#Source: I think it's Lazy Town?

[bespectacled-bookwyrm]

Alder becomes Ultra Dad

Alder: Have you ever had a big brother who accidentally ended up in a cult because he needed research funds and caused a lot of destruction due to the mixture of an abusive boss, abuse-induced apathy, and a boatload of self-loathing?

N: *shakes his head* Nope.

Alder: *smiling as he holds Colress by the scruff of his shirt like a Purrloin* WOULD YOU LIKE ONE?

[estellan0vella]

The Outlaw and his Radical Woman - Toji Fushiguro AU Word Count: 5.5K Content Warnings: sexism, guns, violence, death Masterlist for Eras AU

The sun beats down on the small town as you stand on the makeshift stage, a wooden platform set up in the middle of the town square. The crowd is larger than you anticipated, a mix of curious onlookers, supportive women, and a significant number of sceptical, hardened men. The tension is palpable, but you've grown accustomed to it. After all, the fight for women's rights has never been easy, especially here in the wild, untamed West.

Your voice carries across the square, strong and unwavering despite the heat and the murmurs of discontent from some of the men. "We seek nothing but what is justly ours," you declare, holding your head high. "The right to vote, to own property, to be heard and respected as equal citizens!"

Toji Fushiguro stands off to the side, leaning against a post with his arms crossed over his broad chest. His dark eyes are watchful, scanning the crowd for any signs of trouble. Toji is an outlaw, a man with a dangerous reputation, but he's also your fiercest protector and staunchest supporter. Your lover is a walking paradox you find both intriguing and comforting.

His presence is a silent warning to anyone who might think of causing trouble. He doesn't need to brandish his guns or make threats; his mere existence is enough to keep most men in line. You can feel his eyes on you, a steady source of strength that keeps you going even when the glares and muttered insults of your detractors threaten to shake your resolve.

A murmur ripples through the crowd as a particularly burly man steps forward, his face twisted into a scowl. "Women ain't got no place in politics!" he bellows, earning a few grunts of agreement from his comrades. "Go back to your kitchens and leave the real work to the men!"

You pause, letting his words hang in the air for a moment. Taking a deep breath, you step forward, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Is it the kitchen you fear, sir, or the idea of a woman who might challenge your authority?" 

The crowd goes silent, and you can feel the tension ratchet up another notch. The man's face turns an angry shade of red, and he takes a step closer to the stage, his fists clenching at his sides. Before he can make another move, Toji is there, stepping into his path with a lazy, almost casual grace. 

"I reckon the lady's got a point," Toji drawls, his voice low and dangerous. "Now, unless you want to see just how serious I am about keeping her safe, I'd suggest you back off. Unless you don't value the use of your limbs"

The man hesitates, clearly weighing his options. Toji's reputation precedes him, and the gleam in his eyes suggests he's more than willing to back up his words with action. After a tense moment, the man grumbles something under his breath and steps back, melting into the crowd.

You flash Toji a grateful smile, and he gives you a barely perceptible nod and a wink before resuming his position. The interruption serves as a reminder of the stakes involved, but it also strengthens your resolve. Turning back to the crowd, you raise your voice once more, speaking with renewed passion and conviction.

"We will not be silenced or intimidated!" you declare, your voice ringing out like a bell. "Our fight is just, and our cause is righteous. Together, we will forge a future where our daughters and granddaughters can stand tall and proud, free from the chains of oppression!"

The crowd erupts into a mix of cheers and jeers, the women's voices rising in support while the men grumble and curse under their breath. You step down from the stage, your heart pounding with adrenaline and a sense of accomplishment. As you make your way through the throng, Toji falls into step beside you, his hand brushing lightly against yours.

"You handled yourself well up there," he murmurs.

"Couldn't have done it without you," you reply, glancing up at him with a smile. "Thank you, Toji."

He shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Just doing my part. Besides, I'd hate to see what these small backwater towns would be like without your fiery speeches to stir things up."

You laugh, the tension of the day beginning to melt away. "Well, there's plenty more stirring to be done. This fight is far from over."

"I know," he says, his expression turning serious. "And I'll be right here with you, every step of the way."

You reach the edge of the crowd and slip into the relative quiet of a side street. The sounds of the town fade slightly, replaced by the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant call of a bird. Toji stops, turning to face you, his gaze intense and unwavering.

"You know this isn't easy for me," he says, his voice low and earnest. "Being an outlaw, staying in one place for longer than a few days, it goes against everything I've known. But for you, I'd do it a thousand times over. To see you fighting for yourself and future generations. It's all worth it"

Your heart swells with emotion, and you step closer, taking his hands in yours. "And I wouldn't want anyone else by my side, Toji. You're more than just an outlaw to me. You're my partner, my confidant, my love."

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "And you're my everything," he murmurs against your skin. "Let's show these little towns, and the world, what we're made of."

The days that follow are a blur of rallies, meetings, and strategy sessions. Toji remains a constant presence, his silent strength a reassuring anchor as you navigate the challenges of your crusade. You speak to crowds both large and small, in towns and settlements scattered across the Wild West, always with Toji nearby, his watchful eyes keeping you safe.

The sun is beginning to dip towards the horizon, casting long shadows across the dusty town square as you stand once more on the makeshift stage. The crowd today is even larger, and there's an air of anticipation mixed with the ever-present tension. Your voice rings out strong and clear, echoing your earlier words and stirring the hearts of those who support you.

"Equality is not just a dream; it is a necessity!" you proclaim, your passion igniting the crowd. "We demand the right to vote, the right to own property, the right to be heard and respected as equals!"

The cheers from the supportive women and a few enlightened men are louder today, but the murmur of dissent from the sceptics remains. You glance at Toji, who stands off to the side, his dark eyes scanning the crowd with a sharp, vigilant gaze.

As you continue speaking, a sudden movement catches Toji's eye. A man in the back of the crowd, his face twisted in anger, is raising a gun. The intent is clear, and the sight sends a shockwave of fear through you. But before you can react, Toji is already in motion.

In one fluid, lightning-fast move, Toji draws his revolver and fires. The crack of the gunshot echoes across the square, and the would-be assassin drops to the ground, clutching his shoulder and screaming in pain. The crowd erupts into chaos, some people fleeing while others stand frozen in shock.

Toji is at your side in an instant, his hand gripping yours tightly. "We need to go. Now," he says urgently, his eyes scanning the crowd for any other threats.

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest as Toji leads you off the stage and through the panicked throng. The sheriff, a burly man with a no-nonsense attitude, is already pushing his way through the crowd, shouting for order. He spots Toji and you, his eyes narrowing in recognition.

"Stop them!" the sheriff yells, but Toji is already moving, his grip on your hand firm and unyielding. "It's the outlaw and his radical woman!"

Toji's reputation is enough to part the crowd in places, fear and respect clearing a path. His eyes are sharp, constantly scanning for an escape route. As you reach the edge of the square, he leads you down a narrow alleyway, the sounds of pursuit echoing off the walls.

"Come on," Toji urges, his voice low and urgent. "We need to get to the horse."

You nod, breathless but determined, and follow him through the winding backstreets. Finally, you reach the stables where Toji's horse, a powerful black stallion, is tethered. He quickly unties the reins and helps you mount, then swings up in front of you. 

"Hold on tight," he murmurs, his voice calm and steady despite the urgency of the situation.

You wrap your arms around his waist, and with a sharp command, Toji spurs the horse into a gallop. The stallion bursts out of the stables and onto the main road, hooves thundering against the ground. The sheriff and his deputies are in hot pursuit, but Toji's horse is fast, and soon the town begins to fall away behind you.

As you ride, the wind whips through your hair, and the adrenaline of the escape courses through your veins. The landscape blurs as you speed away from the town, the horizon painted with the warm colours of the setting sun.

After what feels like an eternity, Toji slows the horse to a trot, then finally to a stop. You find yourselves in a secluded glade, surrounded by trees that offer a sense of shelter and safety. Toji dismounts first, then helps you down, his hands lingering on your waist as he steadies you.

Toji looks you over, concern etched into his features. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice rough with worry.

You nod, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. "Yes, I'm fine. Thanks to you."

His expression softens, and he pulls you into a tight embrace. "I told you I'd keep you safe," he murmurs into your hair.

You pull back slightly, looking up at him with a grateful smile. "And you did. I don't know what I would have done without you."

Toji reaches into his coat and pulls out a small flask, offering it to you. "A little something to take the edge off," he says with a grin.

You take a sip, the burn of the whiskey warming you from the inside out. "Thank you," you say, handing the flask back to him. "For everything."

He takes a swig and then sets the flask aside, turning to face you. "You know, when I first met you, the troublemaking suffragette preaching to a crowd in a backwater town, I never thought I'd end up here," he admits, his voice soft and reflective. "But now, I can't imagine being anywhere else."

You smile, leaning into him. "I know the feeling. You've given me strength I never knew I had, Toji. Together, we're unstoppable."

He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. "Damn right we are," he says with a chuckle. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

You sit in comfortable silence for a while, the sounds of the night enveloping you in a cocoon of peace. As the stars twinkle overhead, you feel a sense of hope and determination settling deep within you. The road ahead is long and fraught with challenges, but with Toji by your side, you're ready to face whatever comes your way.

