#spring bastard with the criticals

[crowsent]

SPRING BASTARD WITH THE CARRY

[zo3mess]

Laundry girl

Summary: Laundromat is usually empty so late at night except for Adrian, until it isn’t. But there is no reason for him to get nervous around his new laundry buddy, right?

Warnings: mentions of violence, mention of death, mention of period blood, foul language and that’s all? If you notice something that might be triggering, just let me know. Also female reader and no use Y/N as far as I remember.

Word count: 3.8K

Extra songs for this fic

Masterlist of my works

Note: My ongoing brain rot with Vigilante, inspiration from the song Laundry Girl from Ludo (I politely stole a lot from their lyrics) and need to practice my English before test somehow escalated into this. This is a mess, nothing makes sense idk. Honestly, I have no idea why I decided to make it public, but hey, bad content is still content right? English is not my first language, so if you see any grammar mistakes or weird words, just ignore them. However every criticism is welcomed and appreciated.

Oh, the sweet contrast of late spring. Days warm enough to let bare skin be caressed by heating sun, yet cold nights leave shivers down the spine, a fleeting reminder that the carelessness of summer is not entirely there yet. Exactly on one of those nights, Adrian found himself in a 24-hour laundromat down the street from his small apartment. Neon lights from the sign were illuminating dark streets as well as the faint lights from inside. He didn’t like that smell that lingered in the air. Fragrances from detergents that are far too strong and mix in an unpleasant whiff, plus the disinfection and the smell from forgotten socks that got stuck somewhere between a wall and washing machine. No, thanks. He could buy his own washing machine, which would be much more practical, but why make anything easy when you can make it difficult.

When Adrian entered the familiar environment, he sighed at the strong smell hitting his nose. Temperature in the laundromat was slightly warmer than the one outside, but not enough for him to take off his hoodie. Adrian settled his bag with dirty clothes on a scraped metal table in the middle of the cramped room. There was one thing he liked about this laundromat, even though it was open almost nonstop, no one was ever there late at night like he was. Usually. Sometimes few drunks were sleeping peacefully in the corner, desperately seeking just a tad bit of warmth, but as long they didn’t do anything, Adrian had no reason to pay any attention to them. Tonight was different, his regular loneliness and peace was disturbed by another person entering the room. However screeching of old doors, quick gust of cold air and heavy tired footsteps did not alert him at all.

His mind was too focused on a single task before him, getting rid of dried blood that was plastered on his black undershirt. The one he wears under his chest plate, one that was stitched up too many times from all the slashing and tearing. Will he ever buy a new one? Of course not. Not until he finds a shirt that looks and feels the same as this one. Adrian cursed the guy that got his suit in such disheveled state. That bastard deserved a bullet to his head even before he managed to get Vigilante’s suit all messy and sticky with blood.

,,Do you need help with that?” you ask with a soft voice, a smile on your face while you look at the stranger in front of you expectantly ,,I don’t want to call myself a professional, but I can pretty much clean every stain. Or at least I haven’t been defeated so far,’’

Your question caught him off guard, his hands wincing a little. Green eyes glancing up at you with startled expression. When did you get here? Were you watching him the whole time? Crouched up above his shirt, scrubbing away with bile soap, tip of his tongue stuck out in concentration. You leaned across the table, examining his work. ,,Ketchup?’’

,,Blood actually,’’ Why would it be ketchup? He doesn’t even like ketchup. It does not taste like tomatoes at all! Goddamn lying sauce. ,,I got a really bad nosebleed. I get that a lot, that’s why my clothes are always bloody.’’ No other reason of course.

,,If your clothes are always bloody you should have no problem with cleaning them right? But I gotta admit blood is a hell of an enemy when it dries and sits on the fabric for a while. Just put it in cold water to soak off, that should do it.’’

,,Why do you know so much about cleaning blood?’’ Adrian asks with suspicion in his voice. Eyebrows furrow under his glasses and his eyes stare at you intently. Paranoia creeping up on him again.

,,Well I don’t know if you noticed but I’m a woman. Periods teach you a lot. I’m not some blood-stained killer I swear.’’ You say the last sentence with a wide smile, shaking your head before returning to your own work. Throwing dirty laundry into the washing machine without even glancing back at Adrian. He was standing there with fingers tapping on the metal table, burning a hole in the back of your skull with his stare. Yeah, you better not be. He thinks to himself.

He forced a smile and went back to scrubbing, he did not have the time to soak it off, he needed it ready for tomorrow, preferably without blood. You paid him no mind and pushed the button to start the cycle. With a sigh you took out a small book from the laundry basket you brought with you and sat down on a screeching chair nestled between other washing machines. If you have to sit it out here you might as well do something productive.

,,Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” his voice made you flinch and you glanced at him absentmindedly ,,I love that movie!”

,,Book’s even better.” You acknowledged his giddiness with simple words. The truth is you enjoyed reading books after you watched movies that were based on them. Sometimes they were better, sometimes worse, but they always expanded the story and the universe.

,,Reading is for nerds plus it can’t be that much better.” Doubting Thomas, of course. Adrian quickly waved off the idea that books can be better than movies.

,,There is extremely many things that did not make it in the movie, not gonna mention directive changes. But go on, live your life without all the great details.” You returned to your reading, barely registering quiet mumbling coming from Adrian’s direction.

,,What are you doing here anyway? I come here almost every Saturday and I am alone here.” He won’t drop it, curiosity gets the better of him most of the time, why would this be any different? It is suspicious that another girl is washing her laundry in the middle of the night. The fact he is currently getting rid of blood from the undershirt he wears out to kill criminals is an entirely different story.

,,My washing machine broke and I don’t have spare money to buy a new one. I’ll be coming here until my next salary.” The other option is attempting to fix it yourself, that would be a death sentence for the washing machine and you too.

,,But why so late? It’s way past midnight.”

,,Couldn’t sleep.” You just shrugged. You did not care if he believed you or not, it was true. Your new neighbors were blasting music practically all evening, it was better to wait it out elsewhere. ,,It seems we will be meeting each other more often. I didn’t catch your name.”

,,It’s Adrian.” His voice was hesitant, suspicion rising and falling with each word you said. He’s not sure if you are a poor soul with dirty laundry or a spy hired to watch the infamous Vigilante. How would you even know his secret identity? He had no idea, but sometimes it is better to account for all possibilities. You nodded at his answer and told him your name in return. Little something he burned into the back of his mind.

The more time you spent together in the chilly room, words drowned out by buzzing washing machines, the more you got along. Starting off with awkward small talk, through petty debate whenever books are better than movies, all the way to wishing each other goodnight as well as Adrian wishing you had a monster under your bed and parting ways. Only if he knew monster wasn’t the one creeping up on you in your sleep. Thoughts of tonight busying your mind.  

------------

The second time he met you was two weeks from the last encounter, just the way he mentioned previously. This time you were there first, already occupying one machine with white clothes while the other part of your laundry sat in a basket nearby. You quickly shot him a smile and he greeted you in return.

,,You’re here early.’’ Adrian commented almost under his breath as he put full duffel bag on the table and began sorting his clothes by colors.

,,Yeah well, no reason for it really. Maybe curiosity got the best of me and I got here earlier just to see if you would came like you said you would.’’ It seems that old habits die hard. Unknown to you, Adrian was always on time in his routines. Even if he wanted to do his laundry on a different day or at a different time, his body would urge him to do things in the exact same way.

The conversation went on quite smoothly, like good old friends meeting. Usual chatter about their days, unnecessary details of “total baller” breakfast from Adrian’s side, gossip about migraine-inducing coworkers from yours. Adrian attention was glued to every word you said, piece by piece putting together a bigger picture. He can’t even remember the last time someone actually wanted to talk with him and not just wave him off with dismissive answers.

,,- And then she put a fucking poster on our shared fridge. That stupid one with cat on a tree with “Hang in there” under it. And I thought our office could not get any more stereotypical,” you were throwing your hands around, visibly stating your annoyance at your coworker Debbie. ,,I don’t want to “Hang in there” I would much rather hang myself and I swear to God I will hang her in janitor’s closet if she puts another poster on the fridge or tells me a cheesy joke about how much she hates her husband, it’s not funny.”

She’s joking, Adrian, don’t sweat it out. There is no way she could kill anyone. His inner thoughts creep up to him again. From time to time, he would appreciate if his Vigilante mind left Adrian alone. ,,So uhhh… You don’t like cheesy jokes?” Yeah, great save, do not mention hanging Debbie.

,,I like jokes, just not stupid ones. To be honest I can’t remember the last time someone told me a funny joke. I guess it is a curse of modern times, humor changed.” You shrugged your shoulders and walk around the crumpled room, looking around and taking in details you missed on your first visit.

,,I could tell you a funny joke. I know plenty of them!” Adrian’s enthusiasm made you stop in your tracks. He’s just standing there, a wide smile forming on his face, fingers fidgeting with hem of dirty shirt that laid in mountain of laundry on the table in front of him.

Even if you told him no, Adrian has decided to recite every joke he knew. Some of them were horrible, some of them were… better. Yet it did not made you laugh. It was a fun game to pass the time, he told you lousy jokes and after each one he patiently waited for your reaction with puppy eyes. You, on the other hand, had tried so hard to not even let a corner of your mouth turn upwards. The bigger satisfaction it brought the more he stammered as he tried to remember another joke. Adrian could not let himself be a loser in this situation. He will not give up.

