#they’re like 12/13 in this drawing I think

[ashartstuff]

tweek and kenny bonding over this goofy predicament will always be my favorite thing

[moonstruckme]

summary: when James moves into your apartment, you need a bit of an adjustment period

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1k words

You go downstairs the way a meerkat pokes its head out of its burrow. Cautious, watchful. When you spot James standing over a sizzling pan in the kitchen, it’s a bit of effort not to sigh, but you go anyway, hunger temporarily taking priority over solitude. It’s just going to have to be another quick meal.

“Hey.” James looks up from a recipe he’s reading on his phone, grinning at you. 

You press your lips together in a smile of response. The girl who’d occupied James’ room before him wouldn’t have bothered to acknowledge you, and frankly, you’d liked her for that. You’d had a mutually ambivalent relationship; you’d both paid your rent, ignored the other’s food in the fridge, and gone about your days as if you each had the apartment to yourself. She had to move out because the maintenance crew tattled on her for having a pet, and though James only moved in a week ago, he’s invited you to hang out with his friends every time they’ve come over. Which is often. (He’s at least considerate enough to always ask first, and you always say yes. Partially because they don’t make huge messes and partially because you don’t know how to reply to a yes/no question any other way.) 

You go to the fridge, tearing the aluminum foil off a half-empty can of beans and shaking it into a bowl. You put it in the microwave. James reaches to turn down the stove, and, like a frightened animal, you flinch away from him. He doesn’t seem to notice, only retreating to the opposite counter to give you more room. 

“How’s your day going?” he asks, leaning back on his forearms. 

“Not bad,” you say. Another thing about James is that in addition to his relentless geniality, he’s ferociously attractive. It takes all of your willpower not to let your eyes dip from his face to where his short sleeves conform to his biceps when he leans that way, but your face heats regardless. “Yours?” 

“Pretty good, actually.” He smiles easily. “It’s gorgeous out, have you felt the weather?” 

You shake your head. “I haven’t been out yet.” 

James nods like he knows this already, humming noncommittally. You think you spy a bit of judgment in his look, but you can’t be sure. “So,” he says, “I have something to ask you.” 

You tense. “Okay…” 

“I know you value your privacy, and I totally respect that, but I feel like as your roommate it’s my responsibility to at least ask.” 

You feel your eyes narrowing as you nod for him to continue. 

James schools his face into seriousness, a frown on his lips that looks like it doesn’t belong. “Do you not eat?” 

You laugh, relieved and bemused. “Of course I eat.”

The smile he gives you is strained, clearly for your benefit rather than his. “You sure about that? Because this morning I just saw you have one—one—piece of toast for breakfast, and then for lunch you had…what?” 

You shy, more because of his notice than anything else. The microwave beeps and you use it as an excuse to turn around. “Some cheese and crackers.” 

When you pivot with the steaming bowl, James is looking at you incredulously.

“They’re really filling!” 

“That’s a snack, love, not a meal. Both of those are snacks. Did you have anything else?” 

You hold up the bowl in your hand. “I’m about to have some beans.” 

His laugh is monosyllabic. Appalled. “You’re not serious.” 

You roll your eyes at him even as your face heats. “Listen, it’s not my most nutritious day, but I’ve been in a rush, and…” You were going to say more, but decide against it. “Anyway, there’s protein in the beans, so.” 

James isn’t having it. “And what?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Something.” He raises his eyebrows at you. “C’mon, spill, or I’m going to call your mum and tell her about your big day of—“ He draws quotes in the air, full lips curving he does “—beans and crackers.” 

“And toast,” you joke. James’ smile is small and short-lived. Does he really have your mum’s phone number? He can’t possibly. 

You sigh. “Okay, it’s nothing to do with you, but I…I’m a bit weird about being in the kitchen at the same time.” James’ thick eyebrows meet in the middle, and your shoulders hunch instinctively but you force yourself to finish explaining. “I just want to grab whatever is quickest and go before I make things awkward, or something. But I know it’s stupid.” You shake your head. You could burn the apartment to cinders with the heat from your face. “I don’t own the kitchen. You have every right to be here, and I’ll get used to it eventually. It’s just that you’re new to me right now.” 

James' expression clears. “Oh, you’re shy.” 

You must look even more embarrassed at that, because he hurries to say, “That’s alright, it’s good to know how you feel about things. And now I don’t have to call your mum.” He grins, and it widens when you make a tiny effort to reciprocate. “I don’t mind stepping out of the kitchen so you can cook every now and then.”

“You really don’t have to.” 

“It’s no trouble.” He waves you off. “Honestly, it’s too small for both of us to comfortably use at the same time anyway. Careful by the way, that pan’s hot.” 

You glance behind you, and you’ve backed yourself nearly into the stove. You move away, squeaking out a thanks. 

James’ smile softens. “I do hope you're right about getting used to me eventually, though.” He gives you a kind look, and you have no idea how he can maintain eye contact with that much sincerity in his big brown eyes. You envy the skill. “I’d like to get to be friends, but we’ve got time for that.” 

You’ve no clue how to respond, some deer-in-the-headlights instinct taking ahold of you, but James doesn’t seem to be expecting one. He reaches out to squeeze your shoulder, taking back his place at the stove. You take that as your cue to go.

[soon-palestine]

Israel, the world’s most innocent country, fell victim to a horrific attack from Iran with zero reported casualties on the same day Israel killed dozens of civilians in Gaza.

Israel had been minding its own business, quietly bombing hospitals, schools, universities, mosques, and an embassy, when the Iranian regime launched their outrageous attack for no apparent reason. Thankfully, the US and UK scrambled jets to defend Israeli airspace because it’s wrong to bomb countries in the Middle East, unless your name is Israel, in which case you can do all the bombing you want.

Every British and American ship in the region is now in grave danger and the risk of terror attacks on our soil has surely increased, but you will be relieved to know our countries have not benefitted in any way from our intervention. Personally, I can’t think of a better way for Israel to spend our tax money.

Our leaders have condemned Iran in the strongest possible terms, which is confusing because I thought we were supposed to remain ambiguous and say we’re investigating the matter when such an attack occurs. Perhaps this is one of those rules that only applies to Israel though.

When informed of the attack, a calm and rational Suella Braverman screamed: “WAR! I WANT WAR!” and when she’d stopped hyperventilating, she added: “This must be the end of western backsliding on Israel,” because she thinks we have not been sufficiently supportive of their genocide. Anyone who is not on the same side of the argument as Suella Braverman must ask serious questions about themselves.

Iran’s unprovoked attack involved giving Israel adequate warning and launching 30-year-old missiles, 99% of which were intercepted, and then saying the matter is closed unless Israel escalates further. The fact Iran would consider retaliating to further escalation from Israel shows just extreme these lunatics are.

Among Iran’s targets was the Israeli air base from which the missiles that struck its embassy were launched, killing 13 on April 1. As of yet, we have no indication as to why Iran carried out the attack, but we’re going to tell you it’s because they want to start World War III. Psychos.

Conspiracy theorists have suggested it’s actually Benjamin Netanyahu who wants escalation, but it’s unclear why the man who faces political oblivion, and possibly jail, would be incentivised to draw his allies into the fight and cause everyone to forget his many war crimes.

Israel, the country that definitely does not want war, has vowed an “unprecedented” response against Iran which will probably kill many more than zero people. If Iran expresses disapproval at Israel’s next mass murder, it’s because they’re trying to destabilise the region. At this point, we’ll have no choice but to help Israel do to Iran what we’ve spent six months helping them do to Gaza - launch precision strikes that destroy 70% of the buildings in the country and leave survivors living in tents.

Worryingly, we’ve just discovered at the most convenient moment that Iran has enough uranium to build 12 nuclear bombs. If it were true that Iran had so much weapon-grade uranium, it would be incredibly stupid to attack them, but we’re going to insist we must attack them because we’re weapon-grade idiots - and we think you are too.

Please just switch your brain off and accept what you’re being told, you simpletons! What matters is rich people can afford nuclear bunkers if this all goes horribly wrong. In the meantime, you can look forward to lots of exciting stories in the media about bringing back conscription and describing how you are likely to die in humanity's final war. Are you looking forward to radiation sickness and nuclear winter? Because they sound like brilliant fun! x

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this outstanding piece of journalism as much as I did, you can support my work here:

[itsillchangethislater]

These took me far longer than they should have, but finally!! Chapter 12 illustrations done! I went the charcoal and graphite route on these. I’m a bit burnt out on inks atm and switching it up helped me get back to it!

I love the scenery and setting of chapter 12-13. The misty lake forest always is so clear in my mind. I’ve always pictured it being in the mountains? Think the Rockies or Vermont. Which they then cross over to reach the desert. BUT, when I attempted to draw mountains…It….Didnt go so well! So we got a lake centric view instead!

The Sun picture was actually a last minute addition to the picture line up I have. I’ve got everything sketched out at this point but realized I had no scenes inside the airstream, which was a big letdown! I love the airstream home they have and really felt like I needed at least ONE shot inside of it, showing a cozier scene.

Also!! Here’s some fun trivia for the 2nd picture with Sun…so while my family and I were traveling, we passed an airstream dealership. I practically tipped the car with my lunge of desperation. Quite probably the only chance I would ever get for really good reference images of the inside of an airstream….! We ended up stopping on our way back and I took about a million pictures. Yeah sure I might have all the other images sketched already and this is the only one that was in the inside of the airstream BUT!!! They’re there if I need them and that’s the important part! Special thanks to my sister and her leg for posing for y/n’s pose for me!

Cryptid sightings of course belongs to the lovely @naffeclipse

[kybercrystals94]

Nightmares and Demons

Read here on Ao3!

Summer of Bad Batch 2024 Prompts -> Bonus Alternate Prompt: Light in the Darkness -> Week 12: Nightmares & Radio Silence -> Week 13: "Stop Touching Me!" // "I'm not touching you!"

Rated: T | Words: 1443 Author's Note: This is a roundabout sequel to my Febuwhump 2024 story Poisoned.

“Remember, remember, remember…” Crosshair murmurs through gritted, gnashing teeth. He presses the heels of his hands into his temples, fingernails digging into his scalp. “...remember, remember…” A sob. “...please, remember…” 

The girl came again. She knows his name. Speaks with a familiarity he craves. She tells him they are coming. Their brothers. Their brothers are coming. It is only a matter of time. He believes her. He has to believe her. If he doesn’t, he has nothing. Nothing but the poison that the Empire has leached into him. Needles and torture and endless, endless pain. 

Her promise, void and empty as it is, is like a light in the inky, consuming darkness. A fragile, flickering flame on the end of a match. It burns close to his finger tips, but he won’t let it go. 

“What have they done to you, Crosshair?” the girl asks when she comes. 

Crosshair tries to ignore her, tries to remember. Their brothers. Her promise. They’re coming. 

“...remember, remember, remember…” 

If he falls asleep, he doesn’t remember. He never remembers. 

He only feels the ghosts of memories, transparent and impossible to grasp in desperate fists. They brush past him, leaving lingering anguish in their wake. They never comfort, only torment and haunt him. 

When Crosshair wakes, it is silence that greets him. Not the girl. Not their brothers. 

Crosshair stands and looks out the grate of his cell. The other cell doors are swung open while his remains firmly latched. Why didn’t the guards take him too? Have they finally finished their experiments? Has he finally outlived his usefulness to the Empire? But that isn’t right. Something is wrong. 

Panic pricks his skin, stutters his heartbeat, quickens his panting breaths. 

He doesn’t understand. He should be grateful he is being left alone. 

He doesn’t want to be alone. He shouldn’t be alone. 

“...we don’t leave our own behind…”

“...we would’ve taken you back…”

“...it is his nature…” 

“...you're my brother too…”

The ghosts press in. Memories darkened with poison, glimpses of clarity in a clouded mind. He shouldn’t be alone. He doesn’t want to be alone. Please, don’t leave me alone! 

Crosshair stumbles back from the grated door. Nearly falls. “Guard?” he calls out. Don’t call out. Don’t draw attention. “Guard!” His voice pitches in his throat, a near scream.

A guard comes. He stands at the grate, looking in through a lifeless, broken visor. His blaster hangs loosely from one gloved hand. His armor is stained with blood and scorch marks. “You’re still here,” the guard says incredulously, voice thin and weak. 

Crosshair only stares back. 

The guard tips his head. “Funny. I didn’t think they’d leave one of their own behind.” 

“Behind?” Crosshair whispers. 

The guard opens the door. Steps toward him. “They came for the girl, they came for the others…but they didn’t come for you.” 

Crosshair thinks his lungs turn to stone. He can’t breathe, can’t draw in a breath, can’t speak a word. The guard takes another step. He lifts his blaster. “The Empire doesn’t need a singular, damaged clone. Its own kind don’t even want it. Why would we?” 

The girl wouldn’t leave him behind. Their brothers wouldn’t leave him behind. She promised they would come. For her. For them. They wouldn’t leave him behind. 

But they did. 

“Don’t,” Crosshair rasps out. He can’t move. His body paralyzed with something. Fear? Resignation? 

The muzzle of the blaster gouges into this chest. He feels its cold heat through the thin cloth of his shirt, over the pounding throb of his heart.  

Silence. 

And in the silence, the click of a trigger. 

***

Crosshair chokes on a frantic gasp of breath, the inhale burning down a raw throat. He tries to kick out of the blankets tangled around his limbs, but they hold fast, binding him to the horrifying remnants of the nightmare. Crying out, his frantic movements become panicked and uncoordinated until he falls with a heavy crash from his bed to the cold, unforgiving floor. 

The main light of his room clicks on.

The click of a trigger. 

The darkness is banished in an instant, but the terror lingers still. He thrashes, one hand trying to disentangle himself, the other an empty wrist useless to do anything. 

“Hey, hey,” a voice says, “Cross, it’s okay. It’s alright. It’s just a nightmare.” 

