#and if it ends up being a project worth salvaging

[bigfatbreak]

Hi I'm new here, and some people recommend me your feralnette au, but when it start? And what the au is about?

the feralnette au starts just after the season 3 finale, somewhat after miracle queen. Reaching a mental breaking point, Marinette can't handle her social life, her grades, being ladybug and being the guardian without giving up one of them. in an act of incredible sacrifice and self sabotage, she cuts herself off from the class to focus more on investigating hawkmoth, and to distance herself from her friends, believing some part of herself is the problem with akumatizations.

After such a change, the Marinette we have is much more jaded and much more tired, and in order to change her reputation of "everyday ladybug," to further distance her civilian persona and her ladybug persona, she begins changing her interactions with people in her daily lives - resorting to violence or sarcasm when in the past she would've been the first to talk things out. (thus, the "feral" part of feralnette)

shit happens. stuff gets wildin. we get a little blasphemous, a little heretical, and a little eldritched. talk about edgy. keep in mind I started this a few years ago (oh god) so some stuff isn't going to align with the new seasons of mlb.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three (ongoing.)

the pacing in the first chapter is a bit funky, as I actually wasn't planning on making it a full fledged comic, but something-something i have no self control lmao.

[melankkholy]

understanding the kennedy

✎ sadly, leon isn’t the most optimal guy to enjoy the time with cause he is the bluntest man out there, but your time spent together and your adventures in the process of survival prove just how cuddly and sweet he can be… in an elevator, preferably with his hands on your body.

cw: fingering, leon being an ass, tit play, dirty talk bc auugh i love his voice, mentions of gore? kinda, fem! reader, idk if i should add anything else bc my mind is not minding, MDNI

You’re about to throw up, no kidding. Your dubious gaze flies between Leon and Ashley, bouncing between two blonde heads. Okay, so how did you end up in this situation? Let’s recap. First things first, you’re an agent with an orderly and strict life under the rules of the government. Being good at your job is what pockets so much trouble plus fresh green dough, which you deserve to earn to the bitter end.

Let’s proceed to the second reason.

When the President’s daughter suddenly disappears and an anonymous tip comes in that she’s been sighted in a village in Spain you’ve never heard of, the President himself appeals to two names he can rely on with his very life.

You and Leon Scott Kennedy.

As crystal clear as it is that you’ve heard his name before, pretty much every ear in this business you’re in has heard of this man at least at one point in time. The funny thing is that this may be exactly where things get tricky. People only know a name, Leon, but nothing about the personality or the story behind his name.

You’re very much aligned with this category of people.

Yes, and in the middle of the mission, not to mention how crucial it is, you don’t exactly expect to playhouse with Leon Kennedy, granted. Still, it’s not entirely flattering that the man projects himself to you with nothing more than a short nod.

He certainly doesn’t like to talk, albeit occasionally overhearing him talking to himself or cracking one liner to infected villagers that makes the skin chapped and dry in winter, paints a much different picture of Leon in your mind.

He schemes on his own and rarely consults your point of view when he takes the matter elsewhere, which naturally leaves you feeling inferior. The sour grimace on your face is always preceded by a wise crack, conveying the image of a self-righteous and, conversely, insecure man.

Is this what the infamous Kennedy is like?

“Psst, amp up your game, agent.” A laconic tone, a haughty flow to his voice, as if to say, ‘I know best around here, and you don’t.’

In a riot you never expected to stumble upon, the villagers clogged with armaments composed of pitchforks, axes, and hacksaws, your life is miraculously salvaged by an anonymous clarion call of a bell.

Now you are looting a random house in the village for Leon’s ridiculous reasons, or rather, he’s the only one doing the looting because there is no way you would ever touch anything of these ailing locals.

“Hunnigan warned that the sooner the better, herring brain.”

“Herring brain?”

His back is turned to you, so you can’t quite see what sort of emoticon is hanging on his face. But the inflection is the same. Sarcastic as hell.

He jams his elbow into the glass of the vitrine, and it’s not hard to discern whether he’s pivoting to protect his prissy face or to prove to you how pinched his frown is. Definitely the former one, even though his face is too pretty to harm.

Putting a grenade in his gear as though it will be enough to slaughter the entire village because it certainly won’t be enough, he tosses another curt retort back at you—not that you weren’t born yesterday.

“Oh, nice.” He’s woven with acrimony and malcontent. Seriously, where does his assertiveness stem from?

“We need to get to the mill straight away.” You try again. Nothing that can’t be solved with a little more civility, right? It’s worth a try.

The soles of his boots crunch on the chunks of broken glass as he trudges forward in front of you. Okay, Mr. Vanity.

All humor aside, his gaze is unnerving, as if there are vines tied around your ankles holding you in place, so much so that you can do nothing but loiter in his presence, bunglingly.

It’s as though for a moment you forgot about his previous ’joke’, mainly about playing bingo (?) and his usual goofy mentality—how dare you be demeaned in front of him?

Seriously, this guy is a nonentity for his sheer size; he has a giant head full of cheesy jokes and an enormous high forehead that he tries to cover with a fringe of his... perfectly bleached and conditioned hair.

Ugh, lame alert.

But… He’s still handsome, let’s face it. Could be the work of charm that these dronemen so rarely acquire.

Still, don’t give him the time of day on this one after seeing how obnoxious he’s proven to be.

You roll your eyes, undeterred, your steps already dragging you forward, and you make your way down the stairs to exit this ramshackle excuse for a house that smells of dung and blood in equal measure.

If only you could get out of the seconds you’re in now as you got out of that specific moment. It’s not that simplistic; it transpires.

“Hey Leon, there’s some armor. Bet you could use it like a bulletproof vest.”

Well, Ashley is a cute girl, and denial can be deemed as a blind existence, or deafness, whatever. But when she starts to fill up your patience drop by drop, as it has been the case ever since you reached the Salazar Castle, she gradually grows more and more friendly with... Leon, not with you.

The president’s daughter’s words are clear and concise, one hundred percent flirtation.

It’s fine; you don’t care. But usually speaking to you as if you are not the part of this mission, or sometimes outwardly ignoring you, is an aspect you don’t understand.

“Little old-fashioned for my taste,” Leon quips in the world’s blandest tone. Damn.

It’s a wonder what happened to the girlhood chumminess. Maybe Leon and Ashley are more apt to form a closer friendship, or perhaps you’re the low-key of the group, or else Leon alone spotting Ashley in the church fostered a stronger bond of trust between the two of them when you went your separate ways and found out that Leon had gutted a lake monster or something.

Absurd as fuck.

To your credit, you weren’t a fat lot of good; a few diary fragments of your findings were the remains of a scientist who had scribbled on a piece of paper about a brand new parasite: the plagas.

Anyway, back to the shit you’re in.

It’s pretty obvious that there’s nothing too serious damage to emotions here; in fact, Leon is so thick that he turns Ashley down time and time again, not in a rude way—never in a crude way—but just with his inane and arid jokes.

“Too bad. I think you’d look pretty dashing." Ashley’s chirping, but it’s no good. She gets no reaction from the guy.

You take it’s the signal for the end of their conversation, and just follow the two of them into the moonlit room, keeping silent. I mean, why join in, since watching this awkward thing going on between the two of them is frankly like a cutscene in a sit-com.

You know Leon sucks at the whole flirting thing; you figure it out, so all that bravado, all that stoicism—it’s all a veneer. Insecure, yet cute.

The romp with Luis is a very specific narrative. It’s short and abrupt, so sudden that it’s unreasonably all tied to him. The only thing you know is that Luis has the 'medicine’ to treat the poisoning of Leon and Ashley by the parasite that is probably written on the pieces of scrap paper you found and... that’s it. It’s obvious that you’re Luis’ ticket out of here, and that he’s telling you how he no longer works for Los Illuminados as a way out of this clusterfuck while ogling your boobs is extra hassle.

He‘s a completely alternative man to the intangible and abstract man Leon is. Flirting is Luis’ breakfast, lunch, appetizer, and, of course, his dinner. Like the water, he has to drink so he can exist. Like his cigarettes, you can say.

One small maneuver could stop him; you could even tell Leon that you won’t go along with his scheme to trust this guy (he, too, somehow doesn’t like the attitude Luis gives), put a bullet in his head, and take his life on the spot.

But it’s the inner attention whore fairy in you that permits Luis to flirt like there’s no tomorrow. You like the limelight. That and he’s pretty cute; his hair looks great. You can work with that.

Basically, it’s a peculiar combo. There’s nothing stopping Luis. Even when you’re underground, literally underground, and you’re trying to get back up, there’s not a single thing stopping him from alternating between you and Leon, sometimes putting a few bullets in the infected villagers in between, and watching you and Leon do most of the work.

Two hot agents wrestling their way out of the mess—what can he say?

It’s hot.

If Leon asks him to participate and assist, he just shrugs and says, “Hey, I’m the brains. You’re the brawn, and the señorita is the vision.”

A walking paragon of bisexualism.

But what impression did this little oversight strike in Leon’s eyes?

Just one word: bleakness. The others are sourness, everything about unpleasantness.

Trusting someone, especially someone he didn’t necessarily know, to get things fixed was beginning to become a habit of Leon’s. Yes, he wants to help everyone whenever he can, and that’s where all the shit hits the fan for him. He is, notably, reluctant to put his trust in someone (formerly!) working for a corporation that has razed a young rookie full of dreams and wrecked several lives in one simple night.

Call it a survival instinct or whatnot.

Besides, it’s quite asinine for Luis to act so laid back or to think he has that luxury in the midst of so much grime and squalor.

The flirting game doesn’t cease, and Leon’s pestering you as well. Blatantly flaunting around with a flamboyant of a flirt would suggest that you’re neglecting your expertise and don’t give a damn about the mission.

That’s exactly what bothers him, never for any other reason. Yeah, right.

Uh, or... How an agent of your reserve falling for Luis’ tricks and snubbing Leon might (it is a certainty, but he’ll never admit this) be playing a small part in his aggravation.

“Really? I didn’t take you had such a low standard,” he says so casually in the elevator that’s now hauling you upstairs, in a rare moment when you can have some privacy, and you wonder if he’s never spoken or at least ever bothered to talk to you.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You quirk an eyebrow and watch as he cocks his gun, giving it a quick once-over—an idle thing he almost always does, but one that makes your skin prickle with welcoming tingles.

What the fuck is going on? Intensifying gun kink moment, perhaps.

“WhAt is thAt suPpoSed to mEan?” He emulates your intonation effortlessly.

Hey, come on, your voice isn’t that squeaky.

It would be a challenge for him not to miss the wintry glower on your face; he’s observant, and to tell the truth, watching your face makes him feel good at times.

At times, it's the key ingredient. For after all, he had made that mistake once before of falling into the maw of the sweet trap of the woman he had known overnight in Raccoon City and in whom he had tormented his heart.

Except things are; otherwise, he’s not a rookie anymore, and he even finds these traps interesting. Or rather, he likes you. And your traps.

“You need to watch your mouth, asshole.” Your voice lectures him with a sharp vibrato.

“Huh?” Quite the sport that he is.

What, was he guarding his stone-like reticence in order to torture you for hours on end? Or has he gotten over the familiarization period and is suddenly expecting you to click like best pals?

