#me writing legato: oh no this is hard

[whom-to-kill-whom-to-let-live]

Ah lads, I might have gone off the rails in my desperation for Legato fanfics and ended up writing my own.

[whatever-you-can-give-me]

oo hot takes !!! i think. i think fandom is rlly missing out on not exploring more of the less human aspects of vash, ww & livio & literally anyone who's been experimented on OR is biologically Other. like - yo, zazie the beast??? why are we not talking about them??? they are SO terrifying???? the Potential with how many gaps mr. nightow left..... also this whole ... softification ... of many characters resulting in people fr missing how absolutely horrifying vash can be to be around and how terrified wolfwood was of him for a whole while.

oh man, anon, you're definitely trying to get me in trouble. obligatory disclaimer: i don't judge anyone's lighthearted or shippy fanfics, or even have that much of a bone to pick with most popular fanon.

HOWEVER, SINCE YOU ASKED:

vash is so fucking weird. he's so weird. he has this very subtle habit of like, forgetting that humans can have free will and fully-formed opinions about things? like, he assumes he is the highest authority on The Concept Of Conflict because he Knows The Most (and he's Space Jesus Delivered From On High By The Goddess Rem). and it makes him act really weird and patronizing out of 0% malice and 100% mommy issues. (i'm not a japanese speaker so take this with a grain of salt, but he uses the you-pronoun "kimi", which makes him sound 1. old 2. really patronizing. other people who use "kimi" include legato and zazie, for reference)

i can't really speak for what fandom's missing out on, cause i'm having a great time writing wolfwood's ongoing health issues from getting fucked over by the eye of michael into my fics about him. there's a lot to pick at there! i don't begrudge anyone not wanting to get into the whole. child experimentation angle, but there's a lot of real estate there if you're looking.

ZAZIE. oh i had a whole conversation about zazie with some friends the other day. i'd have to do some more research before i post about it, but the tl;dr is that by making zazie conscious and sentient, they exist as a native people of no man's land. which has made me think very hard about the post-canon concept in fanwork of terraforming the planet, because, like, that's their HOUSE, did you ASK them? for the record, i don't think nightow thought about this At All, but i think studio orange definitely has. also i want to write about them but it would need to be very stylistic, because hivemind.

LET WOLFWOOD BE SCARED OF VASH IT'S VERY IMPORTANT. very much hoping s2 keeps the thread from trigun maximum that seeing vash's power in action scared the fucking shit out of wolfwood and he doesn't really get past it for most of the manga. again people can write their fluff i don't begrudge it but i do think wolfwood's character is very informed by the fact that he is very in over his head and very scared.

[deludedfantasy]

Trimax Vol 8 Ch 4-6

Once again, to no one's surprise, I am suffering about Trimax. Also, the last chapter of this volume makes me wanna scream and cry about Wolfwood. Fair warning, this one is a little long, but here goes.

Ch 4

Hang on, I just realized there’s no indication Wolfwood’s working with Home whatsoever. It’s a lot more likely that Home attacked the Ark hoping to either knock it down or somehow get Vash to appear, and Wolfwood used it as his opportunity to attack. Does Home even know Vash is trapped on the Ark?

This also implies that Wolfwood has been just as trapped on the Ark for seven months, watching the world be destroyed while being completely unable to do anything about it and feel guilty about his part in causing it. This is ten times worse than what I originally thought. 

Has…has Legato just been standing in that room, staring at Vash for seven months while controlling him so he doesn’t escape? That’s just so insane and would take so much concentration. Though I don’t know what else I could expect from Legato at this point. He’d do literally anything for Knives. 

“Don’t hesitate,” Wolfwood says. He’s been taught not to hesitate or ask questions, just pull the trigger. But this is the third time that, for whatever reason, he’s pointed a gun at someone and not pulled the trigger. First Knives, then Vash, and now Legato. No matter how necessary he knows the kill is, something holds him back. At the end of the day, he doesn’t want to be a killer, because he always hesitates. 

A battle of wills ensues between Wolfwood, Vash, and Legato. Wolfwood is right, Legato has been concentrating nonstop for over half a year, he can’t control all of them without one of them slipping. I wonder how much Wolfwood turned over this escape plan in his head, all the different possibilities as he waited for his chance to strike. 

Mini Angel arm!!! And Vash is actually able to control it this time!!!

Oh my god, did Legato make Wolfwood shoot himself in the gut? And then Wolfwood just went and casually slung Vash over his shoulder and walked out? The guy has nerves of steel to be able to do that without falling over.

Wolfwood is trying so hard to appeal to something in Livio that would care about the world and not this holy mission the Eye of Michael has indoctrinated into him. But of course, he’s too far gone, and they serve different purposes now. Nightow really likes writing about brothers who drifted apart and created completely opposing ideals. 

Oh no, that’s so much blood. Wolfwood can’t drag both Punisher and Vash around and protect himself. He took all of Livio’s bullets protecting Vash…I don’t like this, I don’t like the implications. 

Chapel is no longer in a wheelchair and dodged Wolfwood’s rocket. The Eye of Michael really doesn’t play around. 

I don’t like this!!! I don’t like this!!! Wolfwood has finally met his match in battle. He can’t fight off Livio and Chapel, and protect himself and Vash. So he chooses to protect Vash. And the other thing is, I can’t tell if he’s shooting to kill or not. Has he already started on final quest for redemption? 

Livio and Wolfwood were once just children together!!! They loved each other and now they’re trying to kill each other!!! But Wolfwood won’t give up just because it hurts or because of what they’ve become!!! He still has people he needs to protect!!!

Oh, oh, Wolfwood’s prayer! Every time he prays and shows a moment of faith, I break down a little. And this one is so vulnerable! He just wants a measure of forgiveness, to be someone different, someone better. He did horrible things to protect the people he loved and he became a monster to do it. He doesn’t think he can ever be forgiven but he’s asking anyway.

And then!! AND THEN!! Vash answers his prayer. This literal angel says, “Yes, you do. I believe you deserve to be saved.” And he uses his wings to shield him!! I’m gonna go curl up into a ball and cry.

Wait, I thought he was saying this prayer in his head. But Vash answers him out loud. Unless Vash can somehow hear his thoughts?

Also, what a beautiful spread honestly. Love it when Vash willingly uses the powers that scare him to protect instead of destroy. 

Oh, Vash is very angry. He’s threatening people. We see this so rarely, and we know this means business. After being trapped and tortured for months and nearly watching his friend die to save him, Vash is done. And honestly, Chapel fucking deserves it, I hate that bastard.

Whatever the hell Knives just did was terrifying. That was a lot of power used at such a great distance. How is he keeping this up?

Vash still doesn’t value his own life at all but he’s found his will to fight, because Wolfwood was willing to put himself on the line to save him. Because he cared enough to do the right thing. I’m chewing on glass again, I can’t do this. 

Look at Vash, going just a little feral. He deserves it after everything he’s been through. And he’s using the Angel Arm while fully in control of it and himself to save himself and his friend. I mean, he did mean to use it to shoot Knives but when that avenue closed, he used it to protect instead. 

Hey, Knives, what the hell were those mouths on your weird new Plant body??? That’s freaky as hell.

Ch 5

Omg BABY WOLFWOOD!!!! 

No matter how many times I read or watch what happened to Wolfwood and how he was essentially experimented on, I am always overwhelmed by how horrible it is. Not only did the Eye force him to become someone he wasn’t spiritually, emotionally, and metaphorically, they took away his ability to grow and mature on his own, so he didn’t recognize his own body and neither would anyone who’d known him before.

All of Wolfwood’s betrayals have been in service of protecting the kids from what happened to him. But even as he’s saying this, he’s thinking of Livio. Despite everything he did, he still failed to protect him and that failure haunts him. 

Wolfwood, full of bullets and healing serum in the middle of nowhere after confessing to Vash the worst of his sins: And now it’s nap time. I can’t blame him, dude literally just fell out of an airship and is probably so tired, but the image of it is hilarious. More than it should be after everything Wolfwood just revealed, but Nightow has a talent for unexpected humor. 

Also Vash’s “Don’t die on me!” makes my heart hurt. 

They are so goddamn lucky Wolfwood decided to use Home’s attack on the Ark to rescue Vash because otherwise they’d be stuck in the middle of nowhere, injured with no way to get anywhere. This is why I originally thought Wolfwood was working with them! It’s just too convenient. 

Blankie Vash and Wolfwood, my beloved. They deserve to be wrapped up in blankets and be all snuggly more often. 

The most interesting thing we learn from all this is that Knives seems to be losing control of the Plants a bit. He intended to absorb them, but it seems he’s becoming lost in them himself. 

Meryl!!! She never gave up hope that Vash was alive and out there. She found Marlon and got him to make another gun because she believed Vash would come back, and he’d need something to fight with. 

Is Knives accidentally killing the Plants as he uses their powers? Another instance of Knives’s never ending hypocrisy. He condemns humans for using Plants to stay alive, but when it’s for his own goals, it’s a worthy sacrifice. 

Wolfwood is leaving…I don’t like this one bit. (She says knowing exactly where this story is going)

Ch 6

Oooh, a Wolfwood centric story!

This is the first time I’ve seen bird imagery used to represent not pure unfettered freedom, but the burden of it. Constantly having to flap your wings to stay aloft and without any hope of shade from the harsh sun. It’s an interesting way to show Wolfwood’s beliefs about freedom. Mainly, that it’s not all it's cracked up to be. 

Love that Wolfwood just goes, “Yeah, sure, I’m a priest, whatever you say.”

I can’t tell if Wolfwood’s congratulations is sarcastic or sort of sincere. Because the story Maylene tells is pretty messed up. She’s being strong-armed into a marriage in order to protect her family’s livelihood. Wolfwood’s response feels very out of left field, even if it is sarcastic. 

“How does the world look when you are able to choose your own path?” Wolfwood is the wrong person to be asking that question of, Maylene. He has no idea. He’s never had a choice about who was or what he could do. He’s been following orders longer than he’s ever had a modicum of freedom. And the only time he tried to forge his own path by killing Chapel and going after Knives, he ended up caught in a cage yet again. 

Does Wolfwood envy Maylene’s luxurious cage? I think he does. It’s a peaceful life, after all, where you’d get everything you need and not have to worry about the rest. It’s interesting that Wolfwood would prefer a luxurious cage over what he currently has, because in my opinion, he’s just trading one kind of cage for another. 

Or maybe I’m reading this wrong and Wolfwood is trying to convince himself that his own life in a cage is okay. And if he convinces someone else of it, he can shore up his own doubts about the life he’s stuck in.

OMG MORE BABY WOLFWOOD. And he’s holding a baby!!! I can’t believe they just foisted a baby on a little kid though. 

Listen, I know Wolfwood was being parentified a little, but he’s so sweet and gentle with baby Maylene. He takes care of her and I think he got attached to her. 

Oh no, he did!!! Look at his face when they’re leaving and Maylene is crying. She’s reaching for him and he’s trying to steel himself against it. He loved that little girl!!!

Hold on, did Wolfwood just…take a beating? He could’ve fought back, but he didn’t. Was he worried that it would make things more difficult for Maylene if he did. 

Also, how does anyone believe he’s still a priest after what he said to Orekano? That guy deserved it, but, man, Wolfwood, that is not how a priest talks. 

There is a price to freedom and not doing what is expected of you. Wolfwood knows that and now so does Maylene. People are dead because she wouldn’t go with Orekano. There are consequences when you make choices and they aren’t always good. That’s what he wants her to see. But his perspective is flawed. Maylene didn’t pull the trigger, Orekano did. You can’t control everything that happens, you can only control yourself and your choices. You can’t protect everyone by doing nothing. Which oddly enough, is something Wolfwood was trying to teach Vash at one point. But he’s not great at following his own philosophy either. 

Side note, I also hate Orekano. What a useless, misogynistic piece of shit. Now that she’s not pure, he doesn’t want her anymore? Better for her to die? I hope Maylene or Wolfwood or someone shoots him. 

THANK YOU WOLFWOOD. THANK YOU PUNISHER. 

I think, more than anything, Wolfwood wanted Maylene to be safe. He wanted her to have a good life. He cared about her, after all. He thinks a life where you fill in the gaps of other people’s lives, where you are someone’s pawn but at least you’re a safe pawn is good enough. Because that’s his own life, and he has to be content with it or what will he do with himself? 

But Maylene wants to be like a bird. She wants to truly be free. The moment where she passes Wolfwood the bird he made her back to him, I think, for just a moment, he remembered how he used to long for that himself when he was younger. Before he was forced into his own cage and made to live with it. 

Idk if the way I’m interpreting this chapter makes any sense at all, but it’s driving me crazy. So much good Wolfwood character study packed into this short incident!!! Very excited to see everyone else’s thoughts on it.

