#I own a blowtorch because sometimes I NEED TO USE A BLOWTORCH

[teaboot]

Theoretically I enjoy living with people but unfortunately when you tell people you're a neuroatypical raccoon with twelve ongoing hobbies, completely random work hours, and a series of admittedly unusual lifelong compulsions they tend to hear that and go "oh haha you're trying to be Quirky okay" and then save their ten million questions and concerns for when you can't run away

[2nd2ndalto]

Even Through the Fire

Written for the @writers-choice prompt "blowtorch". Title is from Through the Fire by Chaka Khan.

___

“Will?”

Will spins around, startled. The over-tall stack of boxes he’d been balancing precariously in his arms tumbles to the ground.

Julia, one of the newest Apollo campers, is standing in the doorway of the supply room. “Oh, sorry!” she squeaks.

“It’s fine, I was trying to do too much,” Will says kindly. “What do you need?”

There’s been an influx of new healers this year, all around the same age. It’s great news - camp is always short on healers - but it always begs the question as to what exactly Will’s father was up to a decade prior. A question Will generally tries not to dwell too deeply on.

“There’s a camper waiting for you in the exam room at the end of the hallway,” Julia informs him.

“Oh. Okay,” Will glances in dismay at the mess on the floor.

“Oh I - I can get that,” Julia says.

Will smiles. “Thanks. I’ll go see what’s up.”

Then - “wait,” Will pauses in the doorway. “Isn’t that the room where the light’s burned out?”

Julia blinks at him in confusion, and Will shakes his head. “You know what, never mind.”

Will makes his way to the exam room at the back of the infirmary. The light is burned out in there - there’s even a sign on the door indicating that the room shouldn’t be used.

Will knocks lightly on the door, opening it to see a teenage boy seated on the exam table. He’s slim, with long legs clad in black denim and wearing… a red hoodie that Will thought he’d lost two months ago. The boy smells slightly of… campfire? Sulphur?

“Nico,” Will says.

“Solace,” Nico responds, not turning his head. His face is almost entirely obscured by the hood, and the dark.

Will steps into the room. “Um. Is this some kind of covert operation? Why are you sitting here in the dark?”

They’ve been friends for two years now, ever since Nico came to stay at camp after the war with Gaea. In that time, Will has learned that Nico doesn’t always make sense. It’s part of his charm, honestly.

Will takes a seat in the plastic chair opposite the exam table, leaving the door cracked open so he can see.

The hoodie Nico’s wearing had been a bit big on Will when he last saw it, making it at least two sizes too big on Nico. The sight of the other boy in the too-large garment - in Will's garment - is undeniably adorable, and Will tries to ignore the flutter in his stomach.

There are so very many Nico-related things that Will’s been trying to ignore for the better part of the last two years - first because he was worried about scaring Nico away and then, more unexpectedly, because he was terrified of losing this friendship that’s come to mean so much to him.

Will tries not to think about the way Nico’s dark eyes can make him lose his train of thought. The way Nico chews his bottom lip when he’s deep in thought, and the very closely related way that Will wants, badly, to press his thumb against that same plush, soft skin. It’s harder still, but he tries not to think about the fond way Nico sometimes looks at Will when he thinks Will can’t see.

“Solace,” Nico says, distracting Will from his thoughts. His voice is even, and he keeps his head down. “Do you remember after Christmas, when you decided to cut your own hair?”

Will cringes. He’d been desperate for a haircut and finally just started hacking away at it in the infirmary washroom one day when there wasn’t much else to do. It’s thankfully grown out now, but it hadn’t been one of Will’s better decisions. Boredom combined with demigod overconfidence and impulsivity can be a dangerous mix.

“Yeah. Why? Did you cut your hair?” Will tilts his head to try and get a look under Nico’s (his, actually) hood.

Nico ducks his head further. “No, I -”

“And where did you find my hoodie?” Will interrupts.

“That’s… not important.” Nico shifts awkwardly. He clears his throat.

“What I wanted to remind you of,” Nico continues in the same careful tone, “is that I did not laugh at your haircut. Even though practically everyone else did.”

Will snorts. “Okay, Nico, what’s going on? Are you injured?” He stands, reaching to push the hood off Nico’s head. Nico doesn’t flinch away which, Will registers on some level, really is a sign of how far they’ve come.

“Oh.” Will puts a hand to his mouth, definitely not thinking about laughing, not even the tiniest bit.

Nico keeps his gaze downcast for a long moment, finally looking up dejectedly. “You can’t re-grow eyebrows, can you?”

Not completely trusting his voice, Will slowly shakes his head.

Nico sighs.

“What - what happened?” Will whispers, forcefully pushing down the laughter bubbling in his chest. Nico’s eyebrows are almost entirely singed off, his face soot-stained, and Will realizes that the smell he noticed earlier was burnt hair.

“Leo. Blowtorch.” Nico says shortly.

Will feels his mouth slowly forming an o. “Shit,” he says.

“Yeah,” Nico agrees. “I’m going to kill him,” he adds matter-of-factly.

Nico’s not one to worry much about his appearance, but he does, usually have really nice eyebrows. Dark and expressive, framing his midnight eyes in a dramatic sort of way.

“Well. You know. You could kind of -” and Will reaches out to flatten Nico’s bangs flat against his forehead, mostly obscuring the lack of eyebrows.

Nico snorts, dropping his head again.

Automatically, impulsively, Will reaches out to wrap his fingers around Nico’s chin, tilting the other boy’s face so that they’re looking at each other once more.

He realizes, a second too late, that the gesture is a little too intimate to be… professional. Or even friendly, for that matter. And now, suddenly, Nico - his friend - is gazing at him searchingly with wide, dark eyes, and Will’s heart is beating in his throat. And Will still hasn’t dropped his hand.

“I - I still love you without eyebrows,” Will whispers, because yes, that is a great way to diffuse the tension. Smooth, Solace.

Nico’s mouth twists, but Will thinks, hopes, it’s more with humour than, say, disgust.

“I still love you without eyebrows too,” Nico says, deadpan, his eyes sparkling.

Will feels as if he could fly.

“Can I kiss you?” Will whispers.

Nico rolls his eyes, grinning. “Yeah Solace, you can kiss me.”

Will does. Nico is smiling even wider now, and Will can’t quite help the little giggle that bursts from his chest, but it’s pretty much the best first kiss he could have imagined. Mostly because it’s Nico.

They part, and Will gently traces his fingers along Nico’s cheekbones and then, carefully, regretfully where his eyebrows used to be.

Nico’s still smiling. It brightens his whole face. Brightens the dark room and the blissful happiness swelling in Will’s chest.

“I might not kill Leo after all,” Nico says.

Will grins and pulls him in again, by the collar of his hoodie. Their second kiss is just as sweet.

[thevampiresoc]

ramble. under read more. also fixed pacing.

starting off with the ogs diego/gumball and doug those two. god. depressed jester to silly neighborhood old man pipeline. in canon he works at a library now where he sometimes puts on puppet shows. doug is no longer pathetic scared man he teaches geology for fun and as clean-up crew for crime scenes for normal. old probably 58? now? men living with peace and letting their past not get to them. and then matthew and sasha. god . their beef went from like "that purple doesnt match your pants" & "your hairs a mess" to geniune death threats and "YOU WERE MARRIED TO A DRUG SMUGGLER WHO'S SKIN WAS WHITER THAN SNOW" & "I'M NOT LISTENING TO A MAN UNDER 5'5" WHO CAN'T COUNT HIGHER THAN 8 IN ENGLISH WITHOUT USING HIS FINGERS". potato knows whos who. matthew 'ohh good lord what the fuck' to 'i'm PROBABLY traumitized but my boss wants me to go clean the Scary Hallway so I can't think about that right now' domino effect. is it affect? idfc. im in here saying bullshit. speaking of bullshit sasha went from "... please try and get better" to "*grabs you by your eye sockets* You Are Going To Stop Eating Twice A Day. Full Meals Are Not Just Seven Ritz Crackers™️©️ And Sour Cream."

and its great.

she still does taxidermy and murder. taxidermy's her side-job since she works as a welder now. shes in there with blowtorches welding shit. your car needs repairs? shes got it boss. oh yeah matthew working as a knight in rp-1 is funny if you consider how his main job went from freddy fazbears janitor to comfortably retired lighthouse keeper. OHHHHH CHARLES I ALMOST FORGOT CHARLES he died in canon. not really. you ever get zombied. yeah jhe got zombied. i should start breaking this up but i cant

snapshot at the start of the rp was just. fucked up guy with a dead wife and platoon with a pet mouse droid. he went into a coma so he didnt participate in order 66 and misses his wife. alot. but NOW? NOW???

okay so imagine walking out of a hospital room, disorented as shit and you go to find your wife jedi and fellow clones and when you DO find them shes just cut one in half with her light saber. Turning to you with fear, she almost chops your head off but you stumbling back and showing that your unarmed gets her to stop. "It was self defense," the jedi pleads for you to understand as your blood flows into your mouth, preventing you from screaming but you want to scream, need to scream.

You both are uneasy and fearful, trying to calm down. Order 66, something you just thought of as a far off nightmare to enact, had happened a mere few minutes ago.

years later, probably a decade, the tragedity now only becoming stale on your mind- a healing wound to your already mangled brain- you had been cut off from the "empire", hiding on fucking HOTH of all planets. You managed, sure, but it was still hoth… "Your" Jedi, surviving by faking her own death with you saying you had killed her, picking you up randomly only to tell you that your being relocated to a terrestrial planet. So called 'Retirement' in some barely populated town, living on a farm. Great.

nottt much really changed except for TMCs status. just that they upgraded from living in a shitty one room apartment to a still shitty apartment where the bedroom, living room, dining room and bathroom were seperate rooms. also parents. good for it.

neeed to traumitize that war machine

anyways my ocs going from eueueueuuuu to Can You Shut Up im going to Kill You With My Bare Hands is funny

conffession sometimes i watered downn my oc when using them. im shouting into the void but do you guys think you could handle he/him sasha. i feel like if i ever rp again with any of you itd be hell because ive just done so much stupid ass writing with my little sillies. like andreas' kingdom got slightly more fucked but id keep it silly for yall

[whump-a-la-mode]

Gilded Cage - Part 7

I can only describe this as tooth-rotting fluff. Our whumpee deserves it!

Thank you so much to everyone for going through this story with me. I’ve had so much fun.

@worstcasescenariolullaby

CW//Hospital setting, medical talk, talk of broken bones, talk of surgery, altered states of mind, mentions of death, mentions of building collapses, conspiracy

“Are you sure about this?” Sidekick’s face twisted in a mask of concern.

“I’m sure.” Villain nodded.

“The Heroes...”

“The city won’t let this happen again. Come visit me in hospital sometime, okay? I’ll be okay.”

“Okay.”

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The felt piece on the bottom of the chess pawn had long since worn away, leaving a dull screeching noise in its wake as Villain moved the piece forward on the board. In expectation, they raised their head to their opponent, before gazing back down at the board. Examining the playing field. Furrowing their brows.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Their opponent, Old Friend, spoke, their tongue filled with equal parts laughter and playful teasing. “And... there goes your rook.”

“What!” Villain’s gaze darted about the board, before grumbling and removing their fallen piece, adding it to a quickly growing pile. “You’re cheating.”

“How does one cheat at chess?”

“By being better than me. There, okay, there goes your pawn.”

“And there goes your knight.”

“Asshole. Come on, you have to have a secret. You gotta tell me.”

Old Friend smiled.

“You’re so intent on taking my pieces that you don’t worry about your own. Also, I was in the chess club back in school, so...”

“Nerd.” Villain stuck out their tongue.

“Alright, candle boy.”

“Hey! I told you-”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just really funny.”

“I could disintegrate a candle-”

“I know, I know. It’s your move, dude.”

“Fine. Is turning the board to ash a valid chess move?”

“There’s enough fire damage on the pieces as it is. Candle boy.”

“At least come up with something better than that. Like... Like blowtorch. That sounds cool.”

“Blowtorch? What are you, like, seven?”

“Eh, there’s worse villain names out there.”

“You don’t have one yet, do you?”

“Nah. I’m not that breed of cocky. They just call me the arsonist, I think.”

“That’s pretty underwhelming.”

“Meh.”

Again, Villain studied the board a moment. They sent a rook forwards, knocking over a knight on the other side.

“Your move.”

Old Friend nodded, and, for a few moments, they sat like that. Accompanied by nothing but the sounds of the city and the scraping of pieces on the board.

“Did Violet ever have a name?”

It took Villain a few moments to register the question. They moved a piece before looking up.

“What, like a villain name?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think so. You could ask her.”

“Aw, man, you haven’t heard?”

Villain frowned, lips pursing together to form a thin line.

“She’s gone?”

“Bridge collapse. I was always warning her, taking roots out of the ground like that is gonna make something fall eventually. Just so happened to be right on top of her. It’s a shame, really. Gonna have to find somewhere else to get our lettuce, now.”

“Not funny.”

“I know. And... check.”

“What?”

“Checkmate.”

“Again?”

“Again.”

Villain shoved the board away from themself, sitting back and stretching their arms above their head. Old Friend swiped the remaining pieces from the board, beginning to once again set the stage for their next game.

“This time, think about the risk you might be putting your pieces in. It’s not worth it, losing a knight to take out a pawn, y’know?”

