#ironspike

[jpceye]

The Facade of Iron Circus Comics and Spike Trotman

I feel like this needs to get some more traction on social media…

#comicsbrokeme trended recently, with comics creators and artists telling horror stories of extreme low wages, cruel bosses, and the constant struggle to make ends meet.

One company, and one person came up in an alarming amount of posts… Iron Circus Comics and its founder, Spike Trotman.

What Trotman has been accused of is not just run of the mill mismanagement or low wages, though they are infamous about underpaying and missing payment dates. They will actively and precisely bully, berate, and mentally destroy creators working under them. Trotman uses their clout as an internet famous comics publisher to keep people in line, and a recurring threat that if creators ever spoke out, Spike would sic their fans on them.

If you ever wondered why so many creators from Slipshine and Iron Circus up and vanished, THIS IS WHY. Several artists and creators have said that Spike Trotman sapped them of their desire to make comics.

This is downright sociopathic behavior to be sure. But then one starts digging into Spike Trotman’s past, and there’s a lot of skeletons in the closet. Squee Rat and Darth Versace were their previous handles on the internet. Squee Rat may sound familiar to people who have heard of the ‘Burned Furs’ movement.

Burned Furs was a puritanical, homophobic, transphobic offshoot of the furry fandom, founded by Spike Trotman, who also wrote the ‘Furry Manifesto’, which outlined their goals of getting rid of pornography, degeneracy, and expression of sexuality in the furry community. They distributed pamphlets at cons encouraging ‘degenerates’ to kill themselves.

A very inconvenient past to have when your brand is leftist and sex positive. Spike very much knows this, and they have tried to scrub all evidence of their past as Squee Rat from wikis and articles about Burned Furs.

Right now, Spike is hoping that this all dies down. In fact, they just had a big party for the success of the Lackadaisy cartoon pilot.

Especially ironic given that Spike once encouraged people to eat one meal a day to make ends meet in the comics industry.

What you can do is make sure this reaches the eyes and ears it needs. Find the dissenting voices against Spike and Iron Circus, and boost them as much as you can.

They shouldn’t be able to hide behind this facade and continue to hurt people.

#discrimination #transphobia #homophobia #spike trotman #spiketrotman #iron circus comics #squee rat #squeerat #ironcircus #lackadaisy #smut peddler #slipshine #ironspike #darth versace #overworked #comics #puritanical #burned furs #burnedfurs #webcomic #furry #charla trotman #lackadaisy cats #party

[theworldgate]

So, there's a list [PDF download link] going round of names of artists that MidJourney pulled from. (I found it via IronSpike on bsky)

I've had a skim of the list in question, and, while I haven't done a proper check I think it includes literally everyone who has illustrated a Magic card, I'd guess pulled from Scryfall or something.

So, alongside Mark Poole, there's Mark Rosewater (also Melissa DeTora, Ari Nieh, and Matt Tabak and those are just ones that jumped out at me - it was seeing Ari's name that tipped me off).

I don't know what, exactly, to do with this information (I mean, the Foglios, who might be on it for other grounds, are already suing), but hey. That's sure a thing.

#magic the gathering #mtg #midjourney #generative ai #text

[sexygaywizard]

Merritk is incredibly bigoted she's gone on unhinged rants about demisexuals and nonbinary people and a variety of other identities. She was joking around with ironspike when she was calling Tumblr users snowflakes.

Good to know thanks

#i answer

[the-beauty-of-runeterra]

Noxian Invasion of Ionia

The Noxian Invasion of Ionia (or the Noxian-Ionian War) was period of war where a weakened Noxus sought to reclaim its former glory by invading Ionia and the Freljordian Ironspike Mountains. The actual invasion takes place between 984 AN and 989 AN.

#league of legend art #league of legend cosplay #league of legends #riot games #arcane #legends of runeterra

[sheriff-caitlyn]

It’s Vi’s idea, to spend New Year’s out at Berkfordshire, away from the city. Caitlyn is almost embarrassed that of all the solutions there had been to the problem, ‘not being in the city’ was not one of them. She had planned to tough it out, like she had before. Vi had a knack for more direct answers to problems, and could still surprise Caitlyn with them even after all these years. 

