#tos mayor

[aegirine-purple]

Smth smth tpows reveal

[givemerent]

Im bored trolololol

you guys SAW NOTHING.

guys i think he likes me too

[foresthuntermajrach]

Forgor to share this here, oops.

Doc x vet, PTSD triggers, nasty happens (bjs babyyyyyy). Read tags before proceeding

[emotionalmotionsicknessxx]

So you want to see the 1988 Phantom of the Opera proshot at the New York Public Library...

If you know one thing about me on this internet it's that I love when things are spelled out and easy. This weekend my friends and I went to the New York Public Library (NYPL) Theatre on Film and Tape Archive (TOFT) located at Lincoln Center to watch the Phantom of the Opera proshot. I saw some how-tos and asked friends who have already seen it, but it was still a little confusing and I wanted to clarify how my experience went:

Bottom line: if you can make your way to NYC, you too can see the Phantom proshot from 1988 starring Michael Crawford, Sarah Brightman, and Steve Barton and lose your mind :)

Here's how I did it:

I showed up to the New York Public Library Library of the Performing Arts located at Lincoln Center with my two (2) also phanatical friends. We were vibrating. We went when the archive opened at noon. Hours can be found here.

We were directed to the third floor where the archive is. We had to check our bags (but were able to bring whatever in - I brought my phone, a pen, and a notebook for notes)

We met the sweetest librarian who was so helpful - he got us on computers to apply for NYPL library cards AND special collections cards. If you live in NY, you can get a regular NYPL card. If you are from out of town, they will give you a NYPL visitor card (good for 3 months!) We filled out applications you can find here and here if you are curious about the questions asked. Many questions are optional! Note: there was some scuttlebutt about needing to be a student or researcher or even an expert in the field - you don't need to say why you're there unless you want to! I kept it brief: said I was an independent researcher and there for personal interest. They are just happy people are using our libraries! Sign the letter here to stop the mayor from closing our libraries

Once we had our cards (NYPL Card AND a special collections card/number) we were told to head to the archive, where we met a second, lovely librarian who was excited we were there. You can ask for any show that isn't currently running (sorry Hadestown nation). You can find a list of what they have here. All titles available at TOFT begin with the call number NCOV, NCOX, or NCOW. Note: we did not make an appt ahead of time, and luckily no one was watching Phantom but our friend wanted to watch Great Comet and someone already had it. To avoid this, make an appt. To make an appointment, call (212) 870-1642 or email toft@nypl.org.

We signed off to use the archive and were off to the races! That's it! We were put on three monitors and I controlled the pausing and replaying of the tapes. You can replay as much as you want, and can even ask for other plays/musicals that you want to watch during your session there. I took notes in a notebook, I saw other people taking notes on their phone. There are cameras to make sure you aren't doing any recording or photo taking. Note that you can only see this proshot once without special permission, so if you want to come back you'll need to look into what that permission is.

If you're interested in what was actually IN the beautiful, spectacular, amazing, never before been done proshot (it's from May 25, 1988 by the way) listen to my/our podcast, Leroux Less Travelled!

My inbox is open if you have more questions! I hope this clarifies how easy it is if you're ever in NYC!! We will get through phantom-drought together :)

[robertreich]

The Hard Hat Riot: A Forgotten Flashpoint in America’s Culture Wars

Missing from most history books is a key moment leading to the culture wars now ripping through American politics.

In 1970, hundreds of construction workers pummeled around 1,000 student demonstrators in New York City — including two of my friends. The “Hard Hat Riot,” as it came to be known, ushered in an era of cynical fear-mongering aimed at dividing the nation.

The student demonstrators were protesting the Vietnam War and the deadly shooting of four student activists at Kent State University that occurred just days before.

The workers who attacked them carried American flags and chanted, “USA, All the way,” and “America, love it or leave it.” They chased the students through the streets — attacking those who looked like hippies with their hard hats and steel-toed boots.

When my friends in the anti-war movement called to tell me about the riot later that day, I was stunned. Student activists and union workers duking it out in the streets over the war? I mean for goodness' sake, weren't we on the same side?

According to reports, the police did little to stop the mayhem. Some even egged on the thuggery. When a group of hardhats moved menacingly toward the action, a patrolman apparently shouted: “Give ’em hell, boys. Give ’em one for me!”

The construction workers then marched toward a barely-protected City Hall. Why? Because the mayor’s staff had lowered the American flag in honor of the Kent State dead. In a scene eerily foreshadowing the January 6th Capitol Riots, they pushed their way towards the building.

Fearing the mob would break in, city officials raised the flag.

The hard hats also ripped down the Red Cross banner that was hanging at nearby Trinity Church. They stormed a Pace University building, smashing lobby windows with their tools and beating students and professors.

Around 100 people were wounded that day, many of whom were college students. Several police officers were also hurt. Six people were reportedly arrested, but only one construction worker.

My friends escaped injury but they were traumatized.

The Hard Hat Riot had immediate political consequences. It was, in my opinion, a seminal  moment in America’s culture wars.

Then President Richard Nixon exploited the riot for political advantage. His administration had been working on a “blue collar strategy” to shift white working-class voters to the Republican Party.

“Thank God for the hard hats,” Nixon exclaimed when he heard about the riot.

But rather than passing pro-labor policies to court workers, which would go against the values of the pro-business Republican Party, Nixon sought to use cultural issues like patriotism and support for the troops to drive a wedge between factions of the Democratic Party.

Nixon invited union leaders, some of whom were involved in the riot, to the White House. They presented Nixon with a hard hat inscribed with “Commander in Chief”and an American flag pin. Nixon praised the union workers as, “people from Middle America who still have character, and guts, and a bit of patriotism.”

Nixon’s strategy to use the Hard Hat Riot to appeal to blue collar voters paid off. In his 1972 re-election campaign against the anti-war Democrat George McGovern, he secured a victory with ease and gained the majority of votes from organized labor – the only time in modern history a Republican presidential candidate accomplished such a feat.

The Hard Hat Riot revealed a deep fracture in the coalition of workers and progressives that FDR had knitted together in the 1930s, and the later alliance of Black Americans, liberals, and blue-collar whites that led to Lyndon Johnson’s landslide re-election in 1964.

The mostly white construction workers who attacked the demonstrators had felt abandoned — and forgotten – as the Civil Rights movement rightfully took hold. They felt stiffed by the clever college kids with draft deferments, and burdened by an economy no longer guaranteeing upward mobility.

The class and race based tensions that Nixon exploited would worsen over the next half century.

I witnessed this when I was secretary of labor during the Clinton Administration. I spent much of my time in the Midwest and other parts of the country where blue-collar workers felt abandoned in an economy dominated by Wall Street. I saw their anger and resentment. I heard their frustrations.

Many Democrats, whether they will admit it or not, have not done enough to respond as Republicans have destroyed unions, exacerbated economic inequality through trickle-down nonsense, tried to gut just about every social safety net we have – and stood in the way of practically every effort to use the power of government to help working people.

Today, the right is trying to channel that same anger and violence against the Black Lives Matter movement, the LGBTQ+ community, particularly drag queens and transgender people, and whatever they consider “woke.”

It is the same cynical ploy to instill a fear of “the other” as a means to distract from the oppression and looting being done by the oligarchs who dominate so much of our economy and our politics.

As such, today we face the same questions we faced in 1970:

Will we finally recognize that we have more in common with each other than those who seek to divide us for political and economic gain?

Can we unite in solidarity, and build a future in which prosperity is widely shared by all?

I truly believe that we still can.

[kissorkill16]

Sly As A Raven: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: Enzo investigates the Town Hall.

As Enzo slowly tip toed down the hall of Mayor Tavish's large mansion, he overheard voices coming from the living room.

"Come on now.", said the mayor. "Do you really believe that a bunch of children are capable of interfering with our plans?"

