#there were some other notable shocks along the way

[mumblesplash]

season 9 has been amazing but i’m kinda excited to be around for the beginning of a hermitcraft season, they were well into the empires crossover arc when i started watching double life (which was pretty much my introduction to mcyt in general) so this is gonna be my first time actually being around for the early game

[prrism]

A Visit From…… Dawn of the 16th

Relationships: platonic

Pronouns: unspecified/kept neutral

Surprised I came back to this series? Yeah… me too

Two months of war preparations felt more like three years to you and yet it also seemed to zip by like a blur it was almost dizzying. Having many people come in, grab what they need, pay you and leave without much conversation was what most visits came down to nowadays. The only notable things you could pick up on over that time was that Bad and Skeppy along with a few friends established their own faction they called the Badlands, Quackity finally standing up for himself and leaving Schlatt, Dream was happily fanning the flames of war and chaos by telling the Pogtopians about a traitor in their midst and Wilbur was still slowly but surely descending farther into madness. You tried talking and reasoning with Wilbur but it was a harder task to accomplish when he spends most of his time in Pogtopia now. The only people who still came by the most were Fundy, acting as a great assistant collecting ingredients for you, Techno, it still surprises you the amount of materials he brings for his own personal collection of potions. Finally there’s Tommy, at first he didn’t come by that much but he’s started sleeping over at your place again, his excuse being that Pogtopia’s gotten too stuffy feeling for him, you can’t help but feel there might be another reason to it you just couldn’t place what.

Evenings approaching fast and you were packing away the new potions for Wilbur you’d managed to create in these few months, they weren’t exactly “stable” so to say, but Wilbur insisted you deliver them to him. With a sigh you get up and make for the door, jumping slightly at the knock on the other side.

“Can I help you?” You ask, opening the door with slight caution.

“I think that’s the fastest you’ve ever answered me before.” To your shock it’s actually Wilbur at the door.

“Oh! Well… I mean I was about to leave to deliver those potions you wa-”

“You did make those! Wonderful!” He cuts you off, letting himself in.

“Yeah, and I heavily reiterate that they’re still not exactly completed, with all this pushing to finish it I never got around to fully test them. Some might do more then their supposed to and some might now even do anything at all.” You explain.

“Yes, yes. That’s all fine and good, we’ll test it plenty on the field tomorrow.” Wilbur waves off.

“That soon!? I thought you’d take more time to prepare.”

“What and let Schlatt’s forces get the upper hand? Not a chance! The war ends tomorrow, one way or another…” He trails off, an ominous tone lingering in the air for a moment before he shakes himself off. “Well, no better time like the present! I’ll be taking those potions now.” He quickly jumps back to a more chipper tone.

“Wilbur…” You let out a sigh as you finally get his attention. “You shouldn’t… I don’t think…” There was so much you wanted to say but just couldn’t find the words to say it anymore. “After this is done and you guys win, because you will win! You promise you’ll come over and tell me all about it, right?” It goes silent between the two of you for a long time, both of you just staring at the other.

“I… promise…” He says half heartedly. You should’ve stopped Wilbur from walking out the door, should’ve tried harder to reason with him, should’ve kept those potions to yourself… but that wouldn’t make a difference to anything, because both of you already knew his promise was an empty one…

It’s well into the evening and sleep was easily evading you, as you stare blankly at the ceiling. You sigh and get out of bed hoping that grabbing some water might ease your racing mind. Instead a suddenly knock on your door has you’re mind and heart racing at who could possibly be coming by this late.

“Hello?” You open the door with slight caution.

“Just the alchemist I was hoping to talk with.” Dream says, as if he was expecting someone else at the door.

“It’s late so let’s make this quick. What do you want?” You raise an eyebrow his way.

“See this is why I like you,” Dream starts, inviting himself inside. “You’re down to business and to the point, no need to sugarcoat anything.” He casually places his arm around your shoulder. “I’ll make this quick. What side are you giving your support to?” You give him a very confused glance at the question.

“Dream, you know I don’t do the whole ‘choosing sides’ thing.”

“True as that may be its pretty clear who you’re showing more favour towards. I mean heck, you made a whole new potion for Wilbur just because he asked you to. That doesn’t seem like something you do too often.” You feel his eyes bearing into you through the mask.

“What are you getting at? Sure I was able to throw together a sort of portable TnT potion, but the results are still few and far between what I’m usually satisfied with.” You cross your arms unamused.

“Fair enough, but that still doesn’t answer why you’ve heavily limited your services to Manberg. And as a hired hand for Schlatt I’d like to know why.” Dream says with a shrug.

“Forgive me for being hesitant with wanting to continue business with someone who very clearly threatened my life.” You start sarcastically before shifting to a more bitter tone. “And why are you helping Schlatt? It can’t be just because you want to fan the flames of war, you usually want something else out of it.”

“As sharp as ever, I see.” Dream then pulls you closer and looks around as if to check if anyone else was nearby before continuing in a much more hushed tone. “You’re right, Schlatt bought me over with something I just couldn’t refuse.”

“And that would be…?” You trail off, silently cursing yourself for your ever needy curiosity but still hoping for an answer.

“A revival book.” Dream emphasizes, you practically shove him off of you as you step away from him in shock.

“You’re joking, right? Something like that is insanely powerful and rare to boot, there’s no way he actually had one.” You desperately try not to raise your voice, worried it might alert your companions, who were sleeping over in the spare room for the night.

“It’s true… I’ve got it right here.” Dream then pulls out said revival book, as if it wasn’t a big deal to have in his possession in the first place. You stare dumbfounded at the item and can just hear his smirk when he speaks again. “You know, I’m more then happy to share this knowledge with you… so long as you’re willing to return the favour.” This somewhat breaks you out of your shocked trance, finally catching on to why he was so open about the book with you.

“You know what? I’m good. You keep your secret knowledge and I’ll keep mine.” You decline as gently as you could.

“Well it was worth a shot.” Dream just gives a shrug. “While I’m here, you mind if I grab a few potions for the road? All for personal use, I promise.”

“So long as you can pay for it.” You’re quick to jump into business mode. Dream nods, grabs what he needs and hands you a fair amount of emeralds and gold to pay for it before he’s out the door. Maybe now you could catch some sleep…

You never did catch any sleep, with so much rattling around your head paired with the new information that Dream had a revival book you just couldn’t get to sleep. The first rays of the dawn shone through your window, your house was extra quiet today, everyone had already left for the finally battle between Pogtopia and Manberg. You, of course, were taking no part in the fight but stay home wasn’t helping ease your nerves so you decide to stretch your legs and go for a walk.

The autumn air was crisp as you walk though the forest surrounding the area, doing anything and everything to calm your racing mind. The cad of some crows didn’t exactly help the situation tho, making you look up at the birds sitting amongst the branches. Now you weren’t entirely one for superstition, however the sudden appearance of so many crows in the area certainly left an uneasy feeling in your gut. That’s when you saw a large murder of crows flocking around a specific area up ahead, part of you wanting to turn back and head home the other part pushing you forward to investigate this strange occurrence.

As you draw closer to the area swarmed with the dark feathered birds you come to a complete halt when you see someone walking casually among them, heading towards Manberg. It wouldn’t have struck you as too odd, after all you’ve met many interesting characters before, but the large crow-like wings were a bit off putting, you just couldn’t place why until you remembered the old tales of a man chosen by Death herself to be her champion. There was no way this was that exact angel… was it? You don’t get time to think to much on it when the cawing of another crow catches your attention, this was staring at you, you stare right back which makes it let out another loud caw before swooping down and snatching a piece of gold from your pocket.

“Wha- hey!” You try to catch the bird but it dodges you and flies off. “Little thief.” You huff to yourself. You take in your surroundings again noticing the man you saw earlier was nowhere in sight now, not sure if that was a good or bad thing you decide you’ve had enough fresh air and head back home.

“There’s a saying, by a traitor… It was never meant to be…”

You’ve never felt so jumpy in your life, first you couldn’t sleep thinking about everyone involved with the war, then Dream revealing the book, now it was the possible sighting of the Angel of Death, while you still weren’t sure if you were just hallucinating it also couldn’t just be some coincidence. You felt ready to explode from all this anxiety, seems you weren’t the only one as a loud yet distant explosion is heard, enough to bring a slight shake to your home. Instantly your out the door, booking it in the direction of L’Manberg, stopping by the edge of a cliff that overlooks the little country… or what was left of it anyways.

“Oh Wilbur,” you sigh discouraged, “what did you do…”

I regret nothing

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

Worldwide Privacy Tour Part 2, it seems, is well underway.

"Yes, the night was pure Meghan Markle: A manufactured build-up of anticipation, a highly dramatic entrance afforded no other actual activist — Meghan climbed on stage to the Alicia Keys she-ro anthem ‘Girl on Fire’ — and then... a whole lot of nothing...This crowd was checking their watches."

"If anything, as the night dragged on and the event slipped an hour behind schedule – a sudden break announced so we could finally have dinner – the crowd bristled...Notably, not one person I spoke to nor one speaker or honoree mentioned Meghan. Not one said how exciting it was to have her there. Not one expressed the slightest curiosity at what she’d have to say."

"And this image, our renegade duchess without a palace-worthy advance team to prevent such cheap optics as the Hertz hiccup, set the tone for the evening: Fatuous, irrelevant, high on its own self-regard, all sense of purpose lost. Gloria Steinem, once the face of women’s rights, reduced to star-f***ery. It was a bizarre night."

MAUREEN CALLAHAN: Meghan's word-salad Manhattan gala appearance

She so badly wants to be the Queen of Hearts.

But, as she arrived on Tuesday night, making her grand entrance in Midtown Manhattan, sauntering past that rental-car backdrop, it was more like the Queen of Hertz.

Of course, as the world is now all too aware, Meghan Markle capped off winning a meaningless award with what we’re told was a ‘near catastrophic’, ‘two-hour’ car chase through the streets of Manhattan.

Yes, according to a spokesperson, Meghan, along with hapless Harry and mom Doria, were the subjects of a wild, impassioned hunt by the paparazzi.

Some sympathetic commentators have already made the gruesome comparisons to Princess Diana’s tragic final fate.

But to echo the statements made by New York City’s own mayor Eric Adams and the police department: Perhaps it didn’t quite happen the way it was painted.

Recollections may vary.

Naturally, their mouthpiece Omid Scobie is whining that no one from the Palace has yet reached out.

Wonder why?

One also wonders what Gloria Steinem, the 89-year-old feminist icon who chose to honor Meghan as a ‘Woman of Vision’ at Tuesday night’s Ms. Foundation Gala, must be thinking now.

After all, the car ‘chase’ debacle soon stole all the thunder from her event, which I was lucky enough to witness first-hand.

Now, it was hardly the red carpet one might expect. Hardly the pomp and circumstance of, say, a coronation.

Yet Meghan forged ahead as she always does, as if this were her crowning moment, sheathed in gold as if to symbolize a crown.

Or an Oscar statuette.

Same difference, really, if your only goal is fame. That’s our Meghan, none too subtle as ever, literally going for the gold as Harry and Doria took their positions three steps behind.

Harry may be a prince of the blood, but never forget — Meghan is The Star. Her Norma Desmond-ing is among the great spectacles of our modern age.

And this image, our renegade duchess without a palace-worthy advance team to prevent such cheap optics as the Hertz hiccup, set the tone for the evening: Fatuous, irrelevant, high on its own self-regard, all sense of purpose lost. Gloria Steinem, once the face of women’s rights, reduced to star-f***ery. It was a bizarre night.

Upon entering the Zeigfeld Ballroom, guests were asked whether they were ‘VIP’ — seems even feminist movements have their echelons — and turfed to the lobby.

My $1,500 entry-level ticket got me a hard seat with a front-row view of coat check.

After ten minutes, circumstances having changed inexplicably, the riff-raff were allowed up to the second floor.

Here were two open bars serving top-shelf liquor and the shock of post-pandemic dress code slovenliness. One unkempt guest was wearing sparkly Birkenstock sandals and a black stretchy minidress under a pink puffer jacket.

These were the VIPs?

The only recognizable person I saw was Peloton instructor Ally Love, and that’s saying something. Where were the stars? Where were the notables of the movement? The Malalas? The Fondas? The Beyoncés?

Perhaps no one was meant to outshine Meghan. Only one feminist icon was going to enter via rental car office!