Reading men is the toughest exercise in the world; everyone knows for a fact that they don’t use their brains, but reading Leon is much more demanding. It’s a lot of strain, and it’s the kind of maltreatment that can cripple a person both physically and cognitively.

It takes a lot to tune in to the energy of the likes of Luis, a verse of assertive words for a few more ambitious words, and, well, he’s a good warm-blooded friend now.

Then Leon?

It is very very shaky to figure out what to do to stay on his good side.

“Whatever.” Your voice echoes with finality, and your follow-up answer is disrupted by the juddering of the elevator accompanied by a broken, beeping sound. Lights flicker and breaths are held in short gasps, as these things often don’t augur well. Then darkness blankets the space like the teasing gloom of a sky before the copious rain patters fall on the soil.

“Hey, I’m talking to you. Better tune your ears.”

“Wh-What?” You really do stammer.

“Come on, are you daydreaming in the middle of a mission? Man, it looks like you’re not as polished as the president thought you were.”

“Stop it,” you hiss in rebuke, to which he reciprocates with a ragged snort. There is something staggering about the fact that the man who didn’t say a word to you last night is surprisingly toying with you like a schoolboy. So much so that there can be no other conceivable answer to the vermouth tint of your cheeks.

The grin on his face provides a unique glimpse of his crooked teeth. Or his soft jawline. Up close, he’s full of his flaws, but he looks cute. You can’t lie. And you can’t just imagine being dissuaded by someone so full of little foibles. Especially on duty, in a malfunctioning elevator.

“Shy, or am I living things in my head?”

“The latter and for the first, dream on, buddy.”

“Oh, well. I shouldn’t be dreaming much then.”

None of these rejoinders are smooth; they’re frankly lame, painfully corny. Except that you have an infinite penchant for pretty-faced men and their languishing eyes, namely for Leon.

Which is why in the darkness you can’t visualize how his hand is tucked into your pants. It happens.

The sound of his fingers curling inside you is the root catalyst for the darling mantle on your cheeks, and the pilgrimage is the secondary motivator. Alongside his drenched and glove-clad hand, his other hand is under your shirt, cupping your right tit, which is sticking out of your bra with gusto.

“Tsk tsk, how long have we been on post, hm? For how many hours?”

He bombards you with queries as if you have the breath to center on his inquiry. How blunt.

Leon jeers when he sees your eyes blinking disproportionately at his. You’re a dumb blur, wet, and yes, only for him. Not for Luis, not for anyone else. It’s just a finger dipping in and out of you, and the second he sticks a second one in, you adopt a piquant pout, your lips pursed, eyes glazing over. Too pretty a spectrum for Leon.

“Let me answer that for you, sweetheart, it’s been about 7 hours and you’re getting fingered by someone you barely know.” His scratchy drawl tickles your ears like a freshly scabbed wound scratching vigorously, like he’s the only thing that will soothe the pain inside you.

“That’s what all your bitterness was for? To get me and keep me for yourself?” His questions almost never conclude, fingers pumping and scissoring the daylight out of you.

“Ashley walks out because you only want me for yourself. To be all yours?” In return, a protracted, keening whine rolls out of your mouth, your lips bruised from his previous kisses, his teeth. Ouch, so utterly ignominious.

When this is over, you will definitely remember this moment and break your sleep.

His swelling hubris, just like the twitching dick inside his pants, gives Leon a feeling of entitlement and conceit. At least he looks more appealing in that way.

“Wish I could understand your blabbering, beautiful,” he jests, his thumb darting over your puffy clit, rushed but attentive as he knows you’re inching close. The face buried in your bosom, his lashes and hair delicately brushing over your skin, shrinks the knot in your belly; warmth flutters.

Leon’s urge is stirred by the tight grip of your lovely cunt squeezing the fingers inside of you that are ebbing and flowing incessantly. A harsh and crass mark, a tiny imprint his teeth leaves on your neck, faint, purple, the kind you will carry with you tonight, on this mission and for a time being as it appears.

A seal that is almost bruising, hard enough to draw blood, and so irascible because it can’t draw blood; a brand that quickly grows purple; a sting that is the right match for the pinch it leaves on your nipple.

A brand that says you are Leon’s, for a fleeting while.

It’s absurd that it’s been so long since the last time someone fingered you that you can’t remember cumming. Guys, just suck at this shit. And you never dreamed that you would just melt and cum in the fingers of a trite man like Leon.

The sight of you paralyzed in rapture is so captivating that his craving to lick and devour you is eclipsed by the sudden illumination of the elevator lights. Pulling out his two fingers, he finally succumbs to his instinct to taste you and allots them close to your lips.

In a very non-sanitary, even grossly insensitive method, his fingers are swabbed thoroughly, as if your tongue were a gauze pad when he pushes them inside your parted lips.

He’s spectating you in a blissful trance, and if he were to claim that he didn’t put his fingers in place of his cock gliding between your lips, he’d be the world’s biggest fibbing bastard, and he’s not the world’s biggest fibbing bastard—mind you.

Only at the last second does he catch your hand sliding down his hip, grabbing it by your wrist.

“Ah, ah, not so fast.” He winces in pain, and the longing to impale himself inside you eats him up, but he has some principles, and he doesn’t want to break them. So, he wipes his fingers on your shirt once they’re out of your mouth, knowing it’ll leave a big ass stain. For real? Well, ew.

“H-hey, why the hell?” Your outburst is both about the dick he’s detraining from you and his juvenile antics.

He just shrugs his shoulders and hitches up your jeans, notwithstanding that your panties are still damp and caked in juices.

“Sorry, but I’m keeping myself back for the right time. Maybe we can finish it in a hotel after the OP, yeah? That’s if we survive.”

Oh, but really? Did he really cockblock you?

“Don’t tell me you're a virgin or something." You just can’t let him go easily; you’re grinning impishly.

“Don't tell me you are a loser cumming on a virgin’s fingers.” Message received. He's so blunt. Salty.

He reaches down under your shirt and grabs your utility belt lying pointlessly on the floor and your holster. On his knees, like a man designed to minister to you. What can you say? He knows he’s a fucking pain in the ass and he looks hot, that’s for sure.

He fastens the belt around your hips—not too tight and certainly not too loose—snaps the holster back to its original place on your thigh and adjusts the straps with a fair dollop of precision.

“There you go, agent. Ready for action and about to kick some serious cultist ass.” He pushes himself to his feet and strolls out of the elevator, as if his fingers, which minutes ago had been rearranging your pussy walls, had never been inside you.

When elevator doors open, the gray eyes that await you greet you with a look as if they know everything, as the man waves the inoculum tube in his hand.

“Finally, eh? You should have paged me, Leon.” Luis says flippantly, while Leon looks at him with a dismissive dazzle, and your insistence on biting your fingernails out of abject embarrassment is the solitary subject on your mind. Never ever again. (Lies!) It’s not like you’re here to shoot a porn video, right?

[dailyadventureprompts]

Monsters Reimagined: Kobolds

I started playing d&d during 3rd edition, which presented kobolds as a trap happy gaggle of dragon obsessives who were counted as the weakest but smartest of the traditional dungeonfodder humanoids. Other than being lizardy they were presented near identically to goblins, both being petty and cruel and resentful over their small stature and the place it meant they occupied in the world. This overlap is actually one of the reasons I haven't gotten to kobolds before now, as I kinda felt like I covered most of it in my writeup for goblins a couple years ago.

Since Kobolds are a reoccuring request however I eventually decided I was going to give the people what they wanted. My plan was to talk about d&d dragonsimp kobolds vs. warcraft candleloving kobolds vs. jrpg dogpeople kobolds, and how all of these relate back to creature's mythological origin but hey wait a minute the official forgotten realms wiki says WHAT ?

Huh, that sounds like a weird sort of projection from a man who's super insecure about his height. I wonder if the original dragon magazine listed as a source here has anything more to.. Oh.... OH-NO

Living space, huh? Extinction of weaker peoples, eh? A religion based around survival, insularity, obedience, and the defeat of stronger enemies through attrition, yadon'tsay? Man, the canine kobolds might be on to something because there's an ORCHESTRA of dogwhistles going on here.

Friends, there's a lot to unpack here, so like a kobold with a pickax lets dig in

Where it started: the connection between kobolds and goblins and gnomes predates d&d back to mythological roots, as all are names shared by the european folklore character of "weird little guy who lives under the hill and plays tricks on us". Kobolds have an even more delightful bit of etymology attached, as miners blamed them for magically transforming valuable silver for (at the time) worthless cobalt. Originally my rehash of kobalds was going to centre on them as tinkerers/engineers for this reason, as alchemical cobalt batteries sound rad as hell.

Kobolds are in this way also part of the greater traditions of "mine spirits", Knackers, tommyknockers, and the like. Who play tricks on miners, and are just as likely to cause disaster when displeased as they are to warn of it when befriended.

Then the d&d authors did what they always do, they pilfered the name of folkloric creatures for the game while ignoring actual mythology, drawing hard and fast lines and making up rigid catagories as they went.

What's wrong: Given their proclivity for traps, sneak attacks, and guerilla tactics you end up getting a LOT of comparisons between Kobolds and the Viet Cong… which I find very telling.  So many of the original d&d antagonists were vessels for middle aged geeks of the 70s and 80s to hit back at their insecurities ( whether it be challenges to their masculinity, sexuality, or something more existential) it doesn’t surprise me at all that d&d has an enemy that let american boomers rehash their nation’s at the time biggest military debacle. 

Kobolds are so weak and undeserving you understand, they’ve only survived because they’re tricky, but this time we’ll get them, if we come in with enough firepower and hirelings to get through the meatgrinder we can finally hit them where they live and deal with them for good. 

D&D worldbuilding imagines kobolds as “the other” from an occupier’s lens: resentful of their rightful displacement, nursing their hatreds in the shadows, emerging only to attack or to steal and despoil what they’ve been denied. They have no ambition, no culture, no wants beyond being a threat for the new dominant power. They’re cowards for using traps and poison and tactics on those here to plunder their homes. 

What’s worth Salvaging:  While the 3e revision of kobolds as dracomaniacs is a welcome change from their old lore I’m not especially fond of it. Overuse of dragons is one of the things that most turns me off general fantasy media. Any group of sapient creatures serving a dragon is just as likely to form a dragoncult, it doesn’t make kobolds special. 

That said, if you did want to double down on kobold dragon worship you might consider spicing in a few elements from my revamped version of Tiamat, painting their reverence not just as ego and overcompensation but as a desire to emulate and become…certian kobold enclaves possibly using sorcery or alchemy to transform a chosen among their people into a fully fledged wyrm. 

While we’ve mostly tossed alignment to the curb where it belongs,to distinguish kobolds from goblins it might be worth leaning into their lawful aspects; Underfoot foremen and notaries and  work crews addressing things with a utilitarian collective effort before scurrying out of sight when the shift change occurs.  Where as goblins are screwball and slapstick onto the verge of cartoonishness, perhaps kobolds are practical and industrious to the point of causing problems: They dam a river to access a sacred cave heedless of the disruption and flooding it’d cause, they tear down, occupying and restoring a derelict mill and restoring it to function regardless of who owns it, undermining the foundations of the duke’s palace following a vein of copper in the nearby hills. 

