#he has been called a woman two times prior to posting this i believe in you guys to remember this is a man HELPP

[certifiedunicornhater]

keeping my promise of drawing flor in a skirt, specifically happy ending au flor !! i don’t really like how this came out but i’m posting it anyways

also this is a man he uses he/him im begging you to not call him a woman please please please

#he has been called a woman two times prior to posting this i believe in you guys to remember this is a man HELPP #someone confused him for his mom which i guess i see it but like. #part of his arm is missing his mom has both of hers 😭 #anyways enjoy i guess #>flor posting #>my art #unicorn wars oc #art #digital art #unicorn wars #uw oc

[littlejuicebox]

The other kind of kink.

Written as a giveaway prize for @chaoticgoodstuff! Hope you enjoy the final version posted here! <3

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x Female Tav

Summary: Astarion didn't quite know how to form a relationship with Tav after she rejected him at the tiefling party. But he begins to realize that perhaps he has other expertise that may be of use to the woman. Namely, curly hair care.

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: fluff, sweet astarion, brief mentions of astarion's trauma/past, lightly ooc astarion, idk what else it's mostly fluff tbh lol

-----

“So which path do you think we should take, soldier? Underdark or Mountain Pass? Either way, I’m ready to slash some baddies!” Karlach says, swinging her ax for show as the two warrior women chat while Gale finishes cooking dinner. 

It would be at least another hour and the women were starving.

“Hmm…” Tav murmurs, looking up at her tiefling friend from where she had been sharpening her great sword. It certainly needed a bit of attention, after slashing through so many goblins a few days ago, “I haven’t decided yet, any suggestions?” 

Karlach shrugs and shakes her head before turning to look at Astarion, where he is perched on a log, filing his nails, not more than a few feet away, “Oi! What do you reckon, Fangs? Underdark or Mountain Pass?”

The silver-haired elf glances up from his task momentarily, assessing Tav and Karlach, scarlet eyes narrowed in thought, “Both sound equally atrocious. But if the great Archdruid Halsin said the Underdark is the safer route – which I find impossible to believe – then, I suppose that is my vote. Work smarter, not harder and all that.”

Tav nods, considering the rogue’s suggestion, and with a final rub of whetstone on metal, sheaths her great sword as she says, “Astarion’s right. Underdark, it is.”

“Well of course I’m right, darling! Aren’t I always?” Astarion responds with a pleased little chuckle as he tucks away his nail file. 

Inside, his confidence glows at the small bit of validation from their camp leader. He’d felt as if her view of him may have changed after the very awkward encounter they’d had at the tiefling party a few days ago, when he’d drunkenly propositioned her and she’d adamantly refused. He’d thought their relationship – could he call it friendship? – all but ruined after that blunder. Apparently he’d somehow misread the signs, and she wasn’t looking for sex like every other individual he’d ever known. 

Astarion had considered their prior interactions dancing on the border of flirtatious, but Tav indicated she preferred to focus on their cause, not on intermingling with her campmates. He thought Tav a bit odd after that interaction, and admittedly felt a bit insulted in the moment. He was gorgeous, why wouldn’t she jump at the opportunity he dangled in front of her? 

But, in the soberness of the following morning, Astarion decided he could work within her parameters; he’d just have to find another way to secure her favoritism. In fact, in some ways he was thankful she rejected him. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a genius,” Tav responds with a laugh, rolling her eyes at the rogue as she stands and stretches, “Well, I’m off to clean up before dinner, if either of you care to join?”

Karlach waves her hand dismissively, “Nah! I’ll do that after dinner. But can I borrow your whetstone for my ax?”

Tav nods at the tiefling, watching as Karlach grabs the stone and walks off toward her tent, ax in hand, before turning to address her other campmate, “And what about you, Astarion?”

The silver-haired elf shrugs and nods; at this point he’s taking any opportunity he can to spend time with Tav. The more he’s with her and gets to know her, the closer she will get to him, and the more secure he will feel. 

Or at least, that’s his only Plan B. Since Plan A went up in flames. 

He crouches to gather his bathing supplies from his pack before coming closer to the warrior woman currently waiting for him, “I suppose I could do with a bit of a bath. It isn’t hair wash day, but–” 

“It isn’t hair wash day?” Tav interjects, her eyebrows furrowing at the vampire, “You don’t wash your hair every day? Isn’t that… gross?”

The rogue pauses and blinks at the woman, tilting his head just a fraction as he assesses her, “Darling, please tell me you are not washing your hair every day. I understand on the days we are soaked in blood and guts it is a necessity… but, certainly you haven’t washed your hair every single day for the past three days when we have done nothing apart from lounge in camp and prepare to move onto the next part of our journey… right?” 

Tav cocks her head to the side, mirroring Astarion’s bewildered expression as she asks, “Should I… not be?”

That explains quite a bit, Astarion thinks, as his eyes roam over the unruly curls springing from the crown of Tav’s head. He’d thought it was perhaps an odd stylistic choice, or she simply did not care about the state of her hair, but maybe it was merely ignorance. Perhaps no one ever showed her how to care for the red, curly locks cascading like a lion’s mane around her face.

A small wave of sympathy crosses Astarion’s heart; he internally smashes it down before the wave grows into a tsunami. Best to not care too much about this woman, she could turn into a mindflayer at any moment, after all. And then he’d have to slice her to ribbons, as previously agreed upon.

“Ah.. well, darling. It isn’t wrong, exactly,” He starts, his eyes shifting away from Tav’s face as he tries to delicately address the matter, “It’s just… with a hair texture like yours, you aren’t doing yourself any favors.”

Tav simply blinks in response, her expression vacant; she is not understanding Astarion’s meaning.

The rogue sighs and shakes his head slightly. Well, he at least tried to be delicate, but that did not seem to sink in. More direct, it is. 

A vague gesture to his friend’s red curls and then Astarion explains, “Your hair is dry, Tav. That is why it is difficult to maintain and why you’ve broken more than one comb trying to drag it through that unruly mane.”

A flicker of embarrassment crosses Tav’s face and the rogue groans. He doesn’t know how to navigate feelings and friendships; his relationships with his siblings had been much less work… not that he particularly enjoyed those relationships or cared if the other spawn liked him. But he wanted Tav to like him, if only for his own motives, of course. 

“It’s really… not all that bad, darling. But perhaps I could help you, give you a few pointers? I think your hair could be quite gorgeous – your best feature, even, given the proper care. It’s rare to see a natural redhead like you, it already captures a lot of attention… let’s make it something awe-inspiring.” Astarion says, gently, his hand coming out to tug at one frizzy curl as he tries to smooth over the insult he just threw at his campmate. 

But, hells, someone had to tell her eventually. Even his siblings wouldn’t let him walk around with such unruly locks. 

“O-oh, sure, okay,” Tav agrees, still trying to overcome the embarrassment as her own hand comes to rake through her hair and gets caught in a nest of tangles, instead. She grimaces; Astarion had a point, it seemed, “Do I need to bring anything special?”

“Let me go back to my tent and grab my hair washing supplies, I’ll meet you down by the river in a bit, hm?” Astarion responds with a small smile before turning back toward his tent and disappearing within the shelter to rummage through his vast collection of shampoos, oils, perfumes, and soaps.

Tav merely hums in agreement and then heads in the opposite direction, toward the camp-designated bathing spot, towel in hand. As she’s walking, she pulls a curl in front of her eyes and examines it with a new perspective. Gods, it really was dry.

*

When Astarion makes his way to the river, he finds Tav waist-deep in the rushing water, still in her smallclothes and soaping her arms. Her back is turned to him, and the sun is catching her hair in a flattering light. Autumnal colors of red, orange, burgundy, and wine dance around her crown in the form of spiraled locks, and the elf cannot help but admire the natural beauty bestowed upon the woman.

Her hair was a gorgeous tone, reminiscent of the warmth of a fire or a deep, satisfying vintage wine. But it wasn’t just Tav’s hair that was attractive… she really was quite striking. With the woman unaware of his presence, Astarion took a quick moment to admire the rippling muscles in her back and the strong, lithe arms she used to carry her greatsword.

No one with working eyes — or eye, perhaps, —  could deny that Tav was attractive. After all, there was a reason Astarion had chosen to proposition her over the others in the first place. 

But, sex or not, the woman certainly seemed to favor him, which meant more than once since their journey began, she’d sliced clean through an enemy at his back, and fed him servings of her own blood. 

So now, it was his turn to repay her somehow, some way. And if Tav didn’t accept his physical talents, well, then at least she would accept this. 

“Hello, darling,” Astarion calls, causing the woman to turn and acknowledge him with a small smile and wave. He quickly places his bathing kit on the river bank and undresses to just his briefs before tentatively placing a foot in the water. It was warm enough to be tolerable, so the rogue shrugged and grabbed his wooden comb and conditioner before sinking into the water and wading toward his campmate. 

“Alright, now, get down into the water,” The elf directs as he shakes the small bottle of conditioner in his hands, prepping the contents.

“But I thought you said I’m not supposed to wash my hair every–” Tav begins, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she eyes the bottle, before the displeased glare from Astarion causes the question to die on her lips. 

“Do you want my help, or do you want to continue to look like a sheep desperately in need of shearing, darling?” Astarion asks with a soft sigh as he pops the top of the bottle open and gives it a whiff, “Just bend down and trust me. Oh and here, hold these for a moment.”

Tav grabs the comb and bottle she’s offered and then does what she’s asked. When she’s shoulder-deep in the water, she feels Astarion’s hand guiding her to tip her head back. She follows the directive and is soon greeted by the vision of Astarion’s face hovering above hers, scarlet eyes intensely concentrated as he drags his hand through her curls.

“Your hair texture is a bit different from mine…” He muses idly, as he works to fully saturate the thick locks of hair on his companion’s head with water, “But this conditioner should work, for now. We’ll have to find something better suited to you, when the opportunity allows.” 

Astarion takes the comb from Tav’s hand without a word and uses the tool and his own fingers to work out some of the ever-present knots in the woman’s hair. She watches him for a moment before closing her eyes and simply allowing Astarion to work at the task. Before long, the elf is gently guiding her head back up, into a straight position, and trading the comb for the bottle.

“Close your eyes,” He directs, and Tav obliges again as the vampire places a generous amount of rosemary-scented conditioner in his hand. Then he gives the bottle back to Tav, rubs his hands together, and begins to work the creamy liquid through her hair, starting at the ends and slowly wandering up toward her scalp. About midway through he’s reaching for the bottle again, “Who knew your hair was this thick? You’re about to use up all of my favorite conditioner, darling.” 

Tav frowns slightly at this comment, trying to turn and face Astarion before he quickly redirects her head with a soft click of his tongue, “I’m sorry… I can buy you more when we run into our next merchant.”

“Oh, it’s no matter. I stole this bottle anyway– I’m sure I can steal another along the way,” Astarion says with a slight dismissive flip of his hand, “Besides, I think you need it far more than I do, right now.” 

His fingers trail up to the crown of her head as he speaks, and Tav’s eyes flutter closed once again as Astarion begins to massage the product into her roots. He moves in sections, parting her hair every few inches and attentively working the conditioner into her scalp. The sensation was quite enjoyable; if the water were a bit warmer, Tav might have fallen asleep under Astarion’s gentle, methodical touch. 

Far too quickly for her liking, Astarion completes the task and gently pats her shoulder to signal he’s done for now. He grabs his comb and what little remains of his favorite hair product from the woman. 

“You need to let that sit for a few minutes, at least, little sheep.” Astarion directs before wading back to the river bank and dropping his supplies with the rest of his things. Tav watches as he grabs his own bar of soap and begins to bathe himself.

“How did you learn about all this?” The woman calls to the rogue as she wades through the water, mostly for something to do as she waits. 

Astarion hums as he considers the question; there is a pause in the conversation as he drops his bar of soap back along the bank and uses his hand to rinse the soapy remnants along his body. Tav cannot help but follow his fingers as they graze along his chest and arms, dispersing droplets of water that drizzle down the lines of his abs and back into the river. 

“I wish I could tell you how I learned, but I can’t recall…” He murmurs, his voice sounding a bit far away as he thinks, “It feels like something ingrained in me like speaking Elvish or the ability to read, for instance; someone must have taught me… I suppose one of my parents, or someone else in my family.”

A small look of sadness flits across Tav’s face but she quickly hides it before her companion notices, knowing that Astarion will balk at anything resembling pity. She often forgets how little memory he has of his past before Cazador, how much he’d endured until now, and how much of himself he’d lost in the process of it all. He was so good at pretending to be normal and happy-go-lucky… but then, they were quite alike in that aspect, weren’t they? It was easier to be the unbothered goofball than to be anything that resembled fragility, wasn’t it? 

Tav chooses to not respond to his answer, knowing nothing she says can truly make his situation better, and instead grabs a conditioner-covered curl, “Can I rinse this now?” 

Astarion nods as he climbs out of the water and begins gathering his own things, “Yes, go rinse it out – make sure there’s none of that left in your hair, and then come find me back at camp for the next part. I’m going back — it’s growing a bit cold.”

“Next part?” Tav responds with a soft whine, watching as Astarion towels himself off, “There’s more?”

“Darling, if you want your hair to look even close to as good as mine, there is a lot of work involved. Now hurry up, so we can be done before Gale is ready to feed you whatever disastrous concoction he’s made tonight,” Astarion says, his tone a bit joking as he begins slipping into a new set of camp clothes.

The woman groans and obeys the rogue’s directions, turning away as Astarion strips off his undergarments to replace them with new ones, and wading once again toward the deeper water. Tav dunks herself down into the river and begins running her fingers through spirals of hair, massaging out any slippery residue she finds along the way. With the amount of hair she had, it took several minutes, and by the time she was finished, Astarion was already gone. The sun was just beginning to kiss the earth in its descent toward night.

Tav quickly toweled herself off and dressed. Then she wrapped her hair up in the towel, twisting it around her locks in a turban-like fashion before collecting her belongings and making the short journey back to camp.

*

“There you are, darling,” Astarion calls as he catches sight of Tav, before patting a stump near his tent, “Come over here so I can finish defining your curls.” 

Tav furrows her eyebrows in confusion, because she has no idea what Astarion means, but she’s learned to simply shut up and go along with whatever he says for this entire endeavor. As she comes closer, she notices the elf has laid out even more supplies for her hair.

Did it really require all of this?

She sighs and takes a seat. Astarion immediately sets to work, placing a dollop of some sort of creamy pomade-like mixture in his hand and working it through her hair again. After that, he begins sectioning her hair into pieces, directing Tav every once and a while to hold this or that piece as he combs through her locks. 

“Ouch–” Tav hisses as the elf seems to be pulling at the base of her scalp. She moves to jerk away and Astarion huffs impatiently behind her, one of his hands coming to press against her forehead and prevent her movements. 

