#Her cape may change one day

[natalievoncatte]

Alex and Kara looked at each other. Kara stood before her desk in full Supergirl regalia, cape feeling heavy on her back.

“There has to be an explanation for this,” said Alex.

Kara couldn’t accept that. If Lena had gone no-contact for a time, that would be reasonable. She’d sometimes hole up in her lab for days at a time, barely sleeping or eating, consumed by an idea- but she would warn Kara first. She definitely wouldn’t no-show a brunch da… a brunch friend meetup between friends at their favorite patisserie and then go totally off radar for three days.

“She didn’t show up to our brunch,” Kara said. “We have to find her. I need to know she’s okay, Alex.”

Her sister sat back in her chair and looked back at her over her desk.

“Have you looked? You can cover more ground and do it faster than we ever could.”

“Of course I’ve *looked*,” said Kara. “That’s why I’m so worried. I flew past her apartment and things weren’t right. There was a mug of tea left out on the counter. The place was messy. Lena doesn’t do messy.”

“But no signs of a struggle,” said Alex.

“I called Jess and she said Lena left her a message saying she needed a few days away and she’d be back by Friday.”

“So,” said Alex, “sounds like you should wait until Friday.”

“She missed our date, Alex.”

There was a heavy, uncomfortable pause. Alex went very still, examining Kara with calculating eyes. She picked up a pen and toyed with it in both hands, frowning.

“Maybe she just needs space?”

“Why would she need space. I’m her best friend. We were having Sunday brunch. We have Sunday brunch every Sunday.”

Alex rocked slightly in her desk chair.

“Okay. I’ll order Brainy to start a search and we’ll see if we can pin her down, but Kara… she’s your friend. Sometimes friends need space. Something may have come up.”

Kara crossed her arms. “Then why wouldn’t she tell me? She wouldn’t just ghost me, Alex. I’m telling you she wouldn’t.”

“Okay,” Alex began, “alright, like I said, we’ll start a search.”

She said something else, but Alex’s voice was drowned out by another.

Lex.

“Hello, Kara. Don’t move, don’t react. I’ve hacked the DEO systems and I’m broadcasting on a frequency your charming sister can’t hear, only you. You’re going to follow my instructions. Say okay, or there will be consequences.”

“Okay, Alex,” said Kara, “I’ll go home and try to relax.”

Kara had to use every ounce of her Kryptonian control over her muscles and breathing to appear calm.

“I’ll let you know if we wind anything.”

Kara nodded and turned to leave.

“Go to your locker, and change. You’ll find one of my agents has left a note with an address. Go there, and do not change back into that cheerful little costume of yours. This one is for Kara Danvers.

Thinking along the way, Kara walked silently to the locker room. Once she was inside, and free of cameras, she hurriedly texted Alex, urging her not to react or do anything obvious but that the system had been compromised and there was at least one Cadmus goon in the building.

Then, she changed. The note was in the pocket of her shirt.

Grinding her teeth, Kara left the DEO as a human did, on foot, and traversed National City as a human did, slowly. It didn’t take long for her to spot the drones; she was being watched.

The address wasn’t far, a small commercial building about ten blocks from the DEO, a nondescript brick block with roll-up garage doors not unlike a dozen others on the same street. Kara walked around to the side of the building where a glass door buzzed and unlocked.

Kara opened it and stepped inside. Immediately inside the entrance was just an empty vestibule with an occupied receptionists’s counter and an old chair. A sticky note hung on the wall with an arrow.

Following it, Kara found a solid door that was lined on the inside with lead, as were the walls, of course. She turned the knob, super-hearing amplifying the turning of its oiled core, and stepped through.

On the other side was a large pod hooked up to a variety of tubes and cables. As she walked in, Kara passed a bank of monitors lining the wall with the door. A Bluetooth speaker sat on a folding table. Lex’s voice carried from it.

“Hello, Kara.”

“What is this?”

“I know you’ve been frantically looking for my sister. She’s been here the entire time. Look- but don’t touch. You won’t like the consequences.”

As he spoke, the outer shell of the pod rotated open, revealing a tank of amber liquid. Lena floated inside, an oxygen mask on her face and sensors stuck to her body. She was dressed in a black bodysuit, and looked changed somehow. Kara wasn’t sure how, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“Sleeping beauty herself.”

“What have you done to her?”

“Well,” said Lex, “it’s quite a long story and you’re a bit too dull to grasp the complexity so I’ll sum up: a little bit of Harun-El here, a bit of your DNA that my mother stole there, and a tiny sprinkle of a special bespoke Kryptonite with a very short half life… the short answer is that I’ve given my sister superpowers.”

Kara blinked.

“You… what? Why?”

Lex laughed, tinny and distant. “It’s simple really. It’s all about the final, secret ingredient, another type of Kryptonite radiation courtesy of my… what’s the word I’m looking for… my inferior imitator, Max Lord. You may remember it.”

“Lex,” Kara said. “What did you do?”

“Let me show you.”

The pod’s inner transparent walls opened and dumped Lena on the floor. She landed on her knees, gasping as she yanked the mask away from her mouth and stood up.

“Kara?” she said. “Where are we? How did we get here? I was about to leave for… I feel strange.”

Lena looked at her with wide wild eyes and Kara edged closer, her heart pounding harder with every step. Her dark hair was slicked back over her neck from the fluid in the tank and she looked pale, but her cheeks were just a touch fuller.

Then it hit Kara, why Lena had looked different. She looked to have put on fifteen pounds at least of muscle, adding a blocky quality to her shoulders, thickening her legs and biceps. She didn’t seem to notice.

“Lena dear,” said the tinny speaker, “sister mine. I must tell you something.”

Lena winced. “Why is he so loud? Wait, Lex? What is this? What did you do?”

Kara froze, a cold ball forming in her stomach. Oh great Rao.

She could see it. A faint hint of a red sparkle in the whites of Lena’s eyes.

Courtesy of Max Lord.

“Lena,” said Kara. “Listen, okay? Try to stay calm. I’ll get you som help.”

“No, listen to me,” Lex said. “I have a little secret to tell you.”

Lena’s gaze snapped around to the speaker. Behind Kara, the monitors turned on, and Lena’s eyes went wide. Kara paused for a moment and then turned, dread coiling like a serpent in her guts.

One monitor showed her catching a bullet. Another, yanking open her shirt to reveal the crest. Another… another… another. There was even one with a feed of her changing out of her suit in the DEO locker room.

“Kara Danvers,” Lex intoned, “is Supergirl. She lied to you. She’s been lying to you. She’s always lied to you. It’s just as I said- the alien has been using you since the start.”

“Lena,” said Kara. “He’s lying.”

Lena looked at her sharply, eyes narrowing. “About you being Supergirl?”

“No, I am,” Kara admitted, “but I would never use you. I have my reasons why I didn’t tell you and I promise I’ll tell you everything, but first you need help. Lex has poisoned you. You will get very sick if we don’t take you back to the DEO.”

“So she can take your powers!” Lex said. “The powers I gave you. I didn’t poison you, I made you a god. We’re going be gods together, Lena. Once we rid the world of these alien freaks we’ll show the world a better tomorrow.”

“Lex,” said Lena, “shut the fuck up.”

“She lied, she lied!” the speaker cackled.

Lena looked at it. “Where are you?”

“I’ll tell you as soon as you’ve dealt with the Kryptonian.”

Lena smiled, but there was no warmth in it. Only a baring of teeth.

“I see. I need a moment in private with Kara.”

Lena glanced at the speaker and it exploded in a shower of sparks and melted plastic, leaving scorch marks on the table.

Oh Rao. It took Kara years to use her heat vision. Lena had tapped into it in what, a minute?

“Lena,” Kara said, as softly as she dared. “I need you to listen to me.”

“No, you’re going to listen.”

Lena blurred. The impact shook Kara to the bones, rattled her teeth in the sockets. Before she knew what happened, she was against the wall, wrists held firmly in Lena’s hands, pinned above her head. Lena leaned in close, languidly pressing her entire body against Kara’s.

“Do you remember,” Lena husked, “that day in my office when you were being a little brat about doing your job and I called you to the carpet for it?”

Kara blinked.

“Yes,” she said, quietly. “I don’t think brat is the word I’d chose.”

“I would,” Lena said, her voice low and sultry, as she looked at Kara through her lashes. “That’s exactly what you were until I put you in your place, and then you were ready to be a good girl for me.”

Kara’s brain short circuited. It took her a half minute to stammer a few nonsense syllables as a jolt shot up her spine from low in her hips to the crown of her head, like she’d been plunged into frigid water.

Kara stared back at her, feeling a strange squirming pressure that she quickly realized was Lena pushing her thighs apart with one of her own, pressing her knee between them to drive her thigh muscle into Kara, against the apex of her legs.

“Interesting,” Lena whispered, her blow eyes scanning Kara’s features. “The flush is obvious… but the heat bloom on your skin and the pupil dilation.”

Kara gasped.

“See,” Lena whispered into Kara’s lips. “Good girl.”

Kara honest to God whimpered.

“My brother. Silly boy, probably thought I was going to go into a rage and kill you because you lied to me for so long.”

Kara nodded. “Yeah that was probably his plan.”

“He’s such a silly goose,” said Lena. “I’m sure he’ll be surprised when I rip his head off his neck.”

“Lena!”

“Oh come on, you know you want to. You must have thought about it. It would be so easy to just… finish it.”

“I have,” Kara admitted, “but it wouldn’t be right. I can’t just murder a man in cold blood.”

Lena’s body undulated against her.

“Please stop.”

“Why?”

“He exposed you to Red Kryptonite. You’re not thinking straight. I’d be taking advantage of you.”

“It seems I’m the one who’s pinned you, miss Danvers. I don’t think you’re taking advantage.”

“Lena,” Kara said, “I want to talk, okay? I want to talk about all of this and… and take things slow. Your brother is probably watching this.”

“Let him,” said Lena. “I’ll be the icing on the cake. You know all this sturm and drang of his is just Lex throwing a tantrum because Clark wouldn’t fuck him.”

“Lena!”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me, Kara. The way you look at my tits. We both know you want this.”

“Okay maybe I was looking,” Kara admitted, breathing harder. “You’re v-very… very pretty and I’ve been feeling things for you for a long time and… and Lena please I don’t want to do this like this.”

Lena drew back.

“You’re terrified.”

Kara nodded, biting her lip. Slowly, Lena released her grip on Kara’s wrists and stepped back.

“Please come with me to the DEO. It hasn’t been long but the longer you go without treatment the worse you’ll get. Pretty soon it won’t matter if I say no.”

Lena recoiled, horrified. “I would… I would never.”

“When I was poisoned like this, I threw Cat Grant off a building.”

“Apparently, it didn’t work. I’m sure she had it coming.”

“I almost killed Alex.”

Lena frowned. “Oh.”

Kara extended a hand. “Come with me, okay?”

Lena hesitated, then closed a firm grip around Kara’s outstretched palm and let Kara lead her back to the door. Kara took a sharp breath and guided Lena outside.

As soon as they hit the open air, Lena clapped her hands over her ears and screamed.

“Kara! Kara, what’s happening, what is this?”

“It’s your super-senses. Just try to focus on one sound. Here.”

Kara pulled her into an embrace, guiding her ear to Kara’s chest as Eliza once did for her. Gritting her teeth, Lena locked her arms around Kara and breathed hard, squeezing Kara’s ribs.

“Come on, I’ve got you.”

Finally, Alex showed up with five vans full of DEO agents. Kara focused on guiding Lena into the back of one of the vans.

