled. "What are you talking about, then?"

"How am I supposed to feel, when you look at me, and say you're about to die, and laugh?" He looks up at her, his eyes burning with frustration and pain. "Do you expect me to laugh too? Do you expect me to pretend like it makes no difference?"

She frowns. "No, I--"

"Because I can't," he continues hoarsely. "I can't laugh. I can't shake it off the way you can. I..." He pauses, rubs a hand down his face, desperately trying to regain his habitual control, but it feels completely lost to him right now.

"I will never, not once, tell you what decision you need to make. This is your choice. Your life. I wouldn't take that away from you." He shakes his head. "I respect you too much for that. It's your body and your soul, your free will and your choice. But I need you to respect me too, enough to believe that what you choose affects me too."

He feels his voice crack, and dashes his hand in frustration and shame against his eyes, feeling dampness in them. "I love you," he whispers, clenching his fists at his side in the struggle for control. "I love you, Karlach... so much, so deeply... I didn't know feelings like this existed in the world until I met you. I was taught to be self-reliant, to need no one's reassurance, to keep my heart wrapped up in books and faith and dust, but then I found you, and there's no going back to that. I'm lost in you." He hesitates. "As... as I hope you're lost in me."

He can see her expression twisting with emotion but he doesn't give her time to speak. It's all coming out now, everything he usually doesn't have the words - or the bravery - to articulate. "I'm not trying to change your mind. I've learned so much from you, from everything we've experienced out here - and one of the things I've learned is that there are things more important than living or dying. That there are things worth dying for. If this is yours... I won't stand in the way."

He swallows. "But I need you to understand that... I don't know what I will do without you. And when you laugh, when you act as if it doesn't matter that you will be gone... it tears my heart out."

Silence. He's run out of words and stares at the ground in front of her feet, his shoulders tight with the effort of keeping his voice steady.

When she finally answers, her voice is softer. "Dammit, I'm... I'm sorry, Hec. I really am. This, how I am..." She gestures vaguely at her own chest. "In Avernus, it was the only way to stay sane. You had to laugh about it all, or you'd go mental." She snorts bitterly. "I told you, that's the only reason I hung around with Flo. She was a bastard, just a complete motherfucker... but she made me laugh. And I couldn't make it otherwise. It would've crushed me."

She pauses for a moment and then goes on. "I don't want to die, Hec. I really don't. I never had the chance to live like this, loving someone, loving you, and doing good work, and feeling like I mean something. And I don't want to hurt you. Gods... that's the last thing I want."

She reaches out cautiously, takes his hand. He draws a sharp breath, although his shoulders instinctively relax, feeling the familiar pulse of her heat against his skin.

"I love you too, Hec," she says quietly. "You're not the only one who never thought life could feel like this."

He lets the held-in breath out shakily and grips her hand like a lifeline in a storm. "I'm scared, Karlach," he admits in a whisper. "I don't know if I can do this alone."

"You won't be alone." She smiles slightly. "We've got a pretty good group going here, now. And you're way stronger than you think. I've seen it." She hesitates. "Proud of you, y'know."

He closes his eyes and swallows desperately against the lump in his throat. "Thank you," he says softly. A pause. "I'm proud of you too, you know," he adds after a little while. "For standing by what's important to you. I want you to know that, no matter what else happens."

Her fingers tighten around his fiercely. "And I won't laugh about it, not anymore," she adds with a slight nod. "Didn't think about how it sounded to you. I won't make that mistake again."

He nods, musters a slight smile as he looks up at her. "Thank you. That's all I ask."

She steps forward, wraps her arms around him tightly, and he sags forward into her, burying his face into her neck. It's a great irony, he reflects, that the same heat which is going to kill her makes him feel so warm and comfortable in her arms.

His eyes squeeze shut against her and he lets out a single gasped breath, almost a sob. But only the one. Then he has control again, and all he does is lean into her and hold on as if his grip might somehow prevent her from ever slipping away from him.

And though he will not say it aloud, inwardly he prays for some miracle, some way out of the darkness that sits in his future when she is gone. Because he truly does not know how he will bear it.

[dazais-guardian-angel]

kinda wild to me that one of the most compelling aspects of both Chuuya and Kunikida's characters to me, that I never really see talked about, is how they're heavily set on a doomed crash course towards complete and utter destruction, and how I am so, so worried for them both.....

