#i spent way too long writing this too

[bats-and-the-birds]

The Batkids on being mistaken as Bruce's biological children.

Look, the Batkids have all been forced into various social gatherings, and enough of them share vague features with Bruce that some of the older members among Gotham's old money, or the younger ones that are out of the loop, sometimes mix up the facts.

Dick gets it from the very beginning. Old women pinch his cheeks, still tan from a life outside of Gotham's gloom, and tell him, Such a sweet little boy, and just like your father at your age. His hair used to stick up just like yours. Dick didn't like it at all. He bit the first person that told him he had Bruce's eyes, and stomped on the foot of an old politician that told him, With your father's height, I thought you'd be taller by now.

He laughs it off as an adult, but sometimes, it still eats at him. People still tell him that they thought he'd eventually be as tall as Bruce, or that he should be thankful for his inherited jaw line. It's not the comparison to Bruce that bothers him anymore, or even being mistaken as his son, but rather, the fact that he sometimes struggles to remember exactly where his features actually came from; parental faces turning fuzzy in his distant memory.

Jason thinks it's funny, the first time it happens. Mostly because it's his nose of all things. Your nose is bent, grumbled the old man sitting across from him at the gala, Just like your father's. Tough luck on the genetics. The man didn't realize the bent noses were because they'd both been broken in the past. Jason spent days after studying Bruce's face, trying to figure out if their noses really bent in the same way, and eventually came to the conclusion that, yeah, they really did. From that point on, each time either of them broke their nose, Jason would distantly think, Ah, damn, there goes the family resemblance.

As an adult, Jason takes care to make sure people don't often seen his face. The hood does a pretty good job of that. Besides, he doesn't move in circles where the mistake could be made anymore. Still, sometimes he looks in the mirror at the bump in his nose and thinks, Family resemblance. Yeah, right.

It happens less with Tim. Anyone that made the mistake with Jason and Dick also remembered Jack and Janet Drake. It's not until he's almost an adult that a new hire at Wayne Industries, some kid from out of town, sees him and Bruce in the office together and remarks, Oh, you two furrow your eyebrows in the same way when you think. My mom says that my dad and I do that too. We inherited it from my grandpa. Tim feels unsettled all day and makes a conscious effort to not to furrow his eyebrows anymore.

There's no mistake to make with Damian. At least, not the same one that can be made with the others. He's the blood son, and he's a perfect mix between Bruce and Talia. Of course, there's the well-meaning, if confused, adults that assume he's adopted like the others. He corrects them, swiftly, and sometimes aggressively.

There is one incident. It happens while Bruce is gone, after he's been staying with Grayson for a few months. He knew, of course, that people thought that Grayson looked like Bruce. He could even see the similarities. Superficially, of course. However, he never considered that Grayson looking like his father also meant that Grayson looked like him. Not until an old woman leaned over to him at a gala and said, You look just like your father when Mister Wayne first brought him out to these things. The hair, that disgruntled little frown. He hated these parties too. Couldn't ever sit still. Gosh, I really can't believe it's been long enough that he has a child of his own. It took Damian a while to realize what happened, and even then, he couldn't bring himself to tell her that he wasn't actually Grayson's son, or that he and Grayson weren't actually that far apart in age. He felt strangely guilty the rest of the night, and he never dared to tell Grayson about it.

It happened to Steph exactly once. Really, she doesn't look like Bruce at all. It was a man with exceptionally thick glasses, who actually told her that she reminded him of Martha Wayne. She's pretty sure he was just trying to be nice. She tries to forget about it. She never tells Bruce.

You have his eyes, is what Duke gets. Which confuses him, because, uh, no, he doesn't. Not even close like Dick's. He says as much to the woman that said it to him, and she squints her eyes at him and responds, No, you definitely do. Not in the shape or the color, but you look at things the same way he does. Duke thinks about that sometimes, and he swings back and forth between being annoyed and weirdly proud that he apparently looked at the world like Batman did.

People tell Cass that she has his smile. She beams with pride at that. After all, she learned it from him. She studied, closely, the way his mouth ticked up at the corners, both while he stretched the dazzling, fake smile across his face for the public, and the genuine, gentle smiles that he gave her while he helped tie her hair back or slip on her mask, and now she could replicate them both perfectly. She didn't like the fake one, but she knew it was necessary.

[baeshijima]

thoughts on being engaged to duke!sunday, the head of the oak family, an incredibly influential figurehead within society, the close subordinate of emperor gopher wood who brought him and his sister in and raised him like his own, and the villain who faces a tragic ending in a novel you recently finished — the very same one you just so happen to find yourself transmigrated into. he is as cunning as he is blinded, a trait which brought ruin to many in the empire, and one which ultimately brought ruin to himself at the hands of the protagonists.

as luck would have it, you became a barely mentioned side character from a marquis family, whose role was to be the villain's wife stuck in a one-sided love who, too, would get caught up in the tragedy alongside him. however, now that it's you who is stuck in this position, you're determined to try any means necessary to deter him from going down that path, all in an effort to escape your predestined doomed fate!

of course, you didn't expect it to be easy. the day of your arrival in this world was already the night before your wedding, so you had little time to prepare yourself for the nonchalance of your supposed family, how they viewed you as but a means — a tool — to boost their influence and prosperity, the dismissive mannerisms of the household servants, and the absolute beauty of a man you will be married to.

(seriously. the novel descriptions did not do him justice. he was like... like... like he was handcrafted by god himself! and not to mention his sister, robin, was the very epitome of an angel! perhaps you're destined to perish by the god-tier visuals instead...)

to say the least, the wedding ceremony went by quickly. safe to say you didn't spend the night; he was cordial and gentlemanly upon letting you know that he won't do anything until you're ready, that you can take this relationship slow, but somehow you ended up feeling a tad insulted. like, who leaves their newly wedded alone in a big cold bed as they walk out on their own? a sick bastard that's who!

well, whatever. it's not like you need nor want to consummate with him! besides, you have bigger things to worry about — things such as your impending death. and, of course, the only way to stop sunday that you can imagine working is by chipping away at his resolve bit by bit, and opening his eyes to reality.

