#destroy something bea

[imvec]

Proposal

[asianfork]

SHE KNOWS

[graysoncritic]

A (Negative) Analysis of Tom Taylor's Nightwing Run - Introduction

Introduction Who is Dick Grayson? What Went Wrong? Dick's Characterization What Went Wrong? Barbara Gordon What Went Wrong? Bludhaven (Part 1, Part 2) What Went Wrong? Melinda Lin Grayson What Went Wrong? Bea Bennett What Went Wrong? Villains Conclusion Bibliography

I want to start this essay by admitting I’m actually embarrassed by its length. Why did I spend so much time on something I dislike? The truth is, I did not begin this with the intention of creating such an extensive, formal study of the Tom Taylor and Bruno Redondo’s Nightwing run and how it reflects the wider problems with DC’s handling of one of their most iconic characters. I was just trying to organize the thoughts that came up during discussions with other Dick Grayson fans. Before I knew it, I had enough material, enough desire to challenge myself, and enough frustrations to vent to properly create this monstrosity.

I did not begin this Nightwing run determined to hate it. In fact, I was ready to love it. As Taylor promoted the run before the first issue was officially released, I was so excited for it. As I read short interviews where he discussed Heartless, I could not wait to have a new, incredible villain. Foolishly, I believed Taylor when he said he loved Dick Grayson. 

Needless to say, I was disappointed. Then frustrated. Then angry. The beginning of any story is a period where writer and reader form an indirect bond, and as the story progresses, so do the highs and the lows of said relationship. As such, a reader’s tolerance for negative factors will either increase or decrease depending on their experience up until that point.

In other words, if the writer fails to earn the reader’s trust and instead takes their attention for granted, even seemingly insignificant details become irritating in a way they would not be if presented in a better story. In such scenarios, the reader can no longer overlook those minor moments because there’s little good to balance them out with. It is a death by a thousand cuts. 

In the case of Taylor and Redondo’s run, along with those thousand cuts are also broken bones, internal bleeding, head trauma, and severed limbs. A weak plot, simplistic morality that undermines the story’s stated themes, and, most importantly, a careless disregard for Dick Grayson and everything he stands for utterly destroyed my enjoyment of this series. 

It is still too early to tell what sort of impact Taylor’s (as of time of writing, still unfinished) run will have on Dick Grayson’s future portrayals. But just because we cannot predict its long term significance, it does not mean we cannot critique it. Currently, we simply lack the benefit of hindsight. 

If this essay were to have a thesis, then it is this: Tom Taylor and Bruno Redondo’s Nightwing not only fails to tell a compelling Nightwing story, but it also exemplifies a cynical, self-serving, and shallow approach to storytelling that prioritizes creating hollow viral moments to boost the creators’ own online popularity over crafting a good story, honoring the character in their care, and respecting his fans – fans who have, historically, often been women, queer folk, and other individuals who felt othered by a cisheteronormative patriarchal society. Taylor and Redondo’s thoughtless and superficial narrative not only undermine the socially progressive ideals they supposedly care for by propagating a cisheteronormative patriarchal worldview, but they also demonstrate a lack of love and understanding for the character in their care. At best, Taylor and Redondo have no interest in getting to know Dick Grayson, nor any respect for their predecessor and their contributions to this character. At worst, they despise Dick so much that they wish to reinvent him into something completely different, tossing away everything that was special to his fans in order to appeal to a readership that never cared about Dick Grayson. 

I structured this essay so that, hopefully, each part will build on the ones that came prior. Naturally, because all aspects of a story are interlaced, there will be overlaps between each of the sections. As it may have become obvious from this introduction, I’ll be focusing primarily on the writing of this run. That is not to say that I will not address the art, but writing is the field I know most about, and so it feels only fair to focus my critique on that. 

I hope that by the end of this essay, I will have successfully proved that this run’s mishandling of different narrative elements betray a cynical appropriation of progressive ideology and a disregard and disinterest in what makes Dick Grayson so special to so many people. This is an attitude that is present within DC Comics’ current ethos as a whole.

Now, who is this essay for? Honestly, it’s probably not for Tom Taylor fans. I do not believe I’ll be persuading anyone with my writing, and, to be quite honest, neither would I say I wish to do so. Taylor and Redondo’s run has won numerous awards and has many dedicated fans who adore it for what it is. If that is you, then I’m glad. I wish I could be among your numbers. I wish more than anything that I could love this story. But I do not, and I know many others agree with me, and it is to them, I think, that I’m speaking to. As Taylor’s run is praised to heaven and back, I needed a safe space to voice my thoughts. This essay became this safe space. And to others who also feel unseen by the constant praise this run is getting, I think this could speak to you, as well. To be cliche and cringe, this will hopefully let you know that you are not alone. 

Finally, I want to acknowledge some people whose thoughts greatly contributed to the creation of this essay. For around three years now I’ve been having wonderful interactions with other Dick Grayson’s fans, and those discussions were not only incredibly fun and cathartic, but also provided great insight into what needed to be included in this essay. My best friend especially gave me a space to vent when I got frustrated, and my original outline borrowed a lot from the messages I sent her, as well as notes I took for our discussions.  

I’ll also be directly quoting four different Dick Grayson fans (identified as Dick Grayson Fans A, B, and C in order to allow them to keep their anonymity). Their analyses were so critical to the formation of my thesis and for a lot of what will be addressed in this essay that I actually feel like they deserve co-credit in this essay. Dick Grayson Fan B especially deserves a shoutout in helping me track down a couple of pages used as supporting evidence, as I knew what pages I was looking for but was having a hard time remembering in which issue they were located. I’m quoting them with permission, and crediting their ideas and contributions whenever relevant. 

Now, without any further ado, let’s get started. 

[vigilskeep]

[ID: reply from @thornfield13713 saying “'coming back a little different' - oh, boy, we are really In It now, tell me everything”]

as one of my most popular posts implies, i like to mess around with the inquisitor having spent a little longer in the bad timeline than the game implies, but even if they weren’t, i don’t think in hushed whispers is the kind of experience anyone comes back the same from

the bea they know is a shy young woman who flusters with praise, quick to follow orders and eager to please people like cassandra, looking around at the world with bright, curious eyes. the one who comes back is... not quite that. she’s seen the world destroyed because she, personally, was not there to stop it. she’s seen exactly what happens if she doesn’t step up.

she’s still bea, but something changes. lots of people find it hard to put their finger on exactly what. she’s a better leader, certainly. more confident. no longer so startled by the unknown. the kind of person who could ally with the mages, for example. you could say a girl goes into that rift and an inquisitor steps out

it’s probably for the best, all round. but i don’t think blackwall or cassandra—or perhaps even solas, for his general involvement—ever quite shake a feeling of responsibility. whatever happened, they let it happen

[msookyspooky]

Female Genderbent House of Wax AU

Me and @bitchyhorror have been discussing a genderbent AU and how much more tragic it would have been for Bo and Vincent Sinclair to be women in HoW. In fact, female conjoined twins have a drastically increased survival rate compared to males.

Beauregard 'Bo' / Beatrice 'Bea'

- The pretty sister, the 'normal' sister and yet the blacksheep. The bad seed. The Reject.

- Always wears her hair in a way to hide the scar. She never was the same after the surgery according to her folks...Was it that her brain was messed up? Was it anger at how she was treated?

- Trudy forced her in dresses and dainty doll-like clothes at a young age. Always a fight every morning with her tearing the bow out in overstimulated rage and then being hit for it.

- Never fit in, never made her parents proud, yet looked like she should have been the apple of their eye.

- Your twin sister is ugly and has to hide her face because of you attached to her and still a good girl; what's your excuse? She could've been the most beautiful perfect girl and destroyed that just by being born.

- Always damned for how 'unlady-like' she was. What a disgrace having a daughter with the Sinclair name be so ill mannered and such a lil bitch. And look at what you did to yourself! Marking your skin up by fighting those belts. You want everyone to see those and judge us!?

- Obviously cracked under pressure and couldn't take anymore by a certain age. Her first times with guys were escapes to numb the pain and it made it worse. She was the families biggest regret. She had fantasies that weren't right. SHE wasn't right.

- Bonus to her trauma; she's gay. In the Bible Belt Deep South. The Church she goes to daily like a ritual. She prays over her Mama's body for forgiveness. Forgiveness for being masculine and being unlady like and working on cars instead of what her Mama wanted. Forgiveness for tainting everything she touches...Forgiveness for her urges.

- Just to lure pretty women she doesn't think she'd have a chance with. Or better yet, doesn't try. Bind them the way she was as a girl. Relive her trauma with them and show them both the love she never got and the abuse she endured. She's technically a Stone Butch touch-me-not even if she doesn't really get into labels or know the term other than WRONG.

- It was drill into her she was going to Hell just for liking women so what does how she likes them or killing people matter?

- She likes women at her mercy and unable to touch her. Unable to hurt her. Forced into being what will make her feel in control for once in her life

- She thinks she's a Sociopath/Anti Social but really she has severe CPTSD. It's why she is codependent on her sister yet resents her, why she never leaves, why she insist on making a town something her abusive mother wanted, why she can't have intimacy without reliving her past with her forced fetish. She is deeply disturbed and is reliving the trauma to be in control and make sense of it daily.

- She dehumanizes others not because of natural apathy but because it was taught and because she feels a duty to fill the town with wax corpses that outweighs her morals. She was never given empathy so how would she know? All she knows is she does feel guilt when calling her sister a freak even if she doesn't know how to make amends.

