#but the fandom is kinda barren

[ehvanescent]

It's happened again... I'm actively in like 5 fandom at once

[the-13th-rose]

"Why does fandom only care about shipping what about friendships what about found family" what fucking circles are you hanging out in, I see fan friendships and found family as well as solo character content ALL THE TIME in addition to romantic shipping

[vaporwavesimulator]

reread every gokurakugai chapter in one sitting earlier and i can feel the autism taking over.

[none-i5]

Random thought but like, yes ik loving rare pairs and making fan content for it is so hard but yk what I just found out to be cool??

I was just scrolling thru the tag and read a few new works from some Cool Ppl (who are generally active in reading/writing for that tag) and then check back on one of my works in that tag and saw that Cool Ppl actually interacted there (!!)

Its like, this Lil feedback loop of content and just interacting with cool people. It's chill. We literally just vibing and I love it

[demonicbaby666]

Find Me Under the Sycamore Tree

One shot | Marvel Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

Genre: smut

Words: 4.4k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, kidnapping (kinda), blood play, degradation, asphyxiation, fingering, oral sex, pain play, restraints, orgasm denial, overstimulation, branding, sub/dom dynamic, sub!reader, dom!Agatha, dubcon

Summary: You’re scared and alone, running through an endless forest with no idea how you got there. You know you’re being followed. You know Agatha is hot on your trail, but what you don’t know, is what she will do when she finds you.

A/n: THIS IS A DARK FIC. The themes of it can be triggering and will not appeal to some. Read at your own risk, and please avoid if you believe anything in the warnings will negatively affect you.

In the darkness of the witching hour, you find yourself hurling through an endless forest. The trees are barren of life–corpses after winter stripped them of their leaves and, with it, their colour. Branches wack against one another as though they’re trying to huddle together to stave off the cold and preserve what life force remains at the core of their brittle roots. The sound carries. It crackles and follows your every step. 

From the very start, you knew this was a battle you couldn't win. But your defiance, your refusal to accept defeat, fuels your relentless pursuit of freedom. You race through the darkness, ignoring the pain of broken twigs and shrubbery alike as they cut at the underside of your feet, each step a declaration of your unyielding rebellion.

You’re cold, shivering and praying for a miracle in nothing but a slip, its fabric sheer and virgin white, providing no comfort against the brittle bite of clouded mist. The air is thick and wet, sticking to the growing sweat on your forehead as you race against the unseen presence of powerful magic. Your lungs, straining to steal air, make a desperate plea in the silent forest. But the air is too damp to replenish the dwindling fuel left in your chest, and every breath remains a fight with no reward, a constant reminder that the struggle you now face may very well reap the same futile fate. 

You know she’ll find you if she hasn’t already. The chase excites her–watching her prey struggle as each step leads them further into her nest and closer to their death. It won’t be quick and no less painful. Agatha will make sure her eyes are the ones that haunt you in your grave. 

Scattered burrows concealed by darkness leave the earth uneven. Caution is not something time affords you, and so you are left at the mercy of the woodlands, at the divots that seek to knock you off kilter, at the tree roots that jut out of tarmac mud, angry and unruly, cruel to use their network to ensure your pace is broken by constant stumbling. 

Is this it? Is this how it ends? Only an hour ago, you were in bed, sleeping sweetly, blissfully unaware of how unencumbered your life had been. The TV is likely still on, reruns playing in the silence of a bedroom that may never see its occupant again. The candle on your bedside table is probably burnt down to its wick, the last dying embers of its flame flickering behind its glass prison. What you would do for some light now. 

Despite the sweat marking your forehead, the constant burn of your hamstrings and exertion keeping your blood hot, you bristle against the unnatural frost marking the air. It's sharp and travels up your nose like a vine, stabbing its thorns into your head till all you know is the constant ringing of a migraine. Between the cold and adrenaline, the goosebumps raised on your skin stay with you during your every move. It’s a comfort—a reminder that you are still alive and human, and your body is still fighting. 

But it's all for nothing. 

Pessimism is one thing. Rationalism is another. Logic tells you Agatha is closing in, and your best option is to hide, but your head is ringing, and you can’t make out right from wrong or left from right, so instead, you keep forward. Condensation has bruised the forest soil, forcing it into a slippery, sponge-like substance that gathers in clumps above your ankles. It weighs you down and makes navigating through uneven terrain unmanageable. You slip and slide, forcing your eyes ahead, below, anywhere but behind you, too scared you'll see the lurking figure that marks your end like a bad omen. 

A bird flies overhead, a sign of life in the desolate forest, an allying companion trying to flee. Hope. You avert your eyes upward, tuning your ears to the sound of fluttering wings and calls to freedom. You’re choking on the stench of death and moisture by the time you see a clearing. The moon’s silvery light is untouched by the forest there, peeking out from beyond tangled treetops and illuminating the dirt path to sanctified land. 

Stupidly, you freeze, awestruck by the sight. Your body betrays you for only a fraction of a second before rebooting with the intent to sprint. But it’s too late. You’ve made a mistake, and the unforgiving woodland closes in. The open walkway is drowning in darkness as branches twist, shift and interlink. It doesn’t matter that you’re running faster than you have your whole life; the exit is sealed like a vault when you make it to the end of the forest tunnel.

The last embers of hope are snubbed out from beneath you, burying themselves in the hollow pools of earth your collapsing knees create. You can feel her, smell the sandalwood clinging to her skin, but there is no adrenaline left, no fight left in you to get up, to cower, to beg. Instead, you stare at the tiny cracks between branches and freedom, biting your tongue when something blunt and heavy hits the side of your head.

“Poor thing,” Agatha cooes, crouching beside you to gently pull sticky, bloodied hair off your face. Her wicked, toothy smile is the last thing you see before unconsciousness swarms you. 

Everything that happens next comes to you in flashes. You register the bindings over your wrists and ankles, aware that no manufactured material can offer this phantom sensation, leaving magic the only culprit. The murky brown landscape around you spins, transforming into more of the same as you’re dragged forward, feet hovering above the ground. You can see Agatha. She’s about a yard away, one hand to the side, trailing ever so slightly behind with a bright cord of purple connecting your restraints to the emerging tendrils of magic gleaming off her fingers. 

Your blood is molten copper, tangy and hot on your tongue. The metallic zing that lingers over your tastebuds keeps you present for the rebinding of your limbs. Your back presses against rough bark, sap oozing through the thin cotton of your slip, and you shiver against the cold, sickly substance as it sticks to your back. An incantation is whispered into the breeze, and roots peeking out from the dirt below take on a life of their own. They wind over your body till your arms are forced behind you, around the large sycamore tree, and your ankles are spread shoulder-width apart and held close to the base of the trunk. 

