#what’s the fucking shadow mantle!! how do you know all the people who have shadow crystals!!

[vqlisms]

BRUH WHY TF IS EVERYONE SLEEPING ON SEAM THIS MF KNOWS ABOUT DIFFERENT SAVE FILES

[swordsandholly]

Little Death

Incubus!Soap x fem fat reader | Ao3

NSFW | MDNI | cw: dubcon, noncon, drinking, biting, afab reader, blood, PiV sex, cunnilingus, anal, monsterfucking, size difference, kidnapping, dead dove

Word Count: 4.5k

You sit in your apartment on your worn out couch, sipping a glass of shitty gas station wine at some godforsaken hour in the morning. Just like you do nearly every night these days. Love Island plays loudly on the TV while you try to drown out the overbearing silence that seems to cling to you. It surrounds you at all times, everything just a little too quiet. A little too distant.

You knew getting divorced would be lonely. You didn’t expect it to be this bad.

Your eye connects with a piece of paper that’s been living on your side-of-the-road coffee table for the past… who knows at this point. The friend that gave it to you meant well. She intended it to be a funny, light hearted gesture. Instead, you just feel pathetic. The pitiable fat girl that can’t get a date. Not that she’d be wrong. Out of drunk boredom, or maybe sheer desperation, you grab the stupid cut out article. It’s some plasticky, cheap print with the title ‘How To Summon A Lover’ which is probably the laziest headline in the world for a supposed spell.

Are you lonely? The summary asks, Do you need some special company? Just follow these steps and get exactly what you’re looking for!

It’s stupid. It’s corny. Luckily - or unfortunately - you are just drunk enough to take part in stupid and corny. Your eyes graze over the materials list - paper, a red marker, a metal baking sheet, and a stick candle. Your brow scrunches. You suppose you can sacrifice one of your outdated, unused decor candles that sit on your mantle. You gather the supplies with clumsy, uneven steps.

Fuck your ex. Fuck him for making you this sad and pathetic. Fuck him for piling on the insecurity, for isolating you and taking nearly all your friend group. For all of it. You plop down on your rug, items in hand and thoughts swirling angrily.

Step 1: Place the paper on the baking sheet

Step 2: Draw a pentagram

You roll your eyes. Of fucking course it’s a pentagram. You do it, still.

Step 3: Write “I Light The Flame of Desire” on each side of the page

Step 4: Place the candle in the center of the paper

Step 5: Light the candle and concentrate on your intention until it burns out.

You regret picking up such a big candle.

When you wake your mouth is dry and your back aches. The sunlight offends your eyes when you attempt to crack them open. You must have fallen asleep on the floor at some point. You look down at the mess in front of you. The candle burnt the paper into almost nothing at some point. Thank god the article told you to put it on a baking sheet.

You feel so fucking stupid.

You stumble into the shower, allowing the hot water to help rouse you from your hungover, groggy state. That feeling of stupidity tickles the back of your mind. It’s not like you expected it to work - really, what’s making your heart twist and shame crawl up your back is the disappointment, is that it didn’t. At least you don’t have to work today. You don’t particularly feel like being around people. Not that you do the rest of the time.

As you turn to get out, fear strikes through you at a shadow in your periphery through the fogged shower glass. Just as soon as you see it, it disappears. You shrug it off, heart still thumping wildly as you towel off. Something in your gut churns as you do your best to get ready for the day. An unease that won’t leave as you make yourself at least appear like someone with their life together. A feeling that someone is watching makes your hair stand on end.

You send up a thank you to the universe that you managed to get up early enough to make it to the grocery store during quiet hours. While buckling your seatbelt, that shadow comes back. Right behind you, in the back seat. It’s gone as soon as you check the rearview mirror. You let out a shaky breath. It keeps happening. While you get your shopping cart, while you choose produce. Every time you turn an isle, it’s there. It sends shivers down your spine. Some black, effervescent shape that follows you worse than a shadow. That catches your eye even when you consciously try to ignore it. You really need to lay off the drinking.

As soon as you get home, you toss everything from the night before - including the baking sheet. Some superstitious part of you rears its head, telling you to walk the damn thing all the way to the outside dumpster rather than leave it to fester in your personal trash. You don’t believe in ghosts or spirits. You’re sure you just drank too much, that you slept strangely and it fucked with your head. That not speaking to anyone besides brief interactions with coworkers and customers for weeks on end has left you jumpy and off. Maybe you really should see that therapist your lawyer talked about. She’s expensive though, and not covered by your insurance…

You turn over another bottle of wine in your hand, wrinkling your nose. Not tonight. Not when you turn to put the bottle down and nearly jump into the ceiling at some shape moving to the living room from behind you. Only in your periphery, only vague images, leaving you uneasy. You toss and turn when you finally get into bed. It still feels like you’re being watched. Like there’s a camera just over your shoulder, or in the ceiling fan, staring down at you. For the first time since you were small, you bury yourself under the covers and screw your eyes shut, hoping it will save you from the monsters under your bed and in your head.

You stir at a weight dipping your bed. It’s slight, so slight you almost miss it entirely, until it isn’t. Until whatever it is moves again and you feel something brush over your legs. In a panic, still half asleep, you turn onto your back, fists flying through the air only to be caught by inhumanly large hands. You flail, kicking as a scream catches in your throat.

“Shh, sh, yer a’right.” A distinctly Scottish brogue coos, pinning you to the bed without so much as a grunt. You finally manage to open your eyes properly. He’s big - eyes a bright, unnatural blue with a wild light in them. When he grins at you it exposes long fangs where his normal canines should be. Two horns poke out from his head, the shorn sides of his haircut further exposing them. There’s an unnatural red tint to his skin, darkening to nearly pure crimson at the ends of his exposed limbs. A shiver runs down your spine.

“Wh- who the fuck are you?” You squeak, far less threatening than you might have liked.

The beast’s grin only widens. “Donnae ye know? Ye called me, after all.”

Your eyes widen to saucers as you stare up at him. Did- there’s no way that stupid spell worked! It was a cut out from a damn off-brand Cosmopolitan. It was stupid sleepover bullshit. It was - It’s wasn’t- You couldn’t have summoned a real, actual factual demon into your apartment. No, this has to be a prank or intruder or - or hallucination even.

You try to shove at his chest as soon as he retracts his hands, a weak attempt at escaping. Part of you expects to phase through him - to wake up in your quiet, dark bedroom. Except his hands are very much real and warm as they pin your wrists back against the mattress. The silhouette of massive wings block out the little bit of moonlight that might have otherwise drifted through the slit in your curtains. You can barely make him out, now. Those too-bright eyes glint like a cat’s as he stares down at you.

“Now, why did ye call me, little one?” He leans in, nose brushing against yours before ducking his head down to lick a long stripe up your neck.

Your face heats, mouth struggling to form words. “I… didn’t think it was real…”

“Tha’s not a reason.” Too-sharp teeth nip at the shell of your ear.

“I just… why do you want to know anyway?” You spit defensively, thrashing under him in a sudden burst of confidence - or desperation. You’re not sure. It does fuck-all for you, the beast pinning your thighs under his weight. A deep, warning growl rumbles in his chest. You freeze at the sound - some ancient instinct telling you to stop all action and pray it saves you.

“It’s no’ polite t’dodge my question, bonnie.”

You whimper involuntarily, his sharp teeth grazing the soft skin of your neck with just enough pressure to threaten a bite. The words tumble from your lips near incoherently, “I haven’t- I’ve only been with one person… for a long time. I’m nervous… about a second…”

He hums. Something brushes your shin - a tail, you think. You can’t make it out in the dark. “Whit’s yer name, doll?”

You blurt it, a little horrified at giving that information to some supernatural creature. For some reason you find yourself following it up with, “What’s yours?”

He laughs and mulls it over, jaw clenching briefly, as if he can’t make up his mind about what it is. “Call me Soap, aye?”

You snort despite yourself and he - Soap - quirks a brow. “Weird name for a demon.”

“Incubus.” He corrects.

You have half a mind to complain when he tears your nightgown off before you can react. The cloth rips fast, practically disintegrating in his rough hands. That’s until he climbs down the bed, taking one nipple between his lips and flicking the other. Your back arches, hands fisting the sheets. You let out an indignant ow when he bites down on the fat of your breast, leaving a mark just shy of drawing blood. Soap ignores it, continuing to lavish them with attention as he sees fit. Your thighs press together and you can’t help but squirm, becoming desperate for more in spite of the voice in your head telling you to run. He senses it, you think, moving down your body leaving nips and bites in his path before settling between your thighs. He takes your underwear off in much the same fashion, turning them to shreds in barely a moment. His wings disappear into the shadows - there but not simultaneously. Shifting in and out of your vison.

“Look a’ tha’.” He sighs. “Whit a pretty pussy. Cannae believe yer lettin’ her go unused.”

You whimper and attempt to close your legs, failing when those massive hands hook under your knees and push them up to your chest as far as they can go. His nails - near claws - dig into the flesh of your thighs. A gasp tumbles from your lips as his tongue drags through your folds. Soap places a light kiss your your clit before following with a harsh suck that leaves you twitching and whining. Part of you feels ashamed for enjoying this as much as you are - for lapping up the attention from this stranger like a starved dog - but it feels too unreal for you to really care. Too fictional to apply your real world morals or sensibilities.

You yelp in surprise when his tongue flicks over your back hole, causing him to chuckle and mutter, “Tha’s for later.”

He doesn’t leave you time to think on that promise. You throw your head back as he slips his tongue inside. Fuck, it’s deep. Unnaturally long - built to systematically pull pleasure from you just like the rest of him. You find yourself grinding down onto it despite yourself, pent up body giving into instinct and abandoning rational thought. You grab onto his stupid hair to further press him into you. He doesn’t seem to mind as a low guttural sound rumbles through his chest.

A thick finger circles your entrance, replacing his tongue in one swift motion. He doesn’t wait to add a second - the stretch causing you to hiss. His fingers are big. His proportions just on this side of incompatibly large. You wonder briefly, distantly, why his claw-nails aren’t hurting you. It’s hard to care much when the pad of a thick finger presses roughly against that spot that leaves you gasping. His lips wrap around your clit again, sloppily sucking and licking at the little bud as you careen closer and closer to the edge. Your back arches harshly, almost painfully, as you tumble over with a choked moan.

“So easy.” He chuckles. Your face gets hotter, an indignant pout forming on your lips. Rude. Your eyes drift over his body and, somehow for the first time tonight, you realize he’s already naked. Not a single piece of cloth in sight upon his arrival. You let yourself take in his strong torso, the thick dusting of hair from his chest all the way down to a healthy happy trail, down to-

“That’s not gonna fit!” You squeak, clumsily trying to back away. His cock hangs heavily between his legs; thick and veiny and already leaking. His hand on your sternum stops you in place. You’re sure he can feel the way your heart hammers away in your chest - practically beating against your ribcage. For a moment, you think you see sympathy in his eyes. Rather quickly you realize that warmth is, instead, hunger. An eagerness to swallow you whole dances across his sharp grin.

“We’ll make it fit.”

That’s all the warning you get before he’s bullying his cock inside you, inch by inch despite your shaky pleas to slow down. It burns, just crossing over the threshold into too much. Your teeth grind, a deep whine resonating in your throat. Your fingers claw at the sheets below you and your body jerks with odd shocks of pleasure and pain all tied up into one.

“Fuckin’ tight…” Soap groans.

“S’too much!” You practically sob, hips squirming to get away from the intrusion.

“Y’can take it.” His other hand grabs onto your waist to still you. You can’t stop the moan that forces its way past your lips as his hips meet yours.

You expect it to hurt when he fucks you - he doesn’t allow you time to adjust, each thrust practically punching the air from your lungs. Instead, it sends electricity up your spine. Your brows knit together, eyes screwed shut as warmth pools at the base of your spine. Soap hooks one of your legs around his hip, the other over his shoulder. You watch him through bleary eyes, the strange red of his hands contrasting with your natural, human skin. The way his hand nearly wraps around your thick calf. The way his core flexed with every thrust. The pleasured knot in his brow.

Soap lets your raised leg drop, pressing his weight down onto you and bracketing your head with his forearms. He smells so good - spices and trees. It invades your senses, leaving your mind somehow foggier than it already felt. He pulls you into a kiss. It’s not romantic, not emotional, just a searing exchange made up of messy teeth and tongue. He tastes like cinnamon. His fang catches your lip and copper coats your mouth. A light whine escapes him as he licks it up and sucks at the small wound.

“Please, please, please.” You pant rhythmically, chest heaving.

“Please, please, please.” He mocks, chuckling at your begging as he presses his thumb to your clit.

You practically seize, already overdone and so close to another. You’re babbling, you know that much, but the contents of your words are lost on you.

“Gonnae cum f’me?” Soap presses his nose to your temple. “Gonnae cum on this cock?”

You nod vigorously, nails leaving half-moons his strong shoulders. His thumb swirls your clit as he continues to spill filthy words into your ear. Things you’ve never thought of, otherworldly promises no man could keep, and groaned nonsense to match your own. Your climax slams into you. You practically howl, whole body shaking. Soap’s tongue drags up the side of your face, licking up sweat and tears. He’s not far behind, a growl rumbling through his chest; his hips stutter as he spills inside you.

You think, for a moment, as you desperately try to catch your breath, that it’s over. He’ll disappear off into the ether and you’ll wake up tomorrow from this strange dream. All of it a lonely, mentally unwell delusion that you can tell your therapist. After you book her. You really should if your brain is coming up with shit like this.

Except, he doesn’t stop. The slowed rocking of his hips immediately picks up again. He leans up, hands gripping your waist as you let out a long, keening whine. You try to shove at his hands, to kick your shaking legs. They’re clumsy. Weak and used and uncoordinated. The sweat on your palms leaves you slipping, unable to get a grip around his wrist. Soap just laughs - dark and unnatural. Far too entertained by your panic. A malicious spark lights his eyes as he stares down at you.

“S-soap!” You gasp, mind and body going into overdrive. “P-please! You don’t have to - you can - fuck - just stop!”

He laughs again, only speeding up - using the hold on your soft waist to fuck you back onto him. An anger flares up in you and you reel back, slapping your open palm against his face as hard as you can manage. It doesn’t do anything to deter him, his hips still slam full force into yours without so much as a stutter. His chuckle cuts off into a gravelly groan. “Do tha’ again.”

As much as you don’t want to give in to him, you do. You batter your fists against his chest, his arms, anywhere you can even slightly reach. You dig your nails into his hands. He just speeds up, lewd, wet sounds an loud slaps echoing in the room along with your moans and shouts. Soap pulls out just long enough for his arm to encircle your waist and flip you over as if you weigh nothing to him. You hardly get your bearings before he’s forcing his cock back in your cunt. His hands latch onto your hips so tightly you’re sure they’ll bruise, if not be crushed completely.

“Please! Fuck - Soap - please - st-” You choke out, barely able to lift your face out of the sheets to breathe. Your whole body tremors violently. You try to reach behind yourself for him - to get some purchase, but all you’re met with his a hand firmly planted between your shoulder blades to hold you in place.

“Whit? Ye think tha’ was all? Jus’ one round an’ yer done?” The beast condescends, voice rough. “Nae, we’ve go’ forever. Well, until yer body gives out, at least. Gonnae shove my cock down tha’ pretty throat next, I think.”

The hand still on your hip lets go. Gathering slick from between your thighs, Soap pushes his thumb against your back hole. You gasp and attempt to lurch forward, to get away, but it doesn’t work. You can’t move out from under the weight of him. You feel a glob of something land there, quickly realizing he spit on you just to gasp as his thumb pushes inside. Part of you hates that it feels good, hates the words spilling from his lips about your unused ass. The rest of you succumbs to the fullness as his thumb is replaced by a finger, then another, working you open.

You whimper, fear mixing with the ongoing growing pleasure in your gut. It’s all too much. You’re overstimulated, soft body bruised and exhausted. Filled to the brim. Soap drapes himself over you, removing his fingers with almost a pop, and sinking his sharp teeth into the crook of your neck. His arms bracket your head once again, nearly flattening your against the mattress underneath him. You cry out, tears streaming as you feel another climax approaching, your pussy drooling down your thighs.

Something deep in the back of your brain snap as you cum. You lose yourself to base instinct. The heat in the room and anger in your chest consumes you. The air burns as it enters your lungs, sparking and electrifying your skin. Your head turns, eyes locking on the strong forearm anchored just above you. On impulse you lurch up, sinking your teeth in as far as they’ll go. A dog with prey caught in it’s maw. Soap growls in your ear - deep and animalistic. His blood isn’t quite coppery, not like yours, it’s far too sweet. It only spurs you on, your fingers twisting so tightly in the sheets you hear threads pop. Your other hand reaches back to dig your nails into his upper arm, to scratch at wherever you can reach. The sounds tearing through your throat aren’t right. Aren’t human. His arm muffles them slightly, the grunts and growls becoming borderline screams as you cum again so soon.

Soap flips you again, tearing his arm away from you and planting his feet flat on the bed, using his inhuman strength to help bounce you on his lap. You snarl, nails digging into his pecs to draw more blood. It drips down your lips, onto your chest, it covers the pads of your fingers. It’s animal. You’re just an animal.

“There ye are.” He grins, eyes practically glowing.

You don’t think much of it, you can’t think at all, really. Not in words, or even images. Pure instinct drives every action, your nose flaring at the scent of sex and blood that’s filled the room. Your skin is feverish, limbs shaking. Frenzied. That’s the word. Frenzied and rabid as you reach for strength you don’t have an meet his thrusts.

The two of you keep going that way - for how long, you aren’t sure. At some point you end up on the floor, at another he holds you against the wall by your throat. At another you hear the bed frame crack in two. Claw marks and bruises litter your body - litter his, as well. He pushes his cock into your back hole, not caring about the minimal stretch. You don’t need lube, you’ve drenched the both of you enough. The last thing you’re conscious for is Soap moaning in your ear as your hands wrap around his horns, holding on with all you have as your lips meet.

When you wake, your body feels heavy. Buried under something - blankets, you think. Though, your blankets at home have never had this weight to them. It’s more than quilts - your fingers tentatively running over both the texture of soft cloths and thick furs. It feels luxury, buttery smooth under your touch. Briefly, you shut your eyes again, content to drift back into blackness out of this cozy dream.

