#rough and tumble are a great example of that

[disabled-battlekukku]

Caught myself thinking about how much Post-SGW Archie and Sonic Forces had affected Sonic character design for the worst

[bookdragonideas]

Here's the thing. I'm a girl, and as a girl, I really like it when girls are portrayed in fiction. Especially fantasy.

But so much fiction/fantasy mixes up 'girls' with 'unstoppable forces of female badass' and there's not necessarily anything wrong with having a character who is an 'unstoppable forces of female badass'. But it gets old real quick. And it is not the same as portraying normal girls, or having good female characters.

And that's one of the many reasons I love Avatar the Last Airbender.

Because all the girl characters have flaws and weaknesses and sometimes act like idiots or jerks. They get emotional and make mistakes. They lose fights or arguments or are just wrong sometimes. Some of them are amazing warriors, and some aren't. Some are powerful or special and some are normal, with nothing special about them.

And I Love that.

I was around the same age as Katara when I first watched Atla. And I instantly connected with her as a character. I loved her optimistic attitude and her fighting spirit. And I could relate with her anger, and with her maternal instinct. I admired her fighting skills of course, but I loved how the show portrayed her compassion and kindness, the way she could both beat up a bunch of bullies AND enjoy a relaxing day at the spa. She was a baddass warrior that should never be crossed. But she was also a normal teenage girl who had a lot of the same internal struggles and problems that I did.

(I never connected to Toph on the same level, but I did relate to her on a few things. She's an adorable trash gremlin who would commit any crime for fun and I love that. But she struggles with being both independent and letting people help her, and I still struggle with that sometimes. I've learned that sometimes, you can help others by letting them help you.)

Yue is, in my opinion, a perfect example of a type of hero that seems to be disappearing. She is not a warrior. She is not a fighter. She's not even a bender.

Yue is a perfect princess, a perfect daughter. She is extremely feminine in a rather older sense.

And she was the only one who could save the world. She gave up everything for her people. She saved everything, everyone, the entire world. Without ever becoming a fighter.

Yue is a perfect example of a girl who was never more than a girl, and how that's okay. Not every girl has to be rough and tumble and fight for her rights in order to change everything. Sometimes it's okay to just be a quiet obedient girly girl. Sometimes that's all it takes to be a hero.

And I love that. Yue is strong in her own way. She is unique and interesting. She appears in only a few episodes and yet manages to be one of my favorite characters.

Song is another great example of this. Song is a healer in a small town. We don't see much of her but we see her compassion and empathy. She is gentle and generous. A healer not a fighter.

She watches Zuko steal her ostrich horse and does nothing.

Is that because she's kind and generous and knows he needs it more? Or is it because she's a healer girl who knows she can't actually stop those two from taking the horse? Maybe neither, maybe both. I have always thought that the scene where Zuko steals the horse and only the audience knows she saw it is one of the most thought-provoking in the series.

Suki is a badass warrior woman who is an awesome fighter and good leader. She is one of the best non bender fighter we see in the entire show. She was one of the smartest, most efficient, and powerful characters we ever saw.

She kissed a boy she had just met because she thought he was cute.

Now don't get me wrong I love SokkaxSuki. Its one of the best couples in the show.

But Suki totally did the old 'love at first sight' thing. And that is awesome. Because when she kisses him she delivers one of the best lines, not only from her, but, I think, in the entire show.

"I AM a warrior, but I'm a girl too."

Being a warrior doesn't mean that she isn't also a teenage girl. She might be a fighter, but she still gets crushes and likes to flirt with cute boys. And hey, she picked a good one. Not every boy is going to come break you out of prison.

Anyways, let's have more realistic girls in fiction. And please enjoy the next 24 hours.

[opal-kitty333]

Thinking about Dreamtale and how the "negative au" vs. "positive au" territories work. Like always, lots of ramblings under the read more

Like I feel when things are in balance, no au is inherently positive or negative. With resets, any timeline is capable of moments of great happiness but also great tragedy. The thing is, they're fluid and ever changing. Even if you do the genocide route, it only mucks up the happy ending. But that's just the ending, which is never permanent anyway.

I feel like the only way for an au to become truly positive or negative, even the rough and tumble aus like fells, is if you forcibly give them an ending or actively alter something so you can't "play" anymore.

Imagine Nightmare cultivating entire timelines to do this. Horror timelines could be a great example. A perminant ending to the original that spirals on so much longer than it should with EVERYONE being as miserable as possible and often doing things against their own best interest because they're reaching a breaking point. Imagine corrupting timelines, forcing more and more negative emotions into a Sans until he snaps and becomes Dust.

Hell, it could be part of the reason Nightmare is so particular with any Killers he has. Because it's such a specific thing of having his soul twisted by a player/creator, Nightmare can’t influence or force that to happen. He needs to have a tighter leash on him because he's so much harder to replace. It doesn’t matter how much he alters a timeline, a home grown Killer is impossible.

It also adds more into what "missions" can be. It's not just going in and killing a bunch of people at random. Dead people don't feel emotions, positive or negative. But remove the possibility of a happy ending? Remove just the right person so the dominos in the background don't fall or make someone snap, so they never trust the human no matter what they do, all so that a true pacifistending would be impossible no matter what you did. Maybe even somehow softlocking the human so everyone is stuck in a permanent miserable limbo no matter how often they reset to try and fix it.

And then you have Dream and his "positive aus". These are obviously the ones that get happy endings, the post pacifist where Frisk promises to never reset and everyone lives their days out on the surface in harmony. The ones where everyone is happy and healing and okay.

This can be part of why Ink helps him at first. Creators like making these happy ending aus and Nightmare, of course, would want to sow seeds of political discourse to turn the surface into hell. Dreams stops that, forcing things to turn out fine again and with Ink's help, ensure the happy aus stay on track.

But that's also where Ink and Dream clash. Dream sees a Horrortale and wants to attempt to fix it, but the thing is people love making horror aus. Maybe the first few Ink is fine with fixing up because these one were MEANT to be those softer interpretations that you see floating around. But then Dream comes across one that is truly rotten, something that's more canon compliant to the original horrortale comic, maybe even worse, and Ink stops him from doing anything. such a thing would go against what the creator wants the world to be. Sure, Nightmare is the one who got the ball rolling and sunk it deeper, but these monsters in the underground were never supposed to be saved.

[duffyyy911]

A Line in Black - 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 4 - 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝙺𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚔

Summary: The detective gets a rude awakening after trying to block out the previous night's events.

Content Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and smoking. Mentions of prostitution. We aint getting freaky just yet gang dw

Word Count: 8k Author's Notes: I wanted to get some more dialogue and tension into this chapter, so nothing precisely exciting happens besides a riveting back and forth between the reader and Lest. I am going to be starting a new job soon, so Idk how frequent chaps are going to come out after the next one, but I'll work hard as long as yall keep reading!

Proofread by: @6selkie @sillyb0nez Masterlist: Here

The faint hiss of the waters mist, a gentle greeting that was followed up with the roar of the tide hitting its mark and tumbling back into the sea. The bitter taste of salt on the air, the same savory feeling that invited itself onto your tongue every time you took a deep breath in. You felt the frail chunks of paint chip off beneath your thumb as you gripped onto the rusting railing of the stern-side bridge deck. You pulled your eyes open with great difficulty, prying the two lids apart as if they had been glued together for a length of time that had all but slipped away in the moment. You looked out onto the waters, a curved horizon of deep blue washing into a cascade of rich orange and grays as waters met an open painted sky in the distance, the evening clouds falling down to the skyline in front of the embers of a sunset. You could hear the distant cawing of the seagulls turning in circles far above your head, the whipping of the short nautical flags hanging from their mounts, and the creak of the ship’s elongated hull breaking the waves. The harsh wind blew in from your side and you braced, then quickly fastened the buttons of your tall blue wool jacket. You think for a moment as you do, pausing on each twist of the buttons through their slits. You try to remember where you even found the jacket. Or when you even put it on. You looked back out over the horizon, side-eying a flood of blackened dark clouds rolling in from the distance and beginning to wipe the slate of the sky clean. The rock of the tide picked up and shifted the ship beneath you, the vessel billowing out a low, deep groan as it took the ocean’s whipping. You felt the sailing cap upon your head slip and slink lopsided against your ear. You slowly readjusted it, and you looked on in silence as the storm blew in.

As the winds picked up and a heavy rain blew in with a sea storm’s darkness, you headed inside for the night in the bridge quarters. You hadn’t even stopped to look at the messy state of the wheelhouse, a picture’s example of the kind of quarters sailors keep, before you had grabbed a hold of the valve to the hatch door at the back of the cabin and began to give it a turn. With great force, the wheel slipped and slowly spun out of its place. You toed in through the hatch and took a moment to shut the heavy metal door behind you and twist the wheel back. The loud splatter of the whipping rains outside died down a bit, mixing into the gentle roar of the waves and the distant crackle of thunder on the air beyond the waters. You hung up your coat in your dim bunkroom, catching the collar on the hook screwed into the motley coat of dim green painted on the wall. You go to throw your hat on your bed, glancing at the empty bunk lying half-made and wamthless. That’s when you got a glimpse of them. The person sitting in the low armchair at the end of your bunk, between the back and a tall slim wall closet. You only caught a glimpse of their legs and the legs of their quite expensive looking pants, but every time you tried to recall what they looked like, you couldn’t. Their color, their shape, nothing came to you once you looked away.

“Rough sea out there, captain?” They hummed, cupping their hand around a crystal ashtray in their lap. They puffed on the end of a slender cigarette, ashing it into the tray from time to time with a hollow flick beat everytime the paper tapped against the glass. Fwick. Fwick.