he is a tragic character, one who cares more about the well-being of penacony and its people than anyone else, but was manipulated into getting his hands dirty in the emperor's stead. you knew this. you sobbed over his story, cursed out the protagonists, and even fought internet randos on novel forums about sunday's motivation and how,

no, he is not just a stupid villain. he is a complex character with flaws and humanity and was cruelly taken advantage of by someone he considered family. he was deceived through the suffering the emperor wanted him to see to make him easily manipulated, creating a rift between him and robin to have that prominent separation. you know what? maybe you're just a !%#@ who can't even #@?"% read properly!

and yet you still find yourself at a loss when faced with the walls he has in place. your initial efforts went as well as it possibly could have; you trying to earnestly help him, while he "kindly" dismisses your offers! well, "kindly" being more condescending since you could read between the lines of his mannerisms and amiable demeanour, but that's fine! you expected this! that just means you have to double down on your sincerity, get through to his heart (somehow), and help him realise humanity isn't as weak as he's led to believe!

you have three years until the novel's plot officially starts, and another year after that until your demise. that's plenty of time to get him to warm up to you!

it was easier said than done, but after your valiant effort and abundance of time put into this relationship, which admittedly you could do with some of that lost time back, you could give yourself a pat on the back with the progress you made! while you definitely could have done without a lot of the headaches, it's safe to say sunday has significantly warmed up to you in comparison to your wedding day. he now willingly eats all his meals with you with some real conversation, takes garden strolls with you in the early evenings, invites you out for dinner at a restaurant at least four times a week, hell he's even joked and laughed with you more frequently! but most importantly, he has begun asking for your opinion before finalising any decisions he is required to make. and he actually listens and considers your side! now, that certainly is the best outcome you could hope for after all this time, and it most definitely will help in your endeavour to save you both from the protagonists!

however, you've noticed he's been more... affectionate? well, at the very least he now willingly holds your hand when in private (not just in moments when you're in the public eye and he has to make sure the family's reputation is spotless), sometimes he will hug you out of the blue ("i just need to... recharge. you have a way of calming me down. i hope you don't mind." ...how could you say no to his supreme god-tier face card? that's just a losing battle you won't even bother fighting against.), oftentimes he opts to just gaze wordlessly at you (robin had mentioned over one of your tea times how it almost appears as though there is no one but you in the world when sunday gazes at you with, in her words, "the eyes of a man so deeply in love!" ...whatever that's supposed to mean...), but a more recent development has been his sudden interest in kissing you; well, more specifically giving you a kiss to the back of your hand or on your forehead — certainly not anywhere near the lips! (besides, he's probably just gotten comfortable with you, enough where he can freely act without judgement. nothing more, nothing less.)

well, either way, development is development! soon enough, the time for the main plot to start has arrived. it of course follows what you remember, from the organised balls to the protagonists meeting to the political aspects of it all. the only difference is sunday's less active involvement in all the schemes and the emperor's ploy. rather, he seems more focused on you and the future of your marriage and even displayed a sudden interest in your practically non-existent relationship with one of the foreign diplomats, aventurine— wait...

"[name]," he calls your name out so sweetly you nearly disregarded it as someone else he was talking to. well, perhaps you would have done had he not suddenly appeared before you, a tight-lipped smile tugging the corners of his lips as he steadily approaches you.

oh. he doesn't seem very happy, if his tense figure is anything to go by. you wonder if one of the nobles grated his nerves a little too much this time?

sunday comes to a halt a step away from you. "i don't like that... gambler being so close to you. it... it brings me a rather unpleasant feeling." there's a slight, trembling pause. not a moment later does he close the gap between you, one knee on the ground as he matches your seated height on the fountain rim, your hands gently enclosed in both of his.

you idly wonder if this is what robin meant by the so-called "eyes of a man so deeply in love" she constantly gushed about, for the way in which he gazes up at you is enough to render you breathless.

"tell me, [name]," he begins once more. there is an underlying desperation woven within his tone, one which has your head spinning and heart thumping wildly as his trembling gaze holds you in place. "tell me, what am i to do with this fervent love and overwhelming adoration i hold for you?"

oh.

...oh.

perhaps your impending doom should be the least of your concerns when you now find yourself in the arms of a clingy husband...

(though, it's safe to say you did, in fact, manage to prevent him from succumbing to his tragic fate! you just gained a loving, yet slight slightly emotionally challenged husband along the way.

well, you can help him work through it; you have the rest of your lives now to figure it out, after all.)

[wardingshout]

Zelda goes mushroom girl

[casscainmainly]

Your wish is my command. Last time, we voted to let Duke see Dick's parents die. Now let's give him a crash course in other Batfam trauma!

Hope you had a good time, Duke!

[otterloreart]

okay so usuki is a parody of barbie, and usuki are almost exclusively the neopet usul:

and they have a competitor which is exclusively quiggle, looking very similar to Usuki:

quiguki could be compared to, say, Sindy dolls

but considering modern doll lines, what would a modern competitor to Usuki look like?

Here is my proposal: Rainbow Pooluki, a brand celebrating diversity in neopet colors and species. Rainbow Pooluki are highly articulated dolls with inset eyes and varying color schemes, named after neopia central's famous Rainbow pool... (and Rainbow High).

Many Rainbow Pooluki's, like Starry Pooluki, reference famous neopian citizens (such as Kauvara, who is a starry Kau!) but are very fashionable.

I chose to make the Pooluki anthro style instead of quadrapeds, but I was thinking this line would also focus on typically quadraped pets, hence why I chose Kau, Poogle and Chomby. Maybe it would make more sense to make them on all fours (since at least quiggle and usul normally stand upright) but... well yall have seen my other artwork how was i not gonna make them anthro-fashion dolls.

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

when a loved one suffers and eventually passes, especially from a horrible disease, several things are true. It’s excruciatingly difficult for the loved ones who have to see the person suffer, there can be feelings of relief when the person does pass, you can be angry and frustrated that your life is upended, you can miss the person they used to be, and you can feel extremely guilty for thinking all of those things when your loved one needs you. Those feelings of guilt can eat you alive if you dwell on it, and after going through my own loss, I deeply appreciate how SH2 remake’s Leave ending acknowledges that you can’t deny every conflicting and complicated emotion that’s attached to grief, or else it will consume you whole. Mary wanted the pain to end. James was selfish. Both things are true. Grief and guilt are truly some of our most consuming emotions in the way they torture you, and ultimately there is no way to move on fully until you understand the multitudes and accept that all of these things are true.

