#and before that they were some showmen or whatever

[basslinegrave]

started up sims, looked into a bar which had 2 mixologists, they were specifically robotnik and stone and as i went to make the sim order a drink it crashed entirely

#thats what i get for not playing on a sims sunday but a tuesday #these two just be taking up the randomest jobs #last time stone was a paparazzi #and before that they were some showmen or whatever #thoughts are being thunk

[dream-diary-1946]

For prosperity!!!!!

Info: Sort of human au, Dream is still immortal, contains just a brief mention of gore / Midly (lol) inspired "The terror" (by Ryan Prows) from v/h/s 94

Ship: Dreamling

(obvs no beta cos this is me trying once again a new method of getting into write stuff...instead of drawing..andsjcvka)

The sunlight hit the snow making it shine, more bright and more insufferable, exactly like the days before this one.

It was still winter, perhaps…perhaps not, there is always a debate between those who think winter ends once Christmas and all related festivities are done and those who know winter ends near march and so.

It´s a never ending battle, each morning, having to hear the same type of conversation between his “companions”, only with different subject to banter off. Mindlessly, annoying, and overall, a trait humanity was very fond of, Dream knew that very well, if being older than a millennium has taught him something, is that people enjoy this kind of civilized “conversations”

Even if such  take some detours to dangerous territories… Although when that happened here, they were at least, a bit of entertainment for Dream, just a little.

And in a place like this… hidden from society, not a single soul near by, no television, no radio, no telephones, no books outside the ones he brought with himself at the beginning of the job, no nothing.

All isolation.

Well, not entirely, he still had his showmen from time to time, but still, the lack of human interaction  was making his head hurt. Dream did not enjoy the complex rituals of socializing with the other that were the “norm”, he found pleasure and joy in seeing people from afar, wondering about their life, problems, their needs and wants.

He was a storyteller after all, and stories he created while appreciating those around him. He loved people, just…in a different manner, that was it.

Unfortunately, he couldn´t say he loved his current situation.

It was supposed to be a “few months only” recruitment, assurance that it was a safe deed given to him by his brother. So he took it, following the good faith that Destruction was conveying to him.

“This might be a nice change for you!, trust me, it does wonders just to be in a different setting…”  

And to be he was, but not in a pleasant way, Dream was getting tired of the secretism of the men in charge, the constant bickering of the clowns from the camp, and the cold that his body forgot how to deal with, consequence of the invention of heaters in modern times and before that, chimneys.

Oh, humanity, how wonderful you can be in times of need...

Dream was becoming more and more irritable, more akin to explode with just the tiniest thing. He was done, he wanted to go home and soon, the only problem…

The only big problem was that he couldn´t leave until the end of winter (How he wished winter did actually ceased once Christmas was over)

This was an “unofficial government thing” (he doubted, no one in his right mind would allow civilian folk to do this type of work for the government)  The higher ranks never told them about what this “something” they were supposed to keep safe was.

The only instructions given were:

Make sure the main area is well watched and secured. Don´t leave your weapons, carry them always with you, even off duty.

Never go into the main area unless a supervisor tells you to do so. Never go alone.

If needed, shot to kill anyone who goes near the main area or-

The  or  was for whatever was inside, everyone were made sure to understand that the moment they arrived here.

Dream was seriously thinking of confronting Destruction about where he was getting his little jobs from. Destruction better be prepared, for Dream was not going to endure any more days here.

…But first, he was going to fulfill his curiosity, just for the sake of a good story.

He continued to watch the snow being painfully painted by the sunlight, the movement of a fight from the showmen making it a picture difficult to forget, the hidden meaning of nature and men laying in the whole frame.

He decided to take the chance in his night watch, his only plan was, taking a peek inside the main area and then leave, that was all, if anything else came along the way, well…he wasn´t going to dismiss it.

He made sure that the men in his shift were sadistically the most lazy or clumsy, he had to observe their schedules and behaviors in the past weeks for it to be perfect match (Dream might also just moved here and there some names from the night watch list in anticipation, to get  the ones that he needed for the “freedom” day to work)

Today was the day winter finally ended.

--------

Night soothed the snow.

Dream moved slowly, making sure he was seen by the cameras just the right amount for it not to be suspicious. He glanced his wristwatch often, Dream knew that the one in charge of the camera room always took a “fast” visit to the bathroom at a certain time frame. It was the only chance the cameras were alone.

Minutes go slower, tedious, but he was a patient man, he could wait. And the moment the numbers went from 2:45 to 2:46, Dream moved to the entrance of the tiny building.

He tried his best to not step so hard on the snow, any noise outside the usual would be a red flag for his “comrades”.

He went inside the place, with the mindset that his life was in danger from making such act… well, it wasn´t like it was a matter of life and death though, he couldn´t die, but immersing himself in the paper was something that made the whole deal more…interesting.

The more he walked…the stench of rot and filthiness became stronger, it was almost unbearable, what kind of thing was being held here in the first place?

Dream´s footsteps echoed in the tiny walls of the building, the dim green light from the ceiling only showing faint spaces,making the place feel more claustrophobic than reality, curiosity transformed into a mix of anxiety and fear, Dream could feel his heart pumping in his chest, each pump louder and louder, he thought for a moment, that his betraying heart might give away his location.

He finally reached a single door, one made of steel and with a single rectangular frame, a window of sorts, he didn´t thought about getting keys for some “hypothetical door” at the beginning of the deed, but again, he lacked a plan.

But doors are meant to be open, and this one will too.

He looked at his watch, only three minutes had passed. A lifetime there.

Even if lock picking wasn´t his thing, he was better than anyone else, dead or alive (or at least that´s what he wanted to think) Another quick glance to the watch, another two minutes. Time was moving, adrenaline rushed in, and with a soft click, the door was finally open.

With his rifle awaken and ready to fire at any moment, Dream took the first peak at the room.

The smell of death was stronger there, he could at least make two or three farm animals tied up from a wall, sleeping. The floor was covered in dried up blood and viscera, the footsteps of boots and animals tracks everywhere, embedded onto the floor, overlapping.

There wasn´t anything else, besides some buckets filled with some organic waste and a few dirty and tore up blankets in a corner near the door.

It couldn´t possible be everything here though?

Dream ventured himself further, he could feel the sweat emanating from his hands, the hold on the rifle unflinching.

There was movement, the sound of chains creeping on the floor, slowly, like a snake seizing up and waiting. Darkness took the room, light couldn´t touch upon it, for a moment he stood there, and the thing, the thing inside the room too, both unsure of what to do or if to do something at all, Dream could feel it, the weight of a stare on him.

No animal stare on earth ever felt like that.

A lifetime cut short by the sound of the alarm.

Red colors painted the whole place, the light moving as in a cheap nightclub, the music of the alarm and the cries of the animals indicating  the beginning of the party.

With the new born light, Dream could finally saw it, or rather him.

The red hues illuminating partially his malnourished face, covered in crusts and blood, beard untrimmed and hair covered in knots, he was not moving, just staring with those warm eyes full of curiosity, and hunger, still watching Dream. Both refused to move. Dream heard the yell of men behind his back, the animals hitting, screaming and spasming in fear, the siren going on and off continuously, but he maintained the stance he had when he took the first step into the room.

The man raised his chains into the view, offering them to Dream, he was begging with no words to be set free. He lowered his face, shaking, the chains adding a new sound to the repertoire.

He waited for mercy, how long…

How long he waited for a chance like this?

So Dream took the tribute of the man, and fired directly to the steel, pieces flying all over the room, the light bouncing from them making a parade, smoke merging in the air… whatever the outcome, Dream just wanted to see how the story would unfold next.

#TO PROSPERITY AND TO AAAAAAAAA ANOTHER THINGS FR FR #its time...its time...i guess....i guess.... #dream sketch #i repeat so many words...but anywaysies 💪🏽 the first to many to come!!(?) ajjajajajja AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #*explodes* #AWUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

[janetbrown711]

"Don't look at me like that. " warner sibs 🥺

To say Yakko was feeling anxious about his brother’s return home was an understatement. 

Wakko hadn’t given a return address on his last three letters, nor had he sent money, which meant things were very, very bad for him. Especially since there had been a long stretch of time where he didn’t get any letters anymore. Yakko had been worried sick when he didn’t hear from him for weeks. His mind had paced endlessly, thinking about what could’ve happened to him. After all, Wakko had just been at a farm with a stable job a few weeks ago, what could’ve happened in that time? 

His anxiety had then melted into relief when he got the first letter from Wakko in a month, but that then turned to confusion when the only think Wakko had written was an apology for not writing, and assurances that everything was fine. No details. No return address. No reason for why he hadn’t written. Nothing. 

Yakko had been angry after that. However, his anger had quickly melted when he accidentally took it out on Dot. He hadn’t hit her, but there was a lot of shouting that night, to say the least.

Thank goodness Dot was the forgiving sort and that he was back to cuddling with her by night time. He wasn’t sure how much he could’ve forgiven himself if she had stayed mad and maybe even-

Yakko still had a problem with jumping to only the worst conclusions. 

His anger had then faded into exhaustion and longing for his brother to return home. Dot had gone through two rough patches in his absence, and Yakko and Dot were both starting to crack without his optimistic outlook on life.

Yakko hoped that if anything, his optimism managed to stay with him after what he’d gone through. 

Then, his exhaustion had faded into careful optimism with his last letter- the letter before that seeming to only be a rehash of the first. In the last letter, Wakko had announced he had enough money to pay for a train ticket home. How his little brother managed to get the money was beyond Yakko, but he was relieved. For a moment there, Yakko believed his brother might never come home, and seeing the words written down on paper made Yakko feel renewed, though... also conflicted. He was furious, he was concerned, he was anxious, he was overjoyed, he was all of that all at once. Yakko didn’t think it was possible to feel so many emotions at once. 

And yet, here he was. With Dot curled up in his lap, clutching her purple blanket he had bought for her a few months back from the suspicious bonus Wakko had received, and waiting for the train. Yet again,  it seemed the entire town was waiting as well. Acme Falls had really fallen down on their luck in a year, little to no businesses were open and the only reason they survived was that they shared. If Wakko came back with money, it could help revive the community greatly. 

Yakko just hoped that whatever amount he brought back, it would be enough to cover Dot’s surgery. Yakko wasn’t sure how much more he could handle. And how much Dot could handle either.

God, Yakko was proud of his sister. She was easily the strongest person he knew. Sure, she would slip every now and then, who wouldn’t in her situation, but she somehow always managed to pick herself up. During her good patches, she went for walks, she picked flowers outside of their home, she was learning how to sew from Yakko- an idea that had sparked from when he had to sew her skirt with pieces of his scarf after getting a giant hole in it after tripping over herself. her resilience and want to keep living life was admirable to everyone who saw her. 

Yakko snapped back into reality when his ears perked up and in the distance, he could hear it- the train was arriving. 

Happily, he shook his little sister awake and she sprung to life. 

“Is he here? Is Wakko here?” She asked with a big smile. 

“Not yet, but soon,” He winked playfully. Dot then ran up from the bench and waited on the edge of the platform, practically bouncing from excitement. That was far more than what Yakko could manage- he hadn’t been able to sleep the whole previous night out of worries and thoughts. Still, he was happy for her, though his other swirl of emotions was still within him too. 

He couldn't help but laugh a little when Dot started telling anyone who would listen that her brother was on that train and he was going to come back with a fortune. Yakko winced at that, but tried to keep his smile. After all, he had been able to buy a train ticket. Hopefully, that left him with something left over. He didn’t want Dot or the town to be let down.

Eventually, the train got closer and closer, and Yakko went to join his sister by the platform. Slowly and loudly, the train came to an eventual stop, and steam filled the platform, and out of that steam came-

“Hi!”

“Wakko!!!” Dot ran and gave him the tightest hug she could muster, which Wakko quickly returned. They stayed hugging for quite the length, and when they let go, Wakko looked to the crowd and got a familiar look on his face.

Ever the showmen, Wakko grinned before greeting the crowd. "My friends of Acme Falls, I have brought my fortune! A ha’penny!” he displayed his ha’penny and the crowd cheered and Wakko was overwhelmed with greetings from old friends and people he had worked with as they all gave him suggestions of what he should spend it on. After all, ha’pennies were worth a lot more than they were a year ago. Yakko gave his own thoughts to his brother here and there but figured it was best he wait until after everyone left for a proper hug and reunion. Wakko was really excited about going shopping and figuring out what to buy anyway, Yakko could wait a little while longer. 