"Yes, I do.", said a gravely voice. "They may just be children to the naked eye, but I see right through them. They're smarter than we think. So you should really watch your back."

Enzo covered his mouth in fear. They're talking about them. They're talking about the group. They were smarter than they looked.

If he weren't so petrified right now, he would've taken that as a compliment.

The mayor sighed, "Alright, fine.", he said. "I'll keep an eye out. But I can assure you that these children may be terrifyingly intelligent for their ages, but they're still dumb little children like you said."

"Dumb little children?!", Enzo felt insulted. "And you just said we were smarter than we looked."

He peeked into the living room, and saw that the mayor was dancing to an old jazz record.

"That should keep him busy for a while.", thought Enzo. And with that, he slowly walked away from the living room, and creeped into the lobby.

He looked all around the large room, but he didn't really find anything that might lead to the identity of Crowface. He didn't know why he thought the mayor of all people would be the raven man, maybe he just wanted to find proof better than "Oh he gave me a B+ on my last assignment!"

...Or maybe because there was a feather sticking out of the wardrobe in the far corner.

He walked to the wardrobe, opened the door, and saw a soft, black, feathered cloak. Next to it was a white beaked mask.

"Crowface doesn't dress like this.", thought Enzo. "Trinity told me he had a long, yellow, dirty beak. And his cloak didn't have feathers."

Whether or not this was the right costume, he pulled from his pocket a camera he got for his birthday last year. He snapped a couple of photos, but panicked when he heard footsteps come into the lobby.

"What is that noise?", asked Mayor Tavish as he walked into the room. "Who the hell is taking pictures in my house? You're interrupting my music!"

As the mayor walked into the lobby, he didn't find anyone. The lobby was completely empty.

He walked towards the wardrobe, and opened it slowly, then quickly. No one was in there.

"Hm.", hummed the mayor. "Must've been my imagination.", he said. He walked back to the living room and turned his music back on.

Meanwhile, Enzo slowly crawled out from under the lobby couch, and tip toed out of the room, out of the house and into the lawn.

Enzo pulled out his walkie talkie, "Trinity, hey. It's me, Enzo. I didn't find any clues to Crowface's identity in the Town Hall, but I found a cloak. It's nothing like you described, but I think the mayor might be one of his accomplices."

No answer. Just static.

Just then, Enzo felt something grab his leg, making him fall to the ground and drop his walkie talkie. When he looked to see what grabbed him, he let out a loud scream.

Crowface.

[nv-archives]

I've been thinking about creating an interactive comic involving Town of Salem (also because I want to rekindle my passion and bring more content to the first game).

Here's the blog so far

Again, I can't promise that this is going to be fruitful, especially since this is a solo project (I can always try and find people to collaborate with, though that's also not a guarantee).

Feel free to read more if this catches your eye!

About a year ago, I had an idea where I get 14 people to collaborate on a project where I simulate a ToS story (the 15th being the rest of the community). Obviously, I didn't go through with this plan because trying to gather 14 people for this was absurd.

Then, I remembered this idea again and decided to take on a different approach.

InTo(the)Salemulation is... well, a simulation of a Town of Salem game, but it will take the form of a comic with a storyline that is impacted by the choices you make. Do note that:

If you die, there is no going back, and the game will be archived.

The same goes for the decisions you make. It will never be acknowledged until the game is over.

The characters are different in every storyline. Some traits and personalities might get reused, but a character will never appear again in a different one (only as a cameo, a mention, or a passing thought).

Other characters also make decisions, but it's purely RNG and never my own. I will only make it so that they have a logical/in-character reasoning (for example, I wouldn't make a vigilante shoot a revealed mayor), but I will never rig anything else even if it makes the story interesting.

If this looks like something you're interested in coming to fruition, let me know so that I know there will be an audience for it. I don't want this project go live only to be met with crickets. That'd be embarrassing.

Also, a few more things:

I am willing to adopt OCs (with credit ofc, and hey, you get free art too :P)

If you want to collaborate, and idk why, but feel free to DM me all the same

Psst my art commissions are open :3

[moldycalico]

omg shoutout to this old ass trump assassination tos meme i did on a paper and then the teacher collected☠️☠️ i just remembered its existence

i should do that trump pose with mayor and bodyguards itd be so funny

the og pic:

[fleckcmscott]

Bountiful

Summary: As autumn leaves fall, Y/N and Arthur reflect on how much they have to be thankful for.

Words: 3,643

Warnings: None

A/N: Though Thanksgiving is alluded to in Backward, Forward - Part 2, this is the first piece I've written featuring the holiday. I hope you all like it! 😃 Lots of love and appreciation for @sweet-nothings04 for beta reading! And a happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate! 🦃

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

The door flew open at the exact moment Y/N turned the key.

All teeth and boundless glee, Arthur's handsome grin greeted her. "Hello, Mrs. Fleck." A thorough kiss when he grabbed her hand to pull her inside. "Come here."

Intrigue arching her eyebrow, she followed on eager feet. Toed off her heels at the kitchen partition, dropped her tote bag by the floor lamp, lost her purse somewhere behind the sofa. The sleeve of her speckled wool coat hung at her wrist, a captive of his firm grip.

He took a seat at his desk. Four bills were piled to the left, a torn open cardboard mailer to the right. He gestured towards the mailer. "Look what came today."

She wriggled free and picked it up. Skimmed Gotham Bank's return address and dumped out the contents: a vinyl checkbook and four check booklets. The source of his excitement stood nonchalantly in the upper left corner.

She traced the italicized letters. Arthur & Y/N Fleck. "Our names go well together."

"We go well together." He swept her onto his lap, pecked a line from her lips to her temple. Shifting forward, he snagged the checkbook and a ballpoint pen. "I wanna make out the first one." She studied the subtle movements of his hand as he printed "City of Gotham - Sewer" on the payee line. His strokes were slower than usual, the serifs neater, as if writing a sacred declaration instead of paying for flushes.

Delight flitted through her, light as a feather.

He'd been buzzing since their trip to Niagara, and she'd found herself buzzing right along with him. At the office, she'd blurred between drafting motions, reading complaints, and offering sanitized answers to suggestive questions about their romantic weekend. He'd pinned two postcards featuring the falls to the room divider at his desk, stuck their corny Honeymooning portrait on his vanity. The props from Houdini Magic Shop went straight into his plaid bag.

In bed last night, he'd squeezed her hand and said he wanted the honeymoon to last forever. That with her, he was sure it would.

She'd swallowed the thickness in her throat and squeezed back.

The telephone rang the second he finished the k on the signature line. When she moved to stand, he picked her up and plopped her on the chair. Pecked her forehead and took off for the kitchen.

Once he'd rounded the corner, she turned back to his desk with a smile. She ran her palms along the worn maple, feeling like the recipient of an exclusive invitation. Nosey fingers itched to open the drawers, her thumb dangling dangerously close a pull handle. Knowing all there was to know about Arthur, learning his innermost thoughts by heart was an ever-present longing. What would be the harm in seeing if the drawers were locked?

Get a grip, Y/N. He's your husband, not a case.

Rolling her eyes, she tore the check from the booklet and stuffed it in its envelope.

His dusty baritone caught her ear. "No, it's okay. I just got back from my honeymoon." An extra emphasis on the last syllable to make it stick. "Thanksgiving? Well, maybe that Wednesday. Let me check my calen..."

Words went to fuzz as the whole of her attention turned inward.

The last three weeks had been wonderous, if overflowing. With the burst of getting hitched; Halloween with its pleasures and poignancy; the mayoral election and Thomas Wayne's dastardly win; Niagara Falls; and Arthur's upcoming birthday (for which she'd pull in a favor from Patricia), Thanksgiving hadn't been on the furthest recesses of her mind.

