#that's what the kids call hubris folks

[tonberrykins]

Hey, I get I've been raving about Astarion a lot but, like, are there ACTUALLY people out here who hate Gale and are calling him an incel? Is this a thing? Thank God I apparently curate well bc holy fucking shit I would be having heart palpitations DAILY out of SHEER ANGER.

So, like, we're always going to make fun of our faves and whatnot bc lbr "bro, you were banging Mystra and fucked up that bad?" THOUGH TO BE FAIR, if you're a wizard it isn't that hard to bang Mystra. It's kind of her thing. P sure her banging Elminster as many times as she has is the main reason he's still kicking and out being the Faerûnian Gandalf that he is in-game. Mystra's bodycount aside (especially since that has ZERO bearing on ANYTHING least of all her portfolio and purpose), like, Gale is a very intelligent man. He is also what we would consider as an objectively good person. Save the kids, help the tieflings, be kind and compassionate to those the average "good" aligned folks would consider "worthy" and yeah. He is literally the Alistair Theirin of BG3 if you Fusion Danced him together with Awakening Anders.

That being said, he is also very deeply flawed in that he KNOWS he is brilliant and in that brilliance, knowing his own talent, he thinks he knows better than even his own goddess BUT-! But, but, but, he is mortal, is young enough and in an age to not be able to wrack up the accomplishments of, say, Elminster whom he clearly knows on a fairly personal level so, like anyone who knows they are capable of doing great things, he feels INFERIOR bc he hasn't, in his mind, PROVEN that he is as great as he knows he is. And that's the hubris of mortality.

Objectively, LOGICALLY, he knows that he's more than proven himself capable. Mystra wouldn't have started a relationship with him otherwise, and she never asked him to prove himself. It was his own desperation to prove that he was worthy of her and thinking he knew EVERYTHING that lead to his terrible situation. Is he very clinical and logical about it? Yes. Is he squirrelly about it in the beginning? Very much, yes. Hell, I would be. No one wants to be friends with a literal ticking time bomb and the man is VERY lonely. Hell, that's the name of the game baybee! Baldur's Gate 3: These Bitches Need a Hug; YES EVEN LAE'ZEL, I WILL FIGHT Y'ALL!

Back to Gale, your friendship with him is something he very much treasures and when he starts all his finger wiggling and magic talk he's like any nerd sharing the thing he is most passionate about. He is also the first to admit he fucked up. HOWEVER, that does not (imo) warrant him needing to sacrifice himself all for Mystra's forgiveness, and even Elminster isn't on board with that. And, like, when he talks about Mystra it's never in an accusatory manner towards her. He clearly still loves her, likely always will, but that never negates his love for the PC who chooses to romance him. He is also very much prone to falling into the same pitfall of hubris that got him before and very clearly needs guidance that, yes, Mystra clearly did neglect in giving him. But he never outright blames her, at least he's not in my playthroughs thus far even after having spoken with her in the temple. He's just a sad, lonely nerd and that does not automatically make him an incel; y'all just don't know how to read, listen, or understand nuance. Apparently.

tl;dr

Gale deserves as much love as Astarion but bc he isn't evil "babygirl" material that's "fixable" he's just called an incel when he can be a very genuine friend, but what are those nowadays I guess?

[nightmarist]

now that i actually have a minute let me go on a (positive) tangent about how much I Loved the epilogue party.

I love that its so sweet and silly for Grandpa Withers to throw us a reunion party. I did a version letting Karlach die, and a version where we went to Avernus. In the death version, he asks us several questions about us and how we're doing, about her absence, and how much we miss her, and even makes a Joke in order to help us feel better. It was genuinely the sweetest thing for the bag of bones.

I howled and wanted to throw something in pure joy when Halsin gave us a whittled duck. I WANT that duck. I want to paint it. It's so sweet he gets to have fun with the kids under his ward and his version of balance isn't pure nature, it's the challenge of nature and civilization working together.

My Shadowheart got her parents back and I just love that she decided to live on a little abandoned cottage with them, making apple cider. Getting a letter for her from Nocturne was lovely, I hope they could be friends again someday.

I LOVED that Wyll decided to be a ranger. I think that suits him so well. I want to do a new run with him as a ranger - I don't think I've ever played one, even in DnD so I don't know how they work, all I know is they get animal companions and "favored enemies" which I think suits his folk hero and adventuring background well. I also just think its the cutest thing he was SO excuted to share his stories and adventures with us, he gives you the Biggest, Wettest Puppy Eyes known to Faerun and asks "Please?" if he could tell you a story. I thought I was going to die.

In my Astarion Romance Ending, and sadly Karlach dies, I initially chose I wanted to help him find a way to walk in the sun again (and tbh I guess it depends on your DM but Wish or True Resurrection could possibly do the trick to cure vampirism, but "cure vampirism" and "stand in the sun without dying" are two different asks, Wish might be able to fix the former if some enchantment or enchanted item doesn't). Anyway, it was interesting to see him a little excited if not desperate to want to look for a potential aid. In the Avernus ending I loved that he accepted the shadows and darkness as part of himself, it was a nice juxtaposition without necessarily making it "bad" for the player and him to want to help him walk in the sun again. It was rather bittersweet to see him in an ended romance but still call you pet names.

My Gale became Dekarios the Divine, the Galerian God of Ambition. I tried to find a way to prevent it but it seems te only way (I think, anyway) is to prevent him from acquiring the Book about Karsus. Every permutation led him to becoming a God, and it was so cold. I LOVED this ending, as much as I hated what Gale became. It really turned the dial up on his hubris and ego. He hadn't bothered to even visit his mother, and Tara (rightfully) scolded us, and asked us to visit his mother to "hold on to" the old Gale. It was really sad. As a Warlock, and my Tav being Ambitious (and would have encouraged Astarion to Ascend if it were not for a bug preventing the ritual) he asked Gale if he could potentially be patron / find a better patron. Gale said it would take a few millennia for Ao to allow such direct contact. And it was Alarming to hear (and fascinating) that he has worshipers primarily located in Thay.

I have NOT seen Gale's alternate endings yet, I'll be doing more playthroughs as soon as I figure out who tf I want to play next.

My Lae'zel became the new diplomat betweeh the two Gith clans, to unite the sky. I was obsessed with I saw the opprtunity to give her that. When it came up as an option after orpheus (whom I convinced not to die after he became an Illithid), i wanted to give that woman Everything. So I encouraged her to take up the sword and Orpheus' offer and I felt SO PROUD when she called his dragon(s) and stood on one's back like she'd been admiring since Day Fucking One. SO. PROUD.

I saw two separate letters from Dammon depending n Karlach's alive-or-dead status. He sends his condolences to us if she died and blames himself for not trying harder, dedicating his life to working with Infernal Iron. If he's alive, he asks s to ask Karlach to write to him, its very simple but I think it's so sweet. She's just so fun and happy, and relays to us that there may be a way to fix her engine with blueprints she's found the location of, which sounds so hopeful without actually giving us a "canon" (similar to astarion's "maybe there's a way to walk in the sun" - i prefer the ambiguity than total fix-its). The hope feels better than the confirmation, tbh.

It was also interesting, i think, that with the a non-karlach romance there's the addition of after I help Karlach with her engine in the aforementioned fixing plot she's found, I could potentially return to Astarion's side so it's a lot less dreary feeling like we're both permanently trapped in the Hells and instead the hopeful promise of a future where Karlach can return to the surface alive and forever well, and we can return to our loved ones.

This directly connected to one of the new Raphael epilogues - I LOVED how threatening Raphael was with it. On one hand, Asmodeus would tear him to shreds if he tried to overtake the Hells even with the crown, that I feel is inevitable. But either Gale as his Ambitious Patron of sorts, or perhaps as a distraction (remember: even gods can die) tearing apart the pantheons, he could very well take advantage of that to overtake Asmodeus, I think. It seems even more on par with his style of planning, he seems very min-maxed when it comes to working towards a goal - the less he has to do himself, the better.

YOU CAN HUG THEM. I talked to Halsin first and I screamed when "you look like you need a hug" came up. My god. I went to shadowheart after and saw you could hug her, too, and I wasn't expecting it, I genuinely just thought it'd be a Halsin thing only bc he just seems like the obvious "gives good (bear) hugs" choice. Oh my god you can hug your party members. I lost my fucking mind.

Also, Milil..... very nice little lore, I loved how excited he got when we passed our check if we knew who he was. The floating instruments around him was a lovely little touch.

Getting letters and newspaper clippings from all our saved comrades was incredible. I Liked everyone's letters yes but i was MOST excited and happy to hear from our tieflings after they've been through Literal Hell and back. Rolan got an interview, Lakrissa bought Alfira a house and dedicated a plaque to us for their music school, Bex and Danis opened a bakery together. The tieflings collectively built a whole new district for themselves in Baldur's Gate. It'd be excellent for comradery - that they can share with one another as a tiefling community, weave a rich tapestry of tiefling culture, to have people to be safe around, and people who know what its like whether theyre from Elturel or not.

ZEVLOR MY BELOVED. I was so happy to hear from him. He said his hands shook the whole time he stayed at the temple "with the other veterans" - other tiefling hellriders - and it was rather bittweserrt, both inspirign an sad to read his hands only stopped shaking when the city shook, and all the Rider paladins restored their oaths by being devoted to preventing Baldur's Gate from becoming the next Elturel. He said "Come see us, when you can" OF COURSE Im going to visit, oh my god. It was just nice to hear he's doing fine and is volunteering at the temple that helped him.

I loved the epilogue so fucking much. It felt really nice.

I like to think that our heroes do it often, maybe annually or just casually see each other on adventures. maybe an occasional "Hey, I'm on a bit of a quest and need the expertise of my favorire [class]" it felt so cozy.

Did Withers put up all those decorations himself. I Love the old bag of bones so much. He just wanted to give us a little party. Let me hug Withers please he deserves it.

[deargestbirl]

Why do you speak German?

I'm learning German at a casual pace to learn a second language. I think it's nice to be able to speak a second language, even if I'm still a little rough with it and still getting the hang of it.

I'm also learning German because Germany is one of the two places I'd consider ex-patting to considering the increasingly hostile legislative condition in the USA towards transgender people.

Seriously, the amount of anti-trans bills and the transparency of some politicians to say that the goal of anti-trans legislation wasn't just the kids, but also every age group in general is alarming. They don't want a transgender citizen. Period.

I can tell you that my common experience being transgender in public life is pretty much just people going like "yep, that trans woman I don't know is a trans woman sure is a girl", or *reads name tag* "ah, girl name, can you help me ma'am"?

I promise you, the average town and city folk have a better sense of community than some suit could ever have, and don't have the vitriol in their hearts at the helm to want to go around and admonish trans people. It's just that the suits have influence by political position and religious position.

The latter of which shouldn't be a factor, but some of these chuds really want the integration of church and state while trying to maintain that an adaptive document should be interpreted only at its base printing and not by its revisions. Also, the first US president literally said "I want to keep church and state separated".

If you're going to refer back to a time period to impose its political scope on modern day, the least you could do is not cherry pick it, and just admit that your own hubris is at fault in doing such actions. Politics is literally of the people, the common man* (man referring to the general populi in a non-gendered sense) by its nature. The co-opting of it to over-centralize politics onto the matters and importance of business corporations and religious institutions after their misguided humanization and personification campaigns is disheartening, to say the least.

I avoided saying anything too harsh because I'm not here to get overheated at 1 am in the morning. I know when to call a spade a spade, but I shouldn't have to tell you what a spade is by looking at it. You know what terms are applicable here to the politicians I'm referring to.

Anyways, rant aside, It's one part interest, and one part insurance. Thank you for asking!

[ironwoodwizard]

Name: Ezra Cagney

Age: eternally 22 (actually from some sort of age of arcane prevalence, so who knows what his age is!)

Gender: Cis Male

Sexuality: Gay

Race: Tiefling (formerly human)

Appearance: fluffy red/ginger hair, hazel/yellow eyes, freckles, pretty face, slim build, dark red horns and tail hidden by a glamour.

Voice: light low tenor, has gotten good at mimicking a Texan accent; he could be mistaken for a native if not for the slight Irish lilt that comes out every so often. Most people just assume that the Texan accent is his natural one, and that the Irish one is just the nervous tick of a theater kid. He has a fair singing voice, though he usually only shows it off after a few drinks at karaoke night. His go-to songs are usually either punk rock or southern rock, occasionally classic rock, folk, or country.

FC: Trevor Stines

Personality: Charming, sweet, lonely, helpful, peacekeeper, honestly trying his best, seems shady at first but he’s really not, anxious and hiding it, seems confident but is actually awkward as all heaven and hell, loves a good stupid/ironic joke, dramatic as fuck, just charismatic enough to out-talk a devil without totally losing his shit, highly intelligent and nerdy, very intuitive, a bit of a show-off.

Powers/Abilities: functional immortality, fire magic, fire resistance, glamour, expert mixologist, alchemist, potion brewer.

Flaws/Weaknesses: hubris, holy water, extreme cold, binding contracts, lavender (he’s allergic, breaks out in hives), nearsighted

Nationality: ….American (for now), Irish (originally)

Languages: Too many to count

Education: An insanely long lifetime of various studies.

Style: dapper yet casual. Usually wears a black button down shirt, red vest, and black slacks. Red tie or jeweled bolo if he’s going to a meeting or event of any kind. He often dresses up for theme nights at the tavern, though he always manages to look as classy as possible. Wears black rectangular glasses, and a silver ring in each ear.

Profession: bartender (current), alchemist (former, recently started again), wizard (former, still dabbles), co-owner of the Heavenly Fire Tavern & Grill.

