#love her mouth in the third panel

[communist-hatsunemiku]

みしづか

[illyrianbitch]

Lights, Camera, Love!

Pairing: Reader x Rhysand

Summary: Rhysand, Hollywood's hottest heartthrob, has everyone smitten—everyone except you, his co-star. But when rumors of your feud begin to affect the show's ratings, your producers propose a last-ditch solution: a fake romance to salvage your public image and reignite fan interest.

Warnings: cocky Rhysand, just two snippy co-stars, ianthe, co-parent feysand, helion and amren as big hollywood peeps

Word Count: 4.7k

a/n: this is a lil series ive had tucked away with some inspo....lets see if ayll fw it enough hehehe. dedicated to @milswrites and @daycourtofficial bc their love for this pushed me to pick it up again

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It was unprofessional, truly. 

You wanted to roll your eyes, to scoff and walk off set. 

But instead, you simply shifted uncomfortably in your seat, adjusting the hem of your dress as Ianthe, your overly enthusiastic interviewer, fluttered around Rhysand like a lovesick butterfly. Her giggles grated on your nerves as she leaned in a little too close, her hand lingering on his arm just a second too long.

Ianthe was known for her probing questions and flirtatious demeanor— it’s what made her such a popular source for exclusive interviews. Not only did she know the right questions to ask, but she knew exactly how to ask them in order to get what she wanted: juicy gossip, something she could feed on. It wasn’t a coincidence that her last name held such a resemblance to the word parasite. She was one. 

You didn’t want to do the interview to begin with. The upcoming release of your newest season meant various events and panels that left you unsettled and anxious. You loved your job— loved your character even more. But being in the public eye alongside Rhysand was hard. Suffocating, really. 

It felt like hours that you sat there with a practiced smile, waiting as she conversed with Rhysand. The studio lights were warm, and the backdrop behind you— a cover of the show's logo— made you feel a bit more comfortable. But still, the unease persisted, and you counted down the seconds until this interview was over and you could return home. 

"So, Rhysand," Ianthe said, her voice silky smooth. "You've become quite the heartthrob lately. How do you handle all the attention from your adoring fans?"

Your first instinct was to laugh. Your second was to roll your eyes. The third was to vomit in your mouth. You somehow resisted the urge to do all of the above, settling for biting back the rising nausea at the shameless flirting. 

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, a charming smile spreading across his face. "It's all part of the job, I suppose. Though, I must say, the fans are incredibly supportive. It's their enthusiasm that keeps us going."

Us. This time it physically burned you to not roll your eyes, even subtly. Your lips curled into a pained smile. Ianthe didn’t seem to notice the forced gesture, her gaze locked onto Rhysand as if you weren’t even in the room. 

You looked down, absently playing with a ring on your index finger. The metal felt cool and familiar, and you smiled faintly at it, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. It seemed to fill your lungs with a steadying breath, one that was enough to gather yourself, to steel your resolve and endure sitting beside someone who sucked up all the oxygen in the room without even trying.

It took a few more minutes before Ianthe was turning to you with an expectant smile— perfect white teeth. Veneers, most likely. The smile was strange up close and you resisted the urge to lean in and expect them further, to search for any signs of hidden pointed teeth, sharpened to resemble that of a predator. 

You blinked, tilting your head and welcoming her attention with a large smile of your own. Certainly not as perfect, but a lot less unnerving, you hoped. 

 “Y/n,” She started, readjusting herself in her seat. “You look beautiful. It’s always nice to see you.”

You gave a small nod in acknowledgement. You’d talked to Ianthe a few times, mostly on red carpets and press events. Never longer than a minute, never past fake pleasantries and a kiss on the cheek—- from her end. 

“Thanks Ianthe,” you said, smile still plastered on your cheeks like glue. “It’s always a pleasure talking with you.”

There was a glint in her eye that told you she didn’t believe a word you said. At least you both had that in common, perhaps you could bond on your shared love of bullshit. 

 “Tell me, what's it like working alongside Rhysand? He seems to have quite the presence on set."

You paused for a moment, considering your response carefully before delivering it with a smile. 

“Rhysand is an experience. Even after years, he still manages to keep me on my toes.”

What your statement really translated to was: Rhysand was a cocky asshole. Everything was about him. All. The. Damn. Time.

"It's truly remarkable how he commands the attention of everyone in the room. It's as if the rest of us simply fade into the background when he's around.” 

Because he’s an attention whore. 

You didn’t say the last thought— as much as your body screamed at you to. 

Rhysand's smile tightened imperceptibly, a flicker of irritation dancing in his eyes before he masked it with practiced ease. "Well, thank you," he replied smoothly,  "I suppose it's just the natural magnetism of a true star."

He delivered his words as a joke, as if you both shared a similar, endearing humor regarding one another. You fought to conceal a satisfied smirk, knowing that your veiled dig had hit its mark. 

Ianthe continued to prattle on, her questions growing increasingly mundane as the minutes ticked by. There was a lull—a brief moment of respite where Ianthe paused to collect her thoughts. 

It was Rhysand who broke the silence, his voice dripping with faux sincerity. "I must admit, I've always admired Y/n’s dedication to her craft," he said, his tone almost earnest. "It's not easy to disappear into a role the way she does."

You bristled at the backhanded compliment, knowing all too well that beneath his seemingly benign words lay a razor-sharp edge. It was a surprise to you that Ianthe didn’t pick up on it, her dull eyes and bright smile still worn on her nauseatingly beautiful face. 

"Well, Rhysand," you replied, forcing a tight smile, "I suppose we all have our strengths. I can’t coast on charisma alone.”

His smirk returned in full force, a wolfish gleam in his eyes. "Ah, but isn't that what makes us such a dynamic duo, sweetheart?" he said, "The perfect balance of substance and style."

You fought to conceal a frustrated sigh, to bite back the snarl you wanted to make at the annoying nickname he’d adopted for you recently. He knew it drove you nuts, knew it made you want to call him something less sweet. 

As much as you wished to continue the conversation, to match his veiled insults with ones of your own— that were sure to be far more clever, you knew that this verbal sparring match would only serve to prolong your agony. Instead, you plastered on a diplomatic smile, nodding in agreement as Ianthe launched into yet another round of inane questions.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It felt like an eternity before you were freed from the clutches of the interview. 

Ianthe stood, flashing you a smile that felt more condescending than friendly. "Thank you both for coming," she said, her eyes lingering on Rhysand. You watched as she scanned him one last time, eyes drinking him in like a fresh glass of wine. 

You forced a polite nod. "Thank you, Ianthe. Always a pleasure."

She gave you a look that made you feel small, but you quickly swallowed it and turned away, heading toward the exit. As much as a nice, warm bath was calling to you, you had lunch plans with Lucien and were itching to be in the presence of someone you actually liked. 

"Well, that was entertaining," Rhysand commented, a smirk playing on his lips as he caught up to you. 

You glanced at him, trying to keep your irritation in check as you quickened your pace, offering a few spare smiles to the employees you passed. "If by entertaining, you mean tacky, then sure."

His smirk faded slightly, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. He raised a brow.  "Tacky? I was just keeping things lively."

"Lively," you repeated with a laugh. You stopped, the movement so abrupt that Rhysand almost bumped into you. You turned to face him with a flat look. “You’re a shameless flirt."

His eyes narrowed at you— a deep blue that you swore at times was almost violet. His head cocked to the side and you shrank deeper into yourself, feeling somewhat at odds and uncomfortable in his burning gaze. The smirk tugged harder at the corner of his lips.

“Well, isn’t that the whole point?”

You scowled, opening your mouth to respond. But before any words could leave your mouth, a familiar voice filled the air. “Rhys!”

A head turn led you to catch Feyre’s eye as she walked towards you, a bright smile on her face. Her eyes lit up as her gaze landed on you and Rhys, one hand holding onto the smaller one of her son. 

You watched as Nyx, quite possibly one of the prettiest kids you'd ever seen, ran up to Rhysand with a joyous laugh, opening his arms up, wide and expecting. In one swift and natural movement, Rhysand scooped him up effortlessly, his earlier annoyance instantly dissipating from his features. 

“Hey, buddy,” Rhysand said, his voice softening as he kissed Nyx’s temple.

Against your better judgment, a smile tugged at your cheeks at how brightly Rhysand’s face lit up. He pulled Feyre into a quick, sweet embrace, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek.

If there was one thing you were willing to give Rhysand credit for, it was this.

His breakup with Feyre had been incredibly public. The divorce, the fallout—both of their reputations took a hit when it came out that she had initiated the divorce, later compounded by her being outed on a date with a woman from her past. Yet, despite everything, they both managed it with such grace.

Feyre was incredibly sweet. You never truly understood how Rhysand landed her in the first place, how they had been married for over five years, so deeply in love that they started a family. You thoroughly enjoyed her company, even though it wasn’t as often as you would’ve liked. She was still Rhysand’s family, after all, and you took every chance you could to avoid being around him when it wasn’t necessary. 

But Feyre was a large reason you enjoyed your job. She eased the anxiety that came with joining a cast that was already so close, essentially taking a role that had belonged to her— even though your character was introduced after hers was written off. 

It was clear that despite everything, Rhysand and Feyre had managed to maintain a bond, not just for their sake, but for Nyx’s. The love they still shared, the ease with which they navigated this new chapter of their lives—it was something you respected, even envied a little.

You averted your gaze, fingers running over the cool metal of your ring as you turned to leave, but Feyre called your name, her voice as kind as usual. 

You paused, looking back at her. “Yeah?”

Feyre’s smile was warm. You took her in for a moment, how naturally beautiful she was— how she exuded a certain energy that you could only describe as regal. A smile fit for a queen.  “How was the interview?” 

You shrugged, giving a small smile. “The usual. Ianthe was...”

You pursed your lips as your voice trailed off. There were many ways you could finish off your sentence but you weren’t sure how diplomatic you could be anymore or if Feyre would be bothered by an honest review of your interviewer. 

Feyre leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “A bitch?”

You laughed, catching Rhysand’s glance as he looked over for a moment. His attention quickly returned to Nyx and you turned back to meet Feyre’s beautiful blue eyes. “Exactly.”

Feyre shook her head, a sympathetic look on her face. “She was always so condescending with me, too. It’s because she’s desperate to sleep with that loser.” She pointed a thumb over her shoulder, jokingly but lovingly casting a glance back at Rhysand. She clicked her tongue. “Poor delusions.”

Another laugh left your lips and you nodded, suppressing a grin. “Yeah,” you drawled, “She wasn’t very subtle.”

Feyre raised a brow. “I don’t think subtly is in that limited vocabulary of hers.”

Your eyes drifted to the small interview set, where Ianthe was still standing, talking to someone and sparing regular glances over at Rhysand—a predator about to make her move. It was best for you to leave now, you thought, to avoid watching the inevitable hunt. 

“I should get going,” you said, turning back to Feyre. “I have plans. But, it was so nice seeing you.”

Feyre beamed, putting a hand on your arm. You briefly took in the ink that covered her forearm, the delicate, beautiful tattoos that you always wanted to admire further.  “You too,” she said, “Let’s have lunch soon.”

You nodded, a genuine and pleased motion. Your conversation with Feyre was the first one today that you didn’t have to fake any polite mannerisms. “I’d love to.”

Casting one last glance at Rhysand, you watched as Feyre approached him and put a hand out to Nyx. Rhysand smiled down at her, a soft, familiar look that made your chest tighten with an emotion you didn’t care to examine.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It was 10:00 am when you were called into the production office, a room nestled in a quiet corner of the studio lot. You were tired, having only slept a few hours the night prior, and you could feel life slowly dripping back into you with each sip of coffee. The area was relatively private, shielded from the prying eyes of paparazzi, so you opted for comfort over glamor, dressed in jeans and a simple hoodie—nice, big, and comfortable.

Helion was usually meticulous about these meetings, ensuring both you and Rhysand were well-prepared and informed ahead of time. This sudden summons felt off. You didn’t know what to expect, and that uncertainty weighed heavily on your mind as you pushed open the door to the conference room.

Rhysand was already in the room when you arrived, effortlessly lounging in a chair with the kind of put-together look that only seemed to accentuate your own disheveled state. It made you hate him even more. You didn’t attempt to hide your scowl. He glanced up as you entered, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Phew, you'd think it was a Sunday and you were hungover," he remarked casually, a small smile playing on his lips. 

You shot him a pointed glare, resisting the urge to snap back and opting to take the open seat next to him, sitting back to take a sip of your coffee. 

Rhysand leaned over into your space, reaching a hand to tug at the strings of your hoodie with a grin on his lips. You swatted his hand away with a deepening scowl. "Cut it out."

He chuckled lightly, settling back into his chair. "So, what do you think this is about?" 

“No idea,” you sighed, crossing your arms defensively. You gave him a pointed glare. “What did you do?”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow. “And why are we automatically assuming I did something?”

“Well when are you not?” You titled your head. “Doing something, I mean.”

Rhysand caught onto the meaning of your words instantly. He narrowed his eyes at you before something crossed his features. Then, he was leaning in again, a smirk on his face as he scanned your own. “Are you feeling a bit left out? You’re always welcome to join.”

You rolled your eyes, letting out a scoff of disgust as you maneuvered yourself to lean farther away from him. “You’re shameless.”

The door clicked open, and your attention snapped over as Helion entered the room. You began to offer him a smile, but the motion died on your lips as you met his gaze. 

You loved Helion— as an executive producer, and the main man regarding your public relations, you’d formed a great relationship with him. It helped that you were best friends with his son, too. But today his typically buoyant air was clouded, his expression wearing the weight of serious deliberation. It was one you could only compare to that of a disappointed father about to deliver bad news. Beside him, Amren followed like a silent storm cloud. 

Amren, on the other hand, was someone you didn’t have a favorable relationship with. She was Rhysand’s personal agent and she excluded the same energy he did— something that tasted a lot like pretentiousness.  Her sharp gaze swept the room, and you instinctively avoided meeting it.

