#what am i doing? great question

[shoshiwrites]

Orange sunsets for Jo & Egan? 💚

Friend, this prompt would not exist without you and your Gale senses, @mercurygray's military vehicle expertise, and @junojelli, because I have never driven stick in my entire life, much less a 1940s jeep. Prompt list here.

Bucky Egan/War correspondent OC, also on Ao3!

Somewhere between writing up her latest story and the blue censor’s slashes that render it half as long, she runs out of typewriter ribbon.

She thought she’d been careful — both in the writing and in the paying close attention to her supplies. Jo — reporter Jo, Your Trusty Correspondent Jo, she figures out her own shit. Doesn’t ask for even so much as a pencil. 

She’d thought it was a good piece, too. 

The things she does have to ask about — meals, jeep rides up to Norwich to report on the bombing runs there, woven through with conversations with the civil defense men, almost all of them veterans of the last war — those are careful things, done in uniform and with something in her voice that approximates flattery. Apologies without apologizing. It’s a relief when a Red Cross girl or two offers to go with her, the way they can talk without minding themselves.

Longhand’ll be fine, for a bit.

It’s warm enough to sit outside, in the grass, in the shadow of a Nissen hut. Overcast, as usual, an early summer day. The air smells like pollen, half like the promise of rain. 

“Hey, I know we’re short a few things up here but I think a chair might not be too big an ask.”

She squints up at him in the brightness from behind the clouds. “Major.”

“Seriously, you need a chair?”

“I’m alright, thank you.” It’s not the mud of spring anymore, at least. “Ground’s nice, on a day like this.”

The look that crosses his face seems to be considering a joke. “Where’s the machine?” He means her typewriter, the Underwood portable. Sitting inside.

She makes a noncommittal wave. 

“I’m sure we could figure you one of those too,” he says, even though they both know full well that hot commodities like typewriters aren’t just growing out in the grass. “Sticky keys? Bad spring? Screw loose? Space bar not doing its job? I mean, I’d still read it, but-”

“Nah, just the ribbon.”

“You need a ribbon?”

God, he’s worse than the boys at the office. She laughs, just a little. “Has anyone ever told you you’d make a great copyboy?”

If he were chewing gum right now, it’d be a lazy clack on his back teeth. “Well, not too different than what they’ve got me doing now, if I’m honest.”

“If you’re honest.”

“Jeep’s right there,” he says, even though it’s not. “I mean-”

She weighs her options. Jeep ride. Typewriter ribbon. Maybe even one for Kay or to squirrel away for later. She wonders about ration books and cigarettes, not that she bothers much with anything besides Luckies these days. Small bars of wartime soap, small, pretty tins of hard candy, boiled sweets, they call them here.

On the other hand. No ride. No ribbon. No sweets. The air’s gotten thicker as she’s been sitting here. It sounds nice — careening through the greenery with the wind on her arms. 

And he’d talk the whole time, she knows he will. 

“What’s your afternoon look like?”

“Wide open.”

She highly suspects it’s not. 

“Just the ribbon,” she says.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She’s glad she’s wearing trousers in the passenger seat, the open vehicle, the way she has to hold on to stay in. He’s used to the thing by now, he says, the way it handles, the good noises, the bad ones, the bite of the clutch. The road to Norwich is a straight line, and long, and he shouts over the wind, “oldest Roman road around! ‘S what I heard, at least.”

“And here we are, driving on it!” 

“Yeah!”

The fields run by, the rows of trees, wagons, the Queen Anne’s lace, cow parsley, clusters of daisies. 

“So, what’re you working on?”

She tells him, out here where it feels like they’re the only ones around, in the middle of the afternoon, even if they’re not. And he knows, of course, exactly what she’s talking about, the major who drinks among locals, the ones who tell stories and the ones who don’t. 

He waits outside while she makes her purchase, and then ducks into another store to buy that tin of candy, slipped into her pocket. A magazine too, a small, short thing printed on rough paper. She ought to get him something, for the favor. A beer or a meal would be the real thing, if this wasn’t just an errand. 

They walk back around the corner to where the jeep is parked, and he makes to toss her the keys. “Spin for the lady?”

She looks at him, unable to hide the confusion on her face. 