[orcelito]

Oh yeah, I was thinking about that Wolfwood one-shot again. Specifically, the character study exploration of his childhood trauma. It would be a heavy one, but I was thinking... since I'm chapters away from when he's introduced, I wanna maybe write this before I get real into it with him. I Did write him in Sentido, but that was only a little bit and that was all the back in April. I want a better feel for his "voice" before I start writing him longform, since he'll be here for basically the Rest of ITNL (for the most part)

This one-shot would be to Wolfwood what Sentido was to Vash, writing-wise. Aka a little thing to get myself used to getting in his brain. It'd be very useful for writing him properly.

And no, I haven't done this with any of the other characters (besides Vash), but... idk, there's a certain amount of "fuck it, we ball" to writing characters in ITNL. Me studying them and picking up their speech patterns and going "Alright, guess we're doin this!" Not too hard for ones like Meryl and Milly, but VERY hard for ones like Midvalley and Legato... I still am not confident in my Midvalley "voice", but it is what it is.

This is different though. Wolfwood is so important to the overall plot and he will be Very Present, which means I don't wanna get him wrong. If my writing of Midvalley isn't perfect, then like w/e bc he's not nearly as important to the fic as Wolfwood is. Wolfwood though... I need to have him down Solid before writing him in the fic. And Thus. The one shot.

Also though, irrelevant to all of this, I just really wanna write it lol. The rest of it is just incentive to write it sooner rather than later.

[setsuntamew]

Oh my fucking god I have got to stop doing this to myself.

I ran out of time to write a short story for my creative writing workshop this week, so I submitted some poetry I'd written over the past couple months without really thinking too hard about which ones I choose.

And there was this one that I remembered liking and nothing else and I didn't reread it and WOW I SHOULD HAVE because it's a poem that was heavily inspired by Knives/Legato because...I don't know, sometimes I write things and this shit just happens!!! My teacher had me read it aloud, so I sure did realize it as I was reading it and holy god damn shit I have got to stop fucking doing this shit to myself.

Because then I had to hear my teacher + classmates talk about it and you know what? I did a good job! Everything everyone had to say about it was just absolutely on point for the idea of it being something from Legato's point of view and I'll take it, I guess XD Someone called the language "godly" while most of the class agreed that it sounded musical and my teacher said it had "a mysterious arcane undercurrent of acceptance of a relationship that may or may not happen"

And so that was my class tonight!!! I love school :D

[fatedstrands]

4. Favourite thing about roleplaying? 12. Have you any old muses that you’d love to bring back? 15. What do you look for in a rp partner? 24. What about your muse are you most proud of?

4. Favorite thing would have to be the freedom to go BONKERS with ideas and language. I always had books and writing as a sort of escape from the real world, the only thing I could control the flow of. And when you find a good RP partner? Oh man it's just like I presume drug addiction is like. It's just so fucking good I can't get enough. 12. Old muses I'd want to bring back? other than my OC boi that I bring into every damn universe because he's the god of dimension, perhaps my Alex Mercer? I never really got to write him too much but it was fun the dumb little skits I'd make up on my own when I was a teen. More than likely my boi Kiel though. 15. What I look for is heart. You gotta love your character, but also you gotta love the idea of writing, of pushing the boundaries of your muse, of being unafraid to be different. I thrive off that. Take nothinglikegod for example, top notch wolfwood, 10/10 energy, matches what they get as much as they can. The amount of ideas flung around between us, the casual concepts that have developed into full blown goal pickets for us to reach in our stories. It gives be so much energy. Or geraniumshurricane. Best Vash on the market, a full menace to society and if you have an idea, they'll grab at you like a feral animal. They're so eager for fun and hyped for ideas, down for some angst, but also frothing at the mouth for the silly, the goofy, the cute and the downright pure wholesome. So, really I look for the energies, and it all starts with interactions, with DMs is where I figure out where I stay. Thank you for reminding me to make a mains tab (and just yknow finish my revamp I started nearly a week ago rip me). 24. Personally? About my muse? Probably the art. My wife designed my mainverse Nai and Woowoo, but I designed Legato. It's honestly just a merge of the old and the new with a few special twists, but I'd probably say their designs. That and that my Legato is a weird ass fucking pendulum like damn I love him, I have so much fire and energy to write his energetic chaos of love and hatred. I'm eager to write more on his dark verse. If we're not just talking muse but things attached? My special verse tags for my main babies. I work hard on my verse/ship and nsfw tags, I like my goofy memes and my songs that match the vague overarching vibe of the idea for that thing Thank you for asking! Now here's some nachos

[dangcommaannie]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Not necessarily tagged, but I saw @dadvans do this and I wanted to too lol

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

104!

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

453,629, which is way more than I thought!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mainly Haikyuu right now. I used to write a fair amount of Yuri on Ice, Miss Sherlock, Overwatch, and Dream Daddy. I've got some Leverage fics too as well as some one off fics for some other fandoms.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Yes, Professor? (Yuri on Ice)

Bro? (Dream Daddy)

Read Between the Lines (Haikyuu)

Everybody Loves Toshi (Haikyuu)

All In (Haikyuu)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Absolutely! It might take me a minute, and I may read it and forget to respond, but I do try to respond to everything.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hmmm I don't usually do angsty endings, so this was hard. But probably Like We Used To Do (Haikyuu) or Silver Bells and Cockle Shells (Dream Daddy.)

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably To This Ordinary Day (Overwatch.) It's just all fluff.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not usually. I actually only got my first rude comment the other day, which, given how much I've written and for how long, is very good. Good on you, readers!

9. Do you write smut?

Yes, but not well lol

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you have written?

No full fics of crossovers so far, but I've written a few drabbles that had some crossovers when I used to do requests for Miss Sherlock.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know and I can only hope it never happens.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! It's so shocking to me that people want to translate my fics! As a polyglot, I know how hard it is to translate things and it's wild to me that people would pick to translate my fics!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, I have not.

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

You think I, a wild multishipper and rare pair lover, can choose? In this economy?! Nah, but really, if I had to pick, probably yeehan (Overwatch), ushisaku (Haikyuu), ushiten (Haikyuu), ushioi (Haikyuu), and the ot3 (Leverage). There's definitely a trend there lol 😅

15. What is a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oh, no, sorry to my Yuri on Ice fans, but probably Kiss Kiss Katsudon! and Hey Mister DJ. I've had the docs for them sitting around for forever and I want to say that they'll at least get updated someday, I know it is highly unlikely right now. I'll still try, though. I'll still try. 👍

16. What are your writing strengths?

I would hope my characterization is good. I think I do well with dialogue too. I don't plan it, but I do unintentionally write a fair amount of character study that I think are good and I'm pretty sure that stems from me being an English literature major. Even though I have long since graduated, I still can't help but over-analyze and write essays. 😅

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Finishing anything and smut, which are kinda the same thing lol

18. Thoughts of writing dialogue in another language in fics?

I don't think I mind it. I can't recall if I've done it for a fic, but I don't have particularly strong feelings about it, I guess.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Probably Naruto. Quizilla is gone, but I know there are definitely still Naruto and Death Note fics on my FF.

20. Favorite fic you have written?

Time for me to promo some fics I feel deserve more love!

Nah, but really, though, Sleepless (Haikyuu) holds a very special place in my heart as does Yes, Professor? (Yuri on Ice). Neither are perfect, but they are influenced by some aspects of life, so they remain dear to me.

Legato (Haikyuu) was the first fic I wrote for @theorangecourt exchange and it was just way better than I had anticipated. Goshiki Tsutomu's Fool-Proof Step by Step Plan on How to be the Coolest Kid in Town (Haikyuu) was also inspired by my lovely friends in the Orange Court.

a book elegantly bound (Good Omens) was written on a whim and it's the first fic I wrote that got fanart.

Last, but definitely not least, 20 Questions (Haikyuu). I feel like this is one of my most underappreciated fics, and I need people to read it and appreciate it because I absolutely love and adore this fic so much. There is more of me in this than I had planned, but it still remains true to itself as well. I would not want to turn a fic into an actual published work, but if I had to, if someone forced me to, I would choose this one.

Tagging: Whoever wants to do it!

[screechthemighty]

More notes! Please be aware that I could not follow a SINGLE damn fight scene in this manga, especially since I was reading it on a time crunch. This is going to be a recurring thing going forward. It's not Nightow's fault, I can't follow comic fight scenes for shit.

TriMax Notes: Vol. 5

TriMax #5.1: The City, and then the Banquet of the Dogs

Oh shit July Flashbacks!!!

OH. COUNT REVENANT. CONRAD!!! Vash was accused of murdering him!

They were…nice…to him…sobs???

Vash thinking of Meryl and pushing on…sobs…

Still unclear as to who zipped off Zazi’s arm but! Moving on.

TriMax #5.2: [Forgot To Write The Chapter Title LOL]

So…the Gauntlet had his…family? Loved one??

OH it was Gauntlet [who ripped off Zazie’s arm] so Zazie would stay out of it [Note: Seriously I couldn’t follow the action in this part at all]

…WOLFWOOD’S BEEN BLINDED THIS WHOLE TIME???? [Note: See previous bullet point lmao]

“Your only gift is the blessing of the gods of battle, yet you press on, inch by inch, you devil.” -Midvalley, about WW

“Found you, Player” *twirls hair* Soooooo there’s this undertaker

TriMax #5.3: Loss

“Even with your unseeing eyes…instinctively shielding her…how very intriguing!” THAT’S MY MAN

THEY WERE EXPERIMENTING I mean TBH this is just. Slightly less upsetting than TriSTamp now that I think about it.” [Note: I realized like halfway through writing the sentence that experimenting on Vash is just par for the course with Knives's bullshit]

“It’s okay. Just resonate with mine” what the FUCK [Note: I almost feel like this should be a CW but I don’t know how to phrase it. General Knives creepiness????]

“I hate you, Rem. You were the one who made him like this” YELLS

Grinding Millions Knives into the DIRT [Npote: I underlined dirt so hard it’s basically a solid black bar. I hate that man.]

TriMax #5.4: Villain

Oh he’s accidentally psychically feeding his memories to Gantlet and Meryl OH SHIT

Seems to be done through feather touch

WW pointing a gun at MIlly to try and scare her off and she WON’T GO AAHH

“Don’t talk to me about morals. We’ll both get our lips burned.” Okay Mildvalley that was pretty raw I’ll give you that

NO GO AWAY LEGATO

Wow tumblr wasn’t kidding he did not HESITATE to put Midvalley down when he tried to leave again [Note: He was probably looking for an excuse at this point tbh]

TriMax #5.5: Death Deal

OH HELL YES BIBLICALLY ACCURATE VASH

Oh hi New Body Zazie

OH…Legato has both Gauntlet and angle!Vash frozen and somehow his brain hasn’t popped??

This is THE most bonkers Mexican standoff

“Who’s going to play the next card?” IT’S MERYL STRYFE WITH THE STEEL DERRINGER!!!!

Legato you got shot in the face STOP TALKING

“If you cannot even be a pawn, then you die here, too!” -Legato

AND USING MIDVALLEY’S CORPSE TO SHOOT THEM LIKE!!!

Okay damn yeah good timing Elendira he was definitely about to angel arm blast EVERYONE

TriMax #5.6: Let Us Walk the Path to Redemption

“If I save one life, will it be as though I was born alone? Will that life be a good one?” (Vash) YELLS

“All that pent-up energy [is] looking for a way out” So yeah exactly like July in TriStamp

“He saved me. I’m as wicked as ever today. I was about to destroy that which he holds most dear” (Legato) There is. SO much to unpack in those 3 sentences

“The name I have tried to forget…the mistake I have tried to seal away…that which cannot be undone…I must…go on…” (Vash) saves this for the time travel AU…

“I don’t know! How can I know?! But [...] all those lives I extinguished…they were so kind…” (Vash) gnawing!!!

Okay yeah Legato is DEAD SET on killing Vash, and also was being carried by his…weird gimp suit servant until Elendira set in [Note: Again I have questions but I’m not sure I’ll like the answers]

“You…live and suffer. I won’t kill you. I’ll let you go on living, spitting up blood day by day in this shitty world” (Gauntlet) Oof

Vash burying the bodies and then bowing “incorrectly” so he can put more feeling into it ogghh!!!

AND THEN DRAGGING WW TO HELP FIX THE TOWN AAAA

[ashdoesfandomarchieved]

Two Bisexuals Are Your Co-Captains

ao3

“I solved racism,” Mariner says, kicking open the ready room door. This should not be physically possible, as doors have progressed past the need to be opened, and are, in fact, automatic.

Boimler, whose face is currently one with the synthetic wooden desk, gives her a thumbs up but doesn’t move beyond that.