“Darling, for gods sakes, hold still.There isn’t beauty without a bit of pain, and honestly, for such a warrior, you’re being a wimp,” he chastises before continuing on with the task.

“What are you doing?” Tav asks through a sharp intake of breath, scrunching her eyes closed as she tries to endure the uncomfortable sensation of her hair being repeatedly tugged at the root. 

“Defining your curls, dear. I’m twisting them around my finger, see?” Astarion responds before coming in front of her and pulling a piece so he can demonstrate the process. Tav watches with a mixture of interest and confusion as he continues, “This will help all your curls to look more uniform. But seeing as you’ve done very little to your hair in all this time, I suppose it would make sense that you’re a bit tender-headed. I promise I am trying to be gentle.” 

Tav grimaces as Astarion continues his task, letting out little squeaks of pain that the rogue pointedly ignores. Eventually, Karlach comes over to return the whetstone she borrowed. The tiefling lingers to chat, which distracts Tav just enough to mostly forget about the pain in her scalp. When Astarion announces he’s done, the woman is genuinely surprised and moves to touch her hair; she is met with a quick swat from the elf.

“Ah-ah!” He admonishes before grabbing a bottle and spraying her hair with another rosemary scented product, “You can’t touch it until it’s completely dry.” 

“Why the hell not?” Tav groans again, suddenly growing impatient. Her stomach growls, and she sighs as she realizes she is also growing hangry. 

“You’ll undo all my hard work! Just wait.” Astarion responds as he stows away all his beauty products, “And anyway, it looks like Gale is just about done with dinner. We can go sit by the fire as you eat and that will dry your hair faster.”

*

Dinner was… acceptable. Gale did the best he could with the two rabbits Astarion hunted that morning, a handful of potatoes, one onion, and a couple of carrots. They did not have the luxury of seasonings most of the time, so it was quite typical for the nightly stews to taste gamey… tonight was no exception. 

Astarion takes a few drinks from Tav’s wrist after she finishes dinner. Once he retracts his fangs from her flesh, he lifts his hand to gently feel her curls. After a moment assessing his creation, he grins at the woman and says, “They’re finally dry, darling. Took long enough, hm? Now, let’s get you in front of a mirror so you can see my masterpiece.” 

Tav is flabbergasted by what she sees in the mirror. For the first time in… well, ever, her hair looks like it belongs to one of the beautiful maidens in an oil painting. Her hand comes up to gently touch the soft, spiraled locks and confirm that this perfect head of hair is, in fact, on her head and not somebody else's. 

“What do you think?” Astarion prompts, his voice containing the smallest bits of apprehension as he lifts a hand to fuss with Tav’s hair, placing it just so.

“It’s great,” Tav responds, her face breaking into a wide smile that causes the tension in Astarion’s shoulders to dissipate, “Thank you… really.” 

Astarion smiles and nods, suddenly unsure how to respond to the genuine gratitude in Tav’s voice. So instead he chuckles a bit and rolls his eyes before saying, “What on earth would you do without me?”

“Continue to look like a sheep in need of shearing, I guess,” Tav jokes, sticking her tongue out as she gently bumps her elbow into Astarion’s rib in jest, “That was mean, by the way.”

“I prefer honest, darling,” Astarion quips with a small chuckle, his fingers still fussing with the woman’s curls, “And anyway, you no longer look like a little sheep. You look beautiful.” 

Tav is not used to being called beautiful. Strong or brave, perhaps, but beautiful… never. Until now. The compliment catches her off guard and her eyes widen for just a moment. The elf notices her shock and his brows crinkle as he pauses the primping to analyze the woman’s face. 

“Certainly you know you’re beautiful…” The rogue continues, his hands starting to work at the curls again, “I’m sure I’m not the only–”

Astarion trails off when Tav shakes her head from side to side as her face begins to blush, the shade of her skin suddenly resembling the shade of her hair. Her voice is quiet, and crackling with a bit of emotion as she says, “No one says that. They just call me strong, or brave… or fierce.”

The elf tilts his head to the side as his eyes roam across Tav’s face once again. How interesting, he thought, to be lauded for things apart from your beauty. He’d never experienced such a thing, himself… though he thinks he would like to. But it almost appeared as if Tav had the reverse experience to his. 

“Well… surely you can be strong and beautiful, hm?” Astarion asks with a raised eyebrow, trying once again to smooth out the awkwardness he felt creeping between them, though he didn’t exactly know why it often felt like that. He moves to affectionately tug another lock of Tav’s hair and smiles playfully, “And with hair like this, dear, no one can deny your beauty. It would be an insult to my skills, frankly.” 

Tav snorts a laugh at this, eliciting a genuine, fang-filled grin from the rogue. Then he produces a bandana from his pocket and flourishes it in front of the woman, “Now let’s get your hair wrapped up. I’m exhausted and I want to go to bed, but I will not allow you to ruin my masterpiece overnight with all your thrashing about in your bedroll. You’re quite noisy, you know? And you snore.”

“I do not!” Tav protests as Astarion clicks his tongue at her and shakes his head, all while bundling her curls into the bandana and deftly tying a knot to keep it all in place. 

“You’re a terrible liar, dear, I’m surprised your nose isn’t growing this instant,” The elf murmurs, his finger coming to affectionately boop the woman’s nose before he bids goodnight and wanders back to his tent for bed.

Tav rubs her own nose as she yawns and heads back to her own tent, on the other side of camp. She tucks herself into her bedroll and smiles as she stares up at the canvas ceiling of her shelter. Someone really said she was beautiful; a small giggle escapes her lips as she thinks about it. 

Before long, Tav falls asleep. And for the first time in a while, she sleeps peacefully, without any thrashing about or snoring. Perhaps it was because her hair – and her heart – were both impeccably well-taken care of tonight. 

#astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x female tav #astarion x tav fluff #astarion fluff #astarion oneshot #astarion fanfiction #tav x astarion

[scarasimping]

love-avoidant princess

pirate!scaramouche x princess!reader

synopsis: scaramouche’s crew had been planning this heist for years prior, and finally, they dock ship at the most heavily guarded kingdom on this side of the world with only one goal in mind: infiltrate the castle and steal the crown used for the coronation ceremony. The only setback? The princess had already stolen it, so now he has to go through her. 

tags: fem!reader, allusions to medieval sexism, you know how that is, mentions of blood like once, alcohol also mentioned a couple times, i believe that’s it for this part!

author’s note: ITS DONE omg, this took way longer than i thought but I guess that’s what happens when i try to throw myself in to writing actual pieces for the first time in three years instead of taking it slow. and it only ended up being 3k words TT but this is not the end, i have way more in mind for these two, this is honestly more like...a prologue of sorts!! hope you all enjoy !! so glad we actually have a plot now instead of me posting random hcs hshshshs also yes, his crew is most of the anemo characters because I said so

word count: 3.63k

One can only see the same garden of flowers so many times before becoming bored of the sight. You have walked through here on so many occasions that you're sure that you could list each plant by its scientific name in the order they appear, from the front of the garden to the back.

So, really, it shouldn't come as a surprise to your retainer when they watch you leave a meeting with a potential suitor halfway through your millionth walk through the garden.

The suitor was confused, calling out to you and running to keep up with your fast-paced steps.

"Princess! Did I do something wrong?" He shouted, but you shook your head, an unimpressed and uncaring look painting your features.

"I apologize for saying this after you made the long journey here, but this simply will not work between us."

And thus, another man was rejected by the unromantic princess.

Known for turning down every suitor imaginable, you had gained the reputation of being entirely against romance. Even though you were clearly not interested, this only made people want you more, and your father, who was eager to get you married off, agreed to let everyone interested in you meet you, as long as they were of high enough standing. This included royalty from other kingdoms, wealthy businessmen, and other government officials or their sons who were your age. 

None of them even came close to winning your heart.

It’s not that there was anything wrong with them. To be honest, even you weren’t sure why you were so bored with every man or woman you met. It seemed to be more the life you would lead with them than the suitor themselves that made you gag. No first-born heir of a royal family wants to be married off; they want to have the throne! And if your parents weren’t going to give it to you, then you wouldn’t make it easy for them to send you away.

As you gracefully left the heartbroken businessman behind, the retainer assigned to watch over you hurriedly followed, barely keeping up with your pace.

"Princess, this is the seventh suitor you've met. Please tell me, what is wrong with this one?" he pleaded. In truth, he was scared to report more bad news to the king and queen, but frankly, that was not your problem.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I just do not see myself having a life with him," you replied, staring straight ahead and hoping he would stop following you. After forcing yourself to be nice to these suitors, all you wanted was to lay in bed and nap, or maybe practice your sparring skills with your sword.

"We'll have to tell your father about this," he gave you one last warning, but your mind was already made up.

"I understand, but I'm not altering my decision."

Just as you and your retainer thought, your father was not pleased, going on one of his long-winded rants about how you should get married quickly because it’s “better for the kingdom” and “what a princess should do.” All the while, your mother sat and watched, not saying a word because she knew that she did the same thing when she was your age. It was how your parents met in the first place, after all.

"At this rate, your little brother will have inherited the throne before you're satisfied with a man." The king ends his rant with this statement, huffing angrily as he furrows his thick eyebrows in your direction. There it was, the constant reminder that you, the eldest heir, were not to inherit the throne, which should rightfully be yours, all because your parents favored your younger brother.

However, who would dare question the king? When he makes an order, it is carried out, and what he demands is brought to fruition. So if he says your sibling shall inherit the throne, he will, and when he finally gets fed up with your high standards and simply makes you marry someone of his choosing, you will have to obey. Such is the life of a princess.

With a heavy heart, you bow to your father, asking to be excused. He sighs and waves his hand, allowing you to leave, to which you immediately turn on your heel and pace quickly toward your chambers.

When Scaramouche's crew docked at the pier, they knew the welcome they would be given wasn't going to be a warm one. It never was, wherever they stopped. It was no secret that wherever this ship docked, well-known valuables would soon go missing and trouble would follow, yet no one could prove it was them.

Still, seeing every guard on patrol look at them with a noticeable glare and watch their every move was more than unnerving. All Scaramouche was doing was going for a stroll, after all.

But, so were his crewmates, Kazuha and Heizou, in separate parts of the city. And it's not their fault if they happen to notice which areas are more guarded than others, when the guards switch shifts, or which buildings have the least amount of foot traffic coming in and out of them. It's all coincidental, of course, not on purpose at all.

It's definitely not intentional when Heizou reports that the only guards that step into the tavern are always there to get so drunk after their shift that they won't remember what they say.

And who's to shame Scaramouche if he wants to step in and have a drink or two, and happens to run into a guard who's slurring his words and would have fallen over if he ever tried to stand up in this state?

"And that princess…god! She's so stuck up.." the guard ranted, taking another swig from his pint. Scaramouche listened with faux sympathy to the drunken man in front of him, but he wasn't sure how much more he could take from this man. He too often leaned too close as if whispering a secret, the stench of sweat, metal, and cheap booze radiating off of him. 

"That princess! She keeps rejecting every suitor who's interested in her! Do you know who has to deal with the king's fury after she does this? Us!"

He leans in once more, and Scaramouche gets a whiff of his rancid breath  "I hear….the king wants her married off to someone wealthy because he's in debt…but she just wants the throne instead! Can you believe it? Too stuck up to let her brother be the heir to the kingdom…."

It seemed all this guard was going to reveal was pointless rants about the king’s only daughter, and today he was not going to get any information that would be helpful to him. After all, if this princess was to be married off, it’s unlikely she would be able to get hold of the crown that was to be used in the coronation ceremony when the prince came of age.

Like an answer from the heavens, his doubts were quickly proven incorrect when the guard’s voice drops to a whisper, and he leans across the table to speak in Scaramouche’s ear.

“I hear…that she got so jealous, she stole the crown. The king says it just got lost, however, we guards know the truth. But what grounds could we present that would warrant a search through the princess’s private quarters? It’s useless…”

And just like that, Scaramouche knew whom he should target. 

The captain stands from their booth in the corner, excusing himself. He buys the guard another drink as thanks for the “lovely conversation” and to ensure he really wouldn’t remember the information he spilled.

The next few nights, Scaramouche and other members of his crew alternate between taverns to gather as much information as possible. Each night, a different person hit a different establishment to not raise suspicion. This heist was going to be big, and after it was pulled off they wouldn’t be able to dock for months to avoid being caught and interrogated.

Stealing the crown from the most heavily guarded kingdom on this side of the world was no easy task, but it had been Scaramouche’s dream ever since he started his life of piracy. Something like this would earn them respect like no other on the seven seas but also put a huge target on their back. His crew was prepared, of course, they wouldn’t have docked here if they weren’t. It’s not like they couldn’t fight, either. They were notorious for many reasons: their crimes that left no evidence behind, the sheer intimidation their crew gave off, and the fact that no crew member lost any duel they were challenged to.

After a couple weeks of solely gathering information, Scaramouche’s crew was ready to take things to the next level. They learned that the princess was unable to leave the castle without supervision, which only occurred on rare occasions. She lived a secluded life and many of the kingdom’s citizens didn’t even know her face. His first mate, Kazuha, who was always good with his words, even managed to get one of the guards to reveal which terrace on the castle belonged to the princess’s room and that the staff had recently increased security in the city and outside the castle because of a suspicious ship that had docked at the pier, which lessened the amount of military inside the building.

Kazuha was always better with people than any other crew member, and Scaramouche was forever thankful he was a part of his crew, even if he didn’t show it.

However, it seemed no one was able to learn that the princess provided enough security for herself, not even needing guards.

Scaramouche quickly learned that when he was finally ready to attempt to get inside the castle, scaling the walls during a shift change and approaching the terrace he was informed about prior.

A candle on your bedside and the illumination from the moon were the only sources of light in your quarters at this time of night. Every other member of the royal family was asleep, but not you. Far too frequently would you stay up reading a novel you “borrowed” from the castle’s library, even though books weren’t supposed to leave the area. 

All was silent except for the wind blowing outside and the rare footsteps in the hall, metal clashing with each step from the guards’ armor.

Though silent, and easy to miss, a sound from outside your window caught your attention. 

Breathing, silent steps getting closer, the scraping of someone climbing the walls and terrace.

You turned, blowing out your candle so that whoever was coming wouldn’t know you were awake. With the time it took for them to reach the glass door that separates your room from the balcony, your eyes had already adjusted to the darkness and you had your sword out from underneath your bed, drawn and ready to be used.

