#And sometimes it was because I didn't do anything when I should have
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theotherchaospixel · 1 day ago
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TW: some arachnophobia near the end
Look, I don't know what else to tell you, I've studied it; all manner of glyphs, of languages, of cant & song, all sorts of dialects & accents, none of them can really solve our problems, much less yours or mine. Magic has its place, & it's outside of my house. I have a knight friend who recently got that new Joffrey of the Forest special, that enchanted jar filled with a book or two's worth of scrolls that give the power to reach out into the Great Ether & pluck out answers & ideas in response to anything you might say... Alicia I think they were calling it... and, call me crazy, but I don't really need a jar that's always listening to me, even if can keep track of time with slightly less effort than a hourglass or sundial. And moreover, half the time it doesn't even do what that snake oil salesman says it should: I could ask it something like "Are onions lethal to my dear Blueborb familiar Bocifer?" and it would take a few seconds, shine with a familiar blue flame to tell you it was working through its manuscript of scrolls, and tell you in that eerie, uncanny, seething screech "Sorry, I don't know." And it is always listening, that's how it knows when it is being called, how it can tell to start running through its manuscript. Sets me on edge. All for the sake of a little more gold in the vault of an aristocrat.
What really irks me & shocks me to the core though is how seemingly okay with everything everyone seems to be... I mean, I get it. It's hard to be appropriately mad, hard to feel appropriately mad, for so long, so consistently, at a so so many things. There was all this hubbub about the new king, and, first of all, screw that guy, but second of all, its just really not my field; that was always something for ambassadors & chancellors & paladins & all those religious & political types. My thing is magic, not really the same thing. I can say that with the king's fetid approval of that Reptole - at least, I suspect he's a Reptole, a lizard guy, only thing to explain all the problems he's got pretending to be human - but that Reptole whose claim to fame is a name, we are definitely not headed in a great direction, at least not one that gives me a whole lot of hope.
I mean, that Reptole's whole thing was that new enchanted horseless carriage which he claimed was sword-proof, bite-proof, slash-proof & claw-proof & even fang-proof; that new carriage which acted as part guillotine if you interacted with it's storage incorrectly, which is to say at all; that new carriage which, after only a few days of use, would begin sparkling & throwing glitter everywhere indicating that one of the spell scrolls had deteriorated too quickly; that new carriage which is a nightmare as a pilot, due to his brainless decision for the sake of a little more gold that all spell control macros - you know, the ones that help you drive the thing - would operate via spell, rather than artifice, via magic rather than instant-feedback woodwork, thus ensuring panicked pilots have no idea how to do what they need to do in emergency situations; that new carriage - which I heard from other wizards - explodes in a great fireball comparable to those of dragons if you leave it along for too long; that new carriage which - speaking of dragons - would cost naught but a dragon's hoard just to earn the privilege of seeing the inside of, to earn the privilege of all it's faults. That same Reptole also spent a hoard himself getting ahold of that carrier pigeon network, because he didn't like that people said mean things to him sometimes, and in spending said hoard, made what I would charitably call... unusual decisions, immediately ensuring that the handful of people who previously earned money off of it or gave money to it would stop using it as quickly as possible. I mean it feels like common knowledge that he's earned nothing in his life, & sits upon a throne of lies, cheats, & theft, and, from my place as wizard, he clearly has absolutely no idea what he's actually talking about. And he gets to be buddies with the new king. For the sake of a little more gold. Fun.
On the subject of message transits & the webs these spiders weave to connect us flies, there's the now long dead Vineyard delivery system, which I'm sure many of us still mourn due to its then-novel approach to literal bite-size information transit, where you could just visit your local vineyard and just pick out grapes, hops, blueberries, of all different flavors, of all different messengers, of all different creeds. It sucks that everyone saw how popular that system was & decided to attempt to make their own versions for the sake of a little more gold, all of which have already spoiled since their planting, and because we craved & still crave the original flavor so badly, I feel like maybe we didn't realize how drunk the subpar copycats made us.
There's the Facionomicon system made by Markules, which - I know we joked when he may have actually gone to the dungeons for his wrongdoing that he may infact be a Reptole in disguise... that's neither here nor there - which he original wrote just to get his hands on wenches. There's the Scribo Instantis system of sigils which got popular directly after the original Vineyard developers stopped growing their vineyards. There's the aforementioned carrier pigeon system. There's the Vestri broadcasting sigils that had its start... jeez, was it really 18 years ago?... those sigils which nowadays are mostly just used as a mechanism for Mister the Minotaur's plays, which are really kinda all the same business-disguised-as-charity thing now. And... I'm digressing, the point that I wanted to make was because of all these new innovations in magic, so many people seem to either assume magic can solve all of our problems or realize that in many ways magic is the cause of all our problems. I don't think I should really weigh in on that, again, I don't think it's my department, I'd just as soon leave it to the artificers & astrologists & diviners. I can say that because of what magic has done, everyone nowadays is constantly struggling with this inner question of what a problem really is, what solutions could solve it without introducing so many more, & for me personally, I often wonder if there's a way out of this mess that some of us have made for the rest of us.
And geez, don't even get me started on the Self-Actualizing Glyphs that seem to be EVERYWHERE now. I hate them. I hate them so so much. I look around and listen to the whistles of the pigeons & to the calamitous & raucous whispers from the Vestri sigils, & to clamours elsewhere, and it seems I am far from alone, that almost no-one actually likes their incessant & nebulous omnipresence. Speaking as someone who knows magic & also has eyes, the Animate Paintbrush SAGs are ugly. Ugly, ugly, ugly. I've seen insides of a troll more appealing. I've seen dragon mouths & giant spider webs & vicious hornets nests & beehives prettier. And I can't even explain it; I make the mistake of viewing a Vestri broadcast comedy act on the Animate Paintbrush SAGs that pop up within the pages of the Facionomicon, and there's a visceral part of me, a beast or spider which crawls along my spine & drinks from it, which massages my brain with the discomfort of a spoiled fruit, which assaults my eyes with the gentle, violent touch of a Gelatinous Mass. Ugh. Ugly as sin. And then you hear the comedy act explain that in response to the depictions within the Facionomicon, there seem to be hundreds of people who just... accept it... and it's probable that these people are simply simulacra, Prometheons, animated only by more Self-Actualizing Glyphs, all resulting in a section of the world where no-one speaks to no-one. All these things, and yet continuously you see new posters for the newest pocketbook, and they say "ooo look at us, we have a SAG now! buy our stuff!" and I have to ask why. Why, why, why, why, why? There's entire acts in the Vestri sigils that people put effort into not bothering to make, using SAGs the entire way through their act, forgetting that soul & heart & spirit is where the real magic is.
Everywhere I go nowadays, it just... it seems my beard has grown an inch longer, my hair a bit whiter, my hands a bit more calloused, my sight just a bit worse... & everything, everyone, everywhere, is demanding not a slice, but the entire pie of what little time I may have left on this world... and... I decide put all this time & effort into the practice of magic. I've seen it contorted into mechanized horrors one could only dream of, or see in nightmares, I suppose. It seems that a small handful of people with a dragon's hoard or two from their grandfather's grandfathers have decided that they're going to make everyone else miserable for the sake of a little more gold, as has always been the case, and... in all this turmoil & advancement, I think maybe they forgot that real magic demands personal sacrifice; every time you choose to make magic happen, you lose a bit of yourself to bring it into being, and... that very act makes that part of you immortal. Empires rise & turn to ruin, but the simplest of creations, the smallest artifice of woodwork, the most minute weaves of story can last forever with just a little bit of heart, a little bit of soul. Even if your memory fades, even if no-one knows who you were, even if no-one ever gets to grasp the flecks of dust that once surrounded your being, real magic lasts forever.
Wizards have as much faith in magic as software designers have in software - none at all. A wizard is explaining to the rest of the party why they won't use magic to solve all their problems.
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thatdisasterauthor · 17 hours ago
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I am not sure where my fascination with disasters came from, but I have had it for a long, long time. So much so that I very specifically remember being in Middle School and writing a short story about a tornado hitting our school and trapping all the students in the gym (but none of the teachers, of course, because what fun would it be if the teachers were around?). My poor teacher didn't quite know what to do with me when she tried to pair everyone up by genre to critique one another's stories, as no one else had written something remotely similar. It didn't matter though, I was hooked. That afternoon I was standing in my garage and thinking about how I wanted to grow up to be an author who wrote disaster stories, and I wanted to write one story about each kind of disaster.
After several years (and two agents) trying to get these books picked up traditionally with no luck, I've decided to just do it myself. And so, the Little Disaster Books collection has been born! When you pick up a Little Disaster Book, here's what you're going to get:
A short read. Each book is around 50,000-70,000 words. That's a bit longer than a novella, and shorter than most novels, because sometimes you just need a quick book, not a door-stopper.
Each book is a standalone. Because, again, sometimes you just need something quick that you don't have to invest in for a decade while you wait for each book to come out.
Lots of queer characters of all sorts. The disaster genre is, unfortunately, pretty notorious for either not having queer characters at all, or killing them off. Little Disaster Books will instead center them and their narratives. But, the stories won't be ABOUT queerness, they'll just have characters that are queer.
No quickie romance. There will be characters in relationships (I'm a sucker for books with couples that are already together at the start), and maybe the first blooms of a potential romance, but nobody is falling head over heels when they should be focused on survival.
No gore for gore's sake. Characters might get hurt, or even die, but these aren't horror books or slasher books or anything in that vein.
A realistic look at disaster. I'm not just obsessed with fictional disasters, I'm obsessed with the real ones too. I have spent a lot of time studying disasters, myths around disasters/disaster response, and the sociology of disasters. With Little Disaster Books I have worked very, very hard to make the books as realistic as possible when it comes to things like civilian responders, everyday heroes, and how disaster response tends to work. At the end of the day they are still fiction, but they're fiction heavily grounded in reality. No "everyone for themselves/we're all animals when the lights go out" nonsense here.
Full endings. There's a bit of a trend in survival thrillers for them to end right at the climax/moment of rescue, or within a few pages of it, even if things haven't been fully wrapped up. Little Disaster Books will all have more rounded endings that delve, at least a little bit, into the aftereffects of what the characters go through, because sometimes the after is the hardest part of all.
The first book in this collection, Lie Down in the Ashes, is launching on Kickstarter on Janaury 15th, 2025! Sign up to be notified on launch here. It is about a group of teens who get caught in the middle of a fast moving wildfire that one of them accidentally starts.
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Sign up to be notified on launch here.
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kurokawaia · 1 day ago
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DON'T BE SILLY 彡 Shinazugawa Sanemi
WC; 800+ | TW/CW :: reader is very polite and timid, FEM!Reader, afab, fem!reader x sanemi, emotional distress, mentions of injury, mild language, themes of loneliness and insecurites, reader is called 'wife' + more
⋆·˚ ༘ *𝑅𝐸𝒬𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒯 : (filled request) But I was wondering, if you are a viable could you do a one shot with either iguro or shinazugawa, where the reader misses them a lot since they go on missions but doesn’t say anything because they don’t want to be clingy or anything. Instead they tell someone else (shinobu or mitsuri) who end up telling the guy about and they comfort the reader. - ANON
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Currently, you were at the Butterfly Mansion, trying to enjoy the time you have by yourself but it was really hard to do so, to enjoy it. Not even the sunset, which is beautiful, the soft glow which is about to disappear beneath the trees. No, you can't even enjoy that with the distress in your heart. Your heart aches deeply but you had to push those feelings down, you won't let your tears spill over. You won't cry. 
Sanemi is gone again, off on another dangerous mission, leaving his wife behind. You hate how much you miss him, all the smiles he shares with you, only you, his voice, his hands, how he clings to you like a cat when he wakes up. He haunts you when he's out on a mission. But you can't do anything. 
You didn't want to be that kind of person—the one who begged for attention
So, you kept it to yourself, bottling it up until you felt like you might burst. The words came tumbling out only because of Mitsuri, you can't lie to her shes your best friend, she knows when you're lying.
"I just... I miss him so much," you admitted. "I know it's silly, but I feel like I'm always waiting for him. And I can't even say anything because I don't want to seem clingy or selfish. He has enough to deal with already..."
Mitsuri gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as it dropped in shock. "That's not silly at all!" she said cupping your hands. "Sanemi should know how much you care. You're not selfish for missing someone you love."
"It's not like that! I mean—okay, maybe it is, but I don't want to bother him!"
"I'll handle this for you!" She announces already walking away from you.
Hours then passed until Sanemi finally came home. He was indefinitely tired anyone who saw him could tell that he was. He was about to head into the bath house before Mitsuri popped out in front of him, almost as if she was cornering him from going anywhere else.
"Sanemi!" she began, hands on her hips. "You're such a dummy sometimes, you know that?"
"What are you going on about, Kanroji?"
"It's your wife!" she exclaimed. "She misses you so much and feel too guilty to tell you because they don't want to seem clingy! Can you believe that?"
Sanemi froze. 
She feels what?
He pushed past Mitsuri and slides open the door abruptly to your shared room. Your head perks up to the door, seeing Sanemi standing there and you could see the worried expression on your face which made your heart ache, wondering if he is okay.
Sanemi then suddenly sat down next to the futon, elbows resting on his knees as he gazed down to you, analyzing your pretty face and he could see it, the worry on your face. 
"You missed me?" he asked.
Your eyes widened. "What? No—I mean, yes, but I—" You groaned, burying your face in your pillow. "Mitsuri told you, didn't she?"
"Yeah," he admitted. "She did."