“Not until just now. Storm’s coming in, might be a long one.” You grumbled back. You turned about and slowly sank down to the creaking bunk mattress as you took a minute to breathe. Your hands looked a lot more worn and aged since the last time you looked at them. You rub the callouses built up by reigning in lines at night and hauling up trappers boxes in the morning, wondering where you even found the time to do all of it. Your thoughts began to linger for a moment, dancing away until they were pulled back by the almost silent fwick of the cigarette being ashed once more. “I thought you were going out on the boats?”

“The whales didn’t come back today.” The person sighed deeply from over the shoulder of where you sat. Every glimpse you got of them, unrecognizable once you blinked away. Fuzzy and featureless, like a little kid’s drawing that had been scribbled over. “So I had them bring the dingy back in.”

“Figures.” You murmured as you slipped off your shoes and moved them under your bed bunk with a kick. “I’ve got the line in, all I have to do is make the rounds before turning in.” You mentally go down your list of many chores one could not just leave until tomorrow when they run a vessel.

“I was thinking.” They spoke up as you slowly laid yourself back into your thin uncomfortable mattress. You threw your wrist over your eyes to block the sharp light of the cabin’s ceiling lamp that wobbled back and forth from the rock of the wave. 

“Does it pay well?” You joked to keep yourself from dozing off.

“No-” They paused with a breathy dismissive chuckle on their voice. “No, it’s nothing.”

“What? Come on.” You encouraged them. You blindly threw out your arm across the bed in their direction. Although it didn’t land its mark, eventually you could feel warmth on your fingertips as they grazed the ends of another’s. Your bones ached, a body in need of rest. And if you had to stand back up, you just might fall apart at the joints.

“Well, I was-” They paused again. You could almost picture the stupid smile on their lips. Whatever they looked like. “Do you remember that little village? It was somewhere south of Ionia, I don’t know.”

“Yeah.” You hummed half-asleep. You had no clue what they were talking about, but you weren’t about to pull aside a detour conversation about remembering the umpteenth place you had stopped along the way.

“I was thinking-”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

A series of heavy knocks on the door of the cabin thundered out. Neither of you two said a word, or seemed to react at all. You sighed deeply, feeling your chest rise and fall as you pinched the bridge of your nose. The comment about falling apart at the joints may yet to come true.

“Captain. I think she’s here to see you.” They hummed with a monotone canter.

“What? Who? What for?” You sat up from your daze on the bunk. 

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“She sounds very displeased, captain. You’d better hurry.”

“Yes, but what for?” You huffed as you stood up from the bunk, blindly putting your shoes back on after what seemed like only mere seconds.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“The door. Captain.”

“But what for!” You barked coarsely. You grabbed a good hold onto the valve to the turn locks and gave it a good spin. You wondered at who was making all that racket. Something big enough to shake such a heavy metal piece. The rusted hinges to the hatch wound up, and the door swiveled open. And in the nothingness of the void beyond the frame, you fell through like flopping limply into water. An ocean.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Detective!”

“What? I’m up!” You jerked awake from your stiff slumber on your old mattress. You didn’t even know who you were responding to yet, the way you were ripped from that dream that was now beginning to fade.

Bang. Bang. Bang. 

The knocking was practically shaking the drywall at this point. The thudding of a closed fist against wood did not help out your now increasingly tightening headache that had creeped in on it que. “I’m up!” You hollered once more. You tasted your dry mouth with discomfort creasing across your face as you looked about. Your room, as empty and sad as you remember it. Your jacket was laying crumpled up at the foot of the bed, draped over your legs. You took a second to check your clothes, still the same ones you had on last time you remember, damper now that you had overheated in the night. You glanced out the window, looking to the sky above the rooftop surrounding the alleyway. Bright, blue, cloudless. A restful day, it seemed.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Now who’s the deaf one!” You called out. You rubbed the corners of your eyes with your dry hands as you breathed in with some struggle. The muscles in your chest felt tight, and there was a weird swell in the back of your nose that bothered you every time you inhaled or swallowed. You were starting to hope this wasn’t the start of another cold, one that you could not afford right now.

“I’m coming in.” You heard your caller announce through the thin door. You already knew who it was. There would be nobody else in this entire city that would be able to get a hold of you so quickly. Because if it was Lyric, he would have already invited himself in. “You’d better have clothes on.”

“It’s not a red carpet night at the cabaret. So, yeah.” You groaned as you sat up fully and scooted to the edge of the mattress. You planted feet onto the cool slickness of the floorboards, your knees sticking up and against your chest as you took a moment to collect yourself. Your head spun like you just got flattened by a freight train, but your senses were slowly returning to you piece at a time. You watched the knob twist and the door swing slowly open with a gentle and hesitant push. 

Lest stopped half way in through the doorway, pausing when she took a good look at your living conditions. You weren’t sure if the brief twitch in her right ear that shot up its spine and flicked off the tip, or the subtle flare of her bottom eyelids, or the single step back she took before she masked the actions in an instant, were signs of shock or disapproval. But there her eyes went, flicking around and silently casting judgement that would never be shared. 

“Is this where you’ve been all day?” She asked impatiently, leaning against the frame of your door with an undecided half-fold of her arms. She herself, however, looked entirely out of place in your habitat. She stood tall before you in a maroon peacoat, one long enough that its trim was glissading down far past her knees and almost all the way down to the floor. She kept her same headscarf, the folds of which she still hid behind at times when she spoke to you. Overtop of the pinkish scarf, she wore an equally wine hued breton cap with a single band around the base of its trim, which seemed to also have slits fashioned into its top to accommodate your boss’ ever tall ears. 

You blinked at her in silence, your right eye closed to block the light coming in from the window while the other followed the yellow of Lest’s irises subtly darting around the room before they came to a stop after meeting yours.

“I mean, where else would I be?” You wiped your palm down your face in exhaustion, a vain hope that maybe something could speed up the recovery. You felt like you were a schoolboy in trouble for something you weren’t quite sure what you did. You scratched behind your ear in thought, what had you done recently? “Why? Were you looking for me? For how long?” You croaked out the measly questions one at a time.

“All day.” Lest exhaled with feigned disbelief. “First I looked in the nearest bars, none of them had heard or seen of you except for one. They said you had got in a fist fight, then left and they hadn’t seen you since.”

“Oh yeah?” You idly asked as you slowly stood up with great difficulty. You could feel the blood rush to your already tight head, its pulsating rhythm growing more intense for a short few seconds before dying out again. You threw your arms back and up behind your head, stretching with a cat’s yeowl as you felt the muscles in your back stretch apart reluctantly. 

“Then, I went to the police department across the bridge, to see if you were in the tank.” Lest continued on, a droning working its way into her voice as she caught on that you were only half listening. “Aren’t you going to ask how I got in?” She cocked an eyebrow, fully committing to folding her arms as she watched you walk by her and into your cramped bathroom.

She might be good at keeping a straight face at a poker game, sure, but you could read a little more into the contents of a person’s book than most people. Whatever you did, going missing like that did genuinely worry her. Most people would have just asked around, maybe sent a letter. Wait some more. But her? No, she came to look for you directly and she didn’t stop until she reached your bedroom door.

“I probably left my door unlocked.” You shrugged as your bare feet made contact with the cheap tile. You flipped on the stingy fluorescent light with a flinch and a shudder that trailed up your spine. You bent over your bathroom sink to get a better look at yourself. You had to admit, you felt a lot worse than you looked. But you looked far from ideal, about only a single dollar out of a million. You pulled the skin of your right cheek down, checking under your eyelids as the flesh shifted and stretched. “Or, you unlocked it. Bavo, if so.”

“Your landlord.” Lest snorted. “She was dropping a cardboard box off, told me it was for you.” She peered at you from around the door, in a spot where if you craned your neck just right you could see through both doors and get a full look at the reflection of the mirror.

“Where’s the kid?” You inquired gravelly, noticing that the boy was all but missing. You back stepped out of your bathroom and squeezed past Lest at the door, who seemed to insist on keeping herself planted to where she was standing. You trod through your open office, or living room, kitchen, whatever you had resided in calling your pitiful two room apartment. 

“I sent him home, what do you think?” Lest remarked with a short waver in her voice, a subtle sneer pinching back her nose that you didn’t need to look back at to visualize. “I’m not his keeper.”

“That’s fair.” You hum absentmindedly. You approached the squarish low cardboard box by the doormat, your footsteps dancing between the juts of sunlight cutting past the checkrails of the kitchen window. “That’s really sweet of you to have me bailed out. Looking for me in a Pitlie police station, no less.” You tagged on with a croak of sarcasm.

“I would have just asked you through the bars, detective.”

“Asked me what?” You bent down and spun the box over. Completely bare, only held shut by a loose line of duct tape. You punched into the sides of the box to loosen the tape to open it up, glancing at Lest still in the slanted disapproving lean she had given when she opened your door. You gave her an earnest, but obviously confused grin. You genuinely had no idea why she had stopped by. You must have drank heavily before, because the last thing you could recall was wading through a river of garbage in the sump and some vague memory of wriggling down a vent like a sewer rat.

“For an update, I thought you were following up on a lead?”

“Right.” You hummed once more. You opened the box up slowly, looking into the space to find a pile of folded, albeit second-hand looking, clothes. A little note sat on top of the top stack of shirts, a brief thank you letter from your landlord for the advance on rent. The glad, almost proud feeling rising in you could not be underestimated. This was like the equivalent of finding out you had inherited a lot of money from a dead relative you never knew, or finding some priceless thing sitting in a drainpipe. As you marveled at your new gift, you glanced up to see your employer still awaiting your response. “I don’t do business this early, miss.”

