#I’m like queuing post now look at me all professional

[reidingandwriting]

Speak Now (Hotch’s Version)

Chapter Two: i can see you

“I could see you being my addiction, you can see me as a secret mission”

Word Count: 2,200 words

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Warnings: Criminal Minds level of violence described, definitely Not how solving cases goes but!!, some cursing and some suggestive themes

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A/N: SOOO sorry for the delay in posting! I was at a convention this weekend and my queued post didn’t post for whatever reason :’) Chapter 3 is still scheduled for tomorrow so I hope you enjoy the back to back update!

“We’ve got a case,” JJ said and you stood up from your desk to walk to the conference room. You had only been a part of the BAU for two months or so now, but the novelty had yet to wear off yet. Every time JJ announced a new case, you got a rush. A wave of a familiar cologne enveloped you, and you felt an arm brush against your own.

“Sorry,” Hotch’s voice filled your ears, the single word causing a chill to go down your spine.

“No problem,” Your voice came out quieter than you expected and you internally cursed. Where did you begin with Aaron Hotchner? Ever since you met at the FBI Banquet, he had occupied your mind. Your first day, you were pleased that he remembered you and since then, he’s seemed… not quite distant but not quite friendly with you either. Not like he was at the banquet. He was professional as his reputation said he would be, but you were wishing there was more to your relationship. You wanted to lean into the brushed shoulders, you wanted to initiate contact with him, but you didn’t want to jeopardize anything with him, especially being so new to the team. But you let yourself wonder, what would happen if you acted on your impulses? If you let yourself think about it long enough, you could see him waiting down the hall for you. Ideally pressed against the wall, but you digress. You shook your head slightly to clear your thoughts as you walked into the conference room, and you took your seat between Spencer and Emily.

“Alright, my pretties,” Penelope greeted once everyone was seated and you looked up at the screen behind her. “Houston has reached out for our help and this one is a bit of a doozy.” Pictures flashed behind Penelope and you felt your stomach turn a little at the pictures.

“Hello, overkill,” Emily muttered and you hummed in agreement.

“We’ve clearly got a very angry person on our hands. There’s been five victims over the last two weeks, and their kill rate is starting to pick up.” Penelope said.

“They’ve killed men and women, no obvious preference for gender,” JJ said and you nodded.

“Can’t say for certain if they’re victims of opportunity, though,” you said. “I don’t know the exact area they’re acting in, but the victims all seem eerily similar. Hair color, skin color, similar builds… Someone is the object of their aggression but our unsub hasn’t gotten to their target yet.”

“And the kills are getting rushed, more violent,” Derek said.

“Wheels up in twenty,” Hotch said as he started to stand.

“You know,” Spencer started and you glanced over at him, “they look similar to you, Y/N.” The room froze and you felt everyone’s eyes turn to you.

“Don’t even say that about my lovely,” Penelope gasped dramatically and you rolled your eyes playfully at her antics.

“There are some similarities,” Rossi said and you looked up at the pictures.

“Similar features, sure, but I don’t think I’ve done anything to piss off anyone to the point of murder in Houston,” you drawled and the room started to disperse. Hotch stayed in the room, his gaze locked onto you.

“If you feel uncomfortable on this case at any time,” Hotch trailed off and you shook your head.

“I’ll be fine, Hotch. I’m not worried. But I promise, I’ll let you know if I get uncomfortable.”

“Thank you,” Hotch nodded in dismissal and you slipped out of the conference room.

-

A week later, you held an ice pack to your head where you sat in the back of an ambulance as you waited to be cleared. Turns out, they don’t call Spencer a genius for nothing. You were a perfect victim for your unsub- Officer Josh Hann- and you found yourself ambushed by him a few hours ago. You were lucky to only get away with a concussion and a few bumps and bruises. Derek stood beside you, his phone held to your ear.

“Yes, Pen, I promise I’m fine.”

“And how is our Boss Man doing?” Penelope asked and you barely repressed a cough.

“Fine, Pen.” Said Boss Man was currently a few yards away, his gaze glued to you as Rossi talked to him.

“Sounds like the perfect excuse for him to watch over you,” Penelope teased and you felt your cheeks start to burn.

“Bye, Penelope.” Penelope cackled as she hung up and you rolled your eyes then winced. “Ow.”

“I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear any of that conversation,” Derek teased and you kicked out at him, and Derek laughed as he narrowly missed your leg.

“You're lucky my vision is still a little off or I would’ve got you,” you huffed. The paramedic chose that moment to clear you and you slowly stood, grabbing onto Derek to steady yourself.

“Easy, pretty thing. Hotch is already glaring at me,” Derek lowered his voice and this time, you made contact when you stomped your foot. “You know Penelope can’t keep her mouth closed after a little wine. You’re lucky it was just me she spilled to.”

“I would resign immediately if he knew. Just throw my badge and gun as far as I could and run,” you said and Derek laughed.

“You know there’s a wager going on when he’ll find out.” Another stomp to Derek’s foot silenced him as Hotch walked over. Derek dismissed himself when Hotch was a few feet away

“Are you ready to go?” Hotch asked and you nodded, only wincing slightly after.

“So ready. I want to sleep so bad,” you admitted and Hotch hummed in response. You both started to walk to the cars, where the rest of the team had started to load up. “Not ready to be woken up every few hours to make sure I’m still coherent. I think a little risk of brain damage is worth the uninterrupted sleep.” You huffed and the corner of Hotch’s lip turned up into a small smile.

“I’m sure you’re not much worse than Jack is waking up,” Hotch said and you turned to look at him. Sensing your questioning look, Hotch spoke again a second later. “If you’re fine with me checking on you. I just… I’d feel better if I was the one to check on you. You already got hurt on my watch.”

“That wasn’t your fault, Hotch. But thank you.”

The rest of the night was relatively calm, what bits you remember clearly. You would sleep for a little, be woken up and asked a few questions by Hotch, and he would return to his bed a few feet from your own to repeat the process throughout the night. God, his morning voice would live in your memories forever. You weren’t sure what happened that night, but something changed between the two of you. And you had to admit, you liked the changes.

You found yourself paired with Hotch more often when the team split up. Hotch’s shoulders would brush against yours more often, and when Hotch laid his hand on your shoulder one day, you swear your brain short circuited. Not that you would know because you genuinely think you blacked out briefly from the contact, but Emily and Derek would never let you forget it. As time passed, you noticed you were watched by the team more often, especially when you were near Hotch. The day Hotch sat beside you on the plane, you swore you heard a squeal come from Emily before she was shushed by JJ. And this extra time spent with Hotch was great for you, but so bad for your imagination. You found yourself lost in thought more often, like a lovesick teenager. Imagining things with Hotch you know you’d never get to do, knowing he would never reciprocate your feelings. You’d stick with daydreaming for now; pretending he was waiting at the end of the hall for you when you left work. Pretending it was his suit jacket thrown on the floor instead of your own, his want for you high enough to discard his jacket like it was nothing. You could only dream… or so you thought.

You had been working on paperwork from your last case, when Hotch dropped a folder onto your desk as he walked by. You furrowed your brows as you opened the folder, and you could barely keep your expression under control as you read the sticky note inside- Meet me in my office tonight.You had to read over the note a few times for it to really set in and you glanced up, watching as Hotch went upstairs to his office as if nothing happened.

The rest of work passed by agonizingly slow, and you busied yourself with paperwork you had put off from the week. Slowly, the rest of the BAU agents had trickled out; even if it took all your self control to not push Spencer out of the building when he finally left ten minutes ago. You took a deep breath as you stood, and you made your way upstairs towards Hotch’s office. His blinds were already closed and you knocked on his door.

“Come in.” Hotch’s voice was muffled by the shut door and you slowly opened the door. Sweet Jesus, he wanted you dead. Hotch’s jacket was off, tie slightly loosened, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and you swear your brain once again malfunctioned at the sight.

“I, uh, got your note,” You said dumbly and you fought the urge to run out of the building. “Obviously,” you added and Hotch graced you with a smile, a huff of laughter leaving his lips. The sound helped you relax a little and you smiled softly at Hotch.

“You’re nervous. You’re usually not nervous around me.” The observation was surface level, but it felt like you were being studied. “If you’d rather go-”

“No!” You blurted before you cleared your throat, and you took a seat across from Hotch’s desk. “No. I guess I’m just, I’m wondering why I’m here.”

“Do you have any idea why?” Hotch asked and you leaned forward.

“I have an idea. You could even say I have a desire for why you called me here, but,” you propped your elbows on his desk, “why don’t you clear the air, Agent Hotchner?” A few moments passed in a deafening silence, your eyes locked with Hotch’s.

“I’ve tried to ignore it,” Hotch started. “I felt something different when I met you at the banquet, and I didn’t know what that feeling was. Intrigue, for sure. Then you showed up one day, and Strauss introduced you as my new agent.”

“What can I say? I like being a mysterious entity,” you said.

“And you continued to be one, and it’s gotten stronger since that case you were injured. You’re constantly preoccupying my mind,” Hotch said and you slowly stood up. You rounded his desk and sat on top of it, and you slowly reached out. Your hand found its way to his tie, and you gave it a firm tug, pulling him closer to you.

“Wanna know a secret?” You asked, leaning down closer to him. You were so close, you noticed some gold flecks in his eyes you hadn’t noticed before. “You’ve been on my mind since we first met.” You weren’t sure who closed the gap, but suddenly lips were on yours, and Hotch’s hands were on your hips and you gasped as you were yanked into his lap. You grabbed at his shirt with one hand, your other finding its home in his hair, and you felt a surge of pride when a groan slipped from Hotch’s lips. “Fuck, Aaron.”

Hotch backed away slightly and you almost whined at the loss. “What was that?”

“Aaron..?” You hesitantly repeated and Hotch pulled you closer.

“Fucking hell.” Hotch’s lips were back on yours and you lost yourself, preoccupied with him. You didn’t know how long had passed before you pulled apart, breathing heavy, and Hotch’s forehead rested against your own.

“Penelope will have a field day if she finds out about this.” You breathed out a laugh and Hotch shifted so you were looking at him.

“And what exactly do you want this to be?” Hotch seemed… nervous? Vulnerable? Something different from the confident man you had become infatuated with.

“As much as I loved making out with you, ideally?” You ran your fingers gently through Hotch’s hair. “I’d like to try getting dinner with you. Maybe spend some time together, not hidden in your office.” You smiled at Hotch. “I believe that’s what they call dating these days.”

“I haven’t dated in a while,” Hotch said and you shrugged.

“We’ll figure it out, yeah?” You asked and Hotch nodded. You pressed a gentle kiss to Hotch’s cheek and you let your head rest against his shoulder.

“I think I can work with that.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x y/n #hotch x you #hotch x reader

[gothicprep]

I’m camping and this is a queued post.

I watched big joel’s “conservative comedy ruined my life” in bits and pieces last weekend. or the weekend before? I don’t remember. part of me just thinks I’m getting old and running out of patience for, like, elevated react content. another part of me is thinking, “no! it’s laziness you can’t stand!” i know joel is a capable guy – I think “twitter and empathy” is an excellent video essay. i more or less know how YouTube sponsors work in a way that disincentivizes being thorough – “get it out by may 10th, or you’re not getting $200”. all that. maybe this was best practiced as a labor of love rather than a professional career, but I won’t digress

I think what my issues with it are stem from two questions that weren’t engaged with at all:

what makes comedy work?

what is a conservative? it’s a regionally variant thing in how it presents, after all.

If you’d like to hear me ramble, it’s under the cut. if not, i hope everything goes well for you today, and we’ll leave it at that.

alright. now the true reader time has kicked in. im getting dirty.

a lot of the framework I think joel is using here is from this out of context george carlin clip that’s shared en-masse whenever a comedian is in hot water for a tasteless joke. but I honestly think he and most people are interpreting it wrong – it’s somewhat backhanded advice from one professional to another. even if andrew dice clay meant his diceman character as a parody, he’s risking an audience who may not get that, and probably won’t think particularly high of him when they find out his surname by birth is silverman.

the work people remember of carlin’s is anti-establishment and anti-consumerism, yes. but the shtick in that era of his career is mostly about being curmudgeonly. he wasn’t trying to establish an over-arching theory of comedy via one larry king interview. and I guess, while we’re thinking about carlin, we ought to remember that he was arrested for cursing in public at his shows, like, multiple times in the 70s. his attitude towards political correctness (& supposedly what we’d call “wokeness” now) is deeply informed by this. he’d probably call a lot of the posts you’ve endorsed newfangled yuppie shit. don’t invoke the dead unless you know what they were about.

sorry for that digression, but I do think it matters. specifically in the case of joel, who I think leaned into the out of context clip and… developed a nonsense theory of comedy because of that. he says something to the effect of “comedy enforces social norms” when he isn’t talking about comedians. he’s talking about bullies. bullies and their patchwork of social allies aren’t funny. everyone thinks they’re trying too hard in a meaningless and pathetic race.

comedy is often predicated on surprise. if you pay attention, you’ll be a more intelligent person for it. and a more surprising one. funny how that works. I don’t personally believe this neo-breadtube space is inhabited by smart people. I don’t care how many masters degrees they’ll try to break my nose with pointing this out.

okay, getting to the point – the daily wire is not anywhere near the go-to source of conservative bile. their traffic has taken a massive hit since facebook de-emphasized viral news. Imagine making something criticizing “conservative comedy” and not mentioning greg gutfeld at all. fox’s viewership dwarfs that of the daily wire, but the daily wire gets undue legitimacy by way of being terminally online. if I said “Ben Shapiro” to my parents, they’d assume this is the name of some guy that worked with me rather than a pundit. 

he also does some idiot magic here where he calls matt stone and trey parker conservatives. they aren’t, they’re libertarians. these sorts of distinctions matter to people who care about gay shit like accuracy. he mostly looks at “team america: world police” as reference and says something to the effect of “they accepted the war on terror as it is”. like are you honestly kidding dude. have you seen the south park movie? they not only characterized the army as incompetent, but actively racist on top of that.

you have to wonder if he has a selective memory about the “team america” movie as well, because he frames it so strangely. because the version of the song where they’re shouting out the names of corporations as a joke is in the end credits only and…

oh. alright. you didn’t watch it. damn. that’s sad. couldn’t even ask you to sit for two hours without picking up your phone like a fidgety little rat.

and… like. as much as I do not like to pull the “I’m bipolar!! I find this gross!!” card, I’m doing it. at the end of this video, joel shows a video of a Roseanne Barr routine where she’s very blatantly wrote while having a manic episode. He calls it interesting, I personally don’t find this all that interesting. I’ve been there. It’s dumb. It’s needlessly scaremongering and dramatic. It isn’t interesting. It makes me feel uncomfortable while I watch it. I was never a conspiracy theorist type but the requisite nonsensical yapping is all too clear to me.

Uhh. That’s what I have to say. Don’t think I got my whole rant out, but this will do for now

[pudding-parade]

Ooooooh, a question list!