Family had filled her past, get-togethers that'd inspire Norman Rockwell to paint a new Saturday Evening Post. Visits from her grandparents, her mother's older sister and husband, who'd stolen Y/N's nose until she was twelve and always carried a flask. A televised parade from some faraway place called Gotham, construction paper headdresses and pilgrim bonnets. Her mother's cornbread dressing and butterscotch pie. Rowdy older cousins spilling gravy and running around the kids' table. And, when it all became a little too much, slipping her hand in Mabel's and slipping onto the porch. Imperfect but wonderful with love at its core.

The click of the receiver cut through the sunny recollection, a rarity she'd uncovered thanks to Arthur. A lightness she feared would shift to shadow, given its Ever After.

"That was the children's clinic," Arthur called as he crossed the living room. "The activity coordinator's out. They want to hire me for Thanksgiving, the Wednesday before."

"That's your third job there, right?" she asked "They're going to have to keep you on retainer."

"She said they had crafts, but- I dunno what a clown's supposed to do." He shrugged, huffed a chuckle through his nose. "Gobble, gobble?"

"They already have a plan. That'll make it easy. Just be yourself. You can't go wrong there. Which reminds me..." Y/N swiveled to fully face him. Away from the There and Then, to the Here and Now. "What do you want to do for Thanksgiving?"

Dimples dappled his cheeks. "It's been a long time since I've done anything." He said it in a manner she took to mean never, and her breastbone became a dull ache. He crouched to retrieve her purse from the floor. "What did you always do? You and your family?" It was one of the handful of occasions he'd asked about them directly. "We can do that."

"No," she said, a bit too fast. His black brow raised a fraction. She knelt next to him and gathered her coat. Smoothed it over her lap. Consciously softened her voice but still pushed back. "We should start something ourselves. Make our own history."

The glow of nostalgia illuminated his green eyes. "Make it about us." He tugged at the lapel of her blazer, drew her in for a kiss. A damp press of his mouth with no teeth or tongue.

She sank into his solid frame, a haven from what she couldn't yet mend. "We'll just have to figure out what to do with the leftovers."

~~~~~

In the sunniest section of the common room, Arthur took a brown crayon from Timothy, a boy with a bandaged head and right arm in a cast, the aftermath of a car failing to yield at a crosswalk. "Here, I can do it," Arthur offered. Timothy splayed his hand on the horseshoe shaped table.

Arthur traced around his palm, each finger, his skinny thumb. "That's good," he said, reaching for a shoebox of felt cutouts. "What color feathers do you think he has?"

Arts and crafts were not a part of Carnival's repertoire. A magic wand and a record player were a more comfortable fit, a twirl and a stomp to top off a silly dance. But he and a couple of candy stripers had spent the afternoon helping patients choose between handprint turkeys and leaf friends, replete with googly eyes. And he found the more he offered assistance, the easier it was to discern when it was appropriate. To make their Thanksgiving better than his own.

In the Before Y/N period, a holiday to celebrate plenty had been as inaccessible as full cupboards and a full heart. How could there be freedom from want, when he'd wanted his entire life?

School had been a morose monotony, but the week of Thanksgiving break had meant missed meals. The roar of his stomach and embarrassed, stifling laughter had annoyed enough to earn a free lunch tray whenever there were leftovers. Two or three times a week. Far from prying eyes and piercing words, he'd sat in an empty classroom and munched on dry chicken and bouillon flavored rice. Saved his chocolate pudding tin for dinner in case Penny had forgotten groceries again.

After dropping out of high school to work, holiday shifts had been his bread and butter. People lost a bit of their edge, he got time-and-a-half, and it was less painful to be around those who didn't know him than the mother who never would. Dishwashing at the Logerquist Hotel came with the perk of smoking away and swaying to a live jazz band between loads.

Then there was the Thanksgiving he'd spent in Arkham.

A four-year-old's disappointment from the right. "I dropped it."

Red and blue rubber shoes slid along polka-dotted vinyl. Arthur made a show of retrieving the paste stick from under the table. Presented it to April with the IV with a bow. Without bills to pay, her giggle and body scrunching with glee would be the only hourly he'd need.

"Excuse me, Mr. Fleck?"

He straightened and turned towards the nursing station in the back corner. A crucifix hung on the wall next to the L-shaped counter, and beside it an icon of the clinic's namesake Saint Philomena, arrows and anchor firmly in her grasp. An unfamiliar face stepped out from behind the station, a woman with a shock of brunette corkscrew curls.

She stuck out her hand. "I'm Concetta, the woman who called. I'm lucky I found your card on Holly's desk. Thank you for squeezing us in on such short notice. I was wondering if you might have a slot open for Christmas."

It hadn't been short notice, and he hadn't booked anything for Christmas, but he didn't have to tell her that. He attempted a confident handshake - and succeeded. "Um, yeah. I should have one. Did you want to put me on retainer?"

She was kind enough ignore the left-footed use of the term. "Let's start with Christmas, first. Holly'll be back by then. It'll be a nice surprise for the children and their parents. Let me give you my card and we can iron out the details." She plucked it from her pocket without pause. "I'm out tomorrow but feel free to leave me a message once you've checked your schedule."

He gripped the card between thumb and forefinger, but it took three seconds for him to take it. Assurance swirled and spiraled upwards into an appreciative nod. "Thanks."

"You're very welcome. Congratulations on getting married, by the way. Do you and your wife have big plans tomorrow?"

Entire face creasing into a smile, he answered, "Well, her family's in Missouri, so just dinner at our place. I'm- I'm really looking forward to it."

And, if luck continued to shine on him, Part Two of the conversation started on Halloween night. A chance to follow all the breadcrumbs she'd strewn about her earlier years - before she could sweep them away and erase the trail. To prove she could mend with him, the way so much of himself continued to with her.

~~~~~

By the time Y/N turned on the TV, the Killinger's Thanksgiving Day Parade was getting underway. Special Presentation on NCB, led by Gotham City's Police Department's Highway Patrol, hosted by Murray Franklin and sidekick Barry O'Donnell.

Pursing her lips, she debating changing the channel. Having this on in the background was a rare childhood tradition Arthur and she shared. She wasn't going to let Franklin's smarmy smirk and O'Donnell's desperate laugh-alongs sully that.

She twisted the volume dial. The cries of bugles hushed to whimpers and the roars of hosts became murmurs.

When she padded into the kitchen for another cup of coffee, Arthur was leaning on the counter with both hands, a book open on the Formica, concentration deepening his crowsfeet. Freed from its netting, the Lil' Butterball lounged in an aluminum roasting pan in the sink. She'd suggested chicken, but he'd insisted on turkey, and with this being his first real Thanksgiving, she hadn't argued.

His lips moved as he read, pointer finger tracking each word. She filled her mug, glanced at the cookbook, the yellowed photograph of a roasted turkey surrounded by pale parsley and wrinkly tomatoes. A nervous palm rubbed the nape of his neck.

She wrapped an arm about his middle, planted a kiss between his shoulder blades. Disheveled curls caressed her cheek. She rubbed a soothing circle on his taut stomach, through his thermal shirt. "Did you find a recipe you like better?" she asked.

Adopting an uneven slouch, he brought her to his side. "This says to put oil on the skin, but this-" he pointed to another paragraph "-says to use shortening. I don't know what that is. I bought this the other day." He reached for a nondescript plastic baggy that smelled of rosemary, oregano and sage. "But there are no directions. Do we put it in the turkey or what?"

Fingers fidgeting in a way they never did when they held a cigarette, he pushed out a breath. "I haven't cooked one before."

"Neither have I," she said. "My mother did all the cooking. And Jeff and I alternated between his parents and mine. The most I did was bring a pumpkin pie."

"You made pie?"

"'Made' is too much credit. I used store bought crust and canned filling." She nudged him in the ribs and offered her coffee, which his fidgety fingers gladly accepted. He added two more sugars as she continued. "If we try to make this perfect, we're going to drive ourselves crazy."