The door cracked open, slowly, and it was obvious that whoever was there was trying to use the element of surprise. They must not know you, considering they thought you wouldn’t discover them. One hand pushes the door open all the way, then pulls the person inside. It was a man with indigo hair and eyes. Everything he wore was black - his boots, high-waisted pants, and tricorn hat, - besides his shirt, which was a white poet shirt with purple and black accents tucked into his pants. Adorned on his hat were feathers that spewed from the back and gems which were sewn on, each one catching the light from the moon. He was obviously a pirate, and based on the whispers from the staff in the castle, he was probably from the ship that docked recently and made everyone nervous. The captain of the guards had even told you to report anything suspicious you happened to see, which told you they were no joke, Normally, if there was a threat, you wouldn’t even be informed. 'No one wanted to worry the princess, of course' is what they would say, but you know they just think you can't handle it.

Before he even has time to process you're there, you point your sword at his throat, the tip pressing against his flesh, but not hard enough to draw blood. Just enough so that he knows he made a mistake.

The pirate stares down at the sword at his neck, his gaze following the blade to its holder; the very princess he intended to come in here and threaten. It's a funny thing how easily the tables can be turned. He eyes the princess warily, one eyebrow raised and an awkward smile on his face, knowing he's been caught so easily.

"Well, isn't this a surprise?" He chuckles to himself, raising his hands up beside his head in a phony sign of surrender, but your sword never wavers.

"What do you think you are doing here?"  You demanded, sword to the pirate's throat. The captain remained silent, weighing his options. He could try to talk his way out of this or use his cunning tactics to somehow overpower the princess and make a break for it. Whatever decision he made, it could mean the difference between life and death.

"Sure, as soon as you put that sword down. I'd rather have a conversation than an encounter between your blade and my jugular if you don't mind," he reasons, staring right back into your eyes with a look that screams mischief. Still, you sigh, and lower your sword, taking a step back and never loosening your grip on its handle. 

"Speak." 

He chuckles, lowering his hands and letting a cocky smile spread across his face.

"You see, princess, there's a rumor going around that you've stolen and hidden the coronation crown. I'm here to simply…take it off your hands," he explains. Everything about him seems sly, and even though it seems he's at a disadvantage, he's acting like he has the upper hand. There's not an ounce of fear on his face.

Your hold on your sword is steady, ready for combat at any moment, and it seems he's thinking the same thing.

"I'm afraid I can't allow you to do so. I can, however, offer you a deal. Leave now and I won't report your attempt to rob the royal castle and have you thrown in prison."

The pirate shrugs and sighs, his hand reaching for the sword that hung from his belt. 

"Oh well, looks like there's no other way."

And with that, he draws his sword from its scabbard, a sleek, steel sword with a curved blade,  and lunges forward, dealing the first strike. Blades clash and the sound of metal on metal echoes throughout the room as you parry his sword, pushing him back further. He doesn't let up, dealing strike after strike, yet landing no hits nonetheless. 

While the pirate’s blows are strong and aggressive, his attacks powerful and relentless, yours are both quick and agile with fast and precise strikes.

He expected the princess to be less of a hassle, yet here you were, not only putting up a good fight but winning too. Similar to him, there wasn't even a hint of sweat dripping from your brow, no signs of exhaustion as you dueled him in just your nightgown and slippers.

Your sword comes down once more towards his chest, and he raises his own to block it when suddenly you change your direction and aim to land a hit on his arm instead.

Ever quick on his feet, the pirate steps out of the way, dodging an almost fatal attack, but not before your blade can tear through his shirt and leave the faintest wound on the flesh of his shoulder.

He hisses as he feels the sting of his skin splitting, looking down as red stains the sleeve of his shirt.

"Not bad," he mumbles, his eyes sharp as he glares at the princess, a cocky smirk adorning his face. "Haven't struggled this much with an opponent in a while."

"Likewise," you muse, tightening your grip on your handle as you raise your eyebrows, almost taunting him.

"Tell me, pirate, what is your name? I want to know what to call my attacker before I slice your throat." 

He chuckles, rolling his wounded shoulder back and getting into a better position to keep fighting.

"Oh, I don't believe you really could. Wouldn't want to get your pretty hands dirty after all." He, once again, swings his sword, but to no avail. You continue trading blows with him, barely giving each other a chance to breathe. No matter what he tries, he can't seem to get the upper hand. Mentally, he wants to blame it on the fact that he was caught off guard, or that the way the silk of her nightgown hugs her body when she twists and turns to use her sword is distracting, but really he knows he's just finally met a well-matched opponent. 

"But the name's Scaramouche, consider this knowledge a gift before I beat you at the game of swords.”

It was then that the sound of armored footsteps approaching rapidly caught both Scaramouche and the princess’s attention. You bite back a laugh, glancing at the door and then back to the pirate in front of you.

“Looks like that will have to wait, Scaramouche.”

His name spilled from your lips easier than you’d like to admit, sounding almost natural when it came from you. Scaramouche noticed this too, stiffening as you say it and running his tongue along his cheek. It was annoying whenever he found himself having to make an enemy of an attractive woman. He takes one last look at the princess, before stepping away towards the glass door he came in through. He keeps his sword pointed at you as he backs away, not taking any chances.

“This was lovely, princess. I’ll be seeing you again very soon, but for now, I bid you adieu,” He takes his hat off, bending his arm at his waist and bowing overdramatically before opening the door and launching himself over the fence of the terrace, disappearing into the night.

As the footsteps get closer, you kick your sword under the bed, praying it wasn’t damaged, and toss yourself onto your mattress, throwing the covers over your body just in time for the door to swing open. A few guards peer inside, seeing nothing but you sleeping soundly in, your back turned to them as your body rises and falls to the rhythm of your breathing. There was no sign a fight had even occurred, despite the noises that multiple knights had heard coming from here.

As they close the door, the sound of their footsteps moving away from your room, a giddy smile creeps onto your face. After all, if no fight happened in their eyes, there would be no reason to increase security and you could see that intriguing pirate again.

After Scaramouche escapes down the castle walls, he books it for the treeline that separated the castle from the ocean. It was just past there that his ship resided, where his crew was eagerly awaiting his return with good news. A sinking feeling resides over him whilst he runs through the trees, kicking up dirt and leaves with every step. There is no reasoning he could possibly give that would excuse his failure. Not when he knows it’s caused by his own faults as a man. He, just like all of her numerous suitors and admirers, simply got distracted by her appearance. At some point, he had to stop as his head became too muddled by his thoughts, leaning against a tree, taking a deep breath, and trying to calm his thoughts.

Before, when hearing about rumors of the princess and all of the men interested in marrying her, he assumed the stories all came with a tinge of exaggeration.

Yet, after seeing her and fighting with her, he knows each metaphor and story told of her had to have been nothing but the truth. Tales of her beauty were honestly an understatement. It’s not often he finds himself this distracted by a woman, especially a princess, and he can’t help but feel ashamed in a way. He just failed to execute the plan his crew had been working on for years prior to docking it this kingdom, but all he can think about is her smile when she taunted him, her confidence because she knew she could fight, or the way her nightgown revealed the shape of her body, expensive silk clinging to every curve of her flesh. She was a princess rarely even seen by the public, but he got to see her in such a private setting, and god was it worth it.

He starts running again, her face in mind doubts infecting his every thought. His heart pounds heavily in his chest, and his lungs burn with each breath, but he doesn’t stop running. He would much rather face his crew than the entire royal army. He was sure the princess had reported what had happened by now, and he didn’t want to stick around so they could remember his face.

As he runs, he starts to feel the ocean breeze brushing along his face, and it reminds him that he’s almost home. His crew is smart; they’ll be able to come up with a new plan together. Maybe next time they’ll send a different member of the crew. 

As soon as the thought of someone else seeing her like that enters his mind, he quickly shoos it away. 

Just for now, he’d like to keep the image of her to himself.

taglist: @danfelions @bleachisfood @klanxii @nillajhayne @call-me-nayo @pinkiepiescanonn @etherisy @kazuuhhaaaa @featuredtofu @ulquiorraswife @skyoverkill1 @wandererskitten   @lxkeeeee

#omg first part is done #WE HAVE A PLOT FINALLY #pretty sure the anon i said guessed most of the plot has a pretty good idea what they got correct now #but anyways !! #there will definitely be more parts #i just didnt want to keep you all waiting for so long #hope you enjoyed !! #pirate!scara #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche au #wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer genshin #wanderer au #genshin au #gonna go take a 13 hour nap now

[petermorwood]

I don’t usually post about politics, but the UK situation has degenerated into a sitcom that thinks it’s a docudrama. Or vice versa.

If “Blackadder”, “The New Statesman” and “Yes Prime Minister” had a bastard child, it would look like this.

@dduane​ reblogged someone’s “Explanation for Non-UK readers” HERE.

*****

There have been nearly (more than?) 60 resignations and 1 sacking - that one was for threatening to resign if Prime Minister Boris Johnson didn’t.

BJ mishandling Covid response to the tune of a mountain of corpses didn’t start this, BJ having parties while the rest of the country was in lockdown didn’t do it, BJ giving his minders the slip to chat with a KGB agent (they call themselves FSB nowadays haha but we know who they are, and what was that about anyway?) didn’t do it.

The list of things that didn’t do it is astonishing.

This memorable image of the Queen observing attendance numbers and distancing at her husband’s funeral...

...stands for all the other people who couldn’t attend funerals or even be with dying family members.

The night before that photo was taken, there were two (TWO) parties at 10 Downing Street...

But no resignations.

*****

The catalyst involved a known sex-pest called Chris Pincher - ”Pincher by name, pincher by nature” BJ is claimed to have said after the first male-groping incident and formal complaint. That was in November 2017.

18 months later Pincher was back in favour - BJ favourite catchphrases are “time to move on” and “put this thing behind us” (ooh-er, Missus!) - and held the post of Deputy Chief Whip (swish-smack! you could NOT make this stuff up...)

Then in June 2022 Mister Whippee groped other males at a party. They were Party Members as well as party attendees, and it seems Pincher pinched their members as well as their arses. Maybe he thought that made it okay. What British Tories regard as acceptable nowadays is a mystery.

There was another formal complaint about the incident.

After which...

The Prime Minister denied that he’d been told anything about it, then denied that he’d been told very much about it, then denied that he’d been told as much about it as the people who told him about it said they’d told him about it, then claimed that he’d forgotten what he’d been told about it, then was confronted in an open letter with proof showing that he’d not only been told about it, but exactly how much he’d been told about it.

And that’s when the resignations started.

*****

The number of letters with phrases like “...can no longer tolerate...” show that those whose names are on those letters were content to tolerate everything prior. They are no more admirable after the letters than they were before.

It seems - did it apply to the woman caught by an MP giving BJ a BJ in his office? (oh yes, that happened too) - that the Johnsonite gang would rather swallow than spit.

Maybe it’s something learned at Public School, or maybe the rug’s too soggy with sleaze to absorb any more.

It’s certainly lumpy enough from all the stuff swept under it.

*****

At time of posting,

Four Seasons Total Landscaping in Philadelphia offered to provide a venue for any press conference due to “having experience with this sort of thing”.

Somebody was sent to get the Mess Webley.

BJ is believed to have resigned as Leader of the Conservative Party (although his speech did not use the word “resign” anywhere) but plans to stay on until the October party conference as “Caretaker PM” - which conveniently allows use of Chequers, the PM’s country home, for his next wedding reception. At taxpayer expense. Apparently invitations have already gone out.

Nobody can find the Mess Webley.

Moves are already afoot to extract him from the No 10 janitor’s cupboard before he can fill the resignation posts with acquiescent lickspittles, as well as fears of what he might do or cover up in the interim out of carelessness, disinterest, personal interest or spite.

Nobody can find the ammunition for the Mess Webley.

Ex Tory PM John Major has publicly stated that for the good of the country (and other countries!) BJ should not be allowed to remain PM.

It’s as if somebody has deliberately hidden the Mess Webley.

And its ammunition.

ETA: after some “what’s a Mess Webley?” questions, it’s this.

Also, someone who enjoys irony posted this (Gordon Brown (Labour) was 4 PMs ago.)

*****

Currently the most respected, trusted and popular resident of 10 Downing Street continues to be Larry, Chief Mouser to the Cabinet Office.

#british politics #boris johnson #downfall #sitcom #docudrama #gumby #my head hurts

[ingravinoveritas]

Hi! need some reassurance here. Am i the only one who is sad because we don’t know if we are gonna to see Michael and David working together again? Between the strike (which I totally support) and amazon not renewing GO, nothing is certain right now. I just miss them, i miss the interviews and i need new content. Note aside, I really don’t like the personal content that GT is posting on IG, like the video of David at the festival. Maybe it’s because I’m still new to the fandom and I’m not British, so i’ve a very different kind of humor, but her content somehow irk me… I don’t know. And don’t let me start talking about AL: she seems so phony and rude and i get nothing but bad vibes from her. Why does she always mock Michael’s appearance? I know, it’s none of my business 😅 So yeah… sorry about the rant!

Hi there! Grouping these together, since I'm a bit overdue in addressing some of this.

So as of this writing, the WGA strike has been resolved (hooray!) and the writers are back to work (including Neil, whom I believe is returning to writing GO season 3). SAG-AFTRA (of which Michael and David are both members) is continuing its strike, however, but hopefully it will also be resolved soon.

That said, I am definitely with you in feeling sad about not knowing when Michael and David will work together again. I believe the renewal for S3 is still pending, so it is indeed a time of uncertainty. My hope is that if/when the SAG strike is resolved, we might perhaps get some interviews with Michael and David that we otherwise were unable to get when GO 2 first came out. It may be too late to promote the season, of course, but we have to remember that earlier this year, Michael was popping up on nearly all of David's TV appearances (The Last Leg, Have I Got News For You), so even if a formal project isn't currently in the works, it hopefully won't be too long before we have the chance to see them together again.

To the rest of your Ask and @phantomstars24's, I've had multiple people asking me about what happened with Anna and her being called out, so for those who might've missed it, what occurred was that two weeks ago, someone left a comment on one of AL's Insta posts (the one with the photos from the "family holiday" in Sweden the weekend prior) calling her out for her repeated comments about Michael's appearance over the last few years:

Several comments from people defending AL/attacking the commenter followed these, and the next morning, she responded with this comment (not on the chain of already existing comments, but separately):

My initial impression was to be surprised that she responded at all. If the callout commenter's words truly meant nothing and weren't worth responding to, why say anything? But AL chose to reply, and that was her decision, so here we are. What is strange to me, though, is that she also chose to flat-out lie about something easily provable, given that her comments about Michael's appearance have all been well-documented on her Insta and Twitter over the past three years.

The second thought that came to mind is that this seemed like another attempt on her part at being Georgia--i.e., wanting/trying to give a witty "clapback" to a criticism. Instead, her comment comes across as insecure and insincere, with "magnificent hair growth" being a particularly egregious example of laying it on thick (who even talks like that? No one talks like that.). I was truly surprised to realize this comment was written by an almost 30-year-old woman, as it reads more like a teenager having a fit--though in fairness, there are plenty of teenagers who are far more mature than this.