“I guess.”

“What’s got you acting so sad all of a sudden?” Old Friend looked up. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m gonna get a candle.”

“Okay. You good?”

“I just... I just need a candle.”

Villain stood, stiff legs aching with pins and needles as they moved across the small, damp-walled apartment. The kitchen, or what was little more than a countertop with a fridge and microwave, was barren, snack bowls long since left with nothing but crumbs.

They drew open the door of one of the wall-mounted cabinets, unveiling a series of shelves, stacked with white pillars of wax. Most lumpy and misshapen, the rest bent and folded in on themselves. Villain selected one, moving back to where Old Friend had just finished resetting the board. They sat in their spot, a place already well worn into the carpet.

“Do you want to play again?” Old Friend’s voice had grown quiet, concerned.

“Yeah... Just give me a second.”

“Need to let it out?”

“Yeah.”

The firebrand gripped the white-waxed candle in one hand, then the other. Feeling the film transfer from palm to palm. The flame in their stomach answered the call without hesitance. They had already felt the heat, struggling to escape into their veins.

It was slow, at first. The wax did not melt, simply molding itself, bulging and shifting as to allow Villain’s fingers to make their mark. Their eyes fixed upon the process: The control of it. The way in which the wax moved only on their call.

It helped them breathe.

“Violet...” They began, frowning again. “That’s the second bridge accident this year.”

“There’s a lot of bridges, to be fair.”

“But not a lot of collapses.”

“What are you saying?”

“It seems so much like a coincidence, but... How many have we lost, this year?”

“Violet and Argyle, uh, Aaron I think. Dana and Evelyn and-”

“And what month is it?”

“April?”

“Exactly.”

“I mean, we lose a lot, but...”

“And they’re always accidents. Car crashes. Building fires. Drownings. But they’re not accidents.”

The wax yielded with more readiness. A few droplets fell, deftly caught by Villain’s other hand.

“What do you mean, they’re not accidents? I don’t think people drown on purpose.”

“Well, yeah. But that’s not what I mean. If they were actually accidents, you would think they’d happen at random times. But-”

“It’s always when the Heroes are around. Always during battle.”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t think the Heroes are doing it on purpose, though. I mean, they wouldn’t just blow up a bridge to kill one villain. The battles just get too intense, I think. I mean, how many times have you almost died in battle?”

“A lot.”

“Same here. That’s all.”

“No. No.” Villain shook their head. “I’ve almost died many times. But I haven’t died. Because I’m not stupid. And the others weren’t, either.”

“I don’t think the Heroes are killing people, Villain.”

“Then what else are they doing?”

“I don’t know, protecting the city? Whatever nonsense they say.”

“Protecting the city from us. Supposedly. But it seems like they’re a hell of a lot more focused on these big battles.”

“That’s kind of our fault, to be fair.”

“Is it? Most of our didn’t choose this life.”

“We’re still doing, I mean, crimes. Like, we’re definitely criminals.”

“Then they should be taking us to prison.”

“Isn’t that what they do?”

“When is the last time you heard of anyone going to prison?”

“I mean, uh... What about Jared?”

“You mean the one they got in a van that then mysteriously exploded?”

“Oh. Right. What about, uh, didn’t they get Kara?”

“Yeah. And then pronounced her dead at the hospital.”

“Okay. Maybe... maybe you have a point.”

Between Villain’s fingers, a single droplet of candle wax fell.

“Yeah.”

Old Friend sighed.

“Do you want to play again?”

“Mhm.”

Villain drew the heat from their palms, allowing the remnants of the candle to solidify in their hands. They placed it down, then, though droplets of white still stuck to their fingers.

“I think...” Old Friend looked down at the board, considering their first move. “I think if the Heroes ever capture you, you’ll find they’re a lot kinder than you expect.”

Villain snorted in laughter.

“If the Heroes ever capture me, there will nothing left of my body to find.”

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“It’s a miracle.”

“It is. The damage they sustained... I can hardly believe that there’s enough blood left in them to keep them alive.”

“Hardly any blood. Hardly any body, either.”

“Yeah.”

“A real miracle. The guys down in Radiology, they thought we got the scans mixed up. They confused them for those of the guy in the other room. The motorcycle crash one.”

“That makes sense. To think that a human did this...”

“Not a normal human. A lot stronger than a normal human.”

“But with the same morals as a normal human.”

“You’d hope so.”

“Oh. Crap, looks like they’re waking up. Let’s give a bit more propofol... They need their rest.”

Villain’s closed eyes twitched, as though dreaming. At least, they did not think they were dreaming. It was hard to say, these days...

Had it been days? Or just a couple of hours? They tried to think, to remember, but the will to do so was deeply buried under blankets and bitter-tasting medicines. They longed to sit up, to move, to open their eyes, but those thoughts came from such a small part of their mind. The rest of them was so tired...

The numbness, now, was softer. Warmer. It was not a force of overwhelming heat, laughing at them and telling them to forget their pain, to keep moving. Instead, this time, the numbness was simply warm. Pleasantly so. Urging them to rest, to sleep, to ignore the taste of iron on their tongue that refused to go away.

Sleeping and wakefulness, to them, felt to be a sliding scale. They spent much time at the former end, in blissful unconsciousness, but had yet to find themself at the latter. They struggled for it, struggled to get close, but their anxious murmurs and twitching were always responded to with soft words and hands and more warmth in their veins.

Vilain was floating for a moment. Again, the hundredth time, they struggled to part their lips, but only managed to exert effort to no end.

“Their leg... I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“Are you sure they’re strong enough for this?”

“Yeah. We can’t wait any longer. The bone will heal wrong if we wait any longer.”

“Okay.”

The numbness was stronger, that time.

“Villain? Villain?”

Their eyelids twitched, again.

“They said you’d opened your eyes, earlier...”

There was more softness, in that tone. Not the pitying notes of a doctor or nerve-wracked surgeon, but the warm coaxing of a friend.

The hand on their wrist was cold.

Their fingers twitched, then their lips. They tried to utter out a syllable, but only managed a shaky breath.

“Yeah, that’s it. Thank you. Do you remember me?”

Did they? They weren’t sure what they remembered, anymore. They remembered being here. They remembered the blankets and the half-hearted attempts by the nurses to coax them into swallowing a spoonful of jello.

“It’s Doctor. Do you remember me? Do you remember Doctor?”

“Doctor?”

The word came out more like a croak. Their eyes twitched with more furor this time, until, at long last, the world flooded into sterile existence around them. They got distracted, a moment, by the pattern of white tiles above.

“There you go!” There was genuine pride in that voice. “I knew you could do it.”

“Mmm.”

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” That cold hand moved from their wrist to their hand. Trying to hold it, to embrace their fingers. But Villain did not have the strength for such a thing. “I’m so sorry, Villain. I’m so sorry.”

“F- for what?”“

“I- I almost killed you! Had you stayed under my care... I’m sorry.”

Villain blinked a moment, trying to think.

“You...” Their throat felt so terribly raw. “You were right.”

“It wasn’t right to let Hero try to kill you.”

“No... Not that. You said, uh, about warmth. ‘Bout heat.”

There was a smile. Villain did not have to see it to know that it was there.

“You understood?”

“Yes. On th��stage.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you did good.”

“I get it, now. I think... Heat can, uh, it can destroy buildings.” Their words were awfully drawn out, hard to understand through their lengthy slurring. “But it can also... bake cookies.”

Doctor laughed, at that.

“You’re right. You’re right.”

Villain’s fingers finally agreed to move, wrapping around Doctor’s hand.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Villain.” Another sigh. This one, warm. “Have you heard, what they’re saying about you? You lost so much blood. And your organs were all over the place. It’s a miracle that you survived.”

The grasp on Villain’s hand tightened.

“They said you only lived because you wanted to. Because you really, really wanted to survive. Is that right?”

“I... I think it is. Yeah.”

“Yeah. I’ll be back, okay? Get some rest.”

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It was three weeks after, that they were allowed to have any more visitors. Three weeks of medicines and surgeries and treatments and x-rays. It all blurred in their mind, until the calendar held as little meaning to them as the results of their blood tests.

They weren’t healed. Certainly not. But wakefulness no longer felt like such a monumental effort.

The jello tasted like nothing as they placed it upon their tongue. Nothing but sugar and sweetener, desperately trying to mask the tastelessness of gelatin. By the time the door opened, which it did with such a force that Villain wondered if it had been struck with a battering ram, they were almost done with the cup of overly-sweet dessert.

They jumped, nearly dropping their plastic spoon as their gaze snapped upwards. For a split second, the figure in the doorway made their limbs begin to shake, a familiar pressure reviving on their neck. But, it only lasted a second.

Sidekick looked different. Their stature was the same, certainly, as well-muscled as ever, but it was no longer draped in any sort of uniform. Instead, a grey sweatshirt struggled to contain their form, marked with the logo of some sports team or another.

Villain took another bite of jello.

“Good news.” Sidekick’s smile had the same media allure that Hero once showed the cameras, sending a shiver down Villain’s spine. They strode nearer, confident steps striking the tile floor. Compared to them, Villain felt terribly small. “Come on, don’t you want to hear it?”

Another bite and the cup was empty. They placed it down on the small table next to their bed.

“Um... Yeah. Okay.” They could not muster up nearly enough energy to match that of their visitor.

“Okay, so, J- sorry, uh, you-know-who, they found the video. The real one. Without all the edits.”

“That’s... good.”

“Mhm. We have news stations willing to broadcast it, too. Put some doubt on the story, right?”

“Right.”

“You... Don’t seem as excited as I remember you being.”

“Sorry.” Villain’s gaze cast downwards. “I’m still just a little tired, and all.”

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. You got hurt pretty bad. Do you have any idea when you might be out of here?”

“Not really.”

“I’ll try to ask a nurse or something. When you’re strong enough, though, we’ve got this whole plan. You’re gonna be, like, our emissary. Between us and the villains, yeah?”

“Uh... why?”

“Well, I mean, the Heroes only really exist to stop you and the other villains. If we can just... convince them to stop doing villain stuff, then the public will start the see that the Heroes are, y’know, not all their cracked up to be.”

Villain struggled to suppress a smile. They couldn’t imagine trying to ask some of their former cohorts to all of a sudden go on the straight and narrow.

Still, even beneath the blankets and the medicine, they felt the smallest scrap of warmth return. A tiny ember, floating in their stomach.

The opportunity to turn their pain into something other than nightmares and tears in the hospital bed’s pillow.

“When I’m out of here... well, we’ll have to see, I guess.”

“That’s all we can really hope for. Now, uh, I kind of have to go. They’re about to notice I broke a window.”

“You w-”

“Sorry! Gotta go!”

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It was the smell that made Villain recognize their second visitor, more than their appearance.

They looked different. Quite different. Taller, slightly, with tight cords of muscle now curling about their neck. Nothing like the tiny twig they’d once known.

It looked like they’d finally hit their growth spurt, after all. A decade late.

The scent that they carried with them was one of freshly cut wood, the rural stench of sawdust, accompanied by the damp musk of a home long forgotten.

“Holy shit, candle boy.”

Four words. Four stupid words, uttered the moment Old Friend walked through the door.

Villain burst out laughing.

Not laughter of sorrow, or of venom. True laughter. The warmth that filled their chest this time had nothing to do with flame.

“So, am I allowed to hug you, or...”

“There’s no doctors here to tell us not to.”

“Good point.”

The warmth in Villain’s chest only increased with Old Friend’s embrace. Their friend buried their head in their shoulder. The tears wet quickly through Villain’s hospital gown.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“You didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“I should have-”

“It’s in the past, now. I’m just so glad you’re alive.”

“Just to be clear... you’re not a good guy?”

“I don’t know what I am. But I’m still your friend.”

“That’s all I care about.”

The embrace broke off after over a minute, though it was still far too soon.

“We have an apartment. Me and Aggie and some others.” Old Friend stepped back. “We have a room all set up. Even found some of your old stuff. I know it’s gonna be a while, but... you’ve always got somewhere to go, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

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The End

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I can’t thank you guys enough for reading through this story and experiencing it with me. This is the end of this story, but I hope to make another one soon!

There is no next part, so there are no story paths to choose from for next time. But, I still have options to pick from. I want to hear what you think Villain’s choice will be!

A) Be a hero. Go with Sidekick, and liberate the city

B) Be a friend. Return to Old Friend. Make life good again.