[starfacedstudio]

Image ID: A detailed digital illustration of a bedroom for Ralsei from Deltarune in a watercolor style. A chandelier lights the scene from above in blue, including a covered 4-poster bed + chair with plenty of books next to it (right / center), a closet filled with clothes (left / center), a bookshelf with a ladder filled with books and crafting supplies (center), a stack of unpacked boxes (left), and a desk cluttered with craft supplies and drawn-on papers (front right). The brick walls are covered with drawings and glow in the dark stars, hearts, and moons, and paper doll garlands line the perimeter. Two tapestries on the rightmost wall frame a large stained glass window. Just middle of left, Ralsei's hat hangs on the back wall. End ID.

Image ID: A page titled "Environment Intensive Packeting: Ralsei's Bedroom. There are 6 called out items from the previous illustration (shown at the top left), which include: 1. Window design, which features the Delta Rune motif / symbol. The bottom part of the window is colorful. 2. Banners (tapestries). They depict two different scenes from Ralsei's prophecies, one shows 3 heroes emerging from the world's edge, and the second depicts a Titan at the world's end. 3. Unused Manual pages, one contains a drawing of Ralsei with the text "Thank you! I'm looking forward to meeting you!" with a heart at the bottom. The second has text that says "Dedicated to the unending pillar of darkness that gives my body form." 4. Desk clutter: pink strings of yarn, dry macaronis, and a green crayon. 5. A string of paper dolls with varying shapes: a darkner, a lightner, a save point, and a heart. 6. Wall decor, including glow in the dark stars and drawings of other characters. End ID.

boy this was meant to be finished like 2 weeks ago but at least im in time for the anniversary babeyyyy!! happy birthday deltarune oh god you're 5 years old now

Here's a bedroom design for Ralsei that I did for class - there's certainly more details hidden in this that I didn't have time to call out, so shout out to anyone who may spot em!

[honeyvenommusic]

❗️NEWGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSAN-

[designernishiki]

The Kiwami Millennium Tower showdown definitely ended with Kiryu being shaken awake by Haruka, who frantically pulls him over to Nishiki, half-buried in rubble and in a pool of his own blood, and Kiryu carrying a badly injured Nishiki out of the building to safety and still holding him close and not letting go when Nishiki regains consciousness in his arms and starts to weakly struggle against his grip, gives up, and breaks down sobbing, clutching Kiryu’s shirt and pleading to him–

“Please don’t do this– please don’t force me to live with this– just end it. I don’t deserve to live, I don’t want your mercy or your pity– it wasn’t supposed to go like this. I failed– I fail at everything– I even failed at ending my own life. I’ve hurt and betrayed everyone I’ve ever cared about and been a burden on everyone I’ve ever known. I’ll never be enough. Why the hell are you trying to save me? What the hell is there to save? Let me do one useful thing for once in my life and leave me to bleed out like I should. Please, Kazuma.”

And with teary eyes squeezed shut, his head down, Kiryu holds him so tightly to his chest it makes Nishiki’s burns sting and tells him,

“Everyone hurt you, and I left you to hurt alone. I broke our promise. I should’ve never left you to cross the line alone. I was supposed to be there for you, and I wasn’t– but I’m here now and I’m not letting you go. Never again. I need you here. I want you here. Just being here is enough, Akira. I promise.”

And Nishiki gives into his instinctive need to just cling to him and cry, as if making up for years of pent-up tears he’s forced himself not to shed out of an intense fear of vulnerability. He does what he should’ve done a long time ago, fakes his death, and leaves the yakuza life behind in favor of something more mundane, but something that’s actually him– something that allows him to accept himself as he is rather than being forced to live up to the impossible standards of others.

Trust me this is absolutely how it went. The End.

[thornheartfelt]

I'm curious so I thought I'd make a poll on it. No idea if leaving the poll options uncensored will have them show up in the main tags, so I've played it safe anyway.

[theokusgallery]

Since you have a lot of opinions about Sunflower fics, do you have any recommendations :p? I do generally agree with you about the derth of good works on them - kind of hoping for something I've maybe slept on.

Okay, I'll try,

First of all — I want everyone, and I mean everyone to read Coda for a Crestfallen Caitiff by MercuriallyApathetic, who also wrote The Strange Summer of Sunny Whatshisface (still one of my favorite longfics to this day but a lot more lighthearted). Coda is a masterpiece, it makes me insane, it is criminally underrated, I want to inhale its essence, and when I first read it it gave me a panic attack and a mental breakdown that lasted three straight days (/pos). Definitely read the tags and prepare yourself mentally but JESUS CHRIST I need everyone to read it. Please. You will regret it for a few hours but it is... an experience. To me at least. And to the two people I recommended it to who gave me feedback.