When you do peek your eyes open, a shudder runs down your spine. This isn’t your apartment. You shoot up, looking around the odd bedroom. It’s strangely decorated. Modern but with hints of something more scattered about. The smooth, painted walls of a modern home and ornate, lit fireplace of a castle mixed with current and antique furniture alike. A large couch sits in front of the mantle with embroidered, thick blankets hanging over the back. There’s a cracked door that seems to lead into a walk in closet. The area rug covering the far half of the room is a rich emerald green embellished with flowing designs in various golds and darker tones. Drawings and random scrawl are pinned to the far wall. There’s an open sketchbook on top of an old, hardwood desk with similar designs carved into it as the mantle.

Panic begins to surge as you open the massive curtains on the wall opposite the mantle to reveal floor to ceiling windows. They’re heavy like tapestries. You realize quickly that two of the panels are sliding doors onto a balcony, though you hesitate to step out. It would only corner you further. The sky looks like fire - waves of clouds lit in orange and yellow hues. It moves to fast. Streams of flames twist and run across the sky, overtaking one another.

You swing open the only other door that doesn’t appear to be the main exit. All it leads to is a bathroom. Large and expensive but nothing abnormal. Except for your shampoo inside the shower upon further inspection. Memories flood you, the night before comes in flashes. Was it the night before? Time feels wrong. Everything feels wrong. You’re sore, eyes heavy and body weak. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, dressed in some gauzy, black floor-length thing that leaves little to the imagination.

Just as you exit the bathroom to look for somewhere else to hide or run, the main door opens. Soap steps in, adjusting the sleeve of his t-shirt. You freeze, as if he won’t see you as long as you’re still.

It doesn’t work, of course. Those bright eyes lock onto you, thick brows raising. “Bonnie? Yer up!”

He looks… different. Less demonic. Not that anything has visibly changed much besides the fact that he’s wearing actual clothes. He simply fits into the scenery better - the room made to accommodate him. You realize part of the strangeness of it is the furniture size; meant for someone much taller and wider than you. The light helps as well, defining the contours of his face that you couldn’t make out in the dark. You back away from him as he approaches, pressing yourself against the wall as tightly as you can.

“So glad yer up. Are ye hungry? I can-“

“Where am I?” You cut him off meekly, eyes darting around the room.

“Och, my home of course.” Soap grins as if that explains anything.

“Why?” It doesn’t come out like the demand you want it to, more like a plea. Your voice cracks and you can’t meet his eye.

He tilts his head, eyes watching you, raking over you from head to toe. A predator observing it’s prey - deciding how best to catch it. “Ye live here, now.”

“What?” You gasp, trying to back further into the wall as if you could phase through it should you just try hard enough. “No- no, please! You have to let me go home! I need to go home!”

Johnny shrugs far too casually for your liking. “A soft little thing like ye? Nae, think I’ll keep ye fer the time bein’. Never met someone who could keep up like ye can. Go’ a lot of pent up energy in there, hen.”

“I don’t-“

“Yer gonnae feed me fer years tae come.” He continues as if you didn’t say anything at all, “Besides, I’ve go’ some friends tha’ I think would like ye.”

[msfcatlover]

Duke in the Reverse!Robins AU be like…

”Eldest daughter syndrome? What eldest daughter syndrome? Nah, just because I’m the oldest does not mean I have eldest daughter syndrome. Sure, I’ve had to mediate between Damian & Bruce, or Steph & Bruce, or help certain Titans find a middle ground, but that’s just being a good leader. And yeah, I’m protective of the younger kids, but that’s just what any responsible adult in my position would do.”

*finds out one of the members of his team has such bad civilian trauma they need to straight-up quit hero work*

“Oh shit… I fucked this up. I was too focused on my own problems, how the fuck did I miss this? Okay, okay. I was already burning out trying to juggle being Gotham’s only daytime hero and single-handedly leading the Titans. I need to pick one. And find some way to make it up to Grant. Jesus fuck, how did I miss this…”

*Tim becomes Cass’s apprentice. Steph & Cass start arguing more often. Steph has her biggest fight with Bruce yet. Steph goes missing.*

*Steph dies*

“After that fight with Bruce, no one backed her up. She didn’t know anyone was supporting her. She died thinking none of us were on her side. If any one of us had actively taken her side, instead of getting distracted with our own messes, maybe this wouldn't have happened. Oh, but am I really expecting Damian or Bruce to be intelligent about feelings? Am I really expecting tact from Cass? I know them too well; it should’ve been me, shouldn’t it? I can’t believe I managed to fuck up worse than I did with Grant…”

*Luna gets taken away*

“Look at what you’ve done, Bruce! Look what you’ve fucking done! You’re tearing this family apart! We all promised to look out for her if anything happened to Steph, and you’re just going to force every single one of us to break those promises?! You’re going to rip away the last piece of Steph we had?!? Look at Dami & Cass! Look at them! You did this!”

*finds out Damian’s training for Tim to be Shadow uses all the LoA techniques he refused to use for Steph, making it borderline-through-outright abusive, almost certainly to try to drive Tim off by making him too miserable to continue*

“I. I can’t fucking believe this. I can’t… I can’t believe it took me so long to realize. Damian, nobody is happy about this, but fuck you. I thought you were trying to be better, you absolute fucking asshole! And I… I don’t even have the excuse of not knowing half of the involved parties this time, or being away, or too busy, I was just looking away because I didn’t want to think about Tim taking Steph’s mantle. I should’ve fucking stopped this the first time Tim came back from Bludhaven. God fucking dammit, how do I keep failing the kids in my care in the same fucking way, over & over again?!”

*was all the way at the other end of the room & looking in the wrong direction to have enough forewarning to actually save Tim from being shot*

“I… I… I… I’m literally the only person who could’ve fucking stopped this. I have all the training, all the abilities, but I went to refill my punch glass, and now Timmy might never walk again. I mean, absolutely blame the asshole who pulled the trigger, but Tim & I were in the same fucking room. Who would even put a hit out on Tim Wayne? There’s no way Tim doesn’t know who’s behind this, but he won’t tell me because he doesn’t trust me, because of course he doesn’t! Look at my track record! When it matters most, I let down the people I love. My parents, Grant, Steph, Tim…”

*Jason becomes Shadow.*

*The Tower fight happens.*

*Jason gets kidnapped by the Joker.*

*Bruce “dies,” and Jason runs away to have the Red Robin arc.*

*Dick only begrudgingly puts up with Duke because Duke’s rather overbearing expressions of protectiveness support are not meshing well with Dick’s “stuck on anger til I personally catch my parents’ murderer” issue*

“…If anyone needs me, I’ll be screaming in the closet.”

[definitelynotthedarklord]

Why do they hate Batman Beyond all of a sudden?

So I was scrolling through social media the other day and I saw a video where they talked about a canceled sequel to Batman Arkham Knight, that, from the sound of it, would have been one of the greatest games any of us would ever play, essentially being a bigger, sweeter cherry on top of the other cherry that is Arkham Knight that was on top of the sunday that is the Arkham series.

The story was that 10 years after the end of Arkham Knight Bruce, who had been using fear toxin to better strike fear into the hearts of Gotham's criminals, retires and passes the mantle of Batman to his son, Damien Wayne, who then goes on to fight the Court of Owls.

And it would have had a Nemesis system kind of like the Shadow of War/Mordor games, where if you break a goons arm, the next time you see him his arm'll be in a cast or something.

And they scrapped it because of leaks, and instead gave us Gotham Knights and Suicide Squad: KTJL!

And then I hear they also canceled a Batman Beyond movie made by the people behind Across The Spiderverse

Like what in the everloving fuck is wrong with these people? How can they look at these amazing ideas and say "Nah." Are they trying to not make money? Do they want a reputation of sucking?

[eldritchtouched]

I don't trust that new character.

So, minor-ish Shadow of the Erdtree spoilers, though Elden Ring's Twitter itself officially posted the art.

Talking about this person here.

Their whole everything is very, very off.

Now, I will first note that a lot of their design elements are very specifically stuff associated with Miquella and Trina. Helixes and lilies and growing plants, along with the colors. (I should know. I spent way too much time screenshotting and looking at stuff in Elphael and the Haligtree lol.)

But it's the how that first set off alarm bells.

So, you see, Miquella's own outfits tend to be very simple when we've seen him depicted in statues, and in the other pieces of artwork. His followers wear some more complicated designs, along with certain items associated with him/implied to be his creations, such as the Pulley Bow and Malenia's prosthetics.

This design is far too overdesigned. It's so over the top and that's what's bothering me. Miquella's following and Malenia wear nicer stuff than Miquella himself, true, but it never is to this point. Mohg himself, while he has his ostentatious mantle, has some much simpler clothing underneath.

(Mohg seemed to key in on Miquella's distaste with showy stuff, too. He's the only logical person to have made the ring that the giant Miquella body is wearing. It's notably subdued compared to Mohg's taste for ostentatious clothing and seems more akin to the little flower buttons on Mohg's undershirt in its relative simplicity.)

There's also some oddities in terms of the details as well. The white cloak isn't pure white and has some almost purple undertones (more of a pink). We've seen this before, though- Dolores the Sleeping Arrow, wearing the page's armor, and it is similar in that it's almost a pinkish color instead of purple. (Who, mind you, is tied to St. Trina.) The sword itself has a crisscrossing pattern that is reminiscent of Radagon's seal.

There's also the implication that they are the one giving the dialogue to tell the player to go to the Land of Shadow, and narrating about what Miquella told them. Along with the implication that they're some kind of knight of Miquella.

First thing's first. Miquella never had any knights sworn to him specifically. All of the people in Elphael are specifically Haligtree knights and soldiers, not Miquellan. We do encounter a Miquellan Knight Sword, but it is explicitly labeled as not having a master. It seems awfully suspicious that someone shows up as what is clearly supposed to be a knight of Miquella.

Miquella also departed for the Land of Shadow alone. And everything in the world design seems to imply that he wanted to keep both his following safe (and probably the Mohgwyn dynasty, too, considering all the design overlaps in security), and to make sure nobody would actually follow him.

So this person miraculously shows up, knowing how to get to Miquella despite Miquella deliberately leaving alone, when everyone Miquella clearly cared for doesn't seem to know what's going on.

Second is how they know what they know. They talk as if they've spoken to Miquella, but that seems really fucking weird, doesn't it? If Miquella deliberately left the way he did, why would he just tell random people he met that kind of stuff? Too much of it is raising red flags for that reason. He seems to have been very secretive in what he knew, like he wanted to fix it all without getting others involved unless necessary. He compartmentalized information quite a bit.

This makes sense, though, if it isn't something they needed to be told because they already knew it.

I think it's St. Trina, searching for Miquella, to get him to go back to his fate. A fate Miquella deliberately wished to abandon.

[highladyluck]

Season 2, Episode 5 Liveblog

“Finished pouting?” Never. Suroth has never finished pouting in her life

Egwene says “These colors don’t run!”

I’m sorry but I laughed at Lanfear’s outfit

Grolm time! I love the Seanchan theme it’s so creepy

We have handtalk!

Ahahahahahaha damn they are really going for the Whitecloak and Rand parallels (uniting everyone under our banner to fight the shadow)

Interesting scarification(?) on Turak’s bald head- are they coding him as imperial family? I forgot what his canonical relationship to the throne was

It's manicure time for Suroth's coke nails

Oh hai, it’s our buddy Fain

I forgot that Turak knew the box code (as did book!Lanfear) and that reports of him having the Horn would have gone back to Seanchan

True Power is very useful here

Oh my god you have horse girl Moiraine killing horses (like that’ll stop Lanfear)

I like how she vaporized his head

Omg I love Lanfear’s utter disdain

Perrin is very mad right now, love to see it

“You can’t run from what you are” but the boys are all sure as hell are going to try lmao

Moiraine like ‘it’s time for very bad news, are you keeping moving? good good’

‘If they’re all released we’re doomed’ (Look I’m gonna tell you a secret, they kinda suck, you guys will probably do ok)

Hopper is like ‘I’m on babysitting duty, I have no choice’

I hope we get Gaul but I will take… holy shit that is a smoking hot Aviendha

Omg omg is that Dain Bornhald? ill-met by moonlight

Perrin’s like ‘I do not understand and I am now officially in jailbreak mode, please leave any friendly warnings with my wolf’

It’s not a coincidence that there are Aiel and Seanchan, it’s the plot lmao (also the apocalypse)

I love Lanfear talking to herself so so much! Eat that scenery, Lanfear! Eat it for the woman and the man who no longer can eat things because you sewed their mouth shut and popped their head like a pimple, respectively

Browns Browns Browns

In the Ways again…

Liandrin, are you gonna try to recruit Nyneave? Let me rephrase that. Do you think you will SUCCEED in recruiting Nyneave?

Huh, tying the oaths to Artur Hawkwing, I kinda like that

Nihilism, baby!!! Oh I love Nyneave so much

Suroth is not having a good day

“Finished pouting?” Never. Suroth has never finished pouting in her life

“And plunge the Empire into civil war?” 👀👀👀 It’s fine they have spares

Lmao Suroth in a power struggle with Ishy is very fun

If you keep calling the last battle early, no one is going to believe you when it really is the last battle, Ishy

“People shouldn’t be in cages” that’s a book line!

She is so hot help

Ooooh I love the Aiel theme

The music this season is so good!!!

Dain with his big axe and Perrin with his hammer

The camera on the battle scenes is characteristic by now- feels very ‘in it’

Lanfear like ‘ah my Tel'Aran'Rhiod propaganda is working’

Congrats Moiraine now everyone in your family thinks Rand is your boytoy

Queen Galldrian and baby boy Barthanes!

Verin is like ‘oh hi! Did you know you have massive problems? :D’

It’s important to cross-check

Verin introducing Compulsion

Liandrin I think you don’t have a ton of leg to stand on criticizing the system when you’re about to feed these girls into it

Awww look she gave Nyneave a fighting chance

Egwene says “These colors don’t run!”

Avi like ‘wow you don’t even know what toh is, hoo boy’

I like their carpet mantles

Lmao Elayne’s priorities “They’re occupiers!” vs Nyneave “who cares, we need to get the fuck out of here” al’Meara

Verin is Columboing her way through the usual suspects

Omg Moiraine is actually being honest as well as truthful

And her sister is honest back

Rand needs protection! And he needs you because you’re his magic mom who gives him complexes

UM [this is Ishy cuddling up to Rand]

Subtlety thy name is not Lanfear

HUH (re Moiraine desperation)

Because you’re King Nihilist

MOGGY MENTION

TITS OUT FOR GRAENDAL

“The Boys” I disagree with Lanfear’s assessment of the girls (insane & vain/stupid) but she’s right about the boys, and it does set up the 'everyone in this office hates everyone else' vibes

See I told you, he’s King Nihilist

Booooooooooooo Mat’s not yours

Oh you have not seen anything yet re: breaking Rand

Oooooooooh Ishy prompted the omens for the Return?

Court of the Nine Moons mention! It's interesting having this be the first time we hear about it. Won't change things that much narratively unless certain other characters hear about it prior to the next season or so, though.

YES WE HAVE YELLOW AJAH I love it

Oh man this is going to hurt

Collars and leashes confirmed

Moiraine is correct that Lanfear probably won’t hurt him physically. However, she can absolutely hurt him emotionally so I don't think he's gonna be, uh, safe

Hmmmmm I don’t think I like the lack of mystery about why Lanfear turned, but otoh no living Aes Sedai is a reliable narrator about the Age of Legends, so I’m filing this under ‘reasonable but there might be a more interesting story later’

Staking Rand out like sexy sexy bait

Oooooh it’s symbolism time

I’m sorry but I laughed at Lanfear’s outfit

Oh episode 6 is going to be very hard to watch

[direwombat]

oooh how about “5. that emotional moment that you can't find a plot for” for the short fic challenge with fragile creatures:3

god i'm so sorry for dropping this 3k beast for a prompt fill but...it ran away from me. M to E range for some light smut but please enjoy syb going reaching her braking point :)

When Sybille calls Jacob to meet her in the mountains, she has every intention of killing him. 

It was a decision she had made a long time ago. All of the Seeds are dangerous in their own right. John was volatile. Joseph is cunning. Even Faith had a way of distorting reality to her whims. But she’d been confident she could find a non-violent solution to neutralize and bring those three to justice (although, her success in that matter could be debated). Jacob, on the other hand, based on what she knows about him — and she knows more than most — he’s not going to give her any other choice. He’ll die for the Project. For his family. And she gets the distinct feeling that the only way she can bring the others to justice is if he’s six feet under. 

Without him, the Cult loses its strength. They’ll be weak. Vulnerable. It’ll only be a matter of time before they crumble and fall apart entirely. 

It’s the smart, tactical move. 

Killing Jacob means a swifter victory. 

It also means killing the only person who’s ever seen her for who she truly is. Not the big sister or quasi-mother figure her brother sees. Not the Deputy or some sort of savior the rest of the county thinks she is. 

Her. He sees her. A woman whose fear is only overpowered by her stubbornness and who desperately fights to protect the people of the county because if she can’t do that, then what fucking good is she? He sees how she shoulders the burden of Soldier and Commander. How she bears the familiar mantle and ignores the consuming dread that when this is all said and done, they’re just going to discard her the same way the military did when they deemed her unfit for further service. 

Some people — people like Joseph — are born for greatness. But people like her, and people like Jacob? They’re born to die, because in the end, they're more useful as martyrs. Tools used to forge the path of victory. Never the victors themselves. 

He understands this, and aside from herself, she thinks he’s the only person in the damn county who does. She just wishes he also saw the tragedy in it too. 

Which only fucking makes this all the more fucking difficult. To say things are complicated between the two of them would be an understatement. The intense eye contact. The clandestine meetings. The way he fucks and gives her everything she didn’t know she needed — only you, only you, only you. She’ll never admit it because admitting it would make it real, but there’s a not insignificant part of her that thinks she might love him. 

But this is war. Her feelings have no place here and she can’t let them cloud her judgment. She’s better — stronger — than that. 

So, she called Jacob on their private channel under the usual pretense and told him to pick her up on the road towards their cabin. 

She walks into the biting winds, her fists shoved so deep in her jacket pockets that she threatens to punch straight through them. The leather of her bomber jacket does well to keep her torso warm, but the denim of her jeans just make her legs go stiff as she trudges through the snow. Off in the distance is the roar of an engine, smoothly changing gears to accommodate the slope. All the Peggie trucks sound the same, and a small, selfish part of her is grateful he’ll be here soon, if only so she can get out of the weather. 