Family: long gone, unless found family counts

Backstory: Ezra has been in Morningstar for at least a couple of decades, probably closer to three. It’s both a haven and a prison for him, though far more so the former. He’d spent centuries on the run, doing whatever good deeds he could along the way, but when he finally found a small town that seemed to be just as weird as he was, he jumped at the chance to settle down for a while. It wasn’t easy. Between the prickly locals and the deal that he’d made for immortality, which he was nearly in breach of, Ezra quickly became overwhelmed. He bounced back, though, opening a tavern with the help of a friendly local mechanic through which he could continue his eternity of servitude in peace. Until, of course, he figured out that he could no longer leave Morningstar. The contract between him and the mechanic had accidentally bound him to remain in town for as long as it remained in effect, and while that did have its drawbacks, he honestly didn’t mind. The devil he’d (mostly) outsmarted so long ago could hardly reach him, and he had a safe place to call home where no one minded the fact that he never aged. Things were great! Aside from the local Chamber of Commerce being mostly full of catty and conniving assholes, Ezra could finally take it easy. Twenty years of peace. Twenty years of finally feeling like he could belong, of having a friend who felt more like a brother, and of prospering like he never had before.

When the old mechanic died, it shattered Ezra to his core. He didn’t open up the tavern for nearly a week, and only left his home to attend the funeral, where he met the mechanic’s grandson, Oleander, formally for the first time. He put on a brave face, much like the one the boy and his widowed grandmother wore, kept his introductions brief, and paid his respects. After the funeral, Ezra’s life became a little more bearable; he reopened the tavern and went about his days as he usually would, though he dreaded the next CoC meeting. It would be quite lonely and anxiety inducing to try and keep the peace on his own. When it finally rolled around Ez was a nervous wreck, but he was pleasantly shocked to see that Ollie had showed up in his grandfather’s stead.

Good.

They needed to talk if Oleander had truly inherited both family businesses, and the meeting would be a good icebreaker. He hoped. Ezra was quick to lay on the charm, introducing Ollie to the other members and trying his best to keep the wolves at bay. Despite his efforts, Ollie remained leery of him and the rest of the Chamber. It took longer than he’d hoped to earn just a little bit of the boy’s trust, even that was only gained because Ezra became a target for attempted murder and came to Ollie for help. He would never forget the look on the boy’s face upon seeing the fresh holy water burns, or the conversation they had as Grandma Rose patched him up.

Their friendship was soon forged in chaos and mutual aid, as they came together to root out and defeat the so-called monster hunters, and solidified when Ollie agreed to renew his grandfather’s contract for co-ownership of the tavern. It wasn’t long before the pair became well known for their arcane prowess. Townsfolk began coming to them for spells and potions, wards and talismans. It was practically something out of a fantasy novel, as if Ezra’s life hadn’t reflected one before.

[girldraki]

i built a small section of my hc for attorneystuck apollo’s planet in minecraft and then i built a huge fucking wall to block out the mountain behind it but then i remembered i could just blow the mountain up also tnt does not work that well on one-block-thick surfaces so i have to manually destroy this gigantic fuck-off wall now

[atty-goldstein]

Yellow Jacket Live Chat Things

I have been saying from the start that the Yellow Jacket song had Alanis Morissette vibes and Nick confirmed that was really what they were going for

Nick Lang: Look how angsty Lex is. She'll eat cake and spit it everywhere. She doesn't give a fuck.

Steph's a senior and Hannah's a freshman

I think it's cool that even if Mariah was originally going to play Lex, but didn't get to, she still gets to play sisterly roles to Hannah. Like Steph and Webby.

Nick Lang: Tom and Hannah are flannel buddies

GoodMorningButch called Tom "Lumberdad"

Curt did the editing for Hannah's vision

People were either giving hospital billing tips or were glad they're not American

Praise for Joey's hair

And no, Nick Lang doesn't know how Joey makes his hair look that good

Notable comment from frog uncle: yes queen manifest a working finger"

dragonpotter said the exact same thing I did: MILF WEBBY

The sadness Webby felt when Hannah told her Lex is unhappy hits differently after knowing that Webby and Lex used to be close too

Webby is also broke/has no money. Relatable queen.

Curt was channeling his Texas roots for Eddie Chiplucky

The first time the arena is shown, the lights are purple, blue, and green

We love Jeff's announcer look, yes

DANIEL TIME BABY MY BELOVED

Bryce made her own costumes and she absolutely slayed. As Curt said, she's "like and octuple threat"

Lots of theories about the kids being linked to certain LiBs

Nick Lang: Spitfire isn't really tall so much as Stopwatch is very small.

So Daniel's literally babie and I love the irony that it's Jon, who's really tall himself, playing him

Nick Lang said Daniel's power is inspired by a character from Dragonball Z

Nessie V pointed out that he has a blue headband

Pokey-man

Curt Mega said Stranger Things stole this

Everyone's happy about Hannah getting new friends

"Hannah's got her foot on the gas" hell yeah she does

"Ethan sells NFTs"

Curt Mega: DIANECOIN TO THE MOON

Everyone freaking out about the bounce house

That bounce house stuff must have been really good for Ethan to decide he wants to marry Lex the day after lmao jk

The way people are worried that the danger in this story is Ethan and Lex not being responsible with money and wasting it all

Took a while for a lot of folks to conclude that Otho is the LiB Pokotho

Nick Lang said the Otho puppet is too complicated to operate for the stage

Curt Mega: Several of the muppets auditioned for this role [Otho] but they just didn't have the chops

Really, why would anyone be sus of Daniel, he's just baby?

The way people were panicking over Hannah's Hubris is great

Even after saying McNamara's not in the episode, there's still someone inevitably wanting McNamara to help when Hannah shuts Webby out

Charles is confirmed to be a cryptobro

Not a lot predicted Webby coming to Lex for help, but more people did during the first time it came out last year

SAY THE LINE OTHO

The confusion that the bomb in the head worked for killing Otho, but it didn't work when Paul blew up the meteor

Phone gun!

HELP MY TEARS ROLLED BACK INTO MY EYES UPON REALIZING THE BG MUSIC IS SNOOZLE TOWN WHEN ETHAN WAKES UP TO LOOK FOR LEX AND HANNAH

Confusion aside, it's still really painful hearing Lex tell Ethan that Hannah's not his sister when he clearly treats her like one and is willing to make it official by wanting to marry Lex, despite everything and despite the arguments they recently had

After watching Daddy "Be young for all of us" kiiiiiinda hits different ngl

Emotional again over the faucet and Next Time

[butwhyduh]

Peeping through the stacks

Jason todd x reader

Valentine’s fic

Warning: smut

I recommend the book I mentioned if you like the classics.

“I have a proposition,” Jason said and your eyebrows rose. “Not that kind. We separate. I grab you a book and you get me one. And we meet up afterwards to go to dinner to see what we got. No cheating. No following each other around. Whoever gives the better gift, wins and gets to control the rest of the night.”

“Sounds like plan. Just know Todd,” you said moving up in his space standing on your tiptoe to talk in his ear. “I’m going to crush you.”

“Only if you win, baby. Only if you win,” he said with a smirk. He opened the door to the largest used bookstore in Gotham. 3 stories with a section of just records and another of old comics, it was heaven. They even had a coffee shop in the back of the second story. You went left and he went right.

You went straight for the classics. Jason would pour over old novels for hours and his favorite were clearly dog eared. You thought about replacing them but, while he’s appreciate it, it wasn’t exactly exciting. You milled around the area, looking at books that were nice but not it. As you moved to leave the area, a section caught your eyes.

If you love the classics but need a book written in the last 50 years:

This is what you needed. A careful list of books that you like next to new books was perfect. Jason had been reading his copy of Moby Dick and talking about the hubris of man recently, heavily alluding to Bruce. You grabbed the recommended book: In the Heart of the Sea.

Now to find Jason. You had agreed to no cheating but it wasn’t really cheating to just watch him if you had already picked. He was probably in your favorite area and you walked upstairs to watch down low.

Jason was holding two books in hand and looking between them both. You felt a thrill to watch him. He almost always caught you quickly but the store with multiple patrons and levels must have thrown him off a little. He finally grabbed a book and looked directly up at you with a smirk. You threw your fist playfully. He’s certainly caught you. You came downstairs with a grin.

“I knew you were watching me. That’s cheating,” he said. You held the book behind your back as you kissed his cheek.

“It’s not cheating if I didn’t change my book,” you protested and he kissed your forehead.

“Tell yourself that. Let’s check out and then I can win,” he said, wrapping an arm over your shoulder and walking to the counter. You both laid them down, face down because you’re competitive, and paid. You carried two separate bags and held hands as you walked down to a little cafe on the corner.

The place had the coolest vibes. Fresh coffee day and night, records and music memorabilia on the wall, and a band of musician played on a tiny stage every night. Valentine’s was no exception. You found a table in the back and promptly ordered your favorites from the menu.

“Okay. Show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” you said with a grin.

“I thought we’d wait until tonight to do that,” Jason said with a roguish wink. “Oh, you mean the books. Yeah, let’s swap.”

You gave him his bag and he yours. It almost looked like a drug deal if it wasn’t books. You pulled out the book. A continuation of a series you loved but had a hard time finding the next parts. Jason pulled out his and read the back.

“Okay, you won,” you said with a teasing scrunch of your face. “This is really great.”

“This looks great. But you did cheat too...” he said pretending to take his time deciding. “I guess I’ll take the win. But it was pretty close, I’m not going to lie.”

“Don’t rub it in.”

“Seriously, I can’t wait to bore you with more whaling facts.”

“I’m taking it back,” you said and he laughed. “I can’t learn anymore. I’m not kidding.” Jason’s eyes smiled too and you loved the sight. He looked happy. You food arrived and a folk band started playing.

As your food dwindled and it was fully dark outside, Jason’s gaze lingered on your body. His hand sat on your knee as you talked.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said randomly and you exhaled quickly with a shy smile as you looked away. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Okay,” you said, letting him pull you from the cafe and a few blocks down. Jason pulled you close and rubbed his nose against your cheek. You turned your head up to close the space between your lips. It started as soft, gentle, cute. But Jason gripped your hips and pulled you closer and you wrapped your arms around his neck and before you knew it, you were being pushed against a wall as he kissed down your throat. You made soft sounds as he nipped and kissed the sensitive skin.

“Jason,” you said breathlessly. He hummed against your skin. “Take me home. Take me home.”

You ran your hands along the muscles under his shirt as you rode behind him on the motorcycle. Jason insisted on helmets and you wished you could kiss at the back of his neck. Probably best. Your hands on his stomach were distracting enough.

Jason barely drove the bike into the parking garage of his building before pulling off his helmet and turning towards you. You did the same. Neither of you climbed off as you made out. His tongue slid in your mouth as his hands held the back of your skull in place. He reached behind him to turn it off as you kissed.

“Upstairs,” you breathed. He nodded before getting up and picking you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist and kissed his neck as you walked towards the elevator. The knee high slit in your skirt had scooted up to expose most of your thigh. Luck was on your side as no one was around to watch but security must have gotten a great show with the pair of you aggressively kissing. Jason pressed your back against the wall in the elevator as you rode up to his floor.

He carried you down the hall. You were less lucky as your elderly neighbor was sitting in the end of the hallway as she always did everyday. She’d watch the sunset and people watch everyone coming home from work or school. She giggled and looked away. Jason put you down the second you both realized and you flushed with embarrassment.

“Don’t worry sweetie, I was married once. Happy Valentine’s,” she said with a big smile looking out the window. Jason quickly pulled you in the apartment.

“I forgot about her,” he said. “Gross part is that she’s probably thinking about her dead husband and all the times he used to rail her.”

You glared at Jason. “That’s.... so gross. Why? Like you ruined it. Your dirty mouth.”

“I can get it a little dirtier,” he said with a wink but ruined by bursting into laughter. “Like do old people blow each other? Can their hips bend that much? I know their knees are bad. What age did they have to give them up?”

“Shut the fuck up. That’s so gross,” you said putting you hand over his mouth and he laughed before pulling you close.

“You look really pretty tonight. I forgot to tell you because I kept staring at you,” he said with a soft look. He bent and kissed you sweetly. Not rushed or hard like earlier. He slowly pulled you to the bedroom. You pulled each other’s clothing off as you walked. Shirt here. Pants there.

“Thank you. You look good too,” you said as you pulled the bedroom door closed. Jason rolled his eyes. He never agreed with you but had given up on arguing.

Jason pulled you on top of him in bed. His nose ran up your throat until his lips met yours. He was slow and deliberate in his movement. His hands roamed your body as you moved your legs to straddle him. You didn’t bother teasing either of you but instead sunk down on him.

“Princess,” he breathed with closed eyes. You sat for just a moment, get used to him, before starting to move. You bent at the waist to give him long deep sloppy kisses. “Baby,” he pleaded before you started moving.

“Remember, I won,” Jason said.

“Yeah,” you asked with a grin. “What do you want, Jaybird?”

“This. Keep riding me. You look so good,” he said breathlessly. His hands gripped your hips as you bounced. He grimaced as you swirled your hips. “Fuck!”

“Oh we like that,” you commented. He chuckled distractedly. Jason pulled you down to where he could kiss and nip at your chest. You whined as he took your nipple in his mouth. He let go with a loud smack.

“Mmm someone seems to like that,” he quipped. You pressed yourself back towards his face and he chuckled against your skin before giving your breasts the attention you wanted.

“I love your Valentine’s gift. You’re so thoughtful,” you said breathlessly. Jason looked up at you confused.

“Yeah no problem. Is now the time?” He asked with his eyes half closed and mouth open as he breathed heavily. His hips jumped to meet yours and he reached a hand down to rub circles on your clit. You moaned loudly and he smiled as he watched you come undone. He thrust your faster to finish with you. You both moved together jumpily as you buried your head in his neck. You breathed for a few second before softly kissing his lips.

“I seriously loved today,” you said.

“Yeah, I’m glad. Me too. Surprised that no one call-“ Jason started before his phone rang and he sighed. “At least we finished. I’ve got to take this,” he said and you rolled off and curled in the blanket. He answered the phone as he threw on boxer briefs. He looked at you wistfully as he talked. It sounded important.

“My source said Black Mask is getting a shipment early this morning so I’ve got to go. We can’t have those guns on the street,” Jason said after hanging up. He leaned over to give you a dizzying kiss. “I’ve got to go but here is your book and a glass of water. Don’t stay up. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“Be safe,” you said before he climbed out the window.

“Aren’t I always,” he said and you just knew he was grinning under the helmet before jumping from a 6 story window. No, you thought, no you aren’t.

[astermacguffin]

Okay. I warn y'all that this is very much a Poast™. This is another one of Those Poasts™. You have been warned.