Then there's sunflower seeds in the rearview mirror by @andrewwtca which remains probably my favorite multichapter OMORI fic of all time (you might spot my essay-comments in the later chapters, I love this fic so much. I didn't end up writing one for the last chapter but man did it hit me hard). Very intriguing with a captivating style and an unreliable narrator mechanic that I am absolutely in love with. Everything by that author is excellent.

We have, of course, literally everything by BetweenDisorders. Arsenic is partly inspired by one of their fics ! (you know the one.) Their characterization of both Sunny and Basil (but especially Basil, because I'm gay) makes me froth at the mouth. Their style is very recognizable and honestly one of the best I've ever seen. But more generally, they have really original and intriguing ideas (like communication, in which Basil and Sunny are two computers... Did I mention how I'm a sucker for original/unique plots and premises enough yet) and everything they do is something you've never seen before. It's amazing.

Note to Self: Don't Be Gay in Faraway Town by witheredahlia is also very, very good. It's a lot lighter, but it still made my gay little heart ache, because I'm a sucker for misunderstandings done correctly (fight me).

Detective Sunny by Det_Sun is genuinely one of the most creative, fascinating OMORI fics I've seen, and also way too underrated. It's an excellent read, and there's a bunch of ideas in it that you know go deeper than what is shown, and it makes my brain go at the speed of lights. Many many thoughts about this one. (Side note: I fucking love it when there's unexplored ideas in fics. Makes my brain go brrr. Not everything has to be shown and when I see hints of "behind the scene" thoughts and character background that isn't discussed much but still implied, my brain becomes a feral animal. I don't know if that makes sense...)

[astro-inthestars]

Welp I've gotten myself busy because of a sudden burst of inspiration to draw the responses to this post .....and thus I've drawn myself three new fursonas. (5 if you count the quadrupedal versions-)

Anyways! Here's the first input!

@just-jammin @the-real-aurora-borealis in that order <3 they assigned me ferret!! Plus points for galaxy ferret, or starry stoat!

Next up:

@twipsai this one's Twippy's and I adore it <3 btw <3 Arctic Fox!!

And last one!

This one's from @thefunnyalice !! First time being assigned a bird, and honestly I love that!! Perfect bird drawing practice <3

(...except his ass did not draw the normal bird version because it was too hard but shHH.)

[skitskatdacat63]

Sorry guys for being completely unhinged this weekend 🙏 but I can't help it and I refuse to be normal about it

[moonfromearth]

- What's with the hat? - I don't know. Found it in the science lab. Thought it would help.

Day 11 - The Hunter Knows the killer’s weakness and the best way to beat them. The Final Girl typically teams up with them to finally nail the killer. Usually, they’re considered the other final character to survive.

from @windbrook's Slashed Challenge.

[twothpaste]

fick chunk about fuel's not-so-secret project at the new pork ruins, which somehow doubles as a whole-ass character study. (featuring bronson, nana, claus, lucas, and abelle my oc abelle.)

Speakin' of daylight: the noontime shine renders fire far less fearsome.

It flickers from the wick of a tiny index finger. Scarlet diamonds, scarcely greater than a candle's glimmer. How it kisses the ocean. That white-blue horizon line. There's a quaint horror, at the heart of the matter. Knowing even embers like these would - given the chance - reduce houses to ashes. And a quainter comfort, still. Knowing she'd never dare let 'em.

If you ask him 'bout phobias, Fuel ain't got none. Try talkin' to him 'bout "Pee-Tee-Ess-Dee," and he'll kindly decline, arms crossed. "Nah. Nope. N' hell naw, while I'm at it. But thank ya very much, Lucas." That kinda talk's for the twins. N' their forefathers. N' former Pigmasks, maybe some of 'em. His matchstick jitters're just a reflex. His muscles pulled stiff, at the scent of somethin' burning - well, that's 'cause it's a heck of a stinkin' smell. When he wakes up coughing, choking, on smoke that ain't there, it's that sleep apnea shit he's got. Nana diagnosed it. Y'can call her a madwoman, n' he does too, when he's joshin' around. But don't get it backwards. She knows what she's talkin' about.

Likewise, Abelle doesn't mention what's irking her. That she'd definitely be able to muster more than a goshdarn candle. Maybe an antique gas stove. Or a fireplace lighter. If only she'd gotten more than three hours of sleep. It casts a vague orange, ruffling up against the work station's tarped shade. Miscellaneous metal parts reflect only the teeniest glimmers. A wrench here. A dubious hunk of titanium there.