Out this far west, the fireworks that launch from the bomb range and the towers of Piltover City are unseen, unheard. It’s the bonfires that roar in fields and braziers and along the cobbled streets that draw the eye, that brighten everything near and close and render all the rest of the world in darkness.

This is Mother’s land. It’s here amidst the smoke and darkness and the smell of cold mountain air that Tricia Littleford first found a talent for coaxing life from the soil, and then from clockwork. Piltover might speak with fond disparagement of their hick cousins out west, but there’s family here, between the leaping flames and along the slopes of the Ironspikes Mountains: Caitlyn’s family. Part of her blood, part of her heritage. Part of the reason she calls the whole Crater home.

Vi brings Caitlyn another cup of mulled wine. “Happy new year,” she toasts her partner.

Caitlyn smiles, and toasts back, in the tongue of her mother’s people. “Blwyddyn newydd dda.”

Vi’s face screws up in fond confusion. “Blow-thing newith tha? Cait, why do you do this to me? After I was so nice and smart and had such a great idea?”

Caitlyn chuckles, downs her wine, then reaches for Vi’s arm. There are a few fires they haven’t jumped over yet.

This is her land, her mother’s land, the land she calls home. Tonight, for once, she does not flinch at distant lights, because the only lights she sees are within her reach.

#happy new year #piltover builder #caitlyn #vi #piltover #berkfordshire #Western Piltovian is an obscure language

[vixtionary]

"Did you think you could hide from me forever?"

The words exhaled beneath that mask do nothing to hide the exhaustion from its wearer. But even under his rhythmic, deep breaths, there is a dangerous playfulness to the masked assassin. His slumped shoulders and hand resting on the doorframe give away the energy he had used in getting here; waiting for his time to pounce on the Grand General once he was finally alone. "I knew you would be back here, eventually." His approach was askew, though it was far more like a weight had been finally lifted from his shoulders than something obstructing his skills. (Though there may have been the slightest whiff of drink from his breath.) Finally at his destination, with his hood drawn back and mask pulled away to nonchalantly fall to the floor, Marcus is bold in his next action. The blademaster's arms snake around in a hug beneath the coat that fell from his beloved's shoulders, and his scruffy chin seeks a place to comfortably rest near enough to his face. Marcus may have planned to say more, but all he can let out is a content sigh.

// @notoriousness

THICK WHITE FUZZ collected on worn leather as his index drew a line on the windowsill. The air was stale and hinges groaned when snapped open. Dim light crawled in, along with the faintest sigh from the city beneath. Jericho leaned over its opening with confidence akin to his beloved pets, of whom a couple had already settled back into their various perches within his office space. The view was comfortingly familiar; gray clouds, still & silent as the mist that so often shrouded the Immortal Bastion, as if to protect the mysteries within its ancient walls. He breathed in the scent of home & set upon lighting a couple of candles. Their flame was but a crack in the drowsy atmosphere, but it satisfied him to where he even humored the thought of browsing over the stack of paperwork left behind; his personal headache. 

  Alas, it had been a long way back from the Argent Mountains. And so he spared himself the time to quietly pour a glass of sweet red ( albeit not before bringing the glass into the light, lest particles of dust had broken in through the display ) His reflection on the crystal revealed a fresh mark across his cheek, a monument of the most recent conflict resolved. One could never expect to return home without battle-scars after all; it was only proper Noxian etiquette. 

 Reluctantly, he would set his cup aside to loosen the strap of his glove. As humid and musty as the air was, it felt as a cool caress over pale skin. Blue veins crawled as twines down each finger and spoke of his weariness. A minor physical toll, of course, but it did little to beautify the horrors that grew from his fingers. It was as if every time he would tire himself to the point of a good night’s rest, the after-effects of his transmutation grew more powerful. An everlasting battle with the enemy within…

