#mrs. william allen

[pandora-books]

Love Letters of a Liar. Model: CJ

[weirdlookindog]

"Come see, come and see! … Our show will open your eyes. You can call me Mr. Kind and you have nothing to fear! This show is safe, safe as houses, for you child. We aren't interested in you.. but for others, those who *are* intent on you, they will know my other name and see the Once in a Lifetime Show… But that is not a show for you, not today child… You can call me Mr. Kind!"

Allen Williams (b. 1965) - Mr. Kind

source

[ufonaut]

Here's to your next adventure. May it bring you as much joy as it has to me...

Jay Garrick: The Flash (2023) #6

(Jeremy Adams, Diego Olortegui)

[heroesyoulove]

HEROES YOU LOVE. ( an independent multi muse for comic book heroes with a smut / erotica focus. ) mun is 25+ / minors will be blocked. muses under the cut. ( dark themes possible )

All muses are bisexual. I'll write m/f or m/m, no issues whatsoever.

MARVEL Steve Rogers / Captain America ( FC: Chris Evans ) Bucky Barnes / Winter Soldier ( FC: Sebastian Stan ) Luke Cage ( FC: Mike Colter ) Danny Rand / Iron Fist ( FC: Luke Mitchell ) Matt Murdock / Daredevil ( FC: Charlie Cox ) James Howlett / Wolverine ( FC: Hugh Jackman ) Peter Quill / Star Lord ( FC: Chris Pratt ) Clint Barton / Hawkeye ( FC: Max Thieriot ) Pietro Maximoff / Quicksilver ( FC: Aaron Taylor Johnson ) Scott Summers / Cyclops ( FC: Theo James ) Frank Castle / Punisher ( FC: Jon Bernthal ) Reed Richards / Mr. Fantastic ( FC: John Krasinski ) Johnny Storm / Human Torch ( FC: Jesse Williams ) Flint Marko / Sandman ( FC: Alan Ritchson ) Alex Summers / Havok ( FC: Alexander Ludwig ) Erik Lehnsherr / Magneto ( FC: Michael Fassbender ) Peter Rasputin / Colossus ( FC: Josh Seggara ) Remy Lebeau / Gambit ( FC: Fabien Frankel )

DC Bruce Wayne / Batman ( FC: Pedro Pascal ) Clark Kent / Superman ( FC: Henry Cavill ) Oliver Queen / Green Arrow ( FC: Stephen Amell ) Barry Allen / Flash ( FC: Matt Barr ) Hal Jordan / Green Lantern ( FC: Oliver Jackson Cohen ) Roy Harper / Arsenal ( FC: Richard Madden ) Slade Wilson / Deathstroke ( FC: Jason Statham )

[bethanydelleman]

New Year's Resolutions for Jane Austen Characters (mid-novel)

Emma Woodhouse: Find a new man for Harriet Smith No more matchmaking! Admit Knightley (and his brother) were right. Meet Frank Churchill, finally.

George Knightley: Just feeling thankful for everything I have. I don't think my life needs to change.

Mr. Woodhouse: Finally convince Isabella to live at Hartfield instead of with her husband. Poor Isabella!

Harriet Smith: Marry Mr. Elton 💗💗💗 *unable to read tear-stained writing*

John Knightley: Spend more time at home with my beloved wife. Why do people invite us places???

Elinor Dashwood: Find a way to get over the most perfect man I've ever met.

Edward Ferrars: Find an honourable way to get out of the engagement with Lucy (same resolution he's had for three years now)

Robert Ferrars: Build a magnificent cottage

Marianne Dashwood: Marry the most perfect man to grace this earth with his beautiful presence, John Willoughby. Also, read more poetry.

Colonel Brandon: *stares at the paper in despair because he cannot bear to give form to his ambitions which seem already impossible*

Elizabeth Bennet: I don't really think there's anything I need to improve about myself. I'm really a great judge of character.

Fitzwilliam Darcy: Remember that duty comes before ephemeral feelings of affection.

Jane Bennet: Find a way to get over the most perfect man I've ever met.

Charles Bingley: Buy an estate (resolution submitted by Caroline & Louisa)

Caroline Bingley: Encourage Charles to finally buy an estate (not in Hertfordshire), get Charles and Georgiana Darcy engaged, get engaged to Mr. Darcy, attend a party with at least three members of the nobility... (too many goals to record here)

Mrs. Bennet: MARRY OFF AT LEAST ONE OF THESE DARN DAUGHTERS

Anne Elliot: find a way to be less awkward around Captain Wentworth... Prepare myself for Captain Wentworth to marry Louisa... Try to endure Bath with a smile

Captain Wentworth: Get out of the obligation to marry Louisa Musgrove by any fair means. PLEASE GOD I AM BEGGING YOU

Captain Benwick: Mourn Fanny for eternity Marry Louisa Musgrove

Catherine Morland: Henry Tilney 💗💗💗💗 Henry Tilney, Northanger Abbey 💗💗💗💗 Henry Tilney & Mrs. Catherine Tilney 💗💗💗 *doodles ideas for wedding gowns*

Eleanor Tilney: Marry the love of my life (same goal for the past three years)

Henry Tilney: Keep being awesome

Frederick Tilney: Keep being awesome

General Tilney: Have all my children disposed in marriage to wealthy individuals (goal since Frederick turned 21)

Mrs. Allen: Purchase some very fine lace

Fanny Price: marry edmund Be as unnoticed as possible

Edmund Bertram: Marry Miss Crawford

Mary Crawford: Marry Edmund Bertram

Henry Crawford: Promote William Price, marry Fanny Price. Rub my excellent treatment of Fanny in the Bertram's faces.

Tom Bertram: *never wrote anything down, never does his years are always awesome*

Mr. Yates: Finally put on a production of Lovers' Vows third times the charm!

Mrs. Norris: Save more money than last year by furthering economy. Keep Fanny in her place. Become more necessary to the Bertrams.

Lady Bertram: sew a cute little jacket for Pug

Lady Susan: Keep being the best Gaslight Girlboss *kisses paper*

(if Christmas happened within novel, I tried to place the resolutions around it. If not, I made up a time)

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Myrna Loy (The Thin Man, Manhattan Melodrama, Mr Blandings Builds his Dream House)—Started out a slinky silent screen vamp. Became a screwball lead who had a blast drinking, being married to William Powell, solving mysteries, and taking her dog everywhere in the Thin Man Movies. Broke our hearts in The Best Years of Our Lives and played a string of dream wives. Remained hot the entire time. Decades of hotness.

Gracie Allen (A Damsel in Distress, Honolulu)— The funniest woman who ever lived, she was the brains behind an absolutely brilliant radio show that she did with her husband George Burns. The radio show was later turned into a television show (which you can find on Youtube) but during the radio days, it was announced that Gracie would be running for President of the United States for the year of 1940. She was running for the Surprise Party, and refused a Vice President as, according to her, there would be no room for vice in her white house. Her slogan was "Down with common sense -Vote for Gracie Allen." [more about this beneath the cut]

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Myrna Loy:

Myrna Loy excelled at playing coy women, so common in screwball comedies in the 40s. She batted her lashes, and shrugged with grace, and made her costars look like foolish heels next to her. She charmed with sneaky elegance, well-placed pouting, and repartee. Besides, she was sultry AF.

While Myrna certainly looked hot in some her earlier vampy exotic bad girl roles, I think shes hottest when her comedic chops got to be displayed. Her dry wit, comedic timing, and subtle facial expressions make her the queen of deadpan snark.

She's just very Mother

So beautiful and popular she was crowned Queen of the Movies in 1936, Myrna Loy was also an amazing actress. She's best remembered for The Thin Man and sequels, where she gets to show off her comedy skills, adding irresistible impish charm to her classic beauty and dancer's figure.

THE SASS

One of the few actresses who managed to successfully transition from silent to talkies, never won an Oscar but was at one time the highest paid woman in Hollywood. Advocated for better roles and pay for Black actors in the 1930s, so passionately anti-Nazi in the 40s she made Hitler's blacklist, spoke out against Joseph McCarthy during the Red Scare, and advocated for fair housing in the 1950s and 1960s, all while being hot as fuck opposite William Powell, Clark Gable, Cary Grant, Spencer Tracy and a whole galaxy of the Hot Vintage Men Poll all-stars.

Cute as a button with so much RIZZ! She and whatsisname in The Thin Man are relationship goals.

She was literally called the Queen of Hollywood! She is so sassy and funny in the whole Thin Man series. Absolutely hot in those, and who doesn’t love a woman who can laugh? She had the sultriest gaze and that style! Also before she was a star she sat as the model for an iconic statue for a school (representing “Fountain of Education”).

the glamour!! the banter!! the comedy!!

She's got this cute kinda scrunched up face AND shes funny AND shes got a bangin body.

Gracie Allen:

Continued from previous propaganda: "We don't want to get rid of men entirely," Allen said, according to a story in the April 22, 1940, Indianapolis Star. "All we want to do is make them unconstitutional and keep them out of circulation, but have them handy when there's no place else to go."

On the Neutrality Bill pending in Congress: "If we owe it, let's pay it." On recognizing Russia: "I don't know. I meet so many people." On which political party she was affiliated with: "I may take a drink now and then, but I never get affiliated.""