"So. Y'light it with yer mind? Just like that, huh…?" Even after all this time, truth be told, Fuel can still scarcely wrap his head around it.

"Sure do!" Abelle chimes. Before dousing her pride, so as not to be impolite. As the flame wavers, her brow furrows. "It doesn't exactly come natural, though. Gotta focus real hard on it. Helps to think of somethin' warm. I'm thinkin' of s'mores, right now."

"S'mores, huh? Makes sense, I guess. Y'ain't scared of it, or nothin'?"

"Me? Hehe! Naw, I'm never scared!"

"Well, shit! Beg yer pardon!" Fuel leans back, hands raised, donning an amused grin. Has a bite of his peanut butter sandwich, while he's at it. N' mutters the rest with a fist coverin' his mouthful. "I'm only askin' 'cause, ah.. Lucas used to say this psychic stuff was an awful sorta scary. Back when he first started doin' it, I mean."

"Oh, he's told me so, too. It's kinda funny, ain't it? Everyone always says he used to be so skittish. I can't hardly picture it." Abelle's got strawberry jam on hers. N' banana slices, too. She snuffs out the flare, just long enough for a meager nibble.

"Heh. That's fair. Sometimes I can't, neither." Beyond the makeshift awning, out there in the blue, silhouettes mill about the boats. Settin' up chemical filtering equipment, they'd said? Somethin' or other. If he squints, Fuel reckons he can make out Lucas' red-n'-yella plaid. Leading the pack, no doubt. "What if it goes outta control? If the fire gets bigger than y'bargained for, or whatever? That, uh… That ever happen?"

"Mm-mm," Abelle answers. Shakin' her head. "Not really. Not with PK Fire. Sometimes my Shields're too big, if y'can believe it. N' sometimes I start hearin' what other folks're thinkin', n' it's like..? Like I can't turn it off. But, if I'm bein' honest…" Her gaze dips downward, back into the shadows. Scrutinizes the pitiful candle wick, held low in her lap. "M'no good at Psycho-Kinesis. Offensive PSI, Kumatora calls it. The stuff y'can fight with."

"That ain't so bad, is it? Not much to fight about, these days."

"That's what Kumatora n' Lucas're always sayin'. But gosh, have ya seen them spar? They're incredible! N' Claus, too! PK Love, n' Ground, n' Starstorm… It's amazin'. The stuff they can do."

The way the kid's eyes brim with starshine, Fuel can totally imagine her watchin' the Cerulean Beach lightshow. Cheerin' from the sidelines, as Claus and Kumatora hurl fireballs at each other. Makin' the whole goddamn planet Earth shake, like it ain't done since armageddon. Or when Lucas' gaze takes on that otherworldly glow N' shit starts floatin' all around him. Like the very laws of nature were made to be broken, far as he's concerned. Somethin' so gentle n' mild - transfigured into somethin' downright cataclysmic.

Yeah, Fuel's seen 'em spar, alright. It scares the piss outta him.

"But me? I've got none o' that. Too weak for it, I guess." Abelle pinches her fingers together, quashing the flame like a bug. Takes a deep breath. Exhales it all, in one quick burst. "Shoot. Sorry. Didn't mean to go off on a tirade. I prob'ly sound real ungrateful. N' envious, besides."

"Naw, I, ah… I reckon I get where yer comin' from." Fuel shifts his weight, atop the supply crate he's sittin' on. Nurses a half-flat can of Sierra Mist. To clear his throat of that smoggy, cloggy sensation. "Y'just wanna be capable. Protect the folks y'care about. Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Be a part of somethin' bigger."

"Yeah…"

"Nothin' wrong with wantin' that." Aluminum crinkles, frail, in his sturdy grasp. "Nothin' wrong at all."

His sandwich disappears down his gullet, during the brief quiet that ensues. Hers remains a work-in-progress. Restless, at seventeen and three months, even lunch breaks are a kind of labor. She shuffles her boots over strewn wires.

"Thank ya, Fuel," Abelle tells him. N' he perks up, and shrugs. Like he's surprised to hear it.

"Me? Naw, thank you. 'Preciate ya showin' me Pee-Kay Fire, at least. Made me feel a little braver. Fer what it's worth."

"Hehe. Aw, jeez. You're welcome, then."

It ain't pyrophobia. She'll take his word for it. But even little miss sunshine can tell there's somethin' he's tryin' to overcome. No matter how quickly he changes lanes.

"Say, y'don't got Thunder? By any chance?"

"Nope. Only Fire. Why?"

"Aw, no reason. Jus' curious."