"Tomorrow's a new day," you say softly, resting your head against his shoulder. "A new chance to make a difference."

He nods, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your arm. "And we'll face it together, just like we always do."

"Did you hear what the Sheriff called us?" you ask teasingly, grinning up at your lover. "The Outlaw and his Radical Woman."

Toji chuckles, the sound deep and warm in the quiet of the night. "Quite the title, isn't it? Has a certain ring to it. You're an outlaw now, darlin'. Just like me."

You laugh, the sound echoing in the serene glade. "I suppose it does. The Outlaw and his Radical Woman – it sounds like a story for the ages."

Toji's eyes sparkle with amusement, but there's a seriousness beneath the surface. "It's not just a title, you know. Being with me means danger, always looking over your shoulder."

"And being an opinionated woman who travelled alone didn't mean any of that?" you ask, nudging him playfully.

Toji's expression softens, a mix of admiration and concern evident in his eyes. "You're right," he admits. "You've been facing danger long before I came into your life. But now it's doubled, and I just want to make sure you know what you're getting into."

You smile, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "I know, Toji. And I'm not backing down. We'll face whatever comes our way together."

The next few weeks become a blur of movement and danger, a relentless pursuit by bounty hunters dogging your every step. Each new town brings a fresh wave of threats, and you and Toji find yourselves constantly on the run, barely staying one step ahead of your pursuers.

One afternoon, with the sun casting long shadows through the dense forest, you and Toji find yourselves amidst towering trees, their canopy providing some cover. The sound of approaching horses tells you that the bounty hunters are close. Toji motions for you to follow him, and you both move swiftly and silently through the underbrush, hearts pounding in your chests.

"We can't keep running like this," you whisper urgently, the weight of exhaustion and fear heavy in your voice.

Toji nods, his eyes darting around, searching for a place to hide. "I know. We need to find somewhere to lie low for a while."

Just as the sound of the horses grows almost unbearable, Toji spots a small cave partially hidden by a thicket. He gestures for you to follow, and you both slip inside, the darkness enveloping you as you hold your breaths, listening intently to the approaching danger.

"I swear I saw them head this way," one of the bounty hunters' voices echoes through the forest.

"Keep looking. They can't have gone far," another replies, the urgency in his tone sending shivers down your spine.

You and Toji remain perfectly still, the silence of the cave pressing in around you, until the voices finally fade into the distance. Only then do you allow yourselves to relax slightly, the tension in your bodies easing.

"We need a new plan," Toji whispers, his voice barely audible in the dim light filtering through the cave entrance. "We can't keep running and hiding forever."

You nod in agreement, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling over you like a heavy blanket. "Maybe we can find allies in the next town. People who believe in our cause and can help us fight back."

Toji's expression brightens slightly, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "That's a good idea. But we have to be careful. We can't trust just anyone."

After a few hours, when the forest is cloaked in silence and the bounty hunters seem to have moved on, you and Toji emerge from the cave, the cool air of dusk washing over you. You share a look before continuing your journey under the veil of the night. 

The next town you come across is small but bustling with activity, a lively contrast to the tense days of running and hiding. The main street is lined with wooden buildings, their facades weathered but charming. 

You and Toji enter the town cautiously, keeping to the shadows cast by the setting sun. Toji's hat is pulled low, casting a shadow over his piercing eyes, while the collar of his coat is turned up, concealing the distinctive scar on his lip that would give him away. Your hand fan, elegantly decorated with floral patterns, covers the lower part of your face, lending you an air of mystery while hiding your identity.

The tavern, a two-story building with a swinging wooden sign that reads "The Dusty Trail," is alive with activity. The windows glow with warm light, and the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and lively music spill out onto the street. You push open the door, and the cacophony envelops you, a stark contrast to the quiet tension outside.

Inside, the air is thick with the smell of ale, roasted meat, and the faintest hint of cigar smoke. The room is dimly lit, with flickering oil lamps casting a golden glow over the wooden tables and the faces of the patrons. People are engrossed in their own worlds—some playing cards, others engaged in animated conversation, and a few simply enjoying their drinks in solitude.

Toji's presence, even concealed, exudes a quiet intensity that makes people instinctively steer clear. You stay close, your fan still covering your face, but your eyes take in every detail, searching for a safe place to sit.

In one corner, a group of men are engrossed in a card game, their laughter loud and uninhibited. Nearby, a woman with a mournful voice sings a ballad, her eyes closed as she loses herself in the music. At a table near the back, a group of women are deep in conversation, their expressions serious yet animated.

You and Toji exchange a glance, silently agreeing that these women might be the ones you're looking for. With a deep breath, you make your way over to them, weaving through the crowded room with ease.

"Excuse me," you say softly, your voice barely audible over the din. The women look up, their eyes widening slightly as they take in your concealed faces.

"May we join you?" Toji adds, his voice low and steady.

The woman closest to you, a tall figure with kind eyes and an air of authority, studies you for a moment before nodding. "Of course. Please, sit."

You and Toji take your seats, blending into the lively atmosphere as best you can. The women at the table exchange glances, curiosity piqued by your guarded approach. As the conversation begins to flow, you share your story, cautiously at first, but then with growing confidence as you gauge their reactions.

The tall woman with kind eyes, who introduces herself as Eleanor, listens intently, her gaze sharp and thoughtful. "You're the ones they've been talking about, aren't you?" she says quietly. "The Outlaw and his Radical Woman."

Toji gives a slight nod, his hand resting protectively on your knee under the table. "We are," he confirms, his voice low but firm. "And we're looking for allies."

Eleanor and the others exchange meaningful looks before she leans forward. "You've found them. We've been working in secret to support the cause. This town has more sympathizers than you might think."

As plans are discussed and alliances are forged, the atmosphere at the table becomes one of solidarity and shared purpose. Margaret, the seamstress, speaks passionately about organizing women in the town; Lily, the baker, offers her shop as a meeting place; Harriet, the former nurse, talks about tending to those wounded in the fight for equality.

Just as hope begins to blossom among you, the door to the tavern swings open with a loud bang. The room falls silent, all eyes turning to the newcomers—five men with hardened expressions, guns holstered but hands resting ominously on the grips. It's clear from their rugged appearance and the calculating glint in their eyes that these are bounty hunters.

The lead bounty hunter, a burly man with a scar across his cheek, scans the room. His gaze settles on your table, a sinister smile spreading across his face. "Well, well," he drawls. "Look what we have here."

Toji tenses beside you, his eyes narrowing. "Stay calm," he murmurs to you, his hand moving subtly to his side where his gun is hidden as you lift your fan higher.

Eleanor stands, her expression composed but her voice carrying an edge of defiance. "Can we help you, gentlemen?" she asks, stepping between the bounty hunters and the rest of the table.

The scarred man chuckles darkly. "We're looking for an outlaw and his lady. We've heard they might be in these parts. Anyone here seen them?"

A murmur ripples through the tavern, the patrons exchanging nervous glances. The tension is palpable, the room charged with the threat of violence. You glance at Toji, his face set in a grim mask of readiness.

Before anyone can answer, the door bursts open again, this time revealing the sheriff and a few deputies. The sheriff's stern face shows he means business. "What's going on here?" he demands, eyeing the bounty hunters with suspicion.

The lead bounty hunter sneers. "Just looking for some criminals, Sheriff. Stay out of our way, and there won't be any trouble."

The sheriff steps forward, his hand resting on his holstered gun. "This is my town, and I'll decide what kind of trouble we have here."

Without warning, the tension snaps, and the lead bounty hunter draws his gun. But Toji is faster. In a blur of motion, he pulls his revolver and fires, the crack of the gunshot splitting the air. The bounty hunter drops, clutching his shoulder, his gun clattering to the floor.

Chaos erupts as the other bounty hunters draw their weapons. The patrons of the tavern scatter, ducking for cover as gunfire erupts. Toji moves with deadly precision, his shots finding their marks with unerring accuracy. You pull your own gun, a small but reliable derringer, and take aim, firing at one of the attackers who had taken cover behind a table.

Eleanor and the other women move quickly, overturning tables to create makeshift barricades. The sheriff and his deputies flee the fray, leaving you and Toji to face the five bounty hunters, standing in front of the overturned tables to stop innocent townsfolk from getting caught in the crossfire.

A burly bounty hunter lunges forward, his gun aimed directly at you. Time seems to slow as you raise your derringer, your finger squeezing the trigger. The shot rings out, and the man stumbles, a look of shock crossing his face before he collapses.

Toji steps in front of you, his revolver blazing. "Stay down!" he shouts to the townsfolk, his voice carrying above the din. The crowd complies, ducking lower behind the barricades as Toji and you hold your ground.

Eleanor, not content to simply hide, grabs a fallen chair and hurls it at a bounty hunter attempting to flank you. The chair connects with a satisfying thud, and the man goes down, dazed and disoriented.

With two bounty hunters remaining, the odds are slightly more in your favour, but the danger is far from over. The remaining men, sensing their dwindling chances, become more desperate, their shots wild and erratic.

Toji takes a calculated step forward, his eyes locked on the nearest bounty hunter. He fires, the bullet striking true and dropping the man where he stands. The last bounty hunter, a tall, lanky figure with a panicked expression, hesitates, his resolve faltering.