A single swing of Agatha’s finger and your slip is torn clean down the middle, falling to each side of your shoulders and exposing the entire length of your body. An angry red line marks the travel of magic from your sternum to your sex, inked in red droplets. What had you expected? To be gently undressed and appraised for your naked form. No, that wasn't how this would happen. This wasn’t about you or for you. 

Agatha hums quietly, looking you up and down as her fingers dip into the scarlet liquid pouring from your wound. Around you is more of the same: dirt paths littered with fallen leaves, tree carcases disfigured, withering away to winter, and beyond the horizon, peeking through branches, is the moon. Its light does not shine down on the woodlands. This place is unworthy of anything that could contribute to the sustenance of life. It is a no man's land, and anyone unfortunate enough to wander through its endless trails will surely discover the resting place for their last breaths. 

“You’re quiet,” the brunette remarks, looking away from the gauged flesh of your stomach to your face, which she inspects speculatively. Her fingers remain focused on painting your stomach red. 

You stare at her blankly, giving nothing away. If Agatha’s goal is to revel in your fear, she will find not a lick of fright from your trained features. The pain is more challenging to mask, especially when a sharp fingernail digs into your cut, tearing the flesh anew, intent to never let it clot. You make no sound, clenching your teeth together, flaring your nostrils and forcing yourself to breathe steadily through the pain. 

Agatha tuts and, always one for the dramatics, has a sizable pout on her face, feigning upset, “You’re no fun.” 

When you remain silent, Agatha’s mock sadness shifts into something darker, curious and unexpected. Her usual victims must have all begged, cowered and cried. Alternatively, they may have responded with anger, relying on brute strength that could only take them so far in the face of the unnatural. In the end, they all gave her the same. They all showed her how fragile and fickle the human mind is. They allowed her to penetrate their defences in one way or another, letting her sink her claws into their foundations and find what lies beneath bravado and tears—fear. But anyone given too much of the same gets bored.

“There is no one but us here. What good would screaming do?” You ask, levelled and calm. It’s tricky to tame the tremors of your jaw and the chattering of your teeth, but allowing them to disrupt your question's pace and timbre would paint a less-than-idyllic picture of your already declining resolve. 

Her grin is one of triumph, and whilst the song it sings is laden with satisfaction, you can see the underlying relief trickle through the harsh bite of her smile, intrigue burning brighter behind her coral-blue eyes. 

“It speaks,” she announces to an invisible crowd, arms wide and spread. “And you’re right, sweetpea. Screaming wouldn’t do you any good.” 

In the following silence, you allow yourself to take Agatha in fully. Her plum slacks are clipped at her ankles, revealing only the tips of her black boots. A navy blue overcoat is draped over her white blouse, freshly pressed and framing her figure perfectly as it sinches her waist and falls seamlessly down her body. Her hair, wavy yet tame, is loose, falling over her breasts in layers of chestnut brown streaked with shades of dark caramel. 

Time will always know Agatha’s name. Her murderous ways are etched into the fabric of history, tales of her unique powers passed down from coven to coven, witch to witch, and for you, mother to daughter. But one thing history has failed to highlight is the beauty of her treachery. She basks in her reputation like a conqueror holding their crown, surveying fallen bodies and foreseeing their gluttonous future in the reflections of pooled blood. The power suits her, even if she fails to wear it humbly. 

There’s a pleased look on her face when you meet her eyes, and she says, “Ogle away.” 

You scoff, looking anywhere but at the witch and willing the cold to taper the heat emanating from your cheeks. The sound of leaves being mercilessly crushed under Agatha’s boot is crisp. The clean crunch sounds once, twice, and you stiffen, hating how your feet beg to scurry and hide. You’re better than the fear and the cowardice urges, but at the end of the day, you’re only human, and your body acts without the restraints of your mind in perilous situations. You reign in the jitters, force your limbs to remain still, and your face stoic. 

She’s close. Her breath is tickling your face ever so gently, her finger and thumb pinching your chin to force your gaze forward, and it’s increasingly becoming more challenging to ignore the electric sensations that are zapping about in your stomach. It was a stump of wood that knocked you out, magic that tethered you to Agatha as she dragged you through the forest and the vines that are now what keep you bound. Leaving this, the first time you’ve felt Agatha’s touch. 

“I quite enjoy the attention.” Agatha grins, staring directly into your eyes, keen to sink her nails into the steel armour that holds your tears at bay. 

It’s odd. Where her fingers should be imbued with murderous intent, they are far from roughspun on your skin. Her grip is harsh, but her thumb is feather light as it grazes the underside of your lip, and her finger soft as it brushes the length of your jaw, catching wisps of sodden hair soaked with sweat, blood and condensation. It sends another jolt of something sharp and hot down your spine.

“Don’t,” you whisper through a shaky breath.

There’s no reason the older woman should heed your command, and there are no consequences if she doesn’t. She’s in control and knows it—is unafraid to show it. 

The shivers are back with revenge, but it isn’t the cold or fear that fuels them; it’s the weight of a palm resting against your stomach, warm and heavy as it meanders over your ribs. With no preamble, her hand comes to lay over your breast, and her fingers tighten around the globe of flesh, squeezing before they move down to circle your hardened nipple. 

“Stop,” you whisper, miserably aware of how your voice is weakened by lust and holds no authority. 

It shouldn’t feel good. You know it shouldn’t. But your body disagrees, chest arching forward into the heated touch of Agatha, and much to your chagrin, there’s a trapped moan tickling the sides of your throat that you vehemently fight to keep at bay. 

Your refusal to submit only makes this more fun for her, and your submission would guarantee your imminent demise, so you’re left walking a tightrope, fine-tuning your responses in a waking effort to remain alive. It’s that awareness, that constant cycle of methodical thoughts, that helps you realise a moment too late you’ve chosen the wrong course of action. 

“I said stop,” you shout, slamming your head forward to collide with Agatha’s nose. 

The older woman’s smile corrodes with anger, momentary but fierce as fire and hotter than the blazing end of a poker stick. When you blink away your fears, the fury is gone, but its effects are lasting. Agatha grabs you by your throat, cutting off your airways with her powerful grip, and slams your head back with a quick shove that has you seeing stars. 

“That wasn’t nice.” Something is alarming about her smile. It’s plastic and appears false, but beneath its exterior, there’s some sort of maniacal truth to it, like she’s overjoyed by the prospect of seeing you dazed at her hand, which isn’t hard to believe. 

With a drawn-down motion of her free hand, another cut marks your flesh, and pain overwhelms your senses. It's blinding and oddly familiar—something you can hold onto like a crutch to keep you planted in the present. You bite down the weak urge to vocalise your suffering, swallowing down a strained cry that feels much too similar to sandpaper. 