- In denial. Her Mama was stressed. Her Daddy was busy. Her Twin was Good. SHE was the monster. She deserved to be hit and tied down...Right?

Vincent / Victoria

- Her Mama's favorite. Trudy's protégé. And yet...Trudy's secret. Trudy's guilt and remorse and hindrance. She couldn't brag about Victoria...Not with her limitations.

- Not being like other girls weighed on her heavily. She always watched those old movies and cried herself to sleep wishing she could be like them. Dainty, Pretty, Desired. She kept her hair long just to have that once of femininity and to hide her face.

- Relied on her Identical Twins pretty face, her normal face, as a mold for her masks and even if she loved her twin the resentment built over time

- Bea got to go out into the world. Bea could have anyone. Bea could do anything. Victoria's only talent was her wax sculpting making her mother proud stuck in Ambrose

- It wasn't fair! Victoria was the girly one, the talented one, the good one and yet because of her face she was the ugly forgotten one that hid. The face her twin got to have and took for granted.

- She has never been kissed or never held hands. Never had anyone love her. Truly love her. Want her in a way a woman should be wanted and loved. Both twins felt unlovable. One for her face, one for her personality.

- And every argument Bea brought up her face and every argument she could tell her ill tempered twin regretted it but the damage was done and it chipped at her heart.

- Ate away at what little sanity she had from such isolation and dehumanization. Mute, deformed, had parents that hurt yet loved her with their words and actions, blamed by her twin for Beatrice's mistreatment, never allowed to be normal.

- Victoria would caress her victims longingly. She viewed bodies like works of art but oh how she wished this strong male victim under her would want her. Yearn for her like she saw in movies. To gently trail her soft fingers from years of wax working over his paralyzed form. See the fear in his eyes and wish it was adoration. How cruel it was that God let her be born, she always thought.

- She applied makeup to her mask. Making herself pretty in the mirror as if that wax mask was her face. That's all she wanted was to be pretty to someone...Just one person look at her with adoration instead of fear, disgust or pity.

- Unlike her male counterpart in the original movie; her lack of beauty eats at her even more as a young Southern Belle. Us women and femme presenting are pressured to be beautiful even more than men/masc presenting and it eats at her daily that she isn't. Even more that it eats at Vincent in the movie.

- Shields her face crying and hiding like a traumatized animal whenever her mask is knocked off or damaged. No one can see her! Her mother gave her such kindness in drilling it into her to cover her disgusting face...

- Wax sculpts because it's all she knows. Always waxing women with envy and reverence at what she COULD be.

[shallyouobeyme]

Dream

Yandere!/Dark!Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch x reader

Summary: Left alone with nightmares and pictures of your loved ones dying when you close your eyes, you're trying your best to leave the woman you had secretly loved and who had turned into an evil witch and died behind you, but maybe - just maybe - she doesn't want to let you...

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT Warning: Dark content, mentions of previous murders, MoM Spoilers(?), Blood (Mentioned), Yandere, _This is all just fiction, I do not condone this!

Bea: Okay, so this is loosely based on a scene from a fanfiction I abandoned when I was like 15. It was honestly a giant cringe-fest, but this one scene never left my mind for long so I decided to recycle it into something my current messed-up self will enjoy. This is also day one of my writetober so check it out. Enjoy.

Falling asleep had become a chore for you. Every time you closed your eyes you saw death. Either the death of Pietro back in Sokovia, the death of Vision and of so many other Avengers. Rrecently the death of the only person you had ever truly loved had joined the list. Wanda was gone and a part of you knew that it was better this way, that everything she had done to Stephen, to the people of the other universe, after what she had tried to do to America, you were well aware that she hadn’t been the woman you’d secretly been in love with for years now anymore. But that part was frighteningly tiny. Most of you still felt agonizing grief. You had decided to stay with Stephen and America, after all, they were the only ones who had been with you when you had seen that other universe. The only one on your trip that you had been sad to leave behind. A universe where you and Wanda had been happy together. In love. Married.

A universe that you had wished for for many years. One that Wanda destroyed in her attempt to get to America. You had seen with your own eyes how she had taken ahold of that Universes Wanda and ripped the heart right out of your universe-equivalent chest when she tried to talk some sense into who she thought to be her wive. That was probably the death that hunted you the most. Not because you had seen yourself die, but because you had realized then and there that this woman wasn’t Wanda anymore, that this woman was the Scarlet Witch and that she seemingly had no emotions left for the friendship you had once shared. America had known immediately what you were thinking because she took your hand and shook her head as if to tell you that it Wanda anymore, that it wasn’t Wanda who was trying to - who actually kind of had killed you. This understanding only increased when you finally opened up to her about your feelings for the witch, she encouraged Stephen to let you stay with them and did her very best to cheer you up every single day to get you to crawl out of the dark hole you had found yourself stuck in.

That doesn’t help with the sleeping issue though. Lately, you had resorted to letting Wong put a light sleeping spell on you that would keep you from experiencing any dream-like state and basically made you just fall asleep and immediately wake up about six hours later. Which is why you were especially confused when you woke up in a sunflower field. You immediately knew that you must be dreaming because this wasn’t just some random sunflower field, as you looked around you could see the little cabin beside a lake, the mountain range opposite it and the tree with the swing. Obviously, there were some biological reasons why this couldn’t exist in real life, but the more obvious factor was that you had seen this from a different perspective a hundred times. Every single time you had walked into your room in the Compley you had seen this landscape on your wall. Wanda and you had been lazily hanging out in your room one weekend back when everything was still okay (or as okay as it had ever been) when you had told her that you had been thinking of painting something on the wall to make the space more personal and she had immediately loved the idea. Two days (and 500$ of Tony’s money) later there was a definitely amature made, but exceptionally beautiful in your eyes with Wanda and your name intertwined in the corner. You had joked that one day you’d live in a cabin there and the people in the town nearby would think the two of you were an old married couple. Just that you hadn’t really joked, you had hoped. You had dreamt of it often back in the day, but ever since Thanos, it had turned into a nightmare sooner or later, the flowers rotting, the cabin burning, the lake filling with blood, etc. This is why you were doing your best to try and wake yourself up again, not mentally stable enough to live through another nightmare like that. Just that none of the tactics were working. You had to try something else, or at least you were planning to do so, but when you stood up to look around, suddenly something changed. You looked down at yourself where before there was your pyjamas, but now there was the exact outfit you had worn on a night out years ago before you had known Wanda and Vision had a thing going on where you had planned to confess your feelings to her but had chickened out. “Hello, Darling,” a voice called out from behind you. A voice you’d recognize anywhere. You turned around and saw her. She looked exactly as you remember, wearing that beautiful maroon dress that she had already worn that night. For a second it was like nothing had ever happened, but then reality caught up to you. This was a dream. She was dead.

Since you knew that this had to be a dream you tried to use whatever lucid dreaming tips you had heard in your life and clenched your eyes shut, repeating “This is all a Dream” again and again. “Love-” you hadn’t heard her coming closer, obviously, it was a dream no logic had to apply, but the hand that cupped your cheeks still startled you, “-please look at me.” Against all reasoning you obliged her and when you looked into her beautiful eyes you couldn’t help but want to kiss her, just to have one last sweet memory of her left. As if reading your mind she leaned forward and put her lips on yours. She pulled you towards her and stole your breath. You were melting into her and it felt so, so, very real that the fact that all of it was a dream became hazy. At least until you saw her kissing Vision in your head in what seemed to be a last-ditch attempt of your brain to make you wake up. You pulled away and shook your head frantically. “No, no, this isn’t right, you’re with vision, just because I love you doesn’t mean you love me too… Or loved me, I guess because you’re dead, I saw it-” “You’re wrong.” “-with my own eyes. You died and you didn’t love me.” “Princessa, you’re wrong,” Wanda raised her voice slightly and you turned to her automatically. “I saw you die, Wanda, you’re dead.” “That’s not the thing you’re wrong about,” she sighed and came closer to you again, you wanted to step back, but found yourself unable to. It was like your feet were cemented onto the earth below you, “I might have died, but I loved you, I always did, I just didn’t realize until I saw that woman in that parallel universe, their version of me married to their version of you, living the life I wanted, not only having my children but also the spouse of my dreams. It wasn’t vision, vision was what I thought I deserved because you were always so pure, so fantastic, too good for me. But that fake-me made me realize that it’s not about what I deserve, it’s about what you need, you need someone to properly love and protect you. You need me, so how fortunate that you love me already.” Not quite able to process what she was saying you tried your waking-up tactics again before this turned even more nightmarish. You were distracted though when Wanda took you into a dancing position, putting your head against her and your body suddenly started dancing in sync with her without any input of your own. “Too bad that Stephen was already after me, I knew that he wouldn’t let me keep you safe in peace. He was a threat. But he would stop as soon as he thought he’d been victorious. He had to think I died and so I did. For a while at least-” you would have grown stiff in shock and fear if your body had still been listening to you, instead, you kept slightly swinging through the flower field with Wanda, “-It cost me a lot of Magic, but it was worth it. I’ll recover and then I’ll be able to get you into an actual little cabin at a lake, just like we always talked about, until then I’ll still be able to be with you in your dreams, where it’s just us two. Maybe we can start on making you actually believe that I love you, hmm, once we manage that we can move on to helping you accept me as your protector, okay? For now, I’ll just keep the bad dreams away, just you and me and the sunflowers.” Your body stopped swinging and even though you felt the control returning to your limbs you wouldn’t be able to do anything, frozen in shock. Wanda kissed you one more time before you suddenly shot up in bed, drenched in cold sweat. It took you a few minutes to calm down your heart from the excessive fear that was still lingering. You decided not to go back to sleep and made a note to ask Wong if he had an idea why his spell didn’t work as you made your way into the library where you assumed Stephen was wasting the night away over books, trying to ignore the fact that you could still feel the kiss on your lip, feel the stiffness in your joints that you had only ever felt in the afterwards of Wanda controlling you and the fact that you still felt her presence in your subconscious.