Seeing his chance, Toji strides forward, his revolver aimed steadily. "Drop your weapon," he commands, his voice cold and unwavering. The bounty hunter's eyes dart around the room, realizing he's outmatched and outnumbered.

With a defeated sigh, the man lets his gun clatter to the floor, raising his hands in surrender. Toji kicks the weapon away, his eyes never leaving the bounty hunter's face. "Smart choice," he mutters.

As the chaos subsides and the tavern settles into an uneasy calm, you and Toji find a moment of respite amidst the lingering tension. Ignoring the curious glances of the townsfolk, you lean into each other, sharing a brief but tender kiss—a silent affirmation of your bond and your shared resolve.

In the aftermath of the shootout, Eleanor and the other women continue to tend to the wounded and offer comfort to the shaken townsfolk. Their bravery and determination inspire a newfound sense of unity among the patrons, and whispers of gratitude and admiration fill the air.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, the bond between you and Toji only grew stronger, fortified by the shared trials and triumphs of your journey. Together, you found solace and strength in the company of like-minded individuals, forming a ragtag family united by a common purpose: the pursuit of justice and equality.

With each town you visited, your message resonated with more and more people, drawing them to your cause like moths to a flame. Together, you traversed the rugged landscapes of the Wild West, from bustling towns to remote settlements, spreading your message far and wide.

Twenty-nine years later, the air in the Montana town square is crisp and cold, a sharp contrast to the stifling heat of those early days of your crusade. Autumn has given way to the first whispers of winter, and the town is adorned with the last remnants of fallen leaves. The crowd gathered today is larger than any you've seen before, their faces a mix of anticipation, joy, and a hard-earned sense of victory.

The makeshift stage, now a well-worn platform of polished wood, stands proudly in the centre of the square. It's adorned with banners and signs, their bold letters proclaiming messages of equality and celebration. You stand at the podium, your breath visible in the chilly air, feeling the weight of history pressing down on you. At 49, your face is lined with years of struggle and triumph, your eyes still bright with the same fiery determination that propelled you all those years ago.

Beside you stands Toji, his presence as solid and reassuring as ever. At 54, he carries himself with the same easy grace and quiet strength that drew you to him in those early days. His dark eyes, though touched with the wisdom and weariness of age, still hold that spark of fierce protectiveness and love.

Toji Fushiguro, protector, partner, and father to your son, remains a formidable figure. His reputation has softened with time, the once-feared outlaw now revered as a hero and ally in your shared fight for justice.

Megumi, now 20, stands with you both, his tall, broad-shouldered frame a testament to his father's strength and your unwavering spirit. The green eyes he got from his father, a striking combination of your determination and Toji's intensity, survey the crowd with a mixture of pride and resolve. He's inherited your passion for justice, and today, he stands as a symbol of the future you've fought so hard to secure.

Flanking you are the women who've become your closest allies and dearest friends over the decades—Eleanor, Margaret, Lily, and Harriet—each one bearing the marks of a lifetime dedicated to the cause. They are your sisters in arms, your found family, and together you've built a legacy that will endure for generations.

As you step forward to address the crowd, the murmur of voices quiets, all eyes turning to you. You take a deep breath, the cold air filling your lungs, and begin to speak, your voice carrying the strength and clarity born of years of public oration.

"Today, we stand on the precipice of a new era," you begin, your voice unwavering despite the emotions swirling within you. "For decades, we have fought tirelessly, facing opposition and adversity at every turn. We have marched, we have spoken out, and we have never wavered in our belief that equality is not just a dream but a necessity."

The crowd listens intently, their faces reflecting the weight of your words. You can see the pride and determination in their eyes, a testament to the shared struggle and the collective triumph.

"On this historic day, November 3, 1914, we celebrate not just the victory of securing the right to vote for women in Montana, but the realization of a dream that has driven us forward through the darkest of times. This right is not just a victory for women, but for all people who believe in justice and equality."

Cheers rise from the crowd, their voices a harmonious chorus of celebration and relief. You pause, letting the moment wash over you, before continuing.

"We owe this victory to the countless women and men who stood with us, who faced the threats and dangers with unwavering courage. We owe it to those who could not be here today, whose sacrifices paved the way for this moment. And we owe it to the future generations, who will grow up in a world where their voices are heard, their rights respected, and their potential recognized."

You glance at Toji and Megumi, drawing strength from their presence. Toji's eyes meet yours, a silent affirmation of the journey you've shared, while Megumi's expression mirrors the pride and hope that fills your heart.

"We are not done," you declare, your voice rising with conviction. "This is just the beginning. We will continue to fight for equality, for justice, for a world where everyone is truly free. Together, we will forge a future where our daughters and granddaughters can stand tall and proud, unburdened by the chains of oppression."

The crowd erupts into applause, their cheers echoing through the crisp air. Your heart swells with pride and hope as you step back, allowing your fellow ralliers to speak. Eleanor takes the podium, her voice carrying the same fire and determination as she recounts the struggles and victories of the movement.

Toji steps closer, his arm slipping around your waist in a gesture of solidarity and love. "You did it," he murmurs, his voice filled with pride. "We did it."

You lean into him, the warmth of his embrace cutting through the chill. "We did," you echo, your voice choked with emotion. "And we'll keep fighting, together."

Megumi joins you, his arm slung casually around your shoulders. "You've both taught me what it means to fight for what's right," he says, his voice steady and full of conviction. "I'm proud to be your son."

Tears prick at your eyes, and you squeeze his hand, grateful for the strength and determination he carries forward. "We're proud of you too, Megumi. You're the future we fought for."

As the celebration continues and the speeches give way to joyous mingling and heartfelt congratulations, you take a moment to look around at the faces of those who've become your family. These people, bound together by a shared struggle and a common dream, are the heart of the movement that has changed the world.

As time passed, you continued to witness the seeds of change take root and flourish. Women around the world stood up with one united voice, demanding equality and challenging the status quo. Through your unwavering dedication and tireless advocacy, you helped pave the way for a more just and equitable society.

But time is a relentless force, and eventually, it took its toll. You departed from this world, your spirit ascending to join the stars, leaving behind a legacy that would endure for generations to come. Toji, unable to bear the thought of living without you, followed not long after, his spirit bound to yours in an eternal bond of love and devotion.

Together, you are said to roam the rugged landscapes of the Wild West, your spirits intertwined in an eternal quest for justice and equality. Wherever there is oppression, wherever there is injustice, you are there, following the whispers of your names, serving as a rallying cry for those who dare to dream of a better world. Your legacy lives on, a beacon of hope in a world still striving for change.

On a moonlit night, your ghostly forms stand side by side, gazing out over the vast expanse of the prairie. The wind whispers through the grass, carrying with it the echoes of your past adventures and the hopes of a brighter future.

"Do you remember the first time we rode through these lands, Toji?" you ask, your voice a ghostly echo of its former self.

Toji's ghost turns to you, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "How could I forget? It feels like a lifetime ago, yet somehow, it also feels like yesterday."

You reach out, your translucent hand finding his, the touch sending shivers down your spine. "We've come a long way since then, haven't we?"

Toji's ghost nods, his eyes shining with pride. "We have indeed. But our work is not yet done. There are still battles to be fought, injustices to be righted."

Together, you stand in silent solidarity, your spirits intertwined in a bond that transcends time and space. As the stars twinkle overhead, you know that wherever there is oppression, wherever there is injustice, you will be there, fighting side by side as you always have.

And so, the legend of The Outlaw and His Radical Woman continues to inspire, a testament to the power of love, courage, and the enduring quest for a brighter tomorrow. As long as there are hearts yearning for freedom and voices raised in defiance, you will never be forgotten.

taglist- @sad-darksoul

[starksinthenorth]

GRRM is Right and Ryan Condal is Lazy

by now most of the HOTD / ASOIAF internet has seen GRRM’s lambasting of Ryan Condal. It’s silly to expect every moment to be adapted perfectly. It’s impossible to do so with HOTD because the source material has purposeful contradictions. But at the same time, Ryan Condal’s arguments for why the changes made were made will likely not make sense (if he responded at all).

“But the Budget!”

If HBO had budget and time for Aegon to have three friends who have lines, costumes, multiple scenes, and a C-plot, it had enough budget for a third small child in a blond wig to be on screen for all of 5 minutes.

“The Story Needed to Be Simplified!”

Simplification is removing offensive or irrelevant C-plots, like Mushroom or the gratuitous rape of a character. It’s finding similar characters and combining them.

The benefit of the medium is expanding upon the original work. Removing Maelor (or Nettles RIP) doesn’t streamline things. If they really needed one less dragon rider, Ulf and Hugh could’ve been combined so easily it’s not funny.

Expansions and Changes Can Improve the Story but not at the Source’s Expense

Condal can and has added material that expands on GRRM’s work with a benefit to the overall story. While originally they lived on Dragonstone, I really enjoyed the build up and background given to Ulf and Hugh. The tension between Aegon and his advisors was interesting and added depth. Aemond setting the town on fire was good foreshadowing of his actions in the Riverlands. Even Aegon’s friends were interesting enough!