If Amren was here, and Helion was wearing that stern expression, it could only mean trouble. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, a knot of apprehension tightening in your stomach.

You and Rhysand shared a quick, knowing glance, a similar confusion mirrored on both your faces. You straightened yourself as Rhysand offered a disarmingly charming smile. 

"What's going on?" he asked.

Helion exchanged a glance with Amren before sighing heavily. He leaned forward, slapping a piece of paper onto the table and pushing it toward both of you. 

The first thing that caught your eye was the TMZ logo— something that made your stomach drop instinctively. You bit at the inside of your cheek, your eyes repeatedly running over the headline. You looked up through your lashes to meet Helion’s expecting gaze. 

Rhysand's voice was incredulous as he spoke. "Did you... print these out?" 

You casted a quick glance of disbelief at him. Idiot. He paid no mind. 

Helion ignored the comment, taking a seat across from you as he leaned back, crossing his arms. He gave a nod towards the two copies before you. “Go ahead. Read," he instructed calmly, his expression grave. The tone alone made you shiver from its unfamiliarity. 

You picked up your copy, scanning the bolded headline and the accompanying pictures. 

FAILURE ON SET: HOW AN OVERBEARING CO-STAR FUED IS THREATENING THE VIEWER EXPERIENCE

Ianthe Parcite weighs in on the rumored feud between co-stars Y/N and Rhysand after exclusive interview.

As expected, the large printed image was a glamor shot of Rhysand and one of the interview set. You were nowhere to be found. Your grip on the edges of the paper tightened as you began to read the article.

In an exclusive interview with TMZ, Ianthe Parcite, known for her candid critiques, has taken a stark stance on the alleged feud between Hollywood’s famed co-stars, Y/N L/N and Rhysand Darling. Contrary to initial impressions, Ianthe now reveals that behind the scenes, tensions ran high and professionalism faltered. “I sensed an atmosphere of unease and discontent,” Ianthe remarked, reflecting on her recent encounter with the co-stars. “Y/N appeared dismissive and disengaged during our interview, which is concerning for the show’s dynamics.” Ianthe didn’t hold back in her assessment of Rhysand either, noting his apparent lack of receptiveness to her questions. “Rhysand’s demeanor was noticeably distant, almost unreceptive to any meaningful dialogue,” she disclosed. “It’s unfortunate when personal dynamics overshadow the professionalism required on set.” The revelations have sent shockwaves through the fanbase, with many expressing disappointment over the potential impact on their favorite series. As speculation swirls around the future of the show, fans are left wondering if the rift between Y/N and Rhysand will escalate and if it's worth watching a show doomed for failure. 

You scoffed incredulously, pushing the paper further away from you as if its distance would minimize the anger that simmered underneath your skin. You deeply regretted holding back in the interview— regretted not tearing that pompous bitch into two.

"So she doesn't even include a picture of me and yet I'm the main one she rips into?" 

You found the courage to look around the room, your gaze landing on Helion with pleading eyes. His response was a noncommittal shrug, accompanied by a slight raise of his eyebrows. It was clear he didn't have an easy answer, either.

Running your tongue along your teeth, you shifted your gaze to Rhysand. His jaw clenched as he laid the paper on the table. "It's not even a great photo of me," he remarked dryly, "I'm too pale in it."

Your mouth fell open in exasperation. "Unbelievable," you muttered under your breath.

Rhysand shot you a glare that lingered for a few tense seconds. You matched his gaze evenly before he redirected his attention to Helion and Amren. "This is ridiculous," he asserted, "Did they seriously publish this?

A moment passed. Helion sighed heavily, rubbing his temples in frustration. "Yes. Every tabloid is eating it up.”

You clenched your jaw, feeling every muscle in your body tense with the frustration prickling at your skin. “It wasn't our best interview, sure, but it definitely wasn't that bad," you insisted, tapping a finger down on the offending article.

Amren's gaze flickered toward Rhysand, and you followed it. Rhysand shifted uncomfortably, his expression briefly sheepish before he turned to you with a defensive edge. You narrowed your eyes, tuning to face him properly.

“Did you do something?”

Rhysand rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous.” 

Your mouth fell agape and you let out a deep, angry breath through your nose. “Don’t use that word about me,” you hissed at him.  You pointed emphatically at the paper. "That is ridiculous. And you look like a guilty dog. What did you do?"

"Nothing," he finally muttered, his eyes narrowing in irritation. He shifted in his seat, pulling at the cuffs of his sleeves. 

It was Amren's voice that cut through the tension, her tone cool and calculating. "It's what he didn't do, really," she remarked cryptically, her gaze still lingering on Rhysand.

He shot her a pointed glare and you frowned, your brows furrowing to a tight knit. A faint headache throbbed at your temples. Turning to Helion for clarification, you found him leaning forward, lips pursed in thought. 

"It appears Ianthe was a bit... offended that Rhysand turned down her advances," Helion explained carefully, his words laden with implication.

Your eyes widened in surprise, disbelief coloring your features. "Seriously?" you blurted out, your head twisting to face Rhysand once more, moving with such swiftness that an ache pulled at the muscles of your neck. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Rhysand's eyes widened in response, his expression a mix of offense and confusion. "Excuse me?" he retorted, a hint of incredulity in his voice. "So you have a problem with me when I sleep with people and when I don't?"

Annoyance flared within you. "You flirted with her the entire interview," you accused, your voice raising slightly in pitch. "The one time you decide to take a vow of celibacy and it's with the one name that can tarnish my reputation?”

Rhysand scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Your reputation, of course," he muttered sarcastically. "You're such a hypocrite."

"Your actions reflect on me too, Rhysand," you shot back, "Do you ever think about that?"

He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms with a pinched expression. "Oh, please," he countered, "If you hadn't been sulking and throwing daggers at me the entire interview, I wouldn't have had to flirt with her to salvage it. You should be thanking me."

Your jaw tightened at his words. "Thanking you? Look what happened—"

Before you could finish your retort, Helion slammed his palm down on the table with a sharp crack. You and Rhysand both jumped at the sudden interruption, turning to face him with wide eyes.

"Enough," Helion declared firmly, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Stop bickering like children."

You and Rhysand exchanged a reluctant glance and with a sigh, you sank back into your seat, folding your arms defensively. 

"It'll blow over in a week, right? No big deal," Rhysand said casually, his tone attempting to downplay the severity of the situation. You raised your eyebrows at the suggestion, but as hopeful as it sounded, part of you knew that this was a bigger deal than you both cared to admit.

Helion regarded him with a critical eye, his lips pressed into a thin line. Feeling an itch at your skin, you unfolded your arms. 

"He’s right," you said hopefully, running a hand through your hair. "I mean, rumors of us not being... the best of friends isn't something new. People know this."

Rhysand offered a nod of agreement. “Exactly. It's just tabloid fodder," he said, his gaze shifting between Amren and Helion with a hint of concern.

Leaning slightly on the table, Amren shook her head slightly, her eyes– a color so light they were almost silver— glowed with intensity as they swept over Rhysand and then fixed on you. The heat of her gaze made you swallow and you found yourself tempted to apologize for things you’d never done— confess for crimes you hadn’t committed. But against your instincts, you held her gaze for another lasting moment. Amren seemed to appreciate the stare and she raised an eyebrow of approval before she spoke. 

“It's more than that now," she stated firmly, her voice cutting through the air like a finely sharpened knife. "This isn't just idle gossip anymore. It's becoming off-putting. A few small rumors are funny at first, but now people don't want to watch. It's affecting our ratings."

"We can't afford to lose viewers over this," Helion added, his voice tinged with a sense of urgency you’d never heard. He was stressed— extremely so. He picked at the gold rings that adorned his hands. "The show needs a strong, united front, not two leads sniping at each other in public."

You exchanged a glance with Rhysand. Your mind raced and you settled your gaze on Helion. 

You trusted him. He always had your best interests in mind, and navigating public fallout wasn’t unfamiliar territory for you. This was fine, this was manageable. 

“Okay,” you said, the words directly intended for him.  “What do you want me to do?”

He threw a glance at Amren. 

“Well,” he started, “We need to manage the narrative. The tension between you two is too obvious. Starting with the press tour, we'll need you both to project a good connection. No more sniping or tension in public—it needs to be all smiles and cooperation."

You nodded slowly, digesting his words. Next to you, Rhysand sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. "Are you saying we need to fake being friends?"

The two agents before you shared another glance. You frowned at the exchange, an unsettled feeling brewing in your gut. Helion’s face slowly shifted into one more amused— and you watched as a grin grew on his lips, something suspicious, mischievous even. His eyes gleamed.

“Not just friends," he said, his gaze shifting between you and Rhysand. He looked to Amren one last time, who gave a small nod of approval before he continued, 

"We need you to fake a romance."

You choked on the air in your throat, your heart skipping a beat at his words. You blinked rapidly, gaze darting between Helion and Amren, seeking any sign that this was a joke or a misinterpretation. 

They were messing with you both, surely. This was some joke to make you both apologize, some horrendously unrealistic suggestion that made the idea of you two being simply friends something straight out of paradise.

But their faces were deadly serious— set with a purposeful intent etched into their features. Helion’s grin ate at you. 

Rhysand's laughter broke the tense silence, though it lacked humor as he shook his head in disbelief. His wide eyes met yours, a silent exchange of incredulity passing between you before both of you turned to Helion simultaneously. When no other words were offered to you both, the reality of the suggestion seeped in. 

As if you both registered it at the same time, both you and Rhysand rose swiftly. 

"Absolutely fucking not—" 

"—There is no way in hell I'm—"

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

GUYS IM OBSESSED IM SORRY I CANT. reader is such a hater and i think its so funny, whatever rhys does its just *eye roll* booo he sucks

i loveee them ur honor

if youd like to be added to the LCL! taglist, lmk!! <3

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon 

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124

Rhysand tag list 🫶🏻:

@serrendiipty

[dasnercaret]

(In this moment, you are loved.)

(BECAUSE YOU FORCED THEM TO.)

quote is from fireworks by mitski. details under the cut!

each panel represents a different member of the party! mirabelle waking siffrin up, isabeau trying to save siffrin from the tear, bonnie offering siffrin snacks on the third floor, and odile telling siffrin about her family (siff is holding the paperasse familytale)

there's a subtle color differentiation between all the characters! all of siffrin's family are slightly warmer grays (purplish), and siffrin is more of a deeper blue color. he is separated from their warmth

underlying wish in the background :) something something siffrin at his core something something it's also the wish that deleted the island and what siffrin is missing underpinning all of his memories. something something . Red. something. the universe

siffrin's eye in the first panel is based off this particular sprite from act 5 that just breaks my heart. always. he's so completely and utterly devastated

some very intentional choices made as well about when you get to see siff's eye. that is to say, never

this is HEAVILY based off jamais vu. and by heavily i mean there's a relevant quote from that fic for Every Single Panel

panel 1: [THE TRAVELLER smiles quietly, something splintered in the look of his eye.]

panel 2: [He looks so frightened, when you grab the tear.]

panel 3: So? How are they? / They're really good! Thanks for holding onto the snacks for us!

panel 4: [How wonderful it would be, to come to a place willingly, seeking. Not simply because you had no place to return to. Spat from the mouth of home like fishbones from between teeth.]

and yes, it is following the 'timeline' of jamais vu as well

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 69)

It seemed like the moment Tera got her fangs she became obsessed with using them.

It had been multiple weeks of wrangling her to let things go, to not utterly destroy every blanket, pillow, toy, or random chunks of metal she found. She was like a puppy, using her fangs as an extra hand to feel out the world with her mouth.

Both Uzi's and N's hands were covered in tiny bite marks, Tera would never truly try to bite either of them, but that didn't mean she didn't nibble and knaw at their hands whenever she got the chance, like love bites, only slightly more painful.

It didn't help that Uzi's mood was already on an extremely short emotional fuse. She was constantly tired, her back ached and she was utterly sick of getting sick. More was coming out of her then she was putting in, and yet she was still gaining weight.

Month two of her pregnancy was looking to be a worse rehash of month one, where she was decidedly less worried and emotionally vulnerable and much more pissed beyond measure.

V was also sticking around more.

It was weird.

They lived side by side, so they'd always seen quite a bit of her, even if it was only passing conversation as they went to and from wherever they were going. But now V was inviting herself over. Offering to help with Tera, or asking if she needed oil, or something to eat, or just… being considerate.

Uzi wasn't sure what exactly was going on with her. But V also refused to take no for an answer. So… she was just hanging around, mostly dozing off on the couch or lazily playing with Tera, who's favorite game was now ‘tug of war’.

“Are you gonna tell me why you suddenly want to be here? Or are you just going to keep me guessing?” Uzi finally asked after the third day that week V had miraculously gotten into the apartment without her knowledge.

“Nope.” V hummed back, the ‘p’ popping as she went back to playing with the newly energized solver kit, tugging on a rope toy made for dogs.

Despite V's normal antagonistic behavior, her presence was actually incredibly… welcome.

Taking care of Tera, doing the household chores. And trying to decipher what the hell was up with Doll, before had been no problem. Was starting to get a little difficult, in part because of Tera's new penchant for destruction, but her core felt heavy and sluggish, stuttering as it used quite a bit of power to combine her and N's code together. Her core was even lighter now, becoming a light shade of lavender instead of a deep violet.

And having someone around to help, even if Uzi couldn't decipher the reason why, was not something she was going to complain about.

At this very moment though, she was washing bottles in preparation to refill them, while also replacing the rubber caps, as now they were full of bite marks and rips.

“Sooo where do you get the oil?” V asked, for the first time genuine curiosity in her voice. And Uzi didn't even turn around to answer as she scrubbed the inside of another bottle.

“Uh… the nursery?”

“No. Not the oil you drink, the oil she drinks. N was saying something about her oil needing to be filtered or, whatever.”