[breoasis]

zeldaposting: mentioning some of my favorite aspects/details of twilight princess in order to forget about the absolute worst take about the game i just saw:

(names of people and places are from the spanish version because i refuse to look up every name in english like it's the real and only valid version of the game)

-At the start of the game Link is just a normal guy, unlike most other games where he's either the Hero™, a knight™, or a guy with literally no background story whatsoever. He's a farmer, he works at the goat ranch alongside Braulio (i don't think it is ever stated in the game if Link also owns the goats or if he's just helping), he owns a horse which helps him herd the goats and carry things (we see Link and Ivan's father at the start of the game coming back from the forest with Epona carrying lots of wood on her back)... We can also safely assume that he lives by himself in the treehouse, as they never mention any family members and every other family in the village has their own house. So there's a background story, TP Link has friends and work to do in the village, he's not a main character just hanging around waiting for the plot to happen. Plus he's never been to Hyrule which i think is funny.

-The pictures inside the houses are very cute. Link has pictures of Braulio, the goats, his horse and the young kids of the village, Bea's mother (i don't remember her name) has pictures of her daughter and her kitty cat in her shop, and the girl who works at the fishing pond has pictures of family members and herself with different fish they caught. Idk it feels very human to me. It also means that they either have cameras or someone in Hyrule is very good at drawing lol

-There's so many human casualties after the twilight realm "consumes" Hyrule, instead of everyone being okay after a monster attack like in many other Zelda games. Kakariko village is completely destroyed, only 3 people survived, and they mention some of the people who are supposed to be dead (by the dialogue it is implied that they got transformed into shadow beasts which Link had to kill later). The Zora queen's ghost tells Link that the monsters executed her to send a message to her people or something like that. If you come back to Ordon village after becoming human again for the first time, Ivan's father is resting on the sofa of his house covered in bloody bandages.

-The fact that not everyone has pointy ears, like, there's so many characters with normal human ears, i think it's a nice detail. The wikis like to use that line in OoT about "hylians having long ears in order to hear the gods" or something like that to state that Hylians are a different thing from common humans, but honestly, i like to believe that it is the same thing as having a bigger or smaller nose or whatever, just genetics. Also, there's a bunch of characters whose ear shapes change from one game to another so i don't think it is that deep honestly....

-You can PET THE GOATS and pick up the cats and dogs, also play fetch with the dogs in town....... very cute,, game of the century

[porcelana-r0ta]

Bound for Glory

Fandom: Night In The Woods

Word Count: 2119

Ao3 Link: Only available to registered Ao3 users

Summary: Casey Hartley is nineteen and isn’t ready to grow up (and he won’t).

xxXxx

He strikes the match against the sandpaper side of the matchbox, igniting his small world of the night sky and the train tracks. He brought the orange flame to the tip of his cigarette, and once the flame took, he shook the match out. Dropping it, he stomps on the burned out match: Smokey Bear would be proud. Or disappointed. 

Shoving the box of matches in his hoodie pocket, Casey Hartley takes his first drag of the cigarette as he resumes walking west. The smoke fills his lungs, clouding his organs, stretching them and destroying them all in one. He blows out. He can’t see the smoke under the new moon. The only light on the train tracks lives with the stars and the dim ember of his cancer stick.

“What, not gonna offer me a light?” Cain asks, flipping his Zippo out and sparking the end of his Marlboro. 

“You hate my matches,” Casey says. 

“‘Cause it’s not fuckin’ 1923, damn.” Despite lighting his cigarette, Cain keeps his Zippo out, flicking the flint wheel. Sparks fly, but never catch. 

Casey likes matches. Likes lighting them up and letting the flame crawl down to his fingertips. Likes blowing them out and smelling the woody smoke of their dying breath. Likes stomping them beneath his feet. Likes using them for his cigarettes or blunts, going through the same motions as thousands of smokers before him and the invention of the lighter. Likes feeling like something. Feeling like there’s something other than Possum Springs. 

Mae got out, at least. And Angus and Gregg are saving to get out. 

He and Bea, though? 

He brings the cigarette to his lips and inhales. Holds it. Lets it out in a sigh. 

“Cain—”

“No,” his cousin says immediately. 

“No?” 

“No, you can’t join the business.” 

Casey is offended, “I don’t want to join your business.” 

“Good,” Cain says. He flicks his cigarette, sending ash to the tracks. “You’re gonna have a future, you know.” 

His stomach curdles. “In Possum Springs?” He tries to keep his tone wry and playful, but his bitterness takes over. Consumes, like the smoke. 

“You can leave. Get a job, like your gay friends. Gary and Angie, or whatever.” 

“Gregg and Angus.” Casey rolls his eyes. 

“That’s what I said.” 

"Uh-huh."

“Yeah, whatever. Point is, you don’t have to be like me. Mary and Bryan love you. They’ll support you even if you get a bitch pregnant and walk out on her.” 

His mom would sooner beat his ass for walking out on a girl after knocking her up, but Casey doesn’t argue the point. 

“That’s not the problem.”

“Yeah?” Cain’s voice takes on a hint of arrogance, the inflection he uses whenever he successfully blows a smoke ring. It’s too dark to tell, but Cain is always sure of himself. “Enlighten me.” 

Casey kicks at the ground, hoping to strike a rock, and only scuffs a plank on the track. 

“I dunno what I wanna do.”

“What, with life? For a job? No one does.” 

The lit end of his cigarette shakes in time with his fingers. “No. Or yes? I don’t know what I’m fucking doing.” 

“Yeah, and no one does. Life is a guessing game, man.” 

“Well, it sucks. The only thing I know is I don’t wanna stay in this shithole town. Maybe I should just hop on a train already.”

“Possum Springs ain’t that bad.” 

Casey scoffs. 

“No, really. It’s kinda nice, minus the xenophobia.”

“Huh, so you did pay attention in high school.

“Shut it, kid.” Cain punches his shoulder. He’s only seven years older, which isn’t that much older, but Cain milks it for all it’s worth. 

They’re quiet for a long moment, the only sounds being their feet on the tracks and earth and their sighs of smoke. Then Cain suddenly breaks it. 

“I wanted to be a teacher.” 

Casey looks down, startled. “What?”

“‘S true.” He flicks his cancer stick. Cinders falls and die in the dark. “Loved art. Loved Mrs. Terry. Wanted to make other kids like me feel like they were worth a damn.”

Casey knows the name, even if he never took art class himself in high school. Mrs. Terry had taken Cain in after he was kicked out, at least until Casey’s parents found out and gave him the spare room. Cain stayed there until he scrimped up enough money for his trailer house. 

“It was really cool of her to take you in like that,” he says quietly in the night. 

“Yeah,” his cousin agrees. “Mrs. Terry’s real cool. She said I could make it. But college’s expensive. ‘N I’m just a dealer now.” 

Casey’s not good with this, with comforting people or supporting people. But he can’t say nothing. 

“Maybe you can save up. Do a ju-co, then something cheap for your last two years.” 

Cain scoffs a laugh. “No…. Nah, that’s just not me.”

He drops his cigarette and steps on it, suffocating the fire. Killing its short life. “Seriously, Case. You can do whatever you want, and your parents will help you. I’ll help, too. You’re my cousin, more like brother, honestly. You can take all the time you need to decide what you want in life.” 

But Casey’s not in high school anymore, he doesn’t want to go to college, and he feels stuck in place. He doesn’t want to grow up. He wants to stay Casey Hartley, seventeen years old, rage-playing drums while Gregg plays guitar and Mae plays bass and Angus sings. He wants to commit crimes with Gregg and Mae, wants to lift snacks from the Snalcon and smoke weed in the upper office of the old Food Donkey and referee Gregg’s and Mae’s dumb knife fights. 

God. He won’t even be a teenager in a few months. His twentieth birthday is creeping up. 

He’s scared of getting a job. He’s scared of hating his job and being stuck with it. He’s scared of taxes. He’s scared of finding an apartment to rent. He’s scared of never owning a house. He’s scared of owning a house.  He’s scared of Cain being arrested. He’s scared that Mae will never come back. He’s scared that Gregg and Angus will leave and never come back. He’s scared that Bea will be crushed under the weight of the Ol’ Pickaxe and her negligent father. He’s scared that he’ll be all that’s left of them, left behind in dying Possum Springs, left behind to die here with no one but conservative asshats and nothing to do and nothing accomplished that means anything.

His parents will stay, and they are young, but they aren’t getting younger, and a good son dies after his parents. He’s scared of that. Of being with just them until old age claims them and then he really is—

a   l   o   n   e

He doesn’t want to grow up.

The train tracks start to rumble, quiet and gentle. A headlight beams behind them, though it has not reached their backs quite yet. Casey steps off on the right, and Cain goes left. 

“You’re right,” Casey says instead of any of his fears. “You’re right.”

“I usually am.” He looks at the stars and hums. “Look, it’s late. I’m going home. You should, too.” 

The train gets closer and louder. The light reaches them.

Casey has to yell, “Yeah, I will. See you later!” 

“I—”

Cain’s response is stolen by the train, cutting in between them and blocking Casey’s path back to town. 