There is also the notion that we are or somehow should be jealous of the "banter" in her and Michael's relationship, except that this misses two key points. One, that it's one thing for Michael to be self-deprecating about his looks--and that even if he is, it doesn't mean he doesn't feel hurt and is therefore possibly making those comments as a deflection--but it's something else entirely for her to make them. It speaks volumes about her character that she would see/hear him saying these things about himself and instead of wondering if he is okay, decides that it gives her the go-ahead to add to it and snark about his appearance. So many of us have felt self-conscious about our looks at one time or another, but without any response from him, it comes across less like "mutual banter" and more like "one person progressively making passive-aggressive cutting comments over time about the other." Which brings us to the second key point, which is that "in-jokes" are only funny to the people who are in on them, and similarly, banter is only mutual if we are able to see his end of it. The problem is, we never do. Michael does not interact with her on social media (even from his "private account," which many of us have known about for years, as he used to use it to interact with Kate, Sarah, and Lily all the time, yet he doesn't use it to interact with AL, for some reason).

Curiously, this would have been a perfect moment for Michael to do exactly that, or to say something on Twitter in her defense. Of course it is entirely possible that he felt he didn't need to say anything--which is his prerogative, just as it was AL's prerogative to respond. But it's quite interesting to realize that at the same exact time AL wrote that comment, Michael was on Twitter talking about touching David's chest and referring to him as the Thin Dark Duke, and then kept tweeting about GO fandom stuff for the next three hours. Choices.

All this to say that, in my opinion, there was nothing genuine or graceful about AL's comment. And again, you could say well sure, she felt attacked, so there was no obligation to stand on ceremony or mince words. It's just interesting that her comment went in the direction of defensive and sarcastic instead of saying something like, "Michael and I love each other and can handle a bit of teasing." And I truly do hope Michael's fans who rushed to her defense take a step back and realize that she is not a nice person. This is not how a nice person, regardless of who they are dating, talks to other human beings. And she will never reply to them or thank them for doing so because to her, they are a means to an end.

In any case, there was a recap of the callout/clapback situation with AL, for anyone who missed it. To your comments @nightingalecottage, please do not apologize for ranting. As I've said before, I want my blog to be somewhere folks can have these discussions calmly and civilly, and I'm glad you felt comfortable enough to message me with your thoughts. And as always, I'm very aware that I could be wrong about all of this, so I urge folks to read what is here and decide for themselves. Thanks for writing in! x

#nightingalecottage #phantomstars24 #reply post #michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #choices #not all of them good #trying to provide a balanced perspective #but i will leave it to my followers to make up their own minds #also notice again that GT said nothing when AL was called out #the whole thing just gives the vibe of keeping up appearances #but what's the old saying: when someone shows you who they are believe them the first time #anna lundberg #discourse

[lunar-years]

As for the RoyKeeley reunion part of my KJPR/Keeley arc discussion (here)...I've processed more and landed on the reason I didn't love it, and it's not because I don't believe Roy has done the work or fixed his side of many of the problems that contributed to the end of their relationship. Not because I don't think he's finally at a place to accept joy and happiness into his life. We've seen that growth in him throughout the season, in his relationship with Jamie especially, but also with him processing the end to his time at Chelsea, with Trent, the Rebecca scene last week, Isaac, the final epiphany moment this episode with the teacher...It's all been there, it's been gradual, and I believe in it without hesitation.

I didn't like that they threw RoyKeeley back together** because it doesn't make sense for Keeley. It doesn't help or allow her character to grow at all. I think a lot of the fandom is happy to believe the breakup was all Roy, and his self-confidence issues, and his unwillingness to allow himself to have good things' fault. For me, it's always been more than that. Keeley has a lot of self confidence issues herself that the show constantly sweeps under the rug; and having Roy tell her she's still Keeley fucking Jones is not the magical fix all to it, either. I know this absolutely isn't the show's intention, but it kind of does read to me like they're stamping a relationship with Roy back on her like a bandaid and calling her a healed case, and I hate that.

Let's not forget that just LAST EPISODE, Keeley was sending Jack a wall of desperate blue texts all but begging Jack to take her back! Not even that, just to talk to her! To acknowledge her at all!! She was begging this woman who treated her like crap, from a relationship that was detrimental to her mental health and wellbeing, to please accept her!!

The reality is, we have:

Keeley breaking up with Jamie in season one, regretting it the very next morning because as she herself proclaims, she always second-guesses her relationships ending, and then getting together with Roy not long after.

Roy breaking up with her, and her getting together with Jack not long after, notably right after proclaiming she isn't over Roy and is also reevaluating her prior breakup with her other ex, Jamie

Jack breaking up with her, Keeley trying to still fix it between them, then....getting back together with Roy not long after that

Like, no wonder the RoyKeeley reunion fell flat. Look, I haven't been in the "why won't the writers ever just let Keeley be single!" camp all season, but it's partly because I assumed they were trying to tell us a clear narrative about her. There is an undeniable pattern of behavior they've set up here that points to certain aspects of her character: Keeley struggles with abandonment issues, Keeley struggles with being alone, Keeley struggles with feeling good enough for people and leans on external validation, she has been known to act rashly when it comes to her relationships, etc. If the goal was just to get RoyKeeley back together as quickly as possible, well, they succeeded at the cost of throwing Keeley's character development out the window, because none of these problems have actually been addressed. And if they weren't going to address them, why were they not only introduced but also reiterated across multiple seasons?

**And yes, I say "throwing Roy and Keeley back together" without taking into account what they might do with the last two episodes. Was this a "getting back together" moment in the sense of now RoyKeeley is endgame, back in a committed relationship, their problems won't be addressed again or addressed only minimally, and they will now ride off into the sunset happily ever after? Or was it more like, there's still a ton of love there, Roy made a deeply important breakthrough with his apology, they had their long awaited and much needed post-breakup sex, and now Keeley is going to realize she's slipping back into familiar patterns and roll things back? And to be fair, we don't know yet!

What I want is something like Roy acting like things are now great and Keeley's obviously his girlfriend again, only for Keeley to stop him and be like "Wait, Roy, but this hasn't magically fixed everything." I do want Keeley to be single for a while and deal with her own stuff. I want them to work at it, together, perhaps with the expectation that yes they will probably get back together in future but not right now, not when they still have a ways to go with themselves as individuals. If the show goes in the second direction, it scraps this whole post for me, but with two episodes left of the series, this is coming from the part of me that is very concerned they're heading towards the former.

#keeley jones #roy kent #ted lasso #ted lasso spoilers #ted lasso meta #roykeeley #ted lasso critical #sorry for the length and *gestures vaguely* everything about this lmao #I just kind of hate that they're seemingly dumping full culpability for the breakup on Roy. like yes it's that. but it's also not just that #their problems went beyond that. you know what I mean. #and new problems are going to manifest if they just go back to acting like they're perfect now

[solarsnapp]

[ID: A primarily reddish-pink digital art piece fashioned like a magazine cover. It features Yoo Joonghyuk as the Punisher standing close to another version of the Punisher who looks like Lee Seolhwa from Omniscient Reader. Both are looking towards the viewer with serious expressions. Pink electricity dances around them, some of it arcing in the top left into two hearts. There is big white and pink text in front of the two figures saying “The Punisher.” End ID.]

whats better than one punisher? two punishers

some punisher-related snippets under the cut:

(the terms of address for joonghyuk are masculine in the first three snippets and feminine in the fourth) 

Dokja: When you played games for competitions, you always played as female characters. Why is that?

Joonghyuk: ...Many had Femme Fatale-esque perks which significantly increased their damage against characters of the opposite sex. This was especially useful in earlier years when meta comprised mostly of male characters and the pool for viable competitive female characters was smaller. 

Dokja: But, this year it was different, no? Weren’t all those perks weakened because of how powerful they were? And even then, there was a surge of popularity for female characters because that one group made up of skilled women dominated the leaderboards the year prior. 

Dokja: It offered you no true benefit anymore. Why keep using them?

Joonghyuk: ...

Joonghyuk: I’m not sure.

— Chapter 8 of “Transfem YJH AU”

Countless handles and usernames displayed on the screen, the battle roster filled nearly top to bottom with masculine playable characters. Then, there was one with startlingly white hair, red ruby lips, and a curvy figure, looking sultry and distinct from all her stone-faced competitors. That was stuck under his own name.

As the event progressed, the roster was blacked out. Competitors dropped team by team. That woman was still up there. Joonghyuk watched the more famous players in meta throw their headsets on the ground and storm off. He had to resist the urge to cackle and tell them to ‘eat shit’ so many times, it became tortuous.

“To keep it simple, I enjoyed seeing the looks on the players’ faces after they learned some gimmicky female character they didn’t take seriously wiped the whole damn roster clean.”

— Chapter 26 of “Transfem YJH AU”

“Ah, I see. What should we call you then?”

Joonghyuk knew he didn’t have to waste any more time. He could leave them without a name. But, judging from how quickly this random person picked up on his appearance, such a decision could lead to unfavorable theories spreading around. He had to think of something quick. 

His mind went back to a time still so clear when the apocalypse was only a far-off nightmare, to national competitions and competitors.

“The Punisher.” 

Joonghyuk said the name of the character he brought to the highest ranking on the leaderboards with, then dashed towards the monsters.

— Chapter 1 (Birth of the Punisher) of “Transfem YJH AU (The Prequel)” 

“Nah. Honestly, I’m more impressed.” Namwoon then casually strode up and inspected Seolhwa with a playful hum. “Can’t believe the old hag actually found a chick who looks this much like ‘the Punisher.’”

Joonghyuk tensed up. Seolhwa recognized the strange name she really should search up later. 

“Um...that is a game character, right?” Seolhwa asked.

“Hell yeah. You fit this bitch’s type so well, it’s almost like you came from the damn game itself. I mean, except for the outfit. The Punisher would have worn something way sluttier.” Namwoon then swerved around and jabbed Joonghyuk on the side with an elbow. “Must have been really disappointing for you, eh?”

Namwoon choked on a yelp when Joonghyuk slapped him upside the head. “Don’t talk about someone like that.”

— Chapter 4 (Chill Out Or Die)* of “Sparkling Water”

*As of posting, this has not been published yet.

#omniscient reader #omniscient reader's viewpoint #orv #orv spoilers #yoo joonghyuk #lee seolhwa #the punisher #transfem yoo joo au #i mean i tag seolhwa but its not technically her if you know what i mean? #i have this headcanon that joonghyuk named the punisher after the character she used to main #in the unspecified moba she used to play #and the moba version of the punisher happens to look similar to seolhwa in my brain at least #kinda unrelated but those rose tattoos on moba punisher only appear after shes killed a male character #i support womens wrongs #sauce reads orv #you know what fuck it ship tag as well #seolhyuk #gay ppl #my art

[coochiequeens]

Well this is an interesting turn of events

By Nuria Muíña García February 21, 2024

EDITOR’S NOTE: A previous version of this article incorrectly referred to one of the parties in this case as a “woman.” This article has been amended after new, previously-unavailable information was released clarifying that both parties in the case are in fact trans-identified males.

The Barcelona High Court has sentenced a trans-identified male to six months in prison after he was found guilty of committing a crime “against fundamental human rights and public freedoms” for posting “transphobic” comments on social media. The man, who has not been named, has also been ordered to pay a fine of 3,850 Euros (approx. $4,161 USD).

The comments were made in 2020 when the man, who will be anonymously referred to as P.O., took to social media to complain about a transgender influencer. While Spanish media did not release the influencer’s name, Reduxx has learned he is Violeta Ferrer Micó, an ex-prostitute and trans activist.

Last summer, Ferrer Micó organized and led a tour of Barcelona, called a “Trans Whoretour,” highlighting key areas where the sex industry had thrived. The tour was organized with the support of the trans theater company TiritiTrans Trans Trans Trans.

In his post, P.O. called Ferrer Micó a “prototype of a faggot with tits,” and stated “he can’t stand that I’m a woman and has a pathological dislike for me.” P.O.’s contention was that he believed he was a “real woman” because he had undergone genital surgery, while Ferrer Micó was not “genuinely” transgender because he had not.

The post reached Ferrer Micó’s work WhatsApp group and he claims that he was “outed” by them and suggested that no one had known he was transgender prior to P.O.’s remarks.

According to statements Ferrer Micó made to Newtral at the time: “From then on, I felt I had to give explanations about my gender identity. Everyone at work found out through Twitter that I never had genital surgery.”

Violeta Ferrer Micó.

Ferrer Micó reported P.O.’s post to X (formerly Twitter) and then filed a criminal complaint.

A Barcelona court ordered an “internet radicalism” task force to investigate P.O.’s social media and analyze his comment history to find further “publications that indicate animosity towards the group to which the victim belongs.” The subsequent report determined that the accused man was “not only belligerent with transgender women who are not operated, but also with the LGTBI collective.”

Their evidence included statements he had made in opposition of the Trans Law, which was legislation recently implemented in Spain to make changing an individual’s legal name and gender marker significantly easier. The investigation also found that between February and October of 2020, P.O. had posted several statements on Facebook, Instagram, and X in which he “denied transgender people without genital reassignment the gender with which they identify.”

Other messages that were found to be criminally transphobic included him stating that “there are only two sexes,” and that “transwomen are transvestites.” P.O. also said that “[the trans] community makes me feel infinite disgust.”

The court ruled that the “transphobic messages” had resulted in Ferrer Micó being “exposed” to his friend and work circle as a trans-identified male, suggesting that it had not been obvious or known before.

Spanish women’s rights advocates have cast doubt on that aspect of the case on social media, with one user, @OcheRadfem, asking “does anyone believe that they didn’t know he was a man? Are all the people he works with blind and deaf?”

When handing down the sentence, as reported in El Periódico, the court ruled that “the derogatory statements regarding gender identity … reflect the contempt [he] feels towards the group of transgender people who have not undergone genital reassignment surgery, and show, by questioning the gender (of the victim), a clear desire to inflict ridicule, and managing to generate [in the victim] feelings of humiliation to the detriment of [his] dignity.”

P.O. accepted the sentence imposed after coming to an agreement with the prosecution and declining to defend himself.

The court decided to suspend his six-month prison sentence on the condition that he pay the victim 3,850 Euros in compensation for the “emotional damages caused.” He must also take a course on equal treatment and non-discrimination. Failure to do so could lead to incarceration.

In addition, P.O. is disqualified from holding employment in any profession in the fields of teaching or sports for three and a half years.

The law firm who assisted in the man’s prosecution boasted of their victory on social media. The firm, Olympe, specializes in LGBTQ+ matters. According to their website, they identify as feminists, LGTBIQ+ and antiracists.

Speaking to Reduxx on the case, Spanish psychologist and author Carola López Moya, raised concerns about the fact that the media had previously referred to one of the parties in the case as a “woman,” stoking confusion and outrage. Moya is the author of “The Sect,” and was previously sued by trans activists who sought to have her removed from her profession for 5 years.