“Me?”

“… Do you like… prick yourself?”

“What? No. I have a side pannel that opens… did you not know?” Now Uzi turned to look at her, finding her holding Tera up in the air with one hand, away from the rope toy.

“No. Why should I know? I didn't pay too much attention to who I was killing.” V always had the tone like she didn't care or wasn't interested, but it really wasn't fooling Uzi anymore, if V truly wasn't interested, she wouldn't have asked.

“Yup. Every worker drone has a side panel, has a oil port, a charge port, everything we need to take care of kids. N doesn't have one, we checked. So you probably don't either.” She explained, thankful that it's the last time she'd have to explain this.

“Huh.”

Then there was silence again, Uzi trying to get a particularly stubborn stain off a bottle and going to town at it, growling slightly as if that would help scare it away.

When her head suddenly felt like lead.

She leaned over the sink as the feeling of extreme dizziness washed over her, her core skipping beats as her vison went blurry and her hearing faded into muffled sounds.

She dropped the bottle and it clattered against the floor, bouncing away on the tile. And gripped the side of the sink, feeling herself becoming unsteady as her legs wobbled and her stomach turned exactly once.

Then she began to fall to the side, unable to keep her balance, vison blinking out, bracing to hit the hard floor with what little withering control she had over her body.

Only she never did, something had caught her halfway down, cradling her gently and purring softly, she almost thought it was N, with how gentle they were, but he wouldn't be home for a couple more hours.

When her head stopped spinning and her core went back to its normal tempo, the first thing she felt was the plush texture of the couch, not the cold tile of the floor. And the feeling of a warm hand on her forehead.

And when her eyelights opened, she realized it was V. Holding her head to check her temperature.

What. The Fuck.

“V?”

“Oh good, you're fine.” She immediately removed her hand, but still hovering over her as V looked down at her, looking as blasé as ever.

“Why are you being so nice?”

“Why are you complaining?” V quipped back, putting a hand in her hip as Uzi sat up, and shook the lead from her head.

Uzi sighed, grumbling as she truly, honestly, did not have the energy to argue with V over her weirdness, but she guessed she shouldn't complain, as he had just been saved from hitting the floor.

“Oh whatever, thanks for catching me… I guess.” Uzi went to get back up, but V pushed her back into the couch with a decent amount of force, dropping Tera into Uzi's lap before walking over to the sink herself.

“Mmmhm.” Was all V said, before beginning to finish cleaning out the bottles herself.

With another long-suffering, confused sigh, Uzi took V's previous position of playing tug of war with Tera, letting V do whatever the hell she wanted.

Next->

[goldenshrikecomic]

Hi, I absolutely fell in love with golden shrike the minute that Idiscovered it and I’m always exited for a new chapter, I decided to make two ocs and am now kinda still in the process of making their character design.

So I have a few questions

1. Are fielders all as small as rip for example or is he just schmol

2. Do stonekrovns ‘use’ accessories for example wearing like a deer skull on their head

3. Do stonekrovns also eat other things besides wolves, like rabbits or other small herbivores

4. Doesn’t really have to do anything with my ocs, but do stonekrovn mouths have like territory’s, because in the panel where bone says goodbye to his family gutpull can be seen to the left and cutlass mentioned that his father was from her mouth

Have a good day or night!

Fielders are small, Rip is standard sized. Fielders are based on roe deer so you can check their size.

They do, at least a bit more than grasslanders. The strings on antlers can be used for carrying something (or halv perch?), the other one has tied their halv skull around their leg as an accessory.

I doubt stonekrovns would use deer skull hats because it'd just feed into grasslanders' false tales of deer-eating stonekrovns, but maybe some edgy krovn mouths like to scare.

3. Stonekrovns are meat preferring omnivores. They eat the meat they can find on their mountain, they don't live solely on wolves at all. It's just one of their prey.

4. They have their home territories far from grasslanders. Loudkill and Gutpull have a third sister who lives elsewhere, that's where Cutlass' father is from.

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 1

Masterlist |-| Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18

AO3

Summary: As Frankie reaches the end of her second week at Thorpe Abbotts Airfield, she begins to find her footing among the men of the 100th Bomb Group

Warnings: Excessive alcohol consumption, language

Word Count: 4k

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee

The setting sun cast a golden blanket over Thorpe Abbotts airfield, basking everything in an idyllic, orange glow that was almost beautiful enough to distract from the heady stench of motor oil that lay thick on the air, permeating hair and clothes so thoroughly that anyone who spent even five minutes in the place would carry it with them for the rest of the day.

Frankie Bevan clamped a flashlight tight between her teeth, the narrow beam of light illuminating the underside of the B-17's gun turret as she surveyed it for any cracks or gaps in the glass that could compromise its integrity. The rest of the ground crew had called it a day almost two hours ago, but the Yanks always did prefer to work in the daylight. She was nearing the end of her third year in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force, and after so many nights spent running the airstrips in the darkness for the RAF, Frankie was well accustomed to toiling away into the night.

Thorpe Abbotts was new, and yet much the same. It was only her second week here, compensating for the Americans' manpower shortages. The job was always the same, no matter where she went or what planes she worked on - checks, fixes, refuelling, over and over again - but thus was the nature of a mechanic's job. What she was not yet quite used to was the Americans themselves. Loud and brash and self-assured, Frankie was sometimes glad they worked different hours.

Taking note of a few cracks in the glass panelling, she reached up to swipe the torch from her mouth, offering a satisfied nod as she completed her checks for the night. All that was left was to pin her list of concerns up on the board inside the mechanics' Nissen hut, and then it was off to the pub for her.

Once she changed out of her oil-stained coveralls, that was.

"They're working you like a dog down there on the strip," Georgina, one of Frankie's bunkmates, pointed out, flipping nonchalantly through a magazine as she lounged on her bed.

"Someone's gotta do it," She shrugged, kicking off her coveralls as she rummaged in the shared wardrobe for the correct service uniform. "Some of the mechanics they've brought over are practically kids, not sure I'd trust 'em to fix my plane if I was going up there."

"You'd better show 'em what for, then," George smiled, glancing over as Frankie finished buttoning up her blouse, reaching for the navy blue jacket.

"You coming for drinks?"

"Uh, nah - I'll go tomorrow. Sandra thinks we'll be starting early tomorrow so I wanna get a decent night's sleep."

"Ooh, luxury," Frankie teased, shimmying her shoulders as she made her way to the door of the hut. "Alright, see you later."

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The pub was crammed from door to door as she forced her way inside, the sound of chattering overpowering the music blaring from a radio in the corner. The American invasion of Thorpe Abbotts had well and truly been successful, scarcely a flash of RAF blue visible amongst the sea of khaki as Frankie burrowed her way through the crowds towards the bar.

"Pint of Guinness, please," She called over the din, the bartender offering a friendly nod of affirmation as she felt the crowd behind her push her body further into the edge of the bar.

"There y'are, love," The man nodded, placing the pint glass in front of her as she smiled her thanks, foam lining her top lip as she took her first sip. Frankie barely had time to wipe it away, turning to take a step back from the bar, before another body collided with hers. She gasped as the beer she had so looked forward to sloshed over the rim of the glass, pooling on the floor and staining the front of her uniform, as the other man's drink did the same.

"Woah, careful there!" The man cried, flicking a few stray droplets of spilt beer from his hand onto the floor. A deep frown creased her features as she peered up at him. The soldier was so tall that the tip of her head didn't quite pass his shoulder, and yet the irritation in her expression was so palpable that he took a full step back.

"Oh, that was my fault, was it?" Frankie tutted.

"Well, sweetheart, maybe if you'd been looking where you were going-"

"Maybe if you bloody Yanks gave us some room to breathe in here we wouldn't have a problem!"

There was an easy smile on the man's face that struck her as distinctly annoying. Discarding his now almost empty glass on the bar, the man put up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Look. We're not gonna agree on this, so what d'ya say we settle this with a little friendly competition?"

She raised a brow. "What sort of competition?"

"Uh... how 'bout a drinking contest?"

Frankie let out a guffaw so forceful that the man's confident smile disappeared, and a few nearby airmen turned to watch the scene unfold. "Y'know what? Yeah. You're on."

With a nod, he turned away, marching towards the closest table. "Alright boys, gimme some space, I got a contest to win against half-pint over here."

She approached the table, sitting down opposite the soldier, smirking at his arrogance. The airmen he had kicked out of their seats were lingering to watch the spectacle unfold, and it was clear their bets were on her opponent.

"Now," He sighed, taking a seat. "In the spirit of good sportsmanship, I oughta introduce myself. John Egan," He said, reaching a hand across the table.

"Frances Bevan. Frankie," She nodded, shaking his hand.

Egan nodded. "So, normal rules apply. No spilling, no vomiting, gotta drain the glass. Still wanna do this?"

Frankie nodded firmly. "I'd never pass up such a wonderful opportunity to humble you Yanks," She grinned.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Egan was turning red, his smug smile long since vanished, the motion of his arm slowing as he reached for the next shot glass, glancing across at her with a slightly nauseated expression. The crowd surrounding them had long since grown since they had begun, although how long ago that was she couldn't quite remember. The huge pile of empty shot glasses in the centre of the table did nothing to jog her memory.

"Oh, come on, Egan, you've gotta do better than that," Frankie teased, reaching forward and downing her next shot. In fairness, she too was beginning to feel light-headed, but it never showed on her face, her demeanour as cool and collected as it had been when she first sat down.

"I thought... I thought this would be easy," John complained, grimacing as he brought the next glass to his lips. "You're so small, where are you storing all this liquor?"

"I'm British - pretty sure it's in our bloodstream," She teased. Egan's eyes narrowed as he weakly upturned the contents of his glass into his mouth, screwing up his face as the liquid ran down his throat.

"I really like her," John admitted, letting out a long sigh as he drew a hand over his eyes. A few of the airmen laughed, clapping him over the shoulders.

"I think we're done here," Frankie chuckled.

"You forfeit?" He asked hopefully.

"No, I'm saying you're about to. That or you're gonna throw up - either way, I win."

"Nuh-uh," Egan shook his head. "Not gonna happen," He fought to suppress a burp, and the room seemed to brace itself for the inevitable vomit that would follow, letting out a collective sigh of relief when he swallowed his nausea back down. "...Yeah. Ok."

She clapped, throwing up her hands in victory as a couple of the men standing behind her cheered. "Well, it's been a real pleasure doing business with you Major," Frankie chuckled, fighting through the splitting headache that was growing in her temples as she rose from her seat, offering him a hand to help him stand.

John batted her away, but stumbled as he got up, one of his friends pressing a firm hand on his back to keep him upright. She smiled. "I'll help you get him back since it's my fault. Gotta get back to the huts anyway."

The airman accepted, each of them slinging one of Egan's arms around their shoulders as he tilted haphazardly over to one side, struggling to prop himself up against her due to her height. Trailing towards the door, a few of the men let out celebratory whoops at her as she passed, praising her victory.

"Thanks for the night, gents - I'm here all war," Frankie called over her shoulders, a cheer erupting from the crowd as they dragged Egan sideways out of the door.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was growing difficult to see as they marched John back to the huts, the street lights growing more and more sparse the closer they got to the airfield. "You gotta teach me how to do that," He slurred, tilting his head down towards her, the smell of liquor thick on his breath.

"You gotta get more practice in - you Americans with your 'no alcohol until you're 21' rule never stood a chance, we've just been in the game longer."

"Ah," He nodded, pausing for a moment. "Hey, why'd you call yourself Frankie?"

"Because Frances is a terrible name," She scoffed.

"Can I call you Fran?"

"Only if you want to die."

"Fair enough."

As they reached the end of the row of men's huts, she shrugged his arm off of her shoulders, relinquishing custody of John to the other airman, who thanked her for her help.

"See ya 'round, Shortcake!" Egan called as they trailed away, grinning proudly to himself at the nickname. Frankie scoffed, rolling her eyes and massaging her temples as her headache steadily worsened.

"You look like shit," George whispered as she wandered back into their hut. She had rolled her hair up into pin curls, protected beneath a headscarf, and was reading a copy of Wuthering Heights in the dim light of her bedside lamp.

"Got into a drinking contest with one of the Americans," She shrugged, tossing her beer-stained blouse and jacket into a crumpled heap at the foot of her bed, a reminder to wash them tomorrow.

"Did you win?"

"Of course."

"Shh!" One of the other women hissed from the opposite end of the room, shrouded in the darkness. Frankie pulled a face at her scolding, dragging a brush through the knots in her dark brown hair as George stifled a laugh, discarding her book and turning off the light once her friend had changed and gotten into bed.

It was silent for a while as she lay beneath the blankets, staring up at what would have been the ceiling if not for the complete absence of light. Her alcohol-induced headache thrummed behind her eyes, a constant, dull pain keeping her from sleep.

"George?" She whispered.

"What?"

"Do you have an aspirin?"

The sound of quiet rummaging was audible in the stillness of the hut, and she struggled to suppress a laugh as she felt the tube smack her in the face, a result of Georgina tossing it blindly in the darkness.

"Thank you," She giggled, trying not to gag as she took the pills dry, lying back and waiting for the pain to subside as she thought back on the night's events.

I'm not that short.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The blinding morning sun was unwelcome the next day as Frankie made her way to the airfield from her hut, bike resting against her hip as she made a momentary stop to fix her hair for the day ahead, hair tie held between her teeth as she scooped it into a ponytail. Most of the women she shared the Nissen hut with had left over an hour ago, hurrying to the flight tower in anticipation of the arrival of yet more American pilots, but her job didn't begin until after the planes landed, so fortunately for her, she had been afforded a little more sleep, her headache now more or less dissipated.

A loud honking startled her, the hair tie slipping from her teeth and falling to the floor. As she bent to pick it up, a jeep rolled to a stop in front of her, the horn parping once more.

