#with whom i had an absolute blast

[beggars-opera]

On the road leading into the center of Concord, Massachusetts, there sits a house.

It is a plain, colonial-style house, of which there are many along this road. It has sea green and buff paint, a historical plaque, and one of the most multi-layered stories I have ever encountered to showcase that history is continuous, complicated, and most importantly, fragmentary, unless you know where to look.

So, where to start? The plaque.

There's some usual information here: Benjamin Barron built the house in 1716, and years later it was a "witness house" to the start of the American Revolution. And then, something unusual: a note about an enslaved man named John Jack whose epitaph is "world famous."

Where is this epitaph? Right around the corner in the town center.

It reads:

God wills us free; man wills us slaves. I will as God wills; God’s will be done. Here lies the body of JOHN JACK a native of Africa who died March 1773 aged about 60 years Tho’ born in a land of slavery, He was born free. Tho’ he lived in a land of liberty, He lived a slave. Till by his honest, tho’ stolen labors, He acquired the source of slavery, Which gave him his freedom; Tho’ not long before Death, the grand tyrant Gave him his final emancipation, And set him on a footing with kings. Tho’ a slave to vice, He practised those virtues Without which kings are but slaves.

We don't know precisely when the man first known only as Jack was purchased by Benjamin Barron. We do know that he, along with an enslaved woman named Violet, were listed in Barron's estate upon his death in 1754. Assuming his gravestone is accurate, at that time Jack would have been about 40 and had apparently learned the shoemaking trade from his enslaver. With his "honest, though stolen labors" he was then able to earn enough money to eventually purchase his freedom from the remaining Barron family and change his name to John, keeping Jack as a last name rather than using his enslaver's.

John Jack died, poor but free, in 1773, just two years before the Revolutionary War started. Presumably as part of setting up his own estate, he became a client of local lawyer Daniel Bliss, brother-in-law to the minister, William Emerson. Bliss and Emerson were in a massive family feud that spilled into the rest of the town, as Bliss was notoriously loyal to the crown, eventually letting British soldiers stay in his home and giving them information about Patriot activities.

Daniel Bliss also had abolitionist leanings. And after hearing John's story, he was angry.

Here was a man who had been kidnapped from his home country, dragged across the ocean, and treated as an animal for decades. Countless others were being brutalized in the same way, in the same town that claimed to love liberty and freedom. Reverend Emerson railed against the British government from the pulpit, and he himself was an enslaver.

It wouldn't do. John Jack deserved so much more. So, when he died, Bliss personally paid for a large gravestone and wrote its epitaph to blast the town's hypocrisy from the top of Burial Hill. When the British soldiers trudged through the cemetery on April 19th, 1775, they were so struck that they wrote the words down and published them in the British newspapers, and that hypocrisy passed around Europe as well. And the stone is still there today.

You know whose stone doesn't survive in the burial ground?

Benjamin Barron's.

Or any of his family that I know of. Which is absolutely astonishing, because this story is about to get even more complicated.

Benjamin Barron was a middle-class shoemaker in a suburb that wouldn't become famous until decades after his death. He lived a simple life only made possible by chattel slavery, and he will never show up in a U.S. history textbook.

But he had a wife, and a family. His widow, Betty Barron, from whom John purchased his freedom, whose name does not appear on her home's plaque or anywhere else in town, does appear either by name or in passing in every single one of those textbooks.

Terrible colonial spelling of all names in their marriage record aside, you may have heard her maiden name before:

Betty Parris was born into a slaveholding family in 1683, in a time when it was fairly common for not only Black, but also Indigenous people to be enslaved. It was also a time of war, religious extremism, and severe paranoia in a pre-scientific frontier. And so it was that at the age of nine, Betty pointed a finger at the Arawak woman enslaved in her Salem home, named Titibe, and accused her of witchcraft.

Yes, that Betty Parris.

Her accusations may have started the Salem Witch trials, but unlike her peers, she did not stay in the action for long. As a minor, she was not allowed to testify at court, and as the minister's daughter, she was too high-profile to be allowed near the courtroom circus. Betty's parents sent her to live with relatives during the proceedings, at which point her "bewitchment" was cured, though we're still unsure if she had psychosomatic problems solved by being away from stress, if she stopped because the public stopped listening, or if she stopped because she no longer had adults prompting her.

Following the witch hysteria, the Parrises moved several times as her infamous father struggled to hold down a job and deal with his family's reputation. Eventually they landed in Concord, where Betty met Benjamin and married him at the age of 26, presumably having had no more encounters with Satan in the preceding seventeen years. She lived an undocumented life and died, obscure and forgotten, in 1760, just five years before the Stamp Act crisis plunged America into a revolution, a living bridge between the old world and the new.

I often wonder how much Betty's story followed her throughout her life. People must have talked. Did they whisper in the town square, "Do you know what she did when she was a girl?" Did John Jack hear the stories of how she had previously treated the enslaved people in her life? Did that hasten his desperation to get out? And what of Daniel Bliss; did he know this history as well, seeing the double indignity of it all? Did he stop and think about how much in the world had changed in less than a century since his neighbor was born?

We'll never know.

All that's left is a gravestone, and a house with an insufficient plaque.

[truelovepolinator]

Why I'm So Sure It's Luke

I've been pretty quiet here for a while. Much of that is because of the state of the world. I had a bit of a deep spiral last weekend about things happening in my country.

And I confess that the FB comment and funeral hubbub sent me into a corresponding (though temporary) Lukola spiral to which I was doubtless more vulnerable due to my already depressed state. Did I really have to lose my daily dopamine drip (aka, Lukola) just when I needed it most?

Short answer: Absolutely not.

I had already started to pull myself out of my Lukola spiral by Monday (the other spiral is still very deep), and video and photos of Nic that emerged on Tuesday and Wednesday shored me up until I was back to effing rock solid.

I often see things I don't agree with, even on the blogs of folks with whom I usually agree, and I simply move on most of the time. I don't comment. I feel no need to argue with people in their own blogs. In friendly spaces, I'll sometimes share counter opinions because I believe respectful dialogue and debate are important — and have all but disappeared in this era of instant blocks. And we all want to share information and opinions that help us fine tune our perspectives.

But if they're clearly dug into an opinion that I view as wildly wrong, there's little value for me in arguing with them. Let them think what they want. It's not my job to change anyone's mind.

The jakola takes are the easiest to ignore for obvious reasons. I've written extensively about JD's role in Nicola's life and there's no need to do so here. (Feel free to read my other posts if you need clarity around N & J's non-romantic relationship.)

Instead, the takes I find the most frustrating are from the Lukolas who have lost hope, the so-called "realistic" ones who think that we "just have to accept that they're not together," and maybe even that "Luke is with Ant."

To this, I respectfully say, we absolutely do not have to accept any such thing because the evidence is fully on our side.

Truth be told, I suspect I'm most vexed by these posts because I used to be one of those "realists." In late summer/early autumn, I had fallen victim to the fake narratives created by the paparazzi shots of both Nic and Luke, all designed to imply a certain narrative without either of them actually saying those things were true. I always believed NicLuke belonged together. However, I reluctantly accepted that "I guess Luke is probably seeing her" and "not sure about that guy, but the photos of Nic and him do look cozy."

I understand the impulse to surrender. It's so hard to have faith, to keep believing in something when there's an apparent narrative being constructed in the public eye that tells you you're wrong. It's painful (and feels delulu) to keep believing when you've been let down repeatedly by pap photos you assume are true.

It's very easy to accept a false narrative if you don't have the energy to dig in and really pay attention to all the signs and information available when you look for it. (This is true on the world stage as well, and we should all think very critically about the stories we're being told, but I digress.)

I wrote extensively and in gory detail about how and why I'm so sure about Lukola in my blog post "Nicola and Luke Are Absolutely Together...," which I'll link here for anyone who wants persuasion or reassurance. I won't rehash all of that here, but I do want to touch on a handful of milestones & crumbs, many of which are recent, that make me quite sure about Luke being the man in Nicola's life.

One of the recent assertions I saw was that we need to let go of the significance of the Claddagh ring. (I'm not putting anyone on blast. I can't even remember who said this, and I think it was someone I like, so no offense.) But I could not disagree with this more.

Claddagh rings are worn to represent relationship status more than anything. Yes, they can be given in friendship, but the orientation of the ring on the wearer's finger is fundamental to understanding the ring. Only someone with no connection whatsoever to its heritage or meaning would throw it on willy nilly in any direction they pleased.

Not everyone follows the rules closely. I wore mine for years, on my left ring finger, heart down when I was free, heart up when I was taken. I only stopped wearing it when I replaced it with my engagement ring. (Obviously, I was not following the traditional 4 steps.)

Some wear it just on a single hand, whichever they choose. Some might wear it just while single (even engaged), then replace it when married. Some use it to indicate engagement and marriage when that time comes, others focus solely on taken or not. Admittedly, not everyone follows every step closely.

However, Nicola is from Galway where the ring originated. She is deeply proud of her Irish heritage. There is no chance she would put that ring on any finger with the heart pointing toward her heart unless her heart was taken.

Now, let's remember that she picked that ring up while she was in Galway during the World Tour. She modeled that ring in Chupi photographs, with the heart pointing up (heart taken) wearing the same outfit she wore to the screening. The same screening where she hugged her mother to within an inch of her life, then introduced her mom to Luke. That was the most tearful, emotional intro I've ever seen between a guy and his platonic co-worker's mom, huh?

Hypothetically, could her heart have been taken by someone else at that stage? Well, do you really think a secret significant other — who was important enough to warrant a "heart taken" ring orientation — would be okay with Nicola not only getting the ring while she's physically with Luke (and flirting heavily), but also making that showy, deeply emotional introduction between her mother and Luke? If you were her secret, non-Luke SO, would you be okay with it?

There is literally no chance.

Chupi told us that ring was to commemorate Season 3 of Bridgerton. Again, would a secret, non-Luke SO be fine with her wearing a ring that symbolizes her Polin season with Luke as a symbol of this secret, non-Luke SO's love?

I won't even bother digging into the symbolism of the rings on the hands, but say it were true that she just wanted it to commemorate a special season. If her heart weren't taken, that ring on her finger would have pointed down. She told us the moment those photos were snapped that her heart was taken, and logic tells us that, at that moment in time, it could only have belonged to Luke.

Since then, lots of things have happened. There were pap photos galore, all telling a very different story, right? Again, it's very easy to accept a false narrative when it's spoon fed to you. But gosh, wouldn't those pap photos also provide excellent cover for two people in love, possibly nesting together, who also wanted to keep their love very, very private?

I talk a lot more about this in the above linked blog (and others) and I'm not going to tackle it here. If you don't want to believe it, that's your prerogative, but if you're curious about whether it could possibly be true, I encourage you to have a read.

So set aside the adjacents for now and focus exclusively on our girl Nic. What we know is that she wore that ring consistently through the summer and early fall, on her right hand, heart pointing up (heart taken). Then, in October, she switched it to her left hand.

Again, not everyone follows every traditional Claddagh step, but Nicola is a Galway Girl. If she's been wearing it consistently on the right, then suddenly switches it to the left where she continues to keep it consistently, she's not oblivious to the meaning of that switch. That switch is deeply significant.

Remember, the left hand is traditionally the hand where it's worn to indicate engagement (heart down) and marriage (heart up). And when she switched, she kept the heart pointing up.

Does that absolutely mean she's married? No. As always, we don't know any of them personally, so we can't say for sure. But simple, not-a-reach logic tells us that the way she's worn that ring is significant.

With that ring, Nicola has told us in no uncertain terms that she is in a significant, committed relationship (possibly engaged or married since October). And she's been in that relationship (or at least committed in her heart to that relationship) consistently since at least June (really, late April/early May when she commissioned it).

Will we ever know exactly what happened last summer while she and Luke were apart (Sorrento, Spain, Malta, etc.)? No, we won't — and frankly it’s none of our business (as curious as we may be).

But we know that Nicola's heart was taken by the same person throughout. Because logically, would she really have been so into Luke in June when all of the above happened (commission, putting it on, meeting mom)... then break it off... then, by October, find a new person to be so committed to switch her ring to the left hand? The math just doesn't math on that one.

It was Luke in June and it was Luke in October. And she's still wearing that ring in the same direction as of Wednesday night. So yes, it's still Luke.

But I promised you more recent hints and crumbs to support my certainty. Honestly, @frantastical has this stuff so magnificently catalogued that you really should check out that incredibly comprehensive "Multitude of Morsels" if you haven't already.

Still, here's a small handful of (by no means comprehensive) things I've seen with my own eyes in just the last month that have told me I'm sitting in exactly the right restaurant on exactly the right ship:

New Pink News story posted with an old quote (that would have been approved by Nic's team) where Nicola says, "That's all I want, is the girls and the gays. And Luke."

Both Ryan Wheeler and Shondaland openly shipping Lukola ("get married for real")

Nic's year-end photo dump threaded through with Luke, both directly and indirectly

Luke's year-end photo dump threaded through with Nic

Even one of Nic’s Doctor Who photos, which isn't associated with Bridgerton at all, managed to nod at Luke

Video clip re-emerges of the Featherington women giggling when Bessie teases, "Well, two people fell in looove, I gueeessss," then they all giggle and agree that they can't say who

Both of them unaccounted for over Christmas and New Year's (days that are usually spent with significant others) while the adjacents were both accounted for on both holidays

Old story somehow emerges in which Nicola says Luke makes everything better, and Luke says about the "friends to lovers" story that "that's what happened to us when we met." (I'm probably slightly paraphrasing, but close enough.)

Nicola turns up with a tan

Luke turns up with a tan

Luke comes online very briefly, just long enough to congratulate Nic on her SAG nomination, cheering on his queen, and then he's gone

Nicola posts a birthday photo that appears to be a cozy dinner for two with several hints of Luke, most notably the red and yellow flowers (red is for love; most people focused on yellow being for friendship, and I think that's true, but I also very much think it's for Polin. And either way, "friends to lovers" or "love and Polin," those flowers say Luke.)

Luke likes a Jack Rooke post about Big Boys. Bearing in mind that JR is one of Nicola's longstanding, closest friends, this clearly suggests Luke is getting to know him

Nicola swoops in to distract from last weekend's mess with a new, obviously staged pap drop (based on weather, likely from a while in the past and kept on hand for when it was needed), once again protecting Luke and his family

And then there are a handful of crumbs and hints that point to something else that I've been reluctant to talk about. I still won't get into it here, but I will say that there are definitely recent things that are suggesting to me a very specific, very happy story. These include:

ETA: Photo of Nic with two Dunkin drinks & two straws (drinking for two?)

"Shit Stirrer" tee-shirt, holding shirt just so with photo cropped very particularly (who exactly is the shit stirrer in that photo?)

"May your 2025 be as happy as this potato made me" (which potato?)