She skimmed the recipe, reviewed the roasting table, and set the oven to 325 degrees. "Rub the seasoning under the skin, and I'll brush the margarine on."

Four hours later, she could barely see the table for all the food.

Roasted turkey, golden with a buttery crisp. Green bean casserole in eight-by-eight Corningware. Arthur was skeptical of the sweet potatoes topped with marshmallows, but she was certain it was a combination his sweet tooth would cheer. Confusion narrowed his eyes whenever she referred to StoveTop as dressing. Laughing at herself, she shook her head. ("You call it stuffing up here.") Brown 'n serve rolls baked in the oven for twelve minutes. A tube of jellied cranberry sauce slid out of the can with a satisfying plop.

Offering a Hamilton Beach electric knife (a steal at Donahue's for $21.99), she asked him to carve the turkey. His glistening gaze and closed mouth grin sent jumbles through her middle.

He'd said he'd been the man of the house for as long as he could remember. Pearled the grit of taking care of Penny into gems. Polished the story of a trapped adolescence into something he could, should be proud of.

But now he was the man of their house. Pearling was no longer needed, polishing no longer necessary, because a life lived with Y/N was what he'd chosen. What they'd chosen A certain kind of light that shined on them both,

Arthur rubbed the tops of his thighs. "There's so much. I'm not sure where to start." After a moment, he scooped a spoonful of the potato casserole. Tested the mash of marshmallow and sugary starch with a cautious nibble. A hum of pleasure behind smacking lips. "This is good."

"Let me see." She stole a forkful from his plate. The cozy warmth of cinnamon and nutmeg melted on her taste buds. Her sigh was equal parts satisfaction and relief. "It's always hit or miss when I try my mother's recipes."

"Well, this one's a hit." He paused. "What else did your mom make?"

"Just the usual," she said with a dismissive wave. She snagged a roll and ripped it in two. Steam rose from the dough in hot waves.

A knife clinked against ceramic, jarred gravy cascaded over turkey. He sampled the green bean casserole and said nothing. Dug into the StoveTop and said nothing. Sipped coffee and said nothing.

Her cheeks turned to coals, a sudden flush of shame. An unwelcome echo of Halloween. How could she have given this man her whole heart, then shut down his loving inquiry like she was shutting a barricade? As if he was the one who'd erred instead of her? It wasn't as if she didn't get what he was feeling. Only a couple weeks ago, she'd had to stop herself from shuffling through his drawers.

Contrition rose in her throat. She cleared it, offered a small smile of apology, and started over again.

"She made cornbread dressing - stuffing - with buttermilk, eggs, celery... Everybody loved it. She made enough batches to send home with everyone. Even the years Jeff and I were with his family, she'd come over the next day with a big pot."

She smeared margarine on her roll. "My sister has that recipe."

"Maybe she'd send us a copy?" Arthur said.

"I'll ask when I call tonight."

"It's nice to hear you talk about your family."

Her shoulders drew together. "I know."

Two more chews and he sliced into the cranberry sauce with the side of his fork. "I was in the hospital one year. For Thanksgiving. There were visitors from a local church or parish or whatever. They served turkey dinners and ate with us, like we were normal people." He took the jiggly jelly off the tines with his teeth. "There were Looney Tunes on the TV - Arkham plays cartoons all the time. We didn't talk a lot, but I liked it. It was nice not to have to cook for my mother and be alone."

Alone but with his mother. Alone but with her father. Two by two they'd marched through their days to make their way to each other. To sit at this table. To be brave enough to share themselves.

When it came to matters of the heart, Arthur's courage was far greater than hers. Of that there was no doubt. Perhaps one day she'd crack open the barricade enough to match it.

Reaching out to clutch his hand, she promised herself she'd try.