Down in the ballroom, the plated salads on our banquet tables were ready waiting for us – dry, unsightly, stringy greens that resembled nothing so much as regurgitated hairballs. Notably, not one person I spoke to nor one speaker or honoree mentioned Meghan.

Not one said how exciting it was to have her there. Not one expressed the slightest curiosity at what she’d have to say.

If anything, as the night dragged on and the event slipped an hour behind schedule – a sudden break announced so we could finally have dinner – the crowd bristled.

It says something when a table of size-6 women tear into their heavily glazed steak and buttery mashed potatoes with abandon.

Yes, the night was pure Meghan Markle: A manufactured build-up of anticipation, a highly dramatic entrance afforded no other actual activist — Meghan climbed on stage to the Alicia Keys she-ro anthem ‘Girl on Fire’ — and then... a whole lot of nothing.

Verbiage and word salad that were content-free, except when speaking on her favorite subject: herself.

Here, in real time, we observed Meghan’s inability to read a room. She thanked the ‘other honorees’ without naming them.

‘Congratulations,’ she said, ‘and frankly, well deserved.’

It was all so smug and supercilious, this glorified podcaster telling these boots-on-the-ground activists — no matter what one thinks of their politics — that they had, in fact, earned their place on the same stage as the great Meghan Markle. That ‘frankly’ was so typical. It was meant to redound to Meghan’s benefit, as the lone wolf daring to speak the unspeakable.

There was the cringe-inducing humblebrag, calling her new friend Gloria ‘Glo’.

It brought to mind the forced intimacy of meeting Kate Middleton barefoot and insisting that the pair share lip gloss.

It's 'Glo' to Meghan, but Meghan is 'Duchess' to us.

‘We all bear witness,’ Meghan continued of her fellow honorees, ‘to you standing in elegance and the power of your strength.’

Huh?

This crowd was not convinced. This crowd was checking their watches. There were trains to catch, children to kiss goodnight. Alas, we were stuck with the vapidity of La Markle.

Her speech didn’t even deliver fresh content! She repeated the story, as told on her podcast, of poor little Meghan coming home from school to her TV dinner, cat collars and copies of Ms. Magazine strewn about courtesy of her mother — even though it’s well-documented that her father primarily raised her.

‘Having these pages in our home,’ she went on, ‘. . . signaled to me that there was so much more than the dolled-up covers and those images that you would see on the grocery store covers. It signaled to me that substance mattered.’

Says the former D-list actress and former briefcase game-show girl who used her looks to get ahead. Who has posed for those very same magazine covers.This warmed-over speech, less heated than our steaks, was Meghan’s greatest hits:

‘Change is just one action away.’

‘You can be the visionary of your own life.’

‘Daily acts of service, in kindness, in advocacy, in grace and in fairness.’

‘The imprints that were forged in my mind — I can now connect the dots in a much better way to understand how I became a young feminist and evolved into a grown activist.’

A feminist who, let us not forget, has publicly demonized her famous sister-in-law — ‘Waity Katie’ to Oprah and an audience of millions.

Kate made me cry! WAAAGH!

In truth, Meghan's a self-identified 'grown activist' who has done nothing. The pontification, her sing-song-y cadence as she luxuriated in her own praise, was as insufferable as it was revealing.

‘Ms.’ she said, ‘was formative in [my] cocooning. It piqued my curiosity, and it became the chrysalis for the woman that I would become and that I am today.’

Right: The woman who vilified the institution headed-up by Queen Elizabeth II in her final years. The woman who heavily alleged institutional racism until her husband finally backed away from that terrible smear.

A woman with no substance and no accomplishments as a feminist. A woman who is still trying to one-up the royals, even from a car-park adjacent ballroom with no red carpet. Meghan is the personification of Ms. as an organization that has lost its way.

Indeed, most of the night was spent advocating not for women but for trans rights and Critical Race Theory.

‘Abortion is racist,’ we were told.

Beware the ‘the white supremacist patriarchal system.’

Yes, even the Ms. Foundation – established for biological women out of a deep, and enduring, necessity – has been subsumed by men who identify as women.

How fitting then that the night was overshadowed by a grasping phony whose empty platitudes on stage failed to make headlines, whose spokesperson told a wild story of a high-stakes car chase.

Pity Meghan, but recognize her strength. Admire her, but never laugh at her. And never, ever question her veracity.

Worldwide Privacy Tour Part 2, it seems, is well underway.

[haaam-guuuurl]

Little Women Amy x Laurie Ballet Modern AU

The March sisters grew up tripping over dance bags and discarded ballet slippers. Piano music and counts of eight were the soundtrack of their childhoods, ever since Meg first joined the ballet class at their local dance studio, every sister following her soon after. Careful Meg, spirited Jo, delicate Beth, and artful Amy all found their place along that barre, different tempers and styles united by effort and a love of dance.

Ballet brought them closer, brought them friends - most notably Theodore Laurence, Jo's partner and best friend - and even brought them their futures. All of them incredibly talented and dedicated, it was no surprise when the four sisters each found their way in the world of ballet.

Meg surprised everyone when, though gifted enough to pursue a profissional dancing career, she settled into a teaching position at the studio they'd all attended, happy to instead pursue what had captured her heart from the very beginning. None shocked more than Jo, however, who got as far as being offered a contract from a prestigious ballet company, but turned it down and turned away from dancing all together, pivoting into academics and other passions, seeking to make her own mark in the world. Beth remained in the studio, but fell in love with the music instead of the steps, finding an inclination for the piano in the corner of the room, and a talent for it unmatched among her artistic possibilities. It was only the youngest, Amy, who'd dreamed of becoming a prima ballerina since first stepping foot in a ballet class, that followed those dreams all the way to her place at a professional ballet company.

Though they'd all loved it, Amy was the one who'd wanted it, wanted it all, had ambition for it beyond the passion. She didn't only want to dance - she wanted to be great. That ambition carried her through her apprenticeship, through the corps, through being one of many and feeling like she'd never be good enough to stand out, all the way through to one of the coveted soloist positions. At last, a chance to be seen, to be exceptional! A chance she wasn't going to give up that easily, not even when she was cast opposite Theodore Laurence for the company's production of Firebird.

Laurie had been the closest friend of the March sisters, once. And though he'd cared for them all, Jo was definitely his favorite. She was his partner, his best friend, his beloved. And when she'd abandoned dance, she'd left him too. He'd envisioned them working side by side forever, spending their lives together. But that wasn't what Jo saw. It wasn't what she wanted. Though they'd always fit together so well, they couldn't understand each other in this, not really. So, Jo went on, and Laurie did too, signing with the furthest company that would have him, determined to forget all about Jo, and about their childhood.

Amy and Laurie had not seen each other for years. They'd gone on to different companies, in different cities, and only now, by chance, did they find themselves in the same place, Amy just promoted, and Laurie just hired. Though she was still new and eager to prove herself, he'd been a soloist at his previous company for some time, had grown comfortable and complacent in his position. The two had been pleased to see each other again after so long, if not also surprised, and it could've been fair to assume they would've worked perfectly well together, if not for that difference in their careers and dispositions.

Dancing Katerina, Amy was working hard every day to be great, yet also constantly feeling the sting of second best. Laurie's attitude was no help, either. As Ivan, he had a principal role and every advantage and talent one could have, but he seemed intent on wasting it, going through the motions every rehearsal and putting in only the bare minimum in his performance. He had lost his passion for dancing, carrying on mostly out of habit and duty, but he hadn't felt the same ever since Jo left. And Amy, in his arms, couldn't help but feel like a poor substitute.

The pair had been friends for years, before. Even clashing during rehearsals, they did get along well now, managed to become closer than before and have fun together. But this wasn't something they could move past. Amy finally had enough of it. She couldn't bear to see Laurie waste it all like this, throw away everything he had, while she was fighting for every opportunity. He wouldn't work with her, and he wouldn't work for himself. She came very close to quitting the production.

Amy had always been powered by her ambitions, but deterred by the knowledge of how hard it was to succeed in this business. If there was something she couldn't get past, if this was the best she'd ever get, if she'd only reach second tier, only ever good enough, and never great, then what was the point?

Surprisingly, however, Laurie heard her. Amy made him see what he'd been avoiding for years. He knew what he was doing. He knew he was wrong. He just didn't want to face his own pain, didn't want to change, to grow up, to truly leave it behind. But he also knew he had to. If he wanted to keep going, he couldn't be dragged back by the past.

And then there was her. He and Amy had become so close through the course of rehearsals. She had been the one to wake him up, and to see there's a future beyond Jo, to make him start to love dancing again. He desperately didn't want her to quit the show, to quit him. He wanted to be there, to be better for her, wanted to dance with her, wanted to be the partner she deserved.

Laurie committed. He showed up, for Amy, every rehearsal and every show after that. More than that, he worked hard on it, not just for her, but because he'd begun to feel passionate about dancing again. And in his revival, he made Amy feel it too. Though she'd never abandon her dreams, seeing Laurie like this made her remember why she loved dancing in the first place. Not just to be a prima, not just to be great, but to be an artist.

The two of them, dancing together, managed to get past complacency, past ambition, past insecurities. They managed to dance, to create something beautiful, to fall in love with it all over again. They managed to fall in love.

Amy and Laurie made each other better. They inspired each other, captured one another's hearts. They danced together, and together they shined.

[ratboychronicles]

ok adding onto my Great Comet x CHNT au. thing. i have thoughts………….

WARNING FOR CHNT AND THE GREAT COMET SPOILERS

gonna assign everyone to characters n then give my argument why they’re similar

Sydney —> Natasha

scary similar tbh. i have good reason for this listen LISTEN!!

the main differences between Natasha and Sydney is that Natasha is more immature and childish. Natasha still holds some form of “”love”” or desire for love for/from Anatole when he leaves for PETERSBUURRRGGG!!! She doesn’t see through his deception in the way Sydney saw through Elijah’s—partly because Elijah is …….. very noticeably insane, and Anatole is just a charming shithead, but STILL!! i think Sydney would’ve noticed insincerity by the end even if Elijah wasn’t visibly insane.

NOW THEIR SIMILARITIES …… the big thing imo is that the two desperately seek love, while also being unaware of what love looks like—leaving them susceptible to people like Anatole and Elijah. I would say that Natasha feels neglected in similar ways to Sydney, even though Natasha is notably more universally adored than Sydney, for the both of them, the person who was meant to love them most in this case were neglecting them. NOW……. with how I’ve assigned Jedidiah in this AU, it gets sort of confusing, but i’m ignoring that for now so i can talk my shit <3

another thing i noticed abt the two of them is that out of their desperation to feel loved, they go against all warnings thrown at them—are fully willing to accept the self destruction that will follow their actions—simply to experience what they believe to be love and understanding.

“I’m afraid for you, Natasha—afraid you are going to your ruin!” “Then I’ll go to my ruin—yes I will, as soon as possible!”

“…Are you saying… the only reason you don’t want me around the Elephant Man… is because he might tell me your secrets?“ […] “Sydney, please […] You won’t be safe!” “What if I’m okay with that?”

the both of them feel desperate enough that they’re willing to risk their livelihoods to experience even the idea of affection, even if visibly not healthy at all.

SO Sydney and Natasha’s shared desire for love and to feel appreciated—along with their lack of knowledge when it comes to love—are the reasons the two of them got so close to the NASTIEST MEN EVER!!!!

“Feelings of… understanding. Of being seen. He… loves me? He recognizes how poorly I’m regarded and that… I can’t pretend that doesn’t make me feel a little better, and feel appreciated.”

“… but I love you. Of that, there is no doubt […] how else could we have kissed? […] it means that you are kind, noble and splendid, and I could not help loving you … I will love you, Anatole. I will do anything for you.”

as if….. Anatole didn’t literally force himself onto Natasha……….. and as if ……. Elijah didn’t cause Sydney distress, stalk him, and take advantage of him ….. hm…… it’s almost as if….. they were vulnerable people who fell into the hands of …. very manipulative and dangerous people……

on that note,

Elijah —> Anatole

is anyone shocked. no one should be shocked.

they both share the Disney Prince charm—they’re both also blond and talk kinda similar.

the big similarity between them is that they are! very obsessed with one person! however, dare i say…..they’re both BIG love-bombers. they shower their muse, their object of affection—with love so great, no true lover could ever meet such heights! alas, this is the point….. both make great demands, forcing the other to do something that would greatly hurt the people they love, while also convincing them that the love of their family and friends could not POSSIBLY outweigh their own practical WORSHIP!! and therefore demand they agree to an abduction for an elopement, or to steal journals that are….. special to his closest friend…… for a lack of better word. BESIDES THE POINT: doing things they would have never done unless being convinced by a person who seemingly adores them, who wants the best for them—the ONLY one with their best interests in mind.