A few moments later, she’s silhouetted by the vehicle’s headlights. Her shadow cuts a stark shape into the bright white snow on the ground. She turns around, shielding her eyes, and squints into the light. Scratched and dirty eggshell paint, a black cross painted on its hood; she may not be able to see the driver, but as it pulls to a halt a few meters from her and flashes its beams, she knows it’s him. 

She stomps her way over to the passenger door and flings it open. The rattling heater working overtime to warm the cab is a welcome balm to her freezing face and legs. She climbs in, and after slamming the door shut, she rides through an embarrassing full body shiver. “Gotta wear more than a pair of jeans if you plan on hiking up here,” Jacob says in the exact same way he’s told her dozens of times before. She grunts in response, and he doesn’t wait for her to buckle her seat belt before he starts driving again. 

She doesn’t quite settle into the hard leather seat. Too tense, too twitchy, and she knows Jacob notices because he notices everything. Her right hand unclenches in her pocket to instead grip the ice cold pistol tucked next to it. Her teeth peel off a flake of her dry and chapped lips, drawing blood, and she flicks the safety off with an Earth shattering click, but she doesn’t pull it from her pocket. 

Jacob looks at her from the corner of his eye and sighs heavily. “Whatever you’re going to do, Jackrabbit, better do it now.”

It isn’t a threat. It isn’t even a warning. Infuriatingly, she’d call it an order. An acknowledgement of her own ‘now-or-never’ tendencies. If she doesn’t kill him now, she never will. The deep breath she takes doesn’t steel her nerves at all, but as she pulls out her gun and points it at him, her hand is steady. Her voice, however, wavers. “Drive,” is all she says. 

He flares his fingers on the wheel, holding it in the space between his forefinger and thumb — it’s as close to a conceding gesture as he can make — before having to close his grip again to take a bend in the road. “I take it we’re not going to the cabin,” he says after a moment’s silence. 

“Shut up,” she snaps. She shoves the gun towards him emphatically, her finger on the trigger.

There’s a peculiar set to his jaw. It isn’t anger, or even disappointment. It’s something much deeper than that. His shoulders are square and tense; it’s how he’s carried himself every other time they’ve come to blows. But something is different here.

He’s…proud.

She’s not fucking around and he knows it. Knows that his end very well might come with his brains splattered across the interior of his truck. For the first time since they’ve met, his life is in her hands. Not the other way around. And he’d rather die by no one else’s. He doesn’t push her — not even with a smarmy, “Yes, ma’am,” —  not when the distance between her and the edge is minuscule. 

He shuts his mouth and he doesn’t open it. 

He doesn’t ask where they’re going; he knows it doesn’t matter. They pass the small dirt road that leads to their cabin and continue climbing the summit. The silence thickens as the air thins, the atmosphere in the cab heavy and oppressive. A storm cloud ready to burst. 

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you,” she finally says when they turn around to start descending the mountain. One reason. That’s all she’s asking for. It’s all she needs to not have to go through with this.  

He smiles and gives her a glance from the crinkling corner of his eye. “You and I both know I can’t do that, sweetheart,” he answers softly. Of course she does. What reason could possibly alleviate the weight of his crimes and sins? What reason could make her shirk her duties as an officer of the law and let him live?

There’s only one, and it’s not something he can tell her. It’s one she has to admit to herself.

“Is this what you want?” he then asks, and were she standing, she might have actually staggered backwards.

“What I — What I want?” she stammers. “You know damn well this ain’t about what I want.” It never has been. All her life she’s done shit she never wanted to do. She never wanted to drop out of school when mama got sick, but she had to if they wanted to survive. She never wanted to become her brother’s legal guardian after her parents’ murder-suicide, but who would look after him if she didn’t? She never wanted to become the county’s Soldier of Fortune, but no one else had the skills needed to take down the Project at Eden’s Gate. 

And look where that got her.

She never wanted any of this.

“Then why do it?”

She narrows her eyes. The family resemblance has never been more obvious. “You are in no place to be asking questions here,” and she presses the mouth of the barrel just under his jaw. Her breath comes out ragged as she fights against the burning sensation pricking at her eyes. “Ain’t this what you’re all about. Huh? Being stronger than your enemies and shit?”

“If that’s what I am to you.”

“Stop that!” she snaps. “Enough! Enough with the mind games! Stay out of my damn head!”

“I’m not playing any,” he says quietly, and he sounds so impossibly earnest that she doesn’t keep him from slowing the truck to a stop. 

“Bullshit!” she cries. “How else can you be so calm about this?” Why is he just sitting there and letting her do this? Why isn’t he fighting back? What does he have up his sleeve?

“Because I know that whatever you’ve decided, there’s nothing I can do to stop you.”

That scream that’s been building in her lungs threatens to tear free. “You don’t get it, do you?”she hisses through gritted teeth. Tears escape against her best efforts. “You’re the only one who can stop me.” Only you. Only you can make this change in me. Her hand flexes around the gun’s grip, index finger trembling over the trigger. “So, stop me, Jacob,” she pleads. “Stop me.”

And he could toy with her. God knows she’s making it so easy for him. You surrenderin’, Deputy? You askin’ for me to take control? He could make her admit it, force her to verbalize her own fucking weakness. But he doesn’t. This isn’t the time for games. She’s already coming to him with her ribs cracked open and heart exposed. Hold it, rip it out — she doesn’t give a damn what he does with it. She just needs him to do something. 

He stares at her with those fucking eyes of his, like he’s staring into the goddamn depths of her fucking soul. “Put the gun down,” he says, only rather than coming out harsh and commanding, the order is soft. Almost gentle. His hand covers her’s over its grip, warm and large. He eases her finger off the trigger and slips the safety in place. “Sybille,” he murmurs, “Put the gun down.”

Weak. She’s so fucking weak. Her eyes squeeze shut, fighting back the tears already spilingl over. In all this time, not once has she cried. Not when Dutch told her she was the only one to escape from the helicopter crash. Not when she stood helpless as John bled out in front of her. Not even when her brother had taken on the mantle of Faith. But here? At the end — because that’s what this is: the end of her fighting, the end of her resistance, the end of the rope she’s been wearing as a noose — here, she finally lets herself cry. 

He carefully loosens the pistol from her grip, taking it from her and placing it on the dashboard.

After her pathetic display, he ought to put it against her forehead and cull her instead. She’s shown him the soft fleshy parts she keeps hidden behind her slowly fracturing psyche. The kindest thing he could do is just put her out of her fucking misery. But he doesn’t. Instead, he cradles her face and pulls her in until she feels the heat of his breath fanning against her skin. 

“Sybille,” he says, and the rough pad of his thumb wipes a tear from her cheek. “Open your eyes.” 

And like a good soldier, she does as she’s told. This is just the first of many orders she’s going to take from this man. He’ll tell her to jump and her only question is going to be “how high?” This is it. The tipping of the scales. The point of no return. He’s done it. He’s won. She can’t go back from this. He made her weak. He broke her. He’s going to put the pieces back together however he wants — make her whatever he wants — and she is going to let him. 

She failed. Her mother, her brother, Hope County, herself, she failed them all. 

But she never failed him. Not even when she actively tried. 

There’s a question in his eyes, eyes she wants nothing more than to fall into and drown in. He doesn’t ask it out loud. She’s not sure if he can, but he needs to hear her answer. “Yes,” she breathes, her voice cracking. “Only you. Only you.” And then his lips are on hers in a soft and gentle press. 

She shudders in his arms as he embraces her, dragging her over the gear shift between them and into his lap. A high pitched whimper escapes as she presses herself against him, her mouth opening invitingly and he eagerly welcomes himself inside. He kisses her until she can’t breathe and then he keeps going, greedily stealing the air from her lungs, her soul from her body. She grips his jacket so tight her knuckles go white, and when she can’t take it any more, when they finally break, the hand he has resting at her hip pushes her heated core against him. 

With a low groan, her head falls back, exposing the pale column of her throat. “That’s it,” Jacob murmurs against her skin, dragging his teeth lightly over her jugular and sucking a bruise above her collar — finally marking her in a way that will tell everyone who she belongs to. “Give in, sweetheart. Surrender to me.”

And she does. God help her, she does.

He could do anything he liked to her in this moment, and she wouldn’t fight him. 

She shifts against him, rolling her hips and arching her back as her fingers come twine through his hair, less to guide him and more to steady herself. Tethered to him like he’s a lifeline, she’s liable to drift away if she lets go. An anchor, he grounds her and holds her steady. She’s been adrift so long, battered by wave after wave of misery that it’s a miracle she was never pulled under. But here, with him, she’s finally found her port in the storm

He pulls off her coat, violently peeling it off her arms and exposing her skin to the chilled air inside the cab. She shivers, not because of the cold but out of anticipation, and she’s dipping down to kiss him again. They only break long enough for her to pull her t-shirt over her head and toss it onto the passenger seat. His hands, rough and blazingly hot, stroke her sides, trailing up to cup her tits and thumb at the stiffening peaks of her nipples. 

With a growl, he rips her bra off and she gasps, goosebumps prickling and her hair raising to stand on end. She moans his name and helps him slide her jeans and panties down her hips before she tugs off his belt. Her fingers dance over the button and fly. She pulls him out and wastes no time lining herself up.

There’s a mutual exhalation of breath as she sinks down on him. The breath is pushed from her as he breaches her. He’s a lot to take even if she’s prepped, but she can’t wait for that. She needs him. All her focus goes to the stretching burn as he fills her, rocking her hips until she’s taken him fully. Her head swims at the litany of filthy praise that rolls off Jacob's tongue, and when she finally relaxes, fully adjusted and her legs giving out, his hands come to rest heavy at her hips. A strangled moan escapes her lips, her forehead coming to rest on his shoulder as he starts moving. 

They don’t fuck. It’s far too tender to be called that. Jacob has never been a gentle lover, and she can’t deny that during most of their encounters, her own actions were driven by that white-hot combination of rage and lust. But here, there’s none of that. He looks at her with adoration, and every touch is reverant. Here, all she feels is the overwhelming and almost painful intensity of her desire and affection for the man. She loves him.

She loves him, she loves him, she loves him.

And he loves her back.

They rock against each other like they have all the time in the world. Slow, leisurely movements with no worry of being caught or having to rush back to their respective people. It isn’t just some itch to be scratched. This means something. They read each other in ways no one else is capable of doing, letting the pleasure ebb and flow to prolong the end for as long as they can. 

Inevitably though, the tightening coils knotting in their stomachs demand a break in tension. The rocking turns to rutting, and as it does, she lifts her head to press her brow heavily against his, staring him right in the eyes. Her hands run up the musculature of his torso, coming to cradle his face as his grip tightens on her hips and he guides them both towards their beautiful, ecstatic release. 

Stars burst behind her eyelids and she shudders as he cums, warming her from the inside out. Panting heavily, she slumps, boneless against him and presses lazy, open mouthed kisses to his neck as they both catch their breath and the fog of lust lifts. She whimpers as Jacob maneuvers her, tucking her into his chest and her head underneath his chin. But he never pulls out. His cum leaks from her around his softening cock and she grips tightly at his jacket. His arms are wrapped around her, holding her close as he strokes her hair. 

“What happens now?” she whispers. A dark nugget of fear forms in her gut as the afterglow fades and shadows creep back in. For the first time in decades, she’s at a loss for what to do next. 

“Now, I take you home, back where you belong,” he says. 

Home. The word causes something warm and fuzzy to bloom in her chest. He’s been telling her he would do so since this thing between them started. At first she thought it was a threat, and maybe then it was, but now? Now it’s a promise. “And then in the morning you and I are going to talk with Joseph.”

The mention of his brother makes her stomach knot and she instinctually curls in on herself. She stares up at him, weak and doe-eyed. “Don’t…don’t let him take me from you.”

“I won’t,” he says, drawing her in for another kiss. “Your place is with me, Jackrabbit. I’m not gonna let anyone take you.”

“Okay,” she says quietly. She takes a deep breath and for the first time since this all began, she says, “Take me home, Jacob.”

[autistichalsin]

These tags are so important OMG thank you @whatever-man-whatever!!!

#the downplaying thing is REALLY the absolute most prevalent if you talk to Jaheira at the last light inn *as halsin*#you’ll get her to talk about Halsin’s past from a more objective pov#*she* is how you can find out exactly how young Halsin really was back then#like you can infer it based on what he says about his age but yknow we’re people#250 years is still old to us bc yknow. humans. we don’t live nearly that long.#but Jaheira explains that Halsin was still considered an apprentice and likely in the middle of or towards the end of his apprenticeship#so something like ‘about to finish med school’ or something along those lines#and she really emphasizes exactly how impressive Halsin was#she implies that despite his age and (comparative lack of) training he took up the mantle of archdruid and almost literally#carried his people back to the grove#(i think people don’t often talk about this bc they see Halsin as just a wise big man)#(that bc of his size and his mannerisms that his feelings can’t be hurt)#(which. mind. is *exactly* an insecurity he LITERALLY TELLS YOU ALMOST WORD FOR WORD)#he’s giving almost to a fault

Halsin will never give himself credit for his successes, only his failures (if you pay very careful attention, you'll notice that even for breaking the shadow curse, he puts more of the praise for that on the player- such as what he tells Thaniel about how the curse was broken). You have to talk to someone who knows Halsin.

The picture we get? See above, for Jaheira's telling of Halsin rising into a role he never wanted, to do what needed to be done- thanklessly, much of the time- while still blaming himself for every tiny failure. Then think back to the Grove. Nettie saying she was so sure Halsin could have done a better job healing the player than she (in a way, she was right, because while Halsin couldn't cure them, leading them to Moonrise did prove key in them being able to defeat the Absolute), Rath expressing adoration for him, the Tieflings talking about how Halsin gave them sanctuary... only the ones who fell in with the Shadow Druids disliked him.

And Halsin doesn't see literally ANY of that!!! He doesn't realize how beloved he is in his Grove. All he sees is the few times he came up short (like not being able to wrestle Kagha into submission.) And in the aforementioned Jaheira scene, he honestly seems... surprised? that Jaheira would be so impressed by him?

Just, fuck, man. Halsin is the most subtly heartbreaking character, sometimes. I say subtly, because he is so good at hiding it behind a cheerful exterior- at his core, he is a playful and happy person, and that's why so much of this goes unnoticed. But the deeper you get...

He's been thru it, he blames himself for everything that went wrong in the world and gives himself credit for none of the right, he's been traumatized by everything from the shadow curse to a sexual assault...

Man. As much as I think it would have been interesting if Halsin had killed Isobel like in EA, I'm actually glad they took that out? We didn't need Halsin's survivor's guilt to be even WORSE- it was more than enough as it is :(

Halsin has gone through multiple, lasting traumas:

Has been kidnapped and held as a sex slave for three years, quite possibly as a teenager based on some comments ("takes me back to my youth" to the Drow twins; referring to himself as a "young Druid" when he was taken), which are psychologically formative years

He gets made archdruid at a young age, with no experience nor preparation, in the middle of a battle where most others besides him died, including the previous archdruid

His first (possibly only depending on how dark your reading is) childhood friend was a boy who was the spirit of the forest/nature itself; said childhood friend is later cursed, and when Halsin goes to find him, his Grove falls into the hands of an extremist, which depending on player choice can also lead to a child's death, and on top of that, he gets kidnapped, imprisoned, and tortured in wildshape

And that's to say nothing of what can happen to him in branching storylines (I.E. if Orin kidnaps him, or if the player decimates the Emerald Grove, or if they fail to end the Shadow Curse)

And his responses to those traumas?

A hedonistic approach to sex

A tendency towards indulgence in many other aspects, though he admits he doesn't do it meaninglessly in terms of food

An intensely giving personality that also doesn't allow for reciprocation (dominance, but of the gentle variety, during sex, with no indication he would ever bottom; enthusiastically doing oral for the player character without the player returning the favor), which suggests there's an element of making up for lost control here

Immense guilt over the events that happen during and before the story, even when they were decidedly not his fault

Intense protectiveness over the defenseless- children, animals, and nature itself, as well as refugees

So... in other words, Halsin is reacting to his traumas, which involve themes of imprisonment, loss of control/agency, and being forced into impossible conditions where the blame falls on him even when it's undeserved, by indulging in the few pleasures he can find, and by taking control in the ways he can- sex and protecting those he can, and by blaming himself. (Paradoxically, blaming oneself is a form of taking control back; if it was your fault, that means you could have changed it.)

And, lastly, Halsin copes by... downplaying everything. Refusing to admit his pain. This, too, is a form of control-taking.

I don't think I've had a character's rape trauma/recovery storyline resonate this strongly with me since Katherine Howard from Six the musical.

[wonderlandleighleigh]

What’s storyline do you hope the Palladinos don’t drop in s5?

Jesus fuck can they please just not touch Lenny's death?

Right? Like. We know the real Lenny dies in 1966. The issue with tackling it in the show is thus:

If you tackle it and tackle it right? It takes up the entire show. Lenny and Midge's bond is a strong one, whether you like the romance aspect or not. His death will destroy her, and mold her into an entirely new person. Lenny's death will leave her picking up the pieces and forming into a person we...likely won't recognize. Likely an angrier more radicalized Midge who takes up the free speech mantle, gets arrested on purpose, etc etc etc. And if you had more than 8 episodes to tell that story, and HADN'T spent 4 seasons telling relatively low stakes tales with easy fixes, there is something there.

If you have him die and just kind of...leave it, without fully addressing just how large an affect that will have on Midge, you have this looming shadow over the narrative of "Lenny died, why is Midge just kind of moving along like that didn't happen? Why didn't we see her grieve?"

ASP has handled death in her shows pretty respectfully all things considered, but only when she's forced to.

Richard's death in Gilmore Girls and Jackie's death in Maisel both came about because the actors of those characters passed away, and the stories ASP told about their characters in the wake of those deaths were very, very moving. It was very clear that she was grieving those loses through story. And Richard was such a huge part of GG as a story that his death did loom over the entirety of the revival. And it worked really well as a framing device. That these three women were grieving a deep, deep loss. Jackie's death showed Susie (likely ASP's character insert for herself), vowing to take care of the people who fall through the cracks. It's an important mission statement: one that ASP does in real life by employing tons of Broadway and character actors on her shows. Giving chances to newer people, or people who just don't get a ton of work, but are great.