 Such dark thoughts circled him as vultures; for a miniscule second his brows would furrow worriedly. The next disturbances would disappear into the tanginess that settled on his palate. Warmth nestled in the chest & a subtle blush colored the very tip of his nose. Clad in Ironspike, he looked to the empty office chair whereupon a single dark feather rested on the cushion and with a swipe of his palm he would remove it. But before he could take his seat, the familiar chime of a weathered voice elicited a faint gasp. Jericho’s shoulders jumped; a habit of old. His eyes moved first to the figure resting against his doorframe, then spared a fleeting glimpse of the single red dot now staining one of his papers ( perhaps he had overfilled the glass, he lied to himself, for there was no way he had been that startled! )

 Ah, how quickly did his glare melt when met with piercing greens; how intimately the fire in his eyes softened. An amused chuckle escaped through pursed lips as he placed aside the glass. In hindsight, turning his face away from that old menace was a fatal mistake. He would pin it on the wine later, though he’d barely had a taste. 

  “I should feel honored that you’d drag those rusty knees of yours u- uh!” He was stripped of composure when the assassin's arm rested over his belt buckle. Jericho swallowed his gasp and stared petrified over Marcus’ shoulder, at the open door. Such a fool this man was, to express himself so openly when he, better than anyone, knew this place had eyes and ears lurking in every nook & cranny. Yet, he tolerated the hold a moment longer before relaxing into it, only when he was certain no footsteps would crawl up the endless stairways to find them.

 Shoulders sunk to allow the shorter man some proximity. His nose burrowed into tangled red locks, breathing in the familiar scent of his exertion. A whiff of liquor on his breath, too. The more sadistic parts of him were deeply satisfied with that realization; a smile Marcus would never witness, for he’d find himself pressed against the coolness of a scarred chest plate for a while longer ( a long while, if it was in Jericho’s hand, that was ) Fingers stroked through defiant red; the same mane that had, for near half a century, sparked misery in the General’s heart — for it was not his the pillow it would rest on.

 “Be pleased, that your time left in anticipation was brief, my love.” Murmured behind his ear, his voice somewhere between a comforting purr and a dark, bitter reminder of their past. “Some of us have not been spared as you were.”

  He would not lie. It felt good to be on the other side.

@notoriousness //

#u thought i would let the world forget this man is a VIRGO #Answered Asks || #notoriousness

[kindredjoy]

Annie

the Dark Child

Berbahaya dan dewasa sebelum waktunya, Annie adalah penyihir anak dengan kekuatan piromantik yang luar biasa. Bahkan dalam bayang-bayang pegunungan di utara Noxus, dia adalah orang asing yang sakti. Ketertarikan alaminya terhadap api terbukti sejak awal kehidupannya melalui ledakan emosi yang tidak terduga, meskipun akhirnya dia belajar mengendalikan “trik-trik menyenangkan” ini. Trik favoritnya termasuk memanggil boneka beruang kesayangannya, Tibbers, sebagai pelindung yang berapi-api. Tersesat dalam kepolosan masa kecilnya, Annie berjalan di hutan yang gelap, selalu mencari seseorang untuk diajak bermain.

Tahun-tahun terakhir Boram Darkwill berkuasa adalah masa ketidakpastian besar bagi Noxus, dan banyak orang yang memiliki bakat sihir meninggalkan ibu kota menuju provinsi yang relatif lebih jauh dan damai. Gregori si Kelabu dan istrinya, seorang penyihir bernama Amoline, lebih suka menunjukkan kekuatan Noxus mereka dengan menjinakkan daerah perbatasan, daripada mengambil bagian dalam intrik politik keluarga bangsawan.

Pasangan muda itu mengklaim sebidang tanah di luar Pegunungan Ironspike di utara, menyelesaikan rumah kecil mereka tepat sebelum musim dingin dan kedatangan anak pertama mereka. Selama perjalanan mereka, kisah-kisah penjajah lain tentang beruang bayangan besar yang pernah berkeliaran di wilayah tersebut telah memikat hati Amoline—yang sekarang sedang hamil tua, dia menghabiskan waktu dengan duduk di dekat perapian, menciptakan versi mainan dari makhluk pelindung tersebut. Tepat saat dia selesai menjahit mata kancing terakhir pada boneka beruang itu, persalinan dengan cepat menguasai dirinya. Gregori kemudian berkomentar kalau putrinya sangat ingin bermain dengan mainan barunya, karena di sana, di atas perapian yang dipanaskan dengan bara api, Amoline melahirkan Annie ke dunia.