Video with the hot water bottle

Big Boys (clearly wearing the ring)

And that is literally all I will say about that. But let's just remember that all of this has taken place while Nicola continues to wear that Claddagh ring on her left hand, pointed toward her heart. Even in those silly pap photos with Jake from Monday.

The only times we've seen her without it were when she wore special, fancy jewelry for events (showy hand jewelry that she could prominently display by placing her hands in front of her stomach instead of on her waist or hips). Every other time, it's either there or her hands are (perhaps intentionally) hidden.

Doubtless some "realistic Lukolas" will read this and say, "But you're ignoring all the photos of Jake and obvious proof of how close they are."

To which I reply, "Yes, I am." Because I've written loads about that relationship, what it is, why it is so heavily documented, and what they each get out of it (other than friendship). Again, if you want to know more, feel free to read my blog. But those photos mean nothing to me because I understand the truth that lies beneath them. I have absolutely nothing against Jake. I think he's been a good friend to Nic, but that's all he is.

Meanwhile, we've seen nary a peep from Luke except to cheer on his girl, and going back a bit further, that very happy looking S4 selfie with Nic. Has anyone ever noticed how much more he smiles with Nicola than anyone else? His actual smile ratio with Nic compared to literally anyone else is off the charts.

So, yeah, it's Luke all the way. I don't know for sure when it started (might tackle that in a different blog), and I'm not sure how many times they've pressed the on/off button before locking in, but I absolutely believe they are fully locked in now. The evidence is everywhere.

As always, I say these two things. First, we know nothing for sure until Nic or Luke or both of them together make it absolutely, incontrovertibly clear to us. So could I be wrong? Yes, it's certainly possible. If I'm wrong, I'll admit it, and I admit right now that I will be heartbroken. I'm not going to front about this. But I don't think I'm wrong.

Second, you are very free to draw different conclusions. However, if you wish to do so, I invite you to consider the evidence as presented first. Especially if you've given up the ship because you're afraid to believe.

Have no fear, Lukolas. The evidence is on your side.

[stealingyourbones]

I just finished reading the 2016 Batman run for funsies and I haven’t had the time to touch it yet.

Bruce;

falls from the moon (and survives)

goes through hundreds of dimensions to fight The “Joker” that Makes Other Jokers

gets shot near the heart at least 4 times, gets his hand cut off, stabbed through the chest, all while barely even functioning and still kicking ass

f ights alternate versions of his rogues gallery (and some of his friends) all of whom are more insane/mentally broken/venomed tf up. Again, while barely functioning

Utilizes a bat uniform from The Dark Knight Returns Universe, the utility belt of Adam West’s Batman, and uses shark repellant against a giant shark with joker paint on it that’s devouring the concept of Gotham.

I’m not even touching the failsafe comic intricacies where he gets blasted into another dimension, nearly all of his buddies get their shit rocked by robots made a suppressed alternate personality of himself made in case Batman went too far and killed someone (it was staged. Copplepot died). And so much more.

The very rough notes I gave were summarizing 10 total comics.

When I tell you that literally anyone from the DC universe wouldn’t bat an eye at Danny’s history, stories, rogues gallery, the fights he’s had, everything. I mean it

They’d absolutely be devistated a kid had to do so much at so young and deal with that much pressure as a child. But they damn sure wouldn’t be shocked. This is simply them doing the rounds of figuring out a new hero and their motivations

[alexsoenomel]

Through The Amplifier

Summary: Seeing Metallica with Dean for his birthday 🎶

Based on: THIS

Pairing:  Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI , implied smut, actual smut (but cute fluffy smut), mentions of death, Dean and Reader being nerds

Word count: 8k (I like writing backstories sue me)

Song mentioned (The actual setlist btw): Ride the Lightning,  For Whom The Bell Tolls, Lux Æterna, Until It Sleeps, Whiplash, Too Far Gone? Welcome Home (Sanitarium), No Leaf Clover, The Call of Ktulu, Moth into Flame,  Wherever I May Roam, Inamorata, Blackened, One and Enter Sandman ( Also Wrong Side of Heaven and Jekyll and Hyde by Five Finger Death Punch)

Note: This year I saw one of my favorite bands and finally fulfilled my lifelong dream. I went by myself and had an absolute blast so this idea just came to me.

Like/ reblog or both if you like it :)

“Are you sure you don't want to come with us, Sam?” I said as I pressed the buy tickets button. The website loaded for a couple of seconds before my phone went off. 

“Yeah, I'm sure. I don't listen to Metallica,” Sam told me as I checked my email to see two tickets for Metallica in Inglewood, California in six months.

“How can you NOT listen to Metallica?”

“Not my cup of tea, I guess.” 

“You, Charlie?”

“I don’t like old men in leather,” she simply said, making me chuckle.

To say that I was excited would be an understatement. I was overjoyed, ecstatic, and adrenaline-filled, already mentally preparing for the concert. It was indeed destiny. Metallica was performing two days after Dean's birthday in Inglewood, and since we both shared one dream: seeing them live, I saw it as a sign. Videos from their M72 world tour have bombarded my social media ever since it started, and I decided it was now or never. 

“How much are the tickets?” Sam asked.

I bit my lip and mumbled: “14k.”

“For two tickets?!” Charlie’s eyes widened in disbelief. 

“Each,” I simply said. 

" (Y/N)?! " Sam's gaze was on me, and I could feel it burning. I looked at him and smiled awkwardly, and he gave me a silent look of judgment. 

“I can explain!” 

“I'm listening!” He said, voice as sharp as a knife. 

“You know that rich vampire guy I was sleeping with before we met?” 

“The son of the rich vampire?” 

“Yeah, that one. After we killed them I found his laptop where he kept all of his secrets plus his bank account and asked Charlie to transfer everything to me.” 

“How much?”

“Everything,” Charle said proudly. 

“Untraceable and undetectable thanks to her, so technically it’s not our money,” I added.  

“But wasn't that two years ago?” 

“Yeah, he had a lot of money,” Charlie told Sam as he stared at me connecting the dots.

“That explains why the fridge is always full now.” 

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Charlie said.

I chuckled. 

Sleeping with a vampire was probably the stupidest thing I have ever done. I didn’t know he was a vampire until I woke up one morning in his bed drowsy with two small holes on my neck. By then, I had been a hunter for ten years and The Winchesters were not in the picture yet. I’ve only heard stories about them; some hunters told me that they were monsters in human form, savage, causing chaos wherever they went; and others had kinder words in mind, like heroes, good, impossible to not like. After I realized what he was I was shocked, but not surprised. I had been collecting red flags like baseball cards all of my life, but I’ve never slept with an actual monster. I’ve been with narcissists, egomaniacs, momma’s boys, but never with a vampire. That day I made a mental note: “Never trust guys on dating apps. Sleazy pubs are better for finding sex.”

The day I planned to kill him and his old man was the day that I met the brothers and Charlie. I caught them trying to sneak into the property from the back, since the cameras there weren’t working. I saw them because I was trying to do the same so the servants wouldn’t see me. I could smell hunter’s blood from a mile away and they could too. Sam told me bodies were piling up in LA and I had no idea because they would cover their tracks well and I was too busy having sex with one of the perpetrators. Dean on the other hand was rolling his eyes because he couldn’t believe how reckless and stupid I was. We didn’t start on a good foot whatsoever. He thought I was annoying and I thought he was an obnoxious jerk. That was before we killed the vampire family. 

After we finished the job with minor injuries we went to celebrate –drink. It was Charlie’s idea and I still thank her for that. A few beers later I realized the reason why Dean and I didn’t see eye to eye. It was because we were two sides of the same coin. He was a stubborn nerd with alcoholic tendencies and daddy issues and so was I. And the best part was we both liked the same type of music. Sam and Charlie saw right through us and left after two hours and we stayed and talked for hours. A few more beers and a whole lot of bickering and flirting later, we were fucking in his car like it was our last day on this Earth. I collected one more red flag that night and had too many orgasms. Drunk on sex we both went to his motel room where we had even more sex and barely got any sleep. 

The next morning Sam and Charlie were grinning at us while we were trying to wake ourselves up with caffeine. 

“I see you guys had a lot of fun,” Sam said, noticing our dark cycles. Charlie giggled. 

“Yeah, too much fun,” Dean said, trying to keep his eyes open. 

When it was time to say goodbye and exchange numbers, Charlie had yet another brilliant idea. 

“You should come with us,” she said, leaving the brothers speechless, Dean especially. 

“A hunter alone in a world is a terrible thing,” she told them. 

“Did you just quote Maester Aemon?” I asked her. It was nice meeting a fellow Game of Thrones fan.

“You just became even more awesome!” She said and high-fived me. “She is coming with us, guys!” 

I was indeed alone. I started hunting when my parents got killed by a werewolf when I was 19. I had no extended family just one friend and she had no idea what I was doing in my free time.  

Sam and Dean just stared at each other but naturally agreed since Charlie was running the house and therefore I was moving to Lebanon, Kansas. 

For the first time, I had my room and a place I could call home. The bunker was gray and dark and grew on me rather quickly, but things between Dean and I were strange at first. We both thought we were going to fuck each other’s brains out and never see each other again, but the universe (in this case Charlie) had other plans. He was actively avoiding me until I told him to suck it up and talk to me. We didn’t speak, instead, we were memorizing each other’s scars and moles in different positions…over and over again. We even woke up Sam a couple of times while Charlie was clueless since she slept with headphones.

Slowly, we were falling for each other and each kiss became more fatal than the last and since we now lived together, we were spending every waking moment in each other's presence. It wasn’t until one evening we were drinking and a young handsome guy decided to shoot his shot with me and Dean in a drunken jealous rage told him to piss off when he saw his hand on my hip. When the guy refused to leave me alone Dean punched him in the face and we got kicked out of the bar. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! I was about to tell him to fuck off!” I screamed at him and he just stared at me in complete silence. 

“DEAN?”

He came closer and cupped my cheeks with his hands kissing me gently. This time the kiss was different; it wasn’t filled with lust; it was more gentle and vulnerable. His lips were as soft as ever and for the first time I was so painfully aware of them, I wanted him to devour me whole. 

“Why are you such a dick sometimes?” I asked, his face inches away from mine.

“I don’t like when people touch what’s mine,” he said, putting a strand of hair behind my ear. I suddenly became aware of my heartbeat. 

“Since when do I belong to you?” I asked him, trying to keep a cool head even though my body was on fire. We never made it official, but we both knew it was inevitable. 

“Since I belong to you, dickhead,” he said, and from that day on I was his and he was mine. 

***

 I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t in love with Dean. We never said the words, maybe because we were too afraid to verbalize our feelings like grownups, but I knew he loved me just as much as I loved him. His eyes would always sparkle whenever we shared eye contact – even when we fought. He fought a lot, but mostly on hunts, because I would never listen to him and he knew better. In the end, we would get the job done and have angry sex to blow some steam. I’d never thought I’d end up dating a male equivalent of me. I could finally say I was happy with my life, even though objectively speaking it was awful 99% of the time. I was thankful for my chosen family and the fact that I got to experience love for the first time. 

***

I had a hard time keeping the secret, but six months later it was time to celebrate his day. Sam, Charlie, and I decided to make everything Metallica-themed. His cake was a classic chocolate cake but the candles were two small guitars one white and one black (one had the number 3 on it and the other one had 6), The frosting was black and had a picture of the band from the 80s when Cliff was still alive. Dean loved Cliff’s bass, so we knew he was going to love the cake. 

“Happy birthday, Dean!” We all said in unison as I was putting the cake on the table in front of him. Dean’s eyes widened, sparkling with delight, as he stared at the cake. His mouth dropped open in a gasp, revealing a grin that spread from ear to ear. His cheeks flushed with a rosy shade, and he could hardly contain the bubbling excitement as his eyebrows lifted in disbelief. It was a moment of pure wonder etched across his face. He blew his candles after we sang Happy Birthday to him and now it was time to open the presents. 

“This is from me,” Sam said and gave him a bag. 

 Dean pulled a black shirt from it. 

It was a beautiful Metallica shirt, a brand new one from their 72 Seasons merch collection with their yellow album cover and Metallica written on the top. 

“Holy crap a Metallica shirt!” Dean said looking at the beautiful design. Sam smiled at him. 

“Thank you, Sam! It’s perfect!” He then added. 

“You’re welcome, Dean,” Sam said and hugged his brother.

“Now it’s my turn!” Charlie exclaimed and gave him her present. 

Dean pulled out a CD and a cassette tape from a small box– their 72 Seasons CD and a limited cassette tape of the same album. 

“Oh my God! Charlie!” Dean was bursting with excitement and my heart was melting. I don’t think I remember the last time I saw him this happy. His inner child was healing mine – he deserved the world.

“One is for your car and the other is for your laptop!” 

Dean immediately jumped from the chair and hugged Charlie as tight as possible. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

“You’re welcome, birthday boy.”

Now it was my turn. While he was licking the frosting with his fingers I sent him his ticket. 

Dean was staring at me as I was smiling back at him. 

“Check your phone, handsome,” I told him, trying to contain my excitement. 

Dean's brow furrowed just a touch, creating a faint line across his forehead as he checked his phone to see that he got an email from me. 

“What is this?” He mumbled under his breath and opened it. 

Dean’s face lit up with pure joy as realization washed over him. His eyes widened. His mouth dropped open in a wide grin, showcasing his astonishment, while a breathless laugh escaped him. He looked at me for a second before staring back at his phone.

“ARE YOU FREAKIN’ SERIOUS?” He then asked in disbelief. 

“Yeah, and guess what? We will be right in front of the stage,” I said and showed him my ticket on my phone. 

His cheeks flushed with color, and his eyebrows shot up, giving him a look of sheer exhilaration. He could hardly contain himself, there was an almost childlike glee as he wrapped his hands around my waist and lifted me, completely swept away by the moment. I squealed as he spinned me around like I was a ballerina. It was a mix of shock and joy, a perfect reflection of his excitement to see his favorite band live. When he kissed me my feet hit the ground. 

I knew he would remember his 36th birthday for the rest of his life.

***

We packed our bags the next day and went to the airport. Our flight was at 6 pm, so we arrived around 3 pm after lunch. Sam and Charlie came with us because Dean didn’t want to leave Baby at the airport parking lot. We said our goodbyes and went to check in. 

“Don’t let him do anything stupid,” Sam told me. 

“Don’t worry I won’t! We will be stupid together,” I grinned and Sam looked concerned. 

*** 

The flight was quick and smooth; we didn't even feel it. Since it wasn't my money (well not really) I decided to splurge and booked us two nights in the four-star hotel next to the YouTube Theater where the concert was scheduled. They had a pool, spa, and breakfast buffet, so naturally, I figured Dean was going to appreciate it. 

“I don't have swim trunks, (Y/N),” Dean told me as we were entering our room. 

“Yeah I know, that's why I bought you a pair a couple of weeks ago,” I said.

