#like at first it was ironic and everyone thinks it ironic

[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 3: The End (Warning: this will be dark. Read at your own risk)

The last bell of the day rings, letting everyone know that they’re free to go. In unison, your classmates begin shoving books and papers in their designer book bags before getting up and flooding the exit all at once. People begin to pair up with their friends, talking about hanging out and staying over at one another’s house for the weekend, but as usual, you’re left by yourself; when you first enrolled in GA, many students wanted to be your friend, but you could tell they were more interested in Bruce Wayne being your father than you because they talked more about Bruce than you. When Tim became Timothy Drake-Wayne, everyone flocked to him, starstruck that he was now a member for two of Gotham’s most elite families. Since you lack Bruce’s good looks and charisma, Dick’s athletic prowess, Jason’s brute strength, Tim’s intelligence, and Damian’s pure pedigree, everyone here has deemed you unworthy of a passing glance; you’re painfully average in every aspect and in a family as prestigious and remarkable as Gotham’s beloved Wayne Family, that’s an unforgivable sin.

It didn’t matter to you, though. You didn’t care that no one in school or in your “family” acted like you didn’t exist and think you unworthy of a fraction of their attention, you had your video games. When the silence of Wayne Manor became deafening to you, you had your faithful 3DS with multiple generations of teams full of loyal and strong Pokémon that have defeated the mightiest of champions and your preowned laptop that’s allowed you to play a wide variety of games, your favorite being Fallout New Vegas as it took place in your rightful home of Nevada and started off in your beloved Goodsprings. You’ve gone through countless playthroughs because you feel close to your childhood home, no matter how many times you go through the same dialogue options and quests.

In fact, video games have been a major influence on you that you’re determined to be an indie video game developer when you finally graduate. Your laptop isn’t too old to run a visual novel maker software that came out four years ago and you spent over a year scribbling away in a notebook that held all the details that would form your first game, staying up late for three months working on the plot alone and the remaining nine months on side quests, combat, dialogue, and everything else. Despite your best efforts, you’re not an artist like Damian (and how ironic that someone so spiteful like him has the gift to create beauty) or a musician, so the only thing you’re able to work on right now is the code, but you’re not tech smart like Tim so it’s full of bugs and errors and despite you following your Guide to Making Video Games book to the letter, the code just won’t do what you want it to do. With spring break around the corner, maybe you’ll be able to make progress on it.

As you step through the front door of the school, you see Damian and Tim being dragged into a bear hug by Dick, the little shit quickly breaking free; Dick laughs and ruffles his hair before all of them getting into the older man’s car and drive off, leaving you behind. That’s nothing unusual, though, Dick’s always picked up the two of them from school and you know they always go get ice cream or go to an arcade while you get left behind to find your own way home. You’ve never been offered a ride to or from school or asked if you’d want to go hang out with them and with how they’ve treated you over the years, you’d sooner have a tea party with the Mad Hatter before you ever got in a car with any of them. Knowing them, Damian would probably try to strangle you with your seatbelt, Dick would most likely try to guilt you to spend more time with your “brother,” and Tim would just sit there, not saying anything, no matter how wrong their words were or how upset you got.

You’ve been relying on Alfred to give you rides (always a block away from the school since you didn’t want them knowing you were relying on him), but Bruce gave him the month off. He tried to turn it down, of course, insisting that he had important duties at the manor (you knew it was because he was worried about what would happen to you while he was gone), but Bruce insisted. Only after you promised to text him everyday and call him the moment something went wrong did he book a flight to Essex. After taking care of a museum the size of the Smithsonian, taking care of a family full of assholes, and dealing with your emotional baggage, the man deserved to take off and relax for a while.

Since he’s been gone, you’ve used the bus to get to where you need to go and have kept a wide berth between you and the Waynes and so far you’ve managed to stay under their radar. Though, with you not even clocking on their radars, can you really claim such an achievement. Hell, you’re positive they wouldn’t notice you even if you were right behind them. World’s greatest detectives, your ass.

That’s right, you knew about their nightly activities of wearing bird themed costumes, jumping across rooftops, and battling with the demented freaks locked up in Arkham. Not because Alfred told you (and god knows they’d never tell you shit), but because your status as the unwanted and forgotten firstborn of Bruce Wayne is like an invisibility cloak allowing you to walk in plain sight without anyone noticing you and it’s thanks to that you’ve been able to spy on conversations. You’ve come down many times in the late hours of the night to find them sitting at the dining table, eating, talking, laughing, and enjoying their lives as if you don’t even exist. Sure, it hurt you to see them so happy while you sit above them, miserable, what hurt even more was the fact that Alfred didn’t tell you. Sure, you have no intention on joining them in fist fighting Joker or solving the Riddler’s Saw-inspired puzzles (not that you could, you obviously lacked the capabilities), but you thought that after all that they’ve out you through, you were entitled to know what was going on.

But, you know that Alfred is also in on it, providing support from cave under the mansion (that you found after investigating the library while they were all out) and since he’s helped you through the bad times, hugging you tightly white you cried your eyes out, you decided to keep your discovery to yourself. Besides, if the secret ever comes out, you have plausible deniability.

Your phone rings and when you pull it out to check the caller ID, you see a picture of Alfred and you on the screen.

“Hey, Alfred,” you answer.

“Good afternoon, Master Y/N. Did you have a pleasant day at school?”

“I did. Since spring break is next week, the teachers toned down on the lessons.”

“And how did you fare on your algebra test?”

“Fine, I guess,” you mutter. “I’m sure I got more right than wrong.”

Math’s always been your worst enemy (at least until you met Damian) and getting an A on an anything math related was always once in a blue moon. A B was always your goal back in Goodsprings Elementary, but with Gotham Academy being a prestigious institution, their math classes were as difficult as a speed run in Dark Souls. Sure, all your classes are hard, but math has always been your Achilles’ heel.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you prepare for it. Maybe I should come home—“

“No,” you quickly say, cutting him off. “It’s fine. I studied my notes and found some practice problems online. I’m sure I passed.”

There was a brief pause before the man said, “Very well, Master Y/N. If you’re sure. How have you been faring? I trust you’re eating three meals a day and sleeping enough?”

“Of course,” you say. You’re lying, of course. You skip breakfast and dinner since they’re all downstairs at the same time in the mornings and at night use before going out on patrol and only eat lunch at school, where lunch is prepared by five star chefs because their elite students will accept nothing less. As for sleep, you’ve been cramming for this test and trying to work on your game, where as soon as you fix one bug, three more come to take its place.

“Of course,” he says, obviously not convinced, but chooses not to call you out. Not over the phone, anyway. Had he been here in person, it would be a different story. “And how have the others treated you?”

“Like I don’t exist. So, things are status quo.”

“I know their behavior has been nothing less than unacceptable, but have you tried talking to your father? Maybe he’ll be more receptive to you if you approached him while he was alone.”

“We both know that’s not gonna happen, Alfred. Bruce can’t stand the sight of me because I’m his greatest mistake.”

“Master Y/N!”

“It’s true and you know it! Both he and Momma were young and stupid, one thing led to another, and I was their reminder why condoms were invented. He got stuck with me and he’ll never forgive me for that. You know it and I know it.”

His silence tells you he knows you’re right. You hate to say how you really feel since you know that Alfred raised the man after his parents were murdered and telling him things like this makes him feel like he failed as a father figure, but after being treated like shit for most of your life, you’ve really run out of fucks to give. Hell, when you turned eighteen last month, you had your bags packed and were ready to buy a ticket on the first bus to Las Vegas, but Alfred begged you to stay long enough so you could graduate and since it would be a pain in the ass to transfer this close to schools letting out for summer, you agreed. Plus, it’d look good on a resume that you graduated from Gotham Academy. .

“Maybe I could talk to him for you? I just don’t want you to leave hating your father so much.”

“Look, Alfred, I really don’t wanna talk about this. I gotta go, I’ll be late for work.”

“Very well, Master Y/N. Please be safe. You know I hate you being out at night all alone.”

“Don’t worry, I will. Talk to you later, Alfred.”

And with that, you hang up and head to the nearest bus stop to take you to Chinatown. When you turned sixteen, you decided that it wasn’t fair taking Alfred’s money (in your defense, you helped out in cleaning the mansion, but you were still taking his hard earned paycheck), so you went out and found a job working at Gotham Games, a small store in one of the few nicer parts of Gotham that specialized in video, trading card, and tabletop games. Your boss, Mr. Chen, is a sweet old man who loves to talk games with you, especially Pokémon; in fact, he always gives you a free booster pack when he hands you your paycheck, saying that it’s a bonus for doing a good job. You love your job and aside from Alfred always willing to lend an ear to listen to your troubles, it’s made living in this hellhole of a city actually bearable.

After arriving at the bus stop in Chinatown, you walks a few blocks to find Mr. Chen closing the door and locking it.

“Mr. Chen,” you say when you near him, making him turn around to face you.

“You’re always on time, Y/N,” he says with a chuckle, but you can see he’s sad about something.

“Is the store closing for today?”

“No, I’m afraid I’m closing the store for good.”

Your heart stops and you feel yourself losing balance a little and you quickly steady yourself. You quickly think for any reason why the store would be closing for good.

Poor sales? No, you helped Mr. Chen with the spreadsheet for last month and sales had gone up by 11% thanks to the Pokémon TCG tournament you hosted.

Too much theft? No, you keep a close eye on all the customers and last time you checked, all inventory was accounted for.

Threats? Please, Mr. Chen’s been here for twenty-five years and is a pillar of the community. If anyone ever had the dumbass idea to threaten him, all shop owners in the street would rush to his aid, yourself included.

So, why?

As if he read your mind, he says, “My daughter said she was worried about me when the Penguin broke out of Arkham the other day and his car chase with Batman ended when he crashed a block away from here. She said that she and her husband had already set up a room for me at their house and now they’re here to take me with them to Florida.

You remember hearing about that. Bruce devotes all his time to fighting Gotham’s crime problem and one would think all the time he doesn’t spend with you could go to keeping things like car chases with Arkham’s inmates far away from innocent people and their businesses, but guess that’s what you get for having expectations when it comes to Bruce.

“What will happen to the store?”

“Mark’s already taken care of it. He called up some company that owns plenty of stores that’s just like mine and they agreed to buy my entire stock. They’ll have some people here tomorrow to get it all.”