The train wails as Casey lights another cancer stick. He lets the fire creep to his fingers before dropping the match and stomping it out beneath his black canvas shoe, his fingers stinging as he puts the cigarette between his lips. 

The air is warm with the birth of summer. He shouldn’t even be in his black hoodie in this weather, but it’s the same hoodie he’s had since sophomore year and he’s not good at letting go. It was only during the hottest August days that he’d shed the hoodie in previous years.

He hums “Die Anywhere Else” as the train passes, whistling and crooning all the way. He finishes his cancer stick, considers lighting another, but ultimately doesn’t. 

When he gets to the chorus, his chest burns, and he sings the words instead of humming the melody. That part was always meant for Mae. But she had bigger and better plans than an idiot like him who was scared and clueless all at once for his future and would throw that future away as soon as he gathered the courage to hop a train.

Maybe I should just jump on the train, he thinks to himself. Leave for Durkillesburg. Crash with Mae for a weekend or two. Start finding my own place.

But his legs are stuck in place, just like he is. Glued down by fear. Petrified of the culmination of the future of his wrong decisions.

The train eventually passes, and Casey is expecting to be alone, Cain long gone to his trailer. But he’s not. 

Someone stands on the other side of the tracks, a silhouette in the darkness. They are tall and look like they are wearing something long, like a trench coat, maybe. Some kind of hard hat rests on their head. 

A crusty, his mind supplies, a vain attempt to calm his heart. His fur stands on end, his blood going cold. He’s jumped off the train, just like a million other crusties.

For a moment, the two can only stare. 

“Casey Hartley?” they ask. They sound male. No crusty is likely to know his name—he’s befriended some, sure, but they hardly ever return, and they wouldn’t just assume that the first shadowy figure they see is him. 

“No,” he says. “Cain, actually. Casey’s my cousin.” 

Their hand goes up to their head. A clicking noise is instantly followed by a beam of bright light. 

Casey flinches back, his arm raising to block the light. He squints against it, trying to make out who is across the tracks. His stomach drops and he takes several panicked steps back, the other suddenly on the same side of the tracks as him. 

“Look like Casey to me,” the person notes, voice dangerous. 

He’s not going to try pleading his case. He turns and bolts.

He makes it maybe five yards before there’s a bang and a sharp pain in his right calf. 

He falls, yelping, sweating, crying. He claws at the dirt, forcing himself to turn over so he’s not face-down and accepting death quietly. Anywhere else, he tells himself. Anywhere fucking else. I won’t die here.

“You fuckin’ shot me!” he cries. He reaches for his leg with a trembling hand, expecting a bleeding bullet hole, but instead he feels something cool and cylindric with fine hairs coming out from the top. He yanks it out and throws it, terror mixing with drowsiness. 

No, wait—

He immediately regrets the action, belatedly realizing it could have been his own weapon if he’d kept it. Fuck.

“No,” says the person, confirming what Casey has already concluded. “I tranq’d you.”

“Why?” His vision spins. He feels alert and subdued all in one. His stomach twists. His body is heavy, like he’s trying to pull himself out of the public pool after being in all day. Please, no. Don’t sleep. Don’t fucking sleep. Don’t even lay down.

“Don’t be scared, Casey.” The person kneels next to him, still bright and unknown. It hurts his eyes, but he’s so scared that if he closes his eyes, he won’t open them ever again. 

Casey swings at him, but his hands glance off, doing nothing against this monster. They coo and cup the back of his head, fingers grasping Casey’s fur, their other hand grabbing at Casey’s upper arm. They force Casey to lay down, and he’s full-on sobbing now despite the call of sleep. 

“No,” he begs. “Pl’s, no. Don’ do this to me.” 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. This is for you, Casey, and your family. Your parents. Possum Springs doesn’t need another dealer, hmm? But we need business. This is just business, Casey. It’ll all be over soon. You won’t even know it when you’re gone.” 

“Nnnnnnnoooooooooo.” It’s a low moan, grieved and miserable. It takes the rest of his energy, his body numbing, his mind clouding. He tastes smoke.

He wants his dad. He wants his mom. 

Did he say bye to them this morning? When was the last time he said he loved them? He can’t remember—it's all too fuzzy now.

“Shh, shh. Just go to sleep, Casey. It won’t hurt none.” 

He’s supposed to fucking grow up. 

He falls asleep instead.

xxXxx

Casey Hartley's away message:

BORN 2 LOSE COUNTRY TRASH PROUD DRUMMER SK8 AND DESTROY SK8 2 CR8 BOUND FOR GLORY

[quietblueriver]

Ava is fine. As fine as she can be given that she just got told she’ll be killing herself, and someone else, to save humanity, anyway. So maybe not like, fine, fine but it’s all relative. She just...

“I just need a minute, Bea. Can you...?”

The request is out before she can really even process it herself, because Bea is there waiting, and at some point over the past few months, she has come to trust that Bea will have her back and to be okay with it. She still trusts it, even though Bea broke her heart just a few hours ago. And like, given that she almost punched a guy for having the nerve to save her from literally drowning in a swimming pool not even six months ago, that feels like kind of a big fucking deal.

Not for the first time, Ava thinks of who she might be, where she might be, without Beatrice, and feels a gratitude so big it hums through her whole body.

Beatrice immediately jumps to action, because of course she does, grabbing Vincent much more roughly than necessary (not that Ava is going to intervene) and beginning to move everyone toward the door.

“Yes, of course.”

Apparently determined to be the most at all times, Michael instead starts toward the bed.

“Ava, what…”

But he hardly takes a step before Dora has an arm around his elbow, guiding him away. Ava is super fucking grateful, because she really does need a minute and honestly, if she wanted to be around anyone right now, it certainly wouldn’t be him. Like, not surprisingly at all, it would actually be the woman whose eyes are fixed so hard on him that she might melt him, Divinium bomb and all, if he takes one more step toward Ava. Bea’s still got Vincent securely and painfully in her grip but Ava can see the way she’s holding herself, tight as a bow, to keep from doing something that would absolutely not go well for Michael.

“She said that she needs a minute.”

Bea’s voice is a knife and Michael, because he is an idiot, doesn’t seem to notice as she puts it to his throat. Because Dora is not an idiot, her eyes flitting between Bea and the oblivious boy beside her, and because Dora is a sister warrior, it’s one quick twist of Michael’s arm and he’s back in reality. He finally takes note of Beatrice, shoulders slumping a bit, but he doesn’t turn from Ava.

“Right. I just wanted to...”

Bea’s eyes flash and, yep, she’s going to destroy him right there, sorry Jillian and RIP to your idiot son. And to humanity, I guess. At least Ava will get a little more time with Bea as everything burns. Vincent, who is bearing the brunt of Beatrice’s current anger, clears his throat and tries to shift slightly in Bea’s grasp. Beatrice must be ready to murder Michael, or just absolutely lay him out, because she lets him, lets Vincent, move in her hold, even if it’s only like two inches. Bea adjusts her grip and shifts just slightly in the blonde’s direction.

“Was she not clear?”

Ava recognizes that tone. It is the tone reserved for bar patrons who get handsy with Ava and that one absolute creep at the farmer’s market who was so rude that Bea had intervened with an ice cold, “She said she wasn’t interested.” When he tried to snap a picture of her tits as she was bending over to evaluate a tomato, Bea broke his phone and his finger so quickly that they were halfway to the flower stall before he could even figure out what had happened. (“What happened to discreet, Sister Beatrice?” She had asked, delighted, as she tucked a flower behind Bea’s ear and tucked herself into Bea’s side, kissing her cheek and dragging her to the stall with those fruit pastries Bea loved but would only get if Ava asked for them.)

Not looking good for Michael, then. On the plus side, Ava’s a big fan of protective Bea in these low-stakes situations—no risk of real danger for Bea, and Beatrice letting herself be big, take up space, glint sharp like the knives she has tucked in her boots. It’s very hot. She should maybe intervene but like, Ava’s about to die, and not in a melodramatic, my-god-Bea-is-so-hot-it’s-going-to-kill-me way but in a very literal, Jesus-y this-is-my-body-which-is-given-for-you way, so she’s absolutely going to enjoy hot, competent, protective Bea while she still can. Honestly it might do Michael some good to get his ass kicked, anyway. He’s smug as shit for a glorified lithium battery.

Apparently finally understanding his position, Michael frowns at Bea (he’s always frowning at Bea, like he’s expecting her, the fucking deadly assassin nun, to be more impressed by him than she is; it’s very white dude of him), but he turns his body toward the door. Beatrice glares at him until he begins moving, letting Dora follow, before she starts forward with Vincent.

“Hey, Bea?”

Brown eyes soften immediately as they meet hers.

“Can you come back, in a bit?”

“Of course, Ava. Whatever you need.”

She smiles softly at Ava before turning her attention back to Vincent, shoving him out of the room, all hard, sharp edges again.

*****************

Ava sits on their bed (their bed, because neither one of them even thought about sleeping anywhere other than exactly next to each other when they came back and what the actual fuck are they even doing anymore) and tries to get herself together. There’s too much going on in her brain for her to brief the rest of the team right now, but she knows she has to handle her shit, and quickly.

Ava’s just returned from the universe’s worst inter-dimensional sightseeing tour, where she was given a shiny new suicide mission as a souvenir. It fucking sucks and it’s absolutely not fair and it’s also just apparently the only way to save the world, to save Bea, so like, suck it up, Ava, I guess.