“Natalie, Natalie, Natalie, I must love you or die. Natalie, Natalie, Natalie, if you love me, say yes! And I will come and steal you away, steal you out of the dark.”

“My love, everyone else may be sleeping on your virtues, but I am wide awake. I love you. I would die for you.”

they’re both manipulative, noticeably charming, love-bombers, and generally quite extreme in their measures (both have committed attempted kidnapping!!!)

also both are quite physical and touchy……. pushing boundaries any chance they can, taking control of the other in whatever way they can, ya know!!

the motives r obvs …… very different (one wants to preach his cult i mean religion and the other is just a whore) but they go about it in the same fucking way

MOVING ON!!!

Jedidiah —> Pierre

my assignment for Jedidiah is expected BUT i kind of had to fight myself on also assigning him to Andrei instead of just. pretending Andrei wasn’t there because. Pierre wasn’t as directly responsible for Natasha’s loneliness as much as Jedidiah is for Sydney’s, BUT….. Pierre also isn’t around LMAO and Pierre doesn’t really have a reason unlike Andrei. he’s just drinking and sulking and reading, and he believes himself to be not good enough for Natasha. same as Jedidiah, but Jedidiah was more mentally ill about it.

“If I … were not myself … but the brightest, handsomest, best man on earth …and if I were free … I would get down on my knees this minute … and ask you for your hand … and for your love.”

“I swallowed the acid I’d coughed up, and relished how it burnt my throat. I’d never spit this up again. I’d let it dissolve me before I let another heart stop. Sydney, listen to me. I love you. I’ll dissolve, okay? I’ll shatter like glass. Like the face of a clock, and it whispers, Sydney, so please don’t listen… I love you…”

NONETHELESS. feels obvious because they’re both sad pathetic wet cats and both are CUCKLODS!! PIERRE THE CUCKOLD SITS AT HOME, THE POOR MAN!!! i pretend andrei isn’t here nor does he exist because he complicates my delusions. and one does not have space for that.

also…… Jedidiah threatening to bash Elijah’s head in with a statue is such a funny image. i need to draw Jedidiah absolutely seething with rage, foaming at the mouth.

ill do assignments to everyone else based on what’d be funniest in accordance to the musical dynamics and based on character vibe

[lastleggysee]

Corruption - Sage Lesath

The Last Legacy x reader brain rot continues!

Here's a blip about Sage and MC dealing with how he deals with the bloodlust or whatever.

TW: Mentions of blood, cursing/arguments - nothing graphic imo but minors DNI.

Word count: 2,770

Since dropping into Astrea, you’ve had your pick of people, places, and things to be afraid of. This world was just-similar enough to your own for you to unthinkingly sink into old habits to create a sense of normality - only for it to become shattered again at the mention of spirits, magic, and whatever mysteries of the week made themselves known. 

It’s also easy to forget that your companions, the first people you have come to know in this new world, are veterans of a terrible, bloody war. Visions of the warm smiles you’ve grown used to can barely exist in the same space in your mind as tales of the tragedies they all lived through. Even in a world without the existence of psychology and mental health awareness, the impacts of such traumas are notable. It didn’t take an expert to notice the ways Anisa’s hand flexes over her sword at shadows in the room, Felix’s constant vigilance, and Sage’s…outbursts. 

You call it a trauma response. Felix calls it corruption. Sage calls him a “know-it-all prick”, but the facts of the situation remain. Whatever magic Sage tapped into at one point has exacted a costly toll on him - body and mind. 

Sage does his best to conceal the corruption from you. To his credit, for a long while you just assumed he’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed (or the gutter, or wherever it was he spent the night); that he’d allowed himself to get too hungry, or some other unspoken ailment that caused anger to flow from him so freely. 

At first, you thought maybe his eyes were just particularly bloodshot, or that there was a trick of the light in the room that made his eyes glow crimson like that. This did not explain the way the energy, the very air, around him changed so suddenly when the corruption hit. 

In the aftermath of a harrowing fight - you remember less who it was with than the concern you felt for Sage as a sword pierced him through from stomach to back - your curiosity got the best of you. 

He denied your observations, of course. He suggested it was the stress, lingering shock and adrenaline from the fight that clouded your memory. He’s fine, he’s always fine. And if you’re really that worried about him, he’d welcome a more thorough examination from you anytime. 

The first time is always happenstance. 

Felix and Anisa cautioned you to keep an eye on Sage, though both seemed hesitant to name just what you were keeping an eye on him for. You notice they have the appearance of walking and talking on unseen eggshells around him, but the group seems to get along together well enough. And besides, there are bigger fish to fry between Elowen, Rime, and whatever else (whoever else) is out there. It’s none of your business anyways. 

As fights with enemies become more frequent, so do fights amongst your friends. He “deserted” them all those years ago, you remind yourself. Seeds of distrust, once sprouted, are not so easily weeded. Never mind how accusatory Felix’s statements about loss of control, bloodlust, corruption. 

There’s only so much that can be brushed under the rug of the “heat of the moment”. Sage’s threats, despite being directed towards enemies, buzz in your ears. His voice is cold and sharp as any metal in his sword. When his eyes flash that shade of red, how much of the man you’ve come to know is still behind them? 

Is he still the man you’ve come to know, now that these moments of corruption are becoming more frequent?

*           *          *

The second time is a coincidence. 

“It’s not like you’d get it if I told you.” Sage grumbles, doing his best to brush you off. 

“So it is something, then,” you reply, past the point of pretense and politeness. “Like a tapeworm sort of something, or something different?”

Sage downs the pitcher the two of you are - were - sharing, before returning your steady gaze. His eyes are glassy, dark circles forming underneath them like an oil spill. He chews on nothing in particular, before responding to you in a tone so hushed you have to strain to make sure you weren’t just imagining things. 

“This thing in me,” his lip trembles ever so slightly. “…when it takes over, it lights me up.”

“It lights you up.”

“That’s why I don’t say anything,” Whatever moment of vulnerability he’d opened the door to is slammed shut with the scoff of his laugh. “Forget it.”

“Don’t be like that. I’m just trying to understand.” you struggle to maintain composure. 

“Oh, believe me, if I had a choice I wouldn’t be anything like this.” 

He abruptly stands, ordering another pitcher of ale (gods only know how he managed to pay for it) and putting fish everywhere to shame with how fast he drinks it. You’ve almost decided to drop the topic entirely when the tremble in his voice continues. 

“Once it starts, that feeling is all that’s there,” he begins. “Whatever it is, it lights me up. I feel it everywhere.”

“Sage, that’s adrenaline. It’s a normal response.” Something inside you, small and frantic, but something nevertheless, cries out for you to comfort him. You search his face, half-shadowed from behind the veil of his hair. 

“You don’t get it. I can barely do anything to work against it,” his golden eyes meet yours, gaze so intense you almost wish he hadn’t. “It’s a bush fire. The second I slip up it’s waiting to burn me from the inside out.”

For the rest of the night, he only answers to the bartender. 

*           *          *

The third time is a pattern. 

“Could you at least pretend to give half a shit about yourself?” 

You’re yelling at the back of Sage’s shoulders. The crash of his boots against the ground echoes, amplified by his cold silence. You’d do as good to admonish a brick wall, but your ire demands an audience. 

Sage hadn’t ever been the type of man to plan, but his actions as of late have become nothing short of reckless. Between Balsam’s death, Rime’s attacks, and the thinning patience of all members of the Starsworn, hardly a day passed without the telltale flash of red in Sage’s eyes. 

It matched perfectly now with the fresh splatters of red, dark against his cloak. 

“Sage! I’m talking to you!” This would be comical if you weren’t on the edge of tears from sheer frustration. 

“Sounds more like talking to yourself to me.” he all but snarls.

Felix planned a stakeout. The night ended in ambush; soldiers of the Lord of Shadows would’ve overwhelmed your small group if it hadn’t been for Sage. At first, you attempted to dissuade him from giving in to whatever it was that allowed him to move like that - almighty, commanding, and all but feral. After one of their shadowy weapons landed a blow to Anisa’s forearm, and another nearly trampled you, any protest you could’ve uttered would’ve fallen on deaf ears. 

Your pride is bitter as you swallow it. “You’re hurt. Wait a second and let me-”

“I don’t need your damned magic,” he exclaims. His voice is hoarse, rough. You barely make out something under his breath about the gash on the back of his neck will stitch itself back together, along with a few words that sound like curses in another language. 

“You’re still bleeding,” you do your best to match his pace, but the weariness in your muscles is taking over. “There’s no reason for you to track that shit all over Astrea.”

His spit is tinged with pink before it settles in the dirt somewhere to his left. Sage isn’t sure if the taste of blood in his mouth is his own, or if the flavor of someone else’s remains. His ears twitch of their own volition, privy to more sounds than Sage should be able to hear normally. Normally. Your pace is gradually slowing, he can make out from your arrhythmic footsteps and the sharp draw of your breath. A bird drills into a tree somewhere. Gnats frantically gather and then scatter around the sites of his wounds. If he tried, and if it wouldn’t surely be the thing to drive him to madness. Sage can feel the individual atoms around him vibrating one by one - or is that just his own hands trembling? There’s just too much going on right now. A growl escapes his lips before he’s able to contain it.

“...and what are you even hoping to do anyways, covered in blood like that? Scare the shit out of the first bartender you come across -” 

“I’m trying to get the fuck away,” he forces each word out through clenched teeth, as though they scald his tongue on their way out. 

“Away.” Your exasperation breaks way to full indignation. “You want to get away? Great. I’ll even help your sorry ass get away,” a string of colorful curses punctuates your sentence as you trip and nearly fall face-first onto the ground before righting yourself. Sage continued forward at the same pace, placing you a few additional yards behind him. “Just let me heal you first.”

Sage laughs, a sound as cold as the sound of his blade striking another only too soon ago. You falter.

“There’s nothing any of you can do to help me.” he spits again. “It’s too late.”

Somehow his words enter your ears and descend directly to your feet, holding you in place. Your mouth is dry. Sage continues to push through foliage to get further away. Your eye twitches involuntarily as the magic you’d called to your hands with the goal of healing Sage abruptly changes intention. 

“Oh, get over yourself!” you yell, half-certain your gestures have been in vain and that he’d end up wandering off for gods knows how long before turning back up at Fathom, bloody as the last day you saw him. If he comes back at all, that is. 

Your hypothesis is disproven when he stops in his tracks. However, you’re too incensed to stop now. A string of pejoratives is hurled in his direction, punctuated with gestures you know he is unable to see but that have to be shown regardless.

Sage counts his breaths as you curse him. He’s almost gained enough composure to begin piecing together a plan - where was he hoping to go, anyway? - when one of your comments hooks itself under his skin. 

“..and while you’re at it, stop acting like you’re some kind of fucking monster!”

“Scuse me?!” he belts, turning to face you. His skin feels hot, the bloodstained clothes he’s wearing too-tight. “I’ll call it whatever the fuck I want!”

“Of course you will!” frustrated stomps meeting the ground punctuate your words as you move closer to Sage. The flush of color in your cheeks and tears threatening to spill from your eyes almost break his resolve, but the iron of your words sharpen his own indignation. 

“You say it’s what you want, but you really just call it whatever makes it easiest for you. It still doesn’t make it true.”

Every cell in Sage’s body screams in agony - how could you of all people have misunderstood him so deeply? 

“Easy? You think being like this is easy!?” Harsh words fall from Sage’s serrated-knife tongue. Some part of him is hoping to provoke you, to finally have you as angry with him as he deserves, to burn this bridge once and for all before he convinces himself he’s worthy to cross it again. “Before you even wake up in the morning I’m already drowning in this shit. Corruption, whatever you want to call it. And then every godsdamned second afterwards, I’m holding every scrap of myself together with a thread -”

“I didn’t say it’s easy - nothing is fucking easy.” You take another deep breath, hoping to steady yourself, but the words flow from you nonetheless. “But you call yourself a monster, and a freak, and damaged, and that makes it easier for you. It makes you FEEL better. You’re the big bad monster and everyone should hate you - just like you hate yourself. You get to be right all along. And then you get to be the hero for taking yourself away from us.”