Untagged but lifted from @clumsybot because I am the bored. Or rather, there are non-Sims, non-sitting-on-my-ass-in-front-of-a-computer things I should be doing, but...Don't wanna. So here we are. :)

Why did you choose your url? Because TS3 is nothing but an endless parade of pudding people, and since this was going to be a TS3-specific blog...There we are.

How long have you been on tumblr? This account is less than a year old, I think, but I started my TS2 blog in....2013? I think? So, almost a decade.

Do you have a queue tag? ...No? I don't think so? I mean, I use the queue, but I don't have a specific tag for queued posts.

Why did you start your blog in the first place? I'd had the TS2 blog for a long time, but I just got tired of the game, which I never thought would happen. At the same time, I got into TS3, which I also thought would never happen. I knew that a lot of people who followed me on the TS2 blog did so because of the CC I made (and I might return to doing that, if I can get the game to install and run on this machine), and I didn't want to tick them off by switching over to TS3. I also wanted a dashboard that was primarily TS3-relevant without having to unfollow people and then follow new people. So, a new, separate account rather than a sideblog seemed the way to go.

Why did you choose your icon/pfp? The icon is because I have a strange fondness for the mechanical bull in the game. It is my favorite thing ever. Don't ask me why.

And I have no idea what "pfp" means because I am An Old. I don't know what half the acronyms you kids use mean. Get off my lawn.

Why did you choose your header? Because I also have a strange fondness for the train in Champs les Sims. When I see it going by, I always go "Choo choo!" in an annoying, chirpy voice. And then my husband throws something at me if he's in earshot.

What’s your post with the most notes? I...don't know? Not without going back and looking, which I'm not going to do because, honestly? IDC enough. Look, an acronym! Hello, fellow kids.

How many mutuals do you have? I don't know. What do I click to find out? Guess I'm An Old, after all. Get off my lawn.

How many followers do you have? I don't really like to give specific numbers anymore. I realized at one point that it sounded kind of...I don't know...braggy? That said, on this blog, it's a three digit number. On the other, last I looked, it's a four-digit number. And I appreciate all of them.

How many people do you follow? Right now, only 86. And many of them are finds blogs that are, frankly, redundant. I am a bad, bad blogger. One of these days, I'm going to sit down and unfollow some of the finds and go through the people who follow me and follow back those who post TS3 stuff and find other people and all that stuff. It's just seems like, you know, work. Ugh.

Have you ever made a shit post? Define "shit post." I posted about my snake terrifying poor Jehovah's Witness ladies when I truly didn't intend to terrify them. (And they still haven't come back! I feel like I need to send an apology letter to their kingdom hall or something...) Anyway, that was pretty shitty of me. (The scaring the ladies part was shitty, that is, not the posting about it.)

Did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? Who won? I don't see any point to fighting about Sims games. That's just ridiculous. I save my ridiculous arguing for arguing with Christian apologists -- some of them professional and big-name in such circles -- in YouTube comments. It's pointless af (Another acronym! Hello, fellow kids!), but it's also fun af. To me. Because I'm incredibly weird.

How do you feel about ‘you need to reblog this’ posts Mostly, I feel that I don't need to reblog them, unless they pertain to Sims, and sometimes not even then. Call me an asshole (because I freely admit that I am one), but my tumblr blog isn't about activism. That's for real life.

Do you like tag games? Memes, memes, glorious memes! IOW (acronym!), yus.

Do you like ask games? See above.

Which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous? Mmmmm... @rollo-rolls, maybe? I mean, they convert hair. That gives you the big-time simblr famous points. :) Why they follow me is a mystery, however...

Do you have a crush on a mutual? @nectar-cellar. Because everyone has a crush on nectar-cellar. (I'm just kidding. I don't have a crush on NC, but they do seem like a fun person, and I do know that we are mutuals, and I thought of their name first when I read the question. So does that mean I actually *do* have a crush? Hmmmmm.... )

Not gonna tag anyone. Do if ya wanna. I’m nosy and like to know stuff about people. No, wait! I’mma tag @nectar-cellar. Because crush. ;)

#non sims #memes memes glorious memes

[merrybandofmurderers]

tagged by @mrs-theirin but don't get too smug babe, i've had this queued up to post for two days ;p

here's another pavellan chapter! nicole hasn't had the chance to point out all the ~feelings~ it's lacking, but you can enjoy it for what it is

“Gloat all you like,” Cullen said, leaning haughtily back in his chair. “I have this one.”

Dorian raised a brow. “Are you sassing me, Commander?” He chuckled. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Cullen sighed, reaching for his piece. “Why do I even—” He expression grew dismayed before snapping into stoic professionalism as he began to rise to his feet. “Inquisitor.”

Dorian looked over his shoulder to see Lavellan approaching. He turned back to Cullen, grinning. “Leaving, are you? Does this mean I win?”

Cullen scowled and immediately sat back down.

Lavellan stopped at their table, folding his arms. “Playing nice?” he asked mildly.

Dorian smirked. “I’m always nice.”

He glanced disdainfully at Cullen, lip curled slightly. “Didn’t realize you were so hard up for chess opponents.”

Cullen looked disgruntled, and Dorian cleared his throat. “Just keeping our commander from working himself into the ground. Did you need something, amicus?”

Lavellan turned his back to Cullen, and the chess pieces rattled with his hip hitting the table as he leaned against it to address Dorian. “I have a meeting with Fiona and Dagna later; I want you to be there.”

“Certainly, but I’m afraid I haven’t spoken to Alexius lately. He’s been… tetchy.”

“Isn’t he always?”

“It comes and goes.”

Lavellan rolled his eyes. “Regardless, Dagna’s come up with something, and I’d like to be able to give Varric some good news.”

“I shall see you later, then. Is it the mage tower or undercroft?”

He pursed his lips. “I don’t know. I’ll send a messenger. In any case—” his eyes cut to Cullen, suddenly frosty “—I shall leave you to your fraternization.”

Dorian’s brows jumped up his forehead as Lavellan walked away. He looked to Cullen. “Did something happen between you two?”

Cullen’s expression was sour. “We had a… talk. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.”

“I’m surprised I didn’t hear it.”

“Well, there wasn’t any shouting. This time.” He leaned forward and, after considering the board for a moment, moved his knight.

“How remarkable.” Dorian didn’t ask what the talk was about. If Lavellan didn’t tell him, it was likely something not to be gossiped about.

“Seems you’re back in his good graces, though. Again.”

Dorian paused in contemplating his next move. “Pardon?”

“Weren’t you arguing? You and the Inquisitor.”

“Ah. Well. Yes.” He moved his mage. “It’s resolved now.”

“For now, yes.” Cullen smiled wryly. “Until you do something else to anger him, and the cycle repeats itself.”

“First of all, it’s not always my fault. Second, is there something you’re trying to get at?”

He rubbed his jaw and moved a tower. “I just don’t understand why you put up with him.”

Bewildered, Dorian laughed. “What is it you think I’m putting up with?

“How he’s so damn hot-headed.” Cullen made an aggravated gesture. “One day he’s friendly, the next he’s angry. How he makes it everyone’s problem. And it seems to me you get it the worst—someone he allegedly likes!”

Dorian was briefly speechless. Everyone knew Lavellan was temperamental, of course, but he’d never thought of it like that. Although, hadn’t Lavellan said something similar?

Dorian reached out and snatched up Cullen’s tower with his queen, garnering a frown from the man. “I realize you might struggle to comprehend this, but Lavellan is actually enjoyable company when he’s not angry.”

Cullen gave him an unimpressed look.

“And it’s not as though he’s angry for no reason—even if his reasons aren’t always scrutable.” Dorian shrugged. “Lavellan is a passionate man, but so am I. Sometimes we are at odds, and then we reconcile. Such is the nature of friendship, is it not?” He had not argued often with Felix, nor as severely as he did with Lavellan, but he knew that much.

Cullen shook his head and cornered Dorian’s mage with his knight. “You’re still a more forgiving man than I.”

You are too patient with me, Lavellan had said in that tent in the Emerald Graves. And before that, in the infirmary, Your kindness is more than I deserve.

“I have not had many friends in my life, Cullen,” Dorian admitted. “Lavellan’s friendship is more important to me than however unpleasant he may be when we’re arguing. And I’d rather fight and make up with him indefinitely than not have him as a friend at all.”

Cullen pursed his lips, unconvinced. “Well, it’s your choice, I suppose. And your move.”

Dorian scanned the board, then took out Cullen’s knight. He placed it with the other pieces he’d captured. “You really ought to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You’ll feel better.”

Cullen cocked a brow. “Really?” He moved his tower into a position that threated Dorian’s king. “Because I’m feeling just fine.”

Dorian tsked. “Don’t get smug just yet, Rutherford.”

It was a near thing, but a few moves later, Dorian successfully seized Cullen’s king. “Don’t feel too bad for yourself,” Dorian gloated as Cullen set the pieces back into place. “You should be proud you even gave me such a challenge.” Cullen wasn’t as aggressive as Lavellan, but he was nearly as crafty. If he didn’t look on the verge of collapse, he might have managed a win.

Culled sighed deeply, looking skyward. “Regardless, I appreciate the game, Dorian. I needed the distraction.”

“Naturally. The only people who can claim to work as hard as Lavellan are you and Josephine. Unfortunately, you and he do not bear it as gracefully as she does.”

He grimaced. “Well, whatever you do, don’t imply the Inquisitor and I may have something in common where he can hear.”

Dorian laughed. “Oh, I’m sure he’s aware, and only hates you all the more for it.” He stood, straightening his sleeves. “Now, go take a rest. If Corypheus didn’t storm Skyhold’s walls in the last hour, it’s unlikely that he will within the next one.”

“But not impossible.”

“If he does, I’m sure it will be loud enough to wake you.”

taggined @gaysolavellan, @calicostorms, @fade-and-loathing-in-thedas, @transfenris-truther

#for context the ''talk'' cullen and yuo had was about cullen quitting lyrium #yuo supports him but is pissed that cullen didnt say anything sooner #my stuff #my fic #fic: the time has come #dorian pavus #cullen rutherford

[nowhereman313]

A buncha y’all really liked that comment about Waffle House, huh?

Alright, so since there’s people looking at me now, I guess I better do one of those intro thingies. 

I’m Nowhere (he/him or they/them is fine). Where you stand now is the Internet equivalent of my bedroom. It’s just a big ol’ pile of stuff I like or think is useful or important. It’s not curated, it’s rarely tagged, and it sure-as-shit isn’t queued. All of those things require planning and forward-thinking that I do not do when I’m on Tumblr. It’s also like my bedroom, because it was with an impending sense of alarm that I discovered that there were suddenly a group of people looking around my room and going “Yeah, this is good, think I’ll stick around and see where this goes,” while I’m sitting there in my jammies. You’re welcome to stay, of course, but I was very surprised to find you here at all.

Anyway, to get the requisite dump of strangely personal information that Tumblr users share with each other out of the way, I’m a cishet man with ADHD, formerly (and hopefully again in the future) polyamorous. My partner and I have been together for over 12 years, etc, etc. More importantly, I’m a gamer. I play ‘em, I make ‘em, and soon, I’ll be selling ‘em at my very own Friendly Local Game Store, the aptly named Nowhere’s Store of Forgotten Lore. More on that later. 

I’ve been on Tumblr since the Bad Old Days. I’m a Tumblr Old, and so all those new posts of old cringe trying to scare off the Twitter folks just brings me back to my college days, all misty-eyed and drowning in debt. Back then, I studied subcultural anthropology, specializing in fan/gamer cultures and subcultural sexuality. 

The tabletop gaming community is my home, and I’ve been trying to give as much as I take since I got my start there... too many years ago. That’s how I got into game design, and eventually led me to where I am now. I’ve written my own RPGs, designed supplemental material, and playtested for other designers, both amateur and professional. My contributions have been almost exclusively amateur, but I learned from some of the best in the professional field, and I owe those people, who were willing to work on equal footing with a wet-behind-the-ears teenager and give me a chance to contribute meaningfully, an immense debt of gratitude. I wouldn’t be the person I am today without them.

Nowadays, I exist almost exclusively on a couch in Nowhere’s Store when I’m not working on making Nowhere’s Store. I’ll have to do a big post on that whole process soon, but for now, suffice it to say that the shop has been an epic ordeal, full of uncertainty, blind terror, and memories. We’re wanting to be just as much a community center as we are a retail space, and I’m super excited to host our first NaNoWriMo write-in here in the shop tomorrow afternoon, to put my money (or, rather, my table space and wifi) where my mouth is. We should be open for business soon, but I’ve been saying that for months now. Hopefully, that future post will garner a bit of support for our GoFundMe (shameless plugging, thy name is Nowhere), since we’re trying to pull this off as a couple of working-class Millennials, also known to banks as The Enemy.

So yeah, glad you’re here to see me talk about stuff. If you’re curious about anything, my asks are always open.

#Intro #Nowhere's Store #blahblahblah

[sponge-goblin-art]

Pls look at my crop top short shorts Sauron

#tolkien #tolkien art #silmarillion #silm #silm art #silmarillion art #Sauron #Sauron art #Silmarillion fanart #Sauron fanart #Tolkien fanart #lotr #I’m like queuing post now look at me all professional #drew this at the height of the Femboy Hooters meme

[belphegor1982]

for the commentary thing

“Then there’s the wife, of course.”

This got the guy’s attention. His head snapped up and he stared at Len with a suddenly much more normal look on his face.

“You’re married?” It was hard to tell for sure whether he meant the emphasis on ‘you’ or ‘married’.

“Yeah.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

They lapsed into silence again, the only sounds around provided by a slight wind and a nearby dripping from a drainpipe from an earlier rain. The silence was not much less awkward for it. This was getting ridiculous.

Still Len hesitated for a few seconds more, the voice of reason at the back of his head yelling all sorts of colourful expletives about his current level of intelligence and his choice of priorities.

Then he made up his mind.

He got back on his feet and whipped his gun out.

The Flash tensed, but Len held up a hand defensively.

“Relax. I’m not gonna ice ya.”

“Oh yeah?” Incredulity was back full force.

“Yeah. Let’s say I’m… off the clock.”

“Look, that might work for Ralph and Sam, but people like me or you don’t punch clocks. I mean, how do I know you’re not gonna ice me?”

“Because I won’t.”

“’Course you’d say that,” the Flash retorted, mistrust and a no small hint of sarcasm creeping back into his voice.

Len rolled his eyes again. “Actually, I wouldn’t. The way I see it, if you’re gonna shoot, shoot, don’t talk.”

“…Did you just rip off a line from a movie?”

“Can’t beat the classics. Now don’t move. If that’s even possible for you to do that, I mean.”

There still was an odd undercurrent of mixed-up emotions – a lot of them unrelated to the current situation – in the Flash’s glare, but he relaxed ever so slightly and held still. As though he actually trusted one of his most regular antagonists and a notorious villain to keep his word and not take a golden opportunity to off him just like that. Len suppressed a sigh.

I know I’m going to regret this.