The room was an epitome of elegance, bathed in warm light from sheer curtains. A plush king-sized bed, adorned with crisp white linens and a couple of soft pillows was calling our names. A sleek nightstand held a vintage lamp in the corner, while a polished desk offered a coffee maker and a big flat-screen TV handing across the bed was screaming Dean’s name. The en-suite bathroom was heaven, featuring a spacious glass shower, complete with fragrant candles and premium toiletries.

Every detail was screaming luxury and I knew I made the right choice.

We put our bags on the floor and I turned to Dean to see him staring back at me. 

“Happy birthday, handsome!” I said and kissed him gently. He immediately pulled me closer to him, closing the gap between us, deepening the kiss, and making me moan a little. I could feel his stubble on my face, his hands on my hips, slowing moving downwards to cup my ass. 

“Shower?” He asked before moving his lips to my neck. 

“Please,” I managed to say. 

After having a quick shower we went to bed and he made love to me until we eventually fell asleep only knowing the sound of each other's names. I loved that man with all my heart and soul. 

***

The next morning we woke up at around 8 am, which was our usual time, and went to have breakfast. 

The breakfast buffet was a sight to see. There were freshly baked pastries like croissants, danishes, and muffins, all warm and inviting. A big bowl of colorful fruits sat nearby, with strawberries, melons, and pineapple ready to be picked.

In another section, you could find hot dishes: scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and plump sausages. There was also a selection of artisanal breads, with butter and a variety of jams to choose from. The drink station had fresh coffee and juices. Dean and I were salivating. 

“Oh, this bacon looks crisp!” Dean said joyfully as he put a handful of bacon on his plate. 

“If monsters don't kill us, high cholesterol sure will,” I chuckled and put a couple of pieces next to my eggs. 

Breakfast of champions: bacon, eggs, fluffy croissants, coffee and for dessert fluffy American pancakes with maple syrup. No matter where we went we would always eat the same thing for breakfast.

“The pancakes are so good, my God!” I said as I stuffed my face.

“I need more bacon!” Dean said and went to get more. 

After breakfast, we ended up taking an hour-long post-breakfast nap.

***

The concert was at 9 pm. After we woke up Dean wanted to go swimming before lunch so I gave him his new and only pair of swim trunks: blue shorts with yellow ducks all over. 

“Seriously?” Dean said, looking at himself in the mirror next to our bed.

“I look ridiculous.”

I tried so hard not to laugh.

“It was either ducks or small purple dildos.” 

Dean's face went blank as he looked at himself once more.

“Ducks are good.” 

I, on the other hand, bought a black bikini that was perfect for my body. The sleek design highlighted my figure, and the black color added a touch of elegance. I was oozing confidence and sexiness and Dean couldn't get enough of it. His gaze never left my body and it was filled with admiration and affection. His expression was a mix of pride and appreciation. He was on another planet.

“Dean?” 

“Um?” He asked, his eyes still fixed on my figure, his mouth partially opened. 

“Your gun is showing.” 

He looked down and saw what I meant. 

“Crap!”  

“Let me take care of that before we go!” I chuckled and pointed to the bed. 

***

The pool was nice and big. After an hour of fucking like rabbits we went for a swim only to realize we were too exhausted to do anything with our bodies, so we went to the sauna. 

In the sauna, my skin felt like it was being enveloped in a warm embrace. The heat made me aware of every pore, and I could feel the sweat starting to bead up and trickle down. It was both soothing and invigorating; my skin felt alive, flushed with warmth. 

“I can't believe you planned all of this,” Dean said and closed his eyes, enjoying the sweat dripping from his skin.

I wanted to say it. I wanted to say those goddamn words, but I bit my tongue once more. 

“I know, I'm the best,” I said proudly, while in the back of my mind the sentence "Love makes you do crazy things" echoed over and over again. 

***

Lunch time, another post food nap and it was time to get ready. Dean wore his usual: jeans, a new Metallica shirt he got from Sam, a leather jacket, and combat boots. I decided it was time to turn myself into a rock’n’roll bombshell. I was going to wear leather black pants, Dean's old Ride the Lightning shirt I “borrowed” and never gave it back, and my staple: black Dr. Martens. I did my hair all nice and curly, and my makeup was a bit over the top and not something I usually do.

I was standing in front of the mirror as I started with a flawless matte base, then created a smokey eye with deep blacks and a dramatic wing. Thick eyeliner and voluminous false lashes (that I bought just for this occasion) made my eyes pop. I swiped on dark, matte plum lipstick and defined my brows to frame my face.

A touch of contour enhanced my cheekbones, and I added a hint of shimmer to my inner corners. Feeling powerful and sexy I was ready to heal my inner child with the love of my life. 

“How do I look?” I asked Dean as I put on my leather jacket. 

He bit his lower lip and scanned every inch of me in a second.

“Freakin’ gorgeous,” he exclaimed, making me blush. 

He was never shy to give me compliments and show me how attracted he was to me. Even in pajamas, dying from period cramps, and crying because my favorite ice cream was sold out, he would still tell me how amazing and pretty I was. Like I said, I loved that man with all my heart and soul, it was pathetic and beautiful.

I kissed him and we were on our way. 

We came four hours earlier at around 5 pm, a few minutes before they opened the gates and let us in. In an hour Ice Nine Kills was going to perform and after them Five Fingers Death Punch. When we came in, the pit was already filled with people, but it wasn't full yet. We found a spot just a few inches from the stage. My heart was pounding, I couldn't believe I was there, while Dean was squeezing my hand tightly not wanting to let go. 

“Do you want a beer?” Dean asked me. 

“I don't think that's a good idea. If we drink we will have to go and if we have to go we will abandon this perfect spot. A lot of people are already coming in.” 

Dean nodded.

“Water?”

“That will do,” I agreed, considering we would be standing probably until midnight, staying hydrated was important.

He left to buy us two cups and came back after five minutes. The space was already getting crowded and I was growing impatient. 

“I still can't believe we are here,” he told me. He was buzzing with excitement, eyes shining and bouncing on his heels. 

“Do you think they will play Enter Sandman?” I asked him. 

“I hope so. Pops used to play that song all the time in the car when I was a kid. Sam hated it.” 

“My dad used to sing me that song whenever I couldn't fall asleep. I was a lousy sleeper but for some reason, that song would always put me into a coma.”

I told Dean as I remembered how much I missed my old man.

“You're still a lousy sleeper,” he said, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. 

“Yeah, because now I cannot sleep without you,” I said and kissed his cheek. I always had trouble sleeping, going to bed after 3 am, waking up at 3 pm, tossing and turning, nightmares, and so on… until I started sleeping next to him. I was never a big cuddler, especially since I would always feel uncomfortable whenever someone would try to hold me while I slept, but with him it was different. I would sleep like a baby next to him, he was home to me. His heartbeat was my white noise and his warmth was my safe space. 

He smiled back at me and at that moment the show began. 

Ice Nine Kills was…something else. Dean and I were trying to decide if we liked the music or not, but one thing we agreed on was: that we LOVED the performance. Gore, blood, and chainsaws were all far too familiar, but we especially loved horror references. The music was not bad, but considering we were both classic rock fanatics it wasn't something we would actively listen to. 

“I love the Nightmare on Elm Street reference,” I commented after they finished the first song. 

“Not bad,” Dean agreed as he wrapped his arms around my waist from behind and pulled me closer. 

We were jamming to songs we'd never heard before. People around us were either utterly confused or dancing and head-banging like it was their last day on Earth. 

“Oh! That's the Texas Chainsaw Massacre!” Dean said in my ear. 

“I know,” I laughed, but I don't think he heard me considering the music was pounding in my ears. 

After a good hour, they were done. The crowd was growing impatient again and so were we. 

“Five Finger Death Punch is next!” I said and took a sip of my almost empty cup of water. 

“I'm kinda excited about that.”

And to be honest I was too. We heard a couple of their songs like Wrong Side of Heaven and Jekyll and Hyde and instantly fell in love with the singer's voice. Dean even said the vocalist sounded a lot like David Draiman of Disturbed and I definitely could hear that. 

We were waiting for what felt like hours and my legs started to hurt. I forgot what it felt like standing for so long; the last time I went to a concert I was 16 and my family was still alive. Dad took me to see Deep Purple, it was an unforgettable day. 

Five Finger Death Punch came at exactly 8 pm. The band made everyone jump and scream. Their energy was unmatched and the vocalist was giving his all. His voice was strong. The guitarist even threw a couple of picks and Dean almost caught one.

“Damn it!” He shouted. 

“Don't worry, maybe you will catch one from Kirk later.” 

We all completely lost it when they closed the show with the iconic song Dean and I both loved: Jekyll and Hyde. I was singing my heart out with my man and the rest of the crowd while the singer was jumping around the stage. This whole band had such a strong presence, and I decided to check their other stuff after the show. 

"Thank you all for being an incredible audience! Your energy means the world to us. I hope you enjoyed the show as much as we loved performing for you. It was an honor to open for one of the greatest bands to ever exist! Enjoy the rest of the show and be safe!” The singer said and the whole stadium screamed and clapped. 

“DAMN RIGHT!” Dean yelled and I smiled. 

Seeing Dean so at peace with life and enjoying the present moment made my heart flutter. That man deserved the world and even though I couldn't give him one where he was truly happy (mainly because that would require him to leave hunting behind and he would never do that) I could still make his world a little bit brighter. 

I turned around and kissed him, leaving a smudge of lipstick on his perfectly full lips. 

“Are you ready?” I asked him whipping the stain from his lips with my thumb. 

Dean grinned widely, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Abso-freakin’-lutely!” 

People around us were shouting, screaming, and clapping from excitement, and some people went to get more beer, and pee before the show– it was a beautiful chaos around us. 

“My legs are killing me already,” Dean complained, trying to stretch as much as he could in the sea of people. 

“Yeah, mine turned to stone,” I said and checked my phone only to see they were 20 minutes late. Being late was my biggest pet peeve; even the legendary band that was Metallica didn’t have an excuse. I groaned silently and looked at the empty stage again. I was impatient and filled with adrenaline; ready to sing my heart out, but at the same time I was missing the hotel bed. 

Ten minutes later, our favorite chaotic drummer appeared, sending the whole stadium into a state of pure excitement and borderline madness. He waved and then Robert and Kirk appeared with their guitars and big smiles on their faces. The crowd was cheering even louder. 

“Kirk’s hair is fabulous!” I told Dean, while we were clapping. 

“Yeah, Sam should take some notes!”

And finally, there he was, in the flesh, our favorite voice and my favorite silver fox: James. I've had a crush on James ever since I was a little girl and seeing him right in front of me in his black leather pants, black boots, black shirt, and his beautiful gray beard and hair made my heart beat faster. The man had the presence of a God and I was his loyal worshiper. 

“Oh my God! IT'S HAPPENING!” Dean yelled and hugged me from behind. 

As the lights dimmed and the crowd erupted, Dean and I felt a surge of adrenaline once again. The opening chords of Ride the Lightning sliced through the air, and we couldn’t contain ourselves. With a wild grin, Dean threw his fists in the air, the pulse of the music igniting a fire within him. I was too starstruck to sing, my voice too shy to come out as I was standing there with my phone in the air trying to record a video with my shaky hands. It was my dad's favorite song and I wanted to immortalize this very moment.

Meanwhile, Dean was transported into another dimension. He swayed to the heavy riffs, shouting the lyrics as they echoed around him. Each note was a release, a reminder of the thrill of being alive. At that moment, we were just fans—no monsters, no worries—lost in the pure magic of live music.

“GOOD EVENING INGLEWOOD! ARE YOU READY TO HAVE SOME FUN?” James' voice was powerful with a gravelly timbre that conveyed excitement. We all screamed and with that, they started playing the second song. 

“HOLY SHIT!” I yelled when I realized it was indeed For Whom The Bell Tolls.

As the iconic opening riff surged through the venue, Dean’s heart raced. He felt the familiar rush of nostalgia wash over him, memories of late nights with Sam on the road in the Impala echoing in his mind. The deep, heavy chords resonated in his chest, and he instinctively raised his fists, the crowd's energy fueling his excitement. 

With each thundering beat, he found himself singing along. His grin widened, and he couldn’t help but sway with the music, lost in the moment. For Dean, it wasn’t just a song; it was a reminder of everything he fought for—the bond with his brother, the battles they faced, and the moments of joy amidst the chaos. This was rock and roll at its finest, and he was right where he belonged.

 I, on the other hand, was trying so hard not to cry. The haunting melody of For Whom the Bell Tolls wrapped around me, pulling at my heartstrings. I felt a mix of exhilaration and nostalgia, the weight of the moment overwhelming as memories flooded back—times spent with my family, laughter shared, my mom telling my dad to turn the volume down. Oh, how I missed my parents at that very moment! The intensity of the crowd, the energy of the band, and the raw emotion in the music made it hard to hold back tears. It was a cathartic release. Dean was standing behind me pulling me closer with one hand as I was holding onto his index finger. I wiped my tears and sang my heart out for my mom and dad and after they finished the song I was left with a slight pain in my right ear. I might have forgotten to bring earplugs, but the truth was I didn't want to nor cared about protecting my ears from potential damage. To quote Dean: “Metallica is too good for earplugs.” 

After bringing back so many good memories it was time to mix it up and play something from their newest album.

The melody of Lux Æterna hit me like a bolt of electricity. It opened with a powerful, aggressive guitar riff that instantly raised the tension in the air. As the verses rolled in, the haunting yet energetic melody intertwined with a sense of urgency. When the chorus exploded, the vocals soared, filling me with a mix of exhilaration and defiance. I was completely engulfed in the sound, feeling every note resonate deep within me, embodying everything I loved about Metallica as Dean pulled me closer to him while we were jumping in sync. 

“Lux Æternaaaaaaaaa!” We would sing completely out of tune with James. 

As Lux Æterna blared through the speakers, the crowd became a living entity, energy surging with every note. Fans pumped their fists and sang along, their voices rising in a powerful roar. Some swayed with eyes closed, while others jumped, danced, and headbanged, united in exhilaration. 

“You guys are amazing!” James said. He was covered in sweat and I was salivating. The man was a definition of aging like fine wine and my daddy issues were showing. 

I turned to Dean who was hypnotized, his eyes never leaving the stage. 

"Would you give me a hall pass if I cheated on you with James?"

Dean arched an eyebrow, a playful smirk crossing his face. “James, huh?”

Amusement in his eyes, he added. “If you think I’m letting you run off with a rock star, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Really?” I smirked.

“You’re mine—rock star or not.” 

I couldn’t help but laugh at Dean’s reaction. “You think I’d leave you for James Hetfield? Really?” I teased, arching an eyebrow. His playful jealousy was endearing, and it warmed my heart.

Dean smirked, leaning in with that familiar teasing glint in his eyes. “Just making sure you know where my head’s at,” he said, his tone light but with an edge of seriousness.