Plus he still had that emotional swirl to work through. 

However, he was distracted from that when Wakko announced to everyone that he’d be spending his ha’penny on paying for Dot’s surgery, which made Dot very, very happy. The town cheered for him, understanding; Acme Falls was good that way.

Despite the joy and relief the town was feeling, Yakko still felt something was off. He looked around at the crowd surrounding his brother and sister as they walked through and noticed Ralph was missing. Yakko’s eyes widened when he realized that could only mean- 

“Yes Wakko, we’re all thrilled about your good fortune- however, about your taxes...”

The Tax Collector, Thaddeus Plotz. 

Yakko hated that man more than most anyone else on the planet, though of course, Salazar took the number one seat on that. 

Everyone else in the crowd seemed to have the same thought, as the joy had seemingly been sucked out of everyone’s faces as they watched Plotz and Wakko. 

“Taxes? What taxes? I just got here! And before that I had to pay taxes at River Town,” Wakko fought back. 

“Oh? But that doesn’t matter, today is tax day in Acme Falls. Now, let’s calculate how much you owe- oh the King will be so delightful,” He grinned as he got out a piece of paper and started writing. 

“The King is a jerk,” Wakko growled. 

“Oh goodie, that qualifies you for the “saying-the-king-is-a-jerk” tax, how wonderful,” Plotz grinned wickedly. Wakko shot Yakko a look of helplessness and all Yakko could do was shrug. 

“...and that brings your grand total to... one ha’penny,” He said as he snatched the coin from Wakko’s hand and ran back into his stupid carriage he used as a shield, before leaning out the window and adding-

“Your federal government thanks you!”

“Wha..? B-but...” Wakko’s ears fell the lowest Yakko had ever seen them. Yakko grimaced, but knew there really was nothing to be done, no matter how terrible it was. The last thing any of them needed was the royal guard on their backs, so they had to accept this, no matter how crummy and unfair and terrible it was. 

With a heavy sigh, Yakko went over and patted his brother on the back and slowly guided him and Dot back home. 

“I-i... I worked so hard...” Wakko kept repeating while they walked, and Yakko was ninety percent sure he was crying. Hell- Yakko would’ve been crying too, but he put on a brave face for his little sibs. 

“I know Wak, I know,” Yakko sighed. “Let’s just get home, we can talk about what we’ll do then.”

And so the Warner siblings walked back to their home in silence. Yakko did his best not to look at either of them, for fear that he’d crumble into a million little pieces the moment Dot or Wakko looked at him. 

Eventually, they did make it to their rickety little home. Yakko showed Wakko where his bed was, Dot went to her own, and then Yakko sat down on his bed to think about what they were gonna do next. 

He couldn’t believe he had let himself believe that all of his worries would disappear with Wakko’s return. He should’ve known Plotz could sniff all happiness and money from 50 miles away and should’ve warned Wakko to put it away. Now they were never going to be able to-

N-never be able to-

Oh god...

Dot was going to die, wasn’t she?

Without the ha’penny, they could never afford the surgery a-and-

She was going to die. 

Yakko was going to have to bury her a-and then i-it would just be him and Wakko. 

Yakko buried his head in his hands and wept. 

He wept for Dot. He wept for Wakko. He wept for his parents and he wept for the promises he was unable to keep. 

After a very, very long time of crying, he heard a small knock on his door, and immediately tried to regain his composure. There was no way in hell he was letting his sibs see him like this. 

He took deep breaths, wiped his face on his blanket, breathed some more, and put on a weak smile before opening his door. 

“Yes Wakko?” He asked. 

“You said you wanted to talk about what to do next when we got here. We gave you some time a-alone and well...” Wakko looked at the ground. Yakko internally facepalmed, not believing he let himself forget. 

“Right, of course. lead the way,” Yakko gestured and the brothers walked back to the “fireplace” and sat on boxes. 

“S-so...” Wakko said. 

“So...” Dot said, glancing at Wakko, then Yakko, then at the ground. Yakko sighed. 

“Look, I’m going to be frank, it’s going to be rough, but-”

“-But i could go out again. To a different town this time! Maybe I could even leave the country- there has to be better opportunities-”

“No.” Yakko shut him down. “You aren’t going anywhere and I am not going to be persuaded this time.”

“Yeah Wakko, how can you say that?” Dot looked hurt. “We just got you back, you can’t leave!”

“But it wasn’t enough! I failed! I-i didn’t get enough money...” Wakko’s eyes filled with tears as he looked at the ground.

“Wakko, you didn’t fail,” Yakko put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Yes I did, I didn’t bring home enough for her surgery, which was the whole reason I left in the first place,” Wakko sniffled. 

“You left home to help provide for us, which you did. Look around Wak,” Yakko gestured around. “I was able to buy Dot a shawl to keep her warm in the winter, some hay for her bed, new blankets for all three of us. You leaving helped us a lot, even though we missed you every day, right Dot?” He looked at his sister for moral support. 

“Yeah Wakko! It’s because of you I’m still okay,” Dot smiled sweetly, but Yakko could see she was holding back a cough. 

“See Wak? Your sacrifice wasn’t for nothing, and we’re plenty glad to have you back, understand?” He said, distracting him from noticing what Dot was doing. Wakko slowly nodded, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. 

“Sorry...” Wakko apologized. Yakko sighed and stood up, pulling his little brother into a hug. 

“You did the best you could Wak. I’m really, really proud of you,” Yakko said. Wakko nodded, and hugged him back. 

Despite everything, Yakko smiled a little. 

It was good to have his brother back.  

Yakko waited until Wakko let go to sit back down. He drummed his fingers against his thigh and thought for a moment, before getting an idea. 

“I have an idea you two: While you’ve been gone, I’ve been working on making a special sled for Dot. I say tomorrow we take it out and have some fun in the snow, does that sound okay?” He asked. Dot nodded and managed a little smile. 

“That sounds like fun, right Wakko?” She asked, glancing at him. Wakko only nodded. 

“I’m gonna go for a sec... I’ll be back soon,” Wakko said, walking out of the home. Yakko nodded. 

“Try not to stay out past dark,” He advised, unsure if his brother heard or not. Guess he’d have to see. 

“Is Wakko okay?” Dot hugged Yakko’s arm. 

“Today was really rough for him, but I’m sure he’ll feel better after a good night’s rest,” Yakko hoped. Dot nodded. 

“I hope so,” She said. “He looks really tired.”

“I’m sure everything will be better tomorrow. Here, it’s getting late, you should get going to bed,” Yakko said, looking at the sunset. Dot agreed with a yawn, and together they walked into her room. She coughed a little as she laid down, and he tucked her in. 

“Goodnight Dot, sleep tight,” he whispered, smiling warmly yet tiredly.  

“Yakko, tell me the story,” Dot grabbed his arm before he could go. Yakko sighed. She had grown awfully attached to the story he had spun to comfort her about their parents and how they fell in love and eventually had Dot. 

“Okay,” He said, before grinning mischievously. “There once was a man from Nantucket-”

“Not that story,” Dot shot him a look and Yakko laughed a little. 

“Look Dot, it’s late. You should go to sleep,” He said, knowing that he was definitely going to lose this argument. 

“Oh come on, Yakko. Tell me the story... please?” She pleaded with her signature puppy dog eyes.

"Oh come on, dont look at me like that," He thought. Yakko sighed, he was always a sucker for her.

“Oh, alright,” He smiled, and rolled his eyes as Dot scooted over in excitement.

He then told the tale of how his parents met, how their father was a handsome knight, and there mother was a beautiful princes, and how they had two sons but wanted a little girl, and told her that she was born in the spring with the prettiest flowers. He then turned to face Dot and talked about how every night they’d ask “Who’s the cutest girl?” and Dot would reply, “Me!” and then they’d ask “how were you so cute” and she’d reply, “I was born with it.” He then said they’d demand for her to “tell us your name young lady” and Dot would list off her very long name with perfection. He’d then tickle her and she’d kick and giggle until she tired herself out and curled back into her bed.

“I like that story,” Dot smiled as she closed her eyes. 

“Goodnight sis,” Yakko smiled a little too.

Was it a story full of lies and half-truths? Yes.

But did it always manage to bring a smile to Dot’s face, even on the hardest days? Also yes.

And besides, Yakko didn’t mind remembering his parents in a positive light.

He then blew out the candle in her room and left, and stumbled into Wakko, who had been watching anxiously. 

“How is she?” He asked. Yakko shrugged. 

“She seems to be okay tonight, but who knows,” Yakko admitted. Wakko’s eyes felt to the floor as he turned away. 

“If only I had earned more...” Wakko muttered to himself. 

“Hey,” Yakko turned and put his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “You did your best Wakko. We’ll pay for her operation some other way,” he said, not really knowing how, but forcing himself to hope anyway.

“I guess,” Wakko sighed and went over to a springboard that he had somehow turned into a functioning harp. Yakko stared at it and admired the craftsmanship. 

Despite Wakko’s claims that his trip had been for nothing, Yakko knew it had turned into a skilled craftsman. 

“You turning in?” He asked softly. 

“To what?” Wakko didn’t look back at him. 

Yakko considered arguing with him for the snark, but was too tired. 

“Good question,” he said instead. “See you in the morning,” he added before going into his room. 

Once he did, he all but collapsed onto his bed. Today had been exhausting, and even worse, the swirl of emotions in his chest still hadn’t left. He was still mad at Wakko for not writing more often and not giving more of an explanation, but he figured he’d just have to ask him about that and more details about his trip tomorrow. For now, he’d have to try and get some sleep, despite how impossible it seemed. 

They didn’t have any money. Dot wasn’t going to get the surgery she needed. Things were looking bleak, and not just for them, the whole town- the whole Kingdom. 

Well, at least they weren’t alone in this anymore, Yakko supposed there was some comfort in that. 

Plus, despite everything, Yakko was still happy to see Wakko again, despite how much skinnier, tired, and worn out he appeared. He was confident his return would mean good things for them. 

It had to. 

Yakko didn’t have any other options.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

#animaniacs #yakko wakko and dot #wakkos wish #my fics #yakko warner #dot warner #wakko warner

[gstqaobc]