This efficiency-focused attitude also helps thematically define mechanically minded kobolds against gnomes and dwarves as the game’s other tinkerers:  They share the practicality of dwarven artisans and the inventiveness of gnomish artificers, but lack the sentiment the other two place on what they make.  Kobold craft is often regarded as lower quality, but that’s because resource efficiency and easy replaceability are primary metrics upon which they judge something. 

Artsource

[falmerbrook]

WIP Wednesday

(And it’s actually Wednesday this time!)

I was tagged by @connortheconceded last week! THANK YOU!!! :]

Not a wip but a now unfinished abandoned project: a Vivec sweatshirt (or as I have taken to calling it, the Vehkshirt™)

This is a silly idea for a "casual" cosplay (the finished idea would include the shoulder armor and other accessories). It is unfinished as it is still missing the hood because the first hood I made had the colors flip flopped, and I haven’t remade the hood yet because this thing ended up being several sizes too big and I decided it wouldn’t be worth the effort. With it being too big my options to salvage the idea were either 1) remake it smaller, which I'm hesitant to do because while this fabric is very nice, it's also very thick and I broke/bent 2 or 3 needles just making this one, and tbh I just don't want to do all that again, or 2) take in all of the seams, which I worry would just ruin the shape. It's like several sizes too big. Anyway, it was a good learning experience at least, and I have a different idea now (an amateur 3 piece suit. not at all easier but the fabric will be thinner at least, and I think it will be more flattering on me). I get really embarrassed and feel cringe when I think about cosplaying though so who knows if I'll go through with it.

Other than that i don't have any art wips. I'm dealing with a clogging up of ideas rn.

I'll tag @snowy-weather @thescrolls-haveforetold @ijiwaruuma @apollinariafh and @nuwanders (only if you want to, as always!)

[caleism-1]

Masterpost and Masterlist

(Some are mine, most aren’t. I’m just putting this to save post I like)

Updates from Lee (Caleism-1)

Part 2 (in Progress)

Important

Suicide or self harm concern on tumblr, what to do, and how to inform and help

Tips That Can Save Your Kid’s Life. - Stranger danger & what to do

HIV

Fanfiction Authors: HEADS UP - check if your works are being pirated

Please tell your children if they are stopped by police to say in unequivocal terms, "I will not speak to you without a lawyer."

Brest cancer awareness- self check

Cheetahs

Actual good self care hand out

Some of my post

Going to get milk

Krs horrified of having another sibling

The AU’s meet: [Al & Lsh]

Crossover ideas I had

Tcf fic ideas - Cale and Krs sibling ideas

Tcf fic idea - no escape

Female Cale ideas and notes

Something that is never broken with GoN!Cale

The beginning of the ended world

Incomplete idea

The parents

Art, art tips, etc

Art advice

Tip on how to do tiled floors

Anyone fan comic and art

Master List or Post I like

dcxdpdabbles Masterposts Links

Master Post of Phics by phandomfic

Don’t eat anything else (with og prompt)

Rin_may_1103 Masterpost

Finally Getting Help Masterpost

tu-turu-turuh Masterpost

virgamsysxvolumes master of Masterpost

Mama bat dp x dc

letoasai masterlist

corkinavoid’s info and Masterpost

Herosonas Masterpost

Samgirl98 Masterpost

gilbirda - Danny phantom

redflagshipwriter Masterpost

Stealingyourbones Masterpost

radiance1 Masterpost

Dpxdc fic recs

The haunted car Danny masterpost

Fast car Masterpost

Batboy

anonymous-existences Masterpost

Candlecoo masterlist

Twitter AU Masterpost -DC only

theglamorousteral favorite DPxDC posts on tumblr

Post and prompts I like

Test my limits au

Drunk Cale picks fights and win

Krs’s survivor ability [Survivor part 2]

Dan Phantom vs. the Justice League - Most DCxDP fanworks gloss over how Dark Danny/Phantom kills the JL, or argue that TUE wouldn't play out the same way in the DC universe (Aka how Dan could have taken the heroes out from DC)

DPxDC cheat sheet

What if KRS!Cale tells them he used to be younger than Og!Cale, but they’re under the impression that Og Cale was 18. Cale doesn’t realize this.

a second chance isnt worth losing you au -mha

Roomba [2] [2.5]

Ghost flu [1]

Practice your skills

Massager Danny - physical therapist 

De aged Damian - Damian is de-aged to a baby and lost in Gotham.

Each male robin falls for a Nightingale

Rogues of Gotham Fucking Around and Finding Out with Amity

Constantine makes ghost freak out

school project gone wrong - dead serious

Everlasting trio adopts Tim. [1]

Dp x Dc Prompt: Royalty visits the DC Universe AU - Pariah Dark is released again and instead of being his usual evil self, he decides to go and adopt the baby ghost who defeated him. Danny doesn’t like this

Jl thinks Phantom would eat anything green and glowing!"

The consequences of your actions - Batman and Robin had broken into Vlad Masters Hotel because they found something that was extremely similar to Lazarus water as Damian looks around he ends up in the bed room where he finds a crib that has a sleeping baby in it underneath the crib he finds injections filled with Lazarus water and comes to the conclusion that he is experimenting on this baby. Damian decides that he needs to take her when he leave.

Batman and robin kidnaps Dani Au leading to Gotham being sent to the GZ

"Were very sorry sir. The children thought your people were from the government."

Jokers dead body -snail grave

Blog of fighting food

Which one is in Danger?

Bruce is bad at emoting but at least ghosts are empathic (too bad bat kids are not) [2] [3]

De aged Dan and mama Danny

War day

I want waffle fries - Anyone animation

krs finding comfort in small spaces or higher up places

Kryptonian clone Jack au

They’re the strongest?!?! -pick out their strongest to fight alien evaders. Danny, Clark, and Billy

canon/fanon batfam meets Mom Danny!Damian.

Salvage Tomorrow - Bart, Danny going to the ruined past, Dan king regent seen as Danny’s Dad

Danny the tiktok star -danny's jokes about being adopted by bruce suddenly turn serious au

The Dance Academy isn't a gang- DC X DP Prompt

You’re worth is more than a penny. -Alfred Pennyworth was raised by Phantom.

Confused as Tim

Constantine sacrificed by cultist to his son Danny

Noona Rosalyn

Pharaoh Tucker with his “Wifes” Sam and Danny

Ghost Phobia: Danny Fenton

Glass coffin

Pool noodle - Batfam AUs where Jason or Damian or just anyone who wasn’t there for Tim’s early days as Robin thinking he’s the calm, boring Robin who always listens to Batman etc.

Young clone? - superboy thinks danny, body deaged to but still has memories, is a young clone. Clark was not happy about Danny’s foul language

Clone kids au - Danny and Robin have clone children-phantom elf au

[totaldramafan-lauri]

Make Use Of Me (chapter 1, preview)

Dec. 7 EDIT: ONCE MORE, WITH BRAVERY THIS TIME. No more chickening out. You can read this thing FOR REAL now. Sorry for being weird, and now....sorry if this wasn't worth it. XD

O-OK...here goes....

First thing's first: I am not expecting a lotta people to read this. I'm not asking people to read this. At this point, I'm making this mostly as a passion project, and if anyone enjoys it, it'll be a really cool bonus. My writing style isn't gonna be for everyone, and the characters I write aren't the most....popular characters in the CRK X Reader community, and I imagine this isn't really something a lotta fans'll be demanding more of.

This is LONG. This one chapter is 56 pages long. I am a VERY wordy writer,

So......why'm I posting this preview? Well....partially as an interest gauge for people who WOULD wanna read it, but...mostly as a motivator. As something to remind myself of whenever I get lazy. After all....I can't quit after I made the first chapter public, right? By doing that, I put myself out there...And, hey, I even tagged it, so, if by the off chance, someone did read it, I'm basically promising them more eventually.....

But, again, I'm not forcing anyone to read this.

Not only is it long, but.....This first chapter is probably my least-favorite thing I've ever written. By posting this chapter by itself, I'm testing to see if it does its job of making people wanna read the rest, cuz....right now, I'm not so sure how well it succeeds at that.....

This is the boring part of the story. It's a bunch of setup, and me jumping through hoop after hoop after hoop to just get everything started. I know setup is important and all, but....I'm already a very wordy writer, so....oof....There is some interesting stuff that happens, but it takes a while to get there.

I-I....kinda hate it, actually. The only reason I didn't scrap it is that I didn't realize I hated it until I was about halfway through it and the "good part" hadn't started yet. And I still spent a month writing the thing, so....I finished it.

I'm tagging this...as an experiment. If you wanna read this, go ahead. W-well, read my tags first, THEN go ahead. XD

All I can really say in this chapter's defense is that....I do try my best to salvage it. It's just setup, but I TRIED to make it interesting. And everything that seems like it didn't go anywhere, will later. This isn't the whole story, it's just the beginning of what's gonna be a BIG story. Anything that seems weird in this chapter, gets explored in the other chapters. This does set up a bunch of stuff that becomes important later (The friend character shows up later, the Colosseum becomes relevant later). This chapter is boring, but I tried not to make any of it pointless.

For the future: I'm aiming for five chapters. Chapters 2 and 3 will be a series of smaller vignettes that take place over the course of a few years, chapter 4 will be the climax, and chapter 5 will be something of an epilogue. After that, there will be two endings to choose from (which will make sense when we get there).

This probably won't be my favorite thing I've ever written, but it will be the most ambitious thing I've ever, and probably will ever, write. I haven't written something like this before, and it's all to flesh out this story and make it believable.

Right now, I.....I want to finish this. I'll probably still be writing this in February at the rate I'm going, but...at this point, I've put too much into it to give up on it. However, I'm STILL not completely ruling out the idea of my motivation dying before then. It COULD happen. So, what I'm planning to do is...setting a short-term goal of finishing chapter 3. After I do that, I'll post the first three chapters on AO3 together, and work on the rest. That way, even if I don't finish it, I'll at least have it over half done, and chapter 3 will end on a somewhat high note.

So, yyyyeah....Not a lotta people will read this preview. Overly wordy writing style + boring setup part of story + 56 pages long + assumed lack of interest for X Readers of this character (At least, I haven't SEEN many simps for her, m-maybe I'm wrong, I might be, I-I haven't checked any tags cuz I've been nervous, b-but it doesn't make my writing any better. In that case, this is my first time writing her so I'm trying super hard to do her justice >//////<)

I-if you wanna read this, and see if this first chapter does a good job of making you wanna read the better chapters, then...Go ahead.....

Some notes:

-This is still not the final draft. It's finalized enough for me to share, but I'm still not considering it finished. Even tho I'm working on chapter 3 right now, I STILL go back and edit this, even very recently. So, chances are, even if the story is finalized, small details and sentences are still subject to change. I know for a fact that there are still SOME placeholder bits in here that will change after I get some stuff cleared up. Recently, I even considered chopping off an entire section to make it shorter. I decided not to, but hey, it could still happen. I don't wanna waste anyone's time. The first chapter of a story, even if it's boring, is still very important, and I wanna make sure it's the best version of itself.