These parts of the story, canon only to HOTD, are interesting and expansions that serve the story and Condal’s interpretation on it. Some changes that were made also serve the story and format.

for example, Rhaenyra opening up the dragon seeds search to bastards helps to build up Jace’s personal internal conflict and his desire to prove himself. This becomes pivotal in the Battle of the Gullet. In the books, he’s the one who suggests that but it makes sense to change it that way.

while controversial in the fan base, I personally loved the added conflict of Alicent and Rhaenyra being childhood friends. My only critique of it initially (and still) was that Alicent should’ve remained older when Rhaenyra was aged up, so it was a friend / big sister role. While that choice gets blamed for the lack of ambition shown by Alicent, I think they’re ultimately separate.

but it’s the other choices - like removing key players (Maelor, Nettles) - that leads to the crumbling of the story.

[fleeting-sanity]

Saxan in Coral Island.

Happy New Year to you. My lazy son as NPC and LI. I think this took about a month to make. 70% of that time is taken by the wedding outfit alone. Commentary on each outfits and his personality backstory under Read More if you're interested :)

Your local veterinarian. He was a bratty and wild child, something his parents tried to coach him out of. Instead, he developed into a lazy and apathetic young man, and eventually his parents learned to accept the person he is. However, he sensed that he's the black sheep or "failure" compared to his successful big twin sisters, irregardless of how baseless it is. Cares for animals, not so much for humans. His character arc can go two ways depending on what you chose during the dialogues. His birthday is on 28th Spring.

He's my Star Wars OC actually. He's a Zakuulan Prince, so I incorporated that aspect into his merfolk form. If you don't see him around town, he might be underwater!

His spring outfit is based on the doodle I have of him from an ask lol. I kinda like the color cyan on him!

I forgot that Scott has a similar hibiscus shirt so I figured it was too late to modify it... Oh well.

Not much to say other than I kinda have a hard time deciding what he should wear for autumn.

He looks super snug. I really gotta learn how to draw coats to make them convicingly thick idk. He lowkey dislikes winter.

I kinda debated on if I should put body hair on him but I decided not to seeing almost every male NPC has them. I think. Yes, it's the ace flag colors.

If you marry him he'll appear in Aesan Gede, the South Sumatran (Palembang) traditional wedding attire. I can't really have his hair free because it'll get stuck on all the golden bits but I kinda am not feeling the bun either so back ponytail it is. Debated whether I should draw the Sundanese one (am half-Sundanese) because it's easier but South Sumatra has been under-represented in Indonesian media so my Srivijayan pride kicked in. Also tumblr keeps killing the transparency for some reason >;[

Does he look Prince-ly enough here? He's based on the barracuda fish. Considered making him a naga like the rest of the in-game merfolk royal family but I've actually drawn him as a merman before so I want to keep him as a... fish. blublubblub.

I'm currently playing his twin sisters and I'm having a hard time choosing the LIs for them helpppp

And no, sadly I'm not a backer on Kickstarter (source: golongan miskin) this is just art.

[shares-a-vest]

@steddielovemonth Day 11: Love is... Saving the last bite for them (Prompt by @acasualcrossfade)

wc: 586 | Rated: G | cw: Food, Eating

Tags: Clean-Up After a Party, Bickering, Steve's House, The Party Being Total Shits (they are not present, but it's the premise)

The Clean-Up Crew

Eddie looks over the mess atop the Harrington’s kitchen counter and sighs.

The place is destroyed – littered with paper plates and solo cups (that were sourced from god knows where), food leftovers, crumbs and overall rubbish. All the aftermath of an impromptu ‘pool party’, pool noodles and all, courtesy of a pack of ravenous and uninvited teen gremlins.

Their lazy Sunday afternoon in the height of an Indiana summer wasn’t supposed to go like this.

Nor did Eddie think he and Steve would be spending their Date Night acting as a clean-up crew. He guesses he should count himself lucky that the little shits even decided to leave – something about Mike having a haul of candy stashed away in his dank basement.

“Can you at least help me if you are gonna start complaining?”

His eyes snap from a melted blob of something-chocolate to find a very disgruntled, Steve glaring back. He’s wearing an apron. One that is surely his mother’s considering the red tartan-like pattern and frills.

“I didn’t say anything!” Eddie defends, stifling a giggle as Steve wildly gestures to the bench as he sports a yellow pair of rubber gloves.

“Just…” Steve sighs, clearly overwhelmed by the volume of mess, “Help me now and then we can eat.”

Eddie frowns and picks up a nearby box of cereal – his Honeycombs Steve adds to his grocery list especially for him. He upends it and sure enough, it’s empty.

He tosses it to the side and grits his teeth.

“And what are we supposed to eat, exactly?” he spits.

Steve smirks to himself, wipes his gloves on his apron and heads – nay, struts – to the refrigerator.

“Dustin bought over a goddamn cake if you can believe it,” he explains, opening the door and disappearing behind it.

And just as quickly he pops back into view, holding up a delicate white dinner plate in victory.

“They are such little shits,” Eddie says, shaking his head in disbelief.

He is certain the fridge is just as barren as the rest of the kitchen, so there’s simply no way Steve could have possibly had an easy time hiding the treat.

“They are the worst,” Steve agrees, setting the plate down between them and ripping off the saran wrap, “But Henderson has a good taste in all things cake.”

He snaps off a glove and tosses it onto the floor, wiggling his brows as he does so.

Eddie recoils, “Don’t talk about Henderson while you make goo-goo eyes at me!”

Steve lifts the plate into his purview and goddamn it smells like fudgy, chocolate heaven. He could kiss Steve stupid but... He is just so annoyed that those damn entitled kids, who think nothing of treating Steve’s house as their own personal Club Med.

“Did they really go to Melvad’s on the way here?” he wonders, scrunching his nose.

“Yeah,” Steve chuckles.

“And then biked all the way across town with party food and bottles of soda?”

He breaks off a piece of cake with his fingers and all but shoves it into his mouth. He groans, smacking his lips (it tastes just as good as it looks) and greedily licks his fingers.

Steve nods, “And somehow Sinclair hauled over a lifetime supply of Coke cans too.”

“And the pool noodles?” he asks, spittling cake as he dives in for more.

But Steve smacks his hand away.

“After clean up,” he laughs, “Besides, I meant for us to share.”

[amphoraeus]

I’m aimlessly planning out random things for my version of Saint Greer and I got to thinking about the storyline behind the town that I have going in my personal gameplay. Beneath the veneer of lovely small town charm lies a war that has been brewing for millennia. So if I were to actually offer the world for download (like I eventually plan on) there are different factions you can choose your sims to be in so you can make up your own stories:

Vampires - Whose goal is to subjugate the town to use as their own personal feeding zone. Over the centuries, vampires can gain power and hone in on their abilities so some vampires are much more formidable than others.

Werewolves - Hunted down to near extinction by the vampires. All vampires have an instinctual hatred for these beasts, as they are the only beings who are the physical equal of the vampires. As a result, werewolves are known to be loners in the hopes of not attracting the attention of others.

Witches/Wizards - Vampires and wizards have been at war with each other for millennia. Those who have magic flowing in their veins have the ability to instantly kill vampires with the sunlight spell. Due to that fact, the leaders in the vampire community only consider wizards to be their true equals.

Faeries - Commonly considered as the weakest of the supernaturals, there is one horrible feature of Fae that has often been used against them: their blood can be used to improve or strengthen the power of vampires. Because of this, faeries are often hunted down, kidnapped and used as a source of power for vampires. So you can expect that they tend to keep to the forests and shy away from strangers.

Djinn - Unbeknownst to all of the other factions of supernaturals, the Djinn are in fact the most powerful due to such powers as controlling the will of others and altering reality. Buuut they have one fatal flaw - they are often too lazy to bother interacting with other supernaturals and derive most of their pleasure in trolling and annoying anybody they come across. So if you ever see a sim acting strangely….they may in fact be a Djinn in disguise.

and last but not least…

Humans - The biggest population of the town.

[scientia-rex]

"cite your sources" NO! I don't get paid to be on here! You motherfuckers think you can interact with every Internet rando like an influencer who has to generate engagement. I don't! I don't particularly want engagement! Engagement is how I end up with entitled comments from people who don't follow me and are too lazy to lift their little dainty fingers to mouse over to Google and LOOK SOMETHING UP! You don't get to be a scientist by taking someone's word on it, and I don't demand you take mine, but you are not paying me enough money to be your Psych 301 TA! Hell, they didn't pay me enough money for that when I was a Psych 301 TA!

I get paid for being a doctor. I work 115% time. I make most of my money at my day job as a family doctor, and then I work part-time at the jail. I'm on call for the jail this weekend, actually. So my motivation for engaging with a bunch of nasty little fucks who want to bad-faith drain my time and energy by asking for shit you can just Google if you bother to think about keywords for 40 seconds? None! Zip! Zero!

I miss the days before I was a doctor in a small town, because I don't get to be anonymous anymore. I can't run to the store looking scrubby and buy something weird without knowing that person's cousin is going to see me in clinic next week and bring it up loudly. "OooooOOOOOooh Doc I heard you were at Bingo last week and you had a few margaritas!" It's like the dumbest form of celebrity. People find it titillating to learn details about me, so I've become much more intensely protective of my private life. Unfortunately, this has happened at the same time as I have begun accumulating the most absolutely fucking bananas stories that I must not share because they might contain identifiable details.