“You don’t know anything about how I feel.” Sage’s accusation is forbidding, the white hot-ire having passed its boiling point and settling to a cold contempt. 

“Well shit, there’s something we can agree on! But it’s because you never say anything about how you feel. Never show anything either  until it’s all but fucking BLEEDING out of you.”

“Haven’t you noticed? That’s how I am. And this is WHAT I am.” Sage gestures to the blood rapidly drying on his gauntlet. “If you want to get pissed about it, that's your problem, not mine.”

“We’re fucking teammates, Sage. We’re each other’s godsdamned problems -”

“Don’t start that shit. Half of the times you’ve almost gotten killed have been because of ME. I gave you every godsdamned opportunity to get away from me.”

“Oh poor you!” You let out a sardonic half-laugh, half-sob. “It’s so hard, right? It’s so hard for YOU to have someone, anyone, who gives half a shit about you. If you wanted me gone so bad, why didn’t YOU just leave?”

He’s silent. Sage has left, deserted, his friends before. His hands shake as flashes of their faces, their funeral pyres, the plots of land once their homes smoldering in the dirt - his fault. Sage is not naive enough to believe he could have stopped the Lord of Shadows or his minions from razing his comrades to the ground - but a part of him wishes he’d gone down with them. If he’d gotten what he deserved, it’d be his ashes scattered underneath Porriman’s boots. 

You get no reply, and make no reply yourself. You sit, your back pressing heavily into the bark of the tree you rest upon. If not for Sage’s tail flicking back and forth he could’ve been a statue, muscles clenched tight and unmoving gaze fixed on a point far behind you. 

He sighs, sending a puff of condensation out like a rain cloud. Although still, Sage’s mind was moving a thousand miles a minute. This was nothing in comparison to his heart. 

“Sorry.” Sage says, his voice raw and raspy from your argument. He moves closer to you, slow steps heavy with compunction. “I’m not saying you’re right. I’m just sorry.”  

“I’m not asking for you to be sorry, and I’m not asking to be right. I’m asking to be your teammate. How can you expect to trust me, or anyone for that matter, if you can’t even trust yourself?” You don’t look in his direction when you reply, instead gazing above at the sky and blinking back tears of frustration.

This is the reason you’ve been alone. This is the price you pay for your power - loss of control, and loss of everyone around you. This, and your words, buzz in Sage’s ears. 

You reach up, taking his hand in yours, and pull it until you get his attention. “You can trust me, you know.”

The second your skin meets his, the buzzing stops. Sage looks down at you, barely able to make out your words. The night sky reflects in your pupils, dazzling back at him. His protests die in his throat. 

“And none of that ‘about as far as you can throw me’ shit.” you chide. His palm is coated in a thin sheen of sweat, his skin feels fevered. “I know nothing is easy, but I’m willing to work on it if you are. Together - like a team does.”

Together. The word felt foreign in Sage’s mind; he couldn’t imagine hearing the syllables form to make the word come out of his mouth. He can remember brief moments from his past where he felt at peace with the word, he can remember the grief from times when together was a promise fate couldn’t keep. Tulsi. Balsam. Lucan. Felix and Anisa, all those years ago. 

While Sage’s mind is unsure of how to answer your proposal, his body responds with the clenching of his hand around your own. His fingers entwine with yours, squeezing lightly. Together. 

“Don’t get all mushy on me,” Sage mumbles. “Now, is it too late for you to take a look at that cut on my back?”

Sage doesn’t know much about magic, but he believes without a doubt the smile on your face did the healing job better than a spell could.

[maggiedanikka]

Superstar (Preview)

Pairing: Rooster x f!reader

Author's Note: Hey besties! I am so so so sorry for the long hiatus, the fall semester started and I am taking 18 credits this semester along with 4 jobs and studying for the LSATs so I've been in the trenches to say the least. I have been sporadically working on this fic, and I originally did not want to release it until it was fully completed but today is my birthday so I was feeling magnanimous and have decided to release this preview of my one shot that is currently in the works. Please hold on a little bit more. If you all like this preview I will release the full version. Also keep in mind I started writing this before TGM was released on streaming so I wrote parts of it based on memory (because the beginning is set during the actual movie).

Hopefully Part 10 of Let Me Go will be out soon!

Okay on to the story.

Bradley Bradshaw’s voice was an enigma to you. How could anyone's voice be so hoarse and yet so strong?

As an air traffic controller for the Navy, you’ve heard every type of voice imaginable. The gruff demanding ones from the Air Boss, the shrill screams of pilots having to eject due to a bird strike, the quiet dulcet tones of a shy WSO, and everything in between. 

The first time you heard his voice through the comms, you weren’t exactly starstruck per se, just a bit thrown off.

“This is Dagger 2, asking for clearance for take off.” 

It’s not like you didn’t know who the pilots flying this mission were. Everyone in the goddamn Navy knew who they were, they were the best of the best. 

You even saw their pictures. Thought some of them were cute (especially the one rocking the Miami Vice Stache). But hearing their voices was different from reading their files.

Though most of the details of the mission were classified, you had a basic idea and knew that there was a good chance that someone wasn’t coming home. 

“This is Dagger 2, asking for clearance for take off”

The voice repeated. You snapped out of your thoughts, the voice was smooth as honey and it had just a hint of fear but yet so heavily determined. Your heart really went out to the poor pilot. 

“Dagger 2, you’re clear for take off.” You said, trying to convey as much sympathy as you could in those words. 

The actual mission itself didn’t last longer than 3 minutes. Working for the navy, you should’ve been used to the high stakes situations that often go hand in hand with these kinds of assignments. But you couldn’t help but sit on the edge of your seat during the duration of the mission.

There were a few initial hiccups, you felt like you were watching a movie as you listened to the daggers communicate with one another. Their nervousness (and to be honest your own) upon seeing the SAMs and your both concern and irritation at Lieutenant Bradshaw’s cautiousness. 

Yes, his by the book and precise flying is part of the reason why he was considered one of the best, but if he didn’t throw that shit out of the window and speed up he will end up getting himself killed. And even though you didn’t necessarily know him, this possibility filled your body with so much dread.

You felt relieved (well only slightly, they hadn’t made it out of the woods just yet) when Rooster finally got out of his own head and sped up. The two miracles were successfully pulled off and the 4 jets had made it past Coffin Corner. Now it was a dogfight all the way home.

You commended just how level headed and pragmatic the pilots were as they evaded the SAMs and attacks that were thrusted upon them. You knew if you were in the same situation you would’ve panicked and blown up by now. Your admiration was interrupted by the mayday call of Captain Mitchell.

A heavy tension set in the control room, everyone was shocked at what just transpired. It was interrupted by the voices of the other daggers. Notably Lieutenant Bradshaw and Lieutenant Trace. 

Phoenix had announced that she and Lieutenant Floyd were heading back to home base, along with Payback and Fanboy. However, you were yet to hear confirmation from Rooster, with the last thing he said went along the lines of going after Maverick. 

You held your breath as you heard Admiral Simpson demanded his return. The control room was met with silence, and you knew exactly what he was going to do. 

It was less than 5 minutes when it was confirmed that Lieutenant Bradshaw’s plane had been shot down after attacking an enemy plane. His beacon went dark. 

Lieutenant Seresin requested clearance for take off but was rebuffed by the Air Boss. You had to take everything in you to not shed a tear.

A thick silence fell over the entire ship. The mission was technically a success but you wouldn’t be able to tell based on the solemn look on everyone’s face. 

Even after the remaining daggers returned on the ship, no one wanted to leave the control room. The entire ship was at a standstill. 

That was until a beacon marked “Rooster” started beeping on the screen. 

No it couldn’t be.

“Sir, Rooster has gone supersonic.” You told Admiral Simpson with a gulp, trying to contain your hope. 

“An F-14 tomcat has been spotted sir.” Another ATC announced. 

“Maverick.” You heard someone say, not sure who but you did not care at that point. What’s important is that they were alive!

But it was not time to celebrate just yet. Two bogies were spotted alongside the F-14 Tomcat. And everyone knew this meant a dogfight was about to commence. 

The situation looked more and more grim. An ancient F-14 against Fifth Gens? It was unlikely for the two pilots to make it out unscathed yet alone alive.

But by some grace of God (or possibly Maverick’s unbeatable skill, probably both) they managed to take down two bogies. 

Rooster managed to turn on the plane’s radio to contact the ship. You felt relief which was instantly thwarted by the news that there was still one Fifth Gen, directly in front of the plane. 

You knew they needed help. You looked at Admiral Simpson desperately, hoping that he would allow the Reserve Dagger to go assist. But Cyclone seemed frozen and you knew you had to take matters into your own hands.

“Dagger Reserve, are you ready for liftoff?” You spoke into the mic, the other people in the control room looked at you in shock.

“Finally!” The elated voice of Hangman came through the comms.

Admiral Simpson shot you a hard glare, if only looks could kill, you’d probably be as screwed as Maverick and Rooster. But you knew you had to do something. 

“Yes this is Dagger Reserve asking clearance for takeoff.” 

“Dagger Reserve, you are clear for takeoff. Bring our boys home.” You said with a small smile, if you get fired and discharged, possibly thrown into the ocean it’ll be worth it knowing what you did to save the aviators.

Hangman shot down the Fifth Gen with ease, earning him his second confirmed air combat kill. You knew that the other pilots would never hear the end of it. But all you cared about is he saved HIM.

Rooster’s laugh and banter with Hangman might’ve been the most wonderful sound you’ve ever heard. 

Seeing him on the tarmac reunited with the rest of his team had to be one of the highlights of your career with the Navy, if this was the last moment you had in the branch then you were perfectly content. 

“What you did was reckless insubordination! If there was another fifth Gen out there, we would’ve lost 3 of our best pilots and 2 planes worth millions of dollars!” Admiral Simpson had chastised you. 

“I have half a mind to dishonorably discharge you!” You 're ready to accept your punishment with grace. You were however surprised at his next words 

“But your actions saved 2 of our men.” He added with a gulp.

“You are clear from punishment, but DO NOT make this a habit!”

“Yes sir.” You told him with a steady voice.

“Thank you sir.”

“You are dismissed, go join the rest of the fleet.” He told you.

You ran down to celebrate the returning pilots, but so was everyone else. You could only see a glimpse of Captain Mitchell and Lieutenant Bradshaw past the dozens of bodies approaching to greet them. 

But even from where you were standing you could see the beaming smile and bright eyes of the mustached pilot. And from that exact moment you knew you were a goner.

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[thattimdrakeguy]

A  Random Review of Titans United: Bloodpact

Sorry some of these pics are blurry. Some are really big and Tumblr doesn’t like them. So Hopefully they’re still readable.

For the simple reason of me enjoying how Tim Drake was drawn on the cover of the issue I decided to read it, despite me mostly choosing not to read any modern comic, because of my displeasure of the writing choices.

But Tim’s pretty unlucky with artists and how they draw him so seeing this was enough for me to give it a quick look.

I don’t exactly need a deep reason to read a comic.

But it ended up being a very pleasant surprise, because I wasn’t expecting much since it was a Titans comic, and apparently has the line-up of the live action show that I thought was boring. And used T-Shirt Kon, who I don’t particularly favor.

It ended being a surprisingly fun read. Not a really deep one, or a completely smooth read, but a really fun read.

Most of the first issue is a big fight, so instead of actual character moments, it’s more like “OH NOW IT’S THIS PERSON’S CHANCE TO SAY A LINE, AND NOW THEIRS” and so on. So if you’re reading because you love Starfire or Donna Troy or someone, you aren’t going to get much out of this first issue.

However to my shock, it was mostly focused on Tim Drake.

And all around has a damn good Tim Drake in it.

Tim Drake even inside the book and not just on it’s cover is very clearly identifiable as Tim Drake. Making him the smallest member of the team, along with his famously notable baby-face, big eyes, and classic hairstyle. Things that, despite literally being his description within the comics themselves, have a hard time being depicted often enough that it’s considered a pain.