Then he changed the right settings on his cold gun, pointed it at his enemy’s ankle, and – still calling himself every kind of idiot under the sun – fired.

The Flash gingerly moved his foot, looking bemused.

“You reversed the – wow. That’s a new feature.”

“After that stunt with Heatwave at the bank, I figured I needed something in case I accidentally froze someone I actually work with.” To tell the truth, Len wasn’t half proud of this recent finding. It had taken a lot of tinkering. Plus, it could prove useful.

He put the gun back into his holster again as the Flash turned to him, apparently trying to look sly and cold. It didn’t work – thankfully. That meant he wasn’t so far gone yet.

“How do you know I’m not gonna haul your butt to the cops now for breaking into that store?”

Len was expecting this. He crossed his arms and stared at the guy straight in the eye. Or where his eyes should be, anyway.

“Because something’s wrong with you. I don’t know what, I don’t necessarily care, but I got a feeling it’s going to make life very difficult for all of us. And we don’t need that.” He paused, and gave a small smirk. “If I wanted some dark and scary urban legend to run after me, I’d have moved to Gotham by now.”

Ooh, THANK YOU 💜 I queued the “fic commentary” post I reblogged from you but I always relish the occasion to wax verbose on my faves - and this is one of my favourite stories in the Everybody Comes to Harry’s “series”. Let’s gooooo ^^

Right. So, Status Quo is about a lot of things. It’s about a hero who’s still very early in his career (and a 16-year-old kid besides) and a villain who’s a little more seasoned, it’s about finding (awkward) comfort from unexpected places (and awkwardly offering it), it’s about trying to strike a balance between professionalism, pragmatism, and being a decent human being. Mostly it’s about heroes and villains finding common ground because the villain doesn’t want to see the hero go over the edge, which is a trope I love a whole lot.

“Then there’s the wife, of course.”

Janet mention ^^ I created Janet Snart for Wife and I ended up loving her so much she had to make a cameo or two elsewhere. Like she does at the end of the story.

This got the guy’s attention. His head snapped up and he stared at Len with a suddenly much more normal look on his face.

For context, in this story (as we find out later), Flash is 16 year old Wally West, who (in my version of the DCAU) was the Flash right away, since Barry Allen was never struck by that bolt of lightning. What he also is is a kid with parents who, if they’re not physically abusive, are dismissive and just don’t know how to deal with a teen. His mom, anyway, since his dad left. Fortunately he has his Aunt Iris (and his Uncle Barry) who essentially functions as his family of choice. And Iris just has had a bad heart attack earlier that day. So fear and grief and everything else are making Wally grimmer, angrier, and more sloppy. Which Len picked up on and is trying to work out why, because an unfettered speedster is dangerous. (Also, it’s just disturbing that the guy who’s always smiling just... isn’t.)

“You’re married?” It was hard to tell for sure whether he meant the emphasis on ‘you’ or ‘married’.

“Yeah.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

For the record, Wally’s mental picture of how Captain Cold lives more or less matches the way Geoff Jones writes him: crappy apartment with beer cans all over the place. Except this Len Snart is canonically married (headcanon: to a wife who has a steady job as an accountant). So he actually has a house - tiny, bit run down (Janet has given up on a proper lawn years ago), but still, a step up from his comics version.

They lapsed into silence again, the only sounds around provided by a slight wind and a nearby dripping from a drainpipe from an earlier rain. The silence was not much less awkward for it. This was getting ridiculous.

Still Len hesitated for a few seconds more, the voice of reason at the back of his head yelling all sorts of colourful expletives about his current level of intelligence and his choice of priorities.

Then he made up his mind.

I love describing awkward silences. Scratch that, I love describing characters reacting to awkward silences :D

He got back on his feet and whipped his gun out.

The Flash tensed, but Len held up a hand defensively.

“Relax. I’m not gonna ice ya.”

“Oh yeah?” Incredulity was back full force.

“Yeah. Let’s say I’m… off the clock.”

“Look, that might work for Ralph and Sam, but people like me or you don’t punch clocks. I mean, how do I know you’re not gonna ice me?”

I’m always so glad when I manage to work in pop culture references that make sense for the characters. It helps with my impostor syndrome of “French writer writing (mostly) American/British characters”. As it happens, I remember watching a Ralph Wolf and Sam Sheepdog cartoon before I wrote this (a few months, probably) and the mental picture of the wolf and sheepdog punching the clock in the morning (“Mornin’, Sam” / “Mornin’, Ralph”), doing their thing all day, and then punching out reflects a whole lot on my version of the Flash vs. the Rogues and why I love them. Because at the end of the day, they’re just blue collar workers trying to do their job. They aren’t trying to rule the world or kill a bunch of people; they rob banks (or try to) and the Flash stops them. But in other circumstances (like, say, a Parademon invasion) they would team up and not grumble too much about it.

“Because I won’t.”

“’Course you’d say that,” the Flash retorted, mistrust and a no small hint of sarcasm creeping back into his voice.

Len rolled his eyes again. “Actually, I wouldn’t. The way I see it, if you’re gonna shoot, shoot, don’t talk.”

“…Did you just rip off a line from a movie?”

You bet he did! That’s Tuco’s line from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly :D I love referencing spaghetti westerns for the Rogues. It suits them well, especially the cynicism. That’s why I have this in Mick’s narration in the story before that: “He should have known that this wasn’t some Old West movie where the stand-off can last for excruciating long minutes and time isn’t really a problem. Or rather, if it was indeed a western, it wasn’t the Sergio Leone kind, where the main characters were more or less bad guys.Nope. John Wayne had to waltz in and save the day.Of course, John Wayne was a tall, lean kid in flashy red pyjamas (...)” :3

“Can’t beat the classics. Now don’t move. If that’s even possible for you to do that, I mean.”

Wally fidgets. And he has super speed.

There still was an odd undercurrent of mixed-up emotions – a lot of them unrelated to the current situation – in the Flash’s glare, but he relaxed ever so slightly and held still. As though he actually trusted one of his most regular antagonists and a notorious villain to keep his word and not take a golden opportunity to off him just like that. Len suppressed a sigh.

I know I’m going to regret this.

I don’t know why I find it so funny having Len think he’s some seasoned hardass without a heart (dude is what, 30, 35 tops?) when he’s clearly not. I mean, he is a bastard and a whole lot more cynical than, say, Wally, but he actually has a heart somewhere. (very well hidden.) And the quickest way to access it is to show him a kid having a hard time, for personal reasons. Of course, a lot of his reaction in this story is him being pragmatic, but it’s also, y’know. Not just that.

Also give me all the stories about a hero trusting his villain not to kill him when he has the chance, just because he gave his word 💜💜💜

Then he changed the right settings on his cold gun, pointed it at his enemy’s ankle, and – still calling himself every kind of idiot under the sun – fired.

The Flash gingerly moved his foot, looking bemused.

“You reversed the – wow. That’s a new feature.”

I’ve bullshitted a LOT in my time as an author, but this bit of technobabble might just take the biscuit :D How do you even begin to reverse an ice ray!?

“After that stunt with Heatwave at the bank, I figured I needed something in case I accidentally froze someone I actually work with.” To tell the truth, Len wasn’t half proud of this recent finding. It had taken a lot of tinkering. Plus, it could prove useful.

I’m a big fan of the idea that the heroes vs. villains game, even when it begins relatively harmless, leads to an escalation, because what doesn’t? That’s a subject I liked on touching with Wife. Also that’s a callback to the first story and a nod to the fact that there may be all of two Rogues for now (the Temperature Twins) but Captain Cold’s day of being a lone wolf are over. He has one whole work colleague now! And more to come soon, though he doesn’t know it :o)

He put the gun back into his holster again as the Flash turned to him, apparently trying to look sly and cold. It didn’t work – thankfully. That meant he wasn’t so far gone yet.

Oh, Wally. He’s a teenager; he still has a long way to go to learn posturing.

“How do you know I’m not gonna haul your butt to the cops now for breaking into that store?”

Len was expecting this. He crossed his arms and stared at the guy straight in the eye. Or where his eyes should be, anyway.

The Flash in the DCAU has a mask with some kind of lenses that hide his eyes. I like the idea that if you get really close, you can see them. But Len is still too far.

“Because something’s wrong with you. I don’t know what, I don’t necessarily care, but I got a feeling it’s going to make life very difficult for all of us. And we don’t need that.” He paused, and gave a small smirk. “If I wanted some dark and scary urban legend to run after me, I’d have moved to Gotham by now.”

Look, I love Batman. The DCAU version might just be my favourite. But if you’re going to be a crook, you’d better work Central City or Keystone rather than Gotham (hell, if you’re a civilian, Central City is better than Gotham any day). And while I love the idea of The Batman being a scary urban legend across the map for the American underworld, I love even more combining this with what we know Batman to be, especially in the DCAU.

Of course Len is exaggerating. The quip has its desired effect in the next paragraph, though: “Now that he was standing up, the dim light of the streetlamps a few feet away caught the Flash’s face better, revealing a look halfway between baffled and amused. It was the most normal he’d looked since he turned up, but it still didn’t come close to his usual annoyingly buoyant disposition.” Anything to get the kid to unclench and talk about what’s with the punching first without asking questions or heckling even once.

There you go 💜 Thanks for giving me the chance to ramble!

#fic commentary #rogues #ask reply

[ravennm84]

Career Advice

Hi everyone!!  This story was inspired by a news anchor that I saw on TV, and thought to myself “what would happen if Alya asked that woman for an internship and showed that woman the Ladyblog.” There wasn’t originally going to be Alya redemption, but I decided that the girl needed some love too. Warm-Fuzzies and please enjoy!!

Alya was practically vibrating in her chair as she sat in the reception area of TVi News. She had heard from Aurora and Mireille that there was a summer internship opening and that she should submit an application. She had spent an entire week working on her resume with her mom’s help, citing her blog as experience. Her mother had told her that she might want to double check all her stories before going in, but already knew that she’d be fine. After all, she was an awesome reporter.

There were four other people in the room with her, and she was definitely the youngest. Two of them looked like they were university age and the other two probably attended lycee. That meant that they likely had a bit more experience than she did, but Alya was confident that her blog would set her up for the win. Not only that, Lila had put in a good word for her with the higher ups of TVi News. All she had to do was nail the interview and the internship was hers!

It was about an hour and two interviews before her turn came. Holding her head high; she grabbed her tablet and portfolio, straightened her skirt, and walked in as smoothly as she could in her heels.

The person conducting the interview was Claudia Ramonte, a no-nonsense kind of woman that always seemed to be on a deadline. She preferred people always be on-point and despised people that wasted her time. She was a legend in the industry, she had been an investigative journalist for over 20 years before going into semi-retirement by helping run the company and hiring new journalists. It was said that she had an eye for who had talent and who was just playing journalist. And if you fell into the latter or made the mistake of insulting her craft, you could kiss any hopes of making it big in the industry goodbye. So as soon as Alya shut the door behind her, she put on her most professional smile and extended her hand to her.

“Mme. Ramonte, Alya Cesaire, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She gave her a slight smile as she shook her hand. “When I saw that a kid in college was applying for the internship, I thought that you were either an idiot or you had a pair of steel balls. Show me which one it is.”

A little taken back but her forwardness, Alya’s hand shook slightly as she pulled her resume from the file and handed it to her. “As you can see, I’ve been running my blog, The Ladyblog, for close to a year and a half now.”

“Everyone and their mothers have blogs nowadays, Cesaire.” The woman scoffed as she tossed Alya’s resume onto her desk and turned to her computer, typing quickly. “Every candidate I’m interviewing today has at least two blogs, multiple news articles in their school newspapers, or videos from their college news or radio stations. What is it about your blog that makes you think that you are more qualified than any of them?”

Alya faltered for a second but wouldn’t be deterred, she was an awesome reporter and she would get this internship. “I’ve conducted multiple interviews with different celebrities; including Ladybug herself, other heroes of the Miraculous Team, the daughter of a diplomat who is also Ladybug’s best friend…”

“So have others, Cesaire.” She sounded bored, as she continued reading something on her computer screen.

Squaring her shoulders, Alya kept going. She refused to back down when she was so close to her internship. “I have also done extensive work on recording akuma battles and have compared my footage to other sites. None of them get as close or in depth as I do.”

“And why do you think that is, Mlle. Cesaire?” Her voice going cold

Alya blinked, not expecting the question. “Um… well-”

“Reporters and journalists are not to engage in dangerous situations that are considered life threatening. Whether someone is part of a staff or freelance, they are not to enter danger zones on their own, which you have apparently done numerous times. I will admit that when it comes to journalism, it is never without risks; but no story is worth your life.”

“But there’s no real danger, Ladybug always-”

“A terrorist is a terrorist, Cesaire.” The chill in the woman’s voice gained a hard edge. “And the attacks that have been done by the akumas have, on more than one occasion, shown the potential to be fatal. Should there be even a single time that Ladybug and Chat Noir not pull through, that could result in thousands of deaths. If you think that any credible news source would allow their people to do what you’ve been doing; then you’re more than an idiot, you’re a reckless idiot.” 

Then she turned one of her computer screens towards Alya, which was queued up to the Ladyblog. “And from what I’ve seen from your blog in the two minutes you’ve been in my office; you are not only reckless, but mediocre in your work as a journalist. I have looked through multiple posts and have yet to see a single credible source mentioned. So tell me, how can you think that you are qualified to work here if you cannot follow the most basic rule of journalism and check your sources?”

“I can assure you, everything I post is completely true!” 

“And I’m just supposed to take your word on that? Hardly.” She turned the screen back to herself, then started playing the first interview she had done with Lila. Mme. Ramonte played it for only 15 seconds, in which Lila claimed to be Ladybug’s best friend after she had saved her life, before pausing the video and looking at Alya. “If Lila Rossi, the daughter of a diplomat, had been saved by Ladybug, there would have been multiple articles and recordings of the incident. I just did a cursory search and the only link that came up connecting Rossi and Ladybug is your own blog.”

Alya was speechless. She wanted to say that Lila was telling the truth, but what reason would there be for Mme. Ramonte, who continued playing Lila’s interview, to lie? She stopped the video again a few seconds later, after the tale of saving Jagged Stone’s kitten from being run over by a plane on an airport runway. The look the legendary journalist gave her was that of total disgust and anger. 

“Do I even need to list all the things wrong with

this story?” When Alya didn’t say anything, Mme. Ramonte went off on her, practically ranting. “Firstly, Jagged Stone has been quoted multiple times as being allergic to animal fur, and would not own a cat. Second, no one would allow a minor onto a airport runway, as it would be seen negligence and possibly as an act of terrorism. Even if she had saved some cat from being run over and Jagged had been grateful, no self respecting musician would write a song about a minor that was not their daughter, as doing so could have him labeled as a pedophile. You are very lucky that M. Stone has not seen this interview, because if he had, you would have been served with lawsuits for slander. So, I’ll ask again. Is there anything to keep me from saying that you are nothing more than a wannabe-journalist that isn’t fit to work at a news stand?” 