All I'm gonna say is, please don't put veterinary-grade ivermectin in your eyeballs.

[writingawaymylife]

A/N: so I read @icyblogs fic about Ghoul!Simon and I was so inspired, and suddenly, this idea had me in a chokhold. I was so tired last night I couldn't write it, but literally, the moment I got up, I was writing this out on my phone. I did a quick read through and tried to find any mistakes, so I hope it's smooth, but I did write this in a hour, lol

Synopsis: Simon has spent two years trying to survive after a rude awakening to the new world. Losing everyone close to you is an experience he never wanted to suffer through again. Navigating the world alongside that grief doesn't make it any easier. It seems, however, that the world has finally decided to give him some mercy.

Word count: 1,800+

Warnings: swears, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of a severed hand and violence, please tell me if I missed anything

Simon had been stuck in some facility when the bombs fell. Some test. It's not like he wanted to stay in there, but they were testing out something related to the effects of cryogenic stasis on the human body (especially those who had peak body performance), and the week long study "just happened" to take place a few days before the bombs dropped. He had been told that if he took part in this, that him and his partner would be safe in a vault, but now he's waking up, and it's been over 200 years and everything is destroyed. He is mourning everything. The loss of his friends, his life, and you. Sweet you.

Waking up to this world bring so much grief that he nearly loses him mind, but he pushes through. Everyone that he ever loved and who ever loved him would want that. You would never forgive him for giving up. So, he eventually just falls into a life of survival. Odd jobs here and there, traveling. He often thinks back to who he used to be and his life, but he forces himself to focus on what is in front of him. Keeping himself afloat through the continuation of everything he'd known from before the Great War.

He's at a small town in the middle of nowhere yet again. Nursing a few shit wounds and an ever shittier whiskey as he tries to shake off some of the stress of the day. Raiders had taken up in an abandoned factory near the town, and he'd been hired to clear it out. Simple job for him really, yet even being out in the wasteland for a while now, he still finds himself missing his team. The companionship and the way they all worked together like awell-oiled machine. He tries not to think about how lonely it makes him, but some things just aren't so easily forgotten.

The bar is pretty full, much to his surprise, and the knowledge that he has found himself in yet another town where half the population begins getting drunk by 5 pm is putting him on edge to a certain extent. He's seen how easily people begin to pull out their weapons at the slightest provocation. So he keeps himself in the corner of the bar with his back to the wall, his rifle leaning against the table at an immediate grabbing distance as his eyes do idle surveys of the room It's unlikely that anything will turn sour, he knows that, but the past two years out here have only further emphasized all those years in the military; and he isn't keen to just let it all go for moment of lazy relaxation.

Then he hears something. It's drowned out by the other conversations filling up the space, but it rings something in his head, a small little echo of what once was. Leaning into that feeling shouldn't be so easily humored, he knows this, but beyond the veil of gravel and radio static there's something so familiar. A melody he hasn't heard in so long, one he can't help but soak in and embrace. His eyes are trying to find the source, weaving through the crowds, before they land on the weathered, spike shouldered, leather jacket of a Ghoul. He can't see their face, but something about the curves of their body looks so intimately familiar that he finds his hand shaking as it grips the glass. Inklings of recognition fire through his synapses, forcing him to stay on their back. They're talking to a man beside them, nodding along and shrugging before they're speaking again, and Simon feels like he's going fucking insane. The knowledge of that voice, that same intonation, forcefully summoned to the forefront of his mind.

Then the ghoul turns their face.

Everything comes to such an aggressive halt he nearly wheezes. His eyes never leaving their face, scarred and worn and-

You.

You're sitting there two hundred years after the end of the world in some leather jacket and vest, a rifle strapped to your back and two pistols in your waist holster. There's a severed hand on the table between you and the person, marred and glinting with a few rings, and the man you're talking to nods approvingly at it. Giving you a swift pat on the arm before handing over a rather comfortable looking pouch of caps. Then the man says something, and you're laughing, and yes, it's different and rough and age worn, but he would know it bloody deaf.

Simon can't move. He's thinking about all the years you've been out here. The pain, suffering, the ghoulification process that he has heard stories of, the things you must have done to keep yourself from going insane. His eyes are honed in on the pouch of caps, and he knows that you've had to become strong in a way that he wasn't there to help you through. While you fought through two centuries of destroyed civilization and were shown the worst of humanity, he had been safe and tucked away in a vault. It wasn't his fault. Not entirely. That doesn't stop the mind-numbing guilt that has come back and multiplied twofold. Nor the anger he's feeling that is mixing with that nauseated realization that everything he did, all he had sacrificed, had been for nothing. He had left you for months on end while the world was falling apart, and you didn't even get the one reason behind all of that.

Every reeling thought has that flight response he hadn't had in so long flaring, but he can't move, can't look away. He keeps looking at you and the way you talk and hold yourself, the similarities shifted through years of experiences. You still gesticulate but it's more toned down, arms staying relaxed where they rest on your thigh and the bar as your fingers dance in the air with whatever you're saying. That little smile you still do is on your face, but he can see how the light in your eyes has changed. Not gone, but as if it has taken on a different filter, colours being more highlighted than the ones that once were.

There's a slightest twitch where your brows once were before your looking around the bar, and he doesn't have time to look away, to hide his face and the shame he believes it will bring before you're looking at him. Eyes snapping to his and your body freezing in place. The man beside you is continuing on, but you aren't paying attention anymore. Your head is tilting. A furrow on your lips as you scan his face while he is unable to leave your eyes. He can see the slow build of shock and pain as recognition kicks in full force. Leather and spike clad shoulders almost shaking as you grip at the room temperature beer you were drinking. He expects horror next. Hatred. You had begged him to stay with you before, your pleas ignored from his desperation to keep you safe. The man stops talking, following your gaze and landing on Simon, but whatever he says next is ignored.

You're almost stumbling out of your chair as you land your feet on the worn bar floorboards, boots planting themselves firmly for a moment like you're hesitating. Eyes scanning and rescanning his face like you don't really believe what's in front of you. Then something clicks in your eyes and you're fucking barreling towards him. For a moment he expects you to try and kill him, and he wouldnt have even tried to stop you. He would have let you press the barrel of your gun into his forehead and paint the wall and tables with his blood and brain matter. But there isn't an ounce of aggression in your eyes as you roughly push past a couple of customers in the way, only such bone deep desperation and begging, suffering hope. Other customers are looking at you with shock at the suddenness of your actons. like you've suddenly gone feral as all conversation comes to a jagged stop. But no one moves, too interested to see what they probably hope to be an entertaining fight after a rather quiet evening.

When you get to him, you are stopping so quickly you collapse to your knees in front of him. Sucking in air like you didn't run twenty feet but miles, eyes pleading and shining with tears as one of your hands rests on the rough wooden floor like it's an anchor. The few nails you have are digging into the rotting spots, most definitely shoving splinters into the thick skin of your fingertips. The other hovers in the space between you two, fingers twitching as you seem to struggle between keeping them open, or pressing them against your fist to avoid giving into the desire physical contact he can see so plainly in your features. It falls back down to your lap for a moment. Neither of you are saying a thing in the dead silent bar as you give him such a begging look, his eyes start to burn.

Such heartbreak and fear and grief should never grace your face. It shatters him, dismantling him to his base atoms and burning away at his skin and organs. You're almost struggling to breath while Simon can't even remember how to when something finally breaks down within you. Your quivering hand reaches up again, cautiously, fearfully almost, to cup his jaw as you look at him like he's some mirage of shade and water after years in the desert.

Your voice croaks, the gravel in it emphasized by your scarred and aged vocal cords as you say his name likes he's your god. Bowed before an alter and finally being graced with the presence of a deity you've spent your life worshipping. "Simon?"

It's like he's been splashed with cold water, jolting him from where he sits as he leans forwards and practically scoops you up onto his lap. The other people are ignored, their stares insignificant as he wraps his arm around your waist and dig that hand into the soft leather there, his other hand coming up to the back of your head. He's pressing your forehead into his as you settle on his lap. Its like he can finally breath, that bone crushing weight leaving his chest as he sink into so many different emotions they become static, unimportant now that he has you in his arms and can feel your body and weight. Ragged breaths match your own as your arms tangled around the other, and he can feel the solid muscle and sinew under your thinning skin as you hold him so tightly. Like you're trying to fold him into you, make him a permanent part of your worn and weary body so he never leaves.

He vows than that he'll never leave you. Never go without that touch that hasn't changed despite the stark difference in your hands. Whatever happens now doesn't matter as long as he's with you, and he'll spend the rest of his days making you know that.

[catboygirljoker]

luxuria as in lust but not simply 'for power' but also 'for life' [xigbar sneaking off to disney town extra incognito to get a delicious sundae the size of his head if not larger]

anon i am so sorry. you have auctivated my atism. "lust for life" works better thematically to me than "lust for power" because. ok the short answer is "lust for life" is stored in the same part of you as what you'd traditionally call lust, like, horniness, but "lust for power" is somewhere else. for a full explanation—

[lowers my projector screen, shuts off the lights, turns on my powerpoint presentation]

much of christian theology and philosophy, especially/including early-to-medieval christian theology (which is where the seven deadly sins comes from), is greek philosophy with a different hat on. (<-dramatic oversimplification but if it weren't we'd be here all day.) the specific idea im gonna talk about right now is Plato's theory of the structure of the soul*¹:

Logos (Greek logistikon)—your logic, reason, intellect. the "highest" and "most advanced" part that "rules over" the others. located in the head.