You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, your embarrassment threatening to swallow you whole. But then you felt his hands move around your body, pulling you up into a hug, arms tightly wrapped around you and you feel as if you were going to cry because it's been so long since you've felt safe in his arms.
"Why didn't you just tell me?" he asked softly. "I'm not gonna think you're clingy or whatever crap you've been telling yourself."
"I didn't want to make things harder for you," you muttered. "You're already out there fighting for your life. The last thing you need is me whining about how much I miss you."
"Listen to me," he said firmly. "I go on those missions because I have to, yeah. But you're the reason I come back. Don't ever think for a second that missing me or wanting me around is a burden. Got it?"
Tears pricked your eyes and it wasn't too long before they began to fall and your arms tightly wrapped themselves around his neck, pulling him in closer.
"I missed you too, you know," he murmured against your hair.
He rested his chin on top of your head and his heart begins to ssync with yours, this is the first time he has felt at peace for days ever since the mission ended, he doesn't think he will ever feel calm unless he has you in his arms.
"Next time, just tell me, okay? Don't bottle it up. I'm tough, but I'm not so tough I don't want to know how you feel."
You nodded against his chest. "I will. I promise."
"Good," he said. "Because I'm not going anywhere. Cling to me all you want."
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Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.
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buckets-and-trees · 3 hours ago
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Stella.
Stella.
This response is such an incredible gift! I can hardly begin to express how much it affected me to relive this chapter with you, and with such thought and insight! 🥹
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Are we harboring perhaps a little crush here? + she’s not just starstruck or someone easily swooned by celebrity status.
Right on both counts! How could one not harbor a bit of a crush on America's golden "boy" but who is so clearly grown into being a man?! Especially after his nomad period and aging up like fine wine after. BUT she also has a level head on her shoulders.
I immensely enjoy writers working with all the things that the Blip would cause...
I would say that while it wasn't the first thing I knew about the Reader, it was in the first ten percent of things that I mapped out. There are a couple of major plot points that it will tie into later in the story, so I won't say anything about those, but one of the reasons it really felt like something I wanted for this Reader's backstory is that it gave a balance to Steve's other half if HE stayed and SHE blipped. As a unit, they could carry both persepctives and experiences together.
I love how competent we see Pepper be here, how she’s been so good at putting this team together.
...I forgot I put Maria Hill on this team.🧍🏻‍♀️ This chapter was written when I was verrrry deep into my rewatch of The West Wing and the presidential candidates were getting security/military briefings. At least I was thorough then! But I also didn't have any major plot points planned for international/military things to be affecting the candidates during the campaign, I just wanted to be thorough. AND I also remember when I wrote her onto this campaign team, I felt a very strong YEAH, BECAUSE WE DO NOT ACCEPT HALF OF WHAT HAPPENED IN SECRET INVASION!!! It just felt right hahaha.
After all, he is from a world where marriage wasn’t so focused on romantic love. But since he is a romantic, I’m definitely looking forward to them falling in love.
The reasoning Pepper lays out also has some elements of my own views of marriage - in that it HAS TO BE more than only romantic love, because marriage is hard work (as is anything worthwhile/that you invest in/that can grow). AND ALSO that married women should never be relegated to being only a trophy wife or a house wife (and I say that very specifically in that if those are roles that women want to have, then they should, but they should hopefully not be boxed into a corner).
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I'M SO GLAD YOU LOVE HER! And not just this moment, but the other moments you mentioned that I was stitching little bits of character into her. Partly for Steve to fall in love with, but ... partly because in a lot of my Readers, I want it to feel like clothes that the person reading it can put on and wear for a while. Sometimes a costume, sometimes to deal with a complex issue, sometimes to have a wild time/experience something we otherwise never would... But when I write confident and driven readers or readers who are direct, I put a lot of what I would aspirationally hope that I could be into those characters, if that makes sense? I don't want them to be perfect, but I want them to have backbones and dreams and ambitions and reason and logic and real feelings that motivate them. For me, it's empowering - and if fiction gets to be an escape, sometimes I want to escape into healthy leading lady energy, and hope that that's what others reading this story can feel, too. 🥹
Oh, I’m intrigued by this. Is she a widow too?
🤐😏
This isn’t even a thirst trap, it’s a heart trap, and that’s worse.
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this has the delightful found family vibes – which are definitely highlighting some major loss in First Lady’s background, I mean, she has to have a hint of craziness and not a lot to lose to jump into this headfirst – that I always enjoy in fic.
BINGO! Part of Reader's wiliingness to agree is the nature of being untethered to the life she was living.
But oh! Sam just! Sam is such a fantastic character/figure in the MCU, and I wanted to give him some good moments + parts to be part of this story, because Steve has strong ties to the important people in his life, you know? And so this story ending up having a strong inclusion of side characters started in this chapter, and although it's Steve x Reader, they couldn't be in a bubble - especially not given the campaign story shell, so I wanted to make everyone around them count/have significant roles to play.
"He might look like an all-American boy scout, but there's a lot more going on under the surface." + this is definitely hinting towards how he’s not just the perfect soldier or the good man but human and I am always here here for it. And we love Sam for recognizing all this in his friend.
It's so important to me to have characters that feel real, and I think... well, I think there can be this tendency around SOME people in MCU fandom (not all, but some), who hate and dismiss Steve's character for just being this perfect paragon boy scout idea of Captain America, and he's so much more. If we go to the Cap v. Iron Man, I think we see the same dismissal over Tony is just selfish but these are both only ASPECTS that they present, pieces that they struggle with, and when they're further and further explored, we see the complex layers. The complex Steve is the one I love to read and strive to write. And Sam giving a briefing here to our Reader about his character gave me the chance to put the marker in the sand and say it's the kind of Steve I was hoping to put in here, too.
And....also....
Sam - to be frank - is doing some damage control.
Because it sucks that Steve didn't come to this breakfast. THIS BREAKFAST WHERE HE WAS SUPPOSED TO MEET HIS WIFE FOR THE FIRST TIME BECAUSE THEY ARE GETTING MARRIED TOMORROW.
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Reader is being very optimistic still, not letting it get to her, and definitely GENUINELY enjoying this time with Sam, but.... it still is what it is. Sam: not lying about anything, but definitely hyping his boy up so you don't resent Steve or feel defeated or insecure.
I know it's the delicious sort of slow burn when they don't even lay an eye on each other in the first two chapters.
BURN, BABY, BURNNNNN! IT'S GONNA BE SUCH A BURN, STELLA!
And, as I said in the very beginning of my response, this was such. a. gift. Doing basically a close re-read of this with you/through your comments also comes at SUCH an opportune/unique time because I just posted chapter 11 last Friday and I think I now have it tied down to just four more chapters, and it's reminding me of some of the key things that I had planted seeds for in the beginning, and some of them I know I've got strong threads that have already wrapped up, some I still need to wrap up but are on track, and some that I can circle back to that I forgot (like, oH HEY, WE'RE PROBABLY GONNA SEE MARIA HILL NOW because I did forget her 😩).
You are a goddess.
I'm sorry to hear that 2024 ended in such a drain and strain on your energy, and so I hope that 2025 can be a gentler and kinder year for you! Sending you so much 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 both for spending so much time on this commentary and just for you in general.
Red, White & True: Manhattan & Brooklyn (1/?)
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Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers (future x curvy Millennial Female!Reader), Pepper Potts, Sam Wilson Word Count: 4k Summary: "There was an idea..." Words at the heart of what brought the Avengers together. Pepper Potts has persuaded Steve Rogers to step up and help again - but this time in a battle to The White House. She invites you to consider a key position.
Content/Warnings: none
Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.
Prologue | Series
↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
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[MAY 15 - Manhattan, New York]
You try not to hold still while you wait in the lobby, but you’re nervous and the longer you sit, the more difficult it is to resist drumming your fingers, tapping your foot, jiggling your right leg as it’s crossed over your left, or even just chewing on your bottom lip.
You’re not anxious at all over meeting with Pepper, but what has you on alert is the possibility that you could theoretically meet Steve Rogers, former Captain America, today.
You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. The lobby of Stark Industries is immaculate, all sleek lines and modern design. The large windows let in plenty of natural light, making the space feel open and inviting despite its corporate purpose.
Your mind wanders back to your college days when you’d walked into a different Stark Industries lobby for the first time, a hopeful intern wanting to make a difference at the then-new Stark Foundation office. Pepper had been very involved in building the Foundation at the time, and had become a key mentor and - as the years passed and you left Stark Industries - a dear friend. She had helped fuel some of your late-night study sessions through grad school. Living in a new state, she had shown up and seen you through breakups, family drama, and the stress of putting together your thesis. Even when your paths diverged, you'd managed to stay in touch.
Back then, she’d become like the older sister you never had, seeing you through some of the difficult years figuring out how to be a real adult. Now, here you are, waiting to potentially join a presidential campaign she’s orchestrating for none other than Steve Rogers.
The receptionist's voice startles you out of your reverie. "Ms. Potts will see you now."
You stand, smoothing down your carefully chosen outfit - professional, but not stuffy. As you follow the receptionist down the hallway, your mind races with possibilities. What position could Pepper have in mind for you? Your background in political science and your years working in non-profit management seem like they could be useful, but you can't help feeling a little out of your depth.
As you approach Pepper's office, you take a deep breath to steady yourself. The door opens, and there she is - Pepper Potts, looking as poised and confident as ever in a crisp white blouse and tailored navy suit. Her strawberry blonde hair is pulled back in a neat ponytail, and her smile is warm and welcoming.
"It's so good to see you," she says, embracing you in a quick hug. "Come in, please."
You step into her spacious office, taking in the floor-to-ceiling windows with a breathtaking view of the city skyline. Pepper gestures to a comfortable-looking chair across from her desk, and you sit, trying to keep your nerves in check.
"I appreciate you coming on such short notice," Pepper begins. "I know it's been a few years since we’ve been able to catch up - even before the Blip.”
You were among the half who disappeared - still such a strange concept to grasp though you were supposedly settled back in. “I was happy to come! And of course I don’t mind a trip on the Stark Industries dime,” you say with a grin.
"Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?"
You shake your head. "I'm fine, thanks."
Pepper settles into her chair, folding her hands on the desk. "So, I know I told you we’re putting together the campaign team for Rogers for America, but I'm sure you're wondering more specifically why I called you here."
You nod, leaning forward in your chair, eager to hear Pepper’s vision.
"We're putting together an incredible team," she begins, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I've been reaching out to some of the brightest minds in politics, economics, and social justice. We have former White House staffers, grassroots organizers, and even a few unexpected faces from the private sector who are eager to contribute their expertise."
You are instantly intrigued, trying to imagine the caliber of people she's describing. Your mind races with possibilities - perhaps that brilliant campaign manager who orchestrated the upset victory in the last Senate race, or the economist whose revolutionary ideas about sustainable development have been making waves in academic circles.
"We've got strategists who are anticipating every move our opponents might make," Pepper continues, "and communications experts who can craft messages that will resonate with voters across the political spectrum.”
You listen intently, trying to pinpoint where you might fit into this powerhouse group.
"There's Maria Hill," Pepper continues, "who's handling security and intelligence briefings. She's got connections that'll be invaluable. Then there's Peter Parker - you might know him as Spider-Man - he's officially our youth outreach coordinator, but he's also got a brilliant scientific mind that we're tapping into for policy development."
Your eyebrows raise at the mention of Spider-Man.
Pepper leans forward, her eyes locking with yours. "But here's the thing - we're not just assembling a team of political operatives and policy experts. We need people who understand the heart of what we're trying to do, who can see the bigger picture and help keep us grounded in our core values."
Your heart begins to race as you start to realize where this might be going.
"That's where you come in," Pepper says, a warm smile spreading across her face. "I've watched your career over the years, how you've navigated the non-profit world, building coalitions and making real change happen. You have a gift for bringing people together, for seeing connections that others miss. Your experience gives you a unique perspective that we desperately need."
Your heart races as you process her words. You had assumed you might be offered some kind of advisory role, perhaps in fundraising or event planning. Maybe even appearance management or offering occasional input on strategy. But from Pepper's tone, it sounds like she has something more substantial in mind.
"Where do you see me on this team?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.
"I've been putting a lot of thought into this," Pepper continues, her voice filled with conviction. “You know we’re doing something unconventional. Did you read the presidential plan?”
You nod. Steve’s bid for President of the United States was still technically not public knowledge. You had signed an NDA - being told only that you were receiving a proposal Pepper wanted your input and consultation on, with potential to join the team if you supported the initiative, and just silence if you didn’t.
“It’s bold, idealistic, aspirational; but it’s also unapologetic, has clear plans of action, and could be transformational in ways we haven’t seen in living memory,” you give your assessment.
“And it’s something you could see yourself being a part of?”
You take a deep breath, but smile genuinely. “I couldn’t sleep the first night after you sent it over. I couldn’t stop reading, hoping, re-reading, imagining possibilities!”
“Good,” Pepper responds. “Perfect.”
“Put me to work wherever you need me!”
“I was hoping you would say that because I have a very specific position I need to get filled, and you’re my first - and only - pick for the job.”
“Pepper, stop holding out!” A nervous and eager laugh escapes you. “Tell me!”
Her response slams into you like a freight train, knocking the air from your lungs.
“Future First Lady.”
You feel your jaw drop in shock, almost hitting the ground as your mind races with disbelief and anger. The room feels like it's spinning as you struggle to process the weight of her words.
"What?" you gasp, your voice barely above a whisper. "Pepper, I... I don't understand. First Lady? But that would mean..."
Pepper holds up a hand, her expression serious. "We're not just running a campaign here. We're trying to redefine what leadership looks like in this country. Steve is an incredible man, and he needs a partner who understands the complexities of modern America, not just a trophy wife, someone who can connect with people from all walks of life."