“I paid you a commission, you do business whenever I need it done.”

“You came into my house.” You reminded her as you squatted down and picked up the hefty box. “That’s like if I had a lead, and I just walked into your hotel room while you were still sleeping and started making a report.” You squeezed past Lest in the doorway again, back into your room. You let the box fall from your arms and land with a muffled thud on your mattress. 

“I wouldn’t be sleeping past midday.” She turned her nose up at you as you walked by. 

Despite her little sneers and the wrinkling of her short nose at your lifestyle, your boss didn’t seem like the snooty kind, the opposite in fact. A real woman of the people, hiding in plain sight like those with the moxie for it ought to. Yet she did have a bad habit of talking down to you, not in a demeaning way. But one that showed that it had been quite a long time since she had spoken with someone in the same class bracket as her. If she had collected this ever-relevant list of wealthy clients for this long, your suspicion would be that she mostly works in Piltover. Not only did she work in Piltover, but she also walked through it freely. That means she fit in with Piltover’s society, a necessity perhaps, but one that seemed to subtly leave its mark. It explained her emphasis on privacy, all the little shortcuts she knew, her obtuse but cutting taste for attire. How she treats you like an equal but speaks to you with strange reluctance. It was kind of like putting on a costume, but eventually forgetting you were wearing one. And soon enough, the costume becomes just clothes.

“I’m a detective, not a soldier. Just give me a minute.” You objected honestly as you took some of the second hand clothes from the box and tucked them under your arm. Lest held the impatient furrow in her brow, yet her eyes flicked to the side briefly. “Go find something to eat, go sit down. Go read, or turn on the radio. Occupy yourself, it’s a nice day out.”

“You missed most of it.” Lest muttered under her breath as you closed the door to your bathroom. Even after you had run the water in the shower, you could still hear her outside the door. Pacing around the living room in a soft, troubled tempo. 

As you took off your shirt, you couldn’t help but notice that there was some marking on your wrist. You turned your hand around, your eyes trailing along a message in marker that ran up your forearm before seeming to wind around your back. “Hey, you got a pen and paper?” You called out to Lest through the door. 

“What? No?”

“Look in my desk. I’m about to read out the results of that lead I followed last night.” Your eyes flicked back and forth through the words sprawling up your arm.

There was a short pause in the pacing you could hear before, then the scoot of your desk’s drawer being opened. “Okay?”

“Meet me at the corner of East Side commons and …” You read aloud slowly. You paused as the words spiraled under your arm and around to your back as they went. You turned around and began trying to read the reversed message in the mirror from over your shoulder. “Glass st-reet. Al-cobe di-district.”

“Is your liver finally failing?”

“Shut up, it’s backwards.” You called back as you tried to read faster than the mirror could fog.

“What is? What are you reading?”

“Just keep writing!” You cleared your throat and continued to read. “Nine tonight. Dash, Ronk.”

“What’s a ‘Ronk’ and why does it sound filthy?”

“Ronk is a jobless vagrant I met in a dive bar last night.” You jokingly boasted. 

That’s right, Ronk. Now, it was starting to come back to you. You had lost your lead, and you went to that stupid place and almost got your head kicked in by two junkies. 

You finished undressing and tried to spend the least amount of time under the water because of the present company. Little vague snippets of what you could recall from last night ran through your fingers as fluidly as the water. The sump. The factory. The vents. And the sound of that gun firing. You could still taste the metallic tinge on your gums as you thought about what you witnessed. Your movement slowed to a crawl as you lingered on the image, the scene replaying back and forth like a scarred record. The pipes groaned through the thin wall as it continued to push water out of the showerhead, bringing you back to your senses. The water washed away the repeating thought along with the marker on your skin. 

You turned the valve off and stepped out, taking a long while to dry and dress as you kept trying to pull up more memories of last night. It was like some kind of uncomfortable slideshow, no wonder you ended up drinking so much. You changed into your not-so-newer clothes, an unlikely gift from a landlord you were assuming hated you. Dark and faded but new-ish slacks, a blue button-down that was one size too big for you. Old wool socks that had most of its holes patched. To someone across the river, they wouldn’t even donate this stuff. But to you? It was quite literally the one thing you needed. You gathered your old clothes and tossed them in one big ball at your suitcase still hanging open by your bed, scooping up your jacket as you passed by.

“Are a fifth of whiskey and a single tomato the only things you have in your house that’s food grade?” Lest asked when you caught her looking into your refrigerator as you rounded the corner. She batted the door with her hand inattentively, swinging it back and forth in small movements before closing it shut with a single push.

“No way, there’s whiskey in there?” You quipped as you brushed past her. You put on your jacket, then took a leaning sit against the doors of your lower kitchen cupboards. 

“When was the last time you bought groceries?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged sheepishly. “I’m more of a buy by the meal kind of person, I guess.”

“When was the last time you ate, then?”

You hummed in thought, though you only were dragging the answer to her question. “Last tuesday, I think? Probably then.”

“And you’ve been surviving off what? Bar peanuts and grain alcohol?”

“And these little cracker things that I’m given at the stalls up the road.” You articulated, drawing a little square in the air. “I don’t know what they make them out of but they’re saltier than a mineral lick-” Your humor deflated when you looked back to Lest’s unamused stare. “What can I get for you, miss?”

“Results.” She batted her eyes once, awaiting a real answer. It made sense, the switch up. You rushed her for money, now she rushed you for results. Cash didn’t buy time, it shortened it. It was the mitigation of society, and its erosion. It was all that you needed. So you could swallow the bitter pill of grovelling after another paper trail. Maybe all it took to convince you was a pretty face and a cigarette shared.

“Listen.” You exhaled a very audible and lengthy sigh. You mulled over how to break what happened to Aquil to her. You weren’t sure just how invested she was in this guy. Was he just a client? Were they friends, then would she be friends with someone like him? Did she know him well, or not at all? More so? You shook yourself out of that kind of thinking, it felt wrong to theorize about someone like that. “I don’t think that guy is going to be a recurring client anymore.”

“What did you do to him?” Lest asked sternly, bowing her head slightly and looking up at you past the black end of her nose. You were used to the inconsequential disappointment she had shown you so far, but this was different. This was like staring down a wild cougar, and you weren’t sure whether to talk, or run.

“I didn’t do anything at all to him.” You threw your open hands up concedingly. You stared at her silently, the words you wanted to say catching on your lips as you slowly lowered your posture. You weren’t good with things like this. You barely could handle breaking bad news to people, and this was beyond that scope. “He-” You paused. “He’s dead, miss.”

“Oh.” Lest stated plainly. It was like watching a tire deflate in slow motion. The tenseness in her expression slowly faded bit by bit, her body language laxing until she too took a sitting lean against your kitchen cabinet. Mirroring you in a way, adjacent in front of you. You read her eyes, her silent language, the way she held her elbow with one hand while the other put a thumb to her lips. There was regret stirring in her, sure, but not grief. Her stare at the ground held dejection, but also thorough thought. 

“Did you know him at all? Know well, I mean.” You inquired hesitantly. 

“Aquil? No.” She shook her head softly. “I mean, in a way. We were from the same neighborhood, but it wasn’t like I knew him back then.”

“Back then?” You asked. You retrieved a half-crumpled pack of cigarettes from your pocket, a leftover from the previous night. You took a second to find the least creased one, then offered it to Lest.

“You have to be from Zaun to really understand. It’s an old country without a new one. Things felt and looked a lot different when I was a child. The sump used to be a real community, it had to be. We were packed down there like sardines in a can. Slums, sure. Poor, sure. But a bond? That’s all we had.” Lest simpered with a half-feigned smile. “It’s always so strange to hear about someone, who grew up a block away from you, dying. You hear that kind of news from now and then, but the feeling doesn’t really change.” Lest took the cigarette gracefully, lighting it with her classic scratch lighter. “How did it happen?”

“The people he was meeting up with decided that he was a loose end, I guess.” You paused, bowing your head into her peripheral. “Can I get you water? I don’t have any food, but there's stalls up the road, like I mentioned before.”

“No, no water. It just makes me thirsty.”

“How’s that?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Lest flicked her cigarette with her thumb by the filter, ashing it onto your floor without thinking. “Why did they do that? What happened to Aquil, I mean.”

“I think he figured out too much for his own good.” You shrugged. “He learned one too many names, and that meant he had to go.”

“Names. Whose name?”

“I’m not sure, someone I’ve never heard of before. He just mentioned a person called Lenare. And then what happened, happened. Do you know it?”

“Lenare…” Lest hummed in thought, then took a drag of the cigarette. “No, not really. Lenare.” Lest paused, her eyes reading the space in front of her, then flicking back to you. “It sounds a bit rich to be from around here, don’t you think?”

“Rich, sure.” You nodded. “But Piltover rich? No.”

“Did they mention anyone else?” Lest took another drag of the cigarette. “Anything else that could have given you an idea of where they came from?” She exhaled the smoke with her words in one breath.

“I mean-” You paused. You already followed up the lead about the bar, there was no point bringing it up. You didn’t really want to gloat that you got into a fist fight over a drink the previous night, though she seemed to already figure that out on her own. “One of them mentioned prying the other off a black cat. The bar I went to last night was the only black cat I know, and they weren’t anywhere to be found.”

“Huh.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Did they say ‘the’ black cat? Or ‘a’ black cat?” Lest hummed in thought.

“I don’t think it makes any difference.” You shrugged. The question was rather semantic. The men could have said it any kind of way, it didn’t really change all too much. Besides, your memory of it was still in a blur.