[goldenpixel]

can u talk more about the feral boys smoking and examples of why u think they do? i’ve Always thought especially sapnap has, and him and dream probably smoke a lot together irl (also the way dream always clears his throat??) but i haven’t had anything to really back it up to other people other than a Feeling. idk if ur the same but .. yeah

Honestly, for the most part it is just a Feeling, I like to call it my Gaydar for Stoners, but Sapnap especially I’m like 100% sure

Other than the time that Sapnap straight up told Tommy he was high (which a lot of people write off as a joke, but I firmly believe he was just a little too high and forgot Tommy was streaming, which would explain Tommy’s “huh? This is weird and strange and has definitely never happened before” type of response), there’s also the time that Sapnap was on Dream’s stream and he lit a Hot n Spicy McChicken on fire with the blowtorch that was in arms reach of his set up (what other reason can you think of for a 19 year old to have a blowtorch in his bedroom - on his desk that he likely spends most of his time at - if not for dabs?), and then there’s also that one time pretty soon after the blowtorch thing that he could be heard igniting a lighter in the background while Dream was talking. And that’s just the things that I can think of off the top of my head

Dream is much more subtle about it, but if we look at his behavior in other people’s streams, especially Sapnap’s since they moved in together & Train’s latenight streams, you can’t count the amount of things he says/does that could very easily be attributed to him being high/a stoner. The big thing that I can think of right now is whenever he asks Sapnap if he wants food or Sapnap brings up their eating habits. I know that this can be explained away by them being young guys living on their own, but that combined with Sapnap being all but confirmed and Dream being very open about his mental health (weed can help anxiety, depression, and adhd among many others), just makes me think that he and Sapnap get absolutely blazed together. (also how he hesitates and giggles a little bit whenever someone asks him if he drinks or does drugs)

I think George used to smoke a ton, and probably still lights up sometimes, but not to the same degree that he used to. George was a party animal in college and statistically, British youth actually smoke more than Americans do, despite it now being legal in America. This one is not based in any fact at all, solely just an observation combined with the vibes, but every single one of George’s outfits that we’ve seen him wearing outside of his home are stereotypical seshfits (comfy outfits for the purpose of being as comfy as possible while high)

Most of my stuff for Karl, like George, could just be because he’s a busy gamer boy, but I’m gonna list them out anyway. First, every solo-Karl alt stream I’ve ever caught, he’s been absolutely schlumped playing some mindless game like slither.io, and idk about any of my fellow weed partakers, but when you’re alone, being slouched and stoned at 2am-5am playing something like that is one of the greatest things ever, especially when you’re listening to the music that he almost always is playing. Then there’s that photo I posted a while ago with Karl and Mr Beast eating the Dream Burger, where Karl looks absolutely blasted, and I’m sure if we were to go back through old photos, videos, vods, whatever, there would be many many more just like that photo. And remember that old photo of Karl when he met Valkyrae? He looks like the epitome of the nerdy kid in high school who everyone thinks goes straight home, does his homework, and then plays video games until school the next morning, but he actually has a major smoke sesh before the gaming starts, and if you’re the lucky one to figure this out, you’ll suddenly have access to the highest quality weed that that school will ever see

Quackity is the one that I’ve got the least proof for, just because he’s always so Quackity. Like, if that boy is smoking regularly, it’s gotta be pure sativa, or he’s just timing it perfectly that he’s rarely high on stream, and probably never on his own streams. I’ve actually been meaning to go back through his vods and see if I can find any substance to it other than vibes and the fact that I firmly believe the feral boys have had smoke sesh calls more than once

If anyone wants to add or refute anything, feel free!! I love discussing this stuff, cuz it’s almost certain that we’re never going to get clear answers cuz they need to keep up their mostly family friendly images. Swearing and sex jokes are one thing, but if parents were to find out that they openly smoked weed a lot of kids would 100% be banned from watching them

[ellemany]

The ____ date of my life - Epilogue

<<< Index

<<< Previous Chapter

Recommended Music: You're all I need to get by – Emilia Jones, Ferdia Walsh-Peelo

Yes, Sova and Sage met other times after that first date. They created a beautiful relationship; one of those you look at and think they can only have come straight out of a movie. I could tell you a lot about them.

I could tell you about the perfect dates. Those base getaways, the movie nights, the romantic dinners, the picnics... Dates where everything planned occur as it should and the unexpected was fantastic. Just like when Sage was super happy to get free tickets on her birthday; or the fireworks at the exact moment were the couple toasted with their champagne glasses, celebrating their first anniversary as a couple; or even a meteor shower just as the two looked up at the sky, lying on the picnic blanket. It seemed that the universe was making up for all the suffering of their lives, giving them their own fairy tale.

I could tell you (and how I'd love to tell you) about the other disastrous dates. Like the time that Sage convinced Sova to enter in a cooking class and he accidentally set the cake on fire (Sova, blowtorches, sugar and vodka don't mix). Or when Sova took Sage to camping and they were chased by bees, moose and a bear, not exactly in this order. There's also the time they were in Paris, and everything would be perfect. If it wasn't for the invasion of interdimensional killers. That was supposed to be the perfect date to propose to Sage. Sova ended up making the propose in the middle of the chaos and she almost didn’t heard it because of the gunfire.

And then there's the moments! Those little or big ones that made it all worthwhile.

Like those big moments that they knew they'd remember no matter what happened. Like their wedding. Nothing particularly horrible happened to the two of them that day. Because, behind the scenes, there were a lot of people getting screwed enough for them. Like Reyna who ruined Sage's official dress, Killjoy and Raze who had to improvise a decoration because they destroyed the one they already had and Brimstone who lost their wedding rings and cost to find it again. There was a fight at the wedding, too. Between Sova's babushka, who loved Sage as her own child, and Sage's family, who were there only to criticize all her life choices. Sova and Sage were in a good mood to try to end the fight. Sova told the story of the wedding ring he had given to Sage in tranquility while his babushka was punching some Sage’s aunt.

How couldn’t I talk about their children? The little four made Sova and Sage so happy that sometimes they thought they were going to explode. The birth and growth of each of them constituted such remarkable moments that Sova had to constantly change the HD of his robotic eye, of so many photos that he took of everything that made him happy.

However, not only of happy moments were their lives. They fought too. And when they got in bad terms they made it look like the Cold War had been incarnated in them. But they could never stand a fight for long. Even the proud Sage went to Sova to apologize and he was too soft to deny her anything. Sova was sweet and she loved his sweetness. She knew she could trust him to take care of her, especially after she lost their first babies. Even for someone who was used to dealing with life and death as an usual job, that was devastating. Sova reminded her that she was not to blame for everything that was going on around her and she hasn’t control over everything. In those days, Sova was her superhero. And then she was his superhero, making sure he didn't break when his babushka died.

But it was the little moments... Yes, those moments should be the most told. Like when Sage arrived exhausted from some mission and she let herself sink into Sova's embrace, knowing that there was the best place in the world to be. Or when he was the one who was done and she lay his head on her lap, stroking his soft blonde hair. Not a warm, safe house in the middle of Siberia would be as cozy and peaceful as Sage's lap. They had the moments when she taught him Chinese, which Sova insisted that was humanly impossible to learn (and Sage reminded him that he was half a cyborg then "stop complaining and tell me what is this ideogram"); or when he taught her to play the guitar and Sage secretly healed her calluses when they were forming, only for Sova kiss the tips of her sore fingers ("how you don't generate calluses, lil panda?" He questioned her while kissing her). Also when they listened to music together, played with the children or were simply close to each other, without doing anything particularly interesting. Sometimes, in those moments, they just stopped and looked at each other, who generally didn't see the gaze. Among so many thoughts that permeated their minds, they both thought something like "what have I done to be so lucky?"

Oh, I could tell you so much!

However, I don't like endings very much. It's their story, but it's my fanfic.

So trust me when I say that they were very, very happy together.

◆:*:◇:*:◆:*:◇:*:◆:*:◇:*:◆:*:◇:*:◆:*:◇:*:◆:*:◇:*:◆:*:◇:*:◆:*:◇:*:◆

Thx for reading (๑ > ᴗ < ๑)

[leftsidebonfire]

OG Hamon Crew Headcanons by Yours Truly, Leftside Bonfire

Tagging a few peeps who showed interest, hope you don't mind 👉👈 @theeggcatwizard @its-that-guy-again also @go-dark-turtle cuz it's ur man and @berryvalentine because you appreciate my PB love. Also @bleach-and-a-blowtorch cuz we appreciate Will together.

Okay so.

Firstly, Dire, Will and Straizo were not as serious as you might think. When those 3 started Hamon training, they were about as goofy and Caesar and Joseph. Caesar gets his shenanigans from someone, after all. 👀

Will, of course, took it very seriously and was a dedicated and hard worker, as were the others, but they're young men with a special skill who are bound to play around eventually.

For example, look at Will. He's hopping along the water using hamon, giggling and clearly having a good time even at 50. He's clearly very playful and eccentric. It wouldn't surprise me if the others got in on it, too!

Straizo was the most serious. Will was the most eccentric. Dire was somewhere in the middle. He was very studious, but got roped into shenanigans with Will a lot easier. Straizo was the level headed one who shook his head when Will woke up at 3 am with another plan to try water hopping.

Sometimes the boys would sneak out, too. They can't be perfect all the time. Will was a night owl who got his best ideas at night, and it was one night he just couldn't sleep, so he tried using Hamon to stick to the wall. Needless to say, he found a way to climb and visited Dire and Straizo at their own respective rooms... from outside their windows 3 stories up!

Dire is the himbo of the group. Every group needs a himbo, and he is it. He puts on a very serious face, a lot of the time, but he has his moments. When he does something skillful, he is very proud of himself. In more than just a prideful way, more like a "Hey, cool, I did it!" Type way. After he taught himself Thunder Cross Split Attack, he took great pride in getting both Straizo and Will with it several times.

Dire tried to get Tonpetty with it once. Once. And never again.

None of the boys invented the Hamon breathing mask, but they did watch in its creation and were some of the first to try them out. They looked a lot different and improved over the years, which Straizo actually did participate in.

Will invented his wine technique on accident. It was a genuine moment of, "fuck it, I wanna see if this works." And it did. He showed the others and they thought it was weird.

Dire learned how to ballroom dance at a young age, and in his free time, taught the others.

Dire and Straizo were a part of Will's wedding.

Will gets a lot of his energy from sailing. The seas are tough and the people on them are more gruff and brutal, so he had a lot more freedom to be eccentric. This carried over into adulthood, clearly. Even being a distinguished gentleman, he still can't resist a good prank, much like sneezing yourself 20 feet into the air.

Straizo would mainly come out of his shell when intoxicated. On the nights the boys shared their wine, it wouldn't be unusual to see the three leaning on each other, and Straizo with the biggest smile and drunken blush dusting his cheeks.

Since so few people in the world studied Hamon, the group, even the teachers alike, had a very close bond. And while the students had their fun, on occasion, the others would also join in the shenanigans every once in a while. Tonpetty was a lot like Lisa Lisa in his teaching, but it doesn't stop him from laughing at some of the things others come up with.

Will's hat was still a family heirloom. He got it from his father. And it was Speedwagon who made sure Mario Zeppeli got it. It fell back into Speedwagon's hands after Mario died, and Speedwagon once again made sure it was received by Caesar.

And to finish off this round of headcanons (I'm willing to bet there will be MANY more)...

Will was the most skilled of the group. Hamon came very naturally to him. Straizo was second best, though it took far longer. Will was the fast learner, Straizo was best in the long run. Dire wasn't the best. It took him far longer to get the hang of it, though once he figured it out, he was first to start inventing his own techniques and even the trainers were impressed.

💕💕💕

Ight so like... I feel really really inclined to make a fic out of Will's training days with some really headcanoned lore.... would anybody actually be interested in reading it? I haven't been in my Harry Potter phase in a long time but this gives a major Marauders vibes and I'm sooo inspired by them right now 👉👈

[deadlyflan]

Figuring out the OCs from an as-yet-unpublished TMNT fanfic. Come meet my AU.

October 1 - Journey - 1,635 words. Donatello. Helen. Rated G.

A formal knock and a nervous voice pulled Donatello from his work in the barn.

“May I come in?” It was one of the girls. Well, probably all of the girls. They didn’t go anywhere without one another even now. The side door on the barn stayed shut. They were legitimately waiting for permission.

“Come on in.” Donatello turned off the propane to his blowtorch. He wouldn’t be shaping sheet metal or piping while the girls were in the barn. A ringing hammer would kill the conversation. He pushed back his goggles and peeled off his homemade workman’s gloves. Stepping around the beginnings of his geothermal heating system, he wiped his brow with the edge of his canvas apron and pulled up in surprise. It was just Helen.

“Helen? Is something wrong?” Donatello snagged his bo staff, ready to take off towards the farm house immediately.

“No.” The turtle woman toyed miserably with the edge of her oversized sweatshirt. “Yes. But no.” Her bald head alternately shook and nodded; the faint striping on her cheeks contorted with her distress.

“Okay.” Donatello spun through a quick assessment. She wasn’t out of breath, so she hadn’t run down to the barn. But she was at the barn alone—Helen and her sisters were never alone. It absolutely terrified them. Some more than others, but still, they had to be line of sight with another sister or there was crying. Speaking of crying, Helen had started sniffling. Okay, something was wrong. “Here, pull up a seat.”

Helen scrubbed her face on her sleeve viscously and slunk over to one of his pair of work stools.

Donatello hopped up on his own and waited for her.

Her boot raised and lowered a few times in confusion and she scowled at the stool.

He realized the problem pretty quickly. “If you spin the seat clockwise, it should lower.”

None of the girls were athletic or even very coordinated. Yet another holdover from being raised in a laboratory: not much in the way of sports education. Add in Helen’s petite frame? She might be five foot in her boots. Maybe.

Still, he wasn’t Michelangelo, to go lifting and moving the girls like they were children. That wouldn’t help them. They were adults. They deserved the respect of equals. Everything was an opportunity to learn and Donatello had always learned best by doing.

Several squeaky revolutions later, Helen had hauled herself up onto the stool. She huffed and picked at the loose bolts on his work bench.