You shake your head, still reeling. "But I'm not - I mean, Steve and I aren't even - we've never even met!"
"I know," Pepper says softly. "That's part of the plan. We want to show that leadership isn't about who you're married to or what your last name is. It's about vision, compassion, and the ability to bring people together."
Pepper leans back in her chair, her expression at least revealing some concern over your reaction. "I know it's a lot to take in."
"A lot to take in?" you interrupt, your voice rising. "Pepper, it's insane! It’s May, and the election is in November. How could I possibly be the First Lady?"
Pepper holds up a hand, trying to calm you. "I know, I know. Let me explain."
But you're on a roll now, your initial shock giving way to indignation. "Explain what? How you thought it was okay to offer me a position that requires me to be married to a stranger? Use me to score points?”
"I understand your reaction," Pepper says calmly, "but please, hear me out. This isn't about scoring political points or creating some sham marriage. We're trying to redefine what leadership looks like in this country."
You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. "Go on," you say, your voice tight, “because you’re still trotting out marriage.”
"We can’t outright ignore traditional expectations and polling numbers. If Steve were running as the nominee for either of the major parties, we could probably win without him being married, but since he’s running as an independent, he needs a wife. That being said, we want to move away from the traditional concept of the First Lady as just the President's wife," Pepper explains. "The vision is a First Partnership. Two people who work together. There’ve been a few First Ladies who have done more with their platform and position, and that’s what we would want for you, too.”
You chew on your lip, not persuaded yet, but a little less angry.
“We have an opportunity to show what a healthy partnership in marriage could look like to new generations. You’re my first and only choice because of your skills, experience, and the vision I know you would bring to the table. But you’re also my first and only choice because I think you two are well-suited for each other.”
You open your mouth to protest, but Pepper raises her hand to stop you.
“You and Steve don’t have to put on a show and be madly in love - that’s not what I want, that’s not what he wants or expects either.”
You frown. “What does he expect?” you ask. And then you perk up even more. “Has he agreed to this? Shouldn’t he at least be here to make the offer himself?”
Pepper sighs. “It was easier for me to convince him to run in the first place than to agree that he needed a wife.”
“But you’re telling me he did agree?”
Pepper nods. “He did.”
You unconsciously rub the empty space on your left ring finger. “Couldn’t we just get engaged and leave the question of a marriage for whether or not he wins?”
A soft laugh falls from Pepper’s mouth. “He actually asked the same thing.”
“And…?” You raise your eyes expectantly.
“The public would rake us over the coals and accuse us of only doing it as a publicity stunt. The campaign would become a gossip column on your relationship status and nothing more.”
“But isn’t it a publicity stunt?”
“We can spin a marriage that seems to appear out of nowhere. Steve’s always been a private person when it comes to his personal life. We will tell people you met through me - which is true. I thought you were well-suited for each other - which I do. When people asked why the wedding just before announcing his bid for the presidency, we tell them you two didn’t want your relationship status to become the big question on everyone’s minds so they can focus on the platforms and policies instead and that every marriage takes work regardless of the length of the courtship.”
You sit in stunned silence for a moment, trying to process everything Pepper has said. The idea of marrying someone you've never met, let alone becoming the First Lady of the United States, seems utterly surreal. And yet, there's a part of you that's intrigued by the challenge, by the opportunity to make a real difference on such a grand scale.
"I need some time to think about this," you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper.
Pepper nods understandingly. "Of course. It's a lot to take in. But I want you to know that I wouldn't have asked you if I didn't think you were perfect for this role. Not just as a political partner, but as someone who could genuinely connect with Steve."
You raise an eyebrow. "You really think we'd be well-suited?"
"I do," Pepper says with confidence and warmth.
You rub your ring finger again, but this time you see Pepper’s eyes drop to watch your unconscious action, and you quickly stop. Her eyes, when you meet them again, are full of sympathy. You both lost husbands, but you don’t want to talk about it, yet again, and you don’t want to bring up a painful subject for her either.
She can read that in your tight-lipped smile.
So instead she says, “I can give you three days to think it over.”
You sigh and rise from your seat to go. “I don’t know if that’s long enough, but if you give me three days or three weeks, I don’t think it will change my decision I’ll land on. Give me the night to sleep on it. I think I’ll know by tomorrow morning.”
[JUNE 4 - Brooklyn, New York]
Three weeks later, your life has been packed up and put in a truck on its way to the new brownstone in Brooklyn that’s been acquired for you and Steve to move into, and you’re sitting at a table in a café a few blocks away, waiting to meet your future husband for the first time over breakfast. Every time the bell rings over the door, you dart your head to see if it’s him, but he’s evidently running late.
As you wait, checking to see if you have any messages on your phone, the bell over the door chimes once more. This time, when you look up, your breath catches in your throat. A tall, athletic man with dark skin and an easy smile has entered the café. You recognize him immediately as Sam Wilson, the new Captain America. Your heart sinks a little as you realize Steve isn't with him.
Sam spots you and makes his way over, his stride confident but casual. As he approaches, you notice the way his eyes scan the room, a habit born from years of military training and superhero work. He's dressed in civilian clothes - a leather jacket over a simple t-shirt and jeans - but there's no mistaking the aura of strength and capability that surrounds him.
"You must be the future Mrs. Rogers," Sam says with a warm smile, extending his hand. "I'm Sam Wilson. Steve asked me to come apologize and explain - and to have breakfast with you, if you’ll have me.”
You nod, forcing a smile, and shake his hand. "Of course. I understand.” You motion toward the chair across the table from you, inviting him to sit. “I know campaign prep must keep him incredibly busy."
Ever since you’d accepted the proposition to marry Steve Rogers and join him on the campaign trail to the White House, your own life had turned upside down, giving you hardly any time to breathe, and you’d been told this was only a mild version of what your own schedule was going to look like once Steve formally announced.
“Former President Bartlet agreed to meet with him, and the schedules ended up aligning this morning for Steve to go up to New Hampshire for a sit down,” Sam explains.
“President Bartlet?” you can’t help the awe in your voice. “I’d skip out on breakfast with me, too.”
“I hope I’m not a disappointment of a substitute,” Sam teases. “Since we’ll be working together as part of the senior staff, I volunteered because I was eager to finally meet you.”
His smile is genuine, and you feel the absolute truth of his sentiment. It melts away some of your disappointment and worry.
In return, your smile becomes a little warmer and easier. “I can’t help being a little disappointed - since I was hoping to finally meet my future husband - but he’s unemployed and you’re technically Captain America, so I guess it’s really an upgrade.”
Sam laughs. “Oh, I’m going to love you, I can tell.”
“Just promise me he’ll actually be at the ceremony tomorrow?” you ask. Your tone is light, but Sam calls your bluff.
His laughter fades, replaced by a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, he'll be there. Wild horses couldn't keep him away. Or androids. Or aliens. Or wizards. Or..." He trails off, realizing he might be overdoing it. "You get the idea."
You nod, appreciating Sam's attempt at humor. "I hope so. It would be pretty awkward to explain to the press why the groom was a no-show at his own wedding."
"Trust me, Steve takes this very seriously," Sam says, his tone becoming more earnest. "He may not know you yet, but he respects you and the commitment you're making. He's not the type to back out or let you down."
You nod, feeling a mix of relief and nervousness. "I suppose I should get used to schedule changes and last-minute adjustments," you say, trying to keep your tone light.
"It's part of the package," Sam agrees. "But so is having a team of people who have your back, no matter what." He leans forward, his eyes meeting yours intently. "I want you to know that includes me. We're not just colleagues in this; we're family."
His words touch you deeply, and you feel a bloom of warmth in your chest, the firs time you’ve felt grounded since you agreed to do this. "Thank you, Sam," you manage to say. "That means a lot."
The waitress approaches, he orders coffee, and you both order breakfast.
As she walks away, you take a sip of the drink you’d ordered while you were waiting before, mulling over Sam's words. "Can I ask you something, Sam? You know Steve better than almost anyone. Do you think...?”
You hesitate, uncertain if you should voice your doubts to Sam. But his open, friendly demeanor encourages you to continue, and you’re going to need to learn to trust this new circle of people you’ll be surrounded with.
"Do you think this is crazy?" you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper. "Marrying someone I've never even met, maybe becoming First Lady... it all feels so surreal."
Sam leans back in his chair, considering your question carefully. "Crazy? Maybe," he admits with a small smile. "But then again, I've seen a lot of crazy things in my time with the Avengers. This? This actually feels like one of the more normal things I've been part of."
You can't help but chuckle at that, some of the tension easing from your shoulders.
"Look," Sam continues, his tone becoming more serious. "I won't lie to you. It's not going to be easy. The scrutiny, the pressure, the constant demands on your time and energy - it's going to be a lot. But if anyone can handle it, it's Steve. And from what I've heard about you, I think you're up for the challenge, too."
Sam pauses as the waitress returns with your breakfasts and his coffee. Once she's gone, he continues, "Steve doesn't do anything halfway. When he commits to something, he's all in. And he's committed to this - to you, to this campaign, to trying to make a real difference."
You nod, appreciating his honesty. "And what about... us? Steve and me, I mean. Do you think we can make this work? Not just for the campaign, but as a real partnership?"
Sam's eyes soften. "Steve's one of the best men I know. He's loyal, compassionate, and has a moral compass that doesn't quit. But he's also been through a lot, and he can be... guarded. It might take some time for him to open up fully."
You absorb this information, feeling a mix of apprehension and curiosity about your future husband. "I appreciate your honesty, Sam," you say softly. "I guess we'll both be navigating uncharted waters."
Sam nods, taking a sip of his coffee before responding. "True, but you won't be doing it alone. Not only do you have the support of the team, but I think you and Steve might surprise yourselves. You both have a strong sense of purpose, a desire to help others. That's a solid foundation to build on."
You pick at your breakfast, mulling over Sam's words. "I just hope we can find some common ground beyond the campaign," you admit.
Sam leans in, his expression earnest. "Like I said, when Steve commits to something, he gives it his all. That includes relationships. He may be reserved at first, but once he lets you in, you'll have his unwavering loyalty and support."
You nod, feeling a bit more reassured. "I appreciate that. I’m not some hopeless romantic, I’m not looking to be swept off my feet, but I just hope we can find some chemistry, some spark beyond just being political partners."
Sam chuckles. "Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about that. Steve might be from the 1940s, but he's still a red-blooded man. And you," he gestures at you with his fork, "are definitely his type."
You feel your cheeks flush slightly. "His type?"
"Smart, independent, passionate about making a difference," Sam lists off. “
Your work in non-profits, your passion for social justice - that's right up Steve's alley. Plus, you've got that whole 'take no crap' vibe that he needs. I have a sense about these things, and you have it.”
You laugh, feeling some of the tension dissipate. "Well, I'll take your word for it. Though I have to admit, the idea of being Steve Rogers' 'type' is a bit surreal."
Sam grins. "Trust me, once you two actually meet, you'll see what I mean. Just don't let that 'aw shucks' routine fool you. He might look like an all-American boy scout, but there's a lot more going on under the surface."
You raise an eyebrow. "Oh? Do tell."
Sam shakes his head, still smiling. "Nah, I'll let you discover that for yourself. Where's the fun if I spoil all the surprises?"
You roll your eyes good-naturedly. "Fine, keep your secrets. But seriously, Sam, thank you. For breakfast, for the pep talk, for everything. I'm really glad I got to meet you before tomorrow."
"Me too," Sam says, raising his coffee mug in a mock toast. "To new beginnings and unexpected partnerships."
You clink your own mug against his, feeling a surge of warmth and camaraderie. As you finish your breakfast, the conversation flows easily between you and Sam. He regales you with stories of his adventures with Steve, carefully omitting any classified details but painting a vivid picture of the man you're about to marry.
You learn about Steve's dry sense of humor, his unwavering loyalty to his friends, and his surprising skill at sketching. Sam describes missions where Steve's quick thinking saved the day, but also quieter moments - movie nights with the team, intense debates over board games, and Steve's ongoing struggle to catch up on pop culture.
As Sam talks, you find yourself leaning in, captivated by these glimpses of reality, getting to know more about the man behind the myth. And even if the next twenty-four hours will be a whirlwind of you choosing and getting fitted for your wedding dress; interviewing candidates that have been vetted for your personal staff - assistant, pr strategist, stylist, initiative director; and a bachelorette party; you feel like you’ll be able to face it all with the bit of reassurance you’ve gained by spending this time with Sam.
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next part: LAS VEGAS & CLEVELAND
↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!
This story will have 3-4 chapters, depending on where I split up the narrative. I anticipate about a chapter a week, usually posted on Fridays.
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not-poignant · 2 days ago
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Stupid question, but I remembered seeing you mention having monthly minimum wordcounts on one of your previous posts and I wanted to ask if you're a professional writer? Because at first I was like "that sounds so stressful"* and then I realized that it makes a lot more sense if you're doing it for a living.
*Also acknowledging that people are different from each other and what is stressful for one person might be productive and useful for another.
I am a professional writer!
My original serials are my job, basically, and they're supported by generous folks at Patreon and Ream. That, in turn, allows me to do this in a more professional and focused way, vs. say just as a hobbyist who doesn't update for 9 months at a time. It also lets me share my works for free, in a fandom friendly manner, which lets me keep doing something I love in a way I love to do it, but in a way which is like...I guess more reliable than you'd necessarily be if you were only doing it for fun.
I can instead pledge high fidelity/loyalty to my main serials through thick and thin (hence my wild author's notes), which means folks following WIPs get to know they'll be finished, and I get to enjoy doing this for a living! It's hard, but it's a good hard. Except for taxes.