For the second time in your life, it feels like your entire world’s been turned inside out. Working here and being around Mr. Chen was the best thing that’s happened to you since you over to Gotham and with Alfred gone and the loss of your job and boss, you’re extremely tempted to get on the nearest bus and ride it out of Gotham right now.

“I also wanted to wait for you so I could give you this.” He hands you a neatly wrapped box that you just now realize he’d been holding this entire time. “To thank you for keeping an old man company.”

You take the box and with shaky hands, you unwrap it and open the lid to see a pristine aqua blue Game Boy Advance surrounded by several cartridges. When you take a closer look, you see that they’re all Pokémon games, ranging from the original Red and Blue to Red Rescue Team.

“You appreciate the classics and it seemed a shame to let that Game Boy and those games just sit around, collecting dust. Plus, it’s my way of saying thank you for taking care of an old man.”

At this point, you realize you’re crying and can’t help but hug your boss. “Thank you, Mr. Chen.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N. When you move back to Nevada and win big in Vegas, don’t forget to give me a call so we can celebrate.”

You laugh at that and it makes you feel better, but only a little bit. When he promises to call you when he’s set up in Florida and you promise to call him when you’re back in Nevada, you two separate and watch as he gets in his daughter’s car and drive off, waving at him until he’s out of sight.

As you neatly tuck the box into your backpack, you realize that your schedule’s totally fucked up now. Normally, Alfred comes and gets you when you get done working at 7, but with him gone, you’d been using the bus that comes at that time to take you to the closest stop to Bristol and walk the rest of the way to Wayne Manor, but that bus won’t be here for hours. And you’d sooner chew your own arm off before calling any of them for help.

You mull it over for a minute or two before deciding to walk to the nearest stop, hop on the bus, and ride it to as close to Bristol as possible. With the store closed (and your beloved job lost) you can use the time to get ahead on your spring break plans and work on your game, ironing out bugs and working on your art. You pull out your map of Gotham’s bus stops and see the closest station is over in the East End, a place no one with a half working brain cell goes. Still, it’s the closest bus stop and you’ll only be there for a few minutes. You’ve survived Wayne Manor for thirteen years, surely you can deal with Gotham’s trash can for a little bit.

With your mind made up, you make your way to the East End. As you cross into the district, you’re greeted by a group of kids playing Cops and Robber, but instead of cops, one of them plays the role as Red Hood, complete with two stick guns and a red plastic pail on his head. That’s right, East End is Jason’s territory and is well loved by many of the children. The thought of the brute gives you even more incentive to leave the area as fast as possible because you’ve heard Jason yelling at the others for entering the East End because it’s his to protect and he doesn’t want any of them unless it’s a really big emergency and even then, they need his permission. Knowing him, he’ll accuse you of invading and try to fill you full of lead, despite the fact that you’re not a vigilante and he ever pulled his head out of his ass, he’d know that, but you guess that being in a family full of distrust and paranoia has polluted his higher reasoning skills.

The further into the district you get, the closer you hold onto the straps of your book bag. With every step you take, you hear glass shattering, people screaming, and even a gun shot or two, making you regret ever coming here. You should’ve found another bus stop or just found something to kill time until your regular bus showed up. Still, you’ve already come this far and turning around would probably be more dangerous than continuing forward, so you keep your head up high and try to change your stride to be more confident, hoping that appearing more confident would keep people away from you.

You see the bus stop and pick up speed to get there quickly, but just as you get close enough to see the map and schedule, you feel something grab your book bag and you’re quickly yanked backwards. You turn to look behind you to see three men staring down at you and by the way they’re grinning down at you, you can tell this won’t end well for you.

“Well, what’s a little GA snob doin’ here,” one of them sneers.

“Surprised you’re actually walking,” the other jeers. “Thought all you little shits were carried around by your butlers and maids. Too good to use your own legs.”

That little joke actually pissed you off because you’re not like the rest of your classmates who have their private drivers open their car doors when they go to the airport to spend Christmas on their private islands. You aren’t using Bruce’s money to pay for every little thing you see (not that he’d give you any because he’s forgotten you exist), you actually have a job and work hard for your money, damn it!

“Bet there’s someone who’d pay a pretty penny for you,” the man, obviously the leader of the other two, says. “Looks like we’ve hit pay dirt, boys.”

You struggle to break free of their grasp, but the three of them are too strong for you. The leader pulls out a rusty pipe from his back pocket and the last thing you see is said pipe rushing towards your head before everything goes black.

“Wake up, you little bitch,” a gruff voice says as you’re overcome with feelings of sheer cold and wetness.

You open your eyes to find that you’re sitting on n extremely dirty floor. You look up to see a man looking down at you, a sadistic look on his face and a dirty metal bucket in hand. Your mind finally boots back up and you remember being stopped by three dirtbags and being knocked out be a pipe to the head. As if on cue, the memory triggers immense feelings of pain in your head and while you’re no doctor, you’re pretty sure that you have a mild concussion. When the rest of your senses come to, you realize that you’re tied to chair with thick ropes you have no chance of getting out, at least without a knife. Through blurry eyes, you’re able to look around to see you’ve been dragged to some dirty shack and based on what you see through the busted windows nearest to the door, you know two things: that you’ve been dragged to Gotham Woods and you’ve been knocked out for a while.

“Alright, now that you’ve had your beauty sleep, it’s time to get to business.” The leader squats down to your level, an old flip phone in hand. “You’re gonna give us a number we can call to ransom you off. Try any funny business and…” he trails off as he brings out a gun and points it at you. “You won’t live long enough to regret it.”

You hears the words, but all you can focus on is the gun aimed at you. You’ve known Gotham is a dangerous place and going to certain parts of the city at night is practically committing suicide, but you never thought you’d be in this position, where the slightest action or inaction was the difference in sleeping in your bed or being put to rest in a pine box when everything was said and done. Ever since you’d turned eighteen, you’ve kept a tally of how many days you have until you graduate and put this city of the damned behind you and now there’s a good chance you’ll die here, in a city you’ve hated since you were forced to move here.

“Hey,” he says, breaking you out of your stupor. “Number. Now.” He emphasizes his point by waving his gun.

At first, you’re tempted to give him Alfred’s number, knowing the butler would probably come to your rescue and kill these thugs John Wick Style, but you know that they wouldn’t appreciate talking to someone on the other side of the world and right now, you couldn’t take the chance on pissing them off; you need someone here in Gotham and as much as every fiber in your body wants to throw up at once just for even thinking it, you know Bruce is your only hope of making out of this in one piece. Even if he doesn’t care about you, he’ll be able to swoop in and bash in the heads of a bunch of kidnappers, so that should be enough of a reason to bring him here.

“Alright, you can call my father,” you say, the word “father” leaving a bitter taste in your mouth, but right now, you can’t afford to let your hatred for the man get the better of you; not when your life hangs in the balance. You give him the manor’s home phone number, which he dials and puts it on speaker.

You wait with bated break as the phone rings. After the third time, you can feel yourself breaking into a cold sweat and when you look up at one of your captors, you can tell he’s getting angry by the second; with every ring, his scowl gets more and more intimidating and the gun starts to shake in rage.

Finally, after an eternity, you hear someone pick up.

“Hello,” Bruce’s voice comes through, and based on the tone, he sounds pissed. Knowing the time, he was probably getting ready to go out on patrol. Still, you can’t help but feel just a little to relived to hear his voice. You just might make it through the night. “Bruce Wayne speaking.”

“Holy shit, man, we’re about to be rich,” one of the other men whispers to his cohort, who nods in agreement.

“We have your son, Wayne,” the man says with an air of confidence. “Do as we say and you—“

“No, you don’t,” Bruce says, cutting off the man.

“What,” the leader says, the wind obviously taken out of his sails.

“No, you don’t,” Bruce repeats.

“Fuck you mean,’ he shouts. “I’m looking at him right now! Don’t you know you’re missing a brat right now?”

“All my kids are right here with me and I’m none of them are missing,” Bruce says in a matter-of-fact tone that makes your heart stop.

“Did you really think we wouldn’t notice if someone was missing” Dick chimes in.

“Man, you’re fuckin’ stupid,” Jason mocks.

“You’re not the first to fake holding a Wayne for ransom,” Tim explains. “It hasn’t worked before and it won’t work now.”

“If you lowlifes put as much effort into finding a job as you did trying to steal money, you’d be rich,” Damian taunts.

“Wow, you’re a loser,” Cass laughs. “Don’t you have anything better to do with your life? Why don’t you get out of your mom’s basement and go outside to touch grass and maybe talk to a girl.”

They all laugh at that and you can feel your heart just collapse in on itself. Right now, you have a better chance of sprouting wings and flying out of here than this man letting you go after being insulted by every member of the Wayne Family. And based on the fact that his face is as red as a beat, this definitely won’t be for you.

“As you can see, all my children are home, where they should be. I don’t know how much you hoped to get out of this, but you aren’t seeing a dime.”

And with that, the call ends and so does your chances of leaving here in one piece. You always thought that your existence was a complete unknown to them, but to actually see something that proves it? You can’t help but begin to cry, both at how the call went and for the world of hurt you’re no doubt about to experience with your captors.

“Bet you thought that was funny,” the man says as he slowly flips the phone shut, indicating that he’s pissed off beyond words.

You decide that Alfred is the one you should’ve had him call, but before you correct your mistake, you’re filled with pain as he strikes you on the head with the pipe. He hits you again and the force sends the chair tumbling to the floor, but that doesn’t matter to the man; he’s pissed and all he cares for now is hurting you. He’s spouting off insults and threats, but all you can focus on is the immense pain you’re in. He never hits in the same place twice, spreading the pain to your head, arms, torso, and legs. You feel your skin tear, bones break, and blood shed and the pleas you’d been shouting since he began his assault finally die, opting for crying and sounds of pain.

By the time he’s finished, you’re in so much pain, you can barely think. All you want to do is die.

“Hey, look what I found in his bag.” You look up through swollen and blood filled eyes to see one of the other men is holding up your Momma’s pen. “Looks like real gold. Might be worth something.”

After the pen incident three years ago, you’ve lived in constant fear the Damian would take you pen in an act of revenge, so you’ve kept the pen on you at all times, even keeping it under your pillow as you slept, only taking it out when you were in the safety of your room. Up until now, it’s kept your most treasured possession safe, but it looks like it’s about to cost you dearly.

“At least it’s something. Anything else?”