“Okay, I lied, I didn’t solve racism,” Mariner admits. “It’s still a problem in our galaxy. But, I did solve our captain problem!” she tries. This does get Boimler to remove his face from it’s fixture on the desk.

“You did?” he blinks up at her, creases in his face from where it had been smooshed against the hard surface.

Mariner dumps an honest-to-god paper file on his desk. “Check it out, twink.”

Boimler swipes the file, frowning as nothing happens when he taps it. Mariner helps him out, flipping the cover over. “So there’s this really nifty rule back from like 2039 that allows for two acting captains to co-pilot the ship simultaneously.”

“Are you serious?” Boimler groans.

“As Legato Infection,” Mariner confirms. “It was apparently instated for missions where the crew is like. Separated or some shit and need more than one captain coordinating. Because Starfleet was also part of the air force for a while, co-captains were basically just co-pilots. Like this was a whole thing. But it got overwritten with the First Officer Act of 2048 that instated First Officers as a fill in instead of a co-captain, able to make decisions and delegate, but it was never technically outlawed. Meaning…”

“We could technically take advantage of the loophole and-”

“Co-Captains!” Mariner punches the air. “You know what this means?”

Boimler blinks at her blankly. Beckett applauds herself over the alliteration, as she throws an arm over his shoulder. “It’s our ship,” she whispers dramatically, already envisioning the communist flags with selfies of her and Boimler printed on them.

“Or it could just be your ship,” Boimler says, fear in his eyes.

Beckett grabs his collar, dragging him up to eye level. “Our ship.”

________

“Beckett no,” Freeman says flatly. Ever since The Incident--the one where the ship was overrun with the Pakleds that took out the entirety of senior command--she’s been in medbay, wrapped up in so many bandages she looks like a mummy from one of those really old movies Boimler is obsessed with.

“Beckett yes ,” Mariner says, taking a slurp of her cherry limeade slurpee. “You named me First Officer!”

“Then why does Boimler-”

“Ransom also named him First Officer!”

“So your brain jumped to Co-Captains ?” Mariner can’t see her mom’s expression, but from her squinty eyes she’s pretty sure it’s disapproving. “That is the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard of.”

“You can’t call your daughter dumb!” Mariner throws her hands up in the air.

“Mariner, you’re dumb.”

“That’s against parent rules! Everything I do is supposed to be a fucking delight!”

Freeman turns her judgy eyes to Boimler, who had been staring off into the middle distance, probably traumatized by all of the shrieking the mother and daughter duo had been doing since they entered medbay. Whatever, it’s not Mariner’s fault that her mom’s kneejerk reaction to her daughter charging into medbay with a bat'leth and no shirt on was to shriek like a goddamn banshee.

“You know what,” Freeman says, eyes locked on Boimler. “I’m already having a bad fucking week. Go ahead, make it worse I dare you .”

“Uhm-”

“We absolutely will do that,” Beckett promises, crossing her heart.

_____

“ ATTENTION ALL PERSONAL ,” Mariner says, over the ship’s speakers. D’Vana, from her position at the First Officer’s station, gives her a Disappointed Look. Mariner gives her a thumbs up back.

“ DUE TO OUR EXCRUCIATING CIRCUMSTANCES AND THE LACK OF COMMUNICATION BETWEEN YOUR FORMER CAPTAIN AND HER FIRST OFFICER, ENSIGN BOIMLER AND I WILL BE YOUR CO-CAPTAINS TONIGHT. OR FOREVER, WE HAVEN’T DECIDED YET.”

“Mariner, what are you doing?” Boimler says, storming onto the Bridge. Mariner, who had hacked the Bridge speakers to play Demi Lovato’s Confident every time Boimler entered, is pleased to note that nobody had figured out how to turn that off yet. Unfortunately for her, however, Boimler didn’t recognize his girlboss powers, and had been yelling at her every time it happened.

“I’m letting the ship know about our change in command, oh Co-Captain of mine,” Mariner says over the booming bass and Demi Lovato’s dulcet tones. In the corner of her eye, the vulcan side character that everyone thought was a Cool Guy, bopped his head to the music.

Boimler sighs, pressing his palms into his eyes. “So we’re actually doing this?”

“Dude, I already made us friendship jackets. That shit had a no refunds policy.” She pulls a leather jacket that had been draped over their helmsman's head--bad for ship navigation, but good for dramatic effect--and throws it at Boimler. Boimler unfolds the pink monstrosity, sighing deeply at the neon-yellow glitter words Gatekeep Girlboss Gaslight emblazoned on the back.

“Is this really necessary?”

“It’s ABSOLUTELY necessary,” Mariner says, standing up. She turns around, showing Boimler her purple jacket which says Malewife Mansplain Manipulate in snot-green glitter.

“HOW DOES THAT MATCH.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN HOW DOES THAT MATCH.” Her voice echoes strangely, alerting her to the fact that the shipwide comms are still in use. She reaches over, flicking the switch off and turns back to Boimler, hands on her hips. “Is this an anxiety thing again? Do you need to go back on medication?”

“I don’t need to be on meds!”

“Then why won’t you wear our super secret special jackets!”

“Because mine is hot pink and says girlboss on the back!”

Mariner lets out a gasp. “Are you saying... Boimler are you adhering to GENDER ROLES?”

“No-no stop it -”

“You! You of ALL PEOPLE-”

“Mariner, cut it out!”

“LET IT BE KNOWN THAT BRAD BOIMLER IS A-”

Boimler pulls the jacket on so violently that he somehow elbows himself in the eye. The pink really does go with his hair-which Mariner knows for a fact he dyes himself every three weeks. “There! Happy?”

“So so happy.” Mariner hands him a martini from the tray she had brought in and nailed to the arm of the captain’s chair. The one she hands to Boimler has a rainbow umbrella in it. “So, first order of business. I think we need car seats for short people.”

“Excuse me.”

Mariner picks up her own martini glass and takes a chug, choking on the strawberry chunks she had grinded into it a few minutes before Boimler got here. “You know, car seats? That shit you put babies in because cars are a danger to humanity but we keep buying them? I think the shorties on this ship deserve some protection.”

Boimler drains his glass. “Fine, whatever, I don’t even care anymore.”

______

Mariner is commissioning the previously mentioned communist flags with hers and Boimler’s faces printed on them, when Tendi comes into the ready room. She is wearing the face of complete and utter defeat that everyone else had been wearing since the Co-Captains had been instated. Mariner insists it’s because they’re sad that she and Boimler wouldn’t get to be captains forever. Boimler says it’s because everyone’s writing their suicide notes to their familes.

“Mariner, we need to talk,” Tendi says, using the opening line to every break up Mariner’s been a part of and seen on tv. Which is really weird because she didn’t think she and Tendi were in a relationship.

“I’m all ears,” Mariner says, which is a dumb fucking line because clearly she isn’t , but people say that all the time.

“I don’t want to be your First Officer,” Tendi says, crossing her arms. “It was fun for the first week, but after you made it mandatory to do the Macarena during the first ten minutes of each hour, morale has been down.”

“Hmm,” Mariner pets Boimler’s therapy cat, Dishwasher, thoughtfully. “Okay, I’ll make that one optional. Any other requests?”

Tendi sighs. “No,” she admits. “To be honest, the ship is running at 98%, which is the highest any ship in Starfleet has ever run. I think Brad orgasmed when he heard about that.”

“You call him Brad ?” Mariner stares up at her friend, aghast.

“That’s his name?”

“Yeah, and his cat’s name is Dishwasher , but that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to call her that!” Dishwasher growls at her name. Mariner shushes her, hands clamped over her ears. “She turns into a murder-rage machine when you call her by her given name! How do we know Boimler isn’t the same?”

“Because I call him Brad all the time!” Tendi hisses back, throwing her hands up in the air.

“Oh my god, he’s probably serial killing as we speak. I hope you’re ready to talk to the victim’s families and let them know that their loved one’s died because you couldn’t help yourself.”

Tendi stares at Mariner for a full minute. “Resignation,” she reiterates, pointing at Mariner. “I want to be a gross ensign scrubbing the deck again. Nepotism sucks .”

“Fine, you’re demoted. Go enjoy mediocrity.”

“I will.” Tendi storms out, kicking the door shut. Which again, is completely, 100% impossible because it’s the 23rd century or whatever-Mariner’s not keeping count-and automatic doors are now a Thing.

Mariner hacks their speaker systems to play the Wii Shop Channel Music-a reliac of the past only alluded to on private groupchats and servers- to play whenever Tendi entered a room. It’s the least she could do.

______

“As your First Officer,” a reluctant Rutherford says reluctantly, “I am here to remind you that that would be a very bad idea .”

“Rutherford, who’s the boss around here?” Mariner asks, hands on her hips.

Rutherford sighs. “You.”

“And as the boss, who makes all the decisions around here?”

Another sigh. “ You .”

“Then why are you being a killjoy over my decision to get down and dirty with my Co-Captain?”

Rutherford makes a shriek-y noise, like those boys who got their testicles cut off in the old days so they could sing opera. “Mariner, I’m serious, don’t do it .”

“Is it against regulation?”

“No,” Rutherford groans. “You’re both the same rank-”

“So what’s the problem?”

“You can’t sleep with Boimler just because you can!”

“That’s not why I’m going to sleep with Boimler,” Mariner waves him off. “I was sitting on his lap the other day-”

“Oh my god -”

“-in the Captain's chair--ooh we should look into getting another one of those, TWO chairs are better than one--”

“Mariner, to the point please.”

“Oh, yeah, so I’m in his lap and I maay have backed up a little too far and bumped up against-”

“Stop literally stop .”

“Yeah, so turns out Boimler is PACKING and I gotta hop on that train, so to speak.”

“Okay, you know what?” Rutherford shoves his padd at Mariner. “I quit, I can’t do this. I want to be a lower decks ensign again.”

“Wow, you’re like, the seventeenth person this week to quit. Which, coincidentally, is exactly how long I’ve been captain.”

“Yeah, weird coincidence,” Rutherford deadpans.

_____

“I may have fucked up, Mom,” Mariner shrieks, waltzing into medbay with all the grace of a duck pulling off a white bread heist. “I think you should take captaincy back.”

Freeman, who had fully recovered two days ago, but refused to engage in the chaos Mariner was purposely causing on her ship, looks up from where she’s reclining with her long island ice tea and swimwear magazines. “Really now?”

“ Yes . All of my friends hate me and I found out Boimler has purple pubs.”

Freeman almost drops her drink. “ What .”

“Tell me about it. Don’t get me wrong, we’re still fucking, but like. Wow, I thought he dyed everything. Turns out that shit is natural.”

Freeman covers her face with one hand. “No.”

“What?”

“No, you’re keeping the ship.”

“WHAT.”

“I already spoke to your father,” Freeman gives her daughter a shark-like smile. “We agreed that this position of authority has been good for you. And, considering, the ship is running better than any ship in Starfleet since the inception of the Federation, the Admiralty wants you and Boimler to stay on.”

“ WHAT .”

“They think it’s an interesting social experiment that merits more research. Congratulations, you and your fuck-buddy are now ginnypigs.”

___

“I think, as a sign of protest, we should rename the ship,” Mariner says, draped across the desk in the ready room. Boimler, sprawled out all over the desk chair, snorts. The room has been completely revamped in pride flags and the previously mentioned communist flags. Mariner thinks it’s her best interior design work, but Boimler claims it’s an eyesore.

“What would we name it?” he asks, humoring her.

Mariner considers it, taking a swig of vodka. “Okay, hear me out. Q and Picard’s Loveboat.”

Boimler grabs the bottle out of her hand, taking a chug. “You know what? This might as well happen.”

They submit the formal request on Boimler’s padd a few minutes later and are both pleasantly-at least in Mariner’s case-surprised that it goes through. It’s likely that the guy in charge of filtering these requests is either very very bored or very very underpaid and either way Mariner likes his energy.

A few days later, they have Q AND PICARD’S LOVEBOAT stamped across the side of the ship in comic sans-a truly underappreciated font from ye olden days that Mariner dug up one night on the wayback machine.

It takes exactly four weeks for the Admiralty to catch wind of it-by then she and Boimler had been Co-Captains for almost two months-and, well, there isn’t much they can do about it.

She does receive a rather long voicemail from her dad that she promptly deletes. She’s not about that energy.

_____

“Boims, Boims, Boims,” Mariner chants, crawling into his bed. Boimler lets out a shriek as her ice cold toes slide up against his bare thigh.

“So you know how our ship got renamed so easily?” she says, once Boimler had stopped screaming. “Well, I found the dude who approved it. Nice kid, I want his gender. Anyway, looks like my dad is getting a new ship and they're getting someone to christen it.”