“Was he here?” said Alex.

“Clear the building and all that but get us back to the DEO now,” Kara demanded. “Tell Brainy to get the Red K protocol ready.”

“What? Oh God, Kara, have you been exposed?”

“No, Lena has.”

Alex blinked.

“Wait, what?”

“Just get us back!”

Alex turned and made a motion at the driver and the van backed into a j-turn. Lena was still clinging to her.

“Kara, it’s too much, it hurts.”

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “We’ll get you some noise canceling headphones when we get back. Just listen to my heart, okay?”

Lena nodded against her chest.

When they finally arrived, Kara gently picked Lena up and carried her inside and directly to the med bay, laying her on a the sunbed, while Brainy helped Alex set up the Red Kryptonite scrubber protocol.

Lena relaxed into the bed as Kara placed the headphones on her.

“Kara,” said Alex. “A word.”

Kara followed her outside, then immediately dumped everything on her.

Alex blinked a few times.

“Fuck,” she muttered.

“Yeah,” said Kara.

“You didn’t have to be that detailed, Kara. I could have gone without you describing Lena doing the knee thing to my little sister.”

“The what?”

Alex rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Okay, okay. She’s going to be okay. Except she has superpowers now. She still needs a complete physical, just to make sure he didn’t do anything else, no surprises.”

“Right.”

“I can’t believe that was his whole plan. Make Lena a super and expose her to Red Kryptonite?”

“If he could give her powers, he could give himself powers, or someone else. This is serious, Alex.”

“I know, but seriously, what did he think was going to happen? She’d lose her mind and attack you?”

“I think that was the idea, yes.”

“Okay. Okay. Okay. This is a lot. One step at a time. We’ll need to find him. Let your girl sleep off the treatments and we’ll talk to her, see what she knows that might help us.”

“My girl?” said Kara.

Alex rolled her eyes.

Kara was on the balcony when Lena joined her, having changed into a borrowed set of DEO fatigues. She nervously walked out into the night air and leaned next to Kara.

“Have you adjusted to the noise?”

“Yes, but I…” she trailed off.

Lena stood up and her gaze fell upwards. She stared at the sky, dumbfounded.

“There’s… there’s an aurora. There’s an aurora and… colors. My God, is this how you see it?”

“Yeah,” Kara said softly, too busy staring at Lena.

Finally, Lena looked at her.

“About earlier. I’m sorry. I pushed boundaries and… thinking about it scared me. I would never hurt you, Kara.”

“I know,” said Kara. “I know that, but I also know what it’s like to be exposed to that stuff, to have all your worst thoughts come to the surface. To not feel control of yourself. I forgive you.”

Lena nodded, wringing her hands.

“About what I said, though.”

“About what you said.”

Kara turned and lunged, pulling Lena to her, lifting her slightly off her feet. Lena’s eyes went wide.

“Is this okay?”

Lena blinked a few times and nodded.

Kara kissed her.

She kissed her freely, without worrying about injuring her. She held her the same way, pressing firmly. Lena’s hands curled around her arms with stunning strength and Kara felt her belly do a backflip as Lena actually pushed her back a step and into the balcony railing.

Kara didn’t have to worry about hurting her. She didn’t have to hold back. Lena apparently had never even considered holding back, because she was apparently going for the Knee Thing again. Kara thought she heard the sound of something cracking, but that made no sense.

“Kara!” Alex barked.

Kara broke from the kiss, looking over Lena’s shoulder to find Alex glaring at her.

“Kara,” said Alex, “I’m glad you two dipshits finally realized that you’re dating, but please do not destroy the building.”

Kara furrowed her brows, then looked down to realize that her butt had cratered the retraining wall behind her.

“Oh,” said Kara. “Right.”

“We need to talk about next steps. Lena, I need to know what you know about-“

“Lex is, or was, at an old LuthorCorp satellite lab in Central City. I recognized the background sounds while he was talking.”

“Oh. Okay. We should-“

“Later,” said Lena.

Alex put her fists on her hips. “I don’t work for you, Luthor.”

“True, but your sister does,” said Lena. “Don’t you, darling?”

“Um, yes,” Kara said softly.

“I hate my life,” Alex muttered, as she stormed back inside.

Lena turned her full attention back to Kara, tilting her chin down to look at her through her eyelashes and smirk.

“Now, let’s pick up where we left off.”

[pricklyjim]

First off, I love your art. It makes me all happy and giddy inside. But I must ask:

How do Orion's arms move? I mean the way you draw him, he's got this box like figure with little room for shoulders (unless I've just not seen his figure well enough). In theory if he tries to lift his arms past a certain point, won't his torso get in the way?

Sorry I'm just curious. Totally cool if it's just a stylistic thing too. I love them your honor I just like to know insignificant details.

[UPDATE]

Orian’s Design Explained

[Adding every bit of important information I’ve written about Orion here, as it makes it far more easy to find then looking through tons of links for information.]

[Why does Orion look like that?]

Some may wonder why Orion looks like how he does and the simple answer is his design was based around the idea of desk work.

His bulky capelet, gifted to him the first day he became a scribe limits his arm movement so much that he can’t even lift his arms above his head. Why?

Because as a clerk, all he would need to reach forward to is his computer. His design is all about efficiency and limiting distractions, nothing more.

His round blue shoulder pads act as privacy shields, like cubicle walls. They keep him focused, blocking distractions, and discouraging conversation as he worked side by side with his colleagues.

His smaller frame also fits perfectly into tight, government-regulated workspaces and uses less energon—hence why he was picked to be a scribe. He’s cheaper to maintain.

Orion has a hidden sword and shield built into his body, when not in use, his sword can bend like cloth and can be attached to his caplet, his shield also acts as a cape that clips onto his back.

Scribes, especially high-level ones like Orion, are trained in mandatory combat—not as soldiers, but as safeguards of knowledge.

The archives held secrets, powerful enough to shift the balance of Cybertronians society, and it is a scribe’s duty to protect them as instructed by Prima Prime.

As a high level Scribe, Orion made it a point to not only be the best at his work, but also the best in his fighting style.

He style is precise, strategic, and defensive. And though he was never meant for battle, He has became one of the greatest strategists Cybertron had ever seen.

Still, his frame is a constant reminder of his limits. In the archives, Orion would stare at the stars and try to reach for them, only to be stopped by his caplet. He was to be practical and grounded, an archivist—not a leader, not a dreamer.

And no matter how much his mind wandered, his caplet would keep him in his place.

However, That all changed the day he found Megatronus’s writings.

One day, after wandering around the archives with his younger friend Bee, they stumbled across a restricted section.

Hidden deep in the police confidentiality unit, there were poems that spoke of the suffering in the mines, of a miner whose sire worked herself to death for a system that saw her as disposable.

The raw anger and sorrow in those words struck something deep within Orion, and scared the younger bot Bee, who warned him to let the writings stay put.

However Orion has always been a seeker for knowledge, and thus, took these scriptures with him to read.

He read everything Megatronus ever wrote, every thought, every plea for change, every angry demand.

But while Megatronus raged in his writings, Orion, with his knowledge starting writing down solutions to his problems.

Inspired by this miner’s work, he began writing his own essays, about a united cybertron, filled with unity.

He argued that castes of all levels should work together to break down the system, not tear each other down. And once he has finished his essays, he sent them off to public forums.

His writings exploded in popularity.

Cybertronians from all castes backed him, seeing his writings as a voice of reason in a world that was currently divided and angry.

At first, he leaned into it, giving speeches, traveling to places ruined by the caste system to bring light to what needed to change. But before he knew it, he wasn’t just a voice anymore—he was a leader.

With the new of Rodimus prime’s death, Magnus stepped down, the government crumbled, and Cybertron, desperate for stability, turned to him.

Orion never wanted power. He had written those words, yes, but he had never expected them to place him here, at the center of it all.

But how could he refuse? He had to take responsibility for the situation at hand. However terrified he was, however much pressure he carried, he had no choice but to stand firm, otherwise Megatron’s power and need for domination would ruin cybertron’s chance’s of peace forever—

He needed to do it,for the people who believed in him, for the world that needed him.

When he became one of Iacon’s new leaders, his appearance sparked some conversation. Some assumed his bulky chest plate was armor, meant to shield him from assassination attempts. Others thought it was a professional uniform.

But the scribes who worked with him know the truth: his frame is a relic of the caste system, a reminder of the constraints he broke free from.

He could change it—

refit himself into something sleeker, more fitting of a leader or give off the look of a Prime.

But he refuses.

To him, that chest plate is no longer a limitation. It’s a symbol. It proves that his leadership isn’t built on violence, that he doesn’t need to shed his past to prove himself. Instead of lifting his hands to fight, he leads with words, with action, with the trust of the people he’s earned.

His frame isn’t just about his job. It’s about his journey. It tells the story of where he came from, what he overcame, and the kind of leader he’s has chosen to be.

I know in most interpretations orion is given leader through the matrix, but i thought it would be interesting to make his leadership be one that he gains over time, and eventually leads to Primus approving.

[catcherwrites]

The people voted for Corvus and Soren to be the next of my Arc 3 redesigns, and so it was done! I apologise for taking so long, things irl have picked up so I didn’t have as much time to spend on our guys.

Check out the more in-depth story and design choices below

Corvus

Story Choices

Following the events of Arc 2, Corvus, Soren, and Terry travelled with Pyrrah to find King Harrow but were unsuccessful for several months. Returning to Evrkynd empty-handed, King Ezran and Queen Amaya summoned Corvus, informing him that Amaya was stepping down as General of the Standing Battalion and wanted to name Corvus as her replacement. He was deeply honoured to be trusted with the responsibility and accepted the position, believing that he’d still have enough freedom to spend time how he wished. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that simple, and while Terry continued the search for Harrow with his new ally (who I’m keeping secret for now), and Soren returned to his Head Crownguard duties, Corvus was thrown into the proverbial deep end. Stuck coordinating recruitment and training, patrolling the borders, and going on aid missions, Corvus could only return to Katolis once a month for a few days. And while the distance had left his relationship with Soren…awkward, the Crownguard’s schedule was always suspiciously free during his visits (“Well, I have nothing on right now, so I guess we can go for that hike…”).

Design Choices

Designing Corvus was a fun challenge! I tried to communicate his promotion in the Standing Battalion without making him completely unrecognisable. However, because his Arc 1 and 2 designs outfits look like he cobbled together the most practical pieces of armour, they lack the cohesiveness one would expect from a leader – which meant I had to depart from his usual style. To bridge the gap between Tracker-Corvus, Crownguard-Corvus, and General-Corvus, I decided to take inspiration from his initial concept art and blended that with elements of the Standing Battalion uniform and Corvus’ old designs. His scarf, of course, had to stay – but you may notice it’s been stitched up, a strip of the scarf being a gift from Corvus to Soren before he left the Crownguard.

Soren

Story Choices

Soren’s been through quite a lot in Arc 2, dealing with the reopening, mending, and re-reopening of old wounds. He, Terry, and Corvus were sent to look for Harrow, but after a few months, they returned to Katolis defeated. When Corvus privately confessed he’d been transferred back to the Standing Battalion, Soren was happy and supported him through the adjustment period. Though Soren can’t quite explain why, he grew more bitter as the years went by – though he’s done very well to not show it. During the daytime, Soren trained King Ezran in swordplay, improved his poetry, and did his best to keep everyone safe and happy. In the dead of night, however, Soren would slip through the city streets and secretly meet the spies he’d sent to look for Claudia. No one else was allowed to know he was seeking her out alone, not until Soren himself could decide what he would do with Claudia when she was found.