Lenny is different because there was really a Lenny. That is a story that has been written. It's played out in real life and there's no way to change real life.

The real Lenny died alone from a heroin overdose after he had largely run off a lot of his friends and family. The biggest contributors to his funeral were the comedians he didn't get along with (Milton Berle, Johnny Carson, etc), and the people who had been his friends in the past like Buddy Hackett were...nowhere.

He met a deeply sad end and I don't think that you can tackle that deeply sad end without flipping the show upside down.

If Lenny cut Midge out of his life, tell me she wouldn't be clawing for a way back in.

Tell me she wouldn't be trying to help him and fix his shit anyway she could. Romance or no romance.

His spiral and eventual death flips her story into his story. And that's not fair to Midge's character at all.

My deep hope is that the show ends with Midge headlining the Copa and Lenny watching in the back, and just...leave it.

Just leave it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Pressure

Finale to Push and Pull

Warnings: noncon sex, oral, violence, abuse, and death.

This is Lee Bodecker (who is already dark!af) and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Life changes and you’re swept up in the tide.

Note: Alright, here’s out final part! Lee is such a bastard man.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

“You left a stain On every one of my good days” 

-Disease, Matchbox Twenty

🚔

Arn had quickly taken up your father’s mantle as a moonshiner. When he got home, he went to the shed and tinkered with the sill. He met with the same men your father had and even began to act like him. Quiet, terse. He ordered you and your brothers around as he emulated the dead man.

Will had grown quiet. In those days he spent at home with you, you’d noticed how distant he seemed. He was the youngest, the sweetest. When your mother had passed, he had been the most distraught but he seemed numb to your father’s absence.

And Cal; Cal was just as oblivious as ever. You almost admired how he always went through life without heed for the past or future. He only seemed to live in his own little bubble as he floated along; untouched and unaffected by the taint of Knockemstiff.

And you, you were just an afterthought in the lives of the men around you. You cleaned after them, cooked for them, and saw that all was in order for them to exist. They didn’t give a second thought to their dirtied dishes or torn trousers. They just left them for you to tidy and mend.

And Bodecker. You hated just the thought of him. Hated the way your stomach churned as you recalled that mighty heat he’d stoked within you. The feeling you knew was so wrong. How could you feel that way when he was touching you? When you didn’t want him to touch you? You didn’t want it, right?

Your nightmares were stained in your father’s blood. You woke with a start at the gunshot as it echoed inside your head. Every morning without fail. Visions lingered as you dressed; the gun, Lee’s voice, the blood seeping into the dirt. You shuddered and pressed your hands to your face. 

Had it really been so long? A month already.

You descended the stairs and yawned into your sleeve as you hugged yourself in the early morning chill. It was early, the men would not rise for another hour or so.

Maybe not. You heard the crackle of a log and the whisper of a page being turned. You stood in the doorway of the living room. Will sat on the rug before the fire, bent over a book as the flames licked behind the grate.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he spoke before you could. “But I’m almost done my book.”

“That’s good,” you neared and lowered yourself beside him, “What are you reading anyway?”

“Lord of the Flies,” he marked his page, “I think… I think it’s about good and evil. If people are born one or the other, you know?”

“Oh?” You crossed your arms over your knees.

“Yeah, I mean, if we were allowed to make our own rules, would we make them for us or the for the good of everyone?” He wondered, “Because even with the rules, we do the worst, don’t we?”

“I suppose but… the rules don’t really make much difference around here.” You snorted. “Not in this town.”

“You think it’s different somewhere else? In the city? Maybe in another country?” He chewed his thumbnail.

“I like to hope so, not that I’ll ever know,” you said, “Is this about daddy?”

He shrugged. He dropped his hand and stretched his long legs before him. “All the good went with mama.”

“Don’t say that,” you admonished.

“It’s true. How many times did he take the belt to you? And why? Because you made him think of her.”

“You really think that?”

“He was nasty to all of us,” he sighed, “But nastier to you. And I can’t even be sad that he’s gone.”

“Death is hard, Will,” you touched his shoulder, “It’s hard to know what you’re feeling about it. Sad ain’t so clear as it should be. It could be staring at the wall or tossing and turning in your bed or sitting up in the early hours and readin’ some book by yourself. It’s not always a feelin’, sometimes it’s in the things we do.”

“It’s just a book,” he muttered.

“But you lookin’ for daddy in it, ain’t ya? Askin’ if he was good or bad.”

“I know he was bad,” Will said, “It’s why I don’t feel bad for him. Probably ran his mouth at whoever it was who gave him what he got.”

“Don’t talk like that,” you took his hand and squeezed, “Please. For me.”

He looked at you. The light of the fire flickered in shadows across his face. “You know, you never had to take care of him. Or us. You should got out and married.”

“Maybe I didn’t have to,” you sidled close to him, “But how could I leave my little brother, hmm?”

“I’m a man now. Almost.” He said. “Arn won’t let you stay. I know it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Him and Rose from the diner. He’s gonna marry her. Won’t be no place for you here. Or Cal. Or me.” Will said. “And I’m gonna go work down at the yard. Or maybe the factory.”

“You should finish school.”

“For what?”

“You’re the only smart one. You could find your way. Get a degree.” You urged. “You should do all of that. You shouldn’t stay here.”

“And leave you behind?”

You sniffed and hung your head. “No, I’m grown. I’ll find my way and I won’t get in yours. You got half a year left. You’re too close to quit.”

“I don’t know…”

“Mama always wanted you to do something big. She always said you were special.” You said. “A lawyer? Maybe even a doctor. Imagine that.”

He was quiet. He squeezed your hand and wobbled his foot as he thought. “You should leave too. Leave this town. We could both go once I’m done school.”

“No, no, you can’t be takin’ care of me.” You argued.

“Why not? You’ve taken care of me.”

“Because that’s what women do. I promised mama I would.” You liked the idea of leaving but it was terrifying. Even if you did have that courage, you knew you wouldn’t be gone for long. And if fate didn’t bring you back, you expected something, or someone else, would. “If Arn decides to toss us to the curb, I’ll see you through the rest of the year and then you’re gonna go out and make mama proud.”

He nodded and leaned back on his hands. “I know no one else ever gave you a chance but you should start givin' yourself one. You’re too good for us. Too good for everyone in this damn town.”

🚔

When the Sheriff showed up next, you were alone. He walked into the house without knocking, as had become his habit, and sat at the table as you prepared a roast for dinner. He watched you silently and you tried to ignore him. You were waiting for his command. 

How did he want you? What vile things would he do to you that day?

“When’s the boys gettin’ home?” He asked.

“Soon,” you answered as you turned on the oven. 

“You got something sweet,” he reached in his pocket and pulled out an empty wrapped.

You slid the cookie jar towards you and plopped it before him on the table. “Made ‘em last night. Chocolate chip.”

“You’re always so good to me,” he smiled and you choked down your revulsion. “Too bad it took me so damn long to get here. I really wanted to have some fun.”

You turned back and opened the stove. You slid the roasting pan inside and snapped it shut.

“Them dresses you got, they really do nothin’ for ya,” he said through a mouthful of cookie, “‘cept when you’re bending over.”

“Why are you here then?” You crossed your arms as you turned back to him.

“I gotta talk to your brothers,” he said, “But let’s be clear on something, girl. You don’t ask me my business unless it’s to do with you.”

“I know about you,” you sneered, “Everyone does. Why don’t you get one of your whores and leave me alone?”

The chair nearly toppled as he stood and tossed down the cookie. He rounded the table and stomped over to you, cornering you against the counter.

“You’re my whore,” he snarled, “You got that?” He pinched your tit roughly. “Now, if I wanna, I can bend you over right now and let your brothers see what a whore you are.” He grabbed your chin and pushed his body against yours. “You should be flattered, you know? I ain’t touched another bitch since I been in you.”

You bit down and glared at him. Your lip curled but you said nothing.

“I ain’t gonna leave you alone,” he rocked his body against yours and exhaled. “What do ya think is gonna happen if I do? If I toss you out like the used bag you are? You got me or you got nothing. No man’s gonna marry a flower without her petals.”

He pushed harder against you until you could feel his bulge through his pants. His stomach crushed you against the counter. He leaned in and kissed you. You were shocked by the gesture, disgusted at how you could taste the chocolate on him.

“I really need to fuck you,” he growled as he drew away, “Fuckin’ hurts so bad.” He pushed himself from you and turned as he cleared his throat. The loud rumble of the Ford truck called from just outside as it pulled in. “Guess that means I’ll have to pay you back in kind.” 

You narrowed your eyes and went to the fridge. You poured him a glass and slammed it down as the front door opened and the boys’ voices mingled in the hallway. Bodecker drank deeply and cleared his throat as he watched you retreat.

Arn entered first, followed by the other two as they chattered noisily. “...in the shed, we-- Sheriff Bodecker,” Arn shook the sheriff’s hand as he stood. “Figured you were waitin’ for us. You know, we got everything sorted with the shine.”

“That’s good to hear but sadly I’m not here about that,” Bodecker said, “Other business. ‘Bout your daddy.”

“Ah, okay,” Arn glanced over at Cal as Will took a seat at the table and grabbed a cookie from the jar. Your youngest brother looked at you as he took a bite. “What’s, uh, what’s goin’ on?”

“Well, we think we got the prick who did it,” Bodecker began and you stiffened, “Found your daddy’s belt buckle and same caliber gun. Some rat down by the tracks. Been arrested before for robbin’.”

“You found him?” Cal asked, “Well, suppose that’s good.”

“We will be chargin' him to the full extent of the law. Shouldn’t see a free day ever again.” Bodecker said. “Out of courtesy, I figured I’d tell ya before the papers ran the story.”

“Thank you, Sheriff,” Arn said. “You know it’s been tough tryna get everything together since he been gone but… this’ll be good for all of us. Now that we have some peace about it.”

“Oh, you got big plans?” Bodecker asked.

“House is mine now. Figure I need a wife. And the boys… well, they gotta go find a place of their own, ain’t they?”

“Mmm,” Bodecker hummed, “And your sister, too.”

“We have an aunt. I’m sure she could use the company.” Arn said.

“What?” You sputtered, “You just gonna send me away to live with Darlene?”

“What else am I gonna do with ya?” Arn barked. “If I got Rose here to do my cookin’ and cleanin’, I don’t see the use in keepin’ you around. Don’t know why daddy didn’t find someone to take ya before.”

“I ain’t askin’ you to do nothin’ with me,” you huffed, “But I ain’t goin’ to Darlene’s. I’ll go out on my own. I’ll clean someone else’s floor and get paid for it in more than spit and stupid.”

Arn snarled and Will stood slowly from the table. Cal squinted as if lost.

“Now, now,” Bodecker clapped Arn’s shoulder, “Lots to be done, lots to be done. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. This is a lot. Big news. I say, take some time, have some of that shine your daddy left you, and calm down, huh?”

Arn looked at the sheriff and shook his head. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right, I s’pose.”

Will lingered by the table, his eyes never left his older brother as his hands balled into fists. You neared him and touched his arm softly. He glanced over at you, his face tensed with anger.

“I won’t let him do it,” he whispered. “I told you, we can get out together.”

“So let’s give it a day,” Bodecker boomed, “I’ll be back tomorrow. We’ll talk business and… well, I think you’ll be happier after we have all that figured out.”

Arn nodded and shifted his weight.

“You got big shoes to fill,” Bodecker said, “Gotta make sure you get ‘em laced on right.”

🚔

As promised, Bodecker returned the next day, this time after your brothers. He joined them in the shed, a relief as you worked at stitching one of Will’s shirts. Cal appeared as you held up the shirt and eyed your work. You sensed his shadow and dropped the fabric to your lap.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” you assured him.

“You need to come out to the shed,” he ignored your promise of a hot meal and you frowned. 

You stood and slung the shirt over the chair. You grabbed your jacket and boots and followed him out the door. You hadn’t been to the shed since before your daddy died. Your teeth chattered as you slipped through the door and Cal slid it closed behind you. Arn sat in your pa’s old armchair, Lee on a stool, and Will on the crooked bench with a space free for his other brother.

“I don’t know why she needs to be here,” Arn said, “But she is, so let’s get on.”

“Well, the only way you’re gonna expand across the county is through me, Arn,” Bodecker talked as if he were addressing a child. “And I’m up for re-election. That means we need each other. Means we need to set this little partnership we have down in stone.”

“How’s it that you need us, sheriff?” Cal asked as you swayed by the door.

“Well, my reputation ain’t exactly pristine. I need to tidy up the edges,” Bodecker leaned forward and twined his fingers together. “I’ll see that you get your shine from one end of the county to the other and I’ll also take a little weight off your shoulders. I need a wife and your sister needs a new home.”

Your mouth fell open and even Arn seemed surprised by the proposal.

“No,” Will said, “You can’t… you can’t marry her.”

“I don’t see why not. She’s gettin’ up there in years, I don’t see anyone else lining up.” Bodecker chortled.

“Because she--” Will looked at you helplessly. “She deserves to be happy.”

“I don’t think any woman be unhappy being the sheriff’s wife,” Bodecker hissed, “Won’t be no different than her cleaning up after y’all. If anything, it’ll be easier.”

“Take her,” Arn said, “Two birds, one stone.”

“And Cal, I’ll get him on the force by the end of the year. Always good to have another set of hands.” Bodecker continued. “He’ll make good enough money to get outta your hair.”

“And Will?” You said. All the men turned to look at you. “He’s gotta stay in school.”

“School ain’t shit,” Arn scowled.

“I don’t see why he can’t finish,” Bodecker said. 

“I ain’t takin’ care of him,” Arn said. “He either gonna work for his lot or he can live outside.”

“Say what you want about daddy, but at least he had the decency to see to us,” you said. “You think you’re the big man now he’s gone.”

“You better shut your fuckin’ mouth if you know what’s good for you,” Arn stood and the sheriff did too. He stepped in front of the younger man.

“She’s grievin’. You know the ladies don’t handle all this so well,” Bodecker said, “I’ll see after the kid. I was gonna up my take to twenty percent but I’ll settle for fifteen if you keep him on.”

“Up your take?” Arn scoffed.

“We’re gonna be family and I’m gonna make sure none of my officers get in your way. Boy, that’s gonna mess with numbers, you get me? You can’t get without givin’.” 

Arn lowered his chin and looked between you and Will. He blinked slowly.

“He got a roof till he’s done school. No longer than that.” Arn sat back down heavily, “And you be best to get a leash on my sister and quick. The sooner she’s out of my house, the better. Rose is getting awfully antsy.”

“Y’all got a date yet?” Bodecker said.

“Wait? Just like that? You’re gonna marry me off--”

“Fuck’s sake. You ain’t never know when to shut up!” Arn hollered as he reached for a jar of shine.

“And you’re gonna drink away your years just like daddy,” you snapped.

“Hmm, maybe, but you’re gonna do what I tell you and get on your back for our sheriff.” He spat, “Or I’m gonna dump you on the corner and you can see who else will have you.”

“Arn, you can’t--” Will began.

“You two can go off and see how far you make it,” Arn bit back, “I’m done arguin’. The next person pipes up, I’m gonna tar ya.”

You looked at Will and shook your head. You knew what wasn’t being said. If you didn’t do what you were told, it wasn’t that you’d be out of your home. You wouldn’t have anything. The sheriff had a stranglehold on every citizen in the county. He’d make sure you were helpless until you were forced to grab his outreached hand. You’d take what he gave you, as you had to that point.

“Fine…” You uttered, “You know what mama would think, Arn. As much as you think daddy’d be proud, you know she wouldn’t.”

“Go back to your kitchen,” Arn took a gulp of moonshine, “You got a month, Sheriff. You get her out and you got your fifteen.”

🚔

You didn’t expect your wedding day to be so gloomy. A winter ceremony in the town church with a man you didn’t and couldn’t love. You’d always thought you would wear your mother’s old gown but he wasn’t worthy of that. So you wore the plan dress from the local shop with a short veil and a pair of white flats.

The sheriff had done his best to clean up for the ceremony. Freshly shaved, hair combed neatly, his stomach barely continued above his cumberbund. This man, your husband, your jailer. 

Your brothers sat in the first row as you listened to the priest. Your vows were nothing special, the same template handed out by the church. To love and obey. Only one of those would be true. You stared at the loose stitches of the veil, your surroundings blurred beyond the white lace.

You hated Arn for trading you away like livestock but you knew deep down your father would’ve done the same. He would’ve done worse. You recalled his last words; he would’ve had you on the street. Maybe this was the best you could hope for.

The room came back into focus as your veil was lifted. Your husband kissed you. He still sent a shiver up your spine every time he touched you. You turned back to the audience, his hand around yours as he led you between the rows of strangers. Your brothers were the only familiar faces though they were hardly welcome. 

Arn had quickly taken up your father’s part in mistreating you, Cal was his mindless followers, and Will, you only saw pity in his eyes. Bodecker guided you between the pews and the doors open to the frigid winter afternoon. He ushered you to the waiting car and was quick to climb in behind you. There would be a dinner awaiting you at town hall; a whole room rented out for the occasion.

“So,” Bodecker’s hand settled on your thigh, “Are you wearing it?”

You nodded. He had brought you the lurid attire only nights before. A lacy brassiere and satin panties, stocks and frilly garners; all in as if you were still a virgin. He stretched his arm over your shoulders and pulled you close.

“It’s gonna just be you and me, honey,” he purred, “No more hiding.”

“Yes, Sheriff,” you spoke into your lap.

“Lee, or sir. No need to act strange anymore,” he dragged his nose up your cheek and his hot breath choked you. “I can’t wait until tonight. I’ve been holdin’ it in so long, god, I could blow now.”

“You know I hate you, don’t you?” You looked at him dead in the face.

A smile slowly spread across his face as he played with the hem of your veil. “Well, don’t really matter now, does it?”

🚔

Bodecker, Lee, your personal tormenter; whoever he was, ate as you avoided the same. You felt too sick to do anything but wait out the night. You accepted the congratulations of family and friends that weren’t yours and bided your time as he did all the talking. You expected your new life would be filled with these people eating out of the hand of their sheriff in hope that he didn’t swat their heads.