“Naw,” the man responds as he rummages through your bag. “Just the regular school shit, a wallet with a few bucks in it, and…” He pauses before pulling out the box Mr. Chen gave you and opens it. “Holy shit, looks like an old Game Boy! And there’s a bunch of games with it!”

“Is it worth much?”

“Might be able to get something for it. A bunch of collectors out there looking for shit like this. Couldn’t hurt to check around.”

“Haven’t seen one of those in years,” the last man chimes in. “Had one when I was a kid. Someone stole it, though. Hey, if we can’t get much of it, can I keep it?”

“Not now, Butch,” the leader growls. “Batman’s busy dealing with that clown bustin’ outta Arkham and all we got out of this is a lousy pen and a stupid video game.” He looks down at you. “Since you didn’t give us a name to ransom you off to, guess no one’ll care if you go missing.”

He picks his gun up and aims it at you. You feel your heart skip a beat at the sight of staring down the barrel of a gun aimed at you.

“No, please,” you beg, struggling to spit out the words as you’re so badly hurt, it’s a miracle you’re able to talk at all, but right now, all that matters is that you do what ever it takes to survive this.

“What’re we gonna do with the body,” one of the men asks.

“There’s the chasm near Mt. Gotham,” the one called Butch says. “That thing goes down for miles. We dump him in there and not even Batman’ll find him.”

Is this how it ends? After everything you’ve gone through, you die from being shot by three thugs in the forest and you’re thrown in a big ditch like a trash bag when you’re so close to leaving this damn city behind. You try to open your mouth to say something, anything that will at least buy you a few more minutes, but whatever you wanted to say is drowned out by the flash of a muzzle and the bang of a gunshot.

Your world goes to black.

A/N: Sorry, we were a little under for on cliffhanger quota, so we had to up production. The original plan was to split this chapter into two, with the kidnapping at the end of the first and the shooting at the end of the second, but with October upon us, I think things are going to get really crazy for me this semester, so I decide to be merciful (this time) and make one big chapter that only has one cliffhanger. Enjoy the wait for the next chapter! Also, if you asked to be added to the tag list and don’t see your name, I promise it’s not because I didn’t do it on purpose, but because when I went to tag you, Tumblr didn’t find your blog. I always check twice before uploading a new chapter to ensure everyone who asked to be tagged has been added.

Tag List: @space1crow @bat1212 @minkyungseokie @solelifauna @nosyrobin @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @l0serl0v3r @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick

[suugarbabe]

I had just gotten the cutest fluffiest tooth rotting sweet idea for a fanfic I've ever gotten.

You know how there is a type of color blindness called red green color blind? It's basically green turns to yellow and red to brown and well fellow and blue stay the same.

So what if reader is red green color blind and her favorite color is blue since it's the only special color she can see and since Theo's eyes are blue when she sees his eyes she gets really excited, wi excited that she just grabs Theo's face so she can get a better look.

I feel like the reader need to have a cherry and bubbly personality because she needs to be very very clueless to just grab someone's face because of how exited she would get.

i've quite literally been obsessed with this ask since you've sent it, and i've gone back and forth on how to write it completely, then went through a little bit of writers block altogether so hopefully i do this justice and close to how you might have envisioned it.

You were really young when it happened, the accident that caused it. Mum was proficient in potions, and you just wanted to be just like her. But a four year old really shouldn't have been messing with her things. It all happened so fast, your little mind just thought you were playing, copying what you've seen her do. Throwing a little of this and a little of that in the cauldron, pouring the pretty blue liquid inside. You had picked it because it was your favorite color, which, looking back seems incredibly ironic.

The explosion was quick but it shook your entire house. Your parents had come rushing in, only to find you sitting up against the far wall, eyebrows gone and lower lip quivering. It has taken about six months before anyone was aware of what it did to you. You were so young and the experience was, well, pretty traumatic so you never really said anything about the changes.

Everyone thought you consistently picked the blue things because it was your favorite color. And while that was slightly true, it was also the only color you were able to see completely. You could occasionally see very dull shades of other colors, extremely muted or like you were seeing them through a layer of grey tissue paper.

Your parents never made too big of a deal out of the situation, instead just teaching you how to by hyper vigilant for specific details you could notice to help you out. Like the difference in how a ruby felt to an emerald, or how gum root smelled versus hickory drip. So overall you had learned to manage. And truly you didn't think you were missing out on much.

In your opinion all of the best things were blue. The ocean on a bright summers day, the sky on a crisp fall morning, the shine on a sapphire, and of course, your Ravenclaw robes. Your 'condition' was spread throughout the school by Christmas holiday your first year. It wasn't something you kept a secret, but it also wasn't something you spread around like you'd won the quidditch world cup.

It didn't bother you that people knew, but it did change how some people saw you. When you were younger, they tried to tease you, tried to call you a freak, tell you that you wouldn't amount to much as "you'd never be successful with such a limitation." It's a wonder what a loving family and supportive friends can do to keep one grounded and happy. As despite all those negative words in your early years, you were still so bright and bubbly.

You had gotten used to how you viewed things a long time ago, but that didn't stop you from being marveled at new discoveries. Which is what had you following a very tall and lanky Slytherin boy down the hall. You had noticed it by accident, as he passed you in the hall. You knew who he was, were well aware of his and his little gang's reputation. But you liked to form your own opinions from experience, and you hadn't quite interacted with this particular member yet.

Your friends had called after you, but after seeing the determined pep in your step had just settled for following. When you had finally caught up to him you wrapped your arms around his bicep, spinning him round to face you. "What the-," he was cut off by your hands grabbing hold of either side of his face, delicate thumbs resting on his sharp cheek bones to hold him still.

"Merlin, Theo, your eyes they're...gods they're like water colors." Theo was thoroughly caught off guard. Not only by the pretty girl holding his face but by the words coming from her mouth. "Oh sweet Rowena, they've just shifted, what are you thinking about?" He did his best not to stutter, "Erm, I...," you could feel his cheeks heat beneath your palm and your smile was instant, "I've not heard that description before. Usually they just say like the ocean or the sky or whatever."

Your thumbs rubbed gently on the apples of his cheeks. "Oh, they're much more than that. They're like...when you first dip your brush into the prettiest pallet after a dip in the water, then when you make the first brushstroke, and the color spreads so perfectly, shifting hues of blue. That's them...your eyes."

No sooner had you finished your explanation were his lips on yours. It was unexpected, catching you off guard but not unpleasantly. His mouth slotted against yours seemingly effortlessly, your hands slipping form his cheeks to loop around his neck and his hands found solace on your waist. His eyes are what drew you in but his lips, merlin you could get used to those.

"Oi, Nott. Who're ya-," The interruption caused the two of you to break apart abruptly, you wiping your slightly swollen lips and straightening where Theo was gripping your skirt. "Oh, no fucking way," Enzo Berkshire's voice sounded as smug as the look on his face. Theo simply threw up his middle finger at the boy before turning to you, small grin on his face.

"Erm, sorry for bombarding you like that its just-," You shook your head, cutting him off, "S'okay." Theo's grin grew two times, "Can I see you think weekend? Coming to the Slytherin party?" You nodded, biting your bottom lip to try and contain your growing smile. Theo placed a kiss on your forehead before looking you in your eyes, more so so you could see his one last time. Then with a wink, he turned and ran to catch up with his friend.

[kcwriter-blog]

Why Three Choices Doesn’t Bother Me

I’ve been trying to figure out why only having three choices doesn’t bother me. It should. Some of my favorite theories that I’ve created have to do with who drank from the Well, but, honestly, it doesn’t really matter to me.

I know it matters to many people and their feelings are valid. I’m writing this to make sense of my own feelings, not to invalidate anyone else’s. Here are the main reasons I’m not bothered.

The idea that this is going to be a Solavellan love fest is predicated on a couple of sentences in the IGN article and a screen shot. Both may very well be taken out of context.

For the IGN article, the question about the Inquisitor/Solas relationship was asked by a Solavellan to a Solavellan so the answer reflects that to some degree. I personally think people are reading way too much into it. The Solas romance is simply being used as an example of the most complex relationship the Inquisitor can have with Solas. If you hate Solas and want to kill him, that isn’t complex at all. If you romanced Solas you will have complex feelings because most Solavellans do. They call it Solavellan Hell for a reason.

As the Inquisitor is being brought back all of those different complexities must be addressed. Creative Director Jon Epler has said that no matter how you feel about Solas the end of his journey should be satisfying. Which means if you vowed vengeance, you will most likely get it.

I don’t care if my Inquisitor feels a little responsible for not stopping Solas. A good leader should feel a little responsible. The buck stops here and all that sort of thing. My Inky was a good leader. She doesn’t feel responsible for Solas’ decisions, but she feels she should have seen him for what he was, and she should have been able to stop him.

Then there is the screen shot. It’s just a screenshot. For all we know, when you click on your love interest there is a pop up that asks for a little more info. For example, whether Iron Bull is dead or not. We didn’t see that. Maybe it’s under NDA. I don’t know and won’t know until I get my hands on the CC.

Yes, there are three choices according to the IGN article. It didn’t say whether there were choices nested within those choices. Anyone that has spent time on the Keep knows clicking on a tarot card brings up other tarot cards.

Can I come up with an in-game reason for this stuff? Yes. The Inky your Rook talks to, isn’t your Inky. It’s a spirit masquerading as Inky just like Justinia in the Fade in DAI. How? Well, Inky could have died, Inky could be one of Solas’ memories or since the Fade reflects important events and Inky was important, it reflects them. Devs just said Inky would show up. They didn’t say it would be in the waking world. In that case, the Inky you meet might only have generic things to say about their LI – that would include if you romanced Solas.

I’m not saying that’s what’s going on. I’m saying it’s a direction the writers could go in.

As for a Solas-romancing Lavellan being the default? We don’t know that either. The default Inky is a female elf. That doesn’t mean she romanced anyone. When I played DAI my default Hawk hadn’t romanced anyone either. But she doesn’t have a valleslin! My understanding is that neither does a male elf and, in any case, not all Lavellans removed them. That would have to be considered.

 Again, everyone is reading into things and getting upset over things that have not been confirmed. And the default doesn’t matter to me because I will be customizing my Inky.

Why am I not upset that the decisions made in the previous games won’t carry through. Maybe because I first played DA2 and DAI with the default world states. When I went back in and played with world states, the decisions used didn’t seem to have much impact. I couldn’t stop Anders from blowing up the Chantry, for example. Yes, Alistair was on the throne but so what? That didn’t have any impact on my game. When I played DAI Anora said pretty much the same thing to me in Redcliffe as Alistair said.