Design Choices

It wasn’t easy to develop an Arc 3 design for Soren! His silhouette was fine, but I went through about 5-6 different colour schemes and 3-4 different cape designs, and I spent so long toggling layers to see which combination worked best. Soren’s armour is a blend of Arcs, but the cape design has completely changed to reflect his elevated rank. His hair is longer and tied back with braided cloth from both Corvus’ scarf and Soren’s cape, and he’s clean-shaven again. I wanted to show that while he’s matured a lot – Soren’s regressed a little since S7. Post-Arc 1 and post-Arc 2 share a lot of similar traumas (Viren dying, Claudia escaping) – but this time, he lacked the same support system. On a more upbeat note, that scar across his face? Hat had grown too big for Soren’s head and dug in to avoid falling. Now Soren only lets Hat rest up there when he has the downtime for it.

[natsvenom]

Angel

Jason DiLaurentis x fem!reader

SUMMARY: You’ve spent the past few days being distant with your boyfriend, Jason, after you and the liars are go to a coffee shop in town and run into his ex-girlfriend Cece Drake.

WARNINGS! Age gap, slight angst, alcohol ingestion, reader has an eating disorder (anorexia), body shaming, etc.

You and the liars walk into the Apple Rose Grill. Everything was stressful, per usual. Garrett had been let off the hook for murder and now Wilden was trying to make Hanna look guilty. There was currently a court order out for them to take a sample for Hanna’s blood. That would’ve been fine, knowing Hanna isn’t guilty. Except A has a way of making an innocent person a guilty one.

“Take it from me, you’re always better off with a really good lie.” A feminie voice said from behind you guys. You physically felt your heart stop in your chest. The voice was insanely similar to Alison’s.

“Is it just me or did that sound a lot like…” Emily mumbled. Younturned around to see a blonde girl standing at the register. There was no way that could be her, right?

“…Alison.” You guys said in unison.

The girl turned around with a smile on her face, but it quickly faded as she saw you guys staring at her like she was ancient relic, “Something wrong?” She asked.

“Oh, no, sorry.” Aria apologized, “You just sound a lot like one of our friends.”

“Hope she’s brilliant.” The girl said, “What’s her name?”

“Alison DiLaurentis.” You told her, staring at her like she was a lost dog.

She looked at you guys in realization, “You were friends of Ali’s.” She says, “Me too, I’m Cece.” You had heard that name before, you just weren’t exactly sure where from.

“Spencer.” Spencer spoke, greeting herself.

“Melissa Hastings little sister.” Cece noted, “Ali talked about you. She talked about all of you. A lot.”

“How do you know Ali?” You dared to ask.

“Before I moved to L.A our families rented summer homes in Cape May. We went through an intense couple weeks together. I dated her brother, Jason. She never mentioned me to you guys?” Cece explained. You suddenly felt tense hearing the mention of Jason. You could only imagine what she meant by an intense couple of weeks. But there was no need for you to be jealous, right? Jason was with you not her. But in the moment you couldn’t help but notice how incredibly gorgeous Cece Drake was. She had beatiful blonde hair, blue eyes, easily a size 4, and not to mention her confident outgoing personality. She was everything you weren’t.

For some reason this realization made you sick to your stomach. She looked perfectly healthy, while the reason you had looked the way you did was from practically making yourself sick. Almost your whole life you had been worried about your appearance; making sure you never ate more than 1000 calories a day, over exerrting yourself, and excercising till you felt your body break down.

You knew you were destroying yourself, but you wanted to be pretty. You wanted to be like the girls at your school who all the boys fawned over. You wanted to be the girl who was always picked first for group projects. You wanted to be the girl who wasn’t afraid to wear a crop top in public. You wanted to be like Alison, beautiful and destructive.

Alison had told you something that’s always stuck with you, “You’re pretty, but sweetie you need to drop a few pounds.” When she was alive you easily weighed 130 pounds. By the time your family moved back to Rosewood, you weighed 100, and now you weigh 110. everyone had noticed the dramtic changes over the years. Your family had done nothing but worry about you, the boys at school would whistle at you and make inappropriate remarks, Hanna was someone who you could relate to, and Jason was someone you could rely on.

Before you guys started dating, he found out about your eating disorder. At the time you and the other liars were still questioning if he was A, but after he had helped you get better you never once thought about him being A again, and dismissed the girls when every they tried to convince you he was just being friendly to get information. Luckily, things were different now.

You wondered why Jason had never brought up Cece Drake before. You silently wondered if there was any part of him that still thought about her. I mean she’s gorgeous, who wouldn’t be thinking about her.

You had been zoned out for so long you hadn’t even been paying attention to their conversation until you saw her about to leave, but she stopped in her tracks, “Do any of you girls know if Jason is seeing anyone? I hear he looks really good now-a-days.” Cece asked.

The rest of the girls looked at you subtly before turning back to Cece, “No clue.” Spencer said quickly, shrugging her shoulders. Cece nodded her head.

“Well if you see him tell him I say hi.” She said in flirtatious tone, making your skin crawl.

It had been two days since you last spoke to Jason. You spent the last couple of days worrying about your body, spiraling back into that same old self concious loop you had been so familiar with. He was starting to get worried about you. He had absolutely no idea what was going on with you.

You sigh, sitting in the driver’s seat of your car. You know you shouldn’t do this, but you really needed something to take your mind off Cece Drake.

Jason sighed as he sat down on the front porch of his house. He had absolutely no explanation for what was goingon and it was driving him crazy. He turned his head when he heard footsteps walking up to him. He had hoped it would be you, but was met with slight disappointment when he saw someone else.

“Hey.” Spencer greeted softly, walking up the porch to sit by her brother. He simply nodded at her, looking down at the cement floor, which suddenly became very interesting.

“I met Cece Drake this morning.” Spencer revealed. Jason looked up, a confused expression on his face. He hadn’t heard that name in so long, nor thought of it. Spencer could see the gears turning in his head.

“What?” She questioned.

“Was y/n with you?” He asked, looking at her desperately for answers.

“Yeah, why?” It suddenly clicked in his head what was going on with you. You weren’t ignoring him because you were mad at him. You were ignoring him because of something she had said.

You sat on a hard red stool at the bar, thanking Alison internally for getting you a fake id. All you had to do was flash it to the bartender and he came back with exactly what you thought you needed. Alcohol.

You had only drank a little bit, but you were already starting to feel tipsy. You were clearly a light weight, and almost everyone knew it.

“What’s a pretty girl like yourself doing here all alone?” A masculine voice asked from beside you. You turned your head to see a man sitting next to you, a glass of something that was defintely stronger than what you were drinking.

“I’m wondering the same thing myself.” You heard another voice say from behind you. You didn’t have to think twice about it to know who it was. You spun yourself around in the stool and were met with his warm green eyes. You groaned dramatically, pushing youself off the stool. You forgot that the stool was hightened, and practically fell right into Jason’s arms.

His arms wrapped around you quickly, pulling you back up straight. Well, straight as you could get in that moment, “I’m taking you home.” He said strictly, making you giggle. It wasn’t really funny, but right now everything seemed comical to you. You pushed past him walking out of the bar. You felt the cold night air hit your face. It felt good at first, but then it made you feel sick. You threw up into the bushes right outside the bar, right before warm hands pulled your hair back for you.

“I don’t feel good.” You mumbled, wiping your mouth off.

“Mm, I wonder why.” Jason quipped, rubbing your back as an attempt to soothe you. You groaned, shoving your head into his chest. He put one of his hands in your hair, rubbing your head comfortably.

“You smell good.” You mumbled into his chest, making let out a breathy laugh, “Can we make out now?” You asked, pulling him down by his jacket. He kissed the top of your head.

“Not right now pretty girl.” He said softly. You groaned, the annoyance making you roll your eyes. You pushed away from him, walking through the parking lot, Jason following closely behind you.

You stopped in the middle of the parking lot, looking at a group of trees intensly, “Hey, who put those there?” You wondered, observing the trees like they were the most interesting thing in the world. Jason came up behind you, shrugging his jacket off and putting it over your shoulders. He didn’t say anything, knowing that explaining the process of the life cycle of a tree to a drunk person would just end up with and endless amount of stupid questions.

“I think you should take a nap and then google it in the morning.” He said, intertwining his hand with yours as he walked you to the car, opening the door for you and helping you get in. The car ride home was relatively quite, but it wasn’t uncomfortable silence, it was nice.

When you got to the DiLaurentis house, Jason’s hands stayed on your waist as he guided you up the stairs. You plopped down on his bed as he pulled something out of his closet for you to wear. He helped you unzip your little black dress and pulled his hoodie over your head. You yawned as you threw yourself back onto his bed. He sat down next you, pulling the covers over you and placing a gentle kiss on your head.

“She’s pretty.” You mumbled into the cold pillow, grasping it in your hands. Jason sighed, knowing this conversation would end up happening one way or another.

“Whose the girl that I let sleep in my bed everyday and steal every single clothing item I own?” He teased, making you smile into the pillow. You knew he was right.

“But—”

“But nothing. I love you, and only you.” He assured, pulling you into him as he wrapped his arms around you tightly. You cuddled into his chest, grasping his shirt in your hands.

“I love you too, Jase.” You yawned.

“I know angel.”

[oflorelei]

My Problem is:

That it's a let down. Listen I am not mad or horrible dissapointed over that Radahn is there (although sigh i wished we would have gotten that Age of Abundance/Compassion man). I am not mad that he is apparently a puppets and that miquella is apparently the villain from the shadows. I'm mad that they hyped this DLC up so hard, using Miquella's character, which they know to be shrouded in mystery and HYPE, made it appear that we may have the chance to join him/get betrayed by him, made people belief he SPECIFALLY seeks out the tarnished or multiple tarnished at once (to help him?)- that he is the central figure of this DLC when he is not. And thats not an underestimation.

Miquella, most fearsome of the Empyreans, the 'father' of the Halligtree, beloved by near all, who "[...]wields love to shrive clean the hearts of men. (There is nothing more terrifying.)" - does not even have his own bossfight.

No, he is basically just a cape for a boss we already fought to a DLC that costs 40€. He is in the promotion arc, he is said to be a central figure, he is said to be the fearsome empyrean of all. One thing he isnt? Apparently worth the time of day.

I am ok with Miquella being turned into a villain, I am not ok with Miquella being turned into a joke.

There were so so many roads they could have taken with him, he was PROMISING in every regard.

Want to make him a Villain? Fine the reason can be:

=> Manipulation/Enchanting for people to love him (to ensure someone will always look out for him)

-not absolutely evil per say- and it makes sense that someone who is stuck in the body of a child might want to count on many people rather then one person to protect them = it is his weapon to wield affection

- still takes away free will, even consent to some degree

=> Formless mothers influence

- do i even need to explain this one lmao

- already thousands of theories before this DLC thought that miquella might have been negatively influenced by her- especially when so many things in this Game revolve around blood and the power of it

=> "for the greater good" ahh ending

- 'the means justify the end' mentality (maybe even allign with the manipulation and enchanting)

-would be a similar situation to ranni and could mirror it- not the best but also not horrible

=> St. Trina is Miquella's Radagon

- Miquella splitting slowly with the golden order & turning his back to the easier path & planning behind the shadows to change how Things have been? Yeah maybe St. Trina could have been to Miquella what Radagon was to Marika (a guard dog, keeping her checked (sry but i genuinely believe Radagon returned bc Marika started to stray)).