Even if they let her have a jeep, she couldn’t drive it.

“Would if I could,” she says. “Though I hate to make you take the wheel all the way back, too.”

“Hey, it’s fine, I like this thing. But seriously, you never-?”

She looks at him, maybe a little too long, trying to figure out who he thinks she is. “City girls don’t get a lot of lessons in motoring.” Like it’s 1922 and she’s got a parasol and a skirt that doesn’t let her move. Steelworkers who drink away good wages don’t usually go for nice cars, either. William’s family had cars, plural. The two of them went for drives sometimes, out to the quieter, greener spots around the city. She always felt like she was going to do something wrong, smudge something that had just been polished or cleaned.

“Why don’t you hop in, I’ll show you.”

She looks at him again. “I’m sure the last thing anyone needs is an accident that puts a major out of commission.” And she’s pretty sure her on a ship home would be a welcome relief for at least as many people as she can count on her hands.

He makes a noise of dismissal, good-humored. Kind of a snort. “You’ll be fine.”

“You can tell that to the MPs.”

“Hey, would I tell you that if I didn’t think it was true?”

No, you wouldn’t.

“If I can park a plane, you can drive a jeep.”

She gets in the driver’s seat.

“So right here’s the steering wheel-”

She’s quick enough to bite it back. You know I got to England all by myself, right?

He sees the look on her face, puts his hand up. “Just covering all the bases, Brandt.”

“Steering wheel, roger.”

“Steering wheel-” he points, “shifter. This thing-” he points to the long handle protruding from the dashboard, “parking brake. Don’t worry about that one yet.”

He reaches an arm over, down to the well where her legs are. “Left is the clutch. That’s important. Right foot’s the brake. Also important. Long pedal’s the gas, you guessed it, important, if you wanna get back to base before chow or there’s someone chasin’ you.”

“Who’s chasing me?”

“I don’t know, somebody.” 

“I’ll think something up.”

“You’re the writer, right? Now, you’re gonna start this baby up.” He hands her the keys, fingertips brushing her palm. "First turn that ignition, press the starter-” she does as she’s told, “and give it a little gas.”

It starts, mercifully, with a noise that he doesn’t wince at. “Now, if you wanna go faster than a farm wagon you’re gonna need to switch to second. But, can’t do that without gettin’ to first first.”

She’s fairly certain every window along the lane has someone looking at them, but she can’t worry about that right now. 

“So, shifter’s in neutral, keep your foot on that brake- and the clutch, yep- just like dancin’-” he sees her face, “ok, maybe harder than dancin’, unless it’s a fast song playin’-” The clasp of her watch digs into her wrist against the wheel. “Doin’ great- now, I shoulda had you look at these before we started so I’ll just tell you- you’re gonna push down good on that clutch pedal, take the shifter, like this-” 

She does, rewarded by an ungodly metallic noise and a corresponding smell. Her stomach wobbles. Nothing about his manner changes, except a handwave to get the smell away from his nose. This must be what’s he’s like up there. She’s surprised there hasn’t been a baseball metaphor yet. “You’re fine, just didn’t press hard enough is all. Need to get you some good boots like mine-”

She tries again, and the whole vehicle seems to take a cue from her stomach. “I hope you didn’t have anywhere you needed to be this afternoon.”

“Nope.” It’s clear she doesn’t quite believe that. A beat passes. “...you let me worry about that. Now-”

She reaches for the shifter again, just as he does the same, the tiniest spark of static. How, in this weather? If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear she heard something in his throat. “So I’ll handle this part now, you just focus on the clutch.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll tell you when.”

She nods, tries to look decisive about it.

“Alright- right- now-”

It bites, just like he said it would. 

“BEAUTIFUL!”

It’s almost a laugh, the breath that escape her.

“Now, we’ll try second.”

She doesn’t get too excited, because it stalls out again. But she gets it going out of neutral, to first. He looks proud.

And second gear- the second time- it works.

“Hey, see, you’ve got this!”

“I think steering might also come in handy.”

“You may be right.”

She’s not very graceful about it, but she doesn’t land them in a ditch as she slowly maneuvers onto the main road. “I think you ought to take us back if you want to get there before dark.”

He looks like he’s thinking about it. “Ah, alright. But this ain’t over.”