[doomedclockworkdotmp3]

heeyyy gaaanggg

the pose and the background of the album version (left) are based on oingo boingos only a lad album art. not cause i think he has anything to do with it but just cause ive been wantin to draw that pose for like. weeks and i didnt know who to put there. so why not my latest bug man.

[tempests-bards-and-birds]

i think that one of the most tragic aspects of venti's character is the fact that no matter how hard he tries, no replication that he can make of the bard will ever be perfect because for a single image or concept to be long-lasting and static goes entirely against the nature of the wind.

it has been consistently emphasised throughout the game that "seeds of stories brought by the wind" will be "cultivated" by time - in other words, they will grow, but they will never remain the same as they were when they were first told; to try to remove that element of warping and artistic interpretation that is inevitable as a story is passed on is like trying to bottle up a storm and hoping that'll stop it from damaging the surroundings - instead, no one will ever know about it, and the only thing that it will have left to destroy will be itself.

venti is basically doing exactly this by trying to preserve the bard's memory - the only way to stop it from being warped would be to remove it from any kind of environment where that could happen, which would require taking the story out of circulation, which then means that he is the only living being who knows it in its whole detail and entirety. he understands, however, the fallibility of his own memory, as can be seen in how reminders of it seem to shake him; in his story quest, he seems strangely unguarded after resolving the situation with hans (whose story is massively identical to venti's for a reason - having a mirror can be very useful for storytelling, and genshin relies on it perhaps a bit too much), describing the barbatos statue as "the usual place" despite the fact that for our traveler, it is not (this ties into another theory that i am Not going into here lol). we know that venti prizes being able to keep a certain level of anonymity, with him describing the traveler's high level of intuition as "scary", so for him to show even the slightest level of disregard for maintaining his façade suggests that being faced with the reality of the impossibility of his self-imposed purpose is something that did really bother him (which tbf makes sense now that i write it out).

comparisons have been made before between venti and zhongli wherein the irony of having a god of wind whose appearance is unchanging and a god of stone who is (supposedly, if we assume zhongli's teasing about his own past forms to be reflective of the truth) in contrast constantly shifting is often key, and in a lot of ways zhongli's situation does mirror venti's in many ways; he theoretically has the ability to accurately preserve history as one would by carving it into stone, and yet it is almost as if he lets it slip through his fingers instead - he finds humour in inaccurate historical accounts and allows himself to change, not just physically but in terms of attitude (the whole point of the liyue aq is for him to be able to do this; to live as a mortal after millenia spent overseeing as a god). in many ways venti and zhongli are polar opposites, but the theme of wanting to transcend one's physical constraints, of wanting a state of existence that the other already in theory has, is consistent throughout both.

venti, however, seems to be so much more uncomfortable with this than zhongli is, and this awareness of the issue while still being so bothered by it to the extent that he pushes it away even more, causing the pressure in that jar to by extension increase too, is where the true point of tragedy lies.

maybe, though, by deciding to share the bard's story with the traveler, he is beginning to accept the necessity for change.

[lenle-g]

Inspired by these Scott and John words by the amazing @scribbles97 who knows I adore the idea of John's Oxford stint and couldn't resist this gem <3

The letter’s weight hadn’t changed in his hands, even if it’s appearance had. Once crisp sharp edges were now crumpled and the two folds were starting to rip where he had folded and unfolded it so many times.  Practically, he knew the letter was exactly the same weight as it had been when his course supervisor had handed it to him. Except, as days had become a week, the weight had felt heavier in John’s chest. He only had another week to think about it, his supervisor had warned it would take all summer to make the appropriate arrangements. His professors had all seemed convinced that he would go, it wasn’t every day you got invited to study at Oxford University after all. 

It would only be for a year, Ffion had insisted at study group, an interim that would still count towards his degree. He had only part jokingly asked if she wanted to go in his place. She would be much better suited to making friends in a new place. 

There was no denying it though, Oxford was tempting. The British University had always been in close competition with Harvard, each trying to outdo one another year on year with improved facilities and support. The only reason John hadn’t considered the other University had been the same reason he was still hesitating with the offer. 

Oxford was a long way away. 

To get home from Harvard, at best, was a four hour flight, at worst a two day drive. 

Oxford was transatlantic, at least double the flight time. 

He wouldn’t see his family for a whole year. 

Looking up he watched the gentle sway of the apple tree in the breeze, listened to the gentle creak of the barn doors. He wouldn’t see home for a whole year. 

“Whatcha doing out here, Johnny?” 

His eyes widened as he looked over his shoulder to the door back into the kitchen. Scott was leaning against the frame, the knowing cocky smile familiar as always. 

“You’re an hour early.”

Scott was meant to have flown in from Virginia, his flight was meant to have just landed. They all knew how long it took from landing to get home, they’d all done it enough times. 

Big brother sighed as he stepped out onto the verandah, hands shoved in his jean pockets as he leant on the railing next to the step where John was sitting. 

“Dad left a jet in DC and took the new rail line up to New York, said I could fly myself home. You do the math.”

He already had. 

“So, your turn to answer my question.” Scott continued, nodding at the letter, “What you got there?”

He was grateful really, Scott had been the one he had wanted to talk to about the whole thing. Scott would know what to say, his biggest brother somehow just always did. There wasn’t the same pressure from Scott as there was from Dad, he just understood differently. 

“Oxford University have invited me to complete my research year over there.” He admitted, reading over the words he already had memorised, “I could spend the next academic year in England.”

“Nice one.” Scott grinned, “I’ll tell Dad to pick up a bottle of something on his way in so we can ce--”

“I don’t know if I’m going to accept it.” He cut him off forcefully. Just like Dad, Scott had a habit of getting ahead of himself. 

The message seemed to get through though as his big brother plopped down next to him on the step. His frown was obvious confusion. 

“John, that’s one hell of an offer, Oxford is… it’s Oxford.”

“At present they have the better facilities over Harvard.” He filled in, not taking his eyes off of the paper, “They’ve just spent six million upgrading their Offshore Observatory. That’s as well as the Royal Observatory which is as good as what we’ve got at Harvard.”

On paper, comparing the facilities left it as a no brainer. 

“So what’s the hang up?” Scott asked, reaching for the letter to read for himself. 