-could also have explored how marika had to deal with it & her relationship to her other self => player could maybe decide who they wished to serve

=> the curse drives mad

- being stuck in the body of a child when you are a grown adult mentally is pure eldritch horror imo, it is not only physically but chances are high it could cause deeper psychological issues

- when grief drove marika mad it can drive miquella mad to that despite everything he does, being so prodigal, does not help and helplessness of it all too

- bc no one can help and no one can understand him

- he is stuck in a body that is his, and yet its the body of a past him, something he should have outgrown, something that belongs to the past- and (IMO) he can not fight truly in his body, not even to defend himself- having to constantly rely on people for your protection when you are an incredible independent creature? Horrible

- while not the most climatic- would it be truly unthinkable that miquella maybe just..gave up? That it drove him mad with grief to realize he spends his life searching for a cure that might not even exist?

- again thats more then a 'what if' then realistic like the rest of the list but i just love the horror adult mind child body

Want to make him a good guy? Fine the reason can be:

=> He is described so. He knew that he would be the next god & took responsibility.

- Miquella created the Haligtree, feed by his OWN blood (which takes far longer and more energy then just using bodies) or all that are rejected by the golden order, he is compassionate & kind. He is protective and by gods above he does want to help, he does break away from the golden order when he realizes they are not what they seem

-With ranni not wanting to become the successor and Malenia cursed with the rot it only leaves Miquella open, he would have been aware of it

- He is already a 'big' brother, caring for malenia, caring for all who were considered Misfits such as the Albinauric & Misbegotten, providing a sanctuary and hope

- Miquella is described as kind, as compassionate someone who basically does wish to bring a change and is ready to self sacrifice for the better

There are many more but guys im so so tired and need to nap. In short: its incredible to me how you can make a Character that had potential for all possible sides (good, evil, inbetween) so bland, his arc and journey feel like white toastbread, his relationship to his beloved sister malenia seems fake, he doesnt appear to be an adult trapped in a body of a child but as simply put an idiot who is all about "me me me me" & then doesnt even get a bossfight.

Im not mad it was written, i am made there was zero thought or reasoning put behind it, when there were so so many options to make it good. Its sorta fascinating that somehow no one likes this ending, not the Radahn Fans, Nor the Miquella or Malenia Fans..idk man. Having feelings about this.

Also im really bummed we didnt get a cutscene were the tarnished touches Miquella's arm to travel like- man.

Also sorry for the grammar/spelling or maybe even logic errors i just needed to vent ngl

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #22

Back in my day.

Imagine dis…

Alfred is a whole mystery to the Batfam that whenever he pulls out his shotgun we are in awe at this kickass badass British butler, on the other hand, we are always in the shadows of his past endeavors. We all knew he was a S.A.S. Armed Services, fighting in 15 different operations between ages 18 and 20. A skilled medical and front liner soldier who was decorated. He later joined MI5, as well as the secret forces of the Queen and later being knighted by Her Majesty.

He is silent as he comes by, he can out Batman the Batman despite Bruce learning from the greatest assassin of all time. He is calm, too calm for any situation to the point your subconscious asks if he had seen something wilder, more insane to consider an alien attack, a mutant crocodile attack every Tuesday is considered somewhat tame, or even the rise of global or universal threats that Alfred seemed to brush it off.

So, who is he?

…

Alfred Pennyworth had always been a mysterious figure. He had dedicated his life to serving the Wayne family and their caped crusader alter-egos as Bruce Wayne's loyal butler and the revered keeper of Wayne Manor. But Alfred had held a secret for decades, one that would finally come to light most unexpectedly.

Alfred was a teenager called Danny Fenton long before he donned the perfect suit and tie. He lived in the small town of Amity Park, which was riddled with secrets of its own. Danny was not your typical adolescent; he had a strange encounter with a ghostly gateway that had bestowed upon him unusual and otherworldly skills. He had protected Amity Park from vengeful ghosts and spectral threats thanks to his power to shift into a phantom hero known as Danny Phantom.

Danny had just recently been crowned as the crowned prince of the Infinite Realm a week after he had defeated the tyrant Pariah Dark who had attempted to rip off a space in the fabric of in-between just to suck in his little quaint town. It was determined by both the ancient and the Observants that it was better for him to finish his mortal life before he dawns on the crown, as he was still growing, he was still considered a baby ghost younger than Young Blood as his death was still recent.

But slowly the thoughts that he had kept behind his head are coming back to him. Jazz his beloved sister as well as the one who had raised her despite being a child herself who had no idea of raising a child, may analyze her all she wants but she could never sympathize nor connect with his inner thoughts of being one of the halfas. He died, he never really had the time to process it because he had to face the Lunch Lady just a few days after the accident. 

His friends, now looking at them closely, have seen that they both have some sort of guilt in their eyes. They both have seen him die amid the electrician, he can’t help but feel some sort of longing at the cemetery the north of Amity Park, he is too alive to have a grave yet too dead to be alive.

He thought he was getting there, changing the views of the people. To show the world that his kind is sentient but the people kept whispering. Shadows cast long by the looming specters sent chills down their spines. Every eerie wail or flicker of a ghostly presence filled them with dread. Their eyes widened in terror as the ethereal figures materialized before them. A hushed silence fell over the town when ghostly battles raged in the skies. Parents warned their children to stay indoors when the ghost alarms rang. Fearful whispers of the "Ghost Boy" circulated, both a hero and a phantom menace. 

The ghostly encounters left scars of fear etched in the minds of Amity Park's residents.

In the end, he was forced to leave his home dimension, why? It’s because the GIW have become more vicious more brutal at their hunting, With the sacrifice of both his friends and family they have shoved him into the portal, never to be seen again.

…

All bloodied and still injured he had landed in a period in the early 1900. He thought that he may have accidentally traveled back in time but when he saw too many conflicting events that he had learned during his high school days that didn’t happen during this time led him to believe that he had traveled a different dimension. Small ripples in the water created a tsunami of change in what he previously known as the past, when he was still in the streets gathering information, he had noticed that he landed in the middle of London during the early 1900s. Good enough that child labor laws are still not a thing so he can work with practically anyone without questions asked. The bad news is that his supposed great-grandfather's version in this dimension had already died, according to his family tree history during his science project in 4th grade his great-grandfather went to London to earn a few bucks before traveling back to America where he would meet his supposed great grandmother and have children. Since he died before he even went back to America the Nightgale-Fenton line died with him.

Luckily a barren couple took pity on him and took him in, since Danny can’t no longer bear his original last name, he embraced the new name from this nice couple who had taken him in. Danny may have felt guilty at the prospect or even the idea of replacing his family but he can’t help but think of it as a new beginning of his life. No one to hunt down his ghostly half, No GIW, and No fruit loop trying to turn him into his heir.

Alfred Pennyworth

During this time he did a lot of odd jobs, cleaning the inside of a chimney, mining, selling newspapers… etc. Sure, it was hard work and he can’t help but look at the children far younger than him taking in jobs far more dangerous just so they can shave something to eat. He can’t help but feel too blessed when he was back in his timeline. Warn food to eat under a sturdy roof to keep out the elements as well as education. Things that were too mundane, too common, that he now feels like a luxury. 

Over time he developed an accent as well as new mannerisms and vocabulary. 

So, when war broke out on the horizon his core ached at the notion of protection thus signed up in the military. 

Sure, he became the most feared soldier in the fields due to his using some of his ghostly abilities subtly. His enemies who stand in front of him call him The Vengeful Orphan, due to his avenging every soldier who seems to die at the hands of their enemies. 

Between the ages of 18 and 20, he served in the S.A.S. Armed Services, engaging in 15 different actions. A decorated medical specialist and front-line soldier. He then joined MI5, as well as the Queen's secret forces, and was knighted by Her Majesty.

…

As time passes by the ages, slowly but surely. He had already outlived his adoptive parents and friends of his. He still held the authority of being the officially crowned prince of the Infinite Realms. He had already explored the world experiencing the culture and history of this world.

At this time, he had already recovered enough ectoplasm to turn back to his ghostly prime and create a portal to the Infinite Realms. But something in him nagged, his core kept trying to tell him something when he was about to take a step inside the portal, but he didn’t seem to know why. His years as Phantom and Alfred Pennyworth taught him to listen to his guts, and it saved him multiple times, without looking back he stayed in this dimension until his mortal life perished.

It seemed that he didn’t have to find it for too long as he was approached by none other than Thomas Wayne with the preposition to be Wayne’s butler.

So, when little Bruce Wayne was born he couldn’t help but feel a little fond of the tyke. He reminded Bruce of himself when he was just a simple young boy before everything. When the fated, night came he tried to shield Bruce from everything, to have him resemble a somewhat normal life. 

That night he tucked in a teary-eyed Bruce into bed who had just witnessed his parent’s murder. He faced the ghosts of both Martha and Thomas who had been with the young master since the incident a few hours ago and tearfully promised the two ghostly couple that he would take care of Bruce. Both couples seemed to be in shock at their butler who had seen them but felt relief that their boy was in safe hands.

…

When his ward Bruce Wayne turned into a crime-fighting vigilante, he can’t help but softly snort at his outfit. Sure, he admits he had a worse outfit when he started as Phantom when he was just a young lad but he is willing to take anything other than a furry suit that fights crime at night. He has no right to criticize either since his alter ego is just him with an inverted color without a mask yet people seem to make no connection between him and Phantom, in his defense he is a young teen whereas Bruce is in his 20s. He just raised an eyebrow at his outfit and Bruce immediately changed the design to be a bit more sophisticated than just a Halloween costume of a bat.

…

So when Bruce starts to bring in orphans he can’t help but smile fondly as the manor is slowly filled with such joy from each child that seems to find a home in the large manor. He can't help but reminisce if this could have been his life if Vlad had learned to forgive Jack or if his parents and Amity Park just accepted him if the GIW didn’t exist. He thought one day when he was drinking tea with Jason, Jason who died and came back different, never broken. His grandchild who experienced his death in a slow yet painful way died and came back later. He knew there was something different with his grave but he chalked it up in being his ghostly sense sensing the ectoplasm around Gotham. He just wished he checked the grave even though it holds so much sentimental value to the dead. 

Don’t get him wrong the moment Jason came back to enact his revenge on B he was already aware something was in Gotham he just didn’t know at the time that it was Jason. He is more than happy to kill the Joker as he had taken mortal lives when he was serving the army but Bruce might notice and he still held fear at the idea of Dan.

After the entire revelation between his son and grandchild, he just welcomed back Jason into the manor as if nothing was wrong with the boy and prepared his favorite dish and snacks in the library whenever he visited.

…

Now it had been a long way since he entered this dimension, now the long table at the manor is filled with guests and children alike. His grandchildren are full of life despite what had life thrown at them. Dick was the first one to arrive and started, Barbara followed, Jason who took off the wheel, Tim with his brilliant mind with his worrying caffeine intake, Stephanie who fought with his father, Cassandra who started just to atone for the sin of killing her father yet became loyal and caring young lady and Damian who started to learn what humanity is like. Sure others had been emotionally adopted but all of them all have places in the manor.

…

His grandchildren as well as his pseudo son kept throwing him curious glances every time, He managed to seemingly appear behind them to notify them of dinner. He can also feel the envy of walking silently from the assassin-trained children. He can feel Bruce’s stare whenever he raises an eyebrow at some classified cases that are supposedly secured. He can hear their whispers as they exclaim to one another that he supposedly knew everything, of course, he knew everything the manor became his new haunt after a few years.