“Rock star or not, I’m the one who gets to take you home.” He chuckled, and I could see the warmth in his gaze. “It’s you and me against the world, always.” At that moment, I felt a rush of affection, knowing our bond was stronger than any fleeting fantasy.

As the opening notes of Until It Sleeps fill the venue, the crowd erupts into a frenzy, a sea of raised fists. The energy was electric, and I felt the pulse of the music vibrating through me as everyone swayed together, singing along with wild abandon.

Beside me, Dean’s face lit up with pure joy, his excitement infectious. I glanced at him, my heart swelling with happiness, knowing this moment was deepening our connection. Surrounded by the thrumming bass and the roar of the crowd, I realized this night will be one we’ll always treasure. The crowd swayed around us, but at this moment, it was just us. He sang every word with fervor, and I couldn't help but join in.

The set list was out of this world: Whiplash, Too Far Gone? Welcome Home (Sanitarium), No Leaf Clover, The Call of Ktulu, and Moth into Flame are just a few they chose. 

During Wherever I May Roam Dean and I were screaming every word so hard that I knew our vocal cords would hate us later. We would usually listen to that song after every successful hunt. It became a staple, a reminder of why we do what we do, and a beacon of hope. 

“HOLY SHIT!” I shouted at him with a huge grin on my face.

“HOLY SHIT!” Dean shouted back and kissed me.

The band was looking so good.

I loved seeing Robert jamming with the fans with his signature long and beautiful braids while absolutely nailing every note on his base and Kirk just being Kirk and owning the stage in his green leather jacket. Lars was an absolute beast even at 60 years old. 

When they started playing Inamorata, James took his time to walk around the stage while playing his guitar and smiled at us all. I could see his face as clear as day: his blue eyes had that sparkle of happiness; he had been doing this for decades and you could still see how much it made him overjoyed to see people enjoying his band's music, his smile was infectious and captivating and I couldn't believe he was standing right in front of me. 

I turned to see Dean – he was completely mesmerized, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, staring at James as if he were witnessing a miracle. I chuckled softly, knowing he was the happiest man alive. It was beautiful to see this vulnerable side of him, and I couldn’t help but lean closer, sharing in his joy as the music enveloped us.

The next two songs were Blackened and One. To be completely honest I forgot about Blackened. I was so high on adrenaline, oxytocin, and serotonin that I couldn't remember the song and I was too embarrassed to ask Dean about it. I knew it was an old song, a classic, and I knew Dean would give me a death stare so I kept my mouth shut and listened to him sing (yell). 

After the forgotten song James and his bandmates decided to rip our hearts out.

The ominous sounds of distant gunfire and explosions played through the speakers and the crowd fell into a hushed reverence. The chilling audio of war set an intense backdrop for the song that used to make me cry. The moment I recognized the opening notes of  One, a thrill shot through me, and I felt my pulse quicken in anticipation. It was as if the world around me faded away, leaving only the haunting melody that resonated with the depths of my soul. I never thought I would hear this song live. My dad showed me the music video when I was eleven (my mother was furious, and thought it was inappropriate) and I cried my eyes out, but loved the song. I rarely listen to that song though, it was too raw and reflected sorrow and despair in a way I knew far too well. 

Dean took my hand and placed a soft kiss as James started to sing. I pulled him by his shirt and kissed him, wanting this moment to last forever. He cupped my face pulling me closer, ignoring the sound of people around us screaming the lyrics. It was just me and him, always. 

When I broke the kiss I was inches away from his face. 

As the crowd roared and the lights pulsed, I turned to Dean, adrenaline still rushing through me. With One echoing around us, I blurted out, “I love you.”

Time froze as surprise washed over his face, vulnerability breaking through his bravado. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice barely audible over the music. At that moment, amidst the chaos, I saw that beneath his tough exterior, he was just as scared of love as he was of losing it.

His eyes locked onto mine, and a slow smile spread across his face. “You mean that?” he asked, his voice softening amidst the music.

Before I could respond, he pulled me close, his arm wrapping around my waist. “I love you too,” he whispered in my ear.

At that moment, surrounded by the concert’s chaos, everything felt right. 

Throughout the concert, I took a couple of videos and even got a picture of James shredding his guitar for my new phone wallpaper, but nothing could prepare me for the next song.

“ARE YOU STILL ALIVE?” James said as the opening riff of Enter Sandman sliced through the air, the arena exploded into a frenzy of energy. Lights flashed in sync with the relentless beat, illuminating faces filled with exhilaration. The heavy guitar reverberated through my body, a primal force that united the crowd in a shared heartbeat.

“DEAN!” I shouted, jumping up and down in excitement. 

“I CAN DIE HAPPY NOW!” He screamed. 

Everyone was singing, fists pumping, the raw intensity of Metallica's sound creating a charged atmosphere that felt almost electric. It was a moment of pure chaos and exhilaration, where the music enveloped us, and nothing else mattered.

Suddenly giant yellow and black balls began to fall from above, bouncing energetically into the crowd. They bounced and rolled, creating an atmosphere of pure chaos and fun. Fans reached up, trying to catch them, laughter and cheers erupting as the balls added an unexpected burst of excitement to the already electrifying performance. The sight of those bright, playful orbs amidst the intensity of the music created a surreal, unforgettable experience. One fell on us too as we jumped with other people making it fly to our left. I was trying to take a video but my hand was shaking while I couldn't stop jumping next to Dean screaming and feeling my throat slowly tighten. 

Kirk nailed his solo, while his hair stayed fabulous and James was getting himself ready for the big finale. 

“Hush, baby, don't say a word,”

“And never mind that noise you heard,”

“It's just the beasts under your bed,”

“In your closet, in your head!” 

Dean and I were screaming at each other's faces, filled with nothing but love for one another. 

“Exit light!”

“Enter night!”

“Grain of sand!”

“Exit light!”

“Enter night!”

“Take my hand!”

“We're off to never-never land, yeah”

James voice was so raw, so strong, I was still trying to figure out how he was 61 years old. 

“Boo!”

“Yeah-yeah!”

“Yo, whoa!” 

The song ended. I was already getting sad because I knew it was the end. I checked my phone and it was almost midnight. 

The song finished and we all cheered and clapped wanting more.

I heard people yell encore, but after 15 songs they were done. Lars threw his drumsticks at us and someone behind us caught it. He said thank you but the crowd was so loud I couldn't hear him. Until he got in front of the microphone and said: “You were amazing tonight! Thank you for coming!” 

We all screamed even louder. Robert came and tossed a couple of picks and people in front of us were fighting to catch it. He threw five picks in total, covering every part of the pit.

“Come on! I want one!” Dean yelled. We were all still clapping. 

“Wait for Kirk! We are close!” I told him. 

He indeed came next and blessed fans with a couple of picks, but Dean was now too close to catch one and it flew right above his head…

“DAMN IT!” 

James, covered in sweat and looking like a God came right in front of us. I was standing there, completely ignoring Dean and trying to remember every corner of that man's face. While I was in Neverland and watching James throw his picks I didn't even register Dean screaming my name. 

“(Y/N)!” 

“Huh?” I snapped back finally and saw him holding a small white pick that had White Fang written on it.

“OH MY GOD!” I yelled. 

“I DID IT!” He yelled back. 

I loved seeing my man truly happy. I loved that band and I loved everything about that day. 

***

Getting out of the venue was a nightmare. The crowd surged around us, bodies jostling and voices blending into a chaotic mix of excitement and exhaustion. I clung to Dean’s arm, grateful for his steady presence as we stepped into the cool night air.

“That was insane,” I said, smiling up at him. He grinned back, eyes still shining with adrenaline. As we navigated through the sea of fans, I felt a rush of happiness, knowing we had shared something truly unforgettable.

“That was incredible!” Dean exclaimed, his voice full of energy. “ Best night ever! Best birthday ever!” His smile widened as he looked at me, clearly still buzzing from the concert. 

My legs were in pain, I was thirsty and sleepy but it was all worth it. 

We were back in our hotel room 10 minutes later, both covered in sweat ready to sleep. 

I took off my clothes right away, feeling like my legs were on fire. 

“I'm in so much pain!” I complained. 

“I cannot feel my legs!” Dean said. 

“I'm gonna shower. Wanna join?” I was in my underwear standing next to him waiting for him to stop staring at my boobs.

“Coming!” He simply said and started taking off his pants while his eyes never left my boobs. I loved the fact he loved my body. I, like any woman in this cruel “man's world” sometimes would look at myself in the mirror and just hate what was staring back at me. His little stares were a strong reassurance that I was bullshitting.

Usually, showers meant fooling around (shower sex was complicated), but we were too tired for anything but kisses. We lazily washed ourselves in silence, kissing each other here and there. 

“So you love me, huh?” He smirked between kisses. I just smiled at him as the warm water was pouring down my back. 

“Yeah, imagine that! You're loveable,” I said as I was shampooing his hair. His eyes were closed but his mouth formed a small o. 

“Well…” 

“Shut up!” I told him. 

After we were all nice and clean it was time to finally get some sleep. I put on a clean pair of underwear and Dean's old Led Zeppelin shirt I also “borrowed” and he put on a clean pair of black boxers. 

We snuggled underneath the blanket, my head resting on his chest, feeling my body slowly relaxing and falling asleep. 

“You really think I'm loveable?” Dean asked, suddenly. I was half asleep, but this question tore my heart a little and now I was wide awake. I knew he thought he was unworthy of love, unlovable, unclean and it made me incredibly sad, especially because he was the definition of a hero with a heart of gold. 

“It’s hard to not fall in love with you, Dean. If you could only see yourself through my eyes, you would understand,” I told him and lifted my head and kissed him, but this time deepening the kiss. I was tired, and my body was in pain, but the urge to be close to him, to love him, was consuming me. He moaned into the kiss and immediately got on top of me. My hands went in his damp hair. 

We kissed for a while, our souls intertwined, our bodies keeping each other warm before his hand went into my now wet panties, his finger entered me making me arch my back, moaning even louder into the kiss. I was still in pain, but Dean's touch was slowly healing me until all I could feel was pleasure and love. His finger suddenly left my panties and I was left needy and desperate, but he wasted no time and took off his boxers, his dick fully hard. “Lift your hips, sweetheart!” He demanded and I did, letting him take off my underwear. 

He kissed me again before he positioned himself between my legs and entered me. I was so wet and desperate that I took him all instantly. 

“You feel so good!” He whispered, his voice deep and raspy, sending shivers down my whole body. I dug my nails into his back as he started to move, light moans escaping my lips.

We were one. One soul, two bodies, always. 

“Dean!” I moaned pathetically over and over again as his pace became more erratic. I was so close, so so close.

“God, I love when you say my name!” He managed to say as his face was buried in my neck. “Say it again!” He said and slammed into me. 

“FUCK, DEAN!” I screamed, digging my nails into his back, even harder. I could feel the orgasm coming like a tidal wave. 

“Oh God!” He moaned into my ear and slammed into me over and over again. 

My toes curled, my whole body stiff as my skin was covered in goosebumps. An intense wave of electricity rushed through me as I came so hard I could see stars. Dean didn't stop until he came into me, filling me up completely. I'll have to worry about potential pregnancy tomorrow since we completely forgot the concept of condoms. 

We were both breathless, covered in sweat, and panting in each other's faces. 

“Best birthday ever?” I asked him.

“Best birthday ever,” he smiled. 

I was not ready to check out tomorrow. I was not ready to board that plane and say goodbye to this hotel room. I was not ready for this to end. 

As I was laying on his chest, slowly drifting away with my thoughts and as my body relaxed and felt heavier with each passing minute, Dean was playing with my hair and before I started dreaming I heard him whisper:

“I love you so much, sweetheart.” 

[feligayzed]

YEAH IM HERE AGAIN ABOUT TO ASK ABOUT YOUR FUNNY FISH MAN AU YEAH THATS RIGHT

Okay okay, so we've seen you absolutely are a firm believer in Animal sounds and behaviors Sebastian right?

Now it makes me curious.. do you think some of these habits he ever accidentally carried over into being back to his mostly human daily life? Whether is be some sounds, old behavior he just didn't scrap, or otherwise; any of them that might've stuck with him?

🥹🥹🥹 I'M SHAKING I THOUGHT YOU'D NEVER ASK

Oh they absolutely do ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ very much so. Wayyy back I was supposed to draw up some scenarios about this specific thing in mind but uh. Oopsie *executive dysfunction blast*

Being a Creature for over a decade comes with its quirks, many of which are not easy to shake...not that he'd even care to try to, tbh. Old habits die hard and he's just tired, man, he couldn't be bothered to rein it in to appeal to the public anymore— this is as good as it's gonna get and if you have a problem you can take it up with the wall

That being said, let's talk about em!! The most obvious is his lil ear fin thingies; they still very much respond to emotion and he's actually become quite reliant on them for nonverbal communication. As a matter of fact, he didn't realize just HOW much he relied on it until after his big ole tail disappeared and he remembered rather quickly that humans have extremely limited variations of social cues (no this isn't an autism moment what pfft.....totally)

Smiling was also an adjustment he had to acclimate himself to. He couldn't recall when baring his teeth became a sign of aggression/fear to him, but the discomfort other (well-meaning) people brought him was realized very early on. On that note, he tends to get snarly when troubled or anxious, so. A good chunk of the time LOL. A small inconvenience happens and his lip is twitching

AS FOR NOISES his vocal chords were pretty much returned back to normal, so physically he isn't capable of a lot of the ones he used to be able to do, but that doesn't mean he won't give it his best shot. Unconsciously. He never tries to purposefully recreate any of the sounds because he just assumed they would make themselves known whether he liked it or not LMAO (it would be because. Embarrassing. But he bid farewell to his dignity a LONG time ago and now he's just resigned). Like if he stubbed his toe or some shit he would hiss from deep in his chest, and that's about the extent of his current range 😭 now me personally I like to think that he can purr still but it is a Deep Dark Secret the likes of which are career-ending

And now misc thangs 🕺

he was weird about food for quite a while, and it took a lot of work with Pai to get over it. This kinda looked like: refusing to eat anywhere other than his room, refusing to go out for dinner, staring long and hard at the raw meats section in the supermarket and consequently making the butcher uncomfortable. You get the idea

He'll instinctively reach for his non-existent lure when he enters a dark room, effectively grabbing at nothing

Avoided bodies of water at all costs for a hot minute. Took to washing his hair in the sink while he begrudgingly worked through some things with his lovely spouse whom he is so grateful for

His bed? Nest. Painter? Making it every morning without fail

He doesn't have to worry about shedding anymore but the Trauma of the experience was so great, he is thoroughly lotioned

[cassiebones]

Happy birthday to @imyouraziraphale and here is your bday ficlet

Agatha hated her mother. It had taken her quite a while to admit that to herself, let alone aloud to the only person who may have had an equal hatred for Evanora Harkness: Rio Vidal.