Still John’s eyes didn’t leave the paper, still firmly fixed in place as his big brother read over the words for him. 

“Oxford is in England.”

Scott looked up, eyebrow raised, “So?”

“I don’t know anybody in England.” He sighed, “You guys all worry that I spend too much time on my own now if I go over there I’ll spend even less time with people.”

Scott shrugged at he leant against the railing of the steps, “You like being on your own though. I thought you would have jumped at the chance.” 

A glance back towards the kitchen apparently gave Scott all the answers he needed as John pursed his lips. 

“Oh.” 

“I know I’m not as close as the rest of you,” He admitted softly, “But you’re still my family.”

Scott shuffled over until their shoulders were pressed together. John expected him to sling an arm across his back, but was grateful when he didn’t. Instead big brother handed back the letter, nodding as he did so.

“And you’re still our brother, moving across an ocean isn’t going to change that. I’d come and visit when I’m on leave. Hell, I could bring Alan with me and you could show off the observatories.”

He had to smile at the thought. Watching the stars with Alan was one of his favourite pastimes, to be able to show his brother the best in star watching technology would perhaps be the biggest bonus of the trip. 

“Don’t let a fear of the unknown stop you from jumping in.” Scott grinned, his shoulder bumping John’s lightly, “You might love it.” 

“You sound like Dad.” 

Scott laughed as he stood, “Yeah, a few people have told me that recently.” 

Pausing on the top step as he frowned again, “And I wouldn’t worry about being on your own, doesn’t Dad have a friend over in London? That Lord guy?” 

“Yeah,” John nodded, suddenly remembering himself, “Yeah he does.” 

“So, you gonna go?” 

Taking a breath, he straightened his shoulders. His chest still felt heavy with the fear of not knowing what would come next. Scott seemed to have every faith though, and John knew he needed to have the same sort of faith in himself. 

“Yeah.” He swallowed, finally smiling as he looked up to his big brother, “I’m going to Oxford.”

[wisteriagoesvroom]

distracted myself from the horrors and instead made a moodboard for @serve-cunt's landoscar tennis AU, which i recommend-o

snip

Oscar wondered whether anybody was predicting him to move through to the final. He wondered whether anybody was predicting he’d move through to the semi-finals. Maybe a few. He had a couple fans here and there. More in Australia, for sure, although he thought there was a smidgen of obligatory nationalism at work there.   “Thanks,” Oscar said, remembering where he was. He eyed Lando, who was only half dressed in his Adidas kit. “You’re playing George Russell tonight, right?”  Lando smiled wider. “Yup,” he said. “Got an eye on the draw?”  “Course,” Oscar said. He had the draw projected on the inside of his eyelids any time he tried to sleep. He always knew who he was going to play the next day, who he was likely to play after that, and what the other half of the bracket looked like at the end of any given session. He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you?”

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 35 - Reappraise

Story to date in order (Tumblr / AO3)

Previous chapter

ART!VIRGIL KLAXON

Perhaps if you hadn’t read them before these two chapters (here and here) may make more sense of what Virgil has been drawing.

And if you missed the wee!Earth&Sky flying machine adventure, that is contained in this one and this one.

But now, onwards! Virgy-boy still has some demons to exorcise and needs Scooter to help him. Points to whoever spots the cameo from an old friend 😈

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

The view from Virgil’s balcony was very similar, but subtly different. They weren’t adjacent - both John’s often-empty and Dad’s always-empty room lay between - and the shift of a few metres to the left meant the light reflected off different facets of the damp rocks of Mateo and the shadows changed shape. The sea met the shore at a marginally different angle, the light refracting through the shallows and hitting the greener end of blue. Two of the trees visible from Scott’s were hidden by the curve of Roundhouse Peak.

Scott hadn’t noticed any of this before Virgil pointed it out. What he did know was that on his own the breeze was stronger and there was fractionally more sky. On a hot day he’d always advocate for the cooler, more exposed position. Where he could see as far as possible. Where he could breathe.

But on a cooler evening, there was something comforting about how the sun’s residual heat radiated from the stone and bathed Virgil’s preferred haven in a warm glow.

Virgil had added to the warmth that evening by opening a bottle of Scott’s favourite scotch which he’d clearly stashed away at some point. Had it been one of the others who produced such a thing, Scott would be waiting for ‘The Favour’ or ‘The Difficult Question’. In Gordon’s case, quite frequently ‘The Confession’.

Virgil, however, often just did it to be nice. And Virgil knew that, unlike Dad and himself, Scott preferred his liquor without rocks. He took another sip and rested his head back with a contented sigh, allowing the liquid to rest on his tongue.

“Scott?”

“Mmmmhmm?” The heat spread through his sinuses as he breathed over it.

“Can I ask you a favour?”

Oh!

The whiskey hit the back of Scott’s throat and his eyeballs burned. Virgil seemed hesitant which mean this was going to be important! He coughed and croaked out a hurried confirmation:

“Always.”

Virgil, staring out to sea, appeared not to notice his brother’s nasal passages vaporising which, again, indicated something was Up. Scott scrubbed at his eyes with a sleeve and with an iron will, forced himself to get a grip of his respiratory system. He was about to say something else encouraging when Virgil suddenly spun to face him and in a voice of utmost seriousness stated:

“It’s a weird one.”

Scott raised an amused eyebrow.

“I can do weird.”

“Would you wear it again?”

The other eyebrow joined it with vigour.

“Wear what? If you’re asking about Halloween and that cursed Superman costume, Alan beat you to it and it’s a hard no. I might be persuaded to consider Batman but only if you’re Robin.”

Virgil snorted and swirled the ice in his glass. The not ungenerous measure he’d poured himself having already disappeared.

“As you very well know I don’t do tights. Not after the Christmas debacle.”

“I think you made a lovely elf.”

“You’re deranged.”

“Yeah but you love me.”

Virgil threw an ice cube at his head before conceding: “I do. Yes.”

He then frowned.

“Scooter, are you CRYING?”

“Nope. No no I’m just… enjoying this with ALL my senses.” He raised the glass and winked.

Virgil narrowed his eyes as if invisibly scanning his brother, then with a quirk of an eyebrow seemed to conclude there was no sudden emotional devastation and released him from scrutiny. He looked back out towards Mateo and tracked the petrels swooping to and from their rocky nests.