Then there’s the pretty fucking severe heartache left from Bea’s response to her admittedly desperate Switzerland pitch. It shouldn’t have been a surprise— Beatrice is a nun, after all, very annoyingly sworn to Jesus and the Church, but Ava felt the rejection so deeply in her body that she hasn’t really been able to breathe properly since. She knows, she knows, that Bea is furious with herself, is dealing with many years of shame and guilt and repression, is absolutely in love with Ava at least half as much as Ava is in love with her. And given that Ava is “die to let you live” levels of in love with her, that’s still a whole fucking lot.

And now that she knows what she has to do, has been reduced to a detonator whose timer is rapidly running down, maybe it’s best that she goes without the hope of a future with Bea, back in Switzerland or anywhere else. Maybe it’s best, but Jesus _Christ_ it hurts, and would it really be too much to ask for her to have this, to have Beatrice get to love her and daydream with her for the final hours of her life? Even if they both knew it was nothing more than a distraction from the absolute shit that is reality, Ava’s pretty down for a distraction right now. She wants to be reminded of how good life can be, how much life can offer. She swears she’ll still do it, still offer herself up, when the time comes. She just wants one moment to daydream with the girl she loves.


“Please.”

She says to no one in particular. To the universe.

Her palms are pressed to her eyelids when she feels the weight of the bed dipping. She takes in the familiar scent of Bea, clean with just a hint of something spicy. (Ava knows it’s the cloves in Bea’s preferred soap, the one she kept returning to over the citrus and woody options in their lineup. Choice was almost as novel to Bea as it was to Ava, so when Ava had placed four different soaps in their basket at the farmer’s market stall, with an “I don’t really know what I like” and a shrug, Bea didn’t say a word about price or excess, just smiled at her gently, “Well, now you can figure it out,” and moved toward the selection of eggs across the way.)

She can’t quite open her eyes yet but her breathing has slowed and she reaches blindly toward Bea’s warmth, her smell, hoping that she’ll understand. Of course she does, and Ava’s hand is quickly and efficiently wrapped in both of Bea’s, one thumb swiping gently over the back of Ava’s hand while the other moves hesitantly over the skin of her wrist.

“Is it okay that I’m back? Do you need more time?”

Bea’s voice is gentle and concerned and Ava feels the halo hum slightly as she lets Bea’s presence wrap around her. Ava squeezes the hand under hers.

“No, I’m glad you’re here. Please stay.”

Ava feels Bea’s weight sink into the bed next to her. Ava’s still working through the reality of her visit with Reya, the unfair feelings she has about Bea’s rejection, the letters she wants to write and goodbyes she wants to say, so she doesn’t speak, just lets herself exist with Bea, confines the loudness of her mind to the inside of her body.

It’s Bea who speaks first, and unexpectedly.

“I lied, earlier. It was cruel, and I’m sorry.”

Ava’s eyes fly open at that, and she finds Bea stripped of her wimple, hair down and tousled in a way that makes Ava ache, makes her want to reach out and touch. Bea’s eyes are red-rimmed, and her jaw is so tight that Ava’s teeth hurt in sympathy. 

“Bea, what are you…”

“I would follow you anywhere, Ava.”

And, oh. Oh. Beatrice is torturing herself over hurting Ava, because of course she is. Ava, who asked Bea to run away from her lifetime commitment to her faith to work in a bar in the Alps again. Ava, who selfishly wants to rip Bea from the Church and the community that have been her home in favor of a deeply uncomfortable double bed in a flat where it takes 100 years to get the kettle to a boil on the stove because the burners refuse to stay at any consistent temperature. Ava, who keeps taking and taking from Beatrice’s well of love and commitment, even as she knows it must be causing a crisis for the girl she says she loves. Ava, who will be dead in less than a day. Ava, who won’t go out with Bea feeling anything other than love and understanding from her, regardless of what the most selfish parts of her beg for.

“I shouldn’t have asked you, Bea. I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair.”

She means it. She means it. She means it. What she wants, the life she wants in the mountains with Bea and cute Saturday shopping runs and friends at the bar, she doesn’t want it more than she wants Bea to feel how much she matters, how much what Bea wants matters. She’ll break her own heart over and over again to make Bea feel that, to make her feel loved and valid even when she can’t give all of herself, can’t be exactly what she thinks someone else wants her to be. And anyway, Ava only ever wants her to be perfectly herself. Always exactly Beatrice.

Bea’s eyes are exhausted but there’s something more there, the kind of determination she has seen when Bea fights, anticipation and confidence and grit right there at the surface. She squeezes Ava’s hand tight between her own and then drops it, turning her body on the bed to face Ava directly. Suddenly, her hands are on Ava’s neck, thumbs swiping at her jaw. Ava’s breath stutters because _wow_ that feels nice. She grabs tightly to the thoughts that threaten to run down a very distracting path, pulls them right back in because now is not the time, Ava.

“That’s the thing. You don’t have to ask me anymore, Ava. This stopped being...I stopped being... I would be there. I would be there. I lied, to you and to myself, pretending anything else was true. I can’t…it’s not the time, right now, to get into all of this. But I need you to know that, that I would choose you, that it wouldn’t even be a choice.”

And what is Ava supposed to do with that but cover Bea’s hands with her own and let herself cry. Bea’s eyes channel from determined to loving to concerned as she lets them rove over Ava’s face before pulling Ava into her, tangling a hand in her hair.

“It’s going to be okay. We’re going to do this. We’re going to do this together, Ava.”

Ava lets herself breathe Bea in, wraps her arms around Bea and tugs and tugs until they’re lying down, Ava’s head on Bea’s chest and Bea’s hand still in her hair, the other grasping Ava’s forearm on her stomach. They’re quiet for a long time.

“Ava, what happened, when you were gone?”

The question is soft, whispered into the air between them as Bea cards her fingers through Ava’s hair.

“She showed me what needs to happen to defeat Adriel. She helped me understand some things.”

Bea’s fingers stop, and Ava can almost hear her mind working.

“Listen, Ava, I know what Michael said to you,” the way she says his name is so full of spite that Ava nearly cringes on his behalf, “and I’m not sure what this person told you over there but I know…”

“Bea.”

Beatrice stops immediately, always making space for Ava.

“I promise I will tell you and everyone else about the plan. But for now, can I just…be here with you? I missed you, while I was gone. Time is weird, there.”

She moves her hand up from Bea’s stomach to her sternum, laying a palm flat over where her heart might be. Bea moves with her, keeping Ava’s hand under her own and holding it against her chest when Ava stops.

“Whatever you need, Ava.”

And right now, that’s easy.

“You, Beatrice,” she lets her nose drag against the sharp line of Bea’s jaw, lets her lips ghost behind it, “I just need you.”

Ava feels Bea’s sharp inhale at that and presses closer, tucking her leg between both of Bea’s and wiggling a foot underneath her calf. A minute passes and Bea’s breathing evens back out. Ava decides to let Bea’s warmth lull her to sleep. It was _exhausting_ to spend time with Reya in the other realm. She wants to sleep, just one more time, this close to Beatrice, feeling safe and loved. She knows Bea will wake her in a few hours, a gentle squeeze of her shoulder, a kiss on her head, if she’s lucky. And then they’ll have to move. And Ava will have to go, to let go of all of this.

But for now, the steady rise and fall of Bea’s chest is the only thing Ava wants to know. As her eyes get heavy, she feels Bea whisper against her.

“You’ve got me, Ava.”

Ava rests.

*********************

As Ava anticipated, Bea wakes her gently and she gets a few more moments of quiet closeness before she forces herself to move from the bed.

“Let’s get this over with, yeah?”

Beatrice watches her closely as she moves to put herself together. Ava tries to keep herself together, to act normal, but Bea knows her too well. She’s going to slip.

“Bea, would you mind asking Jillian and Superion to get everything together for a meeting?”

It’s a shit cover, and Bea knows that. She knows that there is no “everything” to get together. Still, she moves toward the door.

“Of course. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Bea has paused to look at Ava, and Ava meets her eyes and smiles. Despite Ava’s best efforts, it’s shaky. Shit, fuck, damn it. She sees Bea’s eyes narrow, god damn it, of course she noticed, but Bea turns around and walks out the door anyway and Ava exhales for a minute.

*******************************

Of course, Bea is suspicious. Her nun is not stupid, and Ava can feel Bea’s eyes on her even more than normal, knows, as she watches Bea put together her gun, exactly what that look on her face means. She tries for teasing, but Bea is not in the mood.

“Well, better not test me, then.”

It would normally be hot. Okay, it still is hot. But also, it makes Ava worry because, like, she has this whole idea that she’ll have a moment to take Bea aside, to tell her that she loves her, to kiss her goodbye. She doesn’t want to fight or phase or struggle with Bea. But she’ll be ready, when it’s time, even if it has to be an ugly goodbye.

They’re pressed close in the van, Bea giving Vincent side eye in an extremely unsubtle way. Ava takes Bea’s hand and squeezes, lets her head rest on Bea’s shoulder. She soaks in the closeness while she can. As they approach the drop-off, Bea ducks her head slightly and says quietly, keeping this for Ava as much as she can, “In this life, Ava.”

Ava lets her lips touch the skin of Bea’s neck, breathes her in and basks in the shiver she feels run down Bea’s spine, acknowledges the sharp grief of knowing she will never get to make her shiver like that again.

“In this life, Bea.”

As she emerges from the van, she tells herself it’s not a lie. She does love Bea in this life, loves her so deeply that it’s going to be the last thing she ever does.

****************************************

It is a lie, of course.