She did have to drop out eventually, with World War 2 being on and all, but thousands of people still wrote her in anyway, even if the FDR won the popular vote in the end.  (https://www.jsonline.com/story/life/green-sheet/2016/03/31/that-time-a-comedian-won-the-wisconsin-presidential-primary/84944806/)

[thatscarletflycatcher]

Inspired by @kajaono's post the other day about Victoria Hamilton, JLM and Austen adaptations, have a list of the actors that have been in at least 2 Austen adaptations:

Hat trickers:

Victoria Hamilton played Henrietta Musgrove in Persuasion (1995), Julia Bertram in Mansfield Park (1999), and Mrs. Foster in Pride and Prejudice (1995)

Johnny Lee Miller played one of Fanny's brothers in Mansfield Park (1983), Edmund Bertram in Mansfield Park (1999), and Mr. Knightley in Emma (2009).

Doubles:

Joanna David played Elinor Dashwood in Sense and Sensibility 1972; she also played Mrs. Gardiner in Pride and Prejudice (1995)

Samantha Bond played Maria Bertram in Mansfield Park (1983); she later on played Mrs. Weston in Emma (ITV, 1996)

Bernard Hepton played Sir Thomas Bertram in Mansfield Park (1983); he later on played Mr. Woodhouse in Emma (ITV, 1996)

Sylvestra Latouzel played Fanny Price in Mansfield Park (1983); she later on played Mrs. Allen in Northanger Abbey (2007)

Nicholas Farrell played Edmund Bertram in Mansfield Park (1983); he later on played Mr. Musgrove in Persuasion (2007)

Irene Richard played Charlotte Lucas in Pride and Prejudice (1980); she then played Elinor Dashwood in Sense and Sensibility (1981)

Robert Hardy played General Tilney in Northanger Abbey (1987); he later on played Sir John Middleton in Sense and Sensibility (1995)

Sophie Thompson played Mary Musgrove in Persuasion (1995), and then the following year she played Miss Bates in Emma (Miramax, 1996)

Kate Beckinsale played Emma Woodhouse in Emma (1996); later on she played Lady Susan in Love and Friendship (2016)

Blake Ritson played Edmund Bertram in Mansfield Park (2007) and later on Mr. Elton in Emma (2009)

Jemma Redgrave played Lady Bertram in Mansfield Park (2007); she later on played Mrs. DeCourcy in Love and Friendship (2016)

Lucy Robinson played Mrs. Hurst in Pride and Prejudice (1995); the following year she played Mrs. Elton in Emma (ITV, 1996)

Carey Mulligan played Kitty Bennet in Pride & Prejudice (2005) and then Isabella Thorpe in Northanger Abbey (2007)

Lucy Briers played Mary Bennet in Pride and Prejudice (1995); she also played a minor role as Mrs. Reynolds in Emma (2020)

If we include Austen-adjacent pieces:

Hat tricks:

Hugh Bonneville played Mr. Rushworth in Mansfield Park (1999) and later on played Rev. Brook Bridges in Miss Austen Regrets (2007) and then Mr. Bennet in Lost in Austen (2008)

Doubles:

Olivia Williams played Jane Fairfax in Emma (ITV, 1996); she later on played Jane Austen in Miss Austen Regrets (2007)

Also, Greta Scacchi played Mrs. Weston in Emma (Miramax, 1996) and went on to play Cassandra Austen in Miss Austen Regrets (2007)

Guy Henry played John Knightley in Emma (ITV, 1996), and later on played Mr. Collins in Lost in Austen (2008)

Christina Cole played Caroline Bingley in Lost in Austen (2008) and then Mrs. Elton in Emma (2009)

Anna Maxwell Martin played Cassandra Austen in Becoming Jane (2009), and then went on to play Elizabeth Bennet in Death Comes to Pemberley (2014)

JJ Feild played Mr. Tilney in Northanger Abbey (2007) and later on played Mr. Nobley in Austenland (2014)

If we include radiodramas/radioplays:

Hat tricks:

Blake Ritson gets it as he played Colonel Brandon in the 2010 S&S radio drama

Doubles:

Amanda Root played Anne Elliot in Persuasion (1995); she also played Fanny Price in the 1997 radio drama for Mansfield Park

Felicity Jones also played Fanny in the 2003 radio drama for Mansfield Park, and later on played Catherine Morland in Northanger Abbey (2007)

Robert Glenister played Captain Harville in Persuasion (1995); he also played Edmund Bertram in the 1997 radio drama for Mansfield Park

Amanda Hale played Mary Musgrove in Persuasion (2007) and later on Elinor Dashwood in the 2010 radio drama for Sense and Sensibility.

David Bamber played Mr. Collins in Pride and Prejudice (1995); he later on played Mr. Elton in the 2000 radio drama for Emma

Robert Bathurst played Mr. Knightley in the same adaptation of Emma; later on he played Mr. Weston in Emma (2009)

Also in that adaptation, Tom Hollander played Frank Churchill; he later on played Mr. Collins in Pride & Prejudice (2005)

Juliet Stevenson played Anne Elliot in the 1986 radio drama for Persuasion; later on she played Mrs. Elton in Emma (Miramax, 1996)

And I'm very likely still forgetting someone.

[ddarker-dreams]

☾ book recommendations: *✲⋆.

my all time favorites:

the brothers karamazov by fyodor dostoevsky

notes from underground by fyodor dostoevsky

the picture of dorian gray by oscar wilde

frankenstein by mary shelly

the plague by albert camus

we have always lived in the castle by shirley jackson

the seven who were hanged by leonid andreyev

blackshirts & reds by michael parenti

others that i'd recommend:

break the body, haunt the bones by micah dean hicks

tomie by junji ito

uzumaki by junji ito

berserk by kento miura

the haunting of hill house by shirley jackson

i have no mouth, and i must scream by harlan ellison

the tell-tale heart by edgar allen poe

the cask of amontillado by edgar allen poe

rebecca by daphne du maurier

wuthering heights by emily brontë

dune by frank herbert

a shadow over innsmouth by h. p. lovecraft

the color out of space by h. p. lovecraft

the dunwich horror by h. p. lovecraft

crime and punishment by fyodor dostoevsky

demons by fyodor dostoevsky

the idiot by fyodor dostoevsky

jane eyre by charlotte brontë

do androids dream of electric sheep? by philip k. dick

a long fatal love chase by louisa may alcott

the stranger by albert camus

the metamorphosis by franz kafka

the trial by franz kafka

dragonwyck by anya seton

discipline and punish by michel foucalt

the castle of otranto by horace walpole

faust by johann wolfgang von goethe

the fall by albert camus

the myth of sisyphus by albert camus

the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde by robert louis stevenson

blood meridian by cormac mccarthy (do look into the content warnings though, there's heavy violence/depictions of 1840s-1850s racism)

the death of ivan ilyich by leo tolstoy

the dead by james joyce

the overcoat by nikolai gogol

dead souls by nikolai gogol

hiroshima by john hersey

useful fictions: evolution, anxiety, and the origins of literature by michael austin

no exit by jean paule satre

candide by voltaire

white nights by fyodor dostoevsky

notes from a dead house by fyodor dostoevsky

the shock doctrine by naomi klein

the 100 year war on palestine by rashid khalidi

killing hope by william blum

the karamazov case: dostoevsky’s argument for his vision by terrence w. tilley

stiff: the curious life of human cadavers by mary roach

lazarus by leonid andreyev

imperialism, the highest stage of capitalism by vladmir lenin

the viy by nikolai gogol

[formosusiniquis]

Lineage

Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington WC: 2173 | G | Day 4: Middle Names | AO3

“What are middle names for?” The question bubbles out of Steve as he takes in the picture of Michael J. Fox in Tiger Beat.

It’s the kind of question he thinks of a lot. The kind he’d normally bury in the back of his brain to ponder over on his own when sleep is a far off concept. But Robin is different. They’re so much a part of one another that Steve has stopped holding those questions in his own brain, realizing she likes to puzzle them out and tear them apart like he does.

Only Robin’s base of smarts is a little different, sometimes these questions he has actually get real answers. 

He can feel Robin go still beneath him, his head on her shoulder just like hers is on his. With anyone else the position they’d found themselves in this afternoon would probably be uncomfortable. Sprawled out on his bed, technically back to back, Steve is using the bony knob of Robin’s shoulder to raise his head just enough that he doesn’t have to hold the magazine he’s reading up in the air. Robin has taken the top of the bed, her legs make an L where she has them stretched out against his bedroom wall, toes pointed toward the ceiling. Whatever book she’s been reading is propped up against her thighs, too far to actually read without using the binoculars Dustin left behind last week.

He flips another page in the magazine, content the way he always is with Robin, knowing that when she has finished puzzling out the order that she wants to respond to him in that she’ll speak. Steve thinks it’s probably to tell the difference between people. There are so many in the world, eventually you’re going to have two Tommy H.’s in a room and have to use that middle name.

Tommy Allen, the thought of spending two years of junior high and two and a half in high school calling Tommy that in public drags a little giggle from Steve. That would have made them losers of the highest order. Robin makes a noise that reminds Steve of Mrs. Johnson’s cat whenever he’d feed it for her when she was out of town, inquiring but also a little annoyed that you disturbed whatever it was doing before.

He shimmies his arm just enough that she knows he’ll explain it later. Once he figures out a good way to explain how much of being popular is being good at being perceived the right way. Tommy H’s can be popular, Tommy Allen’s get their slightly bucked teeth and bad laughs noticed. She isn’t going to like that, but Steve learned pretty quickly Robin doesn’t like a lot of things about how popularity actually works.

“I think,” Robin says slowly, she’s talking a little funny and Steve wonders now if she’s let the binoculars rest against her chin instead of just putting them down like a normal person. He could turn and look but figures all he’d actually see is the blurry, too close suggestion of Robin’s face. It’s better in his imagination. 