“You came down to the barn by yourself?” Donatello wanted to take the opportunity to praise her—encourage her, anyways. Independence was a horribly difficult thing to learn as a 19 year old. She deserved to celebrate the big steps.

She stared back at him and her beautiful face smushed up like a green tomato. “They were so mean to me!!” She sucked in a huge gulp of air and quickly shook her head. “No. No. They weren’t mean. They weren’t mean. They’re good girls! We’re good—They were—they just didn’t listen to me!” She tried to pull her knees up to her chest, felt the stool wobble and gripped the work table. She hunched over and pulled her sweatshirt down over her knees instead. “Th-They always lis-sten to me!”

Ah. Sister dynamics. Remarkably similar to brother dynamics, but distorted by their lifetime in captivity. Donatello picked his words carefully. “What did they not want to listen about?”

“They didn’t want to take a bath at b-bath time.” Helen’s face read of utter betrayal. The schedule was sacred. “M-Michelamj—My.Kell.Angie. MICHEAL. AN. JELLO,” she staggered through his full name, and somehow still made it sound contemptible. “He said we were going to get dirty in--in--in the kitchen anyways and should bathe afterwards! Even Dinah agreed!” Oh, that must have been a blow to her ego. Dinah never disagreed with the schedule or with Helen.

Donatello bit his lower lip. This was wonderfully low stakes. No one was bleeding. The world wasn’t ending. He knew she didn’t think this was funny. He wasn’t going to laugh at her. She was genuinely upset. Relief was already flooding through him, though, and she was still crying. Terribly unfair of him, really.

She stared at him, waiting for him to agree that Mikey’s plan was obviously madness. “Who w-wants a bunch of d-dirty turtles handling the food?!”

“I’m sure he had everyone wash their hands, Helen.” Donatello fought the corners of his mouth. He would not smile.

“I know! I know! But if we wait to shower, w-we’ll use all the hot water when you all need it for your sh-showers after practice!" She bounced her fist on the work table. "And I-I h-had t-treats for them,” she started strong, but trailed off in a mumble because she wasn’t supposed to be stashing food ‘treats’ for her sisters outside of the kitchen. It brought ants. And mice.

Donatello bit back a sigh and let the ‘treats’ pass. He and his brothers had had food caches all over the place when they were younger and food was harder to come by. It was habit that came with food insecurity and fear for the next meal. Not something that could be undone overnight. Really, Helen had been doing better. Or hiding it better. But trust had to go two ways, so, as far as he knew, she had been doing better.

“So, if I understand correctly, you came down here to the barn, by yourself, because your sisters listened to Michelangelo’s suggestion that they postpone bath time until after they made a mess of themselves and the kitchen?”

Helen nodded and wiped her face on her sleeve again.

“Did you take a bath on your own, then? Since they chose not to bathe right away?”

“No! I don’t want to take a bath alone!! I don’t want to be alone!” She sat up straight, popping her knees back out from under the sweatshirt.

Donatello held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “But you walked down here. By yourself. Alone.” He watched understanding dawn on her features. They smoothed out as her mouth opened and her brows rose. “That was a brave choice.”

Helen blinked at him owlishly, her giant honey-brown eyes, rimmed in red from crying. She sniffed to clear congestion from her nose. “I…?”

“Chose. You chose to come down here on your own.” Donatello let himself smile a little.

“Like how my sisters chose to listen to Michealanjello?” She frowned and pulled her sleeves down over her hands.

Donatello shrugged, but didn’t contradict her.

“This is. This is what April and Master Splinter were talking about, isn’t it?” She almost whispered as she put the pieces together. “Learning to make decisions?” She swallowed thickly. “I thought it was a weird thing to talk about. We answer questions and make decisions all the time. But they meant. … decisions by— or for— or alone. Ourselves.” She considered the revelation with a pensive flick at the bolts on his table. “I … I don’t like it.”

Not what he’d been expecting to hear. “Don’t like it?”

“They chose Michealanjello over me! I don’t like it!” Helen’s light yellow stripes bunched righteously between her brows. She deflated. “I chose you over them, though. I. I left them behind.”

“Hmm. I think it’s not quite that dire, Helen. Mikey’s suggestion was solid. I’ve seen what he kind of a mess he can make in a kitchen. And, for what it’s worth, there would be plenty of time for the hot water to refill before after-practice showers. Though it was nice of you to think of us.” Donatello took a shot in the dark. “I would bet your sisters didn’t know about the treats?”

She wouldn’t make eye contact.

“Right. So they made their best judgement based on what they knew. That isn’t choosing one person over another.” He swiveled a little and eyed the geothermal heater panel to gauge where he had left off. “They probably miss having you up there. Michelangelo too.” Even if she kept getting his name wrong, or maybe because she kept getting his name wrong, his brother adored having Helen around.

“But I’m here. Away from them. By choice.” Helen’s eyes filled up again, but the pending tears were guilty. She’d abandoned them.

Donatello cocked his head to the side. “It can be helpful to get away from siblings sometimes. Vent your feelings a bit. Talk about what’s bothering you. You can always go back when you feel better. I don’t think you chose me over them so much as you chose not to be upset directly at them while you were keyed up. That’s still a good sister thing to do.”

He could see a few places on the metal where he got the angles wrong. He would have to reheat those elements and shape them correctly before he went much further.

Helen sat in silence on the stool for while before sliding off. She closed the distance between them and gripped his forearm just before he could pull on his working glove. Her three fingers squeezed a light staccato pattern on his skin. One of the girls’ silent signals, but Donatello didn’t know this one. The girls rarely used their secret language overtly, and Donatello swallowed with a the sudden knot of implied trust tightening his chest. That had meant something, hadn’t it?

“Thank you.” She let go. “I choose to go back to the house.” Her delicate chin rose with determination and she smiled just enough for her dimples to peek at him. Those dimples were criminally unfair. No wonder Mike put up with her butchering his name.

“Alone?” he asked.

Helen hesitated, but took a deep breath and confidently stated, “Yes.”