So basically, the only reason to miss it would be because I enjoy those little call backs. The thing is, I don’t play just to check up on digital friends. I have an imagination for that. I don’t need BioWare to tell me if I’m right or wrong. I don’t need their validation of my headcannon.

Okay, but what about the big decisions. Well, I want those things to make sense. Let’s take the Well for example. That seemed like it could be a big deal. Solas got upset. Mythal can control whoever drank from the Well. But, Solas getting upset is in character for him. He hates anything being bound and drinking from the Well binds the Inquisitor. It’s as simple as that. It doesn’t mean bad things will happen down the road. Solas gets angry about a lot of things.

But what about Mythal? Well Solas’ detractors keep screaming that he killed Mythal. If he did in fact kill her, then who drank from the Well is a moot point. She can’t control anyone.

But she might be in Morrigan. She might but if Morrigan drank from the Well it’s a moot point because Mythal controls her anyway. If Inky drank from the Well, she and Morrigan would have to be in the same room. I have a feeling that’s not going to happen - which again makes who drank a moot point.

But if Mythal is in Solas? It would be out of character for him to use the power of the Well that way. He didn’t use it in Trespasser, if he even had it. He may very well have been controlled by Mythal or the other Evanuris that way. He is unlikely to do it to anyone else. And again, he would have to be in the same room as Inky. As much as we Solavellans want a heart-warming reunion, that might not happen until the end of the game.

In my opinion, anything about who drank from the well would have to be shoehorned into the story. I mean if you were hoping for Solas or Mythal to make your Inquisitor attack Rook, you might be disappointed. I didn’t want that, so I’m good. It’s Rook’s story. I don’t think Inky is getting a huge amount of screen time.

What about Morrigan and her status as a parent or not. She would mention that, right? Sure, if she is in fact all Morrigan. But she is wearing Mythal’s crown indicating she might be Mythal wearing a Morrigan suit. In any case Mythal is going to be more interested in getting revenge on her murderers than discussing her family status with Rook.

But surely, Varric is going to talk about Hawk. Maybe? He didn’t tell my Inky about the real Bianca until she was standing in front of her at Skyhold. Asked point blank about the name of his crossbow, Varric said it’s the one story he would never tell.

And in any case, at the start of the game, Rook and Varric have been together long enough that Rook is Varric’s second in command. I would assume they have had conversations about Hawk in the past, off screen. Varric may still mention things Hawk and the DA2 gang did in the past. He may not mention anything about where they are now, which is what people are really asking for.

But there won’t be any cameos! Why not? Dorian made a cameo in Tevinter Nights. If you romanced him, he would mention Inky. If not, they could be friends or at least have developed a respect for each other over the past 10 years. I’m sure the writers are creative enough to come up with other cameos.

What about codices and other callbacks? Why wouldn’t the Wardens have your Warden’s armor on display in their fortress? Why wouldn’t the Crows have something about Zevrhan? Again, it might not tell you what they are up to now, which is what people really want to know. And there can be cameos and codices related to NPCs where choices weren’t involved but fans remember them fondly.

Another reason I’m not bothered is I had to ask myself why I expect things that happened in the South to have an impact on the North. When I was playing the first two games, what was going on in the North didn’t have a huge impact on the South. I didn’t even know there was a Black Divine. I didn’t know about the Mortalitasi until Cassandra brought it up in DAI.

But what about the parts of the North that are under the sway of the Southern Chantry? I’ve noticed that all the Northern kingdoms are more cosmopolitan. In Rivain you have Dalish settlements and Qunari settlements. I assume they are doing their own thing. It’s like knowing who the pope is but since you are Protestant, it doesn’t really affect you. And I have to assume the South has been busy rebuilding the Chantry in Orlais which also might not have an effect on the North.

It’s been ten years. A lot changes in ten. Do you know it has only been eight years since Trum was elected president? In that time, we’ve had his disastrous presidency, a global pandemic, war in the Ukraine, genocide, etc. and that’s just the stuff that might affect other countries. Each country has their own concerns that we Americans might not really know anything about. Why should Thedas be any different?

I mean Antiva is dealing with the Quanari. They took over Treviso. If I lived there, I wouldn’t care what’s happening in the South. It wouldn’t be on my radar. Yes, there was a hole in the sky but look how quickly Fereldan and Orlais decided things were so back to normal that the Inquisition wasn’t needed anymore.

Maybe I’m being too logical about this, but I just don’t feel the doom and gloom. Also, I’ve played Mass Effect 2, and I remember only having three choices at the beginning of the game. And you know what? I really enjoyed ME2. So, I expect to enjoy this game.

Now what the writers said in response to the outcry was tone deaf. And I am sure PR/Marketing called them on the carpet. However, they have poured their blood, sweat and tears into this game. They know the story. They know what is important. They know if something fits or doesn’t fit. We don’t. We know what we would like to have. You know what? I would have liked DAI to be about the Mage/Templar war but that didn’t happen. I would have liked Samson to be the Inquisition’s Commander not Cullen. I didn’t get that either. I still enjoyed the game.

Bottom line? I trust the writers. People keep talking about the layoffs, but every writer is a veteran of DAI at least with some going all the way back to DAO. There are veteran ME writers on board as well. Story telling is what BioWare does best. I’m looking forward to the game.  

[earthnashes]

Hello there! If I may ask about your oc Sakura, how did you go about conceptualizing her? Was there any characters or media that inspired her design? How did her character change to what it is now? Apologies for this many questions, feel free to choose just one when you have time; love your work!

Hello! You may indeed ask about my baby! 🥹

So for context, Feathers and Flowers' birthing concept was about a girl summoning a demon because she was lonely but too shy to make her own friends, so she concludes summoning a demon would somehow be easier. In that iteration of the story, Sakura was meant to be a side character; a friend to the main characters that acted as the ultimate foil to basically everyone around her. She combated Kaela's crippling anxiety by being confident and overwhelmingly outgoing, contrasted Evangeline's bossy, bitchy attitude with being kind and friendly, and be the opposite of Mal's stoic, silent character with being expressive and chatty. I also needed a character that could conveniently know enough about niche media to reasonably be able to help Kaela summon her demon in the first place, so I ended up making her a huge geek: she loved anime, video games, and had knowledge on obscure things... including occult summonings xD

So I worked off that idea to form her appearance. Again her core direction was to be a foil to all of the main cast: Kaela was short and soft. Evangeline was tall and thin. Mal was tal and hard. I wanted Sakura to be the biggest character, so she originally started started out compact and wide. Her face was what I started with: I wanted her to look somewhat like an anime character, and her inspiration was based off of the older episodes of Dragonball, Pokemon, Tenchi Muyo, Ranma, Inuyasha. I basically wanted her to have Goku vibes (his wide dark eyes, his big smile, his open and easy personality) but with Inuyasha's hairstyle (she originally had long hair).

But then the story changed; it wasn't about a demon being summoned in a silly slice-of-life story but a Spirit getting lost in a magical modern era, still very much slice of life.

That ultimately shifted Sakura's design into something more athletic; football specifically. I wanted her to keep her dorky traits but pair it with the popular star athlete trope, so she became leaner, taller, and more "top heavy". She also became more oblivious; she remained sweet and friendly and outgoing, but in turn she didn't understand when someone liked her. In fact she was later canonized to be asexual originally didn't have romance planned for her character.

Fastforward to now: the story of F&F has changed again. While the core remains mostly the same (found family), it ironically shifted into something much closer to one of the earlier concepts of the story; something more serious and not slice of life, something that focuses more on the good and bad of a world instead of being predominantly lighthearted. So with that change the characters had to get a tune-up to their characterizations. Sakura received the biggest change, I think.

Her core remains true: she's relentlessly kind, expressive, a dork. But I decided to make that her biggest strength and her biggest flaw, as well as making her loving personality be conflicted by how the world views her by changing her appearance. That's how we get current Sakura: she's kind, she's loving, she wants to help others. But people think she's a threat, a ticking timebomb, because of what she is. So her once open smile is now more manufactured, a wall to protect herself, a farce to try and make herself look less like a threat. She's now a pushover; she can't establish her boundaries without it being misinterpreted as being aggressive, so her coping mechanism is to grin and bear it. She can't get visiblt upset or angry, so she has to fight for calm to have even the smallest chance of being listened to. She's "nice" because it's all she's allowed to be.

Hence her appearance change! She is now the largest character in the main roster, the physically strongest. Her smile is now "tainted" by sabre teeth she can't hide, her size contradicts her gentle nature.

It's late for me so I'm sure I forgot a few things but that's what I got for now! If you're interested I could show older concept work of Sakura to illustrate how she looked then vs how she looks now too. But ye! Thank you so much for asking about my character! 🥹🙏

[yuwuta]

i fear there are only few of us left who gaf about eren :/ do u think anything else about him im so deprived

ofc ofc ofc that’s my baby ://///// i think about him all the time always <33

His niche of skills is based in homemaking and actual home-making as in construction because when he would act up as a kid, those were the punishments Carla gave him LOL. He got into a fight at school and she’d make him chop wood and start a fire. He was rude to her or Mikasa and she forced him to iron everyone’s clean laundry and fold it after. He made a mess being reckless when she told him to do his homework and she sent him outside to go lay new bricks around the well. All of which reigned him in by the time he was 12ish, and then he started just… doing it for fun or doing it preemptively before his attitude got out of hand. He’d have a bad day at school, and his mom would come home to him mowing the lawn or planting new trees or fixing the plumbing or fixing that broken leg on the chair or cleaning the gutter or harvesting the vegetables or fixing that crack in the wall; it becomes a sort of outlet for him. So now, occasionally you’ll see Eren run his fingers across a cracked wall or chipped piece of furniture and him mumbling some home depot jargon to himself about how he could fix it and whatnot. And he can. He proves to be very useful when your landlord is a deadbeat, and very attractive when he just decides to sit in the living room and put your furniture together.

He’s not a terrible cook, but he’s not a great one either. With effort, he can follow a recipe but there’s always something off. Except maybe one or two dishes from his childhood that he can make perfectly. They’re the first things he ever cooks for you. He’s not that bad when it comes to baking, much to everyone’s surprise. He makes a pretty decent cupcake. Also, whenever he does cook, or just helps you cook, he wears an apron.