As for my monthly minimum, that actually started as a way to break out of the very ableist 'you should write every day' (as a professional writer) which is literally impossible for me and my chronic illnesses. I sometimes have big chunks of time where I can't write, sometimes weeks! And where it would be unhealthy for me to make myself.
(More about my writing process beneath the Read More!)
Alongside that, I have quite severe dyscalculia (think dyslexia but with numbers and directions and left and right lol) so I can't keep a 'running wordcount' because the numbers confuse me too much. Luckily, because my writing life is defined by chapters completed (and not novels), I count the wordcount of every finished chapter only. Unfinished chapters don't count! My growing wordcount per month grows only when that draft is finished (my drafts are clean, so chapters only tend to grow or shrink by about 100-150 words per edit, so give or take it all evens out).
It's not how any other author I know does it, but it works so well for me that I've been doing it for nearly a decade now.
I started the monthly minimum (which currently is 25k words per month) because I tend towards being a workaholic, and so my therapist and I established a minimum not as an unreachable goal that's hard to meet, but as an easy goal that's generally effortless for me to reach in good months, and average months, and even many bad ones. After I hit 25k words per month, if I crash, feel burnt out, feel awful, or life gets Life-y in a bad way, I have permission to stop writing. I can just stop. Everything else is gravy. (Though secretly I always want to hit 30-35k but shhh).
When I hit 50k words, I also have to stop immediately and take a mandatory 3-5 day break from writing even if I want to keep writing. Because I don't know it yet, but I'm probably exhausted on at least some level, lol.
I didn't hit 50k at all last year and there is at least one therapist who would be really proud of me about that even though I feel kind of guilty about it, lol.
Here's an example of my tracking:
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You can see the chapters I've written, which dates I've written them. They're colour coded, so I can see at a glance if I'm writing enough of a story or not. And then on the far right is an addition of every month's wordcount.
April was so low because I took an intentional writing holiday (which I'll be doing again ideally in March this year). December was so low because December sucks.
And then I erase it all at the end of the year and start again. The blank whiteboard is actually very motivating to write that first chapter because I always feel like I haven't done anything until then.
This whiteboard is two feet away from where I write quite literally, and is never moved etc. so I have a yearly tracker basically that's extremely visible (super helpful to my ADHD brain, because if I put this in a spreadsheet I'll stop updating it after 3 weeks and then forget it exists). The colour coding gives me dopamine, so does adding chapters.
Also acknowledging that people are different from each other and what is stressful for one person might be productive and useful for another.
This is true! This is actually the least stressful way of doing things for me.
That being said, anon, it's still super stressful. Being a serial writer is one of the most stressful things you do, because you have constant and never-ending deadlines for years. Novelists can kind of escape this, in a way, because they can't release novels as often as I release chapters. But I have to be mentally switched on at least 8 times a month, re: putting work out there, making sure it's at least semi-polished, making sure I let everyone know, and tracking responses because obviously, unlike a novel, if you lose interest you can't just "skip ahead" you simply lose your readers. A lot of novelists couldn't live or work this way, a) because they couldn't write a hooky serial and b) because many realise that having to update all the time is really exhausting actually. There's a kind of social labour to updating a serial, and getting it Right every single time. One of my greatest fears that I have nightmares about
Serial writing is the most stressful kind of writing I've ever done (and I've done a few different kinds), I just happen to like the adrenaline rush of this kind of writing, and I happen to work well under a controlled level of stress! I know that, because I've been doing this for over 10 years, refining it, figuring out how to make it healthier (it was really unhealthy at first), getting better at it, figuring out my weak points (some of them are still weak points) etc. I actually think I'm pretty good at it now!
I'm also getting better at not thinking my entire career is over if I take 2 weeks off.
I went from being entirely dependent on a Disability Pension, and like, sometimes having to skip meals and doctor's appointments and even medication due to money issues (the Disability Pension is ironically not enough if you have mental health issues because our subsidised healthcare doesn't cover mental health adequately and Australia has no food stamps system), to being able to live a bit more freely and support my chronic health stuff a bit more because of writing this way!
For the first time ever through these stories I was able to afford a psychiatrist, and a few other things I really desperately have needed since I was a teenager. So being able to write like this, even when it's really hard and I'm really tired, feels still like a miracle to me. I've never been well or healthy enough to work a full-time job with typical 9-5 hours, and always kind of was stuck imagining a life where I'm just...never knowing how to afford certain things, to being in a position where I'm fairly confident I can get my meds every month, or pay for my dog's pet food, etc. It's really nice.
But yeah honestly serial writing is the most stressful form of serial writing there is as soon as you lock it in as a professional job where you must meet nearly 10 deadlines every month and you happen to have pretty intense ADHD so deadlines make you scream a little.
Sometimes what is extremely stressful and sometimes even distressing for someone is also extremely productive and rewarding for them too. We probably wouldn't have a lot of emergency surgeons if that were the bar for how we decide what we do!
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halitis · 3 days ago
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Any thoughts on Roy and Hal?
How they would interact with eachother in Roy's Speedy era?
Hal becoming Roys 2nd Parent?
DO I HAVE THOUGHTS
BOY OH BOY DO I HAVE THOUGHTS. ALWAYS. my two faves :DDD
hal is really quite good with kids! probably one of the best in the league i'd argue. it's because he treats them like independent people with thoughts and feelings. while roy loved that at first, it ended up causing some light strife between the two when ollie started going off travelling. because he HAD enough independence, he didn't want more. he wanted someone there.
while hal and roy are close now, they weren't really close before the events of 'snowbirds dont fly'. hal thought roy was a good kid, with a lot of love in his heart (although, sure a bit rebellious but thats to be expected). hal helping roy out like that, helping to save his life, it really put a foothold into their relationship. hal started to realise what roy needed, was different to what he himself needed as a kid and adjusts accordingly. roy loves it and that hal is willing to put in the work for him.
i, personally, don't see hal as roy's parent. i don't think roy needs or wants another parent, he had brave bow and he has ollie and dinah. that isn't to say they aren't family! i just don't think they have a strict label on what they are to each other, they are just family. if anything though, i'd label them either as cousins or hal as his uncle. (this isn't to say i am judging or whatever if you view hal as roy's father! i do incredibly understand why and i do see the potential).
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[continued under the read more]
they Bicker a LOT... but it is how roy shows love. hal was concerned at first because during his speedy era, sure roy would tease but he would never argue with him. it took a bit to realise "oh he's just growing up" (hal went through a brief crisis over that one). now you can find them having pedantic arguments over nothing, and if someone interrupts or tries to stop them; they are just like "???? we weren't fighting ????"
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hal and roy ended up bonding over sports, hal would take him out to baseball games because it was An Iconic Part of American Culture and he cannot BELIEVE ollie deprived his son of this (roy could not have given less of a fuck), but he ended up getting really into it. to this day they will call each other just to talk about the teams on for each season. sometimes they will go months without talking, only to message out of the blue going "did you SEE that angels game. what the fuck was that!!?"
hal helped out with lian a bit when she was a baby, he's used to dealing with kids and would babysit her when roy just needed a break. now however, lian doesn't really know him that much. roy wants to try and keep her life as stable as possible and hal isn't around enough for roy to trust him to stay a presence... hal adores lian though, roy will silently send through photos and videos and what not and hal will always compliment her. it's so tragic, and hal really hates it but at the same time he does understand. he would probably do the same in roy's position afterall.
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roy looked up to hal so much as a speedy, like that is his dad's cool best friend who has seen SPACE and his entire thing is being FEARLESS omg omg. cue hal being smug about this to ollie, that his son thinks hal is cooler than him. ollie is quick to disabuse this notion to roy, with many mortifying videos of the green lantern. roy never looks at hal the same way again.
hal and roy bond over their complicated relationships with carol and jade, it's a lot of sighing and gossiping. it's not a competition, but roy somehow always wins (hal takes a guilty joy in thinking 'at least i'm not roy'). i think they should get to have a girls night. as a treat. let them do each others hair and watch movies and gossip about girls!
i had more to say abt them, but it's 3am and i am so Bone Tired..... hope this fits what u were looking for op! thanks for the ask MWAAAH!
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phpruitts · 14 hours ago
Text
'Thank you,'
Phoebe smiles again, and nods, but there was nothing that she had said that wasn't completely true. Rafael did look out for her. He gave her rides, took her out to dinners with crystalline glasses and carpaccio and expensive wines, but far beyond that, easily the kindest, most important thing to Phoebe ... Rafael did not look at her with condescension or judgement.
She was an ant, really, in a world as big as Rafael's. But that never seemed to influence the way he treated her. Or looked at her. Or spoke to her.
And to Phoebe, that alone was everything.
Rafael wraps an arm around her shoulder, tugs her in close on the couch, and then—
'There’s a lot you don’t know about me,'
'I don’t know if I want you to find it all out, to be honest,'
Phoebe straightens minutely. There was something subdued in his voice, a little quiet. What did he mean by that?
Work, maybe? Beyond his position in his father's business, handling expansions and investments and shareholder meetings, Phoebe would have to be stupid not to understand there were other aspects of Rafael's career. Serious stuff. Illegal stuff. Phoebe made a point to keep her nose out of where it didn't belong, but she would have to be blind, really, not to suspect that the Dahar's influence extended deep into the city, in avenues that went far beyond hotels or casinos.
But Phoebe had known this from the beginning. When Rafael had first started flirting with her, Phoebe was well aware who he was, and the more time they spent together, the more glimpses Phoebe would get— little things, because Rafael shielded her well, but just the deference he was shown, men coming to him at the club and speaking vaguely about shipments and meetings.
Yeah. Phoebe knew. And there were probably so many more things Rafael had shielded her from, and wouldn't want her to see, and even if Phoebe's mind could fill in the blanks, she just didn't ... care.
Phoebe didn't care if Rafael's daily workload could fill an episode of sensationalized tv.
Rafael was still the person whose first response, when he met Phoebe was, was kindness. But it was still hard to admit this much, wasn't it? It probably took a lot for Rafael to voice that kind of fear.
Her palm brushes along his cheekbone.
"Well. You don't have to share everything with me. If it's something you don't want to do." A beat. "But, uh ... I trust you. I always feel good with you, like safe, in a way I've never felt with other guys. So you should know I won't care about whatever you tell me. I'll still look at you the same."
A smile pulls at her lips, gentle, something flickering warmly behind her eyes as she stared at the man who cared for her so well.
Rafael liked how things were now; Phoebe too. There was nothing that Rafael could ever share with her that would change her opinion of him, or dampen the feelings she felt in her heart.
And Phoebe. Well. If anything, she felt like the fraud here, the one with a thin veneer glossing over an ugly past full of things dark and shameful. The syringes and the evictions and the crunch of glass and all the awful little apartments with awful silences and even more awful yelling, the nights spent with strangers, exchanges that left Phoebe feeling empty and awful. The man who she'd stayed with for weeks, months, who sometimes frightened her so bad she wanted to vomit. And the highs, and the things she did to keep those highs. Years and years of sacrificing everything for her highs.
Yeah. What if she told Rafael all about those things, and he rightfully felt different? Maybe saw her as pathetic, or gross, or someone he just didn't want to associate with.
Rafael had always been so kind to her, completely lacking in judgement, but the fear was still there.
Anxiety churns in her gut. Phoebe looks at that anxiety and does what comes natural now: she tucks her arm into one of Rafael's, and leans her abdomen into his solid frame.
"If it makes you feel better ... there's stuff, about me, that I worry would change your opinion of me."
It seemed obvious, but it hadn’t really occurred to Rafael that Phoebe saw him as something other than just … an intimidating rich asshole. This illusion that there was depth to Rafael felt… strange. It didn’t really seem possible to him. It had felt pretty impossible until Phoebe, and now… well. There were a lot of questions that Rafael wanted answers to, but they wouldn’t come from Phoebe.
Even though she’d offered to help, he had to figure some of it out on his own.
Rafael was nice to her right away. There was just something about Phoebe that drew him to her like a magnet. And over the months, those feelings had only become more intense. As the time went on, there was nothing that Rafael wouldn't have done for her.
“Thank you,” Rafael simply said.
It was endearing that Phoebe was willing to put up a fight about his kindness. She hadn’t seen him at work. Not in the office, but ... his real work. She hadn’t seen him in the hour before he showed up at her apartment. Fists aching and covered in blood. Making a call to dispose of a body on Christmas Eve.
He wrapped an arm around Phoebe, pulled her in close.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he told her. There was. Good and bad. Maybe she assumed, and there were rumors, but she didn’t really know. “I don’t know if I want you to find it all out, to be honest,” he said, voice quiet.
Would she think of him differently? If all of the rumors were true?
“I like the way things are right now,” he said, voice quiet.
It felt like a scary thing to admit.
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certifiedsexed · 2 days ago
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Something about how you go "afab and female genitalia tell me nothing" feels oddly pretentious to me?? Is this intentional?? I know that both of these terms can also refer to non-vulva/vagina intersex genitals but still, I think you could word it in a more helpful way. Not to be rude or anything!! Sorry if it came off that way. I don't mean any offense to anyone with this ask (I'm on anon because I'm a pussy-ass bitch who fears I'll get blocked if I breathe wrong when sending an ask)
Anon continued: "Realised I should probably elaborate on what I meant by "helpful" - maybe just going "I presume you're referring to a vulva" instead of two paragraphs. I don't know it just makes me feel stupid. (I didn't send the original ask but I still felt stupid by assuming female genitals meant the typical female genitals. <--that wording is awful sorry.