I very much blame (affectionate) @autisticandroids for this, since this is pretty much me trying to combine as many concepts as possible from the #mpregpocalypse tag.

In this au, Cas is pretty much just collecting babies left and right. The following stuff are all simultaneously true in this spn mpreg rewrite:

- Cas absorbs the deanlisa baby and carries the child himself. This is his first pregnancy. This is also the most "monstrous" of his children because of the godstiel stuff and the leviathans.

- For maximum effect, I don't want Cas to give birth just yet. I want Benny to see Cas with the baby bump and put the dots together in his head. I want Cas to give birth alone, after Dean and Benny already went through the rift. I want Naomi to take Cas out of purgatory and leave his child alone there. I want Cas to grieve for the loss of his child when he remembers. (We'll go back to this in the future.)

- Dean fucks Casifer at one point and impregnates Cas' body. (I mean, with Casifer peeling off his layers and thotting up the place while in the bunker? Not surprising tbh.) NOTE. I wanna be clear with something: this baby is Dean and Lucifer's nephil. I mean, biologically it's a Destiel baby, but with Cas' grace growing weaker and him being possessed by Lucifer, in terms of grace this is pretty much Lucifer's nephil. (But also not??? Because what allowed the conception to happen in the first place is Cas wanting it SO BAD.)

- No one else notices the conception of this baby because Cas hides it within himself (the same way he did with the deanlisa baby) and pauses the pregnancy at will.

- When Cas meets Kelly, they are very much BOTH pregnant with Lucifer's kid. Remember that screenshot where they both look pregnant and bonding about their babies? Yeah, this is inspired by that. When Cas touches Kelly's baby bump and they like soulbond or whatever, Kelly looks at him and goes "oh you're pregnant too?"

- Cas tells him that it's Dean's child, but leaves out the Lucifer part. They already have one Lucifer nephil in danger, he doesn't need anyone else knowing this secret (especially since he hid the nature of this child so well for so long). Kelly thinks he's hiding it because of the Dean part.

- They both know Kelly's not gonna survive giving birth, so they already have a plan: Cas will transfer the pregnancy to himself when it's almost time for Jack to come out (the same way he did with the deanlisa baby). Cas is confident that he'll survive what Kelly cannot. (His hubris, of course, always tend to bite him back.) Dean, Mary, and Sam arrive just in time to see Cas pregnant and about to give birth. Kelly catches them up on the plot.

- Cas dies of childbirth due to an unexpected complication: the pregnancy transfer triggers the birth of the other child inside him, which makes him give birth to TWO children. The strength of the explosion unfortunately kills both him and Kelly, rendering Cas' sacrifice as pointless. (As much as I wanna keep Kelly alive, the point of this au is to inflict as much damage as possible)

- Lucifer and Mary still get stuck in Apocalypse world, and now Dean and Sam have to care for TWO children, one of which is Jack (who still grows quickly) and...another baby? They have no idea who the fuck this baby is until they find two videos: one made by Kelly and one by Cas (a backup plan they made just in case one or both of them don't survive).

- In the video, Cas reveals that the child is his and Dean's nephil (again, removing the Lucifer part). Dean just takes it in stride (since they had enough sex in the later seasons for it to be a genuine possibility) and takes Cas's word.

- In any other scenario, Sam would definitely be teasing Dean for impregnating Cas. But since Cas is dead and they're still grieving, he shelves this conversation for a future time. (With so much plot happening, Sam never finds the right chance and eventually just forgets it. He's just happy that he was right all along.)

- They agree to never let anyone else learn about the baby's nature, which the baby seems to understand as well, choosing to not manifest any angelic abilities. In fact, the baby internalized Cas' instructions to keep all their secrets under wraps that the kid goes selectively mute throughout the series. (I wanna see Eileen teaching ASL to the kid.)

- The two babies scenario works great for two reasons: it satisfies my "give Dean a baby" instinct (that pretty much drives my baby jack truthing) while still keeping Jack the way that he is in canon.

- Dean lets the baby rest on Cas' chest for a short while before wrapping Cas up with the curtains. Both Dean and the baby cry over the body.

- I want to give Jack as many Problems Disorders in this au. I want him to be jealous of the way Dean treats his twin (because they're pretty much twins, right? They have the same grace-father, they got birthed by the same body, so yeah).

- Dean treats the baby with as much care and love while still treating Jack like shit. Sam once calls him out on it and says "Dean, they're both Cas' children." Dean throws out an "I can hardly look at the freak" rant. Jack wakes up Cas from the Empty, yada yada.

More fucked up shit below the cut:

- I wanna keep this as close to canon as I can, so Dean would still exhibit suicidality before Tombstone. You would think that the baby would at least hinder this instinct, but he genuinely believes that he's poison and that everyone he touches dies. (And besides, Sam is good with both Jack and the baby so they won't need me anymore, right?)

- Cas comes back, and things mostly stay the same as in canon (except there's now a baby there, who honestly won't influence much of the plot until later). Dean never really apologized that much to Jack in canon (and I still hate it) but in this au, it would work perfectly. I want Jack to believe that Dean still sees him as a freak, even if he's a bit nicer now that Cas is back. (I can and will put my entire pussy into the Dean-as-John, Jack-as-Sam parallels.)

- When Jack kills Mary, Cas hides it from Dean and Sam. We're going full Torturewife on this one, folks.

- Jack's truth spell forces Cas to confess that (1) Cas hid the fact about Jack's soullessness; (2) Cas lied about Jack killing Mary, and; (3) the Destiel baby is technically a Dean/Lucifer nephil. Chaos fucking ensues.

- Dean has to confront the fact that both of the kids (HIS kids) are Lucifer's spawn.

- Chuck doesn't really care about the baby since it never manifested any powers (yet), unlike Jack (who is a genuine threat to him).

- Moriah happens, Jack dies. (And it's even more fucked up now because despite being soulless, Jack remembers all the insecurities he got from Dean. The "It's okay, I understand" line Jack says to Dean while having a gun pointed to him is sooooooo.) Rupture happens, their divorce is finalized and Cas takes custody of the baby.

- Cas having some father-child bonding with the baby as a breather between all this fucked up stuff.

- The Trap happens, they make up, and oh? Who's this person who helped Cas escape and get the flower? It's the deanlisa baby, but now grown! Together with Emma! She was thankfully found by her big sister, Emma, when she was a baby in purgatory. She had to grow up fast and now they survive together.

- After eating Eve in order to save Cas, the deanlisa child is now technically the new Mother of monsters. Dean explains the Chuck problem, so the two choose to come with them to help.

- Cas never really explained the deanlisa baby, huh? When they get back with their now grown child (and Emma, who doesn't really hold a grudge over the entire Sam killing her thing) and Cas explains, Dean is baffled but takes it in stride. I mean, they just made up! He doesn't wanna fight with him anymore and he wants the family together again!

- They make the two stay with the baby so they'll be safe in the bunker while they try to trap Chuck with the Mark of Cain spell. It fails, of course. (But hey, at least there was sibling bonding time in the bunker.)

- Billie brings back Jack and they formulate a plan (Billie doesn't go evil in this one btw.) They strengthen Jack, Jack knows that he'll be a bomb and is totally fine with it. "Maybe if I do this one good thing, Dean won't see me as a freak anymore." Remember, Jack internalized a lot of the shit Dean said.

- Cas attempts to call out the self-sacrificial bullshit and that Dean actually loves him, but Jack insists. "You would do the same! In fact, you have done the same! (In reference to the Empty deal, which still happens here btw.) I'm just learning from all of you." If there's one thing I'm obsessed about in fics, it's when Jack calls them out for learning martyrdom from team free will.

- Dean finds out about the plan and tries to talk Jack out of it. They have a heart-to-heart, Dean finally fucking apologizes for all the complexes that he's given Jack, and Jack (for the first time) finally believes that Dean doesn't see him as a monster anymore. Jack stops the process so he doesn't become a bomb (but at least he's stronger than he was before).

- They call Billie to come up with an alternative plan. She considers the options, and says an alternative plan would be harder and would require more players in the field. "As long as we don't have to sacrifice any of our loved ones anymore, we're good," Dean says. "I don't think that's an easy request, but we'll try," Billie says, giving a pointed look at Cas. (Hmmmm, wonder how this would come to play later?)

- Billie points out that the destiel baby is in fact not powerless, but is instead choosing to supress their own power. If the child can be convinced to unlock their own capabilities, then perhaps they might stand a better chance at winning.

- They spread out to gather more allies: Sam goes to Rowena, Dean goes to Michael, Billie goes to Gabriel (yes, he's alive here), and the kids stay in the bunker with Cas to try and explore each other's abilities. (Since I hated the Michael-Lucifer nonsense of 15x19, none of that happens here. Lucifer doesn't go back and Michael doesn't betray them.)

- Jack finds out that he can push out all the energy he gathered for the bomb into a one-time-use blast. They find out that the baby can apparently enhance the power of whoever they're holding. And the new Eve apparently has traces of Godstiel/Leviathan still in her after being in the womb with them. (She also spends the time catching up with Cas because they've not seen each other for years.) Emma is just vibing there, adoring her powerful younger siblings and interrogating her father's...husband? Boyfriend? Ex? (She's still confused about their status.)

- This goes just like in S11, and they go all out and attack Chuck together until he's weak enough for Death's scythe. There's one shot where the kids are just holding hands to power each other for Jack to deliver a fatal blow. Billie is just around the corner, ready for the final blow, when Cas turns to Dean.

- "Dean, I need to say something." Cue the 15x18 confession scene, except this time Dean knows about the deal now. So the moment Dean realizes what Cas is doing, he tries to stop him.

- "Stop, please stop. Don't say it, you don't have to say it." Because of course, happiness is in just being, it's in just saying it. And Dean knows what true happiness would do.

- But unfortunately, Cas has to do it. (Billie talked to him about it, and her scythe won't exactly do a clean job with something as powerful as a Chuck-Amara hybrid. I don't know when or why they fused together since the bomb plan was cancelled, but it happened here okay? Yeah. So they need something that is guaranteed to be older and greater than God or the Darkness—the Empty. Billie can only go there, but she can't summon it to be on Earth. Enter Cas' deal.)

- Cas says "I love you," Dean reciprocates, they share a final kiss, and then Billie finally reaps God. The Empty arrives to take Chuck, and Cas shares one final moment with his kids before accepting his fate.

- Billie goes to the Empty to make sure the job was done, and she finally gives the Shadow the sleep that she promised. She uses her scythe on the Shadow, because death is the final slumber. (Of course, you can't exactly kill nothingness; she only destroyed an embodiment/personification of the Empty.)

- Post-fight. They're happy because Chuck is finally defeated but also...Cas. Before they even have the chance to process what the fuck just happened, Billie is back and she has Cas with her. "I just put the Shadow into sleep, so it's not like anyone would notice," she says. The problem is that Cas is still very much asleep. (He still has some grace here btw. Maybe he's not at full angel anymore, but he's not fully human either. There wasn't a need to cut out his grace without warning.)

- Dean and the kids crowd Cas' body. The baby's touch on Cas's shoulder (which burns a mark that parallels Dean's) is what wakes him up. Reunion kiss!

- Happy ending! Michael (with Adam) goes back to heaven to fix things, and they are very much implied to be a couple. Midam rights babyyyyyy! Gabriel goes back to roaming the world and occasionally visits the kids.

- Sam and Eileen organizes a hunter's network and organizes a bunch of safety protocols and rehabilitation projects with the help of the new Eve (which most monsters obey, key word most). Oh, and Saileen definitely swings regularly with Rowena (and occasionally with Gabriel when he's around).

- Emma decides that she likes hanging out with the Wayward Sisters better (and you know what? Good for her). The new Eve decides to hang out there often as well (whenever she isn't busy with monster diplomacy or something).

- When Jack finally feels safe and peaceful enough, he reverts back to his child form. The baby, who has been selectively mute this entire time, holds their brother's face in recognition and utters their first word, which is "JACK!" Dean and Cas cry in joy over this entire exchange. (That's his twin! He missed his twin!)

- They move out of the bunker to get their own house by a lake or something. Whenever the topic of pregnancy comes up again ("Dean, when do you want another baby again?"), they can now playfully joke about it and Dean says something like "Don't steal someone else's baby again, okay? The next baby to be inside you needs to be mine." They're both stupidly horny about the subject, I hate them so much.

- Whenever there's an important event, they all celebrate it in the bunker for the extra space (because their family is, indeed, very large). END.

There's something poetic to me about the Empty being the one that beats Chuck in this mpreg rewrite because technically, the Empty is the Original Womb that gave birth to God. It it the nothingness of potential, the dark water of pregnant beginnings.

All this talk about the Empty and stuff also made me stop and think about the metaphysics of spn. The fact that the Darkness and the Empty are two distinct entities says something interesting about the metaphysical reality of spn. It doesn't treat darkness as a mere absence of light, a mere nothingness, but rather a thing/substance of its own. It's a very Manichean kind of metaphysics as opposed to a Platonic/Neoplatonic one. (Oh, St. Augustine would probably have a blast trying to unravel whatever the fuck is happening with spn.)

The fact that it's also Cas' free will that brought upon God's demise? Delicious.

(If you're still reading, congratulations for finishing my very long spn mpreg rewrite. Why did you do this to yourself tho.)

(also apologies if I didn't give a name to Jack's siblings. I haven't thought of a good name for them just yet)

[mikrowrites]

andromeda

(vignettes cut from cottages of constellations; can be read as a one-shot)

c!wilbur x reader

summary: a series of memories from y/n’s perspective; the war, the death, the stars, the secret, and the meeting.

warnings: fluff, angst, violence, war themes, bad mental health situations, death, language, manipulation

a/n: this is basically a bunch of scrapped ideas from cottages of constellations that i shoved together bc i already had them written and have been hitting a writer’s block with pt 3. the only part of this you should regard as “canon” is the syndicate vignette, that will be in pt 3. enjoy!!

Y/n and Wilbur kept many secrets.

That was not something unknown by any, not a surprise to some. The two seemed to have words unspoken, existing between the glance of an eye or a brush of a hand, a nod of a head and a ever so soft sigh. Y/n and Wilbur kept many secrets to themselves and themselves only.

