#is my personal tag for her!

[autisticrosewilson]

•°•Spotlight Overture•°•

Pairing(s): Willis Todd & Catherine Clemens, Catherine Clemens/Nathalie Knight (Nocturna), Willis Todd|Wingman & Natasha Mitternacht|Nocturna, Catherine Clemens/Willis Todd/Nathalie Knight

Warnings: Gotham typical crime, canon divergence, eventual polyamory, secret identity shenanigans, this mini series is going to get very sad, don't ask me about the time period DC doesn't know and neither do I

Willis is led through the darkened club by two men in matching suits. It's a tasteful place compared to his usual haunts, the dance floor is a blur of star confetti and neon light bouncing off the disco ball on the ground floor while the bar and tables litter the top. The old Hollywood decor reminds him of a girl he knew in highschool, he vaguely recognizes the posters framed on the wall as musical productions she used to like.

The nature of the patrons is obvious immediately, older men in loud suits and the scent of too-strong cologne permeating the air under the reek of alcohol and sweat. Gotham's nightlife is in full swing here, ripe with the parasites that fester in her underbelly.

Gotham's old money is hardly his first choice of employer, but things have been tight at the shop lately and cash is cash.

"Wingman," a severe looking older man greets him when he enters the study, "a pleasure to have you." The man greets him curtly. Charles Mitternacht, head of a prominent, if lesser known crime Family. Owner of The Spotlight and the man who will be signing his paycheck, although Willis isn't entirely sure what he's being paid to do yet.

A bad idea to go into a situation like this without all the details but no guts, no glory he supposes.

The office decor differs from the rest of the club, the bookshelves are overstuffed and the furniture is worn but well cared for. The Mitternacht's are an old family, and this is an old building. Let it never be said that they're uneducated or arrogant, you don't stay under the Bat's radar even with their kind of notoriety by thinking like the common crook.

It's another reason why Willis agreed to the terms so easily, they wouldn't have him do anything too heinous or flashy, they know better than to think it wouldn't come down on them eventually.

Mrs. Mitternacht is sat beside her husband, dark hair done up in elaborate victory rolls reminiscent of the faded photos of his mother in her youth. Well, now he knows who decorated the place. Her lips are a bright shade of red and her eyes are sharp, calculating despite the ditzy smile on her face, with straight white teeth befitting of the silver screen.

He doesn't buy it for a second.

Their children are gathered behind them, standing at attention in a straight line. He knows three out of the five, the other two he at least recognizes from past events, but there's one set apart from the others. A separation so distinct he almost doesn't recognize that she's a part of the family at all. He suspects maybe she's a daughter in law, but he's never seen her before, and there's nothing the elite love more than showing off.

She's pale, unnaturally pale, like she's never been touched by sunlight before. It's stark, even for a Gothamite. The dress she wears is different from the others, simpler, something you'd wear at a dance recital rather than a high society event. There's a dark veil covering her face, obscuring all defining features behind layers of lace. She's the tallest one in the room, even taller than him, although she's lanky and thin. Frail, almost.

He doesn't believe that either, he's reliably certain that there's at least one knife hidden beneath her dress. He's under no illusion that even in the thin ballet flats, she's a threat. One look at long nails sharpened into vicious points is enough to confirm it.

"I apologize for the secrecy of this meeting, but word travels fast in our circles." Charles pulls his attention back to the reason for his being here. "This request might be a little unusual for someone of your...caliber," with the way he said it, Willis can't tell if that's an insult, "but you have a reputation for being reliable and versatile. Both admirable traits that I think will serve our cause well." He continues.

Willis takes a moment to think about that with arms crossed and head tilted slightly, expression hidden behind his helmet. "What kinda job 're we talkin about here?" He decides not to beat around the bush.

Charles nods, seeming to appreciate his bluntness. "A bodyguard. It'll be a longer job, but I assure that you'll be paid handsomely should you accept." He explains, straightforward and confident despite the curve ball he's just thrown.

God bless him but Willis has never been able to keep his mouth shut. "...You hired a gun for...protection?" He can't help but voice his confusion. Sure, hirelings take all kinds of jobs, but protection detail usually goes to more high profile mercs. "Kinda the opposite of my job." He points out.