Again I mean no harm I just have autism and can't word things in nice ways sometimes) (I'm so sorry I'm a fucking mess aaaaaahhh feel free to ignore both of my stupid asks)"
Well, I can tell you first off that I'm not trying to sound or be pretentious. I explain that "AFAB" and "female genitalia" tell me nothing because I want to be communicating as clearly as possible and I don't want to just assume something and not tell someone that's what I'm doing or why.
If I said "I presume you're referring to a vulva" without explaining how I came to that conclusion or why I need to assume in the first place, it just sounds like I'm saying "female genitalia" and "AFAB" are what led me to that conclusion in the first place.
Which they didn't.
I was going to write the post with less specific language first since Anon never specified [especially since female genitalia includes penises and a few questions would've needed slightly more in-depth answers for that] until I reread and processed the question about labias and tampons.
I'm not trying to make people feel stupid and I'm sorry it came off that way.
I try to explain as much as possible when answering asks and I guess sometimes that comes off as if I'm showing off or something but that's genuinely not what I'm trying to do.
My intent was also not trying to shame people if they made assumptions based on "female genitalia" and "AFAB".
I just don't want to make assumptions and fuck up my answers, so I try not to do that. But if I do make an assumption, I also want people to know where and why so that it doesn't become a mess of miscommunication.
I'm sorry that makes you feel bad and I really wish I could help but the alternative you suggested doesn't really work from a clear communication standpoint and I'm not sure what else I could say?
I understand you don't mean this badly, btw!
I appreciate it, I just don't think there's anything I can do. If it helps, I've been told I come off as a weird ass fucker my entire life, so you're not alone there. \o/
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peachhcs · 16 hours ago
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I feel like Will could be a little shit sometimes, like we know he’s down badddd for Samy but I feel like sometimes when they haven’t seen each other for a while he’s determined to keep her close.
She’s trying to get up for the day? Lays his entire body on top of her, she’s trying to get dressed? Her clothes keep going missing, like he’s taking a sock and making her feel crazy because she knows she JUST sat them down.
He’s doing Anything he can to keep her at his side.
will is definitely doing everything he can to keep samy from leaving his side. he follows her around like a puppy honestly. samy likes to say he has separation anxiety sometimes
au masterlist
it was already 11 when samy finally woke up. she hadn't slept in that much in forever. she stretched out, but she didn't move that far because a strong pair of arm were wrapped securely around her torso. beside her was will still fast asleep, his face basically hidden in the crook of her neck. the girl smiled, reaching her hand up to tease some of his curls in her fingers.
she loved when he was always so close after not seeing one another in awhile. if he could, will would spend every second of the day by her side.
samy laid there for a few minutes just admiring her boyfriend's soft, sleepy features and playing with his hair. he didn't sleep with a shirt on last night, so she also got to admire his muscles peaking out of the covers. he was always fit, but his time with the sharks the last few months really worked in his favor. samy loved it.
she loved how he looked no matter what, but she really loved seeing his muscular arms in his t-shirts and built quads through his pants. it was literally every girl's dream.
after another few minutes, samy really needed to pee. she always had to when she woke up, but will's hold on her was pretty strong. she tried detaching his arms from her without waking him up. the blonde stirred and only pulled her closer to his body despite not waking up.
samy huffed. she poked will's cheek, "will, i really gotta pee."
he mumbled something incoherent.
"please, i have to pee so badly," the girl tried again and finally, will loosened his grip. samy took that as her chance and literally jumped out of bed to run to the bathroom.
when she came out will was still sprawled across the bed. the girl grinned and crawled back over to him where he finally poked his eye open.
"you left me," he grumbled.
"i had to pee. i'm sorry," samy laughed at his pout. he reached his arms out and made grabby hands as an indication that he wanted samy back in the bed. she got herself back in and will was quick to wrap his arms around her like before.
"did you sleep well?" the blonde wondered.
"i did. did you?" samy played with his curls again.
"i always sleep well with you," he hummed making her blush.
"what do you wanna do today?" the soccer player wondered and laughed when all will did was snuggle in closer.
"lay here with you all day."
"i wouldn't complain, but i feel like we should do something. it is like 11:15," samy said.
"so?" will didn't see what the problem was. he didn't have hockey for two days, so that meant he could use one of the days to do absolutely nothing. it was even better because samy was in town.
"we should at least eat something. i'm kind of hungry," just as the youngest hughes said that, her stomach rumbled.
"i know what you can eat," the hockey player earned a smack on the head for that comment.
"will."
"i'm kidding. i'm kidding," he lifted his head back up so samy could see the smirk on his lips.
"you're so immature," she rolled her eyes.
the brunette began pushing herself back up because she seriouly needed to eat something, but when she made a move to get up, will threw his entire body across her leaving her unable to get up or even move.
samy let out an oof, "hey!"
"you can't leave," will determined.
"i'm not leaving you this time. you can come with me to get food," the girl laughed.
“i don’t wanna leave the bed,” the hockey player mumbled. his weight was a bit crushing, but samy was used to it after being crushed and tackled by her older brothers growing up. she curled her arms around his back where she began drawing her fingers up and down his spine.
“you don’t wanna eat something?” the girl wondered and she was surprised to hear that will wasn’t already up looking for food.
“i’d rather lay in bed with you all day then go downstairs,” will said and samy couldn’t help but laugh. he was so adorable.
“okay, five more minutes but after that we need to eat something because i’m starving,” she compromised.
they laid there together with will’s crushing weight and he marveled in being so close to her. his favorite part of spending time with his girlfriend was being able to be so close to her and wake up to her at his side.
the five minutes passed way too quickly. the blonde reluctantly rolled off of samy so she could finally get up. he huffed and pushed himself off the bed as the girl found an actual shirt and pajama pants to put on. will threw on a random shirt on the floor and then snatched one of samy’s socks on the ground before she could find it. he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pressing little kisses to the side of her head.
“i wonder sometimes how you survive without me,” the brunette mumbled seeing the state of will’s very messy room.
“i don’t,” he said.
“remind me that we’re cleaning your room before i leave again,” the girl giggled and became confused when she couldn’t find her other sock she swore she threw onto the ground by the bed last night.
will watched in amusement knowing he had the sock. “where’s my sock?”
“what do you mean?” he played dumb.
“i swear i had both socks by the bed,” she bent down to check under the bed where she unfortunately found more miscellaneous things underneath.
“maybe they got mixed in with something?” the blonde hummed. samy stood back up and eyed her boyfriend. he had a really bad poker face when it came to her so she always saw right through him.
“will, did you take my other sock?”
“no.”
they stared at each other for a second before the youngest hughes lunged for his pockets. will yelped when she stuffed her hands in both front pockets and successfully found her missing sock. will pouted.
“that wasn’t fair,” he argued.
“you’re so weird. come on,” she tugged his hand and they started down the steps to the kitchen.
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stars-n-spice · 2 days ago
Text
TBB X EPIC - Pt. 1
Nothin' like combining two fixations into one.
Kid you not, after the Ithaca Saga was released, I couldn't listen to anything else until like a day ago. And even then what I listened to was other songs from other sagas.
Anywho! I've had this AU idea in my head for a while now (like sometime in November) and now that the whole musical has been officially released, I had the motivation to put the idea onto digital paper.
So, without further ado, here is the first bit of:
The Bad Batch!
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Hunter -> Odysseus Omega -> Telemachus Echo -> Athena Tech -> Tiresias Wrecker -> Polites Crosshair -> Eurylochus NOT PICTURED: Batcher -> Argos
I tried to make the characters match up as much as possible, but some are more fitting than others. Don't think about it too much.
Check out more here!
Pt. II - The Baddies Batch Pt. III - The Bad Guys All - Final Part
Individual doodles + lyrics under the cut!
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Hunter as Odysseus for obvious reasons
He's the dad and the captain/sergeant of the group who'd do anything for his family
I'm sure we would've seen him go full Monster™️ just to get Omega back in S3 if the plot had called for it
His little headband can be a wreath :)
Sure he's not as cunning as og Odysseus but oh well
No idea who Astyanax would be though
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Echo as Athena because I wasn't sure where to put him originally
For the longest time I thought about Fennec being Athena but then realized I didn't have Echo as any of the characters so I had him take her place instead
He helps out/trains Omega as Athena does for Telemachus - or should I say, she takes him under her wing?
Then I realized it somewhat fits because Echo is a strategist much like Athena
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Wrecker as Polites because they're rays of sunshine who could do no wrong
It is hilarious to picture him singing Polites' part in the musical though because Steve's voice is so high and very much not what Wrecker's singing voice would sound like
That's literally it - I'm so sad that my favorite gets killed so early into the musical :(
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Tech as Tiresias because he's all-knowing and not-so-good at seeing
Didn't know where else to place him
Fun fact! "No Longer You" is my favorite song from the entire musical
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Crosshair as Eurylochus because of the falling out he has with Odysseus (i.e. Hunter) despite how close they are
Makes poor choices that they genuinely believe are justified
Value loyalty and transparency and when that's broken, so is the trust and relationship they have with the person who broke it
Like with Wrecker, it's funny picturing him singing Eurylochus' parts because Armando's voice is so deep
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Omega as Telemachus for the obvious reason of being Hunter's kid so by default she gets the role
She's got Telemachus' passion and strength though - albeit if she's still naive and in need of a mentor
Batcher gets to be Argos too
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aclosetfan · 18 hours ago
Note
ope, hey guys, i'm still avoiding the work I'm paid to do. i thought of something sad and fucked up after rereading these original posts :)))
------
"But they all leave scars," Buttercup said with a tremble in her voice. Her eyes were unfocused, and she started to pant, "No, no. That can't be true—" She stood up abruptly, her chair clattering to the ground, "the scars, you said that because they all leave scars—"
"Buttercup," Dr. U cut her off, his voice grim. He looked on the verge of tears, "that was only a working theory."
"Well, find a fucking new one!" She screamed hysterically before zipping out of the room.
Dr. U didn't say anything for a long time. Neither of them did.
"Butch, son, I'm sorry." Dr. U finally said.
There had been a time when Butch was much younger that Dr. U had been slightly afraid of him. Of course, most of Townsville had once been afraid of him. It was an inappropriate time to think about the fear he once possessed over people, looking at the older man, who he now considered an in-law. But that was what he was thinking about. John Utonium existed in a perpetual state of grief like most of them did, but Butch had never seen the man so somber. Not even before, back in the day, when he had been slightly afraid of him.
Butch licked his dry lips. He felt angry, but he should have felt angrier. Mostly, he felt numb. Everything he had ever believed felt more true than it ever had before, and that was . . . unsatisfying, maybe? But he had always known, hadn't he? That his brothers were dead. He had processed that grief already. Right? He didn't know.
Maybe it was just shock. He didn't know.
"I'll go check on her." He responded after another prolonged period of silence. His voice was thick like he had a ball lodged in his throat that he couldn't quite swallow around.
Dr. U let him go without a parting word. He sat quietly in his makeshift lab. Behind him was the corpse of a shadow person. Its torso had been pinned open, its insides partly dissected. It looked like a gruesome autopsy, but Butch had seen worse things to feel affected by the sight.
Its head was patchy with black hair. The staples on its mouth looked fresh. Its mutation was not totally complete. Its hands weren't as claw-like as they should have been. Its flesh was not chalk white but a pale blush. It had a tattoo that belonged to their friend Harry, who went missing a little over four weeks ago.
He stared at his friend and thought of his brothers.
------------------------------
"Buttercup." He sighed, sitting down next to her on the wall. The LED lights that kept the wall in a constant blanket of blinding white light didn't allow her to hide for long, but he hadn't needed to look. He knew where she came to think.
She sniffed and shuffled over, allowing their shoulders to touch. He looked up at the night sky but saw no stars. He could hear shadows scurrying just beyond the light perimeter, pacing and waiting for them.
A chorus of them cried out to him, "Butch! I forgive you! Butch, I love you! Butch, I'm right here!"
He ignored them. It was easier now than it had been in the beginning. Still, he didn't understand why Buttercup tortured herself like this. She knew it was fucked up, but she had told him once I just like to hear their voices sometimes.
"He said it was just another theory."
"Bullshit." She croaked.
Butch nodded, "Yeah."
"We haven't found a single one like it all those years ago. And now, with Harry," Her voice broke, "god, that was Harry, Butchie."
She fell into him, then, and sobbed. He held her tight, trying to blink past his own tears, surprised they had finally managed to show up. Still, his anger was at a simmer.
"They're people. They're our friends." She continued. "They're being mutated."
He pulled her into his lap and rocked them back and forth. The voices below them only seemed to grow louder.
"It wasn't supposed to be a zombie thing," There was a bite in her tone, "it's a fucking zombie thing, now?"
"I didn't turn into one. And you've been scratched and bitten, and you haven't either." He tried to reason, "It's something else. We just don't know yet."
It was weird being the person of reason. Usually, it was the opposite. Usually, Buttercup was holding him.
"The one that stabbed you," Buttercup's voice broke, "the one that stabbed you, it had—" she choked out, "—it had tuffs of hair still. Blond hair. I remember it had blond hair, and it—"
"We don't know that for sure."
She pulled away from him, an angry sneer smeared across her face, "fuck you, we do! The Professor said it himself. None of the others have antidote X in them. The one that stabbed you wasn't some special breed of apex predator! That was one of our siblings! That was B-Boomer or Bubbles, and I killed them!"
Her voice fell to a whisper, "I killed them. They were right there, and I killed them. I didn't have to, but I did. I killed them and—" Her eyes were wide as silent tears fell down her face. "Do you hate me? What if it was Boomer. Do you hate me?"