After the barn was quiet, he found himself wishing he’d chosen to go with her.

~~~end scene~~~

@oc-growth-and-development

More about this AU tagged #tmnt chain reaction

[jackklineisperfect]

here comes the first step

Is this really all that there is for us?

Adam sighs, resting his head against the frame of the car. His coworker spares him a glance before heading back under the car. Adam can hear the sound of a blowtorch as a part is heated to force it to form a new shape. Much like how he and Michael were heated to fit into their new life, he thinks.

We were not heated, Adam Milligan. We were abandoned.

“You’d think an angel that was several billions of years old wouldn’t be hit so hard by an identity change,” Adam murmurs under his breath as he lowers his face shield.

His words are met with stony silence as Michael contemplates. Adam knows enough after tens of centuries in the cage that Michael needs to think. Housing the archangel inside his mind is easier than he thought it would be, in the end. There is nothing left for Michael, not anymore. Jack Kline, the new God, had no use for a relic of time past. No one had any use for Adam either. They fit together like puzzle pieces.

I miss my father, Michael confesses in a voice that is just above a whisper.

Adam lifts one shoulder into a shrug and shifts, feeling uneasy. “I barely knew mine,” he says. “I think I would have liked to.”

“Did you say something, Milligan?”

Adam’s coworker slides out from under the car, a splotch of grease on his cheek. Adam shakes his head and resists the urge to wipe it away. He wonders whether that comes from Michael, or himself. Then he wonders if it matters anymore. Sometimes it’s hard to tell when Michael ends and he begins.

“Not at all,” Adam says, and passes the rest of the day without hearing from Michael again.

It isn’t until they are heading back to the depressing flat they call home that Michael stirs. May I take control, Adam? he asks.

Adam chuckles. “You don’t know how to drive,” he says.

You are correct. Michael ponders this, and Adam can feel the way he shifts their wings. Why do we even need to drive, Adam? You know I can fly.

“Because, Michael, we’re trying to be human,” Adam says.

Are we?

“I am.”

Michael scoffs in the back of his mind. Adam regrets teaching him that one. I do not see the point of this endeavour. We are not human.

Adam sighs and turns into the parking lot for their apartment. It is in a run down part of the city, and the night is dark and cold. Adam lingers in the car, listening to it putter and whirr. The heat billowing from the vents feels comforting, and he sits with his hands cupped around it and his head tilted back. If he thinks very hard, he can imagine being in a warm embrace. Michael shifts their wings until they wrap around their body, holding in the warmth. It’s the closest thing to a hug that Adam feels he will ever get again.

“We could be,” Adam says. “Or we can at least try, right? We lost so much of our lives listening to other people. I want to rebuild it, Michael, without anyone else’s input but our own.”

I do not understand.

“Give it time, buddy.”

Adam turns off the car and gets out, the night air shockingly chill compared to the warmth of the car. Michael increases their body temperature to compensate, and Adam fights a smile that isn’t all his. Michael’s distaste for the cold mirrored his own, a shared hatred that derived its origins from the cage. His smile vanishes, pulled off his face by a wave of emotion from Michael that leaves him colder.

Bundling his coat tighter around him, Adam starts towards his building, looking forward to a cup of cheap coffee and some sleep on his couch. Neither of them need to sleep, not anymore, but Adam enjoys the way his mind shuts off at night. He hopes Michael’s does too. They deserve a little respite from the swirling of their thoughts.

“Give me your money!”

Something cold and hard jabs into Adam’s back, just between his shoulder blades. Michael is alert, his grace flowing through Adam like blood. Adam shakes his head and turns around, smiling at the owner of the gun trained on his chest.

The man before them is skinny, his clothes hanging off his frame. His eyes have a sunken in, hollowed out look to them that fills Adam with pity. The hand wrapped around the gun is shaking. Adam reaches out and places his hand over it and the man flinches. His finger twitches on the trigger, and Adam feels the slight pop of grace that prevents the trigger from being depressed.

“I can handle this,” he says, and the man before him frowns.

“What? Who the fuck are you talking to, man?”

There is no need for you to handle it, Michael protests. The feathers on their wings puff out. I am perfectly capable of dealing with one human.

“I don’t want you to deal with him,” Adam says, annoyance creeping into his tone. “He’s just hungry.”

The man lowers the gun before pushing it between Adam’s eyes, shaking off Adam’s hand. “Listen, you freakin’ psycho, I just want your money, all right? So hand it over, nice and slow, and no one will die tonight.”

“Look,” Adam says, holding out his hands. “I’ll give you the money, okay? But you should at least let me buy you some dinner first. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Who the fuck cares!” The man pulls the safety back, and Adam can feel Michael’s alarm. “I’m not some charity case, asshole! This is a mugging!”

“We can talk about this—” Adam starts.

The gun fires, and Michael surges forward in the same instant, taking control of their shared body. Adam is pushed to the side, where he remains, dazed by the ringing in his ears. The bullet that is meant to have gone through his head lies on the floor, crushed by grace that is bright and searing white. Adam feels their wings extend, and knows that their eyes are glowing with that same white light.

The man is on his ass on the ground, staring up at them with something like horror. Michael takes a step forward, and Adam watches as he puts his hand on the man’s forehead.

“You have tried to kill an angel of the Lord,” Michael says. “Do you know how much of a sin that is?”

The man stutters, his mouth gaping open like a fish. Adam tries to take control again and is buffeted away by Michael’s strength. Fighting against Michael is like trying to walk through a hurricane and a tornado combined. Adam wants to stop this, but Michael is too far gone. A righteous warrior filled with righteous wrath would never stop in his judgment. Adam can only hope that the soul of this doomed man will go somewhere pleasant.

It doesn’t have to be like this, he tries anyway, a small voice amid whipping and whirling winds of wrath. You can let him go, Michael.

“He tried to hurt you,” Michael says, his outrage clear.

I forgive him.

“I do not.”

A bright, painful white light emanates from within the man. He screams, his back arching as Michael’s judgment burns through him. Adam watches, helpless, as the corpse drops back to the ground, lifeless and empty. Michael straightens and, as if realising what he did, relinquishes control back to Adam.

Adam takes a deep breath, and then another, folding their wings again. There is a woman staring at him from the front of her building, her mouth hanging open. Adam feels a rush of sorrow as he starts towards her. She shrinks back and he pauses.

“What are you?” she asks, her voice shaking. She looks over at the corpse and back to Adam. “Are you God?”

Adam laughs. “No,” he says, shaking his head, a bitter smirk on his face. “I’m very, very far from God.”

“Are you the Devil?”

Michael huffs in the back of their mind, and Adam’s expression softens. “No,” he says. “I’m not the Devil either.”

“Then what the fuck are you?” the woman asks. “Because that shit was not normal.”

“I’m just a guy,” Adam says, pressing two fingers to her forehead.

She crumples to the ground, unconscious but breathing. Adam sighs again, rubbing his face. The memory he uses to replace the one of watching the man die is a pleasant one. It’s the least he can do.

He rides the elevator to his floor, steps off, and looks around. He can hear the sirens coming, and rubs his face. He liked it here, he thinks. It was run down and dilapidated, but it was home.

Where shall we go, Adam? Michael asks after Adam finishes packing his few possessions into a duffel bag.

“Anywhere,” Adam says.

Michael is silent. Then, his voice gentle, he says, You are not just a guy, Adam Milligan. You are my friend.

“I know,” Adam says. “I love you too, buddy. Now, come on. Let’s go.”

With a flap of their wings, they go.

-------------------

The artwork that inspired this was: Protector by kingstoken. Go take a look, because it's stunning!

[thenamesblurrito]

More teachers! Because I realized I hadn’t posted them yet either smh I just don’t have any idea what I’m doing.

Rung hasn’t seen an Academy like this since he worked with the universities of Crystal City! Truly, it’s brilliant what they’re doing here, with all frames and functions mingling. It’s no wonder he was hired as a counselor with such a clash of cultures, they’ll need the very best, and it’s been his job for so long he’s forgotten when he started! He oversees the mentoring portion of the curriculum, coordinating 13 teachers and their subjects, although he himself is not a teacher as providing both therapy and grades would be a conflict of interests. It also means he won’t have to remember to do the grading, as he’s a little scattered at the best of times. It seems he misplaces or breaks his glasses every day, sometimes even switching his pair with Maccadam’s! His filing system isn’t the best, either, but it’s alright because no one seems to check up on him, aside from that nasty mech Froid who fancies himself his rival. The one thing he does remember perfectly is the problems his patients face, and how he’s going to help them, starting by giving them some handmade model kits for them to put together.

Wing is surprised to be a teacher, but life has brought him to such a myriad of places and occupations that he’s learned to jump in enthusiastically. From model to athlete to charity spokesperson to astronomer, he’s dedicated himself fully to whatever has come his way, with all the grace and benevolence he believes a high class Crystal City mech should have. As an adherent of the sect called the Circle of Light, he’s eager to see a community of diversity and mutual aid. Unfortunately, not everyone seems to agree with him. He tries to negotiate peace in whatever spats and arguments he comes across, but it still gets depressing. One student he’s particularly concerned with is Deadlock, full of anger and bitterness. If there’s anything he can do to ease this youngling’s struggle, he will. His jet alt is unusual for a size 2 frame, but he’s considered gorgeous instead of ungainly.

Perceptor finds his role of teaching scientific theory to be a good fit for him, if his fellow faculty members weren’t all completely insane. That one inventor Wheeljack has a running competition with the actual principal of whose class accumulates more lab injuries! It’s highly unprofessional and he wishes he could work with them in a more measured manner, but he must admit the results of their work is stellar, and the students learn well. His own child Sureshock is a student, and he couldn’t be more proud of her growth in learning and making friends. With a size 2 tracked electron microscope alt like his, he’s always been meant for science, and this Academy has afforded him a chance to meet and mingle with other scientists he never would have met otherwise.

Wheeljack is a bit of a maverick in the scientific world. His ideas are too big, too bulky, too brilliant, and enough of his experiments have ended in, er, “catastrophic deconstruction” that he’s banned from using several volatile materials, and also blowtorches. But here, at the Academy? He’s finally acknowledged for the genius he is. He almost missed the opportunity, as Shockwave had tried hiring his creator Queue first, but Queue passed it on to him, and he’s never looked back. The other faculty are great, especially Shockwave, although Perceptor could stand to cycle down some, and it would be nice if Ratchet stopped hitting him with a wrench every time he ends up in the medbay. It’s not his fault the lab blew up! Teaching chemical engineering is fantastic, along with that friendly competition with Shockwave about who can push their experiments to the limit. Size 2 sportscars aren’t usually scientiests, but with a processor like his, there isn’t anything else he could be.

[deluxewhump]

Frathouse Boxboy: Cam and Zee- Kiss

content warning: dubcon kissing, intimate whumper (sort of, no whump happens here though) dehumanization, the brothers making Z2 behave like a dog, cam’s internalized homophobia. 

*****

Zee is warm, a pleasant weight against his arm. He’s canted towards him, even though now he has to turn his neck to ninety degrees to watch the laptop screen. He does so like a cat, following movement, just a little out of focus. Trying to read causes him to scrunch his eyes shut and whimper, so he avoids it, zoning out just enough that it won’t hurt him to look at the screen.

“How is that even comfortable?” Cam asks, clicking the answer to number 75 on the quiz. C. His own eyes are getting heavy, but the assignment is due at midnight, ten minutes from now. 

Z2 makes a non committal sound in reply, cheek pressed against Cam’s shoulder. He’s heat-seeking, hungry for a friendly touch. 

Zee understands the world as hostile or soft, existing for him only in extreme or another.  If he can get a soft touch, a kind word, he can convince himself which one he’s currently in. He needs allies and tries his best to make them, though some of the brothers are impossible to please.

 He was extra grateful tonight to be extracted from them. Cam took pity on him, pulled him from their bored ranks before they did anything worse than make him drink out of the “doggie dish” and walk around on all fours so they could laugh and take videos on their phones. They’ve done it before, plenty of times, mock-barking at him and “teaching” him tricks with the campus newspaper rolled tight in their fists. Roll over, Z2. Sit, stay. Paw. No, other paw! Bad boy. Thwack. 

“Alright.” He’d said, patting his leg to Call Z2 over. “This way, Lassie, training time’s over.” The boys had laughed as Z made his way to Cam’s side on all fours, because no one told him he could get up and walk like a person yet. 

No one argued with him, told him to leave Z2 with them. Cam knows if he behaves like he is in charge, most of the time it goes unchallenged. It hadn’t taken him long after pledging to discover the trick he’d been using for years worked here, too. 

He pulls the scrollbar to the bottom to see how many questions are left on the quiz. 90 total. He sighs, scrolling back up to number 76. 

“What… what’s wrong?”

Cam smirks, going to the next question. Zee only asks because he’s concerned Cam’s impatient sigh was about him. His insecurity is so obvious sometimes it hurts. Did I do something wrong? 

“Nothing.” Cam assures him. “You’re good, relax.”

“...Cam?”

“Shh. Give me five minutes.”

Zee cringes, whole body tensing.

“Dude this is due in like two seconds and I gotta get it done. Tell me after.” He adds, trying to soften his tone. He doesn’t need Zee to get all weird tonight. He’s tired, and he’s got an eight AM class tomorrow. Numbers 77 through 82 are a breeze, right from the chapter. Zee barely breathes against him as he finishes, hits submit with a minute to spare. 

“Okay. What’s up?”

Zee is more hesitant now, even after the tiny reprimand. “Nothing. Sorry.”

Cam closes his laptop, sets it to the side. “Nothing, huh?”

“I didn’t mean to bother you.” He looks up with big eyes. There’s a softness about him, despite everything. Even the little flashes of anger that Cam sees don’t stay, they melt away into this. 

Cam could tie Z2 over his  desk and take his blowtorch lighter to him and he’d still be apologizing deliriously later, seeking approval. He’d looked so comically sincere earlier on his knees for Paul and Tyler and Michael, holding his hands at his chest how they showed him, a mock puppy dog in his collar and basketball shorts. Zee knows all too well there’s nothing stopping any of them but each other— Lord of the Flies and this is their island. 

He begs Cam to drop it with his eyes, the weariness of all his I’m sorrys in a look.

“Alright, don’t tell me, then.”

Zee looks as if he’s been slapped.

“But you don’t need to be so scared, okay?” Cam adds, dropping his voice as if someone might possibly hear. “Not when it’s just us.”

Zee’s eyes widen at that, hopeful. Is this what Alex sees? He wonders what Alex says to him in private, if Zee snuggles up to him so unselfconsciously, too.

 Cam swallows, dropping his eyes over Z’s mouth, his auburn hair grown back out over his ears, his forehead. He gets why Amber likes him, why she asked to keep him for a weekend. He imagines Zee with a pile of sorority girls around him like fawning mermaids, touching and cooing, how flustered he must’ve gotten. 