“Oh my god,” Boimler says faintly, turning his face into his pillow.

“I may have gotten us on the list of possible people to christen it. As in, the kid hacked the server for me and we're the only people on that list.”

Boimler looks like he's regretting everything ever. He also looks like he's kind of in love with her. Mariner inspires that kind of duality in people. “What are we going to name it?” his voice has a tinge of fear in it that both of them get off on. The kink is strong with this couple.

Mariner grins.

_______

THE DADMIRAL: ACT OF REBELLION OR GENIUS?

Ash H. Beiggs

Many of you may remember the highly criticized decision Starfleet made when instating “Co-Captains” on the starship Q and Picard’s Loveboat ( formally known as the USS CERRITOS). Well, Captains Bradward P. Boimler and Beckett E. Mariner are back with bigger and bolder headlines to make.

The chaotic young duo are renowned Federation-wide not only for running the tightest ship in Starfleet, but for their unorthodox methods. Captain Mariner in particular has been praised for her innovating thinking and usual personality. When asked about her decision to name Admiral Mariner’s ship The Dadmiral she simply claimed that “Mohammad had his mountain, Jesus had his followers and [she] had a molotov cocktail and nothing to lose.” Captain Boimler declined to comment.

The actual christening of The Dadmiral was reported as a “spectacle to behold” by many onlookers. Captain Mariner was seen streaking through the aforementioned ship, with a bottle of vodka in one hand. Her Co-Captain was not far behind her, but was reportably more restrained. The actual christening was completed by Captain Mariner who “yeeted the vodka” into the ships warp core, shouting “ One of us. One of us,” in rapid succession until she was removed by security.

Neither Admiral Mariner or Captain Freeman are available to comment at this time.

[mrsmarlasinger]

Took about three quarters of a 10mg edible...two and a half hours ago? I'm like the marijuana equivalent of lower second plateau right now, with the drowsy planted-in-bed factor of upper second plat. I feel way stupider on weed than dex though. It's very hard to type this, and I keep forgetting every damn little thing. No short-term memory, lads.

There is also a...I forgot what I was going to say. My thoughts feel flowy and slow and languid and...legato. And evanescent. See, I'm not that stupid. Anyway, I only just started listening to music, and...I accidentally moaned when the first song started ("U&ME" by alt-J) :/// I think I prefer music on DXM though. Dreamy, that was the word I was looking for earlier.

Anyway again...I forgot what I was going to say. Um. The body load is better than dex. But my face is a bit numb around my lips and my neck and my back and everything ache so bad. When I move my legs like when I'm crouching or something? It's like I can hyper-feel every part of my calves and knees when I get up, and I can feel the littlest misalignment of my knees and I have to be very careful because I feel like I'm about to dislocate them. Well, I'm just laying in bed right now in my room with a couple of my strings of fairy lights and my color-changing diffuser with some lavender oil in it.

God, I feel stupid. I feel like a goldfish, memory-wise. I had a really bad headache for a minute earlier but it's better now. I can tell I'm experiencing enhanced music appreciation, like as a Side Effect, because I'm hearing music in my head instead of my ears. It's migrated from my earbuds to the little dark room in my head. I am adding in retrospective paragraph breaks every time I've been writing for a while even though no one is gonna read this so it doesn't matter if it's one endless paragraph.

Um. I got the booster shot today. I thought I had COVID (because my mom does) even though the NAAT test was negative but now I am quite certain I don't. My mom is doing okay by the way.

Anyway, I am very cold, but this body load is much better than the runs and near-vomiting of DXM. But I hate being this foggy-brained. I generally feel quite coherent on dex. Am seeing things a little--just static and a few glitters in my vision and my bedroom floor is curving upward. Whoah. This has some dissociative effects, actually, 'cause I feel so spaced-out and everything is...more detailed and less cohesive, as if I'm seeing it enlarged on a computer screen while playing a video game (let's be real: Sims 4).

My limbs are full of static, kind of like before I have a seizure, which I now realize is because I have reflex anoxic seizures, which are triggered by my heart, so I imagine it's due to blood pressure changes. God, it is so fucking hard to write anything. I have to stop, I'm getting annoyed. Am I supposed to hit the Enter key once or twice after a paragraph while I'm on the app?

Anyway, I am feeling cold and slow and stupid and staticky and achey. I had some Brie and Havarti earlier and it was very nice. "I Didn't Change My Number" by Billie Eilish just started. I can hear her singing right in the front of my headspace. Wow. Anyway, I have no idea what I was gonna fucking say. Oh yeah, it was, do you call it a trip if it's just weed? Like do I say I'm tripping right now? Because I am seeing...halos. And afterglows.

Oh yeah, at first I started with just under half the edible, but then like maybe an hour or something later I took another quarter. But I started dosing three hours ago. Do you say "dosing" if it's not, like, pills? I only look at disso subreddits lol. I feel so dumb and lazy and dreamy right now. I've got to stop typing. I just feel like I'm missing everything I want to say. Anyway. I do realize I'm saying "anyway" a fuck-ton. Do you hyphenate "fuck ton"? Anyway. My neck hurts. I'm sleepy.

This is only my second time trying weed btw. The first time I split an edible with my friend and it literally did fucking nothing.

[writerthreads]

Writing pianist characters

By Writerthreads on Instagram

Note: By “pianist”, I mean somebody who is proficient at the piano or someone who practices it regularly. If any pianist want to add anything, go ahead! My experience of playing the piano could be different from yours, and I’m a grade 8 pianist and have been playing for 10 years. When I talk about “grades”, it’ll be the ABRSM grades.

Reading the music

A typical sheet of piano music has two staves, one in treble clef and one in bass clef. Usually, the left hand plays the bass and the right hand plays the treble.

When we learn a new piece, we have to sight read it. We either do both hands at once or right hand first as the melody is usually in the right hand. My piano teacher told me that people who have played for a longer time go straight to both hands, and I’ve been doing that since grade 5.

Sight reading is harder (or even the hardest) on the piano because we have two lines to read at the same time, and we have (usually) a melody and an accompaniment line, with harder composers/pieces (LISZT!!) having four or more melodic lines at the same time.

Playing the piano

We make music by tapping on the keys. We put our hands in what I call the “hamburger position” where it looks like I’m holding two hamburgers. Stretches require a flatter hand shape, and I can only do up to 9 notes (an octave and one more lol). There are three pedals on a pedal, and they work differently on upright pianos or grand pianos.

Left (una corda/soft pedal):

UPRIGHT: changes the touch of the piano and makes it harder to play loud

GRAND: literally shifts the piano keyboard to the right and makes a softer sound

Middle (sostenuto pedal):

UPRIGHT: softens piano’s volume, used for practicing late at night lmao

GRAND: only holds notes that are already being played at the moment when the pedal is pressed down

Right (sustaining pedal)

Sustains the sounds, creating a blurry effect

Practicing the piano

I learn pieces by chunking the piece into sections the learning the section’s right hand then adding in the left hand. I do the same thing for the other sections until I learn the whole piece, then I use a metronome to get the rhythm perfect, then add in the dynamics and expression.

If I’m stuck on a session, I “chunk” it, meaning I will literally play the same few bars until I get it perfect 10 times in a row. If I can’t, I slow the metronome down because IF YOU CAN PLAY IT SLOW, YOU CAN PLAY IT FAST.

How often do I practice? Once a week when I had exams, but now that I’m done with the ABRSM grades, like once a month for fun. (*laughs in IGCSE mock solo tomorrow*) Ling Ling does 40 hours a day but I can never.

Scales and arpeggios

Hell on Earth. There are major scales and minor scales for every key: C, D, E, F, G, A, B, plus the sharps and flats (the black keys)

There are also scales a third apart and a sixth apart, legato scales in thirds, chrimatic scales, chromatic scales a minor third apart, chromatic scales in minor thirds and the whole tone scale in grade 8. Idk about 6 and 7 because I skipped them.

It’s hard to explain arpeggios but it’s like um parts of the regular scale that sounds nice idk search it up. Oh yeah and in grade 8 there’s the root position as well as first and second inversions. (Eg. The C major arpeggio can start on C, E or G and end in those notes)

Dominant sevenths and diminished sevenths. HELL. SEARCH IT UP

Pieces that non-musicians tell us to play

Fur Elise

Fur Elise

Fur Elise

Piano pieces non-musicians can probably recognise

Beautiful Blue Danube

Canon on D but on the piano

Mariage D’amour

Ah Clair de la Lune

Auld Lang Syne

Flight of the Bumblebee

Things non-musicians should know when writing pianists

Good performances can take months to perfect

Sight reading is a pain in the arse

Scales are hell

We can play while doing something else (most pianists I know can play scales/pieces while talking or watching Netflix lmao)

FLIGHT OF THE BUMBLEBEE IS OVERRATED

[somedayonbroadway]

Okok think—Newsies High School Musical AU- c h a o s

Okay, so since I already outlined High School Musical, which you can find right here, I decided to write one of the scenes from it. Hope you guys like it! It’s Jack and Katherine’s accidental audition for their school musical.

The song “I Never Planned On You” is featured in this one. The Bowery Beauties part is sung differently by Katherine. It’s a bit more long and flowy, rather than staccato and showgirl-ish. But still a little showgirl-ish.

Anyways, please enjoy!

Papers flew across the stage and the pianist hit the ground on his hip.

Jack didn’t waste a second. He knew how badly that could hurt.

Katherine was right behind him.

“Are you alright?” she asked as Jack helped the boy back up.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m alright…” Charlie stayed, as Katherine grabbed his crutch and helped place the thing back under his arm just as Jack began to calmly reach around for the sheer music that had flown everywhere.

Looking down at the pages, the older boy smiled. “Hey… uh… you write this?” he asked, impressed at the professionalism of the score in his hand.

A small blush rose up on Charlie’s cheeks as he limped back to the piano bench. He nodded. “Uh… yeah… yeah, I’ve been uh… workin’ on this musical for about three years…” he confirmed.

Smiling as she helped gather the remains of the papers, Katherine nodded. “It sounded really good when they sang it…” she commented, trailing off a bit as her hand brushed up against Jack’s as they reached for the same page.

Jack smiled and withdrew his hand as they tried to rearrange the pages back in order.

But Charlie just sighed and shook his head. “They’re delivery was… not quite what I was goin’ for…” he admitted, smiling bitterly as he thought about the odd, perky rearrangement of this song he’d been working so hard on. “It’s supposed to be a little slower than that… n’... just… not that…” he stated, not quite knowing how to phrase it. He looked back up at the pair in front of him who were both reading his work intently. And he allowed himself a small smile. “Do you guys wanna try it out?”

Jack paled at that, practically shoving the pages at Katherine, trying to hide his fascination in anyway he could. “Oh no… no, that’s okay…”

Katherine just laughed and bumped Jack’s shoulder a bit, smiling up at him. “Cmon Jack… where’s your sense of adventure?” she joked, holding out the sheet music in front of both of them and moving to stand behind the piano. “We’d love to try it.”

Jack’s heart was beating fast in his chest as Charlie just smiled, ignoring the older boy’s obvious terror. And the piano began. “Alright… so it starts out slow… I’ll count ya in…”

The blond did as he said, counting up from five as he began to play the keys so effortlessly and Jack’s mind scrambled to try and remember everything he’d ever learned about music that was somewhere in the back of his head. He cleared his throat as he leaned closer to the page and took a breath. “I got no use for moonlight,” he sang quietly, his voice shaking ever so slightly. “Or sappy poetry…” He looked over once. She was smiling at him.

His eyes had never rushed back to a page so quickly.

“Love at first eights for suckers… at least it used to be.” He would be forever grateful that Charlie was playing the melody line along with him as he sang. “Look, girls are nice, once or twice… till I find someone new but…” He looked over at Katherine and watched her eyes sparkle with amusement and intrigue as he continued on. “I neva’ planned on no one… like you…”

Katherine smirked, suddenly a little sassy as she began to sing her part so differently from his Sarah had performed it merely moments ago. “Don’t come a’ knockin’ on my door,” she sang, a perfect rich legato placed just so with her own unique vibrato.

“I got no use for moonlight…” Jack sang just at the end of her phrase, almost making it up now. But Charlie didn’t seem to mind.

“You aren’t welcome here no more.” Katherine was smiling now. Like she didn’t mean it.

Jack could only grin back. “Or sappy poetry…” He didn’t know his voice could still move like this. But damn if it wasn’t fun as hell.

“I should’ve known you stunk like yesterday’s trash, the night you stole my heart plus forty dollars in cash,” she laughed a bit at that line. Charlie did too. But he never stopped playing. “Turns out my beau is just some bum…”

“Love at first sights for suckers… at least it used to be…”

“Turns out that love ain’t blind it’s dumb…” Katherine let her voice ring and echo around the room. She stuck her tongue out at Jack, like he’d really done this to her. And he laughed.