Scott followed his line of sight and started a little. There was a small cave at the base of Mateo which was invisible from Scott’s balcony. How had he never seen that before? He was about to point it out when he realised he’d distracted Virgil from his question.

“If you didn’t mean Halloween… what are you asking?”

“Your uniform. The, uh, air force one.”

“Hell no. I’m planning to burn it. That’s not part of my life anymore.”

“That doesn’t sound very environmentally friendly…”

“Alright bury it then. Shred it and bury it. No… shred it, dissolve it in acid then bury it.”

Virgil blinked. “Have you been watching murder mystery reruns again?”

“They’re relaxing.”

“Riiiiiiight.” Despite the feigned disbelief, Scott knew that Virgil had been the one to add three hundred and thirty-six hours worth of ‘A Century of Detective Classics’ to the family server and he knew Virgil knew that he knew that he’d done it as a cunning way to tempt Scott into some downtime. Devious little brothers… who… needed reassuring, immediately.

“It hurt you so it’s got to die. Don’t worry. I don’t even want to touch it again. If Grandma hadn’t spirited it away somewhere to clean it would be gone already.”

“Oh.” Perhaps imbibing scotch straight into his brain had slowed him down, but Virgil didn’t seem as reassured as Scott had intended.

“Don’t you need it for Ash’s dinner? You should go to that, it’s important.”

“I’ll work something out.”

“Oh, ok.” Virgil went quiet again and Scott realised he’d given the wrong answer somehow but wasn’t quite sure how to change it.

“What’s on your mind, Virgil?”

He sighed and cracked his knuckles one by one, making Scott cringe.

“Would you… um, would you wear it once more if… I… for me to… uh…”

“For you?! But… I don’t understand! It made you so unwell? I thought you hated it?”

“I did. I do. But… I don’t want to carry that fear anymore, I can’t be scared of CLOTHES. It’s… I just can’t. It’s ridiculous. And, well… and I was thinking perhaps if I was prepared… if it wasn’t a surprise… it might… I might not react quite so badly? My last memory of it wouldn’t be… uh… so heavy? And maybe I could finish my book.”

“Your book?” Now Scott was really bewildered.

Virgil put down his glass and disappeared into his suite, returning swiftly with one of the large black ring-bound pads of thick art paper the like of which Scott had seen many times. This one was more battered than most and his little brother clutched it to his chest for a moment then cleared his throat awkwardly as he sat down.

“I found it when I was hunting for a sketch I wanted to work up for the exhibition next month. Some of them aren’t… very nice. I was going to just throw it away but Gordon thinks I should complete it… finish the story.”

“Gordon’s seen it?” Scott wasn’t actually jealous, he was relieved to discover - the little snakelike green monster’s appearance seemed to have been limited to the ‘other’ version of himself. But he found himself kind of intrigued that their fish brother was apparently giving art advice these days.

Virgil rolled his eyes and growled quietly. “You know what he’s like… I foolishly tried to hide it when he burst into the room and of course he noticed and he wouldn’t let up until I showed him.”

“May I see?”

Virgil chewed his lip and nodded. Scott shuffled his lounger closer such that they were shoulder to shoulder and felt his jaw drop as Virgil opened to the first page and he saw a vivid recreation in pastel of his toddler self proudly holding a tiny baby Virgil, Mom and Dad hovering in the background. The baby’s fingers were wrapped tightly around his thumb and Virgil had sketched several enlarged views of their chubby hands in pencil along the bottom.

He turned the pages slowly and Scott saw several scenes he definitely recognised from childhood photographs and some he thought must have come from Virgil’s memory. They paddled in a watercolour sea together, rode their bikes in oils, Scott dangled upside down from a charcoal tree with chalky Virgil underneath, arms stretched upwards. There was a cartoon school bus with a dimpled stickman waving from the window.

He smiled as he recognised the two of them with the flying machine on the roof, although he remembered it as much sturdier than the painting suggested. The faded but detailed cross-section taped in to the next double page disabused him of that impression. This one was covered in his own scrawly handwriting. Scott chuckled and raised a hand to the scar on his jaw.

“Oh DEAR, I’d thought it was a much better design than that!”

“Hmmmm.” Virgil rumbled “The basic concept was sound but the materials and our duct tape-biased construction methods left something to be desired and yeah… your “math” was a touch… shaky…”

Virgil smiled and turned over to another cross-section, only this time of a much more elegant design which was surrounded by small sketches of joints and diagrams showing balanced forces, each with the appropriate calculations painstakingly recorded in Virgil’s neat handwriting.

Scott gasped as he realised that this… this could work. Who was he kidding - it was Virgil’s design - of course it would work.

“You fixed it!”

“I did. I felt… bad that we never tried again and you didn’t get your moment.”

“My moment?! Virgil! I nearly killed us both!”

“You were only eleven.”

“Even so…” Scott tried very hard not to think of all the occasions since then when he hadn’t had ‘being only eleven’ as an excuse but the more he tried the more of them bubbled up in his memory like some kind of noxious gas polluting his only fresh water source. No. They were past this now… it was better. Things were changing. He was changing.

“I guess I had this idea that I could build it and if… if you ever came back…” he shook his head “it was just a silly…”

“No.” Scott interrupted, grabbing his arm and pressing his forehead into the side of Virgil’s head. “Not silly. Thoughtful. Ingenious. Seeing the potential in an idea and making it work? Very… YOU.”

Virgil gave a small smile and turned back to the book. Scott felt himself blush at page after page of sketches, all of himself - as a wide eyed child, a cocky teenager winking, a laughing adult flipping pancakes… even a few where he had apparently sprouted falcon wings, one where Virgil had them too.

Scott couldn’t imagine how many hours these must have taken to create

“When did you do all this?”

As soon as the words had left his mouth he knew it was a stupid question. Virgil shrugged and turned the page.

“When you were gone.”

Scott put his arm around Virgil’s shoulders and squeezed as he turned again, seemingly keen not to linger on any one image.

A blazing sun burned out of the page, the wall of colour marred only by a silhouette of the falcon-winged man, clearly falling, curled in on himself as the wings trailed limply behind, the dark shapes of lost feathers becoming larger and more detailed towards the top. No prizes for spotting the reference there. The real sun, heading swiftly towards the horizon seemed to lose most of its heat and a modern day Icarus-but-for-Many-Miraculous-Escapes wondered yet again how he could have been so blind.