(A-and yes, this means that I've finished chapter 2 as well. The reason I'm not sharing it is that, unlike chapter 1, it was finished VERY recently, so I might still need to give myself time to edit it. From what I have, tho, I do like it a LOT more than chapter 1. There are some parts of chapter 2 that I'm legit proud of.)

-Even tho this first chapter is completely clean, I-I should mention that....this fic is for adults. The full version, at least. Chapters 3 and 4 are gonna contain some light N/S/F/W moments (the "fade to black" variety, so nothing explicit) and there'll be other slightly racey comments here and there. Just a heads-up. I'm gonna be uncomfy with minors reading this.

Th-that's all? I-I think that's all.......O-OK, so......h-here goes..... E-enjoy....

[alexanderlightweight]

No idea how I ended up on it but was watching videos of bone carvings yesterday which was fascinating! So prompt today for you is Alec's hobby being bone carving and him making Magnus either jewellery or knifes as a hopeful courting gift <3

here we go! i hope you enjoy. this is a part of the star eater verse, with sentient shadow alec trueblood.

-

It takes Alec five missions to find what he wants and when he gets back, even the ichor teams’ wince at the state of his gear. Alec ignores the looks and takes his gear to decontamination with him. Whatever can’t be salvaged he’ll toss, but it was worth it for the bounty he got.

There are bones that gleam like shattered obsidian and Alec washes them carefully in the water, focusing more on the bones than himself. It takes hours and his skin is wrinkled and the water tepid by the time he’s done. The Institute seems empty when he finally gets to his room, and he knows that’s because of how long he spent under the water.

There’s a sandwich, a mug of tea and a glass of juice on his desk with a note from his second. Alec reads it, chugs the juice and takes a tired bite of the sandwich, half-heartedly shoving half of it in his mouth. Chewing is more effort than it’s worth and Alec attempts to mimic a snake as he just bites and swallows, wanting to be done with his meal so he can focus.

Without Magnus around, eating is a chore, and one Alec isn’t fond of. It means that his shadows are constantly nudging him in reminder, their own greed the reason they take into consideration his own needs.  They don’t like being hungry, so they don’t like Alec being hungry, especially now that he knows Magnus.

Magnus, who his shadows adore almost as much as Alec adores him.

It’s with his shadows that Alec carefully begins to carve.  He could use adamas or regular knives or magical blades, but his shadows can cut sharper and more delicately than any weapon could try to.  Magnus doesn’t need hair sticks, but he likes ear cuffs and Alec knows the shape of the shell of Magnus’ ear, both of them even.

It’s with ease and his shadows that he measures out the right amount of bone and gets to carving.

The first thing he makes, even before the ear cuff, is going to be buttons.

Magnus is obsessed with buttons.

Normally, he’s kind enough to take off his clothes magically, but Alec still remembers the feel of tiny, delicate buttons and what sometimes seems like dozens of them. All ridiculously slippery and small and hard to maneuver when distracted.

So, Alec starts his project simple, and he carves buttons. Little whalebone style buttons to go on Magnus’ favorite corset. Little round buttons for his boots and flatter buttons in circles for his shirts. Larger pendant styles with elegant MBs for his peacoats and Alec frowns when he realizes he’s run out of bone and has hundreds of buttons around his room.  He underestimated how much the shadows would enjoy helping him and now he finds that he and they are stuck sorting buttons.

First to make sure there aren’t any flaws, and then according to what kind of button they are. 

Alec finds himself in Magnus’ closet, having accidentally been whisked over by his shadows and he’s barely been there a moment before magic keeps him in place.

“Don’t even think about wisping away.” Magnus tells him, voice calm and collected and his magic tight from where it’s pinning Alec. “Come here, darling. You’re going to join me for dinner.”

It’s not an option and Alec swallows, his shadows tremulously pushing him forward and several tangling with the magic as if to coax it loose.

It doesn’t work and Alec steps closer, blushing as he realizes he showed up at Magnus’ in only in his boxers.

“Magnus, I—” Because they haven’t talked about Alec coming over without permission and he… just did it. Without asking or warning or even checking that Magnus was alone and —

—

“Oh darling.” Magnus says with a sigh, and he steps close enough so that he can pull Alexander to him. “We’ve talked about this. I’m fine with the liberties you take. Now what has you so spooked, you’re normally so much more confident, Alexander?”

Alexander is avoiding his gaze and it’s his shadows who — as usual — give him away. Magnus reaches out and snags a velvet bag and he opens it, pouring some of the contents into his palm.  It reacts with demonic energy, but not in a violent or dangerous way.  In fact, it’s rather similar to magical conduits and as Magnus looks over the small, round pieces of what he realizes are bone, he recognizes them.

“Are these demon-bone buttons?” He asks, delighted despite the strangeness of Alexander bringing them over. “Where on earth did you get them? I haven’t seen such high quality apart from my own stock in centuries!”

“We carved them.” Alexander says, shuffling like he’s a nervous schoolboy. “Because you like buttons.”

“I like buttons?” Magnus asks, surprised and confused until he realizes that most of the outfits, he wears around his boy are difficult to take off… because he likes Alexander’s inexperienced attentions and how eager he is to learn. His large, calloused fingers struggling with Magnus’ more delicate buttons is a thrill Magnus enjoys repeating.  “Yes. I do enjoy buttons.” Magnus murmurs happily, eyeing the bags with a new interest. “There are more, aren’t there? You must show me darling. Instantly.” Magnus says and then he forgets his own words because the shadows conveniently trip him, right into Alexander’s embrace and a happy, eager kiss.

Magnus decides that the buttons can temporarily wait, instead focusing on tasting Alexander.

[roniarose]

Guardians 3 thought dump

Aaaah i actually liked an MCU movie for once

The Guardians were kind of the perfect team to go up against that type of villain, a team thats taken two movies to learn and are still in some ways learning that their differences and flaws are what makes them a family, up against someone who sees those flaws as a failure to be discarded. All of the Guardians spend a lot of time across all three films trying to escape how others view them, so this antagonist really feels like the perfect choice to culminate the trilogy

Also man the russos took a fat wet shit all over gamoras arc and james gunn still managed to salvage it and make it work, I was fucking terrified the whole movie that they were gonna end up together when thats literally impossible with this gamora, But gamora calls out quill immediately in this, and tells him thats shes not that person he so desperately wants. Peter still at least has the arc that he was meant to have regardless of gamoras fridging, where he needed to realize that hes projecting what he needs from other people onto those people, especially gamora. The movie still hints that they COULD end up being together, they just both need to spend time becoming more actualized versions of themselves. And peter needs to resolve more of his emotional baggage and sexism.

Its funny because from the way 2 ended its really obvious that gunn had planned for them to be together in 3 but that basically got ruined when she got tossed into the infinity stone pit. :/ i’m glad gunn was smart enough to realize that trying to redo 2 movies worth of relationship buildup across one movie was a bad idea

Lets see what else

Oh, hey Nathan fillion, long time no see! I’m glad you finally got to be in a story about a ragtag found family in space that didn’t end up getting canned, and i think the fight you did in the building that looked like a middle school science textbook illustration rocked, 10/10 keep rocking the Michelin man fit

I like that Adam Warlock is a big dumb idiot man that carries a pet around and listens to king crimson because its super obvious gunn had no clue what to do with him but had to have him there because the mcu continues to be an ever expanding nightmare mess. 10/10 no notes

Obviously the i am groot reveal was cute, and also a kind of cycle break that didn’t feel forced or like it had extra gravitas added to it, the reveal that the audience is part of the family now just gets to be a simple little moment

I love that nebula gets to be relatively more relaxed in this movie on the whole, she honestly deserves it, let her sip her lil sodie pop.

I loved Draxs lil dad moment in the third act as well, and how it ends up forcing nebula to learn that emotional intelligence is just as vital to have a practical intelligence. Up until that point she really underestimated him and a lot of the rest of the team because she had been taught by thanos a lot of the same things our villain believed, that theres only one kind of way to be, and that only perfection and results matter. She ends up learning through the guardians and drax that we each of our own individual strengths and perceived flaws, and that real perfection is in the culmination of those forces in our lives. I thought it was nice :)

The last thing i can think of is that I liked how a series defined musically by track from the 70’s and 80’s ends off with a track from the 2000’s. A way of communicating subtly our characters aren’t trapped in their past anymore. Great stuff

Anyways thats what i got atm, if you stumbled on this and are wanting more mcu stuff, sorry to disappoint, this is prolly the last mcu thing i’m checking in for unless something reveals itself to be more interesting in the future. I wanna try and talk more about other things tho, so maybe you will like those posts!

Testing this out

[pixiecaps]

hope you don't mind me writing paragraphs about my thoughts on purgatory in your ask box, if you do mind then thats so fair, feel free to ignore lol

yeah purgatory story wise just kinda sucks from a player's standpoint. like really sucks. taking away the last bit of agency they had (doing whatever they could to save their kids, only for them to end up not even saving them and therefore everything they did the past two months being for nothing) just kinda feel frustrating. from a overall story and general writer's perspective it's cool and ties into themes about having no power, but like... idk is it worth sacrificing your players' enjoyment for that? from a meta standpoint the point of the roleplay is to encourage player engagement so like what was the fucking point

HOWEVER i do have a tin foil hat theory that cucurucho saving the eggs and bringing new ones was a last minute damage control situation after seeing all the purgatory frustration and the team going "guys i think we might have fucked up. how do we salvage this" like its still so so very sloppy but... the damage control also worked so ggs lol.

also i guess we as an audience have no idea what goes on behind the scenes? because admins might be studying for finals for all we know. the writers could be amateurs where qsmp on their first major project. the team could be too excited to properly think through or shut down subpar ideas. maybe q was like "lets make a hardcore tourney" and the team had to figure out how the fuck to fit a hardcore tourney in. who fucking knows

anyways sorry about the purgatory rant i think it just frustrates me because we all know the team is capable of executing lore well. purgatory and its aftermath is just Not that

yeah i fully trust the admins and writers. as we know they have everything planned months in advance and they put love and care into the story. so i trust them. i choose to believe it was just such a new dynamic with purgatory that they may have not realized how difficult it would be to incorporate the lore and story in a satisfying way and thats okay it happens. it just sucks that it all came to such an unsatisfying conclusion. the arc left a lot to be desired. but theres still a lot left from this arc that we haven’t seen yet that could change my opinion. i still wonder where the hell the feds put luffy ya know😭

[woman-respecter]

hi i want to chime in with my own bestie breakup story! i didn't for a while because i didn't think it would contribute anything, but then i remebered it was initially a 3 way breakup BUT i was able to make up with one of them.

so my first two years of college i had 2 really close friends in my major, though i was closer to one of them, Jane, than the other, Kate. we would do pair assignments and stuff together, trading off who had to work with a rando. sophomore spring was the first time all 3 of us worked on a project together (with a 4th, Other). i was having some mental health issues that semester and was working on my end of the project pretty slowly. Jane and Other both asked me if i wanted help, but i assured them i could finish in time, and they didn't press it, so i thought we were cool. cut to a week before the project is due, my part is basically done except some integrations with my groupmates parts. i try to ask them questions but they don't really respond until i find out 2 days before the assignment is due that they'd gone to the professor behind my back and asked to do a back up project because they were worried i wouldn't finish. and they'd switched their focus over completely to the backup, leaving me hanging. the worst part for me wasn't that they thought i couldn't finish (it's just homework who cares), but that they thought so poorly of me as a friend that they genuinely believed i would let *them* fail the project because of me.