The start of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth. He clutched back.

~~~~~

A little girl's excited squeal resounded through Gotham Park, riding the breeze through winding trees. The afternoon sunset cast long shadows across meadows and rippled along Crown Reservoir. Couples strolled curved walkways, impromptu snack stands lined parkways, selling cocoa and pretzels and crepes. An elderly man, toothless and in a fraying baseball cap, sat on an iron bench, laughing as he fed the ducks at his feet.

Gait easy, casual, utterly natural, Arthur put his arm around Y/N's shoulders. When he'd worked the seasonal carnivals, fall foliage's showy scarlets and honied ambers had been a seldom source of beauty. A background to his daydreams while he'd eaten fried dough on his break. He'd wanted to show it to her for awhile, make those dreams come true.

Most leaves littered the ground now, releasing a musky sweetness as they crunched under their feet. But a few still clung to the uppermost branches, huddled together as if trying to keep warm.

A rustic arch bridge spanned the narrowest part of the reservoir, an antique made of stones dredged during the body of water's construction in 1893. As they reached its crest, he nodded towards pine oaks reaching across the water, akin to lovers stretching to meet. Pointed at crimson sugar maples contrasting against clear, blue sky. Admired clusters of eastern white pines, nature's answer to skyscrapers.

"The fall in Boonville is prettiest in November," Y/N said. "Everything peaks about a month later than here. The honey locusts - those don't grow this far north - turn as yellow as the sun."

"Oh." He shoved his hand in his pocket. He'd assumed autumn's prism made his home special.

She stepped out of his embrace. Crossed her arms on the stone parapet. "But there's a catch. They have thorns - longer than my hand. If you're not careful, they'll tear your dress."

That struck him as too specific to be offhand. Going to her side, he jumped at the chance to follow that breadcrumb. "Did that happen to you?"

"Mabel and I were playing hide and seek. I ruined my skirt, and she got nineteen stitches. We tried to avoid them after that. But they kept spreading and spreading and after a few years thorns were everywhere." A hitch brittled the last word.

She plucked a fiery oak leaf from the parapet, mottled with brown flecks. "My father used to go around the table and ask us to name one thing we were thankful for. It had to be different every year."

"That'll certainly be easy now that you're here." He studied the gold wedding band he'd paid off last week. Twisted it around his finger. "I'm thankful I can wear this. That it's real."

A giggle left her. "It suits you." She twirled the leaf by the stem, held it to her face. Eyes shimmering in the sunlight, she gazed over it like a hand fan. "I'm thankful for fewer thorns."

Stare locked on hers, he slowly lowered the leaf. Palmed it and tucked it away to press into the pages of his journal. "You know, no matter what happened, I'm here," he said, closing her hand between both of his.

She kissed the back of his fingers. They curled under the tender fullness of her lips. "I know you are, Arthur." Her palm rested on his sternum, directly above his heart. Pulling him to her, not pushing back. "I know you are." Gentle as a breeze, she raised herself to meet his kiss. He cupped the side of her neck, his thumb at the hollow of her throat.

Ding ding!

A tween on a scooter darted by, missed them by barely an inch. His mother chased him in a haggard, hoofing jog. "Christopher Daniel, you stop this very instant!"

Y/N's laughter rippled against Arthur's fingertips, her chuckles honey on his lips. Elation swept through him, a wave so powerful his knees quaked.

"Come on," she said, lacing her arm through his, and led him down the other side of the bridge. "I think there's a hot chocolate with our names on it."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​​​​​ @ithinkimaperson​​​​​ @sweet-nothings04​​​​​ @stephieraptorr​​​​ @rommies​​​​​ @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1​​​​​ @another-day-in-chuckletown​ @hhandley80​​​​​ @jokerownsmysoul​​​​​ @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics​​​​​ @iartsometimes​​​​​ @fleckficgirl @chaimshelii

[sapphic-moon-child]

Bumps along the way

Chapter 3: Troubling woods and cold nights

Larissa x Shapeshifter!Reader Pregnant!Reader Pregnant!Larissa

Warnings: Pregnancy struggles, Pregnancy/childbirth, Miscarriages, Mental illness, Swears or curses, Infant Death, Stillborn, PTSD, Panic attacks, Near death experience, Mentions of birth and physical exams, vomiting,

A/N: This story is going to be heavy, it deals with real life situations that most don’t understand the pain of. 1 in 4 women will experience this in their lifetime, remember you don’t know everyone's history.

Chapter 3: Troubling woods and cold nights

Larissa had an appetite for sex like no other and you loved it, she knew how much you loved taking the reins on your bedroom life and how it thrilled you to watch her give up that control. Your home life over the last month has been incredible and healing for you both, finding a new love and many new kinks that brought you together. Your wife was a goddess and worshiping her body was your favorite pastime now. Sometimes a quickie over lunch or a fast one before a long meeting. You knew she craved the release from the stress of her job and you were happy to provide it. 

That was until she all but started avoiding you. She would get irritated quickly and shoo you away while she was on a call. When you would get home she would still be working away in her office and you couldn’t tell what you had done wrong. Larissa had never been anything but kind to you and always made time for you, but the last two weeks she was like a ghost. You decided she must just be stressed and would have a conversation over dinner. You poured two glasses of Merlot and made her favorite meal, Medium rare steak with smashed potatoes and parm glaze and made garlic glazed green beans and a small salad. Everything was perfect: two candles lit and the nice dinner plates out. You bought a dozen roses in pink and red, her favorite and waited on the edge of the sofa for her to come through the door. 

The second she stepped into the door her phone was glued to her ear in a heated debate with someone “Probably the mayor” you think to yourself. You watch as she sheds her coat and slips out of her heels and you hope she turns to you to see the beautiful flowers in your arms for her. Instead though her conversation only turns more heated and you watch her walk right past you and to your bedroom without a second glance. Anger filling your veins you hastily threw the flowers down on the floor and slid into your shoes, without grabbing a coat or your phone you let the door slam behind you. You breathed in the cold night air and let your feet carry you to the woods, tears falling down your face. After what seemed like hours to you, you set down against a tree and let your face fall against your knees sobbing until sleep overcame you. 

Larissa’s POV

The workday was stressful and all I can think about is getting off these damn heels. Everything in my body hurt to touch and the mayor was running me up a wall with all his ranting calls. The students were driving me crazy this week and everything felt irritating. All I wanted was to come home, change out of this tight dress and hug you. While dealing with yet another long call from the mayor and his ranting I frustratingly toed out of my heels and shrugged off my coat and walked into our bedroom to change. Normally Y/N would meet me at the door, but over the last week I know my mood has affected her. “What the hell is wrong with me?” I wonder as I tell the mayor that I am tired and done with this conversation. Hanging up the phone as I pull on a pair of loose jogging pants and a hoodie that I secretly love I hear the front door slam. 

Walking into the living room I see a crumpled bouquet of flowers thrown on the floor and the dinner table set with a beautiful dinner and wine. “How did I not see this before?” I say quietly to myself. I slide on a pair of flats and grab a jacket and open the front door looking around. Your car was still in the driveway, but you were nowhere to be seen. I call out your name, but hear nothing in response. Guilt and worry seeping into my veins… I go back and grab my keys to the school thinking maybe you went to our old quarters upset. Knowing I hurt you pulled my heart in like a vice. I slipped into my office and our old quarters that we kept for night watches and late nights working. Calling out your name, I only hear silence in return. True fear sets in and my feet carry me to the woods. I look for my wife for at least an hour and pull out my phone knowing there are two people that could help me. Dialing the number on my phone knowing the late hour I cringe, but my options are short and fear filled right now. “Principle Weems?” I hear a tired, but cheery voice on the other line. “Enid, I need you and Wednesday. I know that normally I would never ask this of my students, but I’m desperate. I need your tracking skills and Wednesday's brain. Y/N is missing… She… She left the house, but her keys and car are still here and she doesn’t have her phone. I think she’s in the woods.” I choke on my sobs trying to compose myself even just a bit. “Where are you?” I hear Wednesday's dull voice over the line. “ I’m at the woods edge on the east side. Marilynn is on night duty, tell her to come too if you see her.” 

With that in no less than five minutes two students and the red headed teacher are by my side. Marilynn pulls me into a hug and I give them a rundown of what happened. Wednesday already has started to map out the route you could have taken and Enid is trying to pick up a trail. Flashlights in hand we set off into the woods hoping that we can find you before we have to call Sheriff Galpin for a search party. The cold air had turned bitter, and the wind picked up significantly. 

Normal POV