If that one gave him a chill, the next made him shiver, the warmth from the whiskey had now entirely dissipated - a faint pencil outline Scott holding a heavily shadowed Virgil in his arms. Then… there was that same Air Force Grad photo, reproduced in a dozen different styles. The last one almost photo-realistic but crossed through in heavy red pen.

Virgil tried to skip several pages but Scott gently took his hand and turned back. He recognised the image of the crashing jet, over and over… pencil drawn, painted, scratched with a blade into a thick black layer of wax crayon. There followed a page solely of fire. Skeletal outlines of fighter jets. Storms. Crowds of agonised faces. An incredibly detailed map of Bereznik decorated with vicious-looking black insects.

The last few pages shocked Scott the most - all the pictures were drawn on scraps of paper, and then glued in. The largest was a drawing in black ballpoint pen of an almost unrecognisable bearded stranger in a hospital bed, covered in bandages and tubes. There were smaller pencil studies of bruised hands, a foot, an ear, eyebrows over sunken eye sockets, a nearly skeletal chin with a scar… his scar. Scott swallowed hard - he’d looked that bad?

One smaller image stood out as it had clearly been screwed into a ball before being flattened out to stick on to the page. Scott’s younger self winked and laughed up at him from behind the creases, one arm wrapped around a huge box of popcorn, the other hand reaching out of the page towards him. Virgil had clearly got hold of a blue ballpoint pen for this one and had skilfully used it to produce a rainbow’s worth of blue shades. The picture somehow gleamed at him and Scott felt the green serpent stir in his gut. He bit the side of his tongue and motioned for Virgil to turn over to the next.

The very last page contained only the sky in vivid shades of blue with light wisps of cloud: Virgil’s starting place.

Scott swallowed hard as he realised Gordon hadn’t been giving art advice at all.

“I put it away when dad brought you home.”

“It’s… Wow…”

“It was an outlet.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Scotty.”

“Not all of it. Some things though.”

He pulled his brother close again and planted a kiss in his hair.

“So how do you want to finish it?”

💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙

Next chapter

[vegasol]

«3! 2! 1! Happy new year!» Everyone screams excitedly all around them.

Then, as they tend to do, all the couples kiss. And for a stupid second, it feels like the whole world consists of only couples. It makes Eddie feel like there’s a giant spotlight on him, pointing him out in the crowd. Look, there’s the single guy. The virgin, with no one to kiss.

He looks at Steve, who’s right next to him. Steve’s got his arms around Robin, she’s got her arms around his neck, and they’re just done giving each other a kiss too, a big ol’ smack of puckered lips. Eddie wonders if he should look away, but then they release each other and Steve turns to look at Eddie, catching him looking.

So Eddie just hovers, awkwardly frozen in place by Steve’s gaze.

“You alright, Eddie?” Steve prompts, reaching out a hand to place it comfortingly on Eddie’s lower back. It feels so warm, makes Eddie feel all fuzzy. Or maybe that’s the champagne.

“I don’t have anyone to kiss,” he blurts, tongue loosened by alcohol and way more honest than what is good for him. “I’ve never kissed anyone before,” he adds lamely, because his drunk self apparently thought that was an important amendment to be making.

“Uhh..” Steve stares at him, confused. Like his gears are grinding away ever so slowly. He’s had plenty of the champagne too, Eddie knows.

“You could kiss me? I don’t mind,” Steve offers, and it suddenly feels simple. Yeah, why shouldn’t he? Steve’s just offering to help, it doesn’t have to mean anything. He kissed Robin too, so it’s no big deal, right?

He lets Steve’s hand on his lower back pull him in gently. They’re the same height, no need for Eddie to bend his neck at an awkward angle or anything. He just steps right into Steve’s space, their lips suddenly just an inch away from touching, their breath suddenly mingling.

I don’t know how, Eddie is about to say, but he doesn’t have time to before Steve closes the rest of the gap. His lips are soft and warm and plush as he puckers them against Eddie’s. It’s nice. And Eddie thinks that’s going to be it: just a sweet, chaste, innocent kiss among friends, before Steve will pull away again. He’d be okay with that.

But instead of pulling away, Steve presses his lips harder to Eddie’s. In surprise, Eddie parts his lips, to draw a breath, to say something maybe, and again Steve surprises him by catching Eddie’s bottom lip in his. Eddie’s breath stutters and he forgets everything about everything. He forgets that people are watching, he forgets that this wasn’t going to mean anything. He forgets how to stand on his own two legs, so he sinks into Steve’s arms, holding on to him desperately as he lets Steve deepen the kiss.

It's like fireworks are going off, not just in the sky all around them, but inside Eddie, too.

When Steve finally breaks the kiss and lets him go, Eddie feels like a changed person. New year, new Eddie. Now that he’s tried it, he never wants to stop kissing Steve.

And Steve, King Steve, he’s gotta know, the way he’s looking at Eddie grinning all smugly. It must be written clearly all over Eddie’s face.

“Maybe you can return the favor next year,” Steve says, and Eddie can only nod.

“Uh huh. I will.”

[helimir]

What happens if Bells Hells go through with the Arch Heart’s Plan?

Transcript from C3.108, Looming

Remember this?

Asmodeus answered Braius's prayer to say "Don't worry babe, if Predathos is released and some of the gods run, he'll get lured away and I'll chill here".

What does happen if Predathos is released, and Imogen/Fearne are strong enough to channel it into chasing away the gods from Exandria? The only god who has actually confirmed that they would run is Corellon. Asmodeus said “when the cats are away, the mice will play!” and the Raven Queen said verbatim "I will not flee." It was suggested that the Wildmother is too enmeshed in Exandria itself to even be able to leave. What the rest of the gods might do remains a mystery, but it stands to reason that many of them might fall into one of these two camps of I’m not leaving! (I imagine that Erathis, for example, might choose not to flee out of a deep sense of responsibility to mortals, and love for Melora)

The result then is not a world with all the gods conveniently leading Predathos away on a merry chase. Maybe Predathos does go after Corellon (as the most delicious looking god) and any others who flee, leaving the balance of the remaining deities skewed. Maybe the remaining gods are sitting ducks behind the divine gate, and Predathos goes for them instead. Maybe the Matron is devoured, or goes into hiding, and there’s no one left to oppose the dissolution of the divine gate and we get the “second calamity” that Bells Hells thinks they’re trying to prevent.