“I think,” she repeats, in his head the binoculars wiggle down her chest a little further every time her mouth moves, “it's to continue the family line. That used to be a big thing you know, it’s why men didn’t want daughters because then the family name would die out. So you’d give your kid a middle name to help continue one of the old names from the family that was just going to die if you didn’t keep making your wife have more and more babies that she probably didn’t even want.”

“Oh like JR.”

“JR?”

“Yeah, you know JR. He’s that football player that graduated two years ago. His ears stuck out weird and he always seemed to have, like, a Rudolph zit on his nose.”

“You mean Mark Williams?” She shouts, incredulous.

“Sure, I think it was Mark. His dad was definitely Mr. Williams, but they had the same name so whenever they went anywhere he always called him JR. ‘Hey JR wouldja get that for me.’ ‘If you ever wanna go pro, JR, you’re going to have to learn how to take a tackle.’”

Robin is in fits beside him, the impression is terrible but it’s also exactly what the guy used to sound like gruff but also whistley somehow.

“Wait, wait,” the bed shakes as she adjusts herself, he can feel the weird shape of her ear and the uncomfortable poke of her earrings in the cradle of his arm. “What’s your middle name?”

“You mean you didn’t see it when you rifled through my employee file to find my birthday and social security number?”

“I was looking for important information.”

“So you could steal my identity.”

“So I could make fun of you less on your birthday if it was in the summer or maybe just take the whole day off so I didn’t have to deal with the cavalcade of pretty blondes coming in to fawn over Steve Harrington, real adult man.”

“Ew, the worst way anyone has ever described me. You make it sound like I’m some kind of pervert.”

“They would want you to be,” Robin agrees, “I think it would be part of the appeal.”

“Richard.”

“Theodore.”

“No, dingus,” he relishes the moment that he gets to turn her favorite pet name against her, “my middle name is Richard.”

Robin takes that new information and digests it for at least thirty seconds, but that’s just a guess since she’s laying on the arm that has his watch on it. “Stephan Richard Harrington,” she tries out.

“The one and only.”

“It feels like there should be a number at the end. Stephan Richard Harrington the Sixth, best of his line.”

Maybe if he were a Sixth he’d like it a little better, he thinks. “No, it’s like what you said, continuing family names? Mom named me after her brother that died in the war, and Dad hated that or him or probably both knowing him so I got stuck with Richard so he could be included.”

“Robin Marie Buckley,” Robin offers in exchange.

“Ew.”

“I didn’t ew yours even though it makes you sound like a fancy little rich boy.”

“I am a fancy little rich boy,” Steve says, flipping the front of his hair with a half assed toss of his head, “you’re lying here in my ivory tower.”

“I think ivory towers have less blue plaid.”

“I like the blue plaid, it makes hanging things up easy. I’m sorry we can’t all have this season’s Laura Ashley-”

Robin is, unfortunately, at the perfect angle to punch him directly in the chest. “My parents did that to surprise me when I came back from bandcamp two years ago so I could have a more mature room as a high schooler.”

For all that it’s worth he tries not to sound mean when he snorts, the Buckleys are nice and mostly well meaning or at least they have been every time he’s visited. “And they somehow missed the dresser covered in spiky bracelets and the closet full of grandpa suspenders while they were in there.”

“They mean well,” Robin unintentionally echoes Steve’s own earlier thoughts. “They just don’t… really get me.” Her voice trails off, a little lost, and he hates himself for being the person who made Robin feel like that.

“We should change our names.”

“What and go on the lam?” Robin asks.

“We can, but I don’t think any lambs, sheep, or goats need to be involved.”

Steve sits up in bed, forcing Robin to do the same as he pulls his arm out from under her head. It only takes a quick spin before he’s facing her, grabs her arms so she can’t pull away from how totally and completely serious he’s being. “It’s like you said, it’s about family right?” He says, “You’re more family to me than my douchebag dad has ever been so why do I have to be stuck with his name when I could be Stephan Robert.”

“Not Robin?”

“Don’t wanna make it too obvious, and Robin Stephan probably wouldn’t fly at the name changing place.”

“Robin Stephanie,” she tries slowly.

“I mean obviously if I were a girl I’d go by Stevie,” he jokes.

“We can’t just change our names!” Robin says, she doesn’t sound like she believes it though so Steve is pretty sure he’s winning.

“Why can’t we, people do it all the time, I bet it’s super easy.”

“When they get married! Or like adopted. People don’t just change their names on a Tuesday because they feel like it!”

He tries to give that the thought that it deserves, but he mostly just feels like Robin is making excuses because she’s scared. Maybe it’s the leftover fear from Starcourt bubbling out in a place where she can control, or maybe she just likes her parents enough to be scared of hurting their feelings. One of those things he can relate to more than the other.

“Well Thursday would work better for my schedule.”

“Steve!”

“What! So we get married then, is that the problem? I mean I know I’m not your first choice romantically, but didn’t you say people do that so that they’re safe from people knowing they’re gay.”

Her arms are already out, ready to make a point that would probably be big and dramatic and a little long winded the way Robin likes to be when she’s all worked up like this. But he’s stopped her in her tracks. Face to face he can watch as the outrage melts into something sticky and wet like melted ice cream.

“You’d do that for me?”

“I would pretty much do everything including die for you, getting to be Stephan Robert Buckley would really be more like you doing me a favor.”

He’s getting pulled into a crushing hug before he can blink. He doesn’t mention how he can feel the wet fall of her crying against his neck, if it didn’t embarrass her, it might stop Robin from doing her best to climb inside him like she’s Luke and he’s that weird ice kangaroo. Mascara stains on the neck of his shirt are a small price to pay for a Robin Buckley embrace.

They hold each other for as long as it takes for Robin to feel regular again, and it’s nice. Steve thinks they’ll have to have a different conversation about how rarely he gets hugged just for the sake of it later. Right now this is about family and names and because Robin is family in every way that matters he doesn’t say anything when she wipes away those tears and a little snot with the back of her hand.

“You’ll have to wait until March,” she says, “I’m not getting married until I’m at least 18. I don’t want people thinking it’s some shotgun thing after working with you this summer.”

“As long as it’s before you get your dorm assignment for whatever fancy school you get into. If we’re married I’m pretty sure they have to let us live together.”

“Yeah? Even if I go somewhere like Bryn Mawr?”

He pretends like he’s giving that careful consideration, like he doesn’t already know she really wants to go to some big city where the schools might have a language program and she has a better chance of finding other people more like her.

“Well I guess we could live off campus then, if you really want to go to the lesbian school for lesbians.”

She punches him again. “It is not.”

“I wouldn't want the other lesbians to bully you for being married to a really hot guy.”

“One, I never said yes, dingus. Two, I have a whiteboard that questions how hot you are hotshot.’

“Pretty sure that got burned in the fire so you can’t use that as proof anymore you’re going to need more dates.”

“Data, you need to try to land dates.”

“Same difference.”

She pushes him until he’s laying down, grabs her book from his pillow and he takes that as his cue to go back to his magazine. It takes her a minute to decide how she wants to lay down again, he’s already back on his page about this month’s Hollywood Heartthrobs before she’s decided that his chest makes the best pillow and his arm can prop her book up for her. He isn’t sure what it is today, he wonders if she’s close enough to the beginning that he can get her to read it out loud to him, this month’s Tiger Beat really is lacking.

“Why does anyone think these guys are hot? The guys in Rolling Stone are usually better looking than Alex P. Keaton or the guy from Growing Pains. Johnny Depp is kinda okay, I guess.”

“Stephan Robert!” Robin sits upright again, and Steve thinks he might have accidentally started another capital C Conversation.

[beyondthepaper]

💌🫶

Sketches

Some sketches related to the questions answered by @beyondthepaper, had a blast reading them and love the characters!

[kylorengarbagedump]

Playing Soldier: Chapter 1

Read on AO3. Part 2 here.

Summary: With your father off to serve the Continental Army, you've taken up the mantle of protector for your family - so when redcoats arrive on your property looking for him, you stand your ground. Sure, this ends in your arrest as a prisoner of war, but you don't plan on making it easy for them.

Until, of course, your interrogation is co-opted by Colonel William Tavington - the cruel, brutal Butcher of the Continentals.

Unfortunately for you, he's also the most beautiful man you've ever seen.

Words: 5500

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, William Tavington is Not Nice

Characters: William Tavington x Reader

A/N: THIS IS CO-WRITTEN WITH MY GORGEOUS PERFECT LOVE, @bastillia.

If you made it through, thank you for reading this first chapter to a mini-story about a villain from a film that's 24 years old. No better way to celebrate Fourth of July than fantasizing about fucking a British soldier!

Bastillia and myself are currently in a Jason Isaacs phase and we desperately need him and in particular William Tavington. So! Here you go. <3

Love y'all so so much!

Grace found you in your father’s rocking chair, dressed in his clothes. Taking a seat on the porch bench next to you, she let her head fall back, her gaze following the ceiling. When you didn’t speak, she sucked in air through her nose and sighed. 

“Are you going to sit out here all night again?” 

You shrugged, and she nudged you.  

“You and one gun won’t stand much of a chance against a bunch of redcoats.”

You frowned, glancing from the pistol in your lap to the dirt path cutting across the grassy field in front of you. Evening’s claws crept across the village, sank into the horizon. Since the fall of Charleston to the British, darkness carried an hourglass with it, the bottom growing heavier every night. Jaw stiff, your eyes followed a firefly as it drifted and winked out like an ember over the grass.