He drove you home in his cruiser. A strange end to a strange state of affairs. His house was large and closer to town. It was more modern than your father’s old farmhouse but not so tidy. A man living on his own didn’t have time to do his dishes before his wedding or put his used socks in the hamper

He closed the door behind you as you looked around. Cleaning was never a pleasure for you, an obligation, a ritual which kept you from dwelling on the bad. At that moment, you wanted to clean up the mess of this man’s life to keep from dealing with your own.

You jumped as he slapped your ass hard enough to make you stumble. You rubbed the stinging flesh beneath your dress and drew away from him. He caught your arm before you could go far.

“The bedroom’s through there,” he nodded to the doorway on the other side of the room, “A lot better than the car… and the coffee cups… hmmm?”

“It’s all the same,” you muttered.

“It gets better each time,” he pulled you against him and groaned. “You’ll see it soon. You’ll feel it.” He leaned in and his hot breath tickled your lips. “Go to the bedroom, get that dress off and wait for me.”

He tapped your ass and let you go as he turned away. He removed his jacket and hung it as you watched his back. You looked at the door. Where would you even go? Your mama once told you marriage wasn’t for love, it was practical. A roof over your head. What more could you ask for?

You walked down the hallway and stopped to look at the picture. The fresh-faced corporal didn’t look like the ruddy cheeked man with the wrinkle above his brow. Even in black and white, his eyes seemed brighter then. You tore yourself away and found the bedroom at the end.

You supposed you were different too. Different from yesterday, different from a month ago, a year ago, ten years ago. So much could change in so little time. 

You reached back and unhooked the top of your dress. You struggled to undo each button along your spine as the fabric drew taut across your stomach. A week ago, the dress had seemed looser, same with much of your wardrobe. 

You shimmied out of the dress and folded it over the walnut dresser. You looked down at yourself and the underwear better fit to the racy scenes in the theatre. You didn’t dress like this. You weren’t Marilyn or Elizabeth. You were just you and you were entirely out of place. 

You slipped out of your shoes and unpinned your veil. The ring on your finger chafed your skin. You sighed and turned to sit on the bed. It bounced beneath you as you toyed with the diamond. Say what you would of the man, it had all been adequate. More than.

“You look good,” Bodecker said and you raised your head as he entered. He began to undress as he strutted across the room. “Wife.”

He unbuttoned his shirt as he neared the bed. He looked down at you with a smirk as his bowtie hung loose from his neck.

“You know what would happen if I didn’t marry you?” He pulled his tails loose and wiggled out of the shirt. He tossed it away with his tie, his stomach poking out slightly from his undershirt. “I mean, you could have my bastard inside you right now. You think anyone else wants it?”

Your eyes widened and your lashes fluttered. You bunched up the blankets in your hand as you teetered on the edge of the bed. You shook your head.

“You see, unlike all those whores, you got more than what’s between your legs,” he unbuckled his belt and undid his fly. “You work, real hard. And despite yourself, you’ll always need someone to take care of.”

He reached into his underwear and rubbed himself before pulling out his cock. You closed your eyes as he groaned and reached out to caress your cheek.

“Open your mouth, honey,” he purred. “Let me show how a wife serves her husband.”

You hesitated and he gripped your chin. He squeezed, a warning, and you opened up. He pressed his tip against your lips and pushed so that you let him in. His skin was salty and warm as it slid over your tongue. He hit the back of your throat and your eyes welled.

“Mmm mm mm,” he hummed, “That is good. Come on… just a little--”

He grunted as he forced himself down your throat. You choked and he shuddered as his hands held your head firmly. He moved his hips carefully. He slid back and slammed back in. Your eyes rolled back and you tried not to gag as he repeated the motion, each thrust harder than the last.

“Fuck, girl, I love that mouth,” he cooed, “Now it’s all mine.”

He pulled you forward as he pushed himself as deep as he could. He jerked into you even harsher than before and you grabbed the top of his pants. He dragged you off the bed and you fell to your knees. He fucked your face and shoved your head back against the mattress. He planted a hand on the bed and hammered into you over and over. Slobber spilled down your chin and you slapped helplessly against his thigh.

“Fucking take it,” he growled.

Your vision began to spot as you went limp and he stopped suddenly, halfway down your throat. He snarled and slipped out of your mouth and let you drop to the floor. You leaned forward as you coughed and his belt jingled as he stripped off his pants.

He stepped past you and climbed onto the bed. He fell heavily on his back as you looked up and bent his hands behind his head. His cock stood, glistening, and he grinned.

“Better climb on, girl,” he said, “We ain’t done yet.”

You grabbed the edge of the bed and pulled yourself up. One knee, then the other, you crawled over to him. It was the first time you’d seen him entirely naked. You stood shakily and reached to the top of the satin panties.

“Ah,” he tutted, “Just pull ‘em to the side.”

Your brows drew together but you didn’t argue. Your only hope was to bide him until you were on your own. Make yourself numb to his company and you could reward yourself in your solace.

You got down on your knees and reached between your legs. You took him in one hand and pushed your panties aside with other. You paused as his tip prodded at your entrance then lowered yourself onto him. You withdrew your hands and the satin was taut around the side of his shaft. You stilled and tried to adjust to the fullness.

“Well, come on,” he grabbed your hips and tilted them, “Move.”

You carried the rhythm and rocked atop of him. Your crumpled panties rubbed against your clit and added to the storm brewing in your core. His hands swept up your sides and he cupped your tits through the lace bra. His thumbs rubbed your barely concealed nipples and he groaned.

“Shit, it’s so good, honey. So good.” He moved his hips beneath you, “Faster.”

You obeyed and he tugged down the cups the brassiere. He pushed his head into the pillow and gritted his teeth. He grabbed your sides and pulled you to bend over him. He nuzzled your titts and nipped at the tender flesh. He took a nipple in his mouth and sucked as you kept your hips moving.

His hands skimmed over your curves and he gripped your hips. He pulled your ass down harder and you flesh clapped against his loudly. He turned his head away as your breast hung over him and you sped up. You were close. So close.

“I’m gonna cum,” he rasped, “I’m gonna--”

You threw back your head and cried out as you orgasmed first. You dug your nails into his arm as you fucked him through your climax and felt him burst inside of you. That joy, that second of joy, was enough to forget, a spark of happiness before it all came back.

You slowed and stilled atop him, out of breath. You sat up, the straps of your bra sagging down your shoulders as he tickled your thighs.

“You know,” he poked his finger between your legs and flicked your overwrought clit. You twitched and he chuckled. “I can’t wait til you got my child inside of you. Seein’ you all big. I’m still gonna fuck you.” His other hand rubbed your stomach, “If you’re anything like your mama, we’ll have a whole herd of our own.” He licked his lips as he took your hands and placed them on his chest. “But you remember, your husband always comes first.”

[epithetical]

SPECIAL THANKS

Last year on the 4th of July, after a kinda messy heartbreak, I entered something dubbed a Sweetie Arc. In honor of that emotional vulnerability boomerang, let me gush about my friends and colleagues in a place where they’ll never see it. This is going to be the rest of the update. Turn back now.

TL;DR:

Shoutout to ValiDate, Golden Girls, Gamer Hell, the Homestuck Independent Creative Union, Sexy Boys, and the Whites™.

GAME DEV STUFF

Starting off with the broad strokes: thank you so much to the ValiDate team of past, present, and future. It’s been a long, winding road to actually get a VN on (digital) shelves, but you guys make it possible and worthwhile. Special shoutouts to the programming team (who legally have to put up with my inane ramblings about gacha success rates) and to the QA team for saving us from ourselves. Turns out even VNs take an incredible amount of bugfixing, who knew!

Shoutout, of course, to Dani, Alexis, Cam, and Solange. The people I’ve spent the most time with on this team, and the people forced to deal with me the most. I’m very lucky to have a gig where I can write an entire research paper about the 3D animation techniques used in Ace Attorney games, and somehow I get paid for it. Always going to be proud work we’ve done together, and I genuinely believe we’ve created a system that can move whatever fucking mountain we want. And, one day, when we’re not making the hardest-to-publish genre imaginable, we could probably take over the world if we wanted. I want to, anyway. No idea if y’all do. Get back to me on this!

Thanks to everyone I’ve met while working on TGGTMDX, you guys are all great, and I’m so fortunate to know you. To my fellow team leads, the Skeleton Crew, we gave it a fucking good effort. You guys are all wizards, and deserve all the success in the world. We’ll make something insane and game-changing one day, I promise. To Grawly, thank you for taking a chance on me. I’ll never forget it, and I’m honored to still be working with you.

Speaking of TGGTMDX: shoutout to Gamer Hell! I’m still the babyiest member (in more ways than one), but I’m humbled to be in such good company, and genuinely floored by how well you’ve all treated me. Sometimes it feels existentially confusing to be treated as a peer by people who have created such lifechanging art, and the way you guys have tried to raise me up has only made it weirder! In a good way. Good weird. Thanks Harlow for inviting me, and special thanks to her, Quinn, and Monkey for being such good friends. Hoping to make y’all proud.

No more dev talk, but a brief tangent about how funny it is that people I’ve been following for a decade know of my work, now. Sometimes I’ll hear Adrian and Cindy (hey guys!) talk about getting recognized for ValiDate in public despite living in a much more “conservative” area than me, but literally the only times its happened to me was with 1) an incredibly blindsided friend of a friend, and 2) Andrew Hussie. Not really gonna unpack that one now.

Oh, speaking of (x2 combo), special thanks to the Homestuck Creative Union. One of the most exciting parts of 2023 was watching you guys emerge from the shadows, guns drawn, targets locked. This shoutout is less for the team (for, y’know, obvious reasons), and more for you: the girl reading this. I entreat you, if you’re a person that was turned off by the epilogues and/or the original direction of HS^2, please. Give this new team a shot. They’re some of the most talented, funny, dedicated people I know, and just from what little I’ve seen, I know they have what it takes. Their ambition alone is enough to earn them the mantle of Homestuck Scribe(s). 

But also they’re my friends, and you should support them so we can all get rich and go on vacation again. Entreaty over. Thank you for reading.

Lastly for the professional shoutouts is the ASCEPI team, who have been forced to watch me run sidequests with all these other bozos for three years now. There’s no words I can use to show my gratitude for you guys putting any effort into making my dream-game a reality, let alone the amount of elbow grease you’ve been giving. I want to make this game as good as I can make it, and you people are the only reason why it will get made in the first place. Please, continue relying on my dumb ass as I hone my game-making skills doing all this other shit. We’ll make it one day.

Now onto the friend shoutouts! Not that the above-mentioned aren’t friends. Everyone’s my friend. None of them have a choice.

THE IRLs (WHO WON’T READ THIS)

To the Wessex Family: Going to community college might’ve been the best-worst decision I’ve ever made. You guys saved my life in a very literal way. Never have I met a more accepting, kindhearted, and frankly stupid group of people. We may have all met because of Smash, but we all love each other because we keep getting into sitcom situations. Now, hilariously, we all work in games. You’re all fucking idiots. I am so sorry that esports have imploded. Get well soon.

To the Art School Friends (Suffer Gang? Is that what we’re calling it now?): I’m sorry I dropped out. I’m really glad I dropped out. You’re all really jealous I dropped out. School may have taught me nothing (besides Bradley’s class, thanks Bradley!), but you guys taught me about love. Resilience. Gacha addictions. I hope that me being a try-hard has given you back a fraction of that. I’m proud of you all for actually graduating, and I’m going to force the industry to take you even if it kills me. Gonna miss drinking with you guys a lot. Glad we’re making a game together so we can stay in touch, but please come back to NYC as soon as possible. It’s so boring without y’all.

THE OOMFS (WHO WILL READ THIS)

Now my personal server, Sexy Boys Only. You are a colony of ants that I keep in a shoebox and shake at my leisure. The amount of psychological torture we inflict on each other daily is staggering, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m happy to have made you all worse in clearly defined ways, but I’m forced to admit that you guys have made me much, much better. I’m not one to admit it, but being around you guys has made me considerably less neurotic than I was at the beginning of the pandemic. 

Can’t phrase it any other way: you guys are so shameless that my OCD buckled under the weight. Couple days ago, Aly ranted about her boyfriend’s flacid dick for five minutes, then spent the rest of the night rapping about it with Winter. You just can’t get that anywhere else.

Of course, this server can’t exist without Alex. She made it, she’s the beating sadistic heart at its center, and she’s my best friend. Don’t let her hear me say that. She’d never let me live it down. I can still hear her saying “awwwww, kevinnnnnn” the last time I showed her any affection… Scary stuff. (She also came up to NY to hang with me for a weekend last Halloween! We had a party.) Unfortunately for both of us, she’s one of my oldest friends, and I couldn’t have done literally any of this without her. She is the wind beneath my wings. She’s literally become my Jiminy Cricket that exists to tell me when I’m getting clowned. Like a rage-born brain ghost. If anyone can make it in Hollywood, it’s her. She won’t give them a choice.

Lightning round, because doing paragraphs for all of you is increasingly unsustainable:

Mel, you died in the war. We honor your memory by doing drugs and drinking shitty beer. I miss you every day, brother. We’ll get you off that farm.

Fish, is one of the most talented people I’ve ever had the horror of knowing, and watching him grow into his own has been one of my life’s most unexpected honors. He actually just reached 10k on Twitter! Please, check him out.

Daisy, you went to heaven. I’ve never seen you this happy before, and I hope you never have to leave Ireland again.

Anthy, you’re probably the one person that’s dealt with me being a completely insane person the most, and I appreciate it deeply. You’ve made me a better person in a tangible way that I can’t repay. 

Ollie, I’ve literally known you since I was 14. Cope with that. Cope. The things we have seen. The things we have done. 

Xue, you get along with my sister weirdly well, and I think my family likes you more than they like me. I don’t think we can keep up the fake-boyfriend ruse because my parents will adopt you.

Julio also died in the war, but I honor them by doing drugs and drinking cocktails. Incredibly talented artist, and even though they never post on Twitter, you should follow them anyway. Or die.

Mei, reconnecting with you was 100% an impulse decision that I deeply regret now that you are yaoipilled. I thought better of you. I thought we were monks together… But you liked hole more than nirvana… (Your mom is very nice, though.)

Max, watching you get Umineko-pilled is one of the funniest “of course he’s the one that locked the fuck in” moments of my life. Of all the straight white boys I know, you are at the top of the heap. You may also be the only one. Everyone adores you. (A/N: MAX IS NO LONGER STRAIGHT AT TIME OF POSTING THIS BUT I WAS UNAWARE AT THE TIME OF WRITING THIS)

Jay, you’re an incredible talent. I don’t think I say that enough. I forgive you for buying me shitty $5 horror games to try and manipulate me into playing them with you. Please follow them on Twitter so they can escape petcare. 

Aly, I think the flaccid boyfriend thing says enough. My friendship with you is 99% anecdotes like that, and you’re a treasured friend that I appreciate having in my girltalk circle. Sorry that I’m a prude!

Winter and Salem. You two are a package deal. Yin and Yang. Kpop equilibrium. I’m sorry I made you two walk for miles and pretended it was only five blocks. I stand by it, though.

Emma, you’re actively editing this dumb fucking vanity project while I write this. I have no idea why you’re willing to put up with my strange artistic whims, and my complete inability to use dashes, but I appreciate you dearly. Also, kinda sick to have an editor?

To the rest of the Sexy Boys… I’d feel legitimately guilty directly roasting the rest of you in public like this. So take this token of “I will roast you within the sanctity of our server” coupon instead. And thanks for being a friend.

My other friend-group server, WO3, gets their shoutout at the bottom where no one dares read, so no one asks what it stands for. Doing Oomfcon with you guys was a dream, but getting to know you guys at all still feels surreal. Spent a lot of time feeling like I was some weird kid surrounded by giants, but now I realize I’m taller and buffer than all of you. Besides Alexis, she can still kick my ass. 

Dani, you’re never gonna read this, but reconnecting with you was one of the best mistakes I’ve ever made. I owe you my life, my career, and my greatest work. In turn, you owe me 5% of your clout as a game development juggernaut, so I think we’re even. You’ve lit a fire under me, and I’ve gotten very good at running very fast lest I get burned. Amen.

Xtine, I am your fag. You are my hag. This bond is unbreakable. Our girltalk means the world to me, even though you “have a girlfriend” now. Traitor. Jokes on you, I still haven’t started playing Touhou, and I am only somewhat sorry. Grim got to it first. She’s actually very good at it. 

Haven, it feels weird meeting some guy that has all of your same niche interests, but I cannot complain whatsoever. I think we’re both in a “oh shit, we have the same exact taste in shit” loop that’s going to take us to the center of the Earth. Chatting with you about whatever dumb shit we get up to has been a genuine delight, and watching you slowly take over the world has been a ride. Become Toyotaro. I believe in you.

Okay. Realizing it's kinda hard to talk about yall as individuals when you guys really function more like wheels within wheels. An insane machine that churns out bits and muse like no one's business. So let's break it up a little. 

To the Fortnite sub-gang within the Whites: kinda embarrassing how much playing this dumb fucking game has meant to me, but Alexis has written an entire essay about how much it means to them, so I think I’m in the clear. It’s some of the most fun I’ve had during the pandemic, and even though my PC crashes every time I open the game… I will drop with you. This is a promise. (HS:BC needs to succeed specifically so the others can get better gaming setups, too. I am begging. I miss us so bad.)

I genuinely don’t think I knew what being an artist meant until I knew you guys. There’s whatever the fuck I was doing, and then there’s you two. The amount of your being dedicated to theory, critique, and improvement is well beyond what I've ever seen in academia or professional settings. Even though you're all visual artists, you've pretty much forced me to push my music and my design, or die trying. And I refuse to die. 

(Also, having Haven, Dani, and Rads to talk about comics with is the first time in my life that anyone has cared about this dumb fucking interest of mine. We’re in this together. Marvel is ours for the taking.)

AFTERWORD

That’s about it. I know I’m a pretty… unaffectionate dude, so typing this much about how much I care about you guys probably comes off as a weird OOC moment (or a truncated suicide note). Self-expression has never really been my strongpoint. Hell, I had to write this whole thing instead of just being kinda mushy 1-on-1! But we’re already a month into 2024, and I’ve been holding strong on my resolution to keep being as open as I can manage. My life is a lot better for all of you being in it. Thank you for taking a chance on me.