"You didn't know," He grabbed her by the shoulders, "you were doing what you had to do."
"Do you hate me? Answer the question." She demanded, searching his face.
"Butch, I'm right here! I'm right here! Butch, I'm here! Listen to me! Help me! I'm scared! I'm right here! Why can't you find me! Why can't you see me! I'm. Right. Here." The chorus of screams intensified.
"Butch, I love you!"
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, "No."
"No," he continued, "if that thing was Boomer—" It was his turn to pause, thinking it and saying it was two different things, "—if that had been my brother, the thing that stabbed me," he thought of the pus dripping from its infected wounds. He thought of the hollow eyes and the blistering skin. He thought of its joy, licking at the blood on its claw, "then I'm glad he's dead."
He looked her in the eyes, cupping her face, "I wanted him to be alive, Butters. But not like that."
She looked no less shell-shocked as she held his hand to her cheek. "Yeah," she eventually said. "Yeah."
--------------------------------------------------------------------(Buttercup, why weren't you fast enough? Why didn't you know? You killed me. Why did you kill me?)
(BC, why didn't you come with me? Come with me. It's your fault. Why didn't you come with me?)
(Butters, I hate you.)
Maybe 18 or 36 (hug prompts) for the greens? I always love the way you write them! 💚
Oh my gosh, you're seriously too sweet 💚💚💚 between the two prompts, I'll have to pick 36! @foxgloveglen requested that prompt previously, and I feel like it's finally time I sucked it up and committed myself to it!
Hug prompts: 36. I thought you were dead hug
Characters: Butch, Buttercup
Word Count: 2713
Content warnings: near-death experiences, body horror, slight gore, blood, demonic entities, implied major character deaths (but from the perspective of an unreliable narrator)
Basic background: Apocalypse AU where the world has ended under mysterious (HIM) circumstances (it was HIM), and now, man-eating creatures roam the streets. Through a series of unfortunate events, both the rrb and the ppg are all split up. Depending on who you ask, BC and Butch are the last known survivors of the two sets of triplets. Currently, they live in the last Townsville stronghold defending the “City” from those man-eating creatures as they wait for their siblings to make their way home. The stronghold is made up of the previous citizens, along with a few ex-villains. The tough of the tough are on night patrol (unless you’re an ex-con, then night patrol is mandatory), which is the City’s only chance at survival.
a/n: whoops i made this sad, but there's a happy (?) ending. sorry : ( this wasn’t at all what I had planned on writing but I was trying to think up a new angle for the prompt instead of the old same-old, same-old.
------------------------------------------------------------------
"No," Butch mumbled to himself, the mantra slowly ramping up in speed as he picked his way through the debris, "no, no, no, no, please no."
The sun was bright on his back, but the air was still too crisp, and the day was still too early to truly feel its warmth. He maneuvered around on auto-pilot, combing through one pile of trash to the next, careful to avoid the shadows. As long as the sun was on his back, he would be safe enough to search for her. But when it started to get dark out? If he couldn't find her in time?
"Buttercup!" He cried out, listening for an echo of an answer, but only hearing his own voice in response, "Buttercup!"
What would he tell everyone? What would he tell Bellum?
He tried again, shouting louder, "Come on, you fucking bitch, answer!"
Butch had no idea how he'd ever find the courage to tell the Professor. Or—he thought, his heart dropping into his stomach—her sisters. Butch couldn't.
When—not if (never if)—he found them all again—his brothers, her sisters—there was no way he could look Bubbles in the eye and tell her Buttercup was gone. Just gone. Done for. Dead. Her heart would break. His heart would, too, he thought dully, if it hadn't already. He didn't know; it was at the very least breaking, but he didn't think there was much of a difference—between broken and breaking.
Was his heart really breaking—or broken—or whatever the right word was? When had Buttercup even wormed her way in there and made herself at home? When had she started to mean this much?
Butch turned on his heels, checking for the sun, then for any clouds, revealing only a crisp blue mid-morning sky, before pivoting quickly in another direction to dig through just another pile of broken concrete. Still no Buttercup. He was less precise about things now, throwing the trash to the side and chucking concrete out of the way. They—those things in the shadows—would no doubt notice that he was being too loud, but Butch couldn't find it in himself to care.
"You just had to play stupid freaking hero, didn't you!" He was not entirely hysterical, but very close to it, "I told you not to! I said it wasn't worth it! And here we are!" He stopped digging and leaned back on his heels, whipping his head side-to-side, looking, searching, using the x-ray vision he was always forgetting about for any possible clue or sign she was around.
"This wasn't my idea! You were the one who wanted to do a night run!" He continued to gripe at the Buttercup living rather contently in his imagination—the one that kept laughing at him every time he turned over the wrong rock. 'Come on, Butch,' She mocked, 'if you seriously can't find me, how will you find our family?'
"Bu—Buttercup!" He called out, cupping his hands around his mouth, ignoring the way his voice cracked its way through his ever-tightening throat. When there was again no response, he fell onto his ass and held his head in his hands. "Don't leave me alone," He muttered, trying his best to blink back the stupid, pointless tears, "I can't be alone."
But he was, wasn't he? Butch hadn't seen Boomer in 789 days. The last time he had seen Brick was precisely two days before the world had ended. According to Buttercup, Bubbles had been gone for almost just as long, and Blossom had left three months into it all. She had been following some lead regarding the whereabouts of their sister, and supposedly, the apparent start to all of this madness. That, of course, had been almost four years ago.
Buttercup had wanted to go with Blossom; Butch knew first-hand how she still cried about it. But Blossom had said someone had needed to stay back—to keep what was left of the City safe. Buttercup had always been one of the best superheroes back in the day, so Butch understood why Blossom had made her stay behind. He didn't think Buttercup knew that, though, that people—that Blossom—had considered her one of the best.
Now, Buttercup was just another martyr on the ever-growing list. So, he supposed, her never knowing didn't really matter anymore.
"Tough my ass!" He yelled at the sky, sneering instead of crying because it was the easier thing to do, "Of course, you'd die! Of course, just to specifically piss me off!"
He fell onto his back and stared up at the blinding sun. It was now near noon. He could hear the creatures—the demonic things that stalked and hunted from the shadows—skittering about watching him. They didn't go where the sun touched; nightmares did their best work when it was dark out.
For a moment, Butch did little more than bask in the sunlight, watching almost numbly as a lazy cloud trekked its way across the sky. The moment it reached the sun, he would only have two options. The first was two-part: fight and run. The second choice was death. And the second choice was far more tempting.
The sun was coming out less and less now that the days were growing shorter. Even before the creatures had begun stalking the City, Butch had always thought winter was the most brutal season to get through. He wasn't big on the cold. However, winter was now more dangerous than it ever had been before, and if he didn't get back to the stronghold soon, the gaggle of survivors that made up what remained of Townsville would be dead within the week. It wasn't like Ima could keep handling the Night Patrol units by herself, especially with Princess still in the infirmary. If both he and Buttercup died today, Bellum would have her work cut out for her—figuring this one out.
But what was the point? Really, honestly? They were all dead anyway. So, what did it matter? It wasn't like the only thing he was living for would ever happen. He already knew he'd never see his brothers alive again. It was a fool's dream to think otherwise. No one had caught wind of Boomer anywhere. His baby brother had just seemingly disappeared. And it had been so long since Butch had last seen Brick, he wasn't sure he could even remember his brother's voice outside of nightmares.
Not for the first time, grief gripped his heart and he found himself mourning. He couldn't quit his brothers no matter how hard he tried, no matter how often he tossed their things away and tried to bury the sound of their laughter in some metaphorical grave deep in the recesses of his mind. Now, Butch could only see Brick in his mind—how wide his smile got when he laughed, how freckles covered him head to toe, how fucking smart he was, and how fucking dumb Butch had been all those years ago taking it all for granted.
The last thing Butch had ever said to his older brother was to go fuck himself. They had been fighting over the grocery list—Butch had forgotten the milk.
The fucking milk.
If he had just remembered the milk then—
His throat tightened unbearably, and again, he swallowed past the sobs, squeezing his eyes shut.
'They're not dead,' the Buttercup living inside his head chided, rolling her eyes, 'Are you thick or something? How many times do I have to this clear to you?'
He gritted his teeth, grinding them together as he tried his best to ignore her. He didn't want another ghost haunting him, especially hers.
'I believe in them, Butch, I believe in my sisters more than anything else in this world,' Ghost-Buttercup continued, 'They're alive. They'll be back.'
You don't know that, he thought, you really don't.
'Blossom promised.' Her voice echoed inside his head, something the real Buttercup had told him time and time again, 'Blossom doesn't break promises.'
Promises don't mean anything, he argued back, not anymore.
'Always put your money on Blossom, Butch, trust me.'
"You're dead." He told her ghost rather bluntly out loud as the world beyond his eyelids went dark, the cloud finally devouring the light of the sun, "You're gone."
"Butch?" Buttercup asked, and his eyes snapped open, "Who's gone?"
He stared up at her, mesmerized as she knelt above him, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. It was always falling loose from her stubby little ponytail, that dumb strand of hair; he dreamt about it.
"Buttercup?" He whispered.
She quirked an eyebrow at him, tilting her head ever so slightly to the left in question, "Yeah?"
He brought a shaky hand up to the cheek of her face, cupping it and ignoring how the temperature of her skin made him shiver. Then, quickly, he propped himself up on his elbow before fully sitting up so he could cup her whole face between his hands—her wonderful, beautiful, very alive face.
"You're not dead," He continued to whisper, still stunned—she was perfect. A vision.
Buttercup smiled, revealing the slight gap in her front teeth, "It takes a bit more than a few shadow freaks to kill me."
"You're not dead." He repeated, at a loss for words before the reality of the situation settled into his heart, and he swore he could have died right then and there, happy and content. "You're not dead! You piece of shit," He laughed, removing his hands from her cold face, so he could encircle them around her neck and bring her into a bone-crushing hug, "you scared the hell out of me."
She laughed, her breath tickling his ears as she returned the hug, wrapping her arms around him, "I'm okay!"
There was an odd tickle in his stomach, and he could feel the palms of his hands start to sweat, but he attributed it to the close proximity. He could count on one hand how many times he had hugged Buttercup in his life, and each time had left him more flustered than the last.
"Yeah," He agreed, heartbeat in his ears as he squeezed tighter, holding onto her like she'd disappear if he ever let go, "I thought you were dead."
"I'm not," She hummed after a long moment.
He broke out into a grin, agreeing quickly and hoping she wouldn't notice the tears of relief slipping down his face, "You're not."
"But you are, though." She said rather matter-of-factly, "You're dead."
His eyes fluttered open as he let go of her ever-so-slightly, "What?"
"Butch!" He heard someone scream, and he snapped his head to the left, following the sound, but Buttercup pulled his face back and locked her eyes with his.
"I said," Buttercup smiled—but now that he was looking, like really looking, it wasn't Buttercup, was it? Her voice wasn't quite right, and her smile was just a little too broad—and cupped his cheek, "I'm not dead, you are."
The nervous fluttering in his gut grew tenfold as black spots started taking over his vision. Butch tried shaking them away as he looked down at his stomach, his arms dropping on their own from around her neck. He swallowed, choking slightly on thick salvia mixed with blood, as he watched an impossibly long and bulky knife-like claw lodge itself firmly into his gut. The claw twisted around inside his body until the nail finally broke all the way through him, breaking through the skin of his back. Then, slowly, the claw began to pull out. With wide eyes, his head lulled up to meet Buttercup's stare once more.
Where bright, wonderful green eyes had just been, two ink-black eye sockets stared back. The stare was emotionless, but the corners of its mouth—whatever it was—was stretched out into a wide and grotesque smile with two pus-infected industrial staples keeping the corners of the smile permanently high up its face. It was almost cartoonish in style, but vaguely, it reminded Butch of HIM, how the demon's mouth would stretch up to its eyes when it was amused (or hungry).
The nightmare in front of him brought the blood-slick elongated claw up to its mouth, and a black tongue slithered out, wrapping its way around the nail. The blood that wasn't licked off dribbled down the creature's arm, where the black of its clawed hands gave way to the blistering and white skin of its arms. The creature sucked and licked contently, and with sick fascination (because he had never seen one of these things so up close before), Butch watched.
It had no nose or ears and only small tufts of hair covered its head. And it was horrible to look at, but Butch couldn't look away. Every inch of its large, awkwardly proportioned body was covered in peeling and blistered skin like it was suffering from a 3rd degree sunburn. When it noticed him watching, its' smile grew, irritating one of the staples that kept the corner of its mouth up, and Butch watched as pus began to ooze out of the wound.
"Butch," It cooed at him, "Oh, Butch!"
"Butch!" There was another scream, "I'm coming! Just hold on! Butch!"
"Buttercup lovesss you!" It giggled, "Oh yes, I doooo!"
Even though he absolutely knew that the thing in front of him wasn't at all his Buttercup (she was dead, he could remember that now), his traitorous heart still jumped at the admission. Or maybe, he was just dying. He couldn't tell. The last time he had died, he had just blown up. This was different altogether; it was like the Chemical-X in his body was frozen, unable to heal what was broken—it was just so cold all of a sudden. Where had the sun gone?
Butch's vision became darker and darker as the world around him swam. He slouched to the side, leaning onto his elbow, and tried to find his breath, barely responding to the sticky claw that tapped sharply against his cheek.
"Buttercup lovveesss you." The creature continued to coo as it began to push its' nail into the skin of his temple, "I lovvee you!"
"Hey, asshole—" There was a voice behind them as clear as day.