Agatha had spent her entire life trying to earn her mother's love, watching the other children in her coven receive their mothers' love so freely and openly. Agatha was envious of them from the beginning, glaring at them as a small child, watching as they held their mothers' hands and received hugs and kisses that Agatha never got from Evanora.

Instead, she received whacks on her behind. She received sharp-tongued insults and admonishments for...well, she often didn't know what she had done wrong, but she always replied with the same four words: "I can be good!" Her mother scoffed at those words, but Agatha still tried. She wanted to be good so badly. For her mother.

Whom she loved.

But then her mother had tried to have her executed and Agatha had to confront the fact that, while she had loved her mother, her mother had not loved her.

It still took a decade to really come to terms with it. It took another decade before Agatha realized that she did not love her mother at all. She loathed her. She was happy that she was dead, rather than relief, which had been her first reaction despite her guilt at the killing.

Rio was right there with her, hating her mother. She had watched Agatha's execution, staying silent with the knowledge of what was about to happen. It hadn't been Agatha's time; Rio knew that. She grinned when all eight of the witches blasted Agatha with their magic, silencing her begging for mercy. She knew what was about to happen and she thrilled at the power this young witch had. She was practically salivating.

The blue rays turned to purple and Agatha's eyes widened in shock as she involuntarily drained the other witches of their magic, of the lives. Her eyes widened further as the euphoria of siphoning hit her, the relief that came with it. She released her hands from their bindings and faced her mother head on, though she was once again begging for mercy. Mercy that a mother should not be begged for.

"Please!" Agatha had said. "I can be good!"

"No," Evanora said, sighing as if the information disappointed her, "you cannot." She blasted Agatha again, apparently learning absolutely nothing from what had just happened before her very eyes, and had her powers almost instantly drained by her daughter.

Imbecile.

Rio continued to watch Agatha as the young woman stumbled away from the stake, walking toward her mother's body, her chin angled up (though she couldn't truly hide the tears in her eyes) as she leaned down, snatching her mother's locket. Then she flew off like some kind of beautiful bird, leaving Rio gazing after her in awe.

"Who are you?" Rio jumped then glared at the spirit of Evanora Harkness, who was glaring at her with her hands on her hips.

"I am Death," Rio growled at her. "I have come to take you to-"

"You aren't taking me anywhere," Evanora huffed. "I cannot leave this earth until that evil girl has been sent straight to hell, where she belongs!"

"She's not the one who has a spot reserved in hell," Rio huffed, leaning closer. Evanora's eyes practically filled with fire as she refused to move from her spot above her own body.

Rio just rolled her eyes, turning to the other spirits floating around, trying to ignore their wails as they lamented not only the loss of their own lives, but the fear and devastation their children must soon feel once they learned of their deaths.

At least there were some good mothers in this coven, Rio thought bitterly as she collected their souls, ignoring their pleas for more time and protection for their young children. She led them to the other side, ignoring Evanora, who stayed back as she preferred to stay a ghost (Rio hated ghosts, the stubborn bastards), and quickly returned to the land of the living, seeking out the powerful young witch.

She found her sitting beneath a tree by the river, looking out at the water as she played with the locket she'd taken off her own mother's body. As Rio watched her from behind a neighboring tree, she looked down at the locket, glaring at it for a moment, then made as if to toss it into the water....then she didn't. Instead, she placed it into her pocket, then pulled her knees up to her chest, then buried her face into her skirts and sobbed.

Rio felt something in that moment, in her chest. It felt...uncomfortable, beating out a rhythm against her ribcage. She placed her skeletal hand against her chest and closed her eyes, listening. She had heard this sound before. It sounded like...a heartbeat.

That was impossible, though. Death had no heart. Where could that be coming from, though? What could it be if not a heart? Like humans had.

She looked back up at the girl, who rested her chin on her folded arms, her blue eyes deep as the ocean as she stared out at the river, tears still falling down soft, beautiful cheeks. She was so beautiful...

"Show yourself," her voice said, suddenly. "I can hear you breathing. You might as well come out of hiding."

"I do not breathe," Rio huffed. Well, okay, that was a breath. But that was atypical for her. She schooled her features, putting on the visage of a girl approximately this one's age, and stepped out of the shadows.

The girl's eyes widened at the sight of her, her cheeks turning pink. Rio felt the rhythm of her new heart pick up in response. The girl stood as Rio approached her. Up close, she was even more gorgeous than Rio had first thought. She was the most beautiful human that Rio had ever seen (and she'd been around since the very first humans died, so that was truly saying something).

Her hair was long and dark brown, a contrast to the bright blue eyes. Her skin was almost as pale as the moonlight, but her cheeks were still pink, showing her the proof of the heart that pumped in her chest, the blood that ran through her veins. She was still pulsing with the power of eight witches, plus her own. She seemed to glow with it.

Rio swallowed thickly at the sight of her. She'd never had to swallow before. She was not human, not bound by human rules and impulses, but being this close to this woman...she felt distinctly human.

"Who are you?" she asked once Rio was just a few feet away. Rio paused in her steps when she saw the other girl's hands glow purple with her magic.

"I've had many names," Rio said, "over the years. Many have been unkind, but some have been...respectful." She shrugged. "You, however," she smiled at Agatha, softly, "may call me Rio."

"Rio." Oh, Rio's chosen name sounded absolutely musical on her tongue. Her lips wrapped around it perfectly.

"And what is yours?" Rio asked, tilting her head to the side, offering her another grin.

"Agatha," she said, but she offered no surname.

"Agatha," Rio echoed. "Beautiful."

The flush on Agatha's cheeks deepened and spread to the tips of her ears, sending a thrill through Rio. She loved being the one to elicit this reaction from such a beautiful human. She wanted to do it again. And again. And again and again and again.

Until the very end of time.

"Why are you here?" Agatha asked, her voice trying for firm but ending up a little shaky. "What has brought you to my covens' land?"

The coven had set up cabins around the lake just outside Salem. They were close enough that they could go to the markets for food and other materials they might need, but far enough that they could perform spells without alerting the townspeople. These were dangerous times for witches, after all.

"Death," Rio said, simply. Agatha's face blanched, all color leaving her at once. "Not yours, obviously," Rio said. "But there are about eight other corpses in a circle about..." She turned in the direction of the stake, which she could not see through the thicket of trees, "a mile that way. Good job, by the-"

When she turned back, Agatha was running away, her hands sparking purple at her sides, refusing to carry her in flight. Rio rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers, appearing in Agatha's path. Agatha did not react quickly enough to stop and ended up nearly knocking Rio over instead. Rio was sturdy, though, and was able to stay upright. She grasped Agatha's arms, holding onto her as she attempted to run away again.

"Please stop," Rio sighed. "I am not going to hurt you."

"Lies! You will tell the townspeople! I will be tried as a witch!"

"Are you not one?" Rio snorted. "You could have fooled me."

"What do you want from me?" Agatha hissed, still struggling.

"I want to teach you," Rio said, remembering Agatha's pleas from before. Agatha stopped struggling and Rio smiled. "I want to help you. I want you to take more power."

"Take more...why?" Agatha asked, furrowing her brow. "Why would I take the power of others? I've killed them!"

"I saw," Rio said, giving her an almost unhinged grin, it was so excited. "I liked it. It makes my job that much easier."

"Your...job?" Agatha looked Rio up and down, not quite understanding. Rio sighed, closing her eyes as she shifted her features. She didn't open her eyes again. She didn't want to see Agatha's reaction.

Humans had always been put off by Rio's skull-like features. They had screamed and ran and pleaded for her not to hurt them. Agatha had run even from Rio's most attractive visage, so how would she react to--

She felt the fingers brush against her jaw and her eyes opened immediately, staring into wide blue ones. Agatha's gaze was soft as it traced over every ridge and line of Rio's skull, her thumbs brushing over the ridge of her cheekbones. Rio felt hot under her touch, grateful that her skull could not blush lest she be found out.

"Magnificent," Agatha breathed. Rio leaned into her touch, feeling her heartbeat quicken again. Her eyes fluttered closed as she inhaled deeply. Rio's hold on Agatha loosened, but the other woman did not move away. Instead, she stepped closer, her fingers now running over the place where Rio's lips would have been. "So beautiful," she breathed, her eyes going wide and cheeks going pink as if she hadn't meant to say those words aloud.

"You, too," Rio replied, softly, lifting one skeletal hand to cup Agatha's cheek. The other woman gasped slightly, but she too leaned into the touch.

It was that moment that made Rio certain that she would do anything to protect Agatha Harkness, at all costs.

And she did.

For decades, she held Agatha through her night terrors, rocking with her in her lap, pressing kisses to her cheeks and her forehead and her nose and anywhere she could reach as she assured Agatha that she was not evil and that her mother could not get to her. She taught Agatha everything she could about magic, collecting spells for her to place in her own journal, watching in awe as Agatha mastered each one. She watched from a safe distance as Agatha lured powerful witches to her with promises she never intended to keep, collecting their bodies with a smile and a kiss to her love's lips as she ferried their souls.

She proposed to Agatha next to the lake where they first met, pledging her very existence to Agatha, all her love and devotion pouring from her heart. Agatha accepted this proposal by knocking Rio to the ground, placing kisses all over her face, then her neck, then lower.

They married there later that week, neither able to wait much longer to entwine their souls.

Rio vowed to protect Agatha from anything and everything that might do her true harm. She sealed that vow with a kiss that took Agatha's breath away as well as her own.

Over three hundred years later, that still had not changed.

"Leave her," Evanora's ghost said, an evil smile spreading across her lips, "with me."

Agatha's eyes immediately widened with fear as she looked down at her mother. Rio's body flushed with rage, her hand gripping her knife more tightly.

"No!" she growled. "No way!"

She felt Agatha's gaze snap toward her.

"A minute ago, you were ready to slit her throat!" Jennifer Kale (annoying ass bitch that she was) exclaimed.

It's called foreplay, Jennifer!

"Yeah, well," Rio said, still glaring at Evanora, "her mother can't have her!" Over Rio's dead body.

And Rio was Death, so...

Agatha started to descend the steps, eyes locked on Rio, shock and awe in her tear-filled gaze. Rio's eyes softened on hers for a moment before returning her glare full-force to Evanora, who floated toward her. Rio adjusted her stance, unafraid.

This bitch...

She didn't know how to get rid of ghosts. If she did, the world would be rid of each and every phantom that had ever existed. But she'd be damned if she let this particular spooky bitch near her wife.

Not a chance in hell.

So she surged toward Evanora, brandishing her knife. Weapons were typically useless against those with incorporeal forms, but Rio was Death and this blade in her hand, however changed it was by the Maximoff abomination, was still forged for Death, so it must be able to do something, right?

Evanora must have thought so because she moved back, away from Rio as she pointed said knife straight at her, marching forward, ready to slit her throat now (in a very not foreplay way, for the record).

"You are making a mistake!" Evanora cried out, her voice not quite as strong as before. "She will kill you all!"

"Leave!" Rio boomed, using her Death voice. "Go back to hell where you came from, bitch!"

"You--" Evanora tried.

"Leave!" Rio raised the knife above her head and Evanora faded away in a matter of seconds. Her body heaved with her heavy breaths, her glared still fixed on the spot where Evanora had been.

"Rio," a voice gasped next to her. Rio turned, eyes wide, as Agatha surged into her, hugging her again like she had the night before. Rio wrapped her tightly in her arms, squeezing her tight. She felt a few sobs from Agatha's body, but they were so light so as to not be noticed by anybody else. She pressed a kiss to Agatha's temple as she pulled back, cupping her love's cheeks, swiping away the tears on Agatha's skin with her thumb. "You...why did you...?"

"I told you that I'd always protect you, didn't I?" Rio replied, her lips curving up in a tiny smile. "It was part of our vows."

"Your vows!?" Alice exclaimed.

"You two are married?" Lilia asked.

"Of course Agatha would be married to the creepy bitch," Jen huffed.

"Guys, time is running out!" Teen said, pointing at his watch.

"Go say goodbye then," Rio huffed, motioning to the Ouija Board as she continued to hold her wife in her arms. Agatha melted against her body, pressing her face into Rio's shoulder. Rio sheathed her knife and ran her fingers through the tangle of Agatha's curls. Wow, she really liked this hairstyle on her. She wanted to see more of it, for sure.

The rest of the group used the Ouija Board to spell out goodbye, but Agatha and Rio stayed holding one another. Rio pressed a kiss to Agatha's cheek. Agatha pulled back and kissed her lips, running her hands through Rio's hair like she'd done for decades. Rio held her wrists, as she had always done.

"Gross," she heard Jen Kale huff behind her. "Quit making out; the trial is over. We can leave."

Rio didn't stop kissing her wife. But she did take one of her hands off of Agatha's wrist to flip Jen the bird.

Agatha kissed her harder for that.

[akitasimblr]

and this is the finale of mad about dodo! MAD started on the 10th of june and i think we have come a long way! i hope all of you enjoyed the BC, i sure did! the first round was a blast for me in terms of gameplay - i love the chaos, i admit it! 😆 and i grew too much attached to all the contestants and at this point i wish i could marry them with all my single harpers so they would all appear in the family tree <33

@demonicrosebush lucy was a true player. she was graceful since day one and no deserted island will take that off of her. her late night jokes by the fire will be remembered by all contestants too <33 lucy did develop some romance with both martha and daisy flores so... who knows!!

@panicsimss tempest, another pixel that owns my heart! i absolutely adore her and her paranoid trait. who also love her are alejandro and anselme, these three are besties for life!

@jonquilyst quiet and kind lucian was probably the contestant with more friendships! he was dear to everyone, and particularly to me 🤍 oh and maybe hazel too, with whom he developed some kind of romance *wink wink*

@changingplumbob shay was a favourite of mine since day one. she's fun, she's bold, she's awesome! and both lucian and eleina agree with me!!

@mdshh daisy... i love to look at her, hope you don't mind me saying. this girl was never afraid to get her hands dirty, she played hard but fair! i actually like that of all contestants, it was with lucy that she developed a stronger friendship :)

@tipsy-clouds my dear sierra! i have a bittersweet feeling about her second place because she really had a great chemistry with dodo. also interesting to note is that araminta and sierra did develop a beautiful friendship so i hope this softens any broken hearts 🤍

@ethicaltreatmentofcowplants araminta, the first sim to be submitted to this contest and the last to stand <33 araminta went through this challenge with elegance. she won dodo's heart with grace and... a very bold first impression outfit, am i right? 😏🤍

to you and to the other contestants' watchers, my deep gratitude for sending and trusting me your sims, for following their silly adventures, for engaging daily with my posts, you have no idea how that kept me motivated! thank you for being part of this and be sure that all contestants will forever be part of my harpers lives. you were all amazing!

🌴previous | the end🌴

[bigdvmnhero]

relationships: dick & bruce

word count: 5,406

summary:

On the 96th day Bruce didn't call, Dick remembered their old game. Three things he knew: 1) In three months, it would be Dick's death anniversary; 2) Bruce was still missing his check-ins; 3) Here Dick was, persisting. Imagine the things I'd survive, Dick thought distantly, if I loved Bruce less.