We already have a lot of plans for 2024 (many of which I’m too OCD to talk about openly, lest I jinx them), and I’m ready to see how far we can take these silly little relationships. Will we take over the world? Hopefully. Will corporate America bow to our might? Probably! Am I out of ideas on how to end this? Definitely.

To anyone that’s read this far: Love you. To anyone that skimmed to the end: Hey, you missed the part where I talked about Homestuck.

2024! We’re in it, baby!

2024 UPDATE (OFFICIAL)

Hey, everyone. Longtime no talk. Despite being weirdly active on this account, I haven't really made any textposts since high school. So I've decided to fix this by giving a gigantic update post about my very busy 2023. If you're new and don't know anything about me, or knew me as a teen and are wondering what I'm up to now: buckle up.

TL;DR:

Dropped out of art school. Released an award-nominated(???) dating sim, ValiDate. Killed the Golden Girls Take Manhattan DX. Conquered Jaw Explosion Disease. Hung out with some friends. (Also, a lot of NDA shit that I can’t talk about.)

ART-SCHOOL DROPOUT

From 2021 to 2022, I was attending a prestigious and overly-expensive art school for their (brand new!) game design program. When I first graduated from high school, this college was my dream choice, and coming off the success of my early game dev career, it seemed like a perfect opportunity to polish my skills while I kept working on the side. My first commercial game was still in development, but we were feeling comfortable, and I felt like getting greedy.

Pride before the fall. Full Icarus mode. You know how it goes.

The school itself was…alright. Satellite campus, mid-pandemic, hybrid learning. Close enough to commute comfortably, classes just long enough for masks to not give me a headache, and the handful of remote courses helped keep my medical problems at bay. Problems that the school was a little unequipped to help with, though the disability office did their best. I had to drop a class because my body, at the time, couldn’t handle eight hours of classes without some Crazy Side Effects. 

(Keep in mind that every class was, minimum, four hours. And I had to take at least five a semester. Each class also saw me make an entire game from scratch. My body was already at its limit.)

If you knew me in high school, you’re probably waiting for the shoe to drop: I was, famously, the worst at academics. Never did homework, rarely finished projects, slept through first period at least once a week. Surprise, though: I was fucking great at this. My GPA doubled. Turns out that going to school for a discipline you already have a career in, and are kinda obsessed with, kinda does wonders for you. Unfortunately, I picked the worst time to care about school, since my commercial game’s release was the same exact night that my five school games were due.

TL;DR, I didn’t sleep for a week, almost fucked both up, and got burnout so bad that I couldn’t do anything for a calendar year. So I dropped out! Now, about a year of job hunting later (the game’s industry is imploding right now, and the only studios that considered me were… questionable, to say the least), the expensive art school wants me back. So badly. Turns out the whole school is so broke and understaffed right now that they’re basically chomping at the bit for that tuition money. Got a week to decide. Jury’s still out.

VALIDATE POST-MORTEM

So, if you couldn’t tell from the above section, we released a game in 2022!  I was supposed to write a post-mortem for it, but… burnout from the above, combined with general “post-release depression,” and I didn’t feel like touching it. 

Part of me still doesn’t! 

Yet I kinda think the feeling of me not wanting to talk about ValiDate is still worth discussing, so here we go:

For those of you that aren’t aware, I was a head dev on ValiDate, a dating sim that released in 2022. Volume 1 (of 3) did, anyway.

Did a lot of music, did a lot of writing, created some characters people really care about, created some characters people really want to fuck, made a couple Tweets that my boss hated, got accused of being reverse racist a few times. It was truly one of the most exciting and rewarding experiences of my life. And, yes, we’re still working on Vol. 2 behind the scenes. 

That’s actually the reason why it’s kinda hard to talk about Vol. 1!

It was my first commercial game, my first publicly released game, and I think there’s always gonna be a… natural embarrassment toward your first “real” project. Combine that with my natural “if you stare at me for too long, I will kill myself” tendencies, and the game’s release was a special type of torture. It’s one thing to watch people play through a game that you poured your blood, sweat, and tears into, knowing full well that they might hate it (or just misunderstand it), but shit gets so much worse when you know that you could have done better. 

It’s a very special kind of psychological torture to have creative decisions you feel were mistakes, things you half-assed because of burnout or deadlines, or things you did wrong because you just didn’t know any better! The embarrassment was overwhelming, so I just… dipped for a while. Didn’t watch gameplay or read reviews, didn’t do much of anything.

Took me a while to realize that me being embarrassed about the project isn’t because ValiDate was bad or anything. I was embarrassed because it was an incredible learning opportunity for me. The amount that I picked up on game design, community management, leadership, marketing, pitching, porting, etc. in two years is more than any school could teach you in four. Volume 1 was a game made by amateurs, still wet behind the ears, trying to build something from grassroots. 

But Volume 2 is a game-ass game. 

And having done all the work we have on Vol. 2 (which, while I can’t talk about it publicly, is a lot!), looking back at our first release feels like… revisiting your awkward middle school photos. Sometimes it’s hard to not feel contempt for who you were when your biggest struggle was becoming, but learning to choke down that shame? It taught me to feel grateful for the you of yesterday, who clawed their way through uncertainty so that you, today, can stand on sturdier ground. Growing up is embarrassing, and it turns out you keep doing it well into your twenties! Sucks. 

For the past few days, Dani and I have been watching a Twitch streamer play through Volume 1. We’ve been so deep in planning for the future that we figured, hey, may as well revisit the past. Detached from all that embarrassment of becoming, I gotta admit: we made a fun little dating sim. People like it. Hell, I like it. Sure, I know all of its flaws and shortcuts, and I have my fair share of critiques… but fact of the matter is, if I have a problem with something, I can just fix it. 

Admittedly, In the past, that attitude of mine has actually been more of a problem than a solution. “I can fix this myself!” is all fine and good when you’re a solo dev trying to throw something together, but it turns out taking on excess responsibility in a collaborative setting is a way to make shit suck for you and your team. During the Kickstarter demo era, I was literally on every team besides art. Writing, programming, music, I got my fingers in all those pies. It was fun to me, and more importantly, it was sustainable. 

Until it wasn’t.

Volume 1 coinciding with my tenure at [art school], using a (finicky and, frankly, shitty) new game engine, being much larger in scope, introducing minigames (which, surprise, I was team lead on)... I pretty much killed myself trying to get it all done. Honestly, I blame half of our day-one bugfixes on me specifically. Every single one of them was an oversight made because I was pulling the classic “I’m unmedicated so crunching is the only way I can feel alive” type shit. 

Except for the OST. That one sucked because art school sucks all the joy out of creating.

Happy to say that our workflow for Volume 2 has been much more sustainable for me, even if I’ve officially broken my “no art” rule for it. Yeah, turns out I’m finally making use of that animation major. Sucks.

Self reflection over. Except for one last note:

If you’ve followed ValiDate, played our demo, donated to the Kickstarter, replied to our Tweets, played our second demo, bought our game, or just talked about us to a friend… I am so, so grateful. Beyond what words could possibly describe. It’s been my dream for as long as I can remember become a game developer, and I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you guys. Vd8 wasn’t what I expected the cornerstone of my career to be, but honestly? I couldn’t have asked for a better one. We have Vriska in our game. How many people can possibly say that?

And to those of you still waiting for Volume 2:

You haven’t seen anything yet.

GAYMING AWARDS

Speaking of ValiDate… Did you hear we were nominated for some Gayming Awards last year? We were! 

Three other head Vd8 devs (Dani: Production, Alexis: Art, Cam: Code) flew out to beautiful New York City for the award show last March, which was actually our first time actually meeting up IRL. Really funny how I’ve known Dani since I was fifteen, but here we were, a decade later, finally meeting face to face. She’s so much taller in person. I’m still taller, but barely.

Meeting up with internet friends is one thing (and more on that later!), but meeting up with internet coworkers? It’s interesting. This was the first moment that ValiDate felt “real,” seeing as it was suddenly important enough to give us comp’d flights and a hotel room, but more than that: the people I’ve been working with for years exist? We’re all hanging out together? We’re wandering through Manhattan all day? We’re eating the most disgusting food at Junior’s in Times Square? We’re trying to figure out what this mystery liquid is? How much did this food cost again? (Seriously, my onion rings were 90% dough and 10% onion.)

While I won’t bore you with the minutiae—I think my friends would prefer the privacy anyway—the entire trip to NYC was fun, exhausting, and a dream-come-true.

Except for that goddamn award show. Jesus CHRIST, what a trainwreck.

No, I’m not saying that just because we lost. We did lose, though. (Personally, I was fine with it, but I also had to travel the least distance to get there. So…) I’m saying that because the entire Gayming Awards industrial complex was, uh, kinda busted this year?

So imagine, you’re us: bunch of twenty-somethings on your Sex and the City shit. Big award show tonight, formal attire. We’re talking high heels, long dresses, full suits, the whole nine yards. Now what do you do in Manhattan? Walk. Sure, we weren’t walking in formal attire the entire time, but it was still a good five blocks to the award center where—wait, what do you mean they relocated the ceremony? The hall they rented is closed for mysterious reasons? Where the hell are we doing the award show?

If you answered “the drag bar where the afterparty was supposed to take place,” congrats, here’s $20. Way further away from our hotel, which meant more walking, and also a way smaller venue with a lot less… formality, let’s say. But we’re young gay people, we don’t care about formalities, who gives a shit! As long as it can seat all of us, then—oh there’s no seating. Ohhhh. Oh! Okay.

I’ll admit, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. There were a handful of couches, VIPs only. Realizing quickly that, oh shit, we’re VIPs, we managed to snag some front-seat couches before any of the pesky old people could. (We’re young! We deserve to sit! You’ve had your entire lives to sit, established games industry people! Let the new generation have a turn!) Unfortunately, when I got up to cash in my free-drink voucher, my seat was stolen by some white lady. 

So I sat on the floor.

March 2023. You, sitting at home, have decided to tune into the Gayming Awards “live” on Twitch, curious to see what Britain’s premiere gayming magazine had to say about, uh, esports. 

This is important to you. 

Fortunately, this year you’re watching a decently shot and scripted award show filmed in a (noticeably claustrophobic) little bar, complete with charming presenters (many of whom are local drag queens) and a myriad of corporate sponsors. You can hardly tell that the entire show was uprooted and moved hours prior!

Yet, for some reason, whenever the cameras cut to the audience… There’s some large man, right in front of the crowd, slumped down on the floor as if he’s bleeding out. With every award given, his clapping grows weaker. The more the camera cuts to him, the more life drains from his body, as if his existence itself is anathema to “gayming.”

Imagine, for a moment, that this man is nominated for an award. 

Imagine that he, after a lifetime of potassium deficiency, has been teetering on the edge of a Charlie Horse Reckoning for hours.

Imagine that the microsecond that his game’s name is called as a nominee, the Reckoning begins. 

Now imagine a world where he wins that award. 

A world where he is forced to stand—from his corpse’s rightful place on the ground!—in front of his peers and superiors, pretending as if he’s not afflicted with a life-ending muscle cramp.

So, yeah. I was pretty fine with losing.

Later, we ditched the “afterparty” to drink at Applebees. (Turns out “green tea shots” don’t have any green tea in ‘em?)

EULOGY FOR THE GOLDEN GIRLS TAKE MANHATTAN DX

Big announcement! I was a team lead on The Golden Girls Take Manhattan DX, a certified Tumblr Gold™ fan-project (by the immortal Grawly) about the eponymous Gold Girls in a Persona-esque parody game! 

Slightly bigger announcement! The game got cancelled. Sorry.

Feels a little weird talking about this, since the year-ish I spent working on the game passed in the blink of an eye, and I’m not going to lie and say that I was an instrumental piece of the team or whatever. I was lucky enough to lead a very talented team, and to play with some very fun devtools, but the game was definitely more important to me than I was to it. (Grawly, if by some off-chance you’re reading this, please click off now. You can peek back in at the Jaw Explosion Disease subheader. I promise I’m very nice and respectful.)

I was in high school when I was first made aware of TGGTMDX. My friend group was very into Persona (in the pre-P5 days), and one of our favorite video subgenres was “videogame UI on top of sitcom scenes.” It didn’t take us long to stumble onto early-build footage of TGGTMDX on Tumblr, and what spawned was a years-long fascination. I’d even consider it one of my many… game dev awakenings? The idea that the only thing stopping me from making “American Persona”—one of my many white whales—was commitment to the bit. Just one of the many things that fueled my teenaged suicidal overconfidence.

Speaking of suicidal overconfidence, about a decade later, I was invited to work on the game! Coming fresh off ValiDate, I was desperate for a chance to make a real portfolio piece (visual novels, while popular, will never get you a job), and this sort of opportunity only presents itself once in a lifetime. Fulfilling a teenage dream while furthering your career? What could possibly go wrong!

That makes it seem like there was some explosive drama behind the scenes that ruined everything. Sorry to say that most game cancellations aren’t that exciting, and that this game’s death was by a thousand microscopic cuts. Most of which are not my place to talk about: this game wasn’t my baby, and cancelling it wasn’t my choice to make! Many people worked on this for much, much longer than I even knew how to code, and they deserve to have their feelings prioritized. Whenever that post mortem gets published, I’ll be the first to reblog it, trust me. 

Instead, I’d prefer to talk a little about this as being my first real “loss” as a game dev. Certainly not my first project to go under, and I’ve had my fair share of shelved prototypes, but something about this cancellation was… different. Working on your dream project is all fun and games until you feel partially responsible for it dying, y’know? It felt Sisyphean at a point, like trying to dig a hole in the sand with a pitchfork. I would work at the game, and work at the game, but nothing I did felt like it made a dent. 

Part of me knew I wasn’t giving it my all, between the school-based burnout (above), jaw explosion disease (below), and ValiDate (omnipresent), it’s not like I could’ve afforded to put more of myself into it. Besides, I was literally a team lead, half my job was telling other people what to do. But the spectre of “you’re not doing enough” was hard to shake. Even when all these other responsibilities ebbed and I could afford to give this game my all, the difference felt minimal. 

We spend a lot of time pitying Sisyphus for having to push that boulder uphill over and over, but none of us ask ourselves “could we even move that big fucking rock in the first place?” Apparently, I couldn’t.

I wasn’t the only one that felt that way, it turned out. In fact, pretty much all the friends I made on the project felt the same. If there’s any “real” reason why the project got cancelled, it’s that. No big falling out, Disney didn’t give us a cease and desist, no secret rebrand going on in the background. Just a bunch of lads getting sick of pushing a boulder. Hell, Grawly’s been doing it for a decade. Let him rest.

Not too much rest, though: we’re already working on a different game together (Date Knight: check it out if you haven’t!), and some of us ex-Golden Girls devs have some ideas for what else we can cook up. 

For money, this time.

JAW EXPLOSION DISEASE

Probably the biggest “development” of 2023 was my sudden horrible nerve pain in July, which started as a sinus infection on the left side of my face, and soon became a horrific jaw pain. Long after my sinus infection healed, the jaw pain remained, which is a pretty bad hand to draw when a considerable portion of your day is spent “talking,” or “eating.” So, for the back half of 2023, I didn’t do much of either.

Instead, I had to take a considerable amount of ibuprofen, visit one doctor, three dentists, two hospitals, and four oral surgeons to figure out what the hell is wrong with me. The dentists discovered an exposed nerve, caused by wisdom tooth removal complications (sick!), the oral surgeons went “okay, we can fix that,” got me all numbed up. But it turns out that my left jaw is immune to local anesthesia! Thinking this was an infection, they kept putting me on antibiotics over and over in the hopes that it’d suddenly work. Took a note from my childhood dentist explaining that, “no, he’s always been like this” to find a surgeon willing to put me all the way under. (And then, the first time they tried, I woke up in the middle anyway! I got a full refund on the copay, at least.) 

Ultimately, I found a very nice surgeon in December that treated me same-day, and did it perfectly, but the damage to my liver from all that ibuprofen was… bad. But it turns out that livers just… regenerate naturally? So, give it a few months, I’ll be at 100%. Hopefully.

OOMFCON

Hilariously, six months after we met up for the Gayming Awards, Dani and Alexis found their way back to NYC for a little combination meet-up/vacation we affectionately titled “Oomfcon 2023.” This time, with bonus friends! Our entire friend server, whose name I’ve been advised not to post publicly, had rented an AirBnB for anyone willing to drop everything and go to Brooklyn. 

It took about a year of planning (mostly by Alexis) to get us all out there, but Jesus Christ, it actually worked.

Admittedly I’m a bit hesitant to talk at length about “taking a vacation”—even though I’m already… from here?—but it really was the highlight of my year. First for actually happening, when most friend groups I’ve had would have written the idea off as a pipedream, but mostly for being a really good time. A lot of walking, a lot of talking, a lot of drinking, a lot of dining. (This was during Jaw Explosion Disease, so you can imagine how my body took most of that.)

To Dani, Alexis, Miles, Haven, Grim, Xtine, and Ty: thanks for coming up here! The city is a lot more boring without you guys in it. I promise to have less health issues when we do this again!

And to everyone else outside the groupchat that I met and bored with my job hunt stories: Nice meeting you guys! Sorry that fate decided every single one of you is forced to keep in touch with me. (And I didn’t even get the shitty corporate job!)

[probably-haven]

Hello!

So I’m the anon who asked for more Archon War Venti headcanons and I just loved it! I really like reading your headcanons cuz some of them are similar to mine but mostly are headcanons that I didn’t think of so it really is nice to read and see your thoughts about Venti!

I feel like as if I’m asking too much but could you keep doing these types of headcanons? Like it doesn’t have to be Archon War headcanons but like some headcanons about Venti’s relationship with the Ragnvindrs and Gunnhildrs. Because the first Gunnhildr was the first one who prayed to Barbatos and the first Ragnvindr was his friend who left but came back and I really wanna hear your thoughts on that!

And I’ve decided to get off anon cuz you just replied to my texts and I wasn’t expecting that so I’ve got a short confidence boost that I am completely taking advantage of! And thanks for the advice! or uhh comment? observation? I’m not entirely sure but thank you for that! I’ve heard that be said to me a few times and I have been trying to be more, uhh, assertive so thanks for that!

rfouierjkhfkecs i actually came across information on Gunnhildr and the "Red-haired warrior" yesterday when i was doing more research into the rebellion against Decarabian and I was like "wow this would be really fucking fun to research and theorize on, but its too specific/niche to include unprompted no matter how much i want to" but bestie you prompted, and im literally so happy right now because I didn't think I'd ever really get the chance to post about them!

also lmao yeah, i tend to try and reply to as much as I can, since it's a good feeling when someone does and all. but yeah, no problem! I’m glad you felt confident enough to reveal XD. 