You woke for a few minutes and felt the chill run through my bones. “how long have I been here?” You wonder, but tiredness calls to you and exhaustion fills your brain. You let sleep wash over you, not feeling the cold anymore. Nearing the two hour mark of their search, Wednesday’s voice fills the air. “She’s over here!” You don’t stir from the sounds of yelling or running and don’t register Larissa Pulling you into her chest taking her jacket off and wrapping it around your bare arms. “She's breathing! Darling what were you thinking leaving in only a tee shirt and leggings.” Larissa’s voice is full of panic. “Lars, we need to get her back to the house and get her warm.” Larissa nods through her tears and pulls you into her arms all but running back to your home. The three other women follow and Larissa walks straight to your room sitting down on the bed with you still in her arms. “What do we do Mary?” Wednesday answers instead. “You need to get her out of those cold wet clothes and warm her up slowly. Enid go to the infirmary and get all the hot water bottles and heating pads you can find.” Enid nods and grabs the master keys Wednesday hands her. “When did she swipe those?” Larissa wonders, but can’t seem to care her eyes only on you. Wednesday excused herself so Marilynn and Larissa could get you in warm clothes and tucked into the bed next to Larissa who quickly changed herself. 

Coming back Wednesday brought in a tray of hot tea and a bowl with warm water and a cloth wringing it out. She placed it on your forehead. Enid had returned and filled all the hot water bottles and started handing them to Marilynn to tuck around you and Larissa. You continued to sleep well after the girls had been sent to their dorm and Marilynn refused to leave and pulled out a book and a chair and sat next to your shared bed, telling Larissa to “Sleep, I’ll wake you if she stirs” to which Larissa couldn’t say no to as she was cold and exhausted. About three hours later Marilynn was still reading quietly and sipping a cup of coffee. 

You began to stir, feeling warmth filling your bones, the last thing you remembered was cold. Everything was cold, and then you were tired. You tried to sit up but felt a hand push you back down. “Marilynn?” you questioned yourself, what she was doing in your room. Wait, why were you in your room? You left… “Shh calm down, you're safe, you're okay and at home. You almost died of hypothermia, but we found you in time. Just rest hun. Do you want a drink?” The redhead kept her voice low, and nodded to a sleeping Larissa next to you, poor thing was so tired she didn’t even stir at your movements. “Yes please” you croaked out hoarsely. She got a glass of water from the night stand and let you drink your fill before taking the cup back. “What happened?” You meekly asked? “What do you remember?” She asked back “I…I was upset, I made dinner and got flowers for Larissa. She has been so cold and distant, I wanted to surprise her. When she got home she didn’t even see me waiting with flowers or the table set. She… just walked on… I got mad and went for a walk, and then I remember being cold, and waking up here…” You were confused by all the events that happened. 

“Oh dear, Y/N… you were missing for 4 hours. We couldn’t find you, we being Enid, Wednesday, Larissa and I. When we did find you, you were unconscious and barely breathing. Larissa was a mess, she was fretting until we found you.” You had silent tears running down your cheeks, and gladly took the tissue she offered. “Can I ask you something Y/N?” She asked softly, checking that Larissa was still asleep. You nodded and waited for her to ask. “Has Larissa seemed off for about two weeks? I’ve noticed she’s been short with the students, as well as the staff. That and a few days ago, she dashed off from a meeting looking rather green… I don’t think she's feeling herself.” You processed her words for a moment thinking about your answer. “Oh I feel so dumb, it's her cycle. No wonder she’s been off. I’ll talk to her tomorrow, but I am rather tired. You should go get some sleep. I'm okay, you can stay in the spare room tonight if you’d like and I can text you if I need anything or you can take my set of keys and go home that way you can get in if you need too.” Knowing that was going to be your only option to get the woman to actually sleep. “I think i'll go back home, but i'll leave my ringer on and come back in the morning to check on you.” She said softly seeing that you were on the mend. Soon you fell asleep until morning cuddling your wife.

[mercurialimage]

i am a year maybe more late to the party but like LMFAOOO umm.. here's my town of salem shipping chart 🤗💓 using @aegirine-purple's template

explanations for most of these pairings down below if you want to read. spoiler alert, ITS A YAPPING FEST:

i think the coven is just a huge polycule. and they have inner polycule dynamics as most of them do but i haven't thought about this in detail

i know consig has her skin but i fucking love consig/invest lmfao it's probably still one of my favorite ships even after all these years. there's a huge trend of me liking (townie role) x (mafia equivalent) which is basically the peak (imho) tos pairings.

mafia deception are family but in the found family way. a weird ragtag group. i'd put them into platonic too now that i think abt it. i got this hc from the old fucking days where disguiser had to have a forger/janitor cause they just straight up replaced a PLAYER on the town lmfao. technically disg still works perfectly w/ forger if there's no spies. and oh yeah framer's there too (also works great with disg). mafia support (consig/bmer/consort) don't have this type of familiarity with each other.

pb/ga: i got this idea from a lovers' mode game i had a loooong time ago that required pb to infect me to become pestilence and the pb was just apologizing profusely to me and it was very sweet and heartwrenching. i like to think that for pestilence, one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse (also interpreted as conquest) to have a guardian angel is just so fucking sickening. absolute evil and good. saving grace and absolute armageddon from the heavens. this makes zero sense how i say it but to me it does. this is probably my favorite ship to the point where i had a wip of them and i lost it lol

mayor/gf would be funny, as in i don't ship it/like it but it would be basically like. peak town corruption. i feel this way about most gf ships.

to expand on the light blue line, it's basically "i don't ship this or have thought about this ever from a role pairing standpoint but this is the (or just a) pairing in my tos canon". there'd be more if i actually sat down and worked on my canon but like I Haven't I Just Got Back Into It. sue me. anyway invest stands with his cancelled husband. they're kind of divorced but they remarry (metaphorically). also this ship in the endgame becomes bmer/consig but pretend you dont know this info lol

[breezybeej]

You

Have Got

To Be

Kidding Me

Let me try to express myself better.

When Spock grasps Kirk's hand, it's incredibly layered. Others can give a better summary of the structure of TMP than I can so I'll try to just do broad strokes.

Spock has been away. He left Kirk to go do Vulcan shit and forget how to feel emotions but he can't bring himself to do it. He's needed elsewhere. Kirk and Spock reunite after their extended separation and there's immediately a certain animosity. It almost feels like Spock blames Kirk for him being unable to commit to his Vulcan ritual.

During all this, the B plot is of a couple. They have friction arising from their lifestyles and dedication to duty. Much like Kirk and Spock had for 3 seasons of TOS. The woman gets 'brainwashed' (WAY OVERSIMPLIFYING) by the threatening seemingly unstoppable ancient entity. She loses her humanity*, her emotions and tenderness. She's all logic, no passion. Just like spock.

Plot happens, Spock communes with this entity and is knocked unconscious. He comes to with tears in his eyes, he's expressing emotion in ways we've rarely seen from him. He tells us that he knows what the big bad has been seeking. "This grasps hand simple feeling. "

An aside to explain Vulcans and touch. Spock (allegedly) tries to avoid touching people as much as he can. Vulcans are touch telepaths. Even when he does touch, it is (again, allegedly) small contacts, fingers only, or through fabric.

He grabs James Kirk full on by the hand and... Does what? Why he uses that touch telepathy to channel "this feeling" into him. To directly explain it. And what was that feeling? Why love of course. That is what this entity was trying to understand all along. That is why it 'brainwashed' the lady because she loved her man and it wanted to understand.

This hand holding is like. The Big Gay Moment in Star Trek (aside from Amok Time). It's one of the big symbols in shipping (I think back then they were still calling it slash?). It has to be one of the most well known fandom gay things. surely. It was the blueprint.

But BJ, I hear you say, there's only so many ways two people can hold hands. It can be a coincidence.

Point 1: why was the device Mayor Dick gave Faith designed such that she had to grab Buffy that specific way. They could have had any number of methods but they chose one that necessitated the hand clasp.

Point 2: Vulcan telepathy has the Mind Meld. The two parties merge minds fully. Once you become each other, you feel what that person feels. Their thoughts become yours. You embody them fully. That is what happens to Faith in these two episodes. and like a mind meld, it is dangerous. She nearly loses herself and when she comes back out, she is changed. Buffy is also changed.

Point 3: How do they swap back? With a Katra? What is a Katra?

Well. that's a star Trek thing. It is what my best friend Sarek up there said: your essence. Everything about you that is not physical: your thoughts and emotions and experiences. Vulcans can actually implant their Katra into someone else. And over time, they will start to manifest in the personality and actions of that person. They will gradually become them.

And that is what happens to Faith

Look, I don't know how strongly I can express the importance of the Kirk and Spock hand grasp. I need Star Trek fans to come in here and back me up. This is making me insane. Please tell me I am not the only person seeing this Doug Petrie, I need to talk to you. Douglas. Come Here.

[laughing-with-god]