FROM THE MONARCHIST LEAGUE OF CANADA

As this Ecomm went to publication, we received word of the death, at the great age of 96, of Bill Silver, a significant benefactor of the League from its early days, and for many years a pillar of our Ottawa Branch.  We wished to remember him here: his ebullient spirit, fierce loyalty spoken gently, innate modesty and kindness.  Indeed Chaucer might have had forethought of Bill in describing one of his characters as a “very parfitt gentle knight.” May his ardent spirit rest in peace, and his memory be a blessing and example to us all.   LEAGUE ISSUES NEW FLYER: THE CASE FOR THE CROWN The League thought it timely and useful to issue, offer in its advertising and distribute as widely as possible - both via the website and in printed form - a new flyer which will give you, our members, ammunition to argue logically the case for the Crown in conversation with others, and, we hope, to distribute strategically. One never knows when such an item, left on a waiting room table at the doctor or dentist’s office, affixed to a supermarket or other community bulletin board, put through neighbours’ mail slots - the possibilities are many - will do good work for our cause. We hope you will both enjoy and profit from this item, and that many thousands will be distributed across the country. See item one in the WHAT CAN I DO FOR THE CANADIAN CROWN? section of this Ecomm, below, to read online and request printed copies.   And special thanks to our wonderful team of no less than seven translators, all francophones from La Belle Province, who so kindly volunteered to make the French version one that is accurate in expression and eloquent in its prose.                     WHAT CAN I DO FOR THE CANADIAN CROWN? Some suggestions for member activity during these times. We invite members to send additional ideas by return of email. 1.    How about asking the League to send you several print copies of our new flyer:  THE CASE FOR THE CROWN, or print them on your home computer:  https://www.monarchist.ca/index.php/publications and give them to others who may be unaware or sceptical of the importance of Canada’s constitutional monarchy, or even hostile to it. School teachers could be encouraged to read the League’s educational booklets, also available both online and in print at the same URL, or even to request a class set.   2.    When you read an editorial, opinion column or letter to the editor in a newspaper, or a tweet or Facebook post, critical of the Crown, don’t get mad - get even! In other words, use a temperate tone and logical argument to refute the writer’s attack.  Keep it brief: focus on the obvious flaws in reasoning, mis-statements of fact or name-calling substituting for logic.  Same goes for radio talk shows. In the long run, on all media, whatever the provocation, whatever the momentary satisfaction of ”giving them a piece of my mind” - an old adage remains true: “You catch more flies with honey.” 3.    Write your elected representative at the federal level to re-state briefly the reasons you support constitutional monarchy as our system of government,  and asking the MP whether not your view is shared. 4.    Once pandemic restrictions ease, try to make sure that Royal events - such as the upcoming 95th birthday of our Queen, 10th Wedding Anniversary of William and Catherine or 100th birthday of Prince Philip are celebrated both in your home but also among your wider family, your friends, your colleagues at the office,  your place of worship/faith community or service club. The League generally sends you some ideas to mark these celebrations. Remember, as they are incorporated into family life and public life, the     Crown becomes further embedded in the heart of the nation, and truly represents The Queen’s wish that it ”reflects all that is best and most admired in the Canadian ideal.” This is especially true when you go out of your way to include in your observance the newest members of our Canadian family, who generally are eager to participate in the traditions of their new homeland, and in turn to share their own traditions with the wider community. 5.    Always use a Queen stamp when you write a letter or pay a bill by mail. 6.     At events of ceremony, whether a Council meeting, a graduation, a civic celebration - whatever - make sure that the Royal Anthem is sung as well as the National Anthem. To the extent you can, discourage event organizers from having a soloist “perform” them. Far more pride and         learning develop from the untrained voices of loyal folk singing together. In that way, the Anthems are sung “with heart and voice” and not merely listened to.   A FINAL IDEA: AN ACT OF LOVING SUPPORT & THANKS Apart from the above, we think it would be enormously comforting and supportive for every one of us to  write a kind letter to The Queen, expressing your thoughts at a difficult time: her beloved husband ailing, a grand-child chiding other family members via sensational television, the drumbeat of the tabloids and the restrictions on her busy life caused by the pandemic.  A selection of letters, especially those from Commonwealth Realms, are indeed seen by The Queen - and their number and tone are summarized to Her Majesty. The address is - Her Majesty The Queen, Buckingham Palace, London SW1A 1AA, UK Theoretically you don’t need postage to write the Sovereign; in practice, it is safer to affix the international airmail stamp available from your local Canada Post outlet.   AN INTERESTING OPINION PIECE FROM TODAY’S DAILY TELEGRAPHWe thought you might be interested to see the following strongly-worded opinion piece, reflecting a good deal of the tone of recent British public opinion, rather different from much of the Canadian and US commentary. Meghan’s fake interview has real-world effects The Sussexes’ claims have undermined the monarchy and done lasting damage to the Commonwealth by Tim Stanley, March 15, 2021 Two headlines appeared on the BBC News website on the same day. At the top: “Harry and Meghan rattle monarchy’s gilded cage”. At the bottom: “The kidnapped woman who defied Boko Haram”. Well, that puts the Sussexes' problems in perspective, doesn’t it? Yet across Africa, one reads, the Duchess’s story has revived memories of colonial racism, tarnishing the UK’s reputation, and has even lent weight to the campaign in some countries to drop the Queen as head of state. The only nation that seems to think a lot of nonsense was spoken is Britain. In the wake of an interview that Joe Biden’s administration called courageous, British popular opinion of Harry and Meghan fell to an all-time low, and the American format had a lot to do with it. Oprah Winfrey is not our idea of an interviewer. She flattered, fawned and displayed utter credulity. Imagine if it had been her, not Emily Maitlis, who interviewed Prince Andrew over the Jeffrey Epstein allegations. “You were in a Pizza Express that day? Oh my God, you MUST be innocent! Tell me, in all honesty, though...did you have the dough balls?” This wasn’t an interview, it was a commercial for a brand called Sussex, a pair of eco-friendly aristo-dolls that, if you pull the string, tell their truth – which isn’t the truth, because no one can entirely know that, but truth as they perceive it. “Life is about storytelling,” explained Meghan, “about the stories we tell ourselves, the stories we’re told, what we buy into.” Meghan is a postmodernist. Just as Jean Baudrillard said the Gulf War never happened, but was choreographed by the US media, so the Royal narrative she was forced to live was fake, her public happiness was fake and, following that logic, this interview might involve an element of performance, too. People have challenged her claims, alleging contradictions and improbabilities, but one of the malign effects of wokeness is that you have got to be very careful about pointing this out. Why? Because wokery insists on treating a subjective view as objective truth, or even as superior, because it’s based upon “lived experience”. To contradict that personal perspective is perceived as cruel, elitist and, in Meghan’s case, potentially racist, so it’s best to wait a few weeks to a year before applying a fact check. In the meantime, affect sympathy. People would rather you lied to their face than tell them what they don’t want to hear. The result is profoundly dishonest, for I have never known an event over which there is such a gulf between the official reception, as endorsed by the media and politics, and the reaction of average citizens, who are wisely keeping it to themselves. Into that vacuum of silence steps not the voice of reason but bullies and showmen – like Piers Morgan, who said some brash stuff about Meghan’s honesty and, after an unseemly row on Good Morning Britain, felt obliged to resign from his job.  “If you’d like to show your support for me,” he wrote afterwards, “please order a copy of my book.” Dear Lord, was this row fake, too? I can no longer be sure, though I despised Good Morning Britain before and still do: it embodies the cynical confusion of emotion and fact, a show made for clicks, where even the weatherman has an opinion. So what is real in 2021? The Commonwealth, which does a lot of good in a divided world. The monarchy, which has been at its best during the pandemic, doing the boring stuff of cutting ribbons and thanking workers that, one suspects, Meghan never grew into (can you imagine her opening a supermarket in Beccles?). It contains flawed people, but that only adds to its realness, and they can adapt faster than you might think. Prince William got the ball rolling by telling reporters, who he is trained to ignore, that his family is not racist. His wife paid her respects to the murder victim Sarah Everard, demonstrating that she is neither cold nor silenced. I’d wager Kate does her duty, day after day, no complaint, not because she is “trapped”, as Harry uncharitably put it, but because she loves her family and believes in public service. Meghan and Harry have indeed prompted the Royal family to change: not in order to endorse their criticisms, however, but to answer them.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦🇬🇧🇦🇺🇳🇿

[tisthenightofthewitch]

KISS THE GO-GHOST: AN INTERVIEW WITH TOBIAS FORGE

Ghost, formerly known as Ghost B.C have cultivated a cult following within the metal community since their debut almost 10 years ago. Known for their dark persona and eerily catchy soundscapes, they not only have a sound that’s unmistakable, but a stage presence so involved that there are backstories to each Papa(the name used by each rotating front person) that has taken rein thus far.

I remember when I first discovered their 2010 release, Opus Eponymous, and how enthralled I was with their sound. Granted, I was late to the party, as they had already toured through Utah before. By the time I had completely immersed myself in their music, it was 2014—a year after their second full length album, Infestissumam had released. I was hypnotized by their macabre charm from the get-go, and I’ve eagerly anticipated every release since then. I’ve always loved how frontman Tobias Forge’s vocals shine against the instrumentals, as well as how grim the lyrics truly can be.

With the surprise “re-release” of their single Seven Inches of Satanic Panic, which originally had debuted in the ’60s (according to the Ghost timeline), this magic touch is exceptionally present. As 2018’s LP Prequelle had hints of disco and other nostalgic influences from the 70s and 80s, Seven Inches is laced with the catchy, punchy sweetness of the 1960s—inspiring sounds reminiscent of The Zombies and The Monkees with a sinister twist.

As their grandiose tour, The Ultimate Tour Named Death, conquers North America for the remainder of the month, Forge and I spoke about the band’s origins, song influences and meanings, and life on tour.

SLUG: What inspires you to make songs based around dark themes, such as Satan? Where does this aesthetic come from, and how does it exist in your full-length releases?

Forge: It wasn’t just an epiphany that I had. I grew up, as many others, in the metal underground community. Ever since I was a child, I’ve been a fan of hard rock, metal and all kinds of rock music. My main tool of expression and what I sympathized most with was heavy metal—especially the bands that were big around the time that I was very little. Around 1984, when I was three years old, all of the new, big bands were shock-rock bands like Twisted Sister, Motley Crue, Wasp and Kiss. These, among others, were the first bands that I really, really liked. My older brother, who was significantly older than I was, gave me those records and it just went from there.

I’ve come to expand my liking of music a lot. I loved a lot of 60s music and 70s pop-rock and all kinds of musical styles. When it comes to expressing myself, there’s always been some sort of shock-rock value to whatever I’ve done—a little bit more explicit when it comes to lyrics and a little bit more explosive with image.

My first band that I ever formed was a death metal band and I spent my whole adolescence playing death and black metal where obviously satanic themes are omnipresent. So, when Ghost happened, it wasn’t like I was coming up with a new image—it was so natural. Then, it expanded over the years because I felt like if I’m going to keep things fresh and keep being inspired, I need to expand the lyrics going forward. I’ve always drawn parallel lines, and my ways of expression are always leaning towards darkness and goth in the same way Nick Cave and Leonard Cohen do. I feel more kindled with them when it comes to song writing than I would with Venom—even though I love them, too. The lyrics that I try to write nowadays are more focused on symbols for something real. Satanism is a very good symbol for turmoil or conflict, but most of the lyrics from albums two, three and four have more parallels to real life and the world. It’s just explained with satanic parallels.

SLUG: What are some of your favorite songs from your discography and why? What makes these songs special to you?

Forge: You have the “cream-of-the-crops” in a way—like, the immediate songs. I think “Dance Macabre” is an immediate song and is a song that I will be playing for the rest of my life. I think “Square Hammer” is like that. “From the Pinnacle to the Pit” is a song that is very immediate. I think “Cirice” is one of the best songs I’ve ever written and probably will ever write, but for different reasons. Sometimes I really enjoy songs that are simple. Sometimes it’s harder to write a simple song. You have all of the ingredients that you need in order to make a song, and a risk that the song will be considered premeditated. But, yes, it is. Every song that has ever been written was done so with some sort of intent. Even the songs that people think are made with no commercial interest whatsoever are usually written to feel or taste a certain way.

So, you’re always happy when you manage to say the things that you wanted to say and have the moods in the song that you wanted in there without making it complicated. It’s so easy to get stuck in a complicated arrangement that’s hard to get out of. Where “Square Hammer” is so simple, “Cirice” is a little bit more complicated. It has a long intro that has nothing to do with the rest of the song. It has more of a classic metal arrangement, whereas “Square Hammer” is way more punk. So, I like those songs for completely different reasons, but they both do the trick and they’re songs that will come to embody Ghost. That’s how it feels right now, at least.

SLUG: Your live shows and stage presence are always so elaborate and beautiful. How has your stage show changed with the introduction of Cardinal Copia in comparison to Papa(s) one, two and three? Where did the idea of having a masked band to this intricate extent come from? Why Papa and why Cardinal Copia?

Forge: Early on in the creation of Ghost, I was just reviewing what I had heard. When we recorded the first demo, when I heard my songs, my first impression was that it sounds like a heavily imaged band. If I were a fan of this record that I hear, I would be disappointed if it turned out to just be four or five dudes just standing in jackets and t-shirts. It doesn’t sound like that. It sounds more like an experience and that’s where it originated.

The aesthetics and the ideas are a mash-up of everything that I grew up watching and listening to. It’s black metal mixed with horror films and showmen. I’ve always been a fan of every single character that balances genius, charisma and being pathetic. That’s where Papa comes from.  He’s supposed to be cool, but he’s also slightly out of touch and pathetic—and funny, I think!

SLUG: The last time I saw you in Salt Lake City, you opened for Iron Maiden. Now, you’re touring North America after touring Europe with Metallica. What is it like to tour with these big names in metal? How have these bands influenced you in the past and what does it feel like to work with them now?

Forge: I am still as much of a fan of these groups as I was before, which is a very nice feeling knowing that I can completely separate my ideas, my dreams and my fantasies about both of these bands. But I think that has to do with the fact that for most of my life, I’ve idolized those bands while still always also knowing that what I wanted to do with my life was very similar to what they did—meaning record albums, go out and tour the world and change the world and have a deep impact on people in the same way that they had an impact on me.