If Agatha is unhappy with your lack of response, she doesn't show it. In fact, not even a second is spent surveying you or her work before she’s three fingers knuckle deep inside your cunt, stretching you out over and over as she pumps with both speed and vigour. 

“Tell me to stop,” she growls. “I dare you.” 

You mutter a quick, “Oh fuck,” under your breath and try to focus on the blood trickling down your stomach and dripping onto Agatha’s wrist instead of the way she’s playing your body like a fiddle. It’s all-consuming; the pleasure swarms you from every angle, turning your legs to jelly, leaving you at the mercy of the vines that hold you up and Agatha, who keeps you upright with her unrelenting grip over your neck. 

“Come on, pet. Tell me how much you hate this, and I’ll stop.” 

The wet sounds emanating from your sex seek out the deep-rooted shame that lives in the pit of your stomach. It’s the realisation that some sadistic part of you enjoys this that hits you like a ton of bricks, and you want to deny it; deny Agatha the victory points, but your mind and body are bending to her will with the curl of her fingers and another gush of arousal. 

“You like this, don’t you?” Agatha purrs, her hot breath clammy as she bites down on your earlobe. “Your cunt was practically begging for my fingers.” 

All hopes of refuting her statement are stolen by the myriad of kisses and bites Agatha trails down your neck, halt over your pulse point, where she takes the beating flesh between her teeth and marks you with a bruising imprint of her savage affections. At a loss for words, the only thing you can focus on is the maintenance of your restricted airflow. The pace at which Agatha is overturning your body makes it hard to sustain a regular breathing pattern, but you force the minimal oxygen into your lungs and heave it out through crackled gurgles. 

Slender fingers carry you to the edge till all you feel is the pent-up pressure in your abdomen, overpowering the anguish and anger directed towards Agatha. 

The distraction lasts for a brief second. 

Your release is not what floods your body. Instead, there is only searing, blistering pain. Agatha’s fingers, previously nestled within the walls of your pulsing cunt, now lay over your fresh wound, skating through the dark oozing red liquid, pressing into your abused flesh.

It’s one too many times you’ve had to hold in your agony, and this time, you can’t control your blood-curdling scream. It’s not directed at Agatha. Instead, you fling your eyes up to the sky, begging it to produce a single star bright enough to peek through the twisted branches above. 

There is nothing but darkness and gloom and no break from the constant torrent of flooding stimulation as Agatha drops to her knees. The image should have you feeling superior, yet all you feel is the steady thrum of nerves and residual pain, ghastly aware that the older woman is probably the most in control out of the two of you. Even if the way she’s staring at your slickened pussy can only be described as crazed. 

When the first swipe of her tongue glides through your slit, something breaks in you. Your crippling hold on your restraint wavers, and the foundations begin to crack. You know you can hold on, but for how long, you are no longer sure about. Your body is betraying once again, hips cantering forward to push Agatha further into your sex, moaning through your clenched jaw and humiliatingly writhing as pleasure floods every nerve ending in you. 

Agatha buries herself into you, tongue fucking your pussy with scornful ease till you’re hanging on the precipice of another orgasm. Then, she stops again, pulling back with a smug smile and rising to her feet to say, “God, you’re needy.” 

You want to cry, and you want to scream and shout and demand she touch you again. But you can’t. You can’t because that’s precisely what the older witch wants. She wants you pliant and pleading, easy to manipulate in the palm of her hand until she tires of your compliance and gifts you to death. 

It doesn’t make sense. Nothing does anymore. Not until Agatha is back inside you, pulsing her fingers in and out so fast you can barely breathe, hitting spots deep inside you that haven’t been touched in years. You’re screaming, and you’re yelling and screaming and screaming from the ever-mounting pleasure that feels like it will never reach its peak, and the pain—biting, sharp and constant as your muscles tense over and over again, and your limbs wrestle to be free. The presence of your blood is everywhere, shooting through veins, racing in your ears and dribbling down your stomach. It’s heaven and hell, ecstasy and delusion, breathing and drowning all at once. It’s too much. It’s not enough. 

Your fight against the vines keeping you restrained doesn’t go unnoticed by Agatha. She’s dipping her eyes to and from your face to your wrists, trying to figure out something beyond your grasp. The witch maintains her grip around your neck, crushing your wide pipes, and oxygen deprivation is beginning to take effect, but it’s not so all-consuming that you fail to feel the pressure ease around one of your wrists. 

It’s a risk on her part and an opportunity on yours. You can feel the warm allure of your magic dance over your fingertips and the chance to strike with a closed fist and brute force. 

You do neither. 

The trees are becoming blurred, the ground beneath you clouds and your pain a lullaby to your mind's erratic pleas to resist. For once, everything is silent, and in some kind of moronic fucked up sense of gratitude, you move your hand up and curl your fingers over Agatha’s, strengthing her grip over your throat. You can feel your pulse beat between both your fingers, see the pleased smile Agatha is wearing, and hear the beauty in your unrestrained moans of pleasure. Maybe, just maybe, dying like this - after this - wouldn’t be so bad. 

“I need,” you stammer, removing your hand from Agatha’s, placing it on the back of her neck and pulling her forward. It’s bubbling inside you again—the ardent need to cum. It lives in your muscles that are tension-bruised and exhausted. “I need to-”

“Oh, sweetie,” she coos before her lips come crashing down on yours in a demanding kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. 

The roots wound around your body remain the only thing keeping you up, and at Agatha’s behest, they disappear, burying themselves back within the earth, where they belong, leaving the push of her body against yours the only thing that keeps you upright. She takes her role in earnest, removing her hold on your neck to hoist your legs over her hips and keep you steady, continuing to drive deeper into you at this new angle. 

Bark has all but torn through the thin material of your slip, and in an effort to move away from the brittle sting of microscopic splinters, you tangle your arms around Agatha’s neck and lean forward, burying your moans and whimpers into her shoulder. The position would not be far from intimate if it weren’t for the way your body bounces over the fingers fucking into you and the force at which they do so. 

The presence of a thumb is featherlight over your clit, teasing you with its potential. And, of course, nothing comes free. Not when tiny remnants of your dignity remain intact that need removing. You let free a whine, and when that doesn’t work, a meek ‘please,’ and instantly, the older woman’s touch becomes crushing. She’s rubbing quick, consistent circles over the bundle of nerves, fueling the engine that carries and dishes out sparks of pure, unadulterated heat down your spine, filtering through your veins and capillaries till it reaches your head and manifests into burning need. 

You’re being pushed back into the harsh surface of the sycamore tree, yet you can’t find it in yourself to care, not when Agatha’s hand is back over your breast, her mouth on your neck, and you’re on the cusp of a long-awaited orgasm. 