“You would rather I let them burn our home?”

Grace sighed again. “They won’t burn our home.”

You turned on her. “Won’t they? Mrs. Miller has a cousin outside of Charleston. Told me they fired her barn.”

“That’s one person.”

“Mr. Allen said his brother told him about a whole town down the way from Camden they found burned to the ground.”

Grace snorted. “Ah, yes, Mr. Allen, our esteemed purveyor of truths.”

“Grace. If…” You gripped the barrel of the pistol, your mouth drawing tight. She didn’t know, and it had to remain that way. There was no ‘if’ to your father’s return in her mind. He’d left the truth behind his departure only with you.  “I won’t let father come home to a pile of ash.”

A family of crickets swelled in song. Grace shifted closer to you. “You would rather I let him come home to your grave?”

You looked at her. Seeing her expression, a small part of you softened. She wasn’t wrong to worry. Your eyes ached, your head heavy from the lack of sleep. But even when you decided to lie down, your mind refused to release you to rest. Your shift as sentinel would end when your father returned home. With a sigh, you slumped back. The chair eked back and forth on the planks, the drumbeat of your station. 

“Let’s talk about something else,” you said. “Nathaniel’s been paying you quite a bit of attention, hasn’t he?”

Grace stiffened, battling a grin. “Yes, he has.” She folded her hands in her lap, her cheeks reddening. “Why?”

A laugh rumbled in your throat. You knew it. “What do you think about him?”

She pinched her lips between her teeth. “Well, he’s very sweet. Very kind. He always has been, you know the Joneses, they’re such good people.” Her shoulders melted into the bench. “He’s been walking with me after church. Just through the town. We look at the flowers.” She sighed, finally letting herself smile, her gaze drifting until her eyes hesitantly found yours. “What do you think about him?”

“Me?” you replied, as if you didn’t know the question was coming. “I don’t know him that well.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. What have you noticed about him?”

You hummed in thought. Nathaniel Jones. 

“Well…” His jawline was seldom free of razor wounds. “Probably a little clumsy.” The grooves in his fingers were always tread with dirt, the collar of his shirt tanned by sweat. His hands had stained almost every page of his Bible. “Not sure if he ever washes without needing a reminder.” He always showed up to church with at least one piece of tack fastened wrong on his horse. His mouth would mimic reading aloud during service, but his eyes would be trained on the floor. “And I don’t think he’s very bright.”

“Really.” Grace studied you. “Mrs. Jones taught all of those boys, though.”

“Doesn’t mean they all have the same capacity to learn,” you mumbled. But before Grace could protest, you shrugged. “Kind is good, though.” You offered a small grin. “Kind is very good.”

With a laugh of relief from Grace, the two of you lapsed into comfortable silence, basking in cricket song. The rocking chair squeaked back, forth, back, forth. It squeaked in tempo with your heart, rumbling, louder, a vibration skittering through your toes. Deeper, deeper it grew, staccato in its cadence, a pounding that rocked your porch. 

It wasn’t until Grace turned to look at you, her eyes shimmering in starlight, that you realized it wasn’t your heart at all. Torches floated over your lawn and up the dirt path, bobbing in rhythm with horse hooves. A dozen of them, each illuminating a soldier in a crimson jacket.

Your throat thickened. Your stomach tightened. You squeezed the handle of your father’s pistol. Beside you, Grace whispered your name.

“Quiet,” you said. “Just get behind me.”

You leapt to your feet, crossing over the top step of your porch to lean against one of the wooden columns, gun held slack but unconcealed at your side. The officer in front—a white-wigged man with a sword on his hip—held his fist in the air. Behind him, the squad stalled to a stop, dust swirling in the halos of light. 

Swallowing, you stuck your chin toward the sky, hoping that your father’s farm boots made you a little bit taller, that the breadth of his shirt made your shoulders even a little bit wider. The officer in front dismounted his horse and waved his hand, and a soldier behind him joined him on the ground. Together, they marched toward your home. 

“Officers,” you said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?”

At the foot of the stairs, the inferior officer looked between you and Grace. His brow furrowed, he leaned toward the ear of his superior. “No record of a son according to our intel, sir.”  

You frowned, but didn’t correct him. Being mistaken for a man had its benefits in this situation.

The superior officer scrutinized you, hairline to hips, his lips screwing in thought. Whatever he was considering, he didn’t say it—instead, he cleared his throat and pulled a piece of parchment from one of the pouches on his hip. 

“Good evening,” he began, his nose wrinkling as he glanced at you and Grace. “You may call me Sergeant Dalton, this is Corporal Bancroft. Is this the home of Michael…” His eyes narrowed as he tried to read the last name. But you didn’t care to wait.

“Yes,” you said. “This is his home. We’re his children.” You stared between them. “Is that all? My sister needs to be getting to bed soon.”

Dalton returned the parchment, his hands meeting behind his back. “You’re aware your father is an officer in the Continental Army?”

Your heart—it was definitely your heart, this time—thumped in your temple. This was the part you didn’t want Grace knowing about. The soldiers waited, studying your face. You needed to say something. Words died on your tongue.

“What?” Grace stepped forward, peering around you. “No, he’s not. He’s been away—”

“Grace, be quiet,” you hissed. 

But she’d already caught the interest of Dalton. “Would you like to continue, young miss?” He advanced a step toward you both, and your finger slipped into the pistol’s trigger well. “Or perhaps you’d prefer to submit to questioning regarding your father’s whereabouts?” He glimpsed your hold on the gun. “Come along, quietly, and you may very well be pardoned by His Majesty’s army.”

You shook your head. “Just take me. She doesn’t know anything.”

Grace whispered your name, grabbed your hand, and proceeded to undermine you. “No,” she said. “Take me. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“Dammit, Grace—”

“That’s enough.” Dalton looked at you, then at Grace, then at Bancroft. “Arrest them both.”

---

In the tent, the air was thick with breath and sweat. Candles swayed in the center, their lambent glow hovering on the walls, deepening every shadow. Voices filtered in from outside, so low that they clogged together through the canvas. Sharper was the ache where your bindings had begun to bite your wrists to rawness. Louder the pulse in your own eardrums, and the sniffled prayers coming from the young man bound beside you. 

Twisting your wrists sent a knife of clarity to your brain. You bit back a hiss—you needed to think. 

By your estimation, they’d brought you between two and five miles beyond the outskirts of town. But between the darkness and the burlap sack which had been so benevolently foisted upon your head for the entire wagon ride here, it was impossible to say for sure.

More alarmingly, you’d lost track of Grace somewhere in the weave of shoves and barked commands. When the tents had been erected, you’d been thrown in with the men—Elijah Smith, Adam Brown, and Nathaniel Jones, as fate would have it. Whether this was somehow a genuine mistake even after your thorough handling by the soldiers, or some drawn-out taunt to your choice of attire, you also had no idea. 

Each unknown seemed to hook itself upon a tender sinew in your mind, and stretch it taut. You tried shaking your head, but that only set off a ringing in your ears. 

Beside you, Nathaniel sobbed out another prayer. Your teeth ground together.

Craven would have to be added among the placards you’d already tacked to his character, you decided. 

Outside, hooves thundered again. As they slowed, one pulled ahead of the others and into the heart of the camp. Your ears pricked. There was an unevenness to its gait, the rattle of a bit shank as the horse threw its head before slowing to a halt several yards away. Voices rose and hushed, soldiers shuffling. A distant chorus of acknowledgement to a new arrival.

“Colonel, sir,” said one that sounded like Dalton. “The Dragoons weren’t—I wasn’t aware you’d be arriving.”

“Another detail among many which seem to slip your awareness, Dalton,” said the voice belonging to this colonel, whoever he was. “The rebels, then. What have we learned?”

Dalton was silent for a moment. “Well… Nothing yet, s—”

“Nothing.” 

“We haven’t begun the interrogations, sir.” 

Boots struck the ground. As his horse was led away, the colonel dusted his coat twice. And, with the manner of someone chiding a forgetful child, said: “Well, no time like the present, is there, Sergeant?” 

There was movement, grass rustling, canvas flapping. You stuck out your neck as if this would help you hear—all it managed to do was strain your collarbones. Beside you, Nathaniel was still sniveling, sorry for himself and his whole family, as if now was the time to be crying. Closing your eyes, you caught the frayed wisps of voices, drowned by the sound of his sobs.

“Nathaniel,” you murmured. When he didn’t respond, you kicked his boot. "Nathaniel.”

He snorted up snot. “What? Who are you?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s me. Grace’s sister.”

“Grace’s—” He inventoried your outfit. “Dear God. I didn’t recognize you. Is that why you’re in here with…” His eyes gained focus through his tears. “If you’re in here, where’s Grace? Is she all right?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out!” You tilted your head toward the origin of the other voices. “Be quiet.”

Nathaniel choked and nodded, his nose still leaking, his face ruddy. You caught a sigh in your chest and sat straight, listening for intakes of breath, stammers, the scrape of metal, the chime of glass, anything that would give you insight.

The colonel’s voice first, dipping in and out of your perception. “All of you have… Captain Michael…”

You swallowed. This was about your father. But he should be with the Continentals up near Virginia by now. 

“... his crimes against the King’s army… may be spared and released.” 

Spared and released? Civilians weren’t targets, torture wasn’t permitted, you had nothing to fear from soldiers who would be your future brethren—this was according to the Loyalists in your village, anyway. Recent reports sparked doubt in their confidence. This colonel concealing threats stoked it further.

God, you hoped Grace wasn’t in that tent.