“This is an example of how the use of language far removed from biological reality generates confusion,” she said. “News media should have been talking about two males who self-identify as women from the beginning.”

On the case itself, Moya disregarded the argument between the two men as nonsensical.

“That a man believes that by amputating his genitals he is a woman… it is a sample of the dissociation that this doctrine fosters,” she said. “It instills in people a belief that it is possible to truly change their sex, and it is not.”

#Spain #Barcelona High Court #Calling a bio male a man is crime against fundamental human rights and public freedoms #Violeta Ferrer Micó is a TIM with a history of prostitution #TiritiTrans Trans Trans Trans #Trans Whoretour #TIMs glorifying ways women have been abused #I have a feeling the women around him knew #They were just too polite or too afraid of being called hateful #Trans Law #Olympe

[sukunasstomachtongue]

"He Put out an Ad?"

~Hey my darlings, Let's cut to the chase and post part 6 of We FLock together. I'm truly excited to post this, the last part was kinda filler. Now we gettin into some shit.

Series Masterlist

Bruce Wayne x Dove (black OC)

Rating: PG-13; warnings: obsessive Bruce Wayne, plotting Bruce Wayne, silk press getting caught in the rain; cursing, barely edited.

Taglist [OPEN]: @prettyvintageafternoon @zennydaye @lalaooopsie @leahnicole121919

Bruce watched behind his cowl as dilated brown eyes became glazed with tears. Dried specks of blood had been splattered on the side of her head. If he hadn’t met with her two days ago to slurp down oysters at the newest restaurant in Gotham, he would have never believed the puffy mane on her head used to be straight. 

“Batman? Please, don’t hurt me…” A shrill voice called out, and oh, how it pained the man behind the mask to hear. As if he could ever hurt her, his sweet Dove. But he couldn’t let her know that. Batman doesn’t show compassion for criminals. Even someone like her, with a fearful expression and trembling body. Like a lone bird grounded by a broken wing. Later he would explain, over coffee at that diner she took him to, that Batman does what’s necessary for the public. 

For now, he had a job to do. 

His heavy shoes crunched on the discarded newspapers, stepping over unconscious bodies and pools of diluted blood. The tears in her eyes fell over her lower lid and blended in seamlessly with the raindrops hitting her brown skin. 

“Don’t, please! I’m not with them! Stay- Stay away!” Uncoordinated limbs attempted to move her out of his reach. Dove looked up at the vigilante. She’s never seen Batman in person, but the stories her customers told her about how intimidating he could be rang true. Her mind couldn’t direct her body to move, there was nowhere to hide. The pickup scheduled tonight has been ruined, and the dripping woman could swear her ears were hearing the sound of police sirens. 

Guess who’s going to jail tonight? 

The darkness of the suit worked in his favor, and soon Dove found herself flat on her back looking into the lens of his eye cover. “What are you doing here? What’s your business with Joker?”

“Nothing, nothin’. I promise I’m not a criminal. I’ve never even stolen from the self-checkout. Please don’t hurt me!” The taste of Gotham rainwater saturated her mouth with bitterness. Still, she spoke loud and clear, unwilling to give him an ounce of doubt in her innocence. 

The dark knight leaned further until they were a breath apart. She still smelt like how she did last time he saw her. His hands yearned to skim her body, the clothes she wore already glued to her frame, exposing curves he had only dreamed of prior. Focus, Bruce. 

“I won’t have to hurt you if you tell me the truth of why you’re here.” At the sound of her whimper, Bruce leaned back just slightly. Like a weight off her stomach, Dove sucked in air for all she was worth. “Don’t make this difficult. If you don’t tell me, I can promise the GCPD won’t be any kinder.”

“It’s just clothes. I-” Her heart pounded and her head felt fuzzy. This was all too much for her to deal with. A lone woman, out in the rain, with Gotham City’s fiercest defender on top of her. “Didn’t do nothing.”

He waited for her to elaborate. When her mouth didn’t open again, Bruce felt the ice-cold rain run down his back. A dark gloved hand lifted her neck to get a response. Her head fell back, Dove was no longer conscious to support herself. 

“Fuck.”

---- ----

“When you said ‘it’s just clothes’ what did you mean by that, Miss CartWright?” The detective probed. When Dove awoke from her unintended slumber, her wrists were cuffed and chained to the lone table in the room. This was an interrogation room. She’s seen the setup before in tv and movies, never did she think she would also experience them in person. 

“I said what?”

“When Batman apprehended you last night. He claims you said ‘it’s just clothes’ after he inquired about your connection to the Joker.” Long lashes fluttered, her mind racing and trying to catch up to her current situation.

“I meant that I’m just the supplier for his costumes. Well, all their costumes.”

“Uhm, What? Please explain.” The cop leaned back against the mirror, a two-way she thought. Clearing her throat, Dove pondered her next words carefully. She wasn’t a snitch, not against Gotham’s biggest menace. All she had to do was clear her name and pray they let her go without further interrogation. She would chirp as much as she needed to avoid a jail sentence. But if worse came to worse, she would sooner sew her lips shut with her strongest thread than snitch and end up on Joke’s shit list. 

“I’m a seamstress. You probably already knew that.” With a nod, the suspect continued. “I have an apprenticeship with Tailor Spinelli. It pays, but not enough. So I make the costumes and uniforms for Joker and his gang. Pays well. I don’t have to take up a second job or sell feet pics to men on the internet.” 

“Are you serious?” Her nose flared at the dubious tone in the detective’s voice. With a hard glare, she met the man’s eyes. 

“You think Joker is getting those purple suits off the rack? Or that he has his goons buying their matching outfits off the web in bulk? I’m serious.”

“Okay. Now how did you end up in this arrangement? He put out an ad?” The more the pig talked, the angrier her tone became.

“No. Miss Harley did.”

“Alright, enough bullshit. Tell me the truth.” Dove felt her temper rise and she had to fight to get a hold of it. Slamming the table and shaking her binds, she spat it out for the last time. 

“I told you the truth. I’m the Joker’s seamstress.”

His focus left the video in his hands and traveled to the smoking law enforcer. Letting out a cloud of tobacco, Gordon reached out to ask for the footage back. 

“Far as I can tell, she’s telling the truth. So why is she still in custody?”

“Miss Cartwright knew of illegal activity and knowingly associated herself with criminals. That’s enough to keep her at the station and guarantee a trial. We have a warrant to search her apartment.”

“She’s the closest connection we have to Joker right now, had in months,” Gordan admitted to the dark knight. Bruce frowned. The thought of someone he cherished being behind bars unsettled him. Regardless, the commissioner spoke the truth. The only thing he could do was wait for her on the other side of the trial. To do anything more, to tamper with the process would go against everything he fought for. 

If they tried to throw her behind bars, however,then he would have no choice but to act.

He left the rooftop in silence, something he knew Gordon had to be used to by now. The Batman still had a city to protect, a patrol to stick to. He made a note to set up alerts on his computer for any mention of Dove Cartwright. Hopefully, all went well, and she won’t be convicted of any crime. 

A week passed and he had heard nothing of what could be happening to Dove. The golden prince of Gotham planned on waiting one more day before he broke into the surveillance footage at the station. So he remained in his office, going over figures and reports when he got a call from the station. The caller ID flashed brightly in front of him, it beckoned him to pick up the phone and demand answers. 

Stay calm, Bruce. 

“This is a collect call from Gotham City County Jail for inmate Dove CartWright, say yes if you wish to accept this call.”

“Yes.” The silence on the other side deafened him. Concern crawled up his body and looped itself around his neck, constricting like a snake until he was on the verge of passing out. Then, a muffled sniffle came through the line. “Hello?”

“Bruce? Thank God you answered. I couldn’t think of anyone else to call.”

“Dove? Is that you? Are you in jail?” These were questions he already knew the answer to, but to get what he wanted, he had to play his part as a bewildered friend. Hammering down his role, Bruce cursed low under his breath, loud enough for her to hear. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. I ran into some trouble. Made acquaintance with the wrong crowd and now the police are charging me with being an accomplice. I-uh need a favor, Bruce.”

“Do you need a lawyer? Don’t worry, I have a team ready. They’ve never lost a case, you’ll be out in no time.” He expected a sound of relief but did not receive one. “Dove?”

“I don’t need a lawyer. I already accepted a plea deal. I was hoping you could uh..” The billionaire smirked. He knew where this was going. 

“You want me to bail you out?”

“...yes.” He sighed and leaned back into his chair, staying quiet until she broke the silence. Focus, Bruce, focus. “M’sorry Bruce. You know I don’t see you as a walking bank or nothing. But I need to get out of here. I didn’t do anything. And I’m not safe in here.”

“Whose after you Dove?”

“Bad...bad people Bruce. I fucked up. I-”

“Ok.” And that was the end of that. She’ll remember this moment for the rest of their lives, Bruce rationalized, how quick he was to help her any way he could. How he didn’t even question her innocence, not like the GCPD have been doing. This would be the first of many milestones in their relationship.

This would be the day Dove realized Bruce Wayne was someone, the only one she could count on. 

Thoughts raced in his mind, plans forming and disassembling at an inhuman speed. He had calls to place, guards to disarm, supplies to buy, but piece by piece, his next steps became clear. 

“Bruce?”

“I’ll see you later tonight, Dove. Take care of yourself until then.”

“I,” a harsh exhale filled bounced around his eardrums. It didn't take detective work to know on the other side of the phone, shuffling her feet next to the phone station, Dove was struggling to hold it together.  “Thank you, Bruce. Really.”

The line went dead, his phone screen still pressed firmly on his side profile. Lowering the device, Bruce stared absently at the black screen. 6 minutes and 17 seconds. It felt much shorter than that, but the numbers refused to change. It made him crave more.  A calloused finger pad tapped the touchscreen, raising the phone back to his ear. The cooing of a call yet to be answered riled his spirit. 

“Alfred. I need you to prepare the manor for a guest.”

“Absolutely Master Bruce. May I ask how long this guest will be saying.”

“Indefinitely.”

#written by junk💋 #batman x reader #batman fanfiction #batman x black!reader #yandere batman #black!reader #black oc #batman x oc #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne x black oc #bruce wayne x oc #bruce wayne x black!reader #dc fanfic #black reader #black writers

[thegreaterlink]

Reviewing Star Trek TNG - S4E8 "Future Imperfect"

My last review was posted like... nine months ago.

Time flies when you're lazy.

THE PREMISE

Commander Riker’s birthday celebrations are interrupted by reports of strange sensor readings from Alpha Onias 3. He beams down with Geordi and Worf to investigate but they’re quickly knocked out by toxic gases. Upon awakening in sickbay, Riker discovers that sixteen years have passed (though he can't remember any of it) and he is now the captain of the Enterprise.

MY REVIEW

Sixteen years in the future. Assuming that Riker is roughly the same age as Jonathan Frakes, that would put him in his mid-fifties. And if we compare this "middle-aged" Riker to Jonathan Frakes circa mid-2000s...

Not bad. Still, anything beats that weird adult Wesley from Hide and Q.

Then again, if we use Riker's birthday slab as an indicator, then he just turned...

...six.

I guess he was born on a leap year.

Anyway, here we are in the future, where Dr Crusher chalks up Riker's sudden amnesia to a side effect of a dormant infection which he picked up on that away mission all those years ago. An infection which Klingons just so happen to be immune to... and I guess Geordi is just built different.

Dr Crusher recommends associational therapy, with the idea being that surrounding Riker with familiar people and things will help to jog his memory, starting with a trip to the bridge. Because a man fresh out of a coma with a massive gap in his memory is clearly fit to resume command of a starship. Good call.

Riker arrives on the bridge and finds it looking… exactly the same, since new sets ain’t cheap, but there are at least changes among the crew. My boi Data is now First officer, Geordi now has ocular implants so LeVar Burton gets to act without a hunk of plastic on his face, and more species like Klingons and Ferengi are among the crew.

But what concerns Riker is the most is Admiral Picard and Troi arriving on a Romulan Warbird.

That last one is explained by ongoing peace treaty negotiations with the Romulans, which Riker has apparently been leading ever since he rescued the crew of a damaged Warbird which wound up in Federation space. Evidently random acts of kindness go a long way towards stopping wars in this universe. The Enterprise is currently escorting the Romulan ambassador to Outpost 23 to wrap things up and get the treaty signed.

Yep. Here we are in the future, and it's bright. Nothing to fear, no one to fight... I can't believe we've come so far.

Then Tomalak beams aboard.

Future Picard and Troi try to reassure Riker – yeah, he did threaten to take the Enterprise's hull as a trophy last season, but that was one time – but he's still concerned, both by the massive gap in his memory and that he might have to reveal sensitive Starfleet intel to someone he probably can't trust.

With the briefing over and Riker’s memories still thoroughly gone, Troi takes him back to his quarters, where a mysterious child is playing his trombone.

"Hi, Dad!"

Ah. He has his father's... hair?

This is Riker's son, Jean-Luc (Chris Demetral). I remember being surprised that Troi wasn't the mother... but their romance is barely more than subtext at this point, so it's not that shocking. Jean-Luc's mother was actually a woman only known as Min, who Troi explains died two years prior. Even though they have zero evidence of her existing – aside from the child she supposedly birthed, I mean – and Riker can't find any trace of her in the ship's records. They don't even have any photos of her. I guess they had to make room for their... modern art?

I think I saw the Threads logo in there.

Christ, the last time I posted a review Threads didn't even exist it's been so fucking long

The computer's been acting up for a while now, come to think of it. I'm sure Geordi will be done with that diagnostic soon.

Still, I can at least appreciate the script's efforts to make us care about this kid. Riker adjusts pretty well to being a father, though that probably has more to do with Jonathan Frakes' natural daddy– I mean dad energy.

"I guess there's only one thing we can do. We've got to build some new memories!"

But Riker is still bothered that he can't find any trace of his late wife, though Jean-Luc says he's just not being precise enough, and pulls up some old home movies. It's here that we discover that "Min" is actually Minuet (again played by Carolyn McCormick for a single shot – that's dedication for you), that hologram lady he tried to bone way back in his babyface era.

Suddenly everything starts falling into place. And speaking of hologram romantics (or holosexuals, as I like to call them), Geordi calls Riker back up to the bridge.

It's here that the attempts to keep Riker gaslit, gatekept and girlbossed completely fall apart, as he calls out all sorts of holes in the facade, like Geordi taking more than a day to run a simple diagnostic, nobody being able to properly recall past events and even Data using a contraction.

Ha! I knew Lore was going to come back eventually! AND THEY CALLED ME A MADMAN!

...No? It's not Lore? Aight. Maybe next season.

"Would anyone else like to speak up? Or shall we end this charade?"

With the wool thoroughly pulled back from Riker's eyes, Tomalak reveals that the whole thing has actually been a hologram simulation designed to trick him into revealing Federation intel like, say, the location of Outpost 23.