…

He already raised an eyebrow at the simultaneous alarm from every vigilante at the dinner table but imagine his surprise when he joined in looking over the Bat computer as Oracle barked out orders and instructions, as a familiar opponent showed itself.

A green glowing monster is wreaking havoc throughout Gotham it came from Central City and marched its way here to Gotham which became even more powerful due to the ectoplasm in the air. There is already notable damage from both cities as the rest of the heroes seem to work together to evacuate and stop the creature. The JLD attacks seem to have some effect but it was useless due to its minions that kept them occupied. Oracle is so focused on the situation and doesn’t notify their pseudo grandfather to disappear from behind her.

…

The entire JL is starting to feel hopeless as the green creature seems to raze Gotham as if the stone road is made out of water. Every magician and heavy hitter have been called but no one was able to put damage to the creature.

When all hopes seemed lost, they all heard a loud bang from a shotgun.

Alfred Pennyworth is standing on top of a rubble of concrete and metal, the butler of Batman, the pseudo father, and grandfather of the entire bat clan, also known as Agent A. Carrying his signature shotgun and a thermos that seems to strap to his hip like a belt. 

He kept firing round after round from his trusty old shotgun and pausing for a second to reload. He glanced at the heroes around and seemed to raise an eyebrow at the absolute massacre that he had just done to the creature’s minions.

As he paused to take another reload, he paused at movement and looked at the space in front of him and waited. The creature appeared roaring out in fury but seemed to pause the moment it laid eyes on Alfred. The creature seems to shake with uncertainty and fear. Every vigilante and hero present could see its eyes growing wide from shock and fear as well the cold sweat as Alfred raised an eyebrow at the creature as he slowly walked towards the creature with annoyance with every step.

Some heroes who had enhanced hearing could hear Alfred muttering about, back in his day blob ghosts were these cute and harmless things but now some up-start wannabe newly formed one seems to think he is all hot shot. 

He proceeds to scold the creature as if he had just caught one of his grandchildren sneaking their hands on the cookie jar and proceeds to take out the thermos and effectively catch the creature. As if the one responsible for the mess never existed in the first place.

Now the bat clan has rules when they are in the manor or the presence of Alfred and one of those rules is that there will be no swearing when he is around, but there is one word that seems to resound from each hero's mind.

What the fuck just happened?!?!

…

Now as you know I started to post less, now it is both from writer’s block and class being in the way.

PS: If someone out there wanted to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

[grison-in-space]

I took Benton to the protest yesterday, and he was very good. (Also extremely popular. People love a friendly dog who knows how to sit peacefully in public.) This one was standing by roads into and out of a local mall with signs, so there was a lot of honking in approval and people driving slowly by, which was awesome to us but not thrilling to Benton.

We had a young twenty something sitting by us with a sign who I don't think had ever protested before, and she immediately fell in love with him—and even more when I slyly noted that he could really use someone to pet him to get him through all the cars. (He had in fact edged over to her in the hopes of petting, and I wasn't really lying: Benton likes pets on his own terms, and he could use the physical reassurance from honking.) I think it helped her calm down a little when she was nervous, and I definitely think she had fun. Good. The fun parts of protesting are what make it sustainable: seeing everyone's signs, talking to people, sharing experiences and feelings and showing off that we care about one another.

Until/unless the tenor of protest safety changes, he's about to be my protest buddy moving forward. (There are often dogs at protests, so Matilda is benched until I really trust her to have a handle on dog reactivity; she's improving a lot but protests are not the time.)

Anyway, I forgot to get pictures at the time but Benton was absolutely bushed afterwards:

I'm going to make him a cape with a sign of his own for May Day. Need to settle on a slogan first, though.

[ewingstan]

I do wonder how much the perception of cape culture in the fandom would have changed if Wildbow hadn’t made the story so Brockton Bay centric.

The story of Worm (and Ward to an extent) has alluded to the fact that Brockton Bay is notably an exception when it comes to cape violence and brutality, with Taylor shocked that a Ward she met had 3 fights in 6 months. And how several Wards and Rime had no idea what she was talking about in regard to “counting coup”.

We see this with Victoria too, when she’s shocked about the Majors not seeing any action in 6 years and Tristan being overwhelmed with the amount of violence in the Fallen Raid despite being a hero for a few years himself. Foil also mentions how most of her career was really calm until March would occasionally poke her nose in things.

Mal posted some Ward updates! While I understand her pov, I do disagree with her:ilebow has also stressed, pre-Ward, that Brockton Bay was not indicative of the wider cape scene as a whole but rather a domino of things going wrong due to outside factors.

If Wildbow had extended interludes to show the dynamics of other, average, cape cities or had Taylor be in a city where things were so much calmer that she found it disturbing… well, it’s hard to say how things would change, but I think it would have made it far more clear that Taylor and Victoria’s life experience should not be applied across the board.

Or maybe nothing would have changed. Just spitballing an idea based on your let’s read so far.

Brockton Bay may be exceptional to an extent. But maybe just in the sense that it had so much happen to it before it was abandoned. Madison and Ellisburg only needed one bad day. Several countries in Worm were just straight-up destroyed.

The Bay may have been a notably large hub of nazi capes. But they were part of an internationally-connected network of capes with similar agendas. Hell, the Fallen mostly operated outside of Brockton Bay. Most of the exceptionally violent groups like the Fallen, the Slaughterhouse Nine, Heartbreaker, the Teeth, etc. were roaming problems. Yes, Brockton was unique in that it was hit by all of them, but the world was full of those types of groups. There were similar groups of enough importance on a world stage to get an invite to the cauldron meetings that we only get the barest details of.

But the most important thing is that the low-level fights Victoria's specifically nostalgic for was itself always worse than she's remembering. It wasn't a bunch of kooky characters clashing with straightmen heroes. It was a bunch of very desperate people trying to survive in a system that found them either expendable or better off dead. Even without all the specific things that hit Brockton Bay, Rachel probably would've ended up in the birdcage. Victoria would've kept relying on Amy to fix up the crooks she broke, assuming she never ended up accidentally killing someone. Both of them would continue living under the crushing responsibility and isolation that came with their cape personas. Vista would've ended up as maladjusted as a marketable celebrity child soldier would always end up being. People like Dinah and Lisa would keep being hunted for their skills by more powerful forces. The Taylors of the world would keep getting bullied, the Mr. Gladlys would keep looking away. The rot would be same.

[girlactionfigure]

melissaschapman

Not all heroes wear capes. Since October 7th, we've heard stories of heroes who sacrificed their lives for others, stories of our brothers and sisters who lost their lives to Hamas terrorists, and stories of brave soldiers who have been fighting for months to bring a feeling of safety and security to the people in Israel. But there's a group of people whose story seems to have been lost along the way. These are the thousands of injured over the past eight months. Many of these people's lives have changed forever; many will not be able to walk again. Ironically, because they survived, they've been forgotten. But these are the ones who need our support the most in order to fight the battle of recovery. So I will highlight the story of Mishel Rukavitsin, an observation technician stationed at the Kissufim base, who was critically injured on that dark day. Despite what she's gone through, she will not give up. Miraculously, she survived her grave injuries and is now in the process of rehabilitation. Mishel, you are a hero! You are strong and brave. May God bless you with a complete recovery, physically and emotionally, and may you live a happy and healthy life. ❤️

[wildglitch]

I feel like Billy and Charlie would really get along! They both believe that people can change and they dedicate their lives to making life better for others! They also have a LOT of responsibilities that they may or may not be completely prepared for. I often listen to Charlie’s songs and imagine Billy in her place

Billy:...

Charlie:...

Billy: Wanna switch places for a da-

Charlie: YES! IM SO TIERD!

Billy: MET TOO! I NEED A BREAK! And, Its not cause I think your job is easy or anything

Charlie: Nooooo no no no. Its just a

C&B: Change of pace.

C&B: Exacally!

Charlie: So dose that mean I can wear the cape?

Billy: Only if I get to wear the suit!

Cue Billy and Charlie switching jobs for a day cause this is what those workaholics consider a break. Charlie steals the cape and boots from Billy and Billy is given a Mini version of her suit.

Charlie spends her day relaxing and having fun in Fawcett city, littrally falling inlove with the place and how nice it is. The day they switch also just so happens to be a meeting day on the watch tower, so Charlie being her cheerful jolly self just goes up there with out a second thought. Safe to say she might have freaked them out a bit with her...everything. But after seeing her blinding smile they realized that she was just Cap with a diffrent font. Understanding that Cap is just on "vacation" and that technically so is she, they decide to make the most of it with her. Batman secretly loves her cause she is so focused and not distraced. Plus the fact she answerd all his questions didnt hurt.

Bruce: She did all if the paper work Clark! Its wasnt even hers!

Billy on the other hand is having the time of his life in hell, Taking comand of the hotel and just being a general gremlin. He's takes his job seriously and he has the magic to boost it. He is a menece to the hotel and the chaotic ones are loving it. The more dead inside ones are hiding under the bar waiting the day out with the booz. Hes getting people suprise therapy setions and is causing mental breakdown after mental breakdown. But like, in a good way? The demon are so confused, scared, and miss Charlie? What is after life. He has already made Lucifer cry 7 times and its only 8am :D

Billy: Al help! I made him cry again!

Al: Ata boy Billy!

Billy: I need him to stop!

Al bating up his cane: It will be my pleasur

Billy: Al wait! No no no no no!

[invis-o-william]

Dannymay 2025 - Day 1: Dragon

Throngs of ghosts shuffled into the towering cathedral, the tall spires casting shadows on the crowds below. Most of the ghosts wore medieval garb, ladies in long colorful dresses accentuated with brocade trim and men draped in a mix of cloaks and well embroidered tunics. Standing out amongst the crowd were representatives of other realms. There were a few women dressed in ancient peplos, the leader of their group wearing ceremonial armor over her gown. She moved to sit in the available pews next to two yetis wearing their finest furs. Other representatives peppered the crowds, their garments of different centuries past contrasting with their surroundings.

Watching the ghoulish procession from a high alcove was Princess Dorathea. She nervously picked at her silken dress, one of the fine threads giving way as she fiddled with the fabric.

“Your Highness, may we continue with the final preparations?” 

The appearance of Dorathea’s lady in waiting threw her out of her thoughts. She quickly turned away from the crowd and nodded her assent before following the noblewoman to a secluded chamber. Sitting on a stool, she watched her lady collect a pair of pristine gloves from a nearby table and present them to her. As the material slid over her fingers, Dorathea couldn’t help but give voice to her thoughts.

“Lady Arundel, do you believe the people will accept my rule?”

The noblewoman looked up in surprise. “Whatever do you mean ma’am? Your brother still sits imprisoned, does he not?”

Dorathea sighed. “Yes he does, though I am sure he had many supporters among both the nobility and serfs. I have staked my claim to those of higher birth, and the ladies of the court have shown remarkable interest in the social changes I wish to implement. However I know not what the common folk will think of me.”

Lady Arundel mulled this over carefully. “Well ma’am, may I be utterly honest with you?” Dorathea nodded in interest, gesturing for the woman to continue.

“Your brother was a cruel man, not only to you and the ladies of the court, but to the serfdom as well. It would be my opinion that they hold no favor for him, and if you prove yourself to be a Queen of your word, then you would in time gain their loyalty.” 

There was a moment of silence as the Princess contemplated her lady’s words. “I see. Thank you for your wisdom, Lady Arundel.” She said with a smile. The noblewoman bowed to her and handed her the last of the ceremonial regalia before retreating from the room. 