He actually starts the comic off in his normal clothes, and before I read a single line I could tell it was Tim, because of how he was drawn, which isn’t always the case sadly. Sometimes he can be in costume and I’ll not be sure if it’s Tim because it doesn’t look like him.

This isn’t only a thing for Tim as well. All the other characters are drawn very distinctly so that if they were in streetwear as well, you could also tell who they are very easily. (On a side note I quite like the clothes they put Tim in. Simple, and comfy. Just feels very Timmy. Never a fan of when they dress him up extra formal or something, and tired of the generic button up look on him.)

Compared to someone like Dan Mora, who while also being a fantastic artist. Basically draws Tim Drake Robin and Dick Grayson Robin as the exact same person in a different outfit. Which isn’t favorable.

It’s increasingly rare to see an artist put in the effort to make sure the characters look like themselves if they don’t fit the typical depiction of a super hero, so it was a very welcomed addition.

Only one who looks a bit off might be Conner, who, apart from my opinion on his costume in this, just looks a little bit off. I think it might be the hair, ‘cause I don’t think he’s ever had a haircut like this.

But that’s a nit-pick if I’ve ever heard. So really, who gives a damn.

I’m mostly just having fun seeing Tim pop up all tiny-like in several panels. With several moments showing the team being a bit protective for him, which also feels right back at home for Tim. Never in any overwhelming way, but in a way that feels right without being distracting. Never making it too much about Tim that he feels overbearing when it’s a team book.

The writings also very fun, and writes the characters, it does put a bit more of a spotlight on pretty well. It starts off sort of old school with it’s style of narration, but it gives it a really interesting charm that I appreciated.

Beast Boy has his usual snarky, self-absorbed-ish attitude. And I really enjoyed how Dick and some of the other more typical Titans have a more mature attitude to them, that shows that are grown and serious.

Which is so satisfying in the way of Dick Grayson, because let me tell you, I am so sick of the depiction of Dick Grayson as a some sort of man child or doofus. He’s been a very serious, concerned, hard of himself, workaholic since maybe even before the 80s. To strip that away just to make him a sitcom character always came across as disrespectful for me.

Tim, who again, is the surprising focus of this first issue, and possibly the rest of the comic going off of how important he is to the beginning in end of the issue, but we’ll have to see on that, but anyways, is written very well.

I was super pleased with how Tim was written, because it felt like a fully rounded version of him, and not a fraction of him, or a generic hero that a writer placed his name on.

It shows how naturally heroic he is instantly, but doesn’t overwhelm the reader with that to the point he’s horrendously boring.

It’s the best representation of Tim Drake and Dick Grayson’s actual relationship in years. It’s not just redoing something they did 20 to 30 years ago. It’s new content of them being baby brother and big brother, having a back and forth full of teasing.

Seeing Timmy have his bratty baby brother side be shown for the first time in a way that’s felt authentic in years has been wonderful, even if it’s only for a page or two, because it sucks me in to this world, believing it’s actually in the same universe as the stories I love, instead of butchering it. It feels natural, because it’s them, not a pandering mess. It’s just them being them, and they’re fantastic together.

Timmy Drake also has his very very boyish and juvenile energy back. And is also made clear to be the ultimate underdog of the DC Universe, also very representative of who Tim is. Again, adding more layers to him, that represent who he is, through natural dialogue that feels appropriate for the moment, and authentic as if these are real people living in this fantasy and sci-fi laced world.

And overall when it comes to Tim, really shows how simple it honestly is to write the kid. He is not a difficult character to write. It’s done with such ease that I adore it.

These are such small moments into the overall, but it doesn’t matter, because seeing a Tim Drake just be Tim Drake, and showing off his different layers is a rarity. It is probably the best Tim writing since issue 1 of Sum of Our Parts, since...sadly Fitzmartin has shown that she isn’t really a great writer...and has...bad tendencies that really just insult the audience.

Could this also happen with this writer? Very well possibly. But that’s just how it is. Some writers stay good. Some writers are good but have bad moments. Some writers are bad and have good moments. In the end these writers are people, and people aren’t perfect. The same way I’m not perfect, and you’re not perfect. It’s simply how it is, as disheartening as it can be at times.

In the end it’s just fun, and represents them well. Though I’m just now realizing after posting that panel that Gar just said their real names which is...not very hero-y but oh well. It happens.

At the end of the story even it shows Tim’s good heart, empathy, and detectively mind without going overboard to the point it feels like flanderization.

There’s not much I can say beyond it’s overall super solid, and super satisfying if you’re a Tim Drake fan. Wish I could say more about the other characters. But they all seem to know each other, creating a nice big open world feel, and it’s nice. Sort of homely, ignoring how there’s a major fight happening. It makes the world feel real, which is rare, when so many other comics end up so inconsistent it never feels right.

I’d recommend reading it for sure.

It just goes to show that the good stuff doesn’t come from changing the characters in random ways.

The good stuff comes from putting our favorite characters in fun situations that highlight their personalities.

And Titans United: Bloodpact does it in spades.

[why-do-i-breath]

Could you do one where the reader is lucifer daughter and in a relationship with Morpheus/dream

Of course I'm sorry it took so long

(\_/)

( •_•)

/>💌

A Parents Worry

Ever since you came to exist in hell, Lucifer took you under their wing and raised you as their own; you are their most honorable accomplishment; as time passed and you grew, the residents of hell quickly learned not to utter a single insulting word about you or lucifers parenting, the last time lucifer caught wind of someone insulting the way you dress/ look, they sent Mazikeen to have a free for all with them. Through the internal years of your life, you have had many partners, some lovely and caring, others not so much. Without your knowledge, Lucifer dealt with them by putting them threw the most gruesome and disgusting punishments that hell and her subjects can offer.

When you approached your parent to tell them about how you found a partner, Luci said to you that they were happy for you and hoped to meet them soon; you, of course, agreed after a while to let the two meet, not knowing the shock on both of their faces.

After three years of notable dates, lavish gifts, and lovely adventures in the dreaming and waking world, you decided to introduce Morpheus to your parent. To say he was surprised when you told him is an understatement. He told you of their little feud going on for eons. To say it didn't shock you that your parent would have a rivalry with your partner is an understatement; it was something that your parent often did.

In the days leading up to the two meeting each other, Lucifer was surprised it took you so long to let them meet your partner, you kindly asked your parent to have an open mind with him, and Lucifer agreed to be civil. And not to insult them ( in front of you, at least).

On the day of Morpheus's arrival. Lucifer took a seat at their throne, waiting for you both to enter the throne room. as nervous as you were, Morpheus promised to hold your hand threw the whole interaction; he flashed a small smile at you before you entered the throne room.

As you both strode into lucifers view, the patient smile on their face turned into a tight rageful half-smile at the sight of your partner, obviously upset with your choice of a lover. "Welcome, my dear and Morpheus; I didn't expect you both to choose each other for partners, but if it's what my child wants, then I will accept it," Lucifer stated as they stood from their throne and strode over to the pair of you.

Lucifer looked between you two for a minute before they stated, "may I speak with him alone, darling? " Reluctantly, you agreed to do so, hoping they would follow the no threatening "rule" you set down. Just waking out of the room, you could feel the tension shrink as you got further away.

As the door shut behind you, Lucifer immediately glared at Morpheus. "I don't know what games you are trying to play with my child's heart, but I can assure you that I will make you and your realm suffer 1,000 times more pain whatever heartbreak they feel." Lucifer declared, and morpheuses expression became one of sincerity and truthfulness. "I have no interest in harming the heart your daughter has gifted to me; I never plan on forcing her to do anything she doesn't desire to do, I care and love your daughter, and I plan on caring for her till she no longer deems me Worthy to have the title of her lover." Lucifer's size softened for a moment but quickly became the cold eyes Morpheus was used to seeing. "Be warned, dream of endless I will be watching."

The doors to the throne room opened as you walked in to see them both shake hands. It puts a smile on your face to see your lover and your parent getting along {somewhat}. Upon noticing your arrival, the pair share hushed words ( threats) and quickly turn to be in you're gaze. "I will allow this relationship for now. But if it affects the realm of my child's duties to this realm, I will reconsider my decision." Lucifer declared as they took steps toward you." thank you, parent, I appreciate your decision, and I can promise you that it will not affect my duties." Lucifer turned to Morpheus and some clarity. " if my daughter comes to any harm in your care, I hope you are well aware of what I will do to you. Your realm." with his cold voice, he spoke, "I am aware, and nothing will harm her as long as I am with her." with that, you and Morpheus left hell to explore in the dreaming.

[kazoosandfannypacks]

"Open to Interpretation" by kazoosandfannypacks

Chapter 11/16: The Graduation Pairing: CaptainSwan Rating: General Word Count: (1.5K/24K) Summary: Emma Swan is appalled at works by modern artist Killian Jones- until a handsome stranger convinces her otherwise- and after introducing himself as the artist in question, he invites her out on a date. As their relationship develops, they find that they might not be as different from each other as originally though. Chapter Summary: Emma thinks about Killian as they attend the graduation together. Tags: au, fluff, captain swan, modern au Author's notes: n/a Taglist: @zahara @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree @anmylica @teamhook @undercaffinatednightmare @gingerchangeling @lonelyspectator @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @cs-rylie @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @pawshapedheart  [if you'd like to be added to or removed from this list, hmu in my dms or askbox!]

Also on Ao3!

 Three weeks ago, Emma's plans for this evening would've been some big anniversary dinner with her ex. Two weeks ago, today's plans would've been ramen and eating ice cream from the carton as she made fun of some cheesy hallmark movie. A week ago, it would've been seeing if this cute guy from the museum would take her out on another date. Tonight, though, it turned out to be going to a graduation with him, after taking a bit of a road trip together and meeting his family.

 Emma noticed something off about Killian ever since they'd met up with his dad. He seemed more nervous than he had been when he was giving his speech at the benefit dinner, and more restrained than when he'd been entertaining guests at it.

 She'd almost been afraid to try to see what was wrong, in case it was too personal for him to bring up, but when he put his arm around her and pulled her a touch closer- almost as though he needed her, needed her comfort and support- she decided to try and soften his mood a little. After all, that was why he brought her along, wasn't it? To make this weekend bearable?

 "So let's see," Emma asked Killian, "if when we met, you didn't tell me you were the artist who painted the paintings we were discussing, and last week you didn't tell me you were hosting the benefit dinner you took me to, what does that mean for tonight?"

 "What do you mean by that, love?"

 "Am I gonna find out halfway through the ceremony that you're valedictorian or something like that?" Emma teased, "Or the keynote speaker, or school principal or something?"

 He smiled, her humor evidently softening him up well.

 "Don't worry, Swan," he said, "whatever happens this time, I'm just as much a victim as you are."

 "It's more exciting that way anyways," Emma said.

 "And I want to savor every exciting moment with you, Swan."

 She'd've given him a witty response, but then the lights dimmed, and the ceremony began.

 Emma had once read that a graduation ceremony is like the end credits of a movie you've never seen before, and, in this case, it was one where none of the actors were even familiar to her, though she'd heard one of their names before. As such, she found her mind wandering as she sat through the ceremony- and the street her mind chose to wander was "Killian Jones Avenue."

 Even something as small as the way his hand rested on her shoulder was notable- with a grip both strong and gentle- firm enough for her to believe he was strong, but soft enough for her to believe he'd never use that strength against her.

 "It must be the artist's touch," Emma thought, "as intentional with every move towards me as with his paintbrush on any other masterpiece."

 A masterpiece. She hadn't thought of herself as a "masterpiece" for quite a while- since well before her last relationship officially crashed and burned. Maybe that's why the breakup hadn't really come as much of a shock to her as it could've- because, no matter what she tried, he'd stopped looking at her long before then.

 Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Killian looking at her, his eyes fixed on her instead of on whatever was going on onstage, smiling at her as if maybe she truly was, as he kept saying, a masterpiece.

 "I was a fool for saying no to him earlier," Emma thought, "he's gorgeous, talented, sensitive, sincere, successful enough to make money off his mere existence- he's got 'boyfriend material' written all over him. But that's what I thought about the last one, and the one before that- and all the ones before that, really. I'm just not ready to go through all that again."

 When he'd asked her to pursue something more serious, she'd prided herself on keeping her guard up, on protecting herself from the inevitable betrayal, on coming up with a response in advance for when he, as they all do, protested her "unfairness" in rejecting him.