“Part two?”

“Third gear. On the strip. When we get back.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Kind of a requirement.”

She gets it back down from second, stops it, hands him the keys. She’s shivering a little, back in the passenger seat, from the nerves, energy. He looks over at her and smiles. “Passed part one.”

“How do I stack up?”

“Well, Buck still has me drivin’ him around so, I’d say you’re the top of the class.”

She laughs, from relief, from the fact that it’s still not raining, from the fact that she’s forgotten the typewriter ribbon in the little box in her pocket, from his smile.

“I expect you to keep this thing running while I’m up there,” he says.

She wants to laugh, but the unspoken if hangs heavy, like clouds pregnant with rain. 

“I don’t think that’s allowed,” she says. 

He glances over at her, East Anglia passing them on both sides once again. “Well, I’ll get you permission.”

It’s not even your jeep, she wants to say. It puckers on her tongue, like the cherry-flavored sweets in her other pocket. None of this belongs to us.

By the time they make it back to Thorpe Abbotts, the sky has miraculously cleared, soft and blue, the other side of the afternoon.

“Now, we can just call this practice,” he says. “For the gear shifts.”

Gamely she gets in the driver’s seat again, bolstered by his confidence.

Another stall, again, this time from first to second, but she handles it. No one’s ever accused me of having a bad memory. Quite the opposite, sometimes. 

The sensation of it runs through her arms, her legs. Something new, something she’d learned, something that might actually serve her, and not just what lipsticks to wear and how to dress for the season. Something he’d shared with her.

“I’m glad we’re not in Pittsburgh,” she says. “All the hills.”

“Hey, you’d handle them too. You’re a pro now. More practice than some of us got.” She’s a little afraid of what this looks like, although it’s not like discipline’s been the letter of the day at Thorpe Abbotts. Hardly something she’d write home about, aside from the swagger, the boldness. It meant something to her, though. Professionalism. William never thinks about any of it, she’s sure. “How about trying that third gear?”

“I hope whatever you’re missing right now isn’t too important.”

“Thought I told you to let me worry about that.”

“After dinner,” she says, unsure if she means it.

The next voice belonging to neither of them, low and a little amused, approaching. “Thought we’d have to send out a search party.”

“Just taking Josephine here for a little spin. Driving lesson.”

She shoots him a look. “An errand. I ran out of ribbon.”

“How was it?” Gale still looks faintly amused. “The lesson.”

“I told her if I can park a plane, she can drive a jeep.”

“Your ability to park a plane is questionable at best.” He smiles, just a little, before his expression is measured again. “John, Huglin wants to see you.” He can’t say what about in front of her, obviously. Jo hopes it isn’t about this. Something about what she knows of the colonel might tell her it’s not. Still, she feels guilty.

He leans over conspiratorially. “Jo, I won’t mind too much if you run him over.”

“Nice thing to say about your best friend,” Gale says.

“You’d be walking everywhere if it weren’t for me. Jeeps, bikes-”

“Sure, sure.”

“I’ll let you bring this back where you got it,” she says. “Better than me taking an hour to do the same.”

“After dinner, though?” Her mouth twitches a little. 

“Come on, you’ll be thankin’ me one day.”

“He likes to say that,” says Gale.

If the sky stays clear, it’ll be beautiful. Clear blue until late, and then pink, orange, lemon yellow. Red streaks like the sweets in her pocket, dusted with powdered sugar.

How many sunsets like that could you hope for?

“Alright,” she says. “Keep the keys ready.”

[lucabyte]

i feel like people are sleeping on the occam's razor situation of how buckwild it is to outright accuse a guy of being a clone of your friend even if you DO have a lot of circumstantial evidence. there's other options is what im saying. they could just be like. a guy. that's a sensible deduction. you should explore that deduction. ignore my shirt that reads I <3 RED HERRINGS.

i still think odile has the correct theory on lock but she's smart enough to know it needs like... a real smoking gun to be able to bring it up without sounding insane.

anyway. (mirabelle voice) i know its rude to speculate but has anyone else noticed the grieving? they seem to be grieving. does anyone have any thoughts on the grieving? i have some thoughts on the grieving.