“Stop touching me!” Crosshair cries. He isn’t talking to the voice. He’s talking to the endless fabric that confines his movements, his freedom…

“I’m not touching you,” the voice says, sounding confused. “Hold still, let me help you. I’ll help you, Cross…just…” 

Hands, steady and sure, swiftly free Crosshair from the folds of blankets. He is too relieved to feel ashamed yet. Crosshair simply sits, skin burning with cold adrenaline, nightclothes damp with sweat. His breathing is short and quick. He needs to calm down before he passes out. He knows that, but his body doesn’t care. His body doesn’t listen to reason. His mind can barely comprehend it itself. 

An arm wraps around him. “Easy, easy. It was a nightmare. Breathe. Just focus on your breathing. Okay? Nothing else.” Loud, exaggerated breaths guide him to even out his own breathing. It feels like long, shivering hours before his mind clears enough to recognize Hunter at his side on the floor. 

Embarrassment readily takes hold as adrenaline seeps out, but Crosshair can’t bring himself to pull away. Not yet. He closes his eyes, focuses on his breathing. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hunter asks.

Crosshair bites back the reflexive refusal. He lets the question settle instead, unanswered and expectant. 

Hunter doesn’t ask again, doesn’t move away. 

Omega talks about her nightmares, sometimes. Crosshair hasn’t tried to listen, but when the house is silent, and the only sound is the trembling voice of their little sister, confessing the demons that plague her sleep, it is hard not to. However, it seems to help her. The lies of the darkness cowering away in the light of the truth when Hunter tells her she’s safe now, Hemlock isn’t coming back, the Empire is no longer searching…she’s safe, she’s loved, she’s home…

Their home. 

“...it was about Tantiss,” Crosshair murmurs, his voice unsteady. 

Hunter hums. 

“I couldn’t remember anyone,” Crosshair continues, “The drugs they’d used clouded them. Omega was there, but I couldn’t remember her name. She told me our brothers were coming. They were coming for us…but I couldn’t remember who our brothers were.” 

Hunter’s grip tightens just a little, pulling him closer. 

Crosshair shudders against him. He has to finish or he never will. “In the nightmare, I woke up and everyone was gone. The other cells were open, all open except for mine. A guard came to my cell. He looked like he’d been in a firefight.” His throat constricts, but he can’t stop now. Even if he wanted to. The words rush out of him. “He said…he said that I’d been left behind. My brothers had come, but not for me. He said that I was no longer useful, that a solitary clone that wasn’t even wanted by its own kind was worthless…and then he shot me through the heart.” 

Shame washes over him as he exposes the dark corners of his mind to his brother. Thoughts he’s buried deep that claw their way out of the filth with sharp claws when he’s most vulnerable. He feels raw and unfortified, shivering on the floor of his bedroom. But at the same time, he feels protected. When his own strength failed him, Hunter stepped in, offering his own in the dark of night when demons both born and inflicted rushed in to torment. 

Hunter does not speak for a long time, but the silence isn’t empty. It is companionable. Crosshair has missed companionable silence. It is hard to come by. 

“I know that you know the truth,” Hunter says at last. “But sometimes it helps to hear it.” 

Crosshair nods. He is familiar with these words. He’s heard Hunter speak them to Omega many dark nights. 

“The truth is,” Hunter continues softly, rough voice low, “You and Omega escaped Tantiss together. You saved each other, and found us again. The truth is, no matter what the Empire thinks of us, you are our brother, and we love you.” 

Crosshair swallows back the emotions that threaten to betray him. 

“The truth is, that we are safe,” Hunter goes on, “and we’re together now. The truth is, you’ll never be alone again. Not if we have anything to say about it.” 

Crosshair sinks into the one armed embrace of his brother. 

He’s safe. 

He’s loved. 

He’s home.

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[saturnyukaa]

Wakfu Human AU stuff I’ve been cooking up because I’m too lazy to draw it yet

(also yes I’m using their S2 iterations because THAT IS THE BEST SEASON + I hate S3 & 4 with a BURNING PASSION.)

Yugo and Adamaï are adopted fraternal twins, they live above their dad’s restaurant downtown and help him out with cooking. Yugo has a form of dwarfism and Ad is albino because dammit this is my AU I can do what I want. At this time they’re 12 / 13 and attending middle school. Also, they both have ADHD.

Yugo is big on Pokémon, Minecraft and MLP, and has a hat he literally never takes off in a Neurodivergent Kid kinda way (think Louise Belcher). Additionally, he has a pet budgie he’s crazy about.

Adamaï is a theatre kid (in a “I’m totally not projecting” kinda way) , and likes Transformers and Lego Ninjago. He also collects bracelets. You know what, I’m throwing in that he’s intersex because I can.

Amalia is 14 and a year away from highschool, she’s a big environmental activist and frequently drags her friends to rallies, and she has a decent social media following on Instragram where she essentially just vlogs. Her father is a politician and she comes from money, but she insisted on attending public school because she dislikes her status. She’s also a hardcore K-Pop stan because she WOULD (I’m not familiar with any bands but feel free to suggest any you think she’d like).

Tristepin is 17 and spent a year at military school, where he met a gruff dude a couple years older than him whom he now considers one of his best friends (Rubilax). He lives with his older cousin on his dad’s side, and boxes in his free time with coaching from said cousin (which is Goultard. by the way). Chronic shonen anime watcher…. he would SO eat up DBZ,, also a fan of combat related video games. He got held back a year in highschool and is dating Evangelyne.

Evangelyne is 18, has technically graduated and owns her own apartment. She does a ton of extracurriculars (figure skating, fencing, archery, tennis, creative writing, was on the debate team, etc.), and therefore was able to get into a really good college on a scholarship. She babysat Amalia when they were kids and Amalia’s family let her live with them for a few years when her dad left town. She regularly visits museums and adores the arts. Also a LOTR fan.

Ruel is OLD, an ex-rockstar / athlete / nepo baby and is absolutely LOADED, although now he just owns a pawnshop downtown and takes Yugo and Ad on fishing trips, where he gives them unwarranted advice about buying stock. He and Alibert are married for “tax benefits”, and co-parent the twins (I am a MASSIVE Rubert believer don’t @ me), although he’s still currently paying alimony to his ex-wife. He also owns an exotic, likely illegal pet and has gotten involved in more than one pyramid scheme.

Additionally, they all play DnD together and in this AU, the entirety of Wakfu is their custom DnD campaign (with Adamaï as the DM, ofc :3)

[poorlittleyaoyao]

It's also very funny because after the second siege when Jin Ling is crying its mentioned that it's especially shameful because some guys his age are married and some not much older have kids already. I think this is leftover from when rhere was originally supposed to be a three year timeskip between Nightless City and the first siege? But as is its like...so the developmental milestones are like Age 12: LARPing Age 13: GET MARRIED. There's also how novel Yanli is canonically 12/13 to WWX and JC's 9/10 when she carries them both home on her back and even given that WWX may have been lighter than the average fourth grader due to malnourishment I feel like MXTX had not seen a ten year old recently to think a seventh grader could carry TWO of them.

YES OH MY GOD. And art compounds it! I have seen so many illustrations (both fan-made and official) where the older sibling looks late teens and the younger sibling is a squishy toddler baby who barely comes up to their waist. It’s very cute, but like… none of these sibling pairs are meant to have a 10-year age gap, I don’t think. Maybe the Nie Bros could? But even that seems unlikely, since NHS being 15 at Cloud Recesses would mean NMJ is pushing 30 when he dies, and da-ge does not make it that far.

(This is not unique to MDZS fandom at all; Les Mis fandom back in the day had soooo many drawings of Gavroche as a plucky little kid when he is in fact canonically 12.)

Speaking of the Nie Bros: lowkey one of my favorite things is the casting for little Mingjue and little Huaisang. Look at this!

They’re so cuuuuuute! NMJ is much taller than his baby brother, but he’s still clearly a kid. NMJ looks like he’s maybe 13 and starting to hit his growth spurt, with NHS coming through as 7 or 8. And that’s a perfect age gap for them! Four to five years is nothing to adults, but it’s drastically different for children, and would seem MASSIVE to both of them. (And then when NHS is older, and reaches NMJ’s age, he will realize how young his brother really was back when he seemed so big to him, and NHS will go through it a bit.)

[worlds-tiredest-sub]

🥀Kinky Ask Game🥀

Saw this on @wanders-in-wonderland’s blog and wanted to try it out (I even added a couple questions too). Send any number(s) you want answered to my inbox and I’ll send my responses. If you want answers for any questions that aren’t on the list, I’ll answer so long as they’re within my limits :)

1. Any unexpected ways kink has improved your life? If so, what are they?

2. Are piercings sexy?

3. Are tattoos sexy?

4. Are there any sex toys you want to try?

5. Are you more of a dominant, submissive, or switch?

6. Are you rough or romantic?

7. Are you the jealous type?

8. Are you vocal during sex?

9. Do you have a gag reflex?

10. Do you kiss on the first date?

11. Do you like being blindfolded?

12. Do you like dirty talk?

13. Do you like hair-pulling?

14. Do you like it rough or romantic?

15. Do you like it when your sexual partner moans?

16. Do you like name-calling in bed?

17. Do you like seeing the evidence (bruises, bite marks, hickies)?

18. Do you like teasing or being teased?

19. Do you like to cuddle?

20. Do you like to swallow?

21. Do you like watching or being watched?

22. Do you prefer having foreplay or getting right to it?

23. Do you prefer long hair or short hair?

24. Do you prefer to give or receive when it comes to sex?

25. Do you watch porn?

26. Do you listen to nsft audios?

27. Do you read erotica?

28. Have you ever cried during sex?

29. Have you ever faked an orgasm?

30. Have you ever had a one-night stand?

31. Have you ever had sex in a public place?

32. Have you ever had sex in the shower?

33. Have you ever had to use your safe word?

34. Have you ever spanked or been spanked in the bedroom?

35. Have you/would you have a threesome?

36. Have you/would you participate in an orgy?

37. Have/would you ever have sex outside?

38. How do you feel about public displays of affection?

39. Is it good sex even if you don't cum?

40. Tongue or no tongue while kissing?

41. What are your BDSM test results?

41. What is your most taboo kink?

42. What are your thoughts on friends with benefits?

43. What do you like and dislike about oral sex?

44. What do you think about toys in the bedroom?

45. What do you wear to bed?

46. What do you wear when you want to feel attractive?

47. What is something that never fails to make you horny?

48. What is the first thing that draws your attention when you meet someone new?

49. What is your biggest turn-off?

50. What is your favorite color to wear?

51. What is your favorite kind of foreplay?

52. What is your favorite kink and why?

53. What is your favorite part of your body?

54. What is your favorite pet name?

55. What is your favorite position in the bedroom?

56. What is your favorite type of non-sexual contact?

57. What is your newest kink?

58. What is your safe word?

59. What is your top sexual fantasy?

60. Which part of your body do you consider the most sexy?

61. Would you have sex on the first date?

62. Would you rather be handcuffed or blindfolded?

63. Would you rather make out or cuddle?

[loveinhawkins]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 ao3

Eddie goes to slip out for some air when El starts to doze against Steve’s shoulder.

As he reaches the door, Steve calls for him with a soft, “Wait a sec.”

He turns to see Steve trying to sit up a little, still mindful not to jostle El from where she now sits on the edge of the bed.

“Wake me up if I’m asleep when you get back? I don’t wanna miss Joyce.”

He says it casually, like it’s nothing, but Eddie can hear the trust in his voice.

“Yeah, ‘course I will,” Eddie says, and manages a genuine if subdued smile before he leaves the room.

Outside, he feels like he can let go a little, sighing loudly. It’s starting to rain, but he welcomes it, tilts his face upwards to focus on the sensation of water hitting his skin—hoping that maybe it will somehow chase away the memory of Steve’s words.

You shouldn’t have—

That’s different.

Eddie presses his hands against his eyes, sighs again.

“You okay there?”

He lowers his hands, blinks to adjust to the light.

Joyce Byers is sat on a bench smoking a cigarette, the overhang of the hospital roof sheltering her from the rain. She pats the space beside her in invitation.

He sits down hesitantly. “Yeah, I’m… I’m fine.”

She smiles like she’s not convinced, blows out smoke a little shakily. She takes another drag, then says, “Hop’s gone for Round Two with the doctors. We want Steve to get a discharge note as soon as possible, you know? I just…” She sighs. “Just needed a minute.”

“He’ll be okay, right?” Eddie blurts out, can’t stop a note of anxiety from creeping in. Embarrassingly, his voice trembles right at the end.

Joyce immediately reaches across and squeezes his knee; her hand is small and warm. “Oh, yes, he’s—I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to make you worry.” She finishes the cigarette, stubs it out, and meets Eddie’s gaze reassuringly as she speaks. “He’s recovering, we know that for sure. Jim… Jim talked to him, and he’s probably in more pain than he’d ever let on, but we’re—trust that we’re ready for that, okay? We’re not gonna let him suffer in silence.”

There’s a fierce determination in her voice, and it takes the edge off Eddie’s worry—soothed by the thought that Steve does have people fighting for him.

Joyce draws back her hand, rubs briefly at the side of her face.

Eddie can’t stop himself from noticing, from asking. He never could. “Are you okay?”

She drops her hand, smiles at him. “Oh, you’re sweet. I’m all right, just…” Her eyes go off into the middle distance for a moment, and he is reminded of the snatches he saw of her around town three years ago, when people would sigh patronisingly: That poor woman.

“They had a whole file on Will, you know? So many damn papers, all these charts and monitoring, and, ‘Oh, isn’t this fascinating,’ and…”

Eddie inhales sharply, glad he’s already sitting down. There’s still gaping holes in his knowledge, he knows that Dustin gave him a hasty summary—needs must and all that, just glossing past it with an It all started when Will disappeared. Hearing it from Joyce like this is different, makes him reckon again with the sheer magnitude of it; and he feels ill at the thought of a very young Will Byers being studied.

“But when I cornered them today, it was… they barely had half a page on Steve.” She exhales forcefully. “Cowards. They thought they could get away with it.”