It was an ermine lined cape, the train long and trimmed with gold lace. As she pulled it around her shoulders the weight of the crimson velvet was almost comforting, feeling not like a burden but a promise. With any luck, the promise of a brighter future to come. She carefully closed the clasp at her neck, the large heraldic dragon emblazoned there gleaming in gold and silver, and stood. 

It was time. Within minutes she would walk the length of the grand cathedral and be crowned Queen in front of the masses, swearing oaths to her realm and people. She hoped to gain their trust. She hoped to gain new alliances with neighboring realms. Though above all, she hoped to leave a better legacy than her brother Aragon had. 

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

so 96% of you wanted to see me do a redesign of mermista. and while i can draw, i've been stuck in an art block so i opted to just draw over her current design. i don't hate all of it so i'm not changing everything.

let me go through the complaints i do have about her design.

first off, she does not look like royalty in the slightest. she just looks like some girl who likes the color blue. even the gold accents don't really help. i'm not saying she has to walk around in a gown and tiara but at least add something to her design to indicate that she's a princess?

secondly, those clown shoes are NOT IT. who even thought of that? they look uncomfortable and ridiculous, and doesn't make sense for her character design.

those sleeves/armor (??? i honestly don't know what those are) and gold gauntlets also do not look practical in the slightest. they look like they'd be a hindrance for a swimmer. and guess what, she still has them in her mermaid form.

the OG mermista design wasn't the greatest but at least it looked like she could swim comfortably.

so my objectives were:

give her outfit a more streamlined look so it would make sense for her powers

make her look like actual royalty and not some girl with a cool color palette

expand more on the indian-inspired design and reflect that in her usual outfit, instead of putting her in a saree-inspired dress for one episode and calling it a day (i say saree-inspired because it's not really a traditional saree, but more like a modern and slightly western rendition)

i made two versions of her redesign - one with a dupatta and one without. the dupatta, i understand, could be a hindrance in certain situations but i just wanted to give an example of how to take inspiration from a culture instead of just using it for brownie points. a dupatta is something indians would wear with their casual attire, mostly with salwars, unlike sarees which are generally reserved for special occasions (there are sarees that are casual wear, but they're still not the most convenient).

secondly, i gave her a headwear inspired from desi wedding attire and older indian tiaras. mind you, indian tiaras themselves are a lot more complex and beautifully crafted, but 1. it would take me ages to draw all the details and 2. i figured mermista would go for a simpler look, especially when she's not at her palace. also, while indian headwears are usually made with gold and jewels, i gave mermista's headwear pearls because.. pearls, oysters, ocean. mermaid vibes.

i changed the shoes and gave her a pair that are inspired by water shoes. i know that she would transform into a mermaid while swimming anyway, but these still look more comfortable without serving clowncore.

i replaced her gold accents with silver because the gold doesn't really mesh well with the teal, in my opinion. while indians are known for their love of gold, a lot of people nowadays opt for silver, because it is less expensive and more compatible with casual wear.

i highlighted the fishscale pattern in her outfit since you could barely see them in the original.

i gave her a bindi and the necklace that 80s mermista wore, as a tribute to the OG show, and the design is complete. i know that some of these may not be the easiest to animate but if they could animate perfuma's cape thing, entrapta's hair and a hundred different outfits for catra; this design is just child's play.

let me know what you think of the redesign and if you want me to do the same for the other characters!

[rosiesdisneydrama]

GF X Sky: Wave Your Flags

AN: A coming out Fic for this AU. Just Stan and Ford. I may write Dipper coming out to Ford later, but that's later Me's problem.

Stan liked seeing Mabel’s sweaters.

She was an excellent knitter and a fast one too, so he liked seeing what new creation she’d made since the previous day. She certainly managed to have one or even two new sweaters each day, even when she’d already finished one the day before.

If they tried to make a sweater, it would take them weeks before it was done. And it probably wouldn’t even look half as nice as one of their great niece’s creations. Never mind cranking them out at the pace Mabel managed.

(He worried she was going to burn herself out at the rate she worked. Maybe he needed to help with that? Suggest other crafting hobbies for her to try. Macaram maybe? Quilting? Maybe he could find a book on patternless sewing that she would like as one of her birthday presents… Or maybe some books on making cloaks and capes? She seemed interested after Summerween. Or, heck, maybe a book on costume leatherworking. She had the talent for it.)

They wondered if she may have some kind of magic that no one in the family had managed to pick up on yet. Considering everything they had going on, it wouldn’t be surprising. Some kind of creation or clothing magic that was too subtle for people to properly notice unless they had some kind of magic too… Or if they just stopped and thought about the amount of time that usually went into crafting.

Maybe he could run that idea by Ford sometime when they were less mad at each other. Ford had seen enough weird things that he might have a better scope of what was up with sweet little Mabel.

But that didn’t change the confusion he felt when Mabel slapped a homemade booklet of some kind down in front of him and Ford. Not to mention her gigantic basket of yarn that had been dragged into the room with her. (Who got her that? He didn’t think he had been the one. Maybe Soos’ abuelita? She liked knitting too…)

“What are all these for, Pumpkin?” They asked, looking over at their peppy niece. She beamed at them.

“It’s my Pride Flags booklet! I missed making a sweater for Pride Month for Dipper, so I’m gonna make him one before we go home this summer. But I also wanted to make some pride sweaters for other people. Like you! So I wanted to know what your flags are so I can make them.”

Stan sat up slightly, looking at the surprisingly thick little booklet.

“You made a pride booklet? For just the flags?”

“Yup! Well, not just the flags. It’s got descriptions and little notes about what each one means!” She stood up on her chair and opened the little book, pointing at one of the flags as an example. “Some of ‘em had different terms that all go under the same flag, so I put those in too! That way you can just flip it open, read what they say, and see which ones sound like you!”

Well, color him impressed. They’d added a lot more flags since he’d last heard. But…

“Well… I’m not entirely sure what my flags are called anymore. I know some terms have changed since I’d moved here,” they gave a little half-shrug. This didn’t seem to deter their niece, who’d started vibrating when they’d said that.

(Yeah, he was pretty sure there was some magic in there.)

“OH, OH, OH! I can help then!” She grabbed a little notebook and stared very intently at them. “What are your thoughts about love? About the squishy feelings and the people that you get them from?”

He raised an eyebrow with a nervous chuckle. He hadn’t planned on coming out today but… he glanced at his brother from the corner of his eye. Ford was staring intently at the flag book, having pulled it closer to flip through it himself.

Maybe it would be alright for them to come out like this. Ford had probably seen and heard all kinds of crazy things while traveling through alternate dimensions. Finding out Stan was Queer probably wouldn’t be that big of a deal. (At least, they hoped it wouldn’t be. So long as Ford didn’t decide to prove them wrong…) Besides, they doubted the kids would be bothered by it.

If anything, Dipper would probably be relieved to know that he wasn’t the only queer person in the family. Even if he was the first trans kid.

And Stan knew his brother well enough to realize that, despite how he was acting, he was definitely eavesdropping. (Did it really count as eavesdropping when they were sitting next to each other? Honestly, probably not.) Trying to listen to what he would say without making it obvious that he was doing it.

“As in… Who do I find pretty? Or who I would, like, want to have serious dates with?”

“Yeah! That’s the two kinds of love pride is about! Physical and Romantic!” Mabel said, nodding. “Pride’s also about identity! Like with Dipper!”

“Yeah, I knew that part. I remember the pride marches from the seventies, a lot of them were led by trans and gay folks. We grew up in Jersey, after all.” They rubbed at their chin in thought, casting their mind back. “Was in a few of ‘em back in the eighties. Didn’t think much about what I was, though. I just knew I was queer and needed to be part of it and that was that.”

“Soo~?” Mabel’s voice trailed. She was bouncing in the chair, eyes sparkling.

“I don’t know what the words are anymore, but I figured out I liked chicks and guys when I was about… I wanna say twenty-three? Found a decent-ish guy that I worked with for a bit and we decided to try it out.” Stan shrugged. That had been one of his first flings. “Real short. Think we stayed a couple for about a week before deciding that it wouldn’t work out."

“What was his name?!”

“Uh… I think it was- Drake? Haven’t seen him in decades, so I can’t remember him really well. And we didn’t really… Well, the dating thing broke off fine but we had a bit of a falling out not long after that.” That was honestly the nicest way Stan could put it. They realized they liked getting frisky, but didn’t actually like each other. Not enough to date at least. Then their work went sour and they decided they really didn’t like each other.

Yeah… Not his worst relationship but it sure wasn’t one he had any plans of revisiting.

Johnny was a lot better.

“Who’s Johnny?!” They jumped at the excited squeal from their niece. From the corner of their eye, they could see Ford staring at them pretty intently now.

He lazily waved a hand, trying to keep the air relaxed as he answered.

“Eh… Johnny was a biker guy I dated for a while. He was with me for some of the marches I went to. Early eighties, or thereabouts. It was probably the longest relationship either of us had,” they felt a small smile forming as they thought about Johnny. “Leaned real hard into the wild rebel thing that came with being a biker back then. Threw his… Everything into the marches when I suggested at least dropping by one. I think it gave him a real cause to be a rebel for. We split up when we figured out we wanted different things long-term. Lost contact with him ages ago, though.”

“Would you… Ever get back with him? If you met him again?” Mabel looked like she was plotting. That was her plotting face. Oh, he needed to nip that in the bud. Fast.

“Assuming he was even around anymore? No, probably not. We were better friends than we were anything romantic.” They shrugged, trying to emphasize that last part. It had been a fun fling, but Johnny had been a little too… Intense for them. “The fact that we were good as friends is probably one of the reasons we stuck together for so long. But nah, I probably wouldn’t get back with him.”

He barely held back the sigh of relief at the way Mabel pouted. He knew she meant well, but he wasn’t keen on being the focus of one of her romance plots. Her faith in love was sweet, but he was having trouble getting her to understand that it was better to just let it happen instead of trying to engineer it into happening.

If Stan got into a relationship now then it would be something that happened naturally and not because their twelve-year-old niece tried to set them up.

(At least he’d only used Johnny’s first name and not his full one. No chance of her going behind his back to contact his ex. Johnny was way too common a name for her to pin a specific person down.)

“Okay… So, you’re either Bi or Pan then,” Mabel said, reluctantly getting herself back on track. “Both technically mean you like boys and girls, but the specifics are a little different between them. I think it’s mostly preferences?”

“Yeah, I usually use Bi. First one I knew and it just… Felt right,” they said, nodding. Ford was still staring, but it looked more thoughtful than searching.

“I like the Bi flag colors. I always thought they were really pretty. And they’re a great complementary set!” Mabel started making notes in her little books, possibly scribbling some ideas for how she wanted to use the colors. “And what do you know about transgender people? Or non-binary ones?”

Ah, she picked up on him not wanting out Dipper before the kid felt ready.

He was excited about Ford being the author of the journals that he had (apparently) been obsessing over for the whole summer. It was better if they let Dipper come out to him on his own terms instead of, even accidentally, making the choice for him.

“I believe I know those ones, and not just from the news,” Ford spoke up. It was the first time he’d entered the conversation. Stan was a little surprised he hadn’t joined them sooner. “I’ve been in dimensions with large quantities of people who identified as neither male nor female. Or they possessed the features of both and things like pronouns were purely a matter of personal preference. They were fascinating from a cultural standpoint, especially as someone who came from one with a firmly Binary Social Culture. I wasn’t aware such arguments existed in our own world…”

Somehow, it didn’t surprise them that there were dimensions like that.