i was pretty wrecked, that summer (and whole following year really) i was extremely paranoid of all my frienships. i tried talking to Jane when we got back but both of us were adamant in our positions, which sucked because our lives were still pretty entangled otherwise. Kate i didn't talk to at all in the fall, but we had a class together in the spring and she would say hi when she saw me. and then one day she mentioned she'd been in my hometown over winter break and i got so sad because i realized how much fun we could have had if we were still friends. so i texted her asking if we could talk because i missed her but i was also still mad. as soon as we sat down she apologized for what had happened and said she'd known they were in the wrong the whole time and she'd spent all year wanting to reach out but being afraid of how i'd respond. and just like that we put it behind us. senior year we even risked doing an assignment together again. (it went well!)

i know this is long lol but. i haven't gotten over my friend breakup with Jane, and it's possible i never will. this was 7 years ago, mind you. but patching things up with Kate repaired all my shattered confidence and made me realize that i am redeemable and worthy of having close frienships. we wouldn't have made up if that wasn't the case. and honestly her and Jane's friendship faded pretty naturally once we were no longer a trio but she and i still hang out when we're in the same town which is extra vindicating.

i hope all of your sakes that you find somebody like Kate, who makes you realize your friendship is worth fighting for. it changed my life, truly.

i’m so glad you were able to patch things up with kate! salvaging 50% of a breakup is pretty good all things considered lol

[knights-unwelcommentary]

Die by the mouth ch5

You make it back to the government hive dangerously close to dawn, the day shift having started already. You're welcomed in by the same guy from the first time, as you trudge through the endless corridors you can't seem to lose him, so you do the next best thing; tune him out.

Upon entering your drudgeblock you encounter a messy bundle of paperwork waiting for you.

You give an honest try to making sense of the documents but the moment you get distracted the events from earlier come back in all their gut wringing horridness.

You resign yourself to trying to unpack that instead.

The dark carnival is running the show, not the empress, then what the hell is her role in the homeworld?

If Meenah delegated governing land dwellers to them that means they are the ones making policies. Not the actual government and definitely not her.

If they spend their time hunting people down and painting walls with their blood for entertainment or to make a statement or what the fuck ever. "If there's anything you'd like to know, I'd be happy to help."

If they believe only trolls in their dingy hyper exclusive club are worth anything.

If they honest to god want the fucking world to fucking end— “I’m fairly knowledgeable about forestry and, well, other less interesting stuff.”

That means.

That means.

Everything you thought you knew is a lie.

There has to be something you're missing. This can't be the whole story. "Mister Vantas, did you hear me?"

Why's this douche so persistent?

"I know that there's shitty trees and there's less shitty trees, that's plenty," he visibly deflates, maybe it's in your bests interest to try to salvage this interaction before you make more of an ass out of yourself to the only bozo giving you the time of day. "I just had to dispatch a sea dweller on short notice and got a bunch of life changing news hurled at me, it's been a long, harrowing day. So let's maybe rain check your fun facts sharing sesh for when I'm not navigating my way out of an existential crisis." There, civility achieved.

"That's intriguing. You're intriguing." You shrug. "Not feeling like elarborating? I get it, no worries. No, seriously. I'm in a hell of a good mood now that there's a new— Huh, I sure hope you weren't friends with the old one." You shake your head. "He got axed last shift, can't thank you enough for that."

"Well... You're welcome. Alright, since you're allegedly so knowledgeable do you think you can get me up to speed with what this... is about?" You gesture vaguely at the everything that's around you.

"Cedarnly, just give me a moment." You see him peek his head out of the door and gesture at somebody outside. "Mister Vantas has returned from culling an awful wader on OFFICIAL BUSINESS, if he doesn't have a good cup of coffee in his office in five minutes you will not like what happens next."

"What the fuck do you think you're doing."

"Helping? You seem like a decent person so let me handle the politics for now."

"Politics, huh. Thanks but for one, it would be pathetic for the new boss to need training wheels. I personally don't appreciate the suggestion that I do. From now on don't overstep, and that's an order." Pause for effect. "Aren't you too blue to be an axistant anyway?"

He makes a face in a way that says 'so what?'.

There's a knock on the door.

Your coffee arrives within the minute of being requested, brought by a terrified little kid that must have just finished settling down in the area. The kid delivers your coffee and exits the block in complete silence.

The first thing you're taught is how to use the toxin screening grub, under the excuse of people that aren't starving themselves learning faster. It's a come on, you'd have to be freaking oblivious to not pick up on that.

The day goes by in a blur of cramming information into your sponge.

You start getting the feeling that something's amiss in the middle of introducing yourself to the personnel; But it's when you're reviewing the projects your predecessor left incomplete that it finally hits you.

You forgot your lusus at the facility.

***

You're in the new hive. Your new hive. It's actually new, and clean, and built to your old specifications. As closely as it could be without making it impossible to extrude on a stem.

That's a surprise.

The first thing you notice upon turning on the lights is the ludicrous pile of hive warning handouts waiting for you on the lounge plank, some of them attached to sassy got well cards.

Who would have done something like that, you wonder. Not.

At a cursory glance, a few of the items are things that you totally would have bought for yourself and the rest are the most aggravating bullshit you've ever seen. Really. You're going to have some words with your friends, just because you caved in to "keeping them updated" despite their mutiny doesn't mean they have permission to track you down and break in.

The respiteblock contains a recuperacoon, along with a new husktop in replacement of the one you wrecked, and the basic fixtures, no doubt courtesy of the empire.

More impressively, this new hive has a mealblock stocked with every crockery imaginable, hell, there's some that you wouldn't be able to name — you're used to getting creative with the bargain bin stuff but this is overkill even for you. The mealblock occupies a good half of your inferior prismage and you get the distinct sense of shenanigans being afoot with that, you really don't want to ask. You're going to have to ask, aren't you?

As if summoned by your vexation, your palmhusk pings for your attention.

Meenah's checking up on you again. For the fifth time today.

She tries to get you to go open the weird metal box mounted on a stick that's outside your hive, you can tell it's some kind of trick, so you respectfully refuse.

Her disappointment is short lived.

You ask her about the mealblock, one thing leads to another and before you know it you're apparently baking the galaxy's best vanilla muffins under the strict tutelage of her imperious condescension. Live from dumbfuck nowhere, redacted coordinates.

"Don't you have anything more important than this in your agenda?"

"Who says I can't do multiple things at once? If you must know I'm taking advantage of my stay in orbital space by reviewing current events. Heh, current, that's a good one."

"Did something happen or...?"

"Yes and no. Nothing that would ring a bell to a planetlocked teen anywave. Most news are relatively old. My news feed doesn't synchronize on route."

"Why."

"Ship's too fast."

"Like that explains every fucking thing. I think these are ready."

"Let me sea, let me sea!"

Later that night, you pause another bout of desperate searching — through blatant misuse of your access to the city's surveillance network — to just... stand in your respiteblock.

You're seven sweeps old and have shit all to show for it.

So this is it. Your new life. Back to the start and this time everything feels a little bit worse.

It's way more than you deserve and nowhere close to what you wished to make of it once upon a time.

You should put up some decorations.

The idea of hanging movie posters again feels juvenile though, you'd be so embarrassed if someone saw them.

You might leave it as is, a raised middle digit to a past Karkat.

If you knew you'd die at seven you would have tried harder, leaving your mark instead of only ever dreaming about doing some grandiose thing in the far off future. As it stands all you left in your wake was a trail of mild inconveniences and shouted improprieties.

You're still worried about your lusus.

The story of you having culled a sea dweller spreads like wildfire. In a blink the rumor mill is showcasing you as some sort of ruthless dictator to be obeyed precisely and without delay by the lowest echelon in the chain of command.

The rest of the staff has lukewarm reactions to you ever since you shot them down when they started gossiping about your hemoanonimity, even then they still address you with begrudging respect.

It's all you ever truly wanted and yet it's doing nothing for you. You don't know these people, why would you even care.

Your friends on the other hand keep treating you with the same long suffering annoyance as always, but then again they don't know a fraction of what you've gone through.

The one thing you can say about the day shift as a whole is that it's united in its shared disdain for having to keep diurnal working hours and in not giving enough of a fuck to do anything by the manual.

So you keep coming in at odd hours to hole yourself up at work and send out hundreds of missives and memos. Trying to make it look like you know what you're doing. Buying time, in essence.

You occupy yourself at night reading everything politics you can get your grubby appendages on.

The more you learn the more infuriating carnival buffoonery you discover. To think you used to be proud of your planet, to think you used to feel pretty un-fucking-worthy of being part of it.

When the functions of a foolfiller came to your knowledge you made an earnest attempt at bludgeoning yourself with the book you were reading.

They hire some random clown to scrapbook at boring laws before approval. Because it's easier to let voters complain at stupid than deal with actionable feedback.

***

Your unfortunate misplacement of your cranky custodian ends up sorting itself out, all thanks to Tavros. He was with him the whole time and the only reason he didn't tell you was that the crab monster in question was disappointed at you for ditching him.

You met in an alley so he could drop him off and just kept overstaying his welcome — he says he's sufficiently convinced now that you didn't do something awful to merit your botched execution —, he's no help at all but he's there at least, sometimes. When he's not sleeping... On some degree of physicality. It's kind of like he's place-holding the position of supporting cast for when someone more suitable comes along,

Equius drops in pretty often too, if you can call standing at ground level to stare like a creep at Sollux's hive whenever there's a meeting "dropping in". Something's seriously wrong with that prick.

Feferi and Sollux are also on your side except Feferi was on your side from the get go for some insipid reasons you wouldn't entertain if you were her, she's good natured like that. A great friend through and through, you're counting on nothing tragically horrible happening to her because it would really break your bloodpusher to not tell her how grateful you are at a time it can't be minsconstrued as romantic.

Sollux has made it his personal goal to take the piss whenever you think things are going to work out but generally doing what you ask him to do with only some mild bitching about it. You're not going to waste any more mental space on your pringle knobbed cretin of a best friend.

Which brings you back to the only other person present that's fully committed to the task.

If you were to describe Feferi Peixes bubbly would be a good start, followed in no particular order by impractical, stubborn and criminally optimistic. She boasts of the kind of genuine self-assuredness you've come to expect of someone that's never had to face something as mundane as failure.

As per your agreement she brought her ideas for your team to review this meeting. It's a hastily edited copy of a half-thought-out plan, but it's something concrete. Even if most of it is straight up unworkable.

"What's this well fare bullshit, and who's the hypothetical resident of idiot village that would sign up for it."

"People that need help of course! It's all in the draft."

"Uh-huh, sure… Picture this: You're a good, mother grub fearing citizen and you're struggling to stay alive for one reason or another; one day some good for nothing asshole nobody the empress left in charge for undisclosed reasons announces he's gathering information about possible cull risks to 'help them'. Would you offer yourself up just like that?"