"Well. I've got a curious question, too, if y'don't mind it. What's all this you're workin' on, in here?"

"Mm?" Fuel's gaze jolts to meet hers, if only for a split second. Dirty fingernails sift along the crate's lid. One foot kicks a heavy-duty screwdriver away, into the lamp-cast shadows. His teeth form a simper. "'Fraid that's a bit of a secret, lil' miss."

The kid's tired eyes turn suddenly sharp. Glancin' past him, at a dimly-lit swath of buttons and dials. Then directly at him. Snagged in a potent stare. Fuel hesitates before speakin' up. Still wearing that dumb grin on his face.

"Wait. Hah. Y'ain't tryin' to read my mind, are ya?"

Abelle stares harder. Takes a deep breath, leaning ever so slightly towards him. Then closes her eyes. As if embroiled in a deep, scrying focus. A chuckle cracks its way through Fuel's constitution. He shakes his head. Clambers to his feet.

"Okay, alright. I'll show ya. But, ah…" One index finger rises, as he drops to a near-whisper. "You'll keep it on the down-low, won'tcha?"

Abelle peeks one eye open. And smiles like a Keebler elf.

"Cross my heart, hope to die!"

-

Yellow paint peels to reveal steel plating. Which, in turn, gives way to scarlet rust. Layin' there in a dilapidated heap, rot notwithstanding, the central console alone prob'ly weighs as much as Abelle herself. Its glass cranium's a lost cause. Shattered n' displaced ages ago. Stiff rods stickin' out the circular chasm up top. Fuel managed to scavenge one lower left limb, mostly intact, from its would-be resting place. The others are a work-in-progress. They litter the workshop, alongside other unfinished Frankensteins. Pull on a pair of inch-thick gloves. A heavy helmet, with a darkened slit for a view. Smothered an apron, like a weighted blanket. She'd tell him he looks silly, if she didn't know better. Absolute spaceman.

He can't tame a bonfire. He can tame a welder. Got a safety checklist in his head. A spark-proof suit of armor. And a forge built of impenetrable battlements.

When Porky took Fuel, he had him puttin' in child labor hours at the goddamn bakery. Workin' dough for desperate dough. Burnin' bread like nobody's business. Absolute wonder he didn't get f-f-f-fired! As merciful a manager as Sweet Caroline was, the role suited her like a square peg to a round hole. N' Fuel, likewise, was a sorry excuse for a baker. Kneading putty, coughin' up flour and oven smog, apron tied too twisty-tight 'round his tree-trunk waist. Like his father before him, the young craftsman's calloused hands have always preferred sturdier fare. If y'ask Fuel, the hop-skip-n'-a-jump from lumber to iron ain't so much of a leap, after all.

Mecha Lions n' Boa Transistors are his bread n' butter out here. Should a stray Rhinocerocket come barrelling through the walkway, on account of a busted fin, Fuel's your guy. He'll whip up a replacement in no time flat. N' never mind the occasional dent that may mar his best bud's steely shins. Chimera repairs're a noble duty, far as he's concerned. One he's proud to uphold.

Robots, though? Most folks hardly consider 'em casualties. If they consider 'em at all.

An uncommon sight - most have long since ceased functioning. Uttered their last garbled beeps, and melded into the wreckage upon which they stand. A slim handful were reprogrammed n' repurposed, back during the first salvage missions. The rest were left to their tombs. Haunted the Harbor for about a decade, crawlin' around the place in various states of zombified dysfunction. You can picture a teenaged Fuel's cringing horror, as a shambling Octobot claimed his leg in a tendril's grasp. Yanked him straight down with a vengeance nastier than any sinkhole. Claus came to his rescue, this time. Made quick work of it. Crowbar's clash. Psionic flash. An ugly scowl marks the spot in his memory.

Y'can picture, too, how that same teenaged Fuel looked down upon the un-creature. One half titanium, one half bronze, sundered roughly down the middle. Circuit-tronics n' whatsits, blasted every which way. Not-brains spilling from its not-head. Its veneer, crisply obliterated, looked not unlike a welding mask. Come to think of it.

Each had a directive, once upon a time. Monitor the perimeter. Exterminate intruders. Serve King Burgers. Whatever. None have the chops for any task, anymore. Too feeble, ineffectual, expendable. Too little, too late. Wrong place n' time. To say robots "want" for anything would be a stretch. But the premise of "purpose" gets Fuel a wee bit misty-eyed.