Thymos (Greek thumoeides)—your emotions, passions, spirit. located in the chest. could also be called the "heart".

Eros (Greek epithumetikon)—your gut carnal basal desires and needs. hungry sleepy horny itchy in pain. located in the belly.

when we studied this in my philosophy classes [boo hiss of course you were a philosophy minor in college] we usually called them the Head, Chest, and Belly, and i'll be calling them that here, which is why i bolded those words.

the seven deadly sins*² have at times been categorized by these parts of the soul.

the Head contains pride and envy (both are centered around your rational ideas of yourself and others)

the Chest contains wrath and sloth (sloth has kind of an interesting history as a Deadly Sin, short version is there have been times when it's more closely linked to depression than laziness which is why it's here)

the Belly contains greed, lust, and gluttony.

so, the Belly is where all of the hedonism is, all the indulgence for earthly passions. "lust for power" in my mind connects more strongly to pride, which, i guess you could Themes that with Luxu being the MoM's "mini me" in some ways, but if luxu's Themes ended up being closer to "lust for life" that would feel more true to me. i just think it's really interesting that they named such an important character lust and i'd be disappointed if they went with a rhetorical cop-out with "oh he inspires lust for power" etc. and avoided the "base, carnal desires" angle entirely!

DISCLAIMER: all of this is an objective factual description of what i have learned about these ideas. i don't think it's True, i don't think you should go acting on it, im not making any kind of moral point about it. like you neeed to understand the greeks (and christians) were capable of getting SO racist and misogynist about this. i just like thinking about Theams and Motifs and Symbolisms.

anyway. all that to say anon. correct. you get extra credit on the final.

*¹funnily enough you can see the platonic structure of the soul in Kingdom Hearts—the idea that "heart" "body" and "mind"/"soul" are three different substances that can be extracted and divided from each other. this is because the ideas from Greek philosophy that found themselves in Christian philosophy have, thanks to Christian hegemony, trickled down through the ages to find themselves in mainstream American/Euro/English-speaking-centric fantasy genre tropes and media that uses those tropes!

*²fun fact, the seven deadly sins do not come from the bible—the last time i tried to find out their exact origins i ran into some trouble finding concrete sources, but at the very least they were introduced into christianity in like the triple digits AD

[lozeyart]

I went back to my old (abandoned) webcomic "Below Our Feet" and chose this page to redraw (because it was easy and I'm lazy). Also added some closeups! Mistakes I made this time around were that I made my canvas too small to work on, so on the new page, the word bubbles look too cramped (oh well, lesson learned) but overall I think I really improved! At least when it comes to the art side of things. When I was most of the way through I actually wished I had changed up the panel layout, and wished I showed them together in the same panels more than twice. I did change some of the dialogue slightly and changed how Alex (the taller one) dresses. This is on me when I made the comic, but the story takes place in 1847 in a fictional English town and I accidentally dressed Alex up in a mix of Regency and Victorian era clothing because I didn't do enough research. He is now wearing appropriate Victorian era clothing, albeit mid Victorian era clothing as there are more sources on clothing in the 1870s vs the 1840s. A part of me misses this webcomic and wants to do a reboot, there are a lot of things I would do differently, and I'd want to make it more of a slow burn, as I felt I was rushing things in the original, but I don't have the drive to do this project anymore, and want to do other things. But I still love my boys! Maybe one day I'll do something with them and their story, who knows!

[technoturian]

I gave it a whole season with an open mind but Rings of Power is just... bad.

The writing is just bad. It’s all just so Intro To Creative Writing. I don’t even care about Middle Earth lore so I don’t mind any changes. What bothers me is if you’re going to adapt something and then change it, you’d better be changing it into something good. Instead, we got ALL the cliches. The fact that every episode I would guess the cliche line I was about to hear and then there it was, but I would still be stunned because I couldn’t believe they were THAT lazy, THAT obvious. I’m not exaggerating here, I literally made a joke several times and then one of the characters said the same thing but they were serious! The dialogue is flat. The characters are the most rote tropes. They think they have to spell everything out to their stupid audience (”You’re not Sauron! You’re the other one!”). They have the characters do random stuff or neglect to tell each other stuff not because it’s in character (lol) but because it makes a WHAM moment later (that falls flat because it’s so obvious).

Look, I’m pretty genre savvy, but I am not the only one who guessed how this all was going from several episodes ago. I knew it was Gandalf from episode one. I knew who was Sauron for several episodes. My mom is a big Tolkien nerd and kept saying “But that doesn’t make sense! Because in the lore-” and every week I had to remind her that these writers aren’t following lore and they don’t seem to care what makes sense, but they’re still easy to predict because of all the tropes and borrowed story beats.

The way they cut through travel made the world seem incredibly small. Then all the flip-flopping to drag things out because they’re bad at pacing; in Numenor, in the Southlands, with the dwarves, they decide things and then suddenly it’s undecided because they need more time. The absolutely garbage lines like “the elves are stealing your jobs” or “I’m GOOD”. The constant pulling of lines from the source material and putting them out of place, which is annoying for two reasons, first because it’s unearned but also because the stolen lines are the only good dialogue in this mess.

The casting of non-white actors in completely tokenistic roles. The fact that the harfoots are mostly white and are played by average sized actors. The fact that they have a few non-white actors and then cast white actors for their family members (Nori and her mom, the queen of Numenor and her dad) which just screams “we want it diverse, but not too diverse”.

And yes, Girlboss Galadriel who is peak perfomative feminism akin to W*nder Woman and She-H*lk, mass produced girl power with none of the depth or grit. Galadriel who is one-note in all of her motivation, who comes across as embarassingly stupid at times because it’s more important for her to be brash and stern. Writing out her husband in a random throwaway line because she couldn’t want to go out and fight while also being married or a mother (something so many weird defenders of this show seem to think means the opposite of what it is, like wanting her to be married and have a kid and still be out doing awesome things instead of becoming a tradwife is the ANTI-feminist view, and as if there’s a scarcity of single young action girls out there). The “I’ll never join you!” conversation with Sauron. Randomly just telling people to “trust her” instead of being like, “Yeah that was Sauron” so he can come back and screw stuff up later. Why? Why? Because they need her to, that’s why. But why, in-character would she do that? ~Don’t worry about it.~

Basically everything about badboy Halbrand, the Kylo Ren of Middle Earth. But especially his Jason Bourne moment in Numenor and the whole cringy “reluctant king” story. The one woman in town who wears color because she’s the Main Character. The sweet girl getting too close to Gandalf and he accidentally hurts her and she shies away. That may have been the worst one. Made me shout “I am not a gun!” because my goodness, these writers. They just steal everything. Every single twist was artlessly telegraphed and stolen from something better. A few times, this worked. The Stranger was predictable from the start, the dwarf storyline didn’t do anything particularly groundbreaking, Arondir’s star-crossed romance was incredibly bland. But the characters were fun to watch and the actors did well with the parts. It’s just unfortunate that, where a few of the characters managed to elevate the sea of cliches surrounding them, the majority just coasted on the surface.

This is giving me Star Wars Sequel vibes, even though I’m not a LotR fan like I am a Star Wars fan. It feels like plastic. It feels like they thought of everything but actually making a show worth watching. This show won’t be a classic, it’s just another revenue source. I don’t know if I would be this harsh if it were some small production and an original story. But for the money this cost, the fact that it’s so bland, so uninspired, so absolutely lazy is honestly insulting. I’ve seen so many lower budget fantasy stories with a hundred times more heart and brains than this. The bottom line is this: Amazon had all of the money to hire all the talent in the world and they’re giving us this??? The gall.

[jynxeddraca]

Thoughts on Where Astarion is From

Going to be a long post. Because there are definitely spoilers for the game in general and probably for Astarion's quest, I'm putting this under a read more.

I've seen in several places now that Astarion is commonly headcanon'd to not be from Baldur's Gate originally. Personally, I really think this makes sense since he's an elf, his parents in theory would still be alive, and - if you stick to the idea he originally was noble/patriar born - he would be recognizable to a lot of people even after being turned. Not only in the city in general but I imagine he helped 'entertain' at Cazador's palace since Cazador did host parties.

An aside, I think this holds true for all of Cazador's 'house' spawn. I know Dalyria formerly was the Physician General to the Parliament of Baldur's Gate but I have a feeling she - like Astarion - probably wasn't in that position terribly long before getting turned so may not have been around long enough for people to really recall her face.

But back to my actual thought: The common thing I see when people headcanon about Astarion's origins before he lived in Baldur's Gate is that he is from Waterdeep, or the surrounding area, because the area used to be home to most of the elves in Faerûn. Just as a note for anyone unfamiliar with where cities are: Waterdeep is 750 miles North of Baldur's Gate, Elturel is officially 200 miles East of Baldur's Gate.

I have an alternate theory: Astarion is from somewhere East of Baldur's Gate. Possibly along the Chionthar.