What type of fashion do you think victor bts would wear including victor jungkook

oooh loves this q, if your gonna shift into my universe you prob need some visual help lmao! (i fully expect a report when you do!)

but this is roughly how I picture them;

Jin

I think Jin had a good fashion sense even before the games. his dad was the mayor of District One so I think he's always had to dress "presentable". I don't see him as a fashionista, but he does care about brands. if he was in our modern universe, he'd be the type to find Gucci very tacky and obnoxious but love Hermes and Ralph Lauren. classy and understated. honestly very "old money, country club" vibes. jin is a nepo baby lol

Jimin

there are two jimins - the one at the capitol and the one at district four. when he's in the capitol, he wears whatever his designer team arranges for him. he has lots of sponsors, and many are fashion brands so he's obligated to wear clothes or accessories from those brands. his team likes to market him as very chic and clean, lots of suits with the undershirt open to show his chest. however, when he's at home or just being himself, i think he's very in touch with his ocean roots. i see him in a "surfer boy" aesthetic, pearls, seashells, and free-flowing tops. in my universe, District Four is like a Florida or tropical place- so it's always sunny and hot.

namjoon

sweater vests. turtle necks. slacks. this is it. mainly in black, sometimes blue. very dark academia. does not really understand fashion and just wants to look as smart as he is. feel like he'd also be one of the victors who fired his designer team right away because he didn't get the point and hated being treated like a doll. sometimes he wants to try out diff styles but ultimately I see him being a creature of habit and being like "nah"

Hoseok

poor boy just wants to be cozy and warm. I think I had his games take place in the Arctic? so I think he'd be like really hypersensitive to the cold now. he feels one chill and he'll want to die. he would love oversized sweaters and cardigans. I can see him wearing lots of neutral colors too, browns and creams with hints of green here and there. Very 'coffee shop boyfriend' vibes. also think he's such older bro that he'd carry a lil fanny pack or bag all the time, he carries little snacks and stuff just in case his siblings ever need anything

Taehyung

tough one. I don't think he'd give a shit tbh. but he's from 11 and it's all about agriculture, so i feel like farmer vibes? like boyish cottage core. feel like he likes loose shirts as well, tae doesn't like feeling constricted so no tight clothes. also feel like he loves rolling his pants up and walking around barefoot. country boy to the core.

Yoongi

hoodies, loose fitting and oversized. likes beanies too. I think he has bad blood circulation and as a kid didn't get great access to food, so he's prob anemic and smaller than his Victor counterparts. a lil insecure about it so he covers it up with baggy clothes. another one that prefers darker colors like grey and black. capitol ppl are known for their colorful clothes since they can afford them, and yoongi isn't tryna associate with that.

Jungkook

i never made a victors revenge jk since i didn't know if i was just going to make it qq jk when he won the games lol. either way, i'm sticking with district two for him. so def a career and def a lil cray. i think he'd enjoy looking as intimidating as possible, fully leaning into the 'bloody thirsty career' reputation he has. I see him getting tats and piercings and wearing things like leather jackets and steel-toed boots. probably like "grunge" or "cyberpunk" aesthetic??

[kissorkill16]

A Wonderful Prize: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: Dead animals are such wonderful prizes to give to children,...Delroy doesn't think so.

Delroy walked down the street, carrying a dog collar.

Apparently, the mayor gave him a task to find his missing dog that ran away. He didn't understand why he was looking for it. Why doesn't he just get off his ass and find the damn mutt himself?

"Stupid dog.", Delroy grumbled.

He spotted the dog peeing on a fire hydrant, and he ran to it, grabbing it by the neck and trying to get the collar on it.

"C'mon, Skipper. Your daddy's too lazy to get you himself.", he said.

Skipper broke through Delroy's grasp and ran across the street, into the long blades of grass. The boy went after it, still holding the collar.

"Get back here you dumb dog!", he screamed.

The dog ran straight to the house of Otto Kinander, and Delroy stopped in his tracks.

He knew this guy was creepy, and he didn't want anything to do with him, he didn't even want to be near his house. But Skipper ran in.

"Hey!", he called after the dog. He started running to him, but stopped in his tracks.

He started to debate going after the dog. If he didn't, he'd teach the mayor a lesson about keeping an eye on your pets and not sending a random person after it.

But if he didn't, the mayor could sue him and make his life hell.

Delroy slowly walked to the door and creeped inside. He was greeted by a long line of dead animals and the smell of rotting flesh. Immediately, he wanted to turn back, but he needed to find Skipper.

He tip-toed around the hallway, trying to ignore all of the stuffed bears and wall mounts of deer and bulls.

He didn't see Skipper anywhere.

He stilled in his spot when he heard the sound of an old man singing an old tune. Despite his better instincts, he followed the sounds and was met face to back with the Raven Brooks Taxidermist.

Otto Kinander.

"Yes...yes...", he mumbled. "Oh! Yes! That'll do great. And maybe some green too! Yes, definitely some green! Oh, and some pink. Pink, such a wonderful color!"

Delroy didn't get what he was talking about,...until he saw that he was standing in between a long line of dead, painted foxes and crows.

He jumped and stumbled back on a creeking floorboard it was too late to avoid.

Otto turned around at lightning speed, and Delroy stilled once again in his place.

They stared at each other in the eye.

Delroy didn't know what he was expecting. Otto's angry ass to scream or chase him out of his house, an explanation for all of this, or if he was expecting an explanation from him...

But what he wasn't expecting was for Otto to smile.

The taxidermist smiled widely at him, and slowly trodded towards him.

Otto leaned down to him.

"Why hello there!", he said. "And just what's a little fellow like you doing here all alone?"

Delroy swallowed to wet his dry throat, "I was looking for someone's lost dog, sir. I saw it run here, so..."

Otto stood back up, "Oh of course.", he said. "Unfortunately, I haven't seen a dog around here, so I'm afraid you're in the wrong place, kiddo."

Delroy turned to leave, but Otto grabbed the back of his jacket and pulled him back to where he was standing. "But while you're here, maybe you could help me with these little toys!"

"T-Toys?"

Those things certainly didn't look like any kind of toys he's seen.

"Of course I won't let you hook them on, so you can help me paint them instead. Let me show you how to do it.", said the taxidermist.

He picked up a jar filled with gold coins. "And look!", he said. "If the children are lucky enough, they'll find a shiny gold coin inside their animal! Doesn't that sound wonderful?"

Delroy didn't answer, he just looked at him.

"Let me show you how I do it, boy."

Otto took a coin from the jar, and stuffed it deep into a dead crows mouth and stomach. He plucked the crow from its hook and rolled it around in some pink and blue paint, once he was finished, he just stuck the poor crow back onto the hook.

"Oh, you'll make a wonderful prize for the children.", he said.

The man let out a sickly disturbing laugh that made Delroy nearly piss himself.

He knew he had to get out of here, because this man was crazier than crazy. Skipper can die out here if he wants to, because there was absolutely no way he was going any deeper into the depths of these woods just to look for him.

"Sorry, dog. I'm out.", he said. He turned around and ran away, and Otto turned around.

"Hey! Where you going, kiddo? I was just about to let you take one home for free!"

Delroy pushed the door open, running out of the house, not daring to look back.

When he got to the sidewalk, he fell to the ground on his knees and leaned against a fire hydrant. Then he felt something sniff his arm, and he turned to see Skipper.

"What the hell, you stupid dog?!", he said. "You made me go in there and you weren't even -"

The boy couldn't even finish his sentence before he felt bile rise in his throat, and out of his mouth. He fell to the ground, his hands accidentally falling in his own filth. But he didn't care, he felt too sick to care.

He grabbed onto Skipper and put the collar back on him. "I'm taking you home.", he said. "And afterwards, I'm going to tell Trinity."

[eruditeodyssey]

Welcome back to Montclair University, Noah Julian Hart! According to your student file you're a TWENTY-FOUR year old SENIOR, studying ARCHITECTURE, and funny enough you were voted most likely to be president your senior year of high school back home in WASHINGTON, DC. I can totally see it with your confident, stubborn, and calculating personality! But enough about that — I heard you were Lizzie Harrington's EX-BOYFRIEND. Makes sense when you take into consideration your status as a legacy student…and the fact that you're hiding [redacted]. You're often seen at the Greenwich Yacht Club, and you kind of embody intense drumming beneath your skin, faint laughter lines adorning tired eyes, sharp tongue and even sharper mind, burying your youth in a casket inside of you, and the gold touch of Midas…not to mention people always seem to hum Basket Case by Green Day when you're around, but you'll always be known on campus as THE CATALYST who enjoys swimming and has 2m instagram followers…good luck this semester! [MUSE 9]

THE BASICS.

FULL NAME: Noah Julian Hart. DOB & Age: January 1, 2001 (Capricorn), Twenty-Four. HOMETOWN: Washington, D.C. GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cis man & He/Him. ORIENTATION & MARITAL STATUS: Heterosexual & Single. OCCUPATION: Student, Captain of Lacrosse & Swim Team, Fraternity President (Kappa Alpha Delta). FAMILY: Nathan Hart (Father) and Juliette Ludwig (Mother, Deceased); Arthur Ludwig (Grandfather), Celeste Lavin (Future Step-Mother)