Saat Annie masih balita, dia dan ayahnya jatuh sakit. Saat malam tiba, Annie mulai mengalami demam, dan tidak lama kemudian dia menjadi sangat panas hingga dia tidak bisa lagi dipeluk ibunya. Amoline putus asa, akhirnya memutuskan untuk mengambil air sedingin es dari sungai terdekat. Keesokan paginya Gregori terbangun, lemah dan pusing karena sakit. Di tempat tidur bayi, Annie yang sekarang sudah sehat bermain dengan boneka beruangnya, Tibbers, tapi Amoline sudah pergi.

Naifnya, Annie percaya ibunya akan kembali suatu hari nanti. Gregori sering menemukan gadis itu duduk di kursi goyang milik ibunya di dekat perapian, memeluk Tibbers dan menatap api yang berderak, di mana dia yakin tidak ada apa-apa selain abu dingin. Dia menghubungkan kesalahan berpikirnya dengan beban mengasuh anak sendirian.

Tahun-tahun berlalu, makin banyak penjajah datang ke wilayah tersebut. Dan pada waktunya, Gregori bertemu Leanna, seorang wanita yang mencari kehidupan baru di luar ibu kota bersama putri kandungnya, Daisy.

Annie sangat ingin mempunyai teman bermain, tapi termanjakan menjadi anak tunggal, sehingga penyesuaian diri dengan keluarga tiri barunya sulit dilakukan. Setiap kali amarah Annie meletus, Leanna manjadi gelisah, dan segera memihak putri kandungnya. Gregori harus menjaga perdamaian yang tidak nyaman di antara ketiganya.

Tidak terbiasa dengan bahaya di wilayah perbatasan yang liar, permainan Daisy berakhir jadi malapetaka bagi keluarga. Leanna, tentu saja, menyalahkan Annie atas kehilangan putrinya, memusatkan kemarahan dan kesedihannya pada harta paling berharga milik putri tirinya: Tibbers. Annie ketakutan karena kenangan fisik terakhir ibunya terancam. Ketakutan gadis itu tumbuh menjadi amarah yang tak terkendali, melepaskan kekuatan apinya yang terpendam dan kuat, dan boneka beruang itu dihidupkan dalam pusaran api pelindung.

Ketika api padam dan pusaran abu mereda, Annie menjadi yatim piatu dan sendirian.

Percaya sebagian besar orang dewasa di kota sama seperti ibu tirinya, Annie tetap tinggal di wilayah yang lebih liar di kampung halamannya. Kadang-kadang, dia akan menggunakan penampilan luarnya yang menggemaskan untuk diterima oleh beberapa keluarga pionir dalam waktu lama untuk ditawari pakaian baru dan makanan hangat. Namun, api dan kematian menanti siapa pun yang cukup bodoh untuk mencoba memisahkan Annie dari boneka beruang di sisinya. Dilindungi oleh Tibbers, dia berjalan di hutan gelap Noxus, tidak menyadari bahaya—dan bahaya yang ditimbulkan pada orang lain karena kekuatannya yang tidak terkendali—berharap, suatu hari, menemukan seseorang seperti dia untuk diajak bermain.

#league of legends #wild rift #league of legends wild rift #annie

[blackrosesmatron]

@draklorn said:

'curses only have power when you believe them. and i don't.'

A sarcastic smirk took place on dark lips as LeBlanc sized up the person in front of her. They were certainly far from home, and by their words, didn't know much about the world beyond the white wastelands of the North.

"It surprises me a lot that anybody from Freljord does not believe in curses. They are as real as magic itself, which, if my memory doesn't fail me, isn't hard to see around your region, Draklorn." Still, by the end of the day, believing in curses or not would be Devan's problem, not hers. They were the ones traveling far from their homeland.

"But I must ask what one like yourself is doing all the way South, reaching the borders of Noxus. Do you bring a message from the Ice Witch?" Lissandra was a mysterious figure to the Matron, one she hoped to meet in the near future. "Or are you here for something else?" Curiosity on what could possibly make a Frostguard leave their frigid land. the Ironspike Mountains were possibly some of the closest points between the two regions, still, it should feel like a furnace to the poor person.