Startled, the creature looked over its shoulder with a hiss as Butch struggled to keep his eyes open. The figure was a tall green blob wearing a black hat, but Butch couldn't discern anything more. He was having a hard enough time remembering where his own feet were. Whoever the figure was, they snatched up the creature in front of him, grabbing it by its head like a bowling ball and holding its face up to the sky.
"—the sun's coming out." The green figure hissed, finishing their sentence, as the cloud from before finally moved away from the sun, continuing its lazy trek across the sky. The creature in the figure's grasp flailed about for a moment before it erupted into a high-pitched scream. The blistering on its' skin increased, bubbling as if the creature was being boiled alive.
Butch collapsed into a heap on the ground, too tired to support his own weight as he watched the creature's body bubble into a final convulsion. The gut of it exploded, a black substance spraying out, but the figure didn't seem interested in that as they chucked the monster's corpse far away and dropped to their knees in front of him.
"Butch!" They gasped, "Oh—Butch! I thought you were—shit, oh no, no, you're bleeding out! I—I need to get you to the Professor!" The figure in green, who smelt of sweat, blood, and something incredibly familiar and warm, scooped him up off the ground with a strength he had never thought a human could possess.
"Just stay with me, okay?" The figure pressed their foreheads together, their voice cracking, "Don't go just yet. I've got you now, okay? I'll protect you, I promise."
He tried answering, but his tongue was like cotton in his mouth.
"You're not dead yet," The figure whispered with a mouth pressed to the crown of his head, "we're not dead yet."
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talesofwhimsy · 10 months ago
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"As we hang up the map on the motel wall Count up the places that we've left behind, add the distances between them all All the bridges that someone's burned down for us All the chances that we burned all by ourselves
Makes us wonder what we were thinking then 'Cause we will never see Ireland again"
#I've been talking about moving past things a lot#Moving on#I said tonight that for the past five years I've been stagnating and spinning my wheels#But realistically it's been since I dropped out of college#And my mom going into the hospital I think snapped me awake#I realized she's not going to be around forever#I'll be lucky if she's around for another five years if I'm being honest#I have to do something with my life#I can't wait around#There's a lot of people I miss in my life#There's a couple people I really fucking miss#People that might still want something to do with me but maybe not#Burnt bridges hurt more if you don't know if they're totally burnt#Or if they're still burning and you can put them out#Or if they're not burning at all actually#Or if you're the one that burnt them or if that was someone else#I have burnt bridges before#I've burnt bridges I really shouldn't have#And sometimes it was because I didn't do anything when I should have#And sometimes it's because I did something I thought would be good but wasn't#And sometimes it was because I really needed to burn a bridge#But it still hurts#There are Irelands I want to see again#There are Irelands I'd give anything to see again#And there are Irelands I'm happy to never think about again#But I'm mostly making this post because of the second Irelands#But sometimes Irelands aren't people - they're places or ideas or things to move on from#And there's an Ireland I'm moving from that I don't want to but I'm still very excited to pull into New York Harbor anyway#And it took me a while to realize I deserved to be there#I'm mixing my metaphors
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starry-bi-sky · 8 months ago
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tales of the passerine - danny fenton being bruce wayne's first kid
okay okay. so this is like a continuation/elaboration of my oneshot/prompt i wrote about the idea that Danny was the first batkid. We have a lot of aus where he joins the family after the rest of the bats do, right? So hey! Lets shake things up a bit. Danny is the first to be adopted by Bruce Wayne.
Danny's parents and unfortunately Jazz die shortly after the events of TUE -- how so? I was gonna say an ecto-filter explosion, that would call back to the TUE explosion and trauma behind that. But lets do something new! Carbon-monoxide poisoning.
It's not too unexpected for something to break in the Fenton house, especially with the Fenton parents' questionable understanding of proper weapon handling and lab safety. The water heater broke from a stray shot by one of the weapons, and was promptly MacGyver'd incorrectly. Danny went to stay with Tucker for a guys' night, and came back to a dead silent house.
(Danny's neighbors got a very unfortunate shock when he ran to the next house over in hysterics.)
There was a lot of shuffling around with CPS, the police. People had to be called in to handle the equipment in the lab, and the GIW was rumoring to show up in aid to clearing the scene. When Danny heard of that, he immediately went and dismantled the ghost portal to the best of his abilities. He burned the physical blueprints of all his parents' inventions, their blueprints on the ghost portal, and their most dangerous weapons were destroyed beyond recognition. Anything to prevent the GIW from getting their hands on his parents' tech.
It opened up another investigation, but he was not under the list of suspects. He was placed in the care of Vlad Masters, where they then went back to the rebuilt castle mansion in Wisconsin. Danny, terrified of the future that has once passed and may do so again, shuts down in his grief. Inadvertently, he ends up somewhat repressing his ghost half. Something Vlad, who is grieving Madeline but relishing in Jack's demise and his custody of Daniel, is not very happy with.
Vlad's... gone into a bit of a mental health spiral. He's becoming increasingly possessive over Daniel, the final remnants of his friends and a liminal being like him. He doesn't like that Danny's repressing his ghost half -- both out of genuine concern as a ghost, but also because of his desire to control Danny and groom him into the perfect son. If you ever had a phase where you read Dark SBI found family fics, first off; me too bro, and second off; those are the vibes I'm thinking of.
Danny's mentally shut down from grief! And fear. He's dropped into a bad depressive state -- paralyzed with grief and the terror of the inevitable. Clockwork saved his parents because he believes in second chances, but what's the point of that when his family ended up dead anyways? Danny doesn't wanna believe that he's destined to become evil, and he's holding out onto that hope, but it's a thin line, and he feels utterly hopeless and trapped. He hasn't used his powers or ghost form since he trashed the lab, and Vlad has alarms set up to prevent him from trying to escape.
He's also unintentionally cut off Sam and Tucker -- both of whom are so scared and concerned for Danny too, and are trying their damndest to reach out to him. He keeps ignoring their texts. Danny basically haunts Vlad's manor. He goes out to eat if he has to, attends parties Vlad drags him to, and stays in his room all day if he can.
At parties, Vlad doesn't allow Danny to leave his side, or really talk to anyone -- not that Danny wants to. A product of Vlad's increasing possessiveness. Well, he almost doesn't let Danny leave his side. Danny has a habit of slipping off to hide somewhere for the parties whenever he can, and Vlad reluctantly allows it so long as he stays alone.
This becomes an advantage when eventually, Bruce Wayne returns to Gotham after missing for years, and holds a bright charity ball to celebrate the return. Vlad has been chomping at the bits to get his hands on Wayne Industries, and with the return of its owner there is no better opportunity to wipe out his rival. He goes, and he as normal, brings Daniel with him.
Vlad thinks Wayne will bleed his little heart out for Daniel's poor orphan sob story -- he's a fellow orphan himself, after all. He's not wrong; Wayne's little heart will bleed, just not in the way that benefits him.
Bruce sees Vlad and Danny approaching before they're even close enough to introduce themselves - and like with many of the children he will soon come to care for, it's like someone set a mirror into the past right in front of him.
Danny Fenton's suit is tailor-made for him, and despite the fact that it's his perfect size, the sag in his shoulders, the ducked down head, and the way he hunches into himself all pictures the image of a child in shoes too big for him. There's a far away, glazed over look in his eyes and grief marble-cut into the lines of his face. There's not enough makeup in the world that will hide the dark circles under his eyes.
("My nephew, Daniel Fenton." Vlad's hands are possessive on Danny's shoulders. Bruce immediately notices the way the boy tenses under his touch. "His parents passed recently, and as his godfather I was designated his guardian.") ("I'm so sorry, the loss must've been terrible.") ("Yes, carbon-monoxide poisoning caused it. Daniel was out with friends, when he came home... they had already passed.") (Bruce immediately dislikes that Vlad shared the details of their death unprompted -- he likes it even less when Danny flinches at the reminder and hunches into himself.)
Danny runs off at some point earlier into the charity. At this point, parties are still being held at Wayne Manor (because iirc google search mentioned that was a thing at first before it was changed), so he disappears and hides in one of the empty rooms nearby. It just so happens to be the same room Bruce Wayne hides in when he needs a break from all of the socialization.
Thus begins a long, long process of trust. Bruce can't reveal his hand as being smarter than he looks, but he can be compassionate. Kindness needs no measure of intelligence. He keeps Danny company for as long as he can before he runs the risk of being found.
Rinse and repeat. Vlad insistently wants Wayne Industries, and he'll go to as many Wayne parties as he can to get his hooks into the man. The problem is that Bruce Wayne is never alone, and getting him alone is impossible. Finding him too. It's like the man never stops moving. Always talking to someone, always circling somewhere. He orbits around the room as if he isn't the sun of the Gotham Elite's solar system.
Danny's had such repetitive behavior that Vlad never thinks to believe that Bruce Wayne is disappearing to go talk to him. That "Vlad's" son is even interacting with him at all. Danny never gives him a reason to think so, and neither does Bruce.
Danny doesn't actually acknowledge Bruce until a handful of parties in, where he hands Bruce a small slip of paper he smuggled in that says; "don't trust Vlad". Danny's face stays carefully blank, but he's so tense that his hands are trembling, and he's purposely looking away from him. Bruce plasters a smile onto his face, slips the paper into his pocket, and tells him "okay".
(he's been busy with his own goals with the mafia, but he sets aside time to investigate Vlad Masters. He was holding off. Until now.)
Danny does eventually start speaking to Bruce, he's starting to really like the guy. He's starting to see a little hope, even as Vlad is starting to get more and more agitated with him the more he refuses to use his powers.
He reaches out to Sam and Tucker again, and starts trying to reconnect with them. Vlad has spyware on his phone, and he limits the amount of times he can talk to them. A weird parental control lock of some sort that leaves a time limit on how long he can talk to them for. 30 minutes. Danny doesn't tell them anything about Mr. Wayne.
Danny, slowly, wants out of here, and he's slowly gathering the motivation to do it. Vlad is genuinely scaring him -- and Danny wonders just how truthful the past-future Vlad was when he told him that Danny wanted his ghost half separate. He starts trying to come up with an escape plan.
Vlad has anti-ghost wards everywhere around the mansion, and while they're always on, they boost to full power at sunset. The doors and windows are always locked, all main exits have alarms set on them. The only reason it's not super extensive is because Danny hasn't tried leaving at all yet, so Vlad hasn't had to tighten anything.
At night, Vlad locks the door to his room and puts up an anti-ghost ward around the room. The mansion is on the outside westward side of Madison, more entrenched in rural Wisconsin. The closest town is a four-way stop sign with one house on three corners, and an open bar on the fourth. Not much to go.
He refuses to go to Sam and Tucker; Vlad would look there first. It's too dangerous. Vlad would sound alarm bells and have a manhunt looking for him, Danny can't risk going just anywhere. Too much risk of being found, sold out, or caught. There's really nowhere for him to hide.
Until there is. Bruce is telling Danny about the history of Wayne Manor, and says, as casually as saying the weather; "The manor has dozens of empty rooms, I'm sure Alfred wouldn't mind filling another one if he could." And quietly, hesitantly, Bruce places a careful hand on Danny's shoulder, unrestrictive and gentle; "He wouldn't mind getting one ready for you if you need one."
And there it is. There's his out.
Danny, just as quietly, replies; "I'll keep that in mind."
The ball starts rolling.
Now I've been trying to summarize this au as much as possible for length convenience, but Vlad has been steadily growing more and more controlling. More emotionally manipulative. More agitated at Danny for not using his powers.
He wants Wayne Industries under his thumb but he's been steadily growing more and more concerned with Danny. He's started grabbing him, yanking him around, shaking him; trying to goad him into using his powers. He gets angry when Danny doesn't react, or tells him he doesn't want to use his powers. He hasn't outright attacked him, but he's getting there. This has been happening over the time it takes for Bruce to indirectly offer Danny sanctuary at his home.
It all comes to a head when Vlad stops going to parties at all -- something Danny has to pretend he isn't upset about -- because Vlad doesn't want him around other people anymore. Vlad rarely goes now without him, and only leaves to go to a Wayne function or to handle something at VladCo.
Danny can't wait for Vlad to leave long enough to escape. So he leaves during the night of a big storm. Vlad's locked him in his room, but Danny doesn't bother trying to go for it; he goes to the alarmed window instead. Danny's been repressing his ghost half so long that he can't access his powers immediately anymore -- he can feel it, he knows its there, but he can't quite reach it.
He breaks the lock by hand.
Immediately the alarm goes off through the entire castle, filling the room with red, and he scrambles for the rope the Wisconsin Ghost left for him a few months back. Danny's already out and climbing down the side of the castle before Vlad even reaches his door -- the only good thing about the entire room being ghost-proof is that Vlad can't get in that way.
The rope ends before it reaches the bottom, and he's still twenty feet in the air. It won't kill him if he lands it right. Danny takes his chances, and drops. He breaks his ankle, but he survives.
And he fucking books it to the back garden. He hears Vlad shrieking over the thunder and rain.
I'll save the full experience for a future oneshot, but Danny makes it out into the nearby woods and forcibly experiences what it's like to be in a horror game, trying to hide from the thing that's hunting you. There's only one thing going through his mind; "i'm going to die"
I have this mental image for this scene. Very stereotypical horror imo. Where Danny is hiding behind a tree, with a hand over his mouth, and Vlad is a few feet away from him, glowing ominously red through the trees, trying to search for him.
Danny doesn't get away from this unscathed, but he does get away alive. That's all he could ask for. He gets away by getting his ghost half awakened long enough to transform into Phantom and fly to Gotham.