In the Sky Realms, gender was more presentation and preference than any actual need to be one or the other. For a lot of them, it just hadn’t mattered so long as you put in your share. And not when they all knew about Soul Cycles. You could be a chick in one life and a guy in the next but, at the end of the day, you were still you. So why should anyone care which you wanted to use?

“Yeah, I can see that being a thing. Feeling like you’re mostly a guy but not entirely fitting into that.” Mabel nodded, grabbing her flag booklet and flipping to the flags in question, chattering about the terms specific for people who felt like that.

But Stan didn’t hop in, yet. Just letting his sentence hang in the air until the words finished sinking in. He wanted to keep this coming out relaxed. The easiest way to do that with this family was either to say it outright or let them put the pieces together themselves. And he preferred to just… Keep it casual anyway. Maybe it was just the way being queer had been when he and Ford were young, but he wasn’t much for Big Dramatic Showings for being queer.

(The marches had been the exceptions. Everyone needed to be out and Loud for those. Because they all deserved the chance to live as themselves without being punished for it.)

Ford, as they’d expected, was the first to put together what Stan was implying.

“Are… Do you feel like that, Stanley?” His brother looked at him over his mug of coffee. He was unusually hesitant about the question. “As though you aren’t fully… Male?”

“Oh, yeah. I figured it out ages ago, but never really knew if there was a word for it. Didn’t really matter compared to everything else I had going on.” He gnawed at the toast slice he’d made for breakfast. (Etch… He'd let it go cold.) “Too many other things for me to put much thought into what it all meant.”

“You’re a Demiman! Mostly a boy, but not totally! A lot of people who feel like that use he and they for their pronouns!” Mabel chirped, holding up her booklet and pointing at the grey, blue, and white striped flag. “I almost made a sweater with these colors for Dipper, but they wouldn’t have been his flag so I didn’t. Oh, oh! I’ve been learning about fisherman’s knitting patterns at the library, I can make one for you with those colors! The nonbinary flag had really nice colors too.”

Stan just let her ramble away. She would probably have an entire selection for them in a few days. It would be fun to see what she made later.

And there was… Some relief, honestly. Now that it had finally been said aloud.

His father had put so much pressure on him to Be A Man while he and Ford were growing up. On both of them. But neither of them had fit the mold their father wanted them to fit into.

When he’d remembered Before, when he figured out that he wasn’t entirely a man in the first place, it had felt like he finally had an explanation. That there was a reason he didn't fit the “Manly” mold his father wanted and he wasn't just “bad” at being one.

It had been… Freeing, in a weird way. It still was.

And now they had finally, finally spoken the words into the world. They had a term for it, even. And that felt good.

Ford had barely dodged being next under Mabel's scrutiny but had asked if he could borrow the booklet later. Commenting that it was interesting and he wanted to know more about some of them. Their great-niece relented, but they were sure he would get grilled by her later.

That was fine. Stan had some work to do anyway. (He was going to ride that relief of being out for just a while longer.)

.

.

Stanley was carefully repainting a model of an Elder Cosmic Manta when Ford carefully crept into the room behind him.

Elder Cosmic Mantas were some of the largest models that Stan had in the Shack. All of the Elder creatures were giants, but especially the Mantas. So cleaning them up and refreshing the paint paints on them was a long project that tended to take several days at least. They were among the few models they were never fully happy with, so they ended up getting touched up… A lot. It was just really hard to capture their essence in a painted model…

The only reason Stan knew Ford had come in was thanks to the slight squeak of the door hinge. It wasn’t too bad, not enough to startle him on most days, but it was enough for him to know when someone came into the room while he was working. It served as a nice, subtle way to know if someone came in without having to start talking right away.

Soos would come in when they were painting, on occasion. Sometimes he would even offer to help paint a few of the smaller models for them.

Wendy was known to hide in the painting room sometimes, too. When she genuinely needed a break from people or knew someone she didn’t like was coming by. Stan would just give her a busy task to do in there if she brought it up to him instead of just up and vanishing on him. Thereby giving her a valid excuse to avoid certain people.

Stan didn't call Ford out for quietly creeping in behind him, more focused on the paints than whatever their brother had come into the room for. And Ford just stood back and watched them work without saying anything.

It was almost peaceful. The two of them just existing in the same space for a while, not talking but perfectly comfortable. (Like they had when they were children.)

Then Ford finally decided to break the silence.

“I'm… It was good. Earlier, I mean.” Stan made a questioning hum, glancing back at his brother with a confused look. He cleared his throat awkwardly at the look. “Letting me hear about- about the flags. That kind of thing is difficult. From what I know.”

“Ah… Well, I figured it was gonna come out at some point,” Stan said, idly waving the fine brush they were holding. “I’d rather it be here, in private, than out on the town or something. More comfortable.”

“Yes, but still. I’m… I’m hap- glad-” Ford let out a frustrated noise. Stan could practically feel the struggle that Ford was having with his words right then. He let out an amused huff, finally setting down the brush and turning to Ford. 

“Nice knowing that I wasn’t afraid of you finding out I was queer?” They offered, smiling slightly.

“Yes! Yes- I- That. That was what I meant.” Ford cleared his throat awkwardly. Stan wanted to laugh.

Ford was always one for big, fancy words and speeches. Not being able to find them, or being overly worried about using the right ones, was new for him. But his brother was trying to connect, or at least say something positive, so he wasn’t going to laugh at him about it.

“Not a problem. I figured that you’d seen enough wild things before coming back that me liking guys and gals probably wasn’t a big deal.” And even if it was, you weren’t the sort to be terrible about it. Their brother never struck them as a homophobe, but he also wasn’t the sort to turn into a jerk about it. Not after all the teasing and taunting he’d been through for his hands.

(No, Ford was the sort to be a jerk about other things.)

“It- It wasn’t the first time someone has made a confe- Erm, that someone came out to me,” Ford said, catching Stan by surprise. “My college roommate, he was also… Bi, I believe he said. He told me a few months into our stay. After an ex of his tried to harass him by coming to the school.”

“Well. I’m pretty sure we won’t have to deal with that any time soon,” he paused, tapping a finger against his chin in thought. “At least I don’t think we will. Pretty sure old age has caught up to most of my nastier exes. And the nicer ones have probably settled down by now.”

“I see…” Ford muttered quietly.

“And none of your exes have shown up to cause problems, so we should be fine.”

“Oh, that’s because I don’t have any.”

“Any what?” Stan asked, raising a brow at their brother.

“Exes. I never bothered with dating after our prom. I… I was never interested.” Ford folded his arms behind him, suddenly looking very intently at the models around the room and not at his sibling. “It… Simply never appealed to me. And it seems that- that there’s a term for that now. A-spectrum.”

Oh.

Oh. 

It seemed Ford had decided it was his turn to come out. Stan smiled encouragingly at their brother, trying to hold in the warm feeling in their chest. (Seems that particular trust went both ways.)

“That so? Good for you then. Glad you found something that feels right.”

“Yes, I- Thank you. It’s… It’s good. To finally know a word for it.” Ford’s eyes slid up to the large model that Stan had been actively working on. “You’re… Repainting this one? The colors didn’t look very faded when it had been in the main rooms.”

Stan sighed.

“They’re not faded. I thought I’d finally managed to get some paints closer to the colors I wanted for this one and wanted to get them on it. It’s damn hard to translate what’s in my head into the world for these.” He looked up at the models, half expecting his brother to scoff or say something about how he ought to focus more on “real” creatures. (As if Ford had a leg to stand on.)

“Really now? Why?” Ford asked, coming closer to the model Stan was working on.

They looked at their brother in surprise. Maybe Ford was just holding back his remarks for now? Trying to keep things nice between them after the little… Heart to heart they’d just had. Stan would take it, either way.

He waved a hand at the model, showing Ford the slightly shimmering paint he was using as he did.

“Well, see, Cosmic Mantas are supposed to be partially see-through so they blend into night skies…”

AN: They spend the next hour or so talking about colors and paints and ideas for getting the effect that Stan wants from the Cosmic models and how hard it is to create. Ford subtly learns a lot about them from Stan’s explanations/rambles. A couple days later, they both get a bunch of sweaters from Mabel. (Stan’s new NB and Demiman sweaters quickly become his favorites.)

The first Pride March was held in 1970, a year after the Stonewall Riots of 1969. According to my math, Stan and Ford would have (probably) been in high school/their teens while both were happening. It would have been all over the news, so they would have heard about it. (Jersey and New York are right next to each other after all.)

I decided that Cannoneer Stan would have been in a few Pride Marches during the early 80s, though I haven’t really committed to where or what years. Just that it was after the Memories but before Ford's postcard. But he’s an old LGBTQA+, so he also uses a lot of older terms that have since been changed/dropped. (But also having him use Queer to describe himself, and using it for him, just feels right.)

I wanted a casual-ish way to reveal that Stan was nonbinary to Ford, and Mabel making pride sweaters seemed like a fairly easy segway into that. She and Dipper suspected that Stan was, well, not straight based on how chill he was with Dipper being Trans (as well as other comments he’d made over the summer). So this is also Mabel finally, officially, confirming all of that for them. Dipper is glad to finally Know, and to find out he’s not the only LGBTQA+ person in the family.

Stan’s Flags: Non-Binary, Demiboy/man, Bisexual (Also Bear but shhh.)

Ford’s Flags: Asexual, Aromantic, A-Spec,

Dipper’s Flags: Transgender, Transboy/man,

Mabel’s Flags: Femme, Ally

The kids have fewer flags simply because they haven’t figured out what their romantic/sexual attractions are. I mean they’re, like, 12. I sure as heck didn’t know all my flags at that age.

Ford doesn’t fully commit to his flags until later (other than A-Spec, since he doesn’t seem to feel conventional romance/attraction). But this is his entry gate for something he’d never really stopped to think about before.

[ninjagood4]

I'VE BEEN WANTING TO INTRODUCE HIM TO YOU FOR SO LONG

He's the main antagonist Future of the Past, a bandit leader nicknamed Scavenger. Right now I'm planning to make some changes to the clothing, but the final one should be something similar to the current one (I might just do a red cape to match the dragon’s flag).

I named this character Scavenger because of his character: he is cruel, greedy and a skillful manipulator, looking for prey in everything and disregarding others. He has many murders and robberies behind him, which he decides to do in a split second. He will put up with a man well as long as he obeys him. Using the people of the Valley of Mountain Lights as an example: he occupied the valley 16 years ago before the events of FotP, this led to casualties and looting (and he was the one who killed Kim, Agatha's childhood friend), then intimidated the people and made a small compromise: people would periodically give up items and food in return for the Scavenger not touching them, but created boundaries and his own rules around the village. Also, if you read Leo's backstory, it was the Scavenger who trapped him, and to this day, because of the scar on his paw, the enemy knows Leo is his trophy. The fact that he doesn't touch Leo is a goodwill gesture to Agatha for once killed her friend. In fact, he gave Agatha Leo as a gift, but he has no trouble taking the gift away….

He will keep the ninjas captive for the first season, using them for his own purposes. I also previously talked about the conflict between him and Lloyd. The Scavenger will manipulate Lloyd, who, under his influence, will help to get the last key to Death. And you may notice a scar on the Scavenger's face, in the same place as Lloyd's. I won't reveal the plot of one of my favorite parts of the novel, but it's the Scavenger who will give him the scar. Lloyd, Agatha and Leo will be the first to go up against his regime, but even Agatha would have given up if she hadn't found the ninja, Lloyd won't stop opposing him and so there will be a tense conflict between him and the Scavenger in which the enemy will try to break Lloyd's already faltering spirit throughout the season.