"Yes! It could turn out to be a good thing! But I'm guessing that's not the answer you wanted."

"Pretty much." You sigh. "Tavros, same question."

"No. I would, probably, not even consider it."

"Can you tell us why?"

"Well, there's the questionable way you would be going about it, as the new face of the government. Then, there's uh. The risk of someone that knows me finding out. And being not nice about it. In the best case scenario. In the worst it's like, I get culled. It would suck if that happened to me, therefore I wouldn't sign up."

"Yeah, all of that. Anyway this sounds like forcing the public into some weird corporate spin on quadrants. We'd be crossing more than a few boundaries and stepping on a veritable shit ton of toes."

"Fine, you can skip it. But when I become the empress you better believe I am going to implement all of this and then you'll sea how much people will love it."

"Oh yeah, like that's ever going to happen."

"Who knows, anything's glubbing possible lately."

"askldn jfv. Low blow, Peixes." You flip her off and go back to reading.

Overall, she's decent enough for a high blood.

***

Your first edict is a raging success. Too much of a success even.

To the casual observer it would appear like the craze of an eccentric collectionist given the resources to indulge his hobbies but in reality it's just step one of a grander scheme to, in short, make the wilderness of Alternia your bitch

And best of all, you're crowdsourcing its execution so you won't have to deal with superfluous bureaucratic red tape.

It's open season for lethal rampaging things and you're reaping prizes like a cheater at the arcade.

You enter your hive full of yourself, but also full of disconcert.

"How is it possible that most of our society is run by a doomsday cult of lame jesters and yet last I checked Alternia hasn't stopped being a thriving conglomerate of epic badassery."

"Simple. They're antinomies," someone answers matter-of-factly. You home-in to the source of the voice.

Sollux Captor sits on your lounge plank with a portable console like he owns the place, disregarding all the locks you've installed to discourage any further intrusions to your private property.

This is outrageous, but what else is new.

"Wow, what are you some kind of nerd?"

"Rich coming from someone that has used the word apophthegmatically in a joke."

"Snrkkk, can you say that three times real fast."

"Dude. Screw you."

He lies down on your loungeplank facing away from you, putting an end to your discussion.

Your lusus shoves past you and makes himself scarce.

Gah! You're surrounded by assholes.

"There's gamer swill in the hunger trunk. I'll be in my respiteblock." He gives no signs of life.

You head upstairs.

Yeah, they're antinomies alright.

When it comes down to it the Alternian empire is the galaxy's most successful civilization in spite of the worst mismanagement history has ever seen. If anything that makes trolls even greater and capable of even more extraordinary things than anyone's wildest hopes, so you're going to take your planet to a new golden era and it will be so fucking easy it will make angels shriek songs of awe.

Now that you've settled that, Sollux's despondent mood left you itching to pick a fight.

Things on the internet should have calmed already. You try to log in to LUE. It doesn't work, a message pops up reminding you that your account doesn't exist.

Right, the virus.

You're too tired to try hacking your way back in the register so you go to an anonymous chat room to blow off steam instead.

To your dismay, the only topic in your usual ones is still you.

The general energy surrounding your rise to power isn't what it was in the hours following the announcement - confusion, mockery, vindictiveness. There's just thinly veiled wariness and people trying to find anything at all about what to expect from you and how it might affect them.

Out of curiosity you check the comments to your brash response on the imperial announcement from days ago, you're surprised to find that the trolling tapers off quickly as it gets drowned out by offputting copypasta, each one starting with your sign in varying hues of gray:

Hell hath no fury like His

He who has arrived

For whom we wait on

To usher in the reckoning

Vast equalizer

Let us bleed all the same

Praise be

Praise be

Praise be

Praise be

The praise bes just keep coming after that until they max out the character limit. There's hundreds of identical comments from presumably hundreds of trolls. You turn off your palmhusk and turn in to sleep, wanting nothing more than to forget what you just saw.

[amirycashforcars]

Rev Up the Road: Car Removal in Hoppers Crossing

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[allthemusic]

Week ending: 23rd July

Hmmm. In some ways we've got two sides of the same coin this week. Of course, the coin is just "men being terrible", and one side of it makes for a much more appealing song than the other. Still, there's definitely a thread running through these songs, with two different men who need dumping, pronto!

Living Doll - Cliff Richard (peaked at Number 1)

Of the two songs, this week, this is by far the better known. It's Cliff's first ever Number 1, it hung around for a whopping 15 weeks, and I'd say even nowadays a fair few people could hum a bar or two for it, or at least name it as a Cliff hit. It's not the first one you'd think of, you know, but it's there, in the public consciousness, nonetheless.

Unfortunately, compared to a lot of his previous non-Number 1 hits, it's pretty toothless, without any of the bite of, say, Mean Streak. The Shadows are credited (though they're still technically going by "the Drifters") but they've been given precious little to do, and it shows - there's none of the sharpness or edge that previous Cliff hits have, just a sea of rather nondescript strumming, which Cliff sings along with gamely, but already sounding very much like he's on autopilot. I think he's going for a hangdog sort of country-esque delivery, perhaps, except it mostly just comes off a bit bored. The pace is slower than usual, for Cliff, too, which doesn't help matters - it makes the song feel slow and mushy, but it never quite slows down enough to work as a ballad, either. It just ambles along a bit pointlessly, you know?

Of course, this could be salvaged, if the lyrics were good. But instead, the song sets its sights firmly on "creepy", with lyrics about how he's got myself a cryin', talkin', / Sleepin', walkin', livin' doll. This was apparently inspired by an ad the songwriter saw in the newspaper for a toy doll for children that could "kneel, walk, sit and sing". But that doesn't really make it less icky - especially when we get to the lines inviting you to take a look at her hair, it's real / And if you don't believe what I say, just feel. And then we stray from "kind of gross, as a metaphor" to "straight up serial killer stuff" as he sings about how he's gonna lock her up in a trunk / So no big hunk hunk can steal her away from me. Which is genuinely one of the most terrifying lines we've heard in this project so far. You're going to lock your girl up in a trunk for fear of other men stealing her? You were literally asking them to feel her up, just one line ago, Cliff! Neither of these are okay things to be doing or saying!

It's objectification at its most literal, a song about treating your girl like a literal toy made for your pleasure, with no mention of her having anything resembling agency or choice in the matter. She's a prop, no more, no less - in many ways, it's the same kind of trope that Aqua will play with a full 38 years later in the song Barbie Girl, except at least there's a bit of irony and a bit of playfulness, there. You get the impression that Cliff means it, here - or at least that he doesn't see anything wrong with it. Like I said, gross.

It was written for a film, Serious Charge, so I guess you have got the old "oh, but it's the character singing, not Cliff" defence, for whatever that's worth. He apparently plays a pretty minor role in it, though - it was his screen debut, and by all accounts a decent but not hugely well-known film, kind of melodramatic. It's notable, though, since we've not really seen British singers stars doing films, before. Sure, your Elvises and your Frank Sinatras have crossed over into film. But British artists haven't, until now. A trend that's going to continue? Or just another way that Cliff's trying to emulate his American peers? I guess we'll see if other British artists follow suit, or if it's just going to be Cliff making the leap to the silver screen...

Ugh, I'm still listening, and it gets creepier every listen. Let's hope the next song has something more fun in store...

Lipstick On Your Collar - Connie Francis (3)

Okay, if you've read any of my other posts on Connie, you will know that I love her. She's seriously been one of my favourite discoveries so far, with her sass and her youthful energy. She's had a few minor missteps - notably, I haven't enjoyed many of her slower songs - but give her an upbeat, angry song, and Connie really can do no wrong, in my books. And this? This song might just be Connie at her most bitingly accusatory. It's like if Who's Crying Now were just a little bit more vicious in its takedown of its addressee, and I am here for it.

It's a story song, which are always fun, and the setting for this one is just deliciously dated, as Connie picks the story up when you left me all alone at the record hop / Told me you were goin' out for a soda pop. Immediately I'm transported to a wholesome 1950s diner, lots of teens ordering milkshakes and putting dimes into the jukebox and drinking coca cola through bendy straws. Except all is not well with Connie and her date, as she notes how you were gone for quite a while, half an hour or more. And just what did Connie spot? Lipstick on your collar told a tale on you / Lipstick on your collr said you were untrue. So, Connie's man's been cheating. Except it gets worse, as he tries to convince her it's hers - a stupid move, since it's the wrong colour. And then, the vindication and the betrayal as who walked in but Mary Jane, lipstick all a mess / Were you smoochin' my best friend? Guess the answer's yes!

Through all this drama, Connie manages to sound suitably pissed off, but also like she's kind of revelling in revealing all the juicy, salacious details, detective style, catching her man out in a bare-faced lie, before finally gearing up for a big, public dumping: bet your bottom dollar, you and I are through. Yeouch! It's messy, and it's trashy, but there's something pettily satisfying in it all, the way Connie completely takes her man apart, with a sort of catty side-swipe at Mary Jane, that shameless tramp (!) It's very reality TV, very gossipy, and I'm not ashamed to say that I could eat it up with a spoon. I just enjoy the way it unfolds, and how utterly un-heartbroken Connie sounds. She's just done with this dude, and you know, I can't even blame her. What a cad!

It also helps that it's a pretty catchy number, and well made. Connie can still sing, you know, and I'd even say that the guitar solo here, despite very much not being the point of the song, works better than Cliff's did. It's pacy, and it's got a lot of energy. what's not to like?

Like I said, two songs, two men being just the worst. Except while Connie's man of the moment is clearly meant to be a bit of a melt, Cliff seems to have stumbled into it accidentally. I try to give songs from the 1950s a bit of a pass, because if I objected every time there was some sort of outdated sentiment, I'd be having a lot less fun with this project. But even for the 1950s, something about "my girlfriend's a literal doll, and I'm gonna let you touch her hair, then lock her in a trunk" is a step too far. Plus it's got none of the verve of Connie's song, which only compounds the issue. Give me the trashy drama, any day.

Favourite song of the bunch: Lipstick On Your Collar

[aufhcker]

“I wish we could stay like this forever."

200 Writing Prompts II Accepting

As winter gave way to spring, the environment quickly changed with it. The bitterly cold winds coming down from the surrounding mountains contained a hint of warmth, instead; a sign of summer on the horizon. But that was many months away yet. For now, this was a tolerable season for a creature favourable towards cooler climates. At least he could venture outside without suffering, taking his time to appreciate the evidence of new flowers preparing to bloom. Small as their buds were, they would soon spread across the ground and populate most of the castle walls -- displaying a fantastic array of colours. He always grieved their loss when winter appeared again to plunge everything in grey, but they were fiercely resilient and never disappeared for long. Their presence lifted his mood considerably for it was a change of scenery. Even the most solitary of creatures could grow weary of the décor within their domain.