Not laughing at his jokes should be illegal. And that would make you a criminal. In that case, he would not feel bad if he had to take you out as Vigilante. And maybe if he got rid of you, he wouldn’t feel that irritating need late at night, body itching to go to the laundromat near his apartment to see if you couldn’t sleep either. If you’re scrubbing spilled wine from your shirt with cheap detergent before throwing it in a washing machine with the rest of your clothes. If you’re waiting patiently not only for your clothes to dry but also for that funny stranger with curly hair and a dorky smile to show up. Maybe then his mind would calm down again. He doesn’t need any more distractions in his head.

,,Knock knock,’’ he starts again, determined to win this imaginary joke war.

,,Come in,’’ you retort while chuckle is threatening to slip from your lips. Adrian’s arms slouch down his body, enthusiasm transforming into… Annoyance? He so desperately wants to see you smile, why can’t you comply? People usually laugh at his jokes, or more like they laugh at him. No matter the reason, people occasionally laugh in his presence alongside constant eye rolls. You haven’t done either and it is messing with him.

,,Knock knock,’’ a firmer repetition. He’s not going to get discouraged.

Determination is admirable in certain situations, in others it just leads to doom.  Like that one time when Adrian was chasing a thief down the street, low on bullets, ringing in his ears, lungs burning, but he could not forgive himself if that rat got away. All his attention was set on the dark figure way ahead of him that he did not notice a car when he sprinted across a badly lit street, ultimately knocking him down. Heavens were on his side that night, nothing serious happened except for a few nasty bruises and unrelenting remorse that haunted him following weeks. But the good kind of determination? That’s gonna win him a smile from a pretty girl in the laundromat.

,,Who’s there?’’ this time you decided to go along with his joke. These types of jokes are… foul, but you just want to see where he will land with it.

,,Honey bee,’’

,,Honey bee who?’’

,,Honey bee a dear and get that for me please?’’ Adrian says it with a wide smile and excitement in his voice. He points at your laundry beads that boost the scent. ,,It smells so good when you open it, can I try it?’’

You laugh just a bit. Fucking finally. Now Adrian felt like at the top of the world. He made you laugh, no matter if it was just a pitying laugh to get him to shut up, he decided to believe you actually found him funny and no one could take that from him. You noticed the dreamy look that plastered his face, especially when you let him borrow scented beads. Part of you cherished the fact he liked the ones you washed your clothes with every time and part of Adrian cherished the fact that now his clothes will smell like you before it wears out. That his sleeping shirt will carry part of you on those nights that he doesn’t see you here.

Wait, when did that happen? Smell of another person on his clothes should weird him out, it should give him goosebumps all over his pale skin. Why does it sound so comforting this time? Why does he want to keep part of you close? The last time he felt something similar was when his brother Gut died. They weren’t super close, but his death hit him like a train and he quite literally became a trainwreck. Adrian sat in his brother’s childhood room for hours, taking notes of all the small details, remembering the exact position of each and every piece of furniture. And at times when he felt close to breaking into tears, he took out his brother’s shirts. The familiarity and memories brought comfort. Comfort that disappeared as fast as it came.

This time he was not mourning death of someone close to him, this time he did not miss the feeling of adrenaline that he felt with Peacemaker when they shot appliances in forest or when they killed criminals together before he got locked up. This time Adrian felt a need to be close to someone he met just a few weeks ago, someone who barely knew him and had not gotten the chance to be taken back by his weirdness.

These thoughts and confusion followed him home that night. Not even the cold air could not break him out of trance. The way you laughed, the way you softly wished him goodnight when you parted ways, skin illuminated by purple neon light hanging above laundromat, and the way his now clean laundry smells like you since he begged for your scented beads. Pull yourself together Adrian.

------------------

,,I don’t understand how you might think Fargo is better than the Office or Better Call Saul for example. Saying it is the best show ever made is crazy.” Friendly banter about TV series was accompanied by clicking of your flip-flops as you made your way towards your apartment complex just a couple blocks away from the laundromat. Adrian had insisted that he walks you home this time, apparently he was afraid you might “fall asleep on your way home” since you two spent almost the whole night in the laundromat.

Not just doing laundry, you also brought your book, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and read out loud for him to hear the difference between book and movie. While you waited for your clothes to dry you two sat on uncomfortable chairs, you with book wide open, pages visible for Adrian to peek from behind your shoulder whenever he wanted. Though most of the time he spent with his eyes closed, face leaning on a stock of washing machines next to him, listening to your reading like a bedtime story. Even after your laundry was done you decided to stick around, competing who flicks quarters farthest, catching peanuts in your mouth and testing echo in every washing machine. Until you finally decided to head home and get at least few hours of sleep, by that time it was past 5 a.m.

Sun was lazily rising, yellow painted the sky but few dark clouds were spoiling the otherwise beautiful picture. The smell of rain was in the air, you both knew there was a storm coming on a calm Sunday morning. Few joggers passed you in a hurry. Early birds. Psychopaths. Not like Adrian wasn’t psychotic at least a bit, but he wasn’t that mad to get up so early to run in still-cold weather.

,,What do you think is the best show then?” he calmly asked and nudged your shoulder with his own, encouraging you to answer.

,,Well… I think the best show is The Kids in the Hall, undying classic.” You knew your walk slowly but surely reached its end. You could see your main entrance, the fact you were reaching your home was setting you aflame in the worst way possible. Nonetheless, your eyelids grew heavy and you could not stop yourself from yawning every few seconds, an unavoidable need to fall into your bed and surrender to sweet slumber.

,,That show is like 100 years old! Dinosaurs watched it!” Adrian shook his head with laughter. You didn’t find his jokes funny but you loved this out of all the shows. Unbelievable.

,,Hey! If you call that show old, it is like you’re calling yourself old! Should I call nursing to pick you up?” You stopped in front of your apartment complex, not entirely sure Adrian realizes this is where your hangout ends. You spin around to face him and quickly jab him in the chest with your finger.

,,Ha ha, very funny. But really? So many good shows and you pick this one? And call me out for liking Fargo? You have horrible taste.” He couldn’t let this go now he saw how adorable you looked when you were angry. What is the worst that can happen if he teases you more, right?

,,Shut it, Adrian. I’m serious.” You said that so calmly it almost took him aback, however he could see the fire burning behind your eyes. It only riled him up more.

,,You can’t make me-“ You grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him down swiftly. The best solution to shut him up was to press your lips against his. A firm, simple kiss that sent electricity through your body. You felt a muffled yelp that escaped Adrian’s mouth when you surprised him in such an affectionate manner. And at that moment, when your lips touched his, for the first time in a while his mind was quiet, yet his soul was singing. Time stopped, eyes were tightly shut, heart hammering inside, begging to jump out of his chest, one of his hands found its place on your forearm in uncertainty and took a step closer to get his body closer to you.

You, on the other hand, were fully aware of what was happening. The feeling of gratification that you “won” an argument was the last thing on your mind. The only thing you could think of was acting up on your secret wishes that swam through your head every time you went to the laundromat to see him.  Suddenly aware of everything, you felt the heat that radiated from Adrian’s body, warming you up in cold air, a few raindrops making you shiver as they fell on your skin. Or were you shivering from the closeness of this intimate act? If anyone asked you would not be able to answer. It did not matter anyway, the only thing that mattered was you kissing him.

The kiss lasted only for a few seconds, but you would both swear it was an eternity. When you pulled away, slowly and delicately, Adrian still had eyes closed, hand hanging in the air where your arm used to be. You realized his mind was completely shut off. A smile formed on your lips at the thought of shutting Adrian up this way every time he brings up some stupid nonsensical squabble. You left him standing there as rain started to fall on his hair, diamonds in those dark brown curls. And when he finally came to his senses and decided to open his eyes… You were gone. Coldness on his body where you were pressed together, sparks lingering on lips, sweet perfume filling his nose, those should be indicators that it was very much real, but his mind was not certain. How could it be, when the stupid brain ceased the second his dreams came true.

You quickly ran upstairs to your apartment, running up to the window in your kitchen and from behind a curtain you watched confused Adrian, who was walking in the opposite direction. What other choice did you leave him than to head home and wonder. Wonder about what you were doing when raindrops splattered on the sidewalk, sounding like your flip-flops. Wonder if you’re already sleeping safe and sound in your bedroom like he will when he reaches his home. Wonder if you kiss him again once you see each other next week in the laundromat. Wonder if the laundry girl was real or just a dream.

[goodqueenaly]

Forgive me if you’ve addressed this before over the years. You’ve covered a lot.

As far as is know, is Betha the only Queen of the Seven Kingdoms to, based on her familial background and upbringing, likely keep the Old Gods? If so, do you imagine this was a factor raised at the Great Council by lords aligned strongly with the Faith against Aegon?

That’s actually a great question, and one I haven’t considered! 

Yes, as far as we’re aware, no other queens during the Targaryen kingdom in Westeros (and obviously not under the Baratheon dynasty either) worshipped or otherwise honored the old gods. (This conclusion obviously does not count de facto crown princess Sansa, of course.) Granted, we know very little about the personal piety of virtually any of the Targaryen queens (Betha included); Naerys, and to a much lesser extent Alysanne and Aelinor Penrose, represent pretty much the only queens about whom GRRM has given any insight regarding their personal religious feelings. However, given that there were no queens from the North, nor any other Houses (besides House Blackwood) which are specifically noted to worship the old gods elsewhere (of which House Blackwood is really the only certain one anyway), I think it’s fair to say that none of the other Targaryen-era queens worshiped the old gods. 