[essektheylyss]

Honestly, I'm very excited to find out what happened to Caleb and Beau, but specifically because Ludinus's current status is WILD for Caleb's epilogue in particular. It means his boyfriend is basically free and clear of everyone who has explicit material knowledge of the deal he made. It means the goal he planned to dedicate his life to is basically complete within six years. It means that virtually no one left on the Assembly cares much what kinds of changes he makes to Soltryce from here on out.

Ludinus is on the moon and probably not coming back, given the general expectations of the heroic fantasy genre, and the rest of it is a whole lot of "not Caleb's problem".

What does this man even do with the rest of his life?

[this-is-a-name-dont-worry]

"Wait is that lore?" moments in Antoine's return stream

These ones are likely jokes, but (you can use it in your headcanons):

With Tubbo, explaining his absence by saying "I was dead, I think, but not anymore, I was tired of being dead"

"I couldn't explain to you, it's out of my understanding how I'm dressed. The human mind cannot comprehend how I'm dressed and so the human brain shows it that way, but it isn't exactly like that. It's not powerful, it's just weird"

"You know me well!" "Heh, I know you as if I made you!" *silence* (closest to maybe serious)

These ones are more serious:

He isn't romantically interested by Cucurucho, he just likes his ass (that totally a human is aro that's what I mean)

He really missed Pomme, he stopped coming because without her it wasn't interesting anymore (this one is just cute)

Very invested in knowing what happened to the eggs while they were away

Accidentally gave Pomme one of the books Ourson (I think it's this one?) gave him, immediately panicking when he realized. When Pomme asks what it was, he first tries to pretend not to understand, and is pretty serious when he tells her that it's nothing; he'll tell her about it one day, and it's his little secret garden, everyone should be allowed to have secrets, don't she think? she isn't against secrets, right?

Certain that the eggs went to some kind of other dimensions/got doubles?? I mean there was a theory inspired by Stranger Things but despite what Pomme is saying he's not letting go of the idea

After asking Pomme if she met dark Cucurucho and she talks about the Watcher: "Je crois pas qu'on parle de la même chose. Là tu me parles de l'oeil, et moi je pense que je te parle de quelque chose d'autre. Je pense que tu me parles du Watcher... là où moi je te parle d'autre chose." ("I think we're not talking about the same thing. Here you're talking about the eye, and me I think I'm talking about something else. I think you're talking about the Watcher... when me I talk about something else" again how does he know the name "Watcher".)

Knows that Maximus is dead, when all the other players seem to have decided to play the "don't know if he's alive or dead" card (bonus: Antoine and Pomme talking about telling Aypierre, and Pomme thinking she won't be able to find the right words "I don't think there are right words..." ok im sad now thanks). Since we're at it, when reading Pomme diary where she worries about Baghera and Antoine being dead, saying they can't be dead, he doesn't share that worry in the slightest, as if he knows Baghera's not dead (this one's dubious and I am very willing to put it as cc!Antoine not thinking rp)

He and Pomme are talking about what she remembers of the Watcher and honestly the whole conversation deserves to be clipped and transcribed. To go with him name dropping the Watcher, he is now only calling it the creature with one eye because that's how Pomme calls it

Pomme explains that the Watcher was observing her and Richas and there was a threatening aura to it, so they immediately fled. Antoine in a very serious voice "You were right to, you were right to, you were right to. Because I think it's this person who was at the origin of your disappearance."

[friendrat]

On April 10th!

[thunderstomm]

Wee Oo I look just like buddy holly

[incorrect-prema]

Dino: I apologize for saying 'fuck' in front of Arvid.

Gabriele: You just said it again.

Arvid:

Dino: I am not a role model.

[heraldofcrow]

Just out of curiosity... how would Miniroth (EC Sephiroth) navigate around the world of Bloodborne? Like no Glenn, no Matt, no Lucia, no Shinra. Just him, some monsters, gods, crazed hunters, literal bloodsuckers, and Gehrman.

You want me to put this little guy…

….in BLOODBORNE?

HAS MY SON NOT SUFFERED ENOUGH?

Ok, fine. I’ll do it.

Explanation: Miniroth = Sephiroth, but mini. Now in Bloodborne.

Where’s he off to?