"I believe in subverting expectations." The man grins, cold and sharp. "I think you'll do just fine. More than competent enough for the task, and discreet to boot." Ah, there it is. Subtlety isn't a practice most Gotham criminals employ, but the Mitternacht's have turned it into an art form. "If you'll accept this contract, I'm positive we'll all benefit." He proposes.

"And who would I be guarding, exactly?" Willis asks after some deliberation. He already has an idea, but he'd like to have it confirmed before he agrees to anything.

"Natasha." He orders, gesturing for the mystery girl to step forward. Her hair is so dark it almost blends with the veil, stringy curls falling over her white skin like an oil spill. She moves silently, nothing but the whisper of her skirt to signal her approach and if Willis weren't watching her, he'd never be able to tell she moved at all.

"My youngest," Charles introduces, "a newer addition to the family." He says cryptically. That...could mean a lot of things. But if they don't offer, he won't pry. None of his business.

He can see her a bit better now that she's separated from the shadows of the room. On closer inspection she can't be much older than him, maybe nineteen or twenty.

Willis nods slowly, trying not to give anything away through his body language. "How long should I expect this contract to last?" He urges.

"A few months, at the least." Charles shrugs carelessly, although he's too tense to read as casual. "You'll be well compensated the whole time, of course. You seem like you could benefit from a long term paycheck." He sniffs, pointedly eyeing Willis's patchwork of homemade gear. Sure, it's not the best, but it's functional and cohesive, certainly not deserving of that much ridicule. He can't deny that he's in need of the cash though, it's the only reason he's here at all.

Thinking back to his near empty fridge and the long list of things that need to be fixed, and replaced, and bought makes him swallow the snarky remark bubbling up in his throat in favor of thinking logically. "...Deal." he decides. "Where do I sign?" He straightens up from his casual lean, plopping down into the chair on the other side of the desk.

Catherine inhales deeply, the musk of the Alley preferable to the stagnant air of the club. She misses the smell of wet earth and clean air, wishes she hadn't taken the ability to breathe easily for granted. Distance really does make the heart grow fonder.

She knows she smells like a mini-bar, the fruity perfume she'd doused herself in before her shift having faded through the night. She can't wait to get back to her dorm, the showers should be empty this time of night, perfect for her to take her time scrubbing the layer of sweat and gunk from her skin. Unfortunately, her shift isn't quite over yet, she's working a double tonight since her favorite coworker is out sick. She barely managed to escape outside for her break, luckily she's been working here long enough to have some seniority and she managed to wrangle one of the new hires into taking over for a while.

She sighs, rummaging around her pockets for her cigarettes but pauses when she can't find her lighter. She curses, double checking just to make sure and clicking her tongue when she comes up empty handed.

"Need a light?" A voice at the end of the Alley catches her attention and her free hand falls to the pocket housing her switch blade on instinct.

Her gaze locks on a tall, broad man with dark curls and a crooked grin. He's dressed down in a plain black button down, the first few buttons undone and sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Immediately she can tell he's not the usual bar patron. He's got messy curls and an obnoxious tie reminiscent of an arcade carpet hanging loosely from his neck. His accent is too thick to be upper class, the kind of lilt that can only be found in some of the worse parts of the city.

His posture is relaxed, nothing about him is hostile or demanding. He doesn't even make a move to approach, just waits for her to answer. Like offering a treat to a skittish cat.

She swallows thickly, fingers wrapped tightly around the knife, but she nods. "Yeah, please." She mutters, just loud enough to be heard in the quiet alley. Well, as quiet as Gotham gets. There are cars passing by every few minutes and a dog barking a block over, she can see lights on in the surrounding apartments and there's an old woman smoking her own cigarette on the balcony above them.

It doesn't make her relax any, she knows full well that Gothamites stay to themselves. It probably wouldn't do her much good to call for help. She's on her own, but she's used to that.

The man stops just short of arms reach, movements telegraphed as he tosses her the red Bic. She catches it easily, the "Good throw," Slipping out before she even thinks about it. She's quick about lighting the cigarette, moving to toss it back the second the flame catches.