Whether Betha’s religious feelings (real or presumed) would have factored into the debates at the Great Council of 233 AC and even beyond … maybe. Certainly, Westerosi politics historically has been no stranger (no pun intended) to criticisms of religiously unorthodox figures and their supposedly negative influences, from Lelia Lannister during the Hoare dynasty on the Iron Islands to Larra Rogare during the Lysene Spring under Aegon III (and indeed, I’ve suggested such criticisms may have been leveled against Jeyne Manderly, wife and perhaps widow of Rickon Stark). Too, according to Yandel, that “most outspoken of [Aegon V’s] foes” specifically referred to the “gods-given rights and liberties” of which the king allegedly sought to deprive his vassals; however, the quote does not mention which “gods”, old or new (or both), to which the speaker referred, nor the source of the complaint, leaving the potential religious context to the issue unclear. We also do not have a strong understanding of the relationship between the Faith and the crown in 233 AC (or, indeed, during Aegon V’s reign afterward), although there certainly had already been intriguing intersections between the two entities: consider, say, the High Septon under Daeron II, who used the Faith's prejudice against bastards to explain and criticize the rebellion of Daemon Blackfyre, or the nameless septon who used specifically theological arguments to denounce Bloodraven (and was executed for doing as much), or even my speculation on the installation of the office of High Septon permanently in King’s Landing (in its Avignon-esque exile from Oldtown). More directly, the fact that the High Septon of 233 AC was willing to absolve Aemon of his maester’s vows so that Aemon could become king might, perhaps, suggest a desire on the part of the Faith to support the surviving son of Maekar who had no troublesome ties to the old gods, rather than the son whose wife worshiped those strange and ancient gods. 

Again, none of this is explicit canonical evidence, but all of these ideas and suggestions may indicate that Betha’s familial religion was used as an argument against Aegon V’s kingship , at the time of the Great Council and/or during his reign. How could Prince Aegon be trusted as a prospective defender of the Faith, so the argument might have gone, when his own queen worshiped god who were, to borrow Yandel’s phrase when describing the Andal Invasion, “little more than demons”? How could the Faith support the succession princes who may well, so these Faithful might have feared, have been raised to worship those same old gods, and been encouraged by their no-good-very-bad mother to turn away from the light of the Seven? Would Betha have been assumed to share the penchant for sorcery and evil popularly associated with that other Blackwood-blooded old gods worshiper, Brynden Rivers? For those perhaps already inclined to distrust the hedge knight-trained "half a peasant" Prince Aegon, the fact that the prince's wife and the mother of his heirs worshiped gods other than the Seven might have been useful ammunition in their arguments against his accession, or during his reign afterward.

[paladin-of-nerd-fandom65]

'Who am I to Complain?'

As part of my own contribution to this year's first day of Spring 2024, aka the in universe birthday of one Richard John Grayson-Wayne, the First Robin and the crime fighter known as Nightwing, I would like this opportunity finally....FINALLY...posting up for you all a fic that's been in my drafts for pretty much the better part of any entire year. Originally meant on being released last Christmas, various forms of delay, writer's block and other general distractions have prevented me from finally finishing such a project. Well finally after such anticipation at least on my end, I have managed creating a final form for this story I think can satisfy.

For very quick context, this story is a component of my long running idea proposing and lore building of my own version of the DC Comics Universe. In particular, it takes within the long storyline both @thattimdrakeguy and I have crafted for the better part of two years, the first part being involved within the hypothetical Nightwing solo book, 'Clipped Wings' and its follow up crossover with Detective Comics proper, "Blue Hawk Down'. For more information regarding the general summaries of events, check out the links here and here.

I shall like to dedicate this story to my mutuals and friends @adalineozie @meara-eldestofthemall @nightglider124 @faesystem @confusedhummingbird @spider-jaysart @mothnem @lightdusk96 @camo-wolf @sbd-laytall @theredheaded-stuff @celaenaeiln @starlightbelle @shootingstarssel @avaraydrake @pin-crusher2000 @sillymanwithocs @batboyblog @bluegarners @tarisilmarwen @orange-s-mario @altinyns-multimedia-museblog @katmaatui and so many others

Constructive Criticisms are Generally Welcome; Replies and Especially Reblogs are greatly appreciated

The Following May Contain Graphic Scenes of Violence, References to Sexual Assault and other themes not suitable for a Young Audience. Viewer Discretion is Heavily Advised

As per usual, All Rights and Copyrights to Characters and Concepts seen in this work are owned by DC Comics, Inc, a subsidiary of DC Entertaiment and Warner Bros. Discovery

With all that....Happy Birthday Dick Grayson....Here's my gift of Grade A angst for you

Sigh. Cough Cough

Look at yourself. Just Honest to God, Dick, just look at yourself.

Take a good look at those cuts, that blood all over your ugly as hell face, that blood pouring out of your stupid, big fat hole you call a mouth. You wanna know who’s Goddamn fault it was for all this? You wanna know who's responsible for you being more pathetic and a freak than you already are? Cough Cough

You.

Don’t try to deny it. Why should you? 

After all, you allowed this to happen to you, right? Not just with what happened tonight but over these last few weeks. You know what I’m talking about. Losing your home and failing to find out how despite insisting you paid for it. What will Kory Cough say now when she comes back and sees that home you wanted to allow her into isn’t even yours anymore? What kind of fiance are you to allow that? 

  Why stop there? Here you are, without any place to call a house, your face gushing and oozing red as it had been lately, broke, nobody likes you, not a single damn soul cares about you. You wanna know who’s fault it is? Yours. In fact, as you right now are flinging that bottle of peroxide into your ugly face and stinging from it as you deserve, how about we explore what even happened tonight that led to this, shall we? 

  I think I should…Cough

 Three Hours Earlier….

 BAM 

“Ack!” 

“Tell Us Goddamnit, You Blue Wearing Cunt!!” 

As if I would. How do I tell these bastards where the hell Bruce is if I wasn’t even able to speak to him for weeks by now? 

I know what you’re thinking, ‘but are you his…’

Stop right there right now. If you’re gonna pull that whole ‘you’re his son’  bullshit on me, for one thing, at the very most I was adopted, I ain’t his real kid. I never deserved being his real kid at all given who we are. Another thing too; if he were to come to my help, he would’ve done so about…God knows how many times by now lately. I would handle it anyways, what kind of person needs any sort of father or even friends when it was their own damn fault they wound up taking two  bullets to the hamstrings? 

Why yes, that’s what I’m going through and yes it was my Goddamn fault being this utterly stupid and an utter embarrassment with my training for getting caught by those sickos like I was. Now you are thinking, everyone has an off day and…

BAM BAM BAM BAM 

Crap! Two on the calves and two more on my hamstrings, I can tell. 

“Motherfucker….” Damn it all they weren’t supposed to hear that. Great, now they laugh at it. 

The hell’s wrong with me? There’s no time to let them know what’s going with my nerves acting up. 

“You know, guys” (Cough) Keep it in, Grayson! You got something to say these assholes need to hear Damnit! “ You’re getting absolutely nowhere right now. If I knew where Batman was, I still wouldn’t tell you. So what the hell makes you think I do then after an hour and…” 

“Shut the fuck up, Birdfreak!” 

BAM

A kick right to my face? Yeah, another in my long line of failures and that one was justified; I should’ve seen that one coming. Hey, compared to the bullet holes though, it’s nothing really. Besides why even be hurt by that when I have this lowlife staring directly at my ugly mug of a face right now? 

“You know him, more than us here! You have to know where he went! We got a sweet little gig here and I ain’t rushing to see that pointy eared son of a dick trying to ruin it! ‘Sides, you’re in our hands now, so you see; once we’re all done here one way or another, we can get that dough from the cops since they’re looking for you more than us! Now you tell us if he knows about this place and if he’s coming, will ya?! We ain’t got all night and I’m missing my game!” 

Sweet little gig? As in the child trafficking operation they got here right now? Some of those children right behind me behind a cage like animals, forced to see me pinned on my torso and face, taking crap in many ways from them? They call that ‘sweet’ in mine and their faces?! 

“You calling that a game? Selling kids to sexual slavery? I really hate to see what’ll be your idea for a movie if that’s what you.re saying” That quip, I couldn’t help, it was damn true and these creeps needed to hear that. It was about as much a fact as Bruce hates me right now and rightfully so. 

Yet all they do is laugh even harder than before. They’re really….really starting to get on my nerves. 

Their ringleader grins ever so much in my face. His disgusting and unbearable cigarette smoke billows in my face. “So what?”  

So what? So what?? Is that really your best retort to me? It’s unbelievable, just what kind of devils and evils dwell in this city. But it’s evil I hunt for every single night. No one around me sees what I have to or does what I do around these parts. Not Bruce, not Tim, not Kory, no Donna….no one. On that note,  no one should have to. Maybe it’s my failure to stop evil like this and everything I do, everything so wrong and never good enough, that’s why I’m certain Bruce decided just to cut me off. 

No job, no place I can call a house or a home to stay in, no money, no spare clothes, no answering my calls, nothing. It’s been about three months of this so far, a three month test to see if I break if I had nothing, only for the big bad bat wanting me to literally cry my way back home to him. You know what? Screw you too, Bruce. Or whoever was doing all this. I know that, even for you Bruce, ins outs of everything, even you normally won’t stoop this low. It’s not just nothing I’ve been trying to figure out suggests otherwise. Maybe it’s just this….paranoia….no I can’t be paranoid. What’s happening is real and I need to deal with it and…

“Hey Cockscuker, you listening to me??” 