"Fuck's sake, what?" Frankie muttered, glancing up to see the cheery grin of Major John Egan smiling down at her.

"Mornin'."

"Are you even fit to drive after last night?"

"Fifty-fifty. Hop in, throw your bike in the back."

She frowned as she noticed the pile of bikes already forming in the back of the car, but stacked her on top all the same, sliding into the passenger seat beside him. "Starting a collection?"

"Won them in a bet, night before last. Got one for me and my buddy Buck, he's arriving today."

"Is that Major Cleven?" She asked.

"Sure is," John nodded as the engine roared to life, taking them sailing along the road towards the airstrip, the wind ruining her hair before she even had a chance to finish it.

"So..." He began, swerving slightly to dodge a few maintenance workers on bikes. "Where ya from, Frankie?"

"Stratford."

"I... do not know where that is."

"I didn't expect you to," She chuckled. "Grew up with my dad working his garage, that's what got me into it. Always preferred planes to cars, though."

"You and me both," John nodded, slowing as they neared the landing strip. Up ahead, the flight crew were beginning to disembark, and Frankie's eyes narrowed as she noticed one of the airmen carrying a large dog.

"If they let that dog shit in the plane, I'm not cleaning it up," She stated. "You've heard me say it, that's on the record now."

"Yes ma'am," Egan affirmed, pulling to a stop, a grin spreading across his face as he got close enough to recognise his friends.

As he clambered out of the car, stepping forward to greet his comrades, she climbed out of her seat, wandering around the back of the jeep to disentangle her bike from the pile, tugging it free as the sounds of wind and aeroplane engines overpowered the men's voices.

"Oh, and, uh - This is Frankie Bevan," John called, guiding Cleven towards her, speaking louder so that she could hear. She raised her hand in a somewhat awkward wave, almost dropping her bike on her foot as she hauled it off the back of the jeep. "Best damn mechanic we've got, she's holdin' us together, that's for sure."

"Ma'am," Cleven greeted her with a tilt of his cap.

"He's never seen me work," Frankie shook her head, stepping forward to shake Cleven's hand. "We only met yesterday, he's just being nice in the hopes I won't tell you about how I drank him under the table last night."

John scoffed. "That is not what-" She raised a brow and he stuttered. "Yeah, that - that did happen."

Cleven laughed, squeezing Egan's shoulder. "Well, I'm sure glad he's had someone to keep him humble before I got here. Thank you for your work, ma'am, I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot more of each other soon."

She nodded, grinning at Egan's embarrassment. "How was your flight?"

"Smooth sailin', not sure there'll be anything to fix up this time."

A soldier she had heard John greet as Demarco spoke up from where he was stood, scratching his dog's stomach. "The dog dropped a deuce in the cockpit."

Clicking her fingers, she pointed to Egan. "She's not doing that!" He called, craning his head over his shoulder as Demarco put his hands up in surrender.

"Well, that works wonders," Frankie chuckled, lifting her leg to straddle the seat of her bike. "Now, if all you gents have planned is standing around, I've got work to do."

"Bye Shortcake," John grinned as she pedalled the bicycle into motion, ringing the bell and offering up a middle finger as she left. He chuckled, feeling Cleven clap him over the shoulder again.

"She's interesting... nice," His friend began. "Bucky, I know you're sick of Marge tryna set you up, but she is definitely-"

"She's definitely my friend, Buck. Besides, I could never date a woman with a higher alcohol tolerance than me. That's just embarrassing."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The wind whipped her hair this way and that as Frankie hammered at the pedals, gaining speed faster and faster with each second until the rolling fields beyond the airstrip were little more than a green blur. She'd always loved to cycle, preferably as fast as she possibly could. Her father used to say she should try racing, but his ambition curtailed rather when she got in trouble for almost taking out a couple of tourists outside Shakespeare's birthplace on her way home from school. Besides, she'd never quite had the discipline for sports.

Her breaks squeaked noisily as she rolled to a stop outside the mechanics' Nissen hut, stationed just beyond the main runway. They had been given a single hut for all of their operations, much to the chagrin of many. The back end was an orderly pile of spare parts - buckets of rivets, piles of sheet metal - but someone had supplied them with a table and chairs, and the recent addition of a gas stove and kettle had proved a huge hit.

Ken Lemmons was sat at the table as she wandered in, glancing at the corkboard by the door where she and the others posted notice of anything in need of urgent repair.

"A couple of the guys replaced the glass in the gun turrets earlier - thanks for the shout," Lemmons spoke up.

"Ah, good," Frankie nodded, taking a seat opposite him. As much as she bemoaned her younger, American co-workers, she had grown fond of Ken. He was sipping a cup of coffee, and by the look on his face, he was not enjoying it. She tossed the paper bag containing her lunch onto the table, retrieving a cucumber sandwich - meagre subsistence, and a sight that made the boy frown.

"I think I'd actually murder someone for some Hershey's right about now," He remarked, grimacing as he took another sip of coffee.

"Hey, we make do with what we've got," She shrugged, attempting to devour the sandwich before the cucumber could soak through the thin slices of bread. "I know one of the girls in the Land Army - I darn her jumpers in exchange for a bit of her extra cheese ration."

Lemmons chuckled, leaning back in his seat. "I miss good chocolate. I can't get used to... Cad-berry's?"

"Oh, that's sacrilege," She laughed, tossing a slice of cucumber at him, which stuck to the breast pocket of his coveralls. "If you'd come a couple years ago when they were still making Dairy Milk you'd've thought you'd died and gone to heaven."

"I'll believe it when I see it," He grinned, plucking the slice off of his clothes. There was a pause before he spoke again. "One of the fellas says they're actually taking off later."

Frankie nodded, lifting a hand to cover her mouth as she spoke around her food. "Oh yeah? This gonna be your first proper go at it?"

"Yeah..." Lemmons admitted, looking momentarily nervous. "You?"

She snorted back a laugh. "Nah. I've been in the WAAF nearly four years - moved around a bit, but whether it's Attlebridge or Docking or Thorpe Abbotts, it's all the same gig. You stick with me when the planes start coming back down and you'll be fine."

The corner of his mouth tilted upwards in a smile. "You're gonna babysit me?"

Frankie grinned, standing up to reach across the table and ruffle his curls. "With a cute little face like yours, who could help it?" She teased, laughing as he batted her away.

"Get off, I'm serious," Lemmons chuckled, but the smile never faded from his expression.

Ken's buddy hadn't been wrong, per se, but his fabled mission had come not hours, but days later, with a hammering knock on the door to her hut, the women stirring from their sleep in a wave of disgruntled moans.

"What time is it?" Frankie whined as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, resisting the urge to burrow her head beneath the pillow and block out the relentless knocking outside.

"Four thirty," George groaned, frowning vindictively at her watch as she put it on, as if time itself had caused her personal grievance.

"They're flying today, get ready!" A young male voice bellowed from the other side of the door, clearly too shy to bare his face to a room of half-dressed, irritated women.

"Fuck me, I'm coming," She muttered, brushing her hair with one hand as she buttoned up the front of her coveralls with the other.

"Spot me! How's my lipstick?" George called, and Frankie leant across the bed that separated them to wipe a stray smudge of red away with her thumb.

"All good."

"Right," Her bunkmate huffed. "I'll see you later, yeah?"

"See you later," Frankie affirmed.

"I'll join you for drinks this time if all goes well!" George called over her shoulder as she scurried towards the door.

"I'll hold you to that!" She replied, smiling as she laced up her boots.

The planes left and returned in mere hours, but the in-between had felt never-ending as the ground crew waited in tense anticipation to see how many would return and in what state. Frankie had sent Egan away to the flight tower after his nervous hovering had started to get on her nerves, and she had since spent the last half-hour sitting in the grass beside the runway making daisy chains with a few of the local children as a way to pass the time.

"Frankie! They're comin' in!" She heard Lemmons yell from across the airstrip. Hurriedly sending the children back to their parents as the sound of plane engines grew steadily louder overhead, she scrambled to her feet, grass stains streaking the knees of her coveralls as she jogged over, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as the planes began to descend towards them.

"...10, 11, 12..." Frankie muttered, coming to the slow realisation that many of the men they'd sent away that morning had not returned. But that loss did not negate the importance of the work they had to do now. "Ok, let's go," She patted Lemmons on the shoulder, and they reached for the bikes they had discarded on the ground nearby, pedalling hard towards the landing strip.

From the second they arrived, she was surveying the damage, scanning the planes for the areas that would need the most attention. It was impossible to pick just one.

"There's a reason we go at night," She muttered, so softly no one else could hear over the din of shouts and dying engines. The mechanics weren't emergency staff, but she'd seen a fair few planes come in either on fire, half-collapsed or both over the years, enough to learn it was best to get in as soon as possible.

"Shit," Lemmons huffed beside her, staring up at a huge, jagged hole in the metal of one of the plane's wings.

"Send a couple of the boys back to the hut - tell them to bring a car back with all the sheet metal they can put in it. Oh - and get me a welder!" She called to him, and the young man began barking orders at the other mechanics, the crew erupting to life around the plane as they began to fix the mess that had returned.

"Frankie!" Egan's voice rang from down below as she climbed up onto the top of the plane, marking out the areas of the body that needed replacing. She looked down at him as he yelled again. "You need anything?"

"Nope, we're good here!" Frankie replied, holding up a thumbs-up in case the wind drowned out her voice. Looking down at the work to do below her, it was as if she could map out every fix in her mind, envision every action in order, play it out in her head until the beast was as good as new. She smiled to herself. "This is what I do."

[fandoms--fluff]

Good morning, can you do a Danielle Rose Russell X reader where they are dating, and the reader go support her during ' I was Feeling Epic....Again in Mystic Falls' , She sees her in the crowd and get all shy and happy

All Shy and Pink

Female reader x Danielle Rose Russell (+ Kaylee & Jenny)

Warnings: none, just cuteness

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You cheer with the crowd as the cast of Legacies goes up on the stage. You're sat in the third row from the stage, eyes tracking Danielle's movements as she sits on her chair. She has no idea you flew to Georgia and arrived last night. It's a surprise you planned for her since you've both been so busy and have been missing each other.

The panel starts with a heap of people all lined up neatly, which is a bit surprising, but nice, to ask the cast questions. There's laughter and amusement radiating from the cast and the audience.

You try not to flush too much and to your own amusement, not bust out laughing, when someone gets to the microphone and asks a question about Danielle's girlfriend, which would be you. They've only seen you in a background of a live and a story of Jenny and Kaylee's on behind the scenes of legacies throwback.

Danielle obviously flushed right away at the question. Meanwhile Kaylee and Jenny chuckled, knowing the younger woman's utterly in love and infatuated with you.

You pulled out your phone and recorded her response, saving it for later. Her response was so sweet and you could see the love in her eyes.

"...And she's the best person to be around no matter my mood." She smiles lovesick.

"If you don't believe her, don't worry, we have proof" Jenny raised her eyebrows in encouragement, pointing to herself and Kaylee. "Ooh yeah" Kaylee smirks back at Danielle's embarrassment of her two best friends.

The cast and crowd chuckles at the teasing circle of the three friends.

As the panel goes on, you have a hard time not staring at Danielle, even if she's not the one talking or answering a question. Though at one point your eyes traveled over to Kaylee beside Dani, and your eyes lock.

Kaylee's mouth shaped into an 'o' shape before she smirked, discrettly looking from you to Danielle and back. She asks you with her eyes about confirmation, and you nod back, a smirk playing on your face, mirroring hers.

While Jenny answers a question about her character's wardrobe change during the seasons, Kaylee leans to the side and nudges Danielle in the side. The younger girl looks over to her friend, her eyebrows furrowed together in question.

Though instead of answering, she nodded into the crowd. Skeptically, Danielle turned her gaze into the crowd and searched around for what Kaylee was getting at.

And then her eyes landed on you.

You, her beautiful girlfriend who she had no idea was here.

Her cheeks immediately flushed, and you mouthed 'I love you', making her eyes widen and smile lovestruck.

"Ooh, what's got your attention Ms. Russell?" Jenny puts the focus onto Danielle, noticing the playful smirk on Kaylee's face and the flush on Dani's face turning more concentrated from her question.

"Um..nothing" the younger woman answers, shyness making its way into her voice. "Uh huh," Jenny says all 'serious'.

Before Jenny could probe more at Danielle, and much to the woman's relief the call for the panel ending is said.

They all said goodbye to the crowd and walked down the stairs to behind the stage. They went onto the huge grass field, occupying some of the other cast members from the vampire diaries and the originals and tents for shade containing tables with water for them to stay hydrated. Except for one.

Kaylee stayed behind and waved you over as everyone started standing from their seats to leave from this panel. You nod your head and sling your purse over your shoulder before discreetly walking over to her, hoping no one in the crowd takes notice.

Once you get there she leads you back stage and pulls you into a hug. "Hey Kaylee" you chuckle. "Hi" she pulls away, "Oh my gosh, I missed you so much. Aaand, I'm pretty sure your wifey missed you as well" Kaylee raises her eyebrow multiple times in a row for teasing.

You steer your direction over to where Jenny is grilling your girlfriend for answers to her question that got cut off from the ending of the panel.

"I should probably go save her, huh?" You cross your arms, leaning against Kaylee, who's arm is around your shoulders.

"That's probably a good idea, yeah" Kaylee chuckles and waves you off 'enchantedly' making you playfully roll your eyes and start you short journey over to Dani and Jenny.

"There's gotta be a good reason why you were as pink as bubblegum up there" you hear Jenny say with a teasing smirk.

Before Dani can answer, you bud in, "I think I may know the answer" you say, making them both turn towards you.

"Y/n/n!" Danielle exclaims and runs into your open arms. She hugs you tightly, head nuzzled into the crevice between your shoulder and neck.

"Hey, baby" you wrap your arms around her back, holding her closes to you. "You miss me?" you smile after ten seconds of her in your tight hold.