"Keep it," the man insists, "I got spares." He assures. He leans casually against the grimey brick, body angled towards her. It's not as claustrophobic as it might feel otherwise, there's a good chunk of space between them, she has faith that she'd be faster than him if she needed to get away. She relaxes just a bit, exhaling a puff of smoke into the humid night air.

"Thanks." She nods curtly, eyes glued to the graffiti on the building across from them.

They lapse into what she's pretty sure is an awkward silence, although the man doesn't seem bothered. Studying him out of her peripherals gives her the impression he's perfectly content where he is, lips tilted up just enough for one of his dimples to show, no sign that he's planning to leave anytime soon.

"Y'do any sports?" He asks out of the blue, startling her into facing him head on.

She blinks at him, bewildered for a second before deciding to answer. "...Used to." She offers hesitantly. "Softball and volleyball." She elaborates a little.

He hums approvingly, "Thought so. Gotta good arm on ya." He grins at her, and it's a stupidly endearing thing. Unrestrained delight and so very proud of himself. It softens the lines of his face, seems like it lights up the whole alley.

"Thanks." she says a little more sincerely this time. Inhales another puff of smoke and then let's it out. "How about you?" She wonders.

"Hockey, wrestling. Some football." He shrugs. She can see it, he looks like the kinda man that can throw his weight around. He doesn't look like the kind of guy who likes to. An enigma, to be certain.

"I'm Willis by the way." He introduces himself officially. It's so casual it catches her off guard. You don't just give your name to people, she learned that early on. Gotham almost seems to operate by fae rules, where deals are currency and reality is altered. Names have power, you don't just hand them out.

It could always be a fake name, but something tells her that's not the case. Willis is either very cocky or very stupid. He hasn't struck her as either yet.

"Kat," she offers the same name printed on her name tag, "nice to meet you." She almost means it too. As far as late night encounters go, this hasn't been nearly as bad as it could've been.

Willis grins at her like she just put the stars in the sky and it pulls a soft smile to her face before she can stop it.

The back door swings open with a creak that makes her jump, pushing herself off the wall where she hadn't realized she'd started to slump. A frazzled server emerges, dragging his feet as he nods to her. "Louise wants you back, new kid is fighting for his life in there." He informs her, already pulling his own cigarettes out.

"Thanks Chen." She nods to him as she starts making her way inside.

She pauses just before the door, glancing back to Willis whose still grinning like he's won something. "See ya around." She waves him off, pointedly ignoring her coworkers raised eyebrow. She's sure she'll know his middle name, address, and blood type by the time their little nightshift crew finally goes home for the night.

It's only a few hours later when she goes to slide the lighter into her purse that she catches sight of the number written on the back in sharpie.

"Cathyyyyyy!" Her drawn out whine rings through the apartment. It's 10 AM, half an hour before it's time for her first class to start. She lets herself fall to the second hand couch, arm thrown over her eyes to protect them from the morning sun streaming from the open kitchen blinds.

Catherine hardly spares her a glance from where she's scribbling away at something, pages and books spread out on the tilted kitchen table. To her credit, she closes the blinds quickly. "Mornin' Nattie." That southern lilt drips out, saturated with amusement. "You sure are up early." The red head chirps. She's always been the morning person between the two of them. It's exceedingly unfair how easily she seems to work through her lack of sleep. Nathalie doesn't know what she'd do if she didn't have her abilities to aid her through long nights and arduous lectures.

"Is breakfast ready?" She decidedly does not pout. She can't be expected to help it. If she were still residing in her family's estate a full course meal would already be prepared.

But then she wouldn't be waking up to Catherine every morning. Wouldn't be able to see her backlit by the sun like an angel as she sips her cheap tea out of a novelty mug. It's a fair trade, she supposes.

Her fortune will be waiting for her at the end of her studies, hopefully she'll have convinced Catherine to come with her by then.

Catherine hums an affirmation, finally looking up at Nathalie with that impossibly fond look. "In the fridge, gonna have'ta heat it up if ya want some." She grins.

"Cathyyyyyyyyyyy!" She groans, arm thrown back over eyes.