Oh right, this asshole. 

Looking at him, I can’t help myself but make my eyes go towards his own. What does he think would work now to make me talk? 

In his hands was some sort of object. It looks bladed, I can tell based on the glistening of the steel coming from the moonlight coming in through the window. Once he gets a bit closer, I see it now….oh of course….a damn pizza cutter. Oh and just my luck too, in his other hand is a goddamn cheese grater. I guess either this warehouse is for kitchen  tools or just my karma telling me how much I fucking suck and rightfully so again. Maybe the latter. 

The asshole only grins at me. “Okay then, maybe some…slices can get ya to talk. What do you say?” 

I take a deep breath and brace my teeth within my mouth. No use crying out, screaming or any of that weakness than I already showed earlier . This frankly I deserve, and come on. 

I’ve taken a few swings from a baseball bat from Two Face, got injected with Slade’s nanoscopic probes that were shredding my cells inside and out, got blasted by an alternate Luthor, forcibly swallowed a heart paralyzing pill by Slade and the actual Luthor (that bald cunt)….and now just a circular blade and a metal sheet with blades on it on my forehead and face?

Seems fitting enough to take; whatever I’ve done and didn’t do in my vow to protect the innocent and never strive off the path of justice, being a terrible friend, never good enough for Batman as I had always been, letting the only two people that actually had any right to care for me fall to the sandy and hard floor, shattering almost every bone in their bodies when I had only one job to do which was catch them….yeah this is appropriate. This is exactly what I deserve after all of that. Losing my home, my job, and my means to do basically anything for myself, I deserve that.

Who am I to complain, really? 

  Back at the Present Day….

   Sssszzzz….

“Ah Fuck!” 

Peroxide…it never fails to emit any sort of sting on any sort of cut, don’t it, Dick? 

Oh but you gonna start cussing and feeling it now? What the hell’s wrong with you? You can’t handle just a tiny sting of this shit without any yells? 

Suck it up, will ya? You’re acting like a spoiled brat. 

Who are you to complain about really?

Oh and by the way, there goes the last of our Peroxide, just circling down this old bathroom sink drain into God knows sewer pipes along with the blood it splashed off. You're gonna have to fetch some more, Dick. It’s not like Bruce is gonna get us anymore. 

Fuck Him. 

We’ve been putting up with his shit every since we lost are damn place to stay in, then our jobs all over this city, villain after villain breaking out, us being blamed for the Mayor, his wife and girl getting ripped to shreds and blood all over one day with one of your Wingdings, making you hunted down from pretty much everyone (for what only $1.5 Billion Alive? Oh c’mon that's too generous of a bounty for you. I’d put myself at about only 25 cents given your piss poor track record); You know for sure Bruce did all this, all behind the scenes, pulling every string he can to get us like this. 

 And why? Letting him know that you can take care of ourselves that one time and him being this offended by it? Well, fuck it, You’ve been showing him alright! Things are shittybut maybe that’s just how he likes it for you. Nothing gonna change that anytime soon; might as well make it the best for you, because it’s all you can do by now. 

  So now, no shoes, no fucking good socks at all, only one pair of torn sweats, that black tee, suit and toothbrush in your bag, here in this damn blizzard….every breathe getting…heavier….kinda….getting hard to stay awa…Cough Cough Cough

  Hey! Cut it out, Dickface! Cough Keep going at least somewhere! Anywhere out of this snow…so much of it….Wait, that spot there, in this alley. That’ll work for now. 

You hear that, laying on this backpack now….yeah this’ll work….at least not being out in that wind, though…..so much snow….it’s everywhere. It’s been everywhere these last few days. Fitting really, since well you do hear that right?

  C’mon pick it up, Dick, your ears can’t be that piss poor 

Cough

  “May I, as your new Mayor, wish us all in this dear Bludhaven…..”

   Yeah, there it is…..old Mafia boss now politician giving his speech for what today is. 

    “A Good…Merry ... .Christmas…!” 

   Okay, you get the idea. At least that’s one thing you got right….

   Getting sleepy now….

…...pretty cold…..tomorrow might be better….

But at least that’s one thing, Dick….

…this damn city….all of its people….they got a good Christmas….

Gotta close your eyes now…..

Wait….that the Redbird….isn't that….can’t be Timmy…..

Cough Cough

 Heh…looks like he tripped…Not real though….can’t be…..Bruce doesn’t care….you don’t need him…..but yeah….need rest…..you gave them a good Christmas 

Who…am….I….to….Cough…..Complain?

[largemandrill]

What the gag manga also understands is when to use the characters seriously. Jokes stop when the atmosphere gets tense or when there isn’t much to make fun of. The chapter in Summonwater Village relies mostly on slapstick comedy because of the genuine presentation of D and Rogier’s bitterness towards each other. If they didn’t get thrown in the air repeatedly by an oar there wouldn’t be much to laugh at. Same goes towards Irina’s death (her father is treated as a joke, not her) and ESPECIALLY the Radahn festival. That entire arc was treated with genuine suspense and had good story telling outside of its perimeters as a joke story.

Road to the Erdtree is so versatile as a narrative in its own right that it defeats the existence of the other two.

Perhaps the real gag of Road to the Erdtree was how the author is the only one who understands how to properly characterize everyone.

Lol I guess it's the classic "breaking the rules well because you're familiar with them to begin with". That mangaka also gets silly with characters but it also feels like they clearly understand them to begin with. They take traits the characters already have and exaggerate them into absurdity and that's why it works.

This other manga has some great moments, particularly at the end with roderika and hewg and her "chains". So idk why they insisted on making everyone else look like dingbats lol I think, given we already have a gag manga, this one would be better served telling more heartfelt/dramatic stories with more organic comedic moments rather than trying to force the humor.

[edosianorchids901]

A Spring of Love

Ace Omens Hugfest 2024 prompt - "celebratory hug"

“Ooh, did you see the butterflies?”

“Yup,” Crowley said without looking up from his trimming. He’d seen plenty of butterflies already. “They were mobbing me while I was planting flowers yesterday.”

“Oh, how lovely,” Aziraphale said in his dreamiest tone. “I should like to be mobbed by butterflies.”

Crowley snorted and trimmed another scraggly branch off the bush. “No, you really wouldn’t. It was like something out of a horror film.”

“Crowley, you old silly. Butterflies aren’t horrifying.”

“They are when they cover your face so thoroughly that you can’t bloody see.” After a wary glance around for more butterflies, Crowley moved back and studied the bush. He clipped one more bit for symmetry’s sake, then grabbed his cane and hauled himself upright. His hips screamed in protest about the time spent on the ground today, but it had been worth it. “Now, we gotta make sure we really tackle the horror show of weeds. I can’t believe the state of this garden.”

He headed for one of the flowerbeds, but Aziraphale caught his arm. “My dear, we’ve been working for hours, and it’s awfully warm today. Let’s go to the shade for a bit.”

“Nnnnh.” Biting his lip, Crowley cast a longing look at the tangled mat of weeds. “But I gotta make progress.”

“You have in fact made plenty of progress.” Aziraphale tugged on his arm again, not quite hard enough to pull him completely off balance. “And you can make more after a break. But really, my dear. Can’t we enjoy our new garden?”

“I am enjoying it,” Crowley said stubbornly, lodging his cane on the edge of a stepping stone so Aziraphale couldn’t budge him. “I’m enjoying fixing the damn thing.”

“Well, perhaps you could take a break from that and enjoy simply looking at it for a bit, with me?” Aziraphale put on the big pleading eyes and pouted a little. “We’ve been working so hard on moving in and remodeling and ‘fixing’ the garden that we haven’t had any time at all to celebrate!”

Crowley hissed, and the pout intensified. Well. It looked like he wouldn’t be able to get out of this one. “Okay. Fine. If you insist, you bastard.”

“I do,” Aziraphale said happily. He tugged on Crowley again, and this time Crowley yielded.

They retreated under the dappled shade of some really pitiful birch trees that Crowley was thinking of tearing out. Their new cottage was in a terrific location, no close neighbors at all, and right by some beautiful walking trails. It did have a downside, though—mostly, that it hadn’t been the slightest bit maintained for decades.

He raked a critical gaze across the garden, cataloguing everything that he still needed to do. Weeding for sure, plus more trimming of virtually every bush and tree. Should probably just rip out everything in the flowerbeds he hadn’t touched yet, honestly. They were a tangled mess, and he had so many transplants that he could definitely just—

“Crowley.”

“Hmm?” Crowley asked, mentally planting new flowers.

“You’re supposed to be enjoying looking at the garden with me, not plotting the demise of half the plants.” Aziraphale collided with his side in an enthusiastic hug, and Crowley steadied himself with his cane. “It’s celebration time.”

“Is it?” Crowley wrapped his free arm around Aziraphale, trying and failing to downshift his mind. “Thought we already had that last week when we did the whole toasting thingy. To our new home, so on and so forth?”

“Well, yes. But one hardly needs to be restrained to celebrating a momentous occasion once!” Expression warring between bliss and an attempt to keep pouting, Aziraphale squeezed Crowley tightly enough that his ribs ached. “We ought to celebrate all the time. Ooh, we could celebrate every week! Weekly anniversary of moving in.”