On a very professional level, from the get-go, both Iron Maiden and Metallica have been very informative to their fan-base. Iron Maiden started that with their album Life After Death. All of their tour dates were in there, there was a lot of info about their touring life and the technicalities of playing live. I used to sit down with a map book and circle everywhere they played. I would try to figure out their days off and where they were playing next. Very early on, as a kid, I sort of approached it from a professional point of view. Not only did I want to stand on stage like I saw in the pictures, but I wanted to tour like they do. That’s the school of rock that I went to. Metallica would be even more informative later when they released their box set Binge and Purge. You could see old faxes between management and them, and I read everything I could see. I already knew 20 years later that that was a part of the program. I’ve learned so much from studying Iron Maiden and Metallica that when the day came when I started touring with them, I was like “I know this!” It was something I had done before. Now, I have the luxury of learning so much more firsthand.

SLUGMAG.COM

#Tobias Forge #Tobias Interview #The Band Ghost #Ghost Band #Cardinal Copia

[wholesome-holland]

Clarification Is Key

Hey y’all— this is shorter than my oneshots usually are— but I hope you like it!

Word Count: 1680

———

Cyrus and TJ walked together in pure silence.

The two decided to go out and hang for the day, so they went to a local coffee shop.

What seemed like the perfect day together was quickly turned into the worst when a boy from school came up to them and asked if they were together.

Cyrus thought they were, though they never sat down and said they were a couple, they sure acted like it. They held hands, they cuddled, they called each other cute pet names, all the couple-y stuff. So naturally, he said yes.

TJ, on the other hand, did not think they were officially a thing. He wanted to be, but he wanted to ask and have it all be perfect. So he answered with 'no' at the same time Cyrus said 'yes'.

After the awkward encounter, Cyrus decided he had to go do some homework, TJ offered to walk him home.

So there they were, walking on opposite sides of the side walk.

TJ cleared his throat, "You alright?" He asked. "Yeah, totally. I'm not feeling embarrassed for thinking we were together when we weren't nooo, what are you talking about." Cyrus said, sarcasm dripping in his tone.

"I'm really sorry, I just thought—" Cyrus cut him off. "It's whatever." He stated, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Clearly it's not." TJ said, causing them both to stop.

"Can we please stop talking about this?" Cyrus pleaded after a few moments of silence. "No, Cy. We obviously need to talk about this." He insisted. "I didn't realize you thought we were officially together. I didn't mean to invalidate your feelings or embarrass you. I thought we were on the same page." He explained to the brown haired boy in front of him, who was majorly fidgeting.

"We weren't, I misread apparently. I didn't realize how we act is platonic." TJ frowned, eyeing Cyrus with an almost glare. "Don't be like that."

"Like what?" Cyrus asked. "Like I rejected you or something like that, I don't know." TJ groaned in annoyance, whilst trying to keep his cool. "Well how do you expect me to act after that?" Cyrus asked, a little harsher then intended.

"I don't know— but not like this!" TJ exclaimed.

Cyrus rolled his eyes at the other boy, an intense feeling of annoyance filling his system. He started walking away without TJ, only to be followed by him.

"You can't just walk away from your problems, Cyrus!" He shouted. "I'm not, I'm simply walking home." The shorter boy shrugged. "Without trying to fix the situation." TJ observed as he followed closely behind Cyrus. "That really seems like running away to me."

Cyrus continued walking, not answering.

"Cy, we have to settle this now!" He yelled. Cyrus stopped and spun around, "Yeah, no I'm good." The situation continued to build up anger in the both of them.

TJ wanted to settle things, he didn’t want them to walk away while they were fighting but Cyrus was being difficult which was frustrating him.

Cyrus just wanted to walk away, let things go and blow over but TJ wouldn't let that happen.

"Is this just what you do when things get difficult? Do you just, run away?" TJ shouted. "Every time you mess up, you just run away?" That last one really stung for Cyrus.

He had his problems and he was really insecure about them. Hearing someone bring them up really hurt. Especially from someone he cared deeply about.

All he could think of was to say something more mean, "Oh I don't know, every time you play sports or whatever do you tell yourself it's good?" Cyrus hissed back.

TJ looked hurt, but he quickly covered it up with a look of anger once again.

"You're such an ass." He muttered under his breath, but Cyrus still heard. "Oh really? I'm an ass? At least I'm not a bastard who leads people on!".

"I have never lead you on Cyrus!" TJ yelled back.

"Oh really? So, all the hand holding, cuddling, cute pet names, acting like we're boyfriends and finding out you don't think we are isn't leading on? Okay, sorry I mixed that up." Cyrus sarcastically spat. TJ stayed silent.

"I'm going home, and I'd appreciate if you would too." With that, the brunette boy began walking away.

His heart ached and he felt a strong urge to cry,  he cursed under his breath when thinking about the effect he knew TJ had on him.

He got home and found no one else there. He called out for his parents only for no response. He flopped down onto the couch, letting out a large huff.

He thought over the fight he had with TJ, he realized it was a little bit ridiculous.

Well, a lot ridiculous.

Cyrus closed his eyes and drifted off, taking a relaxing nap after his stressful day.

He was awoken by his phone going off like crazy.

He reached over and looked at it, seeing multiple texts from Andi and Buffy, even a few from Jonah.

—

Andi🦋: Cy hey, wanna meet us at the spoon?

Andi🦋: I just heard about u and tj, r u okay?

Andi🦋: Cyrus???

Cyrus: sorry I was asleep

—

Then he went onto his and Jonah’s chat.

—

JB: Cy-guy! hey

JB: Cyrus?

JB: Hey, I just heard about TJ are you alright?

Cy-guy: I'm alive, I’m okay don’t worry

—

Then he looked at Buffy’s texts.

—

Slayer🏀: Yo Cy, we're heading 2 the spoon u in?

Slayer🏀: Cyrus ??

Slayer🏀: I know about yours and TJ’s fight. I’ll kill him if you want me to :)

—

He groaned, how do they already know? Either way, he knew he should probably go se if they're still at the spoon. He sent his parents a text letting them know he'd be gone, then he started walking to the spoon.

When he arrived, he instantly saw the good hair crew in a booth. "Hey guys—"

"Cy! What happened with TJ?" All three of them practically shouted. He sighed and sat down next to Andi who was across from Buffy and Jonah.

He proceeded to explain everything, by the end of it he felt the same sadness he felt before. "How'd you all know?" He asked. "We saw him and asked how it went, he said not well, shook his head and walked off." Buffy explained to the brunette haired boy.

He frowned. He didn't want TJ to be upset with him, though he knew he probably was. "Hey! How about we all go to the Andi's and have a movie night?" Jonah suggested. "Hmm?" Cyrus said as if asking what.

"Yeah, is four could go to her house and watch movies!" Buffy said. Cyrus shrugged as Andi nodded in agreement. "I mean, sure. I'm down." He said.

"Yay!" The other three cheered in unison. They finished off their baby taters and milkshakes and headed to Andi's, they decided on The Greatest Showmen because they all loved that movie. They all settled in on different places around her living room, comfortable with pillows and blankets, each having their own type of soda and a bowl of popcorn and a bag of chips.

Buffy was about to hit play, when the doorbell rang.

Andi stood up, deciding to answer it since it was her house.

"TJ..?" She said, sounding puzzled.

Cyrus’ head flicked towards the door, sure enough the curly haired boy was standing there, fiddling with his thumbs.

"Hi, can I talk to Cy? His parents said he wasn't home so I assumed he'd be here." The athlete explained. Andi looked towards her friend, who nodded and stood up from his spot.

He walked outside and closed the door behind him, half expecting the other three to be watching from the window.

They sat on the porch, awkward silence and tension filling the air. Cyrus was the first to speak up. "I'm sorry." He squeaked out.

"I'm sorry, too." TJ responded almost immediately.

"I shouldn't have said what I said about you playing sports. I was just upset and felt like being problematic." Cyrus explained.

"No no, it's alright. I deserved it. I shouldn't have said what I said. You're amazing, and you don't just run away and you don't always screw up. I don’t know why I even said otherwise, I’m an ass and I take full responsibility. I’m so sorry, Underdog." TJ explained.

"It's okay." Cyrus said. TJ reached over an grabbed his hand, bringing it up and kissing each of his knuckles. “I think it’s agreed that we were both being pretty stupid and that argument was dumb and petty.” TJ shook his head, “No, your feelings were completely valid. We should’ve talked about it to prevent that type of argument. I should’ve told you beforehand that I wanted to officially ask you out before we told others we were a couple of that makes sense.”

Cyrus smiled, “it’s okay TJ. It makes perfect sense.” TJ smiled back, intertwining their fingers together and looking into the shorter boy’s eyes. "I know this is a little late, and you can say no, but would you like to be my boyfriend, Cyrus Goodman?" TJ asked.

Cyrus knew he was majorly blushing.

"TJ Kippen, I would love to be your boyfriend."

TJ returned the toothy smile. "I'm glad."

They sat and stared at each other with pure love in their eyes.

"Wanna go in? You can watch movies with us." Cyrus offered. "Sure." TJ replies. They stood up, hand in hand, and walked in the house. “So I see you two have made up." Andi teased. "Yup. Oh can he stay for movies?" Cyrus asked.

"Well if you're having your mans over I'm inviting mine." Jonah said, then texting Walker.

"Me too." Buffy said. She pulled out her phone and texted Marty.

"Me three— well, my womans." And Andi proceeded to text Amber.

Soon enough all their significant others arrived, and they all had a fabulous movie night, cuddled up to their partners.

It was a good day after all.

———

Okay that highkey sucked I’m sorry—

Still, I hope you all enjoyed!

Tag List: @tyrus-is-endgame-fight-me , @judgemental-llama , @tyrusvibes , @shipsandglitter , @wanna-feel-alive

#andi mack #tj kippen #cyrus goodman #tyrus #tyrus fic #tyrus one shot #tyrus angst #tyrus fanfic #amber kippen #walker brodsky #jonah beck #buffy driscoll #marty from the party

[missblissy]

Title: Homeless at Home Fandom: Red Dead Redemption Genre: fanfiction, chapters, angst, reader insert, fluff, slow burn, friends-to-lovers, pre-game Characters: Young!Arthur Morgan, Dutch Van Der Linde, Hosea Mathews, Arthur Morgan/ Reader, Female reader, Arthur x Reader, Arthur Morgan x Reader, Arthur/ You, Young!reader Chapter: One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine

Follow me on AO3!! Read it there too!

((Hello again everyone!! Thank you all so so so so much for all the support that you've given this fic!! Do not worry!! I am NOT DEAD!! I've just been busy with finals and college and stuff!! Please show the fic some love by leaving a kudos or commenting! I'd love to hear what you all have to say!!

I made a playlist on Spotify for Homeless at Home! Follow it to dive deeper into the world of the Gang and Reader!!

Lastly, everyone gets ready, because these next few chapters are leading up to something big!!))

Description:

The inside of the house was dark and smelled like a mixture of smoke and wet dirt. As you ran through the empty kitchen in the back of the house, up front were a dining room and living room came together in the foyer, where Arthur was laying on the floor at the foot of the old staircase. He had his gun in both hands pointed up to a figure halfway down the stairs.

It was an old man, he had his hands up in defense and fear was on his face that was taken over by an unkempt beard peppered with silver hairs that stuck out against his faded brown ones. Fear was on his face, “I-I-I didn’t mean!” The old man let out a yelp when Dutch pulled his gun out too, pointing it at the homeless man, “I’m sorry! I’m real sorry- please don’t kill me! I’m just a useless old man! I’ve been squatting here all summer waiting for the law to kick me out again!!” He looked like he was ready to piss himself.

_______________________________________

The sky was cloudy and the wind was strong, chilly, and cold enough to annoy you. Not that you weren’t already annoyed. Your legs and back had been hurting since the moment you had gotten on Callus. He was still a large horse and you were still small. That was a week ago. Callus was a tame animal, after all, he was a bit jumpy and easily agitated, but you could change that with trust and bonding, or so you were told. Nobody told you that riding a horse would be painful though.

Although it was hard to ignore, you did your best to shut out the sore throbbing pain that came from your lower back and legs. You carried on, doing your best to ride behind Arthur who was riding behind Dutch. The three of you were going somewhere very important and Arthur said this would be a good chance to bring you along for once. He argued that you needed to get out of camp more often and Dutch took the bait.

Almost an hour later and you were nearly at the end of this long ride. Your destination was close, that’s what Dutch said at least. Something awful has happened within the last few days. Hosea had gone missing. No one has seen him in four days, and this was not normal. You checked in town, in the jail, in the saloon. You found no sign of him until Arthur had went to Bessie’s stables and found David. He said she was home, and he saw Hosea giving her a ride on a wagon a few nights ago. He said he might have taken her home. So the best lead was Bessie’s own house, deep in Paradise Valley. She owned a large ranch miles away from Sugartown.