She wasn’t even sure how to respond. Alya had been so sure that her blog was perfect, but after what Mme. Ramonte had said and how she was looking at her, she really did feel like an idiot for believing what Lila had said. Especially since she should have known better.

She now remembered when she flew to Spain with her parents when she was younger and how far away the landing strip was from the airport. There was no way Lila would have been able to see a kitten from that far away. Alya also remembered how she wanted to go outside and play, but her father told her that only authorized personnel were allowed outside at the airport. Then there was Marinette, the designer had mentioned how she couldn’t do certain designs for the rock star because he had fur allergies from when he was a kid.

Oh no, Marinette has been saying for months that Lila was a liar. Ever since she had seen Lila’s interview. And since she designs for Jagged Stone, she would know that Lila was nothing but a liar. She was also the one that got me my first exclusive with Ladybug, so she’d probably know that she was lying about that, too. And I had the nerve to tell her that she was just being jealous… I’m a terrible friend and an even worse journalist.

Looking back up at Mme. Ramonte, she was barely able to hold back tears as she shook her head. “No, Madame. There is no excuse for such shoddy journalism, it doesn’t even deserve to be called that. I apologize for wasting your time.”

The woman’s features softened slightly, but not by much. “You’re still very young and have a lot to learn about journalism, Cesaire. If I ever see you in my office again, I’ll expect more from you than any other candidate. That means looking out for your safety, knowing what is okay and not okay to publish, and checking your stories through multiple, reliable sources. I would also recommend killing your blog and starting new, the Ladyblog will become toxic to your career if it continues. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Alya couldn’t help but stare at the woman across the desk from her. Despite not deserving it, Mme. Ramonte had given her very sage and constructive advice that just might save her career in the long run. If she killed her blog now, started a new one or two, and followed her advice; by the time she finished lycee, she might be able to use them as proper references for her future career.

“Thank you, Mme. Ramonte. I won’t forget this.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Cesaire,” she waved her hand dismissively. “I’m going to remember this and I will be telling other news sources about your blog as well, to make sure you never repeat these mistakes again. So, if you are really set on being a journalist, don’t just prove it to me, prove to everyone that you are better.”

“Still, thank you. Have a nice day, Mme. Ramonte.” Alya stood from her chair but paused before she turned to walk away. “So you know, I think I’ll be doing one final post on the Ladyblog, to admit my mistakes and all the things I reported incorrectly on my blog, along with the sources to back it up. Sort of a final expose to rid myself of the bad energy from my blog, so I’ll be able to move forward.”

The woman gave a nod of approval. Before waving her out of the office. 

Alya kept her head high the entire way out of the building while doing her best to remain calm, or else risk attracting an akuma. As a bit of a cleanser, she sent a text to Marinette.

To FashionGurl: You were right about Lila. I’m so sorry for not listening to you. Can we talk on Monday? 

A few minutes later, she got a text back.

To FoxyJournalist: You can come by today if you want to talk.

To FashionGurl: Sorry, I’m going to be busy. I have a new story to write about that liar, one that will have multiple sources, showing everyone exactly the kind of person she is.

To FoxyJournalist: Can’t wait to read it!!

~oOo~

What followed for Alya was a very long weekend writing out every story/lie that Lila had ever told her and the class, research into Lila’s old schools, staking herself out in front of the Italian Embassy until Ambassador Rossi came out so she could introduce herself, and then a long conversation at a cafe with the very angry and distraught mother. There were a lot of questions, show-and-tell with the videos on Alya’s blog and news reports from Lila’s old schools, and then the recommendation that she go to speak with M. Damocles and Mme. Bustier. 

Monday morning saw Alya going into the bakery before school, telling Tom and Sabine the truth about Lila, and then grovelling at Marinette’s feet for being such a terrible friend. One thing she did not hesitate to show the Dupain-Chengs were the records and news reports she’d found pertaining to Lila’s old schools. Tracking Lila’s social media, Alya had found three schools and discovered the kind of mayhem the girl left behind. 

One school had a perfect student named Gaia, much like Marinette, bullied until she was expelled. Another school showed another popular girl named Alessia had “fallen” down a flight of stairs and broken both of her legs, a few ribs, and one of her arms. Even though there were multiple eyewitness reports that Lila had pushed her, the Italian girl moved before she could be brought up on charges. The report from the most recent school made all of them sick. A girl named Ludovica had been stalked, harassed, and bullied over social media beginning the day Lila joined the school until the day the girl committed suicide. A quick backtrace on the account showed that it had been set up by Lila Rossi.

It was quickly decided that Sabine would be going to the school to have a word with the principal and teacher. Alya gave them a thumb drive with a copy of all the information she had found, she had multiple copies, so that if they decided to pursue legal actions, they had evidence to back it up.

At school, Alya went to class while Sabine took Marinette M. Damocles' office to speak with him and Mme. Bustier, since the woman was decidedly absent from the room. She had barely sat down when Lila entered the classroom, spouting off some story about meeting Ryan Reynolds over the weekend. Alya barely suppressed her snide grimace before hiding it with a smile.

“Really, Lila? That’s amazing! Did you get any pictures? I would love to post them on my blog?”

Now that she was watching, she saw the girl flinch when asked for actual evidence before putting on a sugary sweet smile. “I didn’t get a chance, my phone died.”

“Oh that’s annoying. Where did you see him?” She asked, pulling up the movie star’s Twitter account. “Because you were here in Paris over the weekend but according to his social media, he was visiting his home town in Canada this week.”

Alya definitely saw the girl scowl that time. “Oh, he just said that so he could come here without anyone knowing. He’s researching a role here in Paris and I was showing him around until my mom called me home.”

“Didn’t you just say that your phone was dead?” That got the classes’ attention, as they had just heard the girl say that was the reason she hadn’t taken any pictures. Lila was about to spout some new excuse; but Alya, who was now channelling her inner Mme. Ramonte, raised a hand to cut her off.

“Don’t even bother coming up with another lie. I know you’re full of crap and it spills out of your mouth with every word you say. And before you try to accuse me of lying, taking Marinette’s side, or bullying you; I think you should know that I spent the majority of the weekend looking into everything you’ve told us.”

The entire class watched the Italian girl’s olive skin turn a sickly white. But Alya wasn’t finished, this girl had been attempting to do the same to Marinette that she had done to Gaia, Alessia, and Ludovica. And as her BFF, she was not going to stand aside and let that happen. “I have piles of evidence that you were never in Achu and have never met Prince Ali, you were just playing hookie. I’ve got evidence that you are perfectly healthy and have never suffered from any of the diseases or ailments that you’ve claimed to have since returning to school. I’ve also got evidence that you have never met any of the celebrities that you claim to know. That includes Ladybug.”

Not so surprising, Lila attempted to turn everyone against Alya by turning on the tears. “That’s not true! I would never lie about all of that. You’re just saying that because you’re mad at me for not getting the internship!”

When the class looked back at Alya, they were surprised to see her grinning like a fox. “Did I forget to mention exactly how I know you weren’t in Achu? Or how I know you're perfectly healthy and don’t know any of those celebrities you’ve claimed to be close to?” 

She paused, mostly for effect before going in for the killing blow. “Your mom and I had a very in depth conversation yesterday when I ran into her outside the embassy. She wasn’t happy about your interviews on the Ladyblog, and she was confused as to why you were claiming to be Ladybug’s BFF when you’ve been telling her for months that she and Chat Noir were a couple of lazy, incompetent, and downright terrible heros; which was why the school was closed.”

If it were possible Lila paled even more before turning to run out the door. The door swung open just as she was reaching for the handle, and was met with an upset Mme. Bustier. “You are needed in the Principal's Office, young lady.” To the surprise of everyone there, Lila attempted to shove her way past their teacher. But the woman was faster and grabbed the girl by the arm in a firm grip before escorting her out of the room.

When the first bell rang a few minutes later, M. Harpele came in to act as the substitute until Mme. Bustier was finished with her meeting. 

Marinette returned to class before their teacher did, smiling bright as the sun and visibly more relaxed than anyone had seen her in weeks. She sat down beside Alya and gave her a tight hug while whispering “thank you” over and over.

“I take it things went well for you instead of Lila?” Alya grinned.

Marinette giggled. “She tried convincing her mom that all of us were akumatized and were trying to ruin her life, but she wasn’t buying it. Especially when M. Damocles showed Mme. Rossi her school records. Mom demanded that Lila give a formal apology and confess everything to the class, or she would get the Board of Governors involved. When Mme. Rossi found out that Lila tried to get me expelled, she lost it and started talking about a catholic reformatory school in Italy. Lila looked like she was going to be sick when she heard that.”

“It’s not perfect, but it’s what she deserves.” Alya shrugged before looking Marinette in the eye again. “I’m really sorry, girl. You’re my BFF, I should have listened to you when you told me Lila was a liar.”

“No, I don’t expect you to listen to me every time. I just wanted you to check things out and make sure that you weren’t being taken advantage of.” Then her brow creased. “I’m curious, what brought all this on?”

“Let’s just say that I just got some much needed career advice.”

#alya redemption #lila salt #ml fic #lila karma #friendship #alya salt

[threecrowsinatrenchcoat]

Paint My Spirit Gold

Dukeceit Week Day 2: Green/Yellow

Fans of the YouTubers "Deceit" and Remus "The Duke" Sanders start to suspect that maybe, just maybe, the two of them are more than simple internet pals.

AO3 Link: [here]

Word Count: 2187

Warnings: n/a

@dukeceitweek <3

-

[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a watercolor-style painting of a snake. The snake appears to be made of melting chocolate, and there is a large bite taken out of its tail. Cherries and jam are leaking out of the snake at the bite wound. The snake's expression of horror is overly-exaggerated to the point of comedy. The caption reads: "liked your snake boi, @SerpenThyme. thanks for the inspo." /end ID]

- 

A notification ding cut Janus off mid-sentence. 

“Wow, someone left their cell phone on, so professional,” he said, giving the camera a dramatic eye roll. That someone was him, of course, because he was the only one in the apartment- just him and the running livestream- but that was no excuse not to be a drama queen about it. He finished wiping flour off his hands and grabbed his phone to silence it; but the notification made him pause. He flicked his eyes up toward the camera and gave a slight smirk.

“My goodness, I’m famous,” he drawled. “The Duke himself has graced little old me with some fan art.”

Most of the comments in the chat wanted him to show it, so Janus opened up Twitter to see the full post he’d been tagged in. It was a watercolor painting of the coiled-snake chocolate sculpture- lovingly named Jake by his viewers- he’d made for his YouTube video last week; it was wearing an expression of such comedic horror that Janus had to stifle a laugh. He flicked his phone screen toward the close-up camera on his counter so his viewers could see.

“How kind of you, Remus,” he said. “All of you should go scold him for what he’s done to poor Jake here.”

Most of his viewers would know he was joking- after all, they were the ones to nickname him Deceit when he provided neither a real or fake name for his online persona. They knew full well what he was like by now.

The oven timer dinged. Janus silenced his phone and set it aside.

“And our first batch of cookies is done. You know, why don’t we show the Duke some appreciation?”

-

[ID: An Instagram post by user @SerpenThyme. The photo is an artistically-framed shot of a stack of sugar cookies with green, yellow, and pink icing. Propped up against the stack is another cookie, with an intricate icing-drawing of an octopus. The photo appears to have been color corrected to have high contrast, low saturation, and a dark vignette at the edges. The Instagram user @OctoDukie is tagged. No caption. /end ID]

- 

“You know, I have often been accused of actually being a little old lady, what with my fondness for knitted jumpers, rocking chairs, and incredibly fucked up murder mystery books. Today I am doing nothing to dispel this accusation, by making soup.”

The studio was dark and empty aside from Remus' workspace. Everyone else had left long ago, even his own brother, which meant that it was officially ass-o'clock in the morning (or, as most people called it, somewhere between 1 and 2 a.m.) But Remus was stuck in hyperfocus, honed in on putting the last touches on a commission that he'd been putting off for weeks. It's not that it was a tough painting- once he'd gotten started, it was actually a very creatively satisfying piece- but man, executive dysfunction could go suck a dick

“French onion soup, specifically. Because while I do like to pretend I am a classy bitch, I am also, regrettably, a lazy bitch with a distaste for anything that takes longer than one bottle of wine to make.”

Remus hated working in silence. It was stifling, almost suffocating. His brain needed noise like his lungs needed air. So when the studio had grown still and silent, Remus had flipped open his laptop and queued up some YouTube videos. 

“So we have here three pounds of onions that we need to slice up, pole to pole. You’re going to cry no matter what, so if you have any memories you’ve been repressing since middle school, now is an excellent time to dredge those up.” 

And if it happened to be 90% SerpenThyme videos, well. Sue him. 

“Now the first rule of caramelizing onions: fast and sloppy is always better than slow and thorough… at least, that’s what every man I’ve ever slept with tells me.”

Remus choked and glanced over to his laptop screen just in time to catch Deceit's trademark smirk directed at the audience just for a moment. It was the deadpan delivery that always got him. Remus could barely hold onto a joke long enough to get through it without cackling mid-punchline, but this fucker could say the funniest shit like an off-hand comment. 

He wiped his hands off on his jeans (what use were clothes if you couldn't use them as paint rags?) and pulled his laptop across the table.  He typed out a quick comment, citing the timestamp of the joke, and after it was posted, he shut his laptop. 

'Cause ass-o'clock was short for "get-your-ass-home-or-I’ll-kick-it" o'clock. 

-

[ID: A screenshot of a YouTube comments section. The first comment is by user TheDuke, and reads: "10:42 wow, rude." The second comment is a reply by user SerpenThyme, and simply reads ";)" /end ID]

-

Janus plopped down on the couch with a slight groan. He didn’t need to stream today, but he really hated missing days. Besides… he was fine. Really. 

He adjusted the camera until he was happy with the framing, and then checked the settings on his streaming software. Satisfied, he started the stream, and watched as his usual viewers rolled in. 

“What do you mean I’m not in my kitchen?” Janus drawled, addressing the chat. He glanced around with an expression of faux-shock on his face. “My goodness, when did that happen?”

He chuckled, and then gestured to his surroundings. “Yes, we are in my living room today. If you must know, my closest and most trusted friend tried to murder me today- yes, Virgil, it was attempted murder and nothing less- and I survived with nary a scratch… and a broken foot, but that is beside the point. Anyway, I’m not allowed to stand for long periods of time, and I may or may not be somewhat inebriated by pain pills and couldn’t stand even if I wanted to. So we are cooking from my couch today.”

Janus paused for a few moments to read the chat messages as they popped up. A few get well soon’s, a few theories about the “attempted murder,” Virgil- who moderated his chat for him- vehemently denying the “attempted murder” but otherwise refusing to clarify the event, and a large volume of wtf why are you streaming today, take care of yourself comments, which made him smile. But one particular comment caught his eye, almost lost amid the torrent of an active chat: wait this kinda looks like the Duke’s living room?