Silence. The candles wavered under the sodden air. One, two, three steps in the grass. You closed your eyes. 

“Very well.” The click of a pistol. 

Your breath stalled. 

“Wait! Don’t—don’t…” 

Grace. Grace was in that tent. Your consciousness slipped with a skip of your heart, but you sucked in air, fighting the ring in your ears. If you were going to help her, you needed to be alert. 

“Is—is that Grace?” said Nathaniel.

You kicked his boot again.

“I’ll tell you everything I know. Michael is my father.” Grace’s voice was tight, trembling. “But he’s—you have the wrong idea about him, sir. Or the wrong man entirely. He’s not a soldier in the Continental Army, he’s been away visiting our grandmother in Pennsylvania.”

“No,” you whispered. “No, Grace, no…”

“How very interesting,” came the colonel’s even reply.

A gunshot split the night. 

All three men beside you flinched at once, and your bones flashed to ice. When the tin-whistle screech died in your ears, someone outside was screaming. Another was pleading.

“No! No, no…” It was Grace’s voice. Relief hit like opium. She was sobbing, incoherent between retches and sputterings of "you killed her,” and “oh, God, no, please no…”

You swallowed bile. Nathaniel resumed his prayers with fervor, now rocking back and forth. Elijah joined him.

“Colonel Tavington, I must protest,” came Dalton’s voice through the chorus of grief, before dropping lower. “... cannot abide… protocol… my jurisdiction—”

“Fortunately for you,” the colonel—Tavington—said, “these prisoners are no longer under your jurisdiction. They are under mine. But do feel free to stand by, Dalton, if you’ve the stomach for it. Perhaps you and your men could benefit from a demonstration, hm?”

“Sir,” was the only acknowledgment Dalton offered.

“Tavington,” said Adam, looking at Nathaniel and Elijah. “William Tavington? The Butcher?”

Elijah met his gaze and nodded without stopping prayer.

Your father had never mentioned any Butcher, but tonight was giving you plenty of context. Bracing against needles of panic, you closed your eyes, forcing your breathing to slow. Wails wracked Grace, and your chest squeezed. She had never seen death. Perhaps naively, you had hoped to keep it that way. 

A gasp rippled through the women, and then Tavington spoke again.

“Now, now, darling girl. Shall we try this once more? Perhaps without lying.” The scrape of a ramrod resounded, then another click. 

“I’m not lying” The tone of her utter despair tightened your throat. “I—I promise, that’s the truth. You can ask my sister. She—”

“Which of you is her sister?” 

“I…” Silence. “She’s not in this tent. I don’t know where she is. But you arrested both of us, sir, she’s around here somewhere!” Another whimper crawled its way out of her. “There’s no need for anyone to die, please.”

You chewed your lip. You’d had enough. “Colonel!” you called out. “Leave her alone. I’m in here.”

“Stupid girl,” growled Elijah, “you’ll doom us.”

Ignoring him, you sat up straighter and willed your nerves to harden. Grace cried out your name, but was cut off with a yelp as leather cracked against skin. Fury roared within you.

Through the hot surge of blood, you heard footsteps marching toward the opening to your tent. Whoever this Butcher was, you’d halfway convinced yourself you’d spit in his face. But you needed to play it smarter than that, needed to keep Grace safe. With what little information you gathered, you at least knew he was a man, and from what you knew about men, they were easily swayed with a bit of physical encouragement.

With the shards of a plan coalescing, you shifted up onto your knees and thrashed your shoulders. Pain leapt from your wrists up your arms, but the movement had the intended effect—the front laces of your shirt slackened, the collar slipping open until it threatened to drape off of one shoulder. Pulse thundering, you settled back onto your heels. Exposed. Ready to bare your throat to the enemy. 

Boots came to a halt outside. Then the entrance peeled open, and the Butcher stalked through. 

You could make out little more than his silhouette. Tall and broad, head bowed to accommodate the tent’s low threshold. Then he straightened, took a step forward, and another, until candlelight thawed the shadows from his face. And as it did, the searing core of your anger surged and flashed to mist. 

He was disarmingly handsome. High cheekbones framed a face carved from cruel marble. His eyes, alive like blue signal fires, penetrated the dimness from beneath the bastion of his brow. Peering down a curved nose, he struck a hawklike poise, with shoulders squared and hands clasped behind his back. His long, dark hair was combed back into a bond at the base of his skull. Immaculate, apart from a single errant strand that drifted down to brush his jaw. Even beneath an ink wash of darkness, you devoured his shape. 

And, against every rational instinct left thrashing for air—found him exquisite.

A prickling sensation rose under your skin, spread hot across your bare collarbones and up your neck. You bolted your eyes to the floor, shifted on your knees. His presence stole even more air from the tent than you’d thought was possible. With a pang of frustration, you blinked hard once. If you were to have any chance of surviving this encounter, if Grace were to have any chance, you needed to pull yourself together. Now. 

One slow, controlled breath flowed in through your nose, out through your mouth. You dared to glance up again. 

The colonel’s head swung down the line of men, surveying his prisoners as a wolf might a flock. And then his eyes landed upon you.

“The sister,” he said, advancing. “Playing soldier with the men.” He clucked his tongue. “Quaint.” Your teeth ground in your skull, but words were not as forthcoming as you’d hoped when you’d shouted his summons into the night. The Butcher moved closer. “Is your father so thoughtless, leaving his daughters vulnerable while he dies in war?”

“My father,” you began, “trusts me to take care of the family while he’s away.” 

Tavington’s eyebrow cocked. “You’ve done a wonderful job, then, haven’t you?”

The venom his beauty had diluted was gathering on your tongue again. With effort, you swallowed it. Stick to the plan. Eyebrows pinching together, you made a show of slouching in capitulation to his jabs. You then conjured a pained whine and wiggled in your restraints, hoping your shirt would expose more of your clavicle, that he’d be able to see the sway of your breasts when you moved.

The colonel frowned, but did not drop his gaze. “Something the matter?”

“I’m sorry, sir.” You pulled breath through your voice, fluttered your lashes. The focus required not to crumble under the frigidity of his gaze could have earned you regional acclaim. “These restraints are just so tight.” You wrested your shoulders back and forth as if to demonstrate, gasping from the very real pain that screamed in your wrists. “Perhaps you could loosen them just a little…”

Next to you, you felt Nathaniel watching, caught from the corner of your sight his mouth agape in horror. The realization irritated you. What had he done for Grace other than whimper like a beaten dog for God’s help? Yet another strike against him.

He wasn’t important. Bargaining for Grace’s safety was. 

Meanwhile, Tavington had tracked your movement, his expression indecipherable. Your palms sweat in fear you’d managed to find the one man impervious to the temptation of sex. 

“Poor dear.” He crossed behind you, and you stifled a sigh of relief.

Strong hands slid down your forearms and found the bindings on your wrists. The leather warmed your skin, his breath skimmed your nape. Goosebumps raced over you along with an undeniable desire to shiver, but you held your breath, fighting it off. Instead, you tipped your head to the side, exposing the bare skin of your shoulder to his view, along with the intriguing pocket of darkness that had formed down the front of your shirt, between your breasts. 

Tavington paused. Your breath stalled. With an unforgiving grip on the ropes, he undid the knot—and then yanked it tighter. The fiber gouged your flesh, air fleeing your chest. 

He stood and wedged the sole of his boot along your spine, shoving you forward. You smacked the dirt with a cough.

Your cheeks burned. So you had managed to find this previously-assumed-mythical man. Fine. If your body wasn’t going to work, you would find an alternative strategy. 

“Perhaps that may help you focus less on squirming and more on the task at hand.” Tavington’s boots crossed your vision, shiny enough that you could almost glimpse your own pathetic reflection. With a grunt, you twisted to glare up at him. He was watching you like a child might watch ants under a magnifying glass on a sunny afternoon. “I’m going to show you a map. You’re going to show me where we can find your father. And if your sister gives me the same answer, you both may leave with your lives.”

Hoping the ground would yield a new perspective, you studied him. The horse he arrived on—it’d had a lame gait. Then there was his hair—a single thread of it kissing his jawline. His hands were concealed, his jacket and boots impeccable. But his stock-tie—the knot had been pulled slack, one tail creeping from beneath his collar. 

There was so little to gamble with. But you had to try your luck anyway.

You snorted, using your shoulder as leverage to hoist yourself back onto your heels. “That will prove fruitless for you. She doesn’t know where he is.” You leveled him with your stare. His own bore into you, almost hollowed you. “My father only entrusted me with that knowledge.”

Tavington stepped forward. “A mistake on his part, perhaps, given the situation you find yourself in now.”

“No,” you said. “I think he had the right idea.” 

A tiny, almost imperceptible smirk curled his mouth. “Then you’ll have no problem telling me exactly where he can be found.” He exhaled, the next words drawn out as if your lives were an inconvenient tedium. “Or you and everyone in this tent will suffer until you do.”

Nathaniel quailed. You jut out your chin. 

“Do your worst.” 

Tavington’s lip twitched. He snatched his pistol from its holster.

“You won’t kill me!” you spat. “You need me. Or you will fail.” Your voice was tight. 

Tavington regarded you coolly from over the pistol’s frizzen. That moment’s silence was admission enough—a mote of triumph surged within you.

“Terribly sure of yourself.” As stony as his expression remained, you caught a certain bile now laced through his tone. “Pity,” he tutted, moving forward to rest the barrel between your brows. “To think such a pale imitation of bravery could save you.”

“It’s your risk to take,” you spat out, heart drumming your chest. 