“With what?” Eddie says, already knowing that he won’t like the answer.

“They’re trying to run,” Joyce replies shortly. “They’re getting rid of evidence. I think they thought—hoped—that Steve would slip through the cracks.”

Eddie’s breath catches at that, and Joyce grips his knee again.

“Hey, listen to me. We’re not letting that happen. We’ve got him, okay?”

Eddie nods. “O-okay.”

“I’d better head up and see him.” Joyce stands, and then she just looks at him. “Eddie, you’re—you’ve done so much, you know? Thank you.”

Eddie can’t bite his tongue. “You don’t even know me,” he says, and he’s not sure himself of what he means, if it’s an accusation or… He’s used to murmurs, whispers, suspicion.

But Joyce’s eyes are shining with something like acceptance. She smiles, says, “I know enough,” like it’s easy.

And when she leaves, Eddie just sits with that. Breathes it in. Lets himself trust.

-

He crosses paths with El and Hopper as he heads back inside. He does a feigned double take in the foyer when El spots him, then crosses his eyes.

El sticks out her tongue.

Hopper doesn’t notice him; there’s a purpose to his step, car keys in hand.

Eddie lets them go.

-

Steve doesn’t need to be woke up; Eddie can already hear him talking as he approaches the room. The door is shut, but the corridor is empty, so silent that Eddie can make out words, muffled but comprehensible. Joyce.

“—so sorry, Steve, we went to the cabin first, and the phone kept cutting out, and then Hop got sick so we wanted to hold off, just in case it made you—”

“No, no, it’s fine, I wasn’t expecting—”

There’s a chair just outside the room—Eddie lowers himself into it and waits.

They talk for a while. Eddie zones out for part of it as Joyce does most of the talking, references to Russia that mostly go right over his head.

But then Steve speaks again, and there’s a discomfort in his voice that has Eddie straightening in his seat.

“I know you paid to fix the window, Joyce, please let me—”

“No, no, that’s not—”

“—pay you back, I can—”

“Steve,” Joyce insists, and it’s said kindly, but Eddie can sense the steel core behind it. “No. I don’t want you worrying about anything like that. It’s not a problem, okay?”

There’s a pause. In the silence, it’s almost like Eddie can feel Steve grappling for words.

“I’m—I’m sorry, I probably left the place a mess,” Steve says quietly.

“No, not at—”

“And, um, if you’re using the dryer, you’ve gotta—I don’t know what I did, but it’s not broken-broken, you just need to really slam it, and then it should—”

“All right,” Joyce interrupts gently. “Steve, it’s—thank you for—”

“No, you don’t need to—the house is always open if the kids need it, they know where the spare key is.”

“Still, it’s—it’s really kind of you to…” Joyce trails off, and Eddie wonders what she’s thinking. What she’s noticed.

Please see him. Reach him.

“It’s good for the kids to have that space,” Joyce says. “They’ve really needed it.”

“And they’re, um.” Steve’s voice wavers. “They’re all okay?”

“Oh, honey. Yeah, they’re all just fine, they can’t wait for you to—”

“I just—” Steve breathes in and out shakily. When he speaks again, his voice starts to rise in pitch, fighting tears. “I just needed them to be okay.”

Quick footsteps. Steve makes a small, desperate kind of gasp. Eddie does not need to see to know that Joyce is holding him.

“Everyone’s okay. You—you did so well, you kept them all safe.” She sighs. “Oh, sweetie, you’ve been so brave.”

And Steve quietly falls apart.

-

When Joyce leaves, she sweeps Eddie up in a brief, strong hug, almost lifting him right out of the chair. It reminds him a little of Nancy.

“They think I can leave in a couple of days,” Steve tells him. The only giveaway of earlier on is the blotches around his eyes—now he seems to breathe a little easier.

Eddie hopes that whatever strings Joyce and Hopper have pulled, it warrants Steve being given much more than half a fucking page.

“Tomorrow, could you, um—like, would you mind just picking up some clothes from mine? Just wanna look, uh, as normal as—”

“Normal? Think that ship sailed a long time ago, Harrington.”

Steve scoffs through a laugh. “You just don’t appreciate art when you see it.”

“Want me to iron the polos, too?”

“Now let’s not go crazy,” Steve says, smile broadening.

And it’s only when he goes to sprawl on the couch again that Eddie notices it’s pressed up against Steve’s bed once more—that Steve, at some point, must have asked for it to be moved back.

[lemonthepotato]

Amai’s Week

I didn’t even know until today that Amai had a week, that’s how hard this game fell off. Anyway, boy do I have some criticisms.

1) We need that many ways to enter a building in a mission? Why? It ends the same no matter what. The mission is still linear.

2) The dialogue in this game is so stiff and not how people talk. Never played a Hitman mission where the target said “I’m going to be here at X time, doing Y thing, blah blah blah” but Amai is kind enough to specify the times she’ll be serving food. Yeah, it’s kind of intuitive to not exit the classroom and start serving octodogs, the cooking club should know it’ll only be at morning, lunch and after school.

3) Amai’s sabotage events are so silly. I remember jokingly thinking “what? are we going to be giving him a pink apron or something?” as a JOKE. And then it HAPPENED, essentially. These characters are meant to be adults LARPing as teenagers but even a teenager has more maturity than “oh, you made an apron I didn’t like!” What? Did Ayano draw a swastika on it or another hate symbol? The game refers to it as a ‘lame’ apron, which implies it’s more likely that Ayano used a bland colour scheme. I’m sorry, but “I wanted a black apron but you made me a pink one, that offends me” is not on the same level. And by the way- if Amai’s food is giving people food poisoning due to Ayano’s sabotage, why is she still allowed to run the bake sale???

I was genuinely thinking “surely, it’s more going in this direction” during the picnic talk. It was. So, what? Amai is supposed to control the insects?

If you sabotage all of Amai’s events, Senpai should get the sense that she’s a BAD COOK. Literally all. Her sabotage events are NOT enough to warrant being cut off or rejected.

4) I like how no one in this game questions a giant ass water fountain placed randomly in a room.

5) THE LOVE CONFESSION DOESN’T MAKE AMAI LOOK GOOD, EITHER. Who the FUCK says “yeah, I know I’ve known you for a week, but I was actually pissed at you for mourning your dead friend because… what about me???”

OKAY, TO BE FAIR, THAT “MAKE SURE YOU KEEP THAT IN MIND” LINE FROM AYANO GOES HARD ASF 🔥

6) Okay lol I just. I love how funny Kizana is.

I like to imagine Ayano and Senpai are in some Truman Show situation where Info-chan is just hiring all these colourful personalities to rizz Senpai to create the craziest situations ever. Like Ayano is just some institutionalised person who was dragged out by a studio to be exploited in her dire mental state. Can’t wait to get Kizana in 2025 and Oka in 2026.

Look I’m an Amai defender but spitting in someone’s food is VILE. The reason I don’t go to… let’s call it OldRonalds is because three employees spat in my food. I had three occasions. Yeah, wasn’t risking a fourth. AND IT’S IMPLIED SHE DID THIS SEVERAL TIMES. That is NASTY.

7) Yeah I definitely talk to myself when cooking. That’s totally normal.

8) SHE TELEPORTS IMMEDIATELY TO THE FLOOR. ALSO HOW WOULD NO ONE HEAR THAT???

9) A small pet peeve of mine over the years is the line “oh my god! is that a dead body?” when talking about their classmates. Akademi is a small school, where everyone should know each other. Maybe- like “Oh my god! [character’s surname, because it’s Japan, or whatever their nickname is considering Akademi has nicknames]? A-are you okay? I need to get help!”

10) Ben Shoku-ro asks us to essentially stalk Amai. Very normal. See, this is why I headcanon that Akademi is just a mental institution disguised as some… high school LARP. A very ineffective one, too.

11) I like how everyone has the exact same criticism with the exact same wording towards Amai’s cooking.

12) “You shoot 100% of the takes you don’t miss” is such a funny quote. No shit Sherlock.

13) “juvenile delinquent” aren’t they 18? C’mon, if you’re gonna use the “they’re actually 18” excuse, be consistent about it.

14) Welcome to Writing 101. In Inkyu and Sakyu’s conversation on Friday, the pink one (Inkyu, I believe) says “however?” While Inkyu is gathering her thoughts. It doesn’t add tension to the scene, they’re talking about fucking studying. It happens twice, actually. It’s awkward and drags on too long. I’m a writer, not a programmer, but surely there has to be a way to make the dialogue end faster?

Also Horuda canonically drawing kill art is real asf. She is not okay in the head and is expressing her emotions to avoid doing something dangerous. This is what we call showing, not telling. This is something this game struggles at.

15) Wait, Kyuji stalking Osana is a bounty? What if the player match made them? Is the game seriously gonna punish you for doing the pacifist route?

16) Why can Toga walk on bushes???

Okay if Senpai’s new personality is himbo than I kinda fw him.

HELP DID YANDEREDEV FORGET TOGA WASN’T A CREEP SO HAD TO RETCON IT?? Same with Horo, though I think Horo being weird was inferred by the demon Easter egg.

17) Also, another general criticism, but the dialogue in this game is so wonky. Instead of “Hey, blah blah, did you know blah blah dislikes gossip?” It could be “Hey, blah blah, X said to me gossipers were all evil people. Ridiculous, right? Who doesn’t gossip from time to time? Guess that’s what I’m doing” or something shorter than that. And things like money and violence shouldn’t even be discussable topics. I’m sorry but “Hey, Horuda Umetsu, did you know Amai Odayaka dislikes violence” would receive an “okay? don’t we all?” IRL. Like even though Horuda is prone to violence no one’s going around shaming people for disliking it WTF.

(Edit: Btw, before Amai came out, I made my own version of Amai’s week a year ago, along with the other rivals, but honestly? They suck. I’ll add them anyway, if you wanna check them out, but I got lazy halfway through and began half assing stuff: Amai, Kizana, Oka, Asu, Muja, Mida, Osoro, Hanako, Megami. I’m not saying these are better than the game. The way I characterised Kizana, for example? Canon Kizana is much better. The writing on these posts were somehow cringier than the actual writing. Why share it then? Dunno. I like humiliating myself? Oddly, I got a lot of nice DM’s from people about them at the time. I also made a shitty AU.) (I have more posts over there, like a mission mode concept ending) (also, it was only a year ago, but I feel like my writing has improved a ton since then)

Addendum: Not sure if I gave the impression I support YandereDev. I don’t.

[readalyavailabletaggy]

i think “Lo-Fi Beats to Yoyle To” is one of my favorite not episode bfdi videos (is it a short? i guess its moreso a music video) purely because of how comfy it is and the slice of life-y ness of it. “its not canon-“ I DONT CARE SHOOTING U WITH MY EVIL LASER!!! um anyway yeah under the cut is me analyzing multiple scenes from it. i wont be looking into every single one but a lot of them

THE FIRST SCENE and its already a banger. even tho we dont see this hypothetical “team ice cube room” ever outside of this (yeah yeah not canon) it still is so interesting to like. think about. i cant remember how many times we’ve seen objects fall asleep at night but. i love how gelatin has a biiig sleep bubble thats him colored (does it taste like jelly??) AND. FIREY JR. SLEEPS IN A SOCK. thats adorable. anyway yeah even if its a reference to the lofi girl i really like how donut is, presumebly, writing in his diary? late at night with lofi music on? thats so cute. i also love how you can see a picture of bomby and a statue of ice cube on the top shelf

THIS SCENE is awesome too - we never really saw the big staircase outside of bfb 1 & 11 but i love the idea so much that it became a hangout spot for the objects! (in bfb 11x it even has graffiti on it after its first appearance in bfb 1, which is such a cool detail and goes to show the lived-in ness which i adore and this short does so well. and rhat isnt even in this video!! the point im making - bring back the big staircase. where did it go) even flower and bomby, characters who we never saw interact and are on different teams are listening to music together and eating bananas. thats so awesome, i love the idea that the contestants are way more chill with eachother when not competing? everything revolves around the competition which makes sense, but i love these little moments

next up! first off i love the lighting here, it seems to be at sunrise or sunset with the orange sky which is SO interesting cuz. we never see sunrise or sunset in the show!!!! its always just day or night. its crazy how they excluded the best time of day. anyway i love how:

- bell’s just vibing on her own!! it makes sense ig considering she can fly anywhere

-book’s seemingly watching bell? lesbian behavior

-GOLFBALL SHES JUST. doodling on her piece of paper thats adorable. i love seeing objects do the things they like!!!

i also really like how we see one of the paper airplanes. we see them in bfb 13 which is awesome too but seeing the stuff from prior challenges is so cool and i love the continuity

OMG ITS THE BFDI (Burried forest, deciduously insulated) again!!! i love seeing this thing, its similar to the paper airplanes or staircase where its so cool to see things which are one-off moments/objects/places in episodes, seeing them multiple times really helps flesh out the world. ALSO. naily and barfbag playing/vibing in the water. thats so adorable

the next scene is one where we see a few bleh members in their room from bfb 12 - once again going back to it being so cool to see places from other challenges!! (even if it appears to be the case that four just made and destroyed them for the episode.)

as you can SEE i specifically chose to highlight taco here. SHES JUST DRAWING A PICTURE OF HERSELF AND LABELING IT ME??? thats so cute i love her for that

AND HERE we have pin vibing in the goiky canal(?) in one of the boats. this is so awesome i love seeing the bfdi boats reappear and i love how pin’s just chilling. love her for that

LAST ONE i want to go over: oh my GOD?? ITS LEGO BRICK IN ONE OF THE LEVELS FROM BFDIA 5B?? this was and still is such a cool reference. the idea that they’re still stuck in evil leafy is such a interesting and sad idea!! the lofi music gives this scene an heir of loneliness which makes it so weirdly compelling to me.

anyway yeah thats it!!! if theres one thing to learn one of the best thints competition shows can and should do imo is slow down every once in a while and show the contestants living their lives. this was seen more recently with bfdia 13 but this video is another great example and it doesnt even use words or a story. it doesnt need to, the object show is a visual media and this is such an awesome video which tells us so much about the bfdi universe without words

usually i dont ask for reblogs and this isnt even an effort thing i wrote this in like 20 min but. it would mean a lot to me if you reblogged this cuz i think its really cool to see the objects here and i think more people should see and think about the slice of life portions of object shows

[the-letterbox-archives]

file (1)ALL-56-0190: most likely to

i've been sent this one a lot, glad i finally got around to it! this is a 'most likely to' tag game, where you answer which of your characters is most likely to do a certain thing as per the prompt. everyone's in the ring for this one!

thank you @the-golden-comet, @drchenquill, @urnumber1star, @willtheweaver, @ominous-feychild,

@paeliae-occasionally, @moltenwrites, and @gioiaalbanoart for tagging me!!