Or: Agent 37 and his various crises of faith, on Day 277 at Spyral, Day 150, and Day -0.

"Imagine: to ask and to be answered. Even the son of god knows what it is to beg and be met with silence. —Passiontide, L.T.

i.

On the 96th day Bruce didn't call, Dick remembered their old game. There were two kinds of faith, Dick had tried to tell her—the one children had, and the tired, worn thing you held onto like balloon string long after the POP; the helium-high; the bright yellow of it in smithereens over your good shoes.

Dick had smiled as if to say, Guess what I got.

Her file read: Abigail, ex-military. Current head of the Sisters of the Ascended Veil. Her sneer said: unbeliever. Around her neck, the cross-shaped security pass that would allow Dick's team and several concussed Hadrian girls access to the bunker below the missionary outpost.

Through his in-ear, Helena barked over gunfire, "Get us shelter, Grayson. We'll handle Chang."

Chang, the rampaging meta in the sky. The ground shook with each distant blast. Tiger grunted, "Allah have mercy—" then came a staticky CRUNCH, a sound of which could've been anything from a tungsten rifle or a body, flattened like a sad, watery diner pancake.

Nerve strike, grab the pass, get it over with, Grayson. But Holy Head Honcho had taken one look at Dick and announced a bankruptcy of faith. Like Dick wasn't fluent in the daily death-defying act that was his life. Sure, his Catholicisms were a little rusty. His Talmud, worse. He had a pocket rosary from his mom that was missing two beads. Some of the old Bludhaven PD were severe Protestants, from whom Dick stole a fun Jesus fact he liked to pull out during parties, which was that when Jesus cried out at the ninth hour, a time for the regular ol' lamb sacrifice, Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?—which of course meant, My God, my god, why have you forsaken me?—did you know it wasn't the pain of crucifixion that freaked Jesus out so much, but abandonment? Of separation eternal? How the sin of man, cast on his shoulders, had blackened his soul, cutting him off from his beloved father/brother/self in one?

Your "fun fact" is kind of a buzzkill, actually, Roy told him once. So Dick's experience with religion was a little slapdash. Sue him. It was just funny, was all. The Sisters, serving only God and various iron-fisted strongmen of the south, were said to possess a faith so absolute they could give Lanterns a run for their money—and even then they'd never know the scale of the miracles Dick had seen: 1) In three months, it would be Dick's death anniversary; 2) Bruce was still missing his check-ins; 3) here Dick was, persisting.

Closer now, the orange blitz on the horizon. Abigail stood before the imposing door of the outpost and did not budge. "You insist on entering holy ground with your… polluted soul. Even if what you say is true, Man With No Face, and there is a hidden bunker beneath this land, only the Lord's handmaiden may—"

"Enter holy ground, yes, yes, of course." Dick peered over her purple habit, into the black eye of the CCTV camera. Waved for the whole congregation watching. "Is it the whole… me being a dude thing? Fair enough, but you'll take my girls, won't you? They're just children." Children behind him groaned in a heap of limbs. Stowaway stalkers, really, but under Dick's protection, like all kids by default; a fact that would continue until the end of time. "You love children."

His Hypnos spasmed as Abigail blinked, rebuffing the mental suggestion of care-love-cute aggression.

"Or not?" Dick rubbed the baby fever from his eyes. "Huh. Guess having a maternal instinct's totally passé now."

"Your wicked offspring have no room here, outsider. Adopting strays is not the work of Handmaiden."

"So you'll let me do it for you? Good idea." One more time: the illusion whirled hot behind his eyes, bright as confetti. "You've wanted help for so long. I'll make it easy. I raised a few strays myself, y'know, they turned out great." Dick winced and did not think of Damian, the cold damp square of earth in the ground. "Wow, you're so relieved I'm here, huh? I clean, I cook, I make a kickass French toast—"

Sister Bitch put her hand in his face. "We do not gorge ourselves on the Sabbath. Enough, I can feel your… evil, in my head. Whispering, testing me. But my will is strong, as all my handmaids are." His earpiece crackled again: "WHERE'S MY EVAC, GRAYSON," boomed Tiger's voice, ornery and magnificent, and Dick almost broke character with relief. Abigail moved behind the door to bolt it closed. "If God wills you to die today, Man With No Face, then so be it."

Dick shoved a Hadrian crossbow into the gap. Good metal; vanadium. Dick could kiss it.

"Sorry, God, not dying today."

"You claim to know God's will!"

"Not God's." Dick grinned at her fury-blotched face. "Just a man's."

Earlier, while she'd monologued about his apocryphal nature, Dick had noticed the discoloration on her crucifix. It was the kind that could only come from restless hands. Skin bitten off, nailbed raw and cracked. Was this kinship, then? There was no gun, no gauntlet or secret spy gizmo that could rival the intensity of her conviction, Dick knew that now, except for what he always had, inexplicable and ordinary as his own hands. A battle of devotion was a battle Dick was always going to win.

"Remember? That day, you were careless. You lost everything, in front of so many people, and they—they just watched. But that man… he saved you. Took you in." Dick edged his foot into the door. "You've been falling for so long, Abigail, but he caught you. He caught you."

Abigail's face went slack. Dick felt bad for turning the crankshaft all the way; now her irises began to whirl in time with his—lazy at first, then fast, faster; trenchant like bloody pinwheels.

"Hasn't been easy, huh? Yeah, I hear ya. It breaks you up inside, to be away from everything you love, you even turned to religion. But he hasn't forgotten you." This would never get old: seeing the false memory annex the room in a person's mind, shuffling the furniture, slapping new paint on the walls. "C'mon, Abbie. Don't you remember? How good it all was?"

The early years—warmth traded under a heavy cape—a steady weathered hand on his back, like a new limb, a new wing—careening down dirt highways, soft rock on the radio—wind and rain; tinsel and dazzle—learning to divine the city's thousand moods, its metals—Gotham's rooftops unfolding beneath their feet, a pop-up picture book, and they were the kings of this land—they were winning the games, shooting threes, giving the people what they want—they were burning—burning something holy—

Abigail whimpered. Clutched her head. Dick felt several nerves burst; his or hers?

"He was just one man, but he—" What was he saying now? "He changed the world for you. He changed, for—for—"

Finally, Abigail staggered back, like whatever she saw was unbearable. "Dear God."

Dick reached for her. Panicked, he realized his Hypnos was still churning, memory after over-saturated memory, an engine with no kill switch. He fought a wave of tinfoil-flavored nausea. Found his feet. He'd been abridging the images as they streamed out of him—cutting Bruce Wayne out of The Batman to spare his identity—only for his feelings to cloud the system, a poison agent too sticky and hot and impossible to delineate. All he wanted, dammit, was to make her like the man, the way socialites and fanboys did—or at least dip her finger in the pool of Dick's great unpayable debt—so she'd open the bunker gates once Dick asked. Blood sprang up his eyes; the world lurched Looney Tunes-style. Imagine the things I'd survive, Dick thought distantly, if I loved Bruce less. Too late now, anyway; the Hypnos was still free-wheeling—an infinite carousel ride from hell where Dick was both the prancing horse and its white-knuckled passenger; he was in all the horses, all the seats; in one, he was swearing a candlelight oath—in another, nine years old, dying on a gurney—he was choking on radioactive fumes—he was watching Bruce as he suffocated by Lex's hand and saw the naked, childlike terror on his face, and even then Dick loved him; his wrong god, always too late—

Abigail reached out, seeing in threes. "Batman—"

"Yeah, he—" Another wave of sugary rust, pastel bile. "He's—even after everything that's happened—despite what you feel, he's—worthy. Of your loyalty. Of your—" Dick caught himself on the doorframe. "He has a mission for you."

Fingers clawed at her habit. "I can't—"

"You can. You will." Something too thick to be tears trickled down Dick's cheeks. It stained his teeth when he smiled. "Robin," he said, "that's you."

Abigail collapsed to her knees like someone shot.

The first symptom of Hypnos overuse was a fucked up vestibular system. Leaky Ear, Helena called it. Left was right and up was down was all around. Eventually, Dick made his way through the gap in the door and reached her.

"Oh God—how do—b-but if—" she stammered. "I'm Robin—"

"Yeah," Dick agreed, then with more enthusiasm, "Yay."

"What have I—?" She grabbed his shoulder like it was a ledge she was falling from. "I'm failing him."

"Not yet. There's still time. There's a meta out there, hurting your good neighbors. My friends are taking care of it, but they'll all need evac eventually. They're gonna come knocking, and you're going to let them all in. They'll need food, medical attention. You won't turn anyone away, Abigail, every life is precious, and we don't—what the hell. You know this part already."

"Food, shelter, yes," she mumbled. "I catch people, yes. I'm Robin."

"That you are, and that you do, so now—"

"I'm his partner, yes. His best friend. His—"

"Robin, focus." Dick shook off a dumb hot flash of irritation. "Aren't you gonna tell your ladies to open the bunker?"

In minutes of memory-planting, thirty feet of military-grade steel gates surrounding the outpost slid belowground, revealing the bright green manicured lawn of The Ascended Veil. The Hadrian girls cheered then fainted again. At least Tiger wasn't bellyaching on the comms anymore.

"Great job, Rob," Dick said. Then he blacked out.

(read the rest on ao3)

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Julie Andrews (The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins)—Oh where to start .... I'm not sure I even know how. She's just perfection. And it's not fair I can't bring post 70s work into this, because she just gets better and better, and her drag performance in to die for. But in the era I CAN talk about, she shows she has THE RANGE. Beautiful, feisty, funny, holding her own against Christopher Plummer, Paul Newman, Rock Hudson. Oh she's luminous.

Nadira (Shree 420, Dil Apna Aur Preet Parai)— She had a blast playing the femme fatal in Indian films in the 50s. Also the costumes she wore in Shree 420 are absolutely iconic. It's important to mention that she was Jewish. She was born Farhad "Florence" Ezekiel in Baghdad to an Iraqi Jewish family. They moved to India sometime in the 1940s. The funny thing is that she originally wanted to convert to Catholicism and become a nun but joined the film industry instead as her family desperately needed money. Even though she was unfortunately typecast in femme fatale roles after playing the nightclub entertainer Maya in Shree 420, she always gave 110% to every role she was cast in. Apparently she acted in a German film as well? She was also one of the most highly paid actresses in the Indian film industry and was one of the few Indians to own a Rolls Royce.

This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Julie Andrews propaganda:

"She has such a simple but amazing beauty to her. Not to mention her amazing and melodic singing voice!"

"Roles like nannies and governesses can make us forget how attractive she was! A perfect combination of elegant and adorable, with the most incredible vocal range to boot!"

"Besides having one of the most amazing singing voices ever to grace the silver screen, Julie always had an understated beauty to her that wasn't always shown off on screen. But it's there nonetheless because her characters managed to pull some of the hottest men ever to grace the screen."

"The juxtaposition between carefree Maria and stern but fun Mary Poppins shows the power of the acting of this HOT VINTAGE MOVIE WOMAN"

"Charming, genteel, incredibly charismatic, beautiful, and has an angelic singing voice to boot. Her screen roles as Maria in The Sound of Music and Mary Poppins are absolutely iconic for a reason and she originated several well-known Broadway roles before those."

"the most beautiful woman 12 year old me had ever seen possibly"

"OMG OMG OMG she’s definitely been submitted before how could she NOT but!!!! I loveeee her so muchhhh rahhhh prebby!!!! cool!!!! mary poppins the beloved <33333 some people dislike it but I love jolly holiday so much because it IS a jolly holiday with Mary!!! no wonder that it’s Mary that we love!!!!!"

"I know many people who were taught in singing lessons "when in doubt, pronounce words how julie andrews would pronounce them." THATS CALLED INFLUENCE. THATS CALLED MOTHERING THOUSANDS."

Nadira:

I just submitted a whole list of golden-era Bollywood stars without whom I thought this tournament could not conscionably be considered complete BUT Nadira has got my personal vote for Hottest of the lot. She played a bunch of delicious vamp roles in her youth before graduating to being a creepy spiderlady antagonist type in middle/older age. Rare is the still in which she looks like she's NOT about to gnaw your face off. Yow!

[lightan117]

Cake

Lucanis X FRook (Mage/Mourn Watch)

**This is a little snippet of my ongoing story that I have inside my head. I have no idea what will happen in the game, so I am creating shit to fill my days until I do.**

(Fluffly story)

Daisy didn't know what was going wrong.

She's been stuck in the kitchen for almost two hours, and it felt like the walls were starting to close around her after her second attempt at baking a dessert. It doesn't help that she's trying to rely on memory alone rather than simply caving into asking her mothers for the recipe. It's not that she doesn't want to contact them; she just saw them not long ago. And it went...as well as one would expect.

Daisy and her comrades were on a rather rough mission to stop a group of Venatori mages from disrupting a special rite in Navarra. Once Daisy heard what was about to happen, she grabbed Emmrich and Lucanis to stop them. Of course, the undead turned against them, along with the mages summoning demons every five seconds, which wasn't helping at all. Emmrich and Daisy did what they could to turn the undead while Lucanis took out the mages. Oh no, it gets better. Somehow, the vints managed to pull off summoning a pride demon at the last second. Daisy was cursing left and right over the thought that she should have brought Davrin along to help. Until, of course, they had some unexpected help from her mothers.

Her mothers. How embarrassing.

Madam Valentina Dupont and Lady Catalina Chastain. Two of the small handful of influential women of Nevarran nobility. Of course, the gossip about them is only heard in the quietest of whispers as no one would ever dare to imply that the two ladies (one of whom was married at one point to Lord Adrian Dupont before his untimely demise). Those two ladies, however, were a force to be reckoned with. And it absolutely scared Daisy shitless.

To say that the pressure intensified tenfold while her mothers gave them backup was an understatement. Daisy did the best she could between healing her friends and pushing back more of the undead. Emmrich, of course, was beside her, commenting that her mothers would most likely give her an earful once everything was taken care of. "Shut it, Grandpa, or else I am going to tell them that you were the one who broke Lady Duflur's vase at her salon after one too many glasses of wine." Emmrich shot her a glaring look, which caused Daisy to giggle.

"My dear child, I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Oh? That so? I think I strongly remember you flirting with a serving girl before your lanky limbs decided to uproot from under you, causing you to stumble quite a ways into Lady Duflur's family vase that she never shuts up about. After that, you politely excused yourself, leaving me to deal with the mess I happened to just have walked into." Daisy rounded on the necromancer, pointing a finger in his chest. "Try me, Gramps. You owe me."

"Well then, it seems we've come to an impasse." Emmrich took the girl and spun her around to block an incoming hit for her. Daisy, in turn, let out a magical blast to throw some skeletons backward from them. "And I would prefer if you stop calling me Gramps. I am not that old."