Deciding to lean in is like jumping from a ledge into freezing water. He hesitates, and halfway down he can’t believe he’s done it. 

Zee’s mouth is soft, softer than he thought it would be, like a girl’s. He whimpers softly into Cam’s mouth and Cam almost pulls away until Zee kisses back, the barest hint of pressure. It was a noise of pleasure, Cam realizes, bringing his hand up between them slowly  so not to spook him. He slides his fingers over Zee’s jaw, cups his smooth skin in his hand to better kiss him, to feel how real he is, how human and boy and... Zee.

He pulls away an inch, looking down his own nose at Z’s face, tilted up so willingly. He’d imagined this before, some faceless guy in the dark somewhere at a party, bruising and breathless with rough hands in hair, raking over clothes, the scrape of teeth, an insistent tongue. 

This was something else entirely. Tender. A different sort of hunger. Cam has the sudden sharp urge to shove Z away, to find the cruelest words he can and hurl them at him, to protect himself from whatever bridge he’s crossing, whatever place is being stamped into his passport there’s no coming back from. 

But Zee is sitting perfectly still, waiting, eyes lidded and heavy. His lips are parted, full and kissed-pink. He’s...trusting. Willing. Leaning his face into Cam’s palm. Cam leans in again instead and presses their lips together with the utmost gentleness. Zee’s sweet as before, pliant. 

Cam shifts his weight against his pillow and brings his other hand to Zee’s face, holding both his cheeks. The sound their lips make when they part is strangely alluring to him, tantalizing in a way he’d never even thought about before when kissing girls. He’d always kissed them as long as they’d wanted, even after it got boring. It made them more likely to go along with it when he slipped a hand between them and gave their breast a gentle, kneading squeeze, or started to undo the button on their jeans. But this, this was enough. Despite the way the rest of his body was quickly becoming interested, this was overwhelming in itself. 

 He pulls away to get a look at Zee and for a moment a flash of fear crosses his face, like he knows he’s in trouble, that this is Not Normal.

Cam just smiles gently til the other boy’s face relaxes, mirroring him.

 “Here.” He mutters, still feeling a little heady. He unlocks Zee’s collar, lets the weight of it drop into his hands. The circle of skin on Zee’s neck looks sore, chafed. His eyes flutter in relief and Cam sets the heavy leather collar on the bedside table.

He misreads, moves to crawl onto the floor beside Cam’s bed like usual. Cam catches his elbow, not missing the sharp inhale of fear.

“Stay. It’s cold tonight.”

Zee’s face is filled with thinly veiled longing, but Cam can sense the fear right behind it, like static between stations. Was the kiss a sign of intent?

“I’m not gonna do anything. I promise.”

Zee crawls gingerly back up, gets under Cam’s covers beside him. That’s twice Zee trusted him tonight, and all for what? For saving him from his brothers, for letting him sleep in a bed instead of the floor?

 He turns out the light, staring up at the darkness. The world hasn’t ended. No one even knows what they’ve done, what he’s done. It just tingles in his stomach, his fingertips. Zee’s breathing evens out and slows almost immediately, but it takes Cam another hour to find sleep. 

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

One of the more persistent questions I've had about TTTE and the RWS is - exactly what kind of world is Sodor in? Like, trains - living, sentient, thinking beings - were mass murdered, sometimes violently. (Your post about the nuclear flask tests made me think about this) Is the UK sort of like North Korea, where trains are murdered and the rest of the world watches in horror? Or is the entire world just some awful dystopia where only humans are allowed to survive?

I dunno. I think I reject the idea of the RWS/TTTE-verse being a dystopia for the vehicles… at least, when it comes to this issue.   

Let’s put aside, for a moment, British Railway’s Modernization Plan… as well as British Railway’s Research Department (RIP Spamcan)… okay, let’s put aside the British Railway completely. Like, let’s look at the history of steam up until 1948.   

Doesn’t seem fair to say “only humans are allowed to survive” as if there’s a wildly different standard for humans than for engines. Sadly, it's not as though we live in a utopia where we adequately support the old, disabled, and other marginalized people, either! (I speak as an American. But even in, say, U.K., life was a lot cheaper in the era of the original RWS stories, you know?) For people as well as engines, our “usefulness”—which is very subjectively evaluated—determines a good bit of our quality of life. I don’t think engines, when you average it all out, were leading a more unhappy life than people.

I think death is a part of the cycle of life for engines just as it is for people. Yes, machines can be immortal, but only if you pour massive resources of time and money into them. Realistically, the engines are also mortal. More mortal, in many ways, behind they are dependent on humans. It’s not as though the humans are preventing them from living their best lives. It’s not as though engines could band together in solidarity and autonomously arrange their own affairs, if they were just left alone. Hell, cutting an engine up is kinder than leaving them strictly alone to rust and become part of the elements over decades. Engines don’t want to be left alone! Humans find engines useful, but engines need humans.   

In general, I think that (again, let’s stick, like, pre-1948) human and engine death is pretty similar. It’s seldom pretty in either case. (Medicine and health care weren’t exactly fantastic for humans either! Much higher chance for, say, British humans to die through war, violence, workplace accident, illness, or just plain hunger in this period.) It’s seldom wanted, but it comes inevitably.   

And, for both kinds of beings, sometimes a full life is lived, they are old, they are tired, they are content, and they are ready for death. It’s not all that common a way to end. But it does happen. Let’s face it, death is mostly horrifying for all of us because of the ways sentient beings are treated (and mistreated, and restricted) during life.   

Yeah, I know, I’m getting a bit philosophical here. But it’s a philosophical subject, death.   

I’m inclined to think that engines can lose consciousness, if they are allowed to exist long enough to die naturally. But, either way, I’m still not sure scrapping is a worse fate for engines than most kinds of death are for humans. I’m not convinced blowtorches hurt, physically. I suspect that it’s more emotional—if you don’t know, or don’t want, or don’t understand what’s being done to you. But a clean cut, applied with heat? I’m just not convinced “intense heat” alone hurts, if you literally run on fire and boiling water. Also, again—if an engine can no longer be afforded, scrapping is at least a quicker and overall less painful end than abandonment to rust, so I’m not sure I see it as “murder” so much as “death with dignity.” At least this way is swift, and you are still useful even in death! 

And, given that “being useful” seems so legit important in engine psyche, I can see an acceptance of scrapping as “the end”—if one is resigned to the end. (Just like people in the prime of life can’t imagine being okay with dying. But sometimes old people are. Usually the mentally healthiest old people!)   

-- 

All this said? Just as humans accept death, but not murder (and especially not mass murder!) I think engines accept scrapping as the end… but good old British Railways DID turn the thing into a quasi-genocidal horror show that scarred everyone, even survivors.   

The B.R. decided to scrap thousands upon thousands of useful engines, many with plenty of life left in them (some of the last had been in service less than 10 years!) They were withdrawing so many that they couldn’t scrap them fast enough. They would be piled up, still perfectly serviceable but left to wait for months and years on end in queues to be cut up. The B.R. had to outsource the job to scrap merchants… who then also had too many to handle, so even in those yards engines waited for years and years and years. Some can still be found waiting now, rusted and solitary and beyond all hope, six decades later!   

That’s where I think the real WTF-ness comes in.   

The B.R. also developed a Research Department and all the most, er… interesting… experiments that I’ve come across date from here.   

RWS depicts a sort of divergence between Sodor’s railways + heritage railways vs. the “Other Railway.” As far as their machines go, the “Other Railway”’s standards of care fall. Sodor (and the heritage movement, generally) instead extend to engines the advances in rights and dignity that are being simultaneously afforded to humans.   

The series has often been blasted for just “rejecting modernity.” But I think there’s a deeper critique going on here than “new-fangled nonsense.” RWS shows a real love for all technology, old and new! What it rejects—by its premise of making engines sentient—is the idea of a sort of waste culture. It promotes investing in, caring for, and loving our tech, instead of mass-production, designing new technology with deliberately short working lives, and upgrading for the sake of upgrading. (*cough* Apple *cough*)   

Similarly, on a political level it supports greater autonomy and subsidiarity, by featuring engines who flourish under a sort of “small community” rule, but who are treated as disposable under nationalization. (Or “corporate takeover” events! 1948 “Other Railway” nationalization is the Big One, of course. But the books also originally draw heavily on the 1923 “Big Four Grouping” as a sort of pre-run. In real life, “standardization” also led to withdrawal and scrapping of engines, some still plenty serviceable—on a lesser but still very substantial scale. And most of RWS’s early characters are on Sodor as refugees from that event. If the N.W.R. had been absorbed by the L.M.S. in 1923, Thomas and Toby would have survived the following ten years and of the original pre-nationalization 7 engines, that’s it. Once again, the same theme emerges: death is natural and inevitable, but that doesn’t mean pushing through a ton of destruction for the sake of modernization is OK.)   

That everything the books criticized the “Other Railway” for really did happen (and then some!) I think makes the RWS critique all the more scathing.   

Sorry, nonny. This… has been a post. Thank you v. much for such a thought-provoking comment, though. I’d love to hear from you again if this sparks anything from you (even massive disagreement, lol).

[clotpolesonly]

for @laurahale-appreciation week day 2! there’s plenty of angst to go around, but i needed some sibling fluff in my life.

| Laura & Cora & Derek | Gen | 900w | Hale Family Feels | Tattoos |

(also on AO3)

It was a few months before things were quiet enough for them to do this. And another few weeks before anyone dug up the courage to broach the subject. None of them wanted to be presumptuous, and their new relationship was still too fragile for anyone to want to rock the boat.

In the end, it was Cora, always the bravest of them all.

“So those tats,” she had said one day, as casually as she could manage. “When’d you get those anyway?”

Laura had glanced over at Derek, shirtless and sweaty from their workout, the triskele standing out starkly against the pale skin of his back. Her fingers had found her own tattoo, a matching symbol inked onto her right inner forearm.

“About a year after the fire,” she’d said. “Had to find a sketchy artist who would let Derek get it when he was under 18, but it wasn’t like we were risking hepatitis or anything. We did the blowtorching on each other later.”

Cora had nodded a few times. “Cool, that’s… That’s cool.” She’d swigged the last of her water, tossed it aside, and thrown herself back up to the pull-up bar for another rep.

Laura and Derek had exchanged a look.

Now, here they were, in the same sketchy tattoo parlor that had given Scott his tattoo. Cora’s leg was bouncing aggressively, but her face was a mask of determination. Beside her, Derek was hiding a smile behind his hand as if he hadn’t been every bit as nervous eight years ago. Laura reached around behind Cora to pinch him.

The tattoo artist came back before he could retaliate, sketch in hand to verify the design one last time. It was simple, just 3 solid black spirals. Cora still looked to the both of them for confirmation before giving the tattooist the final nod.

“You sure you want to do this?” Laura asked. “You look like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin, and he hasn’t even gotten the gun out yet.”

“You sure you want me to do this?”

Laura frowned. “Why wouldn’t I want you to?”

For a moment, it seemed like Cora wasn’t going to answer. It wouldn’t be unusual; she wasn’t exactly the most talkative person to start with, and she had a habit of shutting down completely. Derek did the same thing sometimes, when he was upset or feeling vulnerable or afraid. Usually he would still talk to Laura, at least, eventually, but that was because he knew and trusted her more than anyone. Things were a little more complicated with Cora, after all the years they had spent apart—after all the years that Cora had spent alone and fending for herself—but they were working on it.

Bit by bit, they were working on it.

The work showed when Cora bit her lip, ducked her head so that her hair fell forward to hide her face, and said, “I don’t know. It just… I guess, it just seems like a you thing, you know? You two got them together and have had them for years. I wasn’t there for all that.”

It was a good thing that a heart breaking didn’t have a sound. Laura shared another look with Derek, her pain reflected back at her in his eyes. She had to swallow hard before she could speak.

“Cora,” she said, laying a hand on her sister’s thigh. “Do you know what this symbol means?”

The curtain of hair rippled, and Laura knew that Cora was rolling her eyes. “Of course I do. Alpha, beta, omega. We all learned it.”

“That’s one of its meanings,” Derek said. “It can also symbolize land, sea, and sky. Past, present, and future. Life, death, and rebirth.”

“But do you want to know what it’s always meant for us?” Laura asked. “What we were thinking about when we got our tattoos?”

Cora peeked out from behind her hair, reluctantly curious. “What?”

Squeezing her leg, Laura smiled and said, “Family, Cora. The three of us.”

Derek’s arm came down around Cora’s shoulder, pulling her in so that he could press a kiss to the side of her head. “Just because you weren’t there, that doesn’t mean that you weren’t with us.”

With a hitched breath that might’ve hid a sob, the tension fled from Cora’s shoulders. She slumped against Derek’s side and she took Laura’s hand in her own, threading their fingers together and holding on tight.

Laura squeezed back, eyes burning with tears. She wiped them away before anyone could see because she had a reputation to maintain and being that level of sappy was just not acceptable. The tattooist had finished setting up his station and laying out his equipment, and he definitely saw, but he seemed content to let them have their moment for now. He winked when he caught Laura’s eye.

She leaned against Cora and said, “At heart, the triskele is about motion. About moving forward.”

Cora’s “Yeah?” was muffled in Derek’s shoulder. He chuckled.

“Yeah. So maybe you weren’t with us in the past—”

“—but you’re with us in the present,” Laura finished. “And you’ll be with us in the future. That’s what this tattoo will mean to us now.”

Cora’s smile, when she emerged from Derek’s embrace, was watery, but bright and genuine.

“So,” Laura said. “You sure you want to do this?”

“More than anything.”

[thelittlestcheshire]

Is that HAILEY CHESHIRE “CHES” ELSWOOD? Wow, they do look a lot like KATHERINE MCNAMARA. I hear SHE is an EIGHTEEN year old FRESHMEN who is studying ENGLISH at Luxor University. Word is they are an ARISTOCRAT student. You should watch out because they can be IMPULSIVE and STUBBORN, but on the bright side they can also be ENERGETIC and LOYAL. Ultimately, you’ll get to see it all for yourself.

the basics //

Full Name: Hailey Cheshire “Ches” Elswood

Preferred Name: Ches Elswood

Age: 18

Birthday: July 19th

Zodiac: Cancer

Gender & Pronouns: Woman (She/Hers)

Sexuality: Bisexual

Occupation: Youtuber (two channels, a theme park history channel that uploads once a month (documentary style) and a DIY channel she shares with a friend she posts on the 2nd and 4th Mondays of each month)

Relationship Status: In a Relationship with Elliot Mills

Place of Birth: Paris, France

Hometown: Manhattan, New York, New York

Country of Citizenship: United States and France [dual citizenship]