(warning: very long post)

1) most likely to faint

laszlo is pretty-fainting-victorian-woman coded, so i’d have to say him. sorry, bud.

2) most likely to enjoy art

if we mean creating art, it’s sunny (i hc she does nature/animal drawings in her spare time), if we mean appreciating art, it’s yaromyr (because he’s a softie and loves a good painting).

3) most likely to hate sports

daphne all the way. she has faked many sicknesses to get out of pe.

4) most likely to freeze if faced with something scary

either sunny or laszlo in the canon of their stories, but overall i’d go with ven.

5) most likely to eat the last bite of something

eira, he’s always got to have the last piece.

6) most likely to start an argument

so many of them. faye, sunny, sissy, sinon, danareth, eira, austine, maybe laszlo, and dulcinea, to single out some of the worst offenders.

7) most likely to own a cat

ven is a cat person for sure, theophania as well, though more in spirit, since it’d be hard for her to take care of one.

8) most likely to swim across a large river/channel without getting fatigued

possibly faye could do it with enough adrenaline, but sinon could fly over it…

9) most likely to not be a morning person and hates getting woken up too early

THIS IS LITERALLY VEN’S EVERYDAY LIFE.

10) most likely to learn a subject a day before exams (and still nailing it)

darcy does it on the regular.

11) most likely to pick up a stray animal

faye, because she’s adopted many frogs, but darcy and laszlo would if given the opportunity.

12) most likely to fall for a prank

sissy’s entire life is a prank.

13) most likely to pull an accidental all-nighter

tie between daphne and dulcinea, they are not good at self care.

14) most likely to get stranded on an island and thrive

sinon, he could use the privacy.

15) most likely to get bullied by a random child

johnnie, but she deserves it.

16) most likely to win an athletic event

hnnngh, nobody?

17) most likely to become a con artist

theophania, although she doesn’t really want to (she often is, though).

18) most likely to get lost in their own home

danareth, for the sole fact that the miyokav castle is HUGE and he never quite got his head around all of it.

19) most likely to burn something while cooking

laszlo, faye, willow, and austine can’t cook to save a life.

20) most likely to stop a robbery if they see it taking place

nobody i think, it’s entirely likely that they’d all either think it’s a) not their place, b) the robber needed the money, c) think they couldn’t do anything or d) it’d be funnier if it happened.

21) most likely to not tell people they’re sick until they really need the help

laszlo and sunny in canon, willow, alastair, and theophania by virtue of their personalities, and ven (without meaning to).

22) most likely to crush on their villain/enemy

sasha (it’s the stockholm syndrome).

23) most likely to skip breakfast

all of the teenagers.

24) most likely to have a niche obsession

danareth and yaromyr, also alastair!

25) most likely to steal what they need on moment

all the dumaresq kids.

26) most likely to start a fight

sissy and sinon whenever the other is in the same room as them.

27) most likely to do something that they’re gonna regret later

*side eyes all the protagonists*

28) most likely to arrive ridiculously early

sinon and laszlo, those meticulous mfs.

29) most likely to be in a relationship for less than a week

daphne WISHES!

30) most likely to secretly be really good at music, but just not tell anyone

lady, but mostly because she has no one to tell.

leaving this one an open tag, feel free to use the prompts i was given or make up your own!

tag list for the sillies: (avoiding double tag but i may have missed some)

@wyked-ao3, @48lexr, @melpomene-grey, @thecrazyalchemist, @thecomfywriter,

@.moltenwrites, @yourpenpaldee, @glassfrogforest, @.the-golden-comet, @.gioiaalbanoart,

@.paeliae-occasionally, @.ominous-feychild, @.drchenquill, @tc-doherty, @corinneglass

[questintheskies]

1. CM Punk says people in AEW felt “betrayed” when he visited WWE Raw backstage in May 2023.

2. CM Punk confirms that no one came to pick him up at the airport for AEW All In, didn’t cry about it, calls it irresponsible.

3. CM Punk says he told Tony Khan that “this place [AEW] is a fucking joke, you're a clown”. Then he quit AEW.

4. “I don't like the drama but the truth is the truth. He's not a boss, he's a nice guy. That's a detriment to the company [AEW] but it's not my company." — CM Punk when asked about Tony Khan

5. CM Punk talking about AEW: Says it’s not a real or sustainable business, not about selling tickets, not about drawing money. Having good matches maybe which there’s nothing wrong with. Will always exist as long as Tony Khan keeps pumping money into it.

6. “If you're more than happy with some goof saying you had a 5 star match & the building is a quarter full…then we're not in the same business." — CM Punk

7. CM Punk was a consultant to Tony Khan in AEW, working with 2 contracts. One was a talent contract, the other was the consultant contract.

8. CM Punk believed AEW was an alternative to what WWE was. But 90% of the problems he had or identified about AEW were the very things that made AEW different…

He's happy that AEW exists because it allows wrestlers to make more money, but then also says "guaranteed money kind of ruined pro wrestling. If you had to get paid off the house, things would be a lot different"

9. CM Punk on the infamous Hangman Page promo before DoN.

Says Hangman went off the script, and that he wanted to double leg him and “murder” him on live TV if it wasn't for his professionalism. Says he went to TK and the lawyers to get the situation fixed.

10. CM Punk says nobody in AEW talked to him for 6 months after Brawl Out, he had to sort his tricep surgery by himself. He says the difference between getting injured in both companies is “night and day”

11. “I don’t regret my time there (AEW). Im just brutally honest about some things — And it’s done.

I hope they’re happy, I known I am. I would like to leave it at that. I understand fans and the tribalism, I’m a Blackhawks, I’m a Chicago Cubs fan, so I will always troll and needle White Sox fans, or Blues fans, or Predator’s you know?

But some of the shit was so outlandish, talking about my Dog and all this awful stuff”

12. CM Punk says before joining AEW, he was close to re-joining WWE, even before being on WWE Backstage.

He said they had a handshake deal in place but then it didn’t happen. He says Nick Khan lead the charge even before Khan joined WWE as he was with CAA.

13. CM Punk says stories of him being violent backstage are overblown and not true. (Earlier he admitted to choking a co-worker backstage and wanting to murder Hangman Adam Page for going off script)

14. CM Punk didn't have a non-compete clause after being fired from AEW.

15. Samoa Joe told him to stop acting up at All In Wembley, so he did. Then he turned to Khan and told him, “This place is fucking joke, man. You’re a clown. I quit.” Joe and Jerry Lynn came to his room and got him to do the PPV opening match. He said he was “too fired up” then and now rehashing it, and will probably regret talking about it, but “that’s what happened.”

16. He says he wrestled the match for Joe, referee Paul Turner, Lynn who was the agent on the match, and the fans. But he knew it was his last time wrestling Joe, and in the company.

17. He hasn’t spoken to Khan since backstage at Wembley when he quit. He didn’t do anything to make him fear for his life, as Khan said when announcing Punk’s firing on Dynamite, but Punk sayd “he is who he is.” He believes there was a “concerted effort to try to slander [him] and try to ruin [his] character.”

18. Spreading “rumors and lies and bullshit” was the genesis of all his issues at AEW. He thinks it might have been jealousy or envy, but doesn’t understand why anyone would try to dim the star of the company’s top guy.

19. Punk says his remarks at the post-All In scrum weren’t planned, but when he saw “reporters” there who are friends with other wrestlers and who wrote things about him without checking with him, it set him off. He does say it’s in his “top three CM Punk promos”, though.

20. There was nothing it the scrum that Khan hadn’t heard before. Punk doesn’t think he can talk about what happened afterwards. Confirms he is referring to Brawl Out, but says he “didn’t have to sign an NDA for anything I did wrong.” He has nothing he wanted to hide, but Khan wanted him to sign an NDA — he doesn’t know why.

21. As to why he did agree to come back, “I have a lot of friends there”, and Khan wasn’t going to let him go. Rather than sit at home, he thought he’d try to “get some guys together and have some fun shows.”

22. Asked if there’s anything he’s proud of from his time in AEW, he says he made a lot of friends and got to a lot of “cool shit” — specifically mentioning getting to work with Sting. “I think the positives outweigh the negatives”.

23. He talks about attending an indie show recently and telling someone that what happens there works at that level, as evidenced by it selling out an arcade bar, “but that shit doesn’t fly on national television — I think that’s being proven right now.”

24. He’s proud of the work he did with MJF, and thinks MJF’s future is bright as he’s immensely talented. He wasn’t great when he catered to the “niche internet audience”.

25. Punk doesn’t think he’ll ever bury the hatchet with Colt Cabana. He says Cabana approached him at some point before the All Out ‘22 incident, but he told him he wouldn’t speak to him without a lawyer present.

[kylorengarbagedump]

Playing Soldier: Chapter 12

Read on AO3. Part 11 here. Part 13 here.

Summary: This party ain't big enough for the two of us.

Words: 7500

Warnings: Reader and Tavington are both cunts

Characters: William Tavington x Reader

A/N: Co-written with @bastillia.

HEHEHEHEHEHE OH MAN WHAT'S ABOUT TO HAPPEN :)))))))))))))))

HI welcome back!! I hope you enjoyed this beast of a chapter! Again, something really new for both of us, so we hope you enjoyed! We just HAD to have a party scene, of course - which is part of what started us writing this whole long thing to begin with! Sheeeeesh.

Next chapter may take a couple weeks, as we're out traveling for the rest of the week and we anticipate the next chapter to be, um, long :)

LOVE Y'ALL SO VERY MUCH <3

The gown might as well have been made of morning grass. In color, it shimmered like an emerald field in dew; in touch, it slipped beneath your fingers like fresh blades born into the sun. Sheets of patternless silk met at the front of your bodice in a neat row of buttons, layered over a darker, forest green petticoat that cascaded to the floor. A delicate collar of lace swept like seafoam over your shoulders and bosom, veiling anything other than your throat to the other guests.

It was beautiful.

You hated it.

The dress itself was fine—finer than anything you’d worn, or even seen, to be honest. It was how you felt within it: like a spectacle. Here you were, the Incredible Turncoat Daughter, decorated in frippery to be paraded around the ball on the arms of officers as proof of their victory.

Perhaps they’d collared you, but they wouldn’t leash you. No—you had business to do at this ball. You needed to discern your father’s fate. And you’d be damned if any officer would consider you a victory.

“Oh!” Lottie tapped you on the shoulder, having reappeared from a sea of silk frills and red jackets. She held out one of the hors d'oeuvres. It looked like a slimy black marble perched on a stick. “Try this!” she said. “It’s delightful!”

You raised a brow, plucking it from her fingers and popping it in your mouth. You knew immediately it was the worst thing you’d ever eaten.

“Ugh!” Groaning, you grabbed the napkin she’d gathered as well and spit the half-chewed glob into your covered hand. “Hell, that was horrific.” You dabbed your mouth before crumpling the napkin into a ball. “What was that? It tasted like fish shit.”

Goddard and Lottie’s eyes widened, looking between your disgusting napkin and your disgusted face.

“Oh! Sorry.” You lowered your voice. “It tasted like fish excrement.”

Pulling his lips in over his teeth, Goddard pivoted, walking toward the table filled with pre-poured Madeira. The drawing room was heavy with the din of conversation, but all appeared too enamored with the spread of food and drink to notice your disdain for it. Lottie, face pink, covered her mouth to hide her amusement.

“They’re called olives,” she said, picking up another one from a passing serving tray. “I think they’re delicious.”

You snorted. “I could do without.” There was nowhere around you to dispose of your illicit napkin. “Hell,” you said again, trying to hide it in your fist. “What are you supposed to do with these?”

“Well,” Lottie said, giggling, “I think you typically don’t spit food inside of them.” Her head craned around your shoulder. “Oh!” She tapped your shoulder. “There’s a plant there.” She held out her arm to you. “Come with me.”

You grinned at her, looping your arm in hers. Despite her presentation in a brocade-patterned blueberry dress, Lottie was the only person here capable of making you feel normal. She led you past the plant in the corner, watching for onlookers.

Holding your breath, you dipped low and tossed the napkin behind the pot, exhaling as you came to stand. “Much better,” you said. “No one will notice a thing.”

“Notice what?” said a familiar voice from over your shoulder.

You flinched, hand clutching your chest as you turned and met the blue, simmering eyes of William Tavington. Your heart dropped to the floor.

“Oh, Colonel.” You clung tighter to Lottie’s arm. “Good, ah, good evening.”

“Good evening, Colonel Tavington,” Lottie echoed, side-stepping to try and obscure your vandalism. “Have you tried the olives?”

His gaze remained on yours. “If this behavior is in any way indicative of your proficiency with subtlety,” he said, “perhaps it’s your good fortune that you’re so loyal to the Crown.”

Lottie stiffened. “Oh, Colonel, I’m not sure what you think you saw—”

“Miss Goddard,” Tavington said, still not breaking focus from your face. “I believe your brother was asking for you.”

“He was?” She looked at you apologetically, patting your arm as she pulled away. “I’ll—please excuse me, I’ll be right back,” she said, before trotting off and leaving you alone, in the corner, your only company a wadded up napkin and the single person in the room you did not want to be left alone with.