“Er. Normally, I’m all in favor of celebration.” Crowley struggled against a smile as Aziraphale kissed his shoulder. He turned to nuzzle into the light fluffy curls, unable to resist his angel’s affection. “But weekly anniversary celebrations seem a little bit excessive. Wouldn’t have any time to fix the place up if I was stopping all the time for drinks.”

Aziraphale kissed his shoulder again. “You stop all the time for drinks anyway. These would just be celebratory drinks, just as this is a celebratory hug.”

“Is it?” Crowley had almost gotten completely distracted from the garden, but a flash of color pulled his attention back. “Whoops. Looks like we’ve got a celebratory butterfly, too.”

“Oh, do we?” Aziraphale twisted to look, not letting go of Crowley. The butterfly hovered in front of them, and Aziraphale cooed at it. “Oh, how lovely. See, my dear? Nothing like out of a horror movie.”

Crowley smiled at Aziraphale’s petulant tone. Then he stopped smiling. “One might be innocent enough. But there’s not just one.”

A horde of butterflies descended, fluttering around them. Crowley hissed and shook his head in a vain attempt to dissuade them from landing on him. One perched on his nose.

“Ohhhh…” Aziraphale gave a delighted wiggle. “Isn’t that the most delightful thing? The butterflies love you, my dear!”

“Terrific. So, between you and the butterflies, I’m never gonna get anything done again.”

“Oh, don’t be so sulky.” Chuckling, Aziraphale rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder and watched the swarm of butterflies. “They just want you to enjoy the moment, as I do.”

Crowley briefly considered whacking the butterflies with his cane, and decided against it. He leaned into Aziraphale’s embrace and sighed. “Right, right. For now, you and the butterflies win.”

[deeplyclosetedjameswilson]

tentative bastardized 1990s house md timeline

under the readmore, criticism/comments welcome in replies

1992 - house/wilson meet at convention in new orleans.

1995 - house and stacy get together

1996/7 - house gets job at ppth (cuddy plays a role in this - might be VP of med at this time)

1997 - wilson marries bonnie

1998/9 - wilson gets job at ppth straight out of fellowship

2000 - infarction (spring). stacy and house break up (summer). bonnie and wilson get divorced (horribly awkward thanksgiving).

2003 - wilson marries julie

2003 - cuddy is made dean of medicine?

2004 - season 1/wilson is made department head. 

2006 - wilson gets divorced again fucks sake

notes - hector the dog's alleged age of 17 means bonnie and wilson would have gotten married in 1991 which makes no damn sense so i just ignored that, as well as house's comment in house divided about wilson's bachelor party for his marriage to bonnie being 9 years ago because that would place it at 2000 which again makes no sense if they got divorced shortly around the time of house's infarction

oncology residency/fellowship double combo takes 6 years minimum. bonnie says their first date was in boston so maybe i'll pretend he did his fellowship at mass general because it would be funny to imagine wilson living in boston

[clearancecreedwatersurvival]

Saw someone say that the wheel of time show has nothing in common with the books and this is. So not correct.

If you want to see what a show looks like when it has nothing to do with the source material, watch Netflix’s take on the witcher. That’s what happens when not only do the people adapting it not care about the source material but the showrunner actually has stated on record that she dislikes the source material. The witcher on Netflix fucked it up so bad that the lead actor, a huge fan of the source material, walked after three seasons. (I have been informed he actually left due to onset conflicts and instances of being misogynistic to his coworkers. Still a bad adaptation but I rescind this point) Pretty sure the entire country of Poland has disavowed this adaptation and the author wants Nothing to do with it.

The wheel of time is the total opposite. It is Extremely clear that the people working on it and the showrunner love the source material.

This production is running off a shoestring budget. Amazon put most of their high fantasy money into the rings of power (and the effects for the volcano eruption). And rather than being given enough seasons to adapt the entire book series, they’ve been given 8. To adapt 14 Extremely long and complicated books. How many named characters are there in the wheel of time?? Over 3000.

They are being given a very short time frame to accomplish a LOT of plot. Of course they’re going to cut stuff. Of course they’re going to combine characters. Season 2 is covering both books II and III! But they are focusing on the arcs of all the major characters and making sure they are set up for all their major character beats, and setting up the power players and institutions that matter in the larger geopolitical conflicts of randland. Sometimes that means making one character have later parts of their own plots sooner than it takes in the books (Moiraine and Mat in particular so far).

There are a lot of people saying it’s a bad adaptation mostly because a. They’ve made any changes from the books at all and b. Too many characters are gay now. Admittedly most of the people complaining about the adaptation having too many gay characters and nonwhite actors are on Reddit, but still. Both of these are of course nonsense. Of course you have to make changes in making Any adaptation of any book but trying to do the wheel of time in 8 seasons is a Herculean task. That’s why RJ made it 14 books, he tried to do it in less and failed cause he was an adhd king.

Rafe and the other writers have their own particular interpretations of characters but they Are interpreting the original work in a way that holds all the core themes. This season in particular is doing a great job so far of establishing the threat of the seanchan and the trauma of when channelers are cut off from the one power, both of which will of course be central focuses of the rest of the narrative for all of our main characters. I’m Really looking forward to the introduction of the Aiel this season as well.

Also if you’re mad there’s so many queer characters Come The Fuck On. Siuaraine is book canon, go reread New Spring. And I think making the polycule an actual polycule instead of a Mormon sisterwife situation is a fucking Brilliant choice. Making polyamory overtly present in the world already with Alanna and her warders is so good! And given they’re already coding Min as bi I have high hopes for Aviendha and Elayne as well (and also Mat, Mat should join the polycule I am crossing my fingers and toes like I know he’s probably gonna marry Tuon still but Come On he deserves to be in the polycule). If there is one thing I trust Rafe and co. to do well with this adaptation it’s the queer stuff.

Like I get it I’m also sad Uno had to die to make the Seanchan look more badass (r.i.p. my favorite foul mouthed bastard). But they have to make changes in the course of adaptation and if your criticism is just ‘they changed something,’ then please look at the holistic context of the changes, and accept that every adaptation of every book will make changes in order to translate the story to film.

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Fext

CR 10

Lawful Evil Medium Undead

Bestiary 5, pg. 115

These terrifying undead are most often used as commanders by powerful necromancers, evil emperors, and other wicked overlords, trained from youth to lead their mortal and immortal armies to glory. Literally born and bred for war, the process of creating a Fext is a years-long process that begins while it's still in its mother's womb, contaminating the young soul with eventual undeath and a morbid fascination with warfare and combat of all kinds. Even if the (usually, but not always) human child destined to become a Fext isn't formally educated in matters of war, they're subconsciously drawn to the subjects and will seek them out in whatever manner they can, absorbing and applying this knowledge with alarming speed. It's a little adorable to picture a 5 year old trying to come up with complex plans on how to take over the playground slide, but the life of a Fext is anything but cute.

All Fext unavoidably die upon reaching adulthood as the cocoon that is their living soul bursts, reanimating mere hours later as a fully realized Undead with a whole host of supernatural powers and an unquenchable lust for battle. While not instinctively bound to the will of its creator (and, in fact, fully capable of slaying its creator if it has reason to), most beings trying to raise a Fext do as much as they possibly can to secure its loyalty from a young age on if they don't simply weave some necromantic spell into them to assure their loyalty. It'd be kind of silly for an evil overlord to leave their child supersoldier project without supervision under their total control!

While most Fext are kept in reserve and act as generals and tacticians, they make for terrifying, seemingly invincible foes if an enemy manages to breach the front lines and attack the commander directly. They're trained like Fighters (and sometimes take levels in the class), and possess superhuman Strength, specializing in heavy armor while being strong enough to wield two-handed weapons in one hand, allowing the other to hold heavy shields of whatever flavor they're most comfortable with. The written Fext uses a +1 Bastard Sword with terrifying efficiency, swinging it up to three times a round for 1d10+8 damage each time with a critical chance of 17~20, augmented by Cleave for multiple foes or Spring Attack while on the move. They're by no means limited to just the sword, able to use any weapon they're trained to, so DMs are free to outfit them as they see fit.

Without any enchantments, a typical Fext has an AC of 25 while still retaining a 30ft movement speed (40ft without it!). They're also immune to Cold damage and have 10 Resistance to both Fire and Electricity, and shield themselves further behind 21 Spell Resistance if faced with a mage. Perhaps their most baffling defense, however, is their Damage Reduction: 10 points that can only be bypassed by a very specific material. Silver? Nope. Cold iron? Not that, either! Gold? Good try, but incorrect. Wood? You're getting closer, but not quite there yet! Mithral, or perhaps adamantine? Getting colder, actually.

In truth, the DR of a Fext may as well be insurmountable, because I can't think of a good reason anyone would be carrying around a weapon made of glass. Yes, glass. Obsidian also works and may actually be easier to fashion a weapon out of, but here's the thing: A weapon made of glass OR obsidian has half the hitpoints of a normal weapon of its type and only 1 Hardness (compared to the 10 of iron and steel), so charging at a Fext wielding a glass broadsword is a good way to be sent right back to the blacksmith when the undead general elects to sunder the weapons you brought specifically to harm it. They're not mindless!