There is no interruption to your peak this time and Agatha revels in every second of it alongside you. She pulls back to watch like you’re a performer, and she’s waited a lifetime to secure a ticket to this show. Every jut of your hips, shake of your jaw and cry from your mouth is reflected back at you in her spangled eyes, drinking you in a breath of fresh air.

You’re so taken by the pull of euphoria you don’t register the heated touch over your breastbone. You can hear your skin sizzling and see the scorched initials of her name when you glance down. Still, all you seem to feel is your never-ending orgasm as the stimulation continues, throwing you headfirst into another release and even then, Agatha doesn’t stop. She’s consumed with the sight of your bliss, hungry to live in it forever as she keeps fucking into you with her fingers, circling your oversensitive clit till it stings, and you’ve got tears swimming in your eyes. 

You’re unsure how long it goes on for, how long she pulls orgasm after orgasm out of you. You’re dipping in and out of consciousness, and with the emergence of every new blacked-out spot obscuring your vision, you’re dimly aware the forest around you is beginning to take on a new life.

Branches are illuminated by the balmy glow of the emerging sun, and the frost coating their exterior thaws under its warmth, turning thin layers of ice into water droplets. Dirt paths littered in corpse leaves are no longer a muddy brown. Now, they are canvases splattered in the tawny colours of autumn. The smattered shades of honey and marigolds are a welcome sight as Agatha pushes your legs off her and leaves you to stand alone, breathless and weak. Dignity was something you lost between the baring of your skin and branding of your flesh, so you allow your knees to buckle beneath you and welcome the soft embrace of dirt. It is kinder to you than bark. 

“What will you do with me?” you ask, keeping your eyes levelled with the changed woodlands. Conviction bleeds through your demand, even if the silent wracking in your chest and the crack of your voice slightly diminishes it. 

“Come,” Agatha beckons. 

You fail to stop a full-bodied shiver from tearing through your body. Its shadow echoes in the clattering of your bones as you look up to see the older woman hovering above you. She’s staring, scrutinising you before coming to a hasty decision. She removes her jacket and crouches down so she’s at eye level, and your straining neck thanks her with a quiet crack. Then, satin material is over you and Agatha’s body heat - still embedded into its lining - sinks through the cold outer layer of your bare skin. 

“Now,” she begins with a quirked brow, slapping her knees as she rises, “up you get.” 

You cringe at the crippling pain that shoots up your legs, but you’ve swallowed your discomfort for too long now to show yourself incapable of doing something so simple as standing. 

“I don’t understand.”

Agatha smiles, delicately tracing a finger over your heart, along marred skin marked ‘A.H’, “You belong to me now, pet.”

Tags: @stayevildarling | click here to be added to my taglist

[rosenclaws]

Hi love, I hope you’re doing well! I’ve been a fan of (stalking but let’s not talk about it) your blog for a little while, but this is the first time I’ve sent in a request for you! Your writing for Leopold is literally the sweetest ever and you’re the only writer I know of that actively writes for him, it’s so dry out here!! I was wondering if I could request something fluffy with Leopold x fem!reader where is like the most tooth-rotting fluff you can think of. I’m talking him trying to court the reader even though it’s the modern day and that’s not really a thing anymore and shes a bit confused but loves it, a super touchy reader that loves to shower Leo with her affection, literally anything. Those are just ideas, feel free to be as creative as you’d like (and don’t be shy if you wanna make it a longer fic, I’ll take what I can get). This fandom (if I can even call it that) is such a barren wasteland for fanfics and you are such an amazing writer for him and just in general!!

Much love 💕

Courting || Leopold Mountbatten x Reader

a/n: Hi!! Okay I kinda took this in a slightly different direction so if its not what you wanted then plz feel free to send in another request (ik they're closed but I will make an exception) ALSO FUCK HES SO HANDSOME IM GONNA SCREAM

wc: 1.2k

warning: reader wears lipstick

The last thing you expected was to find a neatly written letter waiting for you when you got home. Pinned neatly to the door with a small rose attached to it. You recognized Leopold's handwriting immediately, no one else you know has such beautiful penmanship.

There’s a flutter of butterflies in your stomach as you open the letter. You and Leopold have gotten very close to each other. He’s unbelievably charming and so sweet and he’s just everything. The way he looks at you, it makes you feel like the only one in the world.

Hello my love,

I am writing to ask if you would do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner and a show this Friday night. I have found myself completely captured by your beauty, you live in my every thought. Every breath I breathe for you and every beat of my heart calls your name. I wish to court you and have the honor of calling you mine.

Your dearest Leopold

You read the letter once, and then again and again. Your fingers trace each letter. Never have you had anyone say something so precious to you before. The rose smells fresh and sweet, he must have gotten it this morning. You hurry to write him a reply, accepting his offer with great enthusiasm.

Folding the letter you press your lips the corner of the paper leaving a lipstick mark. Leopold lives just down the hall so you walk over. Just as you’re about to slip the letter under the door it swings open.

“Leo!” You squeak out as stand back up, almost knocking your head into his chest.

"Hello darling." He's dressed in casual clothes and my god you need to thank whoever introduced him to sweatpants. Anyways.

"I see you received my letter." You bite your lip as you hand over your letter. His name written as fancy as you can.

"Yeah, it was really sweet Leo." He takes the letter and you swear he blushes a little when he sees the lipstick mark. He stares at you for a while, with that perfect smile and gorgeous eyes.

"I uh, I'll see you Friday." His eyes light up at your words.

"I'll see you Friday my love." He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles.

You manage to keep it together as he shuts the door but once you make it back to your apartment you're melting. A giddy feeling you haven't felt in years. You have to wonder how he will attempt to court you in modern day. People don't really court anymore but all you care about is that you have a date with Leopold. Friday couldn't come fast enough.

You had never felt this nervous before. Spending way too long getting ready just to be done an hour early. It's just Leopold, you know Leopold. There's no reason to be nervous but you can't stop the tornado of worry brewing inside of you.

What if something goes wrong? Or the date goes horrible? What if he decides he doesn't like you anymore? What if this ruins your friendship. You shake your head and try to dispel any bad thoughts.

Tonight was going to be great. It has to be. There's a knock at the door and you quickly double check everything before opening it. Any worry still residing in your mind disappears. A beautiful bouquet of flowers is handed to you as Leopold is dressed to the nines. A crisp white shirt and black pants.

"They're beautiful." You say admiring the flowers. Fresh and absolutely gorgeous.

"Not as beautiful as you." Leopold says, barely at a whisper. Like he can't believe that you've even agreed to a date with him. He can't help but admire everything about you. To your smile, your beauty, your laugh, your voice. You're perfect.

You place the flowers in a vase and then the two of you are off. He rests his hand on your back as you walk through the city. His thumb draws circles in your back as you approach the restaurant. He's planned everything himself and he can't help but hope it's enough for you.