“It makes a world of difference, detective.” Lest pulled her stare from a thousand yards, planting it on you as you made eye contact with her. “Did they say ‘a’ black cat, or ‘the’ black cat?” She asked again firmly before flicking her cigarette once more.

“They just said black cat, I think.” You murmured. “Like I said, the only black cat I know was a dive bar in the lanes.”

“Black cat isn't the name of a place.” Lest paused. “It’s the name of a person.”

The icy wind blowing off the eastern seaboard tended to be cut down by the aggregate of taller buildings in South Piltover. Though it was across the bridge from the triumph of the Piltover of the new age, the South district retained a modicum of its splendor in relative safety. Low, paved streets towered over by stone city dwellings, tight packed offices, lackluster institutions, commerce halls, and expensive skinny townhouses. A wave of neo-classical mixing into a newly emerging art deco design of architecture.

Your heavy work boots clacked against the smooth pavement of the lower city’s sidewalks in a tandem temp with your boss’ light step. You kept your hands stuffed into your jacket pockets in your usual manner as you walked, keeping yourself alongside Lest as both of you knew where you were headed. You had been distracted from your thorough conversation for a moment as you absently looked over your shoulder to make sure there wasn’t anybody trailing behind you two. Not that you’d need any reason to think so, but you can never afford to not be too careful until you’re over the river and bridge. And you never cross that bridge, not ever.

“Besides the point, I think it was a conservatory before that techno-whose-it church bought the building. Never been in it myself, but at least they kept the greenhouses intact. It’s the only pretty thing about the place anymore.” Lest commented, finishing an answer to your question about a building you had passed only a block away. 

The building had been taken over by a sect of the church of the Gray Lady, some technology cult that helped the down-and-outs of the fissures. Nowadays, the place had been boarded up and kept a shut up secret behind a terrifically tall iron barred fence. Some even wonder if anybody even occupied the place, or if it was simply bought and left alone once more.

“Come again?” You asked, turning back from looking over your shoulder.

“Are you religious at all, detective?” Lest asked as she kept pace alongside you. It was more like you were trying to keep up with her, the way she’d walk.

“Me?” You chuckled. “I mean- I’m not a believer in anything.” You paused. “But I’m also not a non-believer, you know? There’s enough mythos to go around in the world, anything could really catch me. I guess I just haven’t been given the opportunity for it. The only god here in Piltover and Zaun is progress, I suppose.”

“It’s all relative, you’re right. Just happenstance.” Lest shrugged. “People here in Zaun aren’t really given that opportunity.”

“What about you?” You asked sheepishly. “I thought the Vastaya were supposed to be descended from the Arcana? Isn’t that all second nature to you?”

“I thought Humans descended from the apes? Why aren’t you all swinging from branches and flinging your excrement at each other? Isn’t that your second nature as well?” Lest retorted with a snort as she walked. She glanced at you, a look that you knew all too well by now. It was time to pay the cigarette tax. “Things change, detective. Like I said, it’s all happenstance. Did you know, in Stonewall, they worship goats? Just because they give the people milk.”

“It’s all harmless, though.” You chuckled. You took your creased pack of cigarettes from your coat pocket and tried to find the second best from the one you had offered her earlier in your apartment. “Everyone needs hope, you know?”

“That’s the irony of it, though.” Lest remarked as she took the cigarette you passed her. “People look for hope anywhere, but never in themselves. It’s like a disease that makes you blind to it.”

“Okay, hold the line.” You shook your head as you came to a sudden pause on the pavement. This whole analytical game Lest liked to play was beginning to wrack your nerves, it was pedantic. Lest came to a stop as well, turning to you as she lit the cigarette. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“This whole psychological semantic philosophy. That people are categorized and hope is a disease. It’s an old act, Lest.”

“I’m supposed to be playing an act, now?” Lest raised an eyebrow.

“This whole jaded mystique and smoke stained glamour.” You paused, gesturing to Lest’s whole self. “And what’s with this cardinal press girl look?”

“What’s with your washed-out sleuth getup, hm?” She flashed you a smirk. “I wasn’t informed that part of your contract entailed a critique of my person, detective.” Lest continued walking ahead of you, disregarding whether you were following her or not. 

“I’m just trying to get you to lighten up a little.” You huffed as you jogged to catch up with her now fast stride. “I’d appreciate it if you’d just take some time to talk to me normally.”

“Lighten up.” Lest snorted at the comment. “Or is it that you just want to pick my brain? Oh so badly, detective.” 

The both of you rounded the next corner at a junction in the street. You glanced at the street sign sticking out from its post, the name reading Drop Street. The turn at the corner opened up the view of the descender stations. They were little metal shacks, of sorts, sticking out of the ground by the sidewalk like covered entrances to a subway. They were solid in structure, kept together as one giant unanimous welded piece. Two wide entrances stood opposite from one another, kept open by a folding grate fence. A large solid metal beam bridged the gap between the tall rooftops of the buildings lining the wide road. Huge winch systems hung from two points on either side of the beam, the wire being held back by metallic struts as they latched onto both of the descenders adjacently. 

Lest stepped into the unclean cabin of the left descender first, as she had still insisted on walking just a tad bit faster than you. You stepped in second, your eyes kept glued to where you placed your foot. The descenders were held up by only the wire, and if they weren’t there then it’d just be a stark hole in the ground. As you stepped onto the carriage, you watched it wobble and reveal a peak of the dark descent into the earth when the metal flooring moved away from the ledge.

You hated heights. It wasn’t falling that scared you, it was the height itself. You couldn’t explain it well, not even to yourself. You kept a cool composure despite the glimpse of how far the tunnels really went. To your right when you stepped in, a large lever stuck out of the metal flooring. It was elongated with a squeeze trigger, sticking out from a wide semicircle cap that had been painted with black marks. Single tallies, three in all. First was for the Promenade, second for Entresol, third for the top levels of the Sump. As you knew far too well, the only way to get to the bottom was to go by foot. You squeezed the handle onto the lever, pulling it back until it reached the second mark. The winches hanging above you began to whirr, their motors jumping to life after being given a command. After a short moment, the wire fences folded back out and the cabin shrugged, then began to slowly descend into the hole.

You and your employer found yourselves engulfed in darkness once the cabin had fully descended through its slot, moving through the hole burrowed through the earth. You looked for her in the dark, trying to catch the glow of her cigarette that seemed to have gone out. It was just the wall of darkness in front of you, the twitching pings of the taught cables, and the hollow hushed flow of wind flowing through the tunnel. The scratch of zinc on flint startled you a bit as a small flame emerged from Lest’s lighter. She brought it up to relight her cigarette between her lips, the flame illuminating a portion of her deadpan face. The light glared off her eyes, turning them into wide saucers of yellow before the flame went out and the darkness returned once more.

The descender lowered through its exit in the earth, bringing light from the Promenade level as the cabin descended over the boundary markets in full rush hour. You quickly averted your eyes to look at anything else before Lest noticed that you had been trying to stare at her the whole time. You looked out at the boundary markets through the metal grating. Merchants running their stalls that were hobbled together by rotted wood, bent nails and tattered tarps, all in rows numbering by the dozen. You saw the common man, the vagrants and the people just trying to get by. Scavengers with wheelbarrows full of junk, and urchins running about begging for money that nobody had to spare. You watched a line of people, which winded all the way to the end of the market boundary and disappeared behind the side of a tall brutalist structure, a cathedral of sorts. The line moved forward body by body, each person waiting to buy what measly foodstuffs they could afford.

People were hungry. This whole damn city was hungry. You were hungry. You forgot about food for so long, remembering it made your stomach churn. “Give me a hit of that.” You muttered to Lest as you turned back and extended your arm.

Lest gave you a confused, yet curious look, a flare of her amber eyes. One that told you to get your own, but with an air of sympathy as she read your tense expression. She passed you the cigarette reluctantly, and you took a heavy drag. “Sometimes I wonder if you can handle ideas that go beyond what you’re going to wear, or eat for lunch.” Lest muttered, finally commenting on your conversation from before.

“I don’t eat lunch, remember?” You faked a chuckle, then took another heavy drag and passed it back. “Have you ever been hungry, miss?”

“We all have.” Lest shrugged.

“No, I mean real hunger. The kind of feeling that makes you want to eat a handful of dirt, or bark off a tree. The kind of hunger that makes you shake. The kind that makes you stop being hungry if you ignore it for long enough.”

There was a long pause between you two. The only company in the way of sound being the murmur of the busy streets below and the creaking. Lest didn’t look at you, keeping her eyes to her cigarette as she moved it around between her fingers. She took a final drag of it, put it out on the metal, then pushed it through the hole in the grate. “Like I said, detective.” She glanced at you, then back to the grate where her stare remained. “There’s things that you’d never guess in your wildest dreams.”

The descender reached the bottom of the Promenade level and cut through the earth once more, travelling deeper into the Entresol and returning the cabin to the pitch darkness of before. The darkness returned with the silence between you two. That invisible wall felt like it was being built back up brick by brick. What felt like an eternity passed, just the two of you and the darkness. The cabin emerged from its second pass through the earth, coming out into the light of the second level of the city. The cabin came to a slow, agonizing stop before a raised platform constructed from rebar, old pipes, and corrugated tin sheeting. A grand stand of rust, elevated to allow people to step down into the portion of the Entresol.

You looked out through the thin slits of the gates as they folded back in on themselves with sluggish struggle. The station was in the back end of one of the largest housing projects above the Sump. A shanty town of scrap shacks and hobbled-together structures, packed so tightly within the small space that one would forget that they were in the lanes at all. It was called Drop Street after the one above ground, but local residents had given it a new colloquial name. Alley of alleys, as the only thing that divided the labyrinthian maze of favelas was a single wide lane that split the wall of residencies like a straight, unmoving river.