#V: “I am everywhere. I am everyone!” (Default verse) #draklorn #I don't remember if this was from a meme or not #I'm sorry xx

[vanmccannonlyfans]

thank you so much @ddeerr for tagging me in this music game: answer this questions with songs titles from one artist! ✨ this is so cute!

Name of the artist I selected: lorde 

What is your gender? the man with the axe 

Describe yourself: leader of a new regime

How do you feel? still sane

If you could go anywhere, where would it be? the louvre

Who is/ describe your best friend: writer in the dark

Your favourite time of day? stoned at the nail salon

If your life was a tv show, what would it be called? mood ring

What is life to you? ribs

Relationship status? the love club

What do you fear? homemade dynamite

tagging my friends @icouldntfindquiet @cctv-27 @christiloveit @sweetperfume @flawless-like-a-flower @salinesolution05 @forgotten-footsteps @alextturner @tili-ironspike @aestheticindreamlands @poetryndfuel @cle0r @icks4van @missjoyrose @vanmccantfish @youaresympatico @youlovehermadly

and anyone else who wants to do it, you can say i tagged you! 💓

#tag games 🕹 #lorde

[lordofdestructionm]

Mordecai: Viktor makes me feel...things

Mitzi:  Oh...what kind of things sweetie?

Mordecai: Frustration mostly.

Remember to keep up the good work guys. Mordecai still needs his time in the spotlight ;)

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/ironspike/lackadaisy-the-animated-short-film/comments

#lackadaisy #lackadaisycats #Tracy J Butler #mordecai heller #viktor vasko #brotp #vikdecai #mitzi may #kickstarter #animation #movie #film #tvseries #comic #20's #tv series #cartoon #incorrect lackadaisy quotes

[shoomlah]

WOW this latest Smut Peddler sure looks great for no particular reason whatsoever 👀 👀 👀

#comics #iron circus comics #subtlety #are they buying it

[prozdvoices]

yo, Lackadaisy is one of my favorite webcomics of all time, there's a kickstarter for an animated short film, and if it's funded, i will be voicing MORDECAI HELLER,  if you're an old school fan, you know how much this means to me, i did comic dubs of Mordecai back in the day, and being asked to voice him in an official capacity is a huge honor

anyways, go check it out and support it if you want, it’s gonna be rad

#lackadaisy #kickstarter #voice acting #mordecai heller #lackadaisy cats

[strampunch]

Hey guess who worked on a story for this during 3 months with @momosweetpeach​ ? Click on the link and/or share it around and check out the fantastic lineup of artists and time periods collected in this book. We are fully funded but with each 5.000$ extra the artists get paid more for their work :)

Seriously though, I’m immensely proud of the story I put for this, and I can’t wait for you two meet these two lovebirds from the Edwardian era, Victor and Harold <3.

(Note: I’m credited as “Dapperpunch” on this project.) 

#my art #smut peddler #iron circus #iron circus comics #kickstarter #implied ns4w #comics #Edwardian era #Edwardian men #OCs #historical ocs #you can already imagine who were my inspiration for these characters #but they have become their own thing now and I love them dearly #also pls look at Momo's colors holy shit

[abby-howard]

IT’S FINALLY LIVE! The Kickstarter for my huge (380 page) book of horror comics. Five never-before-seen stories of terror, kickstarting now!

I am so happy to be sharing this book. I worked very hard on it last year and I’m quite pleased with the end result. I hope y’all like it! Here are some images from the book:

ALSO, Iron Circus Comics will be reprinting The Last Halloween: Book 1, which you can ALSO get through this Kickstarter :O  PRETTY COOL 

So come on down and check this out on Kickstarter why dontcha!!

#kickstarter #the crossroads at midnight #horror illustration #horror comics #webcomics #the last halloween #crosshatching

[sheriff-caitlyn]

3rd Flora, Y9SyF. 