It was only in this moment you could fully, unwillingly begin to take him in. Colonel William Tavington was adorned in full dress, his collar laid with gilded thread, the ties and sleeves on his blouse embroidered with scalloped lace trim. Even his waistcoat hadn’t been spared—it was similarly embellished with glittering thread underneath the line of bronze buttons. Your eyes fell lower, noting the black wash of his trousers. His boots were shined to mirror-finish.

Realizing you’d been staring, you snapped your attention forward only to then take notice of his hair, the apple scent of it, how sleekly it laid to his head; the strong curve of his jaw, the little bow above his upper lip you wanted to pinch between your teeth.

He was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

Bastard.

“Have I not proven myself beyond your doubts, Colonel?” you asked, hoping that you could invite the both of you to ignore how you’d just observed him like a dog might observe raw meat. “At least enough to avoid incurring slights regarding my loyalty?”

His eyes flicked briefly to your throat. “I’m afraid duty to the King requires more devotion than a few months of trodding around a hospital tent filling jars with plant paste.”

You frowned. “Your general seems to disagree.”

Tavington’s brow lowered. “Lord Cornwallis’ decisions do not reflect my own, nor do his beliefs reflect mine.”

“What’s that?” You gave him a faux-gasp. “That isn’t… You couldn’t be calling His Lordship’s judgement into question, could you?”

“I made no statement about his judgement.” Tavington stepped closer, crowding you with his singular presence. “But it’s my belief that someone with a history such as yours is in need of supervision at a gathering such as this.”

“Supervision?” You huffed, stepping away, since his proximity was directly and inversely related to your ability to form coherent sentences. “I know you may have trouble recalling, with all the secrets you seem so concerned about swelling your large head, Colonel, but I’m no longer a child.”

You thought you caught it, as quick as a blink—a smirk flashed on his lips.

“No,” he said. “You are an opportunist. Far more deserving of a chaperone.”

He advanced again. You skittered backwards. Jaw set, he grabbed for you, and you jerked your arms from his reach. You’d force him to make a scene before you let him chaperone you.

When he didn’t pursue you a third time, you thrust your chin into the air and escaped from the drawing room into the foyer, exhaling as the anchor of the crowd fell from your chest.

Though, said foyer was really more of a grand foyer. Two staircases curled from the second floor and spilled into the room, opening to towering ceilings bordered with detailed crown molding and colorful tile laid into the hardwood at the entrance. In fact, Middleton Place itself was grander than anything you’d ever beheld; it was a massive plantation, gardens sprawling for miles outside. It seemed the inside had once been cluttered with ostentatious superfluity, but parts were missing—white shadows and empty corners felt more conspicuous to you than the pieces of luxurious furniture that remained.

It was for this reason you needed to attach yourself to someone, anyone so you didn’t look or feel so sorely out of place. That, and to potentially dissuade Tavington from attempting to chaperone your efforts to find out what had happened to your father after Camden.

Of the few passing through the foyer, you spotted an older, bewigged man nursing a baluster of wine by himself. He was admiring the marble bust of a stranger, and had enough ornamentation on his uniform that he must know something. Sucking in a breath, you cast a glance behind you—no Tavington—and wiggled your shoulders before making your way over to his side.

“Good evening,” you said, poking your head into his space. He startled, but upon seeing you, relaxed. “I hope you don’t mind if I intrude.”

The man—a captain, you could see—laughed, waving you off. “Oh, it’s no trouble, my dear.” His eyes, bloodshot and milky blue, soaked themselves in the hidden view of your decolletage. “I’m simply admiring the work of whichever artist carved this fine gentleman here.” He leaned forward, squinting. “Mr… ah, I don’t know.” Laughing, he patted the bust on its cold head. “Whoever he is, he’s the only one left, poor fool.”

You laughed, even though you didn’t find him funny. “Oh, who knows,” you said, resting your hand on the captain’s shoulder. The inscription on the statue clearly said Henry Middleton. “What do you mean, the only one left?”

“Oh,” the captain said, “all the other statues are out in the rubble pile!” He laughed again. “The boys had a bit too much fun when they took Charleston.” His arm wound around yours, and he pulled you close. “Captain John Pettis, my dear.” Pettis leaned toward you, his odor too heavy with wine for the youth of the evening. “Who, may I ask, are you?”

Despite the rising hair on your nape, you introduced yourself. “It’s my pleasure,” you said. “Are you enjoying the ball, Captain?”

He huffed, going to wave the question away before his attention lingered on your figure again. “I certainly am now,” he laughed. “Just in bloody time, too.”

“Oh?” You cleared your throat. “Aren’t you pleased about Camden?”

“Well, of course—”

“Were you there, Captain?”

Pettis frowned. “Of course I was, dear,” he said.

“Oh, wonderful,” you said. “It must have been harrowing.”

“I wouldn’t say—”

“I’d love to know everything about it,” you said, inching closer to him.

“Well…” Pettis chuckled. His hand crept to your lower back, and you winced. “I’d love to discuss something more stimulating.”

“Oh.” You gave a tight smile, trying to ignore the feeling of insects creeping over your skin where his hand rested. “No, thank you, Captain.” When his eyebrow quirked, you rubbed his forearm. “It’s just—well, you must have been so brave, you know, and I admit I find myself curious about your accomplishments there.”

“Adventurous thing, aren’t you?” He grinned, his grip sliding to your side and pulling you against him. “That can all come later, my dear,” he said. “No need to disrupt your constitution with my tales of, ah, violence, you know, it’s all quite bloody.”

“I’m sure that I can—”

“No, no.” Pettis’ hand stroked your side in a way that made you wish, to your surprise and horror, that Tavington was nearby. “In fact, we can find a much quieter place to discuss this, if you wish?”

Your teeth set. You’d misplayed him—been far too forward and had given him the wrong idea. If only you’d had any experience with intimacy.

“That’s quite all right,” you replied, trying to step away. “We can—”

He held you tighter, tugged you back along his side. “No need to be shy, now,” he whispered, his breath husky and rank. “I know exactly what you’re trying to say.”

Heart skipping, you glanced around the room. No Tavington. No Goddard. No Lottie. No anybody you recognized. Pettis took a step, leading you away from the statue, and you resented even more the stupid dress and the stupid ball that was preventing you from smashing your skull into his nose. You swallowed, giving Pettis the weakest smile you could offer, and spotted a gaggle of women just a few yards away surrounding a man who appeared to be politely entertaining each of them. As you passed, you caught sight of his face.

Patrick bloody Ferguson.

Ferguson’s eyes met yours. His brow raised, and he turned to the crowd of his admirers. He appeared to say something before parting a way through and striding over to you and Pettis.

God, no. You did not need him making the situation even worse. Fussing, you tried to loosen Pettis’ grip on you, but he held fast, chuckling to himself, mumbling something about save that for when we’re alone. Before you could protest, Ferguson stepped in front of you both.

“Captain!” Ferguson said, a bright, friendly smile on his awful face. “I was afraid you weren’t going to make it this evening.”

Pettis laughed, his face reddening. “Oh, Major Ferguson,” he said. “Good evening, sir.” Looking to you, and then back to Ferguson, he continued, “Not a chance I’d miss an event like this.”

“After how flustered you seemed at Camden, I was sure you’d had enough of the war business!” Ferguson said this good-naturedly, like he was actually concerned for the man in front of him. You couldn’t tell if he was performing. “First battle after your commission is always tough.”

You almost laughed. Pettis has just purchased his captain’s rank? You’d probably seen buckets more blood than he had.

“Yes, well…” Pettis’ face had turned redder than his coat. His hand left you, and he stepped aside. The relief from his presence left in a poorly-hidden sigh. “Yes. Well. I believe I’m going to go seek another glass of Madeira.”

“So soon?” Ferguson said. “Captain, please!”

Pettis raised his hand to quiet him. “Yes, yes, I think I shall.” He bowed in your direction, then Ferguson’s. “Lovely speaking with you both,” he said, before slinking toward the drawing room.

You watched him go, restraining your desire to make a face behind his back. Exhaling, you turned to Ferguson and realized that your desire to make a face needed even greater restraint than it had just a second earlier.

“Major,” you said, summoning every ounce of politeness that hadn’t been expended on Pettis. “What a pleasure to see you again.”

“I’m surprised to hear you say so,” he said, a sly grin on his face. “Especially after my utterly monstrous treatment of you in the hospital tent.”

All blood fell from your face. “Oh.” Your smile became a grimace. “I’m afraid I, ah, don’t understand what you’re referring to, sir.”

He laughed. “I’m not sore about it,” he replied. “Once I learned that you were Grace’s sister, it made tremendous sense.”

Your grimace pulled the tendons in your neck. Here he was, standing right in front of you, believing he had the right to just discuss Grace to your face? As if he knew you? As if he knew her? Just because he’d visited her, exchanged letters with her perhaps, did not give him the insight he seemed so comfortable claiming in this moment.

“Did it, now?” You shifted your weight, cocked your head. “Pray, tell.”

“I’ve simply noticed you have a lot in common,” he replied earnestly. “I mean it as a compliment.”

“And are these compliments you pay to all of your lady suitors?” you said, gesturing to the crowd of women he’d abandoned, all of whom appeared concerned with your current monopolization of his attention.

Ferguson nodded in acknowledgement, lowering his volume a notch. “Nothing escapes you, does it?”

He stepped toward the entry heading outdoors, gesturing for you to follow him. You did, watching him with suspicion, edging closer to him as you stepped onto the grounds.

The air was thick with the demise of summer, cascading in a gentle breeze down the sprawling garden terrace toward the river. A string melody sailed across the evening’s current, pebbled through by the din of conversations and laughter. There wasn’t a sight you could behold that was not laden with finery, from manicured shrubs, to flowing silks and tailored coats, to the enormous frigate anchored in the water.

All to celebrate what may well have been the end of your father. To rejoice in the death throes of South Carolina’s liberty, to laugh as she was left to squirm and choke beneath a thousand shiny British boots.

You felt ill.

Ferguson led you to an unoccupied alcove on the parterre, fragrant with blooming roses, and leaned toward you. “I intended to invite Grace as my guest, but the distance between here and Catawba prohibited a timely correspondence,” he said. “And I sense she would have been reluctant to leave your home unless she had been aware you’d be present.” He sighed. “As she cannot be here, she cannot be the focus of my affections.”

“How fortunate that you have so much affection to go around, then, Major,” you clipped back. “Seeing as how you dole it out like candy to any woman begging for a taste.”

“I understand how it appeared,” he said with a wince. “But had you been party to the conversation, you would not have failed to distinguish courtesy from candy.” When this did nothing to wipe the burgeoning scowl from your face, he continued. “Be assured that my true affections are kept private, and reserved for those deserving.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, taking a rose stem between your fingers to brush its petals with your thumb.

“You’ll find my sister is the most deserving of everything good the world could potentially offer.” Your thumb dug into the pillowy bloom, crushed down until its perfume bled into your palm. “And I’ll not see her fall second choice to anyone, or anything.”

You pinned him with your stare. His own expression softened.

“That is very clear, miss.” He glanced out across the river before looking at you again. “I see why she speaks so highly of you.”

“Does she?” The admission found your irritation with him and soothed it like a poultice. You noticed your shoulders rolling forward, your hackles dropping. You released the impaled flower. “Well. I hope she does,” you said, “since I practically raised her.”

Ferguson nodded. “She has said as much. I’m aware that growing up without your mother was not easy.” He smiled gently. “It was my hope to meet the woman who surely imparted such strong character upon her.”

You sighed, averting your gaze. How was it possible that he seemed so perfectly kind, so perfectly thoughtful and considerate and clever while being the second worst person you’d ever met? There had to be some reason behind her infatuation—yes, Ferguson had aroused Loyalist sympathies from her, but Grace wasn’t stupid. Before finding a way to destroy this man forever, you needed to understand her logic. Perhaps, you hoped, you were ignorant, and she was doing her work to spy for the Continentals as well by charming one of its lead majors—

No. Grace would never tolerate performing that level of dishonesty. Or deception.

It was only then you realized just how badly you missed her.

“If you’re so familiar, then,” you said, “how is she?”

Ferguson gave you a warm, frustratingly perceptive smile. “She’s very well. A bit lonely, perhaps, but—”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“Oh, at least a fortni—”

“Do you write her?” You stepped closer. “Did you get her permission to do so?”

Ferguson was unfazed. He held up his hands in surrender, grinning. “Your sister is very well,” he said, “though she misses you terribly. She told me so when I last saw her at the beginning of August. And I did ask to write her.” Pausing, he studied your face, then decided to continue. “Though she did mention that I may want to ask your permission, first.” His grin grew wider. “And I fully intend to refrain from any monstrous behavior, if granted such.”

You pursed your lips. “Oh.”

Here you were, being an obstinate ass when a high-ranking British officer had just revealed a desire to ingratiate himself to you. A serving tray passed you filled with oysters, and you grabbed one, considering it as you gathered the courage to give the one thing to this man you could barely stomach:

An apology.

“You must forgive my rancor, Major Ferguson,” you said with a sigh. “I’m afraid that despite my satisfaction with our victory at Camden, I still worry quite deeply for my family.”

You attempted to sip from the belly of the shell. The sound echoed to the bank of the Ashley below.

Ferguson’s lip quirked in a disturbingly good-natured way, and he rocked on his heels.

“Your love is a fearsome thing to behold, I must admit.” He chuckled, then softened again in sincerity. “But I couldn’t possibly fault you for that. There is nothing to forgive.”

“Well,” you said, straightening your shoulders. “Thank you.”

Unsure what else to say, you sipped at your oyster again. Ferguson’s gaze dropped, his brow creasing in sudden thought. After a moment, he muttered your last name under his breath. You looked at him in surprise.

“Lord Cornwallis made mention of a certain Tory woman who would be here tonight,” he began. “He said her father is a captain with the Continentals.” He paused, peering at you curiously. “That’s you, isn’t it?”