She tells Bea to live and finally, finally, pulls her close and kisses her. The circumstances are far from ideal. She’s on a literal suicide mission, Bea’s on the verge of a panic attack because she now knows Ava’s on a suicide mission, and Yasmine is there, somewhere in the background, wildly unprepared for basically every part of what’s happening and apparently destined to be an unwilling and vaguely creepy spectator to some of the most intimate moments of Ava’s short life.

The kiss itself? Perfect. She has tried to live her second (and third) chances as hard as possible, and regrets instantly not having done this sooner, in a tiny flat in Switzerland, or maybe after she burst from 20 feet of rock and into Bea’s arms. But Bea would not have been ready. She’s pretty sure Bea is planning to renounce her vows, when this is over, and she still can’t quite bring herself to kiss Ava back.

Because Ava is totally gone for this human, she finds it endearing—it’s very Beatrice to need time to run possible outcomes before determining next steps. And honestly, she is proud of the fact that she is one of the very few people who can stop this free-wheeling, secret, ass-kicking nun in her tracks. It’s a perfectly Beatrice kiss.

When Bea finally does respond, grabbing her tighter just as Ava is beginning to pull away, Ava feels her resolve nearly break. It’s not fair; it’s not fair, and she wants to scream and cry and run away and live a real life, a long life, where she gets more than this moment with Bea, gets to see her come into herself and shed all of that shame, to cut her hair and get a tattoo and live. She wants, she wants, she wants.

But Ava presses her lips to Bea’s forehead, tries to live as deeply as she can in this moment and the sensation of Bea’s hands on her skin. Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? She wants Bea to live her life. And she can make that happen. She is the only one who can make that happen.

Bea’s touch and the reality of her body in the world put Ava back where she needs to be. Bea is what matters. Ava loves her more than she loves herself and wow, what a feeling. It’s nothing then, to know what she has to do. Nothing more than love.

She tells a new lie, as she lets Bea go.

“In the next.”

It’s for Beatrice, and Ava hopes it will bring her comfort. As she drops through the floor, she wipes tears from her eyes and wishes she could believe it herself.

[mongo-the-liensis]

Carl's personality could be fully explained through love in the different stages of his life.

His love for his mom helped him get through the terrors of his childhood and helped him get rid of his dad. It made him stubborn and resilient and able to love even when everything sucks.

His love for Bea showed how desperate he was for any sort of affection (he literally overheard her and her mom talking about him, saying not the nicest things, and he ignored it). It showed that he was naive and trusting. That he wasn't able to see what was perhaps obvious for everyone else.

His love for Donut shows how he is unfailingly loyal and willing to deal with people's bullshit if he loves them. It shows how good of a person he is, how kind and thoughtful and caring. It shows how he is willing to die for those he loves.

His love for Mordecai showed how he still isn't over his childhood. Mordecai calls him "son" and tries to keep him out of trouble, and chastises him whenever he does something stupid. He cares and tries to protect Carl. Nothing like Carl's real father. Apart from that one time he hit Carl. And Carl immediately drew a connection to his father, and created a huge rift between them to distance himself from that, showing how deep his daddy issues run.

His love for Safehome Yolanda shows that he doesn't need romantic love. His platonic, familial love for his guild holds him up and keeps him going - keeps him fighting. He loves them all, they are his family, and he'd do anything for them. Every loss just makes fuels him more and more. Every loss strengthens him until he is able to take on anyone to avenge those he has lost.

Carl is a person so full of love, a person who loves so deeply, it's heartbreaking to see how the world keeps trying to break that. But he won't let it. They will never break him. He refuses to let them destroy the most essential part of him, the thing that makes him himself at his very core: his love.

[ringotheman]

ARTFIGHT WEEK 4!! JULY 24th- AUG. 3rd!!! THE LAST WEEK OF ARTFIGHT!! WOOO with some of my best attacks yet,, this one was jam packed with bangers imo AS. USUAL. check out the read more for character credits, i'll tag tumblrs, the rest are artfight links, my artfight user is ringotheman, blahblahblah- you get the picture. here's week three !! SEE YOU NEXT YEAR!!!!

Nahin (chiliconcomics ) - my first scene attack of the whole season and possibly my best attack period?? i lovelovelove their design and i knew i was gonna destroy them <3

Video Killed The Radio Star (Evidaent) - more like internet killed the video star <3 i cant think of one without the other.

George Humphry ( @dykeseesgod ) - I'd been following vanpelt on TH for a while and i love all their characters- just straight up, but George is probably my favorite?? like what is wrong with him?

Blorkie (neuron_null) - I finished this attack like week one and forgor to post it- a r m y

Coy & Bea (fartmasterofficial45)- chillin on squares! my first time sucessfully drawing a criss-cross...wow,,

Elastickman (Elastickman) - this guy is so cool,, had so much fun drawin this one,,

Scruff ( @purbiworl ) - my first attempt at an "icon" style drawing! had fun! will probably do more...

Charlie (dazey-the-goat)- hey look!! a real human person! a normal man!

Ellie (Pink_lemonadeheart) - cute eye girl!! i lova her <3

Veda (Neonovica)- the ol' click n drag- wish i had time to make an actual pagedoll or something,,

Hana (Yuken) - blue hacker girl,, so cool, so cute-

[graysoncritic]

A (Negative) Review of Tom Taylor's Nightwing Run - What Went Wrong? Bludhaven (PART 2)

Introduction Who is Dick Grayson? What Went Wrong? Dick's Characterization What Went Wrong? Barbara Gordon What Went Wrong? Bludhaven (Part 1, Part 2) What Went Wrong? Melinda Lin Grayson What Went Wrong? Bea Bennett What Went Wrong? Villains Conclusion Bibliography

Instead, Taylor readily abandons the statue just as soon as it is introduced. We don’t return to it, we don’t even use it as a set piece that can ground Bludhaven and make it feel like an actual place. It doesn’t make an appearance in any covers, nor in establishing shots. In fact, even its thematic symbolism is forgotten when Alfred’s statue is built. Such a decision is especially infuriating when one considers the fact that not only would Alfred hate having a statue in his honor, but that Alfred means absolutely nothing to the people of Bludhaven. He means something to the reader, but not the citizens of the city that Dick is meant to protect. In this, we see how once more Taylor’s online mindset interferes with his storytelling, replacing a set piece that was tied to the in-universe history of the city he was writing with fanservice.

By contrast, Humphrie’s Bludhaven is filled with specific locations that are unique to, well, Bludhaven. We have the different casinos

(Humphries, Sam. Ruthless, writer. Janson, Klaus; Campbell, Jamal, illustrator. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 37, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018. pp. 22)

The Tiki District

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Chang, Bernard, illustrator. The Untouchable: Chapter Two: Relentless. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 36, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018. pp. 13)

Which greatly contrasts the darkness of the docks…

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Chang, Bernard, illustrator. The Untouchable: Chapter One: Hunter. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 35, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018. pp. 17)

And the melancholy of the sunken city

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Jimenez, Phil; Campbell, Jamal, illustrator. The Untouchable: Chapter Five:Face Off. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 39, e-book  ed. DC Comics, 2018 pp. 05)

All of it is so specific that it makes Bludhaven feel alive. It gives Bludhaven an identity rather than keeping it a generic location.

Let’s take a closer look at the establishing shot of the sunken city and see how the page is laid out to emphasize the storytelling going on in the dialogue and enrich Bludhaven. There's something so visually poetic about that last panel. The intimacy between the Judge and Nightwing, the opulent throne atop a simple boat in a sunken, destroyed home. 

It feels a bit like a visual metaphor for Bludhaven and corruption. Bludhaven is thriving because of the casinos, but they are also corrupt. And yet, despite their rich aesthetic, they are built on top of a tragedy, of a city that was lost and had to rebuild itself, taking advantage of a corrupt system that devastates its citizens while also being the only thing keeping them from drowning. 

The lighting of the page is also so beautiful. Light coming in from above, appearing almost heavenly, and yet it makes the scene so still and lonely

During Dixon and Grayson’s runs, and during Taylor’s run, Bldhaven does not have an identity outside of Gotham and Nightwing. It is difficult to describe it without relying on those two factors. It is not impossible, of course, but those descriptions would be rather bare, relying on what one wishes Bludhaven could be rather than what is actually on the page.

In The Untouchable, however, Bludhaven can be described independent of Gotham and Nightwing. Yes, those elements are still crucial to its depiction, but rather than being all that there is to it, they serve to enhance what is already there. Dick’s interactions with people from Bludhaven further fleshes out the city while also demonstrating that they have their own lives outside of their meetings with Dick or Nightwing. Guppy, Svoboda, Lucy, Dick's clients at his gym... All of them are clear products of Bludhaven, they are affected by what happens in Bludhaven, and they interact with different parts of Bludhaven. Because they are characters with their own interiority, the reader really is able to feel the consequences of the Judge's actions. 

Yet, Taylor and Redondo both refuse to pay Bludhaven any of the attention it deserves. They do not even give it the respect of making it into Gotham-light. Instead, they opt for the generic, lazy, and morally simplistic depiction that is yet more proof of just how little thought they give to anything remotely related to Dick Grayson.

Bludhaven, as it exists in The Untouchable, was built on top of a corrupt foundation, and its systems are so intertwined with the rot that you can't neatly separate them. There's no easy answer to this, no solution without a victim. It adds some nice stakes to the story, creates constraints which Dick must creatively work around, and demonstrates how Nightwing’s fight is far larger than just The Judge. It illustrates how even if Dick catches this one guy, he still has so much more to do, creating a perfect comic status-quo where the hero can progress and make a difference without eliminating conflict sources for future stories.