It was hard to believe she would take this ride to sell horses in town when she could have done it off her property. You laid eyes on a large horse ranch, bigger than anything you’ve ever seen. You could fit the whole town on this plot of land. Dutch, Arthur, and yourself were at a stop before the large gateway that welcomed you to Bessie’s fabulous home. Not a single one of you had any idea she stemmed from such a… wealthy family.

The place seemed almost totally abandoned aside from the horses who grazed away in their fenced in pastures. It was nearly noon as you rode towards the house. Dutch took the lead, a hand always ready to grab his pistol. Arthur, however, was relaxed and making fun of Dutch’s paranoia. Dutch was only like that because you were there, you knew that Arthur knew that. Even Dutch knew that. The only reason why you weren’t as nervous as Dutch was because Arthur made a valid point earlier, Bessie was a friend, not a foe. It was clear she liked you, Dutch and Arthur. She hadn’t meet Annabelle or Susan yet but that was also because Hosea kept her at a distance from the gang. Dutch did the same with Annabelle, which is why no one was bothered at his hesitation.

Just as you had gotten near the house someone started rustling away behind a door as they jimmied it open. Dutch’s hand inched closer to his side where his guns rested in their holsters. The door swung open and out came a man you didn’t know. He was tall and skinny with big sunk in eyes, “Can I help you?” At least he was friendly and not threatening you to get off his land.

Dutch cleared his throat and gave a small wave, “I am so sorry, sir,” he started off. You could hear the showmen inside him come to life, “I’m looking for a friend of mine. I was told he was last spotted here. Maybe you’ve seen him? Tall, blonde hair? Blue eyes? Pointy nose like a rat?” You saw Arthur nearly burst into laughter. He snorted through before he brought his fist to his mouth and dug his teeth into a knuckle.

“Name’s Hosea?”

“Yes!” All three of you spoke at once, surprised and delighted to hear his name. Dutch spoke once more, “Have you seen him? Is he here?”

“Yep, he’s here.” The man headed back inside.

Well this was a nice and safe journey across the county. No guns. No shooting. No nothing! Now it was time to get Hosea and go home, right? Dutch needed help moving camp because winter was going to set in soon, but you didn’t have very many options to run to. There was a desert south, but it was barren and not livable, and Colm O’driscoll was down south. Which Dutch didn’t want to run the chances of crossing. You could head north but that would make things colder. East wasn’t an option. Neither was west. Dutch was extremely tempted to stay the winter in Paradise Valley, simply because the winters were mild here. However, Hosea was more familiar with this area and knew more people.

The door opened again and out came Hosea. He looked… not good. He seemed tired, his hair was messy and his eyes were dark. He was paler than normal as well. He looked like he hadn’t slept since he left camp. Dutch rushed to slide off his horse and took no time asking, “What has happened to you? Where have you been?” Here, clearly, but why?

Hosea started to shake his head and stayed on the large front porch, “I’m sorry Dutch- I.. didn’t mean to get caught up here for so long.”

“What’s going on here?” Dutch asked. You and Arthur had gotten off your mounts as well and followed Dutch up the steps. You stood on the first step while Arthur took the second.

There was a moment of silence as Hosea opened his mouth for a second then closed it. He then sighed and said, “Bessie’s father died,” He spoke quietly, “She… It’s very complicated,”

At some point Dutch had pulled out a cigarette, he lit it with a flick of a match along the side of the little box hidden in his palm. As he dragged in the nicotine he nodded, “As all things are, I’m sure.”

They seemed to have some kind of silent understanding for a moment before Hosea wrung his hands, “Yes, so,” He took a breath, “I’ve been helping Bessie and her sisters with the ah-.. the financial stuff,”

Dutch nodded his head as he steamed out a cloud of smoke, humming, “Mhm, sure,”

“And the legal stuff too. You know, who gets what, what goes where. It’s just he died, um- last night.”

“Oh, he did now?” Dutch raised his brow, not nearly as surprised as he let on, “Maybe that’s why you look like shit?”

Laughter mingled between them and Hosea shook a finger, “I couldn’t have said it better. It was real bad. We brought the doctor from town. Don’t even know what killed him. He just got very sick, lots of vomit, blood, couldn’t eat or sleep. He withered away, really.”

“Awful thing, that’s just awful. I’m sorry to hear that, Hosea, I am,” Dutch paused and this is when you knew the conversation was about to shift, “But we need ya back at camp. I get that this is not a good time but we have to get moving soon, you know that as good as I do.”

“I know Dutch- I know. I’m working on it, I’ve got a place that… Maybe might work for now, it’s actually not far from here,” It was almost as if the world knew he was talking about it. A cold breeze pushed right through the ranch with a heavy gust of mountain air falling from the sky above. Hosea shivered slightly and wrapped his arms together, crossed in front of his chest, “There’s an old house a few miles from here, much deeper in the valley,” He said, “It’s been eaten up by the forest and it’s been abandon for a good few years. I’ve seen it myself, it’s a good spot for now.”

There was a shared moment of silence as another breeze passed through, making a hollow windy sound in your ears as you watched Dutch flick away the dead end of his cigarette, “Alright,” There was a small flare in his attitude, like he was a spoiled child, “Are you coming with us?” He asked.

When Hosea shook his head slowly, you could see a look on Dutch’s face that let you knew every emotion he felt in those five seconds it lasted. Hosea saw it too and he wasn’t quick to rush to his own defense. There was a power struggle here that you or anyone in the world could see. “I can’t,” Hosea finally said, “I… I gotta stay here. Just a few more days, Dutch,” When Dutch didn’t say anything Hosea rambled on, but in a quieter tone as to not let anyone else hear his words but the other outlaw. You couldn’t make out the whispers but whatever Hosea said it must have worked.

“I understand,” Dutch backed away with a nod of his head, “I do, I know what you mean, it’s a terrible time for all of us. I swear it’s the weather, something about the cold makes us all cold-hearted bustards and brings about these dreadful times.”

“Exactly,” They started walking towards the steps, you and Arthur moved out of the way. Hosea turned to Dutch and shook his hand once, firm and formal, and gave him a nod of his head, “I’ll be here if you need me, but I don’t plan on staying forever,” He laughed a little shrill chuckle that sounded tired and strained.

“We know. If you aren’t back in a few days I’ll send Arthur to come in and check in on you. Right, boy?” Dutch had this cheeky flashy grin on his face as he passed the lanky cowboy. Arthur rolled his eyes and was sure to walk off a bit to avoid any teasing Dutch had in store for him, “Come on kids, we got a house to look at.”

As you watched Dutch and Arthur head back to the horses, you looked to Hosea who was standing there with a small smile. You wanted to speak with him, asking him if he was okay and why he had to stay here, but someone came to the front door and pushed it open half way.

His head barely poked out but you could make out who it was. Your eyes locked for a solid ten seconds as he gazed around the front porch. The doctor from town, the one you got the books from, stood in the doorway of Bessie’s house. You felt a wave of anxiety rush over you. Hosea had noticed the doctor too.

He gave you a little wave of his hand back and forth, “I’ll see you around, (Y/n). Don’t worry about nothing, alright?” He disappeared into the house after that.

Your heart was beating faster than a birds wings while trapped in a cage. The doctor was staring at you from around the front door where he still had his head stuck out. You met his gaze and when you did you felt nauseous. His face was blank and his glasses made it hard to see his eyes, for several seconds he stayed there before dipping behind the door and retreated back into the house. He heard your name. Your real name, not the fake one you gave him.

How much did he already know about you? How much of the truth had Hosea unintentionally tell him? Did he know who you were? About your parents? Worry started to sway back and forth in your mind like a bucket overfilled with water. Each splash and wave was like another thought that said something wasn’t right. Should you tell Dutch? Or maybe Arthur? Who knew what that doctor could do. You tried not to think about it as you returned to Callus.

The mustang seemed happy to see you at least. He brushed the side of his head against you as you walked by and let out a little chirp as you struggled to get in your saddle. He was a tall horse and you needed to jump to get up on his back.

Arthur and Dutch chattered away while you headed to this house that Hosea spoke about. You, on the other hand, had kept to yourself, focused on your thoughts. Arthur’s advice on ignoring the prying thoughts of your mother had been going pretty smoothly over the past couple weeks since your birthday, but seeing the doctor opened the flood gates again. For the most part, you thought about your mother’s family, the family you had that was still alive. What were they doing now, and what did they think about you?

The ride to the house felt a lot shorter in contrast to your daydreaming. Dutch had managed to find it by following an overgrown path into the forest. It was in better condition than anyone would have planned. It looked livable aside from all the plant overgrowth. It was a two-story house with white paint chipping away, and looked like it was big enough to fit a large family, which is exactly what you needed. At some point, Arthur had wandered inside while you and Dutch had taken a look behind the house. You found a shitty looking barn only a few feet away from tipping over, but it’d have to do. It was good enough to keep the horses in overnight, someone could camp out there and keep watch while keeping the horses' company.

Suddenly a loud bang came from the second floor of the house, followed by what sounded like rocks tumbling downstairs then someone yelling. You and Dutch looked at each other for a second before heading into the house through the back door.

The inside of the house was dark and smelled like a mixture of smoke and wet dirt. As you ran through the empty kitchen in the back of the house, up front were a dining room and living room came together in the foyer, where Arthur was laying on the floor at the foot of the old staircase. He had his gun in both hands pointed up to a figure halfway down the stairs.

It was an old man, he had his hands up in defense and fear was on his face that was taken over by an unkempt beard peppered with silver hairs that stuck out against his faded brown ones. Fear was on his face, “I-I-I didn’t mean!” The old man let out a yelp when Dutch pulled his gun out too, pointing it at the homeless man, “I’m sorry! I’m real sorry- please don’t kill me! I’m just a useless old man! I’ve been squatting here all summer waiting for the law to kick me out again!!” He looked like he was ready to piss himself.

While Dutch kept his sights locked on the stranger, you went over to Arthur and started dusting off the dirt that had gotten on his back as he sat up from the floor. As he groaned and got to his feet, Arthur’s low voice asked, “What the hell is your name, you old bastard?”

“Don’t got one,” He stayed still in his spot on the stairs. You could see his hands shaking slightly, “They call me, Uncle,” What a strange man. He smelled like whiskey, his hair was on the verge of turning from a light brown to snowy white. He had to be in his 50s at least. He swallowed a lump in his throat and spoke a little softer, “You ain’t the new owners… are ya? C-cause if so y-you- you wouldn’t happen to… keep this from the law?” What a pathetic man.

When Arthur finally stood tall again he snarled out, “I ‘aught to fucking kill you for kicking me down the fucking stairs! Hell no, we ain’t the god damn owners!” He pointed his finger and shook it with each word. You’d never seen Arthur get so angry so fast. He spun away and walked away from Uncle and head towards the front door that was still ajar.

“I said I was sorry! You should know better than sneaking up on an old man-” You stared at Uncle with wide eyes trying to mentally tell him to shut the hell up before he said the wrong thing.

Arthur stopped on his snotty little march out the door and looked back at Uncle. There was a moment of silence where everyone stared up at the old man and he looked back at every one of you. Before he turned away again, Arthur shook his head and cursed under his breath while saying, “Dutch do something with this old bag of shit, you’re the businessman,” He left after that.

Dutch on the other hand ran his hand over his mustache a few times while walking directly into the foyer. Uncle had come down a few steps too, but he was still sure to stay clear of Dutch just like he did with Arthur. Funny, because Dutch was the one he should be the most afraid of, you thought to yourself.

“Well,” Dutch started, and took a long pause as he did this thing where he rubbed his chin then crossed his arms in front of his chest, “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave Uh… Uncle. You see we might not be the new owners, but… ah… We need this house more than you do.”

Surprise oddly washed across his face, “You ain’t gonna kill me?” Uncle asked.

“Not yet,” Dutch retorted, “No, not yet.”

“You’re just gonna… Kick me out? I was here first!”

“And I got a gun,” Dutch’s voice was smooth and low and calm. He stood in front of you now, while you looked around him and watched Uncle. Laughter twisted around in Dutch’s chest for a second, “Now get out,” He smiled.