"Somethin' the matter, darlin'?" It's not fair how effective the nickname is on her, how it makes her melt into a puddle on the creaking couch.

Catherine doesn't make her wallow in her misery for too long. Nathalie hears a snort that makes her look up just in time to see her fiddling with the microwave. It's a minute or so before she pops it open, careful to stop it before the beeping can wreak havoc on Nathalie's sensitive ears.

"Breakfast is served, my lady." Her twang is replaced by a posh accent that mimics Nathalie's own. It's not as mocking as it would be from someone else. The affectionate warmth is soured when she thinks of the new bodyguard she's been assigned, the man that will be tailing her every night for the foreseeable future.

"You ever go outside? Or would that be too much for my lady's delicate sensibilities?" Wingman had teased, his voice muffled from behind the birdlike mask. It reminded her of a plague doctor at first, but on closer inspection it's more mechanical.

She had not dignified that with a response.

She gratefully accepts the bowl of reheated pasta. It's not gourmet, but it's a family recipe Catherine was delightfully proud to show off, which might make it better. If you subscribe to sentimental things like that. Which Natasha Mitternacht most certainly doesn't.

She's glad she's just Nathalie Knight right now. It means she can forgo all of her manners to shove the biggest bite she can into her mouth and grin with unsharpened teeth. There's a trill of victory when she sees Cathy huff out a laugh and plop down beside her.

"Better eat quick, ya gotta start gettin' ready soon." Catherine reminds her, thumb rubbing soft circles on the pale skin of her ankle.

Nathalie hums in acknowledgement, eating at a slightly slower pace now. "What would I do without you?" She remarks, and it's a joke but it's really not.

"Perish the thought," Cathy grins at her, "You got me." She promises. Nathalie wonders what her lips taste like. The lipstick she wears today reminds her of cherry pie filling, bright red and glossy.

"Do you work tonight?" Nathalie asks, as if she doesn't know. As if she doesn't see Kat behind the bar every night, faking smiles to bad men and struggling to hide her sympathy for their escorts. As if she's the uninterested, unobservant roommate she pretends to be.

Catherine sighs, slumps against the couch and lets her head tilt back to stare at the ceiling. "Yup, 'nother double tonight." She informs.

Nathalie shifts her legs into Catherine's lap, bare legs against faded jeans. "One day I will pay for everything and you won't even have to look at that place." She promises. She always keeps her promises, but Catherine doesn't know that. There's a lot of things Catherine doesn't know about her.

"Yeah, okay." Catherine snorts, predictably brushing it off as a joke. She will learn, eventually. Nathalie does not need to convince her right now. "One day." She sighs, tired and longing.

Nathalie wonders what Catherine's one day is. Hopes she's included. Knows that's wistful thinking at best.

Her alarm goes off, faintly buzzing in the pocket of her (Cathy's) hoodie. She ignores it, and even though Catherine undoubtedly hears it she doesn't say anything either.

One day.

[wildbasil]

things haven't been great but i think they will be. eventually 🌻🌼🩷

[bixels]

me too, luna.

[yumishisu]

wade calling him everything but logan

[raticalshoez]

They're like a packet of fruit snack gummies

[kaahmbem]

legend has it that the young witch circe and the once beautiful nymph scylla shared a complicated past...

[bigfatbreak]

Birds of a Feather previous / next

[sunshine-zenith]

Maybe it’s because I just spent the last four days watching my sister’s toddlers while mildly sleep deprived, but I gotta say Peri has PEAK “childfree young adult who was the youngest person in their family naively volunteers to watch recalcitrant child assuming they’d automatically be The Cool Adult Relative only to realize they have no idea how to balance being indulgent with being responsible and gets overwhelmed within five minutes” energy

10/10 I have never felt so seen by a cartoon before

[umblrspectrum]

hi heres art so you pay attention to me now go read the tags

[thebrainrotsreal]

Freeing myself from the shackles of an organized comic format to get this idea out of my head!! Also, just follow the numbers if the layout is too confusing otherwise, but basically I want Spectra to be Jazz's Nemesis so bad. It just makes sense.