Through the Judge, we also get to see Bludhaven’s history, and through this evolution, we also get to see just how much Humphrey cares about Bludhaven. I have yet to encounter another writer who has devoted so much care to Dick’s city. I have yet to encounter a writer who put so much effort into making this city feel alive. Gotham is beloved by many writers and fans alike, and The Untouchable showed that Bludhaven has the potential to be just as great if only it was given to a writer who cares enough to develop it. 

Needless to say, Taylor is not that writer.

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Redondo, Bruno, illustrator. Leaping into the Light Part 4. Nightwing: Rebirth. 81, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2021. pp 13)

While this may be wholesome, the truth is that by giving such a triumphant moment early on in the story, Taylor robbed his characters of any opportunity to change, and any opportunity for a well-earned pay off later. In turn, this robbed the story of its ability to engage with its themes by creating a very simple morality. Evil can be manifested in different ways and anyone is capable of it. Perhaps not all of us will be uppercase Evil, but we're all capable of the smallest acts of lowercase evil by letting our anger blind us to what is right, not helping others because we tell ourselves we have to survive, upholding unfair systems because they benefit us.

The city of Gotham does something similar. We have the evil of the rogues, but we also have the crime families, a myriad of corrupt institutions -- from the police department to the justice system to the politicians who are in the pockets of those on the top – and the ordinary citizens who have been disillusioned by the hardship they face. We have greed on a massive scale but also a small and personal one that is far more relatable, we have chaos of the Joker and we have more relatable pettiness, selfishness, apathy, and cruelty. 

Some of these play a larger role than others, their influence has a wider reach, but it is the different layers that makes Gotham feel so difficult to tackle. There’s a reason why Batman's origin story works best when it's just about a mugging gone wrong, and when Joe Chill is just a simple man who fired two shots in a dark alley because he wanted a pearl necklace. There's a reason why Bruce stays in Gotham rather than trying to save the entire world all the time. Batman, after all, is not about fighting the just grander Evil, but about bringing justice to everyone, even in what may be perceived to be a small scale. 

While I do not believe Batman: The Knight was perfect (and, indeed, I have a lot of problems with it and dislike Zdarsky’s current Batman run nearly as much as I dislike Taylor’s Nightwing), I do think that Zdarsky did a good job when having Ra’s Al Ghul confront Bruce on this matter. 

In #09, Ra’s challenges Bruce to work on a macro scale, and Bruce explores that idea before deciding he needs to work on a more personal level.

(Zdarsky, Chip, writer. Di Giandomenico, Carmine. The Knight Part 9. Batman: The Knight. 09, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2022. pp 13)

Bruce’s world did not fall apart because of a war or an alien invasion, but that did not mean his pain is invalid. There might be far more important things than catching a mob boss who orchestrated the murder of two circus acrobats, but that doesn’t mean that their lives did not matter or that their son does not deserve to see justice. One of the beautiful things about the detective stories of Batman and of Nightwing is that they treat everyone’s trauma with equal respect. Batman and Nightwing aren’t just about catching the bad guy, they are about giving the victim a chance to heal by offering them closure. 

You can also observe the dichotomy of these two evils in The Untouchable. The entire plot of The Untouchable is about the Judge using people’s desires to corrupt them, luring them into committing evil deeds. At the same time, the story does not condemn those who fell prey to the Judge’s promises. Instead, it portrays them as complex individuals, and this reaffirms the themes of corruption through desire and the necessity for forgiveness.

Lucy, for example, is not vilified for betraying Dick. She did the Judge’s bidding, but she is not a bad person. She is still Dick’s friend and cares deeply for him. And yet, her choices are not portrayed as excusable. The comic perfectly balanced having Lucy not be a bad guy for what she did while also making it clear that she was still in the wrong for accepting the Judge’s offer. She is not Evil but she made an evil choice and she needs to be held accountable for that. 

This plays into the idea that to Dick, people are not naturally Good nor naturally Evil. They just are who they are, they have the potential for both, and it's their choices that dictate their nature. 

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Chang, Bernard, illustrator. The Untouchable: Chapter Six: Deep Dive. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 40, e-book  ed. DC Comics, 2018. pp. 18)

And as mentioned previously, Grayson also played with such ideas when she introduced the character of Sophia into the story. 

Taylor flirts with similar ideas without ever committing to them. His Bludhaven supposedly has corrupt institutions, big men on top who oppress others in order to stay rich, but to lay every wrong and every sin in the city at Blockbuster’s feet is morally simplistic. It's flattening. Immature. It's, frankly, boring. It just doesn't work on a narrative level. Most importantly, it makes Nightwing's presence superfluous.

Once more, I must emphasize that I do not believe that one must incorporate a social commentary in the themes of one’s story. However, as Taylor's narrative seems to signal he wants to discuss these matters, I think it is only fair to point out how his actual writing is uninterested in examining the complications inherited in these subjects. Taylor wants those big, meaningful moments that claim to say something thematically important, yet he creates easy-to-take down strawman villains who can take the blame for everything while wrapping them in the trappings of social commentary. 

Nothing in Taylor's supporting characters, conflicts, villains, or city were created to challenge Dick in any way. Part of the reason why you can feel Bruce's genuine love for Gotham is that that city is always challenging him, always giving him a reason to give up, but Bruce never does. Again and again, Gotham shows itself as a place that perhaps should not be saved, that is too rotten, literally cursed to bring out the worst of humanity. It would be easier to burn the whole thing down and start new. 

But Bruce doesn’t do that. He still sees something in Gotham worth saving. No matter what he uncovers, Bruce won’t give up, and that makes us, the readers, root for Batman and root for Gotham.

Bludhaven should challenge Dick in a similar way. But in this run, it doesn't. Dick's assertion that the citizens of Bludhaven are good and there are only a few bad apples ruining it for everyone is never challenged. Dick is never asked to question his beliefs. When he decided that the solution to one of Bludhaven's biggest problems (homelessness) was just to create a shelter, Dick is never challenged for his savior mentality, he never faces push back from those above him or below, is never paralyzed by bureaucracy, never has to deal setbacks that force him to re-strategize. He's just... Proved right. And everything goes on smoothly. 

Taylor’s approach gives Dick no room to grow and no room to stand his ground. I can’t help but think how much more powerful Dick’s own belief in Bludhaven and its people would have been if, during that earlier scene when the tent city was in flames, no one came to help. Nightwing and Robin would have had to save everyone on their own, and Dick would be faced with the difficult to swallow possibility that maybe he’s wrong. Maybe the people of Bludhaven are too disillusioned to do good. Maybe Babs and Tim, both characters who are known for being pragmatic, would even tell him so. But he refuses to accept that. As he looks upon the octopus statue, Dick affirms  the resilience of the city and how it does not need to come at the cost of kindness. Bludhaven is worth saving, its people are worth saving, and Dick will continue to believe in them, even though he was just given a reason not to. 

Again, I must emphasize that it is fine if a person is not interested in writing a story about this. Not every superhero story needs to explore these real-world, complex themes. One of my personal favorite Batman stories (and one I believe should be required reading for any Batman fan) is Murderer/Fugitive. While there are certainly themes of forging of identity, the story is far more concerned with what the forging of one’s identity means in the specific context of Batman rather than that of the real world. That is not to say you couldn't do an analysis on identity about Murderer/Fugitive, but the work as a whole serves more as a commentary on Batman, and it is in conversation with the popular idea that "Bruce Wayne is the mask that Batman wears." 

And just because one wishes to engage with themes of class and economic inequality, it does mean one needs to tackle it directly. Again I must bring up the modern masterpiece that is Scott Snyder’s Court of Owls. That story beautifully uses the fantastical and noire elements of the Court and the creation of the Talons to engage with themes of wealth inequality and to explore Bruce’s complex relationship with Gotham. The secret cult, of superhuman assassins, and the murder mystery element provide enough distance between the real world issues and the story itself that Snyder has the creative freedom to play with his characters and narrative while the specificity allows him to dig deeper than he ever could should he have decided on going for a broad approach.

Taylor tries to ground his themes by using real-world issues, but he refuses to engage with what those real-world issues look like in, well, the real-world. He deals with them in the context of his morally simplified, perfect little society. As Braxis perfectly pointed out “When Dick starts a charity to help the homeless he never actually explains how that will be done, what causes homelessness, or what the homeless are asking for support.” (Braxi, Steve, “On Superman, Shootings, and the Reality of Superheroes” Comics Bookcase, September 2021)

Taylor’s Bludhaven demonstrates a frustratingly simplistic view on morality that prevents the story from engaging with these issues with the care they deserve. By not fleshing out the city, by denying Dick’s interactions with other characters, Taylor creates a world of simple morals. This means that rather than engaging with the progressive ideology he claims to care about he is simply creating the appearance  of social commentary and rich themes. This demonstrates that he’s not actually interested in the work required to make that work, only the prestige that comes from it.

[sapphic-book-tournament]

She Who Became The Sun by Shelley Parker-Chan-

In 1345, China lies under harsh Mongol rule. For the starving peasants of the Central Plains, greatness is something found only in stories. When the Zhu family’s eighth-born son, Zhu Chongba, is given a fate of greatness, everyone is mystified as to how it will come to pass. The fate of nothingness received by the family’s clever and capable second daughter, on the other hand, is only as expected.

When a bandit attack orphans the two children, though, it is Zhu Chongba who succumbs to despair and dies. Desperate to escape her own fated death, the girl uses her brother's identity to enter a monastery as a young male novice. There, propelled by her burning desire to survive, Zhu learns she is capable of doing whatever it takes, no matter how callous, to stay hidden from her fate.