Little did they know, a certain drama teacher had walked back into the auditorium.

“You’ve never told the truth or worked a day in your life. In fact you’re so revolting I feel bad for your wife.” Charlie couldn’t help but smile. This is exactly how this song was supposed to be sung. They weren’t arguing with him. They weren’t even trying to make suggestions. They just sang what was written. It might not have been exactly perfect. But it didn’t matter. “I won’t be shaving your back anymore, no señor, don’t come a’ knockin’ on my door… don’t come a’ knockin’ on my door…” Katherine winked at Jack. “Don’t come a knockin’ on my door…”

Jack shook his head and blushed hard, unable to hide his joy as an odd but warm feeling crept up inside his chest. “No, I never planned on no one… like you…”

Crutchie played the last few fleeting cords and then allowed himself to laugh and nod. “Yeah! Yeah, that was it! That was great!”

Shaking her head, Katherine laughed. Jack did too.

But someone else began clapping. All three of them jumped. “Alright, you two… callbacks are next Thursday. I suggest you both rehearse the song. I’m sure Charlie would love to help you with it—“

Breaking out into a grin, Charlie nodded. “Yes! Yeah, you can always find me in here! Before school, after school, lunch, break, sometimes during science class…” he rambled, unable to stop himself. Because Sarah and David might not be able to win this time.

Maybe these guys could do it.

Jack’s eyes widened and he let out a small laugh. “I… I mean, Miss Medda… Cmon, we was just messin’ around—“

“I’ll see you both, next week! Thank you!” Miss Medda called as she turned to leave, almost like she hadn’t heard the boy.

Katherine laughed. And Jack turned back to her, looking terrified at the thought. “Oh Jack, come on, you know that was fun. Why not give it a shot?” she asked, turning back towards Charlie who was still grinning like mad.

And Jack shrugged. “I… I ain’t sung in fron’ a’ people since I was like six… n’ that wasn’t even cause I wan’ed to. It was because the whole first grade class had ta do it,” he argued.

But Charlie scoffed. “You just sang an entire song you didn’t know with me hardly helping you and you did it with almost correct placement the whole time. And I’ll help you! Please?”

Katherine nodded. “I’m in if you are,” she smiled, holding out her hand for him to shake, like it was some kind of business deal.

Jack looked at her and then towards Charlie, then back at her. And he sighed. “Fine…” he shook her hand.

And that was that.

[halorocks1214]

the law of rhythm

AO3 Link

Word Count: 5366

Summary: The Law of Rhythm states that everything vibrates and moves to certain rhythms. These rhythms establish seasons, cycles, stages of development, and patterns. Each cycle reflects the regularity of God’s universe. Masters know how to rise above negative parts of a cycle by never getting too excited or allowing negative things to penetrate their consciousness

Previous Parts (in order): Alan | You Are Here! | Gordon

just trucking along, toot de too de toooooo. ive also been sick for the past couple of days so thats been grEAT. thanks again to @gumnut-logic for the prompts. its giving me a challenge to write the stories i want to write but with a twist. that being using required words. its been fun. this time i used "I'm trying!" and hard

Warning for mentions of torture I guess

His mom used to say he needed to think of his emotions like playing the piano.

6-year-old Virgil just yelled at 5-year-old Gordon for breaking one of his favorite toys, leaving the strawberry blonde in a state of utter sorrow. While Jeff took the youngest to be consoled in another room, Lucy, nearly due with their surprise bundle, gently led Virgil over to their baby grand.

“You mentioned you wanted to know what this did, correct?”

Anger simmering below the surface, Virgil curtly nodded his head.

Lucy patted the place on the bench next to her, motherly smile working wonders on calming Virgil down. The black-haired boy reluctantly sat down next to his mom, staring at the white keys of the device he heard his mother sit at over the past couple of months. For a couple of seconds, she didn’t say anything, which prompted Virgil to look up at her face. Once she saw the chocolate eyes of her boy, she tilted her head toward the piano indicating that Virgil could touch it if he wanted to. Looking back at the mysterious object, Virgil lifted a finger and pressed down on a random place.

A ding came from the piano. Virgil would come to learn that it was Middle C.

Virgil jumped in shock while Lucy couldn’t stop her laughter. She remembered her reaction being very similar when she first touched a piano. Bringing her second-youngest child into her side, she brought her right arm around his shoulders and placed her right hand on the piano, “Here, watch this.”

Virgil’s eyes widened as his mommy pressed three keys in succession, the pitch on each going higher and higher. An arpeggio in the key of C major. Mouth open, Virgil tried repeating his mother’s actions. While he got the same pitches, the way he played the keys were much more jagged and jumpy, a slight pause in between each note signifying that the player double-checked to make sure their finger was in the right spot.

Crinkling his eyebrows in confusion, Virgil tried again more aggressively. It was the same notes, but it didn’t sound right. It didn’t sound like Mommy. Trying one more time with even more force, he was interrupted halfway through by mom’s hand gently gripping his with her whispering in his ear, “Shhh, sweetie, don’t play so hard. Just press, then let the piano do the rest.”

Nodding his head along to his mother’s words, Virgil looked back at the keys with newfound determination. With Mommy’s hand still laying over his, he took her advice to heart and let the piano do the rest. That time, the arpeggio that filled the room, while still not as polished, was much more legato than what Virgil was playing before.

Virgil was proud except for one thing, “But it’s…”

Lucille finished for him, “Quiet? That’s okay, just press a little harder.”

Virgil enthusiastically nodded his head and did as told. Once again he found himself aggressively pounding the keys with a little more force than necessary.

Lucy stopped him once more, “Virg, no--” she had to giggle a little bit, “It doesn’t take that much for a piano to be loud, honey, I promise.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. How could you be loud without being forceful? Regardless, his mommy was usually right, so he listened to her again. He played with only a little more force, but it still created a drastic change in volume. Virgil widened his eyes at the revelation.

Placing her hands on his sides and receiving childish giggles, Lucy explained in-depth what she was trying to get at, “See, Virg, think of life like playing the piano. More often than not you want to be “piano”, and while there will be times you need to be “forte,” even then, you don’t need to be so… hostile about it. The hardest blows are always delivered the softest. Soft but hard. You hear what I’m saying?”

Virgil was listening, he was, but… “How can I be the piano?”

Blinking, Lucy had to laugh once more. She was so caught up in the euphoria of her comparison, she forgot tiny Virgil didn’t know piano terminology just yet, “Oh no, sweetheart, “piano” is a term that means “quiet”, and “forte” means "loud". Those two come up a lot when learning how to play. It’s important in making your song sound even cooler.”

The stars were back in Virgil’s eyes, “Ooooooh, can I learn to play? How do I learn?”

Lucy looked at him with all the fondness she could muster, “Of course, my little black bean.”

She promptly tickled him into submission, followed quickly by happy tears. Later in the night, she would find her two youngest cuddling each other at the base of the bench, small grins indicating that there were no hard feelings leftover, and all was forgiven.

Virgil went to his first piano lesson two weeks after Alan Tracy was born.

---

Jeff was certain piano playing shouldn’t be happening at three in the morning.

Yet ringing throughout the house was the familiar Canon in D. Jeff couldn’t help but flinch at how the fast part got a little more aggressive than it probably should have. Virgil was always hit the hardest when something bad happened, yet he was always the calmest during the aftermath. Even more than Scott sometimes, which Jeff was pretty sure the eldest regretted a lot.

Around five notes were hit out of tune one after the other, followed by a groan of frustration and two hard objects hitting the keys. At the familiar clashy sound of, well, smacking the keys of a piano, Jeff went against his judgment and walked out to see his third eldest son. The engineer in question had his elbows on the piano and his head in his hands.

Stomping his feet in a way that would let Virgil know of his presence beforehand without scaring him, Jeff meandered up to the black-haired man and gently placed his hand on his shoulder, “Hey, Virg. Piano messing with you again?”

The watery chuckle from behind Virgil’s hands was a win in Jeff’s book. Virgil brought his hands away to look his father in the eyes, “You know it always does…” Virgil looked forlornly back at the shiny black of the grand.

The two men stood and sat in silence, both deep in thought and unsure of how to talk to one another. Clearly, any topic of conversation that wasn’t the obvious elephant in the room would sting, but even if they talked about the elephant all day and night, there still wouldn’t be anything for them to do about it.

Jeff needed to start somewhere, though, otherwise, he would scream, and he knew that would be bad for his body right now, “The power rack in the gym… you upgraded it?”

Virgil flinched before absorbing the question, “Oh, yeah, I decided to add some stability stuff and give it some colors. I use it the most, so I thought I could make it a little more personal. I can change it back if you--”

Jeff squeezed his son’s shoulder with a little bit of force, shutting him up, “Virg, no, that’s not why I brought it up. It’s just… why? You hated weight lifting. You were pretty determined to stay the beanpole of the family, and that’s saying something when you have a sibling like John.”

Virgil’s chuckles were more hearty that time, which meant Jeff still got it. Virgil sighed, “Yeah, you’re right, I originally wasn’t that thrilled at the prospect of getting beefy, but something happened, and I was more inclined towards the culture, in a way.”

Thinning his lips, Jeff thought he connected the dots. His son hated heavy-lifting, then, Jeff disappeared and came home to what was easily the strongest member of their family. At least it was a healthy way of dealing with grief, as long as Virgil didn’t strain himself in the process.

Virgil read his father’s thoughts loud and clear, “Dad, it wasn’t because of you going missing.” Jeff raised an eyebrow and Virgil cleared his throat, “Well, I guess a little bit of it was, but there was a different reason. It happened a couple of months after the Zero-X, I swear.”

Jeff sat down on the bench like Lucy used to and confidently spoke, “Believe me, Virgil, I have time.”

Virgil gritted his teeth. At least this was the conversation his dad was deadset on having, not anything else, “... Promise not to tell Scott or John?”

Oh no, “Uh, maybe?”

Virgil bit the bullet, “Weeelll, Scott and John weren’t taking it very well, none of us were, but they especially. Their reactions kind of hurt even more when I thought about you and how you, uh, reacted to grief… sorry.”

Jeff flinched but paid no mind. Virgil was shutting down and that’s the last thing Jeff wanted, “It’s okay, Virg, you’re not wrong. None of you boys can be wrong about those years after Luce left us.”

Taking a deep breath at the okay, Virgil started up again, “Scott had just left for the Air Force and also decided to stop calling, probably so he didn’t have to think about it, John was, actually, John was focusing on graduating high school early-- which he did, don’t let him downplay it when you talk to him about it.”

Jeff nodded and put the reminder in his back pocket.

Virgil continued to truck along, “And Grandma was out shopping, so that left me, a slightly depressed 15-year-old with a 14-year-old that didn’t want to swim anymore and a 9-year-old that stopped talking. Again.”

Jeff sharply inhaled. He would have to know more about his sons’ lives after the Zero-X, of course, but that didn’t make it easier to listen to how his sons essentially slowly self-destructed because of the man that was also causing them to self-destruct once more in the present.

Damn The Hood. When Jeff got his hands on him--

Virgil didn’t hear or sense his father’s wild emotions, too lost in his memories, “Gordon, who wanted something of yours because of obvious reasons, got Alan roped into it. Alan probably wanted something of yours too, especially since the three of us weren’t doing any comforting ourselves.”

Jeff was familiar with self-recrimination. This was slowly delving into self-hate, which was happening way more than the old father liked at the moment, “Son, from what it looks like, Scott and John and you eventually picked up the slack when you shouldn’t have needed to in the first place. Hell, you’re only a year older than Gordon! If you didn’t hold it against me, don’t hold it against yourself.”

A dark laugh came from Virgil like he didn’t believe his father. However, the way he held his eyebrows indicated he was more or less joking (hopefully), “Who says we don’t hold it against you, old man?”

Alright, Jeff had to laugh at that one. It hurt to see his boys so grown up without his help, but he couldn’t have been any more proud all the same.

Virgil then promptly soured the mood, “So, anyway, Gordon tried climbing to the top of your dresser in your study while Alan just stood right next to him. Two plus two equals two screaming brothers stuck under a dresser with only me as their savior.”

Jeff couldn’t quite stop the jump he made. Well damn, that wasn’t what he was expecting. Virgil clearly handled the situation, however, as both Gordon and Alan are-- well, were fine, plus, Scott and John apparently didn’t even know about it so there was that too.

Virgil had a grin on his face as he recounted the dark experience, “It was scary, but looking back, I can’t help but chuckle, just a little bit. Gordon full-on breaks down laughing at the memory anyway. His face had more annoyance on it than pain, really, and the squawks he let out, man, here I thought I was the potty mouth of the family.”