SO: the hypothetical episode's showdown would be them battling, and no Danny, he's already got beef with a packers obsessed billionaire. Now, Spectra's got the high ground with overwhelming power, but she's sloppier and easily irritated because of it! Jazz then outsmarts her, getting her angry enough to make enough mistakes to be corned and canned by the thermos.

Also minor spelling error ugh, meant to put "no one could", not "no could".

[randomminty]

Five billion octopath 2 scribbles i feel sick

[spacerockband]

Quetzalcoatlus! poised to spear her prey!

[buttercupshands]

I started drawing this next day after I finished Act 6

13 or so days and it's finished!

Main things are traditional and Loop's body was edited digitally after

Unedited it looks like this

I've been torn on how to do Loop's body for the entirety of lining, also

A bit sad the main lines are visible only as a wip, most of this thing is literally just a ton of sharp lines

I think it's also my first day of drawing, Loop is just a sketch here (feat. my leg)

I even finished the beans before it so they were a moral support, because if you let me things like this take a year

[bixels]

Learning that fans hated Applejack and called her "boring" is crazyyy to me because I genuinely, unironically believe AJ's the most complex character in the main six.

Backstory-wise, she was born into a family of famers/blue collar workers who helped found the town she lives in. She grew up a habitual liar until she had the bad habit traumatized outta her. She lost both her parents and was orphaned at a young age, having to step up as her baby sister's mother figure. She's the only person in the main gang who's experienced this level of loss and grief (A Royal Problem reveals that AJ dreams about memories of being held by her parents as a baby). She moved to Manhattan to live with her wealthy family members, only to realize she'll never fit in or be accepted, even amongst her own family. The earlier seasons imply she and her family had money problems too (In The Ticket Master, AJ wants to go to the gala to earn money to buy new farm equipment and afford hip surgery for her grandma).

Personality-wise, she's a total people-pleaser/steamroller (with an occasional savior complex) who places her self worth on her independence and usefulness for other people, causing her to become a complete workaholic. In Applebuck Season, AJ stops taking care of herself because of her obsessive responsibilities for others and becomes completely dysfunctional. In Apple Family Reunion, AJ has a tearful breakdown because in she thinks she dishonored her family and tarnished her reputation as a potential leader –– an expectation and anxiety that's directly tied to her deceased parents, as shown in the episode's ending scene. In The Last Roundup, AJ abandons her family and friends out of shame because believes she failed them by not earning 1st place in a rodeo competition. She completely spirals emotionally when she isn't able to fulfill her duties toward others. Her need to be the best manifests in intense pride and competitiveness when others challenge her. And when her pride's broken, she cowers and physically hides herself.

Moreover, it's strongly implied that AJ has a deep-seated anger. The comics explore her ranting outbursts more. EQG also obviously has AJ yelling at and insulting Rarity in a jealous fit just to hurt her feelings (with a line that I could write a whole dissection on). And I'm certain I read in a post somewhere that in a Gameloft event, AJ's negative traits are listed as anger.

Subtextually, a lot of these flaws and anxieties can be (retroactively) linked to her parents' death, forcing her to grow up too quickly to become the adult/caregiver of the family (especially after her big brother becomes semiverbal). Notice how throughout the series, she's constantly acting as the "mom friend" of the group (despite everything, she manages to be the most emotionally mature of the bunch). Notice how AJ'll switch to a quieter, calmer tone when her friends are panicking and use soothing prompts and questions to talk them through their emotions/problems; something she'd definitely pick up while raising a child. Same with her stoicism and reluctance at crying or releasing emotions (something Pinkie explicitly points out). She also had a childhood relationship with Rara (which, if you were to give a queer reading, could easy be interpreted as her first 'aha' crush), who eventually left her life. (Interestingly enough, AJ also has an angry outburst with Rara for the same exact reasons as with EQG Rarity; jealous, upset that someone else is using and changing her). It's not hard to imagine an AJ with separation anxiety stemming from her mother and childhood friend/crush leaving. I'm also not above reading into AJ's relationship with her little sister (Y'all ever think about how AB never got to know her parents, even though she shares her father's colors and her mother's curly hair?).