Languages Spoken: French (first), English, Latin, Portuguese, and she’s learning Norwegian (she doesn’t think it’s enough to count yet) and she just started Russian

deeper dive //

Hobbies and Talents:

 ♡ Piano

 ♡ Archery

 ♡ Acting

 ♡ Singing (Voice Claim: Katherine McNamara (updated - spring 2021))

 ♡ Reading

 ♡ Forgeries

 ♡ Lockpicking

 ♡ DIYS (especially involving resin)

 ♡ Writing (not creatively though, essays, Defunctworld scripts)

 ♡ Video Creation

Favorites:

♡ Color: Pink (the watermelon paint color)

♡ Food: Cheap Chinese Food

♡ Animal: Tigers

♡ Drink: Cherry Cola

♡ Flower: Lilies

♡ Book: Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

♡ Holiday: Halloween (costumes) or Christmas (gift giving)

♡ Movie: The Shining

♡ Scent: Vanilla Bean

♡ Place: Her family's flat in Paris

♡ Quote:

“and though she be but little, she is fierce” - William Shakespeare

Bêtes Noires:

♡ Color: Dijon

♡ Food: Sushi (a lot of it has to do with that tuna allergy though)

♡ Animal: Domestic Cats, she can tolerate them but they’re one of the few animals she wouldn’t seek out.

♡ Drink: Coffee (it’s a key reason why she drinks it when she’s panicking, because who has time to panic when you’re too busy being offended by what you’re drinking? Not Ches.)

♡ Flower: Roses (she loathes them, dislike is an understatement)

♡ Book: The Hunchback of Notre Dame - Victor Hugo

♡ Holiday: Her birthday

♡ Movie: The Notebook

♡ Scent: Roses

♡ Place: Touristy Locations, she hates being around tourists ok

health //  

Conditions:

           ♡ Borderline Personality Disorder

           ♡ PTSD

Allergies: Severe Allergy to the Perciformes family of fish (tuna, mackrel, perch , and bass). Shellfish and salmoniformes (Salmon and Trout) are fine, but she won’t try any other kinds of fish just in case.

Sleeping Habits: Ches doesn’t sleep well at all, she has nightmares more often than not, and it’s rare for her to get more than a couple of hours of sleep.

Exercise Habits: While she occasionally skips leg day, Ches exercises daily because she needs to be in good shape for archery. Usually, she goes for boxing (with a dummy, not other people) but she likes hiking a lot as well.

Addictions: Alcohol, although Ches is currently in recovery

Drug Use: Occasional weed (edibles), but for the most part she avoids drugs

Alcohol Use: Ches used to drink multiple times of day daily, but now she doesn’t drink at all because she’s in recovery (attending NA and therapy) and has quit.

personality //  

MBTI: ENFP

Enneagram: 7w8 (The Enthusiast with The Challenger wing)

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral, occasionally bordering on Chaotic Good

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

Percy Jackson Parent: Aphrodite

Pokémon Type: Ghost

Pokémon Subtype: Electric

Winx: Light

appearance //

Height:  5′3 ½” (not at fc height)

Tattoos: One, Two, Three

Scars: None

Piercings: None

Hair:  Red (naturally). Ches dyes her hair from time to time so she has a current hair color thing in her sidebar (you may have to scroll).

Eyes: Green

Fashion:

♡ link to ches’s closet

♡ link to ches’s shoes

life at luxor //  

Major:

♡ English

Clubs and Activities:

♡ Archery Club

♡ Theater (Actress)

♡ Concert Band (Piano)

♡ National Honor Society

fun facts //  

♡ Ches is a former Carnifex student who came over to Luxor during the merge. You can see everything that she’s been up to during her time in the rp on her timeline page.

♡ Ches has a twin brother named Jonah who isn’t at Luxor.

♡ The Elswoods are rich. Top 25 Forbes list, 50+ Billion Networth levels of rich. In turn Ches really doesn’t think that much about money, and how much it actually means to other people.

♡ Valedictorian of Luxor Academy’s 2020 Class, she turned down Columbia’s English program to attend Luxor University.

♡ She doesn’t use her first name, ever. She doesn’t like it, and there’s a fairly high chance of her just not acknowledging you if you call her Hailey.

♡ She’s a bit of a closet nerd - if you look under her bed she has a chest of comic books, although she has NO idea how they got there if you ask her.  Do not question the R2-D2 shaped thing covered by a tarp in her closet. She also doesn’t know where that came from.

♡ Extremely restless, if you want her to sit still during a movie you better give her something to do simultaneously.

♡ Her purse is kinda like Mary Poppins bag, odds are she has what you’re looking for in it. She almost always has her multi-tool on her. She also tends to carry around a single shot nerf gun, don’t ask.

♡ She got her first tattoo while she was away from school, using a forged note of parental consent in New Jersey. (The not fragile one, the arrow was added later).

♡ She has way too many siblings, you can learn about them on her family page. (She has one more not listed, a still born half brother named Julien she learned about via her mother’s diaries. The rest of the children (excluding Emmett) are unaware.)

♡ Loves animals, a lot, sometimes to a reckless extent. She would try to feed piranhas, she does try to climb into enclosures with venomous snakes. She would steal a dog (as would her twin brother, so apparently they have more in common than they realize).

♡ If Ches makes a threat, take it with a grain of salt. Yes, she owns a blowtorch, no she won’t set you on fire even if she lights it in your direction. Your muse might not always know that - depending on how much time they’ve spent with her, but ooc just remember her bark is way worse than her bite.

♡ Ches has a Porsche that she got from her father for graduating at the top of her class. Although it’s currently not travelling with her because the cost of shipping a car is insane. Anytime she’s in Lake George though, this is her baby. (She also owns a Mercedes, which was her first car).

♡ I’m always willing to discuss my muses, so feel free to hit me up if you have any questions at any point.

a tl;dr history  //  

♡ Ches’s mother was murdered on her 8th birthday in front of her

♡ She was raised by her oldest brother, Logan, and is NOT close to her father really. She also helped raise her younger sisters and is very protective of them.

♡ The Elswood she is closest to is Emmett. He’s a big part of why she’s even here, as she’d followed him to Carnifex.

♡ Her first real love was James (an npc). They dated Freshman-Sophomore years. It wasn’t a healthy relationship, and it started Ches’s messy af relationship and fwbs pattern as she didn’t want to go through that again.

♡ Ches left Luxor in October of 2019 because her oldest brother (Logan), overdosed. He’s alive and doing well now, but she stayed in NYC until March 2020 in order to take care of things here.

♡ I strongly recommend skimming Ches’s timeline page before interacting with her. These are just the bare minimum basics, and there’s more things your muse may know on there.

wanted connections //  

♡ Exes (when Ches dates it’s not for long, but she’s definitely the type to be like “I’ll go out with you” if asked and then... dump you if she thinks she’s getting too attached. So her exes are either on good terms, neutral terms, or they probably dislike her a lot)

♡  Former friends with benefits (while Ches is no longer taking on new ones because of Elliot, I’m always willing to headcanon past things!)

♡  Friends (I am weak af for a good friendship plot, never be afraid to be like “hey can our muses be friends” the answer is legit always yes)

♡ Enemies (Ches can... be a lot so it’s not unlikely she’s pissed people off ok)

♡ NA Sponsor (I think it'd be beneficial for Ches to have a sponsor, someone she respects and trusts but not someone with a close emotional attachment. I'd prefer if the muse has been sober for two+ years, but we can probably find a middle ground.)

♡ Ex Friends (People used to be friends with but no longer is on good terms with, either as an aftermath of her addiction, the aftermath of her recovery when that starts, them just growing apart, etc etc)

[stardancerluv]

Creative Fervor

Part 4c

Summary: Summary: Dating Roman Sionis and being a famous designer interesting things happen to those in Gotham.

⚠️ WARNING⚠️ There is torture. It is not pretty. You have been warned!

After pulling up to the warehouse, the driver cut the engine.

He took the mask from you. “Thank you.”

He looked at the vivid blue, purple bruises that blossomed on your cheeks. The blood that had dried on the corners of your mouth. Finally, saw where the ropes had rubbed some of your skin raw. It made his blood pump with hot rage. It had been awhile since he had been that angry. How they damage what was his.

“Tonight, Gotham will learn the lesson of what happens if someone hurts my queen.”

“Your queen? He watched your brow stitch together. “I thought that was Circe.”

“What?”

“Yeah, she is so elegant. She’s closer to your age, and she’s from world you come from.” He could hear a sadness that was different then what you felt from being kidnapped and slapped around by these animals.

He put his mask down beside him. Then he grabbed both of your hands. “You will learn this, Y/N I am not one to indulge falsities or embellishments. So when I said you were mine, I meant it. I had taken you on the new queen of my territory for what it’s worth. Circe, threw it all away when she thought I’d never kind out about her and Bruce in my own fucking bed.”

“So, you saw someone bloated with guilt and jealousy.”

A single tear escaped one. “That was why I walked away, I walked right into the plan they were springing.”

Letting go of one your hands, he brushed the tear away with his gloved hand.

“That is why tonight they will bleed.”

“Good.”

He knew you could still feel the slaps, you could still feel as he squeezed your thigh. He was going to make it so no one ever dared hurt or touched you again.

*****

“While I am in there, try and get some winks, I may be a while.”

You nodded.

“It is time.”

Grabbing the mask, he exhaled and he slipped the mask, his face into place.

“Roman?” You said, you heart thudding.

“Yes?”

You cup one of his black metal cheeks, his blue eyes have taken an icy edge. Normally, that would have worried or scared you. Now it excited you. You kissed the other cold cheek.

He nodded as your hand went back to your lap. He tapped on the glass and the driver opened the door and he slid out.

Once closed, you slipped into his seat. You undid the straps of your heals, you rubbed your now tired feet before tucking them under you. It felt like a lifetime ago when you had put them on. The warmth of him in seat as you curled up against the leather padding of the door.

You watched in the rear view mirror as he went into a door with a satchel off one shoulder. Then you let yourself close your eyes.

*****

“I have arrived!” He announced.

He put the satchel down on a table that was set before the three bodies hung from the rafters. Each of them wriggled like worms on a hook. He made him chuckle, the sound was louder from behind the mask.

“Mikey, Larry...how nice to see you!” He said as he went over to each one pulling them by their hair to see their faces.

“Who the fuck is this?” He ripped off the duck tape that covered the man’s mouth. “Who the fuck are you?”

He shook with fear as he pulled harder on his hair.

“I’m Benny...Benny the driver.”

“Oh...ooh should have known that blonde hair anywhere. You’re their assassin with a golf driver. I like the method.” He chuckled and pushed him off so he could swing with the others.

He went over to grabbed his first knife. It had ragged teeth. He loved seeing his reflection in the spotless metal.

“Zsass, does he even need to be here?” He came over to him and shrugged.

“He’s only ever been pain in the ass. But he’s efficient enough with that golf rod.”

“Zsass that’s a golf driver,” he corrected his henchmen with a sigh.

He went over to Benny. “Did you have anything to do with taking my girl?” He grabbed him by the hair again with one hand. The man shook his head. “Maybe we can hire you? I could always use fresh blood on the team.” The man, shook his head agreeing.

“What do you think Zsass? We could stock up on some golf drivers.”

Zsass, just shrugged indifferent.

He went behind the man and tied his arms that we bound behind him. “Would you give your loyalty to me? Would you work along side Zsass, he my main henchmen.”

The man nodded. “You can speak Benny. Tell me.”

“I pledge you my loyalty.” His face relaxed. “I have plenty of golf drivers.” He let go of his head gently.

“Would be interesting to learn how to kill with golf clubs.” Zsass smiled. Black Masked just looked at him. He wasn’t in the mood to keep correcting him.

He shrugged. “Why stop at golf drivers?”

“Good point.” He admitted before going over and grabbing Mikey the Scar by hair, he had been the one who called him.

“Did you hear that Mikey?” He asked grabbing him by his hair. “He wants to pledge his loyalty to me?” He chuckled.

He pushed him away again and went over to Benny. He knelt down beside him. “It’s an interesting method, those golf drivers.”

“They are boss, they can be a lot of fun.”

He grabbed him, violently by his hair again and this time grabbed him close as he stood up. He drew close to his face. “But that is too messy of a kill. I’ve seen stories of your kills in the news.” He then sliced from one side of the man’s throat to the next. Blood flew and erupted from the man screamed and he letting him go, he swung violently by his ankles, desperately holding the slash with both hands. “We like it clean here.” Blood splattered his black suit, his white gloves were now turning scarlet.

Not very long, the man stopped wriggling and stilled. A small red pool, formed below where the man’s head hovered.

He dropped the knife with a clatter on the table with a clatter.

“Who’s next?”

He went over to Larry the Fab. “Hello.” He grabbed him by his hair. “So how are you going to end up with my girl now?” He looked towards Zsass, “can you grabbed the blowtorch?” The man’s eyes widened in fear.

“Oh, don’t worry that is necessary.” He tapped his chin. “You didn’t answer me.” He then ripped off the tape. “How are you going to end up with my girl now?” He shook him so he felt it in his ankles.

“I’m not.” He sputtered. His fear making his voice shake.

“Isn’t she a treat on the eyes? Are you the one who cut her dress?”

The man remained silent.

“Come on, talk to me. We are having a dialogue here. Truth will set you free.

“I did.” He swallowed hard. “I had to bring her to the dressing room and the dress kept on catching.”

“Ahhh the dress kept on catching.” He nodded agreeing. “That’s why you cut it well above her knees?”

He looked embarrassed.

“Get it. You wanted to see those thighs, I get to stand between hmm? Over have over my shoulders when I want right?”

He nodded.

“I guess you saw the marks I leave sometimes on her.” He paused and looked at the blowtorch. “You can turn it off. Not sure we will need it. But put it there.” He pointed off to the side of him.

“See, we’re talking here.” He looked down at Larry. “You didn’t answer me Larry. Did you see the marks my hands leave on her soft thighs?”

“I did.”

“I figured you. Had to hitch that fabric just a little higher.” He moved his head from side to side. “You have to know, she just drives me crazy. I’ve never needed sex as much as I do now that I am around her. Even when we are just talking about the news over breakfast. Did that happen to you Larry? Did you begin to crave her?”

He shook his head no.

“Larry...Larry what did I say about telling the truth?”

“Ok..ok...I did.”

“Good. Now..tell me did you touch her thighs?”

He nodded.

Mikey made a sound beside them he let go of Larry and went over to him.

“What the fuck do you want? Can’t you see I am having a nice conversation with Larry?” He ripped off the duck tape.

“I told him to not touch your girl.”

“Good, well thank you Mikey. That was very nice of you.” He paused and looked at Larry. “But you, Mikey you touched her too.”

He shook his head no.

“You did...I know you did. You’re the one who started with the slaps...and you pulled her hair.”

He looked sheepish.

“That is still touching. Why did you have to pull that soft hair? Was..it because it was so soft? You wanted to feel it?”

He finally nodded.

“See I love feeling it. I feel it on my chest waking up in the morning when she is curled up to me. Or I feel it on my thighs when she so wonderfully takes me into that sweet little mouth of hers. Something you will never know.”

He went back over and grabbed Larry. “Yes, Larry you will never know what her hands or little mouth will ever feel like.” He chuckled. “and believe me no fantasy can compare. So tell me this, I am curious did you touch her with one hand or both on her thighs?”

He began to shake. “Both.”

“Great, thank you for the honesty.” He looked at Zsass. “Mm Zsass, turn it back on. Maybe just go over the surface of his hands.”

“What the fuck?” His fear turning his scream into a shriek.

“You touched my girl. There has to be some form of punishment.”