You peered down the narrow lane, the ending to which seemed to fade into a dark endlessness as the district had barely enough power to spare for lighting the way. It was just a lane of shack houses stacked upon one another, reaching high up and beyond where you could see the end of it. The only main source of light was a harsh mining lamp that hung from a post by the platform, lighting just that portion of the alley in a warm but uncomforting orange glow. The alley split off into separate offshoots, each giving the Alley of alleys its name. In a way, it was like the mine shafts that the people of the Fissures had toiled in a long while ago. It was an ironic mirroring of their serfdom, like the people hadn’t known how else to build a town. Or, they simply couldn’t. And yet nobody walked the street, not a soul. It was like they were ashamed to be seen here.

You glanced back to Lest, who had already strode forward once the gates had retracted. She descended down the staircase of rusted sheet metal that led up to the platform, taking one careful step at a time until she was on solid ground. You half expected her to glance back to you in return, to wait for you to follow. Yet she continued walking as if you weren’t there at all. You got the queue to catch up, and you descended the stairs with a hurry, your work boots stomping the loose metal as you descended. 

“I’ve got to ask.” You spoke up, finally catching up to your employer and keeping pace besides her as the both of you took a cautious stroll through the wide lane. “Whoever those guys mentioned, surely they’re not down here. I mean-” You paused, glancing down the offshooting alleys as you passed them one by one. Each lane was labeled with a name embroidered onto sheets of scrappy metal and pinned to the sides of the shanty walls, the only identifier to separate the rows. Waterhall, Captooth, Stormway, Emberfit, Dogheal. All of them sounded much more interesting than they looked, as every glance you gave to each of them held a sadder and more depressing sight than the last. “I don’t think anybody’s down here that wants to be seen.”

“Maybe you’re the one that doesn’t want to be seen down here, detective.” Lest hummed as she walked. She didn’t seem bothered at all by the surroundings, like she’s seen it all before, and worse. “It must be so convenient living up top. I’m sure one forgets places like this exist, once they’re out of sight and mind.”

“It’s not like that.” You muttered. She was talking to you like you lived across the river. Things may be bad down here, but they certainly weren’t perfect around where you lived. You followed Lest as she turned down one of the alleys, one marked with the name Epswell. This lane was as dark as the last, so thin you could barely walk down it. You felt like you were going to bang your shoulders against the scrap walls with every step. You passed door after door after door, like you were wading through and endless purgatory of locked doors and glimpses into impoverished lives through holes in the tin sheets or rifts in walls.

You kept your attention to your boss who walked in front of you. This wasn’t your home, and it wasn’t your business. You were here to follow a paper trail and follow it you would. All the way up to a single door, painted with chipped blood red. A tiny triangular sign dangled from a post above the frame, spelling out the title ‘Madame Blance’s’ in a yellowish glow in the dark paint.

“I know this place.” You hummed, looking up to the sign as Lest finally turned back to you and awaited on the other side of the frame with crossed arms. “I’ve heard of it- I mean.” Madam Blanche’s was almost mythical sounding in the mentions of it you’ve overheard at bars or on the street. It was cheap, it was always open, it was hard and yet so easy to find. It was a brothel. “Why here? It’s not my birthday, you know” You tried to joke to lighten the mood.

“You want to know who Black Cat is?” She crooked her eyebrow, then nodded to the door. She seemed more impatient with you than usual, and you weren’t sure if it was because of the scathing critique you gave her earlier, or if it was because she realized you didn’t belong down here. “You’re just going to have to be brave and head inside.”

“No objections from me, boss” You shrugged, looking back up to the sign again. “How do you know this place?” You snorted. “What, did you hang around here before you picked up painting?”

“Oh, you’re a real comedian, aren’t you?” Lest croaked with a clenched jaw, the feline irked squint in her eye giving you the impression that you should probably stop being a smart ass.

“Right. Right.” You yielded, taking a small step back. “You want to find our lead at the bottom of a whorehouse?” You reached forward and grabbed the knob of the red door. As you turned it, the handle felt so loose you could have pulled it off if you gripped too hard. You pulled the door open towards you, and held it for her. “You lead the way, then.”

𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 Taglist: @6selkie @madschiavelique @roku907

[abbycadoodle]

baby Mayhem baby Mayhem baby Mayhem! (please share those hcs)

OKAY SO

I'll break these down by character!

1.) Baby Teeth:

His parents refer to him as "Junior", but everyone else calls him "Doc".

Aside from his parents, he won't respond to anyone who calls him Junior sjdjdkl

His purple vest + scarf are of his own creation! Most of the clothes his mother picks are rather drab, so he's taken to rummaging through closets, thrift stores, and the occasional dumpster to find materials/old clothes to decorate :)

Aside from Janice, he's very good at being a mediator (that is, when he's not butting heads with Floyd sjdkkd)

2.) Floyd:

Floyd is very rough-and-tumble, and most of his clothes reflect that lmao

He's very agile and active, and always quick to think up a new game!

Out of all the mayhem, Floyd is most prone to getting into trouble shdfjkgk

He's gotten stuck in trees, caught in playground equipment, lost on multiple occasions, yet often emerges without a scratch!

3.) Janice

Not surprising in the slightest, Janice is a sweetheart all around :)

She's very at one with nature, often playing with bugs and small animals on the playground (much to the horror of adults watching sjdkkd)

She once tried to sneak a squirrel she "befriended" into the daycare shdjdjkl

Along with Teeth, she's quite good at art, and enjoys painting and coloring (although, she's been known to stray from the canvas, often covering walls, floors, and even other people in her doodles)

4.) Lips

Lips is quite talkative, even if not everyone can understand him. This literally doesn't phase him though lmao as he will talk as long as you're willing to listen

He's a remarkable reader for his age, but his penmanship? Eh, he's doing his best :)

He's easily excited, and very energetic!

5.) Zoot

while everyone else is built for playtime, zoot is built for naptime sddgghjkl

His blanket means a great deal to him, even if he's prone to misplacing it. The mayhem is good about keeping track of where he leaves it tho :)

He's easily distracted, but surprisingly thoughtful at times. For example, he may not remember someone's birthday, but he knows their favorite flower :)

He's a good listener, even though he may fall asleep during the conversation sdfhgjkl

He's a little clumsier than the others, most likely because of the hair in his face + constant state of sleepiness

this is all I got for now, but if y'all have questions or stuff to add I'd love to hear it!! Here's a few more doodles in the meantime :)

[atangledfate]

So, what were your thoughts on the Phantom Rider arc?

" I mean i've talked about it before but... i didn't like it much. Premise was fine and i enjoyed clutch as the villain. But there were many choices i didn't care for...

1: Why were the rogues delegated to background characters in a fucking RIDERS ARC! i will never not be salty about this!

2: Lanolin, i actually don't hate that she was going through some shit and seemed to get hostile. I just don't like that they made her out to be a total moron... she never gives justification for her antics, and basically throws silver and whisper under the bus. Sure she apologizes at the end... in like one panel or sentence... and doesn't talk about WHY she acted that way... i love Lanolin i just think she wasn't handled great in this arc.

3: Clutch being an FUCKING moron! man i can't express how smarmy and suave and smart this guy seemed. Then he just acts like he's a noob in the last few issues. like come the fuck on! is he a genius criminal or an idiot... this was like rough and tumble levels of dumb!

4: Jewel... so i liked how she was on to clutch... and she even tried to put her foot down. The thing is, Jewel is director of restoration all it would take is a phone call or going to the freaking media and clutch's whole operation is TOAST! it was nice to see her stand up for herself... but lord she needs a win already... its ok to let side characters have a moment. Closest she got was setting the self destruct but then... it just flopped on her! like come on already... 5: i will not stand for them giving Amy these amazing moments in the comic but then she can't beat rough and tumble? What the absolute hell... Amy should have rofl stomped these two! and i like them i want them in the comics but COME ON! amy's massive power house even silver was shocked by her strength! and your telling me she cant handle these two? ugg it was bad! just a few examples of the problems i had with that arc... Were things i liked though. Eggman was great in this arc i liked how he seemed like a minor character but turns up in the end as a baddie. I liked whole phantom rider gimmick, i loved the riders designs! for everyone, though WHY the rogues didn't get new outfits! like come on IDW!! The general plot was somewhat interesting... but clearly it was rushed...

Not bashing IDW or the Comic its still great! i just did not like how this arc was handled. Its by far the WORST arc we have gotten so far... also and on that note!

we need to stop treating Jet like he can't handle himself. He can and has FLOORED Sonic, he's on par with sonic's other rivals... stop jobbing him already! He should have DESTROYED the chaotix... he should have handled himself against sonic better, and he very much wouldn't let clutch steal his glory...

lastly--- i hate to see restoration broke up, and i hate to see the cutters breaking apart. Feels like we may never see Lanolin and Jewel again or not as mainstays...

That's my thoughts!

[lenovo005]

FANFIC 101: Tips Me and A Friend Came Up With in A Very Math Class

🍿🍿

NO BLUE ORBS. Don't be scared to use the word EYES, trying to analogise it only makes you sound like a hater

dogs are great!! include them in your fic at all costs. preferably alive.

minimise heterosexuality in your fic. the more hetero it gets the higher chance it has to be made into a bad cringe Netflix movie no one wants to see. I don't care if it has Sydney Sweeney's glorious boobies

ANTAGONIZE redemption arcs, embrace the evil in people. sometimes it makes them hot.

if your work is over 100k words, get a ko-fi. you DESERVE to be paid, dont lie to yourself. PATREON at LEAST.

tags are not always necessary, sometimes they're for comedic purpose. for example: no beta we die like my dog.