Something flashed across his expression. Seizing your chance, you held his gaze and pressed your forehead into the gun barrel. 

“No cavalryman of honor rides his horse to lameness.” Fear bubbled in your throat, but you swallowed it. “Look at you, Colonel. Your hair, your stock-tie—utterly disheveled. One might think you rushed here. One might even think you need something. Desperately. But you won’t get it if you kill me.” You flicked your eyes toward the other tent. “And if you hurt Grace, you’ll have to, because I promise that if you lay another finger on her, you will leave here with nothing.”

The tent was silent. Tavington dropped to a crouch before you and pressed the pistol under your chin. The barrel moved, guiding your head side to side as he examined your face. You swallowed, heat creeping onto your neck with the intensity of his attention. He was reading you, calculating his next move. You followed the single strand of his hair. You wondered how it felt against his skin.

”Tell me,” he murmured, his breath brushing your nose, “upon which observation I struck you as a man of honor.”

Tavington stood, unsheathed his sword, and in one swift movement, sliced Elijah across the throat. A sheet of blood draped down his chest. Your eyes widened. Adam and Nathaniel screamed. The sword gored Adam’s neck, silencing him, and with its blade still lodged there, Tavington raised his pistol, cocked the hammer, and blew a bullet right through Nathaniel’s head.

The blast flayed your senses to a single tone pealing through your skull. When the world reformed, something warm and slick had smattered your face. You smelled iron.

You heard Grace shout your name, ripped through with terror, and as you heaved a breath to reply, Tavington wrenched the sword from Adam’s flesh and trained it against your windpipe. Adam’s body joined the rest, the dirt rusting with their blood.

“Ah, ah,” Tavington said, eyes sparkling with glee. “Best if sister dearest thinks you’re dead. Kinder that way, don’t you think? At least, of course, until we find out if you have anything of value to offer.” 

Dalton charged into the tent and cursed. He gestured toward the bodies still soaking the ground. “Colonel, please,” he said. “I must insist. I won’t know how to explain all of this to the General.”

Tavington turned toward him, his excitement waning. “How unfortunate for you.”

“I—I know, sir. But please. Let us just take the rest of these women to Charleston. We can handle this there.”

Crickets hummed in unison again. Tavington looked back at you. The terrible thrill flickered alive again.

“Take them, then,” he said, regarding you like a cougar would regard a lamb. “But leave this one with me.”

The sergeant nodded. “Uh, yes. Yes, Colonel.”

He disappeared again. Orders echoed to round up the women and get them on carts to Charleston. From the other tent, you caught Grace’s horrified, desperate tears. Everything inside you was bursting to call out to her, to soothe her despair. But Tavington’s blade prodded your throat. One noise could send it through.

You waited like that with him until the carts creaked off into the night. The bodies around you settled into death, their final breaths a gurgled epode to the dirt. It was impossible to stop the tears of anger that stung the corners of your eyes. Worse still, there was no way to hide them. No move you could make that wouldn’t add you to the litter of cooling corpses. All you could do with your last scrap of dignity was hold the Butcher’s stare.

A smirk flashed over his face. Your throat thickened.

“Now, there’s an obedient little soldier, hm?”

You held your breath, cheeks hot with humiliation or agitation or something altogether unfamiliar. God, what a bastard. If only you’d had your gun on you; you would’ve been happy to demonstrate just how much of a soldier you could be. 

Tavington watched you, checking your compliance as if you were his dog in training. The closer he moved, the greater the heat in your chest, the thinner the air waned. His attention in any other scenario would've felt flattering—he followed every line, every curve of your body, eyes scouring your skin like chipped timber—only he sought the evidence of your deceit, anxious for an excuse to pile you on top of his casualties. 

In any other scenario, the something altogether unfamiliar would've been simpler to define. In any other scenario, you might have wanted him closer.

Tavington raised a brow. Whatever he was searching for, he didn’t find it—or the weight of your information while alive was greater than his desire for your death. 

He lowered the blade. You exhaled.

“Your father is a fugitive. Tell me where I can find him,” he said quietly, jaw tight. “And your sister may fare well in her trial for treason.”

Your heart pounded in your throat, in your temples. You had no idea where your father might have headed, and you didn’t have any intention of handing that information to this monster, regardless. But you first needed to survive him. The rest would come later.

“Yes, sir,” you said, nodding. “If you show me on a map where he escaped from, I can show you the path he likely followed.”

Tavington considered you for a moment, then offered a mirthless grin. “I advise you not to move.”

With that, he turned on his heel, striding outside. Breath trembled through you, your eyes jumping around the tent. They’d stripped it of anything potentially useful—no knives, swords, guns, not even a damn rasp or a pair of nippers for the horses.

“Colonel Tavington, sir,” came a voice from outside. 

“Do I appear at liberty, Bancroft?”

“Well, no—”

“Then it can wait.”

“But sir, it’s—”

“As you were.”

“It’s correspondence from General Cornwallis, sir.”

Silence. Your head cocked. He was unmoored. And behind you, candles crackled dutifully. 

If you had any stitch of time to take at all, it would be now. 

Your limbs moved autonomously. You rolled onto your side, working your bound hands beneath your thighs, tucking your legs to your chest. Wincing at the strain in your wrists, you forced them all the way around your legs. Now in an awkward quadrupedal position, you turned and focused on the candles. With a dizzying level of concentration, you managed to suppress the cries of pain as you dragged yourself forward. 

Your wrists throbbed. Numbness pricked your fingertips. Your lungs screamed for air. None of it mattered. Balancing on your heels once more, you wedged your shirt collar between your teeth. Then you reached up and held your wrists over the flame. 

Pain wasn't immediate. First there was only heat. Heat, and the acrid taste of your own heartbeat in your mouth. The fibers between your wrists frayed, dissolving like sugar upon the little tongue of flame. And then, it began to bite. 

If you’d wanted to shout before, it had been nothing compared to this. Everything inside you lurched with the singular need to snatch your wrists from the flame, cradle them to your chest. Your teeth tore into linen. Your eyes squeezed shut.

Blisters bubbled to life on your flesh, agony lodging in your throat. Vision blanching, you could feel every muscle shake violently as they went to war with your will. 

Just as surrender mapped a cannonfire course down your arms, the fiber snapped and your wrists sprang apart. You collapsed to your knees and elbows, wrangling the sobs that clawed your chest, blinking against the cotton fog that threatened to blanket your senses. 

Move. You need to move.

You spared one glance back toward the tent entrance before prying a candle from its pricket and shambling for the lip of the tent. As you flattened yourself to slide under, you caught the vacant stare of Nathaniel Jones. Behind him, the shapes of the other two men could have been cloth-covered stone. A lump wedged in your throat, which you swallowed with force. 

Was it regret? Maybe. Pity? Assuredly. Either way, all you could do now was slip beneath the edge of your canvas prison and light them a pyre. You left the candle on its side, the flame licking at a piece of rope rigging. And you ran.

Silhouetted against the summer night sky, you could just make out a treeline. That would be your haven, if only you could make it. Your feet attacked the uneven ground, somehow keeping you upright. You looked back just in time to see the tent erupt in flame, to hear the bellowing of redcoats and screeching of their horses.

The fire’s ghost haunted your skin. Pain hammered up your shoulders, and as you made your way into the forest, you bit your tongue to silence a burgeoning whimper. Familiarity with the terrain was your advantage, but you needed silence to make full use of it.

You leapt to avoid leaving footprints and snapping branches and dropped against a tree. The tent’s blaze pulsed in your periphery. Drawing a slow, long breath, a familiar rhythm rumbled close, closer. Rumbled, then pounded and clanked in an awkward, head-tossing gallop. 

Tavington’s horse. 

You froze, sunk to the ground, spying the torch that danced with the horse’s gait and watched as it met the treeline, spilled light on the leaves. It tracked through the forest, a flame aching to swallow a moth. The light’s edge nearly skimmed your toes. 

Tavington growled—a deep, furious grind in his chest—and tore off down the perimeter.

When you were certain he’d gone, you stood and kept moving, pressing your wrists together to will the pain away. You’d find somewhere to hide. You’d wait them out tonight. 

Tomorrow, you’d find Grace.

[wanderingmind867]

i probably haven't read enough Golden Age Comics to make this (I've barely read any, really), but I just spent the whole weekend making this list of birthdates for Earth-Two DC heroes and villians. I could've been working on my Christmas List! But no! My brain just had to get fixated on this. So here it is. This thing I didn't need to make, but my brain wouldn't let me stop working on. So here's a long list of names and birthdays. Nobody asked for this, and it was hellish to make. But my brain still expects me to make three more of these! sigh...