“Oh, VampSuga,” he said, addressing that commenter in particular with a slight smirk. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. Anyway, since I can’t reach my oven from here, I thought some no-bake cookies were in order. For these you will need-”

-

[ID: A screenshot of a Discord conversation. The text reads:

“VampSuga: Ok ok hear me out. Dukeceit. 

Starstruck96: who?

IneffableSnek: lmao

FeralBeauYasha: lol

VampSuga: Deceit and Remus Sanders! They’re totally dating. I will die on this hill. 

FeralBeauYasha: Isn’t the duke w/ PatPat?

IneffableSnek: no thats his brothers bf

FeralBeauYasha: ohh

VampSuga: Did anyone see Deceit’s stream today? I swear that’s the Duke’s livingroom. 

StarStruck96: idk that seems like a stretch

IneffableSnek: no wait i kno what u mean

IneffableSnek: im watching the duke’s old videos and that one where he shows off all his old weapons he’s in a living room kinda like deceit’s 

FeralBeauYasha: They were acting all cute on twitter too

VampSuga: DUKECEIT”  /end ID]

-

"Hey guys, been a while since you've seen my face and not just whatever my hands are busy with, when it's within YouTube's terms and conditions I mean. They used to be way more lenient…" Remus trailed off for a moment, then shook his head sharply and plastered on a grin. 

"Anyway! In June me and a few other creators did a fundraiser for the Trevor Project, and y'all smashed the goal, so I let you decide what video I'd make this month." He paused, and gestured to the mountain of clothes piled behind him on the bed. "And you had so many juicy ideas to choose from, but you decided to dress me up like a Barbie instead."

Remus paused to scroll through his phone for a few moments. "Ah, ok, here we go. Twitter user YoonIsMyCat- oh, BTS, nice- sent in this first outfit. Uh… future Remus, put up the post here somewhere." He gestured vaguely to his right. "Y'all went with either a fuckton more clothes or a fuckton less clothes, which I respect. Apparently this outfit is called…” He squinted at his phone. “Amish chic? I take it back, no respect at all.”

Remus cycled through the outfits his viewers sent in, which ranged from the aforementioned “Amish chic” to “2008 rave attire” to “ok now you guys are just fucking with me” (which consisted of one of those big puffy snow coats, lime green in color; booty shorts with the shrug text emoji across the ass; fuzzy pink boots; and a yellow cowboy hat to top off the whole thing. It was awful. Remus loved it.) The mountain of clothes on the bed gradually became a mess of clothes spread across the floor instead, until there was just one outfit left. 

“Ok so Twitter user VampSuga sent me this outfit that I’m gonna call ‘sexy librarian.’ I couldn’t find this exact sweater online, but-” he paused for dramatic effect, before brandishing a sweater toward the camera like a bullfighter. “My boyfriend had something that was close enough.”

Remus hopped up from the bed and switched off the camera so he could change.

“They’re going to lose their minds,” a voice drawled from the doorway. Remus threw his shirt at him.

“Shoo, I’m getting naked.”

-

[ID: A Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a selfie of YouTuber Remus “The Duke” Sanders, a Hispanic man with his hair dyed green and styled into a spiked mohawk. He is wearing a yellow knitted cardigan over a black button-up shirt. He is grinning widely at the camera. The caption reads: “my viewers pick my outfits! now live on youtube. go see what i look like as a sexy librarian!” /end ID]

-

DukeceitStan

first and only dukeceit shipper ig

DukeceitStan

wow there’s so many of you now! Hi!!

DukeceitStan

i want this to be canon so bad omg

DukeceitStan

i mean just look

[image]

how 

[image]

cute

[image]

[ID: A series of three gifs featuring Youtubers SerpenThyme, aka Deceit, and TheDuke, aka Remus Sanders. Deceit is a black man with long, dreadlocked hair, and vitiligo patches along the left side of his face. Remus is a Hispanic man with green-dyed hair styled into a mohawk, many ear and facial piercings, and tattoos covering both arms. Each gif is edited so that the highlights are tinged yellow when Deceit is seen, and tinged green when Remus is seen.

The first gif depicts a close-up shot of Deceit’s hands as he carefully decorates a cookie with green and yellow icing. The cookie art he is working on appears to be a half-finished octopus. The gif then fades into a mid-shot of Remus, with his back to the camera, facing a canvas. The canvas is blank, and Remus appears to be laying out paints on a table to his left. 

The second gif depicts Deceit seated at his couch, facing the camera. He has many ingredients spread across his coffee table (including oats, cocoa powder, and butter) and appears to be in the process of laying out several more. The gif fades to show Remus seated at a similar couch with a similar coffee table in front of him. The camera is angled slightly downward to better show the myriad of knives spread out across the table. Remus is gesturing wildly with a morning star held in his hand. 

The third gif depicts Deceit in his kitchen. He is pulling on a bright, yellow knitted cardigan, and smirking toward the camera. The gif fades to show Remus in his bedroom, seated on his bed. He is holding up a similar-looking cardigan toward the camera and grinning. /end ID]

- 

“Remus, it’s almost two in the morning. Come to bed.”

“I’m coming, sorry. Twitter distracted me.”

“Mm. I can’t believe the bird app is more distracting than I am.”

“You should try harder.”

“Come to bed and maybe I will.”

“Ok, ok, I’m coming. Hang on though, is it cool if I post this?”

“Sure. They figured it out anyway.”

“Sweet. Ok, Jannie, I’m coming.”

-

[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It reads: “Dukeceit is canon.” /end ID] 

#dukeceit #dukeceitweek #remus sanders #janus sanders #sanders sides fic #kye writes

[thetomorrowshow]

i will make the sky collapse ch. 3

First - Previous - Read on AO3!

Ok this post is queued bc y’all will not believe how busy I am, so it’ll be on ao3 a little late

CW: referenced violence, food, brief allusion to suicide, spiraling thoughts (from mr. jack kelly himself)

~

Jack had been here all day. When he ran from the rooftop after the disastrous strike, he’d snuck in through the backdoor of the theater and curled up in a corner, shaking and gasping and barely holding back tears. He’d been so close to just throwing himself off the rooftop, close enough that he knew he couldn’t stay there.

Now he hid behind the various set pieces, trying to not disturb anyone who still might be working around here this late. Not that there should be anyone, now. He’d even completely avoided Miss Medda. The woman liked to believe that she knew everything that went on around the theater, and Jack was content enough to let her. He couldn’t be found right now, though. Not when his nose burned and eyes smarted and knees wouldn’t stop shaking.

He would talk to Medda in the morning. It was late now, and all the lights were out, so it wasn’t like he had much of an option otherwise. Talk to her, maybe paint a background or two . . . maybe she would pay him like she offered . . . then he would be out of here, as soon as he could get Crutchie.

Crutchie. His heart practically split in half, and a tear finally slipped down his nose. They got Crutchie. They took him to the one place Jack had tried to save him from his entire life.

He had plans to head there near dawn tomorrow--after he’d spent another day planning things out. It shouldn’t be too hard to get him--or it wouldn’t, had it been anyone other than Crutchie. Any other boy would figure out how to climb down the wall, but it would be impossible without all working limbs. Crutchie’s bad leg wouldn’t be able to support him at all, especially not after the beating he’d taken in the Square (and definitely not after whatever Snyder and his goons had done so far during his stay, but Jack didn’t like to think about that). Jack could go in the front, the only door . . . but there was no way someone wouldn’t see him. There was always a guard or three hanging around, if not the Spider himself. And how would he get Crutchie down the stairs all by his lonesome?

A tiny voice spoke up in the back of his head, one that he’d been pushing down all evening. You coulds just go, it said. Forget about him, forget about all of them. Just go.

I can’t do that, Jack wanted to cry. He’s my brother, I can’ts just abandon him to Snyder!

People don’t stay in our lives forever, Jack, it reminded him. He’d never make it to Santa Fe, anyhow.

Jack couldn’t deny that. Maybe on a better day, in a better month. Maybe when Crutchie was grown, and his leg had calmed down a bit. Not now though, certainly not tomorrow. If Jack was going to leave soon, he was going to do it on his own. He didn’t want none of the others to come with him, anyhow. Only Crutchie.

Jack drew a hand across his tear-stained face, wincing as he brushed one of his bruises. Maybe in the morning he’d have a clearer head, a better understanding of what on earth he was meant to do. It wasn’t like the strike could continue, after all. They’d all end up in the Refuge for sure, or even worse. He’d seen Romeo get socked by that cop, had no idea how he was doing. If they kept on striking, more police would come, better armed and with no qualms about a bunch of stupid street rats.

None of them, save maybe Les, had escaped with zero injuries. Everyone was bleeding and bruised and crying and Crutchie was in the Refuge, and it was all Jack’s fault for getting the riled up about this in the first place. They were just kids! None of them knew what a union was supposed to be, even if Davey knew a bit about them! They were just children playacting at being adults, thinking that the trolley workers were probably having a good old time with no work while they got arrangements for better conditions, not even caring that there were full grown men dying in that strike. People died in strikes, and Jack couldn’t let it happen to any one of his boys, not before they properly got to be a person yet.

So he would leave--no, sleep on it, but he was fairly certain of his choice. Leaving, having to trust that the others would quit the strike and just deal with the raise in prices. That Crutchie would be out in a few months and be good enough to get right back to business, and maybe smiling that face-splitting smile of his eventually. Jack had to believe that he’d--that they’d all--be okay.

He couldn’t stop the sinking feeling in his stomach as he balled his shirt up into a pillow, nor could he stop a few more tears from wetting his cheeks. This was going to be by far the hardest and worst thing he’d ever done. He just had to hold on to Santa Fe. Everything was going to be fine when he got there.

-

Medda had given him one of those disapproving looks of hers, which Jack tried to ignore as his face burned. It had turned to blatant concern when he didn’t refuse her offer of payment. She had let it go, thankfully, and now he was waiting for the base white layer of paint to dry so he could start with the reds and oranges of a sunset. He’d already been waiting for what felt like way too long, so he stuck his thumb to the corner of it. It left a print and came back white, so Jack sighed and wiped it on his shirt--his undershirt, he’d taken his blue button-up off as soon as he’d gotten the paint out.

He couldn’t just not do anything--he could feel his feet itching to go, his head clamoring for his conscious attention. He absently flapped a brush back and forth against his palm, wondering if he could start on another while he waited, get the base coat of that one done and drying while he started on the actual painting of the first one. First he ought to sign this one, though, before he forgot.

Jack always signed his work, usually just on the back of the piece. A quickly scrawled ‘Jack K--’ in black paint, something to set it aside from all the other set pieces. He also knew that the boards would get reused countless times, painted over and cut up and redesigned. It was nice to know that under all that change, his name was there.

He spun it around and cracked open the can of black paint, dipping his brush in lightly and placing it on the blank back of the slab of wood. He could do his name big, more noticeable but with a better chance of getting scraped off. Or tiny, in the corner, somewhere it’d probably stay forever. Then he realized that while he’d been considering, he’d begun painting.

A boy, small, but very clearly a newsie, by his bag. An anguished face. A crutch.

Jack nearly dropped the brush. Was his guilt getting that bad, that he was painting Crutchie out of nowhere? Well, he couldn’t leave him there all alone on the canvas, with such a terrible look on his face. So Jack dipped his brush back in the paint and began another boy, not himself--not now that he was leaving--but Davey, as he liked to think that as Crutchie and Davey would become good friends in time. But Davey needed Les, and Les needed other boys, but of course they couldn’t be painted into this. They were too busy being suffocated by Pulitzer--and with that thought, Jack knew what he was painting.

-

The landscape had started out as any random place, just like all of them did. Mountains, a valley maybe, warm colors and some purple thrown in to capture the magic of a stained-glass sunset, and suddenly it was Santa Fe, exactly as Jack pictured it in his head. This happened with every single backdrop, from meadows to beaches to forests. All of them were Santa Fe, even if they weren’t.

“You ever gonna paint somewhere else, Jack?” a voice asked behind him, as he surveyed his work so far. He chuckled, not turning around, holding his thumb out in front of him the way he’d seen real painters do. He wasn’t quite sure why, but he thought it looked professional-like.

“How could you tell, Miss Medda?”

“Boy, I can tell everything.”

Jack dropped his arm and set his brush down on the floor, wiping his hands on his shirt as he turned around. Medda frowned.

“You are wearing an apron, use it!”

Oh yeah, he was. He moved his hands to it belatedly, smiling a little when Medda laughed at him. She was dressed to leave, not in a costume like Jack had assumed she would be. Were the shows over already?

“I’m heading out for a quick supper,” Medda said, and Jack nodded. One of the shows was over then, the other would be starting soon. He hadn’t lost track of as much time as he thought. “Do you want me to get you somethin’?”

“Aw, don’t worry ya’self over me,” Jack waved off. Sure, he hadn’t had anything to eat all day, but he could grab himself something later. By the look on Medda’s face, she was going to worry herself over him.

“I’ll bring you a sandwich, free of charge,” she said, reaching forward to pat his shoulder. He winced; he hadn’t realized he had a bruise there. Medda gave him another look, then turned to leave. Over her shoulder, she called, “By the way, Jack, there’s someone here to see you. I told him to wait in box five.”

Jack froze. They’d found him. It had to be Davey, didn’t it? The other boys knew that he stopped by the theater every so often, but didn’t know about his paintings. They just thought he knew one of the actors, or was getting food from the back or something. Only Davey and Les knew he worked here on occasion.

Jack put off visiting the box until after Miss Medda returned and told him to get up there before she sent the kid off herself. It was time to confess, he supposed. Let them know he wanted the strike to stop, and was leaving anyhow. At least someone would be able to tell Crutchie where he’d gone. And Katherine, if she cared.

This time he remembered to wipe his hands on his apron, then bundled it up and threw it into a corner. The painting wasn’t done, but he wanted to let it all dry before adding his finishing details. Every time he’d painted before, he hadn’t waited at all and it always came out looking more smudged than he wanted, so he’d decided to experiment a bit. Maybe it would look okay.

He couldn’t put it off any longer, it was time to face the music--or, Davey, rather. Jack knew his way around the theater, so it wasn’t hard to avoid the milling patrons in the lobby completely and skip straight up to box five, ready to talk to--

Specs?

“Specs?”

Specs.

“Specs.”

Specs leaped up from where he’d been perching on the edge of one of the fancy theater chairs, looking guilty as anything. When he saw Jack, though, his face brightened. “You’re all right!”

“Yeah, better than ever,” Jack griped, his eyes caught on the nasty hand-shaped bruise wrapped around Specs’s forearm. “Whaddya need?”

“We’s thought you mighta gotten grabbed by Snyder,” Specs said, looking him up and down, no doubt taking in his relatively few injuries. “The Delanceys been sayin’ you ran. I think some o’ the fellas mighta believed it, but Race thought ya’d be here so I cames by as soon as I could!”