"Mhm," she nods into your skin, inhaling your floral perfume.

You start to rub one of your hands in circles on her back before looking up to the taller woman in front of you both. "Hey, Jen" You smile.

"Hey! So you're the reason our sweet friend became all shy and pink" Jenny teases, a big smile playing on her face as well.

That made Danielle slacken her grip on you a bit and turns to look up at Jenny. "Shut up" Dani gets all shy again.

"Oh, I'm sure she didn't mean it" You kiss her forehead, and as soon as she looks away, you wink to Jenny.

[cocogum]

The Great Wave - Chapter 3 Review

‼️ SPOILERS FOR THE CHAPTER ‼️

Warning(s): extreme use of foul language.

Aurora is not pregnant.

I don’t believe it for a second, that cow is lying through her teeth. I already mentioned in the second chapter review that she just couldn’t be pregnant because there are three major reasons that easily disprove her claim.

First, it’s the amount of time that passed by. It has been a few months since Season 4 and the manga, around four months to be exact. And yet, Aurora’s stomach appears to be completely flat. How is this possible? Shouldn't there be a visible bump by now?

Second, season 3’s artbook already confirmed that Aurora was a manipulative woman and wanted to reflect it with her design (by having her hair covering one of her eyes) so who’s to say she’s telling the truth right now??

Third, @kilfeur pointed out in this post that if she was pregnant, Armand would not have allowed her to fly high up in the cloudy sky to gain knowledge about the Eliatrope goddess' eliaculus. Armand was already worried about Aurora when she went up, and the thought of her flying high while carrying their future child would have made him refuse the idea entirely, as he feared it could put their unborn child in danger.

So yeah, this skank is clearly lying her ass off just to manipulate the sadidas so that they could take her side. She’s so fucking petty omg I cannot deal with her. And her father is even worse my god wipe that ugly ass smile off your face you fatass.

This man clearly wants power that’s outside his kingdom. He just wants more even if it doesn’t belong to him and it painfully shows because he won’t stop making this fart face.

But it’s okay because as soon as Amalia opens her mouth, he immediately stops looking like a dumbass and immediately FROWNS because he knows she’s spitting FACTS.

And this is the only reason why I loved this moment. Amalia literally put him in his place and shut him up.

Amalia on the first panel: “What right do you return after you have shamelessly abandoned us? The osamodas kingdom, the nations of Bonta, Brakmar, Amakna, Astrub…”

Amalia on the second panel: “We asked you to come help us!”

Amalia on the third panel: “BUT NO ONE CAME! It was the future of the world that was at stake, not just the Sadida Kingdom!!!”

LIKE YES GIRL YES FUCKING DESTROY THIS OLD WASTE OF SPACE!!!

She literally dragged him on the fucking floor with all these facts omg I can’t she’s such a queen I love her so much. 💖💖

But then, instead of just taking it all like a good boy, this old bag of furry bones only had one thing to say and it was:

Osamodas blue cow king: “You give honor to your egocentrism, Amalia…”

Bruh what.

What are you talking about, you crusty old bat?

She drops so many facts and events that happened and this guy’s only comeback is “you’re being selfish 🥺😡”. Like what the fuck was even that???

Dude if you’ve got nothing to say, then don’t say anything but don’t just blurt out the first thing that comes out of your mouth??? Like what??

This is the equivalent of a detective who presented all the proofs that you committed the crime and the only thing you have to say is “your mama”.

Then, as if things couldn’t get any worse for this guy, he says:

Osamodas blue cow king: “My soldiers would have beat these creatures just as efficiently as yours.”

Oh yeah, where were they then, you fucking liar??? The worst part about this is that you didn’t even try hiding the fact that you would’ve been ‘ready’ but you’re so dumb you have no idea how brain-dead that makes you sound right now. You’re saying you could’ve sent your men BUT YOU DIDN’T DO SHIT. WHAT’S WORSE IS THAT YOU KNEW THE SADIDAS NEEDED HELP CUZ UR STUPID DAUGHTER FLED TO GO BACK TO YOU.

Also didn’t you once claim that Armand’s army was weaker than yours but then all of a sudden you’re now saying that your army could’ve beat the necromes like theirs did???

(oh oop- Armand don’t kill him yet 😭)

Bitch doesn’t even know what he’s talking about anymore. I doubt he even knows wtf he’s saying half the time.

Are you dumb???? Are you actually suffering from constipation????

You’re implying that you were free to help and that you knew they needed help. YOU’RE INDIRECTLY SAYING THAT YOU KNEW AND DIDN’T HELP DESPITE HAVING THE TIME TO DO SO.

While the old fart is yapping, Yugo’s face is just so 🫤😑 I’ve been staring at this panel for 2 minutes now and I love how fucking out of it he looks while listening to the cow 😭 Actually, I’m not even sure if he’s listening, I think he’s just hearing him from one ear but it all goes out on the other side. He looks like a god who’s about to squash an annoying ass ant lol

He’s literally like “is this bitch fr?”

Like Yugo is 100% confident to say that the osamodas king had no idea what the hell he was talking about when he thought his troops and he would’ve been able to fight off the necromes.

Yugo: “You have absolutely no idea what we saved you from!”

Yugo’s making that face cuz he knows the king has no clue what he’s barking about. (Also can’t Yugo just use his wakfu sensing abilities to check if Aurora is actually carrying another twelvian?? Or is he not able to do that because an unborn child does not have wakfu yet?) Little blue bro doesn’t know what necromes even are cuz Yugo never told him about them so how the hell was he supposed to know if his men would’ve stood a chance???? No seriously is this cow okay? Why is he talking? Is he talking just for the sake of talking?? Is he that self-conscious that he’ll make up lies on the spot just to protect his image??? The cow king doesn’t even know that the necromes had a leader. Yugo and Amalia are dealing with a fucking grown-ass child omg.

Osamodas blond cow: “I left because I made the promise to my dear Armand.”

This is a lie. Armand never heard of any promise. An analysis conducted by @geekgirles even indicated otherwise, supporting that the claim made by Aurora was fake. According to the analysis, Aurora was more inclined towards her family than her new life with Armand, and the claim that he made any promises to her was baseless. If you wish to read the detailed analysis conducted by @geekgirles on this matter, you can find all of it in this post.

I’ll now explain to you, in my own words, why her bullshit is hot donkey ass. Keep in mind that the whole reason why she left was to protect “the child” aka “the future heir”. As I said before, Aurora couldn’t have promised Armand anything because he knew she still held a bit too much on her osamodas family. From what we’ve seen, Aurora had the time to go back to the Osamodas kingdom to check up on them because of the eliaculus in the skies, had sided with her osamodas family during the meeting with the eliatrope goddess, had tried to marry off Amalia to one of her brothers and cousin, deliberately brought some of her relatives to Armand’s coronation to….stand around, and even keeps her father around in the Sadida kingdom when he should either be ruling his own kingdom or go back to his cave. Armand is not a moron. He knows that she constantly brings her own family to a place that doesn’t need them. So when he’s about to sacrifice his life unbeknownst to Amalia, he tells her this:

“The future is yours.”

Armand had passed the torch to Amalia.

It's worth noting that this is a crucial moment because he chooses not to pass the leadership to his own wife, Aurora. This decision is based on the fact that Aurora is heavily influenced by her family and is unable to make independent choices. At the same time, he also chooses not to give it to someone else who is just as important.

And that is the imaginary baby that Aurora is carrying.

Remember that the baby doesn't exist, and that's an important fact to keep in mind. Armand, who still loves Aurora, doesn't trust her enough to give her the leading role, or any role for that matter, especially not one that involves a child they could potentially have together. Instead, he gave the role to his sister. Aurora knows this and is fully aware that her promise to him was never even a thing. In Armand’s mind, it wouldn't have mattered if she ran away because he never intended to give her a part of the kingdom’s responsibilities in the first place, even though her getting away like that would have hurt his heart.

And Aurora is over here saying that her dad will help her lead the sadidas while she’s pregnant, girl sit your ass down no one called for you. Hoe thought she was in the same group as freaking warriors, shut up. You clearly want your father to rule for a much longer time literally wtf.

Osamodas blond cow: “During my pregnancy, my father will help me lead the kingdom…and I also count on him to train the future heir.”

It's concerning that her explanation might make sense to the sadidas. I'm not sure how she managed it, but that skank made it sound like her father would automatically assist her in ruling the Sadida Kingdom (despite them being Osamodas) since she would be pregnant and without aid due to Armand's demise. And after her baby would be born, her father would train him under his guidance to make him become strong and successful. She made it sound like a simple plan with no problems attached to it. She hasn’t even mentioned if the “baby” was an osamodas or a sadida. She only mentioned the gender, that the baby was a male (in French, when she calls the unborn child “the heir” she says it by using male pronouns).

Hey, Aurora what happens when your lie doesn’t work anymore because your stomach will still stay flat after eight months? You’re gonna tell the people that you swallowed the baby or something? That it fell down? What happens when you can’t keep up with your lie anymore?? Huh? Ever thought about that, you dumb bitch?

I have an idea, Amalia: how about you throw Aurora to the other side of the world and then try to get yourself pregnant by using Yugo so that you can also have a better reason to stay? Or better yet, you can tell her to prove her pregnancy because again, HER STOMACH IS FLATTER THAN A WASHBOARD AFTER ALL THESE MONTHS. Make her suffer from her lie and try to make her work hard for it.

You know when a dog lifts his tail and head up while he’s walking away from something cuz it shows just how sassy and confident they are? I see no difference with this crappy blue cow ‘family’ except that it ain’t cute when they do it.

They just ignored everything Amalia and Yugo said, looked the other way from every proof and situation that they were currently in, and only brought out Aurora’s pregnancy as a trashy uno reverse card, then decided to dip out before blurting out that they were gonna wait NEXT TO ARMAND’S FUCKING TREE GRAVE SO AMALIA CAN PREPARE HER STUFF TO LEAVE.

Osamodas blonde cow: “We are going to pray at Armand’s grave tree, while you make your arrangements.”

The fucking nerve to say that.

I don’t give a shit if she’s crying while saying it, this bitch is supposed to be a professional manipulator.

She and her family have no shame whatsoever. They genuinely thought they did something there. The only thing they had as “leverage” against Amalia and Yugo was Aurora’s stupid “pregnancy”. And even if she was actually carrying Armand’s kid (for whatever reason), her reason would still be shit cuz Armand already declared in his final hour that Amalia was going to take his role.

Osamodas blond cow: “Your presence here is no longer desired, sister-in-law. Just do what you’ve always done…Go explore the world!”

Like-

Who are you???

Blond cow had the audacity to exist.

Not only do we know that the royal osamodas family are liars and manipulators, but we also now know that they’re complete dumbasses for even wanting to rule the Sadida kingdom of all kingdoms. The Sadida kingdom is not built like theirs. The Sadida culture and its customs are extremely different and very much the opposite of the Osamodas since these two races are polar opposites. The Sadidas care about plant life while the Osamodas care about wildlife. It would be extremely hard for the osamodas to fully accept a culture that preaches everything that opposes what they preach. Not only that, but the Sadida kingdom is the literal embodiment of nature. If anything tries to hit its source no matter how big or small, then there would be dire consequences to the entire ecosystem of the world. The Tree of Life is such a big deal in fact that Armand even nicknames it “the lungs of this world”.

And to protect it, you not only need to be one with nature, but that also means you need a SADIDA to guard it which is a person that can literally SPEAK FOR THE TREES. Aurora you NEED Amalia, not only because she’s a Sadida, but because she’s also a royal AND has the strongest connection to the tree more than any other sadidas. You’re not just ruling a kingdom, you’re taking care of the world’s core.

And Aurora’s father doesn’t seem to understand that very important detail. When Armand reveals to him that the sadida kingdom keeps getting targeted at all times because it represents the lungs of the world, this fucking dumbass cow thinks that it’s because the sadidas are weak and can’t protect their own home which is why it keeps getting attacked.

Aurora’s father is such an idiot that he doesn’t even understand why the kingdom is so precious when he’s just been TOLD THE ANSWER DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF HIS FUCKING FACE.

At this point, even a iop would get it. BECAUSE THE PERCEDAL FAMILY ACTUALLY UNDERSTOOD THE ASSIGNMENT-

This is why imagining an osamodas ruling the Sadida kingdom is a literal death sentence. Because an osamodas, someone who only takes care of beasts, shouldn’t be able to properly take care of the sacred tree that links every single living plant in the world. For fuck sake, Aurora, why do you think they call it “the Tree of LIFE”?????

If the Tree of Life doesn’t have a proper guardian (aka A FUCKING SADIDA), then it dies. And if it dies, that means the ecosystem dies. Aurora, you dumb blond, let me explain it in osamodas language: if every green that you see outside disappears, that means that your stupid animals won’t be able to properly eat, shit, reproduce, drink, breathe, and live. And yes, Aurora that last one also means that they won’t have a surface to walk on, aka death.

You don’t have a brain because you keep listening to your egocentric manipulative fat father every time he opens his mouth and you keep making constipated decisions without thinking about the later outcomes because you think you’re in control of the situation.

The only thing you can do, and I’m being generous here by giving you a “talent”, is to shut the fuck up and sit there looking pretty. You did a good job doing that in Season 4 and I want you to do that again. And while you’re at it, go make me a sandwi-

Not only does Aurora need Amalia, the sadida who has the strongest link to the Tree of Life, but the Osamodas king also needs Yugo. I’m not sure why these blue people didn’t catch the fact that there’s a gigantic ass necrome dragon that’s only been PARALYZED and is currently standing in the fucking Sadida Kingdom’s backyard. The dragon is very easy to spot and the only reason why Yugo still keeps the eliatrope dofus on him at all times is to prepare himself for when the dragon gets out of this state. Because yes, Armand did beat him, but he didn’t kill him. Again, you are not able to kill a necrome. If the royal Osamodas family somehow takes hold of the Sadida kingdom, how the fuck are they gonna beat a fucking dragon, one of the most powerful fucking entities of this world who also had been necrofied to NEVER FUCKING DIE??? The osamodas cow king never saw a necrome, never beat a necrome, doesn’t know how it became a necrome, and doesn’t know where it comes from. Since he doesn’t know shit about the necromes, how is he gonna be able to fight a fucking necrome DRAGON?????