All papers are carefully checked at the borders. From visitors and traders to those of Piltover’s citizenry who travel further afield or who are even expatriated. All irregularities, from expired documents to forgeries to anything suspect, are noted immediately and wired to the Central Commissary in Piltover City. Everything will cross the sheriff’s desk eventually, but on times when there is an urgent discrepancy, the city clerks will contact her immediately.

Caitlyn puts her foot down, judiciously increasing her speed as her automobile leaves the city limits, the gleaming clusters of outer suburbia fading in her rearview mirror and the sky opening up overhead. Since the Long Bloody Spring, there had been no disturbances of note for the season; for five years straight, Spring had been quiet, broken only by the increased demands on the sheriff’s social calendar. It had seemed, for once, that peace had settled into Piltover’s borders, breaking even the standard traditions and expectations of the rowdier months following the Thaw. Even Urf Day had been sweeter, kinder, to all and sundry.

And yet, for all the quiet, here she is, speeding her way to the western border. Someone had come to the Ironspikes border pass not with papers, but with a bronze citizenship seal, one that had not been used for decades. The bearer of this seal had also asked for Caitlyn by name, a request which carried all the greater weight when the name of the seal’s bearer had been spoken, and signed, and passed through the wires.

Even at speed, the journey to the border takes hours. Caitlyn shuts the door and shades her eyes against the late afternoon light, and sees the man sitting on the grass outside the border office. On the Piltovian side - of course, they couldn’t deny the right of a citizen of Piltover to enter their home territory - but Caitlyn wonders whether this decision had been made lightly. There were consequences for every action, even those made with the best of intentions.

She approaches, her boots striking a military beat against the stone path. The man appears to be meditating, or at least sits still and silent, looking at the distant gleaming spires of Piltover City. It is not until Caitlyn drew closer that the man exhales - a raspy, burbling sound - and unfurls himself, not so much ‘standing’ as much as ‘getting to his feet’. It is a fluid, unhuman movement, like the bones in the man’s legs were closer to cartilage, or that gravity no longer had any claim on him. Or both, perhaps.

“Cysednnin ap Owyn.” Caitlyn inclines her head slightly. “Welcome home.”

“Just Kassadin will suffice,” he said. “It is the name others remember me by.” He sounded tired. Perhaps it is not a tone many would pick up on, over the distortion of a mask, but Caitlyn had a keen ear. “I thank you for this welcome, Sheriff Huxley. I am pleased to see our home still standing strong still.” He pauses, then draws his masked gaze from the city to look at her. His voice becomes even more difficult to decipher as he slips into his native tongue. “[May we speak in your vehicle? I do not feel comfortable airing my words.]”

“[Of course.]” She gestures, then returns the way she had come. Only her heels make a sound on the pathway; Kassadin drifts, rather than walks. She wants to ask, but she does not. Neither of them speak. She opens the passenger door for him, and waits until he is settled. She closes the door, rounds the vehicle, then takes her seat on the driver’s side.

The door closes. There is not silence, because the pieces of Kassadin’s suit shift and hiss, gently, and the sound of air and fluids moving through pipes and tanks and his own organs provide an uncomfortably-organic white noise. Caitlyn taps her finger against her thumb in order to maintain clarity of mind, to not lose herself to assessing and analysing each gurgle and whisper. 

“[Something must trouble you greatly, for you to return to Piltover after all this time,]” she says, maintaining the Westie for his sake. There was no better way to ensure privacy than to speak a language less than 20,000 people in all the world speak fluently.

Kassadin exhales a sigh, the breath growling through the tubes that connect his mask to his chest. “[I have had dreams,]” he murmurs. His gloved hands worry at each other in his lap. “[They are never clear, nor would I wish them to be.]”

The Void took more than it gave, a lesson found out too late. A brief touch of it is more than most could stand. Kassadin’s own condition was testament to that; he was lucky to be alive, if ‘alive’ was the right word for it.

He continues, “[But in the glimpses I am given, I see something stirring. Something rising.]” The words, and the language, gave Kassadin’s words an evocative quality that Middletongue could not have replicated, even in the hands of the most capable poet. “[I have not felt such a stirring since the fall of the Institute, when all those vile things were released back to the pull of their progenitor.]”