Jack hadn’t counted on telling anyone other than Davey where he was going, but maybe this was for the best. Davey was so new to this, there was no way he could be in charge. Race was the first to come to mind for his replacement, but Race was so stupidly impulsive that Jack wasn’t sure he would be able to keep the boys in line. Specs would do well, though, at least until a better choice came forward. Used to the life, but always a little separate from the others, focusing more on the job than the social aspect. Still, he could have fun, and he was quietly loyal. Yeah, Specs would make a pretty good replacement. Jack opened his mouth to say something along those lines when a dirty scrap of paper was shoved in his face.

“What’s this?” he said instead.

Specs looked nervous and abashed at the same time. “Letter from Crutchie,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I went ta visit last night and he askeds me to give it to ya.”

Jack stared at the paper, taking in none of its details, then shifted his gaze to Specs. His eyes looked honest, if a bit anxious, mouth curved hopefully at the corner. The scrape on his cheek was ugly, but didn’t look infected. Davey must’ve made them all clean up with soap. That was another thing he’d have to tell Specs to remember. If he was going to be in charge, he had to know that Elmer hated the texture of the soap so bad he wouldn’t use it and had to be threatened, that Race sometimes liked to impulsively smear dirt on his wounds to try and get sympathy when it got infected.

Crutchie had written to him.

Jack grabbed the letter so quickly it almost tore, sending Specs stumbling back. Now that he was focused on it, that was definitely Crutchie’s handwriting, starting out relatively neat and just devolving into larger loops and tinier scribbles as it carried on. The paper was dirty, the pencil smudged here and there, and a rusty stain in the middle of the paper that made Jack’s stomach turn as he imagined how it had gotten there.

“I’ll just be headin’ back,” he heard Specs say distantly, but Jack couldn’t look away from the letter. Crutchie had held this, just last night, and he had been alive. Well enough to write a whole letter. Well enough to still have his sense of humor (Jack snorted at his joke about the food, then remembered the sentence preceding it and immediately sobered). Maybe even well enough to escape?

His letter read that he was already coming up with escape plans of his own, which was a good sign for his morale. It also said, though, that he was exhausted and his leg was doing bad.

Well, there was no way Jack couldn’t visit him now. Early in the morning was best--probably when the moon was about halfway done setting--and from there he would see whether or not Crutchie would be coming with him. Then back to the theater to lay low for a bit and finish the backdrop (there was no way Jack would be able to even think about finishing it tonight), then catch a train to Santa Fe and be out of here forever. If Crutchie did come, though, he’d have to do at least two more sets, get enough money for the both of them to make the trip. And of course, he still had to speak to Specs about taking over. Davey would come for him eventually, so he had to come up with something to placate him.

Why did nobody tell him that running away would take so much effort and planning?

The show was starting soon, and that sandwich was still waiting for him in the back room, so Jack ducked out of the box, tucking the letter into his pocket. He had to get ready for a break-in tonight, there was no time to waste.

#newsies #livesies #newsies live #newsies fanfiction #newsies fanfic #jack kelly #crutchie morris #newsies specs #letter from the refuge #i promise that next time we'll actually get to see crutchie's pov #am i stretching out the timeline a bunch? #maybe so #do i care? #not at all #the timeline in the musical is really wonky anyhow #oh i do need to clarify that this is not jackcrutchie #like it can be if you want ig #but that isn't my intent in writing it #it's meant to be brotherly :) #but yeah idc how you interpret it #go right ahead #please reblog it helps a lot :) #love you guys

[morethanaprincess-a]

I know this is quite a bit of time after I posted this meme, but I wanted to respond to all of the kind comments I received on the positivity meme when I really needed some last week! So I thought I’d save it for a Munday post, complete with pet tax beneath the cut. Mundays are better with pet tax, right?

@electricea

Thank you so much for your compliments, Jassi! I adore writing with you too, it’s so much fun coming up with new AUs for Ryuji and Sonia (and expanding on our established verses as well). You’re such a positive and encouraging person in the tumblr RPC and I’m pretty sure your dash agrees. Here’s to more IC adventures and me sending you ramen related news and saying “we’re working this into a thread, right? Right??”

Does Ryuji have the ramen pool float/raft already? Because that needs to happen.

@cadcnce

So uh, on a scale of 1-10 how mad will you be if I get a draft back to Eira by mid-week? To be fair, it’s not the same day please don’t point that gun at me

Joking (about what will likely happen on my dash) aside, I love writing with you and your many muses too! Bonus that we have plenty in common too, including being Old Muns with Old Mun Problems. Like roleplaying before tumblr and the fact that pogs are a bottle/milk cap game (I think I had close to 100 of them as an elementary school student, before I said I wanted beanie babies instead).

In short, I have so much fun both writing IC and just chatting about fandom and life OOC. Though the more I keep looking at Las Vegas-related things for RP research I’m just “Well, now I want to go and not gamble at all but do everything else.”

But I’ll finish with this: I do try to put my happiness first, and for me that’s when I’m writing every day and have a consistently-running queue. This is partly due to how organized I am about my work and my hobbies, and partly due to content creation and social media being a large part of my professional life. It’s not that tumblr RP is work, it’s that I can’t help but approach it, in a way, in a professional sense, taking in algorithms, patterns, activity, etc. into consideration. I look at a variety of statistics tumblr provides on my blog and often make judgement calls about content I post here that way.

It’s super nerdy and I know it. I also just can’t help it because it’s ingrained in me at this point: content planning, creation, calendars, analytics, etc. Pain for me is disorganization, a queue that isn’t updated, or answering asks/taking on more threads when I have replies I could write. 

@despairfiles​

Excuse me, every hour is Sin loving hours! Thank you so much for your encouraging feedback. You’re absolutely right: I’m definitely someone who likes to develop complex, long-term interactions over a variety of interesting situations. I know that can be frustrating sometimes with queued replies and wall-of-text replies, but it really is fun for me to show so much of a scene: the setting, the dialogue, the action, the thoughts and feelings. I tend to come up with most of my headcanons through threads at this point, too.

And I’m always going to say ‘challenge accepted’ when it comes to writing new stuff with Hajime and Shirou. If you feel compelled to bring Hajime back at some point I’m always here to write with you, and there’s so much story to tell with Sonia and Shirou too. I actually have a plot idea development for one of our verses on that front, I just haven’t put it into words yet!

Oh, and of course: Chatting OOC with you is one of the best parts of my day! Politics, spilling tea, me bemoaning that England lost Euro 2020 (the rest of the world doesn’t agree with me and I know it), you sharing your adorable dogs and wine sodas (I’m going to find the wine soda here. Somewhere.), agreeing that Lord El-Melloi II is a SNACC even if the fandom doesn’t agree with us, I adore it all. 

Seriously though I love him he is A++++ husbando material. This is where Sonia and I differ: she loves Shirou and I’m here just “He’s a professor who barely adults and realizes it is, indeed, a crisis when your favorite tearoom is closed. Husband material right here.”

@phantasmalcalamity​

Thank you so, so much for your compliments regarding my Sonia portrayal! That’s really nice of you! I’m not sure that my version is perfect by any means as plenty of people offer different takes on her, but I’m so glad you enjoy writing with her! Our Sonia/Gundham threads have been such a joy to write so far and I hope to continue and do more of them (without adding too much to your plate of course. I’m hoping you start feeling better, first and foremost!). You’re also wonderful to chat with OOC and I love seeing your costumes when you share them. It’s so cool having RP partners who are also cosplayers because you understand that unique struggle of “do I write drafts or do I work on costumes for upcoming con/event?”

I’m trying to balance both but it’s been interesting. Definitely after the fall cons/events I should have some more photoshoot stuff to share. I miss cons and photoshoots so much!

And as promised, some pet/life photo tax underneath the cut!

One of the two usual views I have when writing drafts/shitposting/chatting with you all on discord. Princess Molly received a new bed recently, befitting her royal status. She’s judging the quality of my drafts and wondering when she will be given pets.

And the other view I usually have while on tumblr. I’m missing Paris (and London. And Edinburgh. Let’s just put missing the U.K. and France in general here) quite a lot. I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to go back (probably whenever I go on my honeymoon), so I’m having a small taste of it at home. My family’s going next month, but work wouldn’t give me the time off to join them. 

The Laduree Marie Antoinette tea is my favorite version of the MA tea, and with shipping so expensive, it made sense to grab some macarons to go with it. 

I just miss Europe so much right now. Most of my off-tumblr friends are trying to plan trips to Japan next year, and I’m over here just “I actually miss Heathrow and Charles de Gaulle.”

#more-than-a-princess musings #(Happy Munday! Here's a too long Munday post) #(But at least there's pet tax)

[detroitbydark]

Crossed Connections: Part II

Characters: Tech x Togruta!Reader 

Warnings: None

Summary: Everyone experiences exhaustion. Some handle it differently than others.

You can read the first part here

Tech swore he’d seen something as the transport had skimmed the tree line in an attempt to cruise under Separatist radar. A dark shape, springing from through the deep red treetops, attempting to keep up with the Havoc Marauder. 

That’s how Hunter found himself an unwilling student to Tech’s lecture on Anaxes’ native fauna.

“Did you know fyrnocks typically roost in tree canopies? They’re almost entirely nocturnal and are incredibly light sensitive but they don’t sleep underground.”

Hunter nods vacantly, knowing that once Tech started on a topic it was best to let it run its course. Wrecker and Crosshair were both asleep in the cargo bay. It was upto one of them to keep their brain occupied while his battery wore down. 

Even exhausted, Tech’s mind never seemed to slow, jumping from one topic to the next. Exhaustion only seemed to bring to surface the more obscure things he fixated on. At least he wasn’t focusing on languages this go around. 

Last mission Wrecker sat with him for over two hours as he’d slipped in and out of Shyriiwook. Wrecker, never to be confused with an intellectual, had smiled and nodded to his young vod before he’d finally burned through enough energy to pass out over the ships console.

“It’s thought that the species as a whole springs from a single mother entity.” Tech looks up to see if Hunter was still listening “it’s all very fascinating.”

Tech types away at the small datapad secured to his vambrace. “There’s even some chatter about them being linked to the dark side of the Force. Can you imagine? I mean, from what I understand of the Force-“

“Tech” Hunter interrupts gruffly “save it until after debrief with Commander Cody?”

With a flip of the wrist, the younger clone closes the pad. “Of course Sarge, just thought it was interesting” 

“It is but we’re all running on fumes at this point. Not sure any of it is sinking in.” He taps at his temple and Tech nods.

“Understood.”

“Plus, we’re only a few klicks away from base and I need you to organize your part of the debrief.”

Tech nods before flipping the datapad back open and beginning to splice together the data he’d collected during recon.

------

You’ve been on Anaxes for two weeks. It still felt foreign, sleeping in the depths of the caverns the base had been built in and around was seriously beginning to mess with your internal clock. No windows to show you night or day, no warming from the sun or cooling as twin moons rose into the sky. You’d never been so thankful for your chronometer. It was hard to sleep as you adjusted to the new environment. While it left you exhausted you also had yet to be late for your shifts already up before you chrono had to wake you. You’d consider it a win.

You were weary of seeing clones on the edge of death, mangled and passed off to you like they were no more than broken droids, only their brothers and a few of the generals seeming to worry about their well being. It wasn’t right. You’re heart hurt and while the other staff had either their clone brothers or other civilians to cling to you seemed to be left to your own devices, as if everyone else could just sense that you weren’t like them. Like on Kiros.

Your people believed only the strong survived. If you couldn’t keep up the Togruta left you behind. Your belief in the value of life made you an outsider within your own tribe. You believed life needn’t validate itself to matter. Simply existing in the first place gave it meaning.

It was a highly unpopular opinion.

The sheer number of casualties you saw roll in daily was another change from your post on Coruscant. Generally, by the time you’d seen the troopers there they’d been stabilized and needed supportive care. Anaxes brought you the worst of the worst straight from the front lines. The GAR was taking mass losses, entire squads destroyed in the blink of an eye without warning. You’d lost count of the number of Clones who’d taken their last breath in your presence. You’d never experienced anything like it on Coruscant and your training had done nothing to truly prepare you for the crushing feeling each loss brought to you and the rest of the medical staff.

You swish your mug around before bring it to your lips taking another swallow of caf. It had gone cold long ago, forgotten when the last emergency had rolled through the doors. You fantasized about a hot mug of it to soothe your throat. You kept up a steady stream of talk when you worked.  Your patients always knew exactly what you were doing and your colleagues knew exactly what you were seeing. You’d heard some other medics comment on how annoying it was but you were never going to be accused of not communicating effectively, not when troopers lives could depend on it.

 A side effect of hours of talking were often a scratchy, dry throat and a hoarseness that silenced you for the rest of the day. It was ok. Outside of the medbay you were never really sure what to say. Your confidence in your professional skill did not cross over to personal affairs. 

“Y/N?” It was one of the clone medics, Kix, from the 501st. He was amiable enough and seemed easy to get along with the few times you’d worked together.

The empty mug was set aside, to be forgotten till a later time when desperation drove you to more of the swamp water that sat bubbling bitterly in the break room.

“I’ve got a squad coming in off a recon run. They’re due for a once over so the powers that be are going to send them down after debrief.” Kix looked on edge as he spoke and you cocked your head trying to figure out what he was saying between the lines.

“You want me to do it?” You knew how to do what he was asking, you just weren’t sure why he was asking you of all people.

“Uh, the boys in 99 don’t much care for other clones.”

That was a new one.

“I can do it Kix” you nod reassuringly. “Don’t worry, ok?” A knot was beginning to tangle in your stomach. You brush off the feeling and try to give the clone your most reassuring smile. 

Clones that didn’t like other clones? You hadn’t heard of such a thing outside of the Coruscant Guard. 

Those guys were dicks.

Kix seems relieved, running a hand over his face roughly “I owe you. I’ll have them sent over to Exam 3 when they’re done?”

“Make it 5” you correct “they’re still getting blood off the floor in 3 and 4”

-----

Crosshair is spitting mad by the time The Bad Batch is dismissed from Cody’s debrief and Tech can’t figure out why. He just had to acknowledge that  pissed off was simply the sniper’s default setting. Tech figures he’s mad no one was willing to take the bait and give him the fight he was looking for.

To his left Hunter seemed as relaxed as Hunter could be, ever vigilant eyes scanning the halls as they traveled. 

Per usual, Wrecker was all smiles (if maybe slightly menacing ones) as they entered the lift down to medical.

Tech was pleased. He’d been told the intel would be useful. No one had insulted anyone. No punches had been thrown. It all seemed pretty good as far as he was concerned. All they had to do now was do a quick medical check and they were good to go for at least a solid day of rest before their next assignment. he falls in behind the others while they queued into a single file in front of him, each dipping into the room in turn for their scan. Hunter is in and out before Tech can blink, same for Crosshair. 

Wrecker was never the best behaved for the medical staff. He just didn't like medical. Tech couldn't blame him.  Hunter and Crosshair wait for a few minutes, making sure they weren’t needed to calm the big man down, before the excuse themselves to the small barracks the four of them called home.