 But his protest never came. When she said she wasn't ready, he didn't tell her to take a chance on him, or try to sell her on all his remarkable qualities, or tell her she was a fool for turning him down and that she can't find a catch like him just anywhere- though it would've been true. Instead, he told her it was alright, that he just wanted her to know he had no intentions yet to leave her, and practically apologized for coming on so strong before reassuring her in her decision to keep things as they were.

 That was when it clicked for Emma. The fact that he didn't try to change her mind, that he respected her decision to guard her heart, that he was so willing to accept Emma exactly as she already was- it was enough to almost make her wish that she had changed her mind, that she had let her guard down, that she'd let herself become more for him.

 But that's how she got herself into these messes in the first place- a guy would seem like he wasn't gonna hurt her, she'd let him into her walls, and he'd tear them down from the inside out, leaving her vulnerable to whatever betrayal he had in store once he was bored of her. Maybe Killian wasn't like that. Maybe Killian Jones was exactly who he said he was, and maybe he wasn't going to hurt her, and maybe this relationship would be the one- but maybe this was all an act he'd only keep up for so long- his time with the museum would end eventually anyways, and he'd move onto some other exciting place and meet some new masterpiece at one of his other galleries.

 So for now, it was probably for the better that they left things open to interpretation.

 Once the ceremony was over, Emma waited with Killian's family to congratulate Liam on his achievement.

 "It was a lovely ceremony," Emma said, trying to make small talk despite barely having paid attention to it anyways.

 "Yeah," Fiona said, "they always do such a nice job with it here."

 "Indeed," Killian began, "why, I remember my graduation like it was yesterday. They had…."

 "Oh, look," Brennan said, interrupting Killian to wave across the room, "there's the man of the hour himself."

 They turned to see that it was Liam he was waving to, quite a few yards away. Brennan and Fiona headed towards him, walking past a disappointed Killian.

 Emma took Killian's hand, a smile momentarily  crossing his face as she did.

 "I'd still like to hear the rest of what you had to say," Emma said.

 Killian shook his head as they walked through the crowd back to the others, "it wasn't important."

 "If it's important to you, it is to me," Emma said.

 "I appreciate that, love," he planted a quick kiss on her forehead.

 When they rejoined with his family, Killian let go of Emma's hand so he could give his step brother a hug. Then, he let go and held his shoulders at arm's length, smiling proudly.

 "Congratulations, Liam," Killian said.

 "And congrats on the exhibit at the museum," Liam said, "I saw the pictures online, you must be…."

 "Now, now," Killian said, "there'll be plenty of time to talk about that later. Today we're celebrating you."

 "Yeah, congratulations," Emma interjected.

 Liam smiled at her. "I don't believe we've met."

 "I'm Emma," she held out her hand to him, "Killian…."

 "I do believe my brother's mentioned you," Liam shook her hand, "wasn't exaggerating in the slightest when he spoke of your beauty."

 Emma smiled a little, "I see you've been taking lessons in charm from your brother."

 "It's a family trait," Brennan interrupted, "and Liam has picked up on it as well. We Jones men always were a charming lot."

 "You all certainly are," Emma smiled as Killian's hand found its way to hers once again.

 Fiona pulled out her cellphone and took a picture of Liam.

 "Do you want me to get a picture of you guys all together?" Emma asked.

 "That would be lovely," Brennan said.

 "Oh, yes," Fiona said, "It's so lovely having the whole family together again."

 The Jones family all stood next to each other for the picture, with Liam in the front, his parents behind him, and Killian standing next to them, slightly off to the side, almost as though he didn't fully believe he belonged in the picture.

 Still, as Emma handed back the camera, she felt something, not quite jealousy, but something like it. Liam had grown up in the foster system, just like Emma had- but he had so much she'd never dreamed of. Emma'd never had a high school graduation, or a family photo she actually felt worth keeping- she was pretty sure she'd never truly even had a family.

 "Some people are just born lucky," Emma thought, "and I've never been one of them."

 But she hid her feelings like she always did, faking her best smiles, not about to play the pity-the-orphan card and spoil Killian's family's weekend.

[honeyoru]

off the deep end (eddie munson x henderson! reader) chapter one

masterlist | next chapter

January 8th, 1986

You sighed, checking your watch for the third time in the past twenty minutes. 

The sun was setting on Hawkins High School, the flurry of oranges and pinks leaving you with a slight sense of comfort. 

A quick pull of a cigarette helped quell the surge of anxiety that appeared at the thought of the last time you’d been here. 

Eight months ago.  

You sat on the hood of your old pick-up in the parking lot, nodding along to the beat of the Def Leppard song that was playing a little too loud.

Where the hell are they?

This sure wasn’t the welcome-back party you half-expected when you landed at the airport an hour ago. You knew your best friend couldn’t get out of work, he’d mentioned it in last week’s letter.

But still, you envisioned some balloons. Maybe a cake. Hell, considering the state your mother was in when you left Hawkins last May, you were surprised she hadn’t thrown a damn parade celebrating your return. 

At the very least, you expected your own damn brother to be there. 

Your mother had burst into tears immediately after seeing the notable difference being abroad had on you, thrilled that being away from this shit town for so long had actually helped in some way. 

You were barely able to set your bags down before she was pushing you and your coat back out the door to go pick up your brother from school, claiming that it’d be a wonderful way to spend time together after so much time apart. You acquiesced only when she had stood for too long staring at you, silently crying at how much healthier you looked, a complete contrast to the daughter that had left her almost a year ago. 

You grimaced, pushing down the wave of guilt you couldn’t help but feel anytime Claudia Henderson, the best person in the world, cried. Especially when it was because of you.

Hoards of people were exiting the gym. The green and gold of the school colors scattered throughout the crowd clued you in that a basketball game must have just ended. 

Swinging one foot idly, you nodded to a few people you recognized as they passed by, trying hard not to laugh with the way they gawked, no doubt shocked you were back. With the reputation you’d established for yourself last semester, you weren’t surprised that no one approached you. You did, however, roll your eyes at the way a couple of boys eyed you up and down. 

Probably because of the hair, you snorted.

The vain part of you, one that you refused to acknowledge, was grateful you hadn’t changed from the admittedly stylish outfit you wore on the trip home. A pair of beige fitted trousers, a white blouse, and a brown plaid coat, along with the leather boots you had treated yourself to before you left yesterday looked pretty damn good and gave you a slight boost of confidence that was definitely needed before you returned to school next week.  

A sudden clang of the door across from was enough to jerk you out of your thoughts. You recognized it as the one that led to the theater room, swinging open wildly as a group of teens loudly yelled over each other, likely regarding the game they had just finished playing.

Thirty minutes late, you scowled.

Allowing the cigarette to hang from your lips, you pushed your sunglasses to the top of your head, looking for your brother. 

You clocked Mike Wheeler and your brother on the outskirts of the group, both laughing at something one of the older boys had said. 

Mike noticed you first, his long, gangly legs stuttering before a grin appeared on his face, mirroring the smaller one on yours.

Jesus, you thought. Someone went through a growth spurt.

At his friend’s expression, the other boy confusedly looked around to see what he was smiling at, halting completely once he saw you. He said your name like a question before sprinting towards you, your brother’s face split into a blinding smile. “Holy shit, you’re back!”

You rolled your eyes at his excitement, quickly putting the cigarette out on the ground just in time before he slammed into you. 

Guess Mom didn’t tell him I’d be picking him up. 

“Hey Dusty,” you whispered, hiding your face in his hair to fight back the tears you felt.  

“I missed you,” you heard him say, muffled by your shirt. 

“Not enough to write every week.” You pulled him back and raised an eyebrow playfully, trying to downplay how hurt you actually were at his sporadic communication while you'd been away. “Guess you’re just too busy for me now that you’re in high school, huh?”

“You look… really great!” Mike piped up, pushing Dustin out of the way to hug you as well. He stepped back, face blushing as he quickly flickered between your tight pants and sweater. 

“Dude,” Dustin shot him a disgusted glare. “That’s my sister. Don’t look at her like that!” He turned back to you, subtly wiping a tear away so Mike couldn’t see. “And I’m never too busy for you, it’s just… a lot happened while you were gone and I–” he paused, a look of uncertainty washing over his face. “We weren’t sure how to tell you what happened, and it was just too hard for me to write without wanting to tell you so I.. didn’t,” he winced. You could see how guilty he looked and immediately a bolt of panic shot through you.

“Something happened?” you grabbed him, frantically whispering as you were aware of the group behind them. “Who’s we? What happened?” 

“Well–” 

“–why are we congregating fellow freaks?” An all-too-familiar voice boomed out suddenly, the door they had just exited through was kicked open so hard it bounced off the wall. You started, dropping your arms and looking with wide eyes at the intruder, silently praying you were just hallucinating because of jet lag.

God dammit.

A boy with wild curls that you knew all too well halted at the sight of you like he had been frozen in place, stumbling back a bit when the door hit him in the face. "Henderson,” he said breathlessly, almost in a whisper. His eyes roamed your body shamelessly with ease, and you could tell, even from this far away, that they darkened at your appearance. “You’re back.”

Biting back a groan, you cursed at yourself for having a lapse in judgment about just who the Hellfire Dungeon Master was. “Munson.”

[lady-bess]

Just A Date - Agent Ortega

Part of the LadyBess Valentine's special! 8 Characters; 8 Dates 💜

Agent Ortega x GN!Reader Mature/18+ (Minors DNI Please✨) WC: 2.8k Notable Tags: Running Away, New Lives, SFW, Reader is a Whore, Sorry, Soft Ortega, Caring Ortega, Obscene Levels of Fluff, Forbidden Romance, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Relationships, Reference to Drinking, References to Prostitution.

And last, but certainly not least, is our Pinkerton! Unlike Jack, Agent Ortega is a genuine cowboy (sorry, honey, but he’s a freaking Pinkerton!). And while his appearance in the Pedro Pascal Cinematic Universe was brief (i.e. a single pilot episode of The Sixth Gun), you best believe this author still managed to take a liking to him (and who is shocked?).

I’ve made it my own head canon that there is a link between Ortega and Jack before, but for now let’s go back to the basics! This one-shot will be based on the limited information we know, plus a bit of fan-canon!

Happy valentine’s, my lovelies, however it is you choose to spend it!

A/N: I was unsure about Ortega’s timeline and Valentine’s Day being something to mention, but I found in my research that by the 1850’s it was popular to send what we now know as Valentine’s cards! In 1856, the following was published to the New York Times;

"Our beaux and belles are satisfied with a few miserable lines, neatly written upon fine paper, or else they purchase a printed Valentine with verses ready-made, some of which are costly, and many of which are cheap and indecent.

"In any case, whether decent or indecent, they only please the silly and give the vicious an opportunity to develop their propensities, and place them, anonymously, before the comparatively virtuous. The custom with us has no useful feature, and the sooner it is abolished the better."

I just found it rather amusing, so thought I’d share with y’all!

Now, where were we? Ah, yes; off to Brimstone!

February 14th, 1889

Ortega opened the doors to The Silver Palace, Brimstone, hoping to find you here before it was too late. He didn’t approve of you working in a place like this, but times were tough out here in the West, and he could hardly fault you for doing what you had to in order to survive. That still didn’t mean he liked the thought of others having their way with you in exchange for a few measly cents. His job meant that he knew, intimately, the lives of the people in this town. And what he did know about the men and women who came your way was that they were often more of the unsavoury nature.

He wanted to protect you so badly, even though you were fiercely independent and insisted you didn’t need his help. That had always been your dynamic, though. He would pay you for your time, not your body, and somewhere along the way you’d gone and fallen in love. Your boss would forbid you from ever seeing Ortega again if they knew that the two of you were involved with each other beyond an exchange of services, so you kept things quiet.

But tonight, of all nights, he wanted to get to you first.

And, if this went to plan, you’d never have to work at The Silver Palace again.

He scanned the sea of faces that met him as he entered the establishment, eyes desperately searching for yours to meet his. A panic began to rise in his chest, a tightness, a despair, as for a moment he was met with nothing but vacant expressions from other patrons. People who were probably waiting around for someone like you to become available, so for ten minutes they could forget about their woeful existence and treat you like an object just so that they could feel like that had an ounce of power in this world.

But Ortega did have power. And tonight, he was using it.