Why?

Because sometime before the story, at least 100 years ago - and honestly, I think it'd be before he was turned so 200+ years ago - he was in Reithwin Town (the town in Act 2) - and got banned from The Waning Moon.

And this isn't just me making an assumption or coming up with a headcanon. Now, I was too lazy to go find the in-game screenshot that I took and it's on my gaming computer, so this is from the BG3 Wiki - Here's the text when you read the BAN LIST at The Waning Moon:

The text (bold emphasis mine) reads as:

BARRED FROM ENTRY The following EX-customers are UNWELCOME. Do not let them in, even should they beg. ESPECIALLY should they beg. Martin Doughty - human? - chug-and-run Adam Smythe - lascivious behaviour, also known as 'The Pickle Incident' Gerringothe Thorm - SHE KNOWS WHAT SHE DID Kavin Ort - tall dwarf - exceedingly boring Syrah Bee - short half-elf - vomited on the waiter (purposefully) Unknown elf - pale skin, snide mouth - referring to master distiller as 'the porcine publican' Rochelle Kwark - halfling - groin-punching Yon Von Don (suspected alias) - grotesquely tall human - underpants on head

End screenshot text.

And a second screenshot where the wiki states that the pale elf is Astarion with a link to the source of Kevin VanOrd's twitter. Granted, I do not have an account on twitter so I can't see any posts on twitter and can't confirm the tweet, but I'll post the plain text (no hyperlink) links down below because Tumblr is picky about stuff.

Screenshot Text:

The names on BAN LIST are the writers of Baldur's Gate 3 poking fun at themselves, as confirmed by writer Kevin VanOrd[1]:

'Martin Doughty' (Martin Docherty)

'Adam Smythe' (Adam Smith)

'Kavin Ort' (Kevin VanOrd)

'Syrah Bee' (Sarah Baylus)

'Unknown elf' - Astarion[2]

'Rochelle Kwark' (Rachel Quirke)

'Yon Von Don' (Jan Van Dosselaer)

[1] VanOrd, Kevin. 2023. "As the book's writer I can confirm it was a juicy act indeed. All the names (aside from Gerringothe's, of course) are based on Larian writers. I can literally tag myself as Kavin Ort, the boring dwarf!" [@fiddlecub, Twitter]. 14 Oct 2023. Available from: https://web.archive.org/web/20240329212133/https://twitter.com/fiddlecub/status/1713103283026383083

[2] VanOrd, Kevin. 2023. "And yes the unknown elf is who you think it is." [@fiddlecub, Twitter]. 14 Oct 2023. Available from: https://web.archive.org/web/20231017062203/https://twitter.com/fiddlecub/status/1713103448516812817

End of screenshot text.

Supporting screenshots out of the way, here are my assumptions so far:

He probably did not have lots of time to dedicate for traveling pre-vampirism days just because law school then actually being a magistrate (yes, I am assuming that law school is a thing in Faerûn).

If he was a noble pre-magistrate days, Reithwin wouldn't be a normal destination choice since nothing in the game makes me think it really was anything more than a normal town that just happened to have fallen to horrific events.

Related to first two bullets: my personal thought is that he was probably sub-30 when this ban at The Waning Moon happened.

Cazador didn't/doesn't travel much himself (Astarion calls him 'reclusive' at some point).

I really doubt Cazador lets any of his spawn travel on their own.

What makes most sense to me personally is that he was traveling from home - wherever that is - to Baldur's Gate. Unfortunately the 5e map of Faerûn only list 4 cities along the Chionthar: Baldur's Gate, Fort Morninglord, Elturel, and Scornubel. It shows none of the towns/settlements shown in Act 1 or Act 2 in BG3. Just for reference:

Which probably is just so there is some vagueness for D&D players to add in their own towns since D&D is a giant sandbox. So that's kind of what I'm doing here. Somewhere between Reithwin and The Reaching Woods is a town that Astarion once called home.

[squiddokiddo]

So I know you've seen this one before but I'm trying out a bit of writing and I wrote a snippet for this drawing and I want the fic and the art to be together. Criticism is welcome but please be gentle, this is my first posted fic.

Edit - I originally made the mistake of thinking Whitby was in Cornwall so that line has now been changed.

‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊꒷︶꒷꒥꒷˚₊‧

"Carry me?"

–• Fandom: Thunderbirds, Thunderbirds are go • Genre: Fluff • Characters: Gordon Tracy, OC (Seasquirt Tracy) • Pairings: None • Warnings: None •–

• • • • •

Gordon had booked the day off to give himself and his so called apprentice a break, they'd both been training hard all week and had definitely earned a little down time. They'd taken a trip to Whitby, an old seaside town located in England, it definitely wasn't his first choice mind you but Lady Penelope had highly recommended the location for a relaxing day out.

Gordon and Squirt had had a chilled morning browsing little village shops and stopping for a light breakfast and coffee in one of the cafés, maybe filling a 12 year old with caffeine wasn't the best idea but it was Squirt's treat and no one was going to tell him off for letting the kid have a little fun, not Scott, not Virgil not anyone. Gosh his brothers could be so overbearing sometimes.

Currently they we're waiting for the sun to reach a high enough point to make the sea warm enough to swim in, in the meantime they'd both decided that sight seeing would be a good time killer, that and hopefully all the wandering around would use up that coffee energy. First stop the 199 steps.

They'd just arrived at the bottom where cobblestone streets turned into paved stairs, Gordon gripped the black painted railings and started his assent, one, two, three, four steps up when suddenly:

"Carry me?"

Gordon halted and peered over his shoulder at the source of the request standing a couple of steps below. Good god he'd wished they hadn't decided to ask this now.

"Aren't you a little old for that, Squirt?" He replied half smirking, turning around to face them.

"Scott carries Alan and he's 16." Squirt protested, jokingly pouting a little.

Squirt was right, there wasn't technically an age limit on being carried in the Tracy family, heck in their line of work it was common to need a little help to get around after exhausting themselves with missions.

"Yeah well Alan's a wimp." He chuckled "All that space flight is making his knees weak." Obviously not a true statement but since when did taking jabs at your siblings have to involve facts?

Squirt rolled their eyes biting back a laugh "Gords, you know that's not what I mean!!" They hopped a couple of steps up to meet their bro.

"I want a piggyback ride, wait no - uhh - a squiddyback!!" They exclaimed reaching their arms up "Please?"

Gordon laughed "Squirt I love you bub but I am not carrying you-" he paused to mentally count the steps "another 195 steps up the hill, come on you can't be that tired already."

He went to climb another step when Squirt grabbed the arm of his T-shirt.

"Pleeease."

Suddenly Gordon realised what this was about, it wasn't about not wanting to climb the steps or being tired or lazy, Squirt just wanted their big brother. Piggybacking was an expression of affection between the Tracy siblings and it hadn't really occurred to him that Squirt hadn't experienced that kind of love before becoming a part of their family.

He thought for a minute, it was a long trek up the hill but he could make an exception just this once. He sighed, turned away from his little sib and knelt down.

"Hop on."

The kid beamed and wasted no time in clambering onto the aquanaut's back, wriggling around and getting comfy as Gordon stood up and steadied himself under their weight.

"All set?" He asked.

"Aye aye, captain!!" They replied giving a little salute.

"Next stop, step 199!!"

• • • • •

[orions-dnd-corner]

obligatory lore post

okay. party says "give us lore" so here's all the stuff i can just tell you

this is the first of three or four of these

we're gonna start with the basics. lore is marked with || and other comments will not be totally punctuated or formatted (not for ease of reading mostly just because im lazy)

| Caelum is a world of floating islands over a planet of sea. The islands are suspended by their physical "soul" in the form of a crystaline orb known as a centerstone. These centerstones provide a force that counteracts gravity. Beneath the sea are mysterious resonating points that guide the islands above them, resulting in the slightest net positive force. Islands will slowly push upward until leaving the atmosphere to forever (?) drift in orbit. There are 7 layers of islands in Caelum: Centennia, Azura, Ramesh, Medetea, Scyrius, Praecipitum, and Corinthia. (listed bottom to top) |

caelum's islands are a bit more than they seem. we'll get to this when I talk about deities but for the time being i can give some examples, two maps attached of different layers of the world for context

the "Laraqi Archipelago" is a set of islands on the second layer, or, WAS, before events that took place in the 4th session, that were all associated to a set of centerstones located in the center of the archipelago. centerstones are complicated and there are many exceptions for the few rules

the one rule that there is no exception to, however, is the ascension of the islands.

| Islands, over long periods of time, drift upwards. All homes exist over unsteady ground, all towns have a deadline to their evacuation. This ascension is a slow, irrefutable process that cannot be halted or altered. If the island faces too forceful a pull away from its set path, it will eventually collapse and fall into the sea. The same thing happens if the centerstone is forcefully removed from the area around the island. If an island falls into the sea, there is no chance of recovery. The area directly around the sea is tumultuous and unsurvivable for the average person. Expeditions are sent to search for new islands often, but they usually arrive over the span of 10 years once every century. (Thus the name of "Centennia") |

one of the most very important parts of caelum's lore are the deities! this gets complicated. the centerstone of an island is the island's soul, and this soul is often one of a sentient creature.

| Islands in Caelum carry a centerstone, and the deity to an island is born of this centerstone. A centerstone will always carry some force, smaller ones of smaller islands will show unnatural gusts of wind or quakes in the earth. You might pray to the stone of a smaller island and recieve the blessing of fortunate foraging or recieve assistance when you are lost.