Sure, it's a silly sentiment. He knows it. "Laugh it up, if ya like," he says. Becomes apparent to Abelle, real quick, that it ain't an illicit sorta secret, but a self-conscious one. Some folks have a righteous penchant for amends. He's got a feckless tendency toward unsung causes.

"Naw, I think it's mighty kind of ya," she replies. Naturally. Abelle's the girl who calls old cars "she," n' pats her PC's tower when it ain't loadin', n' prescribes human feelings to vintage stereos. That said, she'd be lyin' if she claimed her intrigue isn't primarily techno-historical. Eyein' the robot with an eagerness to match his mercy. "What about the wiring? N' the hardware repairs? I know just a lil' bit, myself. Might could help ya fix the processin' unit, if it's still got one."

"That so, Barbie? I'll take ya up on it, if y'mean it. Got Sheep helpin' me with some o' the electronics. Was thinkin' of askin' Claus, but they.. ah…"

They were there, last week, when Fuel pried the leg from the bog. Their spine's no good for heaving, these days. Helped him pull it loose, nevertheless. A mere index finger beckoned a telekinetic tug. N' they'd been all laughs, n' Lifeup, n' pats on the back, after Kerosene was sent tumblin' backwards. The foundry's mechanical menagerie had them whistlin' a different tune, though. Quiet steps, Lucas-esque. Deer in a taxidermy shop. Low glower, set upon Fuel's Lego brick pity projects.

"I don't see what's gotcha so touchy, all of a sudden. Ain't that different from Mecha Lions n' Boa Transistors, is it?"

Claus didn't answer him with the same old scowl. Not quite. Fury is a mask they outgrew ages ago.

Nana told him not to sweat it, over dinner. "Environment's got a profound effect on an animal's nerves. His words, not mine. He won't say so, but I think the Harbor has him a bit on edge. I wouldn't take it personally, if I were you."

"Me? Take shit personally? Hahah. I would never! Jeez, Nana, it's like ya don't even know me."

Fuel's the only one who can get her to roll her eyes with a smile. He loves it when she does that.

… Anyways.

He tells Abelle she ought not mention it to Claus. No sooner than she nods her noggin, Bronson barges in. Here to check up on his apprentice's handiwork, apparently. A wayward elbow knocks that can of Sierra Mist from its cabinet-top perch. "Oh, shoot. I didn't…" The master smith gawks down at his blunder. Only to find the can halfway crushed. And thankfully empty. Not a drop of spillage. He hunches over - pop in his knees - and picks it up. There's a remarkable grace to his hammy fingers. And a klutziness to his cough. ".. Ehm. Sorry." Fuel chuckles. No harm, no foul.

"Gosh, how many folks're in on this, anyways?" Abelle inquires. "Doesn't seem like much of a secret to me."

"The hell do ya mean? It's jus' Bronson, n' Sheep, n' Claus," muffles Fuel, through his helmet. "N' Nana, o' course. N' you. Now. I guess. So, uh. Practically nobody."

The robot's shiny new right leg is immaculate, by the way. Accordin' to Bronson's utmost scrutiny. A nigh mirror image of its leftward double. "I'm tellin' ya, Barlmoro, you've got this down to a science! Dunno what the heck y'need me for, anymore. I'll give ya a hand with the installation, though. Only since ya asked real nice."

"Why thank ya, boss," says Fuel. Who didn't ask at all.

But disaster strikes the master, when he hunkers on down. A sharp pain in his lumbar is swift to knock him right outta commission. Abelle ends up nursin' his woes with Lifeup, while Bronson nurses a root beer. She lends Fuel her lackluster telekinesis, in his stead. An invisible force - only a little shaky - helps him attach both legs, safe and secure, to the central console.

"… This look even to you, boss?" Fuel tosses back. Like a consolation.

Bronson holds up a measuring level, from his seat on the sidelines. Closes one eye. Squints. N' forces a wincing grin.

"Right on, kid."

Couple mornings later, Lucas swings by, in that awfully quiet way he's wont to. Nearly spooks Fuel right outta his skin, when he gets a knock on the wooden entryway frame. He tosses a frantic tarp over the automaton's arms. Raises his soda can, to meet Lucas' coffee jar.

"Ain'tcha doin' chimera transit today? Whatcha need little ol' me for?"

"We're gettin' started now. Thought I'd drop by, while uh. While most folks're preoccupied."

Lucas can't read minds. Besides Claus', at least. Kumatora's, maybe a little. But no one else. He's assured Fuel of it, 'bout ten or eleven times. Still, he finds his stomach sinkin' a little. The way his childhood pal looks right through him.