The cottage was one. A secret kept along a peaceful riverbank, until the price of TNT seemed higher than that forgotten paradise. There were some other secrets too. Some inconsequential, some almost burdening.

Y/n and Wilbur kept a secret they chose to not share with anyone. A secret that would be for the best if left unsaid.

But the price of freedom would prove higher and more demanding. The price for a tall brunette man to whisper the words into an enemy’s ear, for the enemy to relay it to someone who was once deemed an old friend.

The moment Schlatt spoke the secret out loud to Y/n with threatening intent, everything came crashing to the ground.

It was a secret Schlatt would die with.

—

The War…

Y/n arrived as the sun rose at dawn.

Wilbur was there to meet her, his uniform jacket unbuttoned messily and his cravat askew. As she approached him closer he smiled softly, but the smile was tired, aching, the light in his eyes dimmed by the bags beneath them.

What was the saying, “winning is easy, governing is harder”?

Y/n feared both feats were insurmountably difficult.

“Hello, love.” Wilbur sighed, striding the distance of Y/n’s approach and pulling her into his arms, holding her like a lifeline.

“Hey Wil, it’s okay, I’m here.” Y/n reassured.

He pulled away with a less tight smile, wrapping his fingers around her own, pulling her towards the majestic walls.

“Y/n L/n, welcome to L’manburg.”

And L’manburg was small, and undeveloped, and nothing quite impressive really. But it was her lover’s nation, and to Y/n it looked like a spectacle of heaven. “It’s wonderful.”

Wilbur led her into the camaravan, where battle plans and declarations had been hung and placed about, with an occasional empty bottle or a misplaced piece of weaponry.

Y/n had fought in wars before, in another life, far from this server. She had played the part of diplomat, of ally, of enemy. It was all a language familiar to her like breathing, and she suspected Wilbur was well aware, why else would he write begging her to join the front lines?

She hummed in thought, running her hands over a tabletop. “When’s the next battle, then?”

“Tomorrow.” Wilbur replied simply.

Y/n nodded. “Okay. Where do we start?”

Wilbur smiled once more.

—

The Death…

Y/n struggled against Quackity’s hold, screaming her throat raw. “YOU KILLED HIM!”

Smoke from the firework barrage still lingered on the execution box, Schlatt turning from his podium to Y/n. He smirked. “Y/n, my dear, he was a traitor. You know what happens to traitors.”

Y/n spat at his feet, the man laughing. “That’s cute. Remember Y/n, I hold all the cards in my hands. You don’t want to step out of line, remember? Who knows what secrets could get spilled.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” Y/n glared, her eyes like fire as the two stood off against each other on the podium under Manberg’s watching eyes. “Because I am going to fucking kill you before you even think about it.”

Schlatt laughed loudly again, facing the crowd. “Do you hear that, folks? Miss Y/n is going to kill me!” He lowered his voice, leaning so he was face to face with her. “That’s treason, my friends.”

Y/n hardened her eyes, as Quackity let her arms go. She stepped forwards, her hand on the hilt of her sheathed sword. Everything was quiet, not the crowd’s jabs or cries were heard by her, not even Niki’s protests to spare her best friend.

Schlatt smiled, unsheathing his own sword as Y/n stood her ground, preparing to produce her own in hopes of taking down the tyrannical man once and for all.

“These were not the ideals of L’manberg.” Y/n shouted so the audience could hear her. “And Manberg should be no different. And I’m getting really fucking tired of you hurting everyone and everything I love. So yeah, I’m a traitor, because I value people over a country.”

“People you’d be willing to lose a life for?” Schlatt jeered.

“Time and time again, yes.” She verified.

Schlatt shook his head in amusement. “Y/n, the patron saint of L’manberg. You’ll fall as easily as any man.”

Y/n smirked, drawing her own sword. “Good thing I’m not a man then, yes?”

“STOP! Stop!”

The two adversaries’ heads whipped over, catching the glimpse of a tall brunette in a brown trench coat walking down the aisle of seats, hands out in a preventative gesture. “Stop.”

“Wil…?” The man who left her behind. The man who promised safety. The man who most importantly, loves her. The former President, to protect his former First Lady.

Schlatt’s sword ran through Y/n’s body. Wilbur screamed.

The girl gasped, grasping Schlatt’s shoulder’s with tight fingers, looking at him in shock. He had gotten the upper hand. Y/n had never lost a duel, yet this one was over before it had even started because she did the one thing she had been trained to never do in battle.

Y/n found distraction in a lover.

Wilbur would always be her hubris.

Schlatt leaned over with booze-tainted breath to whisper in her ear. “Your secret is safe with me.”

He then ripped the sword out of her, and everything went black. The last thing Y/n heard before waking up laying in the soft grass of a forest was the sound of Wilbur shouting her name.

Y/n was killed by JSchlatt

—

The Stars…

Long ago, in a world different from where she was now, Y/n’s mother had taught her every constellation strewn across the night sky. The young girl would marvel at her mother, eyes shining with curiosity and awe as the soft-spoken woman would point to each cluster of stars.

Life was simple then, before war after war Y/n was forced to fight and win. Before aching loss and hurt.

Y/n laid on the angled roof of Philza’s house, her lips parted slightly as her eyes traced designs of warriors and beasts and lovers. Her breath fogged into the night sky, the girl indifferent to the cold surrounding her.

“Kid, what’re ya doin’?”

She flicked her eyes down to where Technoblade stood beneath her, staring up at her form with disinterest but yet a glint of confusion or curiosity.

Y/n smirked, her eyes traveling back up to the sky. “Chasing constellations.”

Technoblade definitely had the right idea to be a tint worried at the sight of Y/n on a roof, staring off into nothing. It had been a week and a half since they had both blown up New L’manberg, and her mind was undoubtedly conflicted. Techno supposed if he were in the same situation, he’d feel the same perhaps. But now (though he’d never show it) he was just concerned of the well-being of his old friend.

So Technoblade was immensely surprised when Y/n patted a spot on the roof next to her and said: “cmon”.

The blood god was silent and still for a moment before pulling out his trident, using it to launch himself up and land gracefully onto the roof next to her. The girl didn’t flinch a bit, just turned back to the night sky.

Y/n looked tired, Techno noticed, but yet relieved. He hadn’t seen her this relaxed since their last war fought together away from this server, where she had spoken of a kindhearted brunette she was running away with after the battle’s conclusion.

Technoblade sat next to her, the girl sighing. “No more wars, Techno. I’ve fought my last one. I’m tired of being a pawn in someone’s game, of breaking myself for others.” Y/n huffed out a laugh. “I think I might try that retirement plan.”

“Retirement is overrated.” Technoblade groaned. “So if I made you an offer, you’d refuse?”

Y/n shrugged, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her kneecaps. “Depends on the offer. I’m pretty done being taken advantage of.”

Techno turned to look at her. “All these years and you don’t trust the proof I wouldn’t.”

“Can’t blame a girl for having trust issues.” She grumbled. “What’s the offer?”

“I’m putting together a group of people with common ideals. Anarchy, we’d be there to abolish these kingdoms’ governments before they can cause more death and destruction, cause more Wilburs.” Techno explained, the girl turning to him at the sound of her ex-lover’s name. “We’re called the Syndicate.”

Y/n murmured the name to herself, furrowing her eyebrows. “Who’s we?”

“Philza and I. Zephyrus and Prostileus. And, potentially, you.” He stated. “Codenames.”

She turned back to the stars, silent for a few minutes. Technoblade patiently sat in the quiet, letting the girl mull over her thoughts. It had been about five minutes when he spoke up. “So? What’ll it be?”

Y/n pursed her lips, before parting them with a soft exhale. “Andromeda… call me Andromeda.”

Technoblade smiled at his old comrade in battle, now considered an ally and friend.

“Welcome to the Syndicate, Andromeda.”

—

The Secret…

Y/n wasn’t sure how long she had sat in the makeshift cell. Had it been days? Weeks? She didn’t know. All she knew was locked away to stand trial for “aiding fugitives in escaping”.

Her thoughts drifted to Wilbur, as they usually did in moments like these, where she fought desperately to remember the sound of his laughter or his loving assurances. Y/n hoped he and Tommy were safe, and she knew they were smart so they would be.

But she feared for Fundy as well. They had spoken on the night he announced his campaign for president, their hushed voices behind the podium as the rest of the server were asleep.

Y/n met the boy in the shadows of the podium, Fundy looking at her for some kind of reaction. Would she shout in anger? Cry in sadness? Running against his father was a betrayal, he should be reprimanded by the closest thing to a mother he had.

Instead, she smiled, and hugged him.

Fundy tensed in surprise before wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder as his hands clutched the back of her jacket.

“You know I have to support and stand by your father,” she started, softly rubbing small circles into Fundy’s back. “but it will never overshadow how proud I am of you.”

“Thank you, mama.” He sighed out, Y/n smiling kindly.

“You are my pride and you are my joy, Fundy. There’s nothing you could do that could make me love you less. Don’t forget that, okay?” Y/n asked.

Fundy nodded his head against his mother figure’s shoulder, still embracing her.

He missed the tears in her eyes as she bit her lip to keep her walls up. Indulging in this moment wasn’t something she was deserving of, and she knew that.

She had chosen to forego this path, it would be unfair of her to try and act as though she hadn’t changed everything.

The door to empty room creaked open, Y/n looking up to meet the eyes of a man she had once thought of as an old friend, but now some who repulsed her more than anything on this server. The man smirked, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Y/n. Long time, no see.”

“Schlatt.” The name sounded like venom on her tongue, Y/n glaring at the man with dark eyes.

“How are you, hm?” Schlatt pulled a chair over for him to sit on, Y/n scoffing in disbelief.

“I don’t know Schlatt, you tell me. What the fuck is wrong with you, you were our friend!” She shouted.

Schlatt sat back in his hair. “I’m no one’s friend here. I’m a president here to run this country.”

Y/n rolled her eyes and leaned back against the wall, the man smirking.

“I want you to join me.”

That made the girl start to laugh, shaking her head. “You are something else, Schlatt.”

“I’m serious, I want you to join me and Manberg.” Schlatt deadpanned.

“Fuck off.” was Y/n’s reply.

Schlatt sighed, standing from where he sat, and paced to another side of the room. “Tell me, does your little lover boy have an infatuation with TNT?”

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. “Not that I’m aware, and if I was I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Fair enough.” Schlatt said, his footsteps clacking against stone as he further paced. “Well, he recently made some deals with the devil and came into possession of a lot of fucking TNT. You wanna know what he traded for that much power? Secrets.”

She stiffened, eyeing Schlatt warily, her voice barely above a whisper. “Secrets?”

Schlatt hummed, grinning. “Oh yeah. Loads of ‘em. I’m a chronic eavesdropper, so I had to get the scoop. And you’ll never guess what I heard.”

Y/n stood slowly, like an animal bracing for a fight, her fists shaking. She uttered the man’s name in warning, Schlatt stopping and turning to her with a wicked grin.

“You have a child.”

It felt as though all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room, Y/n momentarily forgetting how to breathe. Her mouth felt dry, her body numb. Schlatt laughed, knowing he had her right where he wanted her.

“Fundy’s actually your son! Biologically and everything! And you never told him, you just left!” Schlatt exclaimed.

Y/n burst forwards, slamming Schlatt against the wall and lodging her forearm across his throat. She spoke with a low, dangerous voice. “I was young. I was stupid. And I wasn’t ready to be a mother. I couldn’t be the mother he needed.”

“So you left. And then you come back and you play the part of his mother, while the poor boy thinks your lover fucked a fish? That’s fucked up, Y/n.” He chuckled lowly.

Y/n pursed her lips, glaring into Schlatt’s eyes. “What do you want?”

Schlatt slowly removed Y/n’s forearm from his throat. “I want you to join me as one of my officials. I want you to betray Wilbur and Tommy. And if you don’t…”

“… I tell Fundy your big secret… and then I personally kill him until he’s dead.”

Y/n felt completely and absolutely defeated. She had never let someone have the upper hand on her. Not like this. She remained distraughtly silent, Schlatt nodding Ashe received his answer.

He reached into his pocket, throwing her comm device onto the floor. “Lover boy’s been trying to call you for weeks. You should call him back one last time and tell him to never call again. You know what’s at stake.” Schlatt then turned and walked towards the door. “I’ll have a fine pressed suit for you tomorrow morning and a more comfortable room, then the real work begins. Goodnight, Y/n.”

And he was gone.

Y/n fell to her knees, her body shaking with fear and guilt. Why did she have to be so stupid why did she have to create such deep-sewn weaknesses, why did she leave her son?

She reached for the comms device, her trembling fingers clicking a button as she spoke out in a terrified whisper. “Wilbur?”

—

The meeting…

Y/n hated parties with a passion she could not fathom. The celebration of another war won, a country saved. She was just a wandering soldier, moving from one battle to the next, finding celebration a little tone-deaf.

But nonetheless she stood in the banquet hall, her sash of medals and patches detailing her great accomplishments hung on her frame, with the world’s most uncomfortable dress covering her. Technoblade had told Y/n to liven up, drink and dance a little, though what a fucking hypocrite because he didn’t show up.

Y/n sipped her champagne, leaning against the bar top, a bored expression laid across her face as she traced circles into the wood with her finger. She didn’t register the boy standing next to her, eying her with curiosity before he spoke up. “One vodka neat, please.”

She finally indulged to meet his gaze, the tall brunette smiling and offering his hand. “Wilbur Soot.”

Y/n knocked back the rest of her champagne, before shaking his hand. “Y/n L/n.”

“You seem bored, Y/n L/n.” Wilbur observed.

She scoffed. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

“So I can tell.” He quipped, Y/n beginning to question the audacity of this kid. But he just smiled widely, pulling a stool and sitting next to her.

“Look, I don’t know what you want, but if it’s getting in my pants tonight it’s definitely not happening.” Y/n bluntly responded.

“Woah there! Take me out to dinner before we discuss that.” Wilbur defended, retrieving his drink from the bartender.

Y/n couldn’t even tell if the man was joking, but she rolled her eyes anyways. He was silent, she could tell he was trying to size her up. Figure out what made her brain tick, how to read her.

Must be frustrating for him to know he can’t.