You stiffened. There wasn’t much point in trying to deny it. Even though the idea of your name being passed around among the upper echelons of the British army brought you no small measure of discomfort. Particularly whilst you were already feeling like a doll dressed up for their entertainment.

“Yes,” you said, eyeing Ferguson again with distrust. “It is.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding as if he genuinely was. “I can’t imagine the distress that must cause you.”

A chime of opportunity struck in the back of your mind. Ferguson wanted—needed—to get on your good side. If he knew anything about the aftermath of Camden, he would surely share it. And, unlike Tavington, he had no reason to distrust your motives for asking.

“It has been very taxing,” you admitted, drawing a breath. You glanced around, then leaned just a little closer to Ferguson. “I have reason to believe my father may have been involved at Camden,” you whispered. “I hesitate to ask the general, lest my allegiance is called into question, but...”

Ferguson’s face drew into a grave, sympathetic frown.

“You’ve no idea what’s become of him,” he finished for you.

Dropping your gaze, you nodded.

“It’s only right that you should know.” Ferguson’s eyes flicked toward the entryway to the home before returning to you. “I hate to say it, but it was wise of you not to ask the general.”

When curiosity crossed your face, he continued.

“His Lordship has been a bit, ah, on edge,” he explained. “I’m sorry to say I have no knowledge of your father’s fate myself. I’d surely tell you if I did.”

You sighed. Ferguson’s head cocked in very irritating concern that appeared genuine, which made it even more irritating.

“Although…” he mused, rubbing a finger over his chin. You thought you saw a new twinkle appear in the deep blue of his eyes. “That sort of information would be in the report.”

You hummed. “Report?”

He flashed you a grin, grabbing an oyster for himself as the server walked past the tray in the other direction. “Colonel Tavington would have written it up for him,” he said, and slurped the entire oyster in one bite. “It would list all the officers captured or killed.”

Knowing Tavington, the report was certainly finished—but it would be accessing it that was the problem. “I see.” You attempted to imitate his oyster consumption and instead inhaled the juice straight into your lungs. “Agh—dammit—”

“Are you all right?” Ferguson asked, stepping forward to assist you as you choked.

Grimacing, you batted him away, thudding your chest with your fist to knock the rest of the juice free. “Ah-ahem.”

Before Ferguson could reply, he glanced at the entry doors, brows rising in recognition. “Talk of the devil,” he murmured, tilting his head in that direction.

You turned, watching as Cornwallis descended to the parterre, whispering furiously to one of his generals. It was a man you didn’t recognize—some pinched-face, badly-bewigged sycophant like most others, you assumed—and Cornwallis himself seemed draped in a bizarre, silky imitation of a royal officer’s coat. Behind them, Tavington descended as well, adjusting his lace cuffs, the muscle in his jaw tighter than you’d ever seen it.

His eyes found you across the terrace, narrowed at the sight of your company. To your simultaneous relief and disappointment, he split away, marching in the direction opposite of you.

Ferguson grinned. “My Lord General!” he called, waving Cornwallis over. As the general started toward you, you turned to your side and scraped the oyster belly clean with your teeth before shoving the shell in Ferguson’s hands. “Oh—”

“Such a gentleman you are,” you murmured, and greeted Cornwallis with a curtsy. “Good evening my Lord!”

Whatever Cornwallis’ annoyance had been, upon hearing your greeting, it parted like clouds to sunshine.

“Ah, there she is!” he said, meeting the two of you. You offered a hand to him, curtsied as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. He gestured to the man beside him. “May I introduce General Charles O’Hara, my second in command.”

“A pleasure, General.” You gave a curtsy towards O’Hara, who bowed in response.

“I see you’ve made amends with Major Ferguson, hm?” Cornwallis said.

You nodded. “Absolutely,” you said, taking care to omit the not, “my Lord. I’m so glad to have realized it was a misunderstanding.” You looked to Ferguson. “Major Ferguson here was kind enough to explain it all to me.”

“Excellent,” said Cornwallis, nodding toward Ferguson. “And you, Major? I trust you’ve had a fine evening thus far?”

“Oh, more than fine, sir,” Ferguson said. “How could I not, given what victories we had at both Camden and Fishing Creek?”

“Yes,” Cornwallis said, his gaze drifting to the ship on the Ashley River. “Though it’d be far easier to celebrate if certain… oversights hadn’t left us exposed.”

“Really?” Ferguson said. “Was there something unsatisfactory in the report?”

Cornwallis huffed, waving the suggestion away. “Oh, nevermind the report.”

“Was there something else, then, my Lord?” Ferguson asked. “Or was it not completed?”

“No, no,” Cornwallis sighed, still staring across the banks. “I haven’t even made the time to read it.”

O’Hara cleared his throat. “We’re awaiting the shipment of His Lordship’s items to come ashore.”

“Ah,” Ferguson said, “I see.” With a casual shrug, he added, “Well, my hope is you’ll be satisfied when you do read it.”

Cornwallis broke his focus from the ship with a laugh. “Colonel Tavington is nothing if not thorough,” he admitted. “From what I saw left on my desk, I doubt there's a single detail omitted.”

Ferguson’s eyes met yours. He winked. “Of course, my Lord.”

“But enough talk of war!” Cornwallis looked at you, holding out his arm. “Come take a turn about the party, my dear. I wish to hear from you this evening.”

You stared at his arm, glanced around the parterre at the dozens of Loyalists and officers alike who were peering at you between breaks in conversation. First at the side of Major Patrick Ferguson, now the escortee of Lord Cornwallis himself. Perhaps Tavington’s assessment of your subtlety had been more accurate than you wanted to admit.

“Of course, my Lord,” you said, curling your arm around his. As he led you from O’Hara and Ferguson, you met the Major’s eyes over your shoulder. “Oh, Major, I almost forgot. Regarding your inquiry of permission…”

“Yes?” Ferguson asked.

“The answer,” you replied, “is no.” You smiled and turned back to Cornwallis.

He chuckled, leading you along the parterre. “I must implore you not to break too many of my officers’ hearts this evening, my dear.”

Laughing, you shook your head. “Somehow I doubt that Major Ferguson will be suffering from a dearth of feminine attention, my Lord.”

“Perhaps not,” said Cornwallis with a wry grin. He drew a breath and gazed out over the party. “The men have sorely needed this diversion, you know. Our regulars in particular.” He let out a long exhale. “Business has been uglier here than it was in New York.”

“I’m sorry to hear it, my Lord,” you said. “Though I hope your experience has not tarnished your opinion of our fine colony.”

“My dear,” he said, patting your hand, “your loyalty is a balm to the gravest of injuries laid against us by this land.”

You forced a smile, surveying the party. Again, you thought of the squalor of the Continental camp. Some injury the British suffer here, indeed.

“I am glad,” you forced yourself to say with a smile.

Thankfully, Cornwallis seemed distracted by his surveillance of the party. Given his attire, his distraction, you knew there was something regarding these oversights you might be able to glean from him. Even the intention of a planned response would be good information to gather.

Invoking a face rapt with concern, you covered his knuckles with your palm.

“My Lord,” you said, “you seem troubled. May I inquire as to why that might be?”

Cornwallis blinked free from his rumination, sighed. “Oh, yes. A war casualty.”

“A war casualty?” You frowned. That had not been what you expected to hear. “Please accept my sympathies.”

“No, no.” He shook his head. “It’s quite all right.”

“May I ask who you lost?”

His face grew grim. “My wardrobe.”

“I—” You couldn’t stop your mouth from parting. “Your wardrobe, my Lord?”

“Yes,” he replied, “containing items embroidered by my late wife, God rest her soul. Terrible.”

Your desire to walk him toward the river and shove him in was mounting by the second. Here he was, comparing a wardrobe to a war casualty when you couldn’t even be assured of your own father’s bloody safety. Tightening your jaw, you drew in a long breath and squeezed his hand. At the very least, you needed to get as much as you could before you lost your wit entirely.

“How awful,” you said. “May I ask what happened?”

Another sigh, this time longer, more irritated. His gaze wandered toward the ship on the Ashley, then cast out over the crowd.

“You may,” he said. “In fact, I believe there’s someone who can answer your question as we approach.”

You followed his focus, finding it landed squarely on Colonel Tavington, who was now only feet away. You bit your tongue. There went your information. Good, sweet, divine and sacred God, why had he chosen to haunt you?

“Colonel Tavington!” called Cornwallis.

Tavington spun on his heel, his eyes finding you first, following the way your arm hooked around Cornwallis, the way your hand rested on his. Hot, blue flame sparked in his gaze, only to gutter when Cornwallis ushered him closer. Imperceptible to his general, but unmistakable to you: his lip twitched.

“My Lord,” said Tavington, stepping toward you both. His expression was one of utter restraint. “How may I assist you?”

“The young miss here inquired as to the condition of my personal effects.” Cornwallis gestured toward you like he was presenting a well-groomed cat.

“Ah,” Tavington replied. A poor imitation of a smile stretched tight over his teeth. “Certainly the details—”

Cornwallis stiffened. “Colonel,” he replied, “imagine hearing that a general’s property had been ransacked. If you had recently disavowed your father’s own teachings, would you not want reassurance that your loyalties were not misplaced?”

Tavington’s lips trembled, like he was chewing back a hundred words that were fighting to leave. “If I had—” He exhaled, glancing at his boots and rolling his shoulders before looking back at you. “Unfortunately, our supply lines were left vulnerable, which resulted in His Lordship’s possessions being misplaced.”

“And why were they left vulnerable, Colonel?”

“An egregious oversight, my Lord,” he muttered through gritted teeth, “which is being quickly rectified.”

You couldn’t decide how to respond. Should you laugh at him? Show pity? Strangely, you wanted to do both. His response—the cloistered rage, the tenuous grip he’d briefly displayed—had made you curious. You hated that.

You settled on saying, “I see.”

“So,” Tavington continued, folding his arms behind his back, “yourself and His Lordship may rest assured that it will not happen again.” He turned to Cornwallis. “On my word, you soon shall be on your way north, sir.”

“Let us hope.” Cornwallis relaxed at your side, appearing satisfied by Tavington’s self-flagellation. “This is dour business—I did say I had enough discussion of war, didn’t I?” Sighing, he nodded to Tavington, adding, “I look forward to it,” before looking to you. “Have you been to the northern colonies, my dear?”

“Yes,” you replied, surprised to feel as if a yoke had lifted from your shoulders with the change of subject. Clearing the tension from your throat, you continued. “To Pennsylvania, when I was a girl.”

“Ah, Pennsylvania,” Cornwallis sighed, as if missing a loved one. “Fine country there, isn’t it? And promising claims to be found in the Ohio, or so I hear.”

Tavington plucked a glass of Madeira from a passing tray and gave a tight, placating smile. “Indeed, my Lord.”

Your own matched it, along with a nod. “Very much so,” you replied, even though you had no idea what the Ohio was.

“By what circumstances did you find yourself in Pennsylvania?” Cornwallis asked.

“A visit to my grandmother in Philadelphia,” you replied. “Although, I suspect it was my father’s secret mission to allow me a glimpse of the College just once while we were there.”

“Most curious,” Cornwallis chuckled. “Why ever would he do such a thing?”

“Well, I used to beg him to send me to the Medical College one day.” An involuntary, sheepish grin spread across your face as fondness crowded your chest. “He knew, of course, that I could never attend. But he didn’t have the heart to dash my hopes.”

“A benevolent man indeed.” Cornwallis chortled again, clearly finding something very amusing in all of this. “Though, if women could become physicians, I fear we would all be far worse off as a society.”

You laughed. A short, sharp sound that you snapped to death between your teeth just as quickly as it had bolted free. Tavington glanced at you, bringing his baluster to his lips.

“Is that so, my Lord?” you said with a concerted attempt at levity, though your cheeks grew hot.

“Of course,” Cornwallis said, waving his hand as if to collect his thoughts from the air. “Such studies do not lend themselves to the… the finer manners of women. They’ve not the disposition for it, you know, it’s far from delicate business.”

“An interesting perspective,” you said through a smile that ached in its artifice. “I wonder, is stitching a fine silk so dissimilar to mending torn flesh?” Again, Tavington eyed you, brows rising fractionally. You needed to shut up, but there was a fire beneath your tongue, and you couldn’t stop the words from boiling over. “Is soothing a crying babe so unlike tending an ailing man?”

Cornwallis’ forehead crinkled, his face frozen for a beat in what may have been surprise, amusement, or both. He turned to Tavington.

“Quite the progressive, is she not?” He glanced between you and Tavington as if you were a bizarre art piece they might be discussing. “Fascinating how freely these colonial women speak their minds.”

You smiled blithely, your questions still unanswered. Tavington took a long pull of his drink.

“My dear,” Cornwallis said, adopting an air of one explaining the world to a child. “There are fundamental differences in the constitutions of men and women, as we all know. Should I have it my way, no woman would ever suffer her sensibilities tarnished by exposure to such grotesque things as blood or battle.”

He gave you a fondly chiding smile.

“My sensibilities,” you said, feeling a cord draw tight through your skull, “remained quite unsullied while I performed an independent transfemoral amputation.”

Tavington choked. Cornwallis’ eyebrows climbed. Then a laugh barreled free.

“I have no doubt that your administrative assistance has been much appreciated by our esteemed surgeon,” he said, composing himself. “But surely you are aware that such duties are not comparable to performing independent surgery.”

The cord snapped.

“I did perform independent surgery.”

Silence fell as both men stared at you. A gentle change in tempo from the distant strings. Tavington’s fingers tightened around the neck of his glass, his mouth parting as if he were salivating. Or on the brink of realization.

Cornwallis cocked his head, patronized you with a laugh.

“I’ve no doubt that such an exaggeration is born from the same flights of nerves that bade you reprehend poor Major Ferguson,” he said. “The man was left to defend himself most assiduously, you know.” Again, he smiled at you, shook his head in gentle admonishment. He sighed. “I dare say it only strengthens my opinion on the matter.”