You win this time, Lore.

Turns out that after the away team was hit with the gas, the Romulans intercepted Riker while he was being beamed up. They used their neural scanners to create a perfect replica of the Enterprise and its crew. Add a bit of ageing makeup and some bullshit about amnesia and badda bing badda bang, you’ve got yourself a pretty convincing future AU.

As for Tomalak’s OC, Jean-Luc, he was actually some random kid named Ethan who they had taken prisoner after raiding a research outpost on the edge of the Neutral Zone.

They throw Riker in a cell with him for a lil bit — just long enough for Ethan to tell him about a secret hiding spot elsewhere on the ship — so when the Romulans come back with the intention of taking the intel by force, Riker seizes the opportunity. One distraction and a few punches in the face later, and they’re on the run.

Ethan leads Riker through a convenient crawl space to a convenient forgotten room where some convenient blueprints conveniently tell them the location of the ship’s communication centre where they could send a message to the Enterprise. But there's a catch.

Ethan: The transmitter's on a voice-activated security system only.

Riker: Do you know whose voice activates it?

Ethan: Only Ambassador Tomalak.

...The fuck you say?

Yeah, the plot be thickening. Turns out the original simulation was just crammed inside of another one. So the Romulan ship fades away... as do the Romulans... and Tomalak... until Riker is left standing back in the cave on Alpha Onias 3... with only the boy remaining.

Credit where it's due, decent plot twist.

The boy, whose real name is Barash, reveals that his mother left him in the cave — which essentially functions as Holodeck+ by manifesting anything he wants — to keep him safe. But with his mother long dead and the Enterprise being the planet's first visitors in ages, he baited the away team down to the surface and intercepted Riker mid-transport while Geordi and Worf were safely beamed back up.

But with the game up, Barash drops the facade, allowing the Enterprise to finally get a proper lock on him. Fortunately Riker realises that the kid meant nothing by it and even offers him asylum on the Enterprise, prompting Barash to finally reveal his true form.

Ah... I think you've got the wrong set, my dude. This is Star Trek. Doctor Who is on Stage 4B.

Riker: To me, you'll always be Jean-Luc.

And so Riker has himself and the kid beamed up. Da end.

We're going to see a lot of these "waking up in a different reality" plots going forward, and while I'm usually not really a fan — you're mostly just waiting for the character in question to realise something ain't right and expose whatever tomfuckery is causing it — this one ain't half bad, since it was a bit more subtle about it and had some third act twists to spice things up. So yeah.

7/10 - The first of many.

We are so fucking back.

Previous Episode | TNG Masterpost | Next Episode

#star trek #star trek the next generation #star trek tng #star trek review #star trek tng review #jean luc picard #will riker #romulans #star trek tng s4e8 #future imperfect #reviews #series review #episode review #season 4

[vvartitudevv]

So I've come to another view and perspective on my gender identity and sexuality in the past few years. Having been in my first t4t relationship (even though it was an abusive/manipulative situation) opened my eyes to a lot of different intricacies within myself. I'm wanting to put out my experience/thoughts in the hope that I'm not alone out here and that there may be other people who feel the same as I do.

One of those things is my gender in relation to my sexuality. I now solidly feel nonbinary. I may get close to the edge of "man" but I do not fully feel as though I'm that. However, as a transmasc person, I also am anything but a "woman". For my safety in day-to-day and so that I don't have the headache of explaining the intricacies of my gender to cis strangers, I present as a binary man. In reality, there's so much more complexity to it.

Pre-coming out and transition, I was very much an androgynous "butch" that never felt comfortable being stuck in the "woman" box. Post-coming out and transition I have continually been grappling with my gender and sexuality and how those are important to my personhood. And the conclusion I've come to after mulling it over for a couple of months? Well to be perfectly honest I'm not sure but here's the best summation I could come up with:

I am not a woman. I am not a man. I'm some mix of the two and neither extreme. Not too sure what that would be called in terms of labels, but nonbinary feels too unspecific. As well as that, I've found I'm firmly bisexual (a solid attraction to cis people is few and far between for me, the most consistent being my long-term partner of 6 years who has been with me throughout my entire transition, pre and post). However, no matter the relationship I find myself in or whomever I fancy, the relationship /is/ queer. There is no situation I could think of where any sort of connection like that would be heterosexual to me. It simply isn't something I could consider as fact.

In that same vein, it's been a long time coming but I finally feel as though I could see myself inhabiting lesbian spaces I occupied prior to my transition. I feel at home in a body being called a he/they butch. Lesbianism was a huge formative part of my life before gender became something I was dealing with too. Also, on the other hand, I feel perfectly at home as a he/they twink. Which is where my gender and sexuality merge I believe.

Queerness has always been a part of my identity and how I define myself. There isn't a world where I'd give it up or where it wouldn't be extremely important to my sense of self.

Long story short, I feel as though the best term to identify myself at this moment is a transmasc butchtwink and that's where I think I'll leave it.

If anyone else has similar experiences/feelings please please feel free to let me know so I don't feel like I'm crazy lol. Always down to connect with like-minded gender anomalies 🫶

#queer #trans #gay #lesbian #transmasc #bisexual

[jdgo51]

New Year Vibes!! Do You Have Them?!

Today's inspiration comes from:

New Marriage, Same Couple

by Josh Walters and Katie Walters

"'My wife, Katie, spends a significant amount of time in preparation for every new year by looking back at the last year. She prints photobooks of her Insta posts of the prior year to help recall the moments and memories that were worth posting. She evaluates the core areas of her life and our family, making an honest assessment of where she is and how we are doing. After sitting in what is she starts dreaming about what could be. She gives language to her dreams of what could be, upon which she breaks them down over 12 months establishing key priorities for each month and measurable actions that will get her there. At some point before New Year’s Eve she will write January’s weekly goals on the white board in our hallway to give some accountability for what she plans to accomplish.

Now, you may be thinking, “Wow. They must be a very productive couple.” Can you imagine two people giving that much time, intentionality, reflection, and preparation heading into a new year!? It should come as no surprise that I on the other hand, cheer her on in her pursuits and do none of the above. Katie is a visionary and her actions today are 1/365th of a much bigger plan she is executing based on what she feels like God has called her to. Me on the other hand, I simply believe that tomorrow is going to be better than today and hope that God is helping me get better and closer to where He wants me to be day by day. It has always been challenging for me to cultivate vision for my life a year from now, so I tend to show up and try to bring my best each day.

I don’t know that It’s possible to have two people who approach the New Year or tomorrow for that matter more differently than Katie and me. We are different. Chances are, you and your spouse have some areas of your personalities, preferences and behaviors that are different too. Different in marriage is a good thing. After all, it was God who said,

It is not good for [‘Josh’] to be alone, I will make a helper suitable for him. — Genesis 2:18

In His kindness, God crafted a woman who would spur me on to think bigger, plan better and become (alongside her) all He created me to be. We are different. I’m not sure if I am an over achiever or if I cause her to be an underachiever, either way, together we tend to accomplish more than we could have asked or imagined.

Joining the 8-9% of people who get what they desire each year can be possible when it comes to your marriage.

Depending on the source, most studies say that only 8-9% of people accomplish their goals any given year. Whether it’s because they approach the process of goal setting, their plans for the year or mindset on tomorrow differently, who knows. That said,

the one thing that over 90% of Americans have in common is the tendency to quit. Have you ever heard the saying, ‘When the going gets tough, the tough get going.’ Growing up I understood that to mean when things get hard you lean in, work harder and ‘get going’ through the pain. These days, 90% of Americans seem to think when the going gets tough, I’m going to get going… out of here. It’s one thing to bail on the gym, your job, or your momentary passion for paleo. There are countless ways to stay fit, provide and eat healthy. But, what happens when our willingness to throw in the towel, to call it quits has a generational impact?

In John 16:33 Jesus assures us that,

In this world you will have trouble.

Meaning there are going to be times when the going gets tough. We expect that in our jobs, finances, health, parenting, the list goes on and on. But one of the areas we’re often surprised to find trouble and all to willing to call it quits is in our marriage. Its no coincidence that Ephesians 5:25 calls husbands to love their wives as Christ loved the church. Meaning when your wife rejects you, denies you or mocks you - continue to lay your life down for her. Aren’t you thankful Jesus didn’t call it quits? His willingness to persevere, His willingness to S.T.A.Y. on the cross paid the price for you and I to have new, full and abundant life. 2 Corinthians 5:17, John 10:10

Has it been a tough season in your marriage? Does fun and flirty seem far gone? Do you want to feel something new? Something better? You don’t have to call it quits to experience the satisfaction you desire. What if the marriage you’ve always wanted was on the other side of the challenges, complacency, and fatigue you now face? Joining the 8-9% of people who get what they desire each year can be possible when it comes to your marriage, all you have to do is S.T.A.Y.

Start with me

Take quitting off the table

Allow others to be a part of your story

Yield to vision

We’ve seen these principles bear fruit in our marriage in the darkest and hardest days. As you kick off a New Year, if you will commit to applying these principles, we are confident you can see them bring about breakthrough in yours. New Year. New Marriage, Same Couple. It’s yours for the taking!

Written for Devotionals Daily by Josh Walters, co-author with Katie Walters of New Marriage, Same Couple.

[nuttybearluminary]

RE: COAD defending Predators.

We've carefully reviewed and analysed some of COAD's posts over the last few days as a team to try establish the narrative that's being spun and had even implemented a social experiment through sending a plathora of posts which we'd split in to two seperate report categories. One of which was reporting milder things that where in direct relation to the PCU such as them harassing /w players and guilds at the Cross Roads to not RP with certain groups or people and some form/post related things. The Other was a more serious matter related with actual print-screen evidence of Felentrick admitting to using his guilds for predatory reasons in relation to vulnerable women for explicit images and also him admitting that himself or a guild member, both of who where grown consenting adults, grooming a 15 year old girl/minor at the time who was called "Mouse." (You can reflect on this news platforms prior posts) To note "Whispering the guild in relation to threats" one of our reporters had contacted a member of their officer team to ask for comment on the ongoing investigation as to which no comment was made, this is a prime example of a false narrative. As for an easily "fabricated story" i believe the majority of Argent Dawn would say differently, as this isn't anything new to the older player base, but something relatively well-known that actually happened, we as a team have all the evidence needed, including print screens and the report log that Discord had sent out when Felentrick was under investigation. So i suppose we're a little confused on their definition of documentary evidence, as they seem to have a nack for posting the exact same factual evidence that we as a news team deliver and post, unless again we're not fitting their narrative and cause. During our social experiment with COAD What we found was that COAD on both occasions completely ignored the Ashen Division and Felentrick category took the bait for the PCU category almost instantly, rephrased it entirely to the extent it was an almost entirely different post to fit their own narrative and only primarily focused on the PCU related category. We believe as a team that COAD is currently using Felentrick as a Martyr for the PCU and whilst we never used the phrase once "Living rent free in the PCU's head." as the saying goes... if the shoe fits wear it, we believe their unhelpful fixation with the PCU (Which we're not defending by the way, we don't like them either or their incel 4chan/b/ approach, many of us in the past have had neggative interactions with both Shewp and the Razor Hill Raiders.) We find the Martyring of Felentrick to be quite ironic, given that not long ago he was part of the very same principles that COAD now allegedly "Fights against" he was a part of Highblood Myrmidons under a false name pretending to be somebody else and the only reason he has no affiliation with the PCU is because he was removed from the Community after he was found out to be the same Felentrick that was exploiting woman by "Fae/Bunny", "Koriahn" (Elysias former GM's Sister) and the rest of the officering team. In addition we have reason to believe through one of COADS close contacts within their personal circle, perhaps even "team" and contributors that the two have been in touch privately, though this could be wrong and we may have been given falsified information, the nature of what the two discussed still remains a mystery. We believe as a team that their fixation upon the PCU whilst ignoring everything else that comes to light, will be their ultimate downfall as their purpose as a whole is fading, we have strong reason to believe that COAD is in favour of Felentrick and they're unknowingly defending his shady history as well as choosing intentionally to both ignore it and not to act on it, which speaks in volumes to the community. What does Argent Dawn do now, when a former respected source of pure information has been poisoned with bias, personal grievances and is actively defending those that still pose a risk to the rest of the community?

#COAD #consequencesofargentdawn #argent dawn #argentdawnsecrets #world of warcraft #roleplay #Shewp #felentrick #the ashen division #truth #razor hill raiders #PCU

[did-ant-cheat-on-christin2z]

did ant cheat on christina work 79ZQ!

💾 ►►► DOWNLOAD FILE 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 Neither TV host has confirmed what the real reason for their breakup was, but a bold troll claimed that there was cheating involved. “Maybe he. According to the source, there was no cheating involved when it comes to why she and Ant broke up. "She hates to see herself leaving a second. FLIP FLOP star Christina Haack and Ant Anstead were only married for two years prior to their e a separation, the two remain co-parents. Christina Anstead's ex-husband Ant Anstead has opened up about life post-split. Flip or Flop star Christina and Ant split in September 9 After less than two years of marriage, Christina and Ant Anstead called it quits. Before you cry to the home renovation TV gods about it, you might be wondering why. Because although Christina announced on Instagram that the couple is separating, she didn't give a clear reason initially. Naturally, her fans and followers are itching to find out what happened and if there was some big catalyst to drive them apart. In October , Christina and Ant met through mutual friends and started publicly dating. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case and now, people are wondering what happened. Because Christina made the now-deleted Instagram post announcing her split from Ant, some have assumed it means she is the one who left him. This opened up a whole other set of questions regarding their impending divorce. On Sept. We appreciate your support and ask for privacy for us and our family as we navigate the future. Christina was reluctant to give major specifics behind their split, largely opting to keep whatever marital strife afflicted them private. Friends say Ant was the first one who started having feelings about splitting. With that rumor noted, the split could have to do with his mental health. In August , Ant announced on Instagram that he was going to take a social media break because of the negativity he had faced online. He wrote, "For all the good things social media has, it also carries a toxic element. He then took a brief break to spend time with Christina and their family. I'm sad to hear Christina and Ant Anstead are separating but I would be so happy if she and Taurek El Moussa started seeing each other again. I am not a fan of Taurek's gf from Selling Sunset and she is not the woman Christina is. In fact, they even moved into a new home together in , confirming that they seem to be doing just fine. After an incident involving a gun wherein Tarek took a gun with him on a hike and was thought to be suicidal, however, his and Christina's relationship troubles went public. While the gun incident didn't involve violence and Tarek explained that he had no intention of harming himself or others, Christina did eventually open up about the abundance of small issues they faced as a couple in a short period of time. It led to their divorce, and although Christina faces another divorce from Ant this time, hopefully, she will be able to co-parent as well as she has with Tarek. A post shared by Christina Haack christinahaack. Although it has been almost a year since the news that the couple planned to split first broke, the nuanced details of their split are still being worked out. Namely, the recent closure of a sale on their former Orange County, Calif. The five-bedroom, four-and-a-half-bath luxury property in Newport Beach features a massive backyard and a swimming pool and is the epitome of California living. There are reports that Christina is looking to purchase another house in the same area, preferably with more of an ocean view. Ant has actually commented on the sale as well, telling People that he believes Christina made the right choice selling their old home. That home has memories. Live in California? Here's How to Get on 'Christina on the Coast'. Distractify is a registered trademark. All Rights Reserved. People may receive compensation for some links to products and services on this website. Offers may be subject to change without notice. Article continues below advertisement. Why did Christina leave Ant Anstead? Ant Anstead's mental health has been a topic of conversation. What happened between Christina and Tarek El Moussa? View this post on Instagram. Christina finally sold her and Ant's former Orange County home.