He would do really well actually, once he left the Dream. He’d probably only be there once since he wouldn’t be dying much. He can kill monsters and creatures twice as strong as the beasts in Yharnam and moves faster than bullets unless he hesitates, so I think he’s okay with most of the things he would come across. He’d just cut them down pretty fast, imo. Same with any and all crazed hunters, Bloody Crow included. (My adopted murder children meeting would send ME into frenzy though, I will say that).

But gods and Gehrman??? I’m giggling. This would be cute.

Gehrman would just be his same old sad cryptic self in a wheelchair, but if his eyesight were bad, he’d probably be like…”M-maria? Is that you? I haven’t seen your ashen hair and green eyes in so long 😭”

Poor guy. Miniroth would be very polite, like “I do not understand, sir but have a good evening,” and move right along lol.

Do NOT let the Miniroth near Mother Kos. I am not opening that can of worms. He isn’t allowed near the Fishing Hamlet at all. I’ll send his ass back to uhh…earth, or whatever.

Most of the other gods would probably be indifferent or just kinda curious as usual, but they’re for the Paleblood Hunter to worry about anyway.

Now to make myself upset as usual. What ideally would happen is Miniroth comes across Eileen, who needs an apprentice after Bloody Crow screwed things up. Along comes this new little kid with silver hair and a katana…also associated with black feathers (well, white for now, but still), and he’s not exactly uhh, at home. They meet and talk. Mayhaps become friendly. Eileen is older, wiser…offers a good role to take up…and she eventually adopts her new student!

Noooo there’s totally no void being healthily filled here since Eileen is the perfect type of old mother-bird that a kid looking for his missing mom would feel comfortable and happy around, noooo way, I’m not doing this to heal my pitch-black soul noooo. (I’m getting upset).

Anyway, then Seph can go onto be the next badass crow-hunter with his black wings, katana, and durability! Catastrophe prevented! (I mean, as long as history doesn’t repeat itself with Eileen here fghdj).

The bad ending is Seph somehow meets Micolash, gets bad flashbacks, and burns down Yharnam or some shit lol. FOR OBVIOUS REASONS.

And that’s that! My son survived Bloodborne!

[bluepallilworld]

teehee

Happy birthday @shinechermont !

Here our girls hanging out because I thought it'd be fun uwu

Rose

thanks @ari-cuno for organizing that collab gift thingie!!!

[wooshofficial]

hello what are ur thoughts on the new hbomberguy video

OKOK SO I watched it from the hours of midnight to 4am, so I was kinda incoherent when posting that BUT I still do have thoughts.

Mainly I want to pummel James Somerton into the ground for multiple reasons, most of which H put more succinctly than I ever could.

It’s just so fucking disheartening to see someone like James Somerton be so successful off the hard work of people who have dedicated their lives to the stuff he’s ripping off of when those original authors are barely getting paid. It’s very hard to be an academic and watch this video because I know that if I were to write something academic about the queerness in media and publish it, which I plan to do out of college, there’s a very real possibility of James or someone like him finding the work, yoinking it and not giving me the credit, when I won’t get a fucking cent from the publication or him.

I hate that he’s getting away with it too, basically pulling the “I’m gay so I can’t be bad” card. That’s a fucking step BACK from the equal rights that LGBTQ people have been fighting for. By pulling this excuse, he separates the “gays” from the “straights”, putting each group under one black and white label- the straights are evil people who just want to put us gays down. That is a nasty idea right there. Follow that train far enough and you find yourself spouting homophobic rhetoric. Equal rights and seeing the LGBTQ community as equal to others means seeing them as human at ALL angles, the good and the bad. Just because you’re gay doesn’t mean you can’t fuck up. Hell, I’m gay, and I’ve fucked up more times than I can count! It just makes me human, and it doesn’t make me less gay. James Somerton is touting himself as The Gay Person Who Knows Everything, which is blatantly untrue, discredits every queer person he’s ripped off of, and separates himself from the other LGBTQ people who make content as “better”- there’s that seed of homophobia again.