“Could you be any slower than a wheel-chair lift up a stairwell?!”

“I’m trying, asshole!”

Suddenly, Virgil’s laughter was dark again, “God, Alan’s account of it though, he was trapped underneath it in the other direction. His legs were incredibly still as I desperately tried getting the furniture off... I know he laughs about it now in his own, Alan-way, but… I’m pretty sure the kid experienced a pretty bad PTSD attack of... you know.”

Jeff inhaled slowly for a change. From what he’s albeit briefly heard, Alan loved snow nowadays, but for a while, the poor kid could barely go outside during the winter months. Jeff remembered finding out about it from a phone call from the school. Alan had thrown one hell of a tantrum when he refused to go outside with his peers. Jeff came and Alan jumped right from fury straight to panic and hastily explained how ”he just didn’t like it anymore.” He was worried Jeff would be disappointed in him for being scared.

Virgil’s grin was back to being cheerful, easing Jeff’s dark thoughts for the time being, “The kid wouldn’t let go of me all night, kind of how like we couldn’t get him to release Scott when we found them after the avalanche. Gordon joined in the fun just because Gordon,” Jeff snorted, “We all camped out in my room, blanket fort and all. Halfway through Back to the Future with Gordon snoring up a storm against my back and little Allie still snuggled into my “teddy bear arms” as he calls it, I realized… I wanted to protect them. I wanted to be a 'Scott' or a 'John' to the only two little brothers I had.”

Jeff felt his chest swell at the soft-spoken confession. Virgil continued with growing enthusiasm, “But I realized if I could barely lift a dresser off of them, how could I protect them from anything else? So, I worked on that and focused on more, er, “productive” means of helping someone, you know? I continued to study medical information, worked on becoming an engineer so I could fix things, getting physically stronger, et cetera. It made sense to me.”

Jeff just mindlessly nodded his head, proud of his son’s mature decision. He briefly closed his eyes to think about other eventualities, but then he abruptly opened them at the sound of Virgil starting to cry. Jeff could only keep his eyes wide as Virgil tried wiping away the damned liquid and chuckled in that way that stabbed a metaphorical knife through your heart, “I don’t think I did a good job of that recently.”

Jeff was verging on speechlessness, but not enough to where he couldn’t comfort his child, “Virg--”

It didn’t matter when the engineer didn’t even listen, “Why can’t we ever just be a full family again? Why does life hate us?”

Oh, this really was a mess.

One the father was determined to make right.

Jeff, with the sounds of cricks and cracks in his joints, stood up and firmly planted his hands on his son’s shoulders to get him to focus on his fatherly words. Pressing their foreheads together, Jeff stared intensely into those beautiful, brown eyes, “Virgil, I don’t care what that maniac said. I don't care if we have zero information to go on. We’re International Rescue. We’re getting him back.”

Virgil sighed, his breath shaky as he continued to wipe away tears, “I want to believe you, Dad, I do, but--”

Suddenly, a non-holographic voice spoke from the middle of the room gaining the two men’s attention. Looking over to where the couches were, both Jeff and Virgil full-bodily flinched at the sight.

John was anxiously standing in the living room.

Right next to an even more anxious Fuse.

“International Rescue, we… I’m not sure what I’m doing.”

---

John was fucking crazy.

On certain days when he was tired or exceptionally cranky, Virgil wondered why they put him up on ‘Five in the first place. Sure, John blew his temper the least out of all of them, and he knew how to calculate and strategize more than most computers Virgil came across, but that didn’t make him any less fucking crazy. Did Virgil even need to mention all of his insane plans before now? Sure, the man could pull them off, and he did it well, but trusting the Chaos Crew? Right now?

However, despite how much his brother could be stupid, Virgil was seeing the appeal as he hauled ass through this rickety compound containing a heat signal half the Chaos Crew gave them that was just the right kind of small to be their baby brother.

John was fucking crazy, crazy genius, and Virgil couldn’t physically love his older brother anymore right now without fear of bursting into a giant pile of pride confetti.

Scott and Gordon also were running through the compound somewhere. They knew that splitting up was the first thing the Scooby Gang did whenever they got into trouble, but they were already running on borrowed time. It was like a maze, no brother knew which route would be the fastest, and not even EOS could map it out for them. As soon as The Hood knew they were there, well, they didn’t even want to take the time to think about what Alan might have already gone through, God knows what could happen if The Hood realized he had been betrayed.

The Hood was a crime boss: crime bosses don’t take kindly to mutiny.

Frankly, that’s the least he deserved, Virgil thought darkly. The only sliver of luck the bald creep could potentially get is if the rest of the Tracys found Alan first. Soft but hard. If Virgil were to come across The Hood there were no promises to be made for what the plaid-wearing brother might d--

“---gil, Jesus, stop! You’re right next to the damn signal!”

Screeeech! Squeak! Bang! Pop! Smack-a-doodle-doo!

Surely one of those noises happened when Virgil dug his heels into the ground and smeared the bottom of his feet to stop running, but he wasn’t listening. He really couldn’t, not over the sound of the blood rushing to his ears after nothing but pure sprinting. He was right next to a doorway, some kind of storage closet with locks hastily added as an afterthought.

Leaning one arm against the wall and having one of his hands on his hips as he tried to catch his breath, Virgil had all the time in the world to examine the makeshift cage. He knew it was kind of unhealthy, but dammit, he needed his adrenaline back. What better way to rebuild his levels than to aggressively glare at an inanimate object that made his blood boil more and more every second?

If anyone deserved to be treated like an animal, it was The Damn Hood.

“--ou be able to do this by yourself? If you want us there, we can pick up the pace.”

“Yeah, we’re all in this together!” Despite the severity, the aggressive humming of a familiar High School Musical song could be heard. Everyone knew who that had to be. They still let it go. Jokes were how Gordon got through negative emotion.

An example being violent anger.

Right, the problem at hand. Shit, Virgil was usually so good at listening to everything that happened over the comms. He was really dropping the ball tonight, “N-No, I’m fine. Sorry, I just needed to catch my breath. You two should keep mapping, actually, I don’t think either John or EOS have found a way to scan the entire place just yet.”

Virgil could feel the disappointment from two different comm lines. Not that he blamed them, but he was sure his brothers didn’t blame him either. Gordon still wanted to get something in, “Right, be sure to keep us updated. We’ll be listening carefully.”

Standing up straight, Virgil stood directly in front of the door, “Actually, I think I’m going to go dark for a while.”

Gordon objected, “WH--”

Scott interrupted, “Okay.”

Gordon double objected, “--AT?”

Virgil imagined Scott’s flinch as if the older brother were in front of him right now. Regardless, the field commander spoke confidently, “We don’t know what’s in that room. The comms could be more of a hindrance than not.”

John chimed in abruptly and out of nowhere like he always does. It was graciously welcomed just as usual, “Besides, it’s not like Virgil’s going off the radar. I may only be able to see parts of the compound you mapped, but I can still see you. I can always tell when my brothers are in trouble.”

The elder brothers spoke logic and safety, and Gordon’s heavy breathing calmed considerably, “Yeah, okay. Good luck, Virge. Bring our baby home.”

Despite its redundancy, Virgil nodded, “Of course.”

Virgil felt a little selfish, but the danger of having an open comm line was only partially why he wanted to go dark. He felt bad, but in reality, he wanted a little bit of Alan to himself. Virgil knew it would be smothering from all angles when they got Alan home (which they will get), and he could easily be patient and wait for his turn to be alone with the littlest when the time came, but…

He wanted it now. It felt like water slipping through his fingers, but if he gripped hard enough, he could save just a little bit that, with love and care, could become part of a giant puddle once more. Besides… Virgil could count on one hand the similarities he and Alan had. That wasn’t bad in any capacity, and if anything, it made their bond stronger in ways the bonds they had with the others would never understand, but it did make the time they hung out considerably smaller than time with, again, the others.

Virgil and Gordon were wingmen. Virgil and Scott were each others’ best friends. Virgil and John were the voices of reason. Alan and Gordon were partners in crime. Alan and Scott were the bread of the Tracy family. Alan and John were the space bros. Virgil and Alan?...

Were endlessly supportive of each other, sure, and Alan understood that Virgil was just as viable of an option to go to for help as the rest of his brothers, but they didn’t have anything special. They had love, laughter, and memories, but other than that, they were simply brothers. That was enough, yes, of course, but Virgil wanted more, to be more.

He wanted to help plan (even more) pranks, he wanted to help with college applications (geez, when did their little bro get so old?), he wanted to sign permission slips, he wanted to be more than just ‘one of Alan’s brothers’. He wanted to hold the world in his hands for Alan too, but he couldn’t do that without Alan there.

Virgil knew Alan also wanted more for his own, youngest-related reasons. Thank fuck the world granted them a second chance. Now Virgil just had to make sure he didn’t screw this up. Taking a deep breath, Virgil used his body mass to forcibly break open the door. That was iffy. Why was it so easy to break open? The Hood clearly didn’t want to give Alan back to them. Virgil was now on high alert, which did not help the rage building in his gut in the slightest.

His heightened senses allowed him to over-examine every detail in the room. It wasn’t the worst in terms of space, but it sure as hell wasn’t the best. The bed in the corner of the room was something akin to a wooden board nailed to the wall to be lying horizontal, and, Jesus, that wasn’t a blanket, that was a bunch of paper taped together to be a big sheet! Plus, there was no pillow, and even worse, no indication of how food got in and out--

Virgil choked on the air.

On the opposite side of the cage, not that far away from the bed (tiny space, soft but hard), sat a blonde-haired boy. Those freckles nearly made Virgil fall to his knees and cry from joy alone, but those precious, blue-eyes had something in them that kept Virgil vigilant. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it wasn’t happiness. Shit, did Alan not think this was real?

Well, that response made sense. The kid looked like he had a hellish couple of weeks. There were no bruises or marks to indicate The Hood did anything physical, at least, none the family doctor could see (if The Hood did try and hide something though, hoo boy), but the eye bags he sported were veering off the edge of a cliff right into ‘Are those actually black eyes?’ Ville. Alan’s complexion had seen better days too with how closely he resembled a piece of printer paper. Trembles vaguely shook down the kid’s spine indicating a loose grip on reality. Alan was trying to hold it together, trying to convince himself not to get his hopes up.

Alright, Virgil could handle that. Time to step up and reassure the younger ones that everything was okay like the older ones always do.

Virgil moved forward.

Alan flinched because of it.

And time simply stopped.

Virgil heard his heart tear in half.

Alan.

Flinched.

The kid didn’t think this wasn’t real.

No, he knew it was real.

But he was scared because of it.

Virgil was going to throw up.

He was called “The Hood” because of his endless disguises…

No, the bastard wouldn’t-- didn’t--

Oh, he definitely did. Virgil bet ‘Two on it, pods and everything. There was no way The Fucking Hood, who had what could’ve been considered one of the most important things to the Tracy family, didn’t do something. He was an angry man out for revenge, a venomous snake, and what better way to poison Jeff than to sink his fangs into the one thing that shouldn’t have been near him in the first place.

Holy fuck.

Virgil put his hands together, placed them against his lips and inhaled sharply. Hokay, he needed to rationalize this. He wasn’t sure there was a way to logically think about a man torturing your teenage brother, but the way Virgil was originally clenching his fists at his sides in red hot, fiery anger was bringing said teenager to hysterics, so he needed a different approach.

Hands still against his mouth, Virgil slowly sunk to the floor to sit criss-cross-apple-sauce, his back stiff as a piece of metal. He was still taking calming deep breaths, but at this point, his eyes were closed and his eyebrows were scrunched together. Think, Virgil, think. Soft but hard.

With an exhale as gentle as the breeze, Virgil brought his hands to his lap and opened his eyes, both motions equally as lethargic. His grin was small and light. He remembered that one rescue in the Amazon where a rather frightened panther made its way onto ‘Two. Virgil was the only one who could calm it down before it attacked the families he was saving. It was funny in hindsight. Gordon asked if they could keep it.

Right now, Virgil really hated the irony in comparing Alan’s situation to being caged like an animal. It was poor foreshadowing on Virgil’s part. Remember the panther. Soft but hard, “You remember what you asked me for your 13th birthday? We haven’t used that racetrack in ages. You wanna help me clean it up? I worked hard on it, I’d hate for it to continue to go to waste.”

Once again, Alan flinched, but following the very well hidden swallowing of his anger, Virgil watched as the boy raised his eyebrows. It was half-confusion-half-’what kind of question was that?’ Of course, he remembered! After a grueling day of Virgil helping him with his math homework, the kid mentioned how he wanted a racecar. For his 13th birthday.

“Like, a toy?”

“No! I want a racecar!”

“So, a full-on car? One you can sit in the driver's seat and move around?”