Heat flared up your neck. Your spine stiffened, nails bit your palms, every part of you coiling with the urge to spring. Unleashing your arm from Cornwallis, you spun on him, loading retribution on your tongue like a musket ball. A flint, a spark, borne from the fire in your throat, and you could taste them, like lead, the words—did your wife seek death to escape your opinions—

A hand pressed to the small of your back. The scent of apples flooded your nose. The lead fell from your mouth.

“My Lord,” came the voice from beside you—the voice belonging to William Tavington, whose palm provided firm pressure as he guided you from the conversation. “I do believe Mr. Simms and his wife were wishing to speak with you.”

Cornwallis grinned, completely unaware. “Ah, the ingenuous Mr. Simms. I had been hoping he’d be here. Thank you, Colonel,” he said, and bowed toward you. “A fine discussion we had, my dear. And a good evening to you both.”

Your sight swiveled like the hands of a clock, new images passing second by second—the party, the drinks, the laughter, the twilight sky striped with stars. Music swam through the muddied mess of your mind. Your heart beat in your ears, in your thighs. Every inch of your awareness clung to the sensation of Tavington’s hand at your back, his fingers brushing your side. One step, another, and your eyes finally focused on him.

Like finding the surface of the ocean, you broke through, sucked in air, and flung his hand from your torso.

“Ugh!” You hissed, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Tavington sneered. “I could ask the very same.”

“I was—” Folding your arms over your chest, you realized that Tavington had just rescued you from saying something incredibly stupid. What a bastard. “I don’t need your help!”

“My help?” His lip curled, and he leaned closer, his breath warm on your face. “Are you so self-absorbed to believe that you were about to gift me a favor with that incorrigible mouth of yours?”

You snorted. “Of course, I’m incorrigible,” you replied, “all for wanting credit for something I did. Excuse me for seeking the appropriate recompense.”

“Recompense?” He huffed. “How, precisely, were you harmed?”

“Dr. Moore wasn’t even there!” you said. “But he—”

Tavington growled. “Did you ever consider that denying you credit protected you?” he asked. “I suppose you wish to be flogged?”

“Should I get on my knees?” you asked. “Espouse my gratitude for—for being—” A snarl tore its way from your throat. “I am not a child, and I refuse to be spoken to like I possess the intellect of one.”

You made to leave, and he snatched your arm, pulling you to his side.

“You are ungrateful,” he said, “and your petulance damns you to indignity far sooner than your sex.”

“You—” Heat, more heat, something like rage and hunger and altogether different rushed you, inspired sweat at your nape. You hated this party, hated the redcoats, hated Cornwallis, hated him. First your agency, now this damnable man would see you denied your dignity. “You don’t believe me either, do you?”

Tavington frowned, his tongue rolling in his mouth. His eyes pierced yours. “You would not waste your spite on a lie.”

Pausing, you searched his face. Your pulse fluttered in your throat, your wrists, your hands.

Before you could say a word, he continued, “But to expect a shift in perspective simply because you demand it—”

You laughed, pushing him away. “Pray, how should I expect it then, Colonel? Asking politely? That worked out quite well for the colonies, didn’t it?” His jaw stiffened. You were far too close to revealing your hand. “I don’t know why I’m even discussing this with you,” you said, and threw him off, rustling your dress. “I don’t need you, and I don’t need your help, so please spare me from it.”

With that, you turned away from him and marched into the crowd.

Eyes followed you as you snaked between groups, the sound of humming strings swallowing the pounding between your ears. If there was anyone more wholly unsuited for the role of spy, it was you. The entire party had seen you speaking with two officers of high regard, and for your grand finale, you’d just made a public rebuke of a third. Your father clearly hadn’t been thinking straight when he’d asked his loudest and most incorrigible child to gather information.

Your stomach rolled with nausea. You still had no knowledge of his status—and now, given your behavior, you could hardly expect to learn it at all. There would be someone bound to notice you sneaking off, someone bound to talk about the woman who’d seemed to make herself cozy with all sorts of titled men.

As you climbed the terrace toward the entrance, you spotted Tavington making his way toward two women. Upon his arrival, he presented them with a deep bow, his face free of irritation as he engaged them in conversation. His shoulders relaxed, his mouth drew in a wide smile. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him smile. For reasons you couldn’t understand, the sight of it made you want to flip a table, or maybe take a tray of drinks and spill them all down each of their frilly, ugly dresses.

He laughed at something, probably something that wasn’t even that funny, and his eyes landed on you. He smirked.

Just as a scream crested in your throat, the frigate waiting on the Ashley exploded into flames.

Every head snapped toward the river in a wave of horrified sound. Fire surged from the deck, climbed the masts, sprayed embers into the water. The party was motionless, captivated as light consumed the ship.

Motionless, of course, except for you. With all eyes on the river, you crept backwards until you reached the main house. As guests were scrambling out, you fled inside.

You flattened your frame flush with the wall along the stairs, watching as people stretched their necks, pushed others to the side, chattered like chipmunks. The chaos swelled. In the squeeze of the crowd, you heard Lottie calling your name, and you winced. As much as you wanted to reassure her, you couldn’t right now. You had to get upstairs.

Crouching low, you hiked your skirts above your ankles and snuck to the front of the staircase. The cacophony echoed as the news spread, and you held your breath, scampering up the steps and to the second floor.

Thankfully, Middleton Place was well-lit. Sconces held patient flames even in its halls, but you knew many officers had been staying the evening since Camden. Providing guidance to their drunken stumbling made sense. From what you’d understood, Cornwallis’ office was one of these rooms, and you would find it. The report would still be on his desk, and inside it, God willing, you’d fail to find your father’s name.

Your heels clacked on the hardwood. Bearing your weight on your toes, you took calculated strides, cracking open doors and peering inside as you passed through the halls. Empty, empty, empty but for furniture or decoration. You turned around a corner—the room at the end of this hall seemed most promising: under the door, a slit of flickering light, like a hearth or candle had been left to burn. Heart in your throat, you shuffled over to it, spinning the knob like it was made of crystal.

The door drifted open, revealed to you a room with grand ceilings, wide windows, and a fireplace still alive. A desk stood opposite from you, cluttered with ink wells, discarded pens, and parchment. Piles and piles of parchment.

Breath caught in your chest. Perhaps you weren’t so bad at this after all.

Slipping inside, you shut the door behind you and raced to the desk. There was no telling which of these was Tavington’s report, but you had at least a little time until you needed to be back downstairs. You picked up the first stack of papers, scanned the page. Not it. Second stack; not it, either. Third stack; the fire crackled on.

You weren’t sure which stack you were on when the door opened. Nor what you were reading when Tavington stepped through and closed it behind him. You were sure, though, that whatever papers you held floated to the floor. For once, you had nothing to say.

His eyes flashed in the shadow of the flames.

“What,” he drawled, “are you doing?”

[oh-shtars]

RFTS!AU AskBox #4

Me to @signed-sapphire for the legendary number of 50 Questions Galore they sent me:

Heads up though, you might notice there’s certain questions skipped. I’m either not able to answer some of the asks at all OR they’re either some art requests that I haven’t finished and will post in future posts. So I had to skip them for this post unfortunately…. I apologise as such. 😅

Anyways, let’s get speeding through them shall we?

1. How do you plan to show the songs?

It should be question 6 of this post here. :)

……

2. How many songs do you plan to have in RFTS?

4 or more. Depends on what I come up with.

……..

3. What ‘vibe’ would each song have?

Uhhhhhhh, idk tbh. I’m really just going with the flow of what this story brings me. You can’t wait to see what the RFTS!plot has in store? Yeah, me too.

……..

4. Who’s voicing Valentino and the main cast?

For Valentino, I’m not sure. I’m debating whether it should be younger Bambi or Ronno’s VA. But he basically has an actual kid’s voice this time rather than a deep-sounding one. (Because honestly, I found that a bit weird personally). For the the other characters, I don’t really mind the voices they have canonically.

And I think I’ve mentioned this before, but even though Sueño can’t speak, I could hear him singing this in this voice hypothetically.

………..

5. Write or draw any cute interaction between Ashueño!

Mk :3

………

6. I know Asha will have a different outfit by the end, but do you have different designs for anyone else?

Yeah, I do actually. Some characters have a different outfit to better reflect their current context. (Like how Sakina would have work clothes similar to Asha.) But I don’t want to reveal most of them at the moment since I would like to keep them a secret for now.

……

7. Some Gabo doodles, if you don’t mind. I rarely see the short king in any Wish Art.

Fiiiiine.

His design makes a lot more sense if you were me and you knew the context. Take this art with whatever theories you guys can throw at me 😂

……. 10. What made Amaya fall in love with Magnifico? What changed?

Amaya had a family who greatly discouraged her interest in studying magic and potions since it’s against what their family has done for generations. Meanwhile, Magnifico who was adopted as Rosas’ prince, is expected to learn magic but COULDN’T because he struggles to do so since he hasn’t moved on from his trauma.

When these guys were around 16-15 years old, they were mutual best friends. Mag offers Amaya to read from his magic books while he finds comfort in just having a genuine friend who doesn’t remind or push expectations onto him that he hears everyday in the castle. She’s like an escape from the stresses he has in there.

In their future years, Amaya grew to fall in love with someone who promised her the world if she only asked for it. She finds bits of herself in Mag, as both were people with crushed dreams that deserve better. (In their POV anyway.)

Falling in love was not at all what she expected since she used to believe sympathy would only hold her back from exploring the limits of magic. But you know, Amaya’s as much as a tragic character as Magnifico is.

…….

11. Who fell first and who fell harder between those two?

Is it possible to say that RFTS!Magnifico is both?

……..

12. Any fun fact about the Royal Couple? (You can tell who I’m most invested in. lol.)

The only reason Espino, the royal cat, is in the castle is because Amaya wanted him around. Otherwise, if it were up to Mag, that cat is out to the streets. He’s not very fond of animals and he considers them as pests. Though, Espino gets small bonus points from Magnifico just because he keeps the castle clear from mice which he especially hates.

(Good to know you’re enjoying ‘Grand Despair’ while it lasts :)

……

13. This may be weird but…Body Swap! How would Hopes and Dreams react?

Asha would have zero idea how to get star magic under control. Meanwhile, Sueño finds an interesting realisation.

……..

14. What’s your favourite fanart piece of your AU?

I LOVE all of them so much!! They’re all made by very amazing artists!! I’m so happy to see these silly characters I’ve made be brought to life in someone else’s style. 💖💖

Mere words can’t express this joy enough. I hope you all would love the final chapters once they do come out as much as you loved seeing content of them now. X3

……..

15. Are you telling your story via writing or art of word dump?

I’m planning to share it in chapters like how Anny and everyone else has been doing. Plus some more sketches I would keep making of them obviously.

��……

17. Draw Ashueño dressed as another Disney couple!

Hehehehehe guess whooo~ 🙃

………

19. Young!Sueño!

Which one? 🙃

Awww, good times back then when the little guy is still figuring out the forms he likes….

…… 20. Young!Royal Couple!

Mini Magnifico would rather drown himself or drink snake venom than call Oliver his dad- ………

22. Give some more lore on Asha’s father. Are you keeping him as close to the source material as possible? Will we see him in flashbacks or something?

You’ll definitely get to see Tomás at certain points in the story. Either in the short prologue, mentions and flashbacks. He’s generally a friendly guy but at the same time, is also assertive to defend what he thinks is wrong. But even though his life was cut short, Tomás ended up inspiring more people than he thinks. Especially his old friend, Sabino, who hasn’t given another wish or attended any more wish ceremonies after his death.

I don’t think we really knew much about Asha’s father at all in the canon movie, but I’ll pretty much be close to what is depicted there already with some more detail on how he made an influence in the lives of those he loves.

………

23. Give Sueño a stuffed toy for him to cuddle with. He deserves it <3

He adores it so much 💖💖

……….

24. More lore about the Astral Realm!

Not all Wishing Stars have the strong desire to venture down into the human realm someday and that’s completely fine. They can still guide their wishmaker from above. But for those who do want to, they need to answer one important question first:

“Why do you grant wishes?”

Since they would be going down to earth by themselves ALONE with none of their elders to guide them this time, their answer to this question serves as their anchor in case they get lost or distracted. Answers do vary and some may be the same among stars, but that’s fine. As long as they’re sincere with all their core on their answer. Some examples may be: “I like to see them reach their very best and reap their deserved rewards.” Or “I like watching them journey and discover themselves.”

……….

25. SNEAK PEAKS!!

This scene is one of my dotpoints I came up with but I’m not so sure anymore if that would still fit in and whether I should scrap it. Regardless, I thought this would be a nice little thing to show you all. Proof that I’m indeed working on it 😅

(Actually, this sounds so cute to draw. Feel welcome to try and do so if you want to, my fellow artists ^^)

…… 26. How does Magnifico’s magic work?

I made a whole post on this :3

………

27. Where did Amaya learn potions?

She’s self-taught mostly. But I also did mention that Mag generously lets her borrow what is meant to be his books of magic soooo, he played a role on that as well.

……

29. What’s Amaya’s opinion on the other Wish AU Mags?

I’m not exactly sure how different her opinions would be on each of them since I think we all decided to have our fun with Magnifico just being a shameless show-off and fun evil villain. I’ll try though.

Amaya would think KOW!Mag reminds her a lot of her own husband, also short-tempered and a disgustingly sweet romantic at times. She’s kind of a play-hard-to-get girl though 😂. One thing she does notice is that what WRTS!, Wish Granted! And KOW!Mag have in common is how loud they are with their ceremonies. Is that a universal Magnifico thing? Eh. There sure is a lot of interesting knowledge to learn from these universes. Hmmm.

TKoRaT!Maggy has that same pained look that falls on RFTS!Mag whenever he’s sulking by himself and needs time alone. Usually it’s because of his old village trauma. It’s an intriguing but ever so familiar cycle she recognises well.

Meanwhile. TFS!Mag is……different, she would say. Not exactly good different. I kinda imagine her eyeing this guy like a cat. This Mag just gives off a very different vibe of non-ruthlessness(?) that she’s not used to.