She sighed, pulling away from the bar top, smoothing out her despised dress. “Well, thanks for the chat Wilbur, but I’d best be going.”

“Of course. Have a good night, Y/n.” Wilbur raised his drink and tipped it towards her in a kind of toasting or saluting gesture. She was a high ranked militia official anyways.

Y/n nodded and walked away, Wilbur watching her as she left. What she didn’t know, was he could read her like an open book. He saw her pain, her guilt, her stone disposition. But he saw her kindness, her generosity, her beauty. Wilbur was intoxicated by the mere presence of her, and her mystery.

Wilbur just had a gut feeling they’d cross paths again. And when they did, maybe in a space she was more comfortable than the loud and cheering party, maybe he’d offer her a drink, or even a dance. The boy slammed his drink on the table before standing, and rushing across the room.

Why wait when you know?

Y/n felt a gentle hand on her wrist, the girl turning to see Wilbur. She raised an eyebrow in question as he released his soft grip, and held his palm flat out in front of her. “May I have this dance.”

She had seen years of pretty boys offering her drinks and dances and the world. Each disappointed, each never following through. But Y/n looked up at Wilbur, and she could see the world in his brown eyes, she could see hope and chivalry and mirth. She pursed her lips, the boy seeming to deflate at her monotone and silent response.

Y/n took his hand, to the boy’s surprise. “One dance. That’s all.”

They danced all night. And laughed all night, more than Y/n had in years.

Y/n had never felt more alive than the night she met Wilbur Soot.

[pendragonfics]

Secret Lover

Paring: Clark Kent/Reader

Tags:  male reader, female reader, no pronouns for reader, daily planet, reporter reader, secret relationship

Summary: It's just another day working for the Daily Planet until you're face-to-face with the Superman...

Word Count: 1,302

Current Date: 2020-12-07

According to the movies, it was easy to live in a romantic-comedy bubble. But no matter how hard you tried to live in a cringe Hallmark knockoff movie, there was no magic in your life. It was supposed to be great, as soon as you moved to Metropolis; but then again, you were a romantic at heart. You were just a food blogger freelancing for the Daily Planet. It was going to get better than taking photos of cupcakes and artesian cheese boards. It had to.

“Order for…?” the barista called out, frowning at the scribble. “I can’t read–”

Glancing from your phone, you recognise your order in their hand. Pushing to the front, you grab your coffee. It was unusually packed in the café, and glad for your mask, you leave the café. It’s been some time since your first debut after lockdown, and yet, you still feel some awkwardness around crowds. Luckily the streets are less filled at this hour, so the walk to work isn’t as intense.

But just as you make it into the lobby, you’re bombarded by the new intern. Jerry? Jarod? Whatever his name is, he’s distraught.

“I can’t believe my luck, you’re here,” he babbles. “I was going to pass out.”

Barely looking to him, you take a sip of your drink. As both of you enter the elevator, he goes on, but most of it is incomprehensible and confusing. “Slow down, kid.” You eye him, not jealous of whatever has made him get to this emotional state before nine in the morning. “One word at a time.”

“Channel three hundred have a news crew upstairs,” he leans against the elevator wall, out of breath. “The usual execs have food poisoning, and Ms Lane is in Illinois–” he explains.

“–What about Kent?” you blink.

“He was going to,” the intern explained miserably, “But then he ran off.”

You roll your eyes, and down the rest of your drink in a matter of seconds. The lights above the door flicker closer and closer to the top floor and you brace yourself. “Well. Hopefully, I get the promotion after this.”

The doors open, and you pass the intern your empty cup. The news crew are in the glass office walls of the meeting room, and to your surprise, there’s someone other than the semi-famous news anchor John Robbins in there; he’s unmistakable, an iconic face around the city of Metropolis, and currently, stands half-hidden behind someone you don’t recognise. But as soon as you falter, you straighten your shoulders and enter the room.

“You must be the food and culture writer,” John beamed. “___________?”

“Yes,” you looked between John and the guest in the room. Clearing your throat, you felt your face grow hot, and you corrected his assumption, “…I’m actually just a food writer, mostly freelance.” You glanced once more to the guest. “It’s surreal. I’m in a room with the Superman,” you smile.

“It’s good to finally meet the person behind the article,” he holds his hand to yours to shake. You blink. Wiping your palm on your pants before touching his, you notice his grip is firm, and cool to the touch. You’re focused on the sensations that when you realise that he’s still talking, you’ve missed half of what he’s been saying “–I liked your article about the artesian gelato.”

“That’s – thank you.”

You glance to the side and catch sight of the intern through the glass walls. He stands there, phone facing you. It’s when the flash goes off, you feel your face heat up again. But before you can move to him to cut it off, John starts blocking for the report.

“We go live in three, two…” the camerawoman announced, putting a finger down until the anchor started speaking.

“Good morning, Metropolis! I’m John Robbins, coming to you live from the Daily Planet headquarters where I have journalist _________ ___________ and the blue boy scout himself, Superman with me! It’s not every day the little person can say they were a part of a city-wide effort to reduce crime. Two weeks ago, _________’s article on the seemingly innocuous Parisian restaurant in downtown Metropolis led to the raid carried out earlier today by a joint effort of both Gotham and Metropolis police to rid the city of the underground crime family.”

The microphone moved from his hand to before your face. “So, _________? What do you think of the events, in relation to the Daily Planet?”

You put on your best smile. “Only good things. As the oldest reliable analogue news source to Metropolis, here at the Daily Planet we only tell the news as it breaks and chases the truth as far as it takes.”

“And thanks to your own article, Superman was able to take down the operation. Did you know of this illegal behaviour going on behind the restaurant’s doors? Or was this a fluke?”

“I don’t believe that _________ here knew of the illicit goings-on,” Superman answered, turning to John. “After all, they are a stellar reporter, however, that hard work clearly goes into their reviews on the restaurant scene of the city, not crime.” Superman gave a winning smile, his white teeth brighter than a doctored image for dentistry. “The breakthrough they made goes back to the lack of an interview with the sous-chef, which left them a lack of an alibi.”

“Well, there you have it, folks, straight from the mouth of our very own Superman!” the news anchor beamed, looking into the camera. I’m John Robbins, live from the Daily Planet. Now, back to you in the studio, Margot!”

As soon as the light stopped flashing on the camera, you turned to Superman, somewhat unsure of yourself; what to say, what to do with your hands. You bite your lip, but just before you went to leave the meeting room, you turn to John. He’s being dusted off with a powder puff by someone, and as his eyes are closed, you fold your arms.

“Robbins,” you smile, as sweetly as you can. Eyes still closed; you see a smug little smile on his face. But it was going to be wiped off soon enough, “The next time you accuse me of working for a Gotham mafioso ring on live television, I’ll leak your Themyscira-themed leather fetish Instagram.”

You didn’t stay to watch him pale.

-

Later that night, back at your apartment, you stand on the balcony holding a mug of tea. It’s not snowing yet, but despite the chill, it was a pleasant evening; you were apparently trending on Twitter under #HUMBLEBRAG, with some photos of your face cropped by teens on posted to humour blogs. Your fifteen minutes of fame was fleeting, sure, but you’d never get the look of shock on that hubris-filled man from your memory.

“Is this seat taken?”

You peer down the fire escape, to see Clark. He’s not exactly climbing the emergency stairs but flying slow enough to appear so. He’s still in his suit, like earlier, but now, he’s got an ugly holiday sweater covering his signature S.

“You own half the lease,” you smile, over your mug. “Be my guest.”

He clears his throat. “You mean Clark Kent owns the other half, not Superman,” he says, quietly, climbing over the railing.

You roll your eyes. “I still can’t believe your disguise is a pair of cheap specs.” You lean toward Clark and leave a kiss on his cheek. “And that I have to pretend I don’t know you every time you take them off.”  

“What do you mean?” Clark slides the glasses down his nose and up a few times as if he’s readjusting the frames. “I’m perfectly hidden.”

“So am I,” you whisper, kissing the tip of his nose. “Can’t believe I’m Superman’s secret lover.”

[captainofthetidesbreath]

The Nein as quotes from Polygon’s Unraveled

Because @hit-it-or-crit-it urged me I totally should get around to doing this after our brief discussion on the Nein and Unraveled after my screencap redraw, here it is—

Beau: “Listen to these quotes: ‘All warfare is based on deception,’ ‘If your opponent is of choleric temperament, seek to irritate him,’ ‘Steal their hats.’”

A strong contender: “But do I regret reading the Geneva Conventions? Of course not. Knowledge is its own reward. Could I really call this an Unraveled if I didn’t spend a whole day reading 224 pages of dense legalese for no good reason? Of course I couldn’t.”

Caduceus: “And if you have bugs in your house and you make the conscious decision to WANT those bugs in your house, they aren't pests, they're pets...s.”

A strong contender was: “[authoritatively] And that is no good, is it? [earnest] Is it? I actually have... um, I'm a little confused right now.”

Caleb: “With all the spell-casting and shouting you must do as Dragonborn, who really has time to read all these books? I do. Apparently.”

I absolutely agree that “God has cursed me for my hubris, and my work is never finished.” is absolutely a Caleb quote. I hear you—I hear your questions constantly. However, is it not just the state of wizardry in which you are cursed by God for your hubris? I opted for a more specific Caleb vibe, and that is books.

Fjord: “It's very hard to cuddle with someone when there's an inferiority complex between you.”

Now, I know "But when all hope seemed lost, I had an epiphany. ‘I am going to throw myself into the sea.’" is PEAK Fjord. I even did a quick screenshot redraw for it. But, also, this choice encapsulates WHY Fjord is going to throw himself into the sea—will someone please let Fjord cuddle every single one of his friends? Also, “I fully expect my boss, Tara Long, to put me out of my misery when I stop being useful. That's good management.” and “I know how much it would disappoint my friends if I changed my appearance.” were also strong contenders. Fjord is just, honestly, a pile of BDG quotes.

Jester: “[holding cat] So, here is Zuko, Barbarian class level 63. I love him with all my heart, and he loves me just the same. [gets whacked in the face by cat]”

Folks probably expected the one about cults: “And before you get upset with me saying, ‘Brian, aren’t you just starting a cult?’, look at this question answered by cutegirlcorr! Technically speaking, religions and cults are the same thing!” But, I can never turn down a good Sprinkle joke. And it feels like it better captures Jester’s energy.

Molly: “If I can't be accurate, I sure as hell am gonna be extra.”

A strong contender: “They'll see me as an artistic genius that's right and incomparably handsome.”

Veth: “[exasperated laughter] The Red Bull's wearing off.”

Veth is just the entire video where Brian searches for the hottest Castlevania monster. Just pick any quote out of that video: “[holding up image of Slogra] If you're not attracted to this, you're wrong.”, “That hyena can get it!”, “If someone comes up to me and introduces themselves to me as Duke Mirage, my pants are already off.” But, I feel the exhausted oh shit of this choice better captures Veth outside of her being thirsty for Mr. Minotaur.

Yasha: “When I was a kid, my mom thought I had a nutritional deficit because I kept wanting to eat mushrooms so much, like I only ate mushrooms for a whole week.”

A strong contender: “And finally we are cutting all of the recipes that include monster parts because we all know the true monster is man. [long stare into camera] And cannibalism is frowned upon in New York.” I just felt the chosen more captured the almost dead-pan and strange whimsy Yasha has.

Bonus:

Essek: “Why does no one understand the time break except for me, Brian David Gilbert? Why am I the only scholar in time break studies?”

Strong alternatives are “And if you'll excuse me, I have to go do my dark bidding in these spreadsheets.” and  “That starts in stage one of all villains: you have to be contacted by a future version of yourself.”

Yeza: “Acid man was meant to be a chemist. What's he good for, titrations? [beat] That's a chemistry joke.”

Trent: “Once you've got that boy under your possession, time to get real into unethical science.”

The Bright Queen: “You sweet summer child. You babe swaddled in the cashmere blanket of ignorance.”

Dairon: “‘When you love what you do, you never work a day in your life,’ but that’s bullshit. I love what I do, and let me tell you something—I’ve worked some days.”

Yussa: “Come on in. Hope you're not as big of an asshole as the past few of your friends.”

[pondermoniums]

A Rant Nobody Asked for About Stranger Things season 3.

feat. my personal pet peeves.

Disclaimer: when I first watched Stranger Things 3, I massively enjoyed it. I thought it finally captured the 80s aesthetic and vibe with the colors, the neon, and music. I even enjoyed it the SECOND time I watched it, although I was officially aware of some major flaws by that point.

1. The Coca Cola flex.

CocaCola has been all over this show ever since Tommy handed Steve one as a makeshift ice pack after his fight with Jonathan in s1. And then by season 3 it’s just....obnoxious???? And so unnecessary??? Karen Wheeler’s drinking one by the pool in episode one. Billy knocks into someone during his first day being flayed, and a coke rolls over the concrete.

LUCAS DOES AN ENTIRE MONOLOGUE ABOUT NEW COKE.

I mean, Jesus, we get it. CocaCola basically owns Georgia, where a lot of American TV shows are filmed.....but......you’re literally CocaCola. This kind of flex is entirely unnecessary and therefore pathetic.

2. Karen and Billy

Okay, listen. I thought their interaction in season 2 was H I L A R I O U S.  But I’m someone who has looked 21 since I was 14, thanks to being an early bloomer. I get it. The cocky prowess of looking older than your peers. Getting to look adults in the eye and get that tiny bit of respect with nothing more than just looking like they do. And, as a writer, the contrast between thirsty, older Karen with young and equally thirsty Billy is an odd pair of puzzle pieces that fit really hilariously - largely because it’s so unexpected, maybe. And frankly, I think it’s one of the first scenes where Dacre’s acting really made my eyes fall out of my head, he did so well.

But it should have ended there.

I’ve been to a LOT of public pools in my day (I’m 26 but hush), and I have NEVER seen older women thirsting over the lifeguards. Ever. It’s predatory - an attribute most women understand all too well - unprofessional, and just downright gross. Their whole interaction in s3 is for “the male lens,” which Hollywood really needs to figure out by now is outdated, predatory, disgusting, and not good writing.