After her sanctuary is destroyed for supporting the rebellion against Mongol rule, Zhu uses the chance to claim another future altogether: her brother's abandoned greatness.

Whe Women Were Dragons by Kelly Barnhill-

Alex Green is a young girl in a world much like ours, except for its most seminal event: the Mass Dragoning of 1955, when hundreds of thousands of ordinary wives and mothers sprouted wings, scales, and talons; left a trail of fiery destruction in their path; and took to the skies. Was it their choice? What will become of those left behind? Why did Alex’s beloved aunt Marla transform but her mother did not? Alex doesn’t know. It’s taboo to speak of.

Forced into silence, Alex nevertheless must face the consequences of this astonishing event: a mother more protective than ever; an absentee father; the upsetting insistence that her aunt never even existed; and watching her beloved cousin Bea become dangerously obsessed with the forbidden.

In this timely and timeless speculative novel, award-winning author Kelly Barnhill boldly explores rage, memory, and the tyranny of forced limitations. When Women Were Dragons exposes a world that wants to keep women small—their lives and their prospects—and examines what happens when they rise en masse and take up the space they deserve.

[queereads-bracket]

Queer Fantasy Books Bracket: Round 3

Book summaries below:

The Radiant Emperor series (She Who Became the Sun, He Who Drowned the World) by Shelley Parker-Chan

In a famine-stricken village on a dusty yellow plain, two children are given two fates. A boy, greatness. A girl, nothingness… In 1345, China lies under harsh Mongol rule. For the starving peasants of the Central Plains, greatness is something found only in stories. When the Zhu family’s eighth-born son, Zhu Chongba, is given a fate of greatness, everyone is mystified as to how it will come to pass. The fate of nothingness received by the family’s clever and capable second daughter, on the other hand, is only as expected. When a bandit attack orphans the two children, though, it is Zhu Chongba who succumbs to despair and dies. Desperate to escape her own fated death, the girl uses her brother's identity to enter a monastery as a young male novice. There, propelled by her burning desire to survive, Zhu learns she is capable of doing whatever it takes, no matter how callous, to stay hidden from her fate. After her sanctuary is destroyed for supporting the rebellion against Mongol rule, Zhu takes the chance to claim another future her brother's abandoned greatness. Fantasy, historical fiction, alternate history, epic fantasy, adult

When Women Were Dragons by Kelly Barnhill

Alex Green is a young girl in a world much like ours, except for its most seminal event: the Mass Dragoning of 1955, when hundreds of thousands of ordinary wives and mothers sprouted wings, scales, and talons; left a trail of fiery destruction in their path; and took to the skies. Was it their choice? What will become of those left behind? Why did Alex’s beloved aunt Marla transform but her mother did not? Alex doesn’t know. It’s taboo to speak of. Forced into silence, Alex nevertheless must face the consequences of this astonishing event: a mother more protective than ever; an absentee father; the upsetting insistence that her aunt never even existed; and watching her beloved cousin Bea become dangerously obsessed with the forbidden. In this timely and timeless speculative novel, award-winning author Kelly Barnhill boldly explores rage, memory, and the tyranny of forced limitations. When Women Were Dragons exposes a world that wants to keep women small—their lives and their prospects—and examines what happens when they rise en masse and take up the space they deserve. Fantasy, historical fiction, alternate history, 1950s

[bechloesupercorp]

it happens after. during the haze of grief. just mindless movement, tracing the paths she once cherished in another life, one where a hand always laid in hers.

rough hands tug her into a van, tires squealing against the pavement. something in the back of her mind screams at her to fight, but a vital piece of her is missing and she can't make herself care.

they say it never existed. that piece, that girl, just a twisted facet of her imagination. that makes rage boil, but she breaks quick at the lifeless weight in her chest. maybe she didn't exist. but if she didn't exist, why do i feel the pain of her loss? blank eyes as her captors wave a photo in front of her face. a young girl, eyes closed on the morgue table. features slack, and in another life, beatrice would've loved to see them brimming with life. but that's not this life. no. this girl is dead. and if beatrice was to just close her eyes, she thinks she might join her.

that doesn't mitigate the rush in her chest that happens everytime she sees the girl though. something that warms her heart one second but drives a stake through it the next. "you made it all up," they sneer, gripping her head so she can't look away from the photo. "it was all in your head, so desperate to be loved that you'd make a fake life with a girl who deserved better." that makes her breath hitch. this poor girl did deserve better. she would never be enough. so she stares, refusing to let her delude herself into thinking she could ever be loved. she stares, and stares, and stares until she feels nothing. nothing but emptiness. maybe she's no longer human, devoid of all emotion. just a feeble body and distant mind, too lifeless to even fight her bonds.

ages pass, and it feels as if she's been sinking into the dirt.

--- --- ---

gentle hands caress her cheeks. "bea. bea. open your eyes." anxious voices muffled in her ears. it takes tremendous effort, but they flutter, fixing on foggy figures. her sisters. the shackles fall off, and shes scooped into comforting arms. the weight in her chest lessens, just a bit.

it's in the warm embrace that she feels again. the flicker of an emotion -- unidentifiable but human.

--- --- ---

betrayal. the first thing they do is settle her amongst the trinkets. it's that girl again, but beatrice won't let herself be fooled again. not by her traitorous mind, nor by these so-called sisters of hers. they pull out photos, and recount stories, reinforcing the absence of a lover. if she truly existed, she would be here right now. beatrice knows better. it's a trick. that type of love is not something afforded to her. she's never deserved it.

it makes her angry, watching them reminisce over something that never occurred. it's taunting. they're taunting her because they know-- they know -- that she has and will never be loved. they lie, saying that she is worthy, that she had love. that that girl had loved her. they lie. it's a trick. they lie. they lie, they lie. she doesn't exist.

it whips her into a frenzy, destroying the carefully crafted settings they've made, just to fuck with her head. she's trashing her bedroom -- the one that's full of life from an illusion of love. the one that she supposedly lives in. mementos fly with the anguished screams ripped from her throat. she sinks to the floor, stuttering breaths amidst the chaos. they lie, they lie, they lie.

she misses the burst of blue that illuminates the whole convent, stuck in the fog of her own mind. rocking back and forth on the floor, "no love. no love. no love."

"bea?" a soft voice calls. that girl. alive and real.

clarity cuts through for the first time in months. her.

"i love you."

[rockyroadkylers]

2023 Writing Roundup

@hgejfmw-hgejhsf tagged me to do this, and @inexplicablymine actually did, too, a while back, so here we go!

i haven't written much this year- well, no, okay, that's a lie, in terms of word count i've written quite a lot, but in terms of how many fics i've posted, i don't have that many to share, here. but i'm pretty dang proud of what i do have!

May

I Will Soften Every Edge (I'll Do Better) - MCU, 6.6k, T

Tony Stark is unexpectedly thrust into parenthood when he discovers that Spider-Man is not only fourteen years old, but also his son. He's unsure how to proceed from there, until the Vulture destroys a ferry full of people and Tony learns something about his son that makes him reevaluate his own behavior. Gift for hold_our_destiny from my Fic Raffle on Tumblr.

October

It's Nice to Have a Friend - RWRB, 59k, 11 chapters, T

Two boys meet on a beach, build a sand castle, write letters, and fall in love.

November

After Everything, I Must Confess I Need You - RWRB, 5.8k, T

“Fuck,” he gasps, tears springing to his eyes and mixing with the rainwater on his face. He’s not sure if the tears are from the asphalt biting into his palms, or if it’s a release of the emotions he’s been trying to shove down deep ever since he woke up to an empty top bunk at the lake house. Wait. Asphalt. Over the pounding rain, Alex hears the shrill sound of a horn honking, and looks up just in time to be blinded by a pair of headlights coming straight at him. OR: When Alex dares Henry to tell him to leave, Henry actually does. Neither of them could have predicted what happens next.

Upcoming in 2024:

i picked the petals, he loves me not

canon divergence starting from the day Alex and Henry met in Rio, following an AU where Alex develops Hanahaki Disease from Henry asking Shaan to get rid of him.

currently untitled sequel to It's Nice to Have a Friend

Picking up where chapter ten left off (Alex and Henry finally getting together), the sequel will follow the boys as they navigate their new relationship through the ups and downs of long distance, therapy, school, and Ellen's 2016 presidential campaign.

This Love is Worth the Fight

a surprisingly highly-requested sequel to After Everything, I Must Confess I Need You. It will likely be another longfic, due to the amount of ideas I've made notes of, but I don't have anything concrete, yet.

1/124th of a second (credit to Beas for the genius title)

Actor!Henry, Photographer!Alex AU. Sort of an enemies to lovers premise. I won't actually be able to write this one until Mary and George comes out, I don't think, because the premise of it is Alex taking a job as the photographer taking pictures of Henry to promote his role as George Villiers in Mary and George, and he watches the show to prepare for the job, so I might need to be able to actually reference some of the scenes in order to write about Alex watching the show, lol. Other than that, this fic is entirely outlined, so it should be easy to write... once I have access to clips of the show for reference, pfft.

this has been fun to do! so much of the writing i've done this year has taken place over the last four months, that sometimes i forget i did any writing before the month of September 😂 but i did! and it's good writing, too, as hard as that is for me to remember, sometimes.

tagging: @matherines, @firenati0n, @affectionatelyrs, @anincompletelist, @littlemisskittentoes, @read-and-write-, @happiness-of-the-pursuit, @songliili, @wordsofhoneydew