[alittlesongbirdchirps]

Maybeee...

Role swap au but instead of being like villains being heroes and heroes being villains is heroes and their respective rogues changing places with ANOTHER set of heroes and rogues (main example: Batfam & Superfam)

My main idea would be the batfam being avians instead of aliens, or maybe something with wings or bird/bat-like

I LOVE THIS, MASKEDANON.

Batfam being avian's amazing, and just to make sure Tim sticks out more, I'll make him a flightless avian compared to the others who can all fly.

So let's deep dive further into what type of species of winged creatures that might be.

Bruce: I went with Flying Fox due to them having one of the biggest wings, so instead of a cape, Robins hides under his wings, but the wings are purposefully designed to be mistaken for a cape, as well as in civilian life he has some magic item that hides their wings.

Dick: I didn't go with the typical Dick is a Robin but a cockatiel since these small, affectionate birds are easy to train and love interacting with people.  They are great for families with children.

Jason: Red-tailed black cockatoo Birds are known for representing strength and resilience, but I've also heard they are an omen of bad luck.

Tim: Junin flightless grebes are known for their transformation and survival yet somehow are a critically endangered species.

Steph: just a regular cockatoo whose symbolism represents happiness, success, and fulfilment

Cass: a blackbird, not just because I thought it would be funny since, you know, black bats Is her vigilante name, but because blackbirds can represent transformation, rebirth, and wisdom.

Duke: Rainbow lorikeets can represent freedom and fun.

Damien: The oilbird is probably one of the closest birds to being a bat that isn't. They spend their days in darkness, resting deep inside caves and sometimes thick trees.

Now Superfam I imagine they are all humans, which is tricky because they don't have the resources to do a lot.

However, Clark is known to be an amazing investigative journalist, though not on the same level as Bruce.

But being an investigative journalist allows him access to areas most can't, so he uses both civilian identity and vigilante to get what he wants. he still goes by Superman or maybe even Superhuman.

He's a farm boy. His body is still going to be rather buff and strong, and most of his stuff is off the grid because that's how he was raised, so he spent a lot of time either fixing or building stuff, so it's not a stretch that he's able to go to the local scrap yards or other farmers and build his vigilante gear, which may be similar to the fist thingy in Arcane that Vi has.

Also, with the whole rogues changing places, is that with other villains?

If so, having the Joker be Superman's villain, maybe instead of Jason dying, we go similar to the Injustice universe, where Lois's death is the result of the Joker, instead of Clark killing her. Maybe he's tricked into going to the wrong building that doesn't have her in it, and the building his wife is in is destroyed; he tries to kill the Joker but is stopped by Batman.

Batman VS Lex Luthor: You could have Bruce use his knowledge and money to constantly stop a lot of Lex's dangerous plans.

There's no Kryptonite because Bruce isn't a Kryptonian, but Lex Luthor tries, in his words, to clip their wings and is one of the few to realise the cape isn't a cape and that's how he's getting around so fast.

THANK YOU FOR THE ASK <3

[bewarethewolfarmy]

Things Better Unshared

(A follow-up to A Celebration for Two partially because so many people seemed to have liked it and partially because I happen to have had one of those days. And yes what is described in this story is how I suffer through migraines, which I get on occasion (I am a chronic headache sufferer though). My friend Ash, may her soul rot in the shared POTO hell we are destined for, technically gave me this plot bunny when I told her about my migraine today so hope you guys at least enjoy)

Erik was 1000% certain that you were angry at him or something and thus already rehearsing a thousand different apologies, with flowers and music and begging and crying. Actually he was already crying because again he was more than absolutely certain that you were very much angry at him.

Admittedly he was not sure why you would be mad at him though. He had not killed anyone recently, or honestly at all in the time since you told him you loved him to now and he had sort of wanted to, especially when it came to those guys who sometimes talked to you and especially that one who had actually tried to ask you out and that was certainly not acceptable in any way. But he had held himself back, remembering how murder was one of Those Things that had made Christine run from him and that you had indeed told him that you did not want him hurting anyone. What helped him to remember and internalize it was that you had voiced it as a worry that he would be hurt or taken away from you if he did anything like murder someone again and thus made it into how much you cared about him, and Erik could never bring himself to do something that could upset someone who was willing to say they loved him. He also had been holding back his wish to make you a star and trying to convince you to that effect, and he'd behaved himself with the operahouse managers and he'd even tried to do nice things for them like fix up broken props and ripped costumes. He'd loved listening to you giggle as you had recounted to him how the other performers were convinced they had some sort of guardian angel running around, a nice change from the story of the Phantom; he didn't care about their thoughts and feelings about the situation as much as he loved to know you were happy about it. And actually he was also certain you had been happy just the night before, kissing him gently goodbye before having to return to your usual days in the choir.

Yet he knew you had to be angry at him because why else would you be acting so strange? You were listless and not really talking to anyone, grimacing and holding your hands over your ears as if hating the sound of music that as always filled the operahouse. He'd only been doing his usual thing, watching over you when you couldn't physically be together, and had been looking forward to watching rehearsals, but you had this strange unhappy look on your face and he was certain it was because something was wrong and of course to his mind the only thing that came to him was that you were upset with him and thus he needed to figure out how to fix things. He couldn't bear to have you upset and now he just had to wait until everyone else left and you were alone so he could try to see if he could get to you. You'd already snapped at a few people who tried to bother you though and Erik was now just fiddling with everything he could get his hands on, his cape, some rope, a broken piece of furniture, his scarf, feeling more and more anxious.

It all came to a head as some lights went on and you practically winced, turning away. But not fast enough for your angel, attentive as he was, saw the tears in your eyes and his heart fell like a ton of stones into his stomach. He watched you slip away into a room, getting away from everyone and everything as if to flee, and finally he decided enough was enough. Quickly he made his way there, slipping through passages and hidden ways, through an opening in the wall of that room to grab you.

You flinched, you never flinched with him, and his heart raced to think he might have hurt you, but you looked at him, squinting and then buried your face in his chest. His mind raced but you whimpered and in a small voice, weak and unsteady, spoke, “It hurts so much...”

You were in pain? Physical pain? He didn't understand at first but you clung to him and he instinctively wrapped his cape around you, holding you and feeling all the more panicked.

“What hurts?” He felt so confused; he had been so sure you were.

“It's too loud, too bright, please.” You pleaded, in that sad trembling voice. And Erik, Erik never could reject a request, not from you.

It was easy enough for him to bundle you up and carry you away; walking corpse he might be, he was still strong and you fit so easily in his arms. If the surface was too loud, too bright, too anything, then he would just take you back to his home, to the darkness, to the quiet. He had no hesitation, especially as your arms looped around his neck and held onto him and lord did that make Erik want to know what was so wrong so much faster.

He did his best to bring you back though the rowing of the boat was made a little harder by the fact that you still didn't let go even in the boat. But at the same time he wouldn't complain; you were close to him, you were there in his arms, how could he possibly complain when you were right where he loved to have you so much. And you didn't seem to be angry or upset with him at all but he still didn't know what was wrong and that was somehow even worse because you said it hurt and that things were too much and he hated seeing you in pain, not to mention cry because of it.

The dim lighting of candles and the silent peace of his home by the lake seemed to bring you some peace though still you held to him. He carried you inside and took you to the bed, the easiest to keep holding you; that was what he wanted, that's what you seemed to want, and he curled around you somewhat awkwardly. He wasn't used to being the big spoon, he wasn't used to being the comforter instead of the comfortee; he still didn't know what was wrong and that was starting to make him feel panicked the longer you were silent and clinging so tight.

“Erik's sorry, please tell us how we can help,” he half whined, having brought you this far but having no idea what to do was starting to lose himself to his usual concerns, “Songbird, please, you're worrying Erik, please.”

“My head....”

“Your head?”

“It hurts so much, Erik, it feels like a needle in my eye, like sharpness in my skull, radiating back and forth and back and forth but only part of me, only part of my skull.” Your voice was small, so small, smaller than you, smaller than anything. “I can't focus, I can't see, and everything just makes it worse: the light, the sounds, movement, eating, I can't think about anything but how much it hurts. It all just compounds and makes it throb more.”

Oh. He realized, recognizing what you meant. “Do you see lights, ones that are not truly there, whether after looking at light for a second or simply out of nowhere?”

You nodded without word. He bit a swollen lip. “Then it must be hemicrania, migraine. Erik too has suffered such; the pain is....”

Impossible to truly describe, he knew that well. To think you too were undergoing such pain, unexpected, unwanted, unfair; he could not remember days in which he had one, for the pain took most memory and reality with it, leaving only the haze of existence and the depths of emotional and physical voidness. But he could remember pain, sharp, centralized at first before moving along the divide of his head; for him it was always the right side, the same as his deformity, and maybe it was connected but it never truly mattered. The pain was what did and your pain, that you too had to feel it, was what he cared about.

You whimpered again, a meek sound more suited to a child than the beautiful soul you were to him but he held you close and did what he had always wished someone had done for him in such a state: he covered your head in his cape, kissed you upon the head and spoke in the softest whisper he could muster, “You will be alright, songbird, I promise you.”

“I just want to sleep,” you mumbled.

“Then sleep you shall.”

“I should eat though.”

“Are you hungry?” You shook your head; he was not surprised. Appetite seemed to flee from the pain of the half skull. “Then do not force yourself. Rest; I will blow out all the candles and you will slumber and once you feel hungry then I will make sure to bring you all the best things to help you recover but it would worry me all the more if you had to suffer what happens when you force yourself to eat when your mind is such pain.” Though he'd be ready to hold your hair back and gently rub your back, wipe away your tears and give you water to clear the taste from your mouth. Still he never wished that suffering on you, any of this.

“Erik....” You clung tighter and he kissed you again. How strange it felt to be the one to give the gentle kisses, the love, the care; normally you were the one to comfort him and he had been so prepared to cry and beg your forgiveness before but now he knew what was really going on and all he wanted was to hold you and take all your pain away.

He took off his cape to keep you covered but found it hard to get you to let go of him. Normally he would have been delighted by this, he was before, but in light of what was going on.... “Songbird, sweet love, I need to get up.”

“Please don't leave me, it hurts so much.” You sounded like you were on the verge of tears again and how he hated it, loathed your pain.

It was his turn to whimper, because he was nothing if not weak to you and your pleas, but he had to be strong to some degree and he kissed away your tears. “My beloved songbird, I promise I will return as quick as I can, but I need to darken the room for you, all for you I promise. That way you needn't hide under my cape while you rest.”

Another whine from you but he did manage to break free enough to get up. You curled into a ball, a sad weak ball, and he was quick to move, snuffing out each candle, plunging the room into utter darkness. But he was used to darkness, he had lived in it for years, and to him you were like a beacon in the night anyway; he would always find his way back to your side. He settled into bed beside you again and pulled you close, stroking your hair as you clung once more to him. In the darkness all that could be heard was breathing, yours slightly labored as your body had a hard time adjusting to the pain; he started to hum, softly, careful of all sharp notes, careful of being too loud; it was even and gentle, a lullaby he made up on the fly. But slowly, surely you started to slip off into something resembling sleep and he knew this by the way your grip loosened, your breathing evened, you relaxed from tension you never even knew you'd been holding from the pain.

All the while the phantom held you, humming his slow warm melody, and wishing for all the world he could do more to make you, his beloved songbird, never feel such pain now or ever again.