But he gets to Wayne Manor, he gets to Bruce. Or, at least, Alfred answers the door from his insistent pounding. Danny's just in tears and Alfred gets him in the living room, wrapped in a towel, with ice on his swollen leg before he has to step out and alert Bruce.
Bruce already breaks multiple traffic laws on a nightly basis. And that's just with the sheer existence of the batmobile itself, not including the speeding and military artillery attached. He breaks double the amount trying to speed back to the cave and get out of the suit.
Right off the bat: Bruce will know, at least before Dick enters the picture, about danny's powers. He'll figure out something considering the fact that Danny traveled from Wisconsin to New York in a single night. That'll be a bit of complicated affair, but I've already got something in mind.
Actually it'll probably be very soon after Danny joins the family, because Bruce tries to offer to fight for custody for Danny - the state Danny was in at arrival is clear enough evidence for a trial. But Danny immediately shuts it down, says it's not going to work and then Vlad will know Danny's with him and he won't be safe. He tells him that Vlad cannot know Danny was with Bruce.
Danny's biggest regret was not telling his parents he was a halfa, and while he doesn't want to tell mister wayne (yet), he does tell him about Vlad being one. He needs to know why Danny can't be seen with Bruce. So he tells him, and Danny's current plan is to just hide out from Vlad until he turns 18. That way, he has no more legal jurisdiction over him. After that? He's not sure.
And to wrap this up, since this has already gotten very long and I can make more posts about this au later; I've thought about it, and I'm going to say that Danny does become a vigilante before Dick enters the scene. He goes by, as you probably guessed; Nightingale. "Gale" for short.
#dpxdc#dp x dc#danny fenton is not the ghost king#dp x dc crossover#dpxdc crossover#tales of the passerine au#i dont want to overemphasize how much vlad sucks but also i dont want to downplay it. but also i didn't wanna make this post too long#i didn't emphasize enough on vlad's possessiveness but i wanted to make this post as general enough as possible for the au.#for some more wiggle room in the future if i make more posts about this au.#the consequences for Danny repressing himself was not a concern i was focused on for the post but i am thinking about it and mulling it ove#i'll be blunt my main specific reason for why this occurs shortly after tue is bc it means dani doesn't exist yet and it means i dont have#to include her in the continuation of this au. i love that girl but she's a dead weight. i dont wanna come up with an elaborate reason as#to why she's not in the picture when i can just say 'she never created in the first place' instead. i don't have anything for her to do#I don't want to risk giving her a poor plot line just so that she exists in au.#sometimes i really hate just how long my posts get. i feel like it kills my engagement. but i also don't want to make posts that have#a part 1 and part 2 just because I think it got too long.#i feel kinda bad for having Danny take the spot of 'first partner' from Dick. But that was part of the reason i was inspired to make this a#i've already got the skeleton of a reasoning for danny becoming a vigilante being made in my head.#He can't go by Phantom since that risks drawing Vlad's attention -- a new vigilante showing up in Gotham. a place the visited frequently#who goes by the name Phantom? He'd be on that faster than chickens on meat. and nightingale has familial meaning behind it due to being#part of an ancestral name. it follows robin's theme of using it to honor his parents while still having its own unique enough lore to stand#on its own without feeling like a cheap copy. plus the bonus meta reason that it follows the bird theme. which personally is vital to me#my other alternative to Nightingale is Sparrow. mostly because it has good phonetic structure for a hero name. not too many syllables#a good balance of consonants and vowels. dont want a hero name with too many syllables or unbalanced consonants. or worse; both.#my reasonings is that hero names should be easy for a civ or teammate to yell while still being understood. max amount of syllables before#it threatens to become too wordy is 3. If it goes over 3 it should have a balanced consonant-vowel ratio. Wonder Woman is a good example#some things got cut here that were in the initial oneshot. like danny giving bruce his physical ghost core and showing up bloody.#the first son au
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covertblizzard · 10 months ago
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jaykyle au where they're theatre kids in the same school but they're not the actors jason's the scriptwriter/director and kyle is the prop manager (i don't know the official terms sorry) and they'd probably do an amazing job on the backstage setting if they could stop arguing for 5 whole seconds about their artistic visions and ideas and how "this would obviously work better this way"
#jason todd#kyle rayner#jaykyle#mypost#dc thoughts#vp of the club: maybe we should find some other people to do the job if they can't get along?#pres of the club: no they're both talented af and i want this to be raving success just knock their heads tgt and tell them to play nice or#i'll make them wear the get along shirt again#WAIT ONE SEC DONNA'S THE PRES and overseer she's pissed bcos kyle played the same role last year and he was chill then#wally's vp no 1 and backstage manager and he's thinking of kicking kyle out#dick's vp no 2 and main lead and he's thinking of kicking jason out bcos it's embarrassing and annoying to work with your younger siblings#kon helps kyle with props and bart is one of the actors and kon is jealous af about it he grumbles a little#roy is the fight scene choreographer#i'm trying to think of something for garth but the only thing that comes to mind i'm not sure are fitting enough#actor manager? weapon manager? oooh maybe pet manager if they have animals... human and pet manager???? hr department but including animals#ooooh maybe pet manager if they have animals#raven can play bart's love interest (in play) maybe (wally doesn't like it and neither does gar for very different reasons)#eddie deals with the contraptions they build for this bubble machines smoke machines lowering and raising anything mechanical#rose and cass helps with the weapons stuff they keep fighting too and roy is TIRED#connor plays the villain he didn't mean to or want to but he got dragged into it and he's really hot and gunned in for next years main lead#he doesnt want this#steph and mia are hair makeup costume department but bart and kon love to hangout and help too#jennie-lynn and bart are in-charge of socials#tim pops up a lot because so many of his friends (and brothers) are here and when he does he helps steph and mia#damian too pops up to help with pet management and sometimes prop art#this is much to dicks annoyance jason is already here can his little brothers LEAVE HIM ALONE SOMETIMES UGH#damian (taking cues from talia and bruce loverenemies dynamic and wanting an artist in-law): we should set jason and kyle up#dick: no / tim: hmm / dick: NO#i want to add the yj girls (cassie cissie greta anita) but i know too little about them right now but imagine they're there and the roles#are to be determined
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helenofblackthorns · 1 day ago
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ooo to add onto this, I feel like this whole situation become so so much more interesting & complex when you read it with the knowledge gained from the infernal devices. because by the time city of heavenly fire is published, it's very very clear that Jace is Tessa's descendant; the family tree literally spells it out for you. TID's main plot is all tied up in Tessa's weird ancestry, ultimately being revealed that she is the daughter of an unblessed Shadowhunter & the greatest of all Eidolon demon and by being her descendant, Jace is their descendant too. the mortal instruments works best when you're aware of the irony that Jace really did have demon blood all along, and that was intentional fairly early on (Tessa first appears in at the end City of Glass and is clearly there talking to Magnus bc one of her descendants just appeared out of thin air lol).
I definitely have my critiques with how Jonathan & his demon blood was handled at times but also CC does hint towards the flaws of how the characters view Jonathan & I know I forget that sometimes lol. like the second half of tmi, where we see the most of Jonathan, was directly juxtaposed with the infernal devices when it was being published. there's an obvious parallel between Tessa and Jonathan, as they're both the product of child experimentation combining angel and demon blood in order to create a new species of people, but Tessa very decidedly not evil because she wasn't raised by a egotistical manipulator who wanted her to be. multiple times are we showed both Jocelyn and Valentine having biases about Jonathan that aren't actually found on anything, although with Valentine these tend to come from extra content (theres a mini comic & Jonathan's "fun fact" in the flower book comes to mind too). I do wish there was a little more within the actual series tho tbh.
as for Jace reclaiming the name Herondale, I think it's just that. Valentine raised him to be anyone, and thus no one, a changeling (Tessa parallel??). his name wasn't given to him, but someone else, and he grew up living someone else life. as far as anyone was concerned, Valentine especially, there was no baby Herondale. To me, by choosing the name Herondale, Jace defies Valentine and all his plans by reaffirming he was someone before he tried to erase him. Valentine told him who he was, who he should be by constantly robbing Jace of what he had, and the very first thing he took was Stephen and Celine, and their parents (directly or indirectly). Jace can't hate them or love them, because he never knew them. and if the Herondales die without him, then it just another thing Valentine stole from him.
like idk to me, it's less about whether or not Jace had a relationship with Stephen (or any Herondale) that justifies him continuing on the family name, because he doesn't. but by being a Herondale, he survives Valentine and everything he did. everything Valentine did was meaningless in the end — he didn't need to do it! circling back to Tessa, if Valentine wanted a shadowhunter with demon blood that badly, he had one standing right next to him willing to do whatever he wanted! nobody asked him to start sacrificing sons to the cause of creating a better world in his image.
(side note, I imagine the reason he doesn't consider the Montclaire name is because it's probably already been reclaimed by the Clave or has other members still continuing it. Herondale was still being used by Imogen up until her death in City of Ashes so it dying out is a very recent development)
it's 2am this might have stopped being coherent ages ago but like also idk if I read that as Jace saying people can't change tbh. to me he's saying that names in and of themselves don't really change anything, like Jonathan dying his hair black didn't change anything either. a name is just a name, and Herondale was supposed to be his. something could also be said on how it parallels Clary too because Jocelyn spent her own life pretending she was Clary Fray, a normal mundane girl, but she wasn't. Valentine would have wanted her to be Clary Morgenstern, but she wasn't that either.
My firmest TSC take will always be that Jace should have gone by Lightwood in the end. I get that him being a Herondale makes sense in the grand scheme of the TSC universe (him, Will, James, Kit, and Edmund are all birds of a feather), but his personal arc is far more dependent on the family who raised him. Learning about his biological parents is of course important to him, but calling himself a Herondale doesn't actually feel like a resolution to his identity crisis. TMI is all about rejecting the hatred handed down from previous generations, which is why neither Clary nor Jace identify as Morgensterns. While Stephen was nowhere near as bad as Valentine, he also did even less to shape Jace into his adult self. Robert and Maryse on the other hand actually raised him for half his life, and Alec Isabelle and Max grew up alongside him as his siblings. He's a Lightwood in every way that matters, I don't get why Jace (in-universe) would choose to identify himself as a Herondale when there's nothing tying him to that family but blood spilled before he was born.
Anyways, I'm a Jace Lightwood truther for life, thank you for coming to my tedtalk
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aquanutart · 1 year ago
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I absolutely LOVE the Squirtle/Wartortle illustrations by kantaro in Pokemon 151!
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The Squirtle jumping so joyfully from the rock into the ocean, the colors are STUNNING! I love the contrast of the Squirtle's aqua blue framed in the vivid orange sky, the soft bit of blue reflecting in its shell and its tail just catching the sun, how little and squishy its body looks as it launches itself towards the water with such tremendous excitement!
The lineless style of the background gives me the feel of a travel poster and I sense the tropical environment around it from the rocks and trees framing the corners, the waterfall splashing with as much energy as the Squirtle!
The layered blues on the surface of the water and the bubbles rising at the corner make me FEEL the liquid rising to meet the Squirtle--I can just feel how the next moment it's going to break through and be immersed in a cool island swim!
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And the Wartortle running along the sunset beach, this is somehow everything I always imagined for Wartortle! I adore the way the rich purple melts into the warm red/orange sky, the matching purple clouds and shadows in the foreground, and how the dimming sunlight glows red on Wartortle's deep blues!
I love how the yellow and orange of the sky illuminate the lapping waves, I can just feel the gentle motion of the sea at dusk. The aqua color of the ocean matches Wartortle's ears and tail and sets off the red-orange sand, I just love how the colors are here!
Wartortle looks so round and squishy, I love its happiness as it goes frolicking through the shallows, chasing the bubbles caught in the setting sun! The shine and deep shadow on its shell give it an almost jewel texture like real tortoise shell; I love the silhouetted splash Wartortle leaves as it goes running across the shore. It's so full of energy and delight at the end of a gorgeous day! The colors in these are SO vivid and harmonized and the style is so cute and bursting with energy and joy. I just LOVE it (also Squirtle is my starter)
#pokemon#pokemon tcg#long post#i have deep affection for bulbasaur as well though and i also love the bulbasaur/ivysaur cards in this set#i SO wish we'd gotten art of the final evolutions in the same style as the pre-evos' standard cards!!#(yes i do love the full art ones but i also love the illustrations on the standard cards!)#from the way the settings in these two were going; i would have imagined blastoise to be set at night (??)#i LOVE pokemon cards. i can't keep up with every set but i started collecting again now and then a few years ago#and 151 has really got me wanting the full set the way i haven't since childhood. SO many beautiful illustrations (but there always are)#it's like having little pieces of art of my favorite characters and it's only.. slightly... less expensive than actually commissioning ....#i KNOW it's less expensive to buy the individuals online but it's so much less fun#part of the fun is having YOUR own pokemon journey ((going to the store)) and seeing what YOU encounter ((when you open the pack))#i do buy them online sometimes but i usually dont form as strong associations with them as when i open a pack in a certain setting or place#i tend to try to save them to open right before a significant event like starting something new or a holiday. so that i form associations#and it's like 'oh that's the galarian obstagoon from when my mom came home for christmas'#and 'that's the snorlax who reassured me when i was hurt'#i don't buy them too often so i've got to make it count#anyway i know i should wait for the prices on this one to come down because it's absolutely ridiculous#i didn't buy anything at release because i was like $6 for one booster pack??? but i couldn't take just sitting and watching them sell out#i really like the poster because i can look at so many beautiful pictures all together#i could say stuff like this about literally every pokemon illustration (if i had time to write it out) and sometimes i've wanted to#i just chose these two because these are a couple of my original favorite pokemon and i just couldn't keep it to myself. i LOVE these
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