The first task he gave himself that spring was repairing a gazebo within the courtyard, its foundations and roof close to collapse. Most of it was salvageable, but the rest had to be restored. It was never his intention to start the project; he could have quite happily left it to rot further. There was no use for it when his days were mostly spent indoors, and there was certainly no guests to entertain. But a particular fae influenced his decision to change that. Almost every visit, Apsel observed him staring wistfully out of the window overlooking the abandoned courtyard, before moving to settle down in the living room. What worked for one did not work for the other, it seemed. There had to be a compromise. Before spring ended, the courtyard and its gazebo was given a new lease of life. It was even taken over by fresh flowers, brightening up the structure.

Seeing Vali using that once forgotten part of the castle was worth the effort.

And sometimes, Apsel would join him. His excuse was fresh air, but the living room felt oddly desolate without his usual company. Anyone would think that the beast would revel in being left alone - it was what he wanted after all - but he found himself unable to enjoy the silence as much as before. So he gravitated towards the gazebo and listened to Vali speak about anything and everything. Today was no different. Surrounded by large pillows taken from the castle, they were settled down with Apsel accommodating the fae's head upon his lap. His usual chatter had drifted into quietness, for once - so much so that the beast was convinced he had fallen asleep before he spoke. There was no immediate answer from Apsel as he turned the sentence over in his mind, thinking--

--yes, that would be nice.

But instead, a gruff laugh escaped him. His words almost sounded bitter as he stared ahead of him. "You would get bored eventually." Of this place, of him. Forever was a long time, and he imagined that Vali would soon realise that there was nothing worth staying for.

[the2amrevolution]

It's not that A and B should date, it's that A and B were dating, and then broke up.

A checked out of the relationship first (Ex, intro: "On that day, I was unusually cold towards you / with a constant yawning / Saying I'm busy, making excuses one day after another / It got obvious that it wasn’t love any longer"] and started at least strongly considering cheating rather than just break up and then projected that onto B (Ex, lyrics given in episode: "Honestly, I did have feelings for other people / And that’s my sin / When you asked me if something was wrong, I said no no / I’m the one who said not to worry but / why am I more worried now").

B got frustrated and tried to get A to stop pushing B away, but it didn't work. When they brought up the issues in the relationship, A first tried to deny that anything was wrong at all, and when really confronted, they ended up in arguments because of A's defensiveness and projection (Chill, lyrics in episode: "Even if I get angry and ask if this is right / You’ll erase it all anyway / Why are you tearing up and pretending you won’t"). Because of this, B decides there isn't any compatibility after all (Chill, first verse: "Like cutting water with a knife, the arguments never stop / It wasn’t like it didn’t work out in the first place / We’re just different / is what I thought, maybe I was wrong after all / Even if we hold hands, we look the other way / All conversations go in different directions / Feelings in this affectionless conversation / are just like a gum stuck to an empty trash can"], and that A just isn't worth being emotionally invested in anymore so they need to break up (Chill, second verse: "Wash away all the feelings that cooled fast fast / and let’s each start fresh, start now / The arguing and decision making can come later / Either way, the possibility of continuing this relationship is zero"]. After breaking up with A, B knows they made the right decision because they feel relieved rather than upset (Chill, pre-chorus: "For many reasons, in the eyes feeling guilty about me [Your eyеs are avoiding me for many reasons] / With a very shallow mind [With an almost empty heart] / Will you step aside / When I said that [When I say "I'll get out of your way"] / Rather than sorrow, I felt relieved")*.

A says that they are the one who did the breaking up, but hints at a sort of mutual ending. Reality is they were dumped for being emotionally immature. Their feelings actually reflect having been dumped, but they can't recognize that truth because their words made it sound mutual (Ex, first verse: "With an apology, you and I [I left you with just the words I'm sorry]/ Wrote a sad ending to our story with a shaking hand / I feel hurt after saying goodbye [After I sent you away I was left in pain]/ I left you but why am I the one getting hurt I feel hurt [It was all my fault, so why am I hurting?]")*. A does realize that they were the problem eventually, and they hate that they acted the way that they did and they hate that they are feeling the way they are right now (Ex, bridge: "I was crazy / I was a jerk and I lost you / I hate myself for being regretful / I miss you too much yeah / You are so far away that I can’t even reach you anymore / I live in this never-ending pain everyday"). A wants B to be angry at them because B being angry means that B still sees A as a romantic partner. If B is mad at A, there's still a chance for A to get their act together (Ex, post-chorus: "Curse curse curse me all you want / Until your hatred for me turns into anger / So that you would relieve your anger and we could be together again").

B knows that their attempts to try to stay together were never really going to work. There is incompatibility on top of A's emotional immaturity, and B trying to ignore that just hurt them both more. So even if B did get angry at A again or if they tried to salvage their relationship, they'd still just end up breaking up or hurting each other trying to pretend like they do want the same things. So rather than waste each other's time and energy trying to be romantic partners, it's better to accept the lesson's they've learned and move on because we have nothing else to offer one another (Chill, bridge and chorus: "Throw away everything / Wash away everything in your mind / Let’s blow away everything, spit out everything today / All the words you’ve been holding onto / We’re a great actor duo / Stop acting and let’s just / End this now / Yeah we gonna break break break together / We burn each other’s valuable days / Even if we throw away everything, we don’t regret / Just cool down our frustration / Never mind about me me me anymore / Get out of here, out of my memory / Yeah throw away everything too, so there's no regret / Just cool down your frustration").

B has been to therapy, and A should go to therapy lol

As to which is harder to relate to, that depends on your experiences. Teenage me can relate to some aspects of A (not understanding why I'm acting a certain way and then regretting it), but not all of them (staying with someone despite not really feeling it and looking for someone else to have feelings for). Adult me 100% relates to B. Realizing, probably too late, that not only are you and your partner not compatible in the way you are looking for in a relationship, but also realizing that trying to pretend things were different or hoping that your partner will actually admit how they feel rather than just placate you and prolong things is just emotional self harm. The healthy thing to do in this situation is stop trying to make that romantic relationship happen and move on with more clear knowledge of what you want/need.

A is the only "bad guy," really. That A realizes they were the problem and regrets their behavior is great. They need to do those things to figure out why they acted how they did and what they were afraid/ unwilling to admit about the relationship. Wanting B to be angry at them and to go back to how things were is understandable. They're grieving the loss of the relationship they wanted with B, but that relationship was never going to be real. What A needs to do now is figure out why they disengaged from the relationship to begin with and why they didn't break up with B then.

B also can take with them the lesson that they shouldn't try to hold on so strongly when there's consistent signs telling them their needs aren't going to be met in a specific relationship - it will hurt more and for longer than breaking up.

*lyrics in brackets are from genius rather than mv subtitles. alternate translation is a little clearer in meaning

*lyrics in brackets are from genius rather than mv subtitles. alternate translation does alter interpretation some, but not in a huge way

the biggest supporter of A and B’s relationship

[turtle-steverogers]

hii, it's the unsent project anon again!! sometimes i think about steve. instead of going back in time for yk, he goes back in time to see his mother again. and has a dance with his mother because he never got to before for several reasons. it would be more rocking from foot to foot than anything else. and steve can barely see through his clumped up lashes from the tears while she strokes the side of his head before cradling it (its a bit of a stretch because he is all big and healthy now) while muttering, "my stevie, my boy" and steve just grins "it's me, ma".

(he would come back after spending some time with her, with a heavy heart but still)

was thinking about this at like 3 in the morning

anon i genuinely think you're trying to murder me lakjdflksjfaskdjflksf

anyway i wrote another fic

-

There are extra white jackets in the back closet, and Steve steals one that’s approximately his size, despite the shoulders being a bit too tight. Pants are a little harder to come by, but he manages to find a pair that look like they’ll fit him in some poor chap’s locker. He tugs them on, grimacing at the way they hug his thighs and fall only to his ankles. They’ll have to do.

He’d already scoped out the hospital the night before-- he knows she’s on the third floor in a private ward. Good, he thinks. She deserves it, if nothing else.

He is focused as he moves through the halls, head down as he passes other nurses. There’s a clipboard discarded on a table near the children’s ward and he swiftly picks it up, squinting at it. He doesn’t process any of the words on the page, but his act seems sound, because nobody stops him.

He makes it to the stairwell at the end of the hall, pushes open the door and takes the steps two at a time. The smell is one that is achingly familiar-- the walls grey and hazy. The air seems thicker, the lights yellow and dim. And though he’s been removed from the past for over a decade, it still feels like home. Like normal. His normal.

But he does not belong anymore, and he will not stay. He’s already been a ghost once. He’s hesitant to be one again.

Especially now, when he is out there somewhere. Most likely in the shitty tenement he shared with Bucky, but also possibly at the grocer he worked at, his ma’s telegram in his pocket. Savoring the bits of her that he could salvage with the knowledge he’d never see her again, even while she’s alive.

Closure has been something Steve always felt he lacked. But he’s seen hell now-- lived in its fiery pits for more years than he can count. He can take some goddamn closure for himself.

The third floor is nearly vacant. No one is in the hallway when Steve steps out of the stairwell, but he can hear voices in the rooms that line the sides. Coughs echo ominously off the walls, and Steve’s toes curl in his shoes, a brief wave of anxiety washing over him. He hadn’t missed these hospitals, and he’d hoped to never deliberately step foot in one again. But this is necessary. This is worth it.

He walks swiftly towards the end of the hall where the private wards are and stops in front of the first room. The name next to the door is incorrect, so he continues on until he sees it, heart stopping in his chest, then speeding up enough to make his lungs tighten.

Sarah Rogers-- TB. Alternative uniform required.

Steve closes his eyes against the blood rushing from his head. He wants to tell himself it’s been so long since he’s felt this detached from reality-- this out of place in a space that should feel so familiar-- but it hasn’t. The feeling, he’s realizing, never truly left him when he woke up from the ice, and the reverse here is strange.

And there’s something even stranger about reconciling this, because he’d lost his ma far before he’d ever died. This grief is an old wound-- one that’s scabbed over only to bleed circumstantially. He’d grown used to living with this particular, bone deep pain. He isn’t sure if he’s here to lance that, or if he’ll walk away with a deeper wound. He isn’t sure it matters, either.

He pushes open the door.

The room is lit with natural light. There is a desk with a vase and a water pitcher on it, along with a few medicine bottles and a tissue box. The bed is pressed against the far wall, the covers barely disturbed save for the frail figure that lies in it.

Sarah turns her head and looks at Steve.

Steve’s world stops.

He hadn’t seen his ma when she was this ill. His last memories of her are of when she was healthy-- cheeks red and full of life, eyes alight with an optimism he still valiantly tries to uphold. Life had not been kind to Sarah Rogers, but she was the kindest soul Steve had ever known, even in the shadow of his father’s violence.

Is, he corrects himself as he looks at her. She is the kindest soul. She’s there. She’s right there.

She’s right there, and she looks weak. She is gaunt and frail, eyes sunken in and cheekbones sharp against papery looking skin. There’s an exhaustion in the lines of her young face that Steve recognizes as the long standing effects of illness-- your body praying to be done fighting while your mind begs otherwise.

Steve resists the urge to turn and run.

Sarah’s face does something strange as she looks at Steve, and he realizes that he’s been standing there for longer than would be normal for a nurse-- shell shocked and silent. She opens her mouth to say something, then stops, eyes widening as she seems to process what she’s looking at. Or who she’s looking at, most likely.