RESPECT the haters. better yet. make a fic out of them. maybe you'll get a life long soulmate. at worst you'll get doxxed.

everyone should learn how to write a proper down and dirty scene. ROUGH AND TUMBLE SCENE. GAG AND WAG SCENE. otherwise known as a fight scene

all fanfics should be written in front of unjustifiable criminals as punishment for their sins

If you don't have a twitter don't get it. multiplies your debuffs by five.

If you've checked all the boxes so far, CONGRATULATIONS, you're ready to take on the most harrowing, hated on, thankless job in the universe. An ao3 mod.

[archangelarch]

Precipice

Bilbo takes teasing a touch too far.

Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield || Wordcount: 786 || Contains: Edging, Teasing, Handjobs, Blowjobs, Desperation, Restraints

———

Bilbo couldn’t deny there was a decadent thrill to seeing Thorin get sharp with frustration, especially when it was within a safe scenario with no actual threat to their persons. In bed, for example. And when it came to scenarios in bed, few were safer and more thrilling (and more frustrating for Thorin) than when Bilbo had the King Under the Mountain tied down. 

“Petty fox,” huffed Thorin, straining through his teeth. They were the first words he had spoken in Westron after a bout of what Bilbo assumed were quite nasty curses in Khuzdûl. “You would deny your king this way?” 

“I’d say I’m indulging you plenty, my love,” cooed Bilbo with an innocent tilt of the head. He gave Thorin’s weeping cock a long slow stroke in his hand, slicking it with the spit earned from his generous, albeit teasing and strategic, tasting of it moments prior. “And you're not the king of this bed. When you’re a guest, it’s only polite to defer to your host.”

“All this deferring is vengeful torture, and you take cruel delight in it,” growled Thorin. His attempt at an intimidating glare was lost on Blibo with his current position between the dwarf’s legs, each of Thorin's ankles and both wrists bound to the four posters of the bed.

Bilbo slowed his hand when Thorin bucked his hips up, giving a tutting pout. Thorin’s dark blue eyes were shining with intensity that made Bilbo shiver at the rough retaliation that was likely being planned behind them, but he was deterred none. 

“If you admit you were wrong, I’ll let you come,” Bilbo stated simply. He curled his fingers with just a bit more pressure and Thorin shuddered a gasp—he was achingly close. Bilbo has kept him in that desperate swollen state for longer than he had ever ventured to before, emboldened by the position of power he held and indulging in it. 

“Minx,” grumbled Thorin, his plump hairy chest heaving and glistening with sweat. “This is quite the tactic to win an argument.”  

“That’s not all it’s about,” countered Bilbo. “But yes, quite the tactic indeed, isn’t it?” Without warning, he tightened his hold and quickened his strokes, grinning at the deep wavering groan and the curved brow that it pulled from Thorin. “I’d say it’s nearly worked.” 

“Don’t you dare stop this time,” warned Thorin, but his tone was far closer to a beg than a threat. “Bilbo—” 

“Say it, and I’ll let you finish in my mouth, dear.” 

A sharp swear in Khuzdûl, then the closest thing to a whine the hobbit had ever heard from Thorin. 

“I was wrong,” he finally gasped, his great muscles pulling taut and arching a little as his peak drew so very close. His words began to tumble together in a desperate ramble. “You would know the metals of your antiques better than I—I must have been mistaken.”

Bilbo slowed back down, grinning with satisfaction. “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

“Burglar, I swear—”

Before Thorin could try to murder him with his eyes, Bilbo bent at the waist and brought his smug smile to the flushed head of Thorin’s cock, replacing his hand with his mouth. He couldn’t take more than half of it, but he bobbed diligently as fast as he was able, lapping with his tongue and noisily suckling. 

The guttural moan Thorin sang at that was heavenly, and most certainly heard by at least a neighbour or two. Bilbo didn’t care. As much as he had enjoyed making Thorin wait for his release, he enjoyed servicing him just as much. 

“Bilbo, ‘ibinê—!” 

The king’s peak arrived with far fewer words of praise and encouragement than usual, but one could easily understand why. It had surprised the both of them, crashing all at once over Thorin and leaving him thrusting up into Bilbo’s mouth. The poor hobbit gagged a little as Thorin’s hot cum was shot deeper in his throat than he could easily take, and though he managed to hold on until Thorin’s orgasm ran dry, he had quite the cough to clear the tickle left there, plus a few tears. 

Thorin was much calmer after coming down from his peak, humming with satisfaction. 

“It makes it better, doesn’t it?” rasped Bilbo, still smug as he pawed at his watery eyes. “It’s more intense if you draw out the finale.” 

“I can think of a quite a few other ways to make things more intense,” rumbled Thorin, peering at Bilbo through heavy lashes. He cracked a bit of a smirk as he admired his hobbit flushed and teary with spend and spit dripping from his lips. “Untie me, little minx, and I’ll return the favour.” 

[bigtreefest]

Your writing inspires me and I've a lot of ideas for fics and such just swimming in my head, but I ain't able to put anything on paper, and I really just wanna share my thoughts with the world.

Ya got any tips?

Hi, nonnie! Thank you so much! I can’t believe what I share is so inspiring and I’m so happy you want to write! Idk if I have tips, but I can give you an example of what writing can look like? I guess my mechanism of action could be the equivalent of a tip.

To give some insight to my process, it usually starts with swirling thoughts in my head. It’ll be a certain scene or a line of dialogue, so I write it down as soon as I can so I don’t forget it.

From there, as the thought continues to tumble, I get more details that are thrown in, so I write those in, too, which helps the story start to take form. This is sentences instead of fragments, and actual interactions or thoughts or movements of the character.

Then I start to think about how they got there, where they’re going from this one moment I was able to think up. That gets written down, too. It doesn’t have to be pretty, or have perfect grammar, but anything you deem worthy of note should be put down. Sometimes, you have multiple scenes you want in the same fic, but they’re written in different places. I combine them and shift them around for the order of events I intended to get a rough draft. Then I go through and proofread and add more details- facial expressions, sounds, setting pieces. I probably proofread like two more times, make sure it says what I was trying to, then will post.

For an example, in my first Jake fic, ‘Touch My Butt,’ I literally only started with the title. I knew I wanted an awkward Jake, who was afraid of pushing things too far. Then I asked, ‘okay, why is he afraid?’ That came with, maybe he accidentally said something that could’ve been taken the wrong way when they met. And then that led to ‘well, how did they meet? What exactly did they do?’ And the fic spiraled from there. Once you start to get into writing a certain idea, the words will flow, you just have to start somewhere and be alright with the choppy beginnings. That’s where the hard effort is, then the additions are easier.

The biggest thing overall is, don’t be afraid to make mistakes or take as long as you need to post. Writing takes time and practice. The first thing you post might not be great, mine sure as heck wasn’t, but I look at what I write now and what I wrote then and I’m astounded by the growth. And I m sure the same will happen when I look back in the future.

In summary, start with the thoughts you have and put them down. They don’t have to be pretty. Then fill in the gaps from there. Make sure all the details that were in your mind have a way to fit in and then proofread.

Anyone else who has tips, feel free to add!

[nyxnightshade1332]

Expectations When Expecting (Book 1)

Chapter 7

Chapter 8:

Yuu and Grim ceased their bickering once Trey cleared his throat to speak. As much as she hated to admit it, Yuu was curious about the school she'd be stuck in. She leaned forward with interest.

"As Cater mentioned earlier, the dorms of this school are themed after the Great Seven. We have our dorm, Heartslabyul, modeled after the strictness of the Queen of Hearts. To run down the rest of them for you, we have..." Trey began to explain, Yuu listening as she began to recognize the different dorms:

Savanaclaw, based on the persistent spirit of the King of Beasts.

Octavinelle, based on the benevolent heart of the Sea Witch.

Scarabia, based on the mindful personality of the Sorcerer of the Sands.

Pomefiore, based on the tenacity of the Fairest Queen.

Ignihyde, based on the diligence of the king of the underworld.

And finally...

Diasomnia, based on the noble spirit of the Thorn Fairy.

Yuu remained quiet for a moment, an attempt to take in the new information, trying to make her brain remember. Finally, she spoke, a little overwhelmed. "Wow... that's definitely a lot to take in."

"All those names are way too long! How's anyone supposed to remember 'em?" Grim agreed, splaying himself onto the table dramatically.

Cater gave an amused laugh at Grim's antics. "Well, you get the idea. Want to or not, you'll learn them soon enough."

"At orientation, the Dark Mirror picks a dorm for you based on the essence of your being. As a result, each dorm ends up with a distinct sort of... flavor, we'll call it." Trey began, simplifying the rules of the school for her.

"That is sooo true. I totes see it." Cater agreed.

"'Flavor,' huh...?" Deuce muttered, trying to understand it.

Yuu, however, chose to catch everyone off guard, "Wow, we've only just met, and you've already called me taste-less." She joked, recalling the mirror's words of her soul being shapeless and colorless.

This lovely joke caused Trey to stumble across his words, attempting to explain how he didn't mean it that way, while Ace choked on the water he was drinking and Deuce attempted to cover his laugh with a cough. Cater looked at her, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Yuu gave a nod of satisfaction, finally choosing to calm Trey down.

"Sorry, I saw the opportunity." She said, awkwardly laughing as Trey finally took a breath, nodding.