Larger islands, however, have much greater potential. They often take physical forms to represent themselves and may grant their power to others or make more direct alterations to the structure and qualities of their island. Continental sized islands (of which only 5 currently exist within Caelum's atmosphere) have the capacity to entice natural disasters or harness the power of the mass of their entire structure. They are nearly infinite sources of power which you can draw upon from massive distances.

The deities range from spirits that represent certain concepts and present an affitty to controlling them up to powerful indestructible beings that reign over natural forces on the scale of their entire island. |

...oookay! i think that covers the basics? good luck interpreting all this. the next one comes whenever i feel like it. this is mostly for people who dont have the lore context and see this blog but the later ones will include more new stuff for the players as well 😅

[svartikotturinn]

I couldn’t stand to watch Shaun’s latest video, so I started reading the transcript instead. I got about 15 minutes in before I just had enough.

The good: I don’t think he’s legitimately antisemitic. I think he’s just a contrarian dipshit who took his anti-Israeli stance mostly because he had an excuse to go against what his government was saying (along with other Western governments) and didn’t bother to look deeper. So he is a lot of things but antisemitic does not seem to be one of them.

Also, I should commend him for pointing out actual cases of Israeli disinformation, such as an outright lie by the IDF spokesman, and brings up the violence towards mourners and even pallbearers at Shireen Abu Akleh’s funeral, which he rightfully condems (no, chanting slogans does not justify it).

The bad: The sheer one-sided laziness, up to and including outright lies (which, I hope, for his sake, were based in ignorance and not malice), starting right at the beginning. He says what got him doubting the narrative of ‘Israel good, Palestinians bad’ was a photo of Israelis sitting on chairs they’d brought watching the Gaza Strip being bombed from a safe distance in 2014—he neglects to mention that those are people from nearby Sderot, a town that had been subject to repeated rocket strikes from Hamas. He offhandedly mentions that the other side does it, too, but barely gives this thought much weight. Worse, he certainly does not consider that Israelis can at least claim that they’re cheering for the death of mlitants out for their blood hiding in the destroyed buildings, while Palestinians cheer for the deliberate killing of civilians: stabbing and shooting random civilians, launching rockets indiscriminately at civilians (no, Israel doesn’t do that, that’s what intel and GPS systems are for).

(Pro-tip: check out what your favourite pro-Palestinian influencer’s page for what they said while the October 7th Massacre was still ongoing. I bet you’ll be horrified. Shaun himself, for example, retweeted an infographic about the asymmetry of casualties in both sides over the years and blocked me when I called him out on his callous ‘well, numerically…’ attitude. That was last October, not 2014.)

Then there’s Abu Akleh’s death, which he also discusses. I’m using this term charitably, because he says it was definitively proven as murder and says any claim to the contrary has been proven to be a mendacious cover-up. No, he does not provide any sources countering, say, the official US position. (For the record: fuck then-Prime Minister Yair Lapid’s reaction. He is a prime example of the problems Israel actually has.)

Then he had the sheer audacity to claim that the claims of tunnels under As-Shifā’ Hospital were unfounded. What fucking nerve.

I was hoping to reach the point where he talks about how Hamas treats the Gazans, and point out that the disparity of casualties has to do in large part with the fact that Israel actually cares for its civilians (something he didn’t even hint at up to where I got), but that bold-faced lie about the hospital made it too much for me.

Fuck you, Shaun.

…Oh, and one last thing: he talked about the Western position being one of resistence to the implied barbarism of Islam. So, Shaun, I’m here to say it’s not fucking ‘implied’, you dolt, it’s emphatic. Read the fucking Qur’ān and tell me that shit doesn’t sound like any other cult leader’s insane ramblings. Listen to opinions Muslims express in polls. Talk to them about history, especially the history of the region. It’s cultish shit on par with MAGA/QAnon and Russian propaganda, but you start hemming and hawing when brown people say it, like a stereotypical Westerner who dismisses their country’s superstitions but gladly adopts those that come from China or India. How utterly disguting.

EDIT: I should’ve stopped listening to this prick back when he made his inaccuracies-ridden video about Harry Potter. I guess maybe in his view, there are indeed good and bad sides rather than actions…

[softlyspun]

Costuming Research - Greyson Ives

So... I've been reading a remarkably compelling kink fic (Ginger and Mint). And because I'm a historical costumer (and also insane), I feel compelled to figure out exactly what these characters would be wearing. This is a long one, so most of this is under a cut.

So, to start out... When and Where are we?

Well, it's a fantasy world, so things aren't strictly bound to a real world timeline. But to get a basic handle on things:

-Horse-drawn carriages, buses, trains and cars are all mentioned.

-Trains seem to be the most common form of long-distance transport, even among the wealthy and powerful.

-Bean-bag chairs exist.

-Subsistence level hunting is very much a thing

-Yearbook photography is a thing.

-Electricity doesn't seem to be specifically mentioned.

-Letters seem to be the main form of long-distance communication.

-Mass-communication, like radio, phones, and the internet don't seem to be mentioned.

-No one seems to have to fumble with things like lights and stoves

So, to me, this feels like a late-19th/early 20th century world. (I'm going to say been bags are timeless). The setting is vaguely American/European, without directly correlating to a specific location.

Now, to get a little more character-specific. Let's take a look at Greyson Ives, reluctant hunter and equally reluctant di-mage.

Deer Woods, Greyson's home town, very much has the feel of a small Appalachian town. The exact industry that keeps it running is beyond the scope of the story, but IRL, these were often mining communities. Places like this can seem frozen in time, often decades behind the fashions of the big cities.

The Ives family in particular are borderline-subsistence hunters. Poor, even within a poor community, they actively disdain any kind of excess or even perceived wastefulness.

So, what materials would they have available?

Leather and fur could be easily procured. I imagine that probably sell the higher-quality furs and hides, but they probably have the wherewithal to tan hides for bags and waterproof outer garments.

That being said, leather really doesn't breathe. You need plant fibers (cotton, linen) or animal fibers (wool, silk), which would have to be bought. Considering the Ives family disdain for excess, I can't imagine that they'd actually buy bolts of fabric to sew up, or new-made clothes. Instead, they're probably buying used garments, regardless of quality, and wearing and repairing them until they go to pieces. (This is less a region-specific thing, and more an Ives-household-specific thing. Ben, the shopkeeper's son, while still quite poor, probably owns clothes made in the last decade.) For fibers, anything made of silk would be beyond their means, but linen and wool are quite durable, and, depending on the specifics of fiber production for this world (beyond the scope of this fic) cotton might be within reach.

Whatever color the clothes started out, they're likely to wear down to a fairly uniform grey-brown. (While synthetic dyes would be available in period, I cannot imagine the Ives household springing for Sundour to brighten their wardrobes.) If they dye their clothes at all, it's likely to be with locally available natural dyes, in fairly dark colors. (I'm picturing black walnut husks.)

Let's look at some sources! (Yes, I'm using Wikipedia as a source, because I'm lazy.)

So these are miners from Montana in 1889. This is probably actually a little nicer than the stuff Greyson would have access to, but could hypothetically be typical for Deer Woods in general.

Images of "Mountain Men" might be more useful (though a lot of these pictures would be deliberately sensational.)

Yep, that would be a cotton/linen shirt, with a fringed leather jacket.

Not a photograph, but I think this catches the archetype.

Another conclusion from looking at these: at least while still working at home, Greyson probably needs to wear a hat. Something durable, of either leather or wool felt.

So, my headcannon on Greyson's wardrobe at the beginning of the story: undyed cotton muslin or linen shirts, heavily worn and heavily patched/darned. Possibly woolen sweaters for the winter, likewise heavily darned. Woolen pants in dark colors, typical for the 1870's/1880's. A leather jacket, probably long, possibly fringed, for bad weather. (Though Greyson's jacket is later described as "threadbare", so it might actually be made of wool, instead) A haversack, likewise made of leather. Any buttons would be likely to be made of wood, antler, or bone. While hunters in turn-of-the-century Appalachia *absolutely* had the time and skill to decorate their clothing and accessories, the Ives family austerity probably means all of these are minimally adorned, if at all.

But! There's a change at the Midwinter Ball! Greyson actually gets new clothes! Which means we get to look at turn-of-the-century formalwear! For a description, we get a "smoky grey formal jacket"

Now, I'm partial to the evening wear of the 1890's, so I'm inclined to give Greyson a tailcoat. Something like this:

Bramley is described as wearing a bow tie, which would exist by this point (though I'm very tempted to stick the man in a cravat, on the ground that cravats are cool.

I'm going to do everyone a favor, and spare Greyson the truly ludicrous facial hair common to the period (as fun as 19th century mutton chops and mustaches can be), and assume he's clean-shaven.

Anyway, that's... way too many words on one character's costume! Next up will be Elliott Vale, and a dive into the finer side of men's fashion. The girls are going to come last, since that's going to require considerably more digging.