Dinner is lovely and the conversation flows without any awkwardness. You're talking to your friend Leopold but you know there's something more as you slowly get closer to each other as the night goes on. Hidden away in the corner booth you are free to get lost in each others eyes. Though you wish you could stay here all night he promised a show. Leopold loved the theater and he promised one day to take you and tonight was the night.

"How did you get such good seats?" You ask as he waits for you to sit before he does.

"I have my ways darling." You're hyper aware of just how close the two of you had gotten at dinner and how close you are now.

The show is interesting yes but Leopold was a very distracting man. Your hands inch closer together. Glancing over at Leopold you find him already looking at you. He waits for your silent approval, not wanting to cross an boundaries. So you take the leap. Intertwining your hands together.

A faint blush on his face and a big smile on yours. His hands are so warm and they fit so perfectly with your hand. When the show ends you reluctantly head back home. You don't want this night to end. Your hands swing together as you gush about the play.

"I had a wonderful night Leopold," You're leaning against your door, wanting so badly to keep the night going. His hair swoops perfectly in front of his forehead and he's got this pretty smile that you can't stop staring at.

"So did I, Thank you for accompanying me tonight." His eyes drift to your lips.

It's adorable seeing just how old school he really is. You know he's from 1876 but still. Modern boys pale in comparison to Leopold.

"You know you don't have to be so nervous Leo, I want to kiss you too." You say boldly.

He chuckles, ducking his head as bites his lip softly. He cups your face gently and you close eyes as he gently captures your lips in a kiss. He's gentle and sweet and you crave more. Still he pulls away much too soon. You pout slightly and he laughs.

"I know I'm much more traditional than you're used to." He traces your lips with his thumb. Admiring every little detail of your face.

"But someone as wonderful as you deserves to be treated with the upmost respect." He kisses your forehead gently.

"You deserve to be loved," Another kiss.

"To be cherished," Another.

"And to be worshiped." Words fail you completely. Leopold has rendered you utterly speechless.

"Did I overstep?" He asks, worried about you silence.

You shake your head. practically jumping into him as you kiss him. Passionately running your hands through his hair. He groans slightly as you tug on his hair. He pushes you against the wall, bracing your head with his hand as he kisses back.

"I'm falling in love with you." He whispers. A hopeful glint in his eyes.

"I'm already in love with you." You admit.

You become lost in his lips as he kisses you again. He just can't get enough. You blindly reach for the door handle and without argument pull him inside of your apartment.

Soft kisses and laughter are shared quietly between the two of you. Time ticks by but you have lost all sense of care in the world. All that matters to you is this moment. Your fairytale come to life. And it was just perfect.

[steelstreqq]

pov i revive an old project from 2021 because i watched one sorry boys video

this is the 'rustout au', its a combination of TWD, fallout 4, and rust but i shoved silly block men (and ted nivison) in it. essentially its a zombie apocalypse au that takes place at some time in the 80s or 90s following a nuclear fallout that occurred due to undisclosed government activities with foreign global superpowers. none of the normal civilians really know why the nukes went off and only a few of the most wealthy in the community really were able to get down to the bunkers in time

there are a ton of characters i want to include in this au, but considering i made this in the peak of the dsmp fandom i have to be kinda careful to not pick out any ccs who are still a part of dream's posse.. :pensive:

so far, the other characters in this au who aren't displayed here are fundy, techno, philza, bizly, grizly, condi, connor, jack, eret, and a few others i cant think of rn >_<

some character information below ^-^

WILBUR G. SOOT - the widowed father to fundy. wilbur lived in a house in a suburban neighborhood with his teen aged son before the nukes went off. once the initial fallout occurred, will and fundy had an argument about where they should shelter. the day after the argument, wilbur awoke to find fundy had completely disappeared. grief stricken at the loss of another family member (under the impression that he was the reason fundy had 'ran off'), wilbur risked his safety to search for his son, traveling from settlement to settlement. he hated himself and blamed himself for his son's disappearance. by this point, he wanted to lie in the dirt and rot with the corpse of the land below him

TOMMY ZA - the adoptive son of phil, a single child. tommy was at school during the blasts, thus he was separated from his father. he and the rest of his school were ushered to the basement following the explosions to protect them from fallout. when given the all clear, tommy ran down barren streets to find his way home, and never did. too frantic and unable to navigate his way properly, he became stranded and lost. the crushing anxiety of being alone seemed to summon a taller man with a guitar case from a local town. he had found himself wandering into tommy's neighborhood. and therein, an alliance was formed.

"RANBOO" - ranboo is a mysterious creature who doesn't really appreciate questions about his history. tommy and wilbur found him a month or two into constructing their own settlement. ranboo was found uncomfortably asleep in a cramped car not far off from Dome. he was rudely awakened with a violent mugging from tommy. wilbur caught up to the shorter brit and apologized for his actions, suggesting that ranboo could stay at their camp as compensation for the troubles that tommy had brought to ranboo. ranboo reluctantly agreed and now is a part of the dome's settlement. tommy speculates ranboo is secretly a mentally mutated creature-freak-thing and must be put down immediately, ranboo just wants to eat dinner in peace.

CHARLIE SICKLE - charlie is the latest member to join the settlement. the former front man for the hit pop group Roll With You. during an england tour, the nukes went off and front man charlie had been stranded during his burger lunch break. separated from the rest of his band mates. charlie has faced deterioration in his mental state due to the stress of surviving during such a gruesome time period. by the time wilbur finds himself at the receiving end of charlie's gun, he is already unhinged. wilbur manages to talk charlie into submission carefully, and decides to see if he can form a fragile alliance with charlie for some sort of twisted protection. charlie agrees, as he is so *sick* of being alone. charlie simply insists he is just a silly billy, everybody else thinks hes clinically insane

DOME- dome is a passive settlement founded by wilbur soot to bring in local survivors and give them a small and safe community to rebuild humanity. although this is a large goal in such a hostile and dangerous situation, tommy gives wilbur hope to keep going. who knows, maybe while scouting for survivors, they could stumble across phil or fundy

TED - ted is a serial killer, plain and simple. hired by schlatt to be a bodyguard after the fallout, ted had escaped his cinder block hell to essentially be a guard dog thanks to the nukes. it turns out prisons arent explosion-proof. ted is silent, he doesnt speak much, but he has a clear cut focus on what he wants. when he does speak, he talks clearly and normally. mostly, about his travels with his good buddy 'eddie nine pins', whom he apparently did everything with before getting caught

J. SCHLATT - schlatt is a larger than life business mogul, the ceo of a handful of companies that produce clothes, products, music, etc. hes an incredibly creative and intuitive man who knows how to get what he wants. he is the forefront leader of his settlement in the bunker. schlatt is falsely married to quackity, both of them agreeing to commit marriage fraud when they initially entered the world of entrepreneurship as it looks better and improves both of their charisma in social situations. their 'marriage' is entirely superficial and loveless, purely for aesthetics