Their weakness to glass is also the only way to put them down for good. Tear them to pieces, chop them to bits, riddle them with arrows, blow up their remains with dynamite, none of it matters, because a Fext is Unkillable as long as its death blow wasn't struck with a glass weapon (only the final blow matters; hack it down with a steel battleaxe, but the last bit of HP must be taken with glass). 1d4 minutes after being reduced to 0 HP, a Fext gain Fast Healing 1 that starts ticking and doesn't stop until they return to full HP, their bodies knitting together from even the most gruesome of wounds, giving them a fearsome reputation as deathless juggernauts that simply cannot be killed without severe methods. As written, Fext can come back from anything so long as their final hitpoint wasn't taken by a glass weapon (or, more mundanely, if their head wasn't severed and anointed with holy water, but that's boring), so unless your DM rules that burning them to ash puts them down permanently, there's nothing you can do to stop them from coming back over and over and over again... each time, more prepared for your nonsense.

A Fext as a recurring foe is made all the more potent by the fact that they have ways to grind down a party's resources. Namely, Bestow Curse at 3/day, and the power to inflict 1d4 levels of Energy Drain with a touch or by eschewing a weapon attack and hitting someone with a bare-handed slam (which also deals 1d4+10 damage). They can use Speak With Dead at-will, allowing the undying generals to quietly follow in the wake of a party and interrogate the dead (perhaps the Fext's own disposable soldiers) to learn of their tactics and abilities, learning from every single failure--whether it be their soldiers' or their own--over the course of an entire campaign until, eventually, they become unbeatable.

You can read more about them here.

[esther-dot]

Lately I've been toying with the idea that Jon will indeed become king of the FF. It's the only reasonable ending for him, the only one that matches both Jon's show ending and Sansa's book foreshadowing (to marry a king, not a prince, not a king who had been). I think the show ending on such ambiguous (and bitter!) terms for Jon was decided because of the sequel. In other words, I'm considering the possibility that M. will transfer his 5year gap at the end, and we'll see them again at the end after some time will have lapsed and they'll be older and firmly in their positions. But, with this ending I'm afraid we'll only get hints of Jon and Sansa's romance on page, and nothing too explicit (although I guess that it might have a role in Daeny's death).

I think that, throughout the book, the famous "the FF don't kneel" is only meant to be subverted: they will kneel to Jon, after everything he has done for them, and he will probably settle them in the Gift(s). In my opinion, this ending is truly poetic. If ASoIaF is a fairytale, then the hidden prince does not become king because of his inheritance (which he has already foresaken just as he will reject the Targaryen inheritance: so vividly given as "I don't want it!" in the show, lol), but has forged a kingdom for himself, because he is truly worth it. I am not sure that he will go to the Wall because he will be punished, but regardless, he will become king of the FF. If it will be like this, then Jon's ending is the apotheosis of subversions.

And only as an equal will he be able to marry Sansa: when Sansa becomes queen, everybody will want her for her claim twice over, unless her husband is already king. I think this ending is foreshadowed in her ASOS, Sansa IV chapter: two castles in the sky, one black, one grey, become one in all the colors of spring. Note that this is something Sansa sees in the morning sky, meaning after dawn.

And with this explanation I've made peace with the disastrously ambiguous ending of GoT.

I wish you'll make your peace too, Esther!

(old anon btw, anxiously waiting for your posts for years, and now this darn thing made take a name. So be it).

It's so nice to finally "meet" you @justleaves!

I like that reading of book foreshadowing and the mess GoT gave us. You know I can't agree with most of the fandom that we can entirely or even mostly dismiss the show's ending. Too much of it gave me that, "it was always meant to be this way" feeling and since the ending of the show, Jonsas have turned up a lot of foreshadowing for Arya sailing away, King Bran, Dark Dany, Jaime and Cersei dying together...so many things were kinda-sorta right, just presented so horribly they felt wrong!

I've always felt very weird about Jon becoming King of the FF, most of us Jonsas reject that out of hand because it really rubs us the wrong way, but I had a series of anons critical of Martin's handling of aspects of Dany's POV some time ago, particularly how he characterized the Dothraki, and I did go back to read/re-watch some interviews, and I've accepted he doesn't share our sensibilities there, or on a handful of other issues. I hadn't even realized I was projecting when I dismissed the possibility of a kid from a different culture becoming the leader of an indigenous group. To me that is inherently negative. But of course, at the time when Martin began all this, it wasn't generally perceived that way, and we have Mance so...

Right after GoT ended some of us speculated that not including the Gift was why they had Jon ride off past the Wall with the FF, while in the books, he might be responsible for the Gift, so I really like how you've blended the two. I've written before about how it would make sense to me that Jon rejects the Stark/Northern claim and then rejects the Targaryen/Southern claim, and is rewarded in he end for those decisions, and I think it would be a more satisfying resolution to the bastard struggle if he is chosen as a leader because of who he is rather than who his "father" is (whether we mean Ned's son -> KitN or Rhaegar's son -> Targ heir). The way Jon is of the North, has such connections to the Starks (whether as Ned's bastard or Lyanna's boy post parentage reveal) as well as his time with the FF, the understanding he has and care he has for them which others do not, well, it certainly sets him up as a great bridge between the cultures. A person uniquely capable of creating a lasting peace.

I also really like your idea of the time-lapse because a) Sansa's age b) allowing all these revelations time to settle. I can't rationalize how the cast of characters would accept Jon as the legitimized son of Ned, only to turn around and accept that actually he's Lyanna's son, and how they'd be ok with a Jonsa marriage immediately thereafter. And that's not even dealing with how he'll be perceived/the rumors that will be swirling around him post rez and whatever his actions are immediately after. Love it in fics, but when I think about it in Martin's words, hard for me to imagine, so the idea that in a few years after Jon has established himself they'd be able to marry, that makes sense to me.

I think this ending is foreshadowed in her ASOS, Sansa IV chapter: two castles in the sky, one black, one grey, become one in all the colors of spring. Note that this is something Sansa sees in the morning sky, meaning after dawn.

That is a beautiful reading of the scene! I can easily see that being the idea! The other reading I've seen on this is that it's the Jon and Sansa competing claims being joined as the solution to the Northern succession crisis (that may be @agentrouka-blog's spec? I'm not successfully turning anything up atm). I had actually written into the margins in my copy "sounds like Winterfell" by the line about a castle in ruins, and later in ASOS, we have back to back Jon and Sansa chapters that talk about Winterfell and have a weird number of similarities (link). But, specifically, the ruins/rebuilding idea seems like it points to Jon and Sansa's stories converging and allowing them to restore Winterfell together:

The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell's muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it. Surely his father would have wanted that, and Robb as well. They would never have wanted the castle left in ruins. (Jon XII, ASOS) The snow fell and the castle rose. Two walls ankle-high, the inner taller than the outer. Towers and turrets, keeps and stairs, a round kitchen, a square armory, the stables along the inside of the west wall. It was only a castle when she began, but before very long Sansa knew it was Winterfell. She found twigs and fallen branches beneath the snow and broke off the ends to make the trees for the godswood. For the gravestones in the lichyard she used bits of bark. Soon her gloves and her boots were crusty white, her hands were tingling, and her feet were soaked and cold, but she did not care. The castle was all that mattered. Some things were hard to remember, but most came back to her easily, as if she had been there only yesterday. The Library Tower, with the steep stonework stair twisting about its exterior. The gatehouse, two huge bulwarks, the arched gate between them, crenellations all along the top . . . (Sansa VII, ASOS)

So as always, I see the pros, I see the cons, I can't make up my mind, but I'm ok with that. I have no problem talking about GoT/my frustrations when I get an ask, but after I wrote my post canon fic Free, I just...wasn't angry anymore. D&D's choices will always baffle me, I'm disappointed we don't have TWOW yet, but I enjoy the different spec, fics, gifs, and art we have in the Jonsa fandom, so as long as we're all having fun, I'm happy.

I'd love to read any other observations you have about ASOIAF and fairytales, I think posts about parallels with other lit are fascinating!

[allfandoms-writings]

Task Force 141 and what they’re caught listening to on missions

Ghost — Slipknot. Bones and Price were chillin' with him one day on the way back from a mission and they heard it playing from his headphones. Price thought his hearing went to shit and Bones just snickered in his shoulder because she definitely did n o t see that coming.

Soap — Mostly rap or anything that puts a spring in his step. He likes something upbeat in his ears when he's blowing shit up or taking people out. Bones and Gaz nearly lost it when they heard Nicki Minaj coming from his headset one mission

Gaz — Hip-Hop with a dash of The Weekend sprinkled in there. He’s such a sassy king he needs some beats to keep up with him

Price — Sleep Token. He doesn’t know how he found them he just did and now he’s hooked. He plays their songs on a low volume when he’s alone in his office (or chilling with Bones cause she likes to annoy him). He has gotten her and Simon into the band and nearly drove off the road when Simon mimicked the screaming from The Summoning perfectly

Alejandro — Bad Bunny. Rudolfo and Soap lost their collective fucking shit when they heard it. Alejandro doesn't really care he just needs something upbeat he can lose himself in.

Rudolfo — this man listens to everything and nothing. His favorites change from day-to-day or mission-to-mission. Just know that if you're working with Rudy you will be learning about every musical genre out there.

Bones — Nickleback. No, she will not be taking any criticism. She Keeps Me Up is a constant in her playlist and it’s what Gaz likes to blame where she gets her “bastard energy” from

[artem1sc0re]

So I have this idea of a little fluff-based AU me and my partner came up with out of the fact that all I’ve really seen if Norman and his late boyfriend Reilly in terms of fanfiction would be angst or just pure tragedy.