“Fuck,” he hissed, sucking in his lip and biting down a little too hard as he searched for you, pushing past others who were drunk out of their own minds on moonshine, and other alcohol likely not made legally. Prohibition can get them later, he thought as he traversed through the crowd.

And then, cowering in the corner, there you sat. Surrounded by men and women, various hands trying to take off some of your clothing. One man pulled at the collar of your shirt while another undid your belt buckle. A woman sat on one of the men’s laps kept pouring you drinks, clearly hoping you’d sip enough that you’d lose all inhibitions and just let them have their way.

You looked terrified.

Ortega knew that it wouldn’t work simply asking you to go to a private room with him right now; he would have to either force these people off you or pull out the big guns to assert some form of authority. Fortunately, he came prepared.

“Excuse me?” he said, approaching the table entirely. Behind the fright in your eyes was a slight twinkle, like a glimmer of hope had found its way to the front of your mind, allowing you for a second to believe you were going to be okay.

“Yes, sir?” you spoke, timid as anything, even though you knew you were safe now with Ortega around.

“I hate to impose on such a…beautiful moment between y’all, but you, flower, owe me,” he said, voice dropping slightly so he appeared like a disgruntled customer. It was something the two of you had agreed he could do, especially if he ever found you in a situation that was difficult to get out of. There was nothing that would ruin the party quite like a patron who didn’t think they’d had their fill, and Ortega would use the act whenever he needed you out of a situation as quickly as possible.

“I-I’m so sorry sir, but as you can see I’m a little busy right now,” you said, playing your part as always.

“I thought you might say that,” Ortega began, before reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a small brown leather bag, dropping it to the table. The sound of clattering metal could be heard from inside the bag, indicating it was clearly filled to the brim with money. The eyes of everyone at the table widened, your own included.

“Brought you a little something so you might…prioritise me?” he said, then turned to the men and women sat around you, “I’m sure y’all can understand?”.

The people surrounding you scoffed, shaking their heads before finally getting their hands off you. Ortega smiled at you, reaching his hand out for you to take. Grasping it softly, you allowed him to tug you out from the booth, maintaining the act he had to put on.

“Take your coins, whore, and let’s be having you,” he sneered, and you had to fight back a slight chuckle. Ortega was never anything other than a gentleman with you, and even though your relationship had become physical recently, it was oh so more special in that you actually cared for one another. You grabbed the brown bag with your free hand and nodded at him, then let him tug you along by the hand to one of the private rooms in the back of the building.

He shoved open the door with his hand and dragged you inside. Him letting go of your hand sent you spinning slightly, and as you stabilised yourself he closed the door behind him, bolting it shut. You both breathed out a sigh of relief once the door was closed, and now it was just the two of you together within these four walls.

“I’m sorry, flower, I really do hate doin’ that,” he said, dashing over to you and grabbing you by the waist. “But I hate others being on ya’ even more,” he whispered, before planting a tender kiss on your lips.

You kissed him back fiercely, your hands grasping at his jacket and bunching the material in your fists as your whole body relaxed into his arms. It had only been a couple of weeks since you’d last been able to see each other, but every moment without him by your side was agonisingly painful. There was nobody you wanted in this world except for him – your very own Pinkerton.

“I missed you,” you said softly against his lips, there barely being any space between the two of you to talk. The rim of his bowler hat brushed against your forehead, and you could feel every metal buckle and button that was on his clothing. But after being apart, you couldn’t get closer if you tried.

“I missed you too, my flower,” he said, kissing your cheek as he slipped his arms around you for a tight embrace. “But you don’t gotta miss me no more. I’m taking you out of here,” he said.

You pulled back slightly from your hug to look deep into his coffee coloured eyes. He had a look of sincerity that you’d never before seen, so stern and serious that it borderline scared you. You whispered his name, his real name, while caressing his cheek.

“What are you tryna say?” you asked, speaking quietly so not to alert others in nearby rooms of whatever he was about to say. He smiled at you lovingly, his face softening under the hold of your delicate hands.

“I’m bein’ transferred, flower. I’ll be outta here by morning. And I’m taking you with me,” he said. He slid his hand to cover yours, grasping your fingers softly, and moving to kiss the palm of your hand. His eyes never left yours as he did, wanting to gauge your reaction.

“I- I can’t just leave. Honey, they’ll kill me if they catch me sneaking off. You know they got me bound under that damn contract,” you said, that familiar feeling of being trapped rising. There was nothing more that you wanted to do than to run away and leave Brimstone behind, but you’d heard horrors of other men and women before you trying just that, and paying the price.

“I know, I know,” he sighed, resting his forehead against yours. “But we gotta try, doll. If we don’t then I-,” he sniffled, “then I’ll never see you again,”.

“Ortega…you’d be risking everything. And all for me? A prost-,” you began, but he cut you off.

“No, stop!” he said, eyes watery and pleading, “Don’t call yourself that. You’re so much more, flower. I don’t wanna ever hear you call yourself that again, you understand? I’m freeing you from this Hell,” he said.

You nodded slowly, allowing your lips to gently slip across his, planting a soft kiss there. You breathed the same air as him for a moment, just standing in silence.

“Alright. I won’t say it. But tell me this, love, how are we getting out of here?” you asked. Ortega smiled, a slight grin even, and that mischevious glint in his eye returned.

“I got Agent Mercer outside waiting with a wagon filled with everything we’ll ever need, sweet thing. I hope ya don’t mind, but I also had him pick the lock on your place earlier, and anything valuable he’s packed up for us,” he said. “Darlin’, he’s outside this building now. All we gotta do is slip outta this window and run like Hell.”

Ortega explained every plan like he had a handle on everything, but in a way that was comforting. Right now you wanted to feel like someone did know what they were doing, even if the plan was just to run for your fucking lives. But Ortega trusted Mercer, and if he’d got him on board with the plan then you at least hoped that enough preparations had been made to make this a clean getaway.

Without realising it, you were already nodding along with his plan. Ortega grinned and scooped you up into his arms, lifting you into a hug and spinning you round for a second. You laughed, clinging to his body, and then let him put you down.

“Okay, well, if Mercer already has my valuables then there ain’t nothing in that dump of an apartment I care an iota about. I just need a cloak, and we’re out of here,” you said, heading over to the closet of the room he’d chosen. Normally the two of you went upstairs to a room you often frequented with other patrons, and as such had more clothes of your own in there, but today he’d chosen a ground floor room. Now it made sense why…

“You find something, flower, and I’ll get this window cracked open!” he said, dashing over to the weakest looking frame. The windows weren’t huge, but if he could pop the glass out the frame then you’d both be well on your way.

While he worked away, fiddling with the wooden frame with a couple of tools he’d stashed in his jacket pocket, you opened up the closet. A man’s black woollen shawl was hung up; not yours, you noticed, but it would certainly do you well in the cold weather you’d be travelling in. Ortega hadn’t said where you were going, truthfully you didn’t care, so long as it wasn’t here. But you felt it better safe than sorry, and threw the shawl on for some extra warmth.

With the shawl on, you quickly went through the other drawers. You knew you were basically helping yourself to other people’s possessions, but as you had no plans to ever return, you figured one act of selfishness to get away from a life of selling yourself for next to nothing was the least you were owed. Grabbing a small satchel, you filled it with extra supplies; underwear, predominantly, but also a small handgun that was tucked away in the bottom drawer (something that was stashed in each of the private rooms – just in case).

“How’s that window coming on?” you asked, turning round to see Ortega skilfully just about to set down the glass panel inside the building so not to create noise.

“She’s come along a treat, flower,” he said, setting the glass down and then looking up at you, “Now come on! Grab that money, and let’s go!” he said.

You did as he asked, throwing the satchel over your body and stashing the brown bag of coins he’d given you on the belt of your clothing, securing it in place. You took Ortega’s hand and let him pull you through the window once he’d dropped outside, and then you made a break for it. It would surely not be long before your boss noticed your prolonged absence, given that Ortega didn’t pay them for use of that room all night like he usually did. So, you booked it.

Hand in hand, the two of you barrelled away from The Silver Palace, heading out towards the edge of town where Mercer would be waiting for you. The night was beginning to set in, and with not many gas lamps erected yet there was very limited light. A few homes gave a slight glow out onto the street, but aside from that you both ran together in the dark. Darkness that, eventually, gave way to a few lamps aside a carriage.

It felt like all your birthdays came at once as soon as your eyes lay upon the wagon, two horses at the head of it, readily strung up. Mercer was waiting next to it, fastening down the last of a white sheet which covered all the belongings he’d packed in for you both.

Blood rushed around your body as your heart struggled to keep up with the adrenaline that was coursing through your veins. Ortega kept on dragging you with him, not wanting to risk anything going wrong.

“Ortega! You made it!” Mercer said once you were finally packed up. He tipped his hat towards you as the two of you stood and collected your breath.

“Is it all ready to go?” Ortega asked, and Mercer nodded.

“Yes, sir. All packed up and ready to go. Here, take this,” he said, pulling out a sheet of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket, “It’s a map to where your new place is. Your new lives,” he said, smiling over at you.

“Mercer, we can’t ever thank you enough,” Ortega said, “I wish you well, my friend”.

“Take care of yourself, agent. You too,” Mercer said, tipping his hat towards you.

“Come on, flower, let’s go,” he said, hopping onto one of the horses before reaching down to give you a hand up onto the other. You took his hand and let him help pull you up, before swinging your leg over onto the saddle.

“Alright, you settled?” he asked, and you nodded as you grabbed the reigns.

“Yes, my love. Shall we?” you said.

“Yes,” Ortega grinned, then chuckled, “Oh, flower?” he asked.

“What is it, honey?”.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said, and you couldn’t help but laugh as you and Ortega set off, carriage in tow, and rode into the night towards your new lives.

For more from this series, check out the Just A Date Masterlist! For more works from me, here's my main Masterlist! ❤

LadyBess xox

[kelliealtogether]

I'm a data nerd, and this will probably not be interesting to anyone else, but I tracked stats on What It All Could Be while I posted and decided to perform some analyses because I'm a loser with nothing else to do with my time. The fic is now complete, but today is the day I would have updated, so I figured it was a good day to cap tracking and look at what's going on.

*This is data analysis for my own pleasure. It's not in any way meant to boast, induce guilt, etc. I like doing this stuff because I find it interesting (and it's the part of my big girl job that makes me want to tear my hair out the least).

Chaptered fics are a long game. I think every fanfic writer knows, anecdotally, that with each chapter posted, hits go up a lot and kudos go up a little.

Here's something less anecdotal:

I captured current hits and kudos each time I updated What It All Could Be. As one can see, both increased chapter-over-chapter, but the hits rise at a far greater magnitude than kudos. This is understandable. Unless a reader uses a workaround, they can only leave one kudos on a chaptered fic, but each time they visit, it's registered as a hit, so hits will naturally increase more than kudos. More on kudos in a bit.

As far as hits per chapter, there was a relatively steady-ish increase over time with a big jump when the final chapter and epilogue were posted. The trendline does go up over the course of the fic, and even at the end, it's pretty much in line with the trend of the data I posted before. Notably though, there are a few chapters that clocked less hits than the chapters immediately before them (I'm looking at you, Chapters 8, 15, and 17).

Chapters 8 and 15 were posted on Tuesdays, along with Chapter 4. This leads me to believe if a writer is looking for readers, Tuesday probably isn't the day to post (but this assumption is based entirely on a chaptered fic updated regularly, and three data points is not enough to draw real, significant conclusions. I'd be interested to see this same kind of data on one-shots.). Chapter 17 was posted on a Sunday, which happened to be Christmas Eve, and in the following week, people in large swaths of the world had far more important things to do than read fanfic. They should have been eating, drinking, and being merry. I only did one other update on a Sunday, Chapter 10, so I'm not drawing any conclusions on posting on Sundays.

Now for kudos.

This is pretty much what I expected. Relatively steady kudos across chapters while updating, and then a spike at the end after the fic was completed. I know there are readers who won't read WIPs, but keep tabs on them to read as soon as they're complete.

As for who was leaving kudos...

At the time of this post, What It All Could Be has 482 kudos, 252 from users, 230 from guests.