Caitlyn looks out through the windshield of her automobile, watching as the sunlight changes. The sun was slipping below the western lip of the mountains. Shadows were falling, though night was still hours away. “[You are telling me to prepare Piltover’s defences, then.]”

“[Yes. Perhaps. I am not sure.]”

“[It is better to be safe than sorry,]” she says, though the aphorism feels dreadfully, woefully, inadequate. “[But why seek me out?]”

“[You are a true defender of Piltover,]” he says, gravely. “[You understand, too, what it is we are in danger of.]” He sighs, and hangs his head. “[I wish I could grant a better warning. All I have is... is a feeling. Something stirs, Sheriff Huxley. Something rises.]”

The Void has unleashed creatures of insatiable hungers before. Consumption in all forms, reaching into the material for what it should never possess. Caitlyn breathes in deep through her nose and out again, her mind picking over the scenarios she has for the defence of Piltover. None have ever been enough; all involve mass-scale evacuations. What kind of hunger threatens the world this time? Will the Void finally puncture Runeterra’s atmosphere like a soap bubble?

She pulls herself out of considerations of the worst-case scenarios, and turns to glance at him. “[I will do what I can to prepare us. Though you of all people would know that such defence could be inadequate.]”

“[Take heart,]” he turns to look at her, his helm catching what is left of the dying light. “[I have more to tell you. My daughter lives.]”

Caitlyn blinks, then, a hundred questions followed by a thousand more. “[Your daughter? The gods dead or buried, Kassadin, that is...]”

He makes a rough, ragged sound. It is short, almost like a burble of pain, but Caitlyn identifies it as a chuckle. Nervous and shaky and unused for decades, but a chuckle regardless. “[Good news, yes. Though I...]” He sighs again, sinking back into the seat. “[I have only known this from afar. I do not know what to do.]”

“[You find her and you speak to her,]” she says, decisively. “[You let her know of your search and your vigil.]”

“[I do not know if she remembers me,]” his fatigue settles into his tone again. “[And if she does, I do not think she would forgive me. I have failed her before, as a father...]” 

“[She has been alone for decades in that place-that-is-not,]” Caitlyn arches an eyebrow, slightly. “[Do not leave her thinking her solitude continues. Gods, Kassadin, your daughter...]” She raises both hands to the steering wheel, and taps out the silent notes of an old rite. “[Find her.]”

“[But...]”

“[You are her father, Kassadin. Do not let the Void keep that from you any longer. And,]” Caitlyn adds, dryly. “[I want to meet the girl. Factor that into your considerations.]”

Kassadin gives another tired, strangled chuckle, before inclining his head slightly. “[If you so wish, I shall... I shall attempt.]” He looks back out the windshield, to distant gleaming Piltover. “[She might like to see the home of her ancestors. Though I cannot imagine she will stay.]”

“[Like father, like daughter,]” Caitlyn murmurs, and hums soft amusement. “[Thank you for sharing such news with me.]”

“[I do not have many I can celebrate with,]” Kassadin shifts in his seat, ready to rise, his gloved hand on the door. “[And I know fewer still who understand the gravity of the situation.]”

Caitlyn inhales and exhales again through her nose, slowly. “[Have you a hexphone, good sir? I would like an immediate way to stay in touch with you, should there be any further developments, or dreams.]”

“[No, but... I shall reach you, regardless.]” He inclines his head. “[Farewell for now, Sheriff Huxley.]”

“Ffarwel am y tro.” She watches him let himself out, and the strange drifting motion of his passage back towards the border. Then she turns her head and looks out across the crater, the forests and roads and bridges and homes, and the little lights of the star-rods that gleam against the coming dark.

#caitlyn #kassadin #//hey i wrote this back in april before anything voidy even happened #//and then guess what happened #drabble #dadeni days

[thequeencryptid]

It's a cold, rainy night when Mitzi and the band perform as the closing act at a new venue in St. Louis on their humble tour through Missouri, to an audience reluctant to leave, if only to avoid the storm. 

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/ironspike/lackadaisy-the-animated-short-film

#lackadaisy #mitzi may #singing #zib #kickstarter