If you asked him, he’d say cheek kisses are his favorite. He likes giving them, but he likes receiving them even more. There’s just something so sweet about it… you’re so gentle with him sometimes it stuns him, and something about kissing his cheek is so pure that it makes Eren stop and wonder how one person could make him so happy. His favorite kind of kisses to give you are forehead kisses, especially if he’s taller than you. It makes him feel like he can protect you, reminds him he has something to fight for.

Terrified of thunder and lightning but he refuses to admit it. Whenever it’s raining, he finds himself curled up on the couch, preferably laying on top of you and sleeping away as much of the day/night as he can. Sometimes he just wants his head on your lap and your hands in his hair; something else to focus on other than the sounds outside. But, admittedly, he likes it when you play with his hair on any day.

Has your last name saved as his last name in his phone. Also definitely doodled your name with his last name in his notebooks as a kid with hearts and kisses around it.

Not a morning person in the slightest and he will make it everybody’s problem. He can be such a scrooge in the morning, no matter what or when he eats or wakes up. You just have to ease him into the day, let him flop on you and lean against you and a kiss or two couldn’t hurt.

He’s a terrible gossip. And he likes to start drama. Messy in every sense of the word. He wants all the tea, he wants names and dates and receipts, and if he has the chance to stir the pot just know that he WILL! The boys are all bitter that Eren is the one who gets invited to girls night but he simply makes himself one of the girls (and he’s so willing to sell out Jean or Connie if it means he gets a seat at the table). Plus, he makes pretty good tea and supplies the desserts, and is everyone’s handyman—he built this gossip session brick by brick.

[rainforestakiie]

Adamsapple Month Harvest

Sweaters~

@adamsappleweek

this will have a part 2 much later! i ran out of time and need to get going! i thought i could get it done in time, but nope! i might be able to write a little during my vacation but can't promise anything! i will be back sometime around the 8th of October!

thank you everyone and hope you like what i have written for harvest so far!

Adam would never admit it to a living soul—hell, not even a dead one. Never. But he had a peculiar talent, a secret skill woven into the fibres of his very being. He could knit. Stitch. Weave. It wasn’t just something he did for his children and grandchildren back on Earth; no, even in Heaven, where time was endless, he found his hands restless, creating. Scarves, mittens, sweaters, coats—each one a masterpiece crafted in the shadows. He loved it, revelled in seeing what his fingers could create, but it was a skill he buried deep, wrapped in shame. It wasn’t manly, not for the first man, the father of humanity, to be doing something so... soft. So, he hid it, tucked it away like a forbidden treasure. No one could ever see. Adam’s hands might have shaped the destiny of mankind, but they would never be seen knitting by the fireside in public.

But then Hell happened.

After the battle, everything shifted. He woke, gasping for air, his body weak, his vision clouded like a newborn fumbling through its first moments of life. The taste of dirt and blood clung to his tongue as he clawed his way out of the grave he'd been tossed into, scrambling like a beast toward the faint outline of a dumpster. Hell's atmosphere—thick, stifling, and bitter—pressed down on him, and when his golden eyes finally adjusted, he realized just how far he had fallen.

The Hazbin Hotel loomed in the distance; its massive red eye glaring down at him like some twisted sentinel of judgment. His wings—once radiant gold and silver—hung limp at his sides, dull, useless. Panic wrapped its icy fingers around his chest, his heart thudding painfully against his ribs. He wasn’t just Adam, the first man anymore. He was a Sinner. One of them. A walking target, prey for the vile creatures who hunted for sport in this wretched pit. His skin tingled with the rawness of fear, a sensation he hadn’t felt since Eden. He was the first man, but now... now he was nothing more than a hunted thing.

Crawling, desperate, he dragged himself toward the gates of the hotel. It wasn’t like he had a choice. There was nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to. That bizarre rainbow-haired girl and the smug bastard who ran the place—they’d help him, wouldn’t they? They had to. After all, wasn’t their whole pathetic mission about redeeming Sinners? Forgiveness and second chances, all that righteous crap? His trembling hands gripped the iron bars of the gate as he hauled himself up, eyes wide and staring at the tower before him.

But then he hesitated, his heart skipping a beat. Something... felt wrong. A cold shiver danced up his spine, his instincts screaming at him to stop. Think, his mind whispered. He could seek refuge here, but that smug, pompous devil—Lucifer—would take great pleasure in seeing him suffer. Adam could practically see that sharp, wicked grin, those cruel eyes glinting with amusement as he tortured him, making him grovel, forcing him to bow at his feet like a broken dog. The mere thought made Adam’s stomach churn. His hands tightened around the bars, knuckles whitening as a bitter frown twisted his face.

Lucifer had already taken everything from him once—his paradise, his peace—and now, he would undoubtedly come for his soul, trapping him in some wretched contract like a puppet on strings. Adam could feel it, deep in his bones, and it made his skin crawl. He wasn’t about to let that smug bastard have the satisfaction. Not again. He was done being a pawn, done letting others dictate his fate.

Blinking, his golden eyes fixed once more on the hotel. No. He wouldn’t grovel. He wouldn’t beg for their scraps of mercy. He didn’t need them. He didn’t need anyone. He would carve his own path, as he had done before, back when he was cast out of Eden. He’d find his way here, too, in this infernal nightmare. Hell couldn’t be worse than the world above had been, could it? He was Adam, the first man—he could survive anything. He would survive this.

His stomach twisted with unease as he stepped away from the gate, his gaze turning toward the sprawling hellscape of Pentagram City. The air was thick, smoky, suffocating, but he breathed it in deeply. He could do this. He had to. He had already been damned once, and he'd survived. He’d make something of this new life, something that was his and his alone. No contracts, no deals, no bending to anyone’s will. He wouldn’t sink to the level of the others down here, the Overlords and Sinners who bartered for souls like they were currency.

A sharp nod to himself, Adam set his jaw, determination burning in his veins as he began to walk away from the looming shadow of Hazbin Hotel. He didn’t care anymore about Heaven, or redemption, or even humanity. He was done with it all. Now, it was about him. About finding some sliver of happiness in this forsaken pit. And maybe... just maybe... he’d finally be able to do the things he’d always been too ashamed to do.

Like knitting.

~#~

It was… maybe too easy. A bit unsettling, really, how quickly Adam had carved out a little space for himself. Almost as if Hell wasn’t paying attention. He’d learned fast—keep out of the sleazy, grimy parts of Pentagram City and no one gave a damn about him. No leering stares, no whispers behind his back. But the moment he stepped into a bar or a nightclub, the Sinners’ eyes would snap to him like sharks catching the scent of blood. If he kept to the cleaner side of the city, though? It was like he was invisible. It was weird. It was wrong. Adam could smell the bullshit from a mile away, like the sulfur in the air.

Still, he wandered the streets, lost in thought. Knitting, weaving, stitching—it had always come naturally to him, almost as if it was stitched into his soul. He enjoyed it, truly. The quiet, the focus, the satisfaction of seeing something beautiful emerge from nothing but thread. It was one of the few things he had ever really loved doing, but shame had buried that love deep inside him. Now, though, he wanted to take that passion, that secret talent, and make something of it. Here, in Hell, where shame was a joke and sins were currency, maybe he could finally embrace what he'd always been too afraid to show.

He didn’t want to deal with anyone anymore. Not Sera, not Lute, not Emily. Certainly not Lucifer. And Charlie? Hell, no. Lilith could rot. Eve… Eve was nothing but a distant memory, a ghost from another life. And God? Adam laughed bitterly to himself. No, he didn’t need any of them. Not their pity, their help, their judgment. He could be alone. He wanted to be alone, free from all the burdens they had piled onto him for centuries. He’d done it on Earth, hadn’t he? Found a way to survive, to make something out of nothing. He could do it again, here, in this damned city of the damned. He didn’t need anyone’s help. He could make a life on his own terms.

His feet carried him down the pink and red pavement as his golden eyes swept across the streets, taking in the sights of Hell’s vibrant monotony. The same damn colour everywhere. Red. So much red. It was as if Hell itself only had one brushstroke, painting everything in that bloody hue. He sighed, the weight of it all pressing down on him. Why the hell did everything have to look like it had been dunked in a bucket of crimson paint?

It didn’t matter. He’d adapt. He always had. Adam’s steps slowed as he mulled over his next move, the tension in his body easing as resolve crept back in. He’d find his start, his beginning. He could do this. He didn’t need them. Any of them. Not anymore.

As Adam wandered deeper into the heart of Pentagram City, he stumbled upon a curious scene unfolding in a clearing, just past a dilapidated building that once held the promise of pastries and warmth. Now, it stood in ruin, the faded sign hanging askew—a ghost of a bakery, a relic of a more innocent time. Around it, a handful of Sinners had gathered, their voices a chaotic symphony of bravado and greed.

An auction was taking place.

The atmosphere crackled with tension, thick enough to slice with a blade. Adam hovered at the edge of the gathering, watching with a mixture of intrigue and apprehension. The bidders, an eclectic mix of ragged figures, eyed one another with a blend of disdain and desperation. One particularly burly Sinner, his tattoos snaking up his neck, slammed his fist against a nearby crate, bellowing as he lost his temper at a rival. The ensuing scuffle sent a ripple of excitement through the crowd, laughter mingling with shouts as the tension escalated into chaos. Adam's heart raced—he felt the pulse of this world around him, dark and twisted.

After a few moments of escalating voices and clashing bodies, the auctioneer—a wiry figure with a crooked grin—called for silence. With a sharp snap of his fingers, he brought order back to the scene. The building had found a new owner amidst the din, and the crowd began to disperse like smoke in the wind. Adam seized his chance, stepping forward as the last few Sinners left, lingering in the space between them and the auctioneer.

“Hey!” he called, his voice cutting through the air, low and steady. “I need a house. A small one—like a box.”

The auctioneer regarded him coolly, his brow arching in amusement.

“Should’ve bidded then,” he replied, a teasing lilt in his voice. “You’re shit outta luck, buddy.”

Adam’s fists clenched at his sides, frustration boiling beneath his skin. He had no money, no resources, and yet the ache for a home—a space to call his own—gnawed at him. As the auctioneer turned to leave, Adam stepped into his path, determination lighting his golden eyes.

 “I’m a new Sinner,” he said, words tumbling out in a rush. “I don’t know how to get money, but there has to be something else I can offer.”

The auctioneer opened his mouth to respond, but Adam cut him off, a sneer curling his lips. “And I swear to whatever hell you believe in; it won’t involve my body.”