Superman (Clark Kent/Kal-L): 1916

Lois Lane: 1917

Power Girl (Kara Zor-L/Karen Starr): 1916 (Birth Certificate says 1956)

George Taylor: 1887 Died: 1955 (Age at Death: 68)

Jimmy Olson: 1928

Perry White: 1914

Lana Lang: 1920

Steve Bard: 1916

John Kent: 1875 Died: 1938 (Age at Death: 65)

Mary Kent: 1876 Died: 1932 (Age at Death: 60)

Samuel Lane: 1887 Died: 1973 (Age at Death: 86)

Ella Lane: 1889 Died: 1979 (Age at Death: 90)

Lucille Lane: 1920

Susie Tompkins: 1939

Batman (Bruce Wayne): 1915 Died: 1979 (Age at Death: 64)

Catwoman (Selina Kyle): 1920 Died: 1977 (Age at Death: 57)

Robin (Dick Grayson): 1933

Huntress (Helena Wayne): 1957

Batwoman (Kathy Kane): 1922

Alfred Beagle: 1900 Died: 1989 (Age at Death: 89)

Karl Kyle (Catwoman's Brother): 1924

Harvey Kent: 1912

Gilda Kent: 1915

Thomas Wayne: 1883 Died: 1924 (Age at Death: 41)

Martha Wayne: 1884 Died: 1924 (Age at Death: 40)

Phillip Wayne: 1885 Died: 1939 (Age at Death: 56)

Commissioner James Gordon: 1900 Died: 1976 (Age at Death: 76)

Julie Madison: 1915

Linda Page: 1919

Barbara Gordon (James Gordon's Wife): 1900 Died: 1981 (Age at Death: 81)

Anthony Gordon: 1931

The Flash (Jay Garrick): 1918

Joan Garrick: 1920

Winky Moylan: 1916

Blinky Boylan: 1915

Noddy Toylan: 1914

Green Lantern (Alan Scott): 1913

Doiby Dickles: 1896

Irene Miller: 1914

Harlequin (Molly Mayne): 1923

Wonder Woman (Diana Prince/Diana of Themyscira): 1920

Steve Trevor: 1918

Etta Candy: 1927

Paula von Gunther: 1907

Gerta Von Gunther: 1935

Phillip Darnell: 1903

Hawkman (Carter Hall): 1917

Hawkgirl (Shiera Sanders-Hall): 1917

The Atom (Al Pratt): 1921

Mary James Pratt: 1920

Joe Morgan: 1904

The Spectre (Jim Corrigan): 1900

Clarice Winston: 1908

Percival Popp: 1918

The Sandman (Wesley Dodds): 1913

Dian Belmont: 1916

Sandy the Golden Boy (Sanderson Hawkins): 1928

Lawrence Belmont: 1888 Died: 1974 (Age at Death: 86)

Hourman (Rex Tyler): 1913

Wendi Harris: 1936

Jimmy Martin: 1931

Thorndyke Thompkins: 1930

Doctor Fate (Kent Nelson): 1908

Inza Cramer: 1916

Johnny Thunder: 1917

Daisy Darling: 1918

Peachy Pet: 1935

Red Tornado (Ma Hunkel): 1901

Scribbly Jibbet: 1930

Mortimer "Dinky" Jibbet: 1933

Huey Hunkel: 1930

Amelia "Sisty" Hunkel: 1934

Starman (Ted Knight): 1915

Doris Lee: 1917

Woodley Allen: 1893

Doctor Mid-Nite (Charles Mcnider): 1915

Myra Mason: 1918

Wildcat (Ted Grant): 1919

Joan Fortune: 1913

Hiram Skinner: 1921

Mr. Terrific (Terry Sloane): 1920

Wanda Wilson: 1921

Black Canary (Dinah Drake): 1926

Larry Lance: 1925

Star Spangled Kid (Sylvester Pemberton): 1927

Merry, Girl of 1,000 Gimmicks (Merry Pemberton): 1934

Stripesy (Pat Dugan): 1914

Giovanni Zatara: 1918

Sargon the Sorcerer: 1919

Rose Canton: 1924 Died: 1985 (Age at Death: 61)

Alexei Luthor: 1906

Ultra-Humanite: 1844

J. Wilbur Wolfingham: 1910

Colonel Future (Edmond Future): 1918

The Puzzler: 1901

The Prankster (Oswald Loomis): 1908

The Toyman (Winslow Schott): 1910

Metalo (George Grant): 1909

The Penguin (Oswald Cobblepot): 1907

Clayface (Basil Karlo): 1887

The Scarecrow (Jonathan Crane): 1904

Hugo Strange: 1889 Died: 1982 (Age at Death: 93)

The Cavalier (Mortimer Drake): 1915

The Wizard (William Zard): 1913

Brainwave (Henry King): 1910 Died: 1984 (Age at Death: 74)

The Gambler (Steven Sharpe III): 1910 Died: 1987 (Age at Death: 77)

The Thinker (Clifford DeVoe): 1905

Rag Doll (Peter Merkel): 1916 Died: 1986 (Age at Death: 70)

The Fiddler (Issac Bowin): 1915

Anaya Bowin: 1930

The Icicle (Joar Mahkent): 1913 Died: 1986 (Age at Death: 73)

Sportsmaster (Crusher Crock): 1921

Tigress (Paula Brooks): 1923

Silver Scarab (Hector Hall): 1958

Fury (Hippolyta "Lyta" Trevor): 1958

Nuklon (Albert Rothstein): 1960

Northwind (Norda Cantrell): 1958

The Lare (Olivia Corrigan): 1953

Brainwave Jr (Henry King, Jr): 1963

Harlequin II (Noel Loomis-Schott): 1965

Obsidian (Todd Rice): 1966

Jade (Jennifer Lynn-Haden): 1966

Wildcat II (Yolanda Montez): 1955

Hourman II (Rick Tyler): 1966

Starman II (Jack Knight): 1972

Doctor Mid-Nite II (Beth Chapel): 1959

Cyclone (Maxine Hunkel): 1964

The Warlock (Warren Zard): 1974

Hazard (Rebecca Sharpe): 1971

The Gambler II (Steven Sharpe V): 1975

The Fiddler II (Issac Bowin Jr): 1961

The Icicle II (Cameron Mahkent): 1959

Tigress II (Artemis Crock): 1958

Rag Doll II (Peter Merkel Jr): 1951

[dc-tournaments]

Who is on the bracket for the Asexuality awards?

In order of submission, we have:

Connor Hawke

Roshanna Chatterji

larvox

Querl Dox

Bart Allen

Jean-Paul Valley

Jughead

Darcy Thomas

All characters named Ace

Khaji Da

Starro

Jarro

Riddler

Billy Batson

Scarecrow

Phantom Stranger

Cassandra Cain

Tim Drake

Jason Todd

Captain Marvel as a separate person from Billy Batson

Mary Bromfield

Tawky Tawny

Mr. Mind

Lex Luthor

Sandy Hawkins

Pieter Cross

Dick Grayson

Greta Hayes

John Henry Irons

Gotham's Oswald Cobblepot specifically

Spooner

Garlic bread

Bruce Wayne

Lonnie Machin

Eradicator

Draaga

You, the voter

Rorschach

V from V for Vendetta

Damian Wayne

A mother box

The bioship

Mogo

Professor Pyg

Jessica Cruz

Poison Ivy

Queen Nubia

Bizarro

Vic Sage

Kyle Rayner

Ace the Bathound

Joker

Hank Henshaw

Grant Emerson

William Hand

Jarra's minion

Alpha Centurion

Jenni Ognats

Dex-Starr

Fred Jones

Northwind

[decipheringsidelines]

MEET THE ROSTER MASTER LIST (A continuously updated post)

The meet the roster site can be found here.

HUGE THANKS TO @puckingproblems FOR HELPING WITH THIS 🫶

I’ll continue to update as people are added, but I’ll also create a post for each explaining why I believe who is who and also to potentially debunk all things posted.

Tiger King - Joe Burrow

Little ‘Roni - Rory McIlroy

Ice Devil - Jack Hughes

Wounded Bird - Caitlyn Clark

Mediocre Duck - Trevor Zegras

Dr. Dutch - Max Verstrappen

DD Dunks - Donte DiVincenzo

Killa Klown - Travis Kelce

Big Bird - Jason Kelce

Sky- Lashes - Angel Reese

Blonde Baller - Cameron Brink

Fresh Fruit - Ricky Pearsall

Pretty Boy - Jalen Hurts

Tin Hat - Aaron Rodgers

Zeus - Justin Herbert

Little bear - Nick Bosa

Big Bear - Joey Bosa

Oxen Free - Ollie Bearman

Mississauga Menace - Vince Dunn

2Pm - Patrick Mahomes

Sad sibling - Quinn Hughes

Home town - cole sillinger

The ace - Kelsey Plum

Sharknado - Mikey Essyimont

Allons-Y - Esteban Ocan

MoanA Lisa - Andrei Svechnikov

The prodigy- Lily He

Bon Bon - Alex Albon

Curly & Confused - Luke Hughes

Puck Baby - Connor Bedard

2 Pretty 2 Play - Mat Barzal

Open Wide - Tee Higgins

Peppa pigskin - Josh Allen

Pasta pro - Tommy Devito

Certified Loverboy -Jordan Love

Eyebrows - Jamie Drysdale

New Kid - Matt Rempe

Play that funky music - Lauri Markkanen

Chubby Cheeks - Kirill Kaprizov

Mr. World Wide Web - Braxton Berrios

Mouthpiece - Matthew Tkachuk

Cupcake - Brooks Koepka

Big Purr - Mac Jones OR Caleb Williams (?)

Four leafed forward - Jayson Tatum

The Viking - William Nylander

UPS - UPL

Goldfish - Noah Hanafin

Greasy K - George kittle

Simba - Spencer Knight

Minnesota airlines - Justin Jefferson

Goldie locks - Trevor Lawrence

Old Head - Sidney Crosby

Oscillate - Jeremy Swayman

Magic Mule - Luka Dončić

Miss USA - Simone Biles

Pirate Skeeze - Paul Skenes

Flying Tigress - Livvy Dunne

Skipper - Dylan Crews

Buddy - Cam York

Paul Bunyan - Connor McDavid

[13eyond13]

How many of these "Top 100 Books to Read" have you read?