His screams turned into howls as a fouls stench filled the air.

Roman, smiled, while the man still howled in agony. “You don’t fuck with Roman Sionis or his girl.” Grabbing his knife he plunged and twisted it right into the man’s heart.

Zsass turned off the blowtorch and let him go.

“Good..good.” He looked back. “Oh, you can stop..we should leave him something of his hands, he only did touch the thighs..he could have done worse.”

“I...I...” Mikey sputtered, unable to speak.

“Oh you think I will use that on you for touching, for slapping my girl, my queen?”

“Yes...” he shook in his grasp.”

“They were just slaps and hair pulling...one does that with kidnapping. He shrugged. “He touched her thighs, those are my fucking thighs.” He swallowed. “Now what should I do to you?”

“Please...I’m sorry. Fuck I am so sorry.”

“Really Mikey...are you sorry?” He traced a finger on the man’s scar, blood from Benny smeared on his face. “I thought when someone had given this to you, you would have smartened up. Wasn’t it Jimmy that gave that to you?

“He did.” He spat out.

“Then why are you so fucking loyal to him?”

“Not so much loyalty..”

“Oh..interesting..I knew you were a little worm.”

“Zsass, take his fucking face and sclap off!”

“But..but..”

“Fuck you! You took what’s mine.” He let him go. “I am done here.”

He went to leave. “Woooo!” He gave a sound of victory. “What was fun, boys!” He twirled.

“Zsass, you and your boys clean it up and have fun if you want with Larry!”

He shed his gloves and went back out to his girl. As he stood outside of the car he saw that peace had filled your face as you slept.

At least you have no nightmares, the thought as he got back into the car. He slid over to be close to you. He took off his face, and put it on the seat beside him. He rubbed his face and ran his fingers through his hair, as he relaxed. His driver was taking you two home.

Gently, he reached out to you sleeping form and eased you to him. Deeply asleep but knowing what your body wanted you curled up to his sold frame. He smiled down at you and kissed the top of your head. “My queen his whispered.” He put one arm around you and the other he, gently let his hand caress your hair as you slept.

@spn-obession @thehybrid666 @vintagemichelle91 @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @ewanfuckingmcgregor @zodiyack @emyliabernstein @top-rumbelle-fan @rosionis​ @johallzy​

[beatrice-otter]

Yuletide Recs 2019

Happy Yuletide, everyone! First, I got a delightful little fic written for me: promenade.  My Fair Lady, Eliza Doolittle and Mrs. Higgins.  Wonderful story.  Mrs. Higgins was superb, and Eliza's reactions to the English upper class abroad are perfect. Here are some other fics I have enjoyed: 4'33"--John Cage The Sound Of A Yuletide Fic Not Being Written. There sure are a lot of cars going by.  Great meta look at writing, and 4'33" The Addams Family (movies) An Addams Family Contract (Written in Secret, Signed in Blood).  “I’m an Addams,” Debbie protests indignantly. Immediately after making this statement, Debbie realized that it was true.  (Or, Wednesday wants to exorcise Debbie. Debbie wants to kill Wednesday. A negotiation begins.)  This is AMAZING and hysterically funny, and the thought of Debbie and Wednesday working together is TERRIFYING. Don't I Deserve Love (and Jewelry).  The plan to win Wednesday’s friendship did not start well. She shared her admiration for the girl’s blowtorch, then hinted about her own childhood affinity for matchsticks and fire accelerants, but Wednesday was unimpressed.  Do better,” she said before lowering her hockey mask and stalking after Pubert. Honeymoon in Transylvania.  Ahahahaha, this is wonderful.  Gomez and Morticia vs. the TSA! Alien Series A Room with a Crappy View. 17k of Ripley and Hicks awesomeness post-Aliens. This is an absolutely AMAZEBALLS fic, and I LOVE it. I love that they deal with their trauma. I love how they wrote the Colonel, doing the best she could on the evidence she had and how frustrating that was and yet, when you look at it from her POV, what better way could she have handled it? The action is great, the relationships between Ripley and Hicks and Bishop were awesome, this is an absolute treat. All About Eve Getting Back to Being a Woman.  Karen knew enough not to go to New Haven.  Never let it be said that Margo Channing doesn't know how to take care of her friends.  I love this. I could just hear Bette Davis and the others saying their lines, and the ending is perfect--I think Karen and Lloyd will be able to have a much better relationship after this, if he's willing to accept and live into the changed relationship. Till I have the possession of everything she touches.  Addison DeWitt/Eve Harrington and their daughter.  VERY well done Addison perspective. Aubrey-Maturin series. Vent de Boulet.  Jack & Aubrey, Teen.  The aftermath of Stephen's escape from the French interrogators at Port Mahon.  Wonderful portrayal of the relationship between them and natural consequences of their trauma-filled lives. Babette's Feast Body and Soul.  After the French dinner, a new normal established itself among the faithful. Ballet Shoes A Long Way from the Cromwell Road.  Petrova visits Pauline in Hollywood after the war ends. Bletchley Circle Logical Recovery.  After the showdown with Marta Magro at the warehouses, Jean, Millie, and Lucy embark for Glasgow to find Eliška. Archival research, an extended stay with Jean's cousin, undercover rescue missions, and much emotional processing of past events ensue. Cabaret Infinite Variety.  London, 1950. Clifford has coming looking for Sally. Instead he finds a girl who may or may not be her – or their – daughter, the reclusive former Master of Ceremonies, and an annoying parrot. He becomes part of their strange household, full of love and bickering; sorrow, pain and music. No-one will tell him where Sally is, or even whether she’s alive. No-one will tell him anything. Except the parrot, who tells him that life is a Cabaret.  Oh, wow, this is painful but SO GOOD and the ending is perfect. DC Teen Titans From Cold to Fire.  "Do you want to go out with me?" "What?" Young Justice Getting Stupid in your area.  Hang-time includes considerations of evil clones and taking down a newly raised lich lord.  Love the banter. Die Hard Your Answers Please.  “Come on, kid,” McClane said gruffly. “This place is fucking depressing. You’re coming to stay with me.” Enchanted Forrest Chronicles Best Served Cold.  In which Antorell causes trouble in the Enchanted Forest, and Cimorene and Alianora make an amphibious new friend.  Hilarious, I love Ribbita! Ghostbusters Better Than Roses. Janine dates. It's...something. The Goblin Emperor Imperial (non) Immunity.  Csevet doesn't get sick. Maia's not so confident. Light a Mourner's Candle.  The Archprelate finds a chaplain for Maia. Against a Sure Winter.  When the opportunity arose to become one of the four ceremonial bodyguards for the new Emperor, Cala Athmaza volunteered. He didn't fully realize what he was letting himself in for, but he knew in his heart he had made the right choice. Sugar Lumps.  Maia spends some time with his horse. Greek Mythology beauty, her artificers.  Shortly after their wedding, Aphrodite sustains a small wound.  Really great Aphrodite/Hephaestus dynamic. a thing of beauty, golden.  Olympus’ one-century wonder appears in Hephaestus’ workshop between one strike on his anvil and the next..  Another really great Aphrodite/Hephaestus fic. Hancock yeah I know the shortcut, rather take the long way. Ray daydreams a New York that looks a lot like something out of an old Daredevil comic - towers looming over the city like cragged, jaded sentries, impartial to the neon kaleidoscope of chaos churning along below them. Hancock roosts on the tallest, craggiest one of course, brooding as he watches the slow pulsing heartbeat of the city below him. Ready to dive off his perch and into action with the first cry of distress, and there’s probably lots of those in a city like New York. Lots of zooming around, saving people, saving the world. Hopefully with slightly less metaphorical middle fingers to the world. And less alcohol. Ray’s not an idiot though, and one sparkly life-changing month doesn’t just fix people. History RPF 15th Century. these late eclipses.  Anne Neville, like others of her line, is born with a gift.  I LOVE the way magic is brought into this, it melds so well with the history. 19th Century/German folklore The Bargain.  Bettina finds a secret door at her grandmother's house, one that leads to something very unexpected. The things she learns as a result change her life in small but important ways. Imperial Radch Still Left in Want of Mercy.  The Republic of Two Systems is about a month old. Seivarden is having yet another crisis - can Mercy of Kalr get her through it? Maybe, with the crew's and Fleet Captain's help.  Interesting Ship perspective. high above the trees.  An unexpected embassy. Really excellent, probably the best way I've ever seen "Awn Lives" done. The Incredibles Life of a Superhero, Junior Grade.  Fortunately, this was Tuesday night training, not a real villain-chasing experience. Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell The Magicians of Starecross Hall.  Being a series of interludes in the life of John Segundus, newly practical magician, in the year following the disappearances of Messrs. Strange and Norrell. Including: a new school for young magicians, explorations of the King’s Roads, Lady Pole’s alarming needle-work, unanticipated trips to Faerie, and John Childermass.  I love this story!  How the school got started, and 'Miss Wintertowne' (although I do think she would style herself 'Mrs' Wintertowne, because she is married and up through the 18th Century 'Mistress/Mrs' vs. 'Miss' had as much to do with age and experience and such as it did with marital status) and how she uses embroidery as a kind of art therapy.  I love the slow burn, and I love the stuff about exploring the King's Roads and Faerie.  It is excellent and awesome. Lilo & Stitch The Dance.  Lilo peeked out from behind the curtains and looked over the stage. A Little Princess Discipulae.  "I just realized," Sara said. "Becky, I could have a tutor now. I could hire someone to teach me anything I wanted. All the things that are hard to learn alone from books — Greek and Latin, Sanskrit, algebra, anything I wanted. What would you learn, Becky, if you could?"  Really great look at what their lives could be like post-canon. Marvel Captain Marvel Take my hand (and we'll march to the front lines). There's a dream Vers has sometimes. this youthful heart can love you. Carol waited a week before she left with the Skrulls. Space Cases.  Monica tried many other times to win her mother over to a pet. A rabbit, a pony, a parakeet. This is not any of those stories. This is the story of Monica Rambeau and a Flerken named Goose.  Or: Why Nick Fury is never allowed to babysit ever again. The Tesseract's Wife.  A straight line is not the shortest distance between two points: non-linear snapshots of a love story. Fly Me To The Moon.  "It's a vacation. Like spring break," Carol says. Monica's eyes widen. "Really? So we can hang out? What are we going to do?" "Well," Carol says, leaning back in her chair and flashing that old, familiar smirk. "I thought we could go to the moon." Into the Spiderverse i got you.  Miles thinks he's hiding the truth about Spider-Man, but one unfortunate night, it comes to light. one last leap.  Telling his parents he's Spider-Man is a leap of faith Miles can't bring himself to take. My Life to Liv.  Liv survived her encounters with her interdimensional Spider-nemeses, of course. So what's next for her? Interdimensional Phone Pals.  Gwen Stacy is many things, but open to friendships isn’t really one of them.  Or,  Five rules Gwen makes for herself, and how Peter B. makes her question them. Into the Spiderverse/Murder, She Wrote Spider, She Wrote.  Miles and May visit her old friend Jessica in Cabot Cove. Mulan (1998) the proper order of things. Great outsider perspective. The Mummy After the Mummy.  London was becoming Rick's least favourite place, and not just because of all the rain. Loving Evy was one thing: figuring out whether she loved him back after the Egyptian heat faded away was something else. Where's a good rising of the undead when you need one? Don't worry, Jonathan found one.  Lovely fun adventure. Course Correction.  Jonathan really is serious about staying away from tombs and mummies this time (except trouble always seems to find him). Good thing Ardeth is there to help him stay on-track. Travelers by Night.  Very quickly, Jonathan weighed the odds. On one hand, potential death, whether by armed bandits, a mummy’s curse, or people who looked like bandits and who were very angry about someone unleashing a mummy’s curse. On the other hand, potential riches, home ground, and topics of conversation other than what happened at school fifteen years ago and who got it in the neck where. Murderbot How I Spent My Vacation Between Survey Missions. What happens when ART reunites with Murderbot during another break between research survey missions? Media gets viewed, of course, but there might also be some bad news for more shady corporations. Situation Normal.  Hi, I said, along with amusement sigil 159 = wave. It seemed a little inadequate, but what do you say to the ship that radically altered your appearance, helped you figure out your past, and also threatened you with terrifying weapons? Amusement sigils seemed like my best bet. My Fair Lady Here We Are Together.  Eliza and Freddy are working together. Henry isn't happy, and makes sure everyone knows it. One Day at a Time what they say about the young. Without the kids around, it feels like everything has changed, except for all the other things about Penelope's life that could change, too. a return to normal.  Penelope and Schneider's Friday night plans fall through, so they have a movie night instead.  Very sweet. Persuasion. The Pen in Their Hands. Five letters that were written, but were never sent, aboard H.M.S. Laconia. (And one that was.) Smooth Water. “If I wanted easy comfort, I should not have become a captain’s wife.” Wonderful Austen voice. A Step Not Taken.  What if that day at Lyme had gone just a little differently? Peter Wimsey The Duke's Parlormaid.  A story in correspondence, with detective interruptions.  Really captured the feel of the books and all the character voices. Poirot The Mice Will Play.  When Poirot returns unexpectedly from a case, he finds out something new about Miss Lemon. RED The One Bathtub.  “I did have dinner plans,” Han said, grudgingly, and so Victoria kicked the door in and graciously allowed Han to be the first into the bathroom. She understood the pain of missed reservations. Rivers of London Through All the Years, This Is My Home.  At night, when the rest of the staff and most, if not all, of the masters were asleep, Molly would wander the moonlit halls and remember what fresh air felt like on her skin. Of Molly, of Thomas, and of the years they've spent together - and of the Folly, strong and everlasting.  Lovely Molly perspective. Peelian Principles.  "You're very calm about this," Seawoll said on the fifth day.  Nightingale's perspective on Peter's time as a hostage, and REALLY AWESOME. UXB.  When one the deadliest weapons of the Blitz threatens London once again, Peter finds himself on the front line.  Wonderful casefic, just perfect. Saved! Conversation Starters. Cassandra and Roland have five important conversations. Sense and Sensibility Realization and Renewal.  As Marianne recovers, Elinor and Colonel Brandon find themselves drawn to one another. Sense8 Blue and Gold.  Wolfgang comes home with Kala and Rajan after Paris. Finding a place with them. Star Trek: Rihannsu Day Comes Up New.  "I have done something spectacularly stupid," Arrhae said.  This is a wonderful extension and meditation on what might happen past canon.  Ever since I first read The Romulan Way as a teen, I've wondered what happened to Arrhae in the end, and the subsequent books were great but didn't answer the ultimate question.  This doesn't either, but it suggests something further, which I appreciate. Terminator Movies A Fistful of Sarahs.  The sky cracks open, and Sarah watches herself tumble out of a rift in the space time continuum. She’s older than she is now, and she’s got a lot more scars, and she’s carrying the biggest and weirdest looking gun Sarah’s ever seen. with all the hope in my heart (and doubt in my mind). Sarah Connor has done this before. Dani has not. Post-Terminator: Dark Fate. Fate, the Future, and Other Sons of Bitches.  Sarah and Dani hit the road. Winnie the Pooh In Which Pooh Hunts for the Meaning of Christmas.  Pooh finds a mysterious envelope pinned to the door of his house. In Which Eeyore Loses His Tail Again, Or At Least Plans To.  It's a bright, sunny day, and Eeyore has a plan to make it tolerable. Now if only his friends will cooperate.