Uncle stood there for a second or two while he took in this new reality that just slapped him, “Wh-.. what? You can’t do this to me!” He pleaded, “I… You’re doing me worse than death by sending me out there!” Out where? Outside the house? “Please! Mister! I’ll… I’ll pay! I’ll work! I got money! Please let me stay!”

Money changed the name of this game and Dutch was already bending the rules, “Money?” He tipped his head to the side slightly, “How much money?”

Uncle was frazzled enough already. He brought his hands up and shook them around as he spoke, “It’s in a safe!” he started, paused and licked his lips, “In the basement!” There was a basement?

But Dutch wasn’t as stupid as Uncle wanted to think he was, “Did you put the money in the safe?”

Uncle’s face dropped, “N-no… B-but… I found it! It’s mine!”

Dutch’s laugh came from a dark place, it was loud and sounded like a cackle, “It’s mine now!” His smile flashed on his face and he bent over as he laughed, “Woah! You are something special old man! Tell you what,” Dutch took a finger and ran it under his eye to clear away the single tear he gained, “You got till I come back with the rest of my friends then you gotta clear it from here, ya understand?” Dutch then turned on his heel and headed for the door. He didn’t even give Uncle the chance to say anything in reply because he yelled out, “Arthur! Get over here!”

Like the little lap dog he was, he came running over, “Yeah?” He stayed put on the steps of the front porch.

Dutch walked up to him and said, “You stay put here with, (Y/n), I’m gonna head back and gather up the ladies and bring them here. Make sure no one else finds their way back here alive,” As he walked past Arthur he clasped his shoulder and gave a firm squeeze. And that was it, Dutch mounted his stallion and was off into the forest and gone from sight.

You walked outside and met up with Arthur as he sat down on the front steps. You stood to the side of him and peered back into the house. Uncle was gone, but not really, he must have disappeared back inside. You felt bad for him. He clearly was alone in this world and didn’t have anyone else but himself. He seemed lonely, sad, and well… easy to pity. Maybe you should let him stay?

“It’s a nice house,” Arthur’s voice broke through your thoughts, “Two bedrooms downstairs,” he was staring at the overgrown path that led to the road and out of the forest, “Two bedrooms upstairs too.”

“Well that’s good,” You decided to sit down next to him, “It’s nice that there is some furniture too,” You noticed bits here and there when you were inside. There was a table with some chairs, a couple of couches, and the kitchen had a stove. There were fireplaces scattered around too. It was a really nice find for you guys.

The two of you chatted back and forth. You talked about the rooms you wanted, the warmth you’d have for winter, and how it sucked being nearly two hours away from Sugartown. Arthur made plans to explore the area, see if there were any closer towns or trading posts. As you talked, the sky grew darker and darker with thick grey clouds forming overhead while thunder echoed from far away. Every so often it’d get closer and the wind would get stronger. Soon enough the weather drove you and Arthur inside the house. You both decided to hide in there and wait it out until Dutch returned with the rest of your things and the others.

As you stared out the window you watched the storm outside pick up as a mixture of rain and ice started to fall. It got incredibly cold within a matter of minutes. Arthur started a fire in the living room fireplace in the background of your thoughts while you focused on the chaos outside. The storm felt alive and you felt as if you were apart of it. It came without a sound then screamed when it finally got here. You knew there wasn’t a chance Dutch would be back tonight, so you got comfortable with the new house and waited out the weather. ______________________________________________________________

The winter came much faster than anyone expected. About two weeks later and the world turned into a snowy escape. There was always a thin sheet of snow covering everything while the sun slowly melted it away. Most days were clear and cold, but most nights were colder and filled with snowfall.

While everyone made themselves at home, you took claim to one of the bedrooms on the first floor, Arthur took the other. Surprisingly, Dutch didn’t kick Uncle out after all, but he did kick him out of his room. The old man was left to sleep in the living room on the couch while Dutch and Annabelle took his room, and Susan took the other one upstairs. The sad part about all this was that Hosea had still not returned from Bessie’s Ranch. He visited, once, when you first got here, but you haven’t seen much of him since then.

Dutch had finally had enough of waiting around for Hosea and had left some time ago to go find him. You stayed behind because you enjoyed the warmth the house provided. However, this meant you had chores to do instead. Since Hosea wasn’t around to hunt, Susan had taken up the task, and every morning that she would come back with something, it was your job to cut and clean it. Today she brought back a small and sad looking turkey. She wasn’t the world’s best hunter, but she was all you had.

You sat at the small table in the corner of the kitchen and by the windows. You could peer out the icy glass and to the backyard. As you plucked feather after feather, you watched Arthur stand watch by the front doors of the barn, standing over a little fire with his hands close to the tips of the flames. Each time he breathed a little cloud fluttered away in the wind. In the background, you could hear Annabelle and Susan quietly chat about Dutch. You listened to bits and pieces of their words.

“He’s been gone a while now,” Annabelle muttered with a slight attitude, “It’s almost noon. How long does it take to get someone?”

Susan let out some sort of sigh or sneer, it sounded like both, “Girlie,” She started and you looked up to see her pointing a finger at Annabelle, “You need to focus on cutting those potatoes and less on Dutch. He’s fine.” No one knew that for sure but that’s just what was said anytime someone went missing these days. They're fine. They're missing but they are fine and dandy

“Do you think Hosea will come back?” Annabelle’s questions never seemed to end. She was a strong-willed woman and she fought Susan’s bitterness with an air of politeness. She really was such a kind-hearted woman with a spirit of gold.

Again, Susan let out a sound of annoyance and shrugged while shaking her head, “Who knows. He’s found a real lady with a lot of money. He might run east with her if he gets the chance.” There was no way Hosea would do that, you knew he’d never leave the gang.

“You think?” Annabelle picked up a small pile of chopped potatoes and poured them into a boiling pot of water on the kitchen’s old fashion stove, “He doesn’t seem like that kind of guy.”

“Ha!” Susan laughed, she hummed for a second then said, “You don’t know Hosea, then,” You made sure to listen in on her next words, curious to learn Susan’s true impression of the silver-tongued outlaw, “He’s a slimy, evil little goblin who chases after the high of getting rich. He wants money. Nothing else.” That didn’t sound like Hosea at all. The Hosea you knew was kind and gentle and silent. He was a powerful mastermind and a genius at tricking people to give him their money, but he wasn’t a… a gold digger. There was no way on earth he was. What about all the times he spent patiently teaching you to aim a gun? To walk quiet enough to sneak up on a rabbit? What about all the crime novels you’d read together every weekend and gush about? He wouldn’t just… leave… would he? Did the gang mean anything to him? It meant the world to Arthur, this was his home, it was the growing pride of Dutch’s fruits of labor.

Suddenly the sound of footsteps outside on the front porch creaked out. You looked out the window and noticed Arthur wasn’t at the barn anymore. In a matter of seconds, Dutch was standing in the archway of the kitchen with an awful look on his face. Arthur was standing right behind him, peering into the room and sharing a glance with you.

“Well?” Susan asked, “Where is he?”

Dutch shook his head and ventured into the kitchen. As he walked past you he placed a hand on your head and ruffled your hair. He took the seat at the other end of the table while Arthur took his spot in the archway. After what felt like hours, Dutch leaned back in his chair and placed his hands together on his chest, “He’s gone.”

While Susan had a look of almost pride for calling it, Annabelle seemed shocked and so did Arthur, “What?” Annabelle left her potato cutting duty and stared in disbelief, “Where did he go?”

You had also stopped plucking the turkey and left it abandoned on the table, “He’s gone? Like.. he ran away?” You asked slowly while trying to believe it, Hosea actually left?

He waved his hand then shook his head, “I don’t know,” Dutch said, “I went there and the ranch was sold. I spoke to the new owners, some… real fat city folk from the east coast. Pigs,” He spit on the floor, had something gone down between them and Dutch? “Bessie was gone, her sisters sold the ranch and split. They said two daughters headed south to Texas, and the last daughter went west toward California. I’m guessing that was Hosea and Bessie,” Dutch paused as he sat up some more, straight and formal, his voice was low and carried an anger to it that you didn’t understand, “Said they left nearly a week ago,” Silence filled the room aside from the soft bubbles of the boiling pot of potatoes. Out of nowhere Dutch slammed his fist down into the table so hard that it scared the shit out of everyone, “A Goddamn week ago!” He shouted.

No one spoke after that. You all stayed in your place while silently mourning over the loss of Hosea and the betrayal that he left behind. You glanced at everyone in the room.

Annabelle and Susan stood still and startled by Dutch’s outburst. Uncle had managed to peek his head into the kitchen from behind Arthur who had a confused expression on his face. It didn’t make sense… It just didn’t add up. Why would Hosea leave? Did he really not care about the gang and was he really just a money hungry monster?

Something told you it wasn’t that, it was something else, something Hosea never mentioned or talked about. But really everyone knew what it was… It was Bessie... And Hosea’s profound and obvious love for her

#writes #writing #texts #6th #May #2019 #May 6th 2019 #red dead #rdr #red dead 2 #rdr 2 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur x reader #arthur morgan/ you #arthur mogan/ reader #x reader #reader insert #arthur mogan #you #Dutch Van Der Linde #Van Der Linde Gang #hosea mathews #Annbella #Bessie #susan grimshaw #uncle #homeless at home #chapter

[bob-dude]

Some Orange Jerk’s Hazbin thoughts, the longer version.

As I mentioned in a prior post, I  thought the pilot was so-so. Don't hate it with a capital H but find everyone's love for this show to be... odd. Though considering the late 2000s Devinart vibe I get from the show’s art style, probably not too odd now that I think about it. So here’s my longer, more rambly, thoughts on Hazbin Hotel by some rando Orange Jerk on Tumblr.  And as always, more power to ya if you do love it, obviously.

Art direction wise, I’m just not crazy about Viv’s color choice. The red and black and pinks give a Valintine’s day meets Wonderland Queen of Hearts vibe that just doesn't personally work for me on a visual level. 

As for hell itself, I thought the background stuff like ‘Radio Hack’ and the main city being named Pentagram to be... eh? Like, that’s the kind of world-building we’re going with here? It felt less like Hell and more like a city with the trapings of Hell, at least for me. 

So, main cast, the trio as it were. Eh. Meh. Like, Charlie is a Disney Princess of Hell... even though no one treats her as one respect wise which just strikes me as odd from a background perspective. And Charlie has that standard Disney nativity going on... even though she was born and raised in Hell? Like, why bother to make your most optimistic and native character a denizen of hell if she’s not going to look or act the part personality wise?

The reason the personality thing confuses me I guess,  is that take Charlie out of Hell and we’ve seen her character a thousand times before: The bubbly sweet optimistic girl that’s been done so many times before.  Is the ‘But in Hell!’ aspect really that much of a grabber for people? Guess it is and more power to em but it just strikes me as a strange creative choice where once again a character's personality doesn’t logically flow from their background. 

Design-wise Charile is fine, red tux reminds me of the God from the 1977 Oh God movie so that gets a thumbs up in my book. Still a bit weird that a princess is wearing it but it makes sense with the Hotel set up and all so her outfit has a logic to it. 

Then we have Vaggie. So, legit question here people: If you went into the pilot blind and Angle Dust didn’t make his ‘taco’ comment would you have ANY idea that Vaggie is supposed to be Latina? Because I legitimately had no idea that was what her design was supposed to say about her as a charchter. Also didn’t really get a moth vibe from her, either if I’m honest. As for her personality, she’s the standard ‘loving supportive’ GF but with an angry side protective side for Charile... and she’s a Latinia/Latinix.  Does... Does no one else think that’s just a bit... off? Making the one clearly marked Latinia character the ‘angry girlfriend’ archetype? 

Also, that weird pink X eye patch bugged the hell out of me when I was watching. Totally petty as shit nitpick, but I had to vent on that bit. Honestly, though Vaggie is also Meh? Like, she’s in a relationship with Charlie, cool and all but she just doesn’t strike me as a terribly interesting character if I’m honest. Gives me a sort of Lisa Simpson ‘stick-in-the-mud’ vibe. 

And then we have Angle Dust. You know, in the words of Netflix’s Big Mouth, “Sassy and Gay”  isn’t a personality. Angle Dust basically has that sort of ‘2000s  Yaoi OC’ vibe and considering Vive once had a DA character sheet where she literally listed his personality is ‘Bitch’... Yeah. 