……..

30. Same for Mag, but vice versa.

RFTS!Mag gets very very very familiar vibes with KOW! And Wish Granted!Amaya. He finds it slightly amusing since it feels like his wife just became a part of some triplets. (He jokingly asked RFTS!Amaya if she had any sisters she never told him. The woman wasn’t amused. She doesn’t really like being reminded of her family.) I’m sorry TKoRaT! And TFS!Amaya, but you’ve made the decision to adopt Asha as your daughter and so he thinks lower of you now. Although…the TKoRaT!couple might just get to redeem themselves for that since they sound interesting enough. They’re going to have the ditch the girl though at some point.

WRTS!Amaya just feels off. He doesn’t know what exactly though? Is he losing his mind or something? Ugh, I think he could use devouring another Wish Bubble just in case…

……..

31. You know what, for Asha and Sueño too!

Oh boy, here we go. 😂

Asha will NOT be able to handle Wish Granted!Star’s energy. It’s so different from the silent but still lively conversations she has with her Starboy. Star just can’t bring himself to stop talking, can he? 😅 Asha thinks WRTS!Aster and TKoRaT!Star are adorable. Cielo may be a bit much at times with his light teasing and flirting, but she’s aware he means well.

I could see Asha’s non-hesitant empathy, patience and genuine concern to Haedus would be a huge comfort for the poor guy. (Trust me, she’s done this plenty before.) She’s a bit surprised to see Naos and Nembus but I think they’d get along just fine. She’s pretty good with playing with kids from her experience with a mischievous Valentino. And lastly, KOW!Aster is a total sweetheart that she jokingly comments could rival Sueño’s. (That comment caught Sueño’s attention quickly lmao.)

MEANWHILE:

Sueño is more hesitant and unwilling at first to approach humans by his own accord. He’ll still keep a short distance buuuut… if they’re just another version of Asha, it can’t be that horrible, right?

KOW!Asha’s drawings are a familiar sight for him and he’s impressed that she could bring her own drawings to life. Same goes for WRTS!Asha with her magic wand. Maybe they’re friendly… Maybe they could both do that together :D He’s neutral with Wish Granted! And Aled’s Asha for now until he gets to know them better.

Sueño recognises that same shyness and timid nature in TKoRaT!Asha. (It’s weird how she does the same thing RFTS!Asha does of turning their head away and hiding behind their hair when he innocently just looks her way.)

And then there’s…….HER. TFS!Asha. Cielo talks about her a lot….😬. But you know, that girl scares him.

Unfortunately, Sueño is staying a relatively farther distance away from the last two Ashas I mentioned. Why? Idk, probably the fact that they’re the daughter of Mag and Amaya-

……….

32. *Gives Sueño an iPad with Duolingo on it* Here my child. Learn Spanish.

I have a feeling you did this so he could finally find out what his name, ‘Sueño’ translates into. Lol, nope. Not yet he’s not.

He still appreciates the gesture though, but the guy got distracted by the other cool features and apps this weird magical mirror-tablet thing(?) had and completely forgot all about the Owl app.

……

33. Will Asha ever attempt to learn Celestial? Maybe with a candle? Like Morse Code? Idk.

Idk. Speaking Celestial is really just stars exchanging screechy sound waves to each other telepathically like words, while their glowing sequences indicates the mood and tone of what they’re saying. Maybe if Asha comes to learn how to harness light magic on her own, she’ll be able to at least convey emotions such as happiness in it by controlling the brightness and duration of each flash.

…….

35. How are you planning out your story?

I usually think of what main message I’m trying to get across first and build the story around it. After some character and world-building stuff (that I keep adding to because procrastination), I put the key scenes I could think of in bullet-point format and then just think up some in-between scenes that could occur between those points.

Usually though, the most usual process is that a random concept/idea pops into my head and then I immediately type it down so I won’t forget it. It’s basically my thing now to organise the giant mess of reminders into comprehensive plot lines.

I’m not writing the story at this point. The story is choosing to expose itself to me XD

Another main thing I do is listen to my Spotify playlist of this AU, read the Wish Artbook, or rewatch a movie that has inspired the RFTS! plot in some way.

……..

36. Are there any kisses in your story?

Hmmmmm….. *glances at Ashueño and Amnifico*

Oh well, since you’ve asked me, I gueeeeess I’m unfortunately now going to have to remove all the kisses I had included since y’all are so desperate to know….. (/jk)

……..

38. Will the Royal Couple have villain transformations?

………..

39. What’s your take on the ‘eating wishes’ thing?

As I’ve mentioned in my last post on how the magic system works in the RFTS!AU, Magnifico eats wish essence to reverse the costly effects of using Curse Magic. To put it simply, he uses them to make him more mentally stable.

.,,,,,,,,

40. What Easter Eggs are you planning to put in your story?

Awwwww, where’s the fun in that? Find them yourselves >:)))

And who knows? Maybe certain fellow creators in the Wish Rewrite Fandom will make a reference in some of the chapters. Keep an eye out 😉

……..

42. What exactly does Asha’s job entail?

Being a king’s apprentice is a way to gain experience and learn how to use magic by the king himself, so you could use the attained knowledge as to however you want. Share the talent with Rosas or Go out into the world.

However, when Magnifico’s reign started, he forbade magic usage other than he and his wife with the claim that it’s for the greater good and safety for Rosas. (He kinda had a point since criminal activity and accidents did decrease in number after that rule.)

Since Mag doesn’t really need an apprentice, Asha is more of an assistant now, following in her dad’s footsteps before her. She’s tasked to do help with whatever Mag might need around his study such as keep the fire going or organise his papers. But Mag doesn’t really like having her around a lot, (since she asks a lot of questions about his wish-keeping system) so he purposefully tells her to go carry out outside tasks such as go into the garden and help the gardeners or something.

……..

43. Did Magnifico make Sueño’s bonds?

If I told you, would that make you more blood-thirsty enough to gather pitchforks and torches for his head? Because if you are, please don’t. I still need this guy to stir up conflict in my story :((

(You can have him all you want though once I’m done with him. Lmao.)

………

44. How was Rosas founded?

Nearly a century ago, the kingdom was first built. I’ve read in the Art book that Rosas was apparently named to reference ‘Beauty and the Beast.’

Like, ok….?

Anyways, I found that roses are meant to represent love, rebirth and beauty. So I decided to add more onto that than just have it as another reference. The kingdom’s founders wanted Rosas to be a place where people who are wary and feel outcasted by their homes can find and start a new beginning. To ‘Rebirth’ and have a second chance to find the ‘beauty and love’ in their lives again,

Blue and white were made the royal colours because the blue was meant to stand for trust and reliability and white for new beginnings. Symbolising the past kings and queens’ responsibility to have their talents in sorcery be used to serve the people who come here. Thus, Rosas’ citizens all are in a variety of different cultures.

……..

45. Over how many days does your story take?

I’m thinking within one month. It’s a race-against-time sort of thing where Asha needs to find out how to confront the Royal Couple before they do something horrible on Rosas’ celebration of its 100th anniversary, which is literally just a month away.

…….

46. What was your favourite part of Wish? Are you translating that to your AU?

I really really loved how Mag’s magic looked and how he went all evil-ish green as a tribute to past Disney villains. If we ignore the awkward transition he had from sympathetic to just plain psychotic, it’s a cool magic display. I kinda wished they went more full out on the final battle because it just felt so underwhelming asf.

I’m keeping the magical final battle but with more magical funsies. :D

…….

47. Least favourite part?

I’m frustrated how bland and empty the character interactions and emotional beats are since those kinds of moments are usually my favourite when it comes to movies.

Magnifico’s tragic loss of his village? “Pfft- What tragedy? We don’t need that in the movie’s 2nd half.”

Asha’s dead father? “Eh. We only needed him for a few mins and he’s non-existent from that point on.”

Valentino claims to be Asha’s helpful animal sidekick. “Did I mention I have a deep voice? Oh, and my butt’s a funny thing too. Did I already mention that my voice is loud and soooo deep??”

Simon’s betrayal? “Oh wow, that was a shock…. Anyways, wanna start a rebellion?”

OMG, Sakina’s wish is back!! “What was the wish about? Idk who cares.”

Asha’s friendship with Star doesn’t even feel that special to me?? GUYS, I felt more chemistry between Rapunzel and Pascal. COME ON, BUILD IT UP. DON’T JUST SAY ‘Awww, you and I are thinking the same thing~’ AND EXPECT ME TO BUY THAT.

……….

48. What’s your favourite aspect of the TFS!AU?

Idk why, but I like how there’s a unique twist in your AU on how Wishing Stars don’t have the best reputation to humans. It’s a nice subversion that makes it stand out a little more. :)) Because usually, the idea of wishing on stars is always seen as a positive thing but that’s not the case in this story. It’s intriguing to watch characters slowly realise that not everything is what it seems.

That, and the hilarious dynamic you’ve got going on between Cielo and Asha and how deep in denial they both are, even though it’s clear as day to the other TFS!cast. 😂

(Wouldn’t it be funny if TFS!Mag and Amaya also noticed? They may be going down a dark path but they’re not blind, girl.)

……..

50. What’s a boring fact about you?

Uhhhhhh…. I like organising stuff by colour for fun...? Like, I used to pour out a box of legos and sort through them as a kind of pastime. I still organise coloured pencils in rainbow order if I could too. 😅 ………

@annymation @uva124 @your-ne1ghbor @ficsinhistory @rascalentertainments @gracebethartacc @spectator-zee

It’s a long read, but I think you guys would enjoy going through it regardless. I hope so anyways.

Btw, thx for all the fun questions Bo! 💖 Might post some more regarding your other doodle requests that I’ve put to the side for now if you don’t mind. :))

[oluka]

Thoughts on Invincible Iron Man #8 and #9

When I read Invincible Iron Man #8, I couldn’t believe my eyes. A reference to Iron Man #182, in my Iron Man comics? More likely than I thought. The fact that the reference was tasteful and also showcased Duggan’s understanding of Tony’s character was the icing on the cake. To sum up the scene: Tony just got hurt very badly by two Stark Sentinels and is half conscious. He reaches out and asks Emma for help. She gets into his mindscape, which we discover is a snowy alley full with empty bottles and sad tags on the walls.

“No way out, safe, hope”. This is the melodrama I want to see in my Iron Man comics. I also loved that Emma didn’t dismiss Tony’s trauma: “It’s real, but it’s not what’s happening right now.” She helps him get out of this flashback/mindspace, and the fight goes on.

There’s this beautiful panel where Tony surrenders his suit to save Emma:

Look at it!! Look at the colours! Look at the lines! The motion!

Anyways. Tony manages to get Emma away from the fight, taunts Feilong to kill him. Then in issue #9, he refuses Steve’s help when he arrives (because he needs to be alone and he wants to protect his friends) and then he meets up with Emma in the sewers, runs back to his workshop to make her a ring to conceal her from Orchis, and comes back to her. He also bandages his own injuries.

He gets down to the sewers again, and gets into an argument with Emma about his and her actions (or lack thereof) against Orchis/Feilong. And then…

Tony has a panic attack. Which I think is the first time, ever, we see this happening explicitly in an Iron Man comic (I’m happy to be proved wrong). He has a panic attack because everything is going to hell and Rhodey is getting hurt in prison and Feilong is trying to kill Rhodey and Tony. Tony is hurting, physically and mentally, and Duggan does not shy away from showing that. I think that Frigeri made an excellent job in drawing Tony so angry and literally foaming at the mouth: he’s not doing well, his emotions are all over the place. He cries (!!) and asks for help, again. I’m really surprised that Tony asks for help twice in as many issues. Is it because he trusts Emma to calm his mind? Is it easier for him to ask her instead of his friends because it’s less personal? Or is he so desperate that there is no other way? I don’t know. Regardless, it’s interesting.

This time, Emma brings him to his happy place:

His happy place, his “idealistic self-image”, is him surrounded by the Iron Man armours. Emma’s comment about there being less unsavoury people and “tramps” than she’d expected pleased my vindicative heart. But more importantly: last issue, we got to see Tony’s worst mindscape, where he falls into when everything is going to hell and he’s dying. And it was him, alone, in the snow, surrounded by his biggest weakness and fear: alcoholism. In this issue, we see his happy place, which is essentially: Iron Man. What Tony loves most about himself is Iron Man, what he hates most is his alcoholism. AAAAAAAA. This is such quintessential Tony. It’s him. I think I haven’t seen such a good characterization in Iron Man comics in a decade. I still barely believe it.

The following panels set up Tony and Emma’s alliance for the upcoming comics. Judging from the solicits for IIM 12 and 13, they’re going to be a team for at least until those issues, and maybe further.

Emma’s ruthlessness and Tony’s genius can make for a deadly combo. They’re not playing around. I hope we will see them shine together. I can’t wait for them to give Feilong and Orchis what they deserve. Also, note the way they phrase their alliance: “To their deaths.” Add to that the way they are framed, both dressed sharply and facing each other like that, and my mind immediately made the connection to wedding vows: “Until death do us part”. Am I reading too much into it, or was this intentional from Duggan and Frigeri? Maybe future wil tell.

To end this long post, here are unrelated thoughts:

1. I love the current trend of Avengers actively helping Mutants fight against Orchis. We have Tony, of course, but also Steve who reformed the Uncanny Avengers to fight against Orchis; Thor just saved a mutant in Immortal Thor #1, we’ve had mentions of Vision, Reed and T’Challa helping on the information side… It’s great. Between AXE Judgment Day and Fall of X, it seems that Marvel writers/editorial have decided to stop pitting the X-men and Avengers against each other. Let’s hope it stays that way. Avengers help everyone, and it’s nice to finally see it even in x-men books. Also, it gives us awesome panels:

2. Tony is his own nemesis confirmed. Thank you, Duggan.

And that’s it! If you’ve read this far, consider telling me in comments or tags what you thought. I might start doing posts like this for every Iron Man comic week.