"Claus mentioned y'were repairin' robots. Told me not to tell anybody. Then, ah… Then Abelle said so, too. Ain't sure if it's still s'posed to be a secret or not."

Right. Of course.

"Heh, well, shit! Y'got me! I know, I know, y'don't gotta tell me, it's real stupid. They ain't livin' things. Don't even got feelin's, n' here I am feelin' sorry for 'em. We oughtta be usin' their parts for scrap, n' chimera repairs, n.. n' if ya need me to, Lucas, I'll stop n' do that instead, honest to god. Didn't mean to be all sketchy about it, I jus'..? Mm?"

Ain't like Lucas to interrupt. He raises his hand, instead. With a real pitiful blast of his overcast sky eyes.

"Err. Sorry. Go ahead," says Fuel.

"Don't worry 'bout it. S'alright. I just wanted to offer, um.. I mean. I can't work metal, or electronics, or do none o' that programmin' stuff. But. If y'ever need a jolt? Y'know, like, to jump-start somethin'?"

Lucas flashes him a thumbs-up. A teeny spark of PK Thunder dances from his fingertip.

"Lemme know. Anytime."

He watches, over a meek sip of coffee. While Fuel's pensive panic melts away like marshmallow goop.

"Ha.. haha! Phew, fuck, man! Thank ya, Lucas!! I mean it. Thank ya...!"

[ohhgingersnaps]

THIS CAME TO ME IN A DREAM (and by that i mean i was listening to set it off's partners in crime) supervillain au for wdstf. would it fit their characters, maybe not. would it be fun and hot and cool. Maybe.

Okay, so this is a phenomenal idea, thank you for providing me with such a fun sandbox to play in!! My brain immediately latched onto this and decided that I had to find a way to make it line up with canon. I’ve been rotating this in my mind for like six hours now

You’re right that Ava and Sebastian wouldn’t choose to become supervillains in the traditional sense, because they both try very hard to be good people, but also consider: The categorization of supers into “hero” or “villain” in WDSTF!verse is socially-constructed, and is less about whether they’re actually good people and more about like… Whether their vigilante activity is seen as “acceptable” by the general populace of Zuzu City. A lot of things factor into that (e.g. how much collateral damage is caused, who materially benefits, whether it’s pro bono, and— frankly— how the super in question chooses to present themselves to the public).

You’re also right that a villain AU would be fun and hot and cool :)

So! In light of the above, consider the following as a possible character-compliant WDSTF Supervillain AU Origin Story (below the cut because this became fic-length (1.5k)) (this is maybe not the fun exciting supervillain shenanigans you originally intended but it sets up the foundation for the shenanigans at least?) (cw: angst, fire, very brief mention of dissociation/panic attack):

Ava/Phoenix

After the JojaCo fire, Phoenix disappears, Ava quits her job, and she’s got two weeks where she’s lying around her house, fruitlessly applying for jobs, with no way to contact the only remaining member of her superhero support system (Memento). She’s burned out! She’s frustrated! She feels like a failure, she feels like she’s lost control, and she wants proof that she can do one thing right.

And she goes, Okay, you know what? I deserve to try doing a little hero work again, as a treat.

She patches up her suit and goes out on a solo patrol, and she sees a civilian, and she smiles and waves, in spite of how exhausted she feels, because that’s what she does. She’s used to the civilians waving back, but this one just goes tense and averts their eyes, hurring away.

They’re scared of me, she realizes, her heart sinking.

(She’s not exactly right. The public isn’t quite scared of her— not yet, at least— because she has a good reputation. What they are is wary. Fire is powerful and intimidating, and the JojaCo incident happened only a few weeks ago, and JojaCo’s smear campaign against her is relentless, mostly because they don’t want folks to start asking why they’re allowed to keep so much flammable material in their dumpsters. Memento’s trying his best to defend her, but there’s only so much he can do.)

Later that night, she finally does help stop some minor crime— she stops some guy from robbing a local corner store, or something— but when she calls the authorities in to collect the perp, they totally ignore the robber and try to arrest her, instead. She escapes, but she realizes that no matter what she does, she’s not going to be seen as a hero again.

She’s so burned out and exhausted, and the whole thing just strikes her as incredibly unfair. And she needs control, right now. She needs to prove she can do something right.

And, well, she does need a way to pay the rent.

You want me to be a villain so bad? she decides, hands prickling with heat as she looks over the city. Fine. Guess I’m a villain.

(Because if she’s choosing to be the villain, that means she has control over the situation. That means it was her choice, and that’s a lot easier for her to swallow than the idea that her actions don’t directly correlate to how she’s perceived or treated.)