The Sinner threw back his head and laughed, revealing a mouth full of sharp teeth that gleamed in the muted light. He shrugged, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, then! What do you think you’ve got that’s valuable?”

Adam paused, the weight of the question pressing down on him. His mind raced, and then, like a spark igniting in the darkness, an idea bloomed.

“My feathers,” he said, voice steady but laced with uncertainty.

The auctioneer stared for a moment, eyebrows climbing higher with each passing second.  

“Why the hell would I want your feathers?” he asked, scepticism lacing his tone.

Without hesitation, Adam reached into his wing and plucked a feather free. He hissed softly, the pain sharp but fleeting, and twirled the feather between his fingers. It shimmered, a dazzling blend of gold and silver, glinting like precious metal caught in the light. Holding it close, he leaned in slightly. “Have you ever seen a Sinner with gold and silver wings?”

The auctioneer’s expression shifted, curiosity igniting in his eyes. He squinted, inspecting the feather as if it held the secrets of the universe. Adam leaned into the moment, his heart pounding in anticipation. “I know for a fact that golden feathers are rare. Not even the archangels of Heaven have them. And let’s be real—the King of Hell doesn’t have gold wings, either.”

The Sinner was quiet, mulling over”the ’mplications as Adam's words hung in the air. Finally, he nodded slowly. “Alright, I’ll look at it. Let me see how much it’s worth.”

With a gesture of his hand, he signalled that he’d return. Adam nodded, feeling a spark of hope igniting within him as he handed the feather over.

As the auctioneer scrambled off to his partners, Adam watched, his heart racing. The feather changed hands, passing through the fingers of curious Sinners, each one muttering and gasping with delight at the shimmering prize. One of them pulled out a small box, carefully placing the feather inside. The murmurs of excitement and intrigue crescendo, each Sinner leaning in closer as if it held the power to change their fates.

Moments later, the auctioneer returned, his grin wider than before.

“Good news, kid,” he said, eyes gleaming with a mix of greed and exhilaration. “We can get you a house by the end of the day! But here’s the catch—you’ll pay rent in feathers.”

Adam’s brows knitted together, scepticism flaring. “I’ll pay five feathers a month,” he countered, crossing his arms defiantly.

The auctioneer scoffed, laughter bubbling from his lips. “Fifteen.”

“Ten,” Adam shot back, unwavering.

The auctioneer paused, weighing the offer, then relented with a chuckle. “Fine. Ten it is.” They shook hands, the pact sealing Adam’s fate, his heart racing at the thought of finally having a place to call home.

And just like that, Adam had secured a small house, a box of his own amidst the chaos of Hell. As he walked away, a small smile crept across his face. His feathers would grow back quickly, after all, and now he had a fresh start, a chance to build a life. No longer just a fallen angel, he could finally pursue the craft he loved without fear or shame. It was a new beginning, and Adam felt the stirring of hope within him, mingling with the tension of uncertainty that came with each step into this strange, vibrant world.

~#~

The process of settling into his new life was achingly slow at first. The small building he’d secured was a peculiar gem, nestled in a perfect location within the chaotic sprawl of Pentagram City, yet also the worst spot imaginable. From his windows, he had a direct view of the damn Hazbin Hotel, looming like a twisted monolith against the horizon. Its presence gnawed at him, a constant reminder of the world he was trying to escape. He hated it—hated the way the hotel shimmered under the infernal light, casting eerie shadows that danced like specters across the pavement. To distract himself, Adam busied his hands with the colorful threads, trying to forget the sight.

But to truly establish his business, he needed to make connections—forge deals that didn’t involve his soul, but rather his precious feathers. What he didn’t realize was how incredibly valuable those feathers were in Hell’s economy. He felt a nagging sense of unease, grateful that no Sinner had yet attempted to cut them off or kidnap him. He had made friends, or at least acquaintances, with the Sinners who came through his door, and astonishingly, they genuinely liked him. Perhaps they sensed that he was, despite the darkness surrounding them, a decent guy just trying to find his way.

Adam had acquired everything he needed: electricity, gas, materials, the works. The day he opened his small shop was a whirlwind of excitement. His heart pounded like a drum as he turned the sign from “Closed” to “Open.”

To his surprise, no Sinner made a mocking comment about a man who knitted; instead, they rushed in like starving creatures drawn to a feast. Requests poured in like rain: scarves with intricate designs, mittens, boots, sweaters. Adam was stunned. By the end of his first month, the influx of Hell-bucks was overwhelming—more than he ever imagined he could earn in this twisted paradise.

Regulars appeared almost immediately, one standing out from the rest. Rosie, a vibrant Sinner from the cannibal town, caught his attention. She came in daily, placing orders or purchasing whatever items were on display. Her enthusiasm was infectious, her laughter a bright spot in the otherwise grim world. Conversations with her felt like sunlight breaking through the eternal gloom, and Adam found himself looking forward to her visits.

As the weeks rolled by, Adam observed something peculiar: none of the Sinners had access to the kind of clothing he provided. They dove in and out of his shop, marvelling at the sweaters and scarves as if they were precious artifacts. Adam initially guessed it was because Hell was often too hot for such things, but the freezing cold nights quickly dispelled that notion. It turned out Hell’s nightlife was a vibrant affair, with many Sinners active after sundown, desperately in need of warmth. It worked out well for him, and he relished the bustling atmosphere, but a creeping sense of foreboding lingered just beneath the surface.

One fateful day, about a month after his arrival, an order popped up on his computer screen that sent shivers down his spine. Adam blinked in disbelief, his eyebrows shooting up as he processed the words. His mouth went dry, and a shudder ran through him, his wings flapping in displeasure. At first, he tried to ignore it, burying himself in the avalanche of new customers who flooded in daily. But no matter how hard he worked, that order nagged at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

He grimaced deeply as he finally surrendered to the truth. The day came to a close, and after locking the door and flipping the sign to “Closed,” he straightened his black and gold sweater, a piece he had crafted himself.

He felt a pang of pride, tugging at the hem before wiggling his feet into his Ugg boots. With a deep groan, he turned back to the computer, running his hands down his face in frustration. Maybe it was within his rights to reject the order? After all, it was a little too much. So, he decided to do just that. He cancelled it and thought that would be the end of it.

But the next day, the order reappeared—this time with a higher sum of money offered. Adam practically screamed when it flashed back onto the screen. Why was this happening? He had fought so hard to create a small life for himself, one without anyone poking their fat noses into his business. This wasn’t supposed to be complicated! Sure, he could just fill the order, pocket the money, and wash his hands of the whole ordeal.

As he rubbed his chin thoughtfully and leaned closer to the screen, curiosity gnawed at him. He blinked in surprise when he saw who the order was for: seven sweaters, each adorned with specific patterns and colours that made his stomach twist in a way he didn’t want to acknowledge. He swallowed thickly, dread pooling in his gut. He knew who the fucking duck sweaters were meant for. Ugh! He didn’t want to do this—didn’t want to bend to their whims ever again!

With a deep breath, he braced himself against the inevitable frustration rising in his chest. Maybe I can just ignore it, brush it off like the rest of the bullshit that comes with this hellhole, he thought.

But even as he willed himself to dismiss the order, the familiar flutter of his wings reminded him of the delicate balance he had to maintain in this world. In a place as treacherous as Hell, ignoring a royal request might not just be a mistake—it could lead to consequences he wasn’t prepared to face.

Tension clung to him like a cloak as he weighed his options, the prospect of wrestling with fate hanging heavy in the air. He was determined to forge his own path, but the thought of crossing the Princess of Hell felt like tempting fate itself. His fingers twitched over the keyboard, caught between the urge to fill the order and the yearning to reclaim his autonomy. Whatever the outcome, he knew one thing for sure: this battle wasn’t over yet.

After eight long, agonizing days, Adam finally completed the order, boxing it up with meticulous care. Each sweater was a labor of love, infused with his creativity and skill, every stitch carefully crafted despite the tempest of his emotions. As tempting as it was to cut corners—maybe even slip something in, a little surprise or a bit of sabotage—he refrained. No, he had to prove himself, show that he was worthy of respect in this twisted underworld. He wrapped each piece in delicate, shimmering tissue paper and nestled a small card inside that thanked them for ordering from his store. It felt almost absurd, like he was playing house in a world that didn’t care about pleasantries.

The day dragged on like molasses, and he found himself fidgeting with anticipation, glancing at the door every few minutes for the delivery Sinner. Time slipped away, however, and as the sun began to sink into a blood-red horizon, he received the news that the Sinner was sick. A deep groan escaped him. Now he had to deliver it himself.

Adam lifted the box with a resigned sigh, stepping outside onto the pavement. Locking the door behind him, he shot a venomous glare at the Hazbin Hotel in the distance. Maybe he could just drop it off and vanish before anyone noticed him. He had no desire to engage with any of those insufferable Sinners, especially not today. But a nagging thought reminded him that he needed someone to sign for the parcel—proof that he had fulfilled the order. It wasn’t worth the risk to his hard-earned reputation, even if Charlie wouldn’t screw him over.

With that determination steeling his resolve, he made the tedious trek through Pentagram City toward the hotel. His golden eyes remained downcast, his thoughts a swirling mess, feet dragging against the pavement. As he approached the gates, a familiar wave of anxiety washed over him. Adam halted, memories flooding back to a year ago, standing before these very gates, teetering on the edge of seeking help. He snorted at his past self; relief coursed through him that he hadn’t walked through those doors back then. Look at him now—his own small business thriving, creating the very things he loved without a shred of shame. Sure, some orders were challenging, but he relished the test.

But as he pushed the iron black gates open, the pounding of his heart began to echo in his ears, anxious and insistent. The moment he stepped inside, dread coiled tightly in his chest. Adam forced himself to move past the grotesque golden statue of the goat monster and shuffled his feet to the doors, his entire body trembling as the air thickened around him. It felt as if the hotel itself were alive, watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake. Panic gripped him, his breath hitching in his throat. He took a step back, ready to bolt, when suddenly the doors swung open with a creak that echoed like thunder.

Charlie stood there, mid-conversation, her radiant grin momentarily frozen as her eyes landed on him.

“Adam?” she squealed, shock painting her features. It was like the world around them fell silent, and all the eyes in the hotel seemed to turn toward him.