3. Glossing over Billy Chugging Chemicals

Bouncing off of #2, is Karen’s total negligence of Billy’s condition. Many people have pointed it out before, but a row of mothers being completely ???? about Billy’s condition is a raging red flag of bad writing.

(Also that it was written by men, because women are hard-wired to be super aware of other women - a tactic of living on guard in a man’s world all the damn time. So you can always count on a mother, grandmother, or a brave teen/20-something to be the one to walk up to a person who doesn’t look well in order to check on them, even if you’re complete strangers. It’s happened to me, and I’ve done this for other people.)

These women literally stare at him for every shift of work he has, and they.....don’t do anything????

Karen WALKS IN ON HIM DRINKING CHLORINE. It actually took me the second watch-through to realize what he was doing in that storage room, and god, my heart just broke. It’s the only time we actually see a glimpse of Billy making himself flayed like the others. It’s so fleeting (maybe because we already get so much pain from his plot, and we do see what happens with the other flayed people) but it’s also one of the reasons, I think, that we have a whole fanbase ready and eager for his return.

We didn’t get a good glimpse of him poisoning himself to the point that he has to rely on the MindFlayer to stay alive. I’m not saying any of us want that, no way, but that’s my personal headcanon: in s2, Will was super protected and therefore capable of being separated from the Flayer. All of the Flayed IMMEDIATELY low-key drowned themselves in ice water to lower their temperature, and then chugged chemicals. They all die twice.

4. Billy. Just......Billy.

This poor boy’s plot was so pointless. It’s a special thing: creating such a good character and then doing fuck-all with him. The moment you realize his only purpose in season 2 was an introduction is....the beginning of a lot of disappointment. And no, he DIDN’T serve as an antagonist for Steve, because what happened? He slowed Steve down.

That’s it.

He doesn’t keep Steve from helping the kids in the tunnels. He doesn’t break him and Nancy up. He doesn’t gloriously out Steve’s bisexuality to the town by being his shameless lover.

He literally does nothing except just......be there? Looking gorgeous and providing a juxtaposing characterization for Max. That’s all. Billy’s treated like an accessory.

Then we arrive to season 3 and....I guess the only justification for his plot is sort of classic Greek tragic hero. He’s the new Keg King whose hubris makes him stand too long outside the warehouse, and thus, his downfall.

But here’s what’s wrong with that: Steve Harrington.

We were so spoiled with good writing for Steve. Steve had an incredibly refreshing and valid character AND redemption arc. Frankly, all the good writing goes to Steve in this show, so we expected the same writing to go to the other douche bag king of the show.

And we didn’t get it.

5. 80s Bullshit vs. Modern Audience

You can tell they’re trying to straddle the line between, “this is how people talked back then,” and, “this pertains to a modern audience.”

Example: Mike saying to Will, “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls.”

I know they did multiple takes of this scene with different variations of this line, and that’s the one the editors settled with. Regardless, I know I am not the only person who screeched with rainbow pride for Will’s sake. And it’s not the first time they’ve touched on very hot modern topics. Hopper touches on homophobia in season 1 - a fact I completely missed until I read an interview where the actor, David Harbor, mentions it, himself. Then I rewatched season 1 and realized, sure enough, he reacts poorly when Joyce tells him that Lonnie calls Will a f*g. It’s not even fatherly, “that should be my son, how dare he.” It’s straight up, “this kid might not be worth finding if he’s gay.”

Of course there’s the more obvious occasions where Steve calls Jonathan a queer and Neil Hargrove should come with his own neon trigger sign. Slut is a term that’s carelessly thrown around (as high schoolers are wont to do, sure).

But the thing that’s bothered me the most is Steve saying to Billy, “Were you dropped too much on your head as a child, or what?”

Maybe it’s just me being extremely sensitive to mental health stuff (also, WHY does Steve ironically get all the triggering lines? lol), plus he says it very soon after we finally know why Billy behaves the way he does. Just.....*long sigh*. I hurt, okay. Some parts of this show really hurt, and I don’t like “it was the 80s” as an excuse.

6. Lucas and Kali or, the Diversity Check Marks

One black kid. One. Then they gave him a sister. Cool. Somebody give these people BLM awards.

*eyes roll so hard my cat chases them across the floor*

You know what this reminds me of? The East Asian actor who trended in movies like The Goonies and Indiana Jones.

The only thing that even remotely makes this small drop of diversity okay, is that they made Lucas a major player in The Party, and cast a dope actress to be Erica Sinclair, and likewise made her a linchpin in the Scoops Troop plot.

But touching back to #5, you can’t use “it’s the 80s” as an excuse, nor can you say, “it’s white bread Indiana.”

BUT but but but Kali!!!!

You mean the character in one episode? Two, if you count the opening of season 2.

Listen. For all the bipoc folks who wonder, “Do white people realize how.....WHITE everything is?” as a white person, I can absolutely say: 

Yes. We. Do. Fucking. Notice.

• • • • •

Well. That’s all lol If you made it this far, I’m sorry and thanks lol 

Tip your artists and comment on fics because lord knows that where my seratonin comes from.

[catboyyukineapologist]

Ay yo, Noragami keeps coming out on midterms/finals week check✌️

anyway i got all sappy last time and the post got 2 notes so what’s up fuckers I've been severely depressed for a month but it's the scheduled time to ✨cry about fictional characters✨

---

And we thought the boy had snapped before...🙃

Strap in because I have a LOT of thoughts.This was a long one, folks.

THIS CHAPTER WAS BEAUTIFUL ARE YOU KIDDING ME MA’AM PLEASE P L E A S E  YUKINE’S FACE EMERGING FROM THIN AIR, THE FIGHT SCENES, THE CLOSE-UPS, THE BACKGROUNDS OH MY G O D

every month i am reminded of how gorgeous this manga is and how hard the character design goes.

Yato is fine🙃 thanks for asking🙃 totally not using banter to deflect🙃 nothing wrong here🙃 not worried about two dead teenagers' continued existence🙃 everything's fine no one is in danger🙃 your life? your family? don't think about that don't you have a waifu to simp over?🙃

Glad to have proper confirmation that Kazuma's simping for Bishamon is literally stronger than any other conceivable feeling or thought he might have.

No thoughts. Head empty. All Viina.

can trash dad?? hear what rekki says???

I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate h

THEY'RE GOING TO FUCK UP TRASH DAD'S GRAVE PLEASE THAT SOUNDS LIKE A HORRIBLE IDEA EBI JUST UPGRADED FROM BABY TO SASSY CHILD DON'T KILL HIM AGAIN

But also babysitter Take?? Ebi-Take bonding??? MY PRAYERS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED

More like Ebi is babysitting Take tho let's be honest.

And also also fucking up his grave does seem to be the most direct way of getting rid of him. I wonder if Fujisaki (you know. the real one.) would survive that...

Ebi putting all this pressure on himself to do well and single-handedly deal with the sorcerer hurts my heart. I’m glad everyone is helping him, though.

I keep getting a strong nag to call Yukine Haruki in the back of my brain like. That's not him anymore. No matter how strongly he wants to still be Haru. He has three names and I just thought of another essay length thing about names and identity and I may or may not elaborate but this is already long enough. Welcome to my brain.

Anyway my hafuri immunity theory thrives no I don't take criticism.

🎶Yukineee🎶 snapped againnn🎶 and I am okayyy🎶, it doesn't huuuurt🎶 at aaaaAAALL🎶

He literally went rogue. He said fuck gods. Fuck you. Fuck being someone's slave I want to wreck👏🏻shit👏🏻 and yk what? after midterms week? Same.

I WANT TO KNOW WHY HE HAS LIKE?? INFINITE SHINKI FORMS??? Like trash dad looked like he expected the weapon form and the little fucked up cat boy form but the net/cloud/hands(?) AND the staff AND the little fucked up cat boy AND like that weird oz the great and powerful shit he's got going on????? Sir Excuse Me?????? Is it like a hafuri thing? Is it an ayakashi thing?? Is it just Yukine being really incredibly fucking powerful as it is??? Is it the rush of hubris???? WHAT IS THIS PLEASE

“Its precision is sloppy” I knew that was foreshadowing, I knEW IT. he’s spreading himself too thin doing all these different things at once PLEASE I’M SCARED

You know shit's good when trash dad is terrified, and like at least that's a positive i guess. Silver lining and whatnot. I bet he pissed himself.

Yuka is about to be very confused about a lot of things.

Also ma’am excuse me hi sorry i know this is an emotional and difficult moment for you but where’s Hiyori?

I can't wait to know more about all this. I am honestly so hyped about the entire thing as a reader and as a storyteller myself. Can't say I'm happy it smells like an ending but MAN is it epic.

And as always here is your monthly reminder that punching trash dad's face in is self care<3

[reanimatedmagpie]

It's just infinitely funnier to introduce Volk's story as "just 10th century slavic t4t couple things" also yeah, man's got three names, but it's not like modern transmascs are any different at all Sche'nok starts out as a wee village child that after some thinking and a very gender euphoria summer celebration ritual [one of our gods calls for a very specifically afab young person to represent him] he ends up kinda snapping at being told to 'finally start learning girl things from the other girls' as he didn't have a mom to teach him sewing n' shit. He ends up kinda causing a scene and running away, which got the attention of the village volchv

Now, volchv were a position to communicate with the gods and also... called for someone who had 'balanced feminine and masculine qualities' so y'know, very specifically a queer role.

Naturally, the volchv had followed him into the forest where he'd run off all upset and sees Sche'nok face to face with a bear obviously, the dad that just caught up panics, the volchv is about to try and coax the bear away but The kid looks the beast straight in the eye and with unprecedented hubris calls the bear not by the name of the bear among the common folk, not by 'медведь' which is the nickname by which people call it not to call it on the village but by the actual proper word bear

and it listens now, because the kid's clearly no girl, because holy shit you made a bear go away, and because bears are also a primary symbol of Veles, the god of night, winter, and all that is wild and unknown - the god to which volchv answer to first the volchv takes him apprentice [the old volchv is a gay man that's big and hairy because will I pass up an opportunity of having a character associated with Veles look like a bear? no]

The dad's kind of upset, less so because hh trans people, since transphobia is a modern invention, and more so that great, he had a son, after all, that could help him out with the blacksmith trade, but no, he has to go learn how to talk to the gods instead

The Sche'nok name that's given to the boy by the volchv means 'puppy' says 'we'll see if you grow up a dog or a wolf' Sche'nok doesn't protest, it's a fine name, and boy does he know who he is yet either

he studies all matter of things, does it well. It's not so much strictly healing that's up to them, that's more the job of the village witch, as much as making sure the village people have good means to talk to the gods, be it holding holidays, seeing how and when to give them gifts, what they have to think about mortals, and what goes on with nature these days protecting the place alongside with witches, in ways seen and unseen, from dangers seen and unseen

as he grows older, bit more rebellious, gets called Vol'chok [wolf pup] jokingly by his mentor more often he keeps on hearing whispers of the major warring city-states squabbling near the village, grows more resentful of the essentially helplessness of the situation should one of those attack One day that does come and as the village people worry as they've got little weapons and fewer battle-ready people Vol'chok slips out into the forest unseen with a desperate plan

people say if you stick a knife into a stump of an old tree and jump over it spinning you'll turn a wolf

[wild ik russian myths just be like that sometimes]

And so he did, donning a wolf's pelt for the night, and being a beast scaring off the enemies away it came with a price though, as, if no one is to bring him back and make him human again soon a werewolf he'd forever become

A village maiden had tried having found herself interested in him romantically, but, ultimately failed and forever now he'd be a man-wolf though if that's bad no-one's to say a village guarded by a werewolf is a safe one still, the enemies would keep coming and he alone would not be enough sadly with one day, Volk's mentor dead and him wounded he was running away to heal but hadn't considered the ice on the river still being fresh and brittle

he fell through and met face to face with a puzzled rusalka

rusalka are spirits of drowned women, often of heartbreak and tragedy, and often they lure men into rivers to drown them but Volk's a peculiar case

He's a little different not a woman nor quite a man, a human but not, living but not quite, not really mortal but no god either, just like Rekah herself so curious she had cracked the ice underneath those chasing him and brought him ashore unlike the human woman she could see what he saw the life to be, she, like him found a place in the world in being an outsider and had found it nothing short of comfortable

so she agreed to help drown the rest of the enemies in a flood if he takes her for a wife because wolf boy cute and why wouldn't you marry a furry

so yeah! t4t couple :)

Very much a finding place and fulfillment in being an outsider to the mortal realm the story :) I'm very much having fun w/em because it's really refreshing to write trans characters where they wouldn't really be under a pressure to transition or pass

[kkshowtunes]

Hey folks! I wrote a short story and wanted to share it with y’all! Hope you enjoy

Summary: When Ella finds out her principal is homophobic, she can’t just sand by.

Story under the cut

 “Ella Delta, report to the principal’s office,” the loudspeaker crackled. I rolled my eyes as the class oohed and side-eyed me. I stretched, got out of my chair, and made my way over to the principal’s office. I dragged my feet across the linoleum halls to our surly and impatient principal’s lair. I was far more nervous than I led my peers to believe. My hands were shaking and my shoulders felt warm and tense. I shrugged off my nervousness, and gritted my teeth as I reminded myself that any multitude of things could happen in the principal's office at 9:28 in the morning. Still, the knot in my stomach persisted.

When I arrived inside, I was met by the principal who was leaning forward in her glossy wooden chair. Mrs. Wolfe was a tall and thin woman with curly blond hair cut into a bob. She had sunken gray eyes and defined cheekbones, giving her a skeletal appearance. She stared at me for a second, examining my face with her angry gray eyes. 

“Ms. Delta, we need to talk,” she said in her usual condescending voice. My nose scrunched up as I smelled the scent of strong perfume in her office.

“What is it, Mrs. Wolfe?” I asked with a smile. I tried to ignore the anxious thumping in my chest as I took a seat at Mrs. Wolfe’s mahogany desk with all of her stationery meticulously placed. Mrs. Wolfe was not the kind of person to call people into her office for no reason.

“Your pin,” she said, as she pointed one boney finger at the pride pin I wore on my blue denim jacket. I kicked my legs lightly to dissipate some of my nervous energy. I tried to reassure myself that nothing would happen. I told myself I would be in and out in a second. But all the kids called her Big Bad Wolfe for a reason.