Also, as I’ve said elsewhere, Viv and crew are doing too much with this guy. So he’s an ex mobster killed by his homophobic father in the 1920s (not mentioned in the pilot but it is a pilot in all fairness so you can’t throw all your cards on the table). And he’s a Spider Demon... even though per Word of Viv how everyone’s designed in hell doesn’t have anything to do with how they died on Earth (then why deign them that way?). And he’s a porn star (being ex Mob shouldn’t he be the one paying for porn stars as a power domination sort of thing?). AND he’s going for a Beetlejuice meets CJ from Regular Show sort of design.

It just seems a bit much, imo. Like, you could make him just a gay ex mob who mostly uses a Tommy Gun and design him to fit that and leave the Spider-Demon stuff out and it becomes a lot more manageable. Something like a simplified Zoot Suit, or the like. You could keep the sexual humor but throw it a bit more 1920s slang and pop culture references for characterization/comedy purposes (Vaggie, for example, has no idea what he’s talking about most of the time). Granted, I’d personally rather they ditch the ‘animal bits slapped on’ aspects of the designs as a whole but that, as always is just me.

For the record, I’m not ‘offended’ by Angle Dust as a character concept, I’m just not wowed or impressed, ultimately.

And then we have Alastor. Now, I LOVE Alastor as a character. He’s got that classic ‘reality warper’ vibe ala Bill Cipher or Discord but with a 1920s radio show host twist that I just think is amazing and the sound distortion they added to his voice was a really cool touch on top of it all. The problem, as always, comes more with the color choice. One one of your own characters can’t take someone seriously because they look like a ‘strawberry pimp’ that might be the time to maybe go with a different color pallet? Like, idk,  maybe throw in some warm browns and brass golds to involve the 1920s radio vibe stronger? Radios of the 20s and 30s weren’t famous for being red, is what I’m getting at.

The other problem with Alastor is that he’s too strong a personality, ironically. He comes in at the tail end of the pilot and basically steals whatever interest a potential audience member (or at least fat orange jerks like me) might have had in Charlie's plight. It's like introducing Bill Cipher in the first episode of Gravity Falls. At that point whatever interest you might have had in the MC goes out the window and you think ‘what’s this dudes deal and can the show be about them instead please?’ Sure, Alastor in all of his pesudo deer (Those don’t look like horns in my opinion but whatever you say Viv) is fun to watch but he drowns out Charile through sheer force of charisma and showmen ship. Maybe the series itself will fix this but for the pilot at least I think it’s an issue.  

Also, Nifty is Nifty and she needs her own spin-off ASAP. That is all. 

Husk is literally Avocato from Final Space with wings and some gambling bits thrown in design-wise. That’s literally all I think of Husk, sorry Husk fans :(

The animation is good, but I do find it ironic that as much as people like the bitch about  SU being off model, Hazbin I thought suffered from so many different animators tackling different scenes that it just felt jarring going from one scene to the next due to the difference in style and the shifts in animation pacing. Now, don’t get me wrong, a lot of it looks great but that switch in animators kinda just took me out of the experience in places.  Well, that and the lack of proper scene transitions. Those are what also made the pilot feel like whiplash for me.

And now comes to Bob’s thoughts on the plot of the pilot and this is where the logical holes of the series start to get to me just a bit.

So. Charlie wants to reform the demons of hell of their sins so they can get to heaven and Hell can lower its population and angles down come down and deliver some righteous furry smiting on their asses. Okay. Stupid question but what the hell is Charlie basing this off of? I mean, was AD really THAT good an actor that Charlie thought going full steam ahead on the Hotel idea was the next reasonable step up?

 Like, the Hotel was clearly a mess and her staff is literally just her and Vaggie and MAYBe Angel Dust. Even if the episode had ended with a horde of demons lining up to get into heaven by way of cleaning up their acts there’s no way two, three people could handle that (Or, you know, six if we throw in Nifty and Husk in fairness now that I think about it).

 And that’s ultimately the thing with the pilot, the demons are assholes as you’d expect the citizens of hell to be but if they are assholes... why should we care if they get redeemed or not when not one of them is clearly interested in the idea? As cheesy as it would have been, the pilot ending with a horde of demons wanting to give this ‘become better’ thing a shot would have at least left the pilot on a better note to end on. As it is it just seems like Charlie is doomed to fail because no one but her gives a shit or belives about her idea for the Hotel and we have no proof that her idea will even work. Which just makes me wonder: Why should I care if no one else does?

Ultimately, the show has potential but the art style and aspects of the writing just don’t click for me. The show doesn’t say ‘adult’ to me so much as it does 'Hot Topic Teen trying to be adult' which works for a lot of people but for me I think Hellevua Boss as more potential concept-wise. And has scenes on Earth which do the red and black and pink and white colors of the demons a lot better visual justice contrast wise but that’s just me. 

#hazbin hotel #sorry hazbin fans #your show is flawed and has room for improvement

[storykravting]

200 Years From Now

In the 19th century, a few people realized that we (humans) can change the climate of our planet.

During the 20th century, some more people looked into the idea that we (humans) can change the climate of our planet. They confirmed its validity with research but didn't think it was really important, so they didn't do anything.

For most of the 21st century, people all over the world argued about whether we (humans) can change the climate of our planet. Some people still didn't think it was important, even though all kinds of research studies were confirming what people in the 20th century had said. By this point though, the effects of a changing climate were already starting to take place, and most of those people realized that the people in the 20th century were right.

The 22nd century is the result of people finally accepting and adapting to the fact that we (humans) can change the climate of our planet. Unfortunately, it took so long to come to this decision that a lot of cities were already underwater. Literally underwater—Atlantis isn't the only lost city anymore.

Plenty of things are different now in 2100, but the simplest to confer might be these two: The world got brighter and warmer, and sea level has risen quite a bit.

Miami, New Orleans, and San Francisco had to evacuate since underwater breathing isn't completely feasible yet. So did Alexandria, Mumbai, Osaka, Rio de Janeiro, Shanghai, parts of Singapore, and Australia's outer ring of coast. The Pacific Islands disappeared. And you can just imagine what happened in Venice with the canals.

A few ecosystems stopped working too—take the coastal wetlands for example. Most of the greenery in the Alps and Appalachians, and every other mountain range in the world, withered. Even under the water, all non-"supercorals" in the Great Barrier Reef were completely bleached by the beginning of the 22nd century.

For better or worse, disaster was the wake-up call needed to finally galvanize the human race into action.

While the natural world and select areas of civilization suffered the consequences of industrialization, a few places had been smart enough to innovate ahead of time. Neighborhoods in Rotterdam were floating and solar-powered, and as a result aesthetically pleasing as well as technological marvels. Scotland had already put wind turbines in the ocean. Over decades, places that had once been on the coastline slowly became habitable again.

Green technology disseminated across the globe in one of humanity's greatest works of collaboration.  Solar cities popped up everywhere; urban planners had a heyday. Renewable energy became the number one priority, so they made photovoltaic everything—solar panels on top of roofs, in place of roofs, embedded in the sidewalks, inside the paint on buildings somehow. They stuck gardens and windmills everywhere too. And since green is the new black, gardening is government-subsidized.

Architects were just as busy too. Buildings are taller and nicer than they were a century ago. Photography and social media helped popularize a particular style revolving around clean lighting, open space, and an urban aesthetic. Interior design and city layout headed in the direction of bright and spacious and beautiful.

While those people installed huge sundials in plazas and guided vines down the sides of glass skyscrapers, other institutions also developed with the era. These days, it takes less time to get a general education. The new priority is on apprenticeships and applying knowledge in a changing world. Public schooling abandoned its jack-of-all-trades curriculum and established a new one: Programs for Environmentally Beneficial Innovations. PEBI for short.

Despite the naming convention, not every PEBI is centered on improving the future. Some of them, like floriography and sculpting, are just to make the present a nicer, prettier place.

So learning is more popular than it was before, maybe thanks to all the freedom the new system gives its users to stretch their wings. Almost everyone is immersed in their respective field. They’re proud of what they learn, and a lot of people embrace their PEBIs as part of their identity. Architecture, agriculture, art, their professions help define their place and contributions to the world.

And so of course, among the youth, talk about academics and work is just about as commonplace as entertainment. Long-distance communication facilitates a perpetual exchange; teens always seem to be in touch with each other, whether they're texting or talking, meeting in person or simulating it with 360° spherical cameras. Sending voicemail these days is as easy as tapping a wrist piece and speaking.

Possibly the most poignant change between today and the today of 200 years ago is sociocultural: in our relationships. What happened was, in a way of speaking, a shift toward the material. The popular thing these days, especially with so many young couples, is to commemorate special occasions with an equally special gift, something that will be remembered fondly by both the giver and the receiver.

The prevalence of social media in a time focused on the invention and communication of ideas is not to be understated. People are more creative these days; they have to be in order to keep pace with the world around them. As the bar for creativity in real-world innovation rose, the level of creativity that people put into their personal lives increased alongside it.

One artistic engineer made a heart-shaped, pocket-sized charm out of clockwork. One floriographer put together a stunningly beautiful bouquet specifically for a lucky person in their life. And of course, with social media, it only takes one nice picture and a blurb for everyone to hear about it.

Redesigns and novelty gift ideas started trending all over the internet, and they were all incredible. Clockwork charms modeled after hearts and stars and animals, unique bouquets with every type of flower imaginable, pretty accessories and the like. Even letters, which were outdated 200 years ago, are stylish thanks to the work of a few skilled calligraphers.

With so much knowledge and technology crackling at our fingertips, it’s easy to understand why everyone wants to pour themselves into something tangible they can give away as a present that will speak for itself. In fact, it’s almost expected that everyone come up with at least something to do that will stand out.

Obviously, there’s a lot of controversy over the emphasis so many people seem to place on just one facet of the human experience. It’s a persisting tradition for the older generation to express disapproval at whatever the youth are up to: in this case, a fixation on giving gifts and planning elaborate confessions.

But perhaps it's wrong to say modern relationships are artificial or excessively material. Maybe the key thing is not so much the gifts themselves, or even the feelings they're intended to evoke, but the willingness to put so much thought into a single gesture.

Sure, a pretty token can’t convey a person’s true feelings, just as a picture on social media can’t truly show what someone’s life is like. But it’s a truth that the people who give and receive those kinds of gifts are happy. It’s a truth that most of them are in great relationships and can overcome the difficulties that challenge them. The people behind the trends are undeniably talented, but they’re also just kind, thoughtful, caring people—people who show their love in ways that are only coincidentally “instagrammable.”

While the weight given to gifts may have been upped in the past century, while confessions and proposals may have gotten a dozen times more intricate, while we may be able to talk as if in person from a mile away, we still use words to let people know how we truly feel. After all, a gift can’t be given without a tag. A dance can’t happen without an invitation. We still surprise each other with what we like and don’t like. We still make time to meet up in person and grab coffee. We still struggle to tell the people we love that we love them, because our feelings are complicated, and we would never be able to summarize them with a simple present or a smile.

So in a way, the gifts and presents and performances are less the gift than the gift wrap. Giving things and celebrating, all that stuff is appetizers, there to accentuate the words we use to make our feelings clear.

A lot of us may want to be showmen and showwomen, to express our love in amazing ways that won’t ever be forgotten, but we haven’t yet lost what it means to connect with someone—to reveal ourselves, heart to bare heart. Past the shower of gifts and attention, when the only onlookers are the people involved, there remain those irreplaceable moments of self-disclosure. It’s then that we clear our throats, look our loved ones in the eye, part our lips, and give voice to the reasons that make us try so hard to impress.

“Thank you for everything.”

“You've changed my life.”

And of course—

“I love you.”

#short story #contest submission #no it didn't win #pretty convoluted

[swagjudgehandsdragon]

Singing in the shower

Arkos modern AU. Based off the prompt "I don't know you but our showers are side by side and we sing duets sometimes"

Pyrrha steped into her apartment and shrugged off her jacket before flopping face first onto her bed, exhausted. Being the head of Vale's police department was a very rewarding position, but God damm was tiring.

She rolled onto her back and groaned at the ceiling as she remembered the mountain of paperwork waiting for her in the other room.

'maybe a quick shower will help clear my mind..' she muttered while getting back up off the bed.

The redhead wandered into the bathroom and undid her ponytail letting her long hair flow down her back in waves. She then undressed, talking off her uniform and folding it neatly, before placing it on the radiator so it stayed warm while she showered.

Pyrrha sighed and glanced at herself in the mirror, seeing the bags and worry lines that had made become more and more prominent over the last twenty years.