Tech uses the wait to browse the holonet for anything that might pique his curiosity and bookmarks a couple things to look into once he could crawl into his rack.

When Wrecker pops out of the exam room with a sucker tucked into his cheek some twenty minutes later without any shouting following him, Tech takes notice.

“It’s stormfruit, man” Wrecker hums around the sucker “I like this one” He tips his head back toward the exam room as one big mitt cuffs Tech on the shoulder, knocking him back a step as he passes by. 

Tech doesn’t bother to take his helmet off when a bright voice calls “Next!” 

He’s greeted by the sight of a dimpled Togruta smiling up at him from her spot on a stool.

“Hey you must be…” she glances quickly at her datapad resting on her crossed knee “Tech?”

The voice is exceedingly familiar but he doesn’t know the face as she motions to the table. His feet stutter step as he moves further in the exam room, taking a seat on the table the composite of his armor clanks loudly. 

“Long day?” The medic asks and he nods, eyes narrowed as he rifles though his mental files. He knew that voice.

“You're not gonna give me trouble like the last one, right?” She starts, “it took me half a dozen lollys to convince him to let me scan him. I’m starting to think he played me, ya know?”

He nods again.

“You don’t talk much do you? Nexu got your tongue?”

Tech huffs quietly, flipping his visor up to view her without the incandescent screen in the way.

“I think you're the only person that’s ever said that.” He chuckles.

She beams at him, squinting and searching his face.

“Yeah? I won’t complain about being your first.” She teases before her cheeks, already a rich color, flush brightly. When she smiles nervously he sees the quick pearly flash of her incisors. He liked the way she smiled at him. It makes his stomach flip in a vaguely familiar way.

That’s when the data points come together. The realization hits him.

He’d often wondered what Grutababy looked like, curiosity only reaching a fever pitch after their conversation on the comms. He’d lay awake at night, while his brothers slept and try to piece together what she might look like, cursing himself for never once asking for a picture. 

His mind would run through the many sentient species he was familiar with as he’d try to place the voice from their lone conversation to it it had become a game. Twi’lek, Mirialan, human… Togruta?

It makes sense now, her profile name. Grutababy. Really it shouldn’t have taken a genius level IQ to figure that out. 

He watches her lekku sway gently as she moves through the room. Her skin, somewhere between red and pink, reminds him of a sunset he’d once seen on an outer rim planet, the name of which he’s since forgotten. 

The white markings of her people cross from one temple to the other, circling her eye like a mask. Others travel in soft swooping lines from the outer corners of her eyes down, crossing at plump lips and fading out at her chin. A small diamond shaped mark rests above each brow. 

Her eyes are a pale, icy blue. The overall effect is… stunning. 

She was more beautiful than he could have ever imagined (and he’d tried).

“This may sound weird-” she hums” her fingers fumble for her scanner, nearly dropping it off the counter. Frowning, she taps it against the heel of her palm when it refuses to turn on.

Once. 

Twice.

Three times.

Tech winces, wants to tell her that there was no evidence that treating a device like that would make it work. On the contrary it would often-

The scanner buzzes to life and a triumphant smile lights her features.

“Like, I was saying, it may sound weird. I just get the feeling….”

Tech swallows hard.

She lets out a nervous laugh and waves it off, “Nevermind, ignore me. Not enough sleep or caf and I’m imagining things”

Something akin to disappointment filters through his chest as she rubs the back of a montrail nervously. He wonders if he should tell her? She interrupts his train of thought with a deep breath and the moment has passed. She's all business now as she adjusts the scanner in her grip.

“So Trooper, how about we get your scan done and you can go get the sleep that I’m not.” 

#tech x reader #clone trooper tech #tcw #tech #crosshair #wrecker #hinterested #the clone wars

[pens-swords-stuff]

Before the new decade: A final 2019 update

Hey Writeblr! I can’t believe that 2019 is almost over (or over already for some of you in a different time zone!), can you? I hope the new decade brings lovely things, people and events your way.

Some of you might have noticed that I’ve disappeared off the face of this website — or maybe not, that’s fine too — and I didn’t want to let the year end without letting my favorite community know why I’ve been gone, apologize, and what you can expect from me in the new year.

TL;DR I’ve been absent because I’ve been extremely busy and stressed. You can expect me to slowly reintegrate myself into the writeblr community, starting small with queued posts.

What I’ve been up to:

November and December have been a really busy and stressful couple of months for me. People who kept up with my personal life know that I’ve been in the process of starting a new job. This new job has been a really mentally taxing process for me, mostly because I spent about a month in new job nervousness purgatory. I got hired as a Direct Support Professional which essentially means that I work with vulnerable adults — and that requires a lot of training before I was able to even begin working. I was doing various trainings for several weeks without having any real idea of what my new job would be like, who my coworkers were, what I would be doing, while the trainings all educated me on the worst-case scenarios that could happen and how that would impact me, the organization, the clients, and my future in the human services field.

I’m also applying for some graduate programs and that has been really difficult for me as well, especially because after being out of school for about half a year, my ability to write academically has taken a dip. There’s been a lot of other things going on as well like fighting with my ISP for weeks, grace period for student loans ending, but those were the two really big ones.

There was a lot of anxiety in response to those two things, and it manifested itself into fear of all forms of social media, most notably Tumblr and Discord. Any time that I accidentally opened either app, I would panic and immediately close it because I couldn’t even look at it without my heart rate skyrocketing. It wasn’t that something bad had happened here or anything, but for whatever reason I wasn’t able to mentally handle even looking at tumblr for a while.

I know that there were things that I said that I would do, and I know that a lot of you have contacted me on discord, sent me asks and DMs that I didn’t see until now. I’m really sorry for not being around and essentially abandoning everything here for a long time. I’m also sorry for not letting you guys know that I would be on hiatus for a while.

Fortunately, things are calming down a bit. Grad school applications are due in early January, so I’m almost done with them, and I’m finally actually working at my new job instead of just training and it seems really nice so far though I have a long way to go before I really know what I’m doing.

What happens now:

I think I’m ready to start dipping my toes back in tumblr! I’ll be a student again in mid-January while working and volunteering so I don’t know how much free time and energy to devote to tumblr quite yet, but I really missed you guys and seeing what you guys were up to, and I’m finally at a place where opening tumblr doesn’t make me have an anxiety attack.

For a while at least, I think I’ll start rebuilding up my empty queue for now and slowly get used to being on tumblr again and just seeing what’s up. What the heck I did on the internet while I was avoiding tumblr I have no idea, but I’m really excited to be able to waste time on this website again. While I’m doing that, I might make a couple of personal posts about whatever I feel like, and maybe start reblogging and commenting on people’s posts again. I have a few ideas for writing and writing advice related posts I can make, but I think those will be a little bit further off for now. I’ll also work on slowly responding to everyone that’s contacted me; slowly being the keyword here. 

And no, I did zero writing over the past month or so I don’t really have anything new to share. I do have some new ideas bouncing around in my head though and a potential new little project I might start working on for fun! I hope that as I get more comfortable with my new job, I’ll be able to free up some energy to devote to writing again because right now, I am just exhausted.

So basically, I’ll be around again! Maybe I won’t be super active with making posts yet, but I want to be logging in consistently again.

Thanks for bearing with this long post! I missed you guys, I hope you guys had a fantastic holiday season, I can’t wait to catch up with everyone and I hope that you haven’t completely forgotten me 💙

#writing #writeblr #undine speaks #blog update #long post #i'm back #kinda #but seriously i really missed you guys #please feel free to update me on what you've been up to while I was gone! #<3 #i can't wait to see what wonderful things you guys have been up to!

[ddagent]

Jaime is the replacement for Renly as Brienne’s co-anchor in a morning show. A self-defense expert is the guest. Brienne accidentally blacks Jaime’s eye. “accidentally”

I hope this makes your day a little brighter, my dear! Inspired by Nikolaj turning up on CNN with a shiner.

“And we’ll be right back with Syrio after these messages.”

A production assistant signalled they were off-air, and Brienne sagged against the blue sofa. Beside her, her temporary co-anchor smirked. “You should smile more, Tarth. Wouldn’t want to put people off their breakfast with that frown of yours.”

And with that, Jaime Lannister stood up to grab a bottle of water and refresh his make-up. 

Things didn’t use to be like this. Brienne used to like going to work each morning; liked sharing the sofa of Good Morning, Storm’s End with her co-anchor (and secret crush) Renly Baratheon. But then Renly’s brother Stannis had accidentally hit him with a car, and Renly was off for three months. The producers had brought in Jaime Lannister, the evening news anchor of a major station in King’s Landing, to cover for him. Brienne had thought, for a moment, that he might be respectful; professional. 

She had been wrong. 

Right now he swanned back on the soundstage like he owned it. Which, according to rumours she’d heard in the break room, he technically did. Apparently, Jaime’s father had bought their network. When she’d heard that, Brienne had given up ever working with Renly again. Maybe she could get fired; start fresh up North. Catelyn had always said there was a job for her at Wake Up in Winterfell. 

“Silver stag for them?” Jaime asked, breaking Brienne out of her reverie. “I’d offer a gold dragon but I’m not sure they’re worth that much.”

“Piss off.”

“Now now, let's not get too aggressive before Mister Forel arrives. You know, Tarth, you should really pay attention. It’s a dangerous world out there. I mean, you’re tall as fuck and you look like a man from behind, but some men like a challenge.” 

She raised her middle finger just as the production assistant queued them back in after the commercial break. The teleprompter called for Brienne to re-introduce the segment, but Jaime jumped in. 

“If you’re just joining us here at Good Morning, Storm’s End, we’re about to be joined by master self-defence expert Syrio Forel, who is bringing out a new web series dedicated to teaching moves you can learn at home. Do you know any self-defence, Brienne?” 

I’m a master of several arts, can box, and swing a broadsword. “I know where to put my thumb when I make a fist, Jaime.” Up your arse, you pompous prat. “But I’m hoping Syrio will teach me a few moves.”

They welcomed Syrio Forel onto the soundstage where a mat had been set up for a demonstration. Jaime removed his tie and rolled up his sleeves. Whilst Lannister was primping, Brienne took over asking Forel a few questions about his new series, his history in the field, and his famed gym back in Braavos. When Jaime was ready, Syrio got them in position. 

“Now, Jaime, you stand behind Brienne and try to grab her. Brienne, I want you to aim your elbow just off to Jaime’s side. If he was really aiming to attack you, you’d go for his solar plexus. But we don’t want you hurting your co-anchor.” 

“Not at all,” Jaime said; a glint in his green eyes. “You don’t want to hurt me, do you, Tarth?” 

She pinned a sickly sweet smile to her features as Jaime’s arm slotted across her sternum. His arm was firm; his skin warm against her navy button-down. Brienne blinked and aimed her elbow backwards. She didn’t quite get the air she was hoping for, and instead hit Jaime in the side. A couple of the cameramen chortled. 

“My co-anchor’s elbows are armed and dangerous,” Jaime laughed off, but his smile was gone. “Let’s try it again.”

They gave it a couple more goes; once, Brienne was even the assailant. Jaime, thankfully, restrained himself from seeking revenge with his own elbows. Then Forel moved on to showing them how to throw a punch. He demonstrated the correct form before Jaime threw a few mock jabs stopping short of her thrice broken nose. 

Forel was addressing the cameras, discussing what more could be learned from his web series, when Jaime turned to her. His microphone was covered by his hand. “You’re not very good at this, are you? I can see why Baratheon seemed happy to be a knocked down by a car. Got a break from working with you.”

When it was played back for Brienne later – when Catelyn’s daughter Arya sent her the video posted online with millions of hits – she would be unable to pinpoint exactly when she decided to punch Jaime Lannister in the face. It was just an instinct. She would not be talked to like that. She would not be treated like that. Jaime Lannister didn’t seem to register words. Words are wind, after all. So she thrust back her arm and struck him with her fist. 

“Seven Hells!” exclaimed one of the cameramen; Forel turning back to see what had happened and trying hard to restrain his grin. 

The first aider was called for. A commercial break was aired. Brienne stood over Jaime with her fist curled, adrenalin rushing through her, not sure what to do now. Below her, Jaime pressed his fingers against his reddening eye socket. She expected him to call for the gold cloaks. She expected him to call his father and have her fired. Instead, he looked up at her as if she were one of the Seven. 

“Nice punch. Brienne.”

#braime #jaime x brienne #mine: paragraph prompts #ship: braime #agirlnamedkeith

[shadowofthelamp]

Fandom Trades: Tips and Tricks

I’ve been running a secret santa for five years now, and a few people expressed interest in a sort of ‘guide’. It does take some elbow grease to get things up and running, but it’s very rewarding and gets easier as you go. Click the ‘read more’ for some stuff I’ve picked up over the years! It’s a bit general to try and cover anything, but if you have any questions, you can ask! (And if you’ve run one yourself, feel free to add on!)

FAQ: Something that’s a really good idea to have. Here’s the most important stuff on it that would probably be applicable to most trades:

-Basic summary of what the trade will be- some could be fic-only or art-only, or even specific-ship-only. Mine’s general to ‘all sonic sfw content’, but setting guidelines so people know what they’re getting into is a good idea so you won’t have to answer the same question over and over.

-Deadlines. Make them clear. Mine’s easy (Christmas Eve) but depending on what size the gift is expected to be, the time frame can be adjusted. 

-Related, set up rules for if people need to drop out. It happens, so be prepared. (This is why I ask now if people are alright giving a second gift.)

-Any particular rules for your trade- is it sfw or is nsfw acceptable? (In that case, set age limits.) Are there ships that will or won’t be allowed? Is there a punishment for violating the rules or turning things in late, like not being allowed to participate in the trade again?

PROMOTION:

A promo image is a good idea! I’ve been using the same one for a few years that was put together by a friend no longer on tumblr, but images catch people’s eyes faster than a text dump. Make something that’s easy to understand but gets the point across, and the text below should have enough information without overwhelming the casual scroller. 

Space paragraphs often to make it less intimidating. Include links to the FAQ, the sample entry, and the submit box right in the post, as well as a way to contact you- you want things to be as easy as possible for anyone interested. Here’s my promo post.

You also want to start promotion early- I start posting and reblogging my promo a full month before the entry deadline, to give as many people the chance to see it as possible. Any earlier, and they might not care- (who wants to see a Christmas trade post in October when you’re hyped for Halloween?) and any later and you might not get as many participants as you could have. A month-ish is a good time frame. (I also have a tag for the promo post, so people can blacklist it if they aren’t interested and don’t want to see it 15 times.)

SAMPLE ENTRIES:

Also something that’s good to have. Having a template for what you want entries to look like will make sorting easier for you. Here’s mine. It’s a good idea to scout around for other trades to find out what would work for you.

MAKING ASSIGNMENTS:

Next, setting up how to arrange who gets assigned to who. I personally use google spreadsheets. These are the categories I use, feel free to steal them: Username, medium (art, writing, amvs, ect), whether they’ll work with fan characters, what they’d like to receive, what they won’t do (one year I even added ‘if there’s anyone you won’t work with’ so if it’s a fandom with drama, that one might be good), who they’re gifting to, who they’re receiving from, if they’ve submitted their piece yet, if their piece is in the queue, and if they’re alright with doing backup.