"Y-yeah, I knew that." His voice cracked before he cleared his throat. "Anyway, take that guy, for example." Trey gestured to a very tall, tan and muscular fellow with very large ears on the top of his head.

Yuu's eyes widened in surprise, slamming her hands on the table. "He has dog ears?!" She yelped before clearing her throat, before attempting to play it cool. "Muscly dog man, sure why not."

"That rough-and-tumble vibe he's got has Savanaclaw House written all over it." Trey said. Yuu noticed how the boy's ears perked slightly.

"No doubt. That dorm is full of scrappy guys who are into, like, working out and fighting." Cater said, leaning closer to Yuu, who now seemed to be a bit less tense with him. "How should I describe the vibe...? Macho dudes? Gruff big brothers? Something along those lines. The black and gold armband is another giveaway." Yuu nodded, understanding.

"He's a lot like one of my cousins. That man looks scary, but he was a pretty nice guy. He even has a daughter now." Yuu said.

Grim lifted his head, pointing to a familiar gray-haired boy. He looked to be rather frail and wore glasses. Yuu looked to see that the boy had pale, very shiny skin.

"He's gotta be from Octavinelle House." Trey mentioned, motioning toward the happy-looking white haired boy from the entrance ceremony, and a very pretty dark-haired boy who seemed to be internally dying.

"And the student sitting at the table in front of him has a red and gold armband- Scarabia colors."

"They look like the sun and moon." Yuu remarked.

"Those dorms are for the smart students. They're always neck-and-neck in the academic rankings." Cater said, pausing for a moment. "Ah, but the current housewarden of Scarabia doesn't seem to be all that great of a student..."

"And here Cater goes off on some tangent." Ace rolled his eyes.

"Ha. You learn fast. Let's get back on topic." Trey said, dismissive of Ace's behavior.

"You see the flashy one with the purple and red armband? Those are Pomefiore colors." Trey pointed toward a very pretty-looking group.

"Whoa! The girl with the potion books, I really like her!" Yuu did a double take, the surprised meme sound effect playing in her mind as her eyes landed on a purple haired, delicate looking girl.

"What's she doing in a boys' school?!" Deuce yelped, looking suddenly nervous.

"You two are such morons. There aren't girls officially enrolled here." Ace said, poking Yuu in the side. "Right, Yuu?"

She jumped slightly, giving Ace an awkward thumbs up. "Y-yep!"

"WHAAAT?!" Deuce and Grim cried, the young boy turned around, confused.

"Speaking of girls, there's a portrait in the west hall who's a real beauty. Name's Rosaria." Cater teased. "If you'd like to meet her, I'd be happy to introduce you. Maybe we can set something up?"

Yuu furrowed her brow.

"A painting? Hard pass! I don't care how cute she is if she's two-dimensional!" Ace remarked, making Yuu poke Ace in the side. He jumped, glaring.

"Whaaaat? It's true. You're telling me you'd date a 2D girl?" He asked, defensively.

"I'm just saying, don't be rude. The paintings here have feelings." She said, turning her nose up at a very confused Ace. Mission: Dodge the question was successful.

"Come on, man. Who cares how many dimensions she's got!" Cater said, agreeing with Yuu. Yuu gave him a thankful nod as he began to continue speaking.

"Anyway, they take vanity pretty seriously at Pomefiore. It's basically a dorm full of models. Their housewarden has 5,000,000 followers on Magicam." Cater said, dreamily.

"Oh, I would definitely die there." Yuu muttered. She did like makeup as much as the next girl, but she didn't really have much of a sense of style.

"Hey now, they're not all just pretty faces. The students at Pomefiore are among the best at potions and casting curses." Yuu shuddered, reminding herself not to go too close to Pomfiore.

"Heh heh. True dat." Cater chuckled at Yuu's slightly disturbed expression. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a single, gloomy-looking boy. He seemed on edge with all of the people around, and Yuu pouted sympathetically. It took her years of training from her friends to get used to talking at all. She noticed him scamper away upon grabbing his food.

"Next, we have Ignihyde... Their armbands are blue and black, but I don't see any around here." Cater said, looking at Yuu. "They tend not to be the most outgoing of students. Even I don't have a single friend from that dorm. They're kind of the polar opposite of us sunny, fun-loving Heartslabyuls."

"So they're gloomy and miserable?" Grim asked, Yuu shushing him.

"Not everyone who's quiet is miserable, Grim. They're just more comfortable with alone time. I would know, I was like that when I was younger."

"Exactly!" Trey agreed. "They just have a reputation for being quiet and serious, is all. That dorm tends to attract magical-energy engineers and students who are good with tech."

Yuu grinned at Trey. "They'd be good with my family. Most of us have engineering degrees."

"And that just leaves... Diahonyalara, was it?" Deuce asked, making Cater snort in amusement.

"You were off to a good start, and then you rammed right into the guardrails. It's 'Diasomnia.'" Ace corrected.

"I know that! I just misspoke, all right?" Deuce snapped back, making Yuu pat him as a way to say she understood.

"Diasomnia House is, hm... Ah, look over there. Those guys in the special seating area." Cater nodded in the direction of the far end of the cafeteria. Yuu had to squint to see the boys.

"You can tell from the neon green and black armbands. They're basically campus celebrities. The vibe they give off makes it real hard for regular schmucks like us to even approach them." Cater stated before adding, "And their housewarden is that times a thousand."

Ace stood up, very obviously pointing with wide eyes, "There's a little kid in that group!"

"Ah, we do get some child prodigies here." Trey explained awkwardly, a forced smile on his face. "But that guy there is no kid. He's a junior like us. Name's-"

"Lilia. Lilia Vanrouge." A deep, playful voice sounded from behind her, making Yuu turn around so fast, she was almost dizzy.

"H-he just teleported!" Grim cowered, suddenly wrapped in Yuu's arms. How he'd managed to get there without her knowledge, Yuu would never know. She simply stared, bewildered at the young looking man.

"I understand my apparent age interests you? As this bespectacled fellow accurately noted..." Lilia flipped over, dusting himself off and flashing a fanged smile. "Despite my fresh-faced, boyish good looks, it would be inaccurate to call me a 'child.'" He paused, noticing Yuu.

"'Fresh-faced,' he says..." Trey said awkwardly.

Yuu became nervous when Lilia's eyes quickly flashed down to her abdomen and his gaze seemed to soften a bit. He walked up to her, offering a hand as he smiled once more. "You need not gawk at us from afar. You may feel free to speak with us directly."

Yuu was completely speechless at the strange behavior. "I- Well..." She stammered, making Lilia give a hearty laugh.

"Why... We are schoolmates, are we not? All of us at Diasomnia House welcome you without reservation."

Can he tell...? Yuu thought to herself, making a note to herself to find him later and ask.

"And yet, those guys over there aren't exactly rolling out the red carpet in terms of approachability..." Deuce said, shrinking in his seat. Yuu looked over to where Lilia had been sitting, noticing two, very serious looking boys eyeing their table. She herself felt like shrinking back.

"Forgive me for appearing above you during your meal. I do hope we can speak again." Lilia chuckled as he bowed before taking Yuu's hand in his own and placing a kiss on it. Yuu looked bewildered, blushing at the gentlemanly nature, yet entirely confused.

Once Lilia had left, Ace gave Yuu a semi-disgusted look. "What the heck was that...? Nevermind." Ace cut himself off before continuing. "Their table has got to be over twenty yards away from ours. And they overheard our conversation? That's WAY creepy!"

"Well... Diasomnia House does have a bit of a reputation for having lots of special students. Some of them are extremely talented at magic." Trey explained, dismissingYuu's first encounter with Lilia. "Their housewarden, Malleus Draconia, is considered to be one of the five best mages in the world."

"Malleus is reeeeeal bad news." Cater said, pausing before he added, "Though I suppose the same could be said of our own dear housewarden."

Yuu noticed a familiar-looking red-head coming their way just as Ace went off on a tangent. "No kidding! He collared me for eating one slice of tart! All his rule obsession is outta control!"

Yuu, in a pathetic attempt to get him to shut up, glared at him with wide eyes. She failed to recognize that Ace was a very reckless idiot, as the shorter boy glowered at Ace from behind.

"My 'rule obsession' is 'outta control,' is it?" He asked, his voice dangerously calm.

"Ace..." Yuu said, trying to direct Ace to look behind him as he continued.

"You bet it is. Riddle's just a petty tyrant who leans into the whole 'rules' schtick as a pretext to keep everyone under his puny thumb!" Yuu, knowing she could no longer save Ace, proceeded to shove her elbow into his side, making Ace squeak in surprise. "Ow! Yuu, what the hell?!" He began to ask before Deuce cut him off.

"Ace! Behind you!" He said.

Ace suddenly paled, slowly turning to face the sudden visit. "Bwah?! Housewarden!" He yelped. Yuu watched the young man as he gave a sicily sweet smile for a moment before his face erupted in an angry crimson tone.

"Oh boy..." She muttered. 

Chapter 9

[ghostlycorvid]

So I was doing another professional pin design today and started trying to do some research on the topics involved in the design to see what history there was behind it. I usually try to design a backing card with a little bit of relevant information about what is depicted and wanted to tie a cute design into some historical fact.

I know there have been railway dogs, or famous dogs that existed around railways, but here in the USA most of the stories I find are either sad or about scrappy rough and tumble pups. Dog waited forever for his deceased owner to come back until it was old and deaf and didn’t hear the train coming one day. Or ornery little scamp who just vibed with train crews and rode all around all the time, getting hurt a lot but bouncing back from it.