“I want it bright red with shiny wheels and, ooh! I--”

Of course, everyone said no. Mainly because they had no place to put it, Alan’s age notwithstanding. But Virgil, who had seen John’s gift for the year, was determined to win for once. The 19-year-old had been meaning to test his engineering skills out anyway. He couldn’t make an actual car, but a go-kart, on the other hand…

The only problem, however, was that he literally had to do everything alone. Gordon was on the mainland for Olympics training, Virgil would’ve rather died than told John his plans, and he knew Scott would have said no, so, there was only uno.

He spent a week building the car, then the entire day beforehand carving out a makeshift racetrack in a part of the beach they never really went to. They never used it again after Alan’s birthday, but the look on all of his Virgil’s brothers’ faces that day was worth the exhaustion. They ranged from awe to disbelief to disproval with a hint of pride. At least Scooter gave him a hair ruffle later in the night.

Alan was so touched by it he started crying. Virgil apologized to a sobbing Alan at the same time the kid apologized from Scott’s arms. Virgil asked why. Alan just replied, “You wasted an entire day!”

Oh, Allie.

Virgil didn’t let Alan go from his arms for the rest of the day. Octopus hold was engaged, and Alan would never admit that those hugs were better than any physical gift he received.

They still are. Dammit, Alan wanted nothing more than one of Virgil’s hugs right now. Those broad shoulders could fix any problem in the world. The realization he would never get one again allowed Alan to shamelessly release one tear down his cheek.

Alan blinked a few times before realizing there was still someone else in the room. Oh shit, he was still with The Hood. Jumping out of his pants, Alan shoved himself against the wall, eyes wide and staring at the man. Alan felt sick looking at the asshole’s fake worry and concern.

Wait, it hit Alan… The Hood couldn’t have known about that story. Part of Alan’s paranoid mind was trying to convince him that the man could to prevent false hope (again), but… there was just no way. If there was anything his brothers were deadset on, it was making sure The Hood couldn’t ruin anything familial outside of the ‘Birds. Even the ‘Birds were aggressively protected as much as they physically could.

The Hood couldn’t steal memories, which meant that the person in front of him...

Virgil’s chest swelled at the recognition in his baby brother’s eyes, which were slowly getting wider and wider. Talk about holding the world in his hands. Letting out a watery chuckle, Virgil spoke at his normal volume, “Hey, bro, sight for sore eyes, much?”

Well, there was no holding back those tears now. Shakily getting up to his knees (Alan would’ve completely stood up if he could, but he was still a little weak), Alan leaped off of them into Virgil's waiting arms. Without even blinking, Virgil wrapped his muscular build all around Alan like a giant shield, shoving his face into that mop of blonde hair. Virgil inhaled the strands and trembled as he exhaled. He never thought he could do this again.

Neither could Alan, who shoved his nose into that broad shoulder and tried desperately to grab one of his wrists with his arms still around Virgil’s shoulders and failing because the middle child was just that wide. That got a laugh out of the youngest, who settled for just grabbing fistfuls of the IR uniform instead. The blue parts couldn’t be stained by tears, right?

Yeah, Virgil wasn’t sure how he could describe his and Alan’s relationship.

But whatever it was, it allowed tiny Alan to sit right in his big, teddy bear arms, and that was enough.

Soft but hard. Thanks, Mom.

[dozmuffinxc]

Of Stories and Quilts: a TAZ HC

Taako is the last of the birds to forgive Lucretia after the Day of Story and Song. She took everything from him, and just because he has his sister, his family, and his memories back, just because they saved the world, he refuses to accept her apologies. 

No one (Lucretia included) blames him, not really. Lup is the only one who knows what it's like to lose a twin, a part of yourself so inextricable to your being that to find it suddenly gone is to become a shadow of your true self. But at least Lup remembered her brother during that decade in the umbrastaff.

It kills Lucretia to be the object of so much hatred. Because Taako does -- hate her, that is. He makes it painfully obvious in the way she's excluded from his weekly dinner parties and the way that, when they are in the same room, he won't meet her eye. 

The other birds come to accept that Lucretia did what she thought she had to do. The circumstances could not have been more exigent. They know, deep down, from 100 years of traveling together, that Lucretia loves them. Would die for them. They work hard to remember this. But Taako's scars run deep, and healing doesn't come easy after a decade without his other half, after Glamor Springs, after the Suffering Game. Magnus tells Lucretia to give him time, and she does, but while she waits, she sews.

Lucretia has always needed to keep her hands busy. She has less occasion to write now, and she gets restless, so she picks up quilting for the first time since she was a little girl. She is the consummate artist, and it comes back to her quickly. At first, she makes simple quilts, thick, warm things that she hands out to the refugees of the Day of Story and Song. With time, she learns embroidery, how to incorporate beading and how to applique, and her quilts become miniature works of art. 

One day, she gets an idea.

Seven months later, she shows up to Taako's birthday party uninvited. The room goes quiet, and she takes a deep breath. 

"I'm not staying," she says as she holds a large box out to Taako. "I-- I just need to give you this. Please don't--- please don't throw it away."

She stays just long enough to watch Taako peel the wrapping paper from the box with wary disdain. Kravitz helps him unfold the layers of fabric until a huge quilt is stretched out on Taako's lap. Everyone crowds around his chair to get a better look.

Whatever his feelings towards Lucretia, Taako can't deny that the quilt is beautiful, but it isn't until he looks closer that he actually gasps. This isn't just a  quilt: it's a story, each panel depicting a different scene from their century aboard the Starblaster. Taako's fingers trace the azure curve of waves, the bright red of a surfboard cresting their white peaks. There's a family of mongooses stitched atop a backdrop of emerald green and a robot made of silver thread brandishing a gun against a black sky.

"Oh my god," Lup breathes from just behind his shoulder, "are those Barry's jeans??" 

It takes Taako a moment to figure out what she means, but then she points to a patch of blue sky in the right corner of the quilt. Taako brushes a hand across it, and sure enough: denim. Fabric from Merle's favorite shirt, the one he wore for 2 weeks straight until the rest of the crew vowed to mutiny if he didn't wash it, has become a sun; part of the skirt Lup wore on performance night at the Legato Conservatory becomes the night sky studded with stars.

Taako stares at the quilt for a full minute in silence, his expression inscrutable, as the others wait for his response. 

At the end of the street, Lucretia makes her way home with heavy steps. She imagines Taako ripping her gift to pieces, throwing it into the fire...

And then, suddenly, Taako is right in front of her, Blinking into existence less than a foot away. She trips and nearly lands on her back, but Taako's hand is on her elbow, steadying her. 

"Thank you," she stammers. "Taako, I-- I know you can't forgive me, but maybe..."

"Your time as Madam Director made you so bossy," Taako interrupts, "always telling me what I can and can't do." 

Lucretia stares, unsure how to respond to this assessment. 

"I can forgive you," Taako says. "At least... I think I can. I know I can try, anyway."

"That's all I want," Lucretia insists, her eyes filling with tears. 

Taako nods and turns to go. When Lucretia doesn't follow, he turns back with a huff. 

"Come on," he insists. "We still have a birthday to celebrate, right?" 

Lucretia beams.

[domesticatedantelope]

fluency

Pairing: Colt x MC

Rating: E | NSFW 18+

Word Count: 2150

Summary: The one where Colt’s had just about enough of being left out.

Or, @brightpinkpeppercorn speaks magic, and I get the honor of writing it into being.

@choicesarehard @desiree-0816 @leelee10898 @client-327 @zaffrenotes @octobereighth @liamzigmichael4ever @navigatorholmes @sibella-plays-choices @lovehugsandcandy @dr-casey-lahela

They’re doing it again.

Colt sets his wrench down, popping his stiff knuckles with a swift clench of his hands. Caged under the body of a car is not the place to lose his head; he repeats this to himself as the first hot licks of anger creep steadily up the back of his neck. He cracks the muscles there as well for good measure, but the tension lingers.

He can hear their voices drifting over from the front room, just barely audible above the din of static fuzzy music from the beat-ass radio against the wall. Damn thing is almost older than he is, but his pop insists on keeping it around, and normally that godforsaken crackle on the high notes is the most offensive auditory torture gnawing at his nerves, but -

Logan says something soft and susurrant, and Mercy laughs, that sugar taffy laughter Colt so covetously wishes he could keep just for himself. Against his will he strains to listen, but the words slip uselessly against his brain, a thousand tiny locks he lacks the keys for. He can’t tear into what he doesn’t understand, and the deficit infuriates him. 

He tells himself it’s just the nature of Spanish as a language, legato sounds the two of them bounce back and forth like old friends, soft syllables all looped together into something sensual and secret and locked beyond his understanding - that a romance language sounds romantic, and it has nothing to do with the fact that it’s Logan.

Still, the echo of their conversation from the other room stings between his teeth like a cavity, hollow and sour. He grinds his jaw to stamp the feeling out.

Colt’s roamed the streets of LA since his feet could carry him. Spanish is no stranger to his ear, but Mercy rockets through the sounds like she could ride them to the stars, all rapidfire sibilants too fast to parse apart. Then there’s a verse of whispered giggles while Logan drawls through his response, and the whole thing is altogether too fond and too familiar and something feels like fucking fire in the cavern of his chest. 

The creeper squeaks on timeworn wheels when he rolls out from underneath the car. “All right, that’s it.”

He nearly brains himself against the side of the car when Mona’s voice chirps knowingly from behind him. “I was wondering how long you were gonna put up with that.” 

“Jesus, Mona, how long’ve you been…?” He staggers to his feet, wipes down his hands and casts a withering glare in her direction. “Shut up.”

She barely glances up from her nails when he storms past, but the smug curl of her laughter carries after him. 

Jealousy propels him into the next room in three long strides, reckless energy that tenses in his fists and the edges of his vision. They’re hunched together over Mercy’s phone as she swipes through her photos, but their heads both lift in tandem when he steps into the doorway. She blinks at him across the room, dark eyes flaring wide and round as he stalks toward her, and recognition dawns across her face only moments before he hooks an arm around her waist and hauls her bodily over his shoulder.

“What - Colt!” Mercy gasps, curling two tiny fists into the back of his shirt for balance. 

Logan’s already on his feet, reaching out as it to stop him. “Hey, you can’t-!”

“Say it in Spanish, asshole.”

“Colt Kaneko! Put me down!” Her voice scales a few octaves higher as she struggles against his grip. “I’m a feminist, for Christ’s sake!” 

When he snorts a laugh, her knee swings in to deliver a swift kick toward his chest. He’s faster, catching her thigh against the palm of his hand, saving himself a blow that might have knocked the wind from his lungs. Smart little brat. “You’re gonna make me drop you if you keep that up.”

“Then put me down.”

“Mercy…?” Logan’s voice wavers somewhere behind them.

“It’s fine,” she seethes back, hardly reassuring, upside down over Colt’s shoulder and still trying to play nice. Logan’s earned her ire throwing punches in the past, but Colt wonders with a dark twist of delight where that puppy dog loyalty will fall when it’s Mercy on the line and not his pride. Might be fun to kick his ass. Certainly not as fun as what he wants to do to Mercy, but he likes to think that he’s prepared for every avenue of action that might cross his path.

In the end, it seems like Mercy’s no more fistfights rule has Logan’s hands tied, and Colt carries her alone into the break room, where he kicks the door shut behind him, dropping them into a heavy silence.

“I can’t believe you.” She hisses the words into the space between his shoulders. “Carried me out of there like an absolute barbarian.”

Colt props her down onto the rail of the pool table and insinuates himself quite pointedly into her space. His hand shapes a firm grip around her chin, pinning her under the full force of his glare. 

Mercy glares back, but she doesn’t fight his grasp. Her chest heaves with heated breath, muscles tensing like she might still make a break for it until the first soft trace of pink rises telltale across her cheeks. There it is. 

Long dark lashes frame her gaze and cast the faintest shadows down over her cheekbones, and some niggling, incessant urge to kiss the delicate shape of them coalesces with reckless abandon, tempting him across the empty space between them. The angry part of him bares teeth and digs its heels in; the aching in his heart suggests it’s far too late for that.

He firmly ignores both, clipping the words through his teeth when he speaks. “What have I told you about that?” 

Something twitches at the corner of her lips, the first half of a smile barely bitten down. “You know I grew up speaking Spanish, right?”

“Mercy.” 

“So unless you’re gonna learn it and speak it with me -”

He kisses her, claims her mouth and all the storming words there, and only the brief second between heartbeats passes before Mercy softens to his touch, breathing a gasp and kissing him back with equal urgency, hooking her fingers into fistfuls of his shirt. He toes the line of too rough, but she tugs him closer, arching to bare her neck when his mouth scales her jaw and descends the soft stretch of her throat, her eagerness versed out in little actions he’s relieved to understand with perfect comprehension; this, at least, they can speak together.