"Never gonna happen, Grandpa!" Daisy called back to him.

Of course, Lucanis shouted at both of them, "If you two would focus for five minutes until this is over!!" Daisy threw the Crow a smile and a barrier over him before returning to the fight again.

Once the mages were dead and the undead themselves had returned to normal—as normal as one would say about the undead—Daisy's mothers, of course, came down upon her like birds of prey. Lady Catalina began fretting over her as soon as Daisy was within reach, pulling on her face, asking if she got hurt, whether any scratches needed tending to, and why she was there in the first place; the questions kept coming until Madam Valentina stepped in. Madam Valentina, being a hard woman, asked Daisy if she was truly hurt, and Daisy replied that she was indeed in good health. Lying to her mothers would put her in even more hot water, so she answered what she could to their questions. That was until Emmrich interrupted with a cough.

"My dear Emmrich, I didn't see you there." Madam Valentina commented with a smirk, which caused Emmrich's eye to twitch in annoyance. "I see you are in relatively good health."

"Madam Dupont, Lady Chastain. It's a pleasure to see you both, as always." Emmrich gave them a short bow. "Fortune smiles upon us that you happened to join our little scuffle."

"Indeed, we were not expecting my daughter to be here, but it seems trouble continues to follow you wherever my dear." Madam Valentina's mouth curled upwards into a smirk. "Who is your friend, my child? You have yet to introduce us officially. I'm afraid last time was cut rather short."

"Oh! Forgive me, mother, this is Lucanis Dellamorte. Lucanis, this is my mother, Madam Valentina of House Dupont. Besides her is Lady Catalina Chastain." Each lady gave a short curtsy in response. Lucanis went to bow in return, but Lady Catalina broke the formality of the meeting with a rather unladylike squeal.

"Oh my dear, this is the Crow you've written us about!" Lady Catalina smiled brightly as she gushed over the revelation. Daisy felt her face heat up at the sudden disclosure of information in front of said Crow. She could feel his eyes on her as she stared down her mother in shock.

"No, my dear. I believe this is the same Crow that threatened to kill the rat-face man should anything happy to our dear." Madam Valentina admitted, which caused Daisy to suddenly direct her attention to the Crow, who found himself looking anywhere but the woman next to him. "I must say, Dellamorte, you being so protective of my daughter was surprising, to say the least. It's lovely to know my daughter has such devoted friends." Emmrich, being the gossip that he is, continued to make fun of his two comrades until it was time to leave.

Hours afterward, Daisy found herself in the lighthouse kitchen, trying her hardest to create a simple cake from memory. Seeing her mothers again when she was not at death's door brought back faint memories of Lady Catalina coming to their home with sweets to share between them. Those moments of happiness were few in her childhood and very precious. With the friends she'd made along the way, she wanted to bring them a piece of that happiness. Even if it was just for a few moments.

Now, if she could only figure out why the cake wasn't tasting like she remembered,

"What did she do, add lyrium?!" Daisy threw her hands into her hair to stop herself from throwing her work against the wall. Sure, the first two times tasted fine, but something was missing. They didn't taste the same. "I am not going to call her, I am not going to call her, and I am certainly not going to call her."

"You are still down here?" A voice shattered Daisy's concentration, causing her to spin around with ethereal cerulean butterflies swirling around her.

"Lucanis! Oh, look what you made me do!" Daisy waved her hands around to try to get rid of her unfortunate habit. Lucanis chuckled softly as a few landed on him. "I know I've probably been in forever. I apologize. I'll try to hurry up. Spite hates me, doesn't he?"

"He doesn't hate you, strangely enough. More the opposite, he suggested seeing if you needed any help. I do not wish to bother you if you want to be alone." Lucanis stepped closer to see what she was making. One half of the table contained two piles of cake, while the other half was covered in every ingredient you could think of to throw into the cake.  

"Honestly, I need some help. For all of the holy undead, I can't figure out why these do not taste as I remember. Something needs to be added." Daisy said as she approached him with her current batter. Lucanis rarely saw their Rook in this state, covered in flour and stunning in an apron. When they first met, he thought she was annoying and borderline childish. Her always sunshiny disposition confused him, and it was her outlook on death that continued to confound him every time they fought alongside each other. But over time, Lucanis witnessed the kindness she held for everyone, living and dead. Daisy prayed even for the vints they fight everyday even when no one bothers to do so. She forgives people who have wronged her and leaves them frustrated that she does not show more anger towards them. And when Spite appeared in front of her when he lost control...

Daisy could have demanded him to leave. She could have killed him on the spot, but all she did was smile and say everything would be fine as he held a dagger to her throat. Her eyes held no anger or pity, just a softness that he hungers for with every moment they are caught together. Spite lost that fight then and retreated back inside Lucanis with no words. Spite was quiet for a long while after that and softly spoke Daisy's name from now on.

"Lucanis?" A hand waved before his face, drawing his attention back to the woman before him. "Spite talking to you again? Does he want something?" She sounded so concerned for him, and his heart continued to ache.

"Yes, he's interested in trying your creation. What is it supposed to be?" Lucanis could hear Spite calling him a coward and a liar inside his head.

"All I know is that it's supposed to be a citrus cake. Lady Catalina would always bring one over for tea, and I swear I almost ate the whole thing once. Since seeing them, I've find myself craving it. Not sure if she even-" Something wet hit Daisy's face. Lucanis chucked when she stood there, annoyed when she realized the crow had just taken the spoon to splatter her face. "Really?"

"I blame Spite." He smiled that dazzling smile that made Daisy's knees just a tad weak. He brought the spoon back to her face, but it was much closer to her mouth this time. In that short span of what felt like forever, Lucanis's head slowly lowered, his tongue eagerly tasting the batter on her lips before sealing his mouth over her own. When his lips touched hers, her eyes fluttered closed, and a sigh came from deep inside her. She neither fought him nor responded, but the shock wore off as his lips moved gently over hers.

With a mind of their own, Daisy's hand lifted, slipping around his lean waist while her other hand shakily placed the bowl on the table. Beneath her fingers, she felt the softness of his shirt and the firm muscled flesh beneath. Lucanis deepened the kiss immediately as he sensed her blooming response, no longer pleading but demanding. His own hand reached up to cradle her neck, tilting her face the way he wanted to as his tongue took to exploring her mouth with a thrust of possession. His other hand drifted to her waist, pulling her even closer to him where she was flushed against him. She could feel the heat of his body burning her like a band, adding fuel to the fire raging within her. Daisy wanted more, craved it, and didn't care who could walk in on them at that moment. She wanted to drown in whatever Lucanis was feeding her from his sinful mouth.

Lucanis's mouth finally left hers, returning to give her soft pecks before resting his forehead against hers. His nose rubbed against hers as he muttered words against her pleading lips. "What?" Daisy muttered back.

"Almonds." He gave her one more peck. "It's missing almonds." Daisy pulled away gently, blinking up at him with wide eyes. Lucanis chuckled as he watched her process the information he provided to her. When it finally clicked, she spun out of his arms, grabbed the bowl, and proceeded to finish baking. More butterflies emerged from her as she got more excited, words flying out of her mouth quickly in thanks to him and 'Oh how could she not have thought of that.' Once the cake was in the oven, she bounced over to him, took his face in her hands, and then proceeded to pepper his face with kisses.

"Oh, you wonderful man. Thank you!" He stopped her, gently grasping her chin, and slowly brought her to him for another deep kiss before releasing her.

"I call the first slice once you are done, cara mia."

[thefirstknife]

New article with more details (from Jason Schreier who first broke the story). If you can't see it, I'll copy the whole text under read more.

About 100 employees were laid off in total (8%) and one of the main reasons listed is "underperformance," "sharp drop in popularity" and "poor reception of Lightfall."

So you know when for the last year and a half content creators have been shitting and pissing on the game as a full-time job and the amount of negativity and ragebait content became the only thing to make content about for them? Well they certainly won't take the blame, but I will let it be known. These people either don't understand the influence they have or they do and they're doing it on purpose, and I don't know which of these two options is worse, but I am 100% confident that their campaign of rage and hate contributed to this.

You don't base your entire community around constantly hating everything about the only game you play (despite clearly not enjoying it anymore) and somehow avoid galvanising thousands and thousands of people into perceiving the game negatively. Imagine being employees who have barely worked there for 2 years and the only community reception they've seen is 24/7 hate train for their work and then they get fired because of "poor reception" and "drop in popularity." How can they not take that personally? I am absolutely devastated for these people who delievered a banger product and who were met with an unrelenting barrage of toxic gamer children which ended up having more sway over their boss than them.

Which brings me to the next bit and that's FUCK THE CEO. He is now my mortal enemy #1. I am projecting psychic blasts directly into his brain. What an absolute spineless coward who is more willing to bow down to fucking gamers than to protect his own employees. This is absolutely rage inducing because this has happened before. From the article from 2021 about the toxic culture at Bungie:

Reading this shit from the new article absolutely fucking sent me into blind rage because I immediately remembered this. Another instance of employees suffering because of comments on reddit. And because of toxic players. And proof that leadership is not protecting employees and is instead siding with players.

Match made in heaven. Asshole gamer content creators and asshole CEOs, all of whom sit at home on piles of money made from someone else's labour. I hope they all explode. None of the people that worked on this game deserve this.

Another article with an infuriating comment from the CEO:

In an internal town hall meeting addressing a Monday round of layoffs that impacted multiple departments, Bungie CEO Pete Parsons allegedly told remaining employees that the company had kept “the right people” to continue work on Destiny 2.

"Kept the right people." Really. Veteran composers weren't the right people? Die!

Bloomberg article in full:

Bungie’s decision to cut an estimated 100 jobs from its staff of about 1,200 followed dire management warnings earlier this month of a sharp drop in the popularity of its flagship video game Destiny 2. Just two weeks ago, executives at the Sony-owned game developer told employees that revenue was running 45% below projections for the year, according to people who attended the meeting. Chief Executive Officer Pete Parsons pinned the big miss on weak player retention for Destiny 2, which has faced a poor reception since the release of its latest expansion, Lightfall. The next expansion, The Final Shape, was getting good — not great feedback — and management told those present that they planned to push back the release to June 2024 from February, according the people, who asked not to be identified because they weren’t authorized to speak publicly. The additional time would give developers a chance to improve the product. In the meantime, Parsons told staff Bungie would be cutting costs, such as for travel, as well as implementing salary and hiring freezes, the people said. Everyone would have to work together to weather the storm, he said, leaving employees feeling determined to do whatever was needed to get revenue back up. But on Monday morning the news got worse: Dozens of staffers woke up to mysterious 15-minute meetings that had been placed on their calendars, which they soon learned were part of a mass layoff. Bungie laid off around 8% of its employees, according to documentation reviewed by Bloomberg. Bungie didn’t respond to requests for comment. Employees who were let go will receive at least three months of severance and three months of Bungie-paid COBRA health insurance, although other benefits, such as expense reimbursements, ended Monday, sending some staff racing to submit their receipts. Laid-off staffers will also receive prorated bonuses, although those who were on a vesting schedule following Sony Group Corp.’s acquisition of Bungie in January 2022 will lose any shares that weren’t vested as of next month. The layoffs are part of a larger money-saving initiative at Sony’s PlayStation unit, which has also cut employees at studios such as Naughty Dog, Media Molecule and its San Mateo office. TD Cowen analyst Doug Creutz wrote in a report Monday that “events over the last few days lead us to believe that PlayStation is undergoing a restructuring.” PlayStation president Jim Ryan announced last month that he plans to resign. Many of the layoffs at Bungie affected the company’s support departments, such as community management and publishing. Remaining Bungie staff were informed that some of those areas will be outsourced moving forward.

[eebibly]

(adding to your star dress post) i love lucy doing summons bcuz yeah in the “power of friendship” anime, lucy’s magic power is Literally Friendship. its how we see the more complex side of certain zodiacs too (ex: aquarius, loke, celestial spirit king). its how she gets non-spirits to open up (juvia, cana, yukino, etc) i never needed her to become another brawler to be important

sorry I meant to answer earlier but the draft to my first response, like, disappeared for some reason so I had to rewrite everything~

YOU’RE COMPLETELY RIGHT❕

Lucy may have been a bit of a damsel in distress, but for once that’s almost forgivable because she has a plethora of friends who are ready to fight for her and with her. And it’s not just about her needing to be saved, it’s about the complete trust that they have in one another.

Side note, my least favourite parts are when Lucy is actually in distress, because it feels like Mashima is trying to get anyone to save her but her spirits (especially Natsu. He could fully be passed out, but he’ll wake up just in time to stop a fatal blast. *lazy jazz hands* How romantic). But I digress…

My point being that Lucy is fun because she actually feels like a refreshed, modern take on the damsel in distress. Because she’s not just a waiting to be saved (or, well, she shouldn’t be, but Mashima has trouble keeping his own characters in character), she is smart, reliable and very good at getting people to trust her. And she can choose how she wants to be ‘saved’ and by whom— how cool is that?? Also, despite not being a protector herself, she’s a natural at making the people around her feel safe.

Which is why it hurts so much that her character has basically been rewritten. I don’t have a problem with her being able to fight better, but that doesn’t mean she should want to fight on her own. Her wanting to have the power to protect her friends doesn’t feel like her character has evolved, it actually feels more like she’s devolved. Lucy was the one characters who didn’t need to be powerful in order to protect her friends.

Should her magic power be growing? Absolutely. But not at the expense of her growth as a celestial wizard and certainly not by sacrificing her celestial spirits’ relevance.

[mafwaff]

Meet Nèva. She’s a wild magic sorcerer from Waterdeep. I originally made her for our Waterdeep: Dragon Heist campaign and ended up bringing her in for Icewind Dale. It only makes sense that she was my first Tav for BG3

(First full body render of Néva, LET’S GOO ) Backstory below the cut 🧇

(Be warned, I’m not much of a writer. Hopefully I don’t ramble too much. TBH, this part’s more for me than it is for you)

Name: Néva (pronounced NAHY-va). This is an alias; her real name is Evélynn (ev-AYH-lin) Margaster

Race and Class: half-elf wild magic sorcerer

First Impressions: Elegant, yet sloppy; flirty and reckless. Upon meeting her, she doesn’t seem to take anything seriously and has a way of turning a negative scenario into a chaotically hilarious situation.

~~~~

From: Waterdeep, North Ward

Family: She is a distant part of the Margaster household within Waterdeep. While she doesn’t have any siblings and is not fully involved with her family’s affairs, she does play an important role within a secretive sect of the Margaster family that still hold ties to Asmodeus worship. She’s not too concerned about “playing her role” and doesn’t fully understand what worship entails until it actually affects her… I like to think of it as the equivalent of going to church without realising what you’re doing and why.

Most defining life moment: Evélynn had a wife - Veronica - whom she was absolutely smitten by. Instead of studying over magical tomes and artifacts that might help the family as she was supposed to, Evélynn would shirk her duties to fawn over the love of her life. Lucky for the Margasters, Veronica had an innate gift for tapping into magic and would pick up the slack. Upon one of their many seafaring conquests, the Margasters find a powerful magical armlet that allows the wielder to receive a great boost to their own magical abilities. Evélynn and Veronica were tasked to study it and determine how useful it would be to further the church. Upon the day of their research review, Evélynn was late to the meeting and Veronica took her stead. As Evélynn finally arrived during the demonstration part of the review, something went wrong with the controls and caused a massive magical surge. Evélynn ran toward Veronica and, in doing so, got the brunt of blast. The armlet becomes infused to her upper right arm and shoulder, melting into her skin. When the dust settled and crumpled bodies lay strewn across the ground, Veronica was nowhere to be found. Evélynn, with very little innate magic ability to begin with, was suddenly imbued with uncontrollable power. She fled for her life, distraught at the disappearance of her wife and in fear of the Margasters getting their hands on her and whatever this artifact was. Evélynn changed her name to Néva and hid in plain sight within Waterdeep, living in squalor inside the Yawning Portal. It is later revealed that Veronica’s soul is stuck inside the armlet and powers Néva’s wild magic.