(633) 1984 - George Orwell

(616) The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald

(613) The Catcher In The Rye - J.D. Salinger

(573) Crime And Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky

(550) Catch-22 - Joseph Heller

(549) The Adventures Of Tom And Huck - Series - Mark Twain

(538) Moby-Dick - Herman Melville

(534) One Hundred Years Of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

(527) To Kill A Mockingbird - Harper Lee

(521) The Grapes Of Wrath - John Steinbeck

(521) Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov

(492) Pride And Prejudice - Jane Austen

(489) The Lord Of The Rings - Series - J.R.R. Tolkien

(488) Brave New World - Aldous Huxley

(480) Ulysses - James Joyce

(471) Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte

(459) Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte

(398) The Brothers Karamazov - Fyodor Dostoyevsky

(396) Great Expectations - Charles Dickens

(395) To The Lighthouse - Virginia Woolf

(382) War And Peace - Leo Tolstoy

(382) The Sun Also Rises - Ernest Hemingway

(380) The Sound And The Fury - William Faulkner

(378) Alice's Adventures In Wonderland - Series - Lewis Carroll

(359) Frankenstein - Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

(353) Heart Of Darkness - Joseph Conrad

(352) Middlemarch - George Eliot

(348) Animal Farm - George Orwell

(346) Don Quixote - Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra

(334) Slaughterhouse-Five - Kurt Vonnegut

(325) Les Misérables - Victor Hugo

(320) Harry Potter - Series - J.K. Rowling

(320) The Chronicles Of Narnia - Series - C.S. Lewis

(317) Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy

(308) Lord Of The Flies - William Golding

(306) Invisible Man - Ralph Ellison

(289) The Golden Bowl - Henry James

(276) Pale Fire - Vladimir Nabokov

(266) Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell

(260) The Count Of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas

(255) The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy - Series - Douglas Adams

(252) The Life And Opinions Of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman - Laurence Sterne

(244) Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert

(237) Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackery

(235) The Trial - Franz Kafka

(233) Absalom, Absalom! - William Faulkner

(232) The Call Of The Wild - Jack London

(232) Emma - Jane Austen

(229) Beloved - Toni Morrison

(228) Little Women - Louisa May Alcott

(224) A Passage To India - E.M. Forster

(215) Dune - Frank Herbert

(215) A Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man - James Joyce

(212) The Stranger - Albert Camus

(209) One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest - Ken Kesey

(209) The Idiot - Fyodor Dostoyevsky

(206) Dracula - Bram Stoker

(205) The Picture Of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde

(197) A Confederacy Of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole

(193) Mrs. Dalloway - Virginia Woolf

(193) The Age Of Innocence - Edith Wharton

(193) The History Of Tom Jones, A Foundling - Henry Fielding

(192) Under The Volcano - Malcolm Lowry

(190) The Odyssey - Homer

(189) Gulliver's Travels - Jonathan Swift

(188) In Search Of Lost Time - Marcel Proust

(186) Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie

(185) An American Tragedy - Theodore Dreiser

(182) The Book Thief - Markus Zusak

(180) Siddhartha - Hermann Hesse

(179) The Magic Mountain - Thomas Mann

(178) Things Fall Apart - Chinua Achebe

(178) Tropic Of Cancer - Henry Miller

(176) The Outsiders - S.E. Hinton

(176) On The Road - Jack Kerouac

(175) The Little Prince - Antoine de Saint-Exupery

(173) The Giver - Lois Lowry

(172) Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh

(172) A Clockwork Orange - Anthony Burgess

(171) Charlotte's Web - E.B. White

(171) The Ambassadors - Henry James

(170) Infinite Jest - David Foster Wallace

(167) The Complete Stories And Poems - Edgar Allen Poe

(166) Ender's Saga - Series - Orson Scott Card

(165) In Cold Blood - Truman Capote

(164) The Wings Of The Dove - Henry James

(163) The Adventures Of Augie March - Saul Bellow

(162) As I Lay Dying - William Faulkner

(161) The Hunger Games - Series - Suzanne Collins

(158) Anne Of Greene Gables - L.M. Montgomery

(157) Atlas Shrugged - Ayn Rand

(157) Neuromancer - William Gibson

(156) The Help - Kathryn Stockett

(156) A Song Of Ice And Fire - George R.R. Martin

(155) The Good Soldier - Ford Madox Ford

(154) The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown

(153) I, Claudius - Robert Graves

(152) Wide Sargasso Sea - Jean Rhys

(151) The Portrait Of A Lady - Henry James

(150) The Death Of The Heart - Elizabeth Bowen

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

MAC. OH MY GOD. HEAD IN HANDS. HOLY SHIT. ashe is in college (normal college i think??) VYCNENT IS IN SUPERHERO COLLEGE!!!! wiwi fucking around in the woods..... dakota also in college i think??? idk that wasn't super clear 2 me but i think he's there IDK I WAS JUST SO EXCITED FOR ALL OF THEM TO BE LIKE. EXISTING IN THE SAME PLACE!!!! ashe oughhh ashe i missed u ashe <3 i like to think he still has the trickster's wings. thats canon 2 me idc. oh my godd they're doing like. relatively normal shit!!!!!! aaaa!!!! oh i need 2 write a fic about them in college. i got 2. i MUST. even just a oneshot idc i wanna do it!!!

THE IRL MARIOKART AGAIN!!!! LE FROG!!! WILLIAM'S FUNERAL!!!! THE SILLIES ARE BACK!!!!!!!! SHENANIGANS!!!! oh that was so good. that was SO GOOD!!!!! oh im going 2 cry. i didn't cry and then it got to dakota with his aunt and i teared up a lil and then it had william falling off the cliff and landin gin the dirt and just. holding the soil in his hands and feeling it and i actually cried a lil. man. also CANTRIP IS NOT IN THE SPIRIT WORLD!!! WHERE IS SHE!!! DOES THIS MEAN SHE'S ALIVE OR IS SHE A GHOST I DON'T KNOWWWW GOD I WANT 2 KNOW. I WANT 2!!!! and atlas being killed. an X being carved into him. XAVIER VILLAIN ARC????? 👀👀👀👀 PERHAPS??? god i hope so. i would love to see him as a villain. i rly like xavier actually and i think he deserves to go a little apeshit <3 SO EXCITED FOR WHATEVER THE FUCK IS GONNA HAPPEN WITH MAL!!! GUY WAS ALREADY FUCKED UP AND NOW HE'S EVEN MORE UNHINGED!!!!! i like mal a lot. he fucking sucks. terrible horrible awful little man. i love him so much he's such a cool fucking character i want to throw him out a window <3 idiot shit bastard man!!!!!! and william asking vyncent if he would come to ghim funeral. bro was like THIS CLOSE 2 asking him out. i am telling u. and btw william's fucking "vyncent did you realize anything while i was gone?" right ebfore vyncent just passes tf out in ep39 was so fucking. yeah. that's ghostknife!!!!!!! it always almost happens and then it fucking doesn't!!! i love that for them i hope they're ten times as gay and awkward in s3 <3

GOD. that was so good. finales always fuck me up dude. im so fucking emotional. i feel like my entire being is vibrating like a lightning rod or some shit. ALSO u gotta send me more trivia abt the episodes!!! i think the last one u sent me was for episode 15 of s2. GOD PLS SEND ME GREYSCALE AND DEADWOOD TRIVIA!!!!!! I WANT IT!!!!! I WANT 2 KNOW WHAT THE HELL CHARLIE WAS THINKING DURING GREYSCALE. WHAT WERE UR THOUGHTS KING!!! TELL ME MR SLMCL!!!!!!!!

man. im gonna listen 2 bitb next but i feel like i gotta take a few days first yk??? i gotta let that shit sink in. i hope ur havin a good time reading worm <3 i wil start worm soon!! i just wanna get thru jrwi first bc if i try to get into more than one thing at a time that i know will inhabit my entire brain i feel like my brain is melting. too many blorbo thoughts i gotta stick to one thing first. anyway yeah that was. fucking wild <3 ty for getting me into jrwi i regret nothing

HIIIIIIIIIII WHISKEY. SORRY I LET THIS SIT IN MY INBOX FOR SO LONG I LOVE YOU.AUGH. PRIME DEFENDERS MY LOVE. every day i think about yakko showing up in cosplay . that made me so happy. ashe winters i love you so dearly. i have so many thoughts about post s2 ashe. if ashe isnt in s3 im going to fucking riot.

when i tell you that fucking part with the cliff made me UGLY CRY . like full on. "and you stay there" lives in my head forever.

EXTREMELY EXCITED ABOUT A POSSIBLE XAVIER VILLAIN ARC. LIKE. THATS GOTTA BE HIM RIGHT. THAT CANT NOT BE HIM. i wonder if allen is with him. fuck. AND WHERES CANTRIP. GOD. i miss her :( i think she deserves to go full vengeful spirit on williams ass and haunt him like a fucking poltergeist. god forbid women do anything.

dude finales fuck me up so bad too. god. 39 hurts me just a little bit more than 40 but 40 is still SOOOO insanely good to me. 40 was like the breath of fresh air we needed. i dont think 40 hit me as hard as a finale because i know we're getting a 3rd season so its not OVER yet. but something about it just made it feel so much more impactful than a regular season finale. god. i miss them so much.

IM SO GLAD YOU GOT INTO JRWI !!!!!!! ITS BEEN SO FUN SEEING YOU GUYS REACT TO EVERYTHING!!!!!! jrwi has been like. HUGE main hyperfix for me since like. last october. so im having sooooo much fun forever. hehehehe. me when my beloved mutuals and i are all into the same piece of media again!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!