'Urg!' she slapped her cheeks with both hands 'don't think about that.'

Though she did have some vacation time left.. And taking a break once in a while might be good for her, Ren could manage a few days alone right?

Whatever. She'd think about it tomorrow.

She opened the glass door and stepped into the shower, closing the door behind her.

After pressing the on button she was hit by a spray of freezing water.

'Arg!' she jumped back, hitting her head off the glass. 'stupi! -cold! -arg!'

Pyrrha slammed her hand across the dial until the water reached a reasonable temperature.

'well, at least I'm awake now.. ' she muttered, running a hand through her hair as she leaned against the side of the cubicle.

After a few minutes she heard a faint humming sound to her left. She looked over but there wasn't anything there.

'You know I want you, it's not a secret I try to hide..' a male voice drifted through the wall.

Pyrrha blinked, then froze, mortified. There was an apartment next to hers. It must have built so the bathrooms were next to each other.

'I know you want meee, so don't keep saying our hands are tied...'

And now, much to her dismay, the owner of the adjacent apartment had decided to take a shower at the same time as her.

'You claim its not in the cards'

And he was singing.

'fate is pulling you miles away,'

She hurriedly reached for the door, blushing immensely.

'and out of reach from me..'

She paused.

'but you're here in my heart'

He sounded so happy.

'so who can stop me if I decide, that you're my destiny..?'

She recognised the song, it was from that movie Ren had dragged her to see a few weeks ago. The greatest showmens, or something like that?

'What if we re-write the stars? Say you were made to be mine?'

He was a good singer, maybe he was a musician?

'Nothing could keep us apart, you'd be the one, I was ment to find!'

Pyrrha was blushing immensely.

'it's up to you, and it's up to me..'

The hot water wasn't helping much either.

'no one can say what we get to be, so why don't we rewrite the stars.. ? Say you were made to be mine, tonight.'

She opened her mouth without thinking,

'You think it's easy?'

Fuck.

'you think I don't want to run to you..?'

Oh gods.

'but there are mountains, and there are doors that we can't walk through...'

What was she doing?

'I know you're wondering why, because we're able to be just you and me, within these walls..'

What the hell was she doing?

'you've got to wake up and see, that it was hopeless after all..'

There was a stunned silence from the other room.

'no one can rewrite the stars'

Yup.

'how can you say you'll be mine?'

Nope.

'everything keeps us apart..'

Her life was over.

'.. and I'm not the one you were ment to find.'

At this point Pyrrha's face was the same colour as her hair, yet for some reason she kept singing.

'its not up to you, it's not up to me, when everyone tells us what we can be..'

'How can we rewrite the stars? Say the world can be ours, tonight?'

It was kind of fun though.

'All I want is to fly with you'

'All I want is to fly with you'

They were singing in perfect harmony.

'All I want is to fall with you'

'All I want is to fall with you'

She pushed her hand up against the glass.

'so just give me all of you.. '

'so just give me all of you.. '

'it feels impossible..'

'it's not impossible..'

'is it impossible?'

Pyrrha found herself pressed against the glass, wanting to be with this unknown person she was singing with.

'say that it's possible..' she whispered the last words of the verse into the wall.

Then they started again, roaring the lyrics at each other through the glass and thin plaster walls.

'how do we rewrite the stars?'

'how do we rewrite the stars?'

'say you were made to be mine'

'day you were made to be mine'

'nothing can keep us apart,'

'nothing can keep us apart,'

'cause you are the one I was meant to find..'

'cause you are the one I was meant to find..'

'so why don't we re-write the stars?'

'so why don't we re-write the stars?'

Changing the world to be ours.. tonight.'

As the song ended Pyrrha blinked and gasped slightly, coming to her senses. She scrambled to turn off the shower and slammed open the door.

Behind her she heard a light nock from the other side of the wall,

'hey, uhh.. you.. you sing really well.' the voice was muttered and he sounded breathless. 'that was.. really fun actually.'

'I-I'm sorry!' she stammered, grabbing a towel off the rail and running out of the bathroom blushing horribly.

She rammed the door closed behind her and leaned against the wall, water gently siding down her still naked body.

What was that? She was the chief of police for God's sake.

Pyrrha wrapped the towel tightly around herself and went to grab some clothes from her draws.

#arkos #rwby arkos #Pyrrha #Jaune #jaune x pyrrha #AU #Modern AU #Technically my first post #Shipping #Fanfiction #Fluff #More arkos #Writing #is this enough tags #Yet?

[a-girl-named-angel]

At the Freak Show (closed starter)

@i-thought-you-said-printer

Another cold London morning. However this morning was much more specific. A freak show had arrived last night and was setting up as the sun was rising. Tents and cages were set up, however there was one cage in particular that would become the center of attention. At the center of the show was a large cage covered by a curtain that was labeled “Fox Girl”

In the cage was a young girl of 13. Laid on the metal cage floor. Unlike most of these fake attractions, she was real. Her ears and tail were indeed of a red fox. How she gained them? Through years of forced torture and experimentation. It was only by a miracle that she managed to escape. Only to be once again taken by a brutal attraction where she’d be exploited for her features and treated terribly. Bombarded with rocks and garbage.

The opening of the cage door woke up the frail girl. The showmen, who reaked of rum and women, tossed some sort of mush to her, which she ran over and devoured. The poor girl was almost just skin and bones. She didn’t care what it was, she hadn’t eaten in about a week.

“You know what to do... and whatever you do. If you so much as whimper, you’ll be in a hell of amount of trouble. I’ll let my men take care of you.” He threatened between drunken stammers. After the girl flunched in fear and sat in the middle of the floor, he left and slammed the door.

-

Hours passed and eventually groups of people gathered around and stared at the displays. Saving her cage for her. After giving a phoney anoucement before pulling down the curtain. Angel covered her eyes as the group of people gasped in amazement. Some laughed while other called her a freak through whispers, but she could hear everyone of their insults with her added ears.

She kept her head down, she was too frightened to look at the judgmental people. Afraid if their harsh faces and of what may happen. Some would through rocks depending on their mood.

[asiawrites]

The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: I Only Like You For the Nostalgia... Probably

        Last week I got a chance to see U2 for the third time. I know they get a lot of flack and I get a lot also for still being a fan. I don’t know why, outside of fans, they are so hated, but I have a few ideas and a lot of them hit me in the days before the show.

        There is no denying (at least there shouldn’t be) that Bono, Larry, The Edge, and Adam are excellent showmen. And you have to admit they are talented. Say what you want about Bono, but to blow off the skill of The Edge’s guitar playing, Adam’s rhythm with a bass, and Larry’s preciseness with the drums is a little crazy to me. I know for people who aren’t fans, it’s hard to see past Bono’s need to do the absolute most, but trust me these dude’s are talented.

       It’s weird that, even though, I said this was my third time seeing them, this was the first time I felt like I belonged in the crowd. The sad part of that was the excitement for the show had started to die weeks before the trip to Chicago, and had almost completely died hours before the show (I’ll get to that totally embarrassing and probably bratty reason later). The first time I saw them was a little rushed. I’m the type of girl who likes to get to concerts super early, with hopes of meeting the band. Lame, but whatever. This time I had fractured my foot a few weeks before so I was in the dreaded boot. Long story short, a doctor’s appointment, traffic, a few errands, and more traffic later I was later than I hoped to be. The part that bummed me out is that, other than the couple that sat next to me, everyone was kind of asshole-ish. I know the band has a reputation for being sort of pompous, but I thought “Even the fans too?!?” Just the rudest group of people ever. The second time was more of the same. It was the Joshua Tree tour of 2017. I was able to get to Soldier Field early enough for their first show (I had tickets for the show the next day) to get a great video of Bono greeting fans, still no autograph, because in a world of tall people us short folks don’t stand a chance. At the show I had tickets for GA. I’d gotten close enough to the extended part of the stage out in the crowd, with the exception of the 6ft plus women (IN HEELS!) who decided to stand in the way and causally nudge me out of the way any chance they could. To make that even worse is that once the show got started Larry’s drum set was positioned to face the other side of the crowd, and for some reason the rest of the band decided to play that direction as well instead of working the whole crowd. So whether the gargantuan women were in my way or not all I got to see was U2 ass for two hours. Immediately after the show was over staff were complete dicks telling people to get out and even resorted to pushing people, which was unnecessary. Third times a charm I guess. My boyfriend was with me and we were around a group of people who came to enjoy the show, talked and laughed with us and it was great.

        My boyfriend and I had a discussion while waiting for the show to start and it was about something that disturbed me about my favorite band. On their unique stage there were images that popped up saying things like “Equal Rights”, “HERstory”, etc. All things that have to do with equality, ending hate, caring for one another, you know? All the shit we’ve become accustomed to when you think of them and the charities they support. And I looked at my boyfriend and said “Yet our sweatshirts are $75 and buttons that literally say nothing about the band are $15.” Now mind you, I don’t know where the funds from their merch go to. Most of it could very well go to the ONE campaign. All I know is that I’ve gone to many concerts and at none of them have shirts being sold for more than $25-$30, nor are the knick knack accessories over $10. Almost all merch has something dealing with the band on it, whether it be just the name, their image, a lyric, etc. They are also the only band I know of that has a fan club fee. Someone like me can’t afford to give $50+ bucks just so I’m notified early when tickets go on sale and therefore give you MORE money. I wish they were a little more like what they stand for. Realize that not all of your fans are loaded, but also want to be included because they love you.

        My bratty reason for my excitement dying is that they kinda crushed me beforehand. When they’re in Chicago they stay at the same hotel and roughly leave for a show around the same time. That first day Bono stopped, shook a few hands from the car window, and focused his attention on the little girl that he’d let up on stage at a show in the past. That girl wasn’t born to know about the greatness that was Joshua Tree, but I digress. The next day I showed up and was relieved there wasn’t as many people there as the day before. Surely they’d stop and I’d FINALLY get my autograph on this book that I’d been carrying around for years whenever they were near. Nope. They didn’t even stop, roll down the window, wave, honk the horn. Nothing. I was heartbroken. Yeah, I cried. Whatever. My boyfriend hugged when I told him not to cause it would get worse. Cause you know if someone hugs you when you’re already sad it’s guaranteed to make you cry like a baby. That was me. I hate that it effected me so much because at the end of the day they’re just people. It’s a catch 22 because they are just people and don’t owe us anything, but at the same time without fans to buy albums, tickets, etc, then where would they be? People judge me for being a fangirl, but for some celebrities it’s because they mean a lot to me for very specific reasons and U2 fits in that category for me. They are the band that made me comfortable with myself. For me being a young black girl who liked rock music, it was tough. I was bullied, told I was trying to be white, called weird, and just overall made to feel like I was trying to be something I wasn’t and that I didn’t belong anywhere. Hell, oftentimes my own family made me feel that way. It was hard going out in the world and dealing with that type of ridicule and then have to come home to it. I didn’t have a break. My break was Mtv and the radio. The moment I saw the video for “Mysterious Ways”, I was hooked. I started not to care what people thought. I loved U2 and I didn’t care who knew. What made that acceptance much easier was from the video I thought Bono was Latino, so I felt that a nice rebuttal if people teased me for liking “white music” I could say that “Well the lead singer for U2 is Latino! So there!” I later found out I was wrong, but I didn’t care. I was a U2 lover. In some ways I was still ashamed of the music I liked so the only ones I didn’t care about people knowing I liked were U2, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Aerosmith, (with black people Aerosmith got a pass because of Run DMC). It wasn’t until I was 13 and discovered The Beatles that I threw all fucks to the wind and started being the nerdy rock and roll black girl that I was destined to be. So did I feel hurt when I didn’t meet my idols? You damn right I did.

       Before that concert I had an inner talk with myself, and that talk was along the lines of “Do I still love U2 or do I love the acceptance they made me feel for myself when I was a child? Am I just caught up in the nostalgia?” I honestly don’t have an answer to that. Do I love their music still? Yes. Does it touch me the same way Achtung Baby did? Not really. There will always be a place in my heart for them, but do I really want to keep spending my hard earned dollars to see them? Maybe. Maybe not. Their music will always be a part of the soundtrack to my life. Their music will stick with me.

-Asia Aneka Anderson, 2018(c)

#By: Asia Aneka Anderson #Inside My Creative Mind #The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind #personal #U2 #amwriting #writing

[news-lisaar]

[asoenews]

[news-monda]

[jennielim]