PERSONALITY, MISC, HEADCANONS.

POSITIVES: Ambitious, Disciplined, Loyal, Strategic. NEGATIVES: Hyper-Critical, Stubborn, Emotionally Guarded, Pessimistic. LIKES: Secret speakeasies. People who challenge him. Whiskey neat. Vintage watches. Personal space. Overcast skies. Unfinished conversations. Maps, especially hand-drawn ones. DISLIKES: Performative vulnerability. Fake apologies. Losing control. Cheap cologne. Public speaking (despite being good at it). Country music. Open-toed shoes (??? no one knows why). People who break promises.

HCs: Keeps a bullet journal filled with cryptic sketches and floor plans. Drives a vintage black Porsche inherited from his grandfather. Has an ongoing chess rivalry with one of his professors. Will never admit how much he loved Lizzie. Speaks fluent German & French, but rarely uses it unless drunk or pissed. Hasn't cried in front of anyone/public since he was 14. Uses sarcasm as armor; few really have seen him vulnerable. Has a photographic memory but claims he doesn't. Once considered dropping out—he won’t admit it, though. Can break down any room architecturally in 30 seconds flat.

A BIT OF BACKGROUND.

TW: mention of death, car accident

Noah was born and raised in Washington, DC, into the prominent Ludwig family, known in the architectural world. His mother worked as the regional architectural manager for the family firm, while his father served his third year as mayor when Noah was born. They were the quintessential All-American family, deeply invested in their community and dedicated to service and improving the world around them. Noah's early years were filled with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, pretending to be pirates on the Lost Sea with his friends, playing baseball, and cheering on the Capitals. However, everything changed the day his father announced his candidacy for president. At just ten years old, Noah watched as his father won the presidential election, and the simplicity of their life changed forever. The next eight years, thanks to a successful reelection campaign, Noah spent his youth and teenage years living in the White House. Secret Service agents and the household staff became an extended family to him. He traveled to various countries and encountered a range of diplomats, some of whom he considered morally corrupt. Despite these drastic changes, his mother worked tirelessly to ensure that Noah had as normal an upbringing as possible until her untimely passing. Juliette Ludwig was supposed to return home from a fundraiser downtown when their secured vehicle was struck by an eighteen-wheeler, leaving her to succumb to her injuries. The news was incredibly jarring and shocking to the world. When Noah woke up, he found the atmosphere unusually morose and glum. He initially thought something had gone awry with one of his father’s orders or that some tragedy had struck the nation. At fourteen, he couldn’t fully comprehend that his world had irrevocably changed. Since then, Noah has experienced a significant shift within himself. He became more reserved and reclusive with his emotions, mirroring his father, who continued to conduct business as usual. Despite Noah’s pleas for his dad not to run for office again, his dad ran again for the betterment of society. So, Noah chose to keep quiet and focused on his friends, girls, sports, and anything that could numb the pain of losing his mother. Sometimes he got into trouble, and occasionally, he attracted attention for his reactions to events in the White House or for sharing snippets of life as the president's son. However, he felt lost, with no clear direction regarding who he was and wanted to be. At eighteen, after his father’s presidency ended, his maternal grandfather stepped in and relocated Noah to live with him in San Francisco. This change of scenery was a welcomed breath of fresh air. For the next two years, Noah immersed himself in the Ludwig family business and sought to reconnect with the memory of his mother. For the first time in a long while, he felt a sense of purpose and identity. Deep down, he was a Ludwig, and he began to envision what he wanted his future to look like. His grandfather suggested that Noah attend his alma mater, Montclair, despite his father's insistence that he attend Stanford. A bit resentful toward his father, Noah chose Montclair and felt it was the best decision he could have made. Lacrosse and swimming became his safe havens, he was enjoying his studies, and using his charm and privilege to his advantage. Along the way, he made a handful of friends, experienced love for the first time, fell out of love, and started carving a path for his future. What he hadn’t expected to disrupt his senior year was the death of his ex.

LIFE WITH LIZZIE.

Noah met Lizzie during his sophomore year at a party. She was as captivating as she was alluring, presenting a challenge that drew him in. Before long, they started casually hooking up, and after a few weeks, they became exclusive for a year and a half. They vacationed together, met each other’s families, and joked about the possibility of a life together beyond Montclair. However, just as quickly as the spark ignited, it fizzled out. Miscommunication and a breach of trust ultimately led to their breakup towards the end of Noah’s junior year. At the start of his senior year, they started to rekindle their friendship, and things seemed to be looking up for their relationship. Noah was stunned when he learned that Lizzie had passed away, leaving him with the regret of not bringing true reconciliation to their relationship.

WANTED CONNECTION.

Senior classmates. Friends who have started with him since freshman year or met him down the line as they continued in their studies. (0/X)

A moment of weakness that led him to breaking trust with Lizzie and ultimately the dissolution of their status as girlfriend/boyfriend. (0/1)

Fellow athletes. Support and attend one another’s events and have their own support group, cause life as a student athlete is not as easy as people think. (0/4)

More to come, more to come, more to come…

[baronaliswritingcorner]

TOS Replay Stray Thoughts #3 (Palmacosta Pt. 2/Thoda Geyser)

-Lloyd chewing out Dorr is very powerful – Scott Menville knocks it out of the park here – but much as everyone remembers “Don’t you start spewing the word “justice!” I hate that word!”, I always wondered where that came from. Yes, it’s easy to tie into his frustrations with empty platitudes surrounding racism and sacrifice, but remember that he’s still very naïve to the Journey of Regeneration’s true nature (let alone the existence of Cruxis) and thus he maintains a very black-and-white disposition towards the Desians. There’s the Iselia Human Ranch incident, yes, but “justice” isn’t one of the hollow excuses by given Iselia’s mayor/citizens, so it feels a little sudden.

Putting this way: we’re (successfully) roused by Lloyd taking action as everyone else keeps their heads down, but I always felt this particular outburst still feels a little undeveloped/early.

-Speaking of justice, ever notice the inconsistency with Dwarven Vow #7? In cutscenes it’s “goodness and love will always win”, but in the battle quote, it’s “justice and love will always win.” A localization error, perhaps, but I wonder if Lloyd’s second-hand embarrassment plays a role into his feelings over justice…?

-“My healing arts cannot save even one single life…?”

This line from Raine also struck me as a tad odd – yes, it’s meant to show her regret with Dorr breaking through the cold pragmatism she always displays, but it also implies a perceived inadequacy with her healing magic that’s never touched upon again. Always felt like a clumsy attempt add another layer of depth to a already tragic scene. - “And…if you somehow find a way to save my wife…please, help her return to her human form. When my daughter comesback, I don’t want her to be all alone…” Oh no…we save his wife much, much later, but Clara’s the one who ends up all alone. And we never see her reaction to her family’s death. How sad…

-It’s sorta funny how key items randomly drop into your lap early on, but I guess the Desians WOULD be carrying that Hakonesia Peak pass, huh? Throwing around their murderous weight as they travel to and fro, I’d imagine.

-Magnius is pretty boring – the other Cardinals usually have something going on but he’s just there to screech “vermin” in that generic bad dude voice of his while twirling his non-existent mustache. He’s not much better in the anime – ever notice he just straight up disappears after Colette’s hypnotic Holy Song? – but the manga’s interesting in how he divulges Raine and Genis’s half-elf identities. (In the game, he just mentions how they “can’t let go of their elven blood” – which, to its credit, does tie into Raine’s assurance to Genis that “we’re not like them – we’re different.”)

-Raine sure is worldly, but how is she so familiar with magitechnology? Might it have something to do with her time in Tethe’alla? Hmm…how many times did she play with the self-destruct button over there?

-Check out that highly disappointing ranch explosion – the prowess of Gamecube graphics right there LOL

-The washtubs are a perfect symbol of Sylvarant’s…uh, antiquatedness. Prime comedy, right here. Poor Raine, having to endure low-budget tourism…twice over!

-wait how did Noishe fit in the washtubs

-“Even I make mistakes. I made a terrible one…”

Laying it on a little thick, aren’t ya, Kratos???

(Actually, that reminds me: did you ever notice how the PS3 port removed ellipses wholesale across the script for whatever reason? Personally, they tend to play into the basic syntax I mentioned before with unvoiced dialogue, but as you can imagine, that “throw the baby out with the bathwater” approach leads to problems of its own.)

-killer starfish comin’ at ya and getting all slaphappy!!!

-this boss is the worst ugh I hate that bubble gun attack

-wait how’d they set up camp on that tiny hot spring

-“When you become an angel, I wonder if you'll go to the Tower of Salvation, too? If that's the case, we should just ask you after you go. I'm looking forward to your stories!”

oooooof