Sweeties, do you get it now?

Staying in the Sadida kingdom isn’t for power-hungry clowns. Staying in the Sadida kingdom means that you’ve gambled with your life more than once and you know the taste of adventure and combat. Staying there means knowing that your life can be taken away from you by either the enemies who try to take the literal lungs of the world, or the paralyzed undead dragon who can wake up at any time if he simply wanted to.

You bozos NEED Yugo and Amalia to the point where you can’t even be the ones to stay there, let alone own the place. You can’t stay there because there is so much to keep guard of, to be aware of, and to be ready for. The sadidas have practiced this dance for centuries now and they’ll keep doing it even harder because of an additional menace that is living on their grounds, the dragon being that very threat. Now, not only do the sadidas have to be vigilant of the outside, but they also have to be vigilant of the inside.

So yeah, the royal osamodas are a goofy ass family and I hate the circus.

(i love how the French commentaries on Allskreen and the Krosmoz app are clowning this family lol everyone understood the assignment)

[chuthulhu-reads]

[ID: five panels from Dungeon Meshi, three from the end of the first arc and two from the final chapter. The first panel shows Falin looking at Laios' sword, and Laois noticing her looking. In the second panel, they're in the same pose, Falin looking up at Laois and asking, "What do they taste like?" Laois is smiling and saying, "Want to eat it?" In the third panel, Falin is smiling and waving her fists in the air in excitement, saying, "Yes! Yes I do!" Laois is also smiling. In the foreground, Marcille's face is shadowed, but we can see her looking to the heavens with tears in her eyes and a mournful expression.

In the first of the two panels from the final chapter, Falin is smiling brightly, the background full of lights emanating from her head. Her eyes are open wide and her mouth is open enough to show her fangs. The second panel shows a number of items sitting on a shelf, including books, scrolls, and Laois' chimera-skin cloak. In front of the shelves are Laois' breastplate and sword Kensuke. From off-panel, Falin is saying, "Let's see... first, I want to try the living armour!" From off-panel, someone replies, "Huh?! You want to start with that?!" A narration box at the bottom says, "And thus..." End ID.]

I love this callback, it's cute and funny and also proves that Falin shares her brother's interests. In the backstory, the reason Laois started distancing himself from other people wasn't because they treated him as weird, but because people rejected Falin for her abilities, even though Falin never did anything bad with them and saved Laois' life the first time her powers manifested. Laois will literally go to hell to fetch his little sister home, and Falin thinks her big brother is just the coolest guy and is super excited to share in his hobbies. I'm so normal about them <3

[dwtdog]

fem dnf week day 5 🎶

“No,” George says, crossing her arms. It’s certainly not a first for her to be shooting down her management’s ideas- but she all but spits it this time, a sharp contrast to her usual cool indifference. “No way in hell.”

Her manager gives her a pained smile, the fight already draining from his eyes, and George relaxes incrementally. 

Until someone new enters the room. George glares at her, turning fully in her chair to do so. Her manager’s office is small enough as it is, and a third person coming in is far from comfortable. Especially when that third person is the head of her label.

“George, “ she greets pleasantly, holding out her hand for George to shake. George does so, but only begrudgingly. “I take it you’ve heard the plan?” she tilts her head toward George’s manager, effectively kicking the man out of his own damn office. George can’t help but be a little impressed by the ballsiness of it all. 

But that doesn’t mean she likes this plan. “I heard. And I’m not doing it,” George says, uncrossing her arms and relaxing back in her chair, even as she has to make a conscious effort to not grit her teeth.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the lady- Tiffany, damn it- says. “But we’ve already sent the contract to our other artist, and she’s been advised to sign it. As I am advising you to do the same.” “Well I assume she’ll say no, so this doesn’t really matter,” George responds. “Thank you for your time and all that, but I’ve got rehearsals-”

“She signed the contract,” Tiffany cuts her off, her smile entirely plastic. “And I am assured that she will be fine with you doing the same.”

George blinks at her, entirely taken aback. “She- What the hell do you have over her?” She cringes as soon as the words are out of her mouth, but Tiffany only laughs.

“It’s a good deal, for both of you,” she explains, like George isn’t getting it. “I know you two have had some difficulties-”

“That’s putting it lightly,” George grumbles.

“-But this will help her PR. And it’ll get you some added attention, just in time for the tour and the album drop. And the label would appreciate if you two could be more cordial to each other, both in public and private,” Tiffany says the whole thing like it’s a matter of fact, like George’s fate has already been decided. And, she supposes with a sinking feeling in her stomach, that it has.

--

“Dream.”

“George.”

“Great to… See you. Here. In my studio,” George grits out, gripping the thumb of her left hand in the palm of her right. Dream appears similarly uncomfortable, as she continuously brushes her hair out of her face, shifting on her feet. “Make yourself comfortable,” George adds, throwing her arm out to gesture to the small space. “Probably smaller than you’re used to.”

Dream grimaces, but takes the chair in the corner. George’s favorite. The bastard.

“It’s cozy in here,” Dream says, and George glares. “What? It is.”

“You can just say it sucks,” she says as she flops down in one of the other chairs, mourning the loss of her favorite one. Surely she’ll have to burn it now. 

“You think you’re own studio- that you had the final say on designing- sucks?” Dream asks with a raised eyebrow. “That’s- interesting.”

George snorts. “No, I fucking love this place. But I’ve seen the studio they’ve got you in. This shit looks like a damn barn compared to that.”

“Why are you-” Dream starts, cutting herself off with a shake of her head. “Whatever. Moving on. How the hell are we going to make this work?”

“We’re not,” George says, wriggling so she can pull a stick of gum from her pocket and pop it in her mouth. “We’re going to tell them to fuck off. Find a loop hole in the contract. Make them regret it, if we have to.”

Next door, there’s a loud banging of drums, followed by muffled chatter. George doesn’t react, but Dream frowns, looking at the meager sound panels in the studio and the wall the noise is coming from. “Uh, no, sorry. I can’t- I need this. I need to do this.”

“You want to PR date me?” George is standing, before she even realizes she’s moved. “That’s- That’s so- You’re so- What the fuck?”

“Listen,” Dream waves her hands, motioning for George to sit back down. George does, but she hates it. “Let me be clear. It was not my idea.”

“Okay,” George growls. “But you agreed to it. You want to follow through.”

“I do,” Dream says, nodding. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this- I think we could have done something else, but the label is really pressuring me to clean up my look. And this was their solution.”

George flinches. It hurts, to be dismissed like this. To have her feelings dismissed by her employer, her coworker- who she hates, admittedly- all for the sake of a relationship that half the damn world will be able to see through. She says as much, leaving out the bit about her feelings being hurt. She doesn't think Dream would give a single shit about how she feels when her precious career is on the line. 

“It’ll work,” Dream says, with an unearned amount of conviction. “People- People want it. They’ll overlook the obvious PR move. Trust me George, when I was unsigned, marketing was my thing.”

“Dream. This isn’t your fucking Tiktoks. This is the damn music industry. The world.”

“It doesn’t matter, George,” Dream shoots back, raising her voice for the first time. “Don’t you get it? This is my career, my dream on the line. For- For no reason.” the anger drains from her, the last sentence said with the deep sort of sadness that makes George squirm, to hear it coming from Dream- eternally optimistic Dream, friendly, open, kind-hearted Dream. To everyone but her, of course, but she’s had years to get used to that.

“What the hell did you even do? I know you suck at PR but- even I know you’re in deep shit this time,” George asks it to distract herself from the flicker of sympathy growing in her chest. “Was it the- the cheating thing again?”

That gets a startled laugh out of Dream, and she seems to relax a bit. “First of all, don’t say it like that. It wasn’t cheating. Me and him had been broken up for ages, but no one ever seems to listen when I say it.”

“Fair enough,” George says with a shrug. “But this time-?”

“It’s because I cam out,” Dream looks away when she says it, like the wall opposite George has suddenly become very interesting. “The label they- They told me not to do it. Said my music was about a certain experience, and if I came out it would ruin that.” “And you want to go along with their cash grab PR shit?” George asks, astounded. “That- What?”

Dream screws her eyes shut, pressing the heels of her hands into them. “I know. I fucking know. It- It feels like shit. I feel like shit for agreeing to it.”

“And for dragging me into it,” George says sardonically, long past accepting that Dream couldn’t give a rats ass about her. “We all make shitty choices, I can understand that. I guess.”

“Fuck,” Dream breathes. “Fuck, I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Only just now figuring that out?”

“No, shit George, I am so fucking sorry,” when she lifts her head, her eyes are rimmed with red. George’s stomach drops. “I was so caught up in my own shit that I didn’t even think of how this would feel for you and- I’ll get us out of the contract.”

“What?” George yelps, looking at Dream like she’s lost her damn mind. “But you just said-”

“I know,” Dream cuts her off, again. “But I can’t do it if you don’t want to. And I don’t eve know- how I wasn’t thinking about how you would feel. God, I really am sorry.”

“Okay, stop apologizing,” George says. “You can drop the fucking- act. I know you hate me. It’s fine. Look, we can do this damn PR shit.”

“You know I- What?”

“Stop. Whatever. We can fake date or whatever the hell. As much as I hate it, it’ll be good for me. For my fucking album. So fine,” George feels her self-respect diminishing as she says it, but fuck. What the hell else can she do?

“We can?” 

“Yes. Stop asking or I’ll take it back,” George fidgets with the hem of her shirt, fingers aching to hold a guitar, to let her building emotions out in a way that makes sense.

“I- Thank you. But we should really talk about-”

“You two done in here?” a voice calls, before the door to the studio opens. And in walks Tiffany, her usually pomp securely about her. “Dream, you’ve got a photoshoot in half an hour. George, you have a meeting with your producer.”

George nods, holding back every bit of vitriol that crawls at the back of her throat. She’s surprised to realize some of it is on Dream’s behalf- not a feeling she wants to get used to.

“Of course,” Dream says, standing. “Uh- see you around George.”

“Bye baby,” George calls as she’s leaving, taking note of the way the muscles of her lower back twitch, visible due to the cropped shirt she wears. There are worse people to fake date- few as they are- she supposes, as the door shuts with a click.

--

The first week is fine. 

It’s meant to be by design, of course. They can’t just jump straight into a public relationship- they have to lay the groundwork, as George’s manager repeatedly says. 

Groundwork involves being seen leaving the studio together, making appearances at the same party, and liking each others tweets. It’s almost laughable, really, but people do pick up on it.

There’s a whole thread on George’s subreddit by the end of the week, of people discussing the possibility of them being friends. She feels a bit of vindication at the amount of comments pointing out that there’s far more evidence of the two of them disliking each other- an oft shared YouTube video of George walking straight past Dream at an event, Dream shaking hands with everyone in George’s group but Georgem and other various social faux paus they’d made toward each other over the years is posted more than once.

The second week is much the same. George is busy with album prep, and Dream seems to always have a million and one things going on, so they aren’t even seen together that week- but George is told to follow Dream on Instagram, and like some of her older posts. It’s fucking ridiculous, and George has a good laugh at the ensuing thread with her best friend, Gia.

“Can you believe they buy this shit?” she asks as she sips at a flute of champagne, her loft filled with the quiet sounds of music. The loft is one of the few perks of her label- it had been written into her contract, and is far outside of what she’d be able to afford otherwise. “Like, it just seems forced, right?”

Gia laughs. “Oh George, you just wouldn’t get it.”

Things fall apart three weeks in- they’ve got a date.

It’s at a cafe in New York, and both George and Dream are flown out for it- on the private jet, of course. The label couldn’t stand the idea of people picking up on the date being staged- so they can’t be seen before they arrive in New York.

Dream has legitimate reasons for being there- some sort of meet and greet at a record store, but George doesn’t. She asks her manager if she should come up with one, but he tells her its better if it seems like she went to New York just for Dream. Which, in her opinion, makes the whole private jet thing pointless, but what the hell does she know.

Which means Dream and George are stuck on a jet together from LA to New York.

They have plenty of room to sit far apart, to mind their own damn business, but Dream’s manager has other plans. 

“You two have to get to know each other,” she explains. George thinks it’s unfortunate that the woman is stuck with Dream as a client- she’s always liked Sylvee, and her dedication to her work. But she’s quickly becoming an enemy the more she talks. “So. Talk.”

“Isn’t this what first dates are for,” George grumbles, swirling her cup of tea. “The whole- getting to know each other shit.”

“Real first dates,” Dream says cheekily. “Ours is fake.”

“Thanks, captain obvious,” George takes a swig of her tea, hissing when it burns her tongue. “What happened to you being all apologetic?”

“Is that coffee?” Dream asks, distractedly. 

“Uh- No?”

“Oh, good. I don’t think I could fake date someone who likes coffee,” Dream takes a sip of her own drink, blanching after. “Ow.”

“Nice going, genius.”

“I just watch you do the same thing,” Dream protests, taking the lid off her cup and blowing on it like that’ll do shit. 

“Whatever,” George shrugs. “Should have learned from my mistakes.”

They’re silent for a beat after that, and the plane feels uncomfortably small. George wishes, for a moment, that they could just fall from the sky like a puppet with its strings cut. At least that would save her from this damn conversation.

“So uh,” Dream starts, squirming in her seat. “Do you have any hobbies? Besides music, I guess.”

The rest of the flight is spent making awkward small talk- they go back and forth like a tennis match, asking inane questions until they run out. Then they talk about the weather. George wants to die.