This shocked me a little. Based on previous fics posted, I expected the user/guest kudos ratio to be more in favor of users. I didn't think it would be almost evenly split. I don't think readers are "gaming" Ao3 to any great extent, e.g. using different IP addresses to leave guest kudos, using an incognito session, or logging out to leave a guest kudos after leaving one as a logged in user. But I still would be interested in seeing actual unique reader kudos. The only way I can think to test this would be to lock a fic for Ao3 users only, because then a guest wouldn't be able to see the fic at all to leave kudos in the first place. 🤔

Now it's time to turn to comments.

Here are hits, kudos, and comments, side by side.

Since I try to reply to comments, I calculated comments per chapter by taking the total number of comments on a chapter and divided it by two. You can see hits go up, but engagement (if you want to call it that) stays steady chapter to chapter. Even at the end, there's no great "spike" in comments. And as to who leaves comments, at the time of this post, What It All Could Be has 276 comment threads per my Ao3 stats page. 63 unique users left comments on the fic, a few of whom left comments on every chapter and led to some really thought-provoking discussion on soulmarks (I love you guys 😘).

Anyway, I had fun doing this, and, again, it's not meant as anything more than stupid analyses of stuff that doesn't really matter, done for my own enjoyment. I might do it again on a one-shot someday because I'm a data nerd and I like graphs, but we shall see. ✌️

[toonpunk-game]

Road to 2nd Edition

Hey everybody. It’s been a long time since I’ve posted something here—because, simply put, there was no more that needed saying. Toonpunk went out the door, it was a very modest success, I posted some lore updates, and then I turned my attention towards other things. I’ve kept myself very busy the last few years in many ways, including a slew of game design projects—some of which already saw publication, and some of which are so ludicrously expensive that a modest success just isn’t gonna pay for em. I didn’t want to go back to kickstarter, so making money for those is most of what I’ve been doing.

Since the debut of the original toonpunk I made a few little content modules for my own use, in line with my original vision for a product line. And, starting about a year ago, I had a pretty shocking realization: as much as I loved it when it came out, the me of 2022, doesn’t like the game I made in 2017. There were a lot of little things that I felt were lacking, or insubstantial, or not very funny, or maybe a little clumsy mechanically. Plus, its politics stank with the naivite of a 21-year-old liberal who hadn’t yet discovered the golden path to Marxism. So, I started work on a simple project: integrate a lot of the modules I’d made for my own amusement, get some more art, rewrite the flavor text, and release the package as Toonpunk 2nd Edition. 2npunk, if you will.

I’ll be keeping a dev diary here to let you all know how it’s coming along. To fill you in on the new stuff. I’ll be posting the whole finished product here one day, and here’s the first piece of news: it’s going to be absolutely free at point of purchase, with a pay-what-you-want option if you just really feel like you gotta gimme some money. Maybe pessimistically—I say realistically—I’ve just given up on the idea that this game is ever gonna make a dime. But I think it can keep a lot of people entertained, so that’s what I’m gonna angle towards. More on that after the break.

So on that note I’d like to talk about one of the smaller changes I made, that’s also turned out to be one of the more expensive and creatively satisfying ones. In the original Toonpunk book, there’s a list of example player characters near the back. These include statlines and gear recommendations for people who want to play specific kinds of characters. It was—to put it generously—done with the resources I had at the time, and it shows.

Look at that. Very humdrum. There’s a fair bit of information there but it all kinds of blends together and it doesn’t really grab the imagination. One of the first things I learned, selling this book store-to-store across America, is that—simply put—people like pictures. For whatever reason I didn’t realize how important illustrations are to making an idea seem tangible in the reader’s imagination. So I knew, going into this,  I wanted to splurge a little bit and make the player character templates really sparkle. I wanted each one to have more space, more items, and most importantly more style. So, without further ado, here are 5 of the 9 that are included in the full game.

Each one is dripping with style and character. With almost all of these — notable exceptions being the field boss and the big guy  — I basically just handed the archetype description and a few notes (needs to be carrying this kind of weapon, needs to have this kind of build) to the artist and told them go apeshit. That’s why there’s all these diverse and exciting styles on display here. The only overriding artistic decision I came down really hard about is that I wanted them all to be in monochrome. I like grayscale art, a whole helluva lot; I think it lets a line artist’s work really shine. Plus, you can color it in however you want.

I’ll be back later to talk about some of the changes to character progression —which now involves managing your character’s growing reputation, to get a bunch of special perks. If you like what you’ve seen so far...stay tooned!

[farfromhome999]

Knowing vs. Understanding (am I the crazy one?)

I was originally going to make this post centered around mothers and mothering, but I just had to share my disbelief over these two situations.

When I told my friends that I needed to watch Hidden Figures (2016) for a class, their responses were "Oh I'm so sorry" and "I wouldn't wish that on anyone" and "Mmm, not for me. Good luck with that." I was shocked. What was so wrong with the movie? When I asked, they answered that it was far too dramatic. I questioned them on why they thought this way to which they didn't really have an answer besides the scene about the bathroom... which isn't a true aspect of the real story-- as I've researched-- but a true thing in many other colored peoples' experiences at the time. They knew of this, but I don't think they actually understood the realities of "Separate but Equal." It was a dramatic scene, but it was no different than another character standing their ground in any other film. How was this the only scene they remembered? How were these black women being reduced to their (completely justifiable) anger?

On a lesser discussed point, I recall several instances while watching Queen Charlotte: A Bridgerton Story (2023) where I needed to explain to my non-black friends what was happening and why I got riled up over certain scenes. Most notably, was the scene where the Queen met Charlotte for the first time. In it, the queen asks to see Charlotte's teeth and hands. My friends were confused about this, asking why she'd do that. I had to explain, albeit from an American perspective the reasoning-- those in servitude didn't have the luxury of having unmarred, perfect hands or good dental hygiene. In America, slaves could potentially be distinguished by these factors and here, it's probably a display of power and to make sure she's not really poor-- that she's truly a proper lady. I felt kind of dismissed when they dryly said they hadn't known about that and asked no further questions or reacted to the new information at all. They just seemed uncomfortable.

Some of these issues are only known about in theory or not really known at all in larger society, it seems. These were stories I've seen and been reminded of countless times growing older alongside instances of women drowning their babies so they wouldn't know the horrors of the slave trade, the separation of families at the drop of a hat, forced sexual encounters, the tensions between in house and field slaves, so on and on. Had I taken my knowledge to be everyone's knowledge? Has anyone really taken the time to watch such movies or know such atrocities? If we can show the despicable nature of the Holocaust-- something America didn't cause-- how come we can't let the horrors of slavery-- and Japanese Internment for that matter-- be known and UNDERSTOOD by the general populace? Facts take on so much more life when you have stories to go along with them.

[pandapupremade]

Just a Dance

SHIP: Feng Xin / May / Mu Qing

INSPIRED BY: Moon Waltz (Mio Isayama, Cover by dongdang)

WORDS: 1,092

CONTENT WARNINGS: none that I can think of

SUMMARY: May is late getting home, but the reason results in a lovely moonlit dance.

(reblogs appreciated, but not required!)

A chill had fallen upon the village. It was nothing unpleasant, but nothing incredibly welcome either. It signaled the sign of changing seasons, as did the leaves that colored and fell. One morning, May would awake to find frost - not yet, but it would happen soon. Under the current white light of the moon, it might as well have tempted snow already.

But no snow covered the fields, and no ice prevented travel. May sighed as he walked up to his home, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders with a shiver. He glanced at his front door, but looked to the small stall in which he kept his Ox. This animal blinked its eyes softly, and May moved not towards the warm indoors, but to take care of his beloved creature instead.

"Hey, honey. I thought you might've needed a break, so I didn't bring you along." He spoke to the animal, who shook its head and became noisy. May blinked, but settled it down. "Alright...It's alright. Is something bothering you?"

The ox couldn't answer, but at least it was calming at his presence. May frowned, looking towards his house.

Something was amiss, was it? May let out a soft, but weary breath, for he wasn't exactly unable to guess the trouble. There was only one way to be sure, so he now headed towards his front door.

His shack was smaller than some, but it was home. It had good enough ventilation in the summer, and he owned enough warm clothes to be sure he didn't freeze in the winter. It didnt really have notable windows, though, so it wasn't like he could easily peek within to see the happenings.

So he opened the door, instead, without a single hesitance or fear.

Inside was two ponytailed sitting at a table. Both seemed to be in a hushed sort of argument, and May was shocked it hadn't yet turned into an altercation between them. He stared for a minute, then spoke simply.

"Hello."

Chaos erupted now;  the men nearly falling out of their seats with shouts of alarm.

"M-May, you're..." began the brown-haired Mu Qing, composing himself a little better first.

"You're home..." concluded the black-haired Feng Xin, though he looked concerned.

"I am home." May shook his head. "Why are y-"

"Where were you? Why were you out so late?" Mu Qing demanded, talking over May's own inquiry.

Feng Xin pressed as well.  "Were you in danger? Are you hurt?"

What nosy little gods. May stared at them both for a few moments, perhaps finally answering just before they would start asking more. "I was at a neighbor's house."

The two blinked.

"A neighbor? What neighbor?" Feng Xin's worry was not lessened, it seems. Mu Qing, on the other hand, crossed his arms.

"A friend, I assume. That's fine, then."

Feng Xin glared at his companion. "Fine? Who is this friend?"

"An old man who lives with his wife. He's married, and I'm not into him."

The two blinked again. They both looked a little...embarrassed. They averted their eyes from May and from each other.

May shook his head. "You don't need to worry so much. Why are you both down in the mortal realm, anyway? Do you need directions again?"

"..." They did not reply.

"...Is that a yes?"

"...Hmph. You needn't think we're incompetent." Mu Qing said coldly, "Is it not a normal thing to stop in for a visit? Although you have kept us waiting, we've remained patient."

"Considering my house is in one piece, I won't deny your patience this time."

"...This time?" Mu Qing turned up his nose with a huff.

"I'm here now, okay?" May smiled softly now. "I'm teasing, that's all."

"Allow me to take your cloak," Feng Xin offered, getting to his feet. "You must be exhausted after walking so far..."

"Oh, it's alright," May brushed him off politely. "I'm actually pretty energized."

"Mh? How so?" Feng Xin asked, pausing in his motions.

"Well...The moon is just very full. It's beautiful out."

"I thought you were one that preferred the day." Mu Qing raised an eyebrow. "Yet you're getting so eccentric over moonlight?"

"...Mu Qing, have you not ever danced below the light of the moon?"

"...Dance?" He scoffed, "I don't see how that's relevant."

"Were you late because you were...dancing?" Feng Xin seemed confused. But despite their puzzlement, May continued to smile.

"Well, I was meeting with the old man to share dinner, but...I couldn't help but have some fun on the way home."

"Childish." Mu Qing shook his head.

"Would either of you like to try?" May hummed.  "The hour may be late, but that means the moon is going to be there a while."

"...I don't know." Feng Xin seemed hesitant, but less judgemental than the other man. He just seemed unsure. But May walked over to him and took his fingers lightly.

"Come on. Just try it."

"I'll pass." mumbled Mu Qing. May glanced at him.

"...Alright. Then I'll just take Feng Xin." And though Feng Xin wasn't entirely willing, he allowed himself to be dragged back outside.

May turned to him once they were in the yard, though they didn't release his hand. "Isn't it lovely?"

Feng Xin looked up. "...It is, but...I've been wondering."

"Hm?"

"From what music do you dance? What's the rhythm...?"

May paused at that, blinking slowly. "Well...The wind is one. Doesn't an evening breeze feel melodic?"

"I'm afraid I don't quite get it...This feels foolish." He looked away, frowning.

"I'll lead you." May lifted one hand to stroks his face, and turn him back towards them. Before he could question further, May would step closer to him and begin to lead.

Indeed, at first it felt silent and foolish..Feng Xin felt embarrassed...But May's confidence encouraged him. Soon, he felt the wind's song. How could he not, when he was lead to be so in tune with it?

The crickets, as well, added to this silent song. The moonlight felt like a stage, like a constant, but private curtained act. It was unexplainable, and yet Feng Xin wouldn't deny an enjoyment.

After some time, they were interrupted. It was a different song, and that of an instrument. Mu Qing was playing a flute on the front step, from where he'd retrieved this flite being unknown. But it didn't matter. In fact, that interruption wasn't bothersome.

It added to the song for the three.

Perhaps they'd all feel silly tomorrow. Maybe the gods would be humiliated. But for now, the three enjoyed a moonlit dance.