This may be structured a bit more like analysis/theory/just citing canon things at first before it gets into a more headcanony format.

ehe i have so much free reign on this it's lovely

More Archon War Era Venti: one two three

spoilers for Venti's backstory and Diluc's(kinda, i think, just in case)

first things first, laying down some canon background because before yesterday i hadn't heard of either of them outside of that one cutscene.

the very reason Decarabian had his storm wall up in the first place was because at the time Andrius had declared war on him- and his tower, and the city of Mondstadt by extent, were basically constantly under attack by Andrius's blizzards, which since he was still alive back then, were a lot bigger and covered basically what seems to be the whole of Mondstadt outside the barrier.

This meant that people had two options. Live in the city under Decarabian's oppression, or live outside the barrier, and brave the blizzards of a warring god... which was not a good idea

but the Gunnhildr clan(not yet called that) tried- and they almost died because of it. In the midst of a blizzard, the clan chief's daughter, named Gunnhildr(which the clan would be named after later) sent out a prayer that was heard by a wandering wind spirit. And the faith of that prayer gave the spirit enough power to create a small shelter to protect them.

When her father past, she became the new leader and also a priestess. She would later lead the clan to fight Decarabian alongside four others. And basically the Gunnhildr Clan ended up as like sworn protectors of Mondstadt

-

as for the red-haired warrior, who is basically assumed to be the earliest known ancestor of the Ragnvindir clan(im gonna refer to as Ragnvindir for convenience sake, even though "Ragnvindir" is technically a different character from Vanessa's era)theres not much information on him, but heres what i have from the various wiki's

- he was a wanderer

- one of the first to use the sign of windblume to find other rebels(so he's intelligent)

- actively propped up the nameless bard so he could watch as the tower was destroyed

there's this little tidbit too from the Windblume Ode bow's description that im probably gonna talk about a considerable amount too: "Atop the ruins of the ancient tower, amidst the cheers, songs, and tears of those who had newly won their freedom. A red-haired warrior turned his back on the newborn god, hidden like a single raindrop in a tidal wave of humanity. He was first among those who passed the secret sign of Windblume, the one who wove threads of dawn throughout the long night. His name has since been lost to time, but his deeds are still remembered in song." followed later by "The fate of this clan will likely never change: they shall ever live in the darkness and bring forth the flame of dawn."

-

Now I'm going to start with the Ragnvindir(geez, why's it spelled like that tho)

My idea of his character is basically formed by a mix of Ragnvindir stereotypes and just generally analyzing text.

So what do we know about Ragnvindir's for sure? they are shady motherfuckers- or at least they rarely operate in the spotlight. also damn, these guys are more cursed than anemo vision wielders- like the only one who didn't canonically lose someone close to them was Crepus, but considering that Diluc doesn't exactly have a mom..... he probably did

so what do we know? - he was close with the nameless bard - he was intelligent - he likely operated primarily from the shadows "ever living in the darkness" - he was a wanderer - he abandoned Venti during the celebration - but his deeds were still remembered in song, so Venti and him were likely still close

now the question of the century: how will i choose to interpret "turned his back on the newborn god"? And honestly, I'm- not sure- at first i assumed he abandoned him completely- but Venti did still make sure to carry on his memory- which could just be Venti being Venti, but for the sake of sanity, this is how I'm interpreting it.

A lot of things happened to the Ragnvindir that day. He lost a friend, saw another become a god to replace the one they had conquered, and he saw his goal, his reason for being in Mondstadt, come to fruition. "see the world through my eyes" the bard had said, and the Ragnvindir had been a wanderer even before. Sure, the people had won freedom, and that was to be celebrated, but he's intelligent to recognize that people would likely see him as one of the key figures in leading the rebellion. And for him this was a solemn time, and ending to a chapter, and not being one to operate in the spotlight, the last thing he'd want is to be swept up in festivities and attention at a time like this.

It also likely didn't help that he's probably smart enough to understand the idea of "power corrupts," and seeing the wind sprite just readily accept the mantle of Archon was likely not the most comforting thing to happen in the given situation after all. But Decarabian was gone, and Andrius had ceased his blizzards, so without a word, he slipped into the crowd and left, a wanderer once more.

-

now back to Gunnhildr

she was the first to receive an anemo vision from Barbatos, no I do not take criticism on this "the power bestowed on her by Barbatos" like please, they basically said it.

It also mentions that she crowned Venti with laurels(symbol of vistory) after the battle- the book Biography of Gunnhildr additionally says "the Gunnhildr Clan will continue honoring the legacy of its ancestors and its duty to the Anemo Archon: to protect Mondstadt, the land and all who inhabit it, forever."

I really like this because it conveniently ties into my past headcanon about Venti granting visions to the people of Mondstadt and having them be the ones to erect wind barriers and defend the city in his absence.

So in the Archon War I like to imagine that the Gunnhildr clan had a lot of people who were actually granted visions and were basically in charge of protecting it from those who would attempt to ambush them.

Mondstadt essentially became known for this- the fact that the mortals within it were strong enough to fend off the force of a god without support from their own.

but regardless, Gunnhildr, as she had before, served as a priestess to Barbatos, the closest thing that Mondstadt had to a ruler, and yet she only took charge of prayer and protection.... i hate to just- equate them to their descendants- but to an extent- her role was kind of like a merge between Jean and Barbara- Except with a whole lot less structure.... i really dont want their characters to just be carbon copies of the descendants but- c'mon, the comparison was right there.

anyways besties- back to Venti so i can tie them in

The Archon War was one of the worst times for Venti in his entire life thus far. And the time immediately after Decarbian's fall, while Gunnhildr and the Ragnvindir were still alive, was the key period of time in which things could have gone very differently.

Venti is the god of freedom. That's a reoccurring theme and I think I've made that abundantly clear. But during this time, Venti was anything but free.

I've mentioned before how he would stay far from the city of Mondstadt so the shockwave of his death wouldn't reach him, should he fall.... well- Venti is new to a lot of things- godhood- humanity- war- freedom- and at this point he was trying hard to figure out how to be Mondstadt's god without becoming Decarabian, and while still being able to survive, and make sure they survived, and see the world for his friend, and carry on his friends legacy.

And this is a lot of stuff for what was once a carefree elemental being, and there were certain things that had to be done for this to happen. He couldn't just stay in Mondstadt, or he would grow weak and his people would be vulnerable to attack, but he couldn't abandon it, because despite being able to fend for themselves, there's always hat just in case. He couldn't stay in any one place outside of Mondstadt for very long or he'd be found and killed. He knew in order for Mondstadt to survive he would have to take an active role in the war, strengthen himself so he could defend Mondstadt, and thats exactly what he did.

He started by going after the less powerful gods, ones he had a chance at beating with the power he got from the Gunnhildr clan and the rest of Mond, and by wiping them out, he would grow stronger, so he kept it up- working his way up the metaphorical ladder.

but he couldn't let anyone near him either, because he knew just what would happen if he was attacked then. Were it not for Gunnhildr's prayer, the early years of the Archon War would have been without contest the loneliest time of his life, and there would be nothing he could do about it, bound by survival and his attachment to the legacy of his friend, constantly fearing for his life and going against his very nature as the god of freedom. Frankly thrust into that circumstance that early on, and having to face it alone, it's likely that Venti would have caved under the pressure and dropped his attachment to either his survival, or to his friends legacy... or just something entirely worse(isolation messes with brains) so I'm attributing the fact that he didn't do that to Gunnhildr's companionship, speaking to him and guiding him through it as he had guided her through the blizzard some time ago.

I also like to think that she's responsible for founding at least a number of the different celebrations that still happen in Mondstadt even now.

Ugh supportive warrior priestess- we stan

anyway meanwhile! we got the Ragnvindir

He hears about Venti taking part in the Archon war during his wanderings and returns to Mondstadt to check in, wary of what he might find.

Venti, who hadn't seen him since the rebellion, is elated to say the least and they do a bit of catching up because they need it

and then the conversation turns more serious, and the Ragnvindir brings up a third thing that Venti needs to hold onto- his humanity.

See, in the early years, just desperate to get a foothold on the world, Venti's first number of targets were just indiscriminately going after those he knew to be weaker than him, and the Ragnvindir points this out, saying that while it's not necessarily bad, if he keeps doing it, it won't be long until he causes his and, by extent, Mondstadt's legacy to be tainted by a reputation for slaughter, no better than any of the other bloodthirsty gods that frequented the war's fields. "Think of what the bard would do, we were both close enough to do that much"

And Venti becomes yet more caged, but recognizes that he's right, and this is another turning point, that in the coming years would keep Venti from losing himself.

also- Gunnhildr, Venti having told her about the Ragnvindir's concerns that he now shared, probably organized some kind of event (not unlike the right of part, but also, yes unlike it) that was deliberately intended and designs to serve as an excuse that Venti could chose to take to visit Mondstadt, something she know he desperately wanted to do, but wouldn't allow himself for fear of putting them in danger. But if she made it an official celebration, then it would give Venti the opportunity to visit his people again, under the guise of it being a responsibility, not having to deal with the moral implications of doing so at a time when he was already dealing with enough of those already.

Also on his travels, the Ragnvindir probably started and spread a number of rumors that could end up working in Venti's favor, not that anyone ever knew it was him of course.

basically Gunnhildr protected the people of Mondstadt and did all she could to keep everyone in as high spirits as possible, Venti included.

And as for the Ragnvindir, he took a more realistic approach, traveling and getting venti followers in far places, spreading false information about him, and just overall making sure that Venti didn't do things he'd regret.

And when they died, Venti would carry their legacy with him as well, not losing his humanity to the tide of war as he very nearly had(though he still often came close), and trying to spreading high spirits where ever he could without fail.

[serene-victory-77]

Why The Crows Being Teenagers Is Actually Perfectly Realistic

There’s a TL;DR are the end because wow I like to rant.

I lightly discuss the general situations they’re all in to explore how they are frighteningly mature and competent, but it’s not particularly depressing or descriptive, it’s definitely lighter than the books

I thought about this post with a joke first: “People who think that Six of Crows is unrealistic because they’re so young clearly have not spent much time with traumatized honors students.”

It’s a bit of an exaggeration, but the point stands.

But I decided that, hm, actually, I could make a point about this. I totally agree with the aging up of the characters in the Shadow and Bone show, but when people straight up say that the books are wrong or unrealistic for having a young crew, I get annoyed, and here’s why (other than me reading the books for the first time when I was 13 and thinking ‘Huh okay, I see it’ and now being lowkey offended when people say they ignore it for being unrealistic):

On Inej

- At first I thought Inej’s wisdom and general demeanor was one of the most unrealistic things in the book

- When I thought about it longer, I was like “Actually, she’s 16, right? I’ve sent some of the most lyrical philosophy trying to help my friends while in high school. My friends have done the same. It’s valid.”

- Frankly, teenagers love hard-hitting philosophical truths. They love repeating what they’ve read or heard in movies and in books and from family stories. They love sharing little bits of wisdom they have come up with

- Inej’s ability to hear and understand philosophy and wisdom that she was surrounded by for 14 straight years and then sit on it and elaborate it for her friends to understand, or even just to piss them off in Kaz’s case? 

- Teenagers have that. They do it. So, Inej’s Wisdom passes, to me. It’s valid. 

As for her being calm

- You know how everyone jokes that Kaz seems calm on the outside but when you get to his POV he’s like “What the fuck” at the Van Eck house or just straight up “Huh, is this revenge for making tree jokes” at the Djel River thingy in the Ice Court?

- Inej is like that, too. And she gets angry, and she gets confused, or exhausted.

- AKA every quiet kid ever. Like, are you kidding? Have you ever been in a situation in which it’s literally chaos all around you, people are screaming and things are being destroyed (think middle school classroom with bitchy long term substitute and even worse students), and you’re just, calm? You pick up your things, you do what you need to do?

- That’s Inej. Like, what else is she gonna do? She’s smart enough to know that panicking won’t help anyone, and so she just rides it out. Internally she might be like “Why is this happening” but frankly, her being quiet and controlled in most situations is probably a coping mechanism and I respect that

- Pretty sure this is also based on the fact that the Suli have no land for their own and constantly have to keep moving. It might align with generational trauma, I’m sure someone could explain it better than me, but being able to keep your cool while constantly having to change and adapt to new situations, in, say, a country with hellfire politics and no land to call your own? Seems like a hereditary trait that could be useful in Ketterdam, although it’s sad.

On Inej’s abilities

- Simone Biles started training when she was 6 and went to the World Artistic Gymnastics Championships when she was 16, where she qualified in all the events. 

- There are videos of people walking over tightropes as young as three years old. We know Inej didn’t start that young, but not only was she naturally talented at it, but she spent a lot of time practicing. I think it’s valid. Plus, some of her family members do some pretty crazy things in her flashbacks, because that’s the whole point of what they do. 

- Youngest person to beat American Ninja Warrior was 16 year old Vance Walker

- Inej has a variety of of tools that help her wall climb, and while it’s true that she started young and got good really fast, she already had a history of physical work that would help her, and from what we can gleam from the book, a surprising amount of free time in which she was actively encouraged to learn everything she could. 

So that’s Inej! I think her skills are perfectly possible for someone with her history and situation. It’s true that she’s naturally skilled, but that’s not actually all that unusual. And her demeanor and wisdom do fit in with what a lot of teenagers are like and the circumstances she was brought up in

Onto Kaz!

- One thing I hear about is that Kaz is too smart for not having gone to school and also too young to know all that he does

- Do you all KNOW how many self-taught people there have been in this world? The word for people who are self-taught is autodidacts, and honestly a huge amount of famous people apply. Like many, many other people in history (there’s a whole list of them in Wikipedia), he had an vested interest in a field and he learned all he could. Sure, those fields were magic tricks and math, but still.

- Suddenly I have a lot of thoughts

- Okay, think, hyperfixations. That’s essentially what Kaz’s thing with magic tricks was, right? Have any of you ever spent time with an eight year old that clearly really, really loves dinosaurs? Those kids can spout names and facts and identify them by their skeletons and frankly know more than I ever will. Kaz’s was magic tricks. All kids are special.

- Kaz continued working on magic tricks and practicing them for years, so, I think that gets a pass. 

- As for the math! Look, a Fact Of Life is that some kids are just Like That, whether it be possibly from neurodivergence or other factors:

- Flo and Kay Lyman are twins with Autism who basically have the calendar of EVER memorized. Kaz memorizing card decks is sensible, and these ladies don’t need to look up anything to figure it out, so Kaz doing sums inside his head seems plausible. His “photographic memory’ isn’t impossible, although the term itself might be incorrect.

- Katherine Johnson who worked at NASA (yes, the lady from Hidden Figures), was so good at math that she was in high school by age 10 and went to college at age 15. It’s true that she had some teaching, but 1. There’s no evidence Kaz had absolutely no schooling, even if it was just at home with books and 2. Kaz was 9 when he came to Ketterdam, and after Jordie died, when he wasn’t surviving, he was learning. 

- Human calculator is a term that is applied to children a lot and there’s definitely plenty of videos showing how smart these kids are and them doing mental math easily, which he does in the books

- He had a LOT of pressure on him to figure out all he could, and if he wanted to move forward, he was going to have to learn a lot. He spent hours practicing magic tricks, for all we know he spent hours practicing math too. We know Jordie was a bit of a bookworm too, so Kaz from a young age probably already had a reason to learn. Personally, a lot of my love for books was inspired by my older sibling when I was younger

- Young people are adaptable. Kaz is incredibly adaptable. The term prodigy exists because of people like him through history. 

- As for him being rational, there’s no other way to survive. Some of the greatest soldiers in history have been very, very young, and very, very smart. It’s true tacticians are generally considered to be older, but that doesn’t mean there haven’t been very young ones. 

- A lot of the generals I found were like, 19 years old, but Kaz is 1. not a general and 2. in a place where young people take up the mantle really, really quickly, and frankly it’s been like that for a long time. I still think this passes. This isn’t relevant but William the Conqueror was apparently called “The Bastard”?

- Frankly, underground communities of thieves probably don’t go around publishing their escapades so to me it makes sense that I can’t just look up “famous young thieves” and get anything that makes sense, but I did try

- Y’all I tried to do research on youngest escape artists since I think Kaz qualifies and I found myself in what I think is a magicians forum? It’s from 2002-ish and I feel like I’ve just found a relic. I can’t definitely prove they’re all saying the truth, but some of the people there talk about 10-11 year olds at magic camps, so, it’s not impossible for this to be a skill Kaz learned really young, particularly when he made a habit of following around magicians

- I think he passes the realism check overall

For the other Crows:

- Nina being so proficiently multilingual makes sense to me, because she’s been in the Little Palace almost her entire life with all the best teachers they could afford at her disposal. Some people just click with languages. One such would be Timothy Doner, who spoke 23 languages at 16. 

- Nina is a child soldier. She of course can handle the battlefield, although I imagine there’s a degree of trauma that she has to deal with (although it’s true that most of her work was always meant to angle her towards being a spy).

- Jesper was taught to shoot from a young age by Aditi, who was likely incredibly proficient. Plus, there’s mentions of him and his father being on some sort of frontier at one point in the books, so, it’s likely that Jesper got his fair share of ‘being a child soldier” since he would’ve been 15 or younger. Plus, with being a Fabrikator, he gets a leg up

- Jesper’s smart y’all, he just also likes to have fun

- I am a little terrified by the fact that I looked up ‘youngest sharpshooter’ and found out about a 9 year old girl (Addysson “Addy” Soltau) who can indeed shoot guns, but uh, it does prove my point

- Matthias... I haven’t heard anyone really argue about Matthias. He’s the oldest at 18 and again, he’s essentially a religious child soldier. Of course he would be built af and know how to handle himself in a fight, and in a flashback about meeting Trassel, we’re told that he was actually distanced from the other boys and was the biggest and strongest/smartest of the group. Perhaps not compared to Kaz, but still

- We know how Wylan ended up how he is, so I don’t think i have to defend how he’s both a musical prodigy, good at math, and good at chemistry. Plenty of kids who can’t do one thing will immediately gravitate to a different field (think AP math students who can’t write essays, or those kids who could analyse a book and it’s metaphors in class but didn’t understand geometry).