A. QUACKITY - you might say quackity is a strange last name, he'd tell you to mind your own business and call you poor in two different languages. quackity runs a small 'medicine' dealing business on the surface. in exchange for fancy goods and food, quackity will give out medicine to needy survivors with no real idea of what any of it does. indirectly, quackity has killed 15+ people with his medication and harmed countless others. he doesnt feel bad, as long as he gets something out of it. he's been spoiled by his previously lavish life and just can't stand to let it all go

TOBY "TUBBO" SCHLATT - tubbo is the adoptive son of schlatt. while schlatt opted to adopt tubbo purely for aesthetics, just as he did with his marriage, he ended up getting somewhat attached to the little guy (and so did quackity). adopted at the age of 13, tubbo was quickly exposed to the inside mechanisms of business, the lying and cheating that goes on behind the retina and he has no interest in becoming a mogul like his father. rather, he opts for weapon studies and collecting a massive arsenal of different types of guns and bombs. tubbo sees the fallout as more of a playground than anything, being able to collect and test as many 'toys' as he wants. tubbo and tommy have crossed paths on several occasions, wherein they both will have a bit of a scuffle until theyre tired, then sit and talk. they consider each other friends, and neither of them know of the conflict between schlatt and wilbur

THE BUNKER - the bunker was once a safe haven for the one percent in england, but only a week into shelter, everybody was slaughtered. quackity and schlatt performed a hostile takeover of the bunker for no greater reason than the fact they wanted more space and more liberties. theyve now claimed the entire bunker as their home, and they want to see how far they can expand their power and control.

if youve made it this far, thx so much for reading it means the WORLD to me.. ill be posting abt this au alongside my other projects like claymore hills and the sanatorium au (which also was a 2021 thing!!)

heres a playlist i made for the rustout au if anybody is as interested in music as i am

thanks sm again, likes and reblogs are both appreciated ^-^ asks are open and heavily encouraged if you wanna know more :DD i know dsmpblr is a little dead but maybe mcytblr might like this, u never know if u dont try so ill take shot in the dark ^-^

note: NONE of these characters should be confused with the CCs. they are loosely based off of real interactions and projects but are entirely FICTIONAL in this universe. i do not support the actions of content creators such as dream, george, sapnap, punz, and many others associated with dream thus they will NOT be in this project. thank you.

[nathaniel-underwood-is-an-intj]

A very shy Kitty Jones cosplay

This fandom is absolutely starved of content as it is but it's absolutely barren when it comes to cosplay content so shy as I am imma put these here. I figure Tumblr is a safe space for healthy dose of cringe right? 😅

I know these are a little 90s / 2016 grungy for Kitty, but those are the vibes I got from her while reading the books.

Starting from the top are the sort of things I imagined her wearing in the early days of the resistance at about 13/14 - I always got soft punk and very tomboyish vibes from her.

(I always think of Krysten Ritter as Jessica Jones when I think of Kitty, and as she gets older Jane Margolis from Breaking Bad in terms of looks)

Going down- at about 15/16 after the resistance is disbanded I imagined her to be more into grunge clothes and a little more feminine.

And at the bottom at 18/19 when Kitty is working in the Pub as quite a bit more feminine and quite early 2000s Camden Market kinda girl. (I know her hair is short by this point in cannon but oh well)

In an ideal world these would be set against the backdrop of Camden or Brixton but alas I had to make do with a garden.

Maybe I'll redo these at a later point with slightly more 2000s girlie vibes but for now please enjoy (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

Music to match the vibes:

Cherry Bomb by The Runaways for younger Kitty

And LDN by Lily Allen for older Kitty

[dragonmarquise]

I've been working on the Bomb Rush Cyberfunk Wiki, and it's now in a completed state! (Kinda? For now at least)

I've been meaning to make this post for a while, but kept putting it off out of nervousness. ^^; Posted this to the game's Reddit already, so a lot of this is copy-pasted from that.

I've been working a lot on the BRC Wiki over on Fandom for a bunch of months now, since it was left pretty barren when I first found it. A lot of missing articles for stuff that should have its own page, plus a lot of unfinished articles. Now it has a lot more info for just about everything for the game!

Though, if you'd prefer to view the Fandom wiki without any Fandom nonsense, you can try to BreezeWiki version! Basically just a mirror that simplifies things, you can do this with any Fandom wiki by replacing the "fandom.com" part of the URL with "breezewiki.com". Kinda works like Nitter.net did for Xitter, if anyone remembers that.

So back on the main topic, the Fandom wiki is now at a point where I can call it complete! Well for the most part. The only thing that really still needs work imo is the Outfits page. It has images of most of the characters in their different outfits, front and back, but there's still a bunch of missing images needed for the rest.

@fauxridium helped create the images used on that particular page, and I wanted to format the rest in a similar way. I have all the characters and outfits, but the problem is just the time it would take for me to put everything together, nevermind just taking good screenshots. If anyone wants to volunteer to handle those images, feel free! Otherwise I'll probably get to it in a few months from now. I'm a bit sick of working on this wiki for so long, hopefully people understand, lol

Anyways, feel free to check out the wiki! I tried to make sure as much info as possible is covered, including sources to tweets and stuff for info that isn't mentioned in the game itself. Please let me know if anything's inaccurate or off, there's only some much fact-checking I can do by myself, so any help no matter how small is appreciated! :>

(Also, if you're wondering about any weird/quirky image captions on some of the pages... wiki work can be very tedious sometimes, to say the least. Then I try to have a little fun so I don't go completely mad from it, lmao. Hopefully nobody minds it too much.)

[spacekid1233]

SDV Headcanons: Abigail!

She wasn’t always alternative, but she was born with a punk mindset FOR SURE. She questioned authority as soon as she gained cognizance

Because of that, she was (and still kinda is) a ‘problem child’. When she was younger, Pierre made her stay at the dinner table until she ate her eggplant, and Abigail sat there the WHOLE night.

Pierre sat next to her, too. She gets her stubbornness from him

I feel like she watched Scott Pilgrim VS The World and was never the same. THAT WAS HER ALT AWAKENING

As well as her bi awakening tbh, she saw Ramona Flowers and thought, “Do I wanna be you or makeout w you???”