A wizened hand comes up to cover her mouth and she gasps, fear flashing through her eyes and no, no, no--

Fuck, he’d thought of this. He’d had a fucking plan for this, but he can’t remember it now and he really doesn’t want his ma calling security on him, because he has so much to say, and--

“Ma,” he says frantically, taking an aborted step forward. She shies away and he stops, hands flexing at his sides. “Ma, it’s me. I swear it’s me, I can explain.”

Sarah looks suddenly furious. “This is not funny, young man. I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave this instant.”

Fuck, her voice. Her goddamn voice, as weak as it is now, still has the same strong cadence. The subtle Irish twang. And fuck, Steve can’t help it. He bursts into tears.

“Fuck,” he says, falling to his knees. Why did he think he could do this? Why did he think he could stomach the weight of everything that’s happened since he last saw her-- handle standing in front of her with blood on his hands, underneath his fingernails. In his goddamn soul. What would she even think of him now?

He sobs, biting down on a knuckle to keep silent, his other arm going around his stomach. It’s how he used to cry when he was much younger, and more frantic, and that seems to convince Sarah more than anything.

“Steven?” she says. She sounds incredulous. Damnit, she probably thinks she’s hallucinating. Steve had hallucinated a couple times when he was ill enough and his fever was high. Mostly his father, but he’ll digress.

He looks up, and he can barely see her through the tears that clump on his eyelashes. Sarah’s face does something complicated, then softens, and she reaches out a hand. Steve looks at it and sobs harder.

“Oh, Stevie. My boy, come here,” she says, because maybe he is a goddamn hallucination, but her instinct was always to comfort those in pain. She was a nurse, after all.

Steve is goddamn helpless.

He manages to get to her bedside, chest heaving as he buries his face in her stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs. “It’s me, ma. I promise it’s me. I can explain, I swear.”

“I don’t doubt that you can explain,” Sarah says sternly, and fuck, he’d missed her chastising him. He can’t help it, he laughs, breathless and watery. “What happened to you? Why are you--” Big. Healthy. “Steven, you can’t be in here. I’m highly contagious.”

Steve shakes his head. “Don’t matter. I can’t get sick.” And oh, his accent is back. He hasn’t had one in years. Decades. A goddamn century.

Sarah lets out a strangled laugh that quickly turns into coughing, and Steve briefly wonders how close she is to death. She died in Winter, and it is sometime in Fall right now. Close then, he thinks. He hugs her harder as the coughing dies down.

“A stór, do you hear yourself? You had pneumonia last Summer.”

Summer. Last Summer. In this world, it had only been a mere few months without her. A fresh wave of grief washes over Steve, and then he can’t help another laugh, then another, and suddenly he’s cracking up into her stomach. Laughing like the insane man he feels he often is.

Sarah freezes, then reaches out to lift his face, their eyes meeting. His laughing stops. She gasps again.

“It really is you,” she murmurs, thumbs moving to the outside corners of his eyes, where there are two identical freckles. Little stars, she used to call them.

Steve offers her a brave smile. “Yeah, ma. It is.”

Sarah shakes her head. “What happened?” she asks again.

“I… so much,” Steve breathes. “I don’t know how to explain it all. I-- I don’t know where to start, but god, I just wanted to see you. I needed to see you.”

Sarah studies his face. “You’re so tired,” she says, thumb stroking his eye again. He leans into the touch, closing his eyes. His lip trembles.

“So tired,” he agrees.

“You don’t need to tell me everything,” Sarah says. “I’m not sure I want to know. But I just… Steven, you look so different.”

Steve laughs, wiping at his eyes. “In a few years, there’s a war,” he says. Blunt-- they’d always been so straightforward with each other. “A scientist-- god, please don’t be mad-- a scientist offered, or… offers? Offered me an opportunity, and I took it.”

“Of course you did,” Sarah murmurs, looking fond and angry despite. She seems to set that train of thought aside. “Germany?” and oh, right. It’s already been in the news, the new reign.

“Yeah.”

Sarah hums. “My dear, you look like you’ve seen more than just war.”

Just war. As if any war was just anything.

As if his war ever truly stopped.

He casts his gaze down.

“Yeah,” he says again, and he thinks of Bucky, who’s also yet to come home from the war. Bucky, who is probably somewhere at the docks right now, untouched by anything but insecurity and financial hell. He desperately wishes they both can soon. This visit, he hopes, will bring him one step closer.

Sarah must read his mind, because her face clouds over.

“Bucky…?”

“Survives,” Steve says quickly, then backtracks. “Kind of. We both kind of died, then came back to life in the future and--” Sarah looks horrified now, and Steve shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. He’s alive. We’re together.”

“Alright,” Sarah says slowly. “As long as you’re together.”

Steve nods, and fuck, he wishes he could have brought Bucky, too. Sam as well-- showed his ma his new friends. The brave new family he’s made for himself. The thought has his eyes swimming again, and he screws up his face, trying not to cry. He’s a goddamn mess. It’s ridiculous.

“I must admit, I’m quite confused,” Sarah says. “And sweetheart, you’re not talking.”

Steve shakes his head, and her arms come around him. He melts into the hold-- savors the feeling. Memorizes the pressure, her smell, and pockets it away for later.

“I just missed you so much is all,” he croaks. “And I-- ma… I’ve done so much. I’ve hurt so many people. Killed so many people, and I still feel so lost, and everything hurts and oh Christ, I’ve just-- I miss you.”

He had sworn to himself, before coming in, that he wouldn’t unload any of this onto her. But her warmth is all encompassing, and he craves her comfort. Her approval. Her strong, sure tone telling him everything will be okay.

That he will be okay. He has to be. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he’s not.

“Lord’s name,” Sarah murmurs, and Steve huffs another laugh. She runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what happened to you. I don’t know how any of this is possible, but I do know you, dearheart. And I know that you are a good person. A gentle person-- my gentle boy, if you’d had a choice, you wouldn’t have chosen violence. But you know more than anyone how mean the world can be. You might have had to make hard decisions, done bad things, but you, Steven, are not bad.”

Steve’s lips part. It doesn’t fix everything, the words-- it barely scrapes the surface of the wall of pain and guilt that suffocates him. But for a moment, the world seems clearer. Quieter. The ache in his chest lanced for one, freeing breath.

“Ma…” Steve says. He doesn’t know how to thank her-- what to say-- because here she is, offering him warmth and closure, even though she might still think he’s nothing but a figment of her imagination. He craves her compassion; her generosity. Swears to uphold it as best he can.

You always stand up, she once told him. He will still, he thinks. He always will. And he will now.

He’ll go home to his family-- his life-- and goddamn live finally. He’s been surviving for so long, he realizes. It’s about damn time for him to stand up and live.

“You’ve still got the same heart,” Sarah continues. She pokes his freckles again. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Steve lifts a hand to cover hers. Her hands are as soft as they always were and he turns his face to kiss her knuckles, then leans forward to kiss her cheek, eyes closing as memories of doing that before running off to school or to play flash through his mind. She smells faintly of vanilla. He wonders if she still dabs it behind her ears.

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you, ma. I love you. I love you so much-- thank you for being there for me. For raising me, and loving me.”

Sarah hugs him. Outside the room, there are voices; shuffling. He needs to go. The window is open, and they’re only three floors up.

“Loving you is the easiest thing that I’ve ever done,” Sarah says. She looks at the door. The voices are closer now. She kisses his forehead. Another echo of a life long gone. “Go now, Steven. Go home.”

Steve looks at her one last time, drinking in the love in her eyes. And as he climbs out the window, the too-tight doctor’s coat ripping around the shoulder seams, he can’t help but think that he’d gotten her eyes right whenever he’d painted her.

Her love won’t be something so easily forgotten.

-

Bucky catches him before he can collapse as he reappears on the launch pad. He lowers them to the ground, cradling Steve’s head with and letting him practically climb into his lap as he weeps, overwhelmed.

After a few minutes, he pulls back. Bucky’s watching him, concerned, and Steve leans in to gently kiss him.

“Steve?” Bucky asks, wary as they pull apart. He reaches out to swipe some tears off Steve’s cheeks.

Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine, I’m fine,” he says. “All the stones are back-- everything’s okay. It’s over. It’s all over.”

Relief washes over Bucky’s face and he kisses Steve, smiling. “Oh god,” he murmurs. “Thank god.”

Steve wraps his arms around his neck, humming in agreement. Sam and Bruce are somewhere-- Steve can hear them talking-- but it’s distant.

They’re quiet for a long time, breathing in each other. Bucky’s arms feel so goddamn safe that Steve feels his resolve slipping again. He can tell Bucky things. He can be here with him now. Home.

“I went to see her,” he whispers.

Bucky stills where he was previously rocking them lightly.

“Her…” Bucky says, then shifts. “Your ma?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” Bucky squeezes him tighter. “How-- how was that? How did she…”

“She was confused. I don’t even know if she knew I was real.”

Bucky pauses, then kisses behind his ear. Steve thinks of vanilla again.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky murmurs.

“No, it was-- good. Needed. I feel… good.”

“That’s so good, honey.”

“She asked about you-- wanted to know if you were, um, alive. I told her you were.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, and there’s a small smile on his face now. Bucky had loved Sarah as if she were another mother, and Steve had done the same with Winnifred. It was a privilege to have had both of their protective arms. “What did she say?”

“She said, ‘as long as we’re together’.”

Bucky smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. Steve wants to reach out and touch, so he does, because he can do that now. Bucky is tangible. He is here.

“She’s got a point,” Bucky says. He goes back to rocking them and Steve rests his head on his shoulder. He hears Bucky start to say something, then stop.

“What?” he asks, pulling back.

Bucky studies him. “Did you want to stay?” It isn’t accusatory, just curious, and Steve considers it.

“Maybe a little,” he admits. “Just… instinctively. It’s an opportunity I might have taken up if someone offered it ten years ago, but… I’m a ghost there now, like I was a ghost here, and I don’t want to do that again.” He bites his lip, shaking his head. “I can’t. I wouldn’t be able to.”

Bucky nods, cupping Steve’s cheek and thumbing his jaw affectionately. “I hear you,” he says. “I was just wondering.”

“And besides, my ma told me to go home before I left,” Steve said, cupping Bucky’s cheek in return. “So I did.”

Bucky smiles, and presses their foreheads together.

“We can do that now,” Bucky says. “We can go home. We can rest.”

And there are still things to do-- Steve doesn’t think there ever won’t be things to be done. But that can wait for another day.

“Yeah,” he agrees. He’s grungy, dirt digging in bone deep from the whirlwind of the last few weeks. He smirks, climbing off Bucky’s lap. “But I call first shower.”

Bucky snorts and stands, pulling Steve up.

“Yeah, whatever, asshole.”

Yeah. The world can wait another day.

-

There’s a bottle of vanilla in the spice cabinet. Steve sees it as he’s looking for the cinnamon. The kitchen is empty, but for the first time in years, he knows he’s not alone.

He takes the vanilla out and dabs some onto his fingers, gently rubbing it behind his ears. He closes his eyes, letting the smell wash over him. He can still feel his ma’s arms around him, keeping him warm.

Home. He’s home.

-

thanks for reading yall aflkdjflaksjdf