She does try dabbling in work as a villain-aligned merc for a bit, but she still sticks to her usual set of principles— protecting civilians is a big one— so she ends up mostly working alone. She tries to operate in a way that results in minimal harm, only stealing from large corporations or rich folks who can afford it…

Working as a villain can be a lot more dangerous than working as a hero, though, and perception is everything, right? So she absolutely plays into the villain role and lets people think she’s a lot scarier and more ruthless than she is. (Think Megamind: Very into pretending he’s going to kill Metro Man and take over the city, but never has any intention of actually doing it.) She plays into the villain persona a little too well, and that’s how she accidentally ends up becoming a supervillain.

Sebastian/Memento

So that’s how Phoenix becomes a villain, but what about Memento? For this to work, we’ve gotta remember three things:

1) In addition to heroes and villains, there are also mercs, who are basically contract-work supers. They’re not categorized as heroes, since they’re paid directly for their work, but a lot of them are considered “hero-aligned” or “villain-aligned” because of the nature of the jobs they choose to accept or reject.

2) Memento started as a hero-aligned merc. This isn’t addressed in the main fic, but before the JojaCo fire, he does merc work as a side gig, in addition to his above-the-board freelancing jobs. (The general populace mostly ends up categorizing him as a hero because he does so much pro bono work with Phoenix lol)

3) Memento loves Phoenix.

So when he hears that Phoenix has finally reappeared, nearly a month after her disappearance, he immediately throws all of his effort into finding her and reestablishing contact. He doesn’t care if she’s a villain now— even if she is, she must have a good reason— but he doesn’t even really believe the rumors at first, because the Phoenix he knows isn’t capable of half of the things people say she’s done.

(He’s right not to believe most of the rumors. She’s really playing up the whole villain thing.)

Still, he wonders: If she’s back, why hasn’t she contacted me?

When he finally does catch up with her a few weeks later— in the middle of stealing something from a museum, of all places, and why is she stealing something from a museum?— he tries to talk to her over the PA system, like he did when they first met. He asks what she’s doing.

Phoenix immediately freezes, as soon as she recognizes his voice, then gets a distant look on her face that he hasn’t seen since right after the fire at the club. She’s panicking, her breathing going funny, and that’s when he realizes that at least some of the rumors were true. She really has become a villain.

She’s a villain, and she’s alone, and she’s terrified.

“You should leave,” she snaps, but her voice is shaky. She says should in a way that means, this is what ought to happen, instead of, this is what I want, and is that why she never reached out? Because she knew he’d disapprove? Because she thought he’d abandon her instead of trying to understand?

“I’m not going to do that.”

She throws her hands out. They catch fire. “Don’t you get it? I’m a villain; I’m a bad guy; I’m literally in the middle of robbing the Zuzu City Institute of Art and Antiquities!”

“Yeah, I get it,” he says, even though he doesn’t get why she’s doing it. “Still not leaving.”

She extinguishes her hands. For a minute, it looks like she might cry.

And then he asks: “Do you want help with the security system?”

They meet up, afterwards, at their geocache spot, under the tree on Amber Hill. What good is her civilian identity to her, now that she’s a villain, after all? They spend a very long time just standing there hugging each other, because spirits, they’ve missed each other so much. She cries into his shoulder. He cries into her shoulder a little bit, too.

She tells him everything, and she tries to explain things in a way that he’ll understand. In a way that he’ll accept. He still doesn’t understand, but he does accept it, because he loves her. She’s so convinced she’s a bad person for doing this, but he doesn’t believe that for a second. She’s a good person, so this has to be the right thing to do. Right? (Right?)

He promises to help her with her villain work, despite her protests, because he knows she won’t let anyone get hurt… Aside from maybe herself, that is, which means someone has to look after her. Someone has to support her, protect her, and keep her from self-destructing again. And if aligning himself with a supervillain is the only way for him keep Phoenix safe, it’s not even a question. He’ll do it in a heartbeat.

He holds Phoenix tightly in his arms, stroking her hair, and resolves to pick up some merc work on the side that specifically targets JojaCo. He kind of feels like they deserve it.

Besides, he’s a villain now, isn’t he? He’s allowed to be petty.

(That’s the excuse he’ll use if she ever asks him. The truth is, he doesn’t think he’s being petty at all— JojaCo ruined her life, and he wishes she'd burned it to the ground.)

[saintedbythestorm]

Not dad trying to tell me about some big fallout news he heard about from some work colleague 😂 oh what the poor man just subjected himself too.