AJ's stubbornness is a symptom of growing up too quickly as well. Who else to play with your baby sister when your brother goes nonverbal (not to discount Big Mac's role in raising AB)? Who else to wake up in the middle of the night to care for your crying baby sister when your grandma needs her rest? When you need to be 100% all the time for your family, you tend to become hard-stuck with a sense of moral superiority. You know what's best because you have to be your best because if you're aren't your best, then everything'll inevitably fall apart and it'll be your fault. And if you don't know what's best –– if you've been wrong the whole time –– that means you haven't been your best, which means you've failed the people who rely on you, which means you can't fulfill your role in the family/society, which makes you worthless . We've seen time and time again how this compulsive need to be right for the sake of others becomes self-destructive (Apple Family Reunion, Sound of Silence, all competitions against RD). We've seen in The Last Roundup how, when no longer at her best, AJ would rather remove herself from her community than confront them because she no longer feels of use to them.

But I guess it is kinda weird that AJ has "masculine" traits and isn't interested in men at all. It's totally justified that an aggressively straight, misogynistic male fandom would characterize her as a "boring background character." /s

At the time of writing this, it's 4:46AM.

[taruruchi]

Random heartshackle, adeuce and yuu, thingy I came up with over a week ago, here u go !!

Sorries if they don't type how they seem like they would, I'm so bad at coming up w stuff like that 😭

[starry-bi-sky]

wolfpack. aka: if not friend, then why friend-shaped?

"Hey-- uh, Danny?" There's an almost imperceptible tremor in Tucker's voice.

Danny doesn't look up from what he's doing, his pencil scritching across his notebook as he tries to do another quadratic formula question. "Hm."

"What's -- uh -- what's with the dogs?"

He looks up now, and finally sees where Tucker is -- standing in the doorway of his room with an ashy look on his face and a skewed, nervous smile. He's got a white knuckle grip on the doorknob. Sam is wide-eyed behind him, and using him as a partial meat-shield.

Danny looks down to the two giant ghost wolves sprawled next to him lazily. One large green one with his head in Danny's lap, letting him use him as a prop-up for his notebook. Another equally large black one splayed against his hip, sleeping on her side with her head tilted inward to his calf.

Automatically, a grin tilts across Danny's face, and he lifts his notebook up to scratch behind the green one's ears. He opens a lazy eye, one that is bloody red with a ring of yellow around the pupil, before slipping it shut and leaning his head into Danny's touch. "This is Sirius and Procyon," he says, and reaches down to scratch Sirius' belly. "And they're not dogs, they're wolves."

"Great," Tucker says, his voice suddenly much smaller and faint, "Love that distinction."

Sirius makes a great big groan, and Danny's grin widens, his heart swelling with fondness. His hand slips away from her belly, and before he can put his notebook back down, Procyon pushes his head up his lap until his ear is against his stomach, demanding pets now too.

Sam peeks her head up from over Tucker's shoulder, "I think what Tucker's asking here is what are they doing here, Danny."

He shrugs, scratching under Procyon's chin. "They kinda just showed up. I tried sending them back to the Zone, but they keep returning." And they were weirdly intent on just following him around, which is the only reason he gave up on returning them. They weren't causing trouble, and they knew how to hide around the living. Plus, he just loves dogs. "So now I have two wolves living with me."

This, oddly enough, did not do anything to calm Sam and Tucker down. Tucker's mouth purses into a thin line, and he presses the sides of his palms to his lips in prayer. "How have your parents not found out about this?"

Danny wordlessly raises his hand, and his sleeve slides down to reveal a thin chain bracelet hooked around his wrist. He whistles sharply, and both Procyon and Sirius jerk their heads up to look at him, ears pricked up and eyes alert.

Silently, he points to his wrist and rattles it twice, and in unison both wolves stand up and pounce. Instantly, they turn into a respective, opaque black and green mist that swirls around the bracelet and forms into two, flat wolf charms.

Both wolves are posing in the stereotypical wolf howl, with little stars indented on the sides. Procyon's charm has the Canis Minor constellation engraved on it, while Sirius has the Canis Major.

Danny faces Sam and Tucker, and points at his wrist. "Like this."