Now, Braius didn’t tell anyone in Bells Hells this. I’m not even sure if Sam remembers it, let alone the rest of the cast. But the fact remains that, after the colossal unknown that is the release of Predathos, there are a a whole cascade of question marks as the primes and betrayers react to the situation.

As Orym put it (way back in episode 44), that’s a pretty big trust fall.

[sisaloofafump]

Final assignment 1: hebrew bible fanfic is done. Do I upload on ao3 and just send my prof the link

[keirawantstocry]

writing idea!!! pac sees someone (can be anyone) flirting with tubbo and gets jealous because he is the one and only person (-fit) that gets to flirt with tubbo so he makes up a super elaborate unnecessary plan to get this person away from tubbo

okay listen anon idk what kind of crack cocaine you put in this request but after writing it I had the motivation to clean my room for the first time in over a month. so thank you 

Torrid shocks of jealousy and anger shot through Pac's body as he watched that fucking shark hybrid lean over Tubbo with low eyes and a wide smirk. He did not like that. Why the absolute hell did that other man think he had any permission to get close to his guy? 

Did Foolish not know who he belonged to? Well he was going to have to change that wasn't he? 

Without another thought he was looping over and behind Tubbo. He snaked his hands around Tubbo's waist and propped his head on the man's shoulder before looking up at the shark hybrid with thin eyes. 

A laugh rumbled deep in Tubbo's chest. “Hey, Pac.” 

“Hi, Tubbo.” 

Foolish's eyes darted between them both quickly with a confused glint to them, his eyebrows tilted down. Was he just gonna act like Pac didn’t know exactly what he had just been trying to pull? 

Pac gave him a sharp toothy smile like a predatory animal. 

“Ah,” Tubbo tsked, as his comm buzzed with a message. “I gotta go guys. I'll see you later, yeah?” 

Pac let him go and as he turned to see the both of them gave him a much kinder smile. “See ya!” 

After Tubbo warped away, Pac grabbed Foolish by the collar. “Hey! Listen to me.” 

Foolish's eyes went wide as he nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. 

“Tubbo… he's mine okay? I don't mind if you do little adventures with him. I don't mind if you look at him because trust me, I know. But just know he's mine okay? I will cut you open like the Chester de Natal if you even try to get your hands on him.” 

Foolish laughed slightly. “Possessive little bastard aren't you?” 

Pac growled at him and he raised his hands in surrender. 

“Hey, hey. My bad, okay? I'm not trying to go after your guy. I wouldn't.” 

Pac took a step back, giving him another wicked grin. All teeth. “Glad to see we came to an agreement. Tchau!” 

Just as he started his walk away he heard Foolish mutter under his breath, “I wasn't even flirting with him, crazy bitch. Tubbo's got himself one protective asshole.” 

[kanawolf]

Hera & Frealaf's Clothing

@from-dark-dunharrow (since you asked about it :D)

Please note that I am not an expert on anything related to fashion, much less historical fashion, and this all comes from my vague and general knowledge on the subject :D. This rant will go over spoilers since I'm talking about their outfits throughout the whole movie so, be warned.

SO! Hera's tunic and riding boots (? I'm referring to her thigh highs but I can't tell if those are boots or supposed to be like chapps) are pretty close to white in color, alongside the gloves she wears in one scene, and of course the frankly iconic wedding dress. Her pants and the trim on her tunic range from light-mid brown (tunic) to dark brown / black (pants), with golden accents for things like the buttons(?) on her shoulder pieces and her hair ornaments (ex. the crown at the end).

The one major exception to Hera's color scheme is the green dress she wears early on in the movie, a color that seems to be a more traditional color for Rhorric people to wear (considering it's use in the background of both WotR and LotR, especially for cloaks), with the dress itself being one that is used for a very formal occasion (the summoning of the Lords of Rohan). One thing I find interesting about this dress, alongside it being a very formal dress (that honestly feels a tiny bit off in terms of Rhorric formal dress, but that's due to comparing it to Eowyns' dresses in the movies), is that it features golden accessories that are far more elaborate. The dress looks expensive, something that a princess would wear, compared to the more adventure-y look that Hera seems to prefer. She dons the proper attire of a princess around the other lords during a moment in the movie where the Lords are talking about her as if she doesn't exist, almost as if, by wearing something not in her usual color scheme, she is hiding a large part of who she is beneath the title and expectations of "Princess".

This could also be me looking too deeply into the dress, but some thoughts on it (briefly, as I am trying to focus on the white & dark accents color scheme for this).

Frealaf on the other hand, his very first outfit in partially hidden underneath his dark (blueish black) cloak, and unlike Hera's, his color scheme is almost reversed initially. His tunic has a large chunk of white, but the sides and the middle of the tunic are a much darker color (can't tell if it's supposed to be dark grey, blue, or green from my own pictures). He also has very noticeable golden trim and decorations on his outfit -- similar to the green dress, his clothing for the meeting of Lords looks expensive, something befitting the nephew of the King and a Lord in his own right.

The next outfit we see him in is much closer to Hera's, with the tunic being predominately white with dark trim in the middle & dark pants (like Hera's), though he also has the addition of black and gold armor, alongside his blueish black cloak still.

His final outfit (excluding Helms' armor) is the coronation fit, a white tunic underneath the formal, royal green cape with gold, red, and blue accents that seem to be traditional colors of Rohan. It's an outfit that is laden with ornamentation and rich, vibrant colors, in sharp contrast to Hera's far more plain clothing, aside from her vibrant blue cloak, that remains in her usual color scheme of white / cream with dark trim.

Before I continue, I'd like to point out that green is also a significant color to both of these characters, and I have thoughts on this as well, which I might talk about after the next section, or might move to its' own post.

Also, one last side note, Hera's color scheme is similar to that of the Great Eagle she tries to befriend in the film and I don't honestly much in the way of deep thoughts on that - I just think it's a neat detail (and maybe showcases Hera's relationship with the concept of her own freedom).

Now, I have a couple thoughts on the significance of white in their outfits.