“Take it off,” she said, her expression changing to one of deep seriosity. 

“Why?” I asked with more hubris than a greek god who just cheated on his wife. Mrs. Wolfe pushed her oval glasses up her thin and crooked nose bridge and sighed.

“Here at Western Pine School, we don’t support those kinds of… Beliefs,” She spat out the last word as if it was poison. I sat rigid in my seat, shocked at the words that I had just heard my principal use. I cocked my head and my shoulders tensed as I continued to listen.

“While we do not support these kinds of sins in our facility, we all hope you get better,” The words rolled off of Mrs. Wolfe’s tongue like small daggers, each hitting me in the face as I became painfully aware of what she was talking about. I stared at my palms in dumbfounded disbelief. I bounced my leg and bit at the side of my lip. I took a deep breath and opened my mouth to say something, but decided better of it and just left my jaw hanging lightly. 

“If you take it off, I can leave you with a warning, but if I see it again, there will be more… serious consequences,” she growled with a stern face. I hesitated for a moment, and the room was totally silent except for the sound of Mrs. Wolfe rapping her long fingers against the wooden desk.

I wanted to revolt. 

I wanted to say No. 

I wanted to say something, anything at all. Instead, I removed the rainbow pin from the rough denim of my jacket and stuffed it into the side pocket of my pants. 

  “Am I free to go?” I asked shakily. I winced at my sentence. I sounded like I was asking an angry police officer. Mrs. Wolfe narrowed her eyes and examined me once more.

“You are free to go,” she said with her mouth smiling, but not her eyes. I nodded weakly, wiped my sweaty hands on my pants and hoisted myself out of the chair.

By the time I was out of Mrs. Wolfe’s office, it was lunchtime. The original shock had worn off and I was filled with rage. I wiped the stressed tears from my eyes as I headed to my lunch table. Waiting for me were my two best friends, Sam and Lexi. 

Sam was a small boy with big sad eyes and hair that was impossibly poofy. He was shy to people he didn’t know, but he was super outgoing with the rest of the group. 

Lexi was a rebellious girl with dirty blonde hair with electric red streaks. Lexi’s personality was as fiery as the streaks in her hair and injustice was her worst enemy. Together, we were the outcasts of the school’s social scheme. We weren’t popular, we weren’t picked on, and everyone else just seemed to pretend we didn’t exist.

“Els! Over here!” Sam shouted, smiling wide to reveal a mouth full of braces. His smile dropped to a look of concern when he noticed my face. 

“What happened in there? You look like hell,” He stated matter of factly. 

I took a deep breath before spilling everything that had happened.

“I know it’s not that big of a deal-” I started after I finished explaining the situation.

“Not that big of a deal?! Sweetheart, this is a problem!” Lexi said with an angry-protective snarl spread across her rounded jaw. 

“Same thing happened to me, actually,” said Sam shyly.

“It did?! Why didn’t you tell us?” exclaimed Lexi. She took an exasperated breath as she continued. “Okay I know you guys might think this is okay, but we gotta do something!”

“What? You really think we, the weird loner kids, could do something?” asked Sam with a laugh.

“Yep,” said Lexi with a wide smile, a hint of rage still tinting her tone, “The real question is what we’re gonna do about it.”

“Uh, we could, leave school?” mentioned Sam, his eyes narrowing slightly. I was surprised he was even humoring Lexi’s dreams of justice. 

“Like… a walkout?” Lexi framed it as a question but didn’t give us time to answer before jumping into the next idea. “Oh! We could walk out and host a parade! And… maybe we could invite kids from schools all around the city! Sam! Els! This is gonna be big!” 

My skeptical smirk turned into a grin of joy as I listened to Lexi think out loud. 

Maybe we really could make a difference I thought to myself Even if it’s small, it’s still a difference.

“One problem, Lex,” Sam started, breaking me out of my internal monologue, “How are we supposed to get the word out without Big Bad noticing?” 

Lexi looked at him and tilted her head slightly. She raised one eyebrow at him as if she was surprised that he wouldn’t know the answer. Her eyes quickly softened though, as she began to speak. “Social media, duh,” she said. I was still confused. I had a couple of socials, but I was rarely active and I was far from popular.

“Wolfie isn’t online at all. She says it’s ‘ruining the minds of youths’ and ‘imprinting poor ideas into our impressionable minds’, ” Lexi chuckled as she made quote marks in the air with her hands as she quoted Wolfe’s outdated conspiracies. Lexi had a point. Ms. Wolfe did have a vendetta against all technology, yet she begrudgingly allowed computers. Lexi was relatively famous online. Sure, she was famous on Tumblr, a site everyone thought died back in 2013, but fame is fame I guess.

“I… think this might work out,” Sam exclaimed with a hint of hesitation in his voice. His eyebrows unfurrowed from their worried position to a more relaxed form. I myself was getting hyped, too.

“It’s Thursday now…” Lexi stated as if it was some great discovery, “I think we can get our act together by next Wednesday.”

We’re actually doing this? I asked myself. I twirled the pin back and forth in my pocket, considering my options. I stalled for just a moment before mustering up all the courage I could and pushing away the uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. 

“Sounds like a plan!”

I shoved aside my calculus homework and checked my phone. Lexi had texted me.

Lexi: Hey

Me: Hey

I never knew how to respond to texts. I usually just sent over single words and emojis, hoping to get my point across in as little words as possible. Lexi on the other hand was a technological genius, and didn’t share in my painful lack of charisma.

Lexi: Drafting the post now :)

I took an excited little gasp as I read the text. Each second that passed made this whole thing feel real. I bounced slightly in my chair as I typed back.

Me: aaaaaa make sure u send it to me when ur done!

I bounced my leg and fidgeted, the excitement bouncing off of me like an aura. A big childish grin spread across my face as I awaited a reply. Out of my peripheral vision, I spotted the pride pin. I had taken it out of my pocket when I rolled over on my bed and it stabbed me in the thigh, drawing a small bead of blood. I grabbed it and rolled it across my knuckles like a coin. I stared fixated at my screen, the blue light shining into my brown eyes. Homework can wait, I was waiting for Lexi and her internet magic.

Lexi: Here it is

My heart started beating quicker as the three dots appeared meaning she was typing. I clenched the pin as tight as possible and took a breath as the message appeared.

Lexi: Hi guys, gals, and non-binary pals of the West Pine area! Help stick it to me and my friend El’s homophobic excuse of a principal. She made two of my friends stop showing who they are and forced her homophobic ideas onto them. All you have to do is show up at Western Pine school at 9:00 AM this Wednesday (I know it’s early, sorry). I will post updates and you can show your support at #Take-Down-Big-Bad-Wolfe! 

#lgbtqia+ #help

I never understood how Lexi could talk and people would listen. Whenever I said anything I felt like I was screaming into the void, but maybe that’s how everyone feels. I don’t know what I would do in life if it wasn’t for Lexi and Sam. Lexi and Sam were the ones who listened when everyone else couldn’t understand.

 I shot Lexi back a quick and sincere thank you text and closed my computer with a wavering breath. I absent-mindedly scribbled down the answers to the last couple of calculus questions while thinking about the walkout. I evened out the pages of homework and shoved them haphazardly into my binder. Then, I flopped down on my bed and shut my eyes tight. I tried to sleep but the thoughts and questions kept flooding my mind in the place of dreams. My eyes and limbs screamed at me to sleep but I just couldn’t silence the stream of thoughts.

After fifteen minutes of trying in vain to sleep, I dragged myself back to my desk. My fingers were itching to write down all my thoughts. I grabbed a couple of sheets of loose-leaf and a number two pencil from the supply cubby near my desk. I took another heaving breath before titling the page

Questions

After the title was written, my hands started to work. My brain’s overfilling thoughts translating into graphite sticks and swirls on a page. I decided to write the questions I needed the answers to. How to do things, what to do, the repercussions, and every other query I had swimming about my brain. 

What are the logistics?

I thought about the question for a good two minutes before realizing the answer was right before my eyes. We didn’t need to overthink it. We didn’t need permission to rebel. 

What will I do to make it special?

The golden question that had been bugging me all night. The whole thing, while powerful, felt oddly depersonalized. Sam was the brains, Lexi was the mouth, but who was I? The meek victim? The useless third wheel? I shook the uncomfortable thoughts out of my head before mulling over the options. Then I had an idea. I loved to write, and I loved what was right. The answer seemed obvious. My eyes lit up like fiery sparklers as I got out a new sheet of paper. I moved my pencil hurriedly across the top of the page. All the gray scratches and streaks turning into two words.

My Speech

I began to write and the words came easily. I wrote out my thoughts. All the abstract wisps of ideas firing through my neurons into tangible lead-colored shapes on a page. By the time I finished writing, my wrists were numb and weak and my eyelids were drooping with the threat of sleep. I looked over at the clock and- crap. The little red numbers on my digital clock read 3:08. I anxiously ran my fingers through the front of my hair before falling onto my mattress. It was mere seconds before I was asleep.

Despite only getting about four and a half hours of sleep, I woke up feeling more alive than I ever had before. I bounced out of my bed and slid over to my dresser to pick out some clothes. After some light deliberation, I decided to wear a Dear Evan Hansen shirt, blue jeans, and a soft pink hoodie. I cuffed my jeans quickly before heading out of my room, eating a bite of toast, and brushing my teeth. Before heading out the door, I noticed the pin, still on my desk. I wavered for a second before shoving it into my pockets in silent rebellion.

As I walked into school I saw Lexi leaning against her locker. Lexi had a cinnamon stick hanging from her mouth that looked like an old brown cigar. It flopped over as she gave me a wide grin and a wave.

“Els! Over here!” she called with a smirk. She propped her cinnamon stick back in her mouth before continuing. “Look,” she said vaguely, raising an eyebrow while shoving her phone into my hands. I let out a gasp as I scrolled down the #Take-Down-Big-Bad-Wolfe tag. There were people from all over, showing us their support. Lexi glanced at me and I shook my head in approval. The bell rang so we headed off in our respective directions.

As Mr. Thorne blabbered on about history and the past, my mind was fixed on the future. I rubbed the smooth end of the forbidden pin in my pocket. I went away to my little world in my brain, re-writing and adding to my speech. I felt the looming anxiety related to public speaking. Sure, I wrote the speech, but for some reason saying it out loud was petrifying for some reason.

  “Ms. Delta, are you there?” I was burst out of my daydreams by the sound of my history teacher’s deep nasally voice.

“Hm?” I asked, my eyes darting around the room at the inquisitive stares of my peers. 

“Maybe you should try staying in the present from now on,” said Mr. Thorne with his fingers pressed against his temple and forehead.

“Says the history teacher,” I retorted with a slight smirk. My eyes widened as I realized that I didn’t just say that in my head. The class burst into laughter and Mr. Thorne’s face became a shade of angry pink.

“I- uh- Ms- Ell- you- no-'' Mr. Thorne stuttered, his breathing choppy. I just crossed my fingers and, for the first time in my life, didn’t fear the consequences. I also felt like everyone in class heard me. I suddenly felt better about speaking in front of all those people.

It was finally the day. The day I had been waiting for all week. The day of the walkout. I bit at my cuticles nervously throughout first period. By the time the clock struck 8:55, I felt as if I could jump out of my skin with excited nervousness. I was trying to subdue the anxious bouncing of my leg. Then the intrusive thoughts started to flood in.

No one will come. I shook my head. They would come. Why wouldn’t they? We spread the word to the trustworthy kids at school and got a trending post on social media. Why wouldn’t people show up?

You're wasting your time. You’ll look like a fool. You’ll just embarrass yourself. Imagine you, standing out there alone, pathetic. The words spinning through my head like venom.

Pathetic. Worthless. Stupid. Dumb-

I looked over and the clock struck nine. I stayed in my chair for a second before seeing a majority of the kids in my class standing up. My eyes welled with tears of joy as we all headed out the door, to the chagrin of the teachers. We headed to the curb and I felt the greatest sense of pride seeing Lexi and Sam pulling their respective pride flags out of their pockets. The black, white, purple, and gray of Sam’s ace flag. The purple, pink, orange, and white of Lexi’s lesbian flag. I led the crowd, heading to the parking lot as a herd of angry and confused teachers lumbered after us. My heart gave an agitated flutter as I noticed kids from other schools piling in.

I gave Lexi a hurried thank you again when the news trucks came. I tried to make my way through the crowd of angry teenagers and colorful flags when I stop dead in my tracks when the crowd goes quiet. I turn my head and see my principal, red in the face. Her brown pencil-skirt swaying as she stomped over to the podium where I would make my speech. I swallowed hard as I turned to face her. Some of my anxiety eased as I felt Lexi by my side, squeezing my hand.

“Stop this foul behavior at once!” she screeched, “Everyone here is a truly lost soul. I apologize that your young minds have been perverted, but God will forgive you if you change your ways.” 

My eyes welled up with tears. I felt worthless. That is until I heard the most beautiful sound.

“Stay tuned for more Channel 7 news!”

The news vans! My smile widened as I realized my principal’s rant had been televised to the entire city. Mrs. Wolfe seemed to realize that too, as she was beginning to panic.

I walked through the crowd over to the tall and lanky newscaster in a suit. He looked slightly like a red-headed John Mulaney. 

“Mike Drum, Channel 7 news,” he said introducing himself. I noticed his actual speaking voice was much different from his formal reporting voice. He had a light New York accent in real life.  “Amazing turnout today,” He said with a half smile and friendly nod.

I almost melted. A newscaster. Reporting my story. “T-thank you,” I stuttered. He stuck out his hand for a handshake and laughed as I went in for a weird sideways high five.

“No problem, Kiddo. You got a speech to make! Go get ‘em!” he said with a wink, patting me on the back. I cocked my head as I wondered how he knew I would make a speech. Maybe he was magic. Then I realized the entire crowd chanting.

Speech! Speech Speech! I headed towards the podium with a little laugh, enjoying the time before my anxiety kicked in.

I took in a choppy breath as I stood upon the podium. I ran over my short speech in my head as I brushed my fingers across the glossy auburn wood. I shook away every thought of chickening out and threaded the point of my pride pin through the heart-area of my hoodie. I closed my eyes and opened my mouth to speak. My mouth was dry but my mind was ready.