[lady-literature]

Found Family

holy shit did this one get way out of hand. Don’t expect them all to be this long because hot damn this is a monster compared to literally everything else but it just wouldn’t stop

(should I have expected this? probably. we all know how I am about found family.)

anyway enjoy 4.5k words ig

based on this post | @maribatmarch-2k21 | find more here

***

When Marinette had been chosen to intern with Monsieur Wayne’s PA, she hadn’t been expecting anything special. Sure, the Waynes were an odd breed and generally considered strange, but Marinette hadn’t actually expected to have much contact with them—if any at all.

She was here to earn credit for her business degree.

Instead, she has… well. She thinks she’s been somehow inducted into the Wayne family, mostly on accident and kind of as a joke.

That is, until it very much wasn’t.

***

Her first mistake, she supposes, was being too good at her job.

Marinette is an old hand at keeping track of multiple moving parts and riding herd on stubborn people who’d otherwise be too distracted or goofing off. (She was the Court’s leader for more than just being the latest in a long line of Ladybugs, after all.)

After the first two days shadowing Selina—“please, darling. Ms Kyle is so formal”—and learning the broad strokes of the job, Marinette felt confident enough to dig her nails in and get to work. Selina spent most of her time dedicated to international tasks and arranging Monsieur Waynes’ private affairs—all of which was highly classified and not discussed with Marinette—so she turned her attention to inter-company affairs.

Her first order of business was personally meeting with as many people in managerial positions as she could get. Not a requirement for the job per se, but these were people she’d have to interact with often and Maman had always stressed the importance of building connections in the workplace.

“People,” she would say, “are far more willing to do what you want them to when you’ve endeared yourself to them.”

So Marinette takes that advice and spends her breaks and lunches charming employees and giving baked goods to security guards and learning the names of the cleaning crew. She doesn’t speak to the department heads, because Selina handles their correspondences, but everyone else is free game as far as she’s concerned.

She becomes a well-recognized face astoundingly quickly.

***

Marinette probably should’ve seen the rumors coming.

It’s common practice in not only the Wayne family, but in most business conglomerates, for the children to quickly rise through the ranks of their company—if not just handed a high position right off the bat.

It took barely a month before the eldest was all but running Human Resources, and the second was placed as Head of Security practically out of nowhere. Monsieur Drake is the youngest (and most terrifyingly calculated) CEO to ever hold Wayne Enterprises, even if he does share the title with his father.

The other three are still too young or have yet to express an interest in the company, but people say it’s only a matter of time.

The track record speaks for itself, even if Marinette wishes it didn’t.

As a girl who’d come mostly out of nowhere and found herself with far more divisive sway in the company than she had any right to, it’s no wonder everyone thinks she’s some sort of secret Wayne finally coming out of hiding.

Marinette had nearly choked on her coffee when Selina dropped the bomb of that particular tidbit of company gossip.

“Most think you’ve been unofficially adopted,” Selina tells her, looking far too amused for Marinette’s liking. “Seeing as you’re too old for official avenues now.”

Marinette looks up warily from the schedule she’s rearranging. Selina had all but shoved the thing at her a month ago when she started suggesting more efficient ways of managing the CEOs’ valuable time.

“Only most? Does that mean the rest have common sense?”

Selina’s grin widens even further, if that’s possible, and Marinette regrets her question even before the older woman starts speaking.

“Oh, of course not!” she laughs delightedly. “The rest are hoping to hear news of wedding bells. It’s high time someone swept a Wayne off the market, don’t you think?”

***

“So you’re the new little sister I keep hearing about.”

Marinette stares up through narrowed eyes at the brightly smiling Dick Grayson. In her stomach, there are already the beginnings of resignation starting to form. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you!”

This man is going to bring her nothing but trouble. She can tell.

***

Dick takes a liking to her. And she, against her better judgment, finds herself doing the same to him.

It’s a little hard not to, if she’s being honest. He’s bright and bubbly and brings her bagels during his morning break without her ever having asked.

It takes practically no time at all before Marinette considers him a friend, relaxing when he’s near and laughing openly at his ridiculous jokes. Despite being the head of HR, he’s not great at the whole ‘professional’ thing and often employees will walk by to find him draped across a chair or balancing precariously on the edge of her desk while she tries and fails to get some work done while he’s around.

It really doesn't help all of the ‘Marinette is a Wayne’ rumors running around. Especially when Dick starts pointedly calling her every variation of ‘little sister’ that he can think of just to annoy her (and, she knows, because he thinks the entire situation hilarious).

***

Three weeks after befriending Dick, Selina all but shoves her into Monsieur Drake’s office and, in no uncertain words, says, “He’s your problem now.”

Marinette blinks at what she can describe as nothing other than a disaster area and just… sighs.

Tim blinks back at her.

The motion is somehow both completely blank and filled with an uncomfortable amount of knowing at the same time. There is also, she notices, a frankly ludicrous amount of concealer caked beneath his eyes and more coffee cups scattered on every flat surface than Marinette has ever seen in her life.

She knows his schedule like the back of her hand seeing as she spends hours of her day pouring over it to make sure everything runs smoothly. He has no prior engagements for the next three hours.

“You’re not going to take a nap just because I ask, are you?”

He snorts. “Absolutely not.”

She nods, having expected the answer; her phone was already at her ear before he even finished speaking. “Hey, Dick!” she greets, sounding brighter than she feels at the moment, and watches as Tim stiffens in front of her. “Yeah, no. I was just wondering if you’re busy right now.” She pauses. “Oh, good! Can you come up to Tim’s office for me? Yeah, I need you to knock him out so I can fix his dumpster fire of an office.”

Tim has since started waving his hands frantically at her, panic setting in behind his eyes.

Marinette stares at him, unmoved. “Thanks, Dick! You’re the best!”

The silence after she hangs up is deafening.

“I don’t know if I should be impressed by the ease you’re manipulating me or pissed off that you’re doing it in the first place.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Does your decision have any bearing on my future employment?”

His eyes squint. “…No.”

Marinette shrugs, mind already whirling with what she’ll need to get done first and calculating how long she’ll likely have to get it done. “Then I think you should skip right over both of those and land on resignation as quickly as possible, Monsieur, because you’re going to have to get used to it regardless.”

It’s silent for a long moment, and she worries for just a second that she’s severely crossed some sort of line. Then Tim bursts out laughing instead of, you know, firing her like he probably should have.

“Oh, yeah. You’re going to fit right in here.”

Marinette doesn’t ask where the ‘here’ is. She’s pretty sure she already knows.

***

It takes ten days for Marinette to wrangle Tim’s life into something resembling order. His office is clean and organized to his liking. She’s developed a system of filing so that all paperwork goes through her and is quickly sorted into ‘can be handled by Marinette’, ‘forge his signature and tell him about it later’, and ‘actually important enough to have Tim read through’.

His schedule is the most efficient it’s ever been and Marinette is quickly honing the skill of getting him properly dressed and out of his office in under thirty minutes. (Dick is, thankfully, a great teacher and has little to no qualms about giving her the key to all his little brother’s weaknesses.)

Selina stares at her when Marinette all but drags Tim from his office, a folder tucked neatly under his arm and the sugary monstrosity of a caffeinated beverage she’s bribed him with in her own, with a whole ten minutes to spare before his meeting with the Board.

“My dear,” she says solemnly, “you are positively magic.”

She doesn’t even look up from where she’s simultaneously wrangling Tim’s hair into submission and laying his tie down flat. “You have no idea.”

***

She knows Tim is capable of professionality. She’s seen the cool facade he pulls up in front of the Board members and the kind but impersonal smile he uses on the employees of Wayne Enterprises. (He is not the Ice Prince of the Wayne family, but Marinette believes he should have some equally ruthless sounding title.) He is aloof and sharp and every inch the businessman people praise him to be.

She’s seen it. And yet… 

“Monsieur. Why are all the Lexcorp contracts I gave you done in crayon?”

Tim doesn’t stop messing with his Rubix cube or even look up at her when he says, “Cause deadbeat fathers don’t deserve the respect of a pen.”

Marinette is very tired. She does not have time for this. “What are you talking about?”

“Lex is a bitchass absentee dad and I live to inconvenience him.”

“What about inconveniencing me?” she all but whines. “I can’t hand him these!”

That does make Tim look up at her, eyes wide with false innocence and mouth pouting up at her. “But sister dearest, I’m your little brother. It’s my job to inconvenience you.”

Growling in frustration is probably an inappropriate reaction to the situation.

But, Marinette thinks, so is the fact that both of the Waynes she associates with regularly seem hellbent on convincing the world that she too, is a Wayne, so.

(Is this how Alya felt dealing with the twins? Cause if so, Marinette takes back every joke she ever made—little siblings are a bitch.)

***

She meets Damian without warning.

Honestly, she never really expected to meet him at all but, well.

She finds him in Monsieur Wayne’s office, sitting at his father’s desk and doing something that she thinks is vaguely illegal, but she’s not about to tell her Boss a dozen times over how to parent his children.

Damian is a near-perfect copy of his father with darker skin and calculating green eyes. There’s also a more potent aura of danger around the child than there is around his father, like Damian hasn’t yet learned how to hide behind his public persona as his father had.

Or, Marinette looks at the teen thoughtfully, perhaps he just chooses not to.

“Monsieur Wayne,” she greets. Children like to be treated like adults, she knows, and Marinette doesn’t think this one is any different. “Selina hadn’t told me you’d be in the office today.”

“I don’t run my schedule by her,” he says flatly. A response she expected considering Dick’s stories.

“Of course not,” she agrees.

He finally deigns to look up at her and something flits across his expression, too fast for her to pick up on it. “Are those for Father? Bring them here, I’ll deal with them in his absence.”

Marinette raises her eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s wise Monsieur.”

Damian scowls and sticks his hand out. “I’m perfectly capable of forging Father’s signature. Give them here.”

She does not move and, instead, lets her lips quirk up into the smile she’s been fighting since she stepped in here.

“I don’t doubt it,” she tells him, and she doesn't. Forgery seems exactly like the kind of skill a child who broke into the CEO’s office of a multi-billion dollar company would have. “But you’ll find that all forging of signatures has been finished for the day and that these,” she shakes the sheaf of papers lightly, “actually require your father’s attention.”

He snorts disbelievingly and it says a lot about Marinette’s life up until now that the blatant display of disrespect doesn’t piss her off but instead reminds her of Chloé and of the fact that she still needs to reschedule their spa day. It's been too long since they spent time together in person.

“Well,” she pauses and eyes the papers thoughtfully. “‘Requires’ in the sense that its information needed to trounce the Board when they start spouting off greedy bullshit about cutting corners on our humanitarian efforts. I’m not sure how much of it is actually useful for anything besides that.” She shrugs. “But homework is homework, yes?”

That gets her a thoughtful once-over. His hand lowers and he then turns back to whatever he’s messing with on his father’s computers.

“Very well,” he concedes. “Father will be back in approximately thirteen minutes. You can leave the papers and I’ll inform him of their… importance.” He smirks, but it’s more like he’s letting her in on a joke than anything else.

Marinette smiles back as she sets the folder on the desk, feeling, oddly, like she’s passed some sort of test.

***

The day after, both Dick and Tim are waiting for her with what looks like an entire bakery laid out in her workspace.

“Uh,” she says eloquently, setting her purse down on her chair because there’s not a single open space on her desk not filled with some kind of pastry. “What’s all this?”

She looks up to find neither Dick nor Tim has stopped staring at her since she walked in. “We heard you met Damian yesterday,” Dick starts warily, like he’s scared of her reaction.

The response does not abate her confusion. 

“Yes, I did,” she says slowly. “That does not explain all… this.” She waves a hand, trying to encompass them as well as the state her desk is in.

The two brothers share a look.

“It’s a bribe,” Tim tells her simply and Marinette is taken aback for all of a second before her eyes suddenly narrow.

Dick cuts in hastily before she can say anything. “It’s more of an apology, really. For Damian’s behavior.”

But Marinette is confused and frustrated and just a bit offended by the apparent not-bribe at this point. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, but it only does so much.

“Damain’s behavior was fine,” she tells them with measured neutrality. “You two, on the other hand, are being weird and it’s freaking me out.” She crosses her arms expectantly. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

Appearing from out of nowhere, Selina drapes herself along Marinette’s shoulders and snags a raspberry scone. “I do believe,” she says as if sharing a secret, “That they are trying to keep you from quitting, kitten.”

Marinette wrinkles her nose. “Why would I quit? I like this job.”

She also likes the Waynes (in general, if not right then) and she likes Selina. The woman was a good mentor who didn’t shy away from the dirtier parts of the job and taught Marinette all she knew. (Even the bits, she noticed, that had little to nothing to do with being a personal assistant and were more likely to be found in the repertoire of a thief.

But, Marinette is in possession of her own sticky fingers and knows how to not ask questions, so. You know—curiosity killed the cat and all.)

She doesn’t voice any of that, but Selina, at least, knows it anyway. Marinette isn’t quiet about her gratitude after all.

“First meetings with the youngest Wayne don’t often go well,” Selina tells her. “In fact, I think he has a habit of making the interns cry.”

Dick makes some kind of offended noise. “Hey! He hasn’t done that since he was twelve!”

Tim elbows him in the ribs and Marinette makes a vaguely skeptical face at all three of them before deciding it wasn’t worth it. She has actual work to get done today and pastries to get rid of before she can even start.

She pats affectionately at Selina’s hand before grabbing as many boxes as she can hold. “Come on you two,” she says to the brothers. “You’re going to help me hand these out to the rest of the company.”

Dick immediately starts doing as told but Tim hesitates, humming thoughtfully. “You know that’s not going to help your whole ‘I’m not actually a Wayne’ thing, right?”

She glares at him. It doesn’t stop Tim from grinning like the utterly unrepentant little shit he is.

***

Things are quiet after the Damian Incident for a whole two weeks. It’s the longest lull Marinette has had since she first started and became somehow involved with the Waynes.