White is often used as a symbol of purity (especially in the religious sense), which could be used to showcase Hera's youth and inexperience with the situation that she is thrust into (it could also be why her meeting dress is Green, as that is something that she could be very familiar with attending due to it being a regular thing for her family). This could also be part of why white dominates her color scheme, whereas it, while still being a major color, never is the true Main color of Frealafs outfits / why it's always heavily accented with darker / richer colors or under a cloak (being that he's a lord in his own right, he probably does have more experience in battle than Hera)

White is often used as a color related to life (I'm aware its' also used to symbolize death in many places, which also connects here). Hera and Frealaf are the two members of the main cast that are still by the end of the film, so by having white in their outfits when Wulf, Helm, and by extension Haleth and Hama, don't have much if any white present, might be a non verbal way to communicate that These Two Will Live. However, given that white can be associated with death as well, I think it also tells the audience something along the lines of "These two will survive this, but they will both experience death intimately, including potential death of an aspect of themself / who they were" with this being Hera experiencing the death of her family and her people firsthand, whereas Frealaf arguably experiences a sort of "death of the self" where he becomes the last heir to the throne of Rohan after his uncle and cousins all die. However, I'd argue that his very first outfit partially mimicking his coronation outfit is also a non verbal sign that this was always his role, to be a Lord and a Leader of his people, even before he became the king (seriously the main difference between his first and last outfit is the lack of black in the coronation outfit and the more elaborate adornment of the cape and the trim in the coronation outfit - there's a lot more gold for one)

Now one thing that's also important to point out is that, keeping historical clothing in mind, white clothing would have been generally expensive and, in my opinion, very impractical for people who actively / frequently ride horses. White clothing would get dirty very quickly, and in general, I think it'd be weird to wear white clothing while actively riding, so I think it'd be more likely that their clothing wouldn't be true, pure white, but probably would be more like a cream or light grey, the sort of colors undyed wool & linen (or sun bleached) linen sometimes become. This could also play into the general use of their clothing, they would have the money and materials that could allow them to have either actual white clothing (as impractical as that could be for them as Rohirrim), but it would also make sense for them to use undyed clothing as part of their outfits since that would arguably be more practical, especially for riding outfits that weren't primarily darkly colored.

Side note, this is also why I think it's important that we never see Eowyn where her white dresses while being "active" in the sense that we see them when she is waiting in Edoras while the Three Hunters arrive, when she is recovering from the Black Death, and in her Wedding dress / dress she wears during Aragorns coronation in RotK. Her white dresses and even her title, The White Lady of Rohan, have their own connotations that I think partially could tie in with #2 on this list

4) The use of brown in Hera's outfits compared to the use of black in Frealafs' outfits also strikes me as important. For instance, wool can be brown in color naturally, without any dyes, whereas black was generally an expensive fabric that only the weather or men or religion wore. Brown, being an earthly tone, also tends to associate characters with being grounded or stable / dependable (which I believe that Hera shows over the course of the movie in different ways, including her resourcefulness for taking care of problems, such as not fighting the Mumakhils' head on but using her environment / tower defense weapons for). Interestingly, dark brown (the color of her pants and the outer most trim on her tunic) could actually be an expensive color to make - which to me makes a fun duality of the colors in her outfit, they could all be achieved through natural means, but the dark brown and pure white are more expensive, a non verbal showcase of her station within Rohan. Black, on the other hand, is a more somber color, generally speaking, but it could also be associated with humility (hence a connection to religious and monastic lifestyle), which I'd argue Frealaf shows plenty of in the movie (gracefully accepting his banishment from his uncle while still being loyal to him, for instance). And again, black was expensive to make, so Frealaf wearing both white and black really shows that our boy was doing well for himself financially.

5) Onto Hera's wedding dress. The dress being eaten by moths and ragged does it's own work in nonverbal storytelling, but I think the best part of it all is that the sparkly white dress is in ruins. Hera does not want to marry anyone, and while she in experienced in some things (something that she kind of admits to when she pleads with Helm to come inside the gate and lead their people), she does not have the same sort of youth she had in the beginning of the movie (with her finely tailored and well kept clothes). She has grown and matured, no longer this potential pinnacle of royal purity, but a woman who has been worn down by the deaths of her family, the Fell Winter, and the siege of her people in the Hornburg. And yet, she still holds true to her ideals, while her innocence may have died, she remains a woman of purity, not just due to remaining unmarried, but due to remaining true to herself even in the face of such hardships. It was also like, definitely psychological warfare against Wulf, she knew the dress would provoke him, and I absolutely love that she used his own obsessions against him like that.

6) Her last outfit keeps her firmly in her normal colors, which I think once against shows that while part of her may have died during the Fell Winter as she grew more experienced in life, she still remains true to herself, and she lived when all the odds were against her. The biggest difference is that her blue cloak returns (she had it during the first encounter with the mumakhil, but during the siege her cloak was a darker green). I think the biggest thing about the blue cloak returning is that blue is often associated with serenity, calmness, wisdom, and the sky / ocean depending on the shade (which have their own connotations that I'm not about to get into). Hera has grown as a character, she was wise to pay heed to the mumakhil in her lands, and though her wisdom was not listened to, she grew wiser after the Fell Winter. She even feels calmer at the end of the movie, like she's found her own type of peace even after the tragedy she had to endure, and she feels sure and comfortable with her own skills and in herself in general. I think this is something that Frealaf and Olwyn both would have recognized as well.

7) Frealaf's coronation outfit puts the white tunic once again under a cloak. This time, I don't think the white represents purity per se, I think it hold more to the association of light. He was the known / recognized savior of Helms' Deep, and with his ascension to the throne after the Fell Winter, I think the people of Rohan could have seen him as a literal symbol of a brighter future / new beginning for them all, especially combined with the vibrant, rich green of his cloak. Two colors that can be used to symbolize growth put together, and combined with the elaborate golden decorations and the red and blue accents, Frealaf's coronation fit feels (to me) like it is practically announcing a New Dawn / New Beginning / Time of Healing for Rohan and her people with his ascension to the throne and the end of the Fell Winter.

In general, I think it's really fitting that Frealaf and Hera have similar color schemes, in part due to them being somewhat similar in personality (calm and reliable royals, resourceful, loyal) and role in their story (being true to themselves and the saviors of their people). However, I really like that the differences in color and the ways in which color is used in their outfits also does a lot of nonverbal storytelling, which I personally really enjoy (even if I am like, completely way off base / overthinking this lol).