The first latch of his teeth into her skin sets off a shiver that leaps down her spine. Mercy breathes out softly - oh - her thighs twitching around his hips as he bites down and sucks and scores a mark that will fast bloom and become insurmountably difficult to hide. Her fingers travel up his neck to curl through the roots of his hair, his name barely there on the sound of her breath, and his body sings with satisfaction: yes, please, more of that, right fucking now -

His mouth scours a scatterplot of love bites down her skin, slipping her shirt aside to mark the curves of her breasts and the soft, bronze skin over her ribs. She squeezes at his hair as he shoves her skirt up and continues his determined path down her thighs. Her voice breaks when he bites her there, fraying into tortured little gasps that almost vaguely shape his name.

Colt drags in a steadying breath and drinks in the sight of her before him, love-drunk and blushing, flustered from his kisses. The calculated network that he normally maintains among his thoughts quickly unravels, scattered out into a jumbled mess of need and Mercy and now. He wants to watch her fall apart right here on the fucking pool table, wants her against his mouth, to feel her come undone around his fingers -

Irked, he glances down at the oil stains still streaked across his hands, and reluctantly he sets his fingers to her thighs instead, leading them apart for the further progression of his mouth. He doesn’t need hands, he decides; his mouth is more than capable of purging every last remaining word of spoken language from her mind.

He doesn’t bother removing her panties. His teeth tug those dismissively aside, and then he has his mouth against wet heat and Mercy is so ready for him, sobbing when he runs the length of silky folds beneath his tongue and starts to hint at suction. Her hips jerk, oversensitive; she staves the harshest of his strokes away with the fist clenched in his hair, and he eases off, chasing her white-knuckled lead. 

“Colt-!” Mercy bites his name into the back of her hand, splayed out against faded green baize and fighting desperately not to make a noise; he can feel the tension of it in her muscles as she writhes under his mouth. He works his tongue in greedy, seeking spirals, and it doesn’t take him long to get soft broken noises past the border of her self-control, whining echoes of his name compressing down into a splintered chant as her hips lurch against him. 

The urge to touch her itches in the tips of his fingers. He grips them hard against her skin and redoubles his efforts, jaw aching and sweat stinging down the back of his stiff neck and every atom of it absolutely worth it when she gasps and arcs and falls apart. The muscles in her thighs sweep in tight around his head, and he eats her through the high, past the point of whimpers and shivers, until she’s nudging him away with the heel of her hand and a strangled whine of protest, legs falling weakly away from his face.

He swipes an arm over his mouth, curling in against her chest while she recovers, feeling the rise and fall of her ribs as she starts to catch her breath. His cock is cramped and unbelievably hard behind his jeans, but the satisfaction of making Mercy come and the soft stroke of her fingers through his hair have soothed the sharpest of the edges from his anger. He wraps himself around her and listens to the slowing rhythm of her heartbeat, tiptoes his fingers gently over burgeoning bruises, the dark blossoms where his teeth have shaped the same word on her skin: mine and mine and mine.

“Hey,” Mercy croaks eventually. “Hey. Kaneko.”

“Castellano.”

She tugs him by the hair until he rises to meet her gaze, those delicate brows furrowed above her eyes. “This was fun, but…” Her cheeks darken. “No more carting me off like an animal when I’m just speaking Spanish with Logan.”

“No more doing it where I can hear.”

“Seriously?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

She tweaks the shell of his ear, just hard enough to hurt. “Don’t be mean.”

A scowl tugs across his face, but he dips his mouth to a faint outline that his teeth left at the base of her throat, pressing the softest apology there. “You could be a lot less flirty about it.”

Mercy blinks then, taken aback. “It’s really that bad?”

“Oh, my god, it sounds like you two are gonna fuck each other right there.”

Her cheeks wash with pink, but she pinches her lip between her teeth, considering. Then she nods. “Okay. That’s fair. Business-casual Spanish only.”

Against his instincts, he actually laughs; and he still wonders deep down what it is about her that lifts so much of the weight from his shoulders. “Mercy.”

“I’m only joking a little... It makes you uncomfortable, so I won’t do it anymore.” She shrugs, shaping her shaking fingertips along the tense line of his jaw. The flush of pleasure is still warm across her face and throat when she offers him a coy half-smile. “I might have been teasing you a little. To see what you would do.”

“No shit.” Colt rolls his eyes, but his lips are gentle when he kisses the pulse in her throat. “And?”

She laughs, that sweet tooth sound, roughened in the wake of coming and entirely for him. “Aside from being thrown over your shoulder like a sack of rice, no complaints.”

“Noted.”

While he fixes her clothing lazily back into place, she watches him with lidded eyes and reaches out to catch his hand, threading their fingers together. “Would you prefer I speak it to you?”

He answers at once. “I thought that’d be obvious.”

“Even if you don’t understand?”

“I don’t need to.” He soothes his thumb at the back of her hand, follows after with his lips against her knuckles, pressing a kiss there that he hopes will translate right. “I understand you.” 

[bookenders]

Storyteller saturday! What was the first thing you knew that /had to be/ included in your wips? What's special about it? What is giving your motivation to work on your current projects? What's a neat worldbuilding thing you came up with?

Storyteller Saturday!

Hey hey @timefire25! Thanks so much for the asks, friend!

I’m gonna tackle these fantastic questions in order: 

[H2H = Heart to Heart

FF = Fish Food

AOPC = All Our Painted Colors

TND = The Neither Days]

1.  What was the first thing you knew that /had to be/ included in your wips?

H2H: Lesbians. Happy, live-beyond-the-end-of-the-story lesbians who can do magic and are ridiculously wholesome. Also: a strong, loving community; social commentary; enough fluff to stuff a whole set of pillows; cool science stuff.

FF: Humor! Without it, this story would be super duper way too dark. Also, lots of social commentary on… *checks notes*

That. And legit depictions of mental health issues.

AOPC: A culture centered around ART. I love art. And stories.

TND: Okay so there’s this one scene coming up that’s super rad and I’m really excited about it. It’s been in my head since the beginning and it’s like, the second scene I thought up. I love the imagery and the symbolism and the feelings. It’s great.

2. What’s special about it?

H2H: Sometimes you need to read something that will make you feel warm and fuzzy inside. Fluff makes the world go ‘round, ya know? And lesbians gotta survive. Also, I’m passionate about found families, which is why the story has one at its very center. I love writing stories about people who don’t feel at home somewhere, so they find with other people who feel the same and call a new place theirs. It’s an important thing to learn: there’s always somewhere for you, and always someone out there who can catch your drift. 

FF: Stories like this one are ways to see the truth of reality. Okay, that sounded super intense. What I mean is that this is a story about a group of people who have been used coming together to fight back against a system that’s doing its best to tear them down. Including accurate and respectful depictions of mental health in this story is important to me, too. I feel like this genre is a great place to explore that. 

Also, I need to work on my humor writing so that’s pretty special, I guess. 

AOPC: I loved the idea of a culture based on art. What do they value? How to they keep records of events and their history? How do they share information? What do they hold dear? It’s sort of my own version of the Legato Conservatory, for those who listen to TAZ. I don’t know of any other fantasy cultures 100% centered on art, either. It’s a story about storytelling and all the ways you can use it. And I think that’s pretty special.

TND: The metaphor and the symbolism, with the context of the canon, is so full of feels it makes my heart clench. It’s an unexpected coming together, a reaching out of two hands that meet in the middle while the world spins off-kilter around them. It’s an oh and a gasp in the same breath. It’s a fall that feels like flying.

That’s about as poetic as I can get without spoilers.

3.  What is giving your motivation to work on your current projects?

Right now, not much, to be honest. It’s midterms time and I’m a grad student, so life is pretty much study hell right now. But my stories are my creative therapy, so I expect I’ll start writing again pretty soon after all my business chills out. 

But on the regular: I really want to tell everyone about the big giant spoilers and how they happen in H2H, and one of the big confrontation scenes in FF (seriously, it’s a huge twist I don’t think a lot of people will see coming - one of them anyway 😉), and I want to figure out what the hell happens next in AOPC, and in TND, I really want to get to the switched POV chapter because it’s full of mutual pining and it offers a lot of really good insight into one character’s head (it’s my motivation to finish this transition chapter too because it’s taking forever).

4.  What’s a neat worldbuilding thing you came up with?

H2H: The magic types I developed are pretty cool! Astromancy, Totem Magic, Sigilcrafting, and Pact Magic. There are a few others, but that’d be spoilers, my friend. Making these info posts was also very fun. I got to do nerdy research about magic and science! 

And something I haven’t mentioned yet: liminal spaces are very important in this story! The town of Linsay is a liminal space. Gemma’s house is a liminal space. The police station is a liminal space for Oz. The lake is a liminal space. This is important: transformation takes place at liminal places. Magic is strongest there. The old is left behind and the new is just ahead. And the fae inhabit liminal spaces.

FF: I made a WIP page that mimics the Coalition of Heroes’ database! It took forever and it was really hard but I did it! And I think it looks rad. 

In-world, hmm… I really like Lithium’s bar. It’s a place that’s like a hero-themed TGI Friday’s or Red Robin, and it’s also the hangout for off-duty heroes. They all chill there like it’s a cop bar for officers who are all undercover. It’s great. None of the civilians who go there know that they’re sitting next to high level super heroes. And Lithium thinks it’s hilarious.

AOPC: There are so many cool worldbuilding things in this story. One is the marriage ceremony I made up. The couple stands before the Namestone and the most senior Elder binds the bride’s left hand to the groom’s right. Then the men of the tribe line up behind the groom, and the women line up behind the bride. They’re ordered so the people closest to them, like family and lifelong friends, are first. One by one, the women dip their right hands in purple paint and mark the bride’s back with their hand print. The men do the same with green paint on the groom’s back.

After everyone’s marked the bride and groom, the Elder blesses the couple, holds their foreheads together, and then they turn around and press their backs together, mixing the paint and blending the colors together. The party starts as soon as their hands are unbound. 

TND: Since most of the worldbuilding for this has already been done by the canon, here are a few recurring story threads I’m working with: Crowley vs. ducks, liminal spaces being the most comfortable and calming, “a good shock to loosen the tongue,” and the kinds of miracles that don’t work. 

Thank you so much for these awesome questions!! 💜

I’ll add my tag lists since there’s a lot of information worth tagging about:

H2H

WIP Intro Post | H2H WIP Tag | Character Page | WIP Page | PowerPoint Intro

Character Tags: Gemma | Mel | The Ladies | Fred Coriander | Officer Oz

OC Intros: Harry | Mary | Oz | Jill | Treena | Fred | Gemma | Mel

H2H Tag List: @katekyo-bitch-reborn, @cawolters, @wasting-ink-not-youth, @quilloftheclouds, @snickertoodles, @mvcreates, @writeness, @half-explored, @dcdarrells, @aslanwrites, @minusfractions, @purpleshadows1989, @royalbounties, @waterfallwritings, @the-clockwork-anything, @kriss-the-writing-nerd, @abalonetea, @timefirewrites, @tricksexual, @introspective-outreach, @alternativeforensicscientist, @sumoranges, @hermiones-writeblrr

[Let me know if you want to be added or removed!]

AOPC

AOPC Tag List: @quilloftheclouds, @snickertoodles, @half-explored, @chemistwriter, @purpleshadows1989, @waterfallwritings, @kriss-the-writing-nerd, @abalonetea, @alternativeforensicscientist, @hermiones-writeblrr

FF

WIP Intro Post | FF WIP Tag | WIP Page | PowerPoint Intro

Character Tags: Iron Will | Overseer | Lithium | Babylon | Nightmare | Sparkplug

OC Intro Post:  Phase 1 | Phase 2

Individual Intros:

Phase 1 (Main Cast): Iron Will | Overseer | Lithium |  Babylon | Nightmare

Phase 2 (Supporting Cast): Sparkplug | Battalion | Ferro

***

[Let me know if you want to be added or removed!]

Fish Food Tag List:  @theevolutionofledarose, @kriss-the-writing-nerd, @quilloftheclouds, @waterfallwritings, @dontwritethatone, @aeschknight, @abalonetea, @ladywithalamp, @writevevo, @danger-writes, @anika-writes-things, @sunlight-and-starskies, @writing-every-other-star, @shadeshadow234, @jaimistoryteller, @leave-her-a-tome, @dowings, @alternativeforensicscientist, @sumoranges, @notanalien51, @hermiones-writeblrr​

TND

Link to Story | Story Tag

TND Tag List: @every-book-has-a-secret, @at-thezenith, @ofinkblotsandscript, @alternativeforensicscientist, @abalonetea