His skin prickled under the weight of their stares, and he squirmed, feeling exposed. Vaggie appeared next to Charlie, her arms crossed, and her expression pinched, as if she’d just bitten into something sour.

“You’re back as a Sinner now?” she scoffed, disbelief dripping from her words.

Charlie’s expression shifted from surprise to concern, her eyes wide with worry.

“Why are you here?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly, as if she feared the answer.

Adam could sense her apprehension; she was worried he might have come to the hotel seeking refuge, like he once had. A small part of him wished he could lay that burden down, but that wasn’t why he stood there now. It was a good thing, too, considering he didn’t need their help anymore.

Before he could gather his thoughts and respond, Vaggie huffed, shaking her head in exasperation.

 “Unbelievable! You think just because you’re a Sinner now, you can waltz in here and demand our help?” The accusation stung, a jagged edge to her tone that made him want to shrink back into the shadows.

Charlie stepped forward, her face reddening as she tried to smooth the tension.

“Vaggie, please—” she began, but the weight of her words hung in the air, heavy and taut. Charlie clearly didn’t want to turn anyone away, even if it was Adam. “I can’t just close the door on anyone, even if it’s... Adam.”

Vaggie shot him a disbelieving glare, her expression twisted with suspicion. “You think we can just trust him now?”

Adam opened his mouth to speak, to set the record straight, but the weight of the moment crashed down on him. The tension crackled in the air, heavy with unspoken words and old wounds. The hotel felt like a cage, closing in around him, and he fought the urge to flee. All those eyes—those judgmental, curious eyes—made his skin crawl, and the box in his hands felt like a ticking time bomb.

Adam’s heart raced, his breath catching in his throat as he fought to find the words.

“No, I’m not here to stay,” he started, determination hardening his voice. “I just wanted to—”

But he was abruptly cut off by a voice that slithered into his thoughts like poison.

“Why, if it isn’t the first man!” The tone was dripping with mockery, and Adam felt his skin crawl in disbelief. Lucifer stepped into view, stepping around Charlie and Vaggie as they instinctively moved aside, like planets yielding to a sun. The King of Hell’s smug expression was a sight Adam had dreaded. The gleam in Lucifer’s eyes, the sharp-toothed smirk curling at his lips—it was all too familiar.

“Look how far you’ve fallen, Adam,” Lucifer continued, taking a step forward, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he were relishing the moment. “You’ve become a Sinner! Shocking!”

Adam felt his grip tighten around the box, the sharp edge digging into his chest like a brand. He pressed his lips into a thin line, fury bubbling beneath the surface.

“What do you want, Lucifer?” he shot back, trying to inject his voice with some semblance of strength, but it trembled slightly.

Lucifer straightened, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe, radiating a confidence that made Adam’s stomach churn. “Let me guess—you’ve come here for protection? For help? Because now you’re scared and alone in this hellhole?” He laughed, a cruel sound that echoed through the air. “That’s rich! You’re one of the things you despised the most!”

Adam opened his mouth to snap back, to assert that he didn’t need their help, but once again, Lucifer cut him off.

“Why should we help you?” he taunted, his voice dripping with disdain. “Why should we let you in?”

Behind Lucifer, a few Sinners peeked out, their curious faces illuminated by the dim light of the hotel. Adam’s eyes darted to them, feeling like a specimen under a microscope, as his fingers dug deeper into the box, desperately trying to maintain his composure.

Lucifer, seeing the discomfort etched on Adam’s face, grinned wider. “Alright, I’ll tell you what. We’ll help you. We’ll even let you stay with us. But first, you need to get on your knees and beg.”

“Fuck you!” Adam hissed, his anger flaring like a wildfire.

“Beg like the dog you are,” Lucifer continued, ignoring Adam’s outburst.

Charlie gasped, her eyes wide with shock as she interjected, “Adam doesn’t need to do that!”

Lucifer shook his head, a playful disapproval dancing in his features. Vaggie’s expression brightened, clearly enjoying this spectacle. “No, no! He needs to do that and more! Otherwise, we’ll just close the door in his face.”

Adam’s heart raced, relief washing over him for the choices he’d made months prior. The prospect of having to bow before Lucifer was beyond humiliating.

“Fuck this,” he muttered under his breath, meeting Charlie’s bewildered gaze. “Sorry, Charlie.”

“Wait—” Charlie began, confusion flickering in her eyes.

“That’s a start!” Lucifer interjected, his smirk widening.

But Adam was done. He raised his chin defiantly, cutting Lucifer off mid-sentence. “Sorry, Charlie. I think I’m going to need to cancel your order.”

“I’ll refund you when I get back to my shop.” He spun on his heels, striding toward the exit, fuelled by a mix of anger and resolve.

“Adam, please!” Charlie called after him, her voice tinged with desperation. “I don’t understand!”

“I thought I could take your order,” he shouted back, “but I clearly can’t! It was a bad idea to accept it after the first time I cancelled!” He paused to glance back at them, his heart hammering in his chest. “I can’t accept any of your orders in the future. I apologize for that.”

With that, he continued toward the gates, head held high, ignoring the stunned stares and heavy silence that followed him. But just as he reached the exit, a rough hand clamped around his elbow, pulling him back with a jolt.

“Stop fucking around and just get inside the hotel,” Lucifer growled, his grip fierce and unyielding. “Before I change my mind.”

Adam yelped, yanking his arm away, his heart pounding with indignation. “I would never come to this hotel looking for help, I especially would not come looking for protection and help from you—the guy who ruined my life! I woke up as a Sinner more than nine months ago, and I’ve been doing fine without Lucifer fucking Morningstar!”

Lucifer blinked, taken aback. “Are you serious? You’ve survived a whole year without me? Fine?”

“Of course! What, did you think I couldn’t last a single day without your special help?” Adam laughed bitterly; each syllable laced with defiance. “I’m not as stupid as everyone thinks I am! I’m doing just fine with my business!”

The King of Hell’s eyes widened, disbelief etched on his face. “What business? What sketchy, fucked-up shit are you doing?”

That question ignited a fire within Adam. He slammed the box into Lucifer’s chest, pushing the King of Hell back with surprising force. “Why don’t you look and find out?” he hissed, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

With that, Adam stormed away, a wave of liberation washing over him as he made his way out of the damned Hazbin Hotel. He could almost taste freedom, the sweet air of possibility waiting for him beyond those iron gates.

“Fuck Lucifer and all his assholeness!” he thought, heart racing with a mix of triumph and exhilaration.

As he stepped through the gates and back into the chaotic streets of Pentagram City, he felt a weight lift off his shoulders, the shadows of the hotel fading behind him. This was his life now, and he would not let anyone—especially not Lucifer—dictate how he lived it.

[rei-ismyname]

X-Men: The End - Review

Book 1: Dreamers and Demons

In one of Chris Claremont's many ill-advised returns to the X-books, he set about writing a hypothetical and non-canon end to the series. Set about 15 years in the future, the story travels to every corner of the X universe - if briefly - so if nothing else everyone gets an answer for where their favourite character ends.

Greg Land did the cover. I hate Greg Land.

I praise it mostly on a conceptual level. Pretty much every long running corner of the MU received a 'The End' mini, but Claremont split it up into 3 separate miniseries. Captain America and Iron Man both got 5 issues, KISS (yes, the band) got 3, the X-Men got 18. As someone who always wanted characters to die, grow and retire but was often foiled or undone by fiat - I respect that he'd want to do it properly. However, more is not always better. It's fun, cringe, and nonsensical at times. A LOT of people die unceremoniously. Don't take it too seriously.

The first few pages sets up that that 15 years have seriously passed. People are dead and retired, some have kids that look exactly like them, the never aging kids grew up. The Shi'Ar are killing X-Men, like a lot of them, except they're doing it in disguise. Jean Grey has returned as the Phoenix and is hanging out with (kidnapped him while he was doing Letterman lol) Nightcrawler, Carol Danvers' hologram, and Aliyah - the child of Bishop and Deathbird.

Here she is going for an expository jog down memory lane.

We spend a little time getting to know her, as she's the closest thing to a viewpoint character. She's inexperienced and way out of her depth, but her heroic instincts are sharp. Interestingly she 'doesn't really care about the Shi'Ar.' Aliyah lives on the Starjammer with a pretty impressive holodeck, she's never met her dad, her mum is holding the Shi'Ar empire together and her best mate is holo Danvers. Lilandra is apparently 'mad.'

Immediately Kree slavers approach Chandilar and Claremont begins clearing the board. Madrox and Siryn die for real, Nocturne is a hound and Aliyah manages to knock her out and take her to the ship. Phoenix comes out of nowhere and begins wrecking shit and the Kree do the same.

Also, WarSkrulls.

If it sounds like confusing nonsense, that's because it is. The first third of the miniseries is about establishing Aliyah and checking in on various X-Men before killing most of them. Seriously, it's easier for me to list who lives rather than who dies. It's confusing but I think it works as front loading the deaths so books 2 and 3 have a more manageable cast of characters. If you plan to stick the landing, it's going to be easier to trim the decades of bloat/worldbuilding the X-books have received.

We get a brief overview of Earth stuff before they start to die, though everyone in these panels lives (mostly hehe). Kitty Pryde is running for president with Rachel as her campaign manager! Storm and Logan live together and he's her full time caretaker. Emma and Scott have two kids. Cable hunts terrorists apparently.

Here's the Summerses. A lot of people wear speed dealer sunnies in the future, with Cyclops even saying SPEED right there. Coincidence? Also their children are boring.

You'll note the daughter may as well be a clone of Emma (she isn't but you know what I mean.) The baby is called Alex after long dead Havok, definitely tempting fate there. I'd sooner call my child Omega Red, but I'm not a parent. Chuck pokes his big bald head in and Emma tells him to beat it. Scott checks in with folks all over the globe, many of whom die. He is concerned of course.

Told you. Rogue and Gambit live and they definitely saw The Matrix. This isn't plot relevant - this is just how they roll apparently.

Hank and Cecilia McCoy live and they do *something* in Africa. Doctor stuff I think? This book moves so damn quickly. They live but everyone around them dies. Hank is right about the mutant problem. The named X-Men body count is at 18 by book 3.