It ends because Dick finds out about the crush Marinette has been nursing on the Head of Security for three months now.

The Head of Security who is Jason Todd: second eldest Wayne sibling and Dick’s brother.

He takes it better than expected.

(Almost, she thinks later, a little too well.)

***

Despite her friendship with Dick and Tim—or perhaps because of it?—Jason had never seemed very interested in her. At first, Marinette had shrugged and counted it as a win; there was one Wayne, at least, who neither found her situation funny nor used it to poke fun at her.

They were on friendly terms, she supposed. Security has always been one of her more regular stops in the building, so she’d spoken to him often enough. He liked complaining that she spoiled his team rotten with all her treats.

But she also noticed that he likes her cherry danishes, so.

And then she noticed how crooked his grin was when he smiled. And how he seemed to have an arsenal of nicknames for everyone he knew. And the small collection of classic romance novels filled with sticky notes he tries and fails to hide in his desk. And, and, and.

It was around the time she began unconsciously memorizing his schedule based on when he was and was not there for her pastry deliveries, that she realized she may have made a misstep somewhere.

Jason was stubborn and passionate and flipped between overly proper and crass light a damn light switch. He was also, as stated, very much not interested in her.

Not that she would’ve pursued him anyway. He was a coworker as well as her friends’ brother.

Now if only one of said brothers could understand that.

“You should ask him out,” Dick suggests not for the first time and Marinette sighs, also not for the first time.

She loves Dick—she truly does—but he has been an aggravating level of unhelpful since he found out about Marinette’s latest romantic disaster.

“I’m definitely not doing that.”

Dick groans, like she’s being the unreasonable one. “Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

“Because I don’t like embarrassing myself?” she asks rhetorically. “Not everyone can have a fairy tale romance like you and Wally.”

He throws his coffee stirrer at her. “We are not a fairy tale.”

She shoots him a flat look. She’s heard Dick talk about Wally and Tim’s told her all the stories and she was there when he and Wally finally got their shit together. Dick was unbearable for an entire week with his gooey, lovestruck new lease on life.

“You two are the definition of fairy tale. You two make fairy tales look like trashy romance novels.”

He opens his mouth to argue the point before forcibly cutting himself off. “No. Stop distracting me. We’re not talking about that; we’re talking about you and Jason.”

“There is no ‘me and Jason’,” she reminds him through her clenched teeth.

“Not yet,” he says optimistically. Like it’s a fact, like he knows something she doesn’t.

He makes her want to slam her face into a wall. Truly, he does.

***

Dick stops running his HR papers up to her office. Instead, he’s somehow convinced Jason to play errand boy for him even though he literally never looks happy about it. What used to be a flimsy excuse for Dick to slack off for a few minutes and gossip with her has now turned into awkward silence as Jason drops off the papers and leaves without even a ‘hello’.

During their shared breaks, Dick takes to orchestrating ‘chance encounters’ between her and Jason, all but shoving them into each other (and even actually shoving that one time).  She catches Jason shooting dark looks at Dick every time he does it, and if she’d been holding any iota of hope at this point, it’s been smashed to dust. Jason obviously knows of his brother’s meddling and isn’t happy about it.

But Dick just can’t take the hint.

Every failed plan of his makes him steadily worse about it all—more frantic and frustrated and like he wants to strangle her for her stubbornness. (The last feeling being more than mutual.)

Dick’s meddling starts to make her and Jason’s previously friendly, if distant, relationship awkward and embarrassing. With every pointed comment, she gets closer to just punching Dick in the face. Or, maybe, she’ll just tell Wally who really ate all the chocolate strawberry macaroons she made; it’d certainly be more devastating.

***

It all comes to head on a Thursday, after most employees have left for the day. 

They run into each other in a breakroom, and she watches as Jason suddenly goes stiff, eyes flicking over her shoulder to no doubt scan for Dick. That single action makes her expression sour and she slams her empty mug down with more force than was necessary.

For Kwamis sake, he looks like a cornered animal. An image not helped by the way he jumps a foot in the air and stares at her like he’s worried she’ll suddenly lunge at him.

“Can we agree this is ridiculous?” she says abruptly. “I don’t know what Dick is trying to accomplish with his wingman schtick, but we both know it’s not going to work. Can we just… agree that he’s an idiot?”

A complicated look crosses Jason’s face before he snorts wryly. “Yeah, we can agree on that. Dickie-boy has always been a few sandwiches short a picnic.”

“I know things have been awkward between us lately, and I’m sorry about that, but I hope we can keep being friends?” she says hopefully.

“What in the world do you have to be sorry about?” he asks before she can start catastrophizing about the bewildered expression he makes at her words. “It’s not your fault.”

The smile she shoots him is rueful and she shakes her hand in an ‘ehh’ type gesture. “Kinda is. And I understand if the-” she makes a vague gesture between them that she hopes properly conveys ‘my giant, stupid crush on you’, “you know, is too much for you. Just say the word I’ll try and keep out of your way.”

She’s trying to be comforting or understanding or something like that, but all her words seem to do is make him upset. “Absolutely not,” he insists. “Sunshine, you are not going to change your routine just to make me feel better.”

Marinette crosses her arms, frowning up at him. “Why shouldn’t I? If I’m making you uncomfortable-”

He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Uncomfort- Marinette. ” She jolts a bit at the use of her name. She doesn’t think he’s used it since her second week at W.E. “I’m not sure who made you think otherwise—and if it was Dick just tell me cause I’ll kick his ass —but barring the fact that I still enjoy your friendship regardless of any… feelings-” Marinette concentrates very hard on not showing emotion when he says that, “-it’s not your responsibility to deal with it.”

Okay, but… that makes no sense. Of course her feelings were her responsibility, that’s the whole point of them being hers.

“If it’s not mine, then whose responsibility is it then?” she asks, wondering where the hell his train of thought is running.

“Mine, obviously.”

She gives him a look, complete with narrowed eyes and thinly veiled judgment. “What? Is this some kind of gentleman’s martyr complex? Is that what’s happening right now?”

Jason huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. “If me taking responsibility for my own damn feelings is a martyr complex then sure,” he snarks, not unkindly. More like he’s trying to protect himself by retreating behind a sour attitude.

Her mouth is halfway around a retort when his words catch up to her brain and she freezes.

“Your feelings?” she repeats. “Your feelings for… me?”

His voice is carefully neutral when he says, “Those would be the ones.”

Her mouth opens and closes and opens again. “You like me? Seriously?”

His face spasms at the question, starting at anger before he properly looks at her and the surprised expression on her face. He pales.

“You didn’t know?”

“No!” she squeaks, something she hasn’t done since she was fifteen. “Well Dick said but I didn’t believe him!”

And fuck, she thinks. This means Dick knew the whole damn time, didn’t he? Oh, she is so going to kill him the second she gets the chance.

Jason runs a hand down his face, covering his mouth as he gathers his bearings. Suddenly, his eyes shoot back open and land on her. “Wait. If you didn't know, then what the hell were you talking about just now?”

She blushes to the tips of her ears and buries her face in her hands so she doesn’t have to look at him. It was easy when she thought he’d figured it out himself. It’s harder now that she has to tell him. “I- I was talking about my crush on you.”

He’s quiet for so long that she gets antsy and peeks out from behind her fingers to see his expression. He’s still looking at her, but now there’s a wide, crooked smile on his face. The expression softens something in her chest and she lowers her hands.

“Really?” he asks, leaning closer.

Marinette nods, feeling a small smile spread across her lips.

He jolts forward, hands reaching for her before suddenly stopping just shy of touching. She startles a bit at the motion but doesn’t move away.

Jason licks his lips, smile smaller but no less bright. “I- can I?”

She blinks. “Can you what?”

“Kiss you.”

The blush returns full force, but with it also comes a smile, giddy and bright. She nods and no sooner than she does, is he swooping down to pull her into a toe-curling kiss. His hands cup her face with a tenderness that makes her smile, makes her giddy, and it’s not long before they’re both smiling too wide to actually kiss and are forced to break apart.

His hands fall to her back, practically engulfing her, and his chin drops onto her head. It’s warm and cozy and she thinks she could so very easily get used to this.

Later, they’re going to have to deal with Dick and Tim and Selina and the teasing they’ll no doubt have to endure—not to mention how much worse the rumors are going to get—but right now? Right now Marinette pulls Jason back down for another kiss and very pointedly doesn’t think about it.

#maribatmarch2021 #maribat #mlb x dc #jasonette #my typewriter #platonic dickinette #platonic timari

[bananonbinary]

Time for a Salty Meta Post about Martin!

people who’ve followed this blog for a bit know that spending six hours combing through text for some goddamn sources is my specialty, so i compiled every time jon ever talked about martin’s work in season 1. which for the record, he stopped complaining about all the way back in episode 26, where he was angry that martin of all people got hurt.

things jon gets mad at martin for:

not being able to find records that don’t exist

not being able to find someone based only on a first name

the Dog

not wearing trousers in his off-hours

being the one that got caught up in the jane prentiss thing

mag 004 and mag 012 both have jon taking potshots at martin over research that was proven accurate by outside sources

things jon has never once complained about:

martin not understanding the filing system and just putting stuff away at random

martin being clumsy, constantly ruining things, spilling tea everywhere everyday, etc

martin turning in incompetent, poorly-edited, or badly formatted reports

martin not understanding the terminology used, skills expected, etc., and generally being extremely new to the field

please for the love of god stop making martin the silly bumbling idiot who can’t do anything right just because he doesn’t have a formal education. there’s zero evidence for it in the text, and it’s really weird to act like a 4 year degree would outweigh the *10 years* of job experience he has, not just in academia, but in the institute itself by season one. my boy has worked there longer than ANY of the rest of the main cast. screw you guys.

tl;dr: martin is never once shown to be bad at his job, jon pretty much only ever gets mad at him for the really stupid first impression and also not finding stuff that no one else was able to find either. after martin got hurt, jon talks about his research basically the same way he talks about tim’s or sasha’s work.

fucking proof under the cut:

(i didnt include the s1 finale or martin’s statement bc that’s just...two entire episodes of them talking to each other, but there isn’t really any notable Martin Complaints in either of them imo)

I swear, if he’s brought another dog in here, I’m going to peel him.

[pre-launch trailer]

.

Well, technically three, but I don’t count Martin as he’s unlikely to contribute anything but delays.

[...] Alongside this Tim, Sasha and, yes, I suppose, Martin will be doing some supplementary investigation to see what details may be missing from what we have.

[MAG001 Anglerfish]

.

Martin couldn’t find any records of Ex Altiora as a title in existent catalogues of esoteric or similar literature, so I assigned Sasha to double-check. Still nothing.

[MAG004 Pageturner]

.

I had Martin conduct a follow-up interview with Mr. Woodward last week, but it was unenlightening. Apparently there have been no further bags at number 93 and in the intervening years he has largely discounted many of the stranger aspects of his experience. I wasn’t expecting much, as time generally makes people inclined to forget what they would rather not believe, but at least it got Martin out of the Institute for an afternoon, which is always a welcome relief.

[MAG005 Thrown Away]

.

Martin was unable to find the exact date the original house was built but the earliest records he could find list it as being bought by Walter Fielding in 1891.

[...]

We cannot prove any connection, but Martin unearthed a report on an Agnes Montague, who was found dead in her Sheffield flat on the evening of November 23rd 2006, the same day Mr. Lensik claims to have uprooted the tree.

[MAG008 Burned Out]

.

According to Martin, who was here when they took this statement, it was at this point in writing that Mr. Herbert announced he needed some sleep before continuing. He was shown to the break room where he went to sleep on the couch. He did not awaken; unfortunately succumbing to the lung cancer right there. Martin says the staff had been aware of how serious Mr. Herbert’s condition was, and had advised him to seek medical aid prior to giving his statement, but were told rather bluntly by the old man that he would not wait another second to state his case. I can’t decide whether this lends more or less credibility to his tale.

[MAG010 Vampire Killer]

.

“Veepalach” might also be a mishearing of the Polish word “wypalać”, according to Martin, which means to cauterize or brand. Admittedly, if Martin speaks Polish in the same way he “speaks Latin,” then he might be talking nonsense again, but I’ve looked it up and it appears to check out.

[MAG012 First Aid]

.

I sent Martin to look into this ‘Angela’ character - not that I want him to get chopped up, of course, but someone had to. Apparently, he spent three days looking into every woman named Angela in Bexley over the age of 50. He could not find anyone that matches the admittedly vague description given here, though he informs me that he had some very pleasant chats about jigsaws. Useless ass.

[MAG014 Piecemeal]

.

Martin declined to help with this investigation as he’s “a bit claustrophobic”

[MAG015 Lost John’s Cave]

.

There simply aren’t enough details given in this statement to actually investigate, short of Martin confirming that Mr. Vittery did indeed live at the addresses he provided.

[MAG016 Arachnophobia]

.

Oh, he’s off sick this week. Stomach problems, I think.

Blessed relief if you ask me.

[...]

I asked Martin to try and hunt down Mr. Adekoya himself for a follow-up, but have been informed that he passed away in 2006. 

[MAG017 The Boneturner’s Tale]

.

MARTIN

Well, I need to tell someone what happened, and you can vouch for the soundness of my mind, can’t you?

ARCHIVIST

…

That is beside the point.

[MAG022 Colony]

.

Martin! Good lord man, if you’re going to be staying in the Archives, at least have the decency to put some trousers on!

[MAG023 Schwartzwald]

.

Martin found one other thing while combing through police reports for the Hither Green area. About a month after this statement was given, on May 15th, 2015, police were called out to once again investigate the chapel.

[MAG025 Growing Dark]

.

I know, but it would have to have been Martin, wouldn’t it? I mean, anything goes wrong around here, it always seems to happen to him. Anyway, we’re getting off topic. Why didn’t you report this?

[MAG026 A Distortion]

.

Martin made contact with the son, Marcus McKenzie, but he declined to talk to us, saying that he’d “already made his statement.”

[MAG027 A Sturdy Lock]

.

Tim and Martin had a bit more luck investigating Tom Haan, though only really enough to confirm that he seems to have completely vanished following his departure from Aver Meats on the 12th of July.

[MAG030 Killing Floor]

.

Martin’s research would seem to indicate the place employed a reasonable number of international staff they preferred to keep off the books

[...]

TIM

Ah well, that’s actually what he was asking, huh! Um, apparently Martin, uh, took delivery of a couple of items last week addressed to you. Did he not mention it?

ARCHIVIST

No, he… Oh, yes, actually. I completely forgot. He said he put it in my desk drawer, hold on.

[MAG036 Taken Ill]

#the magnus archives #LISTEN #i am once again asking people to remember that martin has MORE job experience at the institute than literally any other character #(except elias or i guess maybe rosie) #he's the goddamn veteran not the newbie #fan wank /