“In an ideal society, life is like a roller coaster,” The crowd quieted and looked over at me. I started to regret every decision I have ever made.  This was a dumb desision...

“We try to enjoy ourselves and try not to go out of our way to make others have a bad trip,” I stammered a little bit but kept my nerves under control.

 “We know it might be scary at times, but we also stick around for the ride,” I spotted Sam in the audience, giving me an encouraging smile. 

“Unfortunately, this is not the ideal society. People will be rude or biased. However, that doesn’t mean we can’t stick up for what’s right,” I smiled a bit when I noticed Lexi giving me two thumbs up. “We can stick up for each other, and for what we feel is right. We can be prideful in who we are. So thank you again for coming, and showing you care for what’s right!”

I skipped off the podium and found Sam and Lexi. Lexi gave me a big bear-hug and Sam was flapping his hands in excitement.

“Oh my god! Els! You did so great!” Sam said between choppy little breaths. 

“Thank you so much-” I started but Sam shushed me as he noticed Newscaster Drum walking straight towards us.

“Heya kid! Nice speech out there! You got real potential,” he said. 

“Oh my god- You’re Mike Drum!” Sam said a look of giddy mortification spread wide across his face.

“Oh my god, I’m Mike Drum!” Mr. Drum replied, eyes jokingly wide. Sam squealed, his hands flapping wildly as he stood a bit too close to Mr. Drum. “Nice to meet ya, buddy,” Mr. Drum said, his usual charismatic grin on his face. Sam started to bombard him with questions and I gave Mr. Drum a look of Okay-thank-you-I’ll-leave-him-with-you.

As I walked through the crowd of righteous teenagers, I felt the pride swell in my chest; Pride and confidence. That’s what got us here above all else. Pride in our abilities, confidence in our rights, and pride and confidence in who we were. I knew there would be consequences for today. Deep down, I knew my actions today would have repercussions I would inevitably have to pay for. I knew I would have to deal with Mrs. Wolfe and her pack of angry PTA cronies. But the voice in my head told me it would be alright. Anyway, I was starting to get used to living in the moment.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

#8yrsago David Byrne's How Music Works

Former Talking Heads frontman and all-round happy mutant David Byrne has written several good books, but his latest, How Music Works, is unquestionably the best of the very good bunch, possibly the book he was born to write. I could made good case for calling this How Art Works or even How Everything Works.

Though there is plenty of autobiographical material How Music Works that will delight avid fans (like me) -- inside dope on the creative, commercial and personal pressures that led to each of Byrne's projects -- this isn't merely the story of how Byrne made it, or what he does to turn out such great and varied art. Rather, this is an insightful, thorough, and convincing account of the way that creativity, culture, biology and economics interact to prefigure, constrain and uplift art. It's a compelling story about the way that art comes out of technology, and as such, it's widely applicable beyond music.

Byrne lived through an important transition in the music industry: having gotten his start in the analog recording world, he skilfully managed a transition to an artist in the digital era (though not always a digital artist). As such, he has real gut-feel for the things that technology gives to artists and the things that technology takes away. He's like the kids who got their Apple ][+s in 1979, and keenly remember the time before computers were available to kids at all, the time when they were the exclusive domain of obsessive geeks, and the point at which they became widely exciting, and finally, ubiquitous -- a breadth of experience that offers visceral perspective.

There were so many times in this book when I felt like Byrne's observations extended beyond music and dance and into other forms of digital creativity. For example, when Byrne recounted his first experiments with cellular automata exercise for dance choreography, from his collaboration with Noemie Lafrance:

1. Improvise moving to the music and come up with an eight-count phrase (in dance, a phrase is a short series of moves that can be repeated).

2. When you find a phrase you like, loop (repeat) it.

3. When you see someone else with a stronger phrase, copy it.

4. When everyone is doing the same phrase, the exercise is over.

It was like watching evolution on fast-forward, or an emergent lifeform coming into being. At first the room was chaos, writhing bodies everywhere. At first the room was chaos, writhing bodies everywhere. Then one could see that folks had chosen their phrases, and almost immediately one could see a pocket of dancers who had all adopted the same phrase. The copying had already begun, albeit in just one area. This pocket of copying began to expand, to go viral, while yet another one now emerged on the other side of the room. One clump grew faster than the other, and within four minutes the whole room was filled with dancers moving in perfect unison. Unbelievable! It only took four minutes for this evolutionary process to kick in, and for the "strongest" (unfortunate word, maybe) to dominate.

I remembered the first time I programmed an evolutionary algorithm and watched its complexity emerging from simple rules, and the catch in my throat as I realized that I was watching something like life being built up from simple, inert rules.

The book is shot through with historical examples and arguments about the nature of music, from Plato up to contemporary neuroscience, and here, too, many of the discussions are microcosms for contemporary technical/philosophical debates. There's a passage about how music is felt and experienced that contains the phrase, "music isn't merely absorbed above the neck," which is spookily similar to the debates about replicating human consciousness in computers, and the idea that our identity doesn't reside exclusively above the brainstem.

The same is true of Byrne's account of how music has not "progressed" from a "primitive" state -- rather, it adapted itself to different technological realities. Big cathedrals demand music that accommodates a lot of reverb; village campfire music has completely different needs. Reading this, I was excited by the parallels to discussions of whether we live in an era of technological "progress" or merely technological "change" -- is there a pinnacle we're climbing, or simply a bunch of stuff followed by a bunch of other stuff? Our overwhelming narrative of progress feels like hubris to me, at least a lot of the time. Some things are "better" (more energy efficient, more space-efficient, faster, more effective), but there are plenty of things that are held up as "better" that, to me, are simply different. Often very good, but in no way a higher rung on some notional ladder toward perfection.

When Byrne's history comes to the rise of popular recorded music, he describes a familiar dilemma: recording artists were asked to produce music that could work when performed live and when listened to in the listener's private playback environment -- not so different from the problems faced by games developers today who struggle to make games that will work on a wide variety of screens. In a later section, he describes the solution that was arrived at in the 1970s, a solution that reminds me a lot of the current world of content management systems like WordPress and Blogger, which attempt to separate "meaning" from "form" for text, storing them separately and combining them with little code-libraries called "decorators":

[Deconstruct and isolate] sums up the philosophy of a lot of music recording back in the late seventies. The goal was to get as pristine a sound as possible... Studios were often padded with sound-absorbent materials so that there was almost no reverberation. The sonic character of the space was sucked out, because it wasn't considered to be part of the music. Without this ambiance, it was explained, the sound would be more malleable after the recording had been made. Dead, characterless sound was held up as the ideal, and often still is. In this philosophy, the naturally occurring echo and reverb that normally added a little warmth to performances would be removed and then added back in when the recording was being mixed...

Recording a performance with a band and singer all playing together at the same time in the same room was by this time becoming a rarity. An incredible array of options opened up as a result, but some organic interplay between the musicians disappeared, and the sound of music changed. Some musicians who played well in live situations couldn't adapt to the fashion for each player to be isolated. They couldn't hear their bandmates and, as a result, often didn't play very well.

Changing the technology used in art changes the art, for good and ill. Blog-writing has a lot going for it -- spontaneity, velocity, vernacular informality, but often lacks the reflective distance that longer-form works bring. Byrne has similar observations about music and software:

What you hear [in contemporary music] is the shift in music structure that computer-aided composition has encouraged. Though software is promoted as being an unbiased toold that helps us do anything we want, all software has inherent biases that make working one way easier than another. With the Microsoft presentation software PowerPoint, for example, you have to simplify your presentations so much that the subtle nuances in the subject being discussed often get edited out. These nuances are not forbidden, they're not blocked, but including them tends to make for a less successful presentation. Likewise, that which is easy to bullet-point and simply visualize works better. That doesn't mean it actually is better; it means working is certain ways is simply easier than working in others...

An obvious example is quantizing. Since the mid-nineties, most popular music recorded on computers has had tempos and rhythms that have been quantized. That means that the tempo never varies, not even a little bit, the the rhythmic parts tend toward metronomic perfection. In the past, the tempo of recordings would always vary slightly, imperceptibly speeding up or maybe slowing down a little, or a drum fill might hesitate in order to signal the beginning of a new section. You'd feel a slight push and pull, a tug and then a release, as ensembles of whatever type responded to one another and lurched, ever so slightly, ahead of and behind an imaginary metronomic beat. No more. Now almost all pop recordings are played to a strict tempo, which makes these compositions fit more easily into the confines of editing and recording software. An eight-bar section recorded on a "grid" of this type is exactly twice as long as a four-bar section, and every eight-bar section is always exactly the same length. This makes for a nice visual array on the computer screen, and facilitates easy editing, arranging, and repairing as well. Music has come to accommodate software, and I have to admit a lot has been gained as a result.

Byrne is well aware of the parallels between music technology and other kinds of technology. No history of the recording business would be complete without a note about the format wars fought between Edison and his competitors like RCA, who made incompatible, anti-competitive playback formats. Byrne explicitly links this to modern format-wars, citing MS Office, Kindles, iPads and Pro Tools. (His final word on the format wars rings true for other media as well: "Throughout the history of recorded music, we have tended to value convenience over quality every time. Edison cylinders didn't really sound as good as live performers, but you could carry them around and play them whenever you wanted.")

Likewise, debates over technological change (pooh-poohing the "triviality" of social media or the ephemeral character of blogs) are played out in Byrne's history of music panics, which start in ancient Greece, and play out in situations like the disco wars, which prefigured the modern fight over sampling:

The most threatening thing to rockers in the era of disco was that the music was gay, black and "manufactured" on machines, made out of bits of other peoples' recordings.

Like mixtapes. I'd argue that other than race and sex, [the fact that disco was "manufactured" on machines, made out of bits of other peoples' recordings] was the most threatening aspect. To rock purists, this new music messed with the idea of authorship. If music was now accepted as a kind of property, then this hodgepodge version that disregarded ownership and seemed to belong to and originate with so many people (and machines) called into question a whole social and economic framework.

But as Byrne reminds us, new technology can liberate new art forms. Digital formats and distribution have given us music that is only a few bars long, and compositions that are intended to play for 1,000 years. The MP3 shows us that 3.5 minutes isn't an "ideal" length for a song (merely the ideal length for a song that's meant to be sold on a 45RPM single), just as YouTube showed us that there are plenty of video stories that want to be two minutes long, rather than shoehorned into 22 minute sitcoms, 48 minute dramas, or 90 minute feature films.

And Byrne's own journey has led him to be skeptical of the all-rights-reserved model, from rules over photography and video in his shows:

The thing we were supposed to be fighting against was actually something we should be encouraging. They were getting the word out, and it wasn't costing me anything. I began to announce at the beginning of the shows that photography was welcome, but I suggested to please only post shots and videos where we look good.

To a very good account of the power relationships reflected in ascribing authorship (and ownership, and copyright) to melody, but not to rhythms and grooves and textures, though these are just as important to the music's aesthetic effect.

Byrne doesn't focus exclusively on recording, distribution and playback technology. He is also a keen theorist of the musical implications of architecture, and presents a case-study of the legendary CBGB's and its layout, showing how these led to its center in the 1970s New York music scene that gave us the Ramones, Talking Heads, Television, and many other varied acts. Here, Byrne channels Jane Jacobs in a section that is nothing short of brilliant in its analysis of how small changes (sometimes on the scale of inches) make all the difference to the kind of art that takes place in a building.

There's a long section on the mechanics of the recording business as it stands today, with some speculation about where its headed, and included in this is a fabulous and weird section on some of Byrne's own creative process. Here he describes how he collaborated with Brian Eno on Everything That Happens Will Happen Today:

The unwritten rule in remote collaborations is, for me, "Leave the other person's stuff alone as much as you possibly can." You work with what you're given, and don't try to imagine it as something other than what it is. Accepting that half the creative decision-making has already been done has the effect of bypassing a lot of endless branching -- not to mention waffling and worrying.

And here's a mind-bending look into his lyrics-writing method:

...I begin by improvising a melody over the music. I do this by singing nonsense syllables, but with weirdly inappropriate passion, given that I'm not saying anything. Once I have a wordless melody and a vocal arrangement my my collaborators (if there are any) and I like, I'll begin to transcribe that gibberish as if it were real words.

I'll listen carefully to the meaningless vowels and consonants on the recording, and I'll try to understand what that guy (me), emoting so forcefully by inscrutably, is actually saying. It's like a forensic exercise. I'll follow the sound of the nonsense syllables as closely as possible. If a melodic phrase of gibberish ends on a high ooh sound, then I'll transcribe that, and in selecting the actual words, I'll try to try to choose one that ends in that syllable, or as close to it as I can get. So the transcription process often ends up with a page of real words, still fairly random, that sounds just like the gibberish.

I do that because the difference between an ooh and an aah, and a "b" and a "th" sound is, I assume, integral to the emotion that the story wants to express. I want to stay true to that unconscious, inarticulate intention. Admittedly, that content has no narrative, or might make no literal sense yet, but it's in there -- I can hear it. I can feel it. My job at this stage is to find words that acknowledge and adhere to the sonic and emotional qualities rather than to ignore and possibly destroy them.

Part of what makes words work in a song is how they sound to the ear and feel on the tongue. If they feel right physiologically, if the tongue of the singer and the mirror neurons of the listener resonate with the delicious appropriateness of the words coming out, then that will inevitably trump literal sense, although literal sense doesn't hurt.

Naturally, this leads into a great discussion of the neuroscience of music itself -- why our brains like certain sounds and rhythms.

How Music Works gave me insight into parts of my life as diverse as my email style to how I write fiction to how I parent my daughter (it was a relief to read Byrne's discussion of how parenting changed him as an artist). I've been a David Byrne fan since I was 13 and I got a copy of Stop Making Sense. He's never disappointed me, but with How Music Works, Byrne has blown through my expectations, producing a book that I'll be thinking of and referring to for years to come.

Byrne's touring the book now, and as his tour intersects with my own book tours, I'll be interviewing him live on stage in Toronto on September 19th, at the Harbourfront International Festival of Authors.

How Music Works

https://boingboing.net/2012/09/12/david-byrnes-how-music-w.html