I also had a category for if they’ve confirmed they’re still in once assignments were sent out. (Boy, was that one nerve-wracking during the whole tumblr purge debacle of last year- I didn’t know if anybody had just quit tumblr mid-month.)

You will run into people who only want two or three things nobody else wrote on their sheet. If you can’t find even one match, then just put them with someone who had a wide variety on theirs, or who doesn’t have anything on their ‘won’t do’ list. Trying to match with multiple likes is a better bet, though, so encouraging longer lists of what people want makes things easier for you in the long run!

I personally just went in a line- I picked one person, found who they would give a gift to, and then found who THAT person would give a gift to. Rinse and repeat down the list, and it’ll end with everyone paired. I ended up making a closed loop and then sorting the last 8 or so, which was fine. An easy way to check that you didn’t double-classify anyone is control-f and searching names. If their name pops up 3 times, you did it right.

SENDING OUT ASSIGNMENTS:

Just copy-pasting the part of the entry that includes the person’s name and their likes makes this way easier for you over trying to type them out individually. Ask for confirmation that people got their assignments so you don’t have to worry if they missed it.

HOW TO KEEP THINGS ORGANIZED:

My system is this: I’ve mentioned it before, but I utilize a combination of my spreadsheet and the queue function. Let’s say Sally’s making a gift for Jake, Jake’s making a gift for Taylor, and Taylor’s making a gift for Sally. Sally submits her piece of art for Jake. I mark that off on the sheet, so when Taylor submits the gift for Sally, that gift will go in the queue to be posted whenever the deadline is up because she turned hers in already.

This keeps people motivated to complete their parts of the trade, since they won’t get their gifts until they do. If someone drops out, tell the person making the gift for them- if you’re lucky, they can rework what they have for the person that the drop-out was supposed to make something for, but if not, bring in someone who didn’t mind making a second gift. Person making the gift for the dropout can choose if they want to continue making it or not- if it’s mostly done and not a fan-character, they can just post it on their own blog unrelated to the trade. 

It’s also a good idea to have a ‘hub’ where things are posted. If it’s a fic trade, ao3 has a function specifically for this, but I’ve found having things submitted directly to you makes it a million times easier to keep track of who’s finished their pieces, as well as keeping things ‘secret’ until the big day. (People have gotten confused or excited and posted early before.)

If people want to post elsewhere after it’s posted on the main hub, set your own rules- I say it’s fine as long as it links back to the blog and links the giftee, particularly if it involves fancharacters. You make your own judgement.  

BE PATIENT:

This is one that’s very important. Some people don’t check the FAQ, and some people are going to be new, asking questions that you swear you’ve answered before or thought would be obvious. They generally just want to know, so take a deep breath. They don’t know they’re the fifth person to ask that question. Answer politely, or steer them towards the FAQ. (Running the same event year after year, you run into this a lot- they’re just new, be nice!)

Don’t start an event that you expect to have plenty of people participating if you aren’t prepared to hear the same questions a couple of times. Things might get a little annoying- take a step back for a few minutes, cool off, but try to remain professional. You signed up for this. For me, it’s always worth it to see how happy people are about their gifts, but know yourself and your limits- running a themed week where people post art at their own pace is less hassle, so you could try that if you don’t feel up to organizing a full trade! 

If you can have a friend to bounce things off of, that can help too, but don’t use them as just a dumping ground. Tumblr allows multiple ‘mods’ on a blogs, so splitting work can make things easier, particularly if it’s your first run doing something like this. I had a friend who helped me the first few years before leaving tumblr. Be sure you trust the person, though! They’ll be able to edit posts and delete submissions, so if any drama happens, beware. (This never happened to me, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful.)

TAGGING:

Add tags to the submission box. I don’t know why this took me four years to think of, but it saved me a lot of time last year. If it’s a trade that covers an entire fandom and dozens of ships, you can add the shipping tags as they come in, but adding the ten or so most popular character tags helps a lot. If it’s going to involve potentially triggering content, common trigger tags are a good idea too. (A Halloween trade might need this, for example, or one that involves nsfw content.)

PEOPLE TURNING THINGS IN LAST MINUTE:

It’s going to happen. I think one year I was panicking on the 23rd because I only had half the gifts, and all but one had been turned in by the time I went to bed on the 24th. People procrastinate- if you get in most of the gifts ahead of time, you can thank your lucky stars. Try not to stress over it, but feel free to post reminders in the week before/days leading up to the deadline. My family travels around the holidays a lot, and I managed to get everything queued up properly through airport and hotel wifi more than one year, so you’ll be just fine if you try and stay calm.

OTHER/GENERAL:

It’s absolutely worth it, in my opinion- I’ve been doing this for years for a reason. My favorite thing is knowing I’ve done something that made others happy. Going through all the excited responses Christmas morning is equal or above getting presents from my family, because I know it’s on some level because of me facilitating the trade in the first place. I hear over and over this is something people look forward to, and it genuinely warms my heart. 

It might take a few years to get established, but if you find a niche (there was a blog called sonic secret santa, but it hadn’t been updated in years) you might be surprised how fast you can gather people! I like seeing people show up year after year, it’s how I know I’m doing something right.

It is definitely work, and there is stress involved, (especially if people drop out or don’t send in their gifts on time) but the benefits outweigh the negatives, I say. People are generally understanding if there’s a problem, as long as you make it known you’re working on it.

You have to commit to the responsibility if you do this- people who are making gifts are putting their trust in you that you’ll keep things organized and they’ll get something for the gift they’re giving. You can’t guarantee everything will run exactly as planned, but you can be as transparent as possible when you hit a bump- ‘I’m sorry, but your person said they’ll be late because they were having internet problems/personal life issues and is doing their best’ is going to get a lot better of a response than radio silence. Be sympathetic, but be firm on the rules if need be.

I hope this helped a bit, and thanks for reading!

[storiesofwildfire]

UPDATED: 02/07/2020

This is an independent roleplay blog for Loki Laufeyson based primarily off of a mixture of Norse Mythology, Marvel, and God of War 2018. I am not in association with Marvel or Sony and claim no profits from this blog. This is also not a fandom blog, meaning most of the posts will be in-character responses to threads and asks. All reblogs will be in relation to Loki or any of the characters or ideas that make up their world. IMPORTANT INFO ON LOKI: It's extremely important to keep in mind that Loki is a gender fluid shape-shifter and may appear in any number of forms and genders at any given time. Loki has very few limits on what they can do with their body and they will not always appear to other muses as MCU's Tom Hiddleston version of Loki. This can and will include variations to Tom Hiddleston's Loki, Lady Loki, Jotun Loki, and many other forms. Loki may be male, female, both, or neither at any given point in time. It is up to me and my discretion of when to implement Loki's shape-shifting abilities. Bottom line, don't expect Loki to be a cis-male who is always in a completely male form. It's out of character and simply won't happen and even if Loki presents male or female, that does not mean that Loki's body beneath the clothing matches that presentation. Assume nothing.

ACTIVITY

This blog is selective and private, meaning I will be selective with who I interact with and/or follow and I will only roleplay with mutuals. My ask box and my IMs are open to non-mutuals, however. If I’m not following you, but you’d like to interact, don’t be afraid to shoot me a message. If we talk and I like you, chances are, I’ll follow you back. If you want to send a random ask, feel free. You don’t have to my mutual to use my ask box. I can be an extremely slow roleplayer at times. Please understand that this is a hobby and while I love what I do, I cannot be here all the time. Sometimes IC replies and OOC replies will come slowly. I am also a writer outside of Tumblr, so sometimes my personal and professional projects have to come first and often suck up a lot of my creative energy. That said, I am not on Tumblr at all during the weekends. Starting Friday night and usually extending to Sunday night/Monday morning, I log out of Tumblr completely. This is because I am typically very busy on the weekends, but also because I need to take a step back from Tumblr once in a while just to keep my sanity. I'm more motivated to write on the days I promise to be here if I can look forward to a few days off at the end of the week. It's just to give me some peace of mind and a bit of breathing room. On days I am not on Tumblr, I am likely still on discord--which is available for mutuals upon request! Sometimes my blog will update through a queue so it is still active even when I am not physically on. I do this regularly but not consistently. If you're curious as to whether or not something is a queued post, you can check my tags. All queued posts have a queue tag on them!

SIDE MUSES

I actually roleplay as more than just Loki on this blog. It also includes four of Loki’s children ( the children I have chosen to incorporate from mythology ); Hel, Fenrir, Jörmungandr, and Sleipnir. There are also a mixture of secondary muses that help make up Loki’s world. Most of these characters are the mun’s original characters, but canon characters like Fandral ( I loooooove writing Fandral! ) may show up on occasion. It’s important to remember that this blog is a Loki-oriented blog, though. While I do roleplay as numerous secondary characters, this is not meant to be interpreted as a multi-muse blog. If you would like to interact with any of my secondary characters, chances are, you’ll need to interact with Loki first. I do, however, love getting to use my secondary characters, so if you're interested in them, please let me know! It's also important to remember that while some of these characters are canon to either mythology or Marvel, they are my own interpretation of them and may not 100% be accurate to canon. While canon characters do exist in the side muses, most of them are original characters and are not available for public use. These are my characters, my ideas, and my world-building. Please do not use them without permission or claim any information as yours.

PREFERENCES & HATE

I do not roleplay with anyone under the age of 18. It's nothing personal to the younglings of Tumblr, but for my own personal comfort, I'd rather keep my interactions to 18+ only. I prefer plotting over jumping into an interaction that has no basis. Memes are great and I love them, but I have very little interest in maintaining threads that have no substance. I prefer novella threads, but I am willing to do shorter para threads as well. i am not willing to do one-liners. A thread has to have some meat to it in order to hold my interest. I do not tolerate hate at all. Anonymous or not, I will not deal with hate directed at me or any other person. NSFW (meaning sex, violence, torture, gore, and other adult themes) will be present. I roleplay a large range of topics, including very dark and sensitive subjects. I do not personally have many triggers when it comes to what I am willing to explore on this blog. Dark themes will be very present. I will not censor my muse but I will tag triggering content accordingly. I tag by a 'tw; triggering content title' system. Self harm, for example, would look like this: tw; self harm

SHIPPING

Simply put, I love shipping, but it's not the sole reason I'm here. If I ship, I prefer to ship in a setting that's well thought out and plot-driven. The ship is great, but there needs to be more than just the ship. I don't ship for the sake of shipping and I only ship based on chemistry. If you want to ship with me but don't know how to approach the subject, just send me a message and we can discuss it!

WHAT KEEPS ME FROM FOLLOWING?

Blogs who have no about page. This is the essence of a character. Without it, I have no idea if I would be interested in your muse or not. This is staple for canons and OCs. Anyone who makes me feel like a number. I do not expect anyone to make me an exclusive partner. You are more than welcome to roleplay with dupes, but I do not want to be added to a collection. I am an individual, not a collector’s item. Valuing unique portrayals is so important Non-roleplay-blogs/self inserts. People who I have witnessed abusing or attacking other role-players. If you have an issue with another role-player, handle it in private. Do not attack them publicly. I have been a victim of “call-out culture” and I will not deal with it. I understand that some call-out posts are necessary to warn people of harmful people and toxic environments, however, more often than not, I see call-out posts that throw around false accusations and complain about personal problems rather than actual, problematic behavior. Unless undeniable proof is provided, I will never be part of the culture of publicly slandering someone. To follow up on that last point, if I see a lot of ooc drama and constant negativity on a blog, I won't follow. People who godmod. If you do godmod me, I will message you about it. If you are unwilling to discuss the issue, the thread will be dropped. Anyone who thinks they have the right to tell me or anyone else what they can and cannot do with their blogs. Roleplaying is about writing and exploring a wide variety of topics. Fiction is not reality. A muse’s actions are not the mun condoning said actions. If you cannot understand that fiction is a way for writers to explore things outside of everyday life, dark or otherwise, this is not the blog for you.

EXCLUSIVES

Being exclusive is something that I am willing to do, but on very rare occasion. It takes a lot of personal love and interaction with a mun to be willing to make them exclusive with my muse. This isn't just about IC interactions being amazing, but also an OOC connection with the other mun as well. An exclusive status will only be offered if it is returned. If you are my exclusive, I am yours. EXCLUSIVES LIST: THISFORGOTTENLORE - Bigby Wolf, Brienne of Tarth, Bruce Banner & Hulk, Geralt, Heimdall, Illya Kuryakin, Jaskier, Khal Drogo, Kratos, Robert Jekyll & Hyde, The Iron Bull, Yennefer OFCHARREDBONES - Johnny Blaze FANDRALXTHEXSTABULOUS - Fandral If you would like to talk about being an exclusive and we already interact, please feel free to shoot me a message!

ABOUT THE MUN

Hi there! My name is Amber and I'm in my mid-twenties. I've just finished up a master's degree in creative writing for entertainment, meaning I take great pride and joy in writing stories in just about any sort of medium. I primarily focus on prose (as demonstrated by this blog) and film/television scripts, but I also dive into comics and other mediums from time to time. I've been roleplaying Loki for over six years now. They have truly become my life-long muse and they even inspires my off-Tumblr projects quite a lot. Aside from Loki, I do have a long history of both writing and roleplaying including a number of canon characters and original characters. I'm not going to go on and on about myself because I don't want to bore you! Just know that I'm very friendly, kind of shy, and if you want to write with me and you come at me wanting to plot, I will probably be over the moon about it. I thrive on plotting and world-building and if you have an interest in doing those things with me, we'll get along great. If you would, by chance, like to know more about me and why I roleplay as Loki, you can click HERE and HERE. I do run a couple of blogs ( though Loki is my main! ). You can find all of them here: LOKI LAUFEYSON ( and supplement characters ) - STORIESOFWILDFIRE. MULTI-MUSE - GRIMOIREWEAVERS

CREDITS

Background, popup background, and mobile header graphics made by the incredible and lovely Smudge ( aka thisforgottenlore ), tweaked by myself. Background art by the extremely talented SCEITH-A. Popup background and mobile header art by the equally as talented ROSSDRAWS. Personal graphics, unless stated otherwise, were made by myself. Icons are a mixture of free-to-use icons (and gifcons) found and reblogged on Tumblr and my own personal icons which were editted from raw screen caps and created by me.

#outofmagic #rules #rules text post #index; blog #filed under; about the blog #filed under; blog updates #index; mun #filed under; about the blogger #filed under; mun things #{ was updating my rules on my multi and decided... I probably needed to update them here too #and I did #because my old ones were way too long and some stuff just wasn't too concise #basically #don't be a dick #don't tell people what they can and cannot do as long as they aren't hurting anyone #miss me with drama #and don't force loki into a cishet box cause that ain't gonna fly #otherwise let's just have fun! }