DIY queen, she helps make patches for Sam’s battle jacket, whenever they’re together in Sebastian’s room (Sebastian tells them to shut up at LEAST twenty times, Abby and Sam are a loud and chaotic duo)

SPEAKING OF SAM AND SEBASTIAN

She sees them as the brothers she never had, and is their designated wing woman. She takes this role DEAD seriously

When tourists come over to the valley for the fair, she helps Sam get some Zuzu city baddy’s number (Him and the girl talked for a week, then never spoke again. Abigail still considers this as a win)

As for wing womaning Seb……She’s trying. Working OVERTIME.!! Please give this girl a raise (aka an amethyst)

Abigail’s own love life is pretty barren, but she doesn’t mind! She loves her own company, and frequently spends time alone in nature: just with her thoughts

HOWEVER

Have you ever had those dreams where you had the PERFECT life, and as soon as you wake up, you realize it was never yours??,

Yeah, she has those often. And it’s ALWYAS her and someone, holding pinkies as they explore the mines

She wakes up from those in a COLD SWEAT and feels miserable for like. Ten minutes

Then Caroline knocks on her door and tells her it’s time for breakfast

This was my first list of headcanons omg!! I <3 Abigail so damn much, she’s literally the woman ever. If you have any requests for this fandom or others (check my pinned post), then put them in my request box!! I’d love to write for you :3

[majimasleftasscheek]

Im getting back into yakuza upon hearing the kiwami switch announcement, but not sure where to find the other fruits...is the Fandom more active on Twitter? I used to use it but left when muskrat started sniffing around, is it worth the return?

it kinda depends on what you wanna get out of it me thinks :o

the fandom is imo bigger on twitter but it's also twitter lol so you're gonna get a certain kind of interaction/people there compared to here. if you're wanting to follow say, more jp artists and stuff, twt is definitely the place to find em. and as much as people hate it, the 'for you' tab is decent at giving you relevant content especially when the algorithm picks up what you're getting into

also twt is good if you wanna directly follow any of the official accounts. it's how I keep up with merch since tumblr is pretty much barren for that sorta thing. I think it's worth a shot if you really wanna branch out to the fandom more. just cater your space and do what's best for the mental (like blocking /muting, etc) and twt is honestly fine. I use twt exclusively on pc so I got extensions to mod out all the musk garbage

there's also discord servers too but that also depends on what level of comfy you are with the # of people hanging out and what the server focuses on. I enjoy my server very much cuz we got that goblin braincell and I can always be very normal about the boys™ (｡◕‿◕｡)

oh and there's bluesky! I don't really know how the fandom is on there tbh. I have an account myself but ngl I get real lazy keeping up with other social media 😩 as a platform tho it's twt but competent lmao

[rebornicafanblog]

Hi!! I’ve been a fan of the pilot webcomic for years xx and ive been dying to see more content made for it but unfortunately this fandom is kinda barren ngl sooooooo this my one man attempt to breath a bit of life into this fandom (:

I understand that Rebornica/mx bones/nefariousskulls is kinda controversial and I heavily disagree with many things they’re involved with, however I really love the world building around the pilot webcomic and I feel it was a huge wasted potential!

So in this blog I’ll be finding or creating fanart or fanfics of pilot webcomic and posting them for others (: this may also include Aus, headconons, fun ideas and discussions about ways to improve and expand the existing story.

This is not a place to post hate! If you dislike something said feel free to reach out and say so but pls don’t use profanities and be toxic.

[brilliantfantasticgeronimo]

Rogue thoughts and reactions--->

not taking many notes this time cause i wanted to Savour this one tbh and what a blast so far

rogue and doctor so far is like. rtd striking gold potentially here (i kno he didnt write this one i mean more like. in the long run. i could see fans going crazy over this Type of ship and spending sweet $$$$ on it lol).

ruby looking at this "scene" like it's a tv show………. live…….. honey u best believe in ghost stories hyper post-modern genre tv show seasons cause u are in one

cushy… wordsmiths-ing count…

"ruby: you know how i forget about a man?" with a woman? (shot)

the parallel of these guys "dishonoring" these ppl while the doc and ruby do kind of the same all the time sdkflj

mmm second time i see a triangle logo (it was there last ep on the door to the MEP area that lindsey and rickey ran into. camera held on suspiciously long on it…) (triangles…. three…. susan TRIAD???)

doctor this says you're single and available. oh another word. "very" available.

COME ON ACE WE HAVE WORK TO DO

"wow" boner dialogue

mention of gallifrey.... "i might take you one day" oh man. oh man………..

"random barren dimension" yes this is not an equivalent to a silent confinement analogue at all don't think about it too hard guys

"i lost everyone"

they're leaning on……………. oh yaz just broke a coffee mug somewhere

maybe the real enemy was fandom all along

THOSE TV SIGNALS BEAM OUT ACROSS THE STARS. TV SIGNALS. TV SIGNALS. TV ISNGALS TV

SIGNASLKDJASLKDJASKLJ1!!SKLFDJDSLKJFSDLK JF SHUT UPTJSDLFKSDJ (i die)

ok im enjoying The Concept a lot, as expected…….. but gotta say rogue does feel a bit two dimensional so far :/ (maybe even a bit cliche?) i feel jack in his first ep had more depth at first for example (bounty hunter but also lost his memory. doing amoral things but being swayed by the doctor at the end. etc). but there's time THERE'S TIME. DONT LE TME DOWN EPISODE PLEA SE. there's always a twist-

you people and your bridgetons. in my time this would all be a big ass downtown abbey reference

sad thing is this is def one episode i wont be able to watch with my homophobic parents at all oof lmao

this dialogue.... kinda thoschei acadamy years coded ngl

"tell me what your heart wants or i shall turn my back on your forever" defining 15 character dialogue……….

(commitment phobe doctor moment. my girl hastn changed at ALL) (btw intrigued by rogue's "i lost them" bc it could mean a lot right. it's the most delibarely ambiguous of pronouns dklfjsd like it could be a nonbinary character but could also be a couple characters? or maybe im reading it wrong sdlkjf)

play our games on a magnificent scale…………… games motif……….

"i thought i was interesting- but you??" exactly!!! doctor who>>>>>>>> bridgerton/all other tv shows. case made.

god i feel so stupid. i dint catch that twist at all TOT

wedding season finale. chuldur's know where it's at.

oh finally there's the scene from the trailers!!!!!!!!!

"how long do they live for?" oh he's gonna says A Thing "thats a long time to suffer" I WASN'T WRONG /GOES FERAL ( i knew the family of blood coding was leading somewhere…)

the doctor beatiing these cosplayers with his "i object" tv tropyness……….. the meta of it……… theory gang we're gonna make it yet i swear

ok yes this is sad poor ruby but like. but literally last month 14 killed/sacrificed donna w/o sm hesitation so sdklfjdsklfjsdklfj (yes im still like. HEY THAT WAS A SIGNIFICANT THING THAT HAPPENED. WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT IT.)

oh is rogue a chuldur as well? he feels too invested in the trolley problem of it all sdlkfj

im gonna say it.... i thought that resolution was kinda........ as the kids say..... weak sauce sfkdj

like oh nooo he got teleported oh noooo. like he's gonna be fine slkdfjsd didn't really hit that hard :/ should have had a proper death sacrifice thing.