So basically in this AU Norman Jayden is a flower shop owner and his bf Jack Reilly is a coffee shop owner. The two of them bond through a collaboration of Norman helping jack’s small coffee shop flourish through vibrant flowers that grow throughout spring as well as a traditional homey cafe with a warm beverage.

It’s kind of my first time writing something to do with Norman dialogue-wise, so I have no idea whether I’ve got his character right or not; so to get to know his character and perhaps look for criticism, I’ve written a one-shot.

Please provide criticism for dialogue and let me know how I can improve!! ^^

(EDIT: I GOT IT POSTED ON AO3!! Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53010700)

A proposition.

The coffee owner initiates cleanup the moment he feels the presence of frequent visitors is bare as a desert; swiping dirty tables and crumbs sluggishly, missing the ever few stains of bitter coffee but remaining unbothered. Although more sluggish than usual, he remains oblivious to the observing presence of a flower shop owner, following his moves with his soft and admiring expression, gleaming through his sage-green eyes.

Jack gives up at the sign of his blind movement, missing the small bits and bobs of stains and ceramic plates, straying to the spruce counter to slouch over and reflect, covering his cracking facade with his trembling hands.

Norman notices this, perking up curiously as he snaps out of his trance. At the first sign of vulnerability, he gets up from his spot in the corner, heading to check up on the gloomy coffee owner.

“You look downtrodden tonight. What’s eating at you?”

He broke the cold silence that loomed the closed up and dimly lit shop.

Reilly straightens, his startled eyes looking at Norman like he was a deer staring at headlights.

“I-it’s nothing really. Just had a bad day, I guess.” He answered reluctantly.

Although reluctance was shown, he takes his face out of his hands still creating a tremor as if he were watered down to nothing but a bundle of shivers.

“O-okay, maybe there is something that’s ‘eating away at me’, as you put it.” Jack quivered, giving in to his own emotional state.

Norman’s eyes remain on Reilly, waiting for the burdened barista to speak his words, nodding softly as to remain attentive.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore. Fuck, everyone’s leaving for the café around the corner. Students who used to study here and used to frequent for a good cuppa’ have vanished, and as I walk, they’re chatting away and working at the ‘haba de café’, as they call it. (I ran out of name ideas.)

I can’t even keep it running with all the cost of good quality beans inflating, or the constant remarks about how the haba de cafe is so much better than this run-down place, with their modern decor of fake and artificial flowers, or posters with LED borders.

I might just shut down this place. Find a new apartment and just work a typical 9-5. It’s tiring trying to keep a positive and optimistic passion for this place, when no one wants to see it.” Jack rambled. His face paints with distraught at the thought of being unable to pursue his passion, instead having to go to a boring job in a cheap apartment.

“Hey. Listen.”

A reassuring hand from Norman lands on Jack’s, causing him to glance at the flower shop owner.

“I’ve seen what this place does, and it has potential. Just because some new coffee shop opened up by some wealthy bastard who wants to leech more money off of loyal customers, doesn’t mean you should put yourself down. If anythin’, you shouldn’t even bother comparing yourself to that place. They’ve got more than one person working, meanwhile you’re a one-man management. You work with enthusiasm and it shows in the drinks and the food just how much love was put into it. It’s why people frequent this place. The quiet atmosphere and the homey aroma of this place is what’s so great about it.” Norman reassured, his tone soft-spoken and attentive.

Jack loosens up, his eyes glancing to the polished countertop, staring at the dim reflection of his inverted counterpart.

“That’s what I intended to create.. a quiet yet homely atmosphere..” He cuts himself off, as if something was ignited in the barista, his eyes lighting up in realisation.

“W-why was i getting so worked up for, in that case? This isn’t about the profit, or gaining money. It was just that I wanted to create this environment, intended for everyone to use, to feel at peace as if they’re just at home, about a hot beverage in the cold winter, creating a warm feeling after a chilly day. I was only getting started! Although.. what can I do? It’s going to remain unchanged even if I regain my love for the relaxed atmosphere of a traditional cafe with hand-brewed coffee.” Jack questioned, glancing at Norman.

“I was thinking of a proposition between you and I. Something that could benefit the both of us.” The florist replied, carefully contemplating the words to say to the coffee shop owner, slowly breaking eye contact with him.

“I could help decorate your place, if you’d like. Since valentine’s is around the corner, as well as spring, the flowers are at their optimum and lovestruck teenagers would be buying roses for their significant others. It could benefit the both of us; allowing promotion of my shop, and attraction to your place.” Norman eventually offered, his observant yet hesitant eyes attempting to gauge the reaction of the barista.

Reilly lit up like a star; the happiest he’s been since he opened the place.

“Are you shitting me?! It’s a perfect idea! It’s just the thing I need! Botany, to add some flourish, life to this place! Externally and internally! You fucking genius!” Reilly grips Norman’s loose hand on his into the form of a handshake, moving it firmly before pulling the florist into a hug.

Norman flinched at the sudden physical showcase of gratitude, but something inside him felt warm, the warmth of being able to possibly revive and bring this cafe back in business.

[beecreeper]

girl your imaginary what now 👀👂

Have I not done the bear religion info dump here yet? Buckle up because I LOVE my bear religion

Okay so I have a wild west styled homebrew D&D setting that I’ve been developing on and off for a few years and one of my favorite parts is the race that is just Bears. Literal normal bears with human level intelligence. Their general lifestyle is pretty similar to normal bears as well – a usually solitary lifestyle full of eating and sleeping. However, when they do meet up with other bears, storytelling is a critical aspect of their culture. Mothers tell stories to cubs. Suitors tell stories as a part of courtship. When meeting at salmon runs or berry patches, they try to one up each other with stories. The stories included in these story sessions can range from personal stories (to catch each other up on what’s happened in their lives since they last met) to the legends and myths as part of their religion. Particularly talented story tellers are known as story keepers and are the equivalent of priests in the bear religion.

There are four gods in their religion, which match to the four seasons. There is The Father, The Mother, The Orphan, and The Bastard. The Mother, the goddess of spring, is always accompanied by a cub that then grows to become the new mother each year in a maiden-mother-crone esque cycle. The Father, who rules over fall, represents strength and virility and mates with the mother as part of her cycle. Each fall, male bears have the option of fighting The Father (if they can find him) and will take his place if they win. The Bastard, god of summer and overabundance, is a trickster with the head of salmon (which I always imagine stylized in a PNW First Nations art style). Finally, the Orphan is the goddess of winter, starvation, and death.

This set of four is also reflected in the way they tell their stories, which are traditionally told in sets of four; there should be a story of plenty, story of glory, a story of loss, and a story of cycle, generally in that order. In general, the story of plenty is either about good luck or cleverness. Somehow, the protagonist gets rewarded for doing as little physical labor as possible. Comedic stories are common in the story of plenty. The story of glory is similar to the story of plenty in that the protagonist wins, but differs in that they must overcome some sort of challenge or hardship. The story of loss is the exact opposite of the story of glory. Sometimes the loss is small, sometimes large, sometimes at the end of a long struggle or sometimes just a random act of fate, but one way or the other, the protagonist loses. The story of cycle is the most nuanced – it is required to have some sort of symmetry in its telling. Common themes in the story of cycle include birth, growing up, seasons, bad habits, romance, returning home, etc.

One more element that I’m particularly proud of is that there are also polar bears in the far far North of this setting (which has absolutely no bearing on the potential D&D game except that is allows me to think of MORE BEAR CULTURE). Their pantheon is almost exactly the same except their summer and winter gods are flipped. Their version of The Orphan (renamed The Drowned in the North) rules over summer instead of winter and is represented by a thin, starved male polar bear that is always dripping wet. Conversely, their version of The Bastard (Called The Dancer by those that like her and The Harlot by those that don’t) rules over winter and has a stylized seal head instead of a salmon head.

Oh man I have so much more bear details I love talking about my bears

[christinered]

Trying to salvage my entire garden in window ledge pots.

Encouragement for this Irish Redhead is the tiny shamrock sprouts standing up around my still in critical condition jade plant 🪴

I think my Jade is still in shock from those bastards ripping them up and throwing them into the street.

Oh that's right....

I didn't tell you guys about that did I?

I'll have to fix that

But early signs of Spring made me happy enough to share.

Missed you Kinksters.

~Red

[bacon-neko]

SoM Days 13+14

Apollo sighed and flashed a grin. “If I must.”

The twins re-entered the party, Apollo swaggering in with a holler. “Dionysus!” he called. “Is the night still young?”

“It’s always young!” His reveling brother replied. “Unless you got somewhere to be?”

“Nowhere except neck deep in that cup, am I right?”

Artemis whooped in agreement, loud enough to carry over barking hounds and rushing water if she were anywhere near either of those, and instead shaking the room, sending some flinching back from the wild goddess, while others felt the rush—the adrenaline, the need to move—chase through their blood and force them to their feet.

“Can’t argue with that logic.” Dionysus laughed and shoved his cup into Apollo’s hand. “Cheers!”

The shining god drank and passed the cup to his twin and hollered and sang and shook the room, flushing the dread from his gut, stifling the vengeful animal settled in his chest. He crooned and savored the bottled joy while it lasted, as the night bled into morning.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Miles away, simmering at a low-boil, Heavenly Queen Hera stewed in her rage. It wasn’t enough for her husband to cheat on her, to sleep around, to treat their marriage like a suggestion while she remained ever loyal, no, he just had to give birth by himself.