Hey Yukio! Come to homoerotically kill Ororo, huh? DW, she wins despite full paralysis. Don't fuck with Storm. At this point we find out ALL these assassins are WarSkrulls sent by the Shi'Ar. Storm's powers have wrecked her body btw to the point Logan feeds her and she kinda wants to die. 😭

Madeline Pryor, Stryfe, and some weirdo I don't know come for the X-Mansion. Dust dusts Maddie Pryor. That dude getting punched by Not!Stryfe is the son of Colossus and Polaris. Yeah he looks exactly like Colossus. Nice to get confirmation of Polaris' awful taste in men. She does have a dope butch short hair look that slaps, so it's not all bad choices and emotionally stunted communists.

Nearly everyone else not pictured is dead as a doornail, ash and bone at best. Claremont was pretty damn thorough - 90% of the X-Men and their allies dead. Apocalypse bit the dust too, in a pretty embarrassing way. Of course Sinister lives because he's working with the Shi'Ar but has his own agenda, as usual. They're starting to realise that the Shi'Ar sent the WarSkrulls, but the preemptive strikes were super effective. Book 1 ends on the Starjammer with the passengers realising Cassandra Nova has been Lilandra all this time.

I'm sorry, CHUCKY sends me. No cap. I could write an essay on this panel and invite speculation.

The last page has the Xavier Institute's singularity power core exploding after that lot end up also being WarSkrulls sent by the Shi'Ar - looks like having the school be built mostly from Shi'Ar tech backfired. The school is definitely gone - along with at least the state of New York but I suspect much more - then a smash cut to this masterpiece. Callisto with fucking tentacles for arms saying 'Chucky?' as Chuck is overwhelmed by grief. I'm assuming they're in a polycule with Mags over here, but it must gall him to be the third most dramatic person in a scene. It's just too much to respond without some kind of levity, but if it wasn't clear by now - the stage is being cleared ruthlessly. Northstar was at the school, so maybe some people survived but Claremont is not half arsing it. This is definitely a whole arse situation, maybe even more.

DUN DUN DUN 🫠

Wait what? Chuck's evil twin, the Mummudrai? Hectic! So we know we've just seen Cassandra Nova send many WarSkrull strike teams after X-Men in the form of people that will hurt them psychologically and it was very successful. Hmm... it's 15 years in the future - does that mean she's been leading Bird Gang this whole time? No Xandra in this timeline but the X-Men interact with the Shi'Ar a lot. That's some wild patience for Cassandra Nova, and the notion that she's been preparing all this time is terrifying. My God, all the X-Men are going to die aren't they? Maybe, though I can't stop thinking about how Lilandra Nova would have handled a booty call from Chucky. Ughh gross.

I think it's worth saying that the high amount of action is a YMMV sitch - I personally can do without no punching at all in a book, and get frustrated when a mandated and arbitrary fight happens just because that's what cape comics do. Just because action has to be special to wow me doesn't mean I don't recognise its value, mainly I believe we can demand more from our comics - as an evolved art form instead of the pulp it began as. What I said earlier about front loading the death applies to the action too. I suspect your enjoyment of this book will come down to your feelings on action or ability to appreciate it ironically/unseriously.

I'll leave part one there, though I want to point out that Sunspot is whitewashed so badly he looks like Shawn Mullins. At least he dies - I love Bobby Da Costa but I'd prefer no Sunspot to dorky white guy Sunspot. Stay tuned for part 2 and thank fuck that's over. Spinning a coherent narrative from a book without one is a challenge, especially with only 10 pictures to work with. I considered counting and listing all the deaths, but I got to 30 and realised I wasn't enjoying it and doubted anyone else would. I'm not a wiki, and hopefully I've done my job while leaving some meat on the bones for folks who still want to read it. Don't worry, Kitty's presidential run is still live and it's implied she won the primaries. Independent? As if. Definitely a democrat, because the X-Men are mostly centrist bitches. Still, I hope she wins and First Lady Rachel and her achieve something.

I haven't been doing much long form lately so I welcome any feedback you might have. 💜💜❤️

[acourtofthought]

What Elucien crumbs are there in the Azriel bonus chapter ?

"The golden necklace seemed ordinary. - it's chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm" "Maybe you'll become interesting at last, Elain" "With time and safety, perhaps we'll see a different side of her emerge.” “That sounds dangerously close to what Nesta said about Elain finally becoming interesting." "Sometimes Nesta isn't wrong" "It was a small, flat rose. "I painted flowers for Elain on her drawer, little roses and begonias and irises." "She was a rose bloom in a mud field." "The gates to her mind...Solid iron, covered in vines of flowers - or it would have been. The blossoms were all sealed, sleeping buds tucked into tangles of leaves and thorns." "She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, it's solid weight surprising." (even Elain's carved rose had a weight that was surprising to it, just like Elain's personality will most likely be surprising to some). "He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers." Nesta held love in her own heart as she pulled the small, carved rose from her pocket and set it upon the gravestone. A permanent marker of the beauty and good he'd tried to bring into the world. "fashioned of stained glass" Stained Glass - a beautiful but see through object, lacking in hidden depth. A bit like how many see Elain.

"designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of the colors would become visible. A think of secret, lovely beauty."

"Her sister's delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring." "The suite was filled with sunlight. Every curtain shoved back as far as it could go, to let in as much sun as possible. as if any bit of darkness was abhorrent. As if to chase it away. And seated in a small chair before the sunniest of the windows, her back to us, was Elain." "Still staring at the window, but she was out of her room." "But sunlight on gold caught his eye - and Elain slowly turned from her vigil at the window." "What can I get you Elain?" "Sunshine." Elain politely refused, taking up a spot in one of hte wooden charis set in the bay of windows. Also typical. "Elain stood at the wall of windows." "But Elain - the Spring Court had been made for someone like her." "Helion (the sun personified as he's described) is Lucien's father." "But I wonder if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she'd disappoint you all."

"I also think we haven't seen all she has to offer."

"I didn't dare mention that if she had been wearing the enchanted gloves Lucien had gotten her last Solstice, nothing would have pierced them at all."

Elain, just like the rose necklace is easily dismissed by others at first glance. Elain, just like the rose necklace has a hidden depth but will need "light" (both literal and metaphorical) in order for that truth to be revealed. Elain needs sunshine, is always by the sunniest of windows, is made for somewhere like the Spring Court, and has a mate who is the unknown heir to Day, with the power of the sun running through his veins. Embrace her destiny by setting off for a court that was "made for her"(or one similar in aesthetic) and no longer running from her mate and Elain's full powers / depth of personality will be revealed once she is no longer hidden in the darkness of the NC.

[ashironie]

i would like to dedicate this pride month to the only women ever, Gwendolyn Bouchard and Alice Dyer

[turtleblogatlast]

Headcanon that Leo really loved to give his family massages growing up. We know that he’s good at them from the episode “You Got Served” and we know he likes spas and relaxation and getting massages himself from when he tried to get these in “Bad Hair Day” and from when Donnie made a tennis ball massage machine in “Smart Lair.”

So I think it’d be cute to think that maybe one day Leo overheard Splinter complaining about a bad back and immediately Leo thinks back to a comic or movie or something he saw where a massage helped so he offers to give one and it actually ends up helping Splinter.

Then April swings by the Lair at a later time and mentions her back hurting because of her backpack from school and Leo’s all like “I gotcha!”

From there, he occasionally manages to convince Donnie to sit for one because Donnie’s shrimp posture does not help him any (Leo pokes fun at how sandpaper-y Donnie’s shell is despite knowing it’s always like that and Donnie smacks him for it.) Donnie usually prefers hand massages instead however as all his typing and inventing adds up over time, and shoulder massages too once he starts wearing his battle shells more. Leo also figures out how to give massages to Raph and Mikey’s shells as well, though it’s a struggle at first to not scratch his hands on Raph’s spikes.

I think since Leo has such bad luck with spas and the like, he tries giving himself massages (though it’s not as helpful.) Like, with how his abilities work his legs are probably always aching from his portal jumping and one foot landings, so maybe he branches past back massages out of a need to help his own aches too. (Though he really wants a shell massage himself, the same way he’d give them…the one time with Donnie’s tennis ball massage machine was but a short moment of what Leo’s been missing out on and what he’ll continue missing out on…)

I don’t know, I just think it’d be cute to think Leo could have honed his massaging skill this way in order to help out his family (and also partially because he wants a massage himself.)

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Not sure if this theory makes any sense at all but I'm starting to believe that there's no time skip between Wally's phone calls and what we see/hear in the show's Media/Merchandise. If we see the Toyland call being made before the Homewarming episode then it would make sense that Wally's expecting Barnaby to come over soon. As well as the Homewarming sketch from the prior update. (I don't know, still kind of brainstorming this perspective)

that theory Does make sense and i've been considering it! the "timeline" is such a nebulous thing right now because we still... don't really know! there are too many variables and too many Maybes for any solid answer.

maybe the reality that the neighbors live in exists outside of time like you say, and like half of me suspects. there's so much reality fuckery already present, but I'm also... unsure of how much merit this holds given what we know / can infer about how time passes in Home. i'm putting this theory on a low shelf to look at but not prioritize

maybe it really has been 50 years, and Barnaby is either still around / Wally is still in contact with him, or Barnaby... isn't there. who knows, maybe Wally was just verbalizing some Wishful Thinking. i mean, Wally is a bit of an unreliable narrator, isn't he? we can't assume that everything he says is entirely accurate or truthful. and i mean, if it's been 50 years it makes sense that Wally would be pushing for connection / to revive WH. who knows how long he's been trying.

hm... i mean. it could be a mix of that and the Outside Of Time theory. who knows, maybe W is receiving calls from different points in the timeline - Wally may have started out just calling, and has just graduated to invading the WH website / getting pushy with the envelopes and media that's been sent to the WHRP. maybe Wally got tired of waiting for W to respond before W was even born. who's to say!

[hella1975]

the closest ill ever get to being a pick me girl is the joy that fills me when the chefs at work so clearly favouritise me. like im there nicely cleaned up in my smart-casual uniform just a 20 year old waitress smiling my customer service smile and behind me spawns Scary Dog Privilege 10x in the form of several burly middle-aged chefs at least three of which have criminal records and would all stick a bread knife in someone for bothering me

[musubiki]

fun tcwg fact but one of the hardest opponents lime has ever fought is actually corven, murdas (taller but younger) brother. because post-timeskip lime has zero magic attack capabilities and corven has a broken defense stat

[royalberryriku]

Thinking about how "self defence" is considered okay until a country the west is not allied with does it.

[hirokiyuu]

look at my alternate yuu concept boy

[phoenixcatch7]

Okay but like Peter Parker reincarnated as dick grayson angst