"im sorry....." "....AAAANYWAY , it is what it is!!!! " my man is so broken holy shit. holy shit.

it's ok to be sad. !!!!! TOT

CONCLUSIONS!!

sdlkjf ya'll i really wanted this to harder but idk i didnt feel the depth or sensibility this called for was there tbh. but it was a blast!!! but … it missed a bit of that x factor thing. like some kind of universality to the romance w/ the rogue. i feel he was too sketched-in.... i was also a bit disappointed that ruby's friend was not her friend bc it meant her whole thing this ep of connecting to that woman was for nothing (and up until that point it was feeling very Important specially after the marti thing) (and speaking of, the chuldur's were kinda very sketched-in / surface-level as villains as well) … yeah. idk. kinda disappointing ngl (diodati > this i think). pretty fucking gay tho so that was nice.

[user-needs-new-hyperfixation]

Did I literally click the "follow" button instead of the "ask" button and then have to quickly follow you again because of that? yes.

oops.

👉👈Do you have any super awesome Louis headcanons that are burning on your chest?

Ahahahaha better than all the times I've accidentally followed pornbots for two seconds while scrambling to block them 😂😂

Louis headcanons!

I think it's kind of a fandom headcanon in general/arguably just canon, but I see him as by far the least suicidal and the closest to mentally healthy of the brothers. He's still got issues though.

While I don't object to seeing him other ways (you know I very much enjoy your Sherlouis fic) in my own fics and headcanons he's always entirely aroace. I really like the idea that he is entirely fulfilled by the relationships he has with his friends and family, and they all love him back so much, and he just doesn't need or want anything else.

He just...he's just really awesome. I know I'm a broken record about this, but I think he is THE natural leader of the three. I think he is strong and smart and brave and practical and inspires loyalty and fits perfectly into his position as M. I think he knows when to challenge Mycroft and when to obey him: and I think he knows when he needs to let his own subordinates challenge him and when he needs to insist on simple obedience. I think that balance allows him to ensure the absolute best outcomes on all missions, to make sure everyone is as safe as they can possibly be.

Similar note, I firmly headcanon that he and Mycroft became friends during the timeskip. I think they bonded over quiet grief, but also that they are just similar enough to get along. I think they sometimes just hang out reading in the Diogenes Club together. Louis lowkey ships MycAl, because if he has to get the annoying Holmes as a brother-in-law he might as well get the cool one too.

I don't think he's inherently as neat a person as he might seem. I think he's thoughtful of Albert's needs when he's around, and that like Liam, he hasn't given much thought to his own likes and dislikes pre-timeskip, as his thoughts about his barren room at the start of The Remains suggest. He's also managing basically a pack of overgrown toddlers, so he has to be really tidy just to keep up. But I like to think his own space, once he's invested in living and when he doesn't feel it will unsettle his brothers, has a cozy lived-in clutter to it. Not dirty, just...comfortable.

Post-timeskip he secretly actually kind of likes Sherlock but shhh don't tell anybody about it.

I think he and John will get along really well if they get to know each other.

I also think he and Billy will get along really well when they get to know each other, though I think it might kinda surprise them both!

[gravecircuit]

5AM headcanons as I slowly get back into Moral-ing

- idk how much from Narcissism the fandom accepts, but it does make me categorize Bloberta as the “prettiest” / most desired woman in moralton based on the fact that she made Putty climax with words alone.

- As goofy as that is it also re-contextualizes a lot. She is “off limits” even in infidelity because she’s the mayor’s wife.

- I also think if Dottie tried her routine on Bloberta, Dottie would end up crying wayyyyyy earlier. Bloberta’s numbness includes an immunity to gaslighting. Also there is one element that actually connects the 2 characters that I wanna draw. Here’s a different scene for now:

Dottie: Can I sit with you Bloberta so our kids can talk to each other and not us?

Bloberta: … you talk to your kids?

Dottie nervously lights a cigarette.

Dottie: I- uh, well I mean-

Bloberta puts out the cigarette by clasping the end with her bare fingers.

Bloberta: If you’re going to do that, I think you should sit somewhere else.

- Blobbie / Censordoll discourse is also interesting bc I think of it as “numb & barren” (ship name maybe?) - things kinda also come full circle. In Help: Bloberta fails to help Fran, feels like she helped Clay and marries him, Orel is born and goes on to be Fran’s main helper in her campaign against Clay, with signs made by Bloberta.

- Gay Clay vs. Bi Clay was a debate brought up in one of my streams and I said my answer keeps changing. There are “tactile” arguments for Bi Clay but they all really start to evaporate for me with the scene in honor. There is no exact science, it is just a uniquely gay anguish confessed. alsogayclayrhymes

- I think about Clay’s rise to office a lot and what exactly enabled him to do so, and I’m beginning to think he may have used his mother’s death in his campaign as he starts to pen her lost commandments into Moralton law. Much to Arthur’s dismay, which only encourages Clay to take things further.

- A newer idea but I feel like Danielle’s experience encouraging Orel might have kindled something, and if Fakey can go from coach to Principal so can Danielle.

- I think now that Bendy is reconnected with Joe, the Fakey situation will actually quickly lead to a restraining order. Since Bendy no longer has to telephone through Ms. Secondopinionson to talk to Joe, Fakey talks to Secondopinionson for updates on Bendy. I think Fakey’s mental state will decline between his ruined marriage and “mistress” cut off, but for some reason I think with Secondopinionson’s infinite patience she becomes a sort of friend + makeshift repressional since Putty’s having none of it anymore. In that circumstance I think Secondopinionson becomes comfortable speaking to him in her natural voice . I think Fakey loses his job to Danielle like above, then idk, gets part time work at Steph’s shop or something.

- The David Tuber interview mentioned that Orel goes goth but also goes atheist, and the blue heron as a symbol of his faith begins to follow him around. I think the “Nature rematch” would be Orel getting Ol’ Gunny with actual intent to kill the Heron.

- Which brings me to the tinfoil hat section. Consider this my “Season 4+”

- By this time Censordoll has a stranglehold on Moralton. With no role models and in complete nihilism Orel kills the Heron in anger. In absolute darkness Orel finds no solace, he then notices the Heron’s nest.

- I have no idea what Steven Universe / Demon Slayer script we’ll need to get to this point but I really think that if Censordoll is the “final boss” of Moralton it should end with her and Orel nurturing the blue heron egg until it hatches, roll credits.

[spiderton]

really weird to see good art have like 3 notes but then i remember patapon fandom here is kinda barren