At least with that bastard Dionysus, he had a mortal mother and she died—painfully, justly—and then Zeus stepped in, playing temporary host to that parasite. But this? To spring a child from his head with no mother in sight? Again. To a son, no less. As if he intended to mock her for her own failings.

To say Hera was enraged covered the least of it. More critically, she was sharp and cunning and more than willing to play dirty if her husband started it.

[steppingstonesuniverseguide]

One More Step Out of the Pit: Chapter 1/26

Summary: It had been Tommy and Tubbo for practically forever. They clawed their way out of hell together. They discovered their superpowers together. They started working for the Superhero Guild together before even coming of age. Tommy probably owed Tubbo his life ten times over. So, when the three supervillains he'd been assigned to bring in managed to take Tubbo hostage, well, there was really only one thing to do.

He knew, of course, he was signing himself up for torture and death by offering that trade, but that was okay.

It'd have to be okay.

AO3 Link (See AO3 for Warnings.)

(This story is finished and has been posted on AO3 for a while, but I'm posting it on Tumblr so it's somewhere else too (considering the day AO3 was down a bit ago). The author notes will all be kept as well. If you are following the blog and don't want to see these posts, block the tag #backlog.)

Author's Note: Look... eneli wrote a fantastic and entertaining superhero AU for the Dream SMP and superhero AUs are kind of my thing so... this happened.

“I,” Whippoorwill said, nose dripping blood onto the cement floor. Tommy wondered if his shoe was bloody now or if it had taken a second for the blood to well up after the kick to the face he’d just delivered the man. There had been stunned silence for a few moments after Tommy had used Whippoorwill’s face as a springboard. Whippoorwill was apparently still so shocked by Tommy’s very pog move that he’d forgotten to try to use his powers on Tommy, “am going to skin you alive and feed you to my dog.”

“Quite the threat there, Bitch Boy,” Tommy taunted. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

Whippoorwill’s eyes narrowed behind his mask. “That can be arran-”

“You don’t have a dog,” another voice interrupted.

“Shut up,” Whippoorwill said as Tommy let out a cackle.

“You don’t,” The Blade said. Tommy glanced at the imposing figure of the man casually strolling up to stand beside his ally and immediately grew suspicious. There had been three of them only a couple of seconds ago, Tommy was sure. Where was Philza and why were they acting so… casual all of a sudden? Tommy looked up, scanning the room.

Whippoorwill seemed to notice. “Why don’t you come down from there,” he cooed in a sing-song tone. Tommy winced at the sharp edge to his voice, unsure for a moment what it was meant to do before the support beam he’d been standing on suddenly snapped. He jumped up as it started to plummet towards the ground tilting his body so he could plant his feet briefly on the wall and shove off of it like a swimmer shoving off the side of a pool. He went zooming past their heads before spreading out his arms to make his slow fall more precise. His feet touched down softly on top of a table.

“You probably should have made something fall on top of him instead of out from under him,” The Blade drawled.

“Maybe you should stop with the criticism and try to stab the bastard,” Whippoorwill snapped, but Tommy was filtering out their bickering at this point, having figured out what it was: a distraction. He’d caught just a flash of green when he’d been falling and turned his attention in that direction. He jumped and spring boarded off a nearby pillar to propel himself towards the wall, hand catching a pipe in the ceiling so he could swing and make it through a gap about a foot wide between the top of the wall and the ceiling.

“Shit!” Whippoorwill’s voice echoed dangerously after him, but he was too slow and Tommy went careening into Philza, taking them both to the ground, the man’s wings unable to stop it. Knowing he did not want to engage in close combat with Philza of all people, Tommy began to move the second they hit the ground, rolling off of him and jumping as high as he could to grab the thing Philza had been reaching for a moment before. He let himself fall fast, ducking and rolling as he hit the ground and landing crouched.

“Guessing this is what you guys were here for,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t know what it is, but I’m going to have to say no.”

Philza was already on his feet, wings flared impressively and Whippoorwill had screeched a hole through the wall Tommy had hopped over for him and The Blade.

“Well anyway,” Tommy said, backing up a step. “I think it’s time for me to go.”

“Mate,” Philza said in a reasonable tone which Tommy knew was actually a threat. “Exactly where are you expecting to go?”

“Let me guess,” Tommy said, wryly. “Hand it over and you won’t let Whippoorwill feed me to his imaginary pet dog.”

Philza made a face and Tommy shoved the little glowing orb in his pocket for safe keeping. He smirked just a bit, already having an escape route in mind. Philza in many ways had an advantage over Tommy. He was bigger, stronger, and had wings that could let him actually fly instead of just fall with style.

These things could also be disadvantages. Philza watched him, as he backed up to the wall, large, imposing, and backed by his allies. Tommy flipped open the just big enough for him to fit down it trash shoot and quickly hopped in feet first. He laughed at the sounds of surprise and anger as he zoomed away. Good luck following when none of them could fit and even if they could, none of them had a way to slow their decent in the tight space before they hit the garbage at the bottom.

Tommy was home free.

~

Well… not quite home free.

“You let them get away?” his supervisor raged back at headquarters. Tommy tried not to cower because he was a big man, a big strong superhero, and he’d just stopped some dastardly plot by a group of three powerful supervillains all on his own. But… well… he was… not afraid, definitely not afraid of his supervisor and mentor, that would be silly, but he was healthily cautious around the man. He really, really, really did not want another round of personal training sessions with him. “This is the fourth time!”

It was more than the fourth time really. He’d had many more brief run-ins with the SBI all together, in pairs, and individually, but he tried to keep that fact off the radar as much as possible. However, this had been an official mission Dream had sent him on, so there was no way to get Puffy to pretend like it didn’t happen for him.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy said as quiet as he could. Tommy was not often quiet, but Dream did not like it when he was loud. “I prioritized stopping whatever they were doing instead of capturing them. It was a mistake.” It was not a mistake, Tommy knew. If he ever had engaged with even one of them head-to-head, he’d surely be dead or worse by now. Discounting that one fluke where The Blade had decided to not slit Tommy’s throat for some unknown reason. Tommy was sitting here today out of a mixture of quick wits, stubbornness, and luck.

“Yes, it was,” Dream said coolly. “You failed your job.”

You couldn’t beat one of them let alone three of them. Tommy thought angrily, but he was not stupid enough to say it… again. Dream had once lost a one-on-one duel to The Blade. He… did not like being reminded of it. Instead, Tommy looked at the ground. “I’ll try harder,” he promised.

“See that you do,” Dream said. “You’re not getting paid for tonight.”

Tommy swallowed his protests. That was… not ideal. Tommy was already living paycheck to paycheck without a night’s work being docked. Yet, it was better than the alternative both physically and financially. Being tossed back into training meant not only getting half pay for however long the man decided he needed more training, but also would require medical supplies in the aftermath that Tommy simply did not have in stock. A missed paycheck meant having to ration food a bit harder, but it was still better than the alternative.

“Sorry,” Tommy said again.

“You should be. Now go.”

Tommy did not have to be told twice. He got up quickly and left Dream’s office as fast as he could.

It was past time for Tommy to go home by this point. Dream had kept him waiting for about 2 hours before finally calling him in to talk. He was supposed to get off at 10pm, but it was almost 1am now. Tommy was exhausted, but he still had quite the walk home.

He grabbed his bag from his desk and tossed it over his shoulder, trudging out of the building and waving at the members of the night crew he recognized.

The night was chillier than he’d been expecting, and he flipped up his hood, curling his arms around himself as he walked. He didn’t like walking home so late. Usually at 10 there were still some people around, but the roads were practically deserted at this time of night. He hoped he didn’t get mugged. Not that they could probably actually mug him considering he was a trained superhero, but it would still suck if someone tried.

Of course, just as he had the thought, he stumbled across a pool of dark liquid on the sidewalk. It was hard to make out exactly what it was since it was between streetlights, but it certainly looked liked blood splatters. He groaned to himself, but he couldn’t not check it out. There was a trail of the liquid that went past some buildings. Tommy lightened his footsteps until he was practically not touching the ground. He was surprised when he stepped into a little green area surrounded on all sides by large apartment buildings. Weird. Luckily, the area was lit up with some sort of softly glowing stones and the ‘blood trail’ ended up stopping under one of them. Except in the light, it clearly was not a blood trail. It was dark blue, not red, like maybe someone had spilled some ink. Well, that was a waste of time.

Yet, as he turned to exit the strange little alleyway, he caught sight of a sign. ‘Community Garden,’ it read, ‘Take what you need.’

Tommy paused. Oh, this was very illegal, he thought, as peered around him at what after a moment of observation was obviously rows of vegetables. An uncontrolled food source? Whoever had planted this could face so much jail time and that was before accounting for however they had gotten the seeds. By all rights as a superhero, Tommy should call this in immediately.

On the other hand… Tommy carefully picked his way through the garden. It was pretty even in the dark. Tubbo would love this. He picked a couple of vegetables, only enough that could fit in his bag without being squished and left the rest. He felt… a little guilty even though it was an illegal garden and had literally said he could take what he needed on the sign. Still, he continued his trek home feeling a little lighter despite the illegal weight in his bag.

Author Notes:

@People who read my superhero AUs in another fandom and also enjoy the Dream SMP. Hi ;)

Are you afraid?