- Granted he took it far but it’s kinda implied that  his father ignored him eventually and what else was Wylan going to do

- I don’t really know how he did chemistry while not being able to read the symbols and stuff, but that’s likely because I’ve never had to learn the way he did and also I really suck at Chemistry, but I refuse to believe that it invalidates his capabilities

Final Thoughts:

- They’re Traumatized Honors Students

- People might say that “it’s unrealistic that all the smart ones somehow ended up together” but again they’re traumatized honors students and those gravitate to each other

- Of course the smart ones ended up together, they’re the ones in those crazy situations precisely because they are prodigies. Nina wouldn’t have met Matthias if she wasn’t skilled and a spy, Kaz wouldn’t have known Inej if she hadn’t been skilled at silence (I can’t explain that one but uh ninjas did/do exist and it IS still a fantasy world). Kaz would have never been a leader of the Dregs in a position to find Jesper if he hadn’t been so determined to rise to the top, and Jesper wouldn’t have been in Ketterdam if his father hadn’t thought that Jesper was smart enough to get that chance.

- You know how those fringe revolutionary artists for new eras end up knowing all knowing each other and even hanging out? That’s them.

- I have decided there is a strong basis for Autistic Kaz, someone who is more studied than me should feel free to explore this.

- I read this book a few years ago, A Long Way Gone by Ishmael Beah. It’s about this guy’s experiences as a boy soldier and it’s a painful read so I’m not sure I recommend it as a casual read, but he talked about these young kids being able to actually make competent military strategies and handle warfare. It’s an extreme example of what I’m trying to explain when it comes to them being able to handle the brutality of their situation, but it’s true, essentially

- They are definitely serious, but if you think they’re not teenagers I just, disagree so much. They have moments of lighthearted banter, they make light of their situation, they try to support each other Nina covers it so well in her farewell at the end of Crooked Kingdom: The little rescues of laughing at each others jokes or eating together and just supporting each other, is not only a very human thing, but a very teenager thing. 

- Scary experiences that shape us happen all the time, and although for most it’s not the things that the Crows experience, picking each other up is a big part of why they do read as teenagers to me. I’ve seen kids be able to seriously converse about things like being questioned by the police, or being left to their own devices for days at a time, or the general impending doom they all feel, and it’s dark, but they’re also going to joke about silly puns 20 minutes later. 

- Teenagers aren’t exempt from terrifying maturity and competence

- Finally: Despite all I said, it’s a fantasy story and doesn’t have to be realistic

In the end, everyone can believe what they want to believe, but this is my case for my opinion.

TL;DR The Crows are all prodigies and a lot of their achievements and capabilities are based in reality and there are real people who actually achieved things like what they’ve done. Messed up prodigies gravitate to messed up prodigies, hence how they all end up together. When it comes to their mental state, most of them have been brought up their entire lives in situations that required for them to problem solve and keep their cool even when things are going to hell.

[msfcatlover]

Upon further introspection, in the TMA version of my Reverse!Robins AU, not a whole heck of a lot changes.

—Damian is still a Corruption avatar, but stepping into the Nightwing role means he has so many connections & relationships across the community, all of which he would be so very diligent about managing (since he knows toxic love is in his nature, the part where his patron reaches out to push,) that he might actually be in danger of losing that connection and going back to just being human. A state that Damian would probably have extremely mixed feelings on, what with his pride in his monster-side & love for his swarm. They’re a lot fewer in number now…. (He also probably is not nearly so awful towards Tim for taking up Steph’s mantle, since even if Damian himself slipped up in his self control, everyone close to him has been briefed on the situation and told to monitor him for any slip-ups. You don’t take a recovering alcoholic to a bar, and you don’t give a Corruption avatar the chance to be a bully.)

—Cass’s Stranger nature is inherent long before she comes to Gotham, so that’s not going anywhere.

—Tim was always going to be of the Eye, making him Oracle just doubles down on that.

—Steph started down the path of the Hunt, but I don’t think she ever fully Became a Hunter. Damian took her under his wing too quickly, and if everyone’s an avatar then everyone would know how to look out for the signs. In another parallel to Jason (TMA!Jason, in this case), they probably worked really hard to protect her humanity, and will always wonder if doing so got her killed. In any case, it’s when Steph finds out… everything (Tim took Shadow before even a full year had passed, there’s a new child running around in her death shroud because Tim nearly also died, the Bats are so supportive & warm towards her replacements in ways Steph thought was impossible but apparently that was just the way the behaved towards Steph, but they haven’t changed their methods, Gotham’s as much of a shithole as it ever was, and Roman fucking Sionis is still fucking hurting people, because apparently Steph’s death meant nothing, and she shoulda killed that bastard when she had the chance—) Well. It’s not a door in the back of her mind. It’s not a passion she needs to chase or a sacrifice she needs to make. But the anger that she’s always had, the overwhelming, boiling rage that she has choked down & turned her back on, never going all the way, never crossing that line, because they were so worried about all the damage she could do—in a moment of biblically awful clarity, Steph feels like she’s not boxing or bottling everything up. In her mind, it feels like she’s standing on the edge of a cliff, and the anger she feels, the anger she’s worked so hard to turn away from, is just the updraft from a wild maelstrom far below. It’s one of those times when an avatar has a clear choice: humanity or power. It’s a truer choice than most, no eternal buzzing eating at her mind, no cult huddled around her who might hurt her if she says no. And Steph knows what she ought to do, what everyone would want her to do— But she’s just found out her precious humanity meant more than Steph herself ever did. So, you know. Fuck ‘em. In her mind, Steph takes a single step back and plunges over the edge.

—Jason… Jason might stay human in this. If we stuck with my original Reverse!Robins “Red Robin” plot, I’d say he was in serious danger of the Lonely or the Hunt getting their claws into him, but there is a key difference: my Reverse Robins!Talia is outright villainous, while my TMA!Talia is very much Good Mom Talia. And Good Mom Talia would be doing her best to support & protect Jason, so…

—Duke… honestly, I’m torn. I’m so torn. My gut is telling me Web, which would accentuate the public role I’ve given him, as well as his role as the eldest child who looks out for his younger siblings & pulls the family together as a result. It would also give Duke another layer of that thing we see again & again with Dick & Bruce: when Bruce looked at the child in front of him, saw himself looking back, and decided he couldn’t not do everything he could to help. And Duke is canonically a good leader, good with anyone willing to listen to him really, and while his “fine, I’ll do it myself” attitude is more indicative of his selflessness than anything else, jumping to volunteer even when people don’t want you to can be read as a way to control the situation… I just don’t know if all that is enough to justify Web!Duke. (I still don’t know Duke that well, so it’s hard to pin down.)

—Dick starts down the path of the Hunt, but with Cass as his Batman, I don’t think he chases that to its conclusion. I think he embraces his own Otherness, loves himself unequivocally in all his Strangeness, and follows in his mentor’s footsteps.

*mushes two of my favorite AUs together*

Red Hood!Steph would still be a Desolation avatar—there’s too much anger, too much destruction, too much hate & desire for the complete annihilation of the targets of that hate to be anything else—but she’s different.

RH!Jason is an earthquake.

RH!Steph would be a lightning storm. The crackle of electricity, the taste of ozone, the light of something utterly uncontrollable in her eyes. The billowing, bulging thunder cloud sweeping across the sky to blot out the sun. Wind enough to rip up trees, rain so heavy you can’t see, but lightning, lightning every few seconds, like all the electricity in the world has been stolen underneath her skin. A fire-starter (like Jason) but the blaze itself is not what you have to Fear, the blaze is merely a side effect of something much more powerful sweeping through. Her victims are not shattered bones & splattered brains, they’re bleeding ears & the reek of cooking meat.

Jason borders the Buried far closer than he’d like.

Steph would dance on the border of the Vast like a small child dances in the rain: with wild abandon & near-feral glee.

[rein-ette]

Hi! Could you give us some modern day German bros hcs?

Yes. Absolutely. Thank you for asking, this is one of my favourite topics ever.

I know canon says that Gilbert lives in Lud’s basement and mooches off of him, but may I assert that Gilbert actually lives in the basement of his own house, which he bequeathed to Ludwig, while he spent time rotting in Soviet prison. The house, along with a significant (but diminishing) majority of Lud’s savings were all originally Gilbert’s fortune, only gathered after saving every penny of his officers commissions for centuries. Now, this isn’t to say that Ludwig mooches off Gilbert either, because Lud does work his sweet muscular ass off and earns a respectable wage from the federal government. And it’s true that legally, Lud did inherit Gilbert’s property in the West. But Gil still has every right to live in a house he bought, and he only chose to take the basement floor because 1) it seemed kinda mean spirited to make Ludwig move out of the master bedroom after living there for 3 decades, and 2) the “basement” floor is a complete flat in and of itself, so he and Ludwig can both have some measure of privacy.

Warning: way more rambling ahead

As for living fees, I hc that Prussia fulfills a role in government as the state of Brandenburg. Others may disagree that Brandenburg should have its own “national” representative, an idea I’ve toyed with myself, but I’ve settled on the interpretation of history where Prussia is Brandenburg for several reasons. The main one is that while Prussia is a geographical expression referring to the area around Königsberg that is now Russian/Polish, Prussia is also a historical, political, and cultural entity. Berlin has been the seat of Prussian power and the symbol of its culture, ideals, and traditions from the very beginning — what we think of when we say Prussia (the historical state) really began as Brandenburg, who’s ruling family (the Hohenzollerns) subsequently acquired Prussia (the Polish territory) and saw an opportunity to crown themselves King, using the Prussian title as a convenient “excuse” (for various political reasons). In short: the name “Prussia” is misleading — the state of Brandenburg-Prussia has always been more Brandenburg than it’s been Prussian.

I DIGRESS. The point is Prussia also earns part of his wages for himself from the Brandenburg state government. He doesn’t work nearly as much with the gov as the others (Arthur, Francis) do though: mostly 'cause the government can function by itself and doesn't need much advice from Prussia, who's wealth of experience is not readily applicable to like, park-building and such anyways. When Lud becomes overwhelmed Gil also helps out with his paperwork, but -- and this is, I believe, rather idiosyncratic to the German gov -- Gil does not often attend functions in an official capacity. Since the war, the new German government has wanted for obvious reasons to distance itself as much from its past as possible, so having too many people know about Gilbert's real identity, or even having him work to closely with the PM just feels...wrong. Officially Prussia may now simply be the state of Brandenburg, but its clear that's not all he is. He has the Old World air, the kind of presence that reminds humans he is the collision of a thousand lifetimes all at once, a breathing monument to history. And so for the modern German state, which has struggled so desperately to throw off the shadows of its past, to associate closely with the embodiment of Prussia is just not great for everyone involved.

This brings me to another dynamic that I've wanted to explore in a fic for a long time: how terribly young Ludwig is compared to the nations he works with. I mean, Germany only became a thing in 1871, less than 200 years ago. While I hc him to have existed for a couple decades before that, slowly growing under Prussia's care, this man is still younger than either Alfred or Matt. And yet he has to work closely and on equal terms with nations that are more than ten times as old as he is. Of course, former colonies like Al and even younger ones like New Zealand also work on equal terms with older countries like England now, but Ludwig has the added disadvantage of needing to protect a legacy. He may be young, but the cultures he now represents are not. He does not get to start afresh. He does not get to revolt against imperialism and forge his own destiny. And unlike former colonies, the day Ludwig truly stepped out of his brother's shadow and became a nation in his own right was not a day of victory but of defeat. All this weighs heavily on him; essentially, Ludwig carries the same two-thousand burden of history his fellow Europeans do, but without the corresponding two thousand years of experience. And do his colleagues go easy on him? Of course they fucking don't. His colleagues are people like England, France, Denmark, Netherlands...they're fucking menaces is what they are, and they don't baby nobody. You can either make it or you can't, and despite being the age of these nation's children, by the simple virtue of being European Lud is expected to be able to play by "their rules" -- to know the ins and outs of ancient relationships, traditions, and beef from the Middle Ages -- the whole shebang. If America fucks up in a world meeting the Europeans will whisper "Well he's still just a child", if Ludwig fucks up in an EU meeting he has simply fucked up, period. No excuses. This is the world they grew up in, and they expect Ludwig to be able to navigate it too.

Of course, this has it perks as well. It means that unlike former colonies, Ludwig doesn't have to deal with as much constant condescension and patronization. Lud is not their child or their friend's child -- at most he is a younger brother, and by taking on the mantle of Prussia and the other German states Ludwig is automatically an equal. But there were still moments where Ludwig felt out of place. In the first few decades after the war, these mostly occurred in more relaxed, social situations -- parties, informal negotiations, the type of diplomacy that takes place over drinks and behind closed doors. This was the gentleman's club, a place where the lingering sense among old European powers that they are members of the most exclusive and desirable social group in the world was strongest. While various forces such as the EU, globalization, decolonization, and Americanization have eroded this kind of gate-keeping, there remains instances where Ludwig is sharply reminded of his age. Its often the small things -- a glance across the meeting room, an old joke, a shared memory. Maybe Ludwig hears through Gilbert that Francis is more stressed than he seems. Maybe Ned succeeds in persuading Arthur of something in private when Ludwig couldn't. Maybe he visits Austria and is surprised to see Spain is also there. Among any group of old friends there is always a sense of "us" and "them", and while Ludwig may have taken his brother's political place in Europe, socially Prussia is a kind of "us" that Ludwig will never quite achieve.

I hate to end this on such an abrupt note, but I'm afraid if I don't I will never stop talking. Thanks cake for enabling me, and if anyone wants a part two hit me up. I haven't even fucking gotten to PruAusHun yet, or all the other German siblings.

[rwbybutincorrect]

there’s a really brief moment in “Dark” that i dont think is that deep but i can’t stop thinking about it so im going to make everyone else think about it.

whitley is bent on getting those sdc ships to mantle. to the point where he is flat out ignoring and anyone who distracts him - especially his neglectful mother who let him suffer the abuse of jacques for years without stepping to protect him.

when willow calls him? he immediately hangs up. when someone opens the door? he fucking growls like the rabid dog he is, idk. but the point is, not even weiss was this bent on helping people, especially those who are a majority faunus. and whitley sees this as one of the first things he can actually participate in. one of the first grand ideas he’s had that could help people. 

his sisters are huntresses or in the military. his mom clearly had a history with huntsmen in the past, considering her semblance is unlocked. whitley has the company, his father’s computer, and access to these ships.  

then the hound comes in. we can safely assume whitley doesn’t have access to his aura or semblance. he’s never had to. he can’t protect himself and he’s been cornered by the very thing that he heard two of his sister’s teammates - fully licensed huntresses - struggle to deal with. and the only thing between him and the hound is a desk and computer that almost gives him away.

worst yet. the hound literally admits that he knows whitley’s hiding. that’s fucking terrifying! that’s the closest this boy has ever come to DEATH. we’re so conditioned to our protagonists being put against life threatening grimm, but at least they have the assistance of specially made weapons, aura, semblances, and at least a little bit of training. if the hound got his hands on whitley here, god damn! probably wouldn’t have been very good :) at all!

and out of nowhere? willow saves him. for the first time, that we’ve seen, she has actively put herself in harms way to protect him. using a semblance that we didn’t know she could use to incapacitate the hound, something she’s clearly terrified of and doesn’t know how to deal with. she tried to call him, seeing the hound on the cameras, and instead of buckling down powerlessly that he ignored her. instead, she explicitly went to rescue him, not knowing whether or not weiss would get to the two of them in time. 

BUT HERE’S THE MOMENT I REALLY WANNA TALK ABOUT

he made a SPRINT to get out of this office. 

this is the first grimm he’s ever been near to, LET ALONE IN HIS OWN HOME. he has 3 active huntresses in his house, 4 if you count whatever the fuck willow has going on, and they could protect him. maybe take care of the hound and he can go back and launch the ships later.

but he stops. he does that cute little turn to launch the ships, and THEN runs from the clear and present danger of the grimm that was looking for him at that moment. 

whitley opted to save everyone in the crater before preserving himself. whether he wasn’t sure if he’d have another chance, whether or not he didn’t put all that much thought into it, he consciously decided that, instead of running to his mother, who just protected him for the first time in the most dangerous of situations, he would protect the rest of mantle. 

it was the least he could do as a schnee. but he was running for his life at the moment too! AND I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT IT. he was never protected, for all of his life. he was abandoned by winter, by weiss, by willow. but he sure as hell wasnt going to abandon mantle. 

we always gave whitley a hard time. an entitled youngest son and shoehorned heir to the schnee dust company. while his sisters fought to save the world, he was lodged up in his mansion. a mansion full of abuse and neglect, but from the monsters of grimm, safe enough.

but when faced with a talking grimm, his mother using her semblance for the first time in supposed years, and the opportunity to protect an entire city of people, he opted to protect mantle. he didn’t even think twice. he just had to click the screen for the ships to be sent the orders. 

and this all takes place in less than a minute!

AND THEN. WHEN THE SCHNEE DUST COMPANY SHIPS DO ARRIVE. WHO ARE THE ACCREDITED TO?

all of his life he has been overlooked, ignored, and forgotten. even when he was appointed heir to the schnee dust company after weiss was dragged home, no one acknowledged. IRONWOOD ESPECIALLY didn’t see whitley as a schnee, the way whitley followed every order from his father like a servant to avoid his scrutiny. 

and i mean- i’d rather not have whitley forced to deal with james ironwood painting a target on his back. but it’s devastating to think, after living in the shadows, for all of his life? he doesn’t even get credited for having the idea that COULD HAVE saved all of mantle. not that heroism comes down to who thought of what. but whitley never wanted to be the schnee that discriminated, cheated, and abused rules and expectations to force his way to the top. 

all we know is he’s lost without jacques to look up to and he’s never really had any idea what to do as standing owner of the schnee dust company. but he was given an opportunity to help everyone. and he certainly tried. that’s more than ironwood can say. 

also, unrelated to the post, but the way that whitley’s picture is the only one of jacques’ children that he has on his desk 

the way he acts like he cares about him and believes in him, and still treats him like shit.... 

this has been a whitley appreciation thread