~~~~

Greatest strength and weakness: Néva is an extremely passionate person. This can be to both her benefit and her detriment. It lends way to her resilience in the hardest times, and her recklessness at other times. This recklessness is mainly seen in her hedonistic tendencies towards alcohol and sex, but can be also come out in poor decision-making on the battlefield. Néva is also a pretty broken person (more one why below); she overindulges in booze and promiscuity to forget most days. Her motto is “ I’m here for a good time, not a long timeline”.

Greatest Desire: More than anything, Néva wants to see her late wife again. She wants to make her whole, hold her close and apologize. At the beginning of her adventures in Waterdeep, Néva wants Veronica alive again. However, as she travels the Swordcoast and many of her leads turn fruitless, she settles for being able to see her wife again and say a final goodbye.

Fatal flaw: Néva’s desire to see Veronica again clouds her actions and moral judgements, leading her down some pretty dark paths. Of course, trying to bring someone’s soul back to a body that no longer exists will lead to powerful necromancy, fringe religions and other planar powers, all of which Néva can barely grasp. Yet she must try. If there is a possibility, Néva will gravitate to it even if it’s detrimental to herself and her party members. This had led to some broken relationships and tough conversations between her and her party. Headcannon: Act 2 of bg3 was a big turning point for Néva’s obsession to get her wife back when she meets and learns more about Isobel and Ketheric. She can see it’s possible yet she is faced with what her future looks like (i.e. what Ketheric has become) if she continues haphazardly down her obsessive path. This leads to a positive shift in her desires and by the time she reaches Icewind Dale, she’s really just looking to be able to put her wife to rest.

Worldview: likely existential in the way that she’s grown up in wealth through conquest. Néva recognizes how blunt and cruel the world is and that if you want to be happy, you have to carve it out yourself. Even after Veronica is gone, Néva’s main coping strategy is to “enjoy” life in whatever that might entail in the moment. It leads to some chaotic shenanigans and drunken mistakes.

Three adjectives: flirty, vibrant, hedonistic

Personality quirks: dresses elegantly but rarely wears dresses, loves a good bottle of red or two…, has a mean rbf, has way too fancy a palate for living in squalor, likes to listen poetry recited in song form, sleeps at the strangest hours

~~~~

Other Random Facts:

the armlet ended up melting into Néva in the rough shape of a butterfly (think kintsugi); coincidently, many of Néva’s spells take the shape of a butterfly;

Néva wears a blue ribbon in her hair that used to be Veronica’s necktie (I really wanted to add this because it reminded me of butterfly wings, but it’s really a awkward angle and ends up looking pretty stupid when I draw her head turned. I’ve dropped this for now and edited the drawing.)

She has used illusion-based cantrips (namely thaumaturgy) to turn tricks at the Yawning Portal (she really should be a bard…)

Bg3 specific: when Néva first met Gale, she was immediately on edge that another Waterdavian who might know her and her family was in the party…she gets more comfortable as time goes on and they have this missed connection sort of thing; Néva initially gravitated to Shadowheart, but something that she did/said during their wine night in act 1 reminded her too much of Veronica, so Néva chose to distance herself; Néva’s dream visitor took the form of Veronica… she immediately knew the dream visitor wasn’t who they claimed to be, but it felt so real that she was okay suspending her disbelieve for a while; Néva ends up with Astarion in a kind of “birds of a feather” way (more doodles exploring this later) - initially, she sees him as a distraction and ultimately uses him in a similar way that he uses you; when he opens up in Act 2, Néva has to reevaluate how she sees relationships and physicality again; the events of act 3 give them plenty of opportunities to open up to each other and learn more about each other’s sorted pasts…Néva would have shared more about her late wife; after the events of bg3, I’d like to think they travel together to search for a way to walk in the sun and a way to separate a soul from metal

[prismaticpichu]

as someone who has only played part 1 of the 7 remake, can u briefly explain why sephiroth is considered "good" by the fandom? im curious!!

Oh no… you’ve awakened the beast within! 😂❤️

Just kidding!! I’d be honored to answer, my friendo! 💕

~

In short, Sephiroth was technically always good once upon a time, even back in the og game. A huge staple of this man’s origins (as found out through a flashback) is the fact that he wasn’t born evil, wasn’t raised evil, but was rather a revered war hero who descended into madness—all of which is captured in a tragedy dubbed “The Nibelheim Incident.” (Aka a fiery massacre Sephiroth commits upon learning about his half-alien anatomy and 7 days of sleep deprivation). It’s made pretty clear (at least imo) that these circumstances turned Seph into a monster, and that the real Sephiroth was someone who died amid those 7 days. This is also corroborated by a very famous line by Zack (Cloud’s bff) that goes “You’re not the Sephiroth I used to know!” (Because the Sephiroth he used to know, the hero, is not the person standing at the end of his blade.)

So… there is that! But while OG FF7 does give us this foundation, and people absolutely enjoyed the little bits of sane!Seph that were fed to us through this flashback, it wasn’t until another game—a prequel—called “Crisis Core” that really took Sephiroth’s “pre-Nibelheim” self (the “war hero” part) and ran with it. Explored it, more like, and stretched it out to an incredible degree. It was in this game that we were really introduced to a Sephiroth who wasn’t evil; a Sephiroth who had two best friends; a Sephiroth who cared about his comrades and really wanted nothing more than to protect them. And it’s here that fans (myself included lmaoooo) absolutely love to HOARD these kind!Seph moments like precious gems.

A few noteworthy acts that contribute to Seph’s good heart:

• Saving Zack from a blast of fire

• Training Zack when his mentor deserts

• Offering to donate his blood upon accidentally injuring his best friend, Genesis

• Refusing to kill his best friends when they turn against the company he’s loyal to

• Goes out of his way to check in on Zack and allows him to return to Aerith (his gf) when her home is threatened.

• Overall just has a caring and patient aura about him.

I’d say this is where a majority of the “good” Seph fandom love comes from <333 Again, it’s always been a part of Seph’s origins that he was once a good fellow, but it was this game in particular that really expanded it—really fleshed out the human side of his DNA, really made him more empathetic than he ever was. And boy did it make his downfall hurt all the more in Crisis Core’s version of Nibelheim.

(Also worthy to note that, in regard to his fiery rampage, there is a lot of evidence pointing towards him being possessed. Nothing is confirmed, but it does cushion some of the initial fall. Absolutely not a justification—not an excuse—but it really just goes to show how this man was not himself when he crossed that threshold into villainy. He wasn’t the Sephiroth people knew.)

There is also Ever Crisis wherein teenage Seph is seen guiding some SOLDIERs around before the events of Crisis Core (the likes of whom he wants desperately to protect). But i’ma refrain from saying too much about that one bc we don’t have the full story of that one yet! ;3 💕

[weaverpop]

There has to have been SOMEONE who pranked Azure with catnip at some point, leaving Jing (and whoever else was unfortunate enough to be around) to deal with the aftermath.

Yes. Someone. Could be absolutely anyone! Any one at all-

It’s Wukong. Let’s not kid ourselves.

But that’s fine. We know Wukong would never give azure anything that could hurt him! So what did good ol’ Wukong give him? Common Catnip? Persian? Nope!

…

. . .

. . .

. . .

It’s Dropmore.

You know. That one.

Too Much Nip - Lionsword Fic

Tw implied intimacy, mild swearing

In Wukongs defense they never told him what it does to azure! Only they don’t want others to see it! He thought azure just got a bit loopy! Everyone gets a bit loopy when they get introduced to things like this, it’s completely normal! He just wanted Azure to relax!

How was he supposed to know that Dropmore catnip got azure excited?!

Though, Wukong did not voice any of this. The fierce glare that Nezha was giving him said it all, and Wukong had enough sense to not get himself flayed alive.

Macaque had no such reservations.

“BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!” The six eared bastard was having a blast, watching as Azure kept Jing firmly planted in his lap, refusing to let him move. It wasn’t too out of the ordinary for the couple (it was something that they started doing once they got back together) but… well, the redness of Jing’s face, as well as his careful movements said it all didn’t it?

“How long is this going to last?” MK’s akward voice was enough to calm macaques laughter, and Wukong gave a sigh as Nezha’s glare intensified.

“Not long. About a day. It’s the weak stuff.” He tried to play it off, but the way Jing cringed as azure growled low in his chest was as uncomfortable as it was akward.

“I don’t think he can last an hour.” Jing stressed, and Wukong akwardly rubbed his neck. “Is there any way it can wear off sooner? Like, a tea, or a medicine?”

“Technically, Dropmore Catnip is a medicine. Adding any more may only make him sick.” Tangs voice rang out the shop. Followed by a smack and yelp of pain,likely from his noodle stealing attempt.

Wukong did not look at Nezha’s glare, and looked back at Jing, whom looked a bit desperate now. “Well, I mean, if it’s affecting him… like that, then maybe… that’s what he needs?”

The hollar that Nezha have was ledgendary, and his attempt to strangle Wukong was enough of a distraction for Jing to be carried away by a very eager Azure.

[saintsenara]

i'm on an Alastor Moody kick and have been once again reminded that he'd be extremely shippable (the tortured past! the snark! the magic eye that can see through your clothes!) if fandom was at all fair. so! some moody love for the deranged ships game, even if some of these aren't particularly deranged. Moody/Tonks, Moody/Bellatrix, Moody/McGonagall, Moody/Crouch Sr., Moody/Lupin, and Moody/Lucius.

(bonus round: what's your fave Moody ship? i was genuinely on board with Moody/Tonks the first time i read the books to the point that remadora blindsided me badly)

thank you very much for the ask, anon! which had some overlap with a second batch of ships for the man, the myth, the legend alastor moody:

so let's get into it!

alastor moody/nymphadora tonks

i am afraid i can never get into this as a pairing because tonks and moody have the exact vibe of my two cats, one of whom is big and tired and the other of whom is small, cheeky, and desperate for his approval. he just wants to sleep in the laundry basket without her coming to sit on his head! moody, in much the same vein, just wants to be constantly vigilant without her giving out about it being cold in the sky or pestering him with questions about who it is he knows that blasted their own arse cheeks off with an improperly-stored wand.

i accept that this may, for many other people, be the exact appeal.

bellatrix lestrange/alastor moody

while in disguise as moody, barty crouch jr. heavily implied that the two of them had a torrid little affair in the late seventies. this was a lie - bellatrix either wants a man with a nose or a man without one, not someone faffing about on the fence with half.

minerva mcgonagall/alastor moody

i fully back this one, on account of the fact that celts need to stick together.

and - of course - that moody [even if he wasn't really moody at the time...] needed disciplining for his behaviour after transfiguring draco malfoy into a ferret.

barty crouch sr./alastor moody

an absolutely huge potential for shenanigans here.

we know - for example - that moody is raging about crouch agreeing a plea deal for igor karkaroff, and i also can't imagine that crouch had much time for moody's more paranoid traits… not least because they had the potential to uncover what he'd done with his son.

all of which is to say… there's a hot premise lurking here, either for enemies-to-lovers or the equally exciting enemies-to-enemies-who-fuck.

remus lupin/alastor moody

i back this entirely. it's clear on several occasions in order of the phoenix that moody has appointed lupin as his right-hand man, and that he trusts and respects any information lupin provides for him.

[lupin also insists on accompanying bill to look for moody's body in deathly hallows.]

which means we have to speak frankly... lupin was clearly having a bit of fun on the job in his year living at grimmauld place. and it wasn't with tonks or sirius...

lucius malfoy/alastor moody

Malfoy, whose pale eyes were still watering with pain and humiliation, looked malevolently up at Moody and muttered something in which the words "my father" were distinguishable.   "Oh yeah?" said Moody quietly, limping forward a few steps, the dull clunk of his wooden leg echoing around the hall. "Well, I know your father of old, boy... You tell him Moody’s keeping a close eye on his son... you tell him that from me."

canon.

alastor moody/lord voldemort

which had its own request, from a lovely anon.

i genuinely really back this one, because - much like pairing voldemort with barty crouch sr. - it offers so much potential for political shenanigans.

moody was obviously hugely important during the first war - not only to the order, but within the ministry-coordinated response to the death eaters - and so i think that we can assume that he had numerous opportunities to meet voldemort for a bit of… back room negotiation.

after all, what are we told in canon? that moody never killed voldemort's forces if he could help it. why? because forcing your situationship to come arrange the release of hostages is a god-tier way of getting round his refusal to text you back.

[i also think there's something really interesting which could be done with the fact that moody's body is altered so profoundly by the course of the first war. just like voldemort's.]

when it comes to these two as each other's teenage sweethearts, i will... also back it.

i agree that moody and voldemort are probably roughly the same age - and i'm also quite invested in the idea of moody, given how paranoid and off-putting he is, being in slytherin. while there's a clear discrepancy in both the looks [there's no suggestion moody's much of an oil painting even with his original face] and the social status [moody doesn't strike me as somebody who'd be willing to pretend to enjoy the slug club, for example, whereas voldemort has a much greater tolerance for the act] departments, i have a great fondness for the teenage voldemort simply being annoyed by someone into a life-long relationship.

they could wile away the hours yapping about foe glasses and coming up with increasingly unhinged conspiracy theories about dumbledore.

pure romance.

barty crouch jr./alastor moody

flopping.

barty had a go - obviously - because teaching a full course load after you've been under the imperius curse for a decade must be mind-bogglingly stressful, but moody wasn't having it.

barty retreated to his room with his series of long-lens paparazzi pics of seventies-era voldemort on holiday.

alastor moody/horace slughorn

slughorn tried to woo moody once, but he became convinced that the bouquet of roses slughorn turned up on his doorstep brandishing was cursed and punched him in the face.