When the plane touches down, George is on the verge of collapse. She misses her studio, her apartment, her friends. She hates New York- just because it’s the city that’s causing the current bullshit. She thinks she’d like it under normal circumstances.

Their ride into the city is a nice car, the windows tinted heavily. George claims the front seat, and Dream seems content enough to take the back and stretch her legs across the entire span of it. The driver plays shitty pop- one of Dream’s songs comes on, which makes George laugh- and they make it to their hotel.

George thanks her lucky stars when she gets confirmation that they have separate rooms. She wouldn’t put it past her management to pull some shit, or for some sort of error to make things somehow worse, but she gets the satisfaction of collapsing into her own bed, even if there is a door connecting her room to Dream’s.

--

She gets the whole first day to herself- she has instructions to visit popular places, to let herself be seen, but she can handle that. 

George’s music is relatively niche, so only a few people approach her. She has security, of course, hovering only a few paces behind at all times, but it’s easier to forget they’re there as she wanders Times Square, entirely enamored with it. There’s something about the way everything moves that draws her in, a city that feels entirely alive by its own power. It reminds her of London, in a way, and homesickness makes her chest ache. 

When she returns to the hotel that evening, she can barely make it through her shower before she’s falling asleep, muscles aching from the thousands of steps she’d taken.

She’s awoken by a knock, and a sense of unease falls over her when she realizes that it’s not coming from the door to the hallway. Of course, that unease quickly turns to frustration when she registers who it is that could be knocking at the door connected to Dream’s room. 

“What do you want,” she says when she swings it open, finding Dream’s golden eyes waiting for her. Her hair is different than she’s ever seen it, curly instead of straight, and it’s a bit distracting- only because of the unfamiliarity. 

“Sorry,” Dream says, shuffling her feet. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“So you woke me up,” George deadpans, yawning. Dream does the same after a moment, face twitching in a small smile when it’s over.

“Yeah, sorry. I uh- I thought we could talk. Like- for real.”

It sounds- fucking awful, honestly. George just wants this to be over with. Her opinion of Dream isn’t going to change because she suddenly wants to have a heart to heart. “Did the label put you up to this?”

“No,” Dream answers quickly, shaking her head and making her curls bounce. “This is all me.”

“Will you go away if I say no?” 

“Uh-” Dream bites her lip, and George groans.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with,” she swings the door open, abandoning it to plop down on her bed, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to her chest.

Dream follows after a moment, leaving the door open behind her. She sits next to George on the bed, pulling her legs up and crossing them beneath her.

“So,” George says, drawing the vowel out.

“Right, yeah. Uhm. I’m sorry,” Dream says, eyes downcast.

“For what?” George prompts, the list expanding in her mind. “You can go in alphabetical order, if you want.”

“Uh- For waking you up? For getting you into this mess? For not thinking of your feelings.”

“Good start,” George says with a small nod. “And?”

“And- What?” Dream asks, and the tiny amount of goodwill she’d built up instantly vanishes. 

“Do I need to spell it out?” George grits her teeth, digging her nails into the pillowcase. “Because I don’t think I should have to.”

Dream finally meets her eyes, and her expression is- conflicting. It’s all confusion, furrowed eyebrows and a tilted head, lips quirked, eyes wide. “I really have no idea, I’m- sorry, I guess. That I don’t know what I’m sorry for.”

George snorts. “Fine. Say I believe you. Say I said that the reason you should be apologizing is how you’ve treated me since the start. Like I’m nothing. Like because you got signed so quick, blew up so fast, you’re better than me. I’d say hey, that kind of really fucking hurt- hurts.”

The silence that falls over them after that is one George isn’t used to. The sounds of the city are entirely shut out by soundproofed walls, and Dream’s breathing is unsteady, billowing to fill the room in the absence of anything else. 

“But you have ‘no idea’ about any of that, so. Not sure how you could apologize,” George adds, because she can. Because it feels fucking good, to get this shit off her chest.

But then something in Dream’s demeanor changes. Her face rapidly shifts from confusion to retaliatory anger, eyes going from wide to narrow. 

“That is not fair,” she says, and her voice breaks a bit on the last word. “I- You treated me like shit first!”

And now it’s George’s turn to blink, searching Dream’s face and realizing that she completely believes what she’s saying. 

George’s first instinct is to deny, to tell Dream that she’s wrong. But Dream holds up a hand when she opens her mouth.

“Wait. Just- wait. Okay. Can you- tell me. What you think happened between us? From the beginning,” Dream says it with more authority than George has ever heard from her, and it should piss her off- but in the moment, it feels good to have guidance. So she talks.

“The first time we met. You ignored me. It was that fucking- party. The one the label through for you. I came up to say congratulations or whatever, and you- You totally blew me off!”

“Okay,” Dream says, nodding. “Okay, that does seem pretty shitty of me. But that wasn’t the first time we met,” she says it with all the finality of a falling gavel, the lynchpin in her defense. And George- Is lost. 

“Uhm- Yes it was? I would have remembered meeting you,” she blushes as soon as the words are out of her mouth, which is fucking stupid. Because, sure, Dream is objectively her type. To the damn tee. And she sings. Well, as much as George is loathe to admit. “I mean- Whatever.”

“Oh,” Dream says, and it’s an oh sort of oh. George is blushing still. “Uh- Okay. But we met way before that.”

“When,” George demands, leaning forward. “Just fucking- tell me.”

“At a party. New Years? I think? You were siting at the bar and I thought, fuck it, we’re both in the same industry now, it’s as good a time as any to shoot my shot,” Dream explains in a rush, like George will stop her. “And you weren’t into me. Totally fine, obviously. But when you were at my signing party- I just felt so damn awkward. I didn’t know how to talk to you so I just- didn’t. And I am sorry for that.”

“You- What? Asked me out?” George asks, the puzzle pieces floating in her head, waiting to fall into place. 

“Just for drinks. If you wanted one, I mean.”

“And I- said no? To you?”

Dream taps her fingers against the comforter. “You hardly looked at me. It was like- I didn’t exist,” she huffs out a laugh. “Ironic, I guess.”

“Oh fuck,” George groans, dropping her head into her hands. “I’m an idiot.”

“So am I,” Dream offers. “I probably could have just- been normal, at my party. But I couldn’t be, so you thought I hated you. And then I thought you hated me. Mostly because you were always so- standoffish.”

“It hurt,” George admits, curling in on herself. “To see how fucking nice you were to everyone else, and you could never even look at me. So I built this image up in my head, of you like- hating me. Thinking you were better than me.”

Dream laughs, short and sharp. “I uh- went to your first ever official show. If that means anything.”

“In that shitty venue with half the lights broken?” George asks, entirely taken aback. “That was- I wasn’t even signed yet.”

“I know,” Dream snorts. “It was so- I think that was my sexual awakening, honestly. Your voice and the way you sang-”

“Dream,” George gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. “You’re- You’re Claire.”

“You remember me?” 

“Fucking- Yes. Oh my god. Holy shit. You came to like, half of my shows,” George wants to slap herself. It all makes sense now- she can see it now, Dream with her hair in its natural curls, looking so similar to George’s memory of the girl who had been barricade at her first few shows.

The rest of the night slips away- Dream and George talk until the sun comes up, about how Dream had found George’s music, about the label, everything. 

George thinks she’s a new person under the morning sun. And she can see Dream for who she really is- and she doesn’t think she’ll forget again anytime soon.

--

The fourth week is George’s favorite. The rumors are in full force, after their very public New York date. George is kind of floored by just how famous Dream is- she knew objectively, of course, but experiencing it is a whole new beast.

But none of that is what makes her love that week. It’s something that’s entirely private, kept from the newly prying eyes of the public, from the greedy hands of their label.

It’s a night spent in George’s loft, Dream sneaking in through the fire escape. It’s barely restrained giggles and shared drinks, small touches and and closing space.

It’s George’s couch, and Dream’s hand on her waist, and the sound of the city around them. It’s stories of Dream’s family, of George’s love for London.

It’s a moment of quiet, a break in the conversation. It’s George leaning in, and Dream gasping softly into her mouth, lips impossibly plush against hers. It’s hands and lips and noses brushing, kisses that drag on and on until their horizontal on the couch, George’s hands holding her over Dream, Dream’s hands in her hair. It’s the promise of more, as they fall asleep tangled together right on the couch.

And it’s giggling together as they read the tabloids and the Reddit posts, as George’s manager sends her articles about getting along with people you dislike. It’s everything.

--

George loses count of the weeks. She asks Dream out during one of them, to be her girlfriend. She releases her album in another, with a song featuring Dream charting higher than anything else she’s released. 

(People ask, often, if she’s bitter about it. ‘Why would I be?’ She says. ‘My girlfriend is the best- but I wrote the damn thing’)

Her tour is in one of the weeks after. It sells out, and they get frozen fruit to celebrate. And somehow, during her first show, there’s a beautiful girl watching her, cheering her on.

And at her last show, she pulls Dream on stage, grins wolfishly at the cameras. Mine, she thinks, when she kisses her under the lights.

[healerfromhell]

On The Night Nurse

hi dead boy detectives fandom, i’m here to give you the tea on the night nurse because i cannot watch her incredible lore get overlooked any longer. this post was initially a thread on my twitter but i wanted to cross post :3

long post under the cut

DOOM PATROL

we first see this iteration of the night nurse in what ruth described as a “backdoor pilot” in s3e3 of doom patrol. she’s only on screen for 3 minutes but in that time there’s an insane amount of implications in terms of her abilities.

she’s shown to have telekinesis, as well as shifting her appearance into a more “demonic” form, including her mouth seemingly splitting in half. finally, as the doom patrol escapes, she projectile vomits acid onto them which later turns them into living-dead style zombies!

it’s up for debate whether or not this is canon to the dead boys show, HOWEVER, in terms of asa herself we’re not given any reason to believe she isn’t functionally the same, even if this IS an alternate universe.

as such, it is likely that the night nurse possesses these abilities in dbd and we simply haven’t seen them yet. furthermore, she’s already canonically an “eternal, trans-dimensional being”, so while this is a different universe, it could potentially be a single, dimension-hoping night nurse.....

COMIC HISTORY

here’s where we get into the good stuff. it’s pretty much agreed upon that the night nurse is an adaptation of the comic character “nightmare nurse”, also known as asa the healer. she’s a demon of an unknown age and she’s absolutely delicious as a character.

asa first appears in the phantom stranger, but she’s most notably present in justice league dark. during this it’s explicitly stated that john constantine is her ex-boyfriend and that she’s sapphic! let's go through some of the most important connections we get from these comics.

Constantine

we see her make several references to her history with constantine, but she’s also pretty loud about how her priorities are, first and foremost, her job, as you can see here, which i think ties in nicely to her pendanticism in dbd — all she wants to do is her job.

Zatanna

here are a few panels in which she hits on zatanna, then kisses her, then says she’s a much better kisser than constantine. girl kisser asa you’ll always be famous.

by the way, that creature with the red eyes? yeah, that's asa. that's her demon form that she appears in after enduring the blackmare curse with constantine.

Alice Winter

it is revealed that asa used to work as a nursemaid for a sickly woman named alice, but eventually she decided to possess alice instead. this is the body we see her in throughout her comic appearances.

however, it turns out asa is the only thing keeping alice alive. when this becomes evident, alice invites asa back into her body for good.

Other Appearances

asa is also seen a few times in other comic runs, i’m just gonna add some of my favourites here.

Suicide Squad

i love her character design here and i think her ability to remove trauma like a cancerous growth is a nice tease at how she can literally go into charles’ head and watch his trauma in dbd

The Phantom Stranger

this is from issue 8 of the phantom stranger and there’s several reasons i love it. firstly, LOOK AT HER.

second, let’s go queer demon who enjoys threesomes! you’re an icon, asa. third, apollo and panacea. oh, apollo and panacea. we’re about to get tinfoil hat-y for this last bit.

FINAL THOUGHTS

so you might’ve noticed, up until this point asa’s mentioned having sworn an oath, but that panel has her outright stating she was actually FORCED into it by the gods. we also get a hint at this in jld, though they don’t explicitly name apollo and panacea.

“asa” quite literally means “healer”. her given name; every time somebody addresses her, they are calling for a healer. that cannot be coincidental. it makes me wonder if she even HAD a name before this oath was forced upon her, or if she was just… a creature. a monster.

perhaps the gods saw fit to name her asa as a means of throwing salt in the wound. not only have they branded her, even her name is a reminder of her new purpose. it gives a lot of weight to the numerous occasions on which she says that she is, no matter what, a healer.

because regardless of where she is, what skin she wears, no matter what… she has that oath, and her name is healer. there’s no escaping that for her. it’s the fundamental core of who she is.

and as a final, final thought i would like to draw attention to this casting because hooooooly shit. perfect.

anyway if anyone cares to see any more of my never-ending thoughts about asa you can find all my head canons on the carrd i have for my rp portrayal or my ao3 where i will no doubt be posting writings about her :3

[rosenotactuallyquartz]

Hii!! I think I saw you asking for more pearlrose comic moments so I can give you a funny one: on issue #33 from 2019 Peridot accidentally gets Pearl hyperfixated on a fictional character in Camp Pining Hearts called Counselor....... Peony (very subtle) 😭 She was all judgy at first but the way her eyes SPARKLED when she saw the character... “I hate this kind of enterta-- pink?? lady?? say no more!!”

JUST LOOK AT HER. Her EYES. Get someone who looks at you the same way Pearl looks at her new beloved blorbo.