AND HE KEEPS DOING THIS! He’s biphobic and misogynistic! He routinely attacks “straight white women”—who could very well be bisexual, but because they’re women they MUST be straight according to Somerton logic—and discredits the work of bisexual authors (mainly bisexual women) who talk about the struggles of the LGBTQ community because “they like the opposite sex so they wouldn’t get it”. He dips himself into transphobia in order to give his biphobia and misogyny some weight, misgendering ND Stevenson (who has been on record about his struggle with coming out and gender identity) and Rebecca Sugar (who has done the same) on multiple occasions. And it’s really fucking disgusting. It really fucking is. When he copies off of work that mentions the words “trans” or “transgender”, he covers those words with generalizations, which takes the transgender community out of the queer experience. So on TOP of being misogynistic and biphobic, he’s ramming headfirst into transphobia too. Which holy fucking shit.

I just. H said not to send hate to James or his team or anyone else talked about in the video on his behalf. I agree and I don’t want to do that. But I sure hope this video is enough to make James Somerton stop being the utter fucking academic supervillain he is. He thinks he can get away with it because YouTube doesn’t count as academia, but there is so much goddamn evidence against him at this point he can’t possibly get off Scot free anymore. I hope YouTube staff sees that video and takes his channel down. I hope Nick, his co-writer that he threw under the bus, gets compensated and a better job. I hope every author and filmmaker Somerton ripped off makes enough money from the video to pay for rent. This can’t keep happening. It just can’t.

[reliquiaen]

Okay, a few years back I made this graphic to explain the Great Cycle. Now that I've mulled over DD2 for a few days, I'm updating it. Some of the same assumptions as before remain: The Dragonforged fought the dragon, his weapon broke, he tried punching it (lmao), but he did survive without killing the dragon, possibly there was a second Bargain offered in the face of his determination. So you don't have to kill your dragon to survive it. Also still assuming that different classes become different types of drakes because I just like that detail, even though we see nothing to confirm it in DD2 (except maybe for the wyrms in the post-game, I hope that's what those are, just a bit redesigned).

But this time, I'm making some NEW assumptions: A Great Dragon can be manifested directly by the Seneschal's will (I'm guessing this is why our DD2 dragon doesn't have a name, I suspect this dragon was created after Rothais defeated his - he didn't become a dragon OR Seneschal so it had to come from somewhere). The challenge a Seneschal poses to the Arisen can be anything; Savan gave us the opening of the Everfall and unleashed a ton of powerful monsters upon the world; but Pathfinder gave us what the world would look like without a Seneschal to oversee things. My assumption is that the Colossal Dragon that appears out of that final red pillar of light IS the Pathfinder (possibly using his will to force order back upon the world) and when we kill it, our Arisen becomes Seneschal (because Pathfinder says he won't be there to see the new world that's forming). So the challenge can be anything, not just the Everfall. I'm curious what happens to our pawn after that fight, though. And it's a much better Seneschal fight than the one against Savan, sorry Savan.

I'm also assuming that (given we see the Pathfinder rewind time and rewrite the world) the Seneschal can simply will the world into a state of being that suits them. This includes wiping memories of events. Though I like to imagine that our Arisen-turned-Seneschal didn't wipe memories of themselves or of the apocalypse-world. There was an entire plotline going through this game with Rothais and Phaesus where mortals are trying to get rid of the Seneschal and so it makes sense that they need to remember what would happen without the Seneschal's presence.

Anyway, thanks. I'll probably have more thoughts later, but this is the part that gets me most. I like to know how things work so I wanted to sort the Cycle out.

[randompajamaalt]

if this gets ten notes ill post my drawing of stone from ramshackle in a maid dress. if it gets 15 ill post the 3 full pages of art of him. letsa go im so tired yall

[tiredstressedemotionalmess]

i was trying to clean my room earlier but then i found this ACDC shirt i got as a christmas gift from a well intentioned aunt who really doesnt know all that much abt me, and i was suddenly struck with A Vision so i gave up cleaning to spend like 3 hours making this:

[fisheito]

SCREMS my snautsticic child he is trying ok!!!!!! one tiny snake human hybrid built from the cave-ground-up, , attempting to learn all the implicit rules of humanness?! as if it isn't already tough enough out here!!!!

[keeps-ache]

wink blink look !!

[cant-get-no-worse]

Your writing is always great, I need you to write something to either making us optimistic about the future of the club or to make us realize how much in deep shit we actually are please 😭

Babe, just browse through my La Liga 2022/2023 tag and mourn with me. 💕