While doing a little digging, I found out that in Great Britain, during the Victorian era and up until a little before WWII, there were a number of well known charity dogs. Dogs that had little harnesses with money drop boxes that walked around  train stations (or were on a tether for safety) to collect donations to fund various things. Sometimes it was for the railroad, sometimes it was for other causes.

Some had little jackets that they would get medallions attached to for every $100 and $500 they reached??? 

The article I found with the most examples has some photos of (surprisingly well done) taxidermied dogs, so don’t click through if that bothers you, but I thought it was neat! Especially the bit that shows one of the dogs after years on display to the point that it faded from black fur to looking like a light golden retriever and then was restored. That’s a really cool little example of taxidermy over time.

[brutalgamer]

Blood West (PC) Early Access Review

Rising from an untimely end, Blood West’s gunslinger is sent into a haunted frontier, where death lurks around every corner. The Adventures of the Undead Gunslinger Premise - 75% Gameplay - 80% Presentation - 85% 80% Rough and tumble Wild West and horror themes seem to go pretty well together, and Blood West is a great example. A tough and brutal FPS, this game doesn't hold-hands and even doles out penalties for dying. But while it can easily not go your way, the combat is extremely satisfying, framing overall quality gameplay, with a terrific retro feel. User Rating: Be the first one !

[hansuoddie]

Have you seen Adrenaline Dubs's vids about the IDW comics? Their voices for Rough and Tumble are accurate and really good!

They've dubbed up to the end of the metal virus arc and they always put in music and voice effects, stuff's great, makes me cry every time!

Oh hell yeah, the example you sent is VERY close to what I imagined Rough and Tumble sounding like, tho I also imagined them having Brooklyn/New Yorker accents. "IM WALKIN' HERE" Is so something they would say.

This video here has some REALLY great suggestions to what some of the IDW characters could sound like. I love the Rough and Tumble ones but I also think Starline is SPOT ON. Clutch sounds a bit too young tho and some of the female voices could sound a tad bit more unique to one another, but its still great!

[rubykgrant]

I was thinking about my next-gen Kanto Gym Leaders again, so I'll just ramble about them haha-

Sam; new Viridian Leader, and the original Rival's grandchild (he's now Prof Oak, and the one who gets called Gramps~). She began training early, and became a Leader at age 12. Rather than focus on one specific Type, she trains multiple Pokemon, to represent everything found on earth, so it suits the Earth Badge! Usually, she battles new Trainers with something that counters their Starter with her own Bulbasaur/Charmander/Squirtle plus her Eevee. For more advanced Trainers, she has stronger teams. She's not quite as antagonistic as her grandpa once was, but she's very head-strong and pretty rough-n-tumble (her name is an homage to her great-grandfather, Sam Oak)

Cassandra; Brock's daughter, new leader of the Pewter Gym! Like her dad, she trains mainly Rock Types. She's got an easy-going personality, but is also very confident and determined in a casual way. The area between Pewter City and MT Moon has been expanded after the discover of Fossils (similar to the desert areas in Hoenn and Unova), and she helps introduce new Trainers to the concept, as well as giving them a tour of the Pewter Museum (her name includes the pun "sand")

Chelsea; new Cerulean Leader, no relation to Misty, but learned from her as an apprentice before taking over the duties. The Gym has moved to the Cerulean Cape, using the lighthouse as a location. She waits at the top, and challenger battle her Junior Trainers on the way up (the former building for the Gym has now become an Aquarium, where people can look at various Water Types from other regions). She's a charming young lady, very compassionate and takes great care to set a good example as a Gym Leader (her fashion style is a vintage sailor-style dress, and a beach sunhat, and her name includes the pun for "sea")

Victoria Surge; the grandchild of LT Surge, and new Leader of Vermilion! Decidedly more of a punk than her grandfather, she's every bit as intimidating as he can be, but embraces the idea of being wild and free, like a storm (her Gym is no longer a puzzle you solve with methodical trial-and-error, but instead different little tricks that encourage challengers to think outside the box and do the opposite of the obvious). The Gym building has also been re-designed to include a roller-rink and skate park! She's a skatergirl (her name is meant to symbolize "victory", one her grandfather definitely picked out for her)

Heather; the new Gym Leader for Celadon! No relation to Erika, but clearly loves gardening just as much as her predecessor. When she isn't at the Gym, she's working in Celedon City's new Musical and Contest areas, and preparing the famous Celadon Shopping Mall to include spaces for Avenues! (she likes to combine casual clothing and "grunge fashion" with pretty floral accents. her name is both a pun on the heather plant, and with added letter rearranged a bit, it become "wreath")

Hattori and Kotaro; twin great-grandkids of Koga, and the grandkids of Janine! They are the new leaders of Fuchsia, and challengers must Double-Battle them for a Badge (they have 3 main Pokemon each, so use 6 all together). They're both fun-loving little pranksters, and being trained as ninja by their family makes them very good at sneaking around (they aren't mean, but they can be annoying). Hatori is a bit more talkative, but better at staying hidden. Kotaro is quieter, and will openly show himself, usually as a distraction/deception (their names are inspired by Hattori Hanzo and Fuma Kotaro)

Charlie; the new Cinnabar leader, no relation to Blaine, but initially helped build a new permanent place for Cinnabar Island that was a safe distance from the volcano, and eventually took over as leader. The location for Cinnabar is now on that stretch of land near where Pallet Town opens to the ocean (in one of the last eruptions, Moltres was seen flying through the explosion of lava, seemingly enjoying the volcanic activity. when the Legendary Bird landed to rest for the night, it created a trail of lava that cooled in the sea, making a small archipelago and expanding some land mass). Before retiring, Blaine created a new Game Corner for Cinnabar, and Charlie designed a re-creation of the famous Mansion to hold his new Gym. He's a very responsible young man, a bit more serious than the original Leader, but also very motivated and encouraging to others (his name contains the pun for "char" or "charred")

Benjamin and Matthew; a duo who are joined Leaders for Saffron City, now the location for the final Badge. After Sabrina retired, a Fighting Type Trainer worked hard to be Saffron's Leader again, as it once had been before Sabrina. Later, a Psychic Trainer took their place, creating a pattern... because Benjamin and Matthew had always worked together, they decided to share the Gym Leader title, and use BOTH Types of Pokemon! Benjamin uses Psychic, and Matthew uses Fighting. After some remodeling, the two buildings at the top Northen entrance to Saffron function as the Gyms (former Sabrina's Gym on the right, and the Fighting Dojo on the left). They have no Junior Trainers, but each use full teams of 6 Pokemon. You must Defeat them both to earn the Badge. Benjamin is very cheerful and a little brash, while Matthew is more calm and reserved (their names are a pun on "mind over matter", BnejaMIN and MATT hew)

[thepiratedressing]

Affordable and Durable Pirate-Themed Clothes for Growing Kids

Pirate-themed clothing has always been a favorite among kids, sparking imaginations and bringing adventure to everyday wear. But when it comes to finding affordable pirate clothes that are also durable enough to withstand the rough and tumble of growing kids, things can get a bit tricky. In this post, we’ll explore how to strike the perfect balance between style, durability, and cost when shopping for pirate-themed clothes for your little buccaneer!

The Rising Popularity of Pirate-Themed Clothes

Pirate-themed clothes have seen a huge rise in popularity not just during Halloween, but all year round. From pirate shirts and dresses to accessories like hats, eye patches, and sashes, these outfits are perfect for everything from birthday parties to imaginative play at home. But what happens when kids outgrow these outfits faster than expected? That's why it’s important to look for affordable pirate clothes that offer the durability your little pirate needs.

Why Durability Matters

When shopping for clothes for kids, durability should always be a top priority. Pirate-themed clothing needs to be able to stand up to rough play, multiple washes, and adventures on the high seas (or just in the backyard!). Pirate shirts, dresses, and accessories made from materials like cotton, polyester blends, and strong linen will ensure that they stay intact while your child continues to explore. And with reinforced seams and colorfast fabrics, these clothes will remain vibrant and well-constructed for longer!

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Let’s face it—kids grow fast, and shopping for new clothes every few months can get expensive. That's where smart shopping comes in! Finding affordable pirate-themed clothes that are also durable doesn’t have to be a challenge. Here are some tips to help you score great deals:

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Bundle Offers: Many retailers offer pirate-themed clothing bundles at a discounted price, making it easier to stock up on outfits.

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Pirate-themed clothes aren’t just for costume parties—they're perfect for everyday wear, too! A pirate shirt, for example, can be paired with jeans or a skirt for a casual outing, or layered with a jacket for cooler weather. These clothes are versatile, functional, and most importantly, fun! Plus, they encourage imaginative play, which is great for kids' development.

Durable Pirate-Themed Clothes at The Pirate Dressing

At The Pirate Dressing, we understand that finding the perfect pirate-themed clothing for kids should be both affordable and high-quality. That's why we offer a wide selection of durable pirate clothes designed to withstand the adventures of your growing pirate crew. From pirate shirts and pirate dresses to accessories like eye patches and bandanas, we’ve got everything you need to complete your child's pirate look.

Our clothes are made with soft, breathable fabrics and reinforced stitching to ensure they last through countless washes and wear-and-tear. So whether your little one is staging epic pirate battles in the backyard or dressing up for themed parties, our clothes will keep them comfortable and stylish!

Shop Now

Looking for affordable pirate-themed clothes that don’t compromise on quality? Visit us at The Pirate Dressing for a wide selection of durable pirate-themed clothing for kids. Or, shop our products on Amazon for easy, convenient, and affordable pirate gear! Don't wait—shop now and give your child the best pirate clothing today!

[bikegearindia]

Explore Acerbis Riding Gear for Ultimate Protection and Style

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