I love her so much.

another pearlrose moment from the steven universe comics, issue 33, 2019

thank you so much, i love this. i love pearl saying she was wondering when [penny] was coming back, because penny reminds her of rose. it almost seems like a subtle reference to love like you, but that’s probably just me. i also love pearl’s sassy side, and i love that we got to see that in the comic.

please feel free to send more pearlrose comic moments and i’ll share them here, with an image description ! also, gigi-mari, i think you’re the person who sent me an ask about it’s over, isn’t it. i’m writing a long post that answers another ask right after this, but it includes a part where your question should be answered because it has quotes from creators and everything ! but i am so sorry for the late responses, people. catching up on asks now after just personal things,, but they’re always open and i love asks so much

🩷

[image description: the first image depicts pearl standing in front of amethyst and peridot, who are sitting on a couch in the living room. amethyst says: “yo, pearl! come watch this show with us! this kid looks like he’s gonna blow up!” pearl sits down as the show from peridot’s tablet says, “one more,” and “percy, please!” and amethyst says, “he’s totally gonna hurl,” with pearl adding, “why did he eat all that pie? of course he’s going to be sick.” they all sit around peridot’s tablet, amethyst and peridot with excited expressions and pearl with a disgusted expression.

the second image depicts pearl saying, “i’m afraid i don’t see the appeal of watching a child gorge himself on dessert.” peridot says, “it’s not about that, it’s about campers and…” pearl interrupts her by saying, “wait, who’s that?” peridot says, “that’s counsellor penny.” on the screen is a woman with wavy hair resembling rose, a camp counsellor who says, “great work, everyone!” peridot says, “she’s one of the four supreme leaders of the camp, in charge of watching over everyone from the arts and crafts cabin to the dining hall.” pearl has stars in her eyes and her hand over her mouth, staring in adoration. peridot adds, “in season five, she—” but amethyst cuts her off with, “i like her shorts.”

the third image depicts pearl, suddenly very immersed in the show. the screen says, “i love you, penny! don’t leave the camp!” and penny replies with, “i’m sorry, patrick, but there are campers who need me out there around the world!” pearl says, “she’s so dedicated to her cause!” and peridot says, “according to the camp pining hearts online encyclopedia, she went to be on a season of paw and order, whatever that is.”

the fourth image depicts pearl and peridot watching the show as it’s gotten dark outside. pearl says she was wondering when penny would come back. peridot says, “but…”

the fifth image has pearl, amethyst, and peridot. peridot says, “so much more of the plot and story could be explored if they didn’t waste time on the romance! and it’s not even good romance! it’s all wrong!” and pearl agrees. the next panel has steven watching them as pearl says, “as a show so preoccupation with romance, it can’t seem to recognize how counsellor penny is much too good for a man like patrick. in the final panel, steven is smiling as he watches the three of them talk and laugh together as the show plays. end of image description.]

[peonypaint]

i need him to go to france and to have the worst time possible

the first drawing is way older than the other ones oops full id under the cut

[ ID: five digital drawings of enter from tokumei sentai gobusters. the first drawing shows enter standing in front of a blurry starbucks with a disgusted expression on his face, we only see enter from the chest up as he looks into the camera. the text below says "the face in the corner is me being disgusted that there is a starbucks in the louvre". the second drawing shows a thumbnail of a youtube video where enter is standing on a busy street with blurred people walking in the background along with buildings and trees. enter is holding a bag in one hand and a partially eaten croissant in the other hand. he has an unhappy expression on his face, and in front of him is text surrounded by a gold leaf wreath border which reads "really awful". the youtube video title reads "worst croissant in paris" and there is a small icon of a close up of enters face, there is text which also reads "enter. 5 views. 2 months ago." the third drawing is a comic with two panels. panel one shows escape holding her tablet and looking off to the side, she has a thoughtful expression as she says, "if paris is the city of love, then whats the city of hate?" near her tablet is a bubble which says "calling" with a small drawing of enters face. panel two shows enter standing against a railing with buildings behind him, holding his laptop with a tired expression as he says, "also paris" below the speech bubble is smaller text which reads "dont ever come here". next to the laptop is a corresponding bubble which says "calling" and shows a small drawing of escapes face. the fourth drawing is a five panel comic. panel one shows enter raising a hand to his mouth thoughtfully, saying, "hmm what should i do while im here…" panel two shows enters laptop screen with his hands on the keyboard. the screen reads " things 2 do in paris. catacombs" and the text above says "oh la la". the third panel shows enter standing in a passageway of the catacombs, which is colored in yellow golden tones while the rest of the comic is uncolored. the fourth panel shows a close up of enters face as he says, "wheres the internet connection. oh non non." the last panel shows enter laying face down with his limbs splayed out, an arrow points to him with text that reads "he got lost", the background color is light brown. the fifth drawing shows enter wearing a tshirt over his usual costume which says "i went to paris and all i got was lost in the catacombs" while he frowns. /END ID]

[homestuckreplay]

rose lalonde about NRUB'YIGLITH, SHAMEBEAST KING OF GROTESQUERY: i can fix him

(page 296-306, but also just some general thoughts?)

I'm being so normal about this comic casually dropping the three best characters we've seen so far on three consecutive pages. Fluthlu, Nrub'yiglith and Oglogoth are all sick as hell. They have eyes and mouths in completely normal numbers and positions. Their line of Hot Topic clothes would sell out in minutes. I can feel my bones begin to bubble and crack just thinking about them. I cannot wait for Rose to ill-advisedly summon them.

Page 297 is INCREDIBLE with its tantalizing idea that the strife specibus was briefly a conduit for unfathomable cosmic entities. The red splattered black background is similar to the one on the blood spade page - could be a coincidence, but I have been waiting for that page to get folded back into the story. This moment of temptation combined with TG insisting the strife specibus is a permanent allocation makes me think Rose will allocate the grimoire at some future time, its dark powers able to overcome the specibus' normal rules.

On page 305, we learn that Rose is confused by a page in the grimoire depicting several windows - two fairly standard windows from mass produced public buildings, two fancy stained glass windows, and a third normal looking window that's electronic, and plugs into the wall. But surely an electronic window is just a computer? Like how we're looking at the comic through a browser window, or how the apparatus the Vagabond found (linked from page 271) has a four square pattern reminiscent of a window? And since the page relates to 'summoning practices', does that mean these zoologically dubious creatures can be summoned through a computer? Through Sburb?

I'm back on my psychoanalysis bullshit with Rose but to be fair, she started it. I think the reason she likes to write is because it's so much easier for her to carry herself off as cool and collected in words than any other way. She's mastered hiding her flaws in considered writing but not so much in the moment. Thinking about the authority and certainty in her GameFAQs compared to her 'arghs' in her messages to John. Thinking about her 'I think they are elegant' regarding the tree modus compared to her scattering her prized possessions over the observatory. Thinking about her creative writing journals as unfinished thoughts and Rose as a perfectionist who will show things to people, but only on her terms. The point? Stack modus isn't looking so bad now.

I've also been thinking about Rose being framed as Dark John. This is partly because her panels are literally shaded gray while John's are bright white (I know it's dark where she is, but it still affects the tone of her pages) and partly because of her putting on an act to seem dark and mysterious vs John putting on an act by wearing a CLEVER DISGUISE and having a food fight with his dad but most importantly, John having a favorite monster on his shirt (friendly grinning alien who loves food and helping the people of New York) vs Rose having a favorite monster on her shirt (foul patrician of misery whose mammoth belly gurgle brings the Epoch of Joy to an abrupt end).

Finally, I'm thinking about the Small Scale Adventure and the tiny video game fetch quests John and Rose keep being sent on. In a story of imminent apocalypse via procedurally generated meteors, the fact that Rose's current mission is to go get the backup generator from the yard feels so mundane and so grounded. Something about the tiny parts that make up the whole, the cosmic insignificance but also vital importance of each individual's role in a much bigger system.

Basically, I think Homestuck's good. Pretty cool that it just hit 300 pages, here's to 300 more!

[waratah-moon]

can I request some Eddie x cheerleader reader but she isn’t like the other cheerleaders kinda thing and ahhh

7. Have you seen my sweatshirt? (changed to fit Eddie's wardrobe obvs) I love cheerleader!reader so much she's such a sweetie pie. 🎂 join my birthday week celebration! 🎂 masterlist / send me a message Warning: judgemental '''''friends''''' wc: 1k

Mornings with Eddie were the best. For one thing, Eddie preferred to wake up with the sun, instead of doing the responsible thing and setting an alarm. Every morning light would stream through his bedroom window, illuminating his soft features; his warm arms wrapped around your waist, his mouth slightly open as he slept. You always woke up before him without fail, taking those few minutes to admire him before you woke him up by peppering his face with kisses.

He also insisted on showering together, and he'd made a pretty solid case, saying "it saves time and water, babe." An argument you didn't bother poking holes in as you let him lead you into the shower, taking way more time than was necessary to get clean.

Unfortunately this morning things hadn't gone to plan. You'd still woken up before Eddie, but you'd woken up late.

"Shit, Eddie," you shook his shoulder, pushing the covers back as you jumped out of bed. "We're late."

"No morning kisses?" His eyes were still shut, but he was pouting.

"No time. I'm going to have a shower."

"I'll come," he sat up, slowly blinking the sleep from his eyes.

"Nuh-uh. I don't care what you say, showering together does not save time. You get distracted."

"Not my fault you're distracting," he dropped his head back on the pillow.

"Don't you dare go back to sleep, I'll be out in a few minutes and then it's your turn."

After your shower, Eddie had blocked the bathroom door, refusing to let you pass until you'd given him at least one good kiss. The first kiss hadn't been up to his standards apparently, and neither had the second. He'd finally deemed the third acceptable, letting you back into the bedroom to get changed.

You had a pep rally today, so you didn't have to think about your outfit, one of the few benefits of being a cheerleader. But the weather outside was still cold, and your cheer cardigan wasn't where it normal was; folded neatly with the rest of your uniform. You rummaged through the section of the closet Eddie had put aside for you, finding only a couple of dresses and a pair of track pants, but no cardigan. You didn't even have any of your jackets in the wardrobe.

You grabbed Eddie's leather jacket off the hanger and slipped it on. You had a spare sweater in your locker at school that you could change into once you got there, in the mean time your boyfriend could deal without his favourite accessory.

You'd rummaged up some breakfast, making Eddie some toast to eat the on the drive when he called out from the bedroom.

"Babe, have you seen my jacket?"

"Uh," you started, the leather feeling comfortably heavy against your shoulders. "Yes?"

"Why did that sound like a question?" He stuck his head outside the bedroom door to see you sheepishly buttering toast. "Oh, because you're wearing it."

"Sorry, I was cold and I couldn't find my cheer cardigan."

"'sfine, princess. Looks better on you anyway. You ready to go?"

It turned out that your cheer cardigan was in Eddie's van, but when you started to take off his jacket, Eddie had stopped you. "You'll be warmer in that, plus you look insanely hot."

Eddie's black leather jacket that smelt of tobacco and weed definitely went against your cheer uniform code. But your boyfriend said you looked insanely hot, so you were willing to bend the rules a little.

"What are you wearing?" Jessica asked as you sat down at in your seat for homeroom. She had her cheer cardigan on, her name embroidered neatly on the front panel.

"I couldn't find my cardigan and I was cold," you shrugged, tightening your ponytail.

"Is it your boyfriend's?" You didn't miss the judgemental lilt in her voice.

"You know his name is Eddie. And yes, it is." You were relieved the conversation was cut short when Mrs. Click waltzed into the classroom and began taking attendance.

You were glad when the day came to an end, wanting nothing more than to go back to Eddie's, cuddle up with him on the couch and watch TV. Your day had been filled with lingering stares, whispers, and judgemental questions. But you were used to it, dating Eddie.

The two of you didn't parade your relationship around the school, but your friends knew you were dating him. Not that they didn't question it every chance they got. Sarah Perry had even tried to set you up with one of the basketball players, telling you, "but your relationship isn't that serious. It's just a fling, right?"

That was three months ago, and they still didn't seem to accept that you were happy dating the town freak. You spotted Eddie waiting by his van in the parking lot.

"You should wear my clothes more often, sweetheart," Eddie wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in for a kiss.

"I'm going to have to soon. I'm running out of clothes at your place." You pressed your cheek against his chest, breathing in his scent; it was grounding, standing like this in his arms. "Can we stop by my house on the way home?"

"You sure? I'd love to see you in my Metallica tee-shirt."

You smiled. You would love nothing more than to walk the halls of Hawkins High wearing an outfit that clearly said 'I'm dating Eddie Munson', but part of you wasn't ready for it. "Yeah, I better." But you could always compromise. "But maybe you could help me make a necklace like yours?"

"You want a pick necklace? Turn around." He reached behind his neck, unclasping the chain, and you turned your back to him. "I wanted to buy you a special one, like a silver heart or something cliché, but this is even better." He brushed your hair to one side, clasping the chain around your neck. "Now there's no doubt that you're my girl."

"Was there ever any?"

[bcdrawsandwrites]

(Please reblog if you want to, don’t repost. Do not post to Pinterest.)

[ID: A scribbly, four panel comic.

In the first panel, the text at the top reads: “What people think intrusive thoughts are:” An Eevee with a purse slung over his shoulder is walking by and looking at a table with a sign reading “SALE 50% off!” A box with round earrings sits next to the sign. The Eevee is thinking, “Oh, I should totally buy those…”

In the second panel, the Eevee is wearing the earrings, and is holding up a paw with a mock humble smile while saying, “Haha! The intrusive thoughts won!”

In the third panel, the text at the top reads: “What intrusive thoughts ACTUALLY are:” My character, BC, a skeleton lizard, is leaning down and away from a blobby demon. BC has a distressed expression, while the blobby demon grins widely with a mouth full of fangs as he holds a swirling mass out over BC’s head, saying, “HEY! Here’s a graphic, vivid mental image of you doing unspeakably violent things to people you love!” BC cries out, “But I wouldn’t do that!” in protest.

In the fourth panel, the demon looms over BC, who is sitting on the floor and trembling, tears dripping from her eye sockets. The demon says, “TOO BAD!! You’ll NEVER get it out of your head no matter what you do!!” /end ID]

Something triggered my intrusive thoughts and I’ve been